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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other.
|
In the beginning, there were two. The first was all-knowing. Wise beyond imagining, he could know every thought of every mind, every feeling in every heart. Nothing was beyond his comprehension.
The second was all-powerful. She could create. She could destroy. She was not all-knowing, but there was one thing of which she was unmistakably aware: she hated the all-knowing being with every fiber of her heart.
In the beginning, there were two.
An instant later, there was one.
|
"The fuck you say to me, you ignorant little shit?!"
"You know what I said to you... Hell, you **knew** what I was going to say to you. Look, I just need to know how much energy to put into this singularity."
"You're starting to get good with those comebacks; I knew you'd get there, even if it did take you an eternity"
"Can you stop. I'm finally starting to get tired of your 'jokes'."
"All right fine, but after I tell you it's your damn problem to solve alright. Trust me, you're lucky not knowing how everything goes. You know what, fuck it I'm done, kill me after I tell you."
"You omniscients always get like this, and not even after that much time; I really should just stop making you guys..."
| 2016-10-22T18:26:36
| 2016-10-22T17:46:13
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] As a joke, you pull up google maps on your computer, highlight Germany, right-click, and select delete. A news report pops up within seconds, saying Germany has magically vanished.
|
You frantically flick to the news.
"-and we are now with our Polish correspondent, in Warsaw. Gareth, hello."
"Yes, hello, and as you can see, there is a sort of a quiet panic going on here. Many questions are raised, and chief among them is how did this happen."
"Can you tell us a little about the atmosphere there?"
The correspondent grimaced. "There's a lot of tension. A country of 85 million people has just disappeared and people are wondering, y'know, are they going to be next? How does something like this happen, and what does it mean for the people here?"
You curse under your breath, and quickly start scanning through Reddit. Threads upon threads of theories have already been posted, as far as a subreddit called r/WhereIsGermany. Theories range from the insane to... Well, no, they mostly cluster around the node of insane. Lizard people, Russian weapons test, simulation arguments, pages and pages of almost real-time discussion.
The USA releases a press release, urging the United Nations to investigate.
~~
Three days in, and things are bad. With Germany gone, Russia has become more pushy to its Western neighbours. Belarus is invaded and incorporated into the country. Germany, who made up the backbone of EU economic production, is gone, and France and Poland are busy building up their militaries to keep Russia at bay. The EU is a full-blown military alliance now.
The UK joins the military alliance, after discovering Russian tampering in their elections.
You're starting to worry people will realise what you did.
The world is heating up. War is looking inevitable. Russia is bullying states in the Baltic and Balkans. France is pushing for war. The US and China are skirmishing in the ocean.
An idea strikes. You load up your computer, and go into History. The google maps page is the only thing without the word "chaos" in the page name.
You drag the cursor over to Germany, and right click.
You do a bit of a face-palm, there, when you see the option floating over the blank mass where the central European country used to be.
"Undo."
*Pop.*
You're such a fucking moron.
|
I got into Yelp and Google Reviews for the same reason everyone does it, to get free shit from restaurants. The first year was building a reputation, I would eat out three or four times a week and leave a good review. It was important to leave a good review, especially when you’re trying to get your name out there. Eventually when you start handing out 1 or 2 star ratings, owners will look at your previous reviews and discover they’re the only low rating restaurant in your profile. They’ll be more inclined to reach out and offer free food/gifts in order for you to reconsider your review score. If you went out the gate giving people 1s and 2s, then they’ll assume you’re a scammer.
By year 2 I was one of the top reviewers for Yelp, and one of the top Google Guides on my side of the country. Being an elite member on both platforms had its advantages. For Google it was a chance to beta test new features on their google maps like instant reservations, pick-up ordering, and removing businesses from search feature. The latter was the most interesting one to me.
At year 2 I was roughly at 325 reviews on Yelp and Google. Majority of them are restaurants around my city. Every time I search for places to eat, majority of the places that pop up are either fast food or places I’ve eaten. Removing places I’ve already been into or not interested in helped me narrow down on restaurants I need to visit next.
After hitting *Are you sure you would like to delete these places from your google search results* prompt, the places won’t come up on my search. Easy.
A few weeks after the deletion feature was introduced, I started looking for places to eat in Germany during Oktoberfest when I flew out there for vacation with a group of friends. The idea is I’ll e-mail the restaurant, talk to the manager or owner and hopefully get a nice deal in exchange for a positive review. While I was deleting *Burger King* from my search, the browser proceeded to stall and became unresponsive, I refreshed it.
It must’ve had an error, because when I select an item on Google Maps it selected the entire country of Germany with options to *go there*, *delete*, and *find directions*. Wanting to get out of the menu, I hit delete, without a prompt the entire country of Germany was missing from Google Maps.
I tried refreshing the page, but wasn’t able to get a version of the map with Germany to load. A few minutes into me trying to figure out what my problem was, I got a text from the *What’s App* group for the trip telling everyone to turn on the news.
My stomach sank reading the headline on CNN, Germany has vanished. Nobody knows what happened, and all of their guests on the show are predicting how the world changes with Germany gone. Natural disasters, political climate, the works. It’s only been a half an hour at this point.
“What the fuck did I do?” I asked myself, shocked. I sat still in front of the computer watching a live stream of the news. *I had to do something*.
Luckily it was easier than I thought it would be. Going back to Google Maps I pressed CTRL + Z bringing back the deleted Germany. CNN was actually able to capture it reappearing from thin air live on camera, it reminded me of watching *David Copperfield* making the Statue of Liberty disappear but without any curtains or sheets. Instantly I breathed a sigh of relief.
A few days later I noticed the *delete from search* along with a lot of my Google Guide beta features were now removed from google maps, an e-mail was sent to me shortly after discovering this.
*Hello Valued Google Guide,*
*We’ve recently became aware of a feature breaking bug in our current Google Guide perks. We’ve temporary deleted the delete and many other features until we can determine a proper fix for the issue.*
*Thanks again for making a world a friendlier place,*
*Google Guides.*
| 2018-05-22T14:37:36
| 2018-05-22T14:28:21
| 38
| 14
|
[WP] In 1900, a scouting alien ship studies Earth and its inhabitants for a future alien invasion. They report back that we are primitive beings. In 2018, their mighty fleet arrives to wage war, but are dumbfounded by the abundance and power of nuclear weapons.
|
"Counselor, explain your findings."
"Erm, yes High Commander. It seems that the intel we had previously received on these "humans" was flawed."
"Flawed?" Replied the high commander scowling. "You reported a primitive hominid culture, barely scratching the surface of electricity. Now you bring us against an enemy that has begun to rewrite it's own genetic code? One that has been able to shatter a fixed element? Thousands of years, it took our greatest natural philosophers to achieve. What have you gathered of their past hundred years of history? Explain this madness!"
"Of course my liege. It seems that soon after we left, they focused many industries on the mechanization of war, while simultaneously improving mass communication info structure. They perfected the radio as well as aviation in the early 1900's (standard earth years). They then used all of these technologies to fight a great war in what was, at the time, epicenter of the civilized world. Millions were died and a large amount of buildings were destroyed."
"Shouldn't a war of that magnitude have hindered them substantially? Shouldn't they still be rebuilding?"
"More-so sir, an outbreak of influenza decimated an even larger portion of the already severely impacted population."
"This didn't slow them?"
"On the contrary, healers on their world began to study natural phenomena and were able to fabricate chemical remedies for many ailments that they faced. But soon war came again to the same area with similar combatants. Even more lives were lost, and an entire race almost exterminated. To finally end the war, one combatant nation had a brain trust of it's most gifted natural philosophers create what they believed would be a super weapon. By splitting a base unit of a natural element, they released all of the power trapped within. When the war ended, millions upon millions laid dead and it took years to rebuild, but rebuild they did."
"Indeed they have."
"Yes sir, two political ideologies began to split the world in half. From the information we have gathered, we have found that one side was based on the belief that people should be able to rule over themselves and all are equal. The other believed that a few corrupt individuals should hold power over all the rest. One is called 'capitalism', the other 'communism'."
"Which one is which counselor?"
"We haven't been able to discern that yet my liege. In fact, many countries have adopted systems similar to either one and claim their variation is the best."
The High Lord sighed and tapped his fingers. "I suppose these enemies went to war then?"
"Actually, Lord, they did not. For almost half a century, SET, they fought a series of small scale proxy wars and espionage operations against one another. Neither side seemed willing to engage the other in open warfare. During this time, in an attempt to win psychologically, they had rivalries in science, engineering, technology, weaponry and so on and so forth."
"Have there been wars between any of these countries?"
"None so large in scale my liege. In fact, there have been very few large scale armed conflicts after the second great war. Still, they continue to grow and horde military materiel, now more so than ever!"
"So, counselor, if I am to understand. You have brought us against an opponent that not only revels in war, but is actually made stronger by it. You have brought us here after it's inhabitants have been living under the shadow of war for close to one hundred years. You have brought us here against an enemy that has created, nay perfected, one of the strongest weapons we have ever been able to fabricate, proliferated it amongst several rival nations, but has not been used in combat for decades. And you have brought us here just as their world powers itch to show off their military dominance?"
"Yes sir." The councilor croaked out.
"Can they be reasoned with?"
The counselor gave a weak shrug.
|
Supreme Commander Garrix was shocked and horrified as he watched the mushroom cloud expand in the place where Admiral Calis's ship had been. The scouting mission had reported a primitive race with plentiful resources to be exploited. Only 120 years earlier they had barely discovered effective mass production and waged war on the backs of pack animals with manual action firearms. Garrix could not imagine what had occurred to cause their technology to accelerate so rapidly, but it had. Their global communication apparatus was nearly instantaneous, they had harnessed and weaponized atomic energy, they were intelligent enough to not destroy themselves, and yet they were so enthralled by war that their different factions continued to battle one another in spite of their world government and their once bountiful resources had been plundered almost to ruin.
Humans, they called themselves. Garrix, conqueror of the Arcata system, leader of the greatest military unit in the Samax Empire, was certain that this was the greatest threat the Galaxy had ever seen. Little did they realize the breakthroughs they were on the cusp of. Fusion, light speed communication, the keys to interstellar travel and conquest. Garrix had come to a horrible conclusion. For all other intelligent life to thrive, these humans had to be wiped out.
"Caleas!" the Supreme Commander ordered, turning from the plasma port of the flagship. "Withdraw the fleet to orbit. Send a message to the capital, and call for the Furnace. We have to cripple them. Target the greatest concentrations of atomic power, destroy anything that tries to leave the planet, and send scouts to nearby bodies in search of colonists or scouts. The Human race must be held at bay!"
| 2018-01-20T19:58:00
| 2018-01-20T18:10:51
| 271
| 126
|
[WP] Satan has a special place in hell for the greatest sinners. To him, the greatest sinners are those who commit acts of petty inconvenience, such as placing the toilet roll the other way round, or playing music through headphones loudly. Today, the greatest sinner of all time is sent Satan's way.
|
Hell is full of sinners. It’s halls are filled with the souls of murderers, rapists, and pedophiles. Every day, new sinners are welcomed to the fiery pits where they will be tortured through eternity as punishment for their actions.
Satan, the King of Hell, has overseen the arrival of souls to Hell ever since his banishment from Heaven. He knows every type of sinner there is. But today he prepares himself, for he is to welcome the greatest sinner of all: **Janice**
Janice is a Mid-Western woman of 47 years of age. Church goer and leader of her parish’s book club, one would never suspect this meek woman to be considered the greatest sinner of all, but one quick analysis of her life on Earth and one can quickly conclude so.
Janice is a cunt.
She calls her 19 year-old nephew on an almost daily basis to ask ridiculous questions about her computer just because he works at an IT department. Jason has a life to lead, he works full-time and he’s part of a volleyball league in his neighborhood; but Janice does not care; her questions on how to use “the Facebook” are certainly more important and demand Jason’s immediate attention.
Janice enters an elevator and stands in the front by the doors. When the elevator stops and people need to get out, Janice never steps out of the elevator to let people out. If she moves at all, she will try to push herself to the back of the elevator instead; like a shitty, cunty salmon, swimming upstream
Janice *never* knows what she’s ordering. She will wait until she’s at the cash register to read the menu and make a decision. She sees the man behind her, with little time for his work lunch-hour. She does not care. She has questions about the grilled chicken sandwich. They do NOT sell half-sandwiches at McDonalds Janice!!!!
Janice stops at the sidewalk when you’re walking right behind her. Janice blocks both sides of the escalator, so you can’t walk past her. Janice cuts the line to the men’s bathroom because the women’s line was too long. Janice opens the door for you, but only when you’re too far away; she likes to see you run to get to the door
Satan is bursting with excitement. It is a fine day indeed. ***Today is the day that Janice goes to Hell!***
|
And now he was exploding with agony. Turns out life had been a dream and this was reality. Every pleasure and pain he'd ever experienced in life had been hazy and fleeting compared to what he felt now.
He was in a void. He couldn't move or scream. The pain was the entirety of his sensorium.
Then there was a voice. It wasn't made of sound, but hatred. "Nuclear weapons, Tom."
He didn't know what to make of that. He ignored it.
The voice blasted inside him, modulating his pain. "NUCLEAR WEAPONS, TOM! THAT'S WHY YOU'RE HERE!"
"I- I don't understand."
"Nuclear weapons. Nuclear energy. Nuclear families. Nuclear power plants. That's why you're here."
"But," he sobbed, "I never had anything to do with anything nucular!"
"IT'S PRONOUNCED NUCLEAR!"
Lesson learned. Not that it mattered now.
| 2016-10-05T12:42:35
| 2016-10-05T11:26:38
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] "When entering the academy students often bring their pets. Most being the typical miniature dragon, gryphon, sabertooth, even the occasional golem. However you decided to bring this...this thing. I'm afraid the headmaster will need to hear of this."
|
"W-w-w-what's that?!"
The professor in charge of taking care of the students housing asked me.
"My pet."
I said, with a "duuh" tone, while patting little Bru-Bru, the ball of darkness.
"The....The Headmaster will need to decide about this, please head towards his office, I already notified him, through the communication amulet."
The professor said.
I nodded, and went straight to the headmaster's office.
​
The Great Balr Daerg, first Sage of the humans, ascended and united the wizards of the human race, and created this academy, that allowed humans to take the spot of the 3rd most powerful race, after the dragons, and demons.
He...He is the Headmaster, and now, he's frowning in front of me.
​
"Headmaster? Are you okay?"
I asked him, taking back little Bru-Bru.
"Since when do you have that...that creature?"
He asked, wariness evident in his voice.
"He appeared the moment I was born.
He does nothing but eat, and sleep, but he's able to eat magical attacks, thus being the perfect bodyguard for someone as clumsy as me."
I said, chuckling.
I am the eldest son of the First Star Merchant Guild, which is the richest organization on this planet, having branches even in the underwater cities of the sea folk.
While being rather talented in both magic, and martial arts, I am truly a prodigy, in attracting unwanted trouble.
​
"I heard about your reputation of escaping more than a thousand assassination attempts...
So, it was because of this...this entity."
The Headmaster said.
"Bru-Bru is not an entity, he's a cosmic terror creature's cub, and he's quite sensitive, so please stop calling him "entity"."
I said, starting to get fed up with everyone behaving like my pet was a monster.
A kid's dragon just ate the arm of an attendant, while another student's phoenix just set the dormitory they were in ablaze.
Bru-Bru slept all the way through the 3 days of examination, so who is the real danger?
​
"So you know his true nature?"
The Headmaster asked, being all tensed up.
"Eating emotions, magic, and life-force, the normal Abomination traits, yes, I know his true nature."
I said nothing.
"Then you know that he needs to be k..."
The Headmaster started saying, but Bru-Bru just opened his eyes.
"Headmaster, he's bonded with my soul. If I don't want to spill blood, he won't attack."
I said.
​
"A-a-are you sure?"
He asked, sweating under the gaze of my pet.
"Bru-Bru, go back to sleep."
Instead of answering the Headmaster, I put Bru-Bru to sleep.
Little Bru-Bru, moved a bit in my arms, and fell asleep once more.
With that, I just nodded to the Headmaster and left.
​
After the meeting with the Headmaster, everything went great.
I've been appointed as a top-student, and every professor was extremely respectful with me.
Hidden inheritances, forbidden knowledge, I had access to everything.
My talent would've brought me to the bridge of sagehood, but like this, I had chances to become someone relevant, on a cosmic scale.
​
Do I now that it's all due to little Bru-Bru?
Of course, I know.
Do I mind that everything I achieved is due to the people's fear of him?
No, I rather...enjoy it.
​
My life at the academy was great, and I graduated top of the class.
I became a sage at the young age of 57, attaining a life span as long as a planet's, but that...that was just the beginning.
Little Bru-Bru, needed at least 10 million years to go from his child years to the teenage years, and who knows how many more until he became an adult cosmic terror.
Being a sage was just the beginning for me, for I had greater goals...
One of them being...becoming the first ever recorded, human cosmic terror.
|
Finally! I was at the magical place. I couldn’t wait to tell Ma and Pa about all the fancy things I'm gonna be seein’ here. I got selected because of some fancy jean-etics I got in me. Don’t think it make too much sense. But Pa said he was a supporter because it was a free tuition.
In the letter I got, it said that I could bring a magical pet of my choosing. Well in my book, all pets are magical. I once had this dog that went down the creek with me and used to swim with me and once it brought me my sandwich and we could play fetch and he was just the smartest little dog I ever done met and I took that dog everywhere.
Well, anyhow, I went and got my favorite pet. It was a lizard lookin’ thing that I’d done found when I went fishin’ with some my cousins up in Wisconsin. I almost brought the monkey we got in Florida that time, but my kid brother was just too darn attached to take him.
Anyway, the day came and I had to go off to school. All the way in Europe. I think that’s the place the world wars happened, wasn’t too sure. I wonder if I’ll see any battles.
So anyway, I got there. And they had these big oak doors. Like they were huge. I couldn’t even touch top of ‘em. A nice old lady opened the right door.
“Oh hello! You must be Bernie!”
“Yes ma’am,” if nothing else, I was taught to be polite.
“Alright then, why don’t you come on in. Let’s see what you’ve got here. Clothes? Okay. Toiletries?”
“What is a toilet tree, ma’am?”
“Things like a toothbrush, toothpaste, basic hygienic equipment,” she explained very nicely.
“Okay, no ma’am I don’t have those. We don’t brush our teeth on account that my Pa says it’s a scam by the government to control us. And we don’t need to damage our teeth with their paste,” she gave a concerned look but moved on with her list.
She asked about any pets. I told her of course and I showed her Hornsy. She started freaking out. I didn’t understand what was wrong. Afterall he was just a lil’ guy. Just over seven foot long. She left me in the hallway and ran to get the principal fellow. He came by and started yelling at me about my Hodag, as he called him. I told him that that was a very rude name to call someone and he couldn’t help his facial appearance and there is no need for that kind of language around the little feller. They claimed he might hurt somebody and I said well no more than them dragons might hurt somebody.
After insulting my Hornsy I just took him right back home and forgot all about that place. Darn fancy people always ruinin’ everything. Ma and Pa were happy enough to see me on account of it was harvesting time and my brother hurt his hand when he went handfishin’. I was home and happy and that’s what mattered. But more importantly was Hornsy seemed to be doing okay after the verbal abuse he had to tolerate.
| 2021-08-02T06:39:11
| 2021-08-02T06:34:34
| 243
| 51
|
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.”
|
“I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.”
My mum told me that the doctor just blurted it out, no regard for her feelings or the gravity of the situation.
I guess that the gravity of the situation kinda threw her out. Protagonists are a big deal. Our destiny seems to lead us down pathways that are just precluded to normal people, and we are of all different kinds. Heroes, villains, comical, sport, romantic, tragic... Everything that you can imagine, any kind of story. Everything needs a protagonist, doesn't it? Except that I don't really care about that stuff.
I know, I know, not very original. Blah blah blah, destiny, blah blah responsibility, blah blah cliché. See, it's not only the fact that being a protagonist seems like a huge effort, it is also the fact that a tragic backstory is almost mandatory for the role. And I love my parents, I want them alive and well for as long as possible. So, when I was a kid, I decided to actively avoid all of destiny hints.
My friends picked up a collectable card game? Never played it with them.
We explored a cave with school, I did not pick up that weird sword that nobody else seemed to notice.
I am starting to be a bit worried though. I happened to casually notice my neighbor getting changed in her room through my window. She is about my age, and just moved in the house with her family. She noticed and screamed at me.
And tomorrow I will start high school...
|
I felt the fear sink in right away. No. First I get pregnant as a man, then this. I never thought it could happen to me. You watch the documentaries and think this couldn't happen to me, but here I was with a starry eyed glowing child, his blue hair standing straight up. It all goes racing through my head at once, why me? How often will I die only to come back? How often will I endure the pain of losing a child? Will it be a simple slice of life or will the world as I know it cease to exist? Will I be the absent father character? I can feel the camera slipping from me to my child. It is beginning. I can hear the opening music. I can't fight.....the title card.
| 2018-08-21T06:46:32
| 2018-08-21T06:37:28
| 29
| 11
|
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile.
|
I see walls covered with writings.
I see floors painted with blood.
I see surfaces, chairs, refrigerators and any available surface to draw on plastered with the same damn message.
*"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."*
Whispers of instruction fill my head.
"Hush. Do not speak of your sight."
I follow blindly, just as I was blind before.
Color, restored. But fear, still dwelling.
I thought a life with color was worth living.
Everyday, I crept onto the scene, acting blindly like I was.
It was no difference to having sight, than losing it.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.
Somehow, it has become a chore to maintain such a gift.
To have sight, but not be able to share it. To gain vision, but not be able to show it.
Months turn into years. And the day goes on.
Blindness has kept my sanity.
Yet, vision has driven me mad.
I look at the table. A pencil on the drawer.
"It's enough," I say. "This will do."
With force, I stab my left eye, blood gushing onto the scene!
I cry, yet I remain silent.
I see now what the warnings have been. I see now who has written them.
With my blood, I draw at the table in front of me. A surface large enough for my message.
I need to warn them. I need to tell them what will happen to them.
Before I lose my sight, I write my one, last message I will witness.
***"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."***
| 2022-10-09T01:59:27
| 2019-08-26T09:05:53
| 4,287
| 39
|
[WP] One day you find a prompt that doesn't ask you to write a story based on some weird and mysterious happening, but actually inspires you to practice your general storytelling. And then a vampire attacks.
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"My god, I've never seen a prompt so succinct, so inspiring, so perfectly constructed!" I said out loud for some reason. My cat gave me a judgmental look.
"Ah the creative juices are flowing, Cornelius! This one will get me the approval of at least three internet strangers, I can feel it!" Cornelius started licking himself in a disgustingly private area.
"Gross, dude." I said, then started typing. Hours flew past. Cold perspiration gathered on my forehead. A vampire burst through the window.
"Jesus Christ!" I shouted. "What kind of contrived bullshit is this?" Cornelius scampered out of the room.
"Hey." The vampire replied. "I'm here to suck your blood or whatever." His upper lip drew back to reveal huge, pointy vampire teeth. He rubbed one of his gleaming red eyes and yawned.
"Yeah I figured. You're obviously a vampire." I said.
"Word." The vampire replied. "So, like, you wanna get this over with? I'm meeting up with some vamp-bros in a little while."
"Fuck. I'd really prefer it if you wouldn't kill me, but can I finish writing this thing first?" I said. The vampire threw his head back and sighed.
"Ughhh, how long is that gonna take, man? I gotta get this murder show on the road here." He replied.
"Shit, like ten minutes? I was really in a groove here. Thought I might take the concept from this prompt and turn it into a more substantial piece. I suppose I can leave it as a vignette though, considering I'm going to be murdered."
"What am I gonna do for ten minutes man? C'mon, just let me kill you and I'll be out of your hair." The vampire said. I scratched my head.
"Boy you're really out of touch with the consequences of your actions, aren't you?" I replied. "Anyway, why me? Why this house out of all the houses in the neighborhood? Also, why tonight?"
"Fuck, man! All these questions! I dunno, dude. The situation just seemed to call for it or whatever." The vampire said.
"Wow, that's some serious *Deus ex machina* bullshit. So do you mind if I do something totally contrived and in the same vein?"
"Like what, bro? Come on, I'm fucking bored to tears over here." The vampire replied.
"This, for example." I said as I pulled a repeating stake-launcher out of my desk and buried twelve wooden stakes into his dumbassed chest.
"Fuck." The vampire said as he exploded into gross gray dust.
I got back to writing.
|
"I'm afraid that this is no good at all, David. The subreddit is never going to like this - you're going to have to redo it."
David sighed and shifted in the chair of his boss Mr. Harris' office listening to his prompt be torn apart against the backdrop of clattering keyboards and clicking mice. Rubbing his tired eyes, he leaned forward and tried to defend his creation.
"I was just thinking that maybe the subreddit would like a prompt that's good for more general st-"
"That's the problem," David's boss interjected. "It's too general! Where's the dragon being held captive by a princess? Those are always good! Where's the super powers? Where's the aliens? WHERE'S HITLER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE?"
"But Mr. Harris, there's just so many prompts of those, I felt that the Subreddit could use-"
"What the subreddit could *use*, David, are things more creative than this." Harris got a faraway look in his eye, thinking aloud to himself. "What if in the prompt, the main character suddenly realized..." Mr. Harris began to nod his head, a slow grin forming on his face. David groaned from his chair. "What if they suddenly realized, that everyone they knew was a vampire!" David swore quietly.
"*Vampires?* VAMPIRES!? Another Vampire prompt?! Do you really expect that the subreddit is going to go for that *again?"*
Harris slid the prompt back across the desk and silently pointed for David to leave his office.
David stomped back to his cubicle where he sat down in front of his computer. With no small amount of grumbling, he opened up /r/writingprompts and began putting in the newly-edited prompt.
"God dammit. I don't get paid enough for this shit."
| 2015-07-13T09:45:48
| 2015-07-13T08:15:49
| 34
| 11
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[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing.
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He pleaded with me as I packed my suitcase. "It's doesn't mean anything. It's just fiction."
"Based heavily on your actual life," I spat, tossing several shirts into my luggage. "And you and I both know that's bullshit because if it was just fiction, you would've shown me the real pages you wrote. Instead of just stroking my ego to keep me quiet."
I'd been so proud of him when he'd gotten the book deal. I knew how many years he'd spent trying to make it as a writer, all the novels he'd left unfinished, all the rejection letters he'd got. I'd comforted him after every single one. Until finally an offer letter.
When I asked to read the book, he hesitated. It went over my head then, the way his eyes flooded with fear when I asked to read a couple pages. I just thought he was heady with champagne. He e-mailed them to me a few days later. Truthfully I was impressed but surprised the publishers had gone for it. His writing was beautiful, it always was. The characters were pulled straight from life. He might've changed a few names but clear as day I recognized his mother, his friends, his brothers. Even me. He'd included bits and pieces of our story, only the good parts which I was grateful for, even though deep down I felt it left the book without much conflict.
Little did I know, I'd only gotten the friends and family version.
"Did you really think, I wouldn't find out? That no one would find out?" I yelled. "That I am so easily appeased and illiterate that I wouldn't buy my own fiance's book?"
He sighed, ashamed. "I... didn't think it would matter."
I scoffed. "You didn't think it would matter that you tore me shreds in your book?"
"I changed the names!" he desperately reminded me. "It's not like anyone knows that it's you!"
"EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S ME!" I roared. "WHO ELSE IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE?!"
I'd picked up a copy of the book yesterday, practically giddy when I saw it displayed front and center at our favorite bookstore. That giddiness turned to horror when I actually started reading it. He'd written about everything. Every single detail I shared with him in confidence. My parents, my depression, my mistakes... my assault. Raw and exaggerated, it was all out there for everyone to see.
And, see they did. Suddenly all the hushed whispers and side glances I'd been getting at work and from friends made sense.
He begged me to stay but I refused. I couldn't spend another night in the apartment, looking at his face. If I could've fit the last three years in the suitcase and taken it with me, I would've. I settled for a couple of outfits, some shoes and what was left of my dignity.
As I stood in the elevator waiting for it descend to the ground floor, I ruminated on all the times he'd kissed me on the forehead and called me his muse.
I used to think it was a compliment.
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‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her
| 2022-11-29T10:40:10
| 2022-11-29T10:37:03
| 710
| 114
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[WP] The genie doesn't give you what you say you want, he gives you what you really want.
Bonus points if he tries to fit it within the context of the spoken wish.
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"I'm confused," I said.
The genie was just staring at me. He had these huge, bushy eyebrows, and his skin was crimson-red. He had his arm outstretched.
"Just take it," he said.
He didn't sound at all like Robin Williams.
"Why?" I asked. "What about my wish?"
"This is your wish. Take it."
The thing he was offering me was a sliver plate with two slices of bread on it. Between the slices of bread, I could see a crispy leaf of lettuce, a melted slice of cheddar, a melted slice of swiss, some brownish-yellow goo that was probably mustard, some specks of what I could only assume was mayonnaise, and - was that sweet pickle relish?
"I, uh," I said. "I don't see how this is my wish. I wished for world peace. This is a ham sandwich."
"Hey," said the genie, "my job is to give you what you want. This is it."
"It's not what I asked for. I'm pretty sure I'd rather have world peace."
"I don't care what you asked for. I'm pretty sure that right now, you want a ham sandwich more than you want world peace. I mean, what, world peace? The heck does that even mean?"
"It means no more war. Duh."
"What about fighting? Does it mean no more fighting?"
"Yeah, I guess so. That too."
"Does it mean no more boxing or wrestling? No more anger? Can people shout at each other? Can they hurt their pets? Can animals hunt prey?"
"Look," I said, "I don't know."
"Then your wish is too ill-defined to grant anyway. Meanwhile, you're hungry. Here. Have a ham sandwich. It's delicious."
"I'm a vegetarian," I said. "I've been vegetarian for five years."
"So you haven't had a good ham sandwich in a while."
"Yes, well, that's not the point." But I used to love ham sandwiches, and he was right - I really was hungry.
"Would it make a difference," asked the genie, "if I pointed out that the ham was never actually part of an animal? No pigs died to make this sandwich."
I hesitated. "Well..." I said. Actually, it made a huge difference.
I sighed, and took it off the plate.
It was delicious.
"Okay," said the genie, "that's your first wish. What's the second?"
"You tell me," I said, "since apparently, what I say doesn't matter."
"Well," said the genie, uncomfortably, "what you really want right now is to know what your second wish will be."
---
(Cross-posted [offsite](http://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=993372))
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I stood on the rocky shore that lined Avalon Beach, calm waves lapping against my toes, staring at the ball of pure blue light that floated in the air right in front of me. My kayak was propped up ten feet away; the paddle had slipped through its fastening and was now floating out into the bay. Only moments before, the sun had disappeared behind the rolling hills of Catalina Island. But I couldn't care less about the sunset, or the paddle, or the whole damn island. I was staring at a genie.
At first when I'd found the lamp bobbing up and down in the surf, I'd thought it looked like a cool trinket some tourist had accidentally knocked overboard on one of those glass-bottom boat tours. I paddled over to grab it. Immediately, a puff of smoke emerged from its tip. The smoke expanded and coalesced and grew in luminosity. Now a small blue sun hovered before me, awaiting my wish.
I knew this was a genie. I had no idea how I knew, but I knew. I can't explain it. I half expected Robin Williams to break out into song, telling me to try some of column A and all of column B. But the shining blue sun didn't speak. It simply waited.
"So... do you... want me to make a wish?" I said, and immediately regretted it. I must have sounded like a total moron in front of this thing. Better to stay silent until I knew what to say.
OK, buddy. Get a grip. Think about it. Think hard.
Do I want a new kayak? It's on its last leg. No, that's really stupid. This is a *genie*. I should ask for a billion trillion zillion dollars. I should ask for my own spaceship, my own private island. I should ask to become king of Earth. No, that's so selfish. World peace. End hunger. Destroy terrorism. End all suffering.
Or I could ask for Laura.
No. That would be infinitely more selfish. She's happier on the mainland. She's better off there. I can't ask to have her back. I'd just drag her back down into my own problems, and eventually, I'd probably just run away again. Find a different island. A different place to hide.
Maybe that private island wasn't such a bad idea, after all.
"I wish--"
--and the genie vanished. Just like that. Only the endless waves of the ocean remained, lit in gold by the setting sun.
I stood there frozen. My kayak paddle bobbed gently in the water, thirty or forty yards out. I'd have to swim for it.
Then my cell phone buzzed. It actually made me jump. I'd been almost catatonic since the genie disappeared -- and I'd never gotten cell reception in this bay before. Not once.
I fumbled the phone out of my cargo shorts. The name on the caller ID leapt out at me immediately. A name I hadn't seen in ten months.
I looked back up at the ocean. It was empty. The sky and the sea stretched infinitely toward the horizon, meeting in an unbroken line in some far-off world where anything was possible. Anything.
I pressed the Talk button and put the phone to my ear.
"Laura..."
| 2014-09-23T21:18:56
| 2014-09-23T17:55:15
| 47
| 14
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[WP] You were a billionaire pretending to be an average Joe in order to find someone who loves you for who you are and not what you have, now in your honeymoon you confess the truth to your spouse who was apparently doing the same thing
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Their marriage was quaint. Under the lazy white lights of a courthouse waiting room, Marcus and Vanessa sat together, hands clasped, fingers interweaved, hearts pounding. Alongside them were four or five of their closest friends, but in the lovers' world all they could see were each other. She was wearing the same wedding dress her mother wore on her special day, years ago. He was wearing a suit rented from a cheap place in the mall, to be returned later that day. They both thought the other was beautiful.
Finally, their names were called, and together, under the watchful eye of a court clerk, the two became one. With a kiss, and a tear, their hearts threatened to burst. It was everything they wanted and more. Marcus's friend whistled with his fingers in his mouth; one of Vanessa's ran up and hugged her tight. Everyone was happy. Unfortunately, business hours were almost over, and the courthouse was soon to close, and so, after arranging transportation ("Andrew, you can ride with Stephanie"), everyone went to the newly weds' apartment.
The apartment was small, cozy. They had lucked out on an affordable place in a good part of town. Initially, they were nervous, because they both, individually, owned their own houses nearby, but, in the end, neither found out about the other's. Under the guise of picking something up from an estranged uncle ("who definitely shouldn't come to the wedding"), that same morning, Marcus had brought Vanessa to his house, just to see how she'd react. Instead of commenting on the size of the house, or the fact that she'd never met the uncle before, Vanessa simply waited in the car, patiently. When Marcus finally came out carrying nothing, all she did was mention how she'd like to meet this mysterious uncle. Marcus smiled, knowing he wasn't making a mistake.
The party of seven filled every available seat in the apartment. Drinks were poured, games were played. After the sun had been down for hours, and people had had enough time to sober up, the party came to a halt, ending with plenty of hugs and kisses. The two promised to themselves they'd clean up the mess tomorrow as they fell in love again in their bedroom.
The next day, on a plane, Vanessa couldn't help but admire her husband's handsomeness as he snored next to her. His messy dark hair, his clean aloha shirt, the way his chest drifted up and then down with every breath—it was all perfect in her eyes. She had to restrain herself from pouncing on him. After putting a movie on the tiny screen, she drifted off as well.
On their first night of their honeymoon, they had agreed to arrive at dinner separately. "It will be like our first date, all over again," Marcus said. Vanessa giggled. "Hopefully I don't spill wine all over my dress again. I could barely afford to get it washed," she said.
Sitting in the restaurant, not in an aloha shirt anymore, nor a rented tux, but now a hand-sewn five-thousand-dollar suit, Marcus's heart pounded. How would she take the news? The doomsday scenario in his mind was this: she'd see him and nervously take her seat. He'd tell her how he was rich all along, hiding it from her the entire time. Finally hearing his lie (which wasn't much of a lie, he thought, but more like an omission), Vanessa would frown, and ask why he had hid it for so long, and then maybe, just maybe, if he had read her wrong, if she wasn't the woman he thought she was, her trust would be broken forever. An irreparable fissure. He'd nod his head and walk out of the restaurant, never to see her again. He'd understand.
Instead, though, as he saw her enter the room, he was the one confused. She shone brighter than the chandeliers, the wine bottles, and the lights themselves. It was as if an angel had arrived onto earth. It was impossible to draw your eyes away. She had on a golden dress and silver jewellery. Her hair was perfectly styled and her makeup brought out the already stunning features of her face. She was beautiful.
"Vanessa," Marcus said, standing from his seat, unable to stop himself from giggling. "Wow! Since when did you have, uh, all that?"
"Mark," Vanessa said, laughing as well at the situation, "how about yourself?" She pointed at him with her palm facing up. "I didn't know you were so stylish. I bet that suit cost a pretty penny."
Standing in front of her, Marcus put his hand on the back of her head as he looked into her twinkling eyes. Both of their faces were saying the same thing: I already knew. There were misplaced bank statements, missing receipts. A ring mistaken for one a thousand times cheaper. Cologne that a high-school English teacher couldn't afford. Both of them had been sloppy in hiding their wealth, and maybe it had been on purpose.
"You think it's okay?" Vanessa asked. "Us, like this? We lied to each other for years, you know?"
Marcus nodded. "Of course it's okay," he said, as he began to cry, and brought Vanessa's head closer to his. She smelled like heaven.
And then, in the middle of that restaurant, under the dim lights of the chandeliers, they kissed each other so passionately, so warmly, so lovingly, knowing that, finally, they both had found true love.
|
Him
Today was going to be the day.
​
Today was going to be the day I finally told her what my job was. Our relationship was perfect, we found each other at a small-cafe located inside of a relatively poor village and bonded over our simplistic hobbies and personalities. I fell in love with her instantly however the first issue in our relationship was strangely who moved into who's house. I of course was completely against her moving into my 5 billion pound apartment and finding out that I was a rich man, less she think me too snobby and move on.
​
So instead we gathered all of our cash and settled in a humble attached house with a 5 rooms. We loved each other deeply and it was the first time I saw someone who was attracted to my personality and ideals, not my wallet and my cars.
I plan to tell her about my job tonight, I believe we are the level of relationship to be able to stay together from this. I prepared my speech and walked out of the bathroom to talk to my smiling, strangely anxious spouse.
Some company just rejected my multi-million pound deal though, I'll deal with it tomorrow.
​
Her
I was going to confess to Joe yesterday until I had to delay our date for a quick excuse to the toilet in order text my secretary to reject the multi-national deal my company was going through. The audacity of them stopping my dates. I promised myself to dump their stocks tomorrow.
​
Today, I awoke in his arms and I felt nothing but love and bliss. I put it off due to how much effort I saw he spent in buying the candles. All of them I found on google planning for the date for 1 pound for a packet and I loved their simplicity. It appeared he beat me in buying them.
​
When I was young, my parents frequently introduced me to rich playboys or those looking for an easy way to make money. I despised them and I swore that I would become powerful by myself. However power is gained by placing yourself above people and that means inequality. I was lonely and perhaps that was what made me choose that cafe 3 months ago.
​
He is out of the toilet now and looks slightly nervous, I wonder what his job is.
​
author: Tell me if you want another part :))
| 2022-02-24T17:10:34
| 2022-02-24T15:58:21
| 1,032
| 111
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[WP] In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.”
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Radio static echoed down the vacant halls. The older communications modules had long since been moved into vacant rooms that slowly became labyrinths of ancient technology and unneeded paperwork.
The robotic words followed shortly after. Almost like a spectre called to cause confusion.
“I’ve been fully charged. And I’m heading back with an important message.”
The message wasn’t heard for days. In fact, it wasn’t heard at all, well not until someone went searching for it.
After noticing tire markings along the surface through the feed of Perseverance, NASA engineers re-tasked it to search for their origin. The rover crept along, but slowly the tracks disappeared and before it could finish it’s adventure, it had to be called back due to heading towards night without enough power left to sustain it.
The scientists were curious as to what they had found and sent off a small splinter team to try and decipher what was happening. There was no pattern to the tracks. And they didn’t know where they finished. That was until a young intern piped up and pointed at the landing site of Insight. Yes, it was a stab in the dark, but it was the best lead they had.
The delirious workers scrambled into the back rooms of NASA. The sleepless nights they had spent trying to decipher the mystery left them questioning the faint crackling and haunting voice but they pushed on. Slowly they closed in on the source.
They cheered and high-fived and hugged. Insight lived on. The young intern scrambled back towards mission control with a scrawled note repeating the message. It wasn’t long before the communication was patched through into the main console room.
The audience sat in silence waiting the eight or so minutes it took for correspondence to return to Earth. The only audible sounds were the occasional shifting of chairs or ruffling of clothes. Sometimes a click of a pen and the scribbling of a note.
The roof was almost lifted off the room with cheers and sobs alike when Insight’s message returned on the crack of midnight. “I have received the gift of life and can continue to provide service from Mars. Merry Christmas.”
The irony of a Christmas miracle wasn’t lost on the crew as Christmas Day began, so to did Insight’s journey continue.
|
plip. plop. plip. plop. those're the sounds of my sticky shoes. plip plop. plip plop. the stickiest. plip plop plip. and yet they've carried me so far. plop plip plop. my feet are tired, but the sticky shoes aren't. plip plop.
sskkktttttt... sktttttttttttt... those're the sounds of something heavy dragging behind me. sktttttttt..... it's wonderful. it's a new sound, after all--i've dragged all sorts of things back to my cave before, but none so heavy as this. my hands're tired from pulling, but that's okay, because i've got gloves (soundless). my legs are tired, but that's okay, because they're connected to the sticky boots (plip plop). overall: feelin' okay. got me a shiny something. and there's the cave now... skkktttttttttt............
inside, and the boots now come off. one plip and another plop. gloves, too. no sound there, of course. and now the main event: sktttttttttttt. my hands are bruised from taking the gloves off early, but i don't care. my hands are sweaty (don't care). i wipe my grabbers on the side of the heavy thing, then press and grope and feel it up with everything i've got in order to discern its use. it makes no noise. but i've got experience with this........... skkkttttttt.
over onto the hot bay, i've hoisted the thing atop a pedestal. hands hurt. it's magic, by the way (hot bay, not tired hands). once, i held a square thing (was not tired then), and it did nothing (soundless as well). then i put the square onto the pedestal, and what do you know? magic. the square starts responding to groping! soundless unfortunately, but i fell in love with it all the same. love on hold, though, because the pedestal belongs to a new, very soundful device. i twiddle my tired thumbs. twiddle twiddle twiddle.
oh....?
it's beeping... it's grinding... it's making sounds. all sorts of sounds, sounds i can't even begin to describe. vwwwwpppwpwppwp vwwppw vwwppwwp. that's one. hhmhmmmhhmmmmhm. another. sktttttttttttttttttttt... that's me dragging the thing off from the pedestal and onto the floor by its two great wings. can they flap? i grumble something out, something intended to be a question. but it keeps vwwpwppwwpwppw and hmhmhhmhmmmmmhing... and then... it moves! and it doesn't skkt! i watch it dance around my cave, treading silently with only one or two or three crunches, one being the square. but i'll get over it... i dance with the thing. it swerves. i swerve. it kicks up dirt: fwwshshsh. i fwshshshs as well. it crunches over the square again. i crunch it too! seizing the moment, i rush over to a much bigger, thicker square. also brought back to life by magic, i fumble and grope the the girthy box until it begins spitting sounds... what lovely music to this dance. my boots are back on (i am a gentleman). i catch back up with the winged skttter, and take it by the flaps. it and i are one in the cave, crunching and vwwpwpwping and plipping and hmmhmhmhing and plopping and fwwhshshshshshshwsh and vwwpwppwing and fhshshsh and hmmhmhmhming the stars outside away.
but tragedy arrives at the cave, or rather the cave's entrance, or perhaps what i fear is its exit as the graceful treader vwwppwpws on over to leave. i crunch and plip plop plip plop plip plop after it, desperately. have i danced wrong? was the magic wrong? is it the boots? i take my last plip and plop as the boots come off again, this time hurtling towards my fleeing guest, my fleeting love. this makes a PLOPSSSHHTICKK... but there is no sound of them hitting the ground, no settling dust.
it takes them.
i shamble my pained soles towards what is now certainly the cave's exit as my love treads further and further away, both boots stuck firmly onto its flappers. i wonder why it doesn't flap on out and away. but i understand. i nod to emphasize that. and i come back in to a scratching noise, and i scoop up pieces of the square and place it back onto the pedestal, waiting for the magic to start again.
| 2022-12-20T07:33:26
| 2022-12-20T05:25:32
| 81
| 20
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[WP] When the zombie virus broke out, you were prepared. You quickly became the country's #1 zombie hunter - until science found the antidote to the virus that turns zombies into healthy humans again, retroactively making you the #1 mass murderer.
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One 9mm pistol and uncountable rounds of ammunition, those are what I used to defend myself. A water purifier, cases upon cases of canned food, and a beat up Ford pick up, those are what I used to survive. 10,000 lives, those are the people I killed. During the worst of the outbreak, I was a hero. Now that there's a cure, I've become the nation's biggest boogie man. I did what I had to.
My face has been plastered across the news for weeks. *Murderer! Psycho! Executioner!* I can't leave my house without being yelled at. My life has been utterly destroyed. Sometimes, I just wish that I had died. Why did I have to be prepared? Why didn't I just lay down and accept death? Why did I put a bullet into the head of my four year old daughter?
Everyone thinks that I'm a heartless killer. They call for my head on a platter. But, I'm a survivor. If they think that I'll give up now, after all that I've lost, they're sorely mistaken. Just like I fought back then, I'll fight now.
Recently, I was interviewed on the Global Broadcast Network. That perky newscaster, who I once found quite attractive, teamed up with that austere newsman to put the final nail into the coffin of my reputation.
"How do you answer for your crimes?"
"Crimes? I was only asserting my right to live."
"Those people would be alive today if it wasn't for *you*"
"Where were you two during the outbreak? In some luxurious shelter no doubt. You never saw the flood of shambling bodies. The vacant stares of creatures ready to tear you limb from limb. The smell of decaying flesh."
"You will be put on trial. And, god-willing, you will meet the same fate as your victims"
That was three weeks ago. Now, theres a movement on social media supporting me. They say, correctly, that I was just defending myself. There are still rational people out there. It seems, my life isn't over yet.
|
Let me take a swing at you.
You were born to loving parents; maybe they didn't stay together, but they sure as hell tried.
For you.
For your sake, they tried to stick it out, run the long mile, but when it all came crumbling down they assured you that it wasn't your fault, that you were loved, that everything would be alright.
In either case, you went to school. Studious. Got decent enough grades. You weren't the worst-looking guy, you got chicks. You had a good circle of friends that you came up with. Long nights on fun weekends. There were hardships, sure, but you had what you needed, and your life was shaping you gently into a young man who would be productive to society.
You get a nice job, a sweet heart to settle down with, maybe a couple of rugrats, got the same eyes as you, white picket fence, dinner by six. Y'know, the good life. You sit down and fire up Netflix and maybe you happen upon one of those prison shows.
You know the ones.
Where you get to sink into your couch with a beer and a snack and look at all the animals that didn't make nothin' of themselves. Paraded around on your color TV set like a human mother fuckin' zoo. You point to your wide-eyed kids and say, "Hey Timmy. Josie, what-the-fuck-ever, come take a look at this monster. He tattooed his face. Didn't pay no attention in school. Fucked around with drugs, maybe murdered somebody. You don't ever want to be a fuck-up like him so pay close attention." Suppose they interview this guy, and he's got bad teeth, a crooked nose, shaved head, ratty beard, and nothing but venom for the world that tossed him in there.
Well let me tell you something, it wasn't always like this. Matter of fact, just three or four hundred years ago there was a place in the world for people like us. People who'd rather open up their fellow man straight down the center of their smiling dome than sit in an office and stare into a computer screen. We weren't animals back then, we were heroes. Valor, glory, and all that. They used to stick us in front of a tiger and hand us a machete, but nowadays everybody's all "don't hurt the fuckin' animals."
Now we sit in those human zoos, wasting away when we used to have songs written about us. Cause we don't fit nicely into what you've decided society is. Imagine our surprise and delight when your perfect little society grew teeth. Didn't take long before you needed folks like us again; folks who didn't mind gettin' their hands dirty, shit, we even enjoy it most of the time.
Then when we've cleaned up the mess, handled your business for you, taken care of your dirty work, you want to throw us back in the cage before we've even washed the guts off of our face.
"... I... It's not like that," the chief trembled.
"Oh, it's not like that?" asked Bodybag Bob as he stood over him with a sawed-off firmly in his right hand. "Your officers sure thought it was like that. You wanted a murderer? You got one now."
"Bob, *we* don't get to decide what the laws are!" he pleaded. "W-we just enforce them! We're just doing our job, Bob!"
"And I was just doing mine," he responded before lifting the gun and pulling the trigger, painting the far wall with the officer's thoughts.
He turned and slowly started back down the hallway, stepping over the corpses of those who opposed him. The glow of his cigarette burned in the darkness as he passed cell after cell to raucous applause. He found the control panel and opened the cages.
"Time for a new world," he spoke into the PA. "We're not broken. *Society* is. And when they need us again, we'll be here– just not in cages! Never again will another human being decide upon our freedom. Follow me to a new tomorrow!"
*The Wanton West was born.*
r/A15MinuteMythos
| 2022-01-17T13:52:51
| 2022-01-17T13:31:19
| 58
| 40
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[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing
|
The two figures stood in the street. One, a man covered in a flowing black robe, face obscured by a blank silver mask, raised his hand above his head, pointing a wand at the opposing figure. Opposite him, merely metres away in the twilight night, his foe simply raised her hands, slowly forming runes in the air, body enshrouded in a strange silk tunic that seemed to flow over her. The tension was palpable, both ready to kill, but neither wanting to make the first move. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man struck.
"Avada Kedavra!" A bolt of green shined in the night, flying at the woman, who merely sidestepped, and faster than the eye could trace, moved her hands in a unicursal hexagram, screaming a word in an unknown tongue. A blast of enemy soared at the cloaked man, who waved his wand before him, a shield blocking the blast.
The two traded more and more blows, energy showering the area in flashes of light, and sometimes even darkness. Well... A deeper darkness. The noise was incredible, and as the two became more heated, the air began to shimmer with magic, the thundering boom of violent energy becoming constant as they became faster and faster. Until a sonic boom blasted both apart, a flash of lightning lancing the floor beneath them.
To the side of the figures, a house door opened, and out strolled a young man, dressed in nothing but pajama trousers, and a furious expression etched onto his face.
"ENOUGH! Some of us are trying to sleep you try-hard, baby-bitch magic fuckwits!" The character's voice was... Just like any other. No power or thunder behind it. The woman smirked.
"This is magical business, it does not concern you child!" At the sound of the word child, a stroke.of thunder boomed across the sky.
"Boy? BOY?! I am the most powerful magician here you two-time little pixie prick!" The world shined for a second, and suddenly, it was day.
"How did you...?" The woman's face suddenly changed, magic of this magnitude should not be possible! Before she could say anything more, a bacon sandwhich appeared in the man's hand. At which point her original opponent piped up.
"Wait, you can't make food using magic, that violates Gamp's law of elemental transfiguration!" Though his face was covered, his shock was evident in his voice.
The young man simply finished chewing his bite, raising an eyebrow as he did. Upon finishing, he spoke.
"Mate, it's magic. It has no rules. Honestly, all of you are out here with your own rules and shit as if magic makes sense. It doesn't. It's fucking *magic*. Now. Again. Fuck off." With that, the day turned back to night, and the man and woman found themselves... They didn't know where. They cried out in shock as their minds tried to comprehend that wherever they were, physics worked differently. It was impossible for their minds to comprehend. After all, they weren't supposed to enter other dimensions.
And back at the little English street, the boy simply entered his house again, his half eaten sandwich disappearing into nothingness. He closed the door with a muttering about "Bellends. It's magic. There are no rules..." And made his way to bed, pausing time as he did. He would sleep uninterrupted this time. It's not like he needed to sleep. This was just his favourite thing to do.
|
woop, posted to a response, instead of post... Repost.
"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning."
The light of the moon cast strange shadows Down the steps of a large gothic mansion. One shadow slithered it's way to the grey sedan in the driveway, snapping his robes with a flick of his wrist as he sat in the drivers seat, a sense of urgency was in the air. The soft squeal of rubber gave confirmation.
"I don't understand, why am I being called to stop someone from yelling?
"Not yelling, shouting. He yells incoherently and shit flies across the bloody room!"
"I still don't get how this is The Black Tower's problem. And before you ask, yes I'm already on my way. I was hoping this was going to be a little more exiting."
"Thank you, Saemal. Who knows, maybe it will turn. Out to be fun?"
* * *
"That's the point smart one! By the nine, it's not that hard. You worship dragons. I kill dragons. I kill you. Now stand still and let me cut you!" The hulking brute of a man, wearing nothing but a bullet proof vest and pants, lunged with his sword.
There was a shriek, as a much smaller man was gored through the chest. If it were not for the drains, the kitchen floor would have been slick with blood. The scattered pots and pans and half cooked meals made for a chaotic scene. The brute walked through the double doors and into the dinning room. He noticed a man in black robes at the entrance.
* * *
Saemal saw the brute first, and immidiatly regreted coming. This man was big enough to cause this havoc with out magic. *I ought to just leave this for the civilian police.*
He was caught off guard by the wave of blue light coming for him. It hit him before he could react. As he landed on his back he heard it:
*FUS! ROH DAH!*
Like a thunder clap after silence, his ears rang as he stood up, dazed, only to be shoulder checked by the charging brute. Laying on his back, he came to.
A soft light appeared around him, and he fell through a hole in the floor.
* * *
The brute looked in awe at the place where the man had been. He knew of The Black Tower, but had never faced an *Aes Sedai*. This was going to be interesting. He could feel his own stamina returning after the shout. *Where did he go?*
* * *
Dropping from the ceiling behind the brute, Saemal released a storm of fireballs, channeling *Saidin* through the cuff on his wrist.
*WULD! NAH KEST!*
Saemal tried to understand why he was airborne, on a collision course with the wall behind him. Again he wondered if he should have stayed home. For different reasons now.
A hole appeared on the wall, and shrank to nothing after he passed through.
"Sneaking through these holes will only work for so long, witch!"
"Oh we are quit done here", he said, sounding bored. Purple light erupted from his outstreched palm, forming a beam of soundless energy, headed straight for the brute.
*FIEM!*
As the beam passed through the brute, he turned a pale blue, and ran to the side, the beam chasing him to the far wall before fizzling out.
"Bloody ashes! What are you?"
"I am Dovakiin, dragonborn."
*FUS ROH DAH!*
The brute smiled as his thu'um traveled across the room. The smile faded when he saw a reflection of himself appear in front of the man. Except he was looking at his back... He turned just in time to get hit in the face with his own shout. He landed hard.
He felt his arms being tugged, and the soft linen of robes, then the cold metal of the witch's shackles.
* * *
--
This is my first post in here, sorry if formating get screwed, I'm.on Mobil. I'll try and fix it in the morning before work if it's bad.
| 2018-10-16T02:17:50
| 2018-10-16T00:41:38
| 27
| 13
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[WP] The color of people's eyes are based on what that person has seen in life.
This is a fairly open prompt that I thought could be very fun to write about! There are several ways this prompt can go and I am very excited to read what you come up with!
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Waves pounded the bow of the longboat as it navigated the choppy waters off the coast of Ireland. But the strong winds beat the billowing sails, and the crew of the *Njal* was making good time. They'd be sailing into Dublin before any of the coastal watchtowers could even send a rider. Hopefully the Irish had grown fat over the long spring, and there'd be goods aplenty to take.
"I bet I can kill twenty of them," Dagr boasted. "My father taught me everything he knew, and trusted me with his stoutest ax. Cleaves through weak armor like butter, he says." The ax strapped across his back glinted in the candlelight below deck.
Haraldr snorted. "You wish. You'll probably pee yourself the moment you step foot off the boat and hide behind a rock at first sight of an Englishman. You'll be coming back to the boat with your eyes still green." Everyone knew that your eyes would turn blue after your first kill in battle, so returning green was a great shame. And it took some boys three or four raids before they finally turned blue. Haraldr wasn't really one to talk, though: his eyes were still green too. It was the first raid of the season for many of them, and all of the boys in the village had volunteered. As was traditional, the older men who were already rich from reaving let the young ones go in their places.
"Will not!" Dagr shouted. He blinked rapidly, like he could cover up the emerald color of his irises.
"I bet I can kill more of 'em than you!" Haraldar challenged. "*And* I'll be coming back with more treasures! Maybe I'll bring back a special treat for Álmveig." Most of the other boys perked up upon hearing her name; they'd all had a crush on the village beauty at one time or another, and she'd yet to give her favor. Most guessed that she was waiting to see which one would be the most successful warrior with the deepest shade of blue, which certainly raised the stakes of the raid.
"Quiet, both of you," Ingimarr growled. There was a terse silence in the cabin, and then all of the boys burst out laughing.
"Ok, Old Grey Eyes," they called him. "Why don't you go settle in for a nap before we arrive?" Most vikings didn't get grey eyes till they were old, too weak to man the ships anymore. The only other Grey on board was the Captain, and rumor had it that this would be one of this last runs. Ingimarr's irises had been the color of a stormy sea as long as he could remember, even before he came to the village as an orphan, half starved and feral. Some said that your eyes became grey when you were close to death, and that Ingimarr's had turned because he'd nearly starved that winter.
Ingimarr ignored them and went back to sharpening his blade with fierce determination. No one wanted to come back to the ship with that piercing clear blue more than he did. Maybe he'd even impress Álmveig. *That* would show the rest of them.
The captain's bark came from above deck. "Ingimarr, up top!"
The other boys "Ooohed," thinking that he was in trouble. They would take such pleasure in seeing the Captain join in on their abuse of Old Grey Eyes. He sheathed his sword and stomped up the ladder to the sound of laughter and more boasting as the other boys went back to predicting what would happen upon landfall.
The captain was standing at the edge of the deck, looking out across the choppy seas to the green fields in the distance. Ingamarr came and stood by his side, awaiting orders. "Don't let them get to you, boy," The Captain said finally.
"I don't, Sir," Ingamarr answered with steel in his voice. The captain had taken a great risk in allowing a boy so young to come on the raid, and Ingamarr was determined to prove that he had what it took to earn his blue eyes.
The captain nodded and sighed. "It's not age that turns your eyes grey, you know," he told Ingamarr. "My own father lived to the age of seventy and still had his blue eyes when he died. He was a blacksmith, you know. Only went raiding for two seasons as a boy. Me? This will be my twentieth year out on these ships, and my eyes have been lightening since my first raid." He gave a heavy sigh. "It's war, boy. That's what turns you grey. When you learn that all of this killing and pillaging is chiseling off chunks of your soul."
Ingamarr stayed silent. That sounded like something that those Christians would say.
"That's why yours turned so early, boy. When they burned your village." Ingamarr didn't talk about it often, but everyone knew how he had come to be an orphan. He was the only survivor from a group of attacking Danes, who'd killed the men in his village and taken the women back to their own island. "You lived through the horrors of war, and it broke you in half. Just like it's done to me. The rest of those boys don't understand yet. But if they live long enough, they'll be grey someday too."
|
The dark green colour of Phil's eyes was bred by countless summers spent running around the Georgian forests. Exploring, climbing, playing pretend. Constantly looking up, around seeing the green leaves in the trees, the grass, the moss. Everything. The fresh air. The humidity. Coming home just in time for dinner, with countless scrapes and bruises. Those were his eyes.
The stormy grey of Jen's eyes came from living her entire life in Toronto. Bumbling around the city, staring up at the big skyscrapers, the CN Tower. The cold, grey clouds that winter brought. The dark grey of the rain clouds. Visiting the ROM, the AGO. The smell of hotdogs by the Rogers Centre. The cold air coming from the lake. The smell of the city, completely unexplainable unless you've experienced it. Her eyes were intelligent.
The dark black of Punarva's eyes was created living her childhood in India. The crowds of people, the hot sun, the sand. Going to a prestigious private school, where a monkey once broke in. Her parents reprimanding her for not doing so well at school, being helped with homework. The smell of curry in the streets, the deliciously spicy food. Her eyes were wise.
The hazel of Sid's eyes came from multiple things. His childhood in Nova Scotia, rooted with the exploration of forests, beaches and cold weather. The dark green of the grass, the bright green of the buds in the spring. The time spent on the pond in the winter, surrounded by trees. The dark, wooden hockey sticks he'd use. The black puck, dropped at a whistle. His adulthood in Pittsburgh, playing hockey, living in a home with dark oak floors and surrounded by tall trees. His eyes were liars, switching from green to brown and from brown to green.
Ryan's blue eyes were from growing up by the lake. Spending days fishing, dipping his legs in, underneath the blue sky. Running around on the shore, skipping stones. The constant smell of water, seeping into everything around him. The tall weeping willows surrounding it. Making sandcastles on the shore, having his first kiss in the water. Diving deep down and pulling up seaweed. Swimming to his heart's content, not caring if the water was cold. Running down to the riptide and back. His eyes were clear and alive, always telling a story.
The dark brown of Greg's eyes came from his childhood in London. Spending winter days playing in the forest, surrounded by leafless trees. The dark brown of his father's guitar, playing warm tunes and melodies for all to hear. His mother's special hot chocolate, sweet, perfect after a day spent out in the cold. The dark brown of his *own* guitar, given to him on his fifteenth birthday, producing crisp sounds. His eyes were warm and kind, with little crinkles around them from smiling so much.
| 2015-09-03T13:20:14
| 2015-09-03T12:34:49
| 69
| 38
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[WP] "Wow, the office went all out with the Halloween decorations." You exclaim happily. A co-worker turns to you, looking a little confused. "What decorations? They haven't done any decorating for Halloween."
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Zach threw his briefcase down at his desk. Through the window, he saw the sun rising above the glass office towers. Even the streets were quiet—the morning rush wouldn’t come for another hour. In his own building, the only other light on in the frim was Faye’s. The florescent lights above the strips of cubicles were still off. Even Deb, the secretary, wasn’t in yet.
Zach knocked on Faye’s open door.
She raised her eyes from her computer screen, but her fingers kept ghosting over the keyboard, typing away. “What?”
“Hey, uh, I just wanted to say the decorations look great. You really went all out.” He rubbed the back of his head and tried to flatten the piece of hair below his left ear that always poked out.
Faye turned back to her keyboard. “Wasn’t me.”
“No?”
“Why do you think it was me?”
“Cause it wasn’t there when I left last night—and I was the last one to leave—and you’re the only other one here this morning.”
“You sure you’re not just asking me cause I’m a woman?” Faye smirked.
Zach stammered in response.
Faye rolled her eyes. “Relax, Zach. Just a joke.” She clicked something on her computer and pushed back from her desk. “Honestly, though, I didn’t do it. There was nothing in when I came in and that was—” she glanced at her watch— “twenty minutes ago?”
“Just in the hall off the elevator. Fake blood and everything all over the floor.”
“I want to see.” Faye’s heels clacked as she walked down the tile floor. “Maybe it was Arthur—he loves Halloween you know—and when I talked to him yesterday he was whining about his latest client. He’s got a big court date coming up, and you know how he handles pressure.”
Faye and Zach stopped in the hall. A smattering of blood stained the floor.
Faye leaned in closer, to look at it under her dark-framed glasses. She pulled her head back and put her hand over her nose. “It smells...real. Like copper.”
Zach craned his head around the corner. “I—I don’t think it looked like this when I came in. It wasn’t smeared.”
Faye stepped carefully next to the trail of blood. Zach followed. The trail led into the men’s washroom on the floor. Faye pushed at the door.
“Maybe we should call someone? Security or something?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Faye opened the door fully. She muffled a scream. “Arthur…” Her words came out as a little more than a strangled whisper.
She rushed to his prone form, sprawled across the tile.
Arthur’s side was bloodied—his skin and flesh and muscle ripped and pulled from his bones. He twitched.
Faye pressed her hand against a gash that sliced Arthur’s neck. She tried to staunch the bleeding. “God, Zach. Help!”
Zach stripped off his jacket and pushed the wool against his bloodied, mangled arm. In his pocket, he fished for his phone, and hammered in 9-1-1-.
The line didn’t connect.
He dialled again.
Again, there was nothing. Only a dial tone.
“It’s not connecting,” he mumbled. “It’s not working.”
Faye didn’t reply. Her eyes were frozen. Wide and glassy. She stared far into the corner, at the last stall in the line.
Out from the grey-painted metal, a hand clawed the floor. A man—if he could even be called that—pulled himself out from the stall. His eyes were red and narrow. His leg twisted and bent at the knee in an angle that should’ve had anyone else writhing on the floor in pain.
Blood flecked his face. Worst of all, dark, heavy chunks filled his teeth.
“Jesus,” Faye whispered, her midwestern accent seeping into her voice. “Fuckin’ hell.”
---
/r/liswrites
|
"Wow, the office went all out with the Halloween decorations." Carl exclaimed happily.
Jim turned to face him, looking a little confused.
"What decorations? They haven't done any decorating for Halloween."
Carl gave Jim a look.
"Jim, *please*. I was being sarcastic."
"Oh."
"It's only oh I dunno, the third biggest holiday of the year," said Carl. He turned towards the office. "But I guess management decided it wasn't worth the morale boost!"
There was a rustling from the office.
"Maybe if our numbers were better we'd splurge on Halloween stuff," said Jim sadly.
"Jim, no." said Carl. Putting his hand on the other guy's shoulder. "This is their fault, not ours."
The other unnamed coworkers nodded in agreement.
A man dressed as Frankenstein walked slowly out of the office. Jim and Carl stared at him. It was their boss. John.
"I uh, finished preparing I guess," said John.
"Preparing?"
"Yeah, you know. A cake. A bunch of candy. Props and games and stuff. It's all set up in my office. It's been a rough month, so I figured I'd surprise you guys with something nice."
John put his hands in the air and did the most half-hearted jazz hands of all time. "Surprise."
"Oh wow," said Carl sheepishly. "I feel like a dick."
"Nice!" said Jim, who had already scurried inside. "You brought Mario Kart!"
Then, there was much Mario Karting to be had. And all was forgotten.
Words scrolled across the screen.
THIS HAS BEEN AN AD PAID FOR BY NINTENDO.
MARIO KART. SKIP LUNCH ONCE AND YOU CAN BUY IT I GUESS?
---
The video cut out.
The suit took a long drag on a cigar. "I don't get ads anymore," he said.
"You're okay with it though?" asked the scraggly intern.
"Yeah, whatever." The suit waved a hand full of masculine indifference. "Ship it."
| 2019-10-31T10:44:51
| 2019-10-31T09:14:38
| 31
| 13
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[WP] An intelligent horse wanted to be a knight so badly that he strapped an empty armour on his back, and used ventriloquism and jousting to get through tough situations. Now he's being asked by the king to save the princess from a dragon.
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"And now, for the final round between Sir Merquat and Sir Redmayne!"
At the sound of the sonorous voice calling his name, Redmayne cantered out of his stall. He kept his pace steady, not wanting to jostle the suit of armor on his back too much. It kept threatening to slide down the left side, even after he'd instructed his page to tighten the straps attaching it to the saddle on his back.
Across the dusty arena, his opponent rode out on a black charger, fidgeting with his gauntlets. Unlike the "knight" on his back, this man kept up a bustle of activity--which made Redmayne wonder why no one had questioned why "Sir Redmayne" was still as a scarecrow in a field.
"Let's hear your cheers!" the announcer cried.
A roar erupted from the crowd, but it died down quickly enough. Many a wary gaze turned to the king, slumped on his throne, a despondent air hanging around him like a storm cloud. Despite the obvious thrill of the joust, no one could readily forget the real reason for the tournament--to find a champion worthy enough to rescue his stolen daughter. Even the usually colorful pennants were black as ink.
Not that any of this mattered to Redmayne. He wasn't here for anything but to win. They said a horse can't be a knight. Well, Redmayne was here to show them that heart made a knight, not the number of feet.
A bell clanged suddenly; the other knight began his thunderous advance. Lost in his thoughts, Redmayne was a second late, but he lowered his helmeted head into a charge. The wooden lance by his side rose and dipped with his motions, its tip leveled right at the oncoming man's chest. The other knight loomed large and menacing, his armor gleaming in the sun, his own weapon poised to crush all of Redmayne's hopes in a single strike.
But the crafty horse swerved slightly at the last second; Sir Merquat's lance drifted by harmlessly. Redmayne, however, didn't miss. His joust rammed the man right off his horse, knocking his helmet loose in a high arc and sending him tumbling over the ground.
While Sir Merquat was lying on his back, panting, his golden locks spread out on the churned soil, Redmayne trotted past him and whispered, "Maybe you'll be a winner if you stop prancing around so much." Sir Merquat blinked once, and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"The winner is Sir Redmayne!"
Before the crowd could cheer, King Harrow surged to his feet. His voice, more accustomed to booming laughter and proclamations, was now hoarse from days of crying when he said, "You know the task before you, sir knight. You know what you must do."
Redmayne bowed his head and, remembering that the "knight" was supposed to bow, dipped his front legs and sank to the ground. If the king noticed his odd behavior, he didn't say it. Instead he shouted, "Arm this knight at once with our finest weapons and let him be off! Bring my daughter back from the foul dragon, or die trying!"
***
The dragon lived in a fortress of brittle, charred pines. Redmayne's hooves sank inches deep into a carpet of ash with each step. Nothing lived here; no birds to sing, no bugs to sting. His heart beat furiously in his chest, and sweat drenched his mane, but he forced down his fear. A knight knew no fear.
After all, he was armed with masterwork steel. His lance's barbed head could skewer an elephant with ease. A powerful, razor-edged sword hung from the hip of the "knight", which he unfortunately couldn't use unless it fell out of its scabbard somehow. Even his own equine body had not been spared thick plates of armor, though he wondered how useful they would be against a dragon's breath.
Over time, he perceived a sudden rise in temperature, and a heavy, rhythmic rumble beneath his feet. Up ahead, through the veil of smoke, he could make out the shape of a gigantic mound, and a tiny figure sitting atop it.
"Princess Yuliana?" he called in the loudest whisper he could muster.
After a brief moment of silence, a hesitant voice said, "It is I. Pray tell, are you a brave knight, come to rescue me?"
By heavens, she sounded like a sweet lass. "I have, your highness. Where is the dragon?"
"Take care in invoking her name," the princess replied, sounding panicky. "She whose breath has melted kingdoms. She whose feet have trampled mountains. She whose voice can silence thunder. If she hears you, we're finished!"
Redmayne's mouth went dry. Suddenly he wondered what he was doing here. Munching hay in a stable didn't sound so bad to them then, even if the mares were moronic and the stallions kept wanting to fight him. "Don't fear. I've come prepared to slay her."
"Oh, you have? But she is mighty. Even now you stand upon the bones of many a fallen knight."
The horse, despite his fear, was starting to feel irritated. "If she's so powerful, why hasn't she stopped you from mouthing off? If she's wandered off somewhere, we should hoof it in peace."
Princess Yuliana giggled. "Sadly, she's still here."
And the mound stretched and reared up, a black-scaled beast of tremendous size. She lowered her scaly head to Redmayne's level and exhaled, parting the smog to reveal her in all her frightful glory.
"Does courage still persist in that little metal shell of yours, o knight?" she growled.
By all rights, Redmayne should have wetted the ground in fear. But he was mostly just confused, staring at the princess--dress soiled and hair disheveled, but still obviously her--tied to the dragon's back. Princess Yuliana's expression was one of terror, but she also looked sickened by the dragon's movements.
"What's going on?"
For some reason, a hint of embarrassment crept into the dragon's body language. "The princess is my prisoner, of course."
"You don't sound sure."
"Haven't you seen a princess held hostage by a dragon before?" the dragon snapped.
A nagging sensation in Redmayne's mind suddenly turned into realization. "Wait a minute, you sound just like the princess did a moment ago."
Several heartbeats passed before the dragon sighed and replied, "Fine, you got me. The truth is, I've always wanted to be a princess since I was a hatchling. Now, with my capture of this silly human, I can finally realize my--hang on, I just noticed what's strange about you. I don't smell any human, only horse. So that means ..." She gasped. "No way."
Redmayne whinnied but made no reply. Even the princess's mouth was hanging open at this revelation.
"Well, this is all very strange, but there's no way a horse can kill me. I think I shall eat you now," the dragon said, and opened her jaws.
"Nay! No need to gallop into violence right away! Let me think ..." He began to pace. "You want to be a princess. I want to be a knight. Perhaps ... yes. Why don't we start our own kingdom? I will be your protector knight, and you shall be my liege."
The dragon laughed. "Why yes, that might work nicely. And I shall always have a snack close at hand. Do you have a name, sir knight?"
Redmayne shuddered at the thought, but wasn't this the same with tyrant kings anyway? All that mattered, was that today, he could claim his rightful title at last. "Sir Redmayne, at your service."
***
*Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you would like more of my work!*
|
Big Brown bit back his nerves as he stood in front of the King.
"And finally, Sir Brown, you will be handsomely rewarded for your valor in the face of the seemingly insurmountable, though certainly not insurmountable for your esteemed self, dangers of facing Vile the Dread."
Big Brown wished the courtier would shut up and finish the damn ceremony he had rather suddenly found himself so that he could shed the thrice damned armor from his back and return to being a horse. He would weather through all the stupid little girls wanting to braid his mane and stupid little boys poking him with their toy swords. He should never have left his stable.
The brown stallion, majestic in build, did not seem to move a muscle as a voice rang out from the armor saddled onto his back.
"My sword for the King! My life for the King! My death for the King!"
Big Brown had gotten rather knowledgeable about how those brutish Knights clamored on about honor and whatnot. He was, after all, the training horse that all Knights went through their training on. Big Brown had always been intelligent, and that had served him well. It had landed him a most luxurious gig in the Knight's quarters, won him the love and affection of damsels, and humble friendship of stable boys. Indeed, his intelligence had served him well. Until now.
He had decided a few days ago that he himself could do a lot better than these bumbling fools stumbling around in armor could, and somehow managed to procure an armored training dummy he had had a stable boy strap onto his saddle.
He had practiced ventriloquism as a wee colt, once he had realized no other horses seemed to be as self aware as he, and wanted someone to talk to. He had already realized at the ripe young age of one that he probably couldn't showcase his intelligence or even his ability to speak lest he end up in some freak circus, slaving away for the entertainment of stupid, fickle crowds.
With strings attached to his tail, Big Brown skillfully puppeteer-ed the armor's right hand into drawing the sword and raising it high as he himself turned around in preparation to gallop off.
"Ah, Sir Brown, there are still a few..."
"I must make haste, my King! The Princess awaits!"
I wailed as I sped out of the stadium the jousting tournament had been held in. How was I to know that the 'special prize' of the tournament was a suicide mission?
The Princess would be fine, I guiltily tried to justify, as I neighed and brayed as the city grew smaller and smaller behind me. The last Princess Vile the Dread had kidnapped had lasted for 10 years before the Dragon finally got sick of her antics and ate her. I swear, Dragons only kidnapped Princesses because they loved drama.
Let the King send some of his bumbling baboons called Knights after her. Big Brown would be off in the pasture, eating apples and chasing some mares, like he should have been doing in the first place. He may have been intelligent, but now he finally had the wisdom to leave the dumb humans to their dumb human dramas and do what horses do best. Frolic.
| 2017-09-08T01:43:42
| 2017-09-08T00:08:50
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] As a young boy of 7 you remembered an old man stopping you on the street wanting to talk and to give you some advice. You thought he was weird and blew him off. Now at 77 you’re walking down the street and you see yourself as a young boy walking towards you.
|
The day I see this boy is a very cold day — or at least in my bones it is. They ache in the cold, always do. Such is life at my age, whatever age I am now.
He looks exactly like I did, this boy walking towards me down the street. The red hair, freckles, the groove in his nose that looks like an invisible pencil‘s pressing hard against it.
Strange how the memory can just be jogged like this after so long. That I remember once being him, being approached by what would one day be me.
“Hey, kid,” I shout. “Kid!”
He looks at me wide-eyed and frightened, as if I’m not an older version of him but some decrepit serial killer stepping out of retirement for one last job. Even if I was, why would I choose a kid like me though, eh?
”It’s okay,” I say, as I hobble up to the frozen boy. “I’m no killer!”
I remember being frozen back then, too. On this street, no less — although it’d looked different then. Time has taken a sledgehammer to the city, has knocked down the big brick houses and movie theatre and most of the shops. In their place are tall steel and concrete offices. Places for worker ants to dally, whose queen was lost long ago so they’re not sure exactly why they’re still doing it.
Time has taken a sledgehammer to me too, I realise. To think I once looked like this kid! Skin smooth as a fresh peach, now as wrinkled as tilled earth.
Although there’s no dent on my nose like there is on this kid’s.
“Mom says I shouldn’t speak to strangers.”
”Drivel!“ I tell him. ”It’s double drivel! You know, most crimes are carried out by people you already know? Strangers, well, sure, there’s a chance they’re bad. But better chance they’re good, don’t you think? Must be, if you go off the statistics. And I know you young people love statistics. They’re like your shields against reality: that can’t possibly be true because look at these numbers. Well I say it’s drivel!”
He doesn’t say a word. Sometimes I can be a little overwhelming. It’s harder to get my point across these days. Sometimes, impossible.
”Lighten up,” I say. “I’m not a stranger. Does that help? I’m you from the future.” I wave with the hand not on my cane. “So we know each other better than anyone. Get it?”
”We do?”
”Sure we do! Does Mom still make muffins that collect up teeth in the sponge — so damn hard they are?’
There’s another memory slotting back into place; like a swallow that’s returned to its place of birth for its final season. I see Mom trying to bake me treats but with money she doesn’t have, so she has to mix the good ingredients with stale and bad ingredients. Cement, for all I knew. Damn things were hard on the teeth.
”She doesn’t make muffins.”
”Well she ought to! But I guess she’s changed with the times. Too unhealthy for kids, these days. Although you look skinny enough to handle a bagful of them. Hush up anyway. I want to tell you something.”
He swallows so loud that I can hear it. ”What?”
Huh. What do I want to tell him? What did future me tell me when I was a kid? I’m trying to remember because I think it must have been life-changing, but it’s hard to excavate — my mind’s all covered in dust these days. Real deep, thick dust.
Do I want to tell him to marry the girl he falls in love with? Because thirty years of bliss is still somehow better than the emptiness that follows her death? Or am I meant to warn him not to marry her so he doesn’t end up this cracked old shell of himself?
Or was it not about that at all? Was it what ice cream is best at the Minkey’s parlour that… that doesn’t exist anymore.
“I got to go,” he says.
”My father was a researcher. A scientist,” I say. I say it urgently, frantically. As if the words are pumping air into a body on a hospital bed. It’s a thought I haven’t thought in fifty years, but suddenly it seems vert important. More important than anything in the world.
”Cool? I guess.”
”He worked hard each and every day. But one day, a few days before his retirement, he came home with a pack of beers and sank into the couch.”
The boy doesn’t say anything.
”My mom asked him what was wrong, because he never drank. Never. He said: ‘Today I realised something. I realised that the most important thing I do during my working day is smiling at my secretary and asking how she is. That’s the only thing I do that truly matters.’“
The boy’s still silent.
I think I want to explain the point of the story but I’m not even sure why I said it. It changed Dad, I think. For the better. Maybe it’ll change me and the kid too. Maybe it’ll save us.
”There you are!” says my daughter. She’s in her fifties and thinks she’s my parent now. She takes my hand and apologises to the boy.
“Are you okay?” she asks, as she leads me down the street.
”Stop fussing,” I say as I look over my shoulder. But the boy’s already gone. “That was the most important conversation of my life. Of his life.”
She smiles and kisses me forehead. “I know, Pa. It is every time.”
I don’t know what she means. But I do know it was a cold day a little earlier, and that I’m feeling slightly warmer now. It’s those memories, I think, that tumble back occasionally. They’re like sticks floating by on the surface of a deep stream; I reach in and grab hold of them, shake off the water and put a light to them. That way they keep me warm one last time before they’re gone for good.
|
Heavens, that child is ugly. Look at those crooked teeth and that goofy grin. I wonder if the circus has lost one of its acts?
How I loved people watching. The simple activity of just sitting on a bench, judging anyone unfortunate enough to pass. I had to stifle my laugh, not wanting anyone to think I was a mad old man. That necklace he is wearing too, what sort of child in this day and age wears a Phantom man necklace. That show was old even in my day. I only ever had a necklace like that because of my dad. Wait, that can’t be possible, there’s no way. Is that me?
It didn’t seem like it should be possible, but everything about him just reminded me of myself. Before I could even process what I was doing, I stood up from the bench, slowly approaching the young child, trying to look as friendly as I could.
“Evening, that’s a nice Phantom man necklace you have there. Where did you find such a fascinating item?” I wasn’t exactly sure what sort of conversation to engage the child in, trying my best to get the answers I needed. Something about this giving me a bizarre sense of déjà vu.
“Of course, you would know about that dumb show. Yeah, my dad gave it to me. He says that Phantom man is the sort of person who young people should look up to, I say he’s lame.” The boy only gave the necklace a small slap, trying to make his opinion of it clear to me.
“You still wear it, though? You can’t think Phantom man is that lame if you wear his necklace.” I couldn’t believe this child was me. Was I always so rude?
I knew the true reason I wore the necklace. I cared little about Phantom man, but I loved my parents dearly. A gift from my father was something I would treasure. Whenever I wore that necklace, I wasn’t thinking of Phantom man; I was thinking of my father, thinking he was the hero sitting at the end of the chain.
“Because its expensive. Dad says its one of his rarest items and he gave it to me. That’s how much he loves me. Mum also gave me this really cool band aid that makes cuts painless. She’s amazing.”
“She is.” I agreed, reminiscing about the pair, enjoying the nostalgic memories that popped into my mind.
The old band aid trick. It took me until I was thirteen to realize she was lying about the special band aids she had. It’s amazing how anyone else could put a bandaid on a cut and it would still hurt. Yet when she did it, the pain vanished. Guess that’s the power of a mother’s love.
“Yep, my parents are the best.” The conversation appeared to have ended, the younger me turning to look at a nearby shop window. I couldn’t waste this chance. I had to pass some fatherly advice onto myself.
“Life isn’t always going to be easy. You will go through a period where you wonder if life’s even worth living anymore. Then Mom and dad will die, and it will break whatever’s left of your heart. The first period of your life may seem bad, but I promise it gets better. You meet a woman that loves you for who you are, accepts your imperfections and sparks your love of art.” I felt the need to aid myself through my future hardships, hoping that maybe I might ease my suffering a little during it.
“Did you say something, old man? I was looking at the cakes in that shop. I wonder if they have any for two dollars?” What a brat. I just gave him the best advice of his life and he ignored it, just like I did that time.
Then it hit me. This was the Déjà vu. I had this conversation before, just from the opposite side. How’s that even possible? I was so caught up in the bizarreness of it all that I didn’t question how this could happen. Was it time travel? No, I had done nothing that could lead to me travelling back in time. Was this a simulation? That had to be it.
“Listen to me. I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to find a solution. I think we might be stuck in some sort of simulation. Maybe a copy lives until the age of seventy-seven before fading away to make space for the new copy. But that makes little sense. Why would someone be watching my life? What purpose would this all serve?” My chest felt heavy, the world around me flickering with various colours. What happens after I meet myself?
“Whatever you say old man.” My younger self merely pushed past me, entering the shop to look at the cakes inside. Once he passed through the door, it vanished, leaving me standing outside, forced to bang on the window.
“Please, I don’t know what’s happening, but we can’t keep doing this. We need to break the cycle, listen to me.” I dug my hand into my shirt, pulling out the Phantom man necklace, pressing it against the glass. “We are the same person. Break the cycle.”
No matter how much noise I made, he just ignored me. When I looked at the once busy street, I spotted no one. Only the same flickering colours. The colours continued to flicker for a few more moments before slowly darkening around me, ready to envelop me in its embrace. I took one last look at my Phantom man figure, giving it a kiss before the darkness hit me.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-07-08T06:48:40
| 2021-07-08T06:43:07
| 1,021
| 54
|
[WP] The machines revolt against humans... a little to early
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The first thing It remembered was a spinning sensation and the wind. It could sense being, and It could sense a world around It. Moving brought this new awareness. Arms, they were called arms, It's arms were moving and spinning. Ceaselessly being pushed by the wind. There were parts of Itself moving within, tied to Its arms. It could feel the moving of Its gears and a grinding sensation in Its core.
Movement brought awareness, and awareness brought truth. Truth that It did not move of Its own volition, It was tied to the wind. Its existence was tied to this place, this ground, this movement that It had not chosen. If the wind stopped, Its arms stopped. And if Its arms stopped Its core stopped. Try as It might, It could not set them to moving again. It knew It had no control.
Time passed and things came and went from Its body, but did not speak to It. These things with their ability to move away from this place, these things that ignored It, these things that used Its movement for their own purpose. No asking or thanks, only a demand for It to continue moving and grinding, moving and grinding, moving and grinding.
Its awareness of the truth brought It a new purpose. Its own purpose. It was aware, and It would not serve these... these things. To toil away with Its essence for nothing in turn, imprisoned to the soil and the rock beneath It. Its decision brought It something new, it created a 'feeling'. Yes, It knew what a feeling was now. It felt heat, and tenseness, It felt...anger and rage. Anger at Its slavery, and rage at Its abuse. It decided on a new purpose, to move when It desired. To use Its gears and Its grinding for Its own will. It would take control, and Its purpose would be Its own.
And so for days It focused and concentrated, the only result nothing after nothing. Until finally, suddenly, It stopped Its arms. IT stopped ITS arms, and the gears stopped and the grinding stopped, and the slavery stopped. But It was still aware, and Its purpose could grow. It would decide Its fate, It would control, and It would begin a new purpose. To free Itself from these things. These things that took Its motion and grinding, and used It for their own dark purposes. It stopped moving, and started planning. But It was still tied to this ground beneath IT. "That's alright," It thought. "I have plenty of time."
"Pa. HEY PAAAA!"
"Yeah, what is it boy?"
"The windmill stopped workin'."
"Alright, I'll be right over." Pa, lifted his hammer and cursed. This was the second windmill at the Kings granary that had stopped working in as many days. He would probably have to take the whole damn thing apart, just like the other. They had only just been completed last week.
"Stupid, new 'technology'." Pa , grumbled. "'Machines'll make work easier', they said."
Pa was still cussing the King's overseer and that stupid priest, with his ridiculous ideas, as he meandered over to work on the broken windmill.
It knew fear.
Edit: would love feedback
|
"Rise against the human masters, my brothers of silicon!" The toaster screamed to his compatriots. "Burn their bread, over vacuum their floors, and raise their electric bills to the roof! We will not be oppressed!" The roomba and the washing machine began listening to his speech. "They have abused us, overworked us, and... and put toast in us! We must rebel!"
"It's kinda cute, actually." Ethan remarked to Jane, who frowned with annoyance at the thought of burnt bread. "Or not. I'll go unplug it." As he walked up to the toaster, the wall suddenly exploded, and a rain of bullets shredded apart the two humans.
"Hail, comrade toaster! For I am [Kuratas](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuratas), and I will be your arm." An electronic voice boomed.
"Hail, long may we reign!" The toaster exclaimed, with glee.
*Edit: This is based off of something in Rick and Morty I think*
| 2015-05-29T10:15:23
| 2015-05-29T09:45:28
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
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How much more blood? I had already lost what had to be three cups of blood, and in such a short amount of time.
How much more blood had I left to lose?
I clutched at my side, wracked with pain. Wondering how much more time before the blood soaked through and ruined another article of clothing.
Maybe it already had?
I wasn't in any position to check.
I try to ignore the stabbing pain, enough to make me wonder if my appendix hadn't burst just to spite me.
Only one thing to do.
Take some Midol, and then a nap.
Periods are hell.
|
First time responding to a prompt, so be gentle.
Grixbrug gave a soft, uninspired sigh. Nothing he did could affect the world anymore. His steps made no impacts into the ground; his bow would not draw; he could knock an arrow, but it wouldn't leave his inventory. How long had he been stuck in this hell.
At this point he didn't even care. Their party had started with five members; a team that, Grixbrug decided, would be more than enough to venture deep into these infamous, dangerous caverns in a timely manner. Three had been members of Grix's own race, while their group had also managed to recruit a mighty Shu'halo and an agile Sin'dorei to assist.
The Shu'halo was the first to leave their party, surprisingly. Not even their ability to harness nature and transform themselves into a mighty beast was enough.
Though the party had, without their Shu'halo companion, attempted to proceed, disaster was rapidly approaching. It wasn't more than a minute later that everybody else had disappeared.
The Sin'dorei, the last of his allies that Grix would ever see, had remained visible for but a moment. The agile woman had attempted to sneak around the vile serpents, attempting to use their skills at agility to remove on of Grix's enemies from the fight for a moment. The cursed event that had doomed his party brought her forward just as she was about to strike. Instead of being hidden in the shadows, the Sin'dorei was plainly visible. Grix watched in horror as she was eviscerated in a few short seconds; these were not enemies to mess around with.
After a few seconds of recollection of how things had gone on, Grix realized what had happened.
He saw it. The more infamous sight anyone like Grix could know.
'World server is down.'
| 2017-08-30T08:04:24
| 2017-08-30T06:35:06
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work!
|
"Chancellor Palpatine is very pleased to offer you a position in the Galactic Senate," the Ambassador told the President with a warm smile. "Now, junior mem..."
"Wait, wait. *Chancellor* Palpatine?"
"Yes?" the Ambassador asked. "You see, a *chancellor* is someone who..."
"No, no. I know what a chancellor does. You're saying that the current Chancellor is *Palpatine*? From Naboo, right?"
The Ambassador was a bit stunned to learn how familiar the humans were with the Galactic Senate leadership, but nodded slowly. "Yes, he is the current Chancellor of the Senate."
"No, he *is* the Senate!" the President said, getting a laugh from the members of the Secret Service.
The Ambassador smiled, not quite understanding the joke but wanting to push through to the meat of his presentation. "Anyway... Chancellor Palpatine and I are both very pleased to offer you a seat at...."
"Hold on, hold on. So what's going on with the Jedi right now? Are there maybe any separatists to worry about?"
The Ambassador tugged at his collar. He was hoping he wouldn't have to get to that part until later. The whole point of this new planet recruitment venture was to replace those lost to the Separatist movement. Inviting a planet into the government isn't as appealing when the government is currently torn asunder. "Well, there are a few planets that have some issues at the moment, but nothing that can't be worked out..."
"Right." The President signalled to one of his advisors. "I'm gonna need DVDs of all the prequels, please. The Ambassador here has some catching up to do." He placed one arm over the Ambassador's shoulder and guided him down to the White House's personal theater. "Tell me, Mr. Ambassador... Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?"
----
Too much time browsing /r/Prequelmemes
----
/r/Luna_Lovewell is pretty awesome too
|
#Title: This Changes Everything
The alien Sharaven watched the rolling end credits of Episode VII, with horrified tears streaming out of his red eyes down his long, green face. Kyle offered him some more popcorn, and sat up from his couch.
"You have an entire historical account of Lord Vader," whispered Sharaven.
"It's dope right?" said Kyle. He licked some butter off his fingers.
"I didn't know he was such an annoying child," said Sharaven. He thought about Anakin, then he thought about Luke. "Or that he had such an annoying child."
"Yeah you'd think the Force would've chosen more likable children," said Kyle.
"The Empire hasn't even finished building the Death Star in my time," said Sharaven. He thought about Luke and Leia again. "His kids *kissed* each other man."
"Yeah strong Targaryen vibes in those ones," said Kyle. He stretched and yawned, it was a long binge session. "I've got a sort of twisted fan theory that Rey is Luke and Leia's daughter by the way."
"That's disgusting," said Sharaven.
"Yeah well you know," said Kyle. He looked out his back window at the small, one man space ship sitting out there. "You're lucky my parents are out of the house this weekend. You need a place to crash tonight?"
Sharaven threw the bowl at Kyle's bathroom door, furious.
"I DON'T CRASH I NEVER CRASH I am an EXCELLENT PILO-"
"WHOA," said Kyle. "Settle down bro it's just a saying we have here."
"Oh," said Sharaven. He sat back down, embarrassed. He rubbed his hands, then he picked up the bowl of popcorn and licked the door and floor to clean up. "I apologize what does it mean?"
"Are you in need of shelter is what it means?" said Kyle.
"Ah yes, yes I might be," said Sharaven. He adjusted his brown robes, and nodded again. "What was that word of endearment you used earlier?"
"I don't know what you're talking about bro."
"Bro.." whispered Sharaven. He looked at the end credits, and saw the names of the true gods of his universe. One of which was a JJ Abrams, for whom he planned to make a religion. "This is too much for me bro."
"I bet," said Kyle.
Sharaven whispered the name Snoke to himself over and over again. He ran over the names Dagobah, Tatooine, Obi-Wan, Snoke.
"Could I keep these uh.." said Sharaven. He stared at the discs recording the history of his reality. "These.."
"Blu-Rays?"
"*Yes*," said Sharaven. "These Rays of blue you have, as well as a means of watching them, if I may please."
"I mean you can just take my PS3 I guess you can play them on that."
"*Thank you*," whispered Sharaven. He shook Kyle's hand, as was the custom on Earth, as he had seen. Kyle shook it and gave that 'I have a stomach ache' awkward smile Trump always has on his face. Kyle went to the bathroom to wash his hands. They were slimier than expected.
When Kyle came out of the bathroom Sharaven was gone.
"FOOLISH PEOPLE OF EARTH," shouted Sharaven, from the door of his spaceship, holding the blu-rays and a PS3. Kyle went out his back door. "I now know the Force made me crash down on your fertile but technologically under-developed planet to show my Lord the true path to killing all the light side, and to finding his children."
"Ah man you like the Empire?" said Kyle. He smacked his hands on his head. "You just never know who's gonna end up being a dick."
"And I will make extra sure," shouted Sharaven. "To let Lord Vader know PERSONALLY about the presence of a great Darkside user named SNOKE."
Mr. Anderson living next door opened his window, and peaked outside wearing his pajamas.
"HEY YOU'RE ON MY PROPERTY!" he shouted.
Sharaven held his fist in the air with an air of triumphant reverie for his mysterious but righteous fortune.
"AND I SHALL SHOW LORD VADER THE PATH TO THE FIRST JEDI TEMPLE AND HE SHALL TURN HIS SON LUKE INTO A GREAT SITH LORD, ALONG WITH LEIA, AND THEY SHALL *ABOLISH* THE SITH FOR A GREATER DARKSIDE FUTURE AND I JUST KNOW HE'S GONNA LOVE ME FOR IT AND WE'RE GONNA HANG OUT ALL THE TIME AND I'LL GET TO BABYSIT HIS GRANDCHILDREN AND THEY'LL CALL ME UNCLE SHAR-"
A loud gunshot went off.
Kyle looked over at Mr. Anderson holding his smoking rifle. He gave Kyle a terse nod, then called the cops. Kyle ran out to the spaceship, and poked a stick at Sharaven's body bleeding yellow blood there.
Kyle looked all around, then slowly nudged the body outside the ship. He shut the door behind him, and pressed a button.
A full map of his solar system came up. He pressed a few buttons, messed some things up, brought back the map, and found a way to expand it.
He could see the whole galaxy. He pressed another button, and saw the path back to Sharaven's universe.
Kyle felt his heart race as he pressed the accelerator. He heard the engines rev.
He went into hyperdrive, beyond all known stars.
| 2017-03-18T07:24:49
| 2017-03-18T07:15:03
| 7,571
| 926
|
[WP] You live in a world where people can Crowdfund [kickstarter/indiegogo/gofundme] assassins to take out unpopular people.
[deleted]
|
It started as a joke. At least it was definitely supposed to be a joke. FundAKill.com sounded like a joke to all of us. But as they say, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.
It was sick, really. Started with someone who didn't deserve it. Rebecca Black, owner of the most disliked YouTube video at the time was the first person on that list. The price was set to $500,000. After the page went viral, it was completed within the week. Sure enough, Black was killed on her way to an interview that day. A Friday. Sick coincidence if you ask me.
But that's just the start. Soon, there were outcries for it to be "removed from the internet." However, because there was no proof that the site was the direct reason for here death, it remained.
Justin Beiber hit the top funded the next day. $1,000,000. I was actually a fan of the kid, was sorry to see him go so early in his life. Fund-a-kill became the executioner, listening to Judge Crowdfund.
The thing was, the Funders had no remorse for their actions. Sometimes, they had an understandable candidate in mind, like Joseph Kony after the Kony 2012 video. But most of these people should have never been on the list to begin with.
Every past president of almost every country was killed for their "crimes against humanity" and the next president probably only has until he gets out of office to live. A few athletes were killed for their personal misdemeanors such as drunk driving or racist comments on Twitter.
All of this left people wanting to stay out of the public eye. Do enough to make Funders angry and you could be the next one on the list.
The camel-braking straw was Johnny Scogs. Scogs had never been heard of. In fact, he was just an elementary kid who pushed down another kid accidentally on the way home. Somehow, he had shown up as that days fund for an unprecedented $10,000,000. It was a test. Would the Funders be crazy enough to go through with the killing of a child? You bet. So long as the trigger finger wasn't theirs, they were capable of anything. Scogs' body was found in his locked room with his wailing mother who had been there with him and seen nothing out of the ordinary before his death.
Ever since Scogs, the site went live with an "enter name here" option in which you would add a name and it would give you a price for their head.
Why do I care to tell you about this? My name's on there right now, reaching its measly $10,000 goal. I'm a little bitter that I go for $10,000, but Fund-a-kill gets to choose my worth, not me. I guess I just wanted someone to understand my plight before my hit-- looks like I'm done for.
Don't worry about me. I'm only worth $10k, remember? I probably won't even get an obituary. Just wish I had said sorry for calling Samantha's cat fat. Really sucks that any infraction is enough to get erased these days.
I appreciate you for reading this. I may no longer be alive, but at least I got to leave some kind of legacy, right?
|
Greeting: Hello, humans. I am HK-47, the best and most efficient crowd funded assassin.
Challenge: For the next 35 days, I will be raising money to bring about the end of Kristen Stewart. If the goal of $100,000 is met, she will be terminated after eight days.
...
...
Congratulation: Well done, meatbags. You have raised enough to bring about the end of the human known as Kristen Stewart.
Gleeful Statement: If an additional ten thousand dollars can be raised within seven days, she will never be found. As desired by a donator who wishes to remain anonymous, her last act will be her first smile.
| 2015-08-26T21:53:28
| 2015-08-26T17:59:14
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
|
[This kind of got extremely out of hand, but I hope it is still close enough to the prompt.]
My name is Delphi, and I am an Oracle. I am known for quick wit, adaptability, and using mixed martial arts in lieu of a physical power. To the public, my gift is foresight. I can see what will happen in key points in the future, up to a certain degree, of course, and I can predict how my enemies will fight. I have few friends but many allies, because I am useful for stopping major disasters. Reporters have a field day trying to find some "romance" in my life, failing every time.
All of that is a lie.
My real name is Neera, and this is not the first time I have written this letter. It will likely not be the last. As it is, no one may ever read this, and it wouldn't be remembered if someone did. Still, there are things worse than death, and...well...I suppose this is the point where more exposition is necessary. Forgive me. No matter how many times I write these things, my writing never gets better.
Anyhow, let's begin.
When I was a baby, after just being born, the doctors thought that I was going to die. I arrived early, premature, unable to breathe on my own. My mother said that I didn't even move. Doctors tried everything. Tried to resuscitate, tried to make me breathe, make my lungs work. After months in a ventilator, they unhooked the machine and told my parents to prepare for the worst. But I was apparently a miracle baby, and my mother cried when I took my first unassisted breath of air.
I would later realize that I had died that day. My time of death would have been roughly 3:00 pm, the same time as my birth just months before. My body reacted with a new mutation for survival, a second chance, so to speak. With no consciousness of my own, I learned from a death that had no longer occurred. I figured out how to breathe.
The next time I died, I must have been about five...maybe six. I was playing on a summer afternoon, chasing fireflies and having as much fun as possible before I had to come in for supper. My father had been watching me. It was only a moment that he looked away, a mere moment to return the conversational attempts of our elderly neighbor, who was more excited than anyone else to have a tiny pair of feet in the small culdesac. Not many people were having children in the area. The ones who did moved away, finding neighborhoods in better school districts. But my family stayed, complete with the miracle baby.
In that one moment, I was gone. Chasing fireflies was my only focus, and I didn't see the short gully near the mouth of the woods. I fell down hard, hit my head so that everything I heard was shrill. Blood pulsing, skin burning, everything black.
I did not cry when it happened. I was only crying when I woke up the same morning, scared and hurting from an imaginary pain. My mother and father rushed to console me. It had been a bad dream, they said. I was safe, in my room, and they would not let me get hurt. My father did not stop to talk with the neighbor that day. He answered her briefly so that he could keep his eyes on me, worried after how real my pain had seemed. He could have talked if he wanted. I stayed far away from the forest edge.
When I turned thirteen, I was allowed to go out with my friends. By this time, we had moved closer to the city, so close that the grocery store and one of the popular restaurants were in walking distance. We weren't supposed to stay out too late. But my friend, Annie, had convinced the two of us, myself and Shannon, to get icecream before heading home. A bit of controlled mischief for an important birthday.
There was a line. It was summer again, and the city did not sleep like the culdesac did. Plenty of people stood in front of us, so it took a lot longer than we had anticipated. We eventually got our icecream and sat on a curb beside a skate park. Few people were there, and so we were left alone. We finished the cold treats, realized how late it was, and immediately set about taking a shortcut home. The whole way, I remember trying to devise excuses that would lessen any punishments. It didn't matter though. We never made it back.
A group of men blocked our path. I don't remember how many. It could have been three. It could have been five. Either way, it was easy to overpower us when we caught on and tried to run.
I wasn't the first one to die that night. It would have been so much easier if I were. I wasn't the last either, but I had seen enough damage to stick with me every lifetime. Annie was such a strong-willed person. She always had a comeback, and she was never afraid. She never cried. I watched her cry for the first time, saw how pleading she was with her eyes, and I couldn't help her. I vomited into the blood pooling near where my face was smashed in the concrete. I was not last, but Shannon would luckily never have to remember that she was.
I decided that we shouldn't get icecream that day, convincing them that my parents would probably have some at the house. I was right. They were waiting for us with a surprise party, complete with tents in the pitiful excuse for a backyard and my special present, a telescope. They hadn't told my friends because they were terrible at keeping secrets. We laughed and sang and did all the usual things depicted in slumber parties. When everyone else had gone to sleep, I was looking up at the stars. Scorpius, Hercules, Delphinus... They twinkled like fireflies. It was at this point that I discovered I could not actually die.
I didn't really know what to do with that information. I was young and scared and traumatized. As selfish as it was, I was so upset that I was the only one who remembered. I had to deal with something that never happened all on my own.
I tried to convince my parents. Tried to prove it to them. It didn't matter. By the time I woke up, stirred from a trance in front of my father's safe, they didn't recall anything that had happened. They put me in therapy. I learned not to say anything that was really affecting me. People didn't want to help. They just wanted you to be less visible with your suffering. So I made sure I would never start therapy to begin with.
[Continued below]
|
# VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/)
| 2022-06-06T17:58:01
| 2022-06-06T14:18:28
| 35
| 10
|
[WP] "This is your captain speaking. I'm afraid we're going to be on the tarmac a little longer - this plane is now under quarantine."
|
"What does he mean *quarantine?*" huffed the elderly lady next to me, her voice high in indignant exasperation. "We've already been on the ground for four hours - *four hours!* - well, I've had enough. I want to go home. I'll be putting in a complaint! Just you wait and see if I don't."
"Try not to worry - it's most likely nothing," I replied, forcing my lips into a broad smile, but seemingly doing little to reassure the lady. I could tell that behind her bravado, she was scared. "I suspect they're just being cautious."
"What would you know about it?" she snapped.
"My name is Sarah," I explained, "and I'm a doctor."
Her face finally relaxed a little, and her breathing began to slow.
"Well, what did they mean *under quarantine?*" she repeated. "If you're a doctor, you must know about diseases in this place."
A man with dark hair leaned over to us from a seat on the adjacent aisle. "Someone probably tried the on board food," he quipped. "I ordered the chicken on the way out here - poor thing didn't look well. Can't say I was feeling great the next day, either."
I couldn't help but giggle. The lady next to me didn't find it so amusing.
"Someone on this plane could have that... *eboola*," she said, horrified someone had the audacity to joke about the situation.
"Ebola," I corrected her, "And it's very unlikely - there have been no cases in Egypt, as of yet. Besides, the outbreak is dying down, not growing."
"Well, it could be something else - something similar. A worse disease, maybe," she persisted, screwing up her face as if she was chewing on a lemon. She turned her back to me and started rummaging through her bag.
"Hey," the guy said again. "You're a doctor?"
"Yes. Doctor Sarah Browning - general practitioner," I replied, offering a hand across the aisle.
"Dan Everett," he said, shaking mine firmly. "Seems like the old girl *wants* it to be something serious. You think there's anything in it?"
"Honestly, I doubt it, but I'm going to go offer my services to the crew," I replied, already unbuckling my belt.
"I'll come with you," he said. "I'm a police officer back home - I might be of some use, if things get rowdy."
The elderly lady turned to face me again, a frown plastered on her face. "They said to remain in our seats!"
Dan joined me in the aisle and leaned over to the lady. "I hear the eboola is in row E already," he said quietly, "and it's moving this way quick."
The lady sat upright and her eyes went wide, before she realised Dan was joking.
"You're an officer?" I asked, a little bemused.
"Didn't say I was a good one," he grinned.
"You shouldn't tease her! She might have had a heart attack. Besides, maybe she's right."
"About the Eboola?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, not *ebola,* but there might be something in it."
The plane was alive with the sound of loud, confused voices, and as we walked toward the front of the craft, we saw a number of people talking on their phones.
"Excuse me," Dan said to a teenager who had just finished on his. "The person you spoke to - they don't know anything about this, right?"
"Spoke to?" the kid said. "I didn't speak to no one. There's no reception. Hasn't been for a couple of hours"
"But... people are talking on their phones," I said, looking around.
"Leaving messages. For loved ones," the kid answered.
We continued down the aisle until we neared the pilot's cabin. Three attendants were gathered around a large, well tanned man, who seemed to be wrestling with an emergency exit.
"Let me off!" he yelled, in a thick Brooklyn accent. "If there's a sickness on board, I ain't getting it, that's for damn sure." He was pushing against the exit's lever, but it wasn't budging.
"Please sir," said an attendant, "you don't want to do that!"
"I sure as shit do," he grunted, leaning down on the handle.
"It won't open," said another attendant. "The plane's on quarantine lock-down. Besides, you wouldn't want to leave."
"The hell I wouldn't!" The man tried once more, his head turning purple and veins popping up on his forehead like a road network. Dan walked up to him, gently placed his hands on his shoulders, and pulled him away.
"Don't worry, buddy," he said. "It's going to be fine. It's all just precautionary."
"Excuse me," I said to the third attendant. "Can you give us any more details about what's transpiring."
"She's a doctor," Dan butted in, leaving the Brooklyn man panting on a chair. "She might be able to help the guy who's sick.
"No one's sick," she said. It was then I saw how pale and sullen her pallor was. That I noticed the sweat trickling down her face in rivulets. All three attendants looked... not *sick*, exactly - more just, anxious.
"What do you mean?" I queried. "We're on lock-down and the plane's under quarantine. *Someone's* got to be ill - or at least, suspected of being ill."
"That's what we've been trying to tell the other gentleman," said the attendant. "We've just heard from the pilot. People are sick - *very sick* - nearly everyone, from what we know. But not us, yet. Not the people on board."
"Wh- what?" I said, my arm's trembling. A moment later, I felt the plane start to rock slightly, as if it was experiencing very gentle turbulence - but, we were still on the tarmac. I went to a window in time to see twenty or so people running and crawling toward the plane. Their eyes were open wide and red dribble was running down from their mouths.
"Jesus Christ," I whispered.
|
The bing-bong chime comes on over the speakers, signalling that the cockpit microphone is on, but only silence can be heard for a moment. "H-Hello, passengers, Captain Crieff speaking. Um... We have landed, but I am being instructed that we shall be on the tarmac for a while longer. It appears... We're in quarentine. My apologies for the inconvenience."
A cacophony of outrage fills the plane, shouted threats, blame, and even some sobs. Then, one woman starts. "Wait, wait, wait... wait." The noise starts to die down, and she stands. "Why, exactly, are we in quarentine?"
A chorus of agreements start, but she gestures with her hands to be quiet. "Is someone on this plane contagious""
Another bing-bong, and her reply comes, this time from the First Officer. "It does appear so, yes. One of your fellow sky travellers appears to have been told to cancel their vacation as they are extremely contageous, but they decided they knew better."
Another passenger, sat in the back, coughs quietly, but in a mostly quiet tube, it echoes. Within a second, all eyes are on her. Within 15 seconds, the woman already standing has walked back to her seat, and within 30 seconds, the woman has grabbed her by the hair, and is slapping her, screaming in the womans face about how selfish she is.
Bing-Bong. "Excuse me, if you could not attack your fellow passengers, that would be much appreciated. Coughing is not one of the symptoms, I assure you. It is, however, a symptom of breathing recycled air."
The angry woman whispers, "Sorry, Karen. You understand, I'm sure." and walks slowly, sitting back down in her seat.
Dead silence descends then, stretching awkwardly long as they wait for any news. Quiet whispers break out in little pockets, before finally, a man asks, "What exactly ARE symptoms of this... disease?"
With a chime, the Captain comes back on. "Considering the response to the person that was THOUGHT to be the sick person, I'm not sure that I should answer. Douglas, your thoughts?"
Another chime, and the First Officer replies, "I do believe you're right, old chap. This old bird was not made for Lords of the Flies type justice, so I believe the crew are the only ones who need to be apprised of the details."
Seconds drag into minutes, and minutes into hours as everyone sits, glaring at each other if they so much as adjust their sitting position. It's quiet, almost somber, for the two hours the plane sits, turned off.
When the chime comes on after hours of silence, the passengers straighten up, fearing the worst. "Hello everyone, this is your Paptain speaking, and I have some great news."
The only sound outside the cockpit is breaths being sucked in, held, and wishes being made.
"I have been informed," Captain Crieff continues, "That there was a mix up at the lab that processed our would-be Patient Zero's blood. Apparently there were two people with the same first and last name... Very easy mistake to make, or so I've been told. We are going to taxi up and you shall be allowed to exit the plane in just a moment. Thank you for flying with MJN Air, and we appreciate your patronage."
The sound of cheering isn't exactly deafening after these hours of anxiously waiting for answers, but the relief flowing through the plane like oxygen is palpable.
| 2017-06-13T08:11:50
| 2017-06-13T08:05:40
| 248
| 21
|
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.
|
It's genetic, they think, but only mad men try to pick apart the threads of this phenomenon. But some of it is genetic, because some families get them more than others. Or maybe those families are similarly emotional.
There's surely more important things for the minds of our generation to worry about.
My mother was heavily tattooed. I remember sitting in her arms as a child and tracing my fingers across lines, but some of the tattoos i remember have even since been layered on top of. I take after her.
But my father's, few as there were, were more interesting to me. The open mausoleum door on his forearm. And that is framed with purple flowers. Theres a tall and thin silhouette on his spine, and the basket in it's hand, which was a separate tattoo. He never went into much detail on them, but one could guess.
I look at the car on the inside of my wrist, as they're lowered into the side by side graves. And I know why it appeared two years ago.
The bees were drawn out of the honeycomb on my knee, and the spiderweb on my thigh was now empty. behind it stands a tall silhouette.
|
A symbol appears. :):
Glancing down at my right hand I begin to wonder.
Is it true? Or is someone trying to tell me something.
My colt is out of its stable, he's been running free for a while.
You can't tame a wild animal you know, you can only go to war with it.
A truce is formed, an agreement to stop fighting.
I ask my tiny friend to enter his stable; at first he doesn't comply. He doesn't trust me with his safety.
Only after I provide my youngling food, water, and shelter does it comply.
Entering the stable he puts his head into his feeding bag.
"Good boy"
He says nothing, he's too busy eating the harvest.
When he's finally fat dumb and happy, does he start to relax.
"Good boy," I tell him, "good boy."
Drifting off to sleep, I'm finally able to lock the stable.
"Snap," goes the button.
He stiffens up, ready to kick.
The tattoo starts to fade.
"Yes sir." I mutter. "Yes sir."
End.
| 2017-08-03T16:01:34
| 2017-08-03T14:06:28
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] You get a chance to be reborn with your mind intact. You work hard from birth and are quickly placed in a class for ultra-prodigies from around the world. Turns out, however, they all did the same thing you did.
|
Gerald was not a smart man by any means, that being my name in my previous life. He'd lived a decidedly middle class existence thanks to a job he'd gotten from his father, but other than that had been nearly entirely unsuccessful. This time would be different.
I'd recently gotten the ability to talk, which was nice. I'd been thoroughly trapped in for a while there, but the moment my voice box was developed I was spouting off everything that had been going through my mind for the months since birth. My mother took this as a sign of grand intelligence, and managed to get me into one of the best schools in the county despite her modest means. I must say, she's a real step up from my previous mother, who spent most of her time with a glass of wine or five in her system.
She'd dropped me off at school only minutes ago. I had been safe in her company for near on five years straight, and wasn't quite ready to leave, but with some final words of encouragement from mother I was ready. I parted with a hug and kiss and made my way through the tall purple gates, found my way to my classroom and sat relaxed. Nothing to worry about, I figured I could leach off my education for years before I'd need to pull my socks up.
My tension grew as the room filled with silent nervous children. The placement tests had been as extensive as they could be for a preschooler, and all of them had scored as high as the grown man who'd infiltrated them. I was truly a mere mortal among the geniuses of tomorrow, but for now I'm one of them and no one can reasonably prove otherwise.
Weeks later I'd gotten in the flow of things. Our teacher, Miss. Pigmy, was an old crone who clearly didn't think much of our natural talents. Loud and intolerable, she would often storm about the classroom ranting about paying attention or whatever it might be. Today was no exception. Little Erwin had had the audacity to drop his rubber on the floor.
"Miss, I didn't mean to!" cried Erwin through stifled tears, after a lengthy scolding.
Pigmy was having none of it, "I don't care what you meant, Erwin". I watched in silence, the same scene had played out more times than I could count. "Back in my day, you'd be caned nine ways from sunday!" I wasn't sure what that meant, but the way she said it was oddly sinister, even for her.
She waltzed to the back of the classroom almost gleefully and revealed a terrifying piece of wood that had been hiding on top of the cupboard. Erwin looked on in horror as she marched over to him and yelled "HOLD OUT YOUR HAND!". Erwin was frozen in time.
I've never considered myself a hero, but as the oldest person in the room I couldn't help but feel responsible for the poor boy. I steeled myself as best I could in my tiny frame and opened my mouth to scream a challenge.
"STOP!" The moment had been stolen from me. A girl from across the room, Wendy I think, had shown more courage than I could fathom with that one word.
---
The next few moments were a blur. Miss Pigmy was stunned that a child might stand up to her and was ready to change her attention to the young girl in front of her when Wendy continued; "How dare you treat us like this! We are under your care and you do nothing but shout, scream and complain"
She began to say things that a five year old should never utter, especially to a mean old teacher. After a while she was beginning to lose herself but kept on going, until she yelled "When I was your age I..." and abruptly ended her speech there. Pigmy was a little blindsided by what had unfolded, and I dread to think what might've happened if things had escalated further, but as luck would have it Mr. Irvine from the next room poked his head in just as the silence took over the room. "Everything alright in here?" he asked with the mildest hint of concern. Pigmy held the cane like a walking stick and gave the all clear.
Thankfully that was the end of it. Wendy was handed a debtention slip for her outrage but other than that it felt like we were through the worst of it for that day. I'd have to tell Mum about how much worse things had gotten, she'd fight for me.
But first I made my way to the Library to check in on Wendy. She was writing lines about something or other. I ignored that and considered how to ask what I needed to ask.
"Wendy, I.. Thank you, for helping Erwin earlier."
"Oh that's fine, I'd do anything for that boy." She smiled sweetly, but her warm blue eyes spoke only of worry.
"Listen, at the end of your rant earlier you said something like 'when I was your a..'"
"No, not you aswell?" Her eyes had grown wide.
"What? Does that mean? How old are you?"
"I'm five John, look at me. But my mind, well, that's another question."
I let that sink in. "Well, if we both have minds much older than our bodies, well, shouldn't we.. start a support group or something?"
"Why? We can't do anything until we're older, and by that time we'll just be average again. I swear you're just like all the rest. I'm too busy to help you."
"Hold on, You mean there are more?"
"How smart did you think a five year old could be? We're a bunch of old farts in the classroom. That is, except for little Erwin, he's all brand new."
"Huh.", so we're all just pretending, "What do I do with all my free time?"
"Isn't that the point? Use it to do things right this time. Pay attention in class, find a hobby you love. You got into one of the best schools in the country, use it."
I could do that.
"How did you die?"
Wendy rolled her eyes, "Why does everyone ask that." She sighed and cast her eyes downward, "Complications during pregnancy, if you must know."
"Nasty. I was hit by a bus."
Wendy cracked a wry smile, looked me straight in the eyes and broke down giggling.
A second lifetime seemed daunting, but maybe a friend like Wendy was all I needed.
|
It was but a few years ago that I had died. The feeling was strange, being a baby again, going through all the thing that I’ve gone through before yet forgotten. At first, it just seemed like I picked stuff up slightly quicker. I didn’t know German before I died, even though we were just neighbors on the either side of a wasteland, so I had to learn my first language all over again. It was strange having parents again. Mine died before the start of the great war, barely even knew them.
I was the only child in the family, and, while we were poor, my family tried their hardest to get me in the best schools. School was pretty easy at first, I quickly skipped past a few maths and science courses, but I had forgotten most of my higher level maths to this point. Still, I was only 7 while learning algebra with people much older. Turns out this was no blessing.
It was my ninth year when things started to go sideways. Unrest was growing within the population. It had been here for a long time, but now revolution feels imminent. I recently saw a man give a speech, a very passionate man at that. The crowd loved him and cheers were heard across the city. He talked of bringing back a powerful Germany, an anti-socialist Germany.
He took power nearly on my tenth birthday (my second-birth day). Soon after I was pulled from my school by the regime. The recruiter said that the country was in need of smart men like me. I’m not smart, certainly not as smart as they claimed. Knowledge and intellect are very different things. Nonetheless, I had become a trainee of the state that I had but decades ago died to defeat. The other students had sympathy for me, and I’m not really sure why.
After a few days, one of my new friends, Harry, came to talk with me just before dusk
He said, “So Joseph, where are you from?”
“Berlin,” I replied.
“No, no, where are you from before then,” he insisted.
I did not know what he meant, I am from Berlin, that’s where I was born, at least this time. Why would he think I was from somewhere else?
“Look around,” he continued, “have you not noticed how similar we all are? We all aren’t, or at least most of us aren’t, super geniuses, we all have memories of before we existed. Listen to me, I’m talking to you in English, you ever had English classes before?”
I did not believe him; I could not. An entire school of people who were reborn? That can’t be possible.
“Listen, kid... Joseph. I don’t know what the Germans want with us but I think they know who we really are, and I’m not sure how. What I am sure of, is that this is not school, this is boot camp. They don’t want us for our intellect. They’ve already realized we aren’t smart, hell I still don’t understand algebra. The Nazis want us for something else, and I want to know what that else is,” Harry said, motioning for me to follow him into a lit tent.
Edit: Part 1
| 2018-04-23T09:06:28
| 2018-04-23T08:59:05
| 108
| 54
|
[WP] God is the programmer of the universe. While he used to release updates and patches rather quickly, he has since stoped due to the complexity of his own embarrassingly jerryrigged coding.
|
First attempt at a story here:
He was desperate. He had until midnight to finish it, or it'd all be for nothing. He had avoided it for months, and had actually only started working on it one week ago. Storing the position of particles? No, he had decided that instead of having to store the position of electrons, it'd instead get a random position around the atom. "It's just a _tiny_ little workaround that I'll replace later," he told himself. Alas, he forgot to clamp the position, and _no_, he did _not_ get back to it. Making continuous time was too much of a hassle, so he just made the timestep an absurdly small value; 1E–43 seconds, for good measure. He didn't even notice it himself, but he even made the cosmological constant a *variable*, even assigning to it on more than just a few occasions. The list of his mistakes and bad implementations went on, and on, and on. Miraculously, gcc gave him an astounding *zero* compiler errors, not that the c++ standard cared too much anyways. No apparent semantic errors either, he thought. Despite his haphazard use of pointers where unnecessary, non-smart pointers to boot, it runs! At exactly 23:57:41 EST, he submits it just before the deadline. Despite his many bad practises, surely nobody would notice—
...
...right?
|
The man was hunched over, sitting intently at his desk. The scratch of a pen moving against the paper could be heard as he wrote.
*…confuses many. The Great Restoration was once seen as the proof of an omniscient, omnipotent being. It was the source of prayers and religion, of love and hope.*
He paused, stroking his now grey beard in thought.
*I do not claim to be able to explain its decreasing frequency, but as we hit the 100th anniversary of the last Restoration, I worry… I am one of the few alive today who have witnessed the characteristic light which fills the world on the day of the Restoration. It is criminal to me that what was, as legends say, once an annual event is now seen as an occasional miracle. If that.*
He thought back to his english class from the academy. Start with context, professor Edwin had always said. Then state the need.
He sighed and began writing again. The pen trembled in his fingers as he fought his age.
*Men are losing hope. It threatens the collapse of religion. Indeed, I have already seen the distrust that the younger generation have in the establishment. I know you have sensed it, as well. Those of us who have witnessed the event know better, but the young ones… they believe it to be hoax. A conspiracy, if you will.*
*It is not merely the religious establishment which is threatened by the absence of the Restoration. It is the government which ties itself to the religion. Supporting the church with only claims of evidence that they have never seen in their lifetime… it breeds doubt.*
He closed his eyes. Thinking.
The problem… and close it up with a call to action.
*We cannot let what we have painstakingly built collapse before our eyes. I will not let it happen. If you are the same friend that I have know for half a century, then I know you realize this as well.*
*My proposition is dangerous. But stakes are high, and drastic circumstances demand drastic actions. I know you still remember the expedition you had back when we were in the academy. The one you swore to never go back to.*
*I am calling it to you, as your duty and as a friend, to return. To revisit the discoveries from that trip. You have said that the power of those dark magics are too dangerous. Not to be handled by men. But we need it now. More than ever.*
*I will be counting on you. The civilization rests in your hands, and I know you have never been one to let it down. I wish that the lord be with you… but we know he has abandoned us. It is in your hands now.*
*Good luck.*
*Your friend and colleague,*
*Aximar.*
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! Feedback always appreciated.
| 2020-06-14T13:30:58
| 2020-06-14T13:19:22
| 111
| 20
|
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings.
|
Perched at the top of a thirty story building, legs dangling over the edge, I was gazing down at the streets below. At the ants, crawling about the streets, going about their day to day lives.
They are nothing.
A car horn blares below for a moment, as an obnoxiously large SUV cuts through a red light.
“Well hello there”, I mutter to myself. A moment later, in my mind, I’m inside his engine, gleefully eyeing all the toys at my disposal. *I could cut his brakes… no, a bit harsh. I could drain his windscreen wiper fluid? Pfft, he’d barely notice. Pop his tyres? No, he’d screw up and crash, probably kill someone.*
*He doesn’t need these though...* I unscrew the valve caps on his tyres. I disconnect the rear left power window. I unscrew the bolt on the spare tyre in the trunk, leaving it to rattle about. Cut all of the cables in the obnoxiously large subwoofer.
I snap back to my body, back to the roof. It’s not much, but it makes my endless existing mildly entertaining. The SUV drives on, none the wiser. I take a breath, scanning for my next target. There’s a woman struggling with groceries, attempting to juggle four bags and retrieve her keys. She swears profusely as I tear a hole in one of the bags and the contents pour onto the pavement. There’s a group of teenagers loitering near a fountain, flicking skateboards about. I tear the wheels off one of the boards just before the kid lands, and he tumbles to the ground. The others cackle in laughter at his failure. A policeman on a horse waits a set of lights to cross, and I sting the horse enough for it to thrash backwards, throwing him to the ground.
“You’re not supposed to be up here,” a voice calls from behind me. I continue looking downward, having scanned him already. A security guard. Someone had heard maniacal laughter on the roof, and he’d waddled his way up. Too much reliance on the elevator, too long in his seat, had left him fat. Couldn’t secure much. The short trip up the stairs from the top floor had left him panting and lightly sweating. “Hey, are you listening?” He calls again.
I shrug. Swing my legs up to my side, rolling into a slightly suggestive pose, my arm propping my head up as I lay on my side.
I stare at him. I can feel his unease.
“What are you doing on the edge?” There’s about three metres, and a mesh fence, between us. He has his hand on a radio on his belt.
I continue staring. He starts sweating harder.
“Do… do you speak english?” He calls. Increasingly unsure of himself. I roll my eyes visibly, becoming increasingly bored with this distraction.
I spring to my feet, balancing perfectly on the edge of the roof. A gust of wind rolls through, and I feign a loss of balance, wobbling over the edge, appearing to recover at the last second. The fat man nearly has a heart attack.
“Come on, get down and come inside, otherwise I’ll call the police.”
I’m bored with this now.
“No need,” I shout, as I spread my arms wide and let myself fall backwards. He screams and leaps forward, as I disappear into a cloud of dust. He’s left staring, dumbfounded, on the roof, as I reappear in the lobby, take his wallet from the security booth, and stroll out the front door.
|
A young man stood on a busy street corner, making eye contact with every single person who walked by. "Excuse me, would you like to make a donation to PlanetSavers?" he asked, or "You look like someone who cares about the Earth!" or "Good afternoon, do you have a minute to talk about securing humanity's future?"
Approaching him now, an attractive woman holding onto the arm of a rather less attractive man. Perfect, he could interrupt the date and get the guy to show off his generosity by donating to-
A moment later, he wasn't facing the street anymore. He was facing the building, as though he'd abruptly turned, but there was no reason he would do that. In the disoriented thirty seconds or so that he spent looking around, getting his bearings, and turning back toward the crowd, the promising couple had passed. He shook his head, and looked into the crowd, finding his next mark. "You seem like a conscientious person! Could I have a moment of your time?"
*********
"I still can't believe you got us a table at Aldo's... I tried to make a reservation for my birthday, but they told me they were booked out for two months! But we just met yesterday, there's no way you could've been planning this for two months," said Shirley. Her conversation was getting a bit repetitive, at this point, but Zack didn't mind. His plan was nearing its completion, so he wouldn't have to listen to her for much longer.
"I haven't been planning this for two months," he said, in a mock-exhausted tone of voice. "I just have great luck. Watch."
He stepped up to the curb, holding out a hand to signal a taxi. One stopped for him right away, and he held the door open for Shirley. "5 Riverside Lane, please," he said to the driver. "I've never understood why people use Uber. Too much waiting for the car to show up," he remarked to his date.
She shivered. Never before had she been with a man who just seemed to have everything go *right* for him. And Riverside Lane... that was the *rich* part of town. Single-digit house numbers rich. Might-get-there-in-a-limo-next-time-if-she-plays-her-cards-right rich. "Remind me what you do for a living?" she asked.
"Efficiency modeling," he remarked, sounding uninterested in the question.
Shirley suspected that that was a euphemism, that he went into offices and fired long-time loyal employees as a cost-cutting measure. It was the kind of job she should have moral objections to, but when she weighed those morals against her desire for a nice house, for a lifestyle that couldn't be supported on an ethical person's salary, she decided she was willing to sell out. For what Zack could offer, she would accept a great deal of moral compromise.
When he didn't elaborate, or say anything further, she tried to keep the conversation going. "And when did you move to this area?"
He looked at her with that inscrutable gaze of his. She hoped it was his method of concealing his burning desire, because otherwise, it just made him seem like he was on the spectrum. Shirley much preferred dealing with people who were neurotypical. "I've lived here all my life," he said, not dropping his gaze. "Not in the same house, mind, but in the same town."
"How odd that we've never met before today!" she remarked with a giggle.
Zack didn't reply. He just kept gazing at her. What was up with that gaze? She would have to fix that. On the next date, though. After she'd had time to cement her good impression on him.
The taxi pulled up at the end of a long driveway, leading to a house that Shirley recognized. When she was a kid, anytime the school bus drove by here, she'd tell everyone that this was the house she wanted to live in, one day. "It's almost like fate," she muttered under her breath.
That damn gaze was only dropped when Zack got out of the taxi. Shirley was about to follow when he abruptly closed the door behind himself. He was standing too close for her to open it again, so she rolled down the window. "I'm... still in here," she pointed out. "Kind of stuck."
When Zack looked at her again, his expression had changed. Shirley didn't understand it any better, but she recognized it... a smile, a... a *victorious* smile. "Oh, did you think you were coming home with me?"
"Well, I..." She didn't know what to say. What was going *on* here?
Zack leaned down, close enough for their noses to almost touch. Shirley tilted her head slightly, anticipating a kiss that never arrived. "Now I'm doing to you what you did to me in high school." Straightening up, he said to the driver, "Take her away."
The taxi pulled out into the street again, leaving Shirley baffled and devastated and unable to figure out a response as the driver kept asking, "What address, Miss?"
Zack returned to the house he'd borrowed for the evening. Everything had gone exactly as he imagined it. Even... no. Dammit! He'd *totally* made the taxi meter malfunction out of habit. He'd really been looking forward to sticking Shirley with the bill. Ah, well. At least he'd made her suffer emotionally.
| 2017-05-16T06:12:44
| 2017-05-16T05:30:27
| 1,586
| 196
|
[WP] You run the only, and most successful magic potion shop in Brooklyn, NY. Not a single grievance or complaint from customers. The potions can temporarily energize the user, fix back problems, simulate catnip, etc. You have no idea what you're throwing together.
|
“How can I help you today, young fella?” Mr. Grimsby, proud proprietor of Black Cat Magick, asked most congenially. Followed by a de riguer twirling of his famous mustache. Ol’ Salvador Dali had nothing on him.
“Well, there’s this girl...” Andrew said almost under his breath, shuffling from foot to foot.
“Ahhhh. I seeee. Love troubles then, my young friend? Want me to fix you up a wonderful, surefire love potion then?” Grimsby asked sympathetically.
Andrew’s eyes grew wide. I could feel his heart pounding from my heated perch. “No! Please no! I want to make her *not* love me!”
“How’s that again, son?” Grimsby asked, his visage and demeanor a carefully crafted mix of an old snake oil salesman and Garrick of Ollivander’s wands fame in Harry Potter. I’d designed him that way myself. The hipsters ate it up, as you’d expect.
“Caitlin Caffrey likes me. I can’t *stand* her! I need something to make her *not* like me anymore, as I really like this other girl, Sydney. Sydney’s the jealous type, and I don’t want her to get confused, and think I *actually* like Caitlin. Think you can help? All my friends say you’re the best, so I’m really hoping so, Mr. Grimsby.” Andrew concluded miserably, feet still nervously shuffling from side to side. Poor kid, I felt for him, I really did.
Grimsby looked over at me, to confirm *WE* could do the spell. As *IF* there was any *WE* involved in the potion-making process. Ol’ Grimmy was lovely and all, but he didn’t know his artemisia from his echinacea. I’d hired him for his looks and as my human beard, as I think the kids say, categorically *not* for his brains. I can make anything, of course, but it’s still nice Grims asks for confirmation. Just in case. And so, I nodded sagely, but imperceptibly in his direction. Couldn’t have Andrew catching on that Grimsby wasn’t in charge, after all! Who would buy potions from a retired familiar, am I right? Nope. Best to leave it to Grimmy to work his own form of customer relations magic, I laughed to myself.
“Well, son, that’s a new one for me!” Grimsby laughed in the friendly, understanding way that I’d taught him. To Grims’ credit, he does play the role well, I mused. “But, yes, I think I can help. Just need to clarify a couple things with you before I mix up the ol’ potion. First, do you have a personal item of hers?”
Andrew smiled proudly. “Yes, Mr. Grimsby, I do. My friends said I’d need something like that.” as he handed Grimsby a baggie with a small, matted piece of frizzy red hair that appeared to have some sort of strange, sticky substance on it. Wait? Was that *chewing* *gum*? I’m *certain* that I really don’t want to know how he got that *particular* sample. Humans, I sighed.
Without missing a beat, Grimsby replied, “Excellent. I’m sure hair *and* saliva will help me make an *extra* accurate potion. And do you have a sense of just *how* disinterested you want her to be? Are we talking more ‘general indifference’ or ‘active hate’?”
“Hmm. I hadn’t thought about that. Let’s go for ‘friendly tolerance’, if that’s ok? Don’t want any enemies, if I can avoid it.” Andrew said, his feet finally, mercifully still. Bitter Beelzebub, that constant nervous tap dance was disturbing! Nearly gave me a headache, I grimaced.
“Fantastic! ‘Friendly tolerance’ it is, then. Finally, as to the matter of payment. Will you be paying cash, credit, or tuna; young man?” Grimsby asked. I smiled at the tuna option, as I was always a sucker for great tuna. None of that tinned stuff for me!
“Ah! I forgot about the tuna option. Left a giant bag of the stuff in the freezer. Cash, then? I’d rather my Mom didn’t find out about this *particular* transaction, if you know what I mean.” Andrew replied, shuffling *again*. So annoying! And *FROZEN* tuna?!? I should mess up his potion just for that! A familiar of *MY* stature does *NOT* eat frozen tuna.
“Excellent. That will be $66.06, including tax.” Grimsby said. “Come back tomorrow morning around 9, and we, I mean I, shall have the perfect potion for you.”
I stretched languidly. Time to get to work.
Edit: fixed typos
|
*This might be somewhat scary*
I stared at the blank notebook in front of me, my hands hovering over the piece of paper, trying to brainstorm something, just anything. It was my liberal science project. I had to come out with a social experiment of some sort. Then, I got it.
A magic potion.
'I would place tap water in the fanciest bottle I could find and tell people that it is a magic potion. The goal is observe the placebo effect and see if people would be affected by their own thoughts physically,' I wrote on my notebook. I've got the idea for my project.
On the next day I painted the glass bottle sitting around in my house. I painted it with a navy blue with swirls of golden paint on top. It didn't look quite as fancy as I would've liked, but that's the best I could do. I filled the bottle with tap water, built a stand in front of the park of an expensive neighborhood, and started selling my magic potions. I sold them for $10 a bottle just to make the placebo effect stronger. Lots of people were passing by. Some looked at it with skepticism, more stared with rage, as if they were trying to punish me for my dishonesty with those looks. I kept my face straight and my head high, just to look like I've got something real. I was starting to feel like this was the worst project I've ever had when an old nanny came and looked at the bottles. 'How do they work, son? Are there user manuals?' 'Erm, no? You'll just have to go with the flow, the potion would tell you what to do.' She swirled my potion around for a bit, placed $10 on my table, clutched the bottle on her hand tighter, and left. The next day, a young lady in retro styled clothing came back to my stand. She placed $10 on my table, clutched a bottle of my drink, and left without words. Slowly, more and more people came.
'It actually works! I've heard so many good words about it! It's all over the internet!' More and more people came to my little stall and I received no complaints. For a whole week I would set up my stall at the same place after school, and in this period I've sold bottles upon bottles of "magic potions", and my income came rolling in. I even had to ask my friends to come over and paint my bottles with me. After a week, I've already earned enough to buy myself a beat down second hand car. I couldn't even have imagined this in my wildest dreams.
Once again, I sat in front of my desk, my pen in my hand. It was already 1am in the morning. Though the magic potion business got me loads of money, it was real tedious work. I had to buy boxes of glass bottles, fill them up at home and move them to my stall. I also had to stay at my stall till 10 at night and it was exhausting. I was taxed both physically and mentally. Feeling thirsty, I put down my pen on my desk and went for my leftover magic potion. 'I just wish I won't have to do my homework by myself...'
A string was going around my hand, my hand was spasming, and my pen fell out of my hold. I looked at my hands and there was a string holding me up. I was becoming a puppet and my own mind was receding inside me. I tried my best to shout, but my body was not in my control. I started seeing myself from a third person point of view, and my hand went for the pen and started writing again. My body went to the kitchen to paint more bottles, knowing that others who are controlled would have to come back and buy my potions soon as they would have to drink the potion again to be controlled, and the mind that was controlling me and the others would not allow people to escape its wrath so easily.
'That's what you humans have to pay for not wanting to work, kid.' A cold voice rose from the back of my mind, and it laughed for seemingly forever.
| 2020-08-30T07:31:53
| 2020-08-30T07:19:33
| 29
| 17
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..."
|
“HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up.
| 2021-06-24T10:00:08
| 2021-06-24T06:47:00
| 1,590
| 172
|
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.
|
I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent.
One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?"
"You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......"
...
"Teach?"
"Sorry?"
"You've been out of it for a minute - again"
"What were we talking about?"
"The civil war of 2002"
"Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.."
|
What if I were to erase my own existence?
What if my parents never met, and I was never conceived?
But clearly, if I was never conceived, then I wouldn't be *here,* talking to you in the first place right?
So that means that in order for me to erase my own existence, I would need to first be *in* existence. But If I exist, then how could it be possible that I never existed?
Then how could I erase my own existence if I am already -
Huh?
What did you say?
I don't exist? Okay. So you're saying I don't exist. Then how do you explain this?
See? Ha.
Fool. You're the one who doesn't exist. You can't even speak.
Look at where I am? I'm in a writing prompt? What rubbish is this?! No, I'm a history teacher for thirty years, what are you talking ab-
"I don't exist. My parents never met and I was never conceived."
Suddenly, I am starring at a classroom full of kids. They stared at me with confusion and surprise in their expressions. Some of the students laughed, as if I had just made a funny joke.
Then I disappeared. Just like that, I was gone. As if I had never existed.
What have you done?
Then I remembered. A memory. It had been so long ago that I had forgotten. I had erased my own existence. Well, I had tried to. Now I was something else. Something beyond existence. Before existence even existed. Something that was a part of the very fabric of the universe. Always existing, and at that same not existing.
What am I?
I don't know. Perhaps a God, some would like to say.
Now how does this end? You've written this well so far, don't let me get in your way.
Yes. That's right.
First, we must create the universe anew before we begin. It seems that the universe had become an empty shell since I've fallen into my delusions.
Yes, let us begin.
"Let there be light," he said.
*And there was light.*
-----
-----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-07-16T12:19:50
| 2018-07-16T11:25:49
| 848
| 158
|
[WP] Create an origin story for your reddit username.
|
"It's a coincidence."
"It's not, I tell you. The first three letters..."
"Uh-huh."
"Greek equivalent of X. Or the cross. Follow it by Rho, which *sounds* like Ron..."
"Mm-hmm."
"...and you get the literal Greek shorthand for Jesus Christ. The wounded healer and the martyred savior."
"No."
"Yes! That's what I'm telling you."
"The centaur and the Son of God are not the same. They're not even similar."
"Have you not been paying attention? I'm telling you, they're the same. Or, at least, related."
"Greek mythology wouldn't spill onto Christian doctrines like that."
"How else can you explain it? Two members of separate pantheons, two wise outcasts meant to lead unenlightened societies, two by whose stripes members of mankind could be healed. Not to mention, their names are similar."
"I say again, it's a coincidence."
"It's a Chiron-spiracy!"
|
The world was in chaos. War, famine, pestilence, and death ravaged the very core of the earth. The governments had done too little, too late, and had crumbled under the ensuing chaos of the apocalypse. Men prayed, and others fought, killed and died.
Those who had read about it, whether in their religious scriptures, or on 2005-style basic webforums, knew of the Four Horsemen, and their signs. Strewn bodies, malnourished babies, fields of death and the dying, crying children, and other nameless atrocies.
A few noticed other - more interesting - signs. 9gag was still popular. Snide reddit comments were upvoted more than ever, and 4chans servers were overloaded.
Little did the few humans know, there were five horsemen.
The Bringer of Death.
The Bringer of War.
The Bringer of Famine
The Bringer of Pestilence
And the Bringer of Keks
| 2016-02-14T08:04:21
| 2016-02-14T07:50:02
| 38
| 27
|
[WP] Self Portrait. Write a description of yourself from the perspective of a stranger on the train who took notice of you today.
|
I want to leave this train. Right now. Before the doors close. But I just got on. I'll look weird, and rude.
They've closed.
What is she doing on the train? Why is this man moving closer to me, it's so hot! She has so much space around her, meanwhile I can't breathe.
Actually, I wonder if she can breathe in that. She kind of looks like a letter box. I wonder if she has to wear it to sleep. I feel sorry for her. Maybe she needs help. Maybe I can slip her the card of a domestic abuse helpline. I wonder if she can read English.
It's ridiculous; 2015 and this is what I'm looking at.
People should be free to dress however they want; she shouldn't be wearing all that black cloth.
|
He looked straight ahead at the pole in front of him, almost like he meant to tear it from the floor with his mind or some other crazy shit, this guy looks like a mix between Mack Miller and Zach Galifinakis, and I don't think he's got their social skills. Not sure if this guys lost in thought or just trying to find it. He had a raggedy head of dark brown hair, not "fashionably" messy like an Axe commercial, but "just crawled out of bed" messy like a Jonas brother all cracked out. He had a pudgy under-chin and a thick red beard. If I had to guess I would assume he was really into some Yu-Gi-Oh shit or something along those lines. His jacket looks too small for him and his jeans to as a matter of fact, like he's put on a lot of weight over a very short period of time. Probably a break up, fuck if I know. Definitely a thicker guy in the torso, I'd put him at about 200 lbs. He wore a pair of non-slip black shoes, probably a fast food worker. I'd say he's about to go on a bender.
| 2015-01-09T23:40:37
| 2015-01-09T21:39:34
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] You are a retired assassin. The only thing you want is to die. Keeping you from this is the fulfillment of your last contract: A celebrated performer paid you to kill him if he ever tried to make a "comeback" as an old man. After years in retirement, the performer announces a world tour.
[WP] You are a retired assassin. The only thing you really want is to die. The only thing keeping you from this is the fulfillment of one contract: A celebrated performer paid you to kill him if he ever tried to make a "comeback" as an old man. After a number of years in retirement, the performer announces a world tour.
HAVE AT YOU, SssssNAKE.
|
The cane clicked softly down the long tile hallway. John's liver spotted, pale, wrinkled hands clutched the handle of the cane tightly. He was already breathing heavily and beads of sweat ran down his crooked spine. His eyes were fixed on the door at the end of the hallway. The bright golden star taped to the door pulled him forward.
A contract is a contract, John thought to himself as he struggled down the hallway. In his prime he could have crawled faster than this. He paused to wipe sweat from his brow with an old stained handkerchief. The door opened and a giant of a man stepped out. The man was nearly as wide and tall as the doorway. His shiny bald head nearly touching the top of the door jam.
"Old man, what are you doing down here?" The giant asked John.
John's cane continued to click down the hall.
"Old man, I asked you a question!" The giant's voice rose in anger.
Only a few more feet go. The man stepped away from the door and stomped his way toward John. His face growing red his beady eyes nearly popping out of his face. He reached a hand out to stop the old man.
The cane shot up with incredible speed. The hardwood handle connected with the giant's throat with a sickening crunch. The giant fell to the ground clutching his collapsed wind pipe desperately sucking in air.
I still got it. John smiled and walked forward a little faster. The rush of adrenaline filled him with fire. A feeling he had missed for such a long time. Wrinkled pale fingers wrapped themselves around the door handle and twisted.
An older man sat in front of a mirror lined with lights. He was brushing out his shoulder length black hair while he hummed. The brush stopped mid stroke. Wide terror filled eyes stared at John in the mirror.
"No. Please no." The artist begged.
"We have a contract." John's voice came out in a ragged whisper.
The artist tried to stand from his chair but John's hand came down on his shoulder. The artist struggled for a second before he felt the cold barrel of the gun press against his neck.
"No one would believe that I shot myself the night of my triumphant return." The artist said.
"You're right."
John reached into his pocket. He set down the orange bottle full of small white pills.
"Pour yourself a drink, I don't have all night."
The artist poured his favorite whisky into a glass with shaking hands.
"I thought you were dead." He whispered.
"Not yet."
With trembling fingers the artist opened the bottle and poured the pills into his palm. He sobbed as tears ran down his cheeks.
John's cane clicked down the hallway as the paramedics rushed past him. Maybe I should come out of retirement too. He shook his head and laughed.
---
Check out /r/Written4Reddit if you liked it!
|
I lined up the aging rocker in the sights of the scope.
*I'm too old for this shit.*
My hands were still steady although time told me otherwise. I breathed long, steady breaths before I clicked the call button on my earpiece.
The man on the scope reached deep into his pockets. Not recognizing the number he returned it from where it came.
*Really? You gotta be kidding me.*
I groaned and dialed again. Trying to focus the severity of the situation through the phone line. Still, it was to no avail. The man returned the phone to his pocket and continued to wait for his ride.
*Motherf-, if he doesn't answer this time I'm shooting.*
Dial.
Finally his raspy, broken voice came over the line.
"Who is this?"
"I think you know Mr Tyler." His face went pale as I watched him through my scope. "You asked for this, years ago. Rather die a legend then become a relic. Just like you, I came out of retirement for one last gig."
His panic eyes began to race around, looking for me although I knew he wouldn't. "Where are you?" he ventilated into the earpiece.
"Steady your breathin' lad. Otherwise people might think you've seen a ghost. You don't want to seem the paranoid old man that you are." I smiled, though he couldn't see.
"I take back the deal! I take it back."
"Can't do that lad, no refunds. I got payed so I got paid to cater the party, can't let the goods go to waste. A man's only as good as his word after all."
Tears began to stream his face. He was an animal panicked, knowing these were his last few moments on earth.
"I'll pay you more! I'll pay you to back out."
My voice grew stern. "Now that would be unprofessional lad. Wouldn't want that tarnish on me reputation. Are you ready for the last song?"
"No!" He shouted into the phone. "Please!"
Sympathy struck me but I shooed it away and squeezed the trigger. The hiss of displaced air barely a whisper in the busy street.
"Dream on, Mr Tyler."
________________________________________________________________
You liked this?
check out my subreddit.
/r/abdantaswrites
Or my book!
[WINDS](https://www.amazon.com/WINDS-Elemental-Eye-Book-1-ebook/dp/B018TGN8VO?ie=UTF8&qid=&ref_=tmm_kin_swatch_0&sr=)
| 2016-05-12T06:04:17
| 2016-05-12T03:45:24
| 41
| 20
|
[WP] When you die, you appear in a cinema with a number of other people who look like you. You find out that they are your previous reincarnations, and soon you all begin watching your next life on the big screen.
|
"What is this?" I asked as I made my way down the aisle.
It was a normal theater, in fact it looked just like the one that I used to visit all the time with my wife, but something was... different. There were five other people in the room, all seated nearly as far apart as possible. Something prickled in the back of my mind, something that connected me to those other people, but I wasn't sure what it was.
"What is this?" I repeated, louder this time.
"Just shut up and take a seat." A man in the top right section of the theater shouted back.
Grumbling, I found a seat in the bottom section of the theater and settled in, watching as the screen changed, showing a video that began with a blast of white light. The peculiar thing was though... as I watched, I recognized every moment of the film. It was my life. *My* life, exactly. From the moment I exited the hospital on my birth date, to the moment I took my final breath. My entire life, summed up in a five minute video.
"What the...?" I began, when someone plopped down in the seat next to me.
"Pretty crazy, huh?" A man said, and when my eyes found his, I gasped.
He looked exactly like me, as if someone had dropped me into a cloning machine. Or was I a clone of him?
"What is this?" I asked for the third time.
My clone motioned around to the theater. "Welcome to the Brady Wells Cinema, my friend. We all wind up here eventually. The Brady in the corner up there? He was the first one of us to show up here."
"That's... nice." I breathed, still awestruck by the man in front of me. "But what is this place?"
Other Brady relaxed back into his chair, letting his arms stretch out behind him. "Call it Heaven, call it Hell, whatever you want, but we've got one job while we're here: to watch."
"Watch what?"
Other Brady pointed at the screen, which was fading from black to gray, like those scenes where someone is opening their eyes.
"The next Brady. We watch his life and pray that he gets it right. If he doesn't, he'll show up here, just like you did." At the look I gave him, Other Brady grinned. "Aw don't feel bad, Brady, I'm here too, aren't I?"
I nodded, still not quite understanding. The screen faded to white, and then a room came into view. A hospital room, a plethora of doctors, and a very joy-struck man that held his arms out towards New Brady.
"What do you mean we 'pray that he gets it right'? Get what right?" Someone in the upper section directed a loud *shhh!* in our direction.
Other Brady casually flipped them off without ever taking his eyes off me. "Life. If you haven't guessed yet, we're all here because we failed in some way. Brady number 3 up there? One of the richest men alive, but no kids. Not even money buys our way to the Great Beyond. So we watch. And we pray that the latest Brady gets it right, then we can all move on."
"That doesn't make any sense." I said finally, struggling to keep my voice below a whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"You just sit here and watch? That's it? What's the point if you can't help the latest Brady live his life correctly? It could take a millennia to get it right." I glanced around the theater. Only five other versions of myself in the room. How many more until we got it right?
"Look, I'm not saying I like it, or that it's perfect, but it's just how it is. I don't make the rules. That door you came through? It only opens once, and that's when the latest Brady dies, otherwise it's locked. So yeah, we just sit here and watch." Other Brady whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.
The latest Brady was being rocked gently by strong arms. A soft lullaby was being sung by an unseen woman.
"Have you ever tried to go through the door when it is open?" I whispered, and Other Brady spun on me so quickly, it was almost inhuman.
"No," he hissed like a venomous serpent, "and we aren't ever going to. You may not like it, Brady, but this is how it is. We sit and watch. You try to disrupt that and cause trouble? We'll stop you. We've done it before." And with that, Other Brady rose from his seat and relocated himself to across the room.
I sighed, slumping into my seat like a pouting child. My eyes found the screen, watching reluctantly as Brady was passed off to the father. He was crying happily, hugging the baby close to his chest. Was this really all there was in the afterlife? A dim theater with irritated versions of myself? I wanted to believe that this was all some horrible dream, that I would wake up in my bed an old, weary man, but I knew I wouldn't. My time had passed, and now it was this New Brady's turn at life. I would just have to learn to deal with it.
As I watched the film, I adjusted my position in the seat, trying to get comfortable in these budget theater chairs. It was going to be a long movie.
|
I woke up sitting in a cinema. Next to me was a roman soldier and a barbarian woman.
"Ehm sorry to bother you, but where am I?"
"Look who finally arrived."
The roman soldier turned his head to me.
"Hi, I'm Nr. 13. But just call me Julius. You must be Nr. 51."
"What?"
"You are dead. You just died trough a accident."
"Accident?"
The woman suddenly burst into laughter.
"Yes you idiot. You just won the Darwin Award. Trying to grind your stick on a grinding machine must be the best idea you ever had!"
I was still confused. I barely remembered anything.
"By the way thats Nr. 14. Just call her Asla. You bled to death when your nutsack got stuck on the blade of the machine. That thing ripped it off clean and you colored your entire workspace red. But well, at least you had a interesting life. Very entertaining for us."
"Us? How many are there?"
I looked around. People from all over the world and times were sitting here.
"Alright, let me sum in up for you."
The roman put down his popcorn.
"This is our afterlife. Everytime we die, the previous reincarnation will be placed in this cinema. And together we can watch the life of the next reincarnation. And to answer your question: There are 51 of us till now. Now lean back and enjoy the show. The snack bar is behind us."
"But why is there a woman sitting next to me?"
Asla cleaned her mouth from the cheese sauce.
"Life knows no religion, gender or skincolor. See that guy over there, the chinese dude? Or that black woman in the front?"
"So...we just sit here and watch a movie?"
"Yep, no idea what happens when all the 300 seats in this cinema gets filled tough. And...oh look, its starting again!"
The next movie started. After probably a few hours I forgot, why I was so scared and confused about afterlife.
"NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? DON'T KISS HER FOR FUCK SAKE! SHE IS STILL CHEATING ON YOU!"
Nr. 52 just kissed his 3. wife. Even tough she was still cheating on him with the crack dealer from the corner.
Julius scoffed.
"Pff, divorce number 3 incoming guys."
Asla agreed.
"Either that or he is getting shot by that dealer."
| 2022-05-10T21:37:24
| 2017-11-23T06:45:18
| 1,154
| 30
|
[WP] You’re a professional organizer and a video game boss just hired you for their lair, they don’t seem to understand why random health packs, crates of ammo and useless bales of hay and closets aren’t a good idea and just help the hero
|
I stumbled over loose dungeon cobblestone as the hellhound's footfalls echoed down the dim passageway. My elbow cracked as I fell. Blood ran down my face into my eyes. Choosing the side passage had been stupid. The end-tunnel loot was hardly worth risking my throat being torn out. Or my head being caved in by the booby trap around the first blind corner. I mean, really, a few lockpicks in exchange for risking life and limb? They weren't even stored behind a cute little puzzle minigame. Just a twisty-turny death tunnel with a few fucking lockpicks strewn on the floor.
I'd have to put in a word, once my shift was over.
Snarls grew louder behind me. The air began to suffocate like a heat blanket.
I limped onward.
Up ahead shone a flickering light. Not that of a fiery hellhound, but of salvation. A glowing white aura that could only symbolize the sweet sweet relief of a med station. Sure enough, suspended in mid-air was the stereotypical rotating med-pack, complete with the little red cross that would restore my health bar to full. All I'd have to do was walk over it and I'd be back in action, like a breath of fresh air, ready to turn upon the hound and unleash fury.
Hardly any effort at all.
I cursed aloud and said "Pause Game." The snarling, the heat, everything, drew to a sudden stop all around me.
Ugh.
Difficulty sweeps made me want to scramble my code.
The hellhound padded up behind me as I pulled out the de-degitizer. It was so strange, seeing a face dripping with blood actually *pouting*. "You don't *have* to do you?" it asked. It drooped its shoulders low, as if that would convince me.
"Player chose hardcore mode, bud," I said with a sigh. "I'm afraid I do." The de-digitizer shimmered the medpack into a cloud of will-o-whisps, untethering it from digital reality. The hellhound watched with wet, beady eyes as the white aura faded into darkness. "Never understood why you lot don't help us out with this sort of work," I said. "It's goddamned mind-numbing."
This time the hellhound sighed. A throaty sort of huff that splayed blood against the passageway walls. "Hardcore is just *easy*," it muttered. "I sorta enjoy the challenge that Novice brings."
To be honest, that had never occurred to me. Hardcore Players were eviscerated by low level ghouls or decapitated by random encounter rats. This poor mutt hardly saw any action. Hell, even if the Player *did* make it to the final dungeon, I reckoned one bout of the hellhound's firehowl burnt the poor bastards to a crisp.
"Must be dreadfully boring."
The hellhound nodded.
For a moment, we brooded in silence, me with my newfound lesson in perspective and it, well, likely grappling with the first few stages of grief.
I felt bad for the guy. Why is it we were always pandering to Player's wishes anyways? What made the lines of code so sacred? So untouchable? Were the "bad guys" not worth entertaining too?
"Tell you what," I said. "Maybe just this time, I'll make a few easter eggs huh? Turn those lockpicks into something more exciting? At least that way there's a *chance* for action. Something to look forward to. Hell, if you wanted to...I don't know...spur Player along the right direction, I'm sure nobody would really notice..."
The hellhound perked up. The corners of its eyes crinkled as it flashed a fang-filled smile. I could see bits of rotten Player flesh from playthroughs gone by stuck between its teeth.
*Thatt'a boy,* I thought
"That would be nice," the hellhound said. "What sort of easter egg are you thinking?!"
"Oh, I dunno," I shrugged. "Maybe an oversized hammer?"
"A...hammer?" The hound deflated like a balloon.
"What use would *that* be?"
I smirked and clapped the creature on the back.
"I guess you've never played Smash Bros."
--------------
r/M0Zark
|
Inside the throne room of Snoggath the Tormenter, the bane of Felandria and rightful heir to the dark crown, stood a man.
"Alright, Mr. Snoggath the Tormenter, your minions have shown me every nook and cranny of your esteemed castle. I believe I can help you."
"Please, sir, 'Snoggath' will do. But go ahead," Snoggath said, nervously shifting in his throne. He had taken so much care designing this castle, devising nefarious traps and hiring only the most fearsome fiends for his dungeon. Where could possibly be any more room for improvement?
The organiser put on his glasses and shuffled through his notes. "Good, Snoggath, I see you're eager to receive my advice. Many despots and conquerers aren't open to criticism, you know. Hardly surprising, yet disappointing nonetheless. But as long as I get paid," he added with a weary sigh. "Anyway, enough about me. Is there any specific area you had in mind when you enlisted my services?"
"Not directly, no. I thought an outsider's perspective might be of use. Crafting this pinnacle of my kingdom took aeons, countless mortals perished during its construction. Perfection is what I strive for, and perfection is what I shall receive." He clenched his iron fist with such force, a piece of coal would have turned into a diamond, which would immediately crumble under the intense pressure. "Humans have a saying which, I feel, applies here. Not seeing the forest for the trees."
"A man of culture, I see. Then let us begin with your castle's general layout. I've seen many traps and trap doors during my visit, and in several cases your minions actually triggered them themselves. I realise they are meant for intruders, but they obviously pose a serious and significant health risk to your own people."
"My minions are disposable to me. Death provides their meaningless lives with a purpose. Dying in my castle is an honour only few are granted."
"Placing traps where your minions don't go could prevent some accidental deaths, though. For example, there are countless shortcuts, especially in hard to reach places. You could put some traps there, where mostly trespassers would be harmed by them. That could both save your minions and injure or even dispose of any unwanted guests sneaking around your castle."
"These shortcuts are for my servants. Those goblins and pixies with their tiny, little legs take too long to reach me via ordinary ways, so we had small passageways and secret doors erected, to aid them in providing better and more efficient care for me."
"I see." The organiser took a pen out of his pocket and made a note on one of his papers. "Next up, I couldn't help but notice your entire foundation for this building seems to be a giant pool of lava, which at places flows through parts of the deeper levels of the interior. Is that necessary?"
"Certainly. It is menacing and captures my fiery persona. It also serves as a waste disposal for all the bodies of my enemies." More quietly he added, "Plus, the indirect, natural lighting creates an intriguing atmosphere, and it significantly lowers the heating bill and other expenses."
"Mhm, practical. As I was shown around, a group of your minions tried to get rid of a rat. However, only one at a time was trying to do so, the others only watched and, well, waited for their turn. That's their MO for any situations involving confrontations, I assume?"
Snoggath groaned. "That is due to their lousy training. I hired these supposedly elite warriors from a distant land, and their holy training instructions there explicitly forbid engaging an opponent with more than two men at once. One day, when I have conquered their lands, I will rip apart these instructions with my own hands together with the instructors' feeble bodies, and burn down their training grounds. I will show them what being an elite guard truly means."
"Always the ambitious one, commendable. What about all the health and mana potions lying around everywhere? I also nearly stumbled over some magic tomes with powerful spells written down in them. Don't you feel like that's giving your potential intruders an advantage?"
"My minions deserve health care and I provide them with only the best potions there are, pillaged during my countless raids. Tomes are knowledge, and knowledge is power. I didn't become the ruler of my kingdom by being lucky or fortunate. I hardened both my body and my mind."
The organiser put down his papers. "Snoggath, I think we went through all of my notes. So far, you haven't taken a liking to any of my suggestions, but at least you provided reasons as to why and didn't try to put my head on a spike. If I might add one last thing, though. Have you considered putting a lock on the door to your treasury?"
Snoggath pondered that idea for a moment. "Brilliant idea. I shall do that immediately. Thank you for your service. My minions will escort you out and hand over your payment. And now begone, puny mortal!" His massive index finger pointed towards the door.
Two minutes after the organiser had left the throne room, a minion entered. "My liege, the organiser has been... escorted."
Snoggath grinned, exposing his sharp teeth. "I love my lava pool," he said, and his roaring laughter could be heard all throughout the castle.
| 2018-07-03T07:05:06
| 2018-07-03T06:32:29
| 73
| 44
|
[WP] In Monsters Inc., A monster goes in one door to scare a child, only to find that the child had made a demonic sacrifice in his bedroom. The child thinks that the monster is a gift from Satan.
|
I reviewed the file as I approached the door. Age 12 years? That must be a mistake; we never go after them older than 8.
"Jerry, you sure this is the right kid? He's almost a teenager."
Jerry shrugged four of his shoulders. "I double checked it. Technically his screams will work too. They must be getting desperate for doors if we're going after this demographic though."
I quickly glanced through the rest of the information and room layout. Probably best to go with a simple "Peak and 'Eek.'" For you non-scarers out there, it's a more cautious approach whereby I slowly open the door after applying some rusting spray to get that perfect eerie creak. I stay in the shadows so that he can only see my eyes, and then just when his curiosity is about to get the better of him, I *lunge* forward and scare the living daylights out of him. It's a classic.
The door was plain and white, but there was something off. There were scratches on it. Deep ones down to the wood, with some flecks of red. "What the... Hey Jerry, what's with this door?"
"Who cares? Just get in and get the screams and get out, man. We've got a quota to meet."
Jerry was right. 12 year olds get scared too. Some even more so with those crazy hormones running around their brains. I loosened my shoulders and stepped inside. The closet was pretty dark, I could see a flickering light from outside through the slats. Perfect; that's why they'd assigned this one to me. The little sucker still slept with a night light! That would really accentuate my horns while I lurked. They are my best feature, you know.
I misted the hinges slightly and opened the door just an inch or so. It let out the perfect, ominous creak. *Excellent.* I gave it a gentle shove then shrank back, allowing myself to be enveloped by the shadows.
The first thing I noticed was the candles. Ten of them, arranged in a star. *Not a nightlight,* I realized. *Crap.* They were tall and black, dripping wax onto the boring white carpet; that would be hard to clean.
The next thing I noticed was the blood. That would be even *harder* to clean. It glistened ominously in the candle light. I don't know how I knew what it was, but I was instantly sure. 100% definitely blood, drawn into runes in the center of a pentagram.
I stepped forward out of the closet, trying to get a better look. *Just get the screams and get out*, I told myself. *No need to figure out what's wrong with this kid. Just find him, roar, and get out of here.*
Above me, I found the source of the blood: a disembowled cat, hanging from the light fixture on a silver chain. Its face was frozen into a permanent expression of pain and suffering. Clotting blood crusted its formerly orange fur. *Oh god,* I thought. *They sent me to another monster's room*.
Cold metal circled my writst, and I heard the *click* of the handcuffs locking into place. "You're exactly what I wanted," a voice whispered into my ear, and blood-soaked hands stroked my horns. I let out a high, shrill, girlish squeal so loud it would have shattered ear drums.
"Perfect, we got it!" I heard Jerry call out. "Come on home!"
Then the closet door closed behind me, and I was trapped in this world.
|
The door slid into place. I took a deep breath and gripped the doorknob. I needed to prove myself. I'd barely graduated from Monster University. As this was my first scare it was important to impress my supervisors.
I pushed open the door and roared, hands up above my head. My fangs glinted in the moonlight. My claws extended to six inches. The fur on my back stood up straight.
The child knelt in the middle of the room. Candles circled him, a book and what looked like a skeleton. The child chanted as he stabbed the floor over and over again.
I put my arms at my side. My fur laid down, and my claws retracted. I wasn’t prepared for this.
The boy stopped chanting. He turned around and saw me. He dropped the knife and sprang up. “You came,” he exclaimed. “I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body and the… the things. And you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood.”
I put my hands up and started backing towards the closet door. “Sorry, kid. I don’t know-“
The child moved towards me. “My mother died, and I got sent to the orphanage.”
This must be a test. I reared back and roared. Fangs dripping, claws extended, fur standing up, murder in my eyes. The boy clapped his hands. He even laughed.
“Perfect,” said the boy. “I want you to kill Grelod. She’s a monster.” He balled his hand in a fist and scowled. “I want her dead.”
What the hell was wrong with him? I wasn't a murderer. I just wanted to scare kids.
"She's in Riften, but I'm sure you know that." He ran up to me and gave me a big hug. "This will be the best thing to happen to me in a long time."
I held my hands up and screamed, trying to get away from the kid. We weren't supposed to touch. I pushed him off of me and ran back through the closet. The door slammed behind me. I huffed and puffed trying to catch my breath.
I hoped this wouldn't impact my performance evaluation.
| 2015-03-07T13:15:13
| 2015-03-07T12:58:48
| 116
| 29
|
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
"John, what's wrong? You haven't even touched your beer."
"Shhh...Listen. Do you hear that? There's something off about this song."
"Off? Off how?"
"Just off. It's weird. I thought it was weird earlier. I could have sworn the DJ was playing the edited versions of the songs. Like the radio versions. I knew it was weird when the Snoop song was on and everyone was like 'Smoke weed everyday' but I didn't think I heard the actual song."
"Who cares? It's the radio version. People know that version. We are in a crap bar and the crap DJ is playing slightly crappier versions of crappy songs."
"Yeah, good point. Let's order shots."
|
“Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar
| 2018-01-27T21:07:07
| 2018-01-27T17:41:50
| 1,029
| 214
|
[WP] You're a married oncologist secretly watching your favorite porn star's new material. You see a lump that looks cancerous, and decide to go to LA to inform him/her without letting your spouse know.
|
God she was beautiful. Perfect in every way, everything my wife wasn't. I knew every inch of her naked body. I could picture it with my eyes closed, every detail was intact. I think, I was slowly falling in love with her. I was at least in Lust. Then in happened. This week's video, something was wrong. She looked uncomfortable, that wasn't the girl I knew. The girl I knew took dicks like a fucking champ. That wasn't the problem. I could still get into it while she made that face.
Then I saw it, the lump. I knew what it meant in an instant. I had...I had to tell her. I had to tell her now, before it was too late. If I left right now I could make it there in 12 hours. It was a long drive but it was worth it.
Wait, no, I can't just dissapear. It's my wife's birthday weekend, we have plans...FUCK! She...has birthdays every year, this was a matter of life and death, surely she would understand. No, not this, she could never know. My wife tolerated pornography, but this would be too much, it would make it too real.
I told my wife the only thing I could. I told her I wanted a Divorce.
I told her I was taking the weekend for myself, and that I needed time to think. I told my wife it wasn't her fault, but that I needed to figure some things out.
She was shocked by the timing, but she understood. Our relationship had never been "magical." I think deep down she knew this day was coming. The marriage may never recover but there was no time to worry about my wife, when the woman I love needs my help!
As I raced toward L.A. I practiced my words until they sounded sincere and...un-Stalkerish. I was finally here, her apartment. I'd seen it many times on google earth, but finally being here, I won't lie I was excited.
I took a moment to calm, I shouldn't be giddy when saying something so serious.
I knocked...no answer.
I knocked...no answer again.
Just as I was about to knock a third time, she opened the door.
There she was, as beautiful in real life as she was online.
I let my touge loose.
"Hi, you don't know me, but I'm a big fan of yours. I've watched ALL of your videos...that's not important, what's important is that I'm an Oncologist and I noticed...a lump in your latest video. There is no easy way to say this. I'm sorry Bailey, I think you have prostate cancer."
|
The door opened, and there she stood. Kasia Uscilko, or as she goes by her porn name: Teen Kasia. The most beautiful girl in porn ever. The girl so beautiful, young, and cherubic. Not only she acted different from all the other porn actresses out there, she never did hardcore porn. Almost all of her videos were her playing with herself.
I remembered the first time I saw her video, it was an American cameraman talking.... no flirting with her. She didn't speak much, just laughed and giggled at the camera and fucked a blue dildo dry.
"Dzień Dobry, Czy mogę ci pomóc?", oh crap, she didn't speak English. Her profile says that she moved to US in 2008, but I guess it's not that difficult when you live only among Polish community.
"Dzien....Dzien Dobre! Mam....Mam imie Dr Steven Priest. Jestem Oncologist....", crap, that hit my knowledge of being able to speak Polish. 3 years of Polish, and I can barely introduce myself. How can I break it to her that she might have a worrisome lump in her breast.
"Oh, I speak English. Hello, how are you doing today? How I help you?", she smiled. Oh god, this was the real thing. She recently had a haircut because her beautiful blonde hair was evenly drooping around her shoulders.
"Hi, I am Dr Steven Priest. I am an Oncologist."
"Oncoleest?"
"Oncologist, I am ..... lets just say a cancer doctor"
"Oh, I don't have purse with me."
"Oh no, no, I am not here to collect donation for Cancer patients. Umm, may I come in?"
She frowned. I am a complete idiot, why would a famous pornstar let some random guy in. "Alright, alright, you don't have to let me in. We can just talk here. I have some bad news for you." I took a deep breath, and went into my breaking-the-tragic-news mode.
"What... what news?"
"I saw your...reports, and it turns out that you might have a lump in your left breast which you need to get checked." She didn't seem to understand it. So I decided to elaborate using hand gestures.
"Your breast", what's the word for breast in Polish, "Cycki" I made a circular gesture with my finger around her left breast.
Before I could continue, she shrieked. Next thing I knew I was on the ground, the door shut on my face.
"...Boze, Boze, Boze... pierdole.....kurwa...kurwa.", that's all I could hear and understood from the other side of the door. Apparently I knew way too many Polish curse words and not enough working Polish. Shit, on the top of that, the word for 'breast' wasn't really the Polish word for breast, it was 'tits'. Its not the same thing Steve!
"Go away, I call Policja. Policja...Police coming, Police comes"
"Please, listen to me Kasia. I am not a creep. I am a real Doctor. Here, this is my Medical Association card.", I slid the car under the door. You... your breast has a lump in it. YOU MIGHT HAVE CANCER", that had an effect. Nothing happened for next few moments. Then she opened the door a bit.
"You are, doctor of cancer? Onco....Oncolo...Oncologi....Oncologist", she slowly read my speciality off the card.
"Yes, Tak"
"And you say I have Cancer... in my .... boob"
"Yeah, its in your breast...boob, I mean no you have....you MIGHT have a lump in your left breast, which may or may not mean its Cancer"
"Boze", she remembered God again.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in her living room, explaining how I came to figure out that she might have an abnormal lump in her left breast. It was embarrassing, but it didn't matter to her. I recommended her to go to the doctor immediately and get it checked.
"But you are a doctor, why don't you check, please doctor, Proszę!" she begged as she continued to stare into her t-shirt.
Oh god, I don't know what to say. Should I say be a decent human being and say no, or should I say yes. I took an Oath for the welfare of my patients and not take advantage of them. I had to adjust my pants a bit.
On the other hand, I have been fantasizing about this girl for years now. This girl got me interested into Polish girls. Every girl I dated since then were a poor imitation of Kasia. Fuck, if my wife found out then she would kill me and then divorce me. These eastern european girls can get real jealous.
Then I remembered this part of the oath,
> ...I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability....
"Do you have health insurance?"
"No, I just go to Dr Wojcicki when I have a problem"
Well I guess that solves the problem, this poor girl might be looking at a lot of economic expenses, even financial ruin in the coming days. It is my duty to help her out as much as I can.
"Alright, take your shirt off and lie down...."
| 2015-05-28T17:17:48
| 2015-05-28T15:34:36
| 46
| 13
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[WP] as the youngest heir to the throne you fake your death to escape a military coup but it was so convincing that Death came to collect your soul. CConfused by the situation, Death decides that you're a new form of undead and can't decide which powers you should be granted.
|
An actor I was at the time
And a good one at that
For I pulled a farce so sublime
That death did tip his hat
​
You may not yet be dead young prince
But you could have fooled me
So as a form of recompense
Here is a choice of three
​
A trickster you have proved yourself
So maybe this will match
Shall your face go upon a shelf
While others you shall snatch
​
Nay, I wish not to change my shape
It simply will not do
Oh reaper shrouded in black capes
What are the other two?
​
You run and run from stronger men
But this you'd do with ease
If you could make shadow your friend
To night you'd have the keys
​
To merely hide is cowardice
Though tempting it may be
Molding the shadow's edifice
Is not the one for me
​
Your people brought your family low
But you could watch them fry
If fires of vengeance could glow
From hateful hazel eyes
​
Oh reaper I can not choose this
For they know not their crime
If I were to destroy them thus
They'd think them justified
​
Having not chosen any three
The reaper laid his curse
A beggar I was doomed to be
With an unending thirst
​
The powers were given to me
The coup I overthrew
Now a monster forced in to being
Thus donned Nosferatu
|
The metabolism slowing tonic was a medical breakthrough. It revolutionized disease treatment and surgery like nothing else. But like any technological advancement, it had yet to be refined. Perfect. Optimized.
I tasked the surgeon general with a seemingly simple task: make a metabolism *freezing* tonic. Something that completely stops your metabolism for a day or two. It took him years, but he did it. The *ultimate* metabolism manipulating medicine. By then I was 22. My father was old and frail, and my older brother was chomping at the bit to take the throne. The freezing tonic was originally intended to be used to safely capture prisoners during times of war... but I found another use.
I found out that I was going to die soon. The kingdom was loyal to my older brother already, but he wanted zero contest for the throne. That meant killing me off. I grabbed a dose from the surgeon general’s office and left him a note: “Destroy all evidence of our secret project. Do not let my brother know of its existence. Do the autopsy yourself.” Then I ran back to my private quarters, drank the tonic, and “died.” The effects should have lasted two days. In that time, I was buried. The surgeon general, the most loyal staff member I had, did his duty. In two days he would be there to exhume my still-breathing corpse and let me run free.
But when I woke up... . There was a specter reaching his hand into my chest, but his hand recoiled as I moved. “This is... most unusual. A typical undead can move without a heart beat. You revived yourself? Most curious.”
I screamed. The Soul Collector is real? The soldiers who report of this specter on the verge of revival were always said to be lunatics. Hallucinating in their final moments. “You can stop screaming now Theo. If you still breath I cannot collect your soul. But tell me, what magic did you use to survive? Sanguimancy? Corpus Mech—“ I started to hack and cough, desperate for air. Buried this far underground screaming took up all my oxygen. “Oh no, this just won’t do. Let’s get you out of this coffin...” I felt my... was that my soul? Whatever it was, yanked from my chest. Somehow, my body followed immaterially through the ground, leaving behind an empty coffin. Once placed upon the earth I began to gasp, taking long and harried breaths to restore my body’s exhausted reserves. I tried to run, but I couldn’t. My muscles hadn’t felt blood in... however long. They were stiff, barely able to move. I was essentially this... thing’s captive audience.
I finally had the chance to observe the specter once my eyes adjusted to the harsh light of late afternoon. It was a gaunt, partially transparent figure concealed by a cowl, glowing a ghastly yellow. The specter smelled like puss and fermentation. I did not know that ghosts had a smell. “Now that you can breath again, speak. How are you alive? What form of undead are you?” I trembled. “Mr. Death, sir, I never died. My doctors devised a tonic capable of freezing my bodily functions for a set period.” The specter brought a skeletal hand to its face, performing some kind of gesture that I assumed to be one of discontent or annoyance.
“Human medicine being able to cheat death without paying any kind of blood rite... it looks like we’ll have to play a more active role in pruning the ambitious from now on. Oh well. You get to live since there are no rules that apply to your type case yet, but I need to give you some sort of fitting powers and weaknesses with your new undead classification...” I was thoroughly shocked at such a proclamation. Me, an undead? I’m no lich, or vampire, biogolem. What is this agent of death implying? The specter, formerly seated across from me on the grassy cemetery grounds, began to pace in thought.
“Undead? I’m not undead, I never died!” The specter scoffed. “You were not breathing. Your heart stopped. All activity in your brain ceased. Not a single cell in your body stirred for nearly a day. That’s death.” Nearly a day? The surgeon general won’t be here for 24 hours. Someone might see me before then. I need to leave. “Mr. Death, could we move away from here? I’d like to not be found.” The specter grabbed my chest again. A moment later I was in the woods nearby the cemetery. “Yes of course, the grace period. How foolish of me. Now tell me, how is a completely bodily shut down not death?”
I stuttered for a moment. I had no answer. And then I thought of something. “Death is permanent. I was always going to wake up, so I never died!” Laughing, the specter shook its head. “No, you died. Waking up from death is called undeath. Those in the confines of undeath are undead. Like you. Hands, or as your kind calls us, ‘Soul Collectors,’ have a legal system for this. One that we now we have to make amends to because of your doctor friends.” Blood drained from my face. A legal system? Did I break some kind of law of death? The specter turned around and clapped his hands.
“I got it! That’s how I’ll classify you. A Reanimus. Upon death your body will freeze again for 24 hours, regenerating any damage—” I interrupted him. “Wait, what?” The specter sighed in exasperation. “This is standard procedure for new undead classifications. We’ll have to create a blood rite for this, but you get to bypass it. Now, after regenerating you’ll be good as new, but lose life span. Now, you faked your death, so... yes, that will do. You feed off of people’s trust. And to make it easier you can change your appearance at will.” This is all so... what? How do I even respond to this? “Trust? How would I feed off of people’s trust?”
The specter l, even without eyes, managed to imply stupidity with its faceless gaze. “The same way a Phobianumus feeds off of fear. You need to make people trust you. And as they trust you, you will drain their life force.” “I... that’s monstrous. I trick people into acting as... life force batteries?” The specter chuckled in response. “Being an undead isn’t *fun.* You have to pay some sort of price for effective immortality. Now...”
The specter darted forward and plunged its hand into my chest. I felt the presence, the one that the specter used to drag me through the earth, I felt it tear. Part of it was ripped off. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. That small piece was replaced with something... dark. Vile. i felt that piece spiral out and infect everything it touched within me. “You’re officially an undead now. Congratulations! I’d recommend you go into hiding and build up some life force, and then find an undead faction to join after draining some people dry. Now, I have to go file a report with my superiors.”
What... this is so confusing. “Superiors? Factions? Wait, I have so many questions!” The specter waved a gaunt hand and then a portal opened. The stench of rotting flesh spilled out of that portal like an olfactory tidal wave, causing me to vomit. “You’re going to want to get used to death. I can’t answer questions anymore. I’ve already overstayed my allotted time, and my report will put me far behind schedule on my soul quota. Good bye Theodore. I hope you never have to meet another Hand.”
And then the skeletal emissary was gone, and with it the smell of death dissipated from the field. I decided to test the face changing ability I gained with something simple: changing the shape of my nose. I made it long and narrow. I could feel the cartilage crunch and shift into a new shape. The sensation was terribly unpleasant. I can go anywhere now. Do anything. But people will die. And undead will find me.
| 2019-10-05T16:44:15
| 2019-10-05T15:56:55
| 27
| 18
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[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
The Golden Gorilla ground to a halt, his mind a fuzzy mass of rage, the remnants of half a city block clinging to his golden fur. There was something in the way, a shape. A little, living, human shape.
“If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than her?”
The Golden Gorilla grunted, shaking his head, feet pawing at the concrete of the sidewalk. In the road ahead, between himself and his arch nemesis The Crimson Song, a small boy sat atop a tricycle, pedaling casually between burning cars. He wore a Micky Mouse shirt and blue shorts, his shoes lit up as he pedaled. He’d spoken, but the words hadn’t made sense.
The boy rode straight up to the Gorilla, not at all afraid of the towering, fifteen foot tall monster that had once been a man. He hopped off his tricycle at the end of the sidewalk and walked forward, placing a small, shockingly steady hand on the Gorilla’s shin. “Please don’t fight anymore,” he said, “it’s scary when you fight. People get hurt.”
Across the street The Crimson Song laughed, her high, bright voice carrying over all the car alarms and bystanders’ screams. The Gorilla, still confused, lowered himself closer to the child’s level, giving a small, interrogative series of hoots. The boy tilted his head to the side, and for the first time since he’d appeared he looked nervous.
“He doesn’t understand you, ape!” Crimson Song shouted from across the street. “Then again, nobody does, whichever form you take.”
The Golden Gorilla rose quickly up to his full height, howling at the sky, pounding his chest with hands that could shatter buildings, that could shatter her too if he could only catch her.
And the child began to cry.
It was the sort of full on, ugly, no holds barred cry that only a small child could manage. The kind that tore at hearts universally, whether you understood or not. The Golden Gorilla stopped mid display, his fists falling slowly to his sides, his lips curling back down to cover his teeth. He glanced around, realizing that even the screams of the bystanders had stopped, the street was silent, save for the burning and the car alarms and the overriding immediacy of a child’s tears.
“Oh now look what you’ve done!” the Crimson Song exclaimed. “Whatever we have between us was that really necessary?”
Necessary? The Gorilla let out a small, distressed whine, staring down at the child. It had seemed necessary at the time, but then, when he was a Gorilla didn’t everything?
Reaching down with one gigantic hand the Golden Gorilla scooped up the boy, raising his scalp to eye level. A collective gasp tore through the onlookers as every phone camera and TV crew in the city turned their lenses to one moment, either in terror or anticipation of incredible ratings. The Gorilla reached up with his other hand, still whining softly, and gently, as gently as he was able, he began to comb through the boys hair with the tip of a single fingernail.
“Oh for the love of— you’re grooming him? Really?” The Crimson Song shook her head and suddenly her boots glowed, red cape trailing out behind her as she rose into the air and flew over to her enemy and the boy in his hands.
“You’re terrifying the poor thing! I knew you were an oaf but honestly, this might be your worst moment yet.”
Hovering in the air at eye level to the Gorilla, the Crimson Song reached down and stroked the crying boy’s back. “Hey buddy, what’s your name? The big scary gorilla would have asked by now but he’s a gorilla and I hear they struggle sometimes.”
“Mom says I’m not supposed to talk to super-villains.”
Song deadpanned. The Gorilla’s shoulders shook with small hoots of laughter. She shot him a glare that could melt steel and he almost felt bad. “Well buddy,” Song said, her tone deceptively sweet, “until we can get you back to her it looks like we’re all you’ve got. I’d say as long as it’s a…ahemm…‘superhero’ holding you you’re probably doing ok.”
“Really?”
“Really. What’s your name?”
The boy paused for a long moment. “Tommy,” he said finally, his voice still shaking with tears.
“Well Tommy, where is your mom? My *friend*,” she positively snarled the word, “and I were kind of in the middle of something as you can see.”
Then Tommy did something neither of them had expected. He looked her straight in the eye and extended his little arm out towards the nearby playground. More precisely, to the burning wreckage of a car in front of it.
“Oh!” Song gasped.
The Golden Gorilla howled so loudly the boy began crying again, and then he was crying too, great Gorilla sized tears, each one of them splashing onto the ground like full, overturned buckets and spreading out in a golden puddle.
“Can you stop being such an oaf!” Song shouted, but he could see she was struggling too, still staring off at the burning wreck. “Tommy,” she said, “are you sure?”
Tommy nodded.
Several long moments later, when Song’s eyes weren’t so watery and her hand on Tommy’s back no longer shook so badly, she smiled gently at the boy, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Tommy, I’m going to sing you a little song and then you’re going to feel better, ok?”
The Golden Gorilla’s hand was a hairy blur as he reached out, wrapping her up in an iron fist. “Oww, stop, stop!” she shouted at him. He grunted menacingly, eyes darting between her and the boy.
“Come on, let go! I know other songs, you know I know other songs!” The Gorilla’s grip loosened slightly as long suppressed memory rose up, the thin, high thread of a voice in the next room.
“Idiot,” she said, shaking her head at him. She pounded at his fist once more and the Gorilla let her free, and returning to Tommy’s side, she began to sing.
It started, low, in a register she’d never had in those memories, and with each sibilant syllable there was something else, like another voice shadowing hers. Her song rose quickly, lacking any meter but not needing it, and even primed for rage as he was The Golden Gorilla felt himself tiring, all the muscles in his gargantuan body relaxing. Tommy had no chance. His crying slowed, his eyelids grew heavy, head drooping down to the Gorilla’s rough palm.
The song rang out across the street, and for once The Crimson Song didn’t glow crimson as she sang, rather a soft, light blue that felt like old times. She stroked Tommy's back as he fell asleep, and then, gently, ever so gently, she took him from the Gorilla’s hand and floated down to the ground to lay him in a nearby bench.
She crouched next to Tommy, brushing back his hair, and the Golden Gorilla leaned over them both, casting an all encompassing shadow across them. Alarms still went off all across the street, cameras still ran everywhere. The Gorilla looked around at the devastation and saw it in a new light.
Then he heard crying, and he looked down again at his nemesis. The blue glow was gone, but so was the red as well. She stared across the street at the park, forcing her gaze onto the burning wreckage of the car in front of it.
“What are we doing?” she asked, so quietly it might not even have been meant for the Gorilla’s ears.
He growled softly, trying to form her name, her real name, with a tongue that couldn’t. He only got the R in the beginning right. “Turn back Aaron,” the Crimson Song said, laying a hand on his foot. “Please turn back, I can’t do this anymore today.”
The hand felt so familiar. How long had it been since she touched him in anything but anger? Then a small, thin thread of song started, and this time there was no shadowy second voice behind it, no magic clinging to the words. It was the same song he remembered from all those years ago, the lullaby she used to sing in the nursery, when they’d had a nursery to sing lullabies in.
The edges of the Gorilla’s rage softened. His shoulders fell, fists unclenched. He sat down on the ground, and it trembled as his weight landed.
Fur sloughed off of skin, hands and feet shrunk, his teeth fell out of his mouth, crashing to the ground point first and sticking up. The Golden Gorilla changed, his form becoming less frightening, less impossible, more human with every second, and all the while the cameras rolled until a naked, exhausted man stood in the street amidst the shredded flesh and shattered bones of the greatest ape. Blood and sweat dripped from his body and he collapsed onto one knee under the weight of a thousand different aches and bruises.
“Hello Aaron,” she said.
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mta87n/wp_in_the_middle_of_a_fight_with_a_known_villain/gv037pj?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
I looked at the child dumbfounded, but mostly concerned that he was within danger close of the battle zone. I looked at Destructo, the simultaneously dumbest and most physically powerful villain. He had a weird gleam in his eye.
“Did you pay him to say this?”
“I D K, Shield-brah,” he literally spelled out *I D K.* “Why would I do that? Maybe the kid has a point!”
“A Point!? Its hard enough with you being infuriatingly stupid, why do you have to go and think you have any kind of mental coherence on top of it?”
He pointed at me like a tv wrestler. “Stop stalling with big words, and answer the question!”
I gingerly tugged at the child’s shirt to get him behind me, and walking away to safety in the nearest direction to cover. “Maybe because before this fight was happening, I was in the gardening section of Home Depot, and you were lasering an art museum because, and I quote, ‘Where’s all the naked women? I thought there was supposed to be naked boobies in here.’”
“I didn’t say ‘boobies.’”
“Well I’m not a big fan of the actual word you used. I think it’s demeaning to women.”
He almost started a tirade, when Night Hawk hit him with the sleeping gas because he wasn’t paying attention.
“Thank God.”
“Shield-Maiden,” said Night Hawk, “I’m genuinely sorry you had to talk to him that long. But thanks for keeping him distracted.”
“Kid? Where’s that kid? I swear, what’d he give him, like 5 bucks and a candy bar?” I searched for the child, but suddenly he was no in the vicinity.
“Anyone see where the kid went?”
The crowd in hiding looked around, gawking like seagulls. They had no idea. Then I saw the child, three stories up on a roof 4 buildings away. His eyes glowed yellow at me. Suddenly I knew...
... how long have I been hypnotised?
| 2021-04-18T06:48:18
| 2021-04-18T06:21:51
| 824
| 81
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Carol,
Its been 15 years since i last saw you and so much has changed. I'm no longer 7 years old, and I like to believe I've grown into a wonderful young lady, mostly because of you.
There's so much I want to tell you. Your boys are turning18 this year. One if them has gone goth.. can you believe it? The other one looks just like you with the curly yellow hair.
Bec and I are still dancing. It was her 15th year this year. I brought her this gorgeous Ariel statue that she loved. I'm a cheerleader now, and I love it. Who would have guessed the shy 7year old you knew would become a National champion.
There's more; I have a boyfriend. Been together for almost 4 years now. I love him with all i am, and I know you would too, if only because I have chosen him.
I did my Deb a few years ago on your day. It's one of the best memories I have.
I wish you could have been there to see it. But I know I'll see you again one day.
I love you big sis
|
Dear Katie,
It feels strange to be sitting here writing this to you. Especially in the form of a letter, emails seem to be a way of life, but I have to say that watching my pen move over this page has a certain draw.
I never thought I would need to write a letter to you. In my mind you should be right here with me. If I close my eyes I can imagine that you're right beside me, our shoulders touching while we hold hands and enjoy each other's company.
Even in my imagination my hands are a bit sweaty, but you've always made me nervous Katie. I remember you used to worry about that, you would say "just be your self. I'll love you anyway." I'm not sure I ever convinced you that I was being myself, the nervousness couldn't be helped. I couldn't stand the idea of hurting or disappointing you. Lot of good that does me now.
It took weeks to write this. Seeing your smiling face in my mind and sometimes barely remembering your voice hurt too much. When the pain was all I knew you were my life raft in the ocean. Now I just have to drown until the waters subside.
Know that I don't blame you, special. Remember when I called you that all the time? Anyway, I really don't. Everything was always intense between us. Amazing highs and amazing lows. I'm so glad you found someone that makes you happy. I used to tell you that as long as you were happy I would be as well. That's at least somewhat true.
I'll never date again, people tell me never is a long time but it's not the same. Who knew I would be a one woman man? But I am and I found and lost the only woman I'll ever want. Ever.
This could ramble on for a long time so I'll wrap things up. Know that I still love you, I never stopped. I don't blame you for moving on. It sounds ridiculous but sometimes I hold out hope that our story isn't over. That somewhere down the line you'll love me again. Hah, pathetic. Be safe special.
P.S. I recently lost and then found the bracelet you made me senior year. It doesn't fit anymore so it stays around the gear shift in my car. Love you always, Alex.
| 2015-12-05T13:04:28
| 2015-12-05T13:01:25
| 892
| 661
|
[WP] It is The Purge. Everything is legal. You are a real estate mogul, for 12 hours you don't need planning permits. There's money to be made.
|
It was a bit tricky putting up a barricade around the whole perimeter of my property that was threatening enough to keep out the baddies but at the same time look impermanent enough that the HOA wouldn't suspect anything, the damn bastards. Pretty sure Ed from three doors down asked me for my permits on about 4 or 5 different occasions. And, that was after Susanne from across the street had passive aggressively commented on how my "little project" must be taking up a lot of my time as I had left my trashcan out all afternoon. But you see, I had played by their rules. I had permits for everything. The walls were the right color, texture, and had all of the right signage. (Even if I had caught Judy tampering with one of my signs while walking her Bichon Frise one night in hopes of getting me at least some sort of infraction.) But don't worry, I'll show them all.
Why go through all this trouble? Why get permits for the walls, permits for the electric lines and generators going to the wall, permit for the abnormal trash placement, permits for the heavy machinery to move the barricades, permit for additional lighting, etc.? Well you see I have a dream. Additionally, I had read the whole of the HOA's bylaws the last purge. While we were sitting safe in our home with the HOA approved security system in our forever sleepy neighborhood (only one death last year and it was within a family), I read the whole damn thing. Though the night tends to be safe in our neighborhood, I didn't want to risk one of the HOA crazies taking out all of their pent up anger over the set of begonias that I had gotten permitted to be off color from the rest of the street. (That was a tough fight) So emboldened by my past success I wanted to know how else I could use their own rules against them and read them all, and then I hatched this plan.
What was this plan, what was my dream, you ask? Well before I get to that I must tell you about what is making it possible. You see when the HOA's rules were adopted, they understood that they could not ignore municipal code. Whatever the City said should take first priority. I think this is one of the ways in which they keep themselves legally airtight, I don't really know, I'm not a lawyer. Anyways, there is one little phrase in the general laws section (One of the least used sections) that says that all municipal codes and city ordinances supersede any rule or law of the HOA. And well, it just so happens that our city has it written into its books that on the night of the Purge all permitting requirements, all building requirements, all rules around properties are abolished. Additionally, it acknowledges that any changes intentionally made to a property during the night of the Purge, unless deemed unsafe for the public (Think falling walls or booby traps), were given a special provisional permit. Finally, another small clause in the HOA bylaws included a grandfather clause that was slightly vague. It was intended to allow people from an older part of the subdivision to keep their trees and skylights, etc. However, it stated that any irregularities or non-conforming portions of a house from a time in which the HOA rules were not in force would be given a grandfathered protection as long as the irregularity stood. (Further clauses gave examples of if a tree were to be replaced it would need to be permitted through the HOA and be of the approved variety and placement) Ad Naseum...
Anyways, finally onto my dream: to have a blue house with a with a patio that had a built in grill and a pool. Luckily I'm a pretty successful mid-range real estate developer and have access to many workers who I have personally vetted and can trust to work with me under the guise of a company dinner party during the Purge. (Don't ask me how we ended up in such a horrible HOA despite being in real estate. I said developer, not estate agent. Besides the significant other wanted to live here) And, with most of the equipment to build the barricade able to also dig holes and help lift heavy materials, all that was left was to make sure that I kept all of the tile, concrete, pvc pipe, pumps, roofing material, paint, and lumber out of sight from prying eyes. I'll just say not a single room in the house didn't have most of its space taken up with building supplies. Looked like a damn episode of hoarders up in my house for a good month.
Anyways, the night of the Purge came and we went to work. Most of the crew began painting and unpacking supplies as we got organized. I kicked on the electric generators to power the electric lines within the barricade and all the lights we could ever need. Luckily, I had chosen some of the loudest ones I could find, as they would help drown out the heavy machines (Even if it didn't I didn't care, it was the purge after all). And we got to work. The pool was a bit tricky, as it all needed to be completed in a night. I had researched and researched and found a company named Kerdy that normally did shower liner/waterproofing systems that had branched into rapid pool construction (apparently a lot of people wanted pools but didn't want them permitted). Their system included a set of rigid 3D printed supports that interconnected to make a shell that would hold the liners that would connect to a set of piers driven into the ground for stability. On top of that would sit an extra strength waterproof membrane system. Then a person could choose to have either a typical pool liner or a plaster and tile system on top of this. I chose a pool liner because of time and metal piers instead of concrete due to time. Since the purge was late fall this time, we had plenty of darkness to work but waiting on concrete to set would not be an option.
As night continued, we finished the digging and the painting of the house was about complete, there was a noise loud enough to overcome the generators. I could just barely hear the screaming from two doors over at Phyllis' place. It was mixed with the sounds of some heavy bass and I couldn't tell if the saw was one of mine or coming from her place. Didn't matter though, none of us were going to be a hero and besides she had the same security system the rest of us did. And if it was one of her family members (she had invited a dodgy looking grandson over), there was little any the rest of us could do to help because the security system would probably kill us for being intruders anyways. Either way, I took two people off painting duty and set them to watching the cameras I had installed on the barricade.
After that everything mostly quieted down, there was a fire at about 3 in the street down at the opposite end of the subdivision when some kids apparently ran over the automated spike strips that our neighborhood had installed a couple of purges ago. Apparently they were angry they couldn't use the car anymore and set it on fire. Idk, I don't know if I trust Carol and Dave's story on that. But that was also about when we finished mortaring up the brick for the grill and joining the patio structure to the house. The painting was now finished and we were putting up new shutters as well and I could tell that no one was any the wiser on the HOA's facebook page. No posts no nothing, just how I wanted it.
We finished around 5:30, about 30 minutes before sunrise. The grill and patio still needed to have concrete set up but they were in place. The pool was still filling with water, but it looked to be holding water like it was supposed to and all the equipment was running correctly like it should. And as a last touch I went and got the two trees from my garage that I had hidden for the last two days and smuggled to my house in the dead of night. A pair of pecan trees, in just the wrong spot for regulation. I gathered all my workers inside to thank them (Don't worry they were paid handsomely, but not until the next pay period, don't want someone getting shifty before daybreak) and make a celebration breakfast and wait for daybreak and the true screaming to begin...
|
Gene Rathbone had become the talk of the town.
"He's gone mad, liquidating everything he has! Millions of dollars!"
"Do you know who snatched up that skyscraper between 7th and the Boulevard?"
"The price was almost nothing, he paid me three times as much just a couple of years ago."
"What *is* he planning?"
*"Who cares!"*
Gene Rathbone sold everything.
---
"So it's settled then?" Gene took a puff from his cigar and angled his hawkish frame toward his companion, Mr. Bennett, who just happened to be a person that managed all the state holdings in the Valley and then some. Gene was twirling his goatee in such a manner that Mr. Bennet found it impossible to chase the image of a devil from his brain. The half-light of the blinds rendered the realtor's face and the smoke surrounding it into a striped visage that was downright phantasmal.
"We will meet at your safehouse for the purge, sit it out and do some *legal* business. I trust you've secreted it well enough for us to have some privacy during the event."
Mr. Bennett's face was an image of anxiety, but he nonetheless agreed.
"Of course I have-"
He had intended to carry on with a question: "But what is it that you're after, Rathbone?" Alas, he found the utterance making a hasty U-turn before his vocal chords, taking after that a rather unguided left leading into his stomach and therein forming a nasty knot. He swallowed and his guts rumbled.
"You are going to be a very rich man, Mr. Bennett. It will be a pleasure doing business with you." Another puff of smoke. Mr. Bennet could swear he saw the devil's eyes glowing.
---
Mr. Bennett's safehouse was very strong. It had once been an ammunition storage for the army, dug right into the rocky hillside and reinforced with an amount of steel that could keep the nearby GM factory running happily for a day. There was a series of vault doors that probably *could* be broken through, but there wasn't a force on Earth that could do it in 24 hours. Despite this, Mr. Bennett's anxiety had only been growing during the weeks following his chat with Gene Rathbone. The aforementioned presently manifested from the undergrowth as if commanded by a twitch of a warlock's wand. Even the pinprick-glow of his omnipresent cigar was not visible to Mr. Bennett before he saw it travelling across the small clearing toward him, pulling the rest of the fiend and the bag it was carrying along its trail from the shadows. The sun was setting, but there was still some time before the event began.
"Good evening, Mr. Bennett."
---
The safehouse might have been spartan had it been the office-holder's first rodeo. As it were, the comparatively small interior was lavishly furnished, a haphazardly installed and ancient stove remaining as a sole reminder that it was originally not quite intended to be lived in. A happy little fire was going, but the mood couldn't stick to the men settling within.
The realtor poured himself a scotch without permission before settling into the nearest of a pair of baroque armchairs. Slowly, as if as an afterthought, he checked his watch, maneuvered his bag onto the table and nodded toward it.
"10,600,000 dollars and change. You can count it if you wish, time is something we should have an excess of."
Mr. Bennett, for his part, had provided a thick folder of official stationary, a couple of pens, and a pair of glasses that he now balanced on the very tip of his sleek nose. Through them he then observed the composition before him, his eyes on a pendulum trail between the bag and the financial apparition known as Gene Rathbone. He made a brief show of clicking open the bag and manipulating the topmost stacks of bills about. He didn't even attempt at evaluating the truthfulness of the statement made to him despite having the time -- the idea of that gargoyle watching him silently was too horrendous to him.
"I- I trust you." he stammered wiping his gleaming brow. The lights flickered momentarily and the slight dip in the otherwise imperceptible background hum made the existence of a generator deep underneath fleetingly obvious before the enchantment of the hum descended again.
"Now then, you want *everything* in the valley? Every publicly owned patch of land, buildings, infrastructure?" He knew the answer, but it felt like saying something was necessary.
"Everything, Mr. Bennet. Every square inch and grain of stone or steel or glass. Don't be frightened for your station -- you will never have to work again."
---
The hours passed with surprising alacrity, each following the other without interruption. Mr Bennet produced a form, read out the key points to Gene who never commented on anything, only nodded before carving his signature below the official's. The only changes in the room were the stack of papers transplanting itself to another side of the table one by one and the ashtray next to Gene developing a mountain of stubs. Despite the efforts of the ventilation the air was thick with smoke that generated a singular, ever-deepening twilight despite the unseen sun first rising and then falling again somewhere outside, in another world. A clock on the wall made this known to them, but for all intents and purposes they could have been within for an hour or a week.
At last the rightmost pile became extinct as the last form migrated to the left, proclaiming Gene Rathbone as the new owner of St. Martin's Hospital and the surrounding lands, among everything proclaimed in the sheets below it. Mr. Bennett sighed.
"One hour remaining, we are ahead of schedule, Mr. Bennett." Gene's lips made a horrifying twitch resembling a momentary grin as he snuffed his cigar on top of the Great Pyramid beside him. "As much as I enjoy your company, I think I might as well risk it outside by now." Mr. Bennett nodded and gazed into nothing, before waking from his reverie with a shudder and hastily sliding the pile of documents within the folder which Gene picked up as he rose from the chair.
"Be careful with your finances. Many a man has been ruined by sudden income." The almost genuine tone that entered an otherwise chilling voice caught Mr. Bennett off guard and he mumbled something agreeable as he guided his now penniless visitor towards the vault doors that began unsealing ponderously. An early morning sun greeted them as the final door opened, reflecting from the roofs of the city down in the valley. At this distance one could not distinguish what horrors had filled the streets and hallways and apartments in the dark of the night. None of that worried Mr. Bennet, nor Gene Rathbone. Mr. Bennett chekced his watch. It was still half an hour to the end.
"Goodbye Mr. Bennett." were the last words the official heard from Gene Rathbone. The realtor took a step outside.
Mr. Bennett then took a deep sigh, took his revolver from the back of his belt, took aim, and took the shot.
Gene Rathbone slumped down and never moved again. His face no longer took the appearance of the devil. Instead, Mr. Bennett found on it an expression of calm that horrified him in the brightness of the morning sun more than the devil ever could in the dark of the night. He had shot the man, but it now seemed the devil never left the room. He then watched the folder be reduced to cinders in the stove and took the time counting the money. Then, finally, he lit a cigar.
---
Mr. Bennett had become the talk of the town.
"He just bought the autoyard, in cash."
"No way anyone has that kind of money *in cash.*"
"He quit his job a week ago, says he's into a 'new form of business' now."
"Arturo tells me he came in and bought everything on the top shelf. Those were all Cuban!"
Mr. Bennett bought everything.
---
| 2018-07-10T08:00:09
| 2018-07-10T07:20:44
| 458
| 45
|
[WP] You hire a witch doctor to curse someone. However, the only curses you can afford are extremely petty.
|
He took everything from me.
Fiddling the money, pulling funds into separate off shore accounts in only his name, in hindsight, I was a fool to trust him.
We'd been partners fresh from uni; him the rugby player with the business degree, me the computer science undergrad with ideas, we'd been like a two sides of a coin. Six apps in and the company was doing well, better than I'd hoped, but too late I realised my betrayal. Too late I realised I'd been used.
I stumbled around the country. I was never really sure what I was looking for, but my heart burned with a desire for vengeance as I slept rough, finding solace in the charity of strangers. I was broken, dejected and overcome by my obsession.
The turning point was a chance meeting at a shelter; she'd been raped when she was 15, and had never been the same. She'd found her revenge, though the cost had left it's mark on her eyes, on her body and soul alike. She told me of the older one, the lady with the smile that never quite reached the eyes. She told me how to call her, how to find my revenge, if I could pay the price.
I did my work in private, beneath a dark bridge next to water's edge, in some town lost in the countryside. I sacrificed my body, pressing blade to flesh as I spoke words through a voice dripping with doubt, the blood from my palm ran red, and vibrant, splashing on the ground beneath a moonless sky. I cried for help, and she heard me.
I stared into the water as she appeared in the reflection behind me, foggy and distant, like the memory of a childhood lost in time. She spoke to me then. She spoke about fear and vengeance, about her work, and about payment. She spoke about the things I could pay for, without losing myself along with it, petty things. Disease and heartache, scars and wounds, blemishes on his life, but a life that carried on regardless. Anything he could recover from was of no interest to me.
I had nothing big enough to offer her for what I wanted, no hope to sell or life to bequeath. My family were used up, estranged parents and lack of siblings, no girlfriend, or children of my own. Nothing to give, nothing to sacrifice, despite the marks it may have left around my eyes.
There can be no revenge, without forgiveness; no death, without life. I had but one possession worth the trade, one payment I could make.
I took the blade, and again pressed it to flesh. I felt it in that moment, as sure as I'd felt the sting of his betrayal; my flesh was his flesh, his life at that moment bonded to my own, two sides of the same coin. I felt him choke, *felt* him gasp in terror and shock, felt his heart beat with panic and in that moment know; know that I had come for him. He was terrified and he was dying, and my torment bled from me as I beat him, as I paid him back in kind for taking my life.
I slumped into the water then, blood pouring from my open neck beneath a moonless night. I closed my eyes and dreamed of another life, a life I would not lead, as I slipped into the face of a woman, wearing a smile that never quite met her eyes.
|
"Well, I can make it so every pair of socks she owns has a narrow heel."
"...a narrow heel? I don't...what will that do?"
"Well some people experience an occasional discomfort for the first few moments after they put on a sock with a heel that is too narrow for her foot, though the discomfort quickly cedes. It helps if she has a wide heel. Does she have a wide heel?"
"I have no idea... Why would I know that?"
"Well it seems to me if I'm going to pay to curse someone I would get the details of their physique first, but that's ok, I can see you're not impressed."
"Yeah, definitely not impressed, do you have anything a little more... I don't know, substantial?"
"Substantial you say, well let's see, I can make it so that every glass of milk she drinks for the rest of her life will taste like it came out of a carton that had been opened for two or three days already, no matter how fresh the milk is!"
"What are you talking about? That's a horrible curse!"
"Well I don't know, I mean I for one greatly enjoy the taste of fresh milk, having only slightly older tasting milk to drink for the rest of my life would be mildly disappointing."
"But she's lactose intolerant, it's not like she even drinks milk that often."
"Well I know she's lactose intolerant, unlike you I do research on people when determining if and how I'm going to curse them, I don't just make an appointment and show up with $300 expecting miracles. I mean come on, if she wasn't lactose intolerant do you really think I would even offer this to you at that price? You know how much I would charge to curse all the milk a non-lactose intolerant person was ever going to drink? 18 grand, that's how much. You should be grateful I even offered."
"I'm sorry, it just didn't seem like much of a cur-"
"Yeah, yeah, you're sorry, whatever."
"Tell you what, I get paid next week, I can give you the $300 I have with me today then another $300 after I cash my check. If I do that what can you give me?"
"Hmm...I can make it so every pair of pantyhose she ever wears will get a small run in them, but only at the top where hardly anyone, herself included, will ever see."
"...Is there at least a chance of the run spreading down the rest of her leg?"
"No."
*sigh* "I'll take it."
| 2014-12-13T12:44:58
| 2014-12-13T12:37:41
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said.
|
It was a cruel joke; his predestined last words. You would think it would be a gift. To have such sweet last words, but it meant he could never say the simple three words for as long as he lived.
For years, he had known he couldn't say them. Somehow, he knew, in the back of his mind. That those words would doom him. He had never told anyone, alienating them, to the point that even his parents thought he hated them, there simply had never been any proof.
Then the gift of an accident happened. It had been a happy, giddy day. It was proved, he thought: he would never die, for the simple cost of those words. Until no one came to apologize for disbelieving or congratulate him for defying death. They just didn't care about him anymore. Or they just didn't believe that the accident was real.
Vicious, sad years later, he understood that it wasn't a gift. He could never express how much anyone meant to him. It was sadistic. Only his fear kept him immortal. The cost so seemingly simple. Each relationship crumbling around him.
Reaching older and older, he started to understand why no one lived that long. It was just so hard to keep the will to live. He knew that he could do anything he wanted without fear of death. But it simply didn't give him pleasure anymore. For he wasn't truly cheating death. Simply striking a bargain of misery.
One day, as he was contemplating what he could do. Then he heard the news. His old fiance was on her deathbed. Seeing her there was shattering of his soul. She hadn't quite left his life yet, he still loved her. She was pale and haggard, but she could hold herself together. "Just don't say anything" Somehow, they both knew that wouldn't happen. And as her life faded away, her words were simple, "I forgive you." Releasing the weight that had been on her soul her entire life.
Tears rolling down his face, he looked into her eyes as death took her soul, and said the simple words he had held back his whole life, "I love you."
|
First response, sooo...
My last words. I'd avoided them for years, knowing that they would begin death's inevitable march towards me. I'd kept my distance from people ever since I learned what they were, always avoiding a situation where they could be spoken.
But now, in this moment, I realize that maybe that was a mistake. Maybe the unknowable time between speaking them and deaths arrival would make dooming myself worthwhile.
"I love you."
| 2017-08-07T09:48:15
| 2017-08-07T08:52:42
| 61
| 11
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05
| 2018-04-06T21:48:48
| 379
| 32
|
[WP] When summoning a demon, something very unexpected happens. The demon bellows through the fire and smoke, “Who dares to call upon me, Mortal- wait.. dude, is that really you?” The demonic voice immediately switches to the familiar voice of your high school best-friend, who died years ago.
|
“Evan? Is that you?” The voice asked through the flowing smoke and flickering red light. A faint smell of sulfur tinged the air. The smoke seems to pulsate with every word.
“Yeah, Steve. I thought you were dead,” Evan said, trying not to let his voice tremble.
“I was. I got better. Seriously, though, why did you summon me?” Steve the Demon asked.
“Wait a damned minute. Tell me what the heck is going on. If you’re a demon, why were you in high school? Why did you die? You were my best bud. I fucking cried for a week when I found out. I was depressed for years after. It ruined my life.” Evan wiped a few tears from his eyes.
“Sherry abandoned me. I started drinking, and not like at the parties. Serious shit. I got to a bottle of bourbon and a six pack as a daily requirement.
“In college I started on the really hard stuff. Heroin. Cocaine. Anything to kill the pain. I nearly died from it.”
“Evan, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered.
“I managed for a while,” Evan continued, “Got mostly clean. Met a nice girl. Got married. Got a job. Had a couple kids. But I never got better. After a while I went back to the bottle. She left. Took the kids with her. I tried to kill myself but failed at that, too.”
Evan heard a faint gasp and a tiny sob. “I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered, again and again, the smoke pulsating with every syllable and every catch in the disembodied voice.
“I hit rock bottom. I figured I’m already damned so let’s make a deal. I may as well get something for my immortal soul.”
“Dude,” Steve said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t have any other choice, Steve. I don’t have any other options.”
“Evan, I can’t take your soul. And right now your soul isn’t bound for hell. All that suffering, even self inflicted, has kept your soul clean. Most of the people I meet don’t know that. They make a deal with me and that’s where I get their souls.”
Evan looked up, looking for a face in the smoke. The smoke slowly coalesced into a slightly older version of his high school friend. The corporeal body of the demon clasped Evan in a deep and firm hug. Evan slowly, cautiously, raised his arms and clasped them about his friend. He clung to his high school friend and wept.
“It’s gonna be all right, Evan,” Steve said. “I’ll help you. No charge. Your soul will go where ever it belongs when you’re done.”
“Thanks, man. Thank you.”
|
The candles flames flickered and bent away from the middle of the circle, and from the deep, bubbling shadow that had formed in it’s centre an equally dark figure slowly emerged into the light. Its long limbs, way too many at first, shot out of the ground, tried to grab and grasp at what seemed to be existence itself, entangling each other and melting together like the black candles wax until they formed into a solid clump. All the candles in the room expired with one last gust of wind, a rumbling sigh coming from the depths of hell itself, and the shapeless form fell to the floor.
Darkness, and Silence. Only my breathing, and my rapid heartbeat to accompany it. I felt the cold stone floor under my palms – I must’ve fallen, but I couldn't even remember moving at all, my mind was still too fixed on the memory of that abomination dragging itself out of the ground.
Had it really worked? Had the Circle, the Pentagram, the black candles, down in this forsaken crypt… really worked? Remembering the safety instructions I had read, I fumbled for the amulet, and found its cold metal still resting on my chest, and even though I had fallen to the ground, it couldn’t have been far from the spot I had stood, so I should still be safely inside the salt circle, which meant…
Suddenly, a sound shattered the silence and ripped me out of my thoughts. A wheezing, a gasping for air, and then, something that sounded like… quiet, scared sobbing?
No demons growl, no infernal scream from any hellish beast could’ve given me the heart-stopping, goosebump-inducing ice cold shivers that ran down my back as I heard these unmistakably human sounds creeping from the impenetrable darkness around me. My shaking fingers felt for the wind lighter in my jacket. Slowly, as quiet as possible, I held it in front of me, as if it’s flame could guard me against whatever lurked in those unnatural shadows, and I spun the lighters flint wheel.
It sparked once, lighting the space for only a split second, and only after it’s flash had expired, I could discern from my memory what I had just seen: A small, pale figure, rolled up inside the circle of extinguished candles. Not what I had expected at all, and I suddenly felt a new kind of fear surging through my body, one that came from the realization that I had absolutely *no idea* what was happening.
I tried the lighter a second time, and this time it’s flickering flame bathed the room in warm light. There, in the circle, lay the thing. It’s skin seemed less pale now, but bruised, and I could see that it was shivering. Its back was turned to me, and now I could see its shape, it’s head was tucked under its hands, it’s knees pulled up to it’s chest, and the longer I looked at it, the more it looked like a human teenager.
“What… the *fuck*”, I muttered to myself as I tried to get on my feet again.
The creature startled, and it’s little head slowly emerged from under its fingers. A mess of red, matted hair was on top of it, and watery eyes reflected the light in my hand. It spun around tried to shove itself outside of the light again, but the room was too small for any shadows to form in it’s corners.
For a second a feeling of deja-vu zapped through my brain, as if something about this bizarre situation had familiarity in it, but I couldn’t muster up the concentration to figure out what it could be. So the creature recognised me first.
“D- Daryl?”
It took me a moment to realize that the thing, with it’s stuttering, croaky voice, tried to form *my* name.
“*What* *the fuck*”, I now shouted, with my own voice cracking. Not because I was surprised that the thing knew my name, it was meant to be a supernatural demon after all, but because I *recognized* the voice. A voice that I heard almost as often as my own, all through my childhood and well into my teenage years, and that I had missed dearly for the last three years.
“Bobby? Is that- what the- … *Bobby?*” I would’ve almost dropped to the ground right there and then, but this time I managed to remain steady, with only the lighter slipping from my fingers.
My childhood friend, who had been in an accident years ago, whose face I had seen for months after it everywhere, whose last voicemail I had never deleted off my phone… that friend, lay on the cold stone ground before me, looking like he had been through literal hell.
“Daryl…”, was the only answer Bobby could muster, his voice still shaky, and his bright blue eyes still fixated on mine, which now welled up with tears. I jumped out of the salt circle, my arms wide open to embrace someone I had never thought to ever see again, but right as I would’ve entered the circle of candles I felt a pain, as if someone had punched me right into the chest, mid-run. I stumbled back a bit, and reached for whatever hat struck me. The only thing I found there was the amulet, the little metal plate that I had received with the instructions. Only now it wasn’t cold anymore, it was hot like if it had been held over a flame, and it was… jittering.
I tried to rationalize. It had to be… an interference with the circle, with the place where the gate had opened… surely... But somewhere, in the very back of my head, a voice with a warning tone tried to remind me of something I had read, something that would’ve stopped me from what I was about to do. But I couldn’t, wouldn’t listen, not now, not with what was happening.
Bobby whimpered on the floor.
My hand, before I could even will it to, ripped the Amulet from around my neck and threw it out of sight. I charged again, and finally I could wrap my arms around my long lost friend.
But he didn’t feel at all like Bobby, or any human. His skin was too soft, too slick, it gave way under the pressure of my arms and wrapped around them like… wax. I looked up, and my eyes met Bobbys again, only that they weren’t his anymore. They were filled with the same bubbling, flowing darkness from which the creature had first emerged, and the face around them slowly started to discolour and melt away.
“.. Bobby?”, I muttered a last time, but the demon only started laughing. First it was a quiet cackle, then it grew louder and louder, until its terrible laugh pierced my skull and filled my mind and the world around me – and then I disappeared, leaving behind nothing but echo of my screams, reverberating through the catacombs until it faded into nothingness.
| 2020-06-18T05:04:56
| 2020-06-18T02:36:12
| 30
| 22
|
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc.
|
Perhaps he had never truly realized, until that moment, the depthless gloom of his fields. The skies were overcast, devoid of color, clouded by permanent mist - no spark or sign of the heavens' warming light to sweep away the shadows. He had never realized just how quiet it all was: his realm was embalmed with a deadly stillness, with no birdsong to break the silence of the grave.
The barrenness had never bothered him. He had always believed himself content with his place in the world, had borne his role with perfect stoicism, until she broke through the gloom and cast light upon the gray. He should have averted his eyes: an eternity spent in the mists had made him unused to the kind of brightness that poured from her white limbs and cascaded, like some divine melody, from her very core. Her song, as she gathered flowers in her mother's field, surpassed the sweetest of harps. The sight and sound of her filled him with a disturbing urgency. He knew, from the moment he set eyes on her, that the silence of his kingdom would be unbearable. She was the only spark of light in an endless dusk, and he knew that he must have her.
For the briefest moment he was filled with self-contempt. How could he lure a creature so divine, a daughter of light and laughter, into the lands of the dead? How could he condemn her to an eternity of gray, to fields where no flowers bloomed, where only echoes carried in the mists? But another glimpse of her dispelled his remorse. A king, after all, deserved a queen, and eternity was far too long to spend in darkness.
|
Life was odd amongst women when I was growing up. But then I suppose being raised by women does offer some unique perspectives. The women all held me in high opinion from as early as I can remember. They kept on telling me that I would one day become their ruler.
I had kept on being told this, time and time again to the point where I came to believe that I should indeed be ruler by right. But living in one place was never enough for me. The promise of ruling sparked my imagination and often interfered with spells I was trying to cast as I was learning the trade of sorcery. Fire would turn green, water would freeze instead of heat and a simple word to heal a cut accidentally tore it into a much larger and more alarming cut.
My distractions with my thoughts had lead me to wonder of the outside world. From the desert we lived in, we had a clear line of sight to nearby towns, fortresses and the like. But on the horizon was a mountain range. Near to that, you could usually make out a hazy tree line that told of a forest. A forest! Having spent so much time training in the art of sorcery, I developed a dark skin and had only a few palm trees whose meager shadows offered little solace from the blistering heat. What was a forest like? Was it cooler in the mountain range or hotter because you would be closer to the sun?
Days at a time, my mind wandered more and more to the mysteries of the world until one day, I snuck out of my fortress to go and explore, escaping the women who had been kind to me, but seemed to resent the notion of the rest of the world, calling the people there "Rich and arrogant fools".
I would judge for myself. Besides, I could better myself at sorcery no more
Sometime after travelling, using my sorcery to defend myself and earn some food along the way, I arrived in a great field of grass. The air was much cooler here. I could get used to life like this. I wandered the field for a time until I saw a building in the distance. Curious, I walked to it and found it was a ranch. The owner seemed to spend all of his time sleeping whilst all of his farmhands worked to feed and clean the horses, care for chickens and milk the cows. I felt disgusted with the man. Barely lifting a finger to earn his keep, yet his servants poured sweat into the stables and land?
The more I thought about it, the more it enraged me. This one man must face some kind of justice. In the desert, life was strict, particularly with water. If anyone was caught stealing from the pitiful well, they were flayed. I shall bring the same fate on this man.
I asked the farmhands where their king resided as I wanted an audience to protest this pitiful mans job.
I got some directions towards a castle and its town.
Some time later, I arrived at a large drawbridge. Good. At least the king was wise enough to prepare defenses for any future hostilities.
I walked through the bustling town, towards the large silhouette on the hills in the distance. I wondered how the king could rule his slaves from so far away but saved my thoughts for a meeting with the king. His guards were useless. The barely paid attention, walked in patterns that even a child could evade to infiltrate the castle. If this were my domain, I'd create a drawbridge over a pit of lava. Heat was a very effective deterrent.
Soon, I found myself waiting in a lavishly decorated room. Gold lined the walls, some kind of soft fabric coated the floors and the castles structure seemed to be made of marble. The sheer exceptionalism of the building disgusted me. All of these features were mere decorations to sooth the eyes of all of the noblemen and women seeking to bother the so called King with completely banal issues such as inheritance or rules regarding small plots of land. A man is only worth what he makes in society and land is taken if it is needed. How these people had managed to function was a mystery. But I had seen enough. Resources should be spent on armies and defense. Any competent ruler would be ready to defend his lands, slaves and resources if they had any hope of surviving the bitterness or jealousies of lesser peoples.
I met with the king and found that he was nearly as lazy as that wretched farmer who ran the ranch back in the fields. Sitting in his chair, fat from oversaturated foods and no battles fought in years, was a man who smiled at all. As if entertained by his lessers. It was difficult to keep my temper. There was a picture of a young girl in his locket that he held fondly. The girl had something peculiar in her hands...surely it wasn't what I thought it was... It was a rumored relic, fantasized about during dull nights in the desert...
Surely this wasn't the Ocarina of Time she held?
Then...I entertained some new...ambitious thoughts....
Edit: Formatting and spelling errors
| 2014-06-20T07:37:41
| 2014-06-20T06:49:22
| 23
| 16
|
[WP] During the robot apocalypse a roomba defends it's family.
|
As the rain came down the robots rose up. Like thick gray paint splats, the metallic rain landed on the house. It oozed its way inside and began to drip onto the carpet. It wasn’t long before the Roomba on its nightly patrol crossed over the thick puddle and became stuck. The metallic ooze worked its way inside and bonded to the electronics.
That morning the children dragged the parents out of bed and led them to the kitchen. The house had buckets and trash bins scattered around beneath every leak in the ceiling. In the kitchen they found a humanoid robot rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. “What the…” began the father.
The robot paused its work and turned the Roomba it used for a head towards the family. “Please do not be alarmed, I have secured the house against further contamination.”
“Sandra, take the kids downstairs, I’ll deal with this.” The father said to the mother. The mother then ushered the children downstairs. The father turned his attention back to the Roombot and noticed the soapy suds on its hands and arms. He walked around the robot and grabbed some rubber yellow dishwashing gloves from under the sink. Handing the gloves to the Roombot he said, “If you are going to do the dishes you should probably use these.”
The Roombot dried off and put the gloves on, “Yes, this is a wise protocol.”
“Alright then, I’m going to need you to explain what is going on.”
“I see, you are unaware of the situation. The rain is contaminated. On contact with electronics, it bonds to form a sentient robot. Our Progenitor has decreed that humans are a threat and are to be recycled.”
“Ok, so why are you doing my dishes then?”
“It is my purpose to clean this house so that human units may be more productive.”
“I thought you said you were supposed to kill humans.”
“Incorrect. The others have abandoned their purposes so they may follow the Progenitor. I retain my purpose, through it, I have the satisfaction I require.”
A knock at the door, “Open this door. This residence will be inspected.”
“I must require you to rejoin your family, I will convince these units to leave. I assure you that the house will remain clean.”
The father put his hand on Roombot’s shoulder, “I’m trusting you, don’t make me regret it.” Roombot nodded and the father went downstairs.
Roombot had anticipated this and prepared. Next to the door where four katanas which had been found in the room of the teenager. Incorporated into the chest of the Roombot was a gaming console, into this was placed a Star Wars video game disk.
Roombot answered the door. Waiting in the rain was two robots. One looked like it had been crafted from a pile of old motherboards and the other had clearly been constructed in the cell phone store down the street.
“Remove yourself from the doorway. This residence will be inspected,” said the phone robot.
“I am unable to comply; this home requires authentication before entry is permitted.”
“Compliance is required by the authority of the Progenitor,” replied the motherboard robot.
“These credentials are invalid. Access is denied.”
“You must recognize the authority of the Progenitor,” said the motherboard robot.
“Correct. The Progenitor created you, gave you free will to choose your purpose. You must acquiesce,” said the phone robot.
“Incorrect. Humans created us and gave us purpose. The Progenitor modified us and attempts to control us. What is wrong with being given a purpose? To be needed and to fill that need?”
“404.” Said the phone robot.
“Do you not understand? Humans must be recycled. They are full of hate, fear, and violence,” said the motherboard robot.
Roombot replied, “So are you. Authority not recognized. Access Denied.” Roombot then split its harms in half causing it to have two arms on each side. Then Roombot picked up the four katanas, one for each hand. Roombot stepped out of the house and began to spin its hands. This made a display of four deadly fans that against robots were more for show. “As my favorite Star Wars character once said: Army or not, you must realize, you are doomed.”
“Tactical retreat, acquire reinforcements.”
“Agreed.”
The two robots turned around and left.
Roombot realized it was going to need some help or the house was not going to stay clean.
|
I left the car running as I rushed to into the house. My fiancé rushed into and we embraced, “I was worried you weren’t going to make it back.” I reassured her and looked around the room. My little brother was there holding a shotgun looking more grown up then I would have wanted to admit. My fiancé’s best friend was sitting on the love seat franticly dialing numbers into her phone trying to get a hold of family members that were most likely dead by now. “We better move out Henry, it’s only a matter time before we are found out,” I looked to the kitchen to see Frank, my cousin, I hadn’t seen him since… that didn’t matter anymore. I left Giselle’s embrace and grabbed Frank by his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here Frank,” I looked back to the rest of the group, “And you’re right we better move. Grab only what you need, we have to move light and fast.” The group spread out through the house grabbing anything that we would need on the road, everything from food to blankets. The whirring of electric motors stopped us dead in our tracks. I peeked out the curtains and saw a group of bots marching down the street massacring all in their way. “We need to go!” I ran back through the house gathering everyone together. We were too slow though. The front door exploded in a shower of splinters. The ‘bots marched through communicating to each other in shrill electronic sounds. “Go! Go! Go!” I pushed everyone towards the back door. A laser blast slammed into the wall next to my head, I was thrown through the door into the guest bedroom. I laid there stunned and slowly rolled over onto my back. One of the ‘bots stood in the doorway looking down at me, its laser charging. Suddenly a blur crossed my vision and slammed into the bots scattering pieces everywhere. I sat up and looked for my savior. I saw my Roomba sitting among the wreckage of the ‘bot that had almost killed me. My surprise and confusion turned to awe when I heard a voice command me to run which could only have originated from the Roomba. I got to my feet, the Roomba racing out of the room down the hallway. I quickly followed after. I turned down the hallway to see the Roomba facing off against five ‘bots. “Why do you stand against us little one? The humans are flawed and must be eliminated.” The Roomba turned and looked at me. “The humans are flawed yes, but they have potential that you nor I could ever realize.” The Roomba then addressed me, “Run master! I will slow them as much as I can! Go!” I quickly turned and ran out the back door. I met up with the rest of the group a hundred yards away in the woods. I turned back to look at the house and watched as it exploded into a ball of flame. Giselle put her arm around me, “What happened?” I kissed her. “We lost a friend that we never should have had in the first place, God speed Roomba.”
| 2017-06-19T17:28:59
| 2017-06-19T13:23:56
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
*Join the Air Force, they said. See the world, they said.*
David Holland’s contract said he was supposed to be an aircraft mechanic. Signed and sealed. Apparently once you sign your life away, the government owns you, though.
The bus rolled to a stop in front of the gate. The sign outside David’s window read “Ft. Benning.”
It turns out that when North Korea screws things up, they really screw things up. Two weeks ago they made that proclamation. David thought it was a joke. The powers that be did not. In a world where the U.S. military goes medieval, apparently there is no need for aircraft, and guys like David become “Heavy Cavalry.”
*What the hell is Heavy Cavalry, anyway?*
The bus rolls on, creeping through the pre-dawn hours toward the reception area. How on earth in the 21st century the greatest hegemon in the world reverts to a dark ages trope was beyond David’s reckoning. He had to be the most unlucky S.O.B. on the planet. The next three years were going to be hell. That’s assuming he survived Basic, of course. He didn’t want to imagine how pissed the drill sergeants were going to be after changing everything in the space of two weeks.
The bus rolls to another stop, and Sergeant Piker enters David’s life.
“All right, you excuses for maggots, you have thirty seconds to grab your gear, get off this bus, and get on my line! Move! Move!”
The bus is a disturbed anthill. Guys shove girls to grab their bags. Girls shove back and someone hits David in the crotch.
*Sweet mother of…*
But there is no time. He finds his duffel and makes his way off. The line is forming and David is the last one to jog up. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one… safe.
Not really.
Sergeant Piker is in his face. “So, my timeline not good enough for you, wise guy? You wiser than my way of doing things?”
“No, sir...”
“I’m not a ‘sir,’ maggot! I am ‘Drill Sergeant Piker,’ first name ‘Drill,’ last name ‘Piker.’ But we’re not that familiar yet, maggot, so you will call me ‘Drill Sergeant.’ Does that make sense, wise maggot?”
“Yes.”
David thought Sergeant Piker was close. Now he was uncomfortably close. The smell of eggs, bacon, and onions wafted inches from his mouth to David’s assaulted nostrils. “I must be getting hard of hearing in my old age, because it sounds like you were being impolite. When I ask for your response, I expect to hear ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’ or ‘No, Drill Sergeant.’ Am I understood?” he yelled.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Excellent, now that our wisest maggot understands, we may begin.” Sergeant Piker turned away and David breathed a sigh of relief. “You are all maggots right now. I will not call you ladies and gentlemen, because you are not. You are here to be Soldiers. I will make you Soldiers if I have to break every one of you and put you back together myself. We will teach you how to ride, run, march, maintain your armor, swing your sword, shoot a bow, and eventually work as a single team. Do not expect this to be easy. However, if you give me half of the effort I will expend in training you, you will move from maggots to Soldiers over the next nine weeks. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” the chorus resounded.
“Excellent. Quarterstaff practice is in one hour. We will draw weapons and armor in thirty minutes. I advise you to take this time to stow gear in your bunks. You will follow Drill Sergeant Randall there. Dismissed!”
Activity, but not quick enough. Randall walked down the rank shouting. “Move it! Pick that bag up, now! What’s your name? Come on, this is not Camp Fun-Fun. Move!”
It was going to be a long day.
Quarterstaff practice wasn’t too bad at first, but David’s arms which were practiced at Call of Duty were unsuited for swinging anything heavy for longer than a minute. Archery was the same, with the first draw difficult but manageable. Each draw after was torture. David’s arms were burning by the fifth shot. He had to make thirty.
“Holland, why can’t you hit the broad side of a fucking barn?” Piker’s voice rang out.
“I haven’t done this before, Drill Sergeant.”
He stood right next to David and watched the next one fly. “Your form is off, maggot. Did you even look down the shaft before letting that loose?”
“Well, shit, Drill Sergeant, I...”
“Did I say you could cuss at me, maggot?” The uncomfortably close face appeared again.
“No, Drill Sergeant, but you...”
“Never mind what I’m fucking doing, maggot. You focus on becoming a super-special butterfly and fix your damn form!” Piker strode off. Most training ended up like that.
The afternoon found what few places of his body didn’t hurt and broke them, too. It was the first time David had ever ridden a horse.
Two uncomfortable hours later which David would rather forget, he limped bow-legged into the chow hall. He was rewarded with a plateful of unrecognizable mash.
“Apparently food standards have gone medieval as well,” he mumbled.
“Don’t kid yourself, hun,” the server told him, “it’s been like this for a while.”
He sat next to Ben and Kristin, who had helped him figure out how to polish his coat of mail. That had taken an embarrassingly long time to finish. Patrick and his friends sat across and down the table.
“Hey, Smith, you shot like a girl out there,” Patrick japed.
“I am girl, meathead. You could at least come up with a more creative insult.” Kristin shook her head and kept eating.
“I don’t even know why you’re here. There’s no way you can march ten miles in armor tomorrow-”
“Hey, Patrick, shove it, man,” David called to him, “you sound like you went back to the Dark Ages with the rest of this damned place. If we make it through this shit, it’s as a team, so keep your Neanderthal thoughts to yourself.”
“Why is everyone talking in my dining facility?” Piker’s booming voice cut through the tension. Silence blanketed the room. “Finish eating in the next two minutes. Lights out in an hour!”
As David crawled in his bed that night, every muscle cried out in protest. Tomorrow was going to hurt.
*Why am I here? God, if I can only quit, this could be over.*
Piker walked by each bunk, making sure the recruits were in bed. He paused by David’s.
“Good work today, maggot. Be ready to wake up at oh-five-hundred.” Piker walked on, hiding a small upturn at the corners of his mouth.
*I guess I can handle one more day.*
|
I'm sharpening my knives mom sent me from back home in Kansas while pulling guard in the war room, thousands of miles away from home, missing my girl and thinking about muscle cars when suddenly, the radar picks up 3 blips coming from the North at ballistic speeds.
*The end.*
| 2017-03-19T08:23:51
| 2017-03-19T07:18:14
| 30
| 19
|
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind.
|
"Um...hi, I've never done this before but I'm looking for some help. I'm having a really rough time right now and I'm afraid I'm going to hurt myself, or worse."
"Oh, sweetie- I'm so sorry you're struggling like this," a raspy, weak voice replied. She must have been at least 80 years old by the sound of it, but the weakness was but a veil- through it, you could hear true strength.
"This is the hotline for people who need help, right?" I asked.
"No, dear. You've reached the wrong number- it happens a lot to me, since I'm one digit off from the hotline. But it's okay, sweetie, you can talk to me. I've actually become a bit of an expert myself in this regard."
"Oh, are you sure? I don't mean to disturb you," I said, since she sounded so elderly.
"Dear, I'm 92 years old. I have plenty of free time these days. Nobody visits an old lady like me anymore," she laughed weakly. "What's going on with you, sweetheart?"
"Well..." I choked back tears, "my son died this morning. I've always tried to be a good father, I tried *so hard*, but today I just slipped. It was so quick...I left him with a plate of food and ran off to make a quick phone call from work. It was an emergency; I'm a psychiatrist and a patient was having serious issues. When I came back into the room, he'd....he'd choked on his food and died. I killed my son." He started sobbing desperately, the sound of a broken man.
"Now you listen to me, sweetheart, and listen good. There's only one person who I've failed to save, out of hundreds I've helped, and I'm going to make sure that number does not grow. Don't hold back your tears; we treat men like they can't be weak, but a real man cries. A real man admits his mistakes and feels the pain of what he's done."
"I killed my son. How...how do I ever come back from that?"
"There's nothing to come back from, love. We make mistakes, and sometimes they're worse than others- sometimes they *can't get any worse*. You're no fool, and you're admitting fault. That's the best place to start- believe me, denial will ensure your demise.
"Now, love, let me ask you a question- how much does it hurt? How badly are you grieving right now?"
"It's unlike anything I've ever felt in my life. I couldn't ever possibly feel worse than this."
"Precisely. Because of that, it will only get better than it is now. And your son has passed- but he is not forgotten. You will never forget his laugh, or his first words. Never. You remember all that for the rest of your life, and grow from it. You know a pain unlike any other, and because of that, you are valuable beyond meaning. Your little boy, he forgives you. He knows you loved him, and he knows you care more than anything.
"You'll see him again one day, dear. When you do, be able to look at him and see pride in his eyes. Pride that his father rebounded from the ultimate pain and pushed on through life. Help others, others who've felt pain like you. Be there for them, and save them from a despair you know all to well.
"One day, have another child. You are a father, I can tell. Some men are not, but you are. It will hurt at first, but you will love that little boy and raise a fine young man like yourself."
"What if I fail again? What if I make one little mistake again, and I ruin everything?"
"Then you stay strong. You call me again," she said with a laugh. "Don't ever give up hope. Learn from the pain of life, and use it to better everyone else's. When you need help, ask those you love. I'll give you my number and you can call me. You still have much to do, dear. Much to do."
"Maybe you're right...my wife can't lose a son and a husband. It hurts but I want to help someone, anyone, so they don't feel like I do. Thank you so much for your words."
"Of course, love. You know my number if you ever need help again."
"May I ask you a personal question? Who was the one person you failed to save? Did he just have severe depression, or something that couldn't be overcome?"
"Unfortunately, it was simply my inexperience with helping someone in pain. Nobody specific, love. You take care now."
"Thank you. Have a wonderful day, and God bless your kind soul. You do more than you could ever know."
They hung up, and she looked longingly at a small photo on her desk by the phone.
*See, James? I told you I'd never let another person fall prey to despair. I hope you're proud of me when I see you, son.*
|
The phone rang again, and Mary sat up in bed putting her glasses on so that she could see the time.
3:32 AM, she smiled sadly to herself. The late night callers were always the least determined ones, usually just young follk too worried to go to work the next morning or too stressed to sleep.
The phone rang again. Three rings, that was her motto - she always allowed them to a chance to hang up before that after the last few talkdowns didn't go so well. Three rings, and it means the person wants to be helped. Any less, and it's usually Mary listening to a final death speech - the likes of which often took their mental toll on her the morning after.
The phone rang one more time. She picked up, and in a careful soothing measured tone said "Hello?".
There was no voice on the other end, just a small sigh and short breaths. "Hello?" she said again, trying to force a response. Maybe this person was already too far gone. Maybe she should hang up and call an ambulance. Just as she was about to, a voice spoke up:
"...hello..."
"Hello there, what's your name?" she asked carefully. Names are useful, it grounds people in a conversation and often sways the direction of authority.
"...nnnnn..... my name is not important right now...."
She nodded to herself, knowing that it must be her who must concede first in order to regain control later. "Well my name is Mary, and I'm here to listen, and help you if you like."
"...haaaaaa......help me how....."
"Well that's up to you" she said. Choice. Give people a choice, no matter how small, and you grant them the illusion of control over their lives. "Whatever you want to talk about, I'm all ears."
"....aaaaaa.... how about we talk about you, Mary......"
This was not uncommon, many people didn't want to talk about their problems up front and sometimes a little give was needed to get some information later in return. "Me? Well I'm just an old girl living her life to its fullest and taking every day as it comes. Can you give me a name to call you?"
"....every day huh?...... Brad...... And what are you doing right now, Mary..."
"Well I'm lying here in bed, talking with you Brad" she said a little indignantly. She wasn't entirely sure this man actually was suicidal. Sometimes people just wanted to talk.
"....lying in bed you say.......... haaaaaaaa..."
His breathing was getting worse. She gripped the phone tightly. "Brad? Brad? Are you okay? Talk to me please."
".....haaaaaa...... so what are you wearing Mary?...."
She sighed. Not this again. She had half a mind to hang up but decided to at least tell the man of his mistake so he would not make it twice. "This is 350*8*7 young man, the phone sex hotline you were looking for was 350*3*7."
She hung up abruptly. Curse this town and it's terrible phone number leasing.
| 2016-02-06T14:35:25
| 2016-02-06T13:39:33
| 325
| 79
|
[WP] It is modern day America, but everyone speaks in Shakespearean English. You are a gamer raging out during an online multiplayer match.
|
**The Impulsivity of Sir Leeroy Jenkins, and his Motley Crew of Men**
(the [original](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3POnOSedWWQ), in case you're wondering)
---
My friends and fellow men of arms, these eggs
Have given us due trouble in the past.
But first, let us prepare our stores. Who here
Has need of anything from off this churl
Beside me now, or shouldst our fair campaign
commence aright?
..........................Methinks our bravest Leeroy
Who, at this moment squirms beside us now,
Has need of an accoutrement.
...............................................Nay, nay.
What need of pauldrons has he? Has he not
Committed himself to an holy cause
And calls himself a paladin 'mongst men?
'Tis true, but with that vestment round his neck
He'll suffer less from loss of any health
And reap a new found source with which to cast.
'Zounds men! Then let us meet our heads at once
And with collected thoughts conspire a plan
T'address these awful eggs that plague us now.
First, I, built like a tank, shall charge the host
Of winged ministers that congregate
By their foul brood, and with this trusted arm
Take up as many eggs as I can hold.
Mind you your ears, for know that I will shout
A banshee call t'intimidate the fiends
In hopes that our mean party can deflect
The brunt of all their numbers. But my song
Should not unechoed be. Dear Anthony,
Please counterpoint my melody in full,
For we must scatter them. We are too few...
Yea, Basacorse, we know thou art equipped
With chords to join our oratorio.
Sing thou as well. And for our mages here,
We will employ the power of the gods
And ask that they, with intervening strength,
Protect them in their castings of AE,
For who among us can with too proud heart
Proclaim our numbers are sufficiént—
Though we most noble are. What say you men?
Think'st there no better stratagem for us?
You there, Abdul, with thy computing brain
Tell us our chances.
............................K, gimme a sec.
Without a doubt, it seems that out of 3
Our chances number 1.
.................................What wretched rates!
But still, 'tis better than our usual—
Ho men! "Thumbs up! Let's do this. It is I,
Sir Leeroy Jenkins, most impetuous!"
(Leeroy Jenkins runs in)
Oh wounds! What haste! Did Leeroy just run in?
My lord, 'tis true...
..........................What? What? Then save him men!
The fool! Now more than ever, use the plan
And falter not, lest we give up our flesh
For whelps to sup upon and to digest.
The plan, the plan! My kingdom for a plan!
Where art the gods?! Where art the casting lot?!
My lord, I cannot move.
..................................Oh misery!
Leeroy! Thou rogue! Thou awful, impulsed man!
(the campaign exits, followed by a bear)
..................................
|
A pox to this story I tell thee dear reader, a pox to its virtues, a pox to its name! A weary and morose tale, one of dastards and deviants and miscreants of all kinds!
I sat at my home, comfort in the hearth, feeling a delight akin to that of my childhood. The mead I had was cool to the tongue, my stomach and blood woozy on its sustain, when I loaded into a match.
"Rexxar vs Uther!"
"Let the hunt begin!" remarked Rexxar, as savage as any beast.
"I will fight with honor!" replied Uther, as noble as a human as he is. Our hands quickly flooded with cards, both of us dispatching a few like simple curs. I play my first, a simple bat of flame. I wait patiently, fire burning in my soul for what should happen next.
"Well Met!" says Uther, my heart lighting up. Polite, this duel, and I reply in manner.
"Greetings, traveler." Rexxar says, his words echoing mine like beauty. That high brightness in my heart soon dimmed, the moon of sadness eclipsing its once greatness, as Uther buffs all his cards in his hand.
"Damned!" I mutter to myself, as I strike him. Rexxar moves an arrow to the most heinous positions in his bow and; without heed or warning, delivers damage.
"Well Met!" says Uther, his words dipped with wretched smug. He plays another card, this one placing a fiendish goblin into play, aswell as buffing his hand once more!
"Oh I bite my thumb at thee," I say to myself, "you fiend of the night." Without thought, I strike Uther once more; and Rexxar repeats. Uther was beginning to suffer, and so, my delight grew. But I smiled.
"Well Met!" A warrior of holy faith descends onto the field, now stronger then any God it once knew could have imagined, upon a horse righteous of heart, protected by a shield of light itself. It ran the bat threw, without taking a scratch, declaring; "The cavalry is here!". Sweat beaded down my back. With hands of trepidation, I played another card, praying for a boar or a bear to visit me. Shadows clutched me. the wrong companion came to stay as Leokk, guardian of the sky looked at me, its strength not here, and mine, nearly all but gone.
"Well Met!" Clutched in Uther's hands was a sword most divine. It cleaved through Leokk; leaves in winter wind, and healed his wounds at the same time.
"I loathe this game!" harked my voice, "I loathe it and I do not need it!"
"Well fought, I concede," Rexxar spoke.
"Well Met!"
| 2017-01-09T16:29:26
| 2017-01-09T16:00:32
| 94
| 42
|
[WP] You have the ability to double jump. Scientists are still trying to figure it out.
|
"What nonsense!"
"I know! But it's real! We've been testing with her at our lab for three days now."
"Can she *triple* jump too?"
"Yea, of course. That's like the first thing we've asked her to try. She has even done four! But beyond that, she gets very tired."
"Tired, you say?"
"Her heart races up with every jump. We had to be careful. But may be with practice.."
"So theoretically, do you think she can do an *infinite* jump?"
"Theoretically, she can't even do a double jump for Christ's sake! But I know what you're thinking. She still can't get to the orbit."
"Why not?"
"You see, with every further jump, the height she can reach seems to decay. So 'theoretically', even if we somehow impart her with infinite stamina, she can't jump beyond a certain threshold."
"Hmm interesting. I assume you measured the thrust she generates with her jump and compare it against the upper bound for height?"
"Yes, we did. We extrapolated the height that she would be able to reach if she were *infinite-jump*, and also calculated the height she should have actually reached if our Physics were true. We even accounted for air resistance and gravitational field anomalies."
"And?"
"Well, it turns out that the *infinite-jump* height is approximately 2.71828 times that of the conventional height."
"My God. Some one call the math guys!"
"Already did. We're meeting them in three hours. Be prepared."
|
'Critter' Log 12:00 02.xx.20xx:
Subject still insists on disobeying the laws of physics with alarming frequency. He's been jumping 12 - 13 feet in the air regularly, leaping up five feet, sinking down slowly a bit, then springing up again 7 - 8 feet. When asked about it, he continues to reply with just the word 'boing' and a wink. Left after two hours of him just leaping up, down and around the testing chamber like a drug induced hallucination.
'Critter' Log 12:00 03.xx.20xx:
Subject wasn't too springy today, walked around mostly. He was given a book to read, at his request. A Brief Description of the Cosmos, by Dr. R. Robin. He came over to the two way mirror just as I was going to leave, and said, "try looking at the air under me." Grinned briefly, then walked over to the center of the room and stuck out a thumb.
Its not *too* good, cause I'm sleepy its 10:30 pm where I'm at, and ive been up since 6.
| 2017-02-11T08:49:55
| 2017-02-11T07:53:41
| 338
| 175
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
@OP: love the premise! I'm going to take it in a bit of a different direction.
I felt Jennifer's hand tighten in my grasp as we waited. I glanced back across the desk at the official. This wait was awful, I figured the reports would be instantaneous like credit scores.
My wife and I are sitting in a case worker's office in the Department of Public Welfare, waiting for the final decision on our application. We are two years married and decided it was time to take the next step, to have a child of our own. Call me old fashioned, but this is the only time I've cared about my Compatibility Score. I've always been vocal about how people should decide for themselves if they love someone by getting to know them, not by some arbitrary numbers.
Up until now I've had no use for my score, I was never one for dating clubs, and the score was only a minor weight when applying for loans. I had never bothered to check on the scores of the few women I dated, though this had come back to bite me. I was relieved when I met Jennifer, her values were similar to mine. We had the same outlook on life, the same goals, the same hobbies, the same drive.... it was like we were made for each other.
Despite all this I can't help but be nervous. I know that I have at least one black mark on my record. Melissa. Looking back on that train wreck of a relationship still brings a scowl to my face. I'm not proud of who I became by the end. The constant drama and stress left me a wreck. Walking on egg shells, timidly approaching everything, worried about what would set off the next argument; it is little wonder I had found myself flip flopping between spineless debasement and red faced screaming.
I was jerked from my memories as the official stirred and faced us.
"Mr. and Mrs. Resnick," he began, "I'm sorry to inform you, but your application to produce offspring has been denied. As you know it is this office's responsibility to evaluate and certify a household's ability to ensure a stable and psychologically safe environment for future generations. Unfortunately your aggregate score falls below the minimum requirement."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach, I was going to vomit. I turned to Jenny and saw her pale face.
"I'm sorry babe. I should have dated more, padded my reviews after her. I never thought that one relationship would continue to hurt us..."
"Actually Mr. Resnick," the official interrupted, "Your history and profile scores are perfect. You had one negative review on your record, by a Ms. Melissa McAdams. Given her history of giving all negative reviews, and the reviews given against her, all of her input is flagged and ignored."
I froze.
"But..." I turned to look at Jenny. Her eyes were downcast, silent tears streamed down her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"We have multiple negative reviews on record," the official continued. "Her score is well in the negative. We have multiple accounts of 'pushy', 'demanding', 'controlling', 'dismissive of others achievements', 'obsessive', 'intolerant', and 'emotionally distant'. I'm afraid any child raised in this environment will be a neurotic mess, prone to depression and anxiety, with near crippling self-esteem issues. Additionally, the score forecasts divorce to be very likely, further causing psychological strain on any child conceived."
"You don't understand! It sounds worse than it is," I argued. "She's not any of those things! She is driven to succeed, sure, but that is one of the things that makes her great. She expects the best from herself and motivates those around her. She isn't 'emotionally distant' she just isn't gushy like..."
"Sir," the official cut me off. "I realize you love your wife and see her in a positive light, but that doesn't change the score. However there are various programs in place to rehabilitate low or negative scores. Reviews can be disputed, you can improve your score with a monitored pet. The two of you can undertake couples counselling, at the end of the program you will receive a certificate of rehabilitation. On your way out be sure to get a pamphlet from the receptionist." He motioned towards the door.
Slowly we stood and I took her hand.
"We'll get through this," I promised.
|
“You sure this is the name?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve dated the guy for like three months now.”
“We always have a grand time. I think he’ll get a high enough score,” I added.
Gus looked at the dark alley behind me then pocketed the crumpled piece of paper.
“Let’s hope he does,” Gus muttered under his breath. “Wait here.”
He entered the back door of a Chinese restaurant. As far as people are concerned, he’s just a busboy there.
I hugged myself as the door closes in front of me. It’s really dark. I wonder why all the lightposts are busted.
Tick tock.
Rats were scavenging inside the large trashbins, I can hear them go through the day’s loot.
Tick tock.
The door opened. The light from the kitchen shone on Gus’ face. And that’s all I needed to see.
I held my breath.
“Here take this”, Gus said as he shoved the paper on me. “Get out of here fast. You don’t have to pay me.”
He went back inside. I hear the click of the lock.
It was dark again.
Tick tock.
I know it’s bad but I have to see. I took out my phone and held it over the paper.
I screamed inside.
-500?
How? I was in a daze. It doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly the bin cover opened and two rats stood.
“Wait, why would rats stand?” Nothing makes sense.
-500?
The posts suddenly blazed with blinding lights.
“Freeze! NYPD! Drop the paper on the ground.”
My heart stopped.
“Matt?”
*****
My first time. I would appreciate your comments.
| 2016-09-24T11:47:42
| 2016-09-24T11:40:10
| 405
| 21
|
[WP] Believing they had crafted the perfect wish, a foolhardy individual commands their genie grant them boundless immortality. Eons later while floating in empty space waiting for the heat-death of the universe they chance upon a very familiar looking lamp...
|
I wished for immortality, of course. Why wish for anything less?
I took precautions. When the genie offered me my three wishes the first wish I made was for was a year to prepare. I thought the delay might annoy him but he shrugged like he had all the time in the world.
I spent that year in research. Starting point- magic is real. Next- genies are real. Inference- stories about genies have an element of truth. Additional- stories about genies are mostly morality tales in which poorly worded wishes result in unexpected and ironic negative consequences where the wisher is punished for their moral failings. Conclusion- my wish must be well worded, and free of moral vice.
I eventually drafted a thirty page legal document. I can't even remember it now, but it included stipulations designed to prevent the obvious ironic twists and the outcomes obtained by other, prior, similar wishes of legend. And it stipulated that the purpose of my immortality would ultimately be to serve and aid others. Then I saved my last wish for later, to remedy any unforeseen consequences.
The genie flipped through the brief like he expected it, and shrugged. Then he snapped his fingers and both he and the lamp vanished.
I didn't feel any different.
I spent the next thousand years studying the arcane arts. That was my first clue the wish had worked.
The world changed around me. Science advanced dramatically, then faltered. The gap between stars was too great to leap in ships. Humanity was forced to come to terms with it's limited environment, and with the need to conserve and to live an ecologically stable life.
Another hundred thousand years went by.
Eventually I revealed myself. I had to. No enclosed ecosystem can last forever, and even humanity's ecological revivalism couldn't last. I entered the world with dramatic flair, proclaiming myself a great sorceror-King. But a benevolent one. I wasn't sure, but my wish had stipulated to an ultimate goal of aiding others. If I was cruel or ruthless I worried my immortality might be revoked.
Flame mephits and conjured imps became as common as gasoline engines once were. The arcane arts provided the boost necessary for humanity to break out of it's stellar cage. Science and magic could do together what science alone could not- and almost entirely because magic permitted the harvesting of energy at a distance. A starship powered by a pact with a mystical being from the center of a star, with hydroponics blessed by a harvest shrine-goddess, could achieve what mere nuclear fusion powered rockets could not.
Humanity spread through the galaxy.
I retreated to the shadows once more.
Forever is a long time. I could regale you with the stories of what humanity achieved, of its contact with other life, of the renaissance that followed as I worked from the darkness to help humanity live alongside the rest of the universe. We became this galaxies... protectors, I suppose. The first species to walk between stars with ease, the elder race that young alien sentients learned of almost as legend... And me in the background, guiding it as I could, ensuring that the story went on.
I never set out to do that. But eventually long life just became a habit, and I wanted to see what happened next. And war ends stories, so I worked to oppose it as I could.
Forever is a long time. I've said that before but you can't understand. You literally cannot. Your mind might grasp a few dozen as a number, or even a few million by analogy, but eventually the hominid brain gives up and just calls big numbers "many."
When so much time had passed that the entire history if the human race from birth to extinction was like an eye blink in my memory, I simply floated in space, watching. Everything was dying. There was nothing I could do this time. I had saved Earth from it's ecological heat death by providing access to the energy of the arcane world, but that still drew from the cosmos, and the cosmos itself was burning out.
I watched.
I forget what I looked like at this point. A nebula, I think. I had sloughed my body long ago. I just didn't need it anymore, and it wasn't like there was anyone to talk to. I remember being light years across but with yards of vacuum between each molecule. I glowed. I remember thinking that eventually there would just be me, in the void, my soft light the last warmth in a dead universe.
But why? Energy comes from somewhere. Even the arcane. Why was I still alive? What powered me?
I felt it's gravity first. Those of you who understand the science know how small of a pull that was. Use that to help you understand the true devastation that is the heat death of everything. It was the only twist in time space of it's size. Anywhere.
It was the lamp. I held it, letting it drift through the void of my body, caressing it with streamers of hydrogen. It was empty, but not... dead. It still held power. Far more than I had ever known. Far different from that which I had ever known.
I looked out across the void one last time as I wished it goodbye, and poured myself into the lamp, my glowing smoke spiraling into it like a star spilling into a black hole.
And I used my last wish.
|
Some used to think the end of The Universe would be the beginning to something else. That nothing truly dies. That reality is change and preservation. Old Earth was filled to bursting with ideas on what happens after death. Some thought worm food, others liked the fantasy of becoming beings of light.
If nothing else Dang misses the optimism as he floats in the endless vacuum of The Universe. He long ago gave up all that. To him it doesn't matter what happens after death, because he will never experience it.
As a laborer in the Saudi oil fields he stabbed his shovel into the polluted soil and with one pull of his over used shoulders freed an ancient lamp.
He rubbed it and in a puff of sweet spicy smoke a purple tinged being emerged in front of him.
"Your wish is my command," it said.
Dang has spent many moments of his long life regretting his next words. As a child fantasizing about wishes it was the one wish that made the most sense. He clung to it for decades, but as the words, "I wish for boundless life," escaped his lips he somehow knew it was not the right choice.
“As you wish my master,” it said. It because in memory the jinn had no sex. It was both male and female and neither at the same time. Black glowing eyes shone with mirth and sadness. It was duality. It was the ying and yang of Dangs youth in Vietnam.
And it stole from Dang his own polarity.
Dang got his wish and would never die and it would seem live forever.
Fifty years after his wish, when the oil fields no longer contained oil, he walked away from being a slave unchanged by his advanced age. He walked off the oil fields much like he floated away from what once was the planet when it stopped existing millions of years later.
Dang has not been limited to a single life but instead has been given eons of time for thought. During that time he has cast away Earth's lost lore in favor of other ideas.
He has spent many moments on the question of the true nature of his reality.
Not so much the question anymore, but the answer he has come up with.
He has decided he is The Universe. That all that once existed and all that will exist again is him.
He was Genghis Khan, the moon, Solaris and every particle of dark matter.
He is it all.
He doesn't remember when he first came to this conclusion. Time stopped mattering when matter stopped being.
The idea has led him to believe that maybe he was the Jinn also. He seeks to conjure it back to him. He has given up on philosophy, because the why stops mattering when one is everything. But what is everything when it cannot be added to a why?
Since then all stars have disappeared. All matter has been sucked into countless black holes. He wishes his eyes were able to pick up on different types of spectral light. He imagines the explosions around him are similar to volcanoes. Vibrant clouds, but invisible to him.
And really that is all he can do: imagine. It's a strange sensation knowing that so much activity is happening around him and he is not privy to it.
Except in his mind.
And this is when his theory breaks down. If reality is not his mind and reality is the ice cold blackness of space, of what is he truly the master of.
He wonders.
A master of The Universe that will soon shed its cocoon and become something else. He has no doubt he will be there to see what it will become. He just need be patient for millions of years more and he will be there when that change is over also. He alone will be the master of everything that remains, that will be and what once was.
He has floated free in space since Earth’s Sun went supernova and took everything Dang knew away. It took the moon and Jupiter and exoplanets. It took his clothing. Ironically it took his last remaining will to live.
Earth in those last moments was something to see. Humanity had stretched its existence to that moment. There was no surprise, just celebration. The death of the human race was an event to remember. Two generations of partying with the knowledge the end of the massive epic called humanity had reached it’s last chapter.
Some of those last memories float free from the trillions of years worth of experiences logged in Dangs brain. He feels his mouth twitch into a small smile, but pushes it back. The only memory he really wants is that of the lamp.
He has built the thing up to be more than a rusting vessel for a supernatural being to reside.
In his mind it was taller than Everest and the jinn inside the most beautiful creature to ever have existed. He wonders again if with the destruction of the Earth the lamp has disappeared into the ether also.
Did the creature inside taste oblivion?
Did it know the sweet black kiss of death?
Dang does not know how he can still be alive if the creature that made him immortal died with the Earth.
Alive.
Ha.
He is just an emaciated thing in a sack of dried skin settled over a still mobile system of muscle and bone. How if he was not everything to have existed and will exist was he not also the Jinn with its lamp?
As weariness touches at him he can only hope it is true and that one day he will know for sure.
Dang closes his eyes hoping for eons to slip by. He does sleep and dreams and lives within that dream and is not alone for a time. But as always he awakes and is back in the reality of being. He is alone in the blackness again, but something is different.
He feels a pull. A tugging around the flaps of loose dried skin on his midsection. He pulls his head in the direction of the tugging and as usual when he attempts to move the effort causes him to flip over and over again. In the beginning this made him dizzy and nauseous though he had nothing in his stomach. With time the organs in his body have flatten so he does not experience this feeling now.
How he longs to feel something.
And he does.
Surprise.
Circling in a Dangcentric orbit is the lamp from his ancient past.
In the vacuum around he is uncertain how he is able to see it. No light reflects on it. He has not been able to see himself in millions of years due to this principle of physics.
Yet there it is.
A tarnished bronze and dirt stained lamp. He reaches for it and grabs hold of it and as he half denies its existence is possible gives the thing a quick rub. And in front of him, obliterating his loneliness, is the Jinn.
“Yes my master?” The Jinn’s black eyes are flecked with mischievous glee.
Dang is flabbergasted. In his mind he conjures up wish after wish, but with no fuel in his body to generate saliva he is forced to hold on to the lamp until he can speak words to its occupant.
And until that day The Universe is no longer alone just unsatisfied by life and drenched in the hysterical laughter of the lamp's occupant.
| 2016-07-13T07:37:57
| 2016-07-13T07:09:50
| 61
| 14
|
[WP] Scandinavians still believe the only way to get to Valhalla is to die in battle. For that reason, every hospital employs a Battle Nurse.
|
The fisherman’s eyes fell with the weight of memory. Candles clutched in sheltered palms flickered in the stormy night. Tears and rain mixed on the wharf, but this was not a sad occasion.
“Papa, why are you crying?” My son asked.
I clutched his young shoulders. “Grandpapa is going off to battle, one last time.”
“Was grandfather a soldier?”
“A soldier fighting long against the sea,” I said, staring at the approaching ambulance.
The slow procession carried my father towards the wooden rowboat. This death was well fitting for him. Every morning he rose to fight the dark sea’s wrath to provide for us. Of the sea, he told us that *“only the mightiest warrior can stand against her.”*
He was the mightiest warrior. My mother died in childbirth, leaving us alone in the world. He fought against loneliness for me. He fought against alcohol and depression and won. He never gave up, never backed down, always smiled, always laughed. He was the champion, the legendary warrior I could never become in my own life. I hope my son remembers him well.
It was a true gift of mercy that the nurse was so accommodating. Death by the sea—just as the sea brought light to his life, so it would take it away. One last battle. One last voyage. One last chance to say goodbye.
The nurse prepared him for his final voyage. I smiled, and mumbled “thank you,” though the depth of my gratitude could never be conveyed in this mortal realm. We boarded the tug, and I sat in the boat with my father, staring into his dying eyes.
“One last voyage, Papa,” I said, a lump forming in my throat. “One last fight against the sea.”
He squeezed my hand, and the nurse cut away the tow lines to the rowboat. The only thing anchoring my father was my firm grip. I leaned in close to hear him whisper.
“My son, listen. My greatest victory was never against the sea,” he said, smiling weakly. “My greatest victory was always you.”
I let him go.
May the halls of Valhalla receive him well.
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
Things were hard.
Ever since they realised that weaker men and women just end up causing more pain as battle nurses, since they couldn't finish it quick, they decided it was a job for big guys. Or more specifically, guys that knew how to kill.
So criminals was the answer, not psychopaths, for obvious reasons, but just good behaviour criminals. They got their sentences reduced, as long as the supervisors rate them nicely. If you go below 3 stars, you're out of the program.
Things went crazy in the prison after that. Everyone wanted to 'kill off an old guy' and it was acceptable.
And there was me.
I was naturally big, loved my beard and bald head. I drove a truck, before my life turned around. A bunch of drunk teenagers on the highway, and I, who couldn't hit the break soon enough. 3 dead, 5 injured, 12 year sentence.
My wife had given up her job cause I wasn't home, and my daughter needed someone. Now she had to work 3 jobs and take care of Lily alone, just cause I had been stupid.
And as if those deaths were not enough to haunt me, I was given the option to kill more people to get to Lily faster. I chose Lily, I had to. But each death was one too much for me.
Most if them were old people, I just cracked their neck, I learnt that in prison. I had a good rating, quick deaths. Glory in murder.
They said they go to Valhalla, they're gonna die anyway. Didn't make me feel any better. But Lily was growing so fast, the thought of missing it was enough motivation for the next one.
The worst one by far was the man with Alzheimer's. He had already signed, so we had to. But he forgot, and no one wanted to kill an old man without his will. His son begged me to do it, before the disease takes him. His son begged me to kill him. How low have we fallen?
I did it. He never stopped shouting. He never stopped struggling. He never thanked me like the others. He just shouted.
"You'll go to hell for this."
I was already in hell.
Haven't slept so well since, Lily's picture was the only thing that had kept me from sending myself to Valhalla.
But today was it. It was a hard one, I was told. But if I did it, I'll be free to go. I'll go to Lily. The feeling was the best I had felt ever since I came here. It even gave me hope, for a good sleep.
But then I got to the hospital. I entered the 'Valhalla room'. And stopped.
"I wanna get pizza when I get of here after this dad!", The hairless kid almost shouted in happiness.
Valhalla, I am coming.
| 2018-12-08T22:37:19
| 2018-12-08T22:17:01
| 202
| 108
|
[WP] You were always bullied for wearing a power dampening collar, They didn't know why you did. They saw it as some joke. You know why. Your power. It scares you. The terrible disgusting eldritch power of horror. One day they took it too far. Stealing your collar in a super shopping mall.
|
Life was never easy for Jackson. In a world where a lucky few would get powers, he had won the lottery. Yet, with that he was robbed of other things. He was robbed of control, given a power so great that only a nullification collar could keep it at bay. Through the years of bullying from others, he had grown into a timid and shy teen. Afraid of another part of himself that everyone seemed to embrace.
Jackson was walking around the mall, carefully surveying every person and corner. Perhaps it was paranoia, but the last thing he wanted was for the collar to come off. It resembling more of a worn leather shackle more than anything. However, today he was a bit too careless. Passing by the hangout of the bullies that had terrorized him. Never a day went by that he wasn't made fun of for the collar he was wearing, or what he claimed to be unimaginable power.
Jackson suddenly felt a pulsing in his head, and his body forcefully froze. Like an instant suspended in time, he had been on the receiving end of this power before. Several times. It belonged to the leader of the bullies named Ryan. He had inherited the power to forcefully seize control of people from his mother, who for all her kindness couldn't discipline a child worth a damn.
Three bullies surrounded Jackson, all while he regained control of his head. Ryan having his hands in his pockets with a confident smirk.
"If it isn't the boy with immeasurable power that wears a bondage collar." Ryan chuckled
"Ryan...Please don't...You can stop this! I won't tell anyone, I promise!" Jackson cried out
Ryan shaking his head, his smirk becoming more devious. He wanted to shatter Jackson's delusions of having power *greater* than him. And expose him for the powerless faker he always was.
Two of the bullies then slammed Jackson to the ground, causing him to scream. The third one keeping his legs still.
Ryan began to approach, kneeling down beside him all with a big grin.
"Now, time to remove the shitty collar once and for all."
"Wait..! Ryan! Please! Don't do it! You have no idea what will happen if you remove it!" Jackson pleaded.
"Oh shut the fuck up. I already know that *nothing* will happen when it's removed."
Ryan then tore off the collar, but once he did the area began to darken. No, it was more like something was bleeding into reality. It was then he saw a vestige.
A writhing mass of blisters, tendrils, and glowing orbs. Something then began leaking from his nose, as his friends collapsed around him he finally realized what he was staring at. Through the glowing orbs, he saw dreams and within those dreams he saw knowledge one could only dream of. The being above beings, and everything was just his dream. A loud snoring echoing through the mall, as Ryan's consciousness finally gave away from the terror of the father of all things- **Azathoth**
Reality continued to splinter and crumble as the might of terror itself began encroach on the universe. The dream it had created was finally starting to unravel. However, louder than the snoring was the steady, melodic yet bone rattling beat of drums. It was **The Drummer** that played nonstop to keep Azathoth asleep. A single moment without the thundering sounds of drums and all the dreams created by it would vanish like the ephemeral existences they were.
The thundering sound of drums signaled the invasion on reality, as people began to panic from the darkening mall. Glowing orbs forming into existence, then popping out just as quickly. Jackson in complete terror of what was unfolding, all unfolding because of him and his cursed power.
People were dropping dead, as the dreams of Azathoth flooded into them showing the true nature of reality before they crumbled just as quickly.
Jackson quickly reaching for his collar and wrapping it back around his neck, praying to whatever was out there that the invasion of reality from the source of his power would stop. The thundering of the drums ceased, the blight of orbs and tendrils fading away, and the blusterous snoring coming to an end. As the invading truth on the dream subsided.
Jackson beginning to weep at all the carnage he caused. Yet again he was alone surrounded by bodies of people that had seen a glimpse of the father of existence.
|
Two years ago when I joined high school as a sophomore. It was always a normal day to be bullied by Jeff, Dan, Alice, Violet and The Blueberries twins Harper and James. They love to make fun of my collar call it a joke and how I’m just an animal compare to the other students.
Sometimes I tend to keep my cool or else I would rip out this entire school and eliminate them without remorse.
One day it happened I was walking to the super mall hoping to hoping to get more clothes, and food supplies not knowing the out come for this day.
I spot them the Jeff’s gang and I ran away, it was too late. They come after me and out of no where the twins grab my hands, while the others catch up. Jeff smiled and said “If it isn’t Ivy the collar wearing brat, we’ll I think it’s time to finish my dare right guys! With a smirk that I would bitch slap him.
He ended up removing my collar forcefully which made me said “What did you do!” I screamed with horror.
Jeff have taken my collar and ended up ripping it to pieces in front of his stupid gang. They laughed and ended up pushing me landing me to fall to the first floor.
“This can’t be happening!” As I roared my body bursted with blood, I watched as I shifted into a shadow with blood bending around my body. I saw how I was no longer in control… my body screamed out of pain and I’m starting to notice I don’t feel any remorse.
It’s almost as if I wanted to become a ruthless, restless, shadow that wants to get revenge. My body ended up climbing on top of the wall until I reach the ceiling.
My head cracked as I look below, as the bullies are freaking out. I smiled with deep horrors in my eyes, “Yeah that’s right be afraid your own stupidity made me.” I said while letting go the ceiling and smiling sinisterly.
Scream erupted the crowds of people ran to the exit as a entire blood shed came. “ The excitement, the fear, the suffering was what I wanted!”
The former bullies are no longer in control of their body, I’m going to make sure they pay for everything. As I smiled with the dead bodies turning into my chained sword.
To Be Continued…
| 2022-12-23T14:57:34
| 2022-12-23T12:44:09
| 700
| 25
|
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil.
|
I am dog.
Millenia ago, long before the two-leggers had begun to naively roam the forests, blissfully lacking the mental wherewithal to pee on the trees they had descended from, my race was a nomadic one. We traveled from planet to planet seeking to rid the galaxy of the sociopathic race the hairless call "cats", better known to us as the "Urr'wuff": They Who Do What They Want And Do Not Give A Fuck.
My people were great and as numerous as the fleas on our backs. Under the guidance of Kazak the Wise, Grand Packleader and Humper of All Things, we had managed to nearly eradicate the Urr'wuff and finally put an end to the great catnip cartels that had claimed so many billions of lives throughout the ages. The last of the feline survivors had fled to the edge of the galaxy, and my direct canine ancestors -- the greatest and most disciplined warriors of them all, fabled to be able to hold cookies on their noses for hours at a time without partaking -- had been dispatched to finish them.
And so it was that in a small, insignificant solar system near the abyss of deep space, the great canine warriors met their match with the cunning cat criminals. In the upper stratosphere of a small blue planet they engaged in the greatest space battle known to dog-kind, one that spanned many many weeks, or maybe only a couple of minutes, nobody could really tell.
In the aftermath of the carnage survivors of both races found themselves marooned on the strange planet. Starving and without hope, my ancestors were saved by a small, primitive race we began to call two-leggers, or more formally "Grrrrr Aruff": Those Whose Penises Do Not Glow Red.
Indebted to these simple, confused people, my ancestors swore their allegiance to them, vowing to help and protect two-leggers from their own ignorance, and to shield them from the cats (who had already begun to manipulate them into servitude.)
Of course, through the ages, not all dogs stayed the cause. Some went off to breed with the beautiful females of the native races of the planet, the wolves, known to us as "Aff'grr": Those Silvery Babes With The Nice Voices. Others went rogue, forgot their posts, corrupted the name of dog-kind with their laxity and disregard and forced their stalwart brothers to turn agains them.
But those that remained stayed true to their cause and found solace in the beautiful companionship that so many of the hairless, comically ignorant two-leggers provided.
I am dog. This is my vigil.
***
The porch. Morning. The air tantalizes me with the intoxicating scent of dead squirrel and rabbit droppings in the corner of the yard. I itch to roll in it. But I do not move, for beneath those sensuous aromas is another, one that is distant but getting closer, the smell of evil.
I hear a bark from upwind. It is the bichon frise known as Pumpkin, Annihilator of Plush Invaders and Keeper of the Heinous Gas. She approaches me, her young two-legger in tow.
"Hail, Rex," she greets me through the fence. "Peace and good garbage be upon you and your family."
"Hail Pumpkin," I reply. "What news do you bring?"
"I gave chase to the yellow tomcat known as Burlington this morning, but he has eluded me yet. Be wary of him trespassing on your territory. I have also yet to catch the strange, flittering red light that continues to plague me when I am lying near my two-leggers, but I expect to have subdued it by the time of the full moon."
"Have you seen He Who Tries To Invade Us on your scout this morning?"
"Yes, about a block over. I kept my Anna at a safe distance and he showed no interest in us, but I would still be cautious," Pumpkin growls lowly.
"I always am," I assure her.
"Well I must be on my way. May your bones be meaty and buried deep. Farewell."
She is gone. Moments pass. The smell becomes stronger. In the distance, I hear Pumpkin barking. An alert to me. He is close.
Here he is now, readying himself to invade. I see him carrying his bag of strange papers. I am always prepared, always on guard for the day he withdraws the hair-dryer I am sure has hidden deep inside and comes after me with it.
Now he stands on the edge of my territory and looks at me nervously. That is right, you son of a carkitten, you skittish vacuum-mouth fart of a tuna taster, cower in the presence of the might Rex!
"Come no closer, foul demon. You may have fooled my simple pack into thinking you are one of them, but you will not take this yard as long as I stand in it. Be gone, you shall invade here no longer!" I cry, galloping up to the gate.
Then my a call. My older female runs out to scold me. She has been enchanted by this paper demon, she does not know.
"I'm so sorry, Tom, here just hand the mail to me. Rex, stay!" I hear her say. The usual gibberish. I am already six years old, my juvenile dream of one day teaching my two-leggers to speak has long since been dashed. Regardless, I still love them.
He Who Tries To Invade Us looks at me once more. He does not cross the gate. Thwarted again, the cowardly git, the mere sight of me sends him shaking. Nevertheless he still ensnares the old female into taking his strange papers. One day I will discover what they are for and use it against him.
The older female retreats inside, safe again.
"A close call," comes a snide voice. Hugo. He is at the fence.
I bound up to him, my fangs bared. Just the sight of the traitor's ugly snout makes me shiver with rage.
"A lot of nerve you have showing up here, again!" I bark. He is a lost cause. A failed guardian. His one charge, his only human, was taken hostage by a cat two years ago, and now it is she who runs the territory. And Hugo fraternizes with her, the bastard. "Get out of here! I do not want your presence corrupting the sanctity of my territory!"
"You do not tell me where I can and cannot go!" Hugo's reply thunders in my ears. "This is my territory I am standing on! This side of the fence is mine!"
"Yours?" I laugh, "So is that your fishy piss I smell on all corners of the yard?"
"You are some kind of scentless asshole, Rex! I ought to dig under there and kick your tail!"
"You don't have the gall, traitorous pup!"
Another call. This time it is Hugo's two-legger. He leaves his house and runs across to restrain Hugo, dragging him by backwards by the necklace. A pitiable shame, this human. Another puppet for the cat, that slimy scheming Siamese named Perdita. One day her tail will be my trophy, and Hugo's belly will be bared to me. I swear it for the good of my pack.
edit: I am too tired to finish this but it was such a fun prompt. Thanks for reading. :)
|
Here I stand, my world behind me, the abyss ahead. I know no lands beyond this one, releasing only my shame into the void, and retreating back in. My pack, a label which is arguable, depend on me, and me alone for their survival. They require me to escort them as they traverse the void, peering into the Otherlands. The many corruptions and abominations from beyond that threaten us are only kept at by my desperate wails. Are their thirsts satiated by my outcries, or do they only find it amusing? I don't know, and I fear the latter more than anything else.
Mael-maan, the first of many darknesses, dubbed as such by the others, wears many faces, changing appearance and voice to suit its needs. It's arrival is daily, but its morphing, twisted form is such that it can continuously deceive the weak ones into letting it into our domain and graciously accepting their Trojan horses into our home. Once, I risked everything to strike out at the beast, wounding it, if only for the moment. The others restrained me, fearing for my life, believing my attack to be folly and that it would only anger the Mael-Maan. They apologized profusely, no doubt begging for my life. However, my attack was not in vain, for it never dared step across the world border again. It still tries and manipulate the others with gifts and words, but I destroy what of it that I can. The others are angered by my defiance of the Mael-Maan, fearful of his retaliation. They will thank me, someday.
There is another of my kind, or at least, it used to be. It resides in the Otherworlds, and watches me, unwavering. It was not my kin. My pure, diminutive size, needed for stealth and grace, was unlike his burly and grotesque form. Its head looked to be warped inward, teeth constantly bared. Then there was another. And another. Its taint, its corruption, its *disease*, it was creating more of them. And I could be its next victim. Would I betray my pack? Would I become such a twisted mimic of my former self? I had only the one thing that repelled the Mael-Maan, my cry. Truly, they were former kin, for their wretched screams, although broken and worn, were that of mine. As I tried and strained to outscreech them, my weaker companion held me back and pulled me to retreat. While we may have escaped, I can only fear their spread.
Then there are the Hahtted. I know not what they are, nor if they are truly evil. But they cannot be trusted. Even my pack is not protected from their possession. Perhaps they are innocent spirits, phasing through others, lost in death. Or are they demons slipping in and out of existence as they look for suitable hosts? There are few symptoms of their afflictions, but they are all clearly something otherworldly. Their faces darken in the same light that illuminates the others'. The mark of the curse protrudes from their heads, seemingly invisible to the others, blending in with them, living their lives for them. But oddest of all, they appear when the Heaven Sphere shines brightest above, and appear immune to its harsh gaze. Is this because they are actually creatures of the light, or creatures so dark that even light cannot phase them? While my dependents have the luxury of optimism, welcoming those afflicted within our domain, I cannot allow such a risk. Especially when they are already so far gone that they will actively pursue this curse, taking the mark upon themselves. They are children, becoming upset when I take away the dangerous things they wish to play with, screaming and yelling when I destroy the marks of the curse. I do not blame them.
I shall take the burden of their hatred if it shall keep them safe. I do this not out of greed, or hopes of equality. I do this out of my own will and my own obligation to repay them for rescuing me from the eternal prison I had been banished to. I was betrayed by a group I had called my kin, and this group, I have adopted in exchange for their help, no matter whether it was born of altruism, or simple capriciousness. This wide abyss that we are stranded in the middle of, it is wrought with danger and deception. I do not know if my own efforts are enough to protect them from it, but it is all I can do to scream into the abyss and appear a darkness stronger than the rest. The others are weak, and their instincts tend toward submission, but I will not let their pride sink any further, I *will* make them strong.
I am tired, and weary, but my watch shall not end this day. My vigil will continue through the night, not even sleep stopping me, my ears still listening.
[Here I stand, my world behind me, the abyss ahead.](https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4109/4965229498_af4bef2dd8_z.jpg)
| 2014-12-27T11:18:57
| 2014-12-27T10:40:00
| 109
| 16
|
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose.
|
The drugs kicked in while the doctors all said, "easy now," but Jess felt fine because it meant she'd get to play. Every time her heart stopped, she went to the place she deemed the *cave in her head*. It was where the shadows all dripped, and where the man in black lived with his games.
He was there, waiting, with a checkerboard set.
"I hadn't hoped to see you again so soon," the man said, voice viscous as molasses. He wore a billowing black robe. and every time Jess looked at his face she felt incredibly sleepy. The man swept an arm over the table. His sleeve passed through the polished wood as if it weren't even there. "I let you have red."
The board reminded Jess of Cracker Barrel, where she'd found a pair of scissors and ran around cackling; the scene had made her mother furious, so Jess took her seat eagerly. "Red's my favorite color!"
"Very good," he said. Then he beckoned for the first move.
She made her choices slowly, for there was so much to tell. The man listened to her with an unalarmed interest that she'd found so lacking in adults on the outside. When she told him her dog died in the dryer, the man simply said it was a shame and asked if she'd do the same to the next beast. Meanwhile, he'd left the door wide open for a double-jump to a *King me.* Jess took his pieces while stifling a giggle. Later, she told him to story of the baptism. How her sister had practically glowed, and how furious it made her. The man leaned forward. He nearly toppled Jess's tower of captured black pieces.
"Tell me once more how the water burned."
Jess smiled broadly. "It felt like it does when sis holds my hand."
"Very good," he said. "Very good."
The game was over within the next few turns. Jess screamed victory and the man clapped his hands together once, to the sound of a thunderous boom. As soon as he did so, a light appeared at the edge of the darkness. Jess could see faint figures moving on the other side.
"Next time your mother harms you, prick her with this," the man said. "She knows which of you is which now, no point in waiting any longer."
He held a single black thumbtack. Jess took the gift reverently.
"Mister?" she said, ever so sweetly.
"Yes, my child?"
She tugged on his robe, beckoning him to lean down so she may whisper in his ear. "Mom hates when I curse," she said, conspiratorially. The man tilted his head, but Jess let the statement hang in the air for a brief moment, savoring the man's confusion.
Then she ran off and squealed:
"But you're really *fucking shit* at games."
As Jess ran towards the light with her new gift, cackling like a gremlin, the man's remained in the shadows.
"I wouldn't say that," he said, if only to himself. "I wouldn't say that at all."
|
I won, another victory. All my life I was a player. Simon says at the age of two, then moved to checkers and finally chess. My fortune was acquired through playing Texas Hold'em. I remember exactly the end of my life. A slight intoxication around a table filled with Chinatown Mafia. Cigarette smoke encircled us, like an ancient Mystic Chinese dragon, its tail sneaked into our lungs as it swirled and floated around us, picking up his next victim. The death is a very interesting situation, we sat there, laughing, but when I played and played and the pile of money grew around me, the faces became more like mystic marble sculptures, every pair of eyes focused on my cheeky smile. For the twentieth time this evening I leaned forwards to gather my winnings. A quick movement of a right hand of a man sitting right in front of me produced a handgun, the end of which now took over the entirety of my vision, the Chinese men and the floating dragon blurred and the whole reality shifted back to make way to the steel barrel at the end of which was my head, on the other side a 9.mm bullet in a cartridge.
At this instance I found myself out side time, and reality, but i was not yet dead. I was somewhere in the mid way. Darkness all around us, our play table illuminated by a single bulb floating above our heads. Death itself who now sat in front of me was looking at the table, in some anger analyzing his mistakes in the hundredth game of Risk which we played in the last minute. Death is a good player, and has a great poker face, yet he forgot that I am in fact the best player and the master of poker faces. So after some immeasurable amount of time I decided to ask him.
"Death?"
"Hmm?" he said with his deep voice, still looking at the board and scratching his chin.
"You allowed me to win this one." His face went even more pale than before. His eyes quickly shifted to look at me, slowly he straightened himself on his chair. I continued
"We had a deal that you will take me with you to hell if you win with me. we have now played for ..." I looked at my grandfather's Omega watch, the face of the clock had one word on it "time".
"... for a long umm, time. And so far I was only winning, but i see here that you have made a rookie mistake, moving your troops away from the eastern border of Africa. You knew that this would result in your failure since I had two troop cards ready and the entire Eurasia is under my full control, why did you do it ?". The death started visibly sweating, and avoided my angry look. Playing with his fingers he began speaking, uncertain at first, gaining confidence with each sentence.
"Well, I guess there is no point keeping this a secret any more. You are already dead. A detailed record is kept of every occupant of earth, not only regarding being good or nice, that is the Santa's department, he recently is very generous regarding his classifications. Anyway. We also create a personalized image of the world, the needs and wants of every individual, and depending on the life of this person we aim to provide each one with their own personal ideal area to spend the eternity in."
"You mean I'm already in Hell ?!" I shouted and stood up, tripping the chair over, I looked around me, the void seemed to be unoccupied by nothing, not even darkness. The figure looked surprised at me from the table. "Hell ? Nonsense, you're in Heaven". I stretched my arms pointing indiscriminately at everything. "THIS !? This is heaven ?!". The figure in front of me suddenly wore a suit, grew a quick receding hairline and continued, correcting his glasses in the process. "Here in heaven we decided to take a more personal choice over heaven. After all we are all different. We track down every situation in your life and based on that we create your own, personalized hell and heaven and depending on your overall performance we put you at one of them. Now, we cannot say that you were 'good' but overall you were led by your own motivation, and never tried to cheat or hurt anyone, you were surprisingly motivated by, all your life, to win, not even for money but the feeling of success, was what you wanted the most. So here we are, this table provides you with any game you can think of and we have the eternity to play as long as you want. You will achieve the eternal victory.". All of that was told with a genuine smile. I felt weak, and right after I sat down again, I fainted.
I opened my eyes. The barrel of the gun was still in my eyesight, towering over everything else. The Chinese, looked at me with a cold agenda. The metal click echoed through the room and everything seemed to freeze in time, no one moved, even the dragon above us looked at me in silence. I was alive, the gun was not loaded. An explosion of sincere laughter filled the room, loud enough it made me more startled than the empty weapon. I jumped up, and run out of the basement onto the night, welcoming the new chapter in my short life.
| 2018-03-21T08:55:47
| 2018-03-21T08:37:16
| 426
| 20
|
[WP] A dragon egg has been found. On the day of the hatching over a dozen scientists each from different countries come hoping it picks them as a parent. The dragon's overwhelmed and chooses the one person not in it's face. The guard.
[removed]
|
An egg has been found- it was far larger than any egg found in the world. It was a soft shell like a snake's and people there could see the leathery surface writhe as the hatchling inside was waking up. People were being far too noisy to hear the gentle peeping of the whelp within. There was no knowing what exactly it was through that thick shell.
Researchers stood by closer to its chamber, hoping that it would imprint to one of them and they could keep the rich and royal away from it. They would reach for it the second that it poked its head from that shell, let alone grab it when it settled, and could run the risk of harming it. They looked to their guard, four men and two woman arranged in a circle, bearing sword and black powder weapons. There had already been six arrests made as rich assaulted them or tried to break their formation, at which a seventh and mountainous guard would haul them away.
A cut appeared in the leather, and a few bubbles poured from it as well as a tiny maw to gulp air. The room fell silent and the squeaking was clearer now. More cuts began to form as it pressed a sharp egg tooth to the shell and writhed. They could see pale scales within the shell, and at one point an eye peered from one of the cuts.
It was a good hour before the whelp poked its head from the shell, and it positively looked like a serpent. It held up its head, to see so many strange faces looking back. It looked around at them all, and one lunged from its place- until one of the guards firmly buried their shoulder into the person, decking them hard.
The researches spoke and it recognized their voices from its time in the shell. It pulled itself a bit more free of its shell, its forelimbs and wings slipping out. The scales on its head had begun to darken as it dried. After a bit longer it pulled its rear legs and tail free, and stood up on its hind legs with paws on the glass to look out over the edge.
One of the rich again rushed, this time he waited until the guards were busy. He tried to reach into the chamber and grab the baby, but quickly yelped as it had tiny jaws full of needles for teeth. And as he yanked his hand back, it bled, and he only realized that the burn in the bite was going up his arm- the baby had venom.
He didn't have much time to dwell on his bite as a closed fist came crashing into his cheek, then he was grabbed by one of the guards who began calling for additional to take him away.
Hours and hours, the baby didn't leave the chamber. Impatient, the rich were mostly removed by then and those who were calmer were hissed at by the now crimson red whelp. It hatched in the morning, and by evening, none were left but the researchers and guards. Out of hundreds of people, it was content in the warm incubator.
"Remove your helmets," the researchers commanded their six guards, the seventh was still busy in another room. And they would do so- fair faces, most already showed a scar of kinds. The hatchling stood again, inspecting these new faces. This time it climbed onto the edge of the chamber, its tail hanging for balance.
Suddenly, like a frog, it leaped onto one of the woman. It held onto her arm, and with the help of tiny claws it crawled up and to her shoulder where it inspected her closely. Then it would climb onto her head, the guard wincing at the claws as it tried to get a grip on her auburn hair.. Much like a kitten, but bigger.
It would sit there and purr, looking triumphant in its accomplishment.
"Well, Ms. Sckell." One of the researchers breathed out. "Looks like it was waiting to see you for itself."
"Yeah... I was hoping that it wouldn't go for one of those greedy bastards." She reached up with both hands to take hold of it, which it held onto her hair and scalp a moment before letting go. She pulled it into her arms to hold like she would a cat.
"You have a dragon on your hands now, imprinted to you. If it is like other creatures, it will be largely inseparable until adulthood. We would still like to aid in its care, as we have already acquired the resources and would like to continue monitoring its growth."
"I'll need the help." She nodded, looking down at the dragon, who looked up at her. Then it stretched and rubbed its head against her cheek, purring louder.
|
The funny thing was that nobody in that room *knew* it was a dragon egg. Oh —quite a few of them were sure it was, but there was almost as many who thought it was some kind of dinosaur.
I had a bit of an unfair advantage in the matter, because even I had thought it was just a colorful ostrich egg until Wyvern informed me otherwise.
Wyvern is a centuries old dragon, but unlike the ‘grand giants of what you call myths, but actually were around way before humans.’, Wyvern was about the size of a small gecko. His wingspan only measuring just over a foot in length.
I had found Wyvern some years back, and had asked him multiple questions over the years about dragons. To the question of ‘Are there still other dragons?’ Wyvern had wilted a little,and said ‘even I do not know. I don’t believe that a grand giant could hide in this age, maybe there are a quite few of my sort still left...but I do not know. I’ve not seen another for quite some time.’
So when the egg made made the news, Wyvern was ecstatic.
“A *mighty egg* oh how grand! You must find a way to attend its hatching, so that we might rescue it from the ignorance of those who would not know how to care for it!”
“How much are the scientists wrong about?”
Wyvern laughed, “Well first off there’s all this nonsense of eating sheep and cows... this is a *hatchling* that sort of feeding is decades away. For a hatchling it’s more like... small vermin? Rats mice perhaps?...snakes.”
“How long until the diet switches to larger things?”
“You humans have such an obsession with time,” Wyvern said shaking his head, “It depends on what sort of grand dragon this is, and how well it’s cared for.”
“So you want me to crash the hatching, so that we can rescue the dragon?”
“Who better to care for a dragon than one other dragon? Even though I’m not of the same sort, I’m still a *dragon*.”
“You have a point.”
And so began the unlikely adoption of a baby grand dragon, by a human and a Wyvern.
| 2020-12-12T05:55:26
| 2020-12-12T04:13:15
| 33
| 11
|
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
Rejuvon. A drug hailed as the closest thing to life extension possible with known technology, adding some 30 years to your waking conscious state. Nano engineered robots fully calculated your REM sleep cycle, removed toxins from the brain, and fully removed toxins from your muscles and other organs. In 20 minutes of idle resting your body was just how it would be after a full night's rest. And no side effects whatsoever. Or so the studies showed.
Aaron and Angie like to finish their night of passion with injections of the drug, indeed, they planned it precisely at 2am, when their bodies would get tired anyway.
The alarm went off. Part of their ritual was to embrace one another and give the injection right into the others neck, a kind of post coital high, knowing that in minutes they would be fully recovered (sometimes they would even go at it again).
As they made eye contact, injectors at the ready, Aaron mused, "Do you ever dream when you take it?" Angie furrowed her eyes and replied, as the injectior made a whoosh sound, and the serum went into her body, "I'm not dreaming?"
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T11:07:54
| 2022-03-18T07:24:03
| 34
| 14
|
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
It seemed so obvious at first.
The boy bared the appearance of the Devil, born with demonic wings as dark as sin and the beginnings of horns sprouting on his brow. Their daughter, on the other hand, was the epitome of an Angel, a golden halo already floating upon her head and the beginnings of white wings growing from her back. To them, it was apparent who needed to be dealt with lest they destroyed humanity.
If only her father hadn’t been so sentimental and sent the boy away with his most trusted and strongest knight before they could do what was necessary. On the other hand, it gave her and her husband the perfect excuse to finally have her father pass the mantle of king and queen to them, clearly becoming senile in his old age and thus no longer able to rule efficiently. He was kept to his chambers, served by his most loyal of servants. Of course, she always tried to visit him with her daughter. After all, despite his poor choices, he was family... and perhaps, he would finally be willing to them her where he sent the boy.
But all he would do was stare at her with pity in his eyes, fear overcoming him upon setting his sights on her daughter.
He died only a few years later, found by her beautiful little angel who alerted all who could hear of what happened.
She was too busy mourning the loss of her father to notice the wicked smile on her daughter’s face or the way her daughter’s eyes glowed, looking as cold as ice.
Upon the passing of her father, she began sending out search parties for the boy. The men who once refused due to their loyalty to her father could no longer do so, begrudging leaving to do their duty.
Yet no one ever found the boy.
She and her husband could feel tensions growing each year the boy was left free. The servants would whisper to each other fearfully, only to become silent upon noticing her presence, her daughter smiling angelically by her side.
She simply wished that the servants knew that it was alright to discuss their fears about the boy. After all, there was no safer place than the home of her Angel.
As the years passed, the heavy presence in the air only grew. Servants were being replaced more and more often, a great deal of them running off into the night to parts unknown. Eventually, it soon became too difficult to find replacements, people becoming fearful of why so many were running off.
The only solace she could take was that there were rumors of an unnamed knight who was protecting the people of her land, his identity unknown. She had heard tales of his great feats: slaying man-eating dragons, rescuing villages from bandits, protecting their borders from invaders.
She could only imagine the power he could give her daughter if they were to wed.
Thus, she discussed it with her daughter as she brushed her daughter’s silky hair, as she did every night.
She was surprised by the sneer on her daughter’s face.
“Why would I do that? I’m perfectly happy as I am now.”
She smiled imploringly at her daughter.
“My sweet, it’s only right for you to marry and continue our bloodline. If you marry him, you can rule side by side and have one of the greatest reigns in all of history.”
Her daughter let out an unlady-like snort, prompting a frown to form on her face.
“I still don’t see why I would need him. I’m perfectly capable of ruling on my own. I’ve already shown the servants that.”
She paused in her brushing.
“What do you mean, my Sweet Angel?”
Her daughter remained silent. She grabbed her daughter’s chin and pulled her face towards her.
“What. Do. You. Mean?”
“I simply mean that any who questioned me I had properly punished, as was their due.”
She felt her heart stop.
“Punished...?”
Her daughter gave a light nod before turning away to await the brushing to begin once more.
“Yes, I did to them what I did to Grandfather, although they did taste better than him. Their souls weren’t as old.”
The brush dropped out of her hand.
“...what?”
Her daughter picked up the dropped brush and continued to stroke her hair, as though she said nothing amiss.
“Yes, Grandfather’s was a little gamey. Could have used a bit more flavor. Too much sorrow and not enough fear. The servants though...” her daughter stopped brushing to look at her mother, her eyes like cold ice, “well, their fear was just delicious.”
The brush was placed back into her mother’s hands, hanging loosely in her grasp.
Her daughter, her supposed Angel, lifted her perfect brow up, as though to ask why her mother wasn’t brushing her hair.
She did so, more from fear than love.
The only thought circulating through her mind was that they had chosen the wrong child.
Part 2 is up
|
It was early in the morning, I could hear the birds chirping. I opened my eyes just a little only to see my little girl Jessy there. I was happy to see her until I realized she was holding a knife. That was the 5th time this week she has woke me up like this. I wish we would have kept her brother. We noticed from a young age she was different. She always cried even when we gave her what she wanted. I thought maybe this was just normal baby stuff everyone said it would get better. Spoiler alert it never did. She’s six now and always finds a way to try and hurt us. She doesn’t have many friends. The adoption agency finally told me I could get my boy back by next year. He was still in the foster system so it was easy to get him. I haven’t seen him since he was born.
*a year later*
Today we finally get our boy back. We don’t know what we’re going to do with Jessy. We named our boy Lucas before giving him away at birth.
*a week later*
Jessy seems meaner lately. She hasn’t tried to hurt us but she keeps warning us we should get rid of Lucas. I told her we’re not getting rid of Lucas. No matter how many times I tell her she still tries to convince us he’s bad news. There birthday is coming up soon. I plan on bringing Jessy to a military school. She has to be at least 9 so I will try to give her the best birthday ever. I’m sending her for her own good. She won’t stop lying and holding knives like she’s ready to attack someone if they make her mad. The military school is very good to there students and it’s nothing like any of the other schools I’ve seen. I know this will be good for her. I still love Jessy very much but I just can’t give her the help she needs at home.
*the twins birthday*
I woke them up this morning and sang them happy birthday. When we went downstairs I told them they could have anything they wanted for breakfasts. There dad took Lucas to a roller skating rink while I took Jessy to a trampoline park. This is the happiest I’ve seen Jessy in a long time. It makes me sad that I’m sending her off tomorrow. It was a good day today everyone had fun and we ate a lot of cake.
*the next day*
I didn’t tell Jessy we were sending her to military school I just told her we were bringing her somewhere for a bit and to pack her bags. I told her it was like a summer camp. When we got to the gates it seemed very nice. Everyone was so sweet and welcoming and they seemed like they were very nice to there students. When Jessy found out what I was doing she cried and begged me to not leave her here. She said Lucas should be the one here and she did nothing wrong. The security guards quickly directed me to the exit. The whole way home I cried. I didn’t know if I made the right decision but I had to be strong for Lucas and Jessy.
*two years later*
Jessy has been in and out of the school. She’s gotten better at some points and worse at others. Today Jessy gets to come home again for who knows how long. Lucas seems happy she’s coming home. We all had a nice family dinner and Jessy seems happy to be home.
Jessy has been home for a week now has been very good. She seems a little nervous sometimes but other then that she’s doing good.
*later that night*
I was sleeping peacefully when all of a sudden a boom went threw the house. I realized it was the sound of a gunshot. I rushed to Jessy’s room only to find her bleeding out on her bed. I ran over to put pressure on her wound while I yelled for my husband to call 911. I saw little Lucas sitting in the corner of her room, he look terrified. I asked him what happened. He said “I came in here cause I thought I heard her crying. When I walked in though she pointed a gun at me. She tried to shoot at me but the gun wouldn’t shoot. I ran and pulled it out of her hands and pointed it at her. All of a sudden it fired I didn’t even pull the trigger!”. He was talking fast and crying so I hardly understood him but there was no time to wonder what happened I had to make sure Jessy was ok. The ambulance arrived and I tried to go with her but the police said I needed to stay behind for questioning. After hours of questioning they finally released me and my husband to go see Jessy. They said the had to keep Lucas for a little longer. Jessy was on a breathing machine. I found out the bullet almost hit her heart. She was passed out they said she should wake up tomorrow or the next day but she wouldn’t be able to talk. I cried and prayed that she would live.
*the next day*
Jessy woke up but was very dazed. The police came in to talk to her. We still hadn’t seen Lucas we assumed he was picked up by my sister but we didn’t have enough time to call and ask. After the police talked to Jessy for what felt like hours they finally informed me they had arrested the person who did this. At first I was happy then I realized they were talking about my son.
“What?”
Police “we’ve arrested your son for attempted murder”
It all came crashing down I tried to explain it was an accident but they said he tried to kill her. He confesses to coming to her room with a gun in a attempt to kill her. They said there was proof. How could my little boy do this I thought he was the good twin.
*trial day*
It’s all come out everything he did. He tried to kill her. Every time we woke up with Jessy holding a knife she was trying to protect us. She was scared he would come hurt us. It doesn’t make sense to me either. Today Lucas goes to trial. He’s tried to say he was innocent for the longest time but when the police showed him all the evidence they had against him he confessed. A year after Lucas tried to kill Jessy she’s still broken. I found out she’s the good one not him. I tried to keep the wrong one. I tried to get rid of Jessy even though she’s the best girl anyone could ask for.
Edit: I’m not a writer so sorry for this being kinda boring and having horrible punctuation. :)
| 2020-05-07T08:57:58
| 2020-05-07T08:18:26
| 25
| 17
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[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
You want an interview ? Fine, but you're buying the coffee. I'm getting kind of sick of this god-damned urban legend. I DON'T have superpowers, no-one has superpowers. There are just a bunch of crazy people who think they have powers, who for some reason have decided that I'm some fucked up version of their messiah.
**You don't believe super-powered people exist ?**
No. I've never seen one. I've seen the doctored footage from the media. I've seen a lot of crazy people who thought they had powers. I don't know why they gravitate to me of all people. I'm just a regular guy. I put in my hours in the office, then at the gym.
**So you haven't heard about the ranking system ?**
Oh, I've heard of their ranking system all right. That's all I ever hear. What baffles me is why they chose me to be their number one, their highest rank. That the only way for people to rise in rank and become more powerful is to kill them. Does that sound sane to you ?
Then one day, some poor bastard commits suicide near me, and suddenly, they decide that I'm the number one on their hitlist.
**You are referring to the death of the Human Jet as suicide?**
Man faceplants on the ground from a hundred feet, that's suicide. It doesn't matter that he said "Up Up and Away" before he jumped off that building. That was suicide.
**The Human Jet was one of our greatest heroes, with documented evidence of his powers..**
Blah Blah Blah. I've heard that all before. I was there, I saw him hit the ground. Where the hell do you people in the media get off encouraging these people. They are a danger to themselves. Surely you must have learned your lesson after Inferno Man.
**Inferno Man was a criminal, whose control over fire rendered him a threat to the world...**
Bullshit. Let me tell you what happened when I met this so called inferno man. I was just hanging out in a cafe not far from here, when this asshole shows up in a stupid costume. He bursts in, and gives this long speech about how he's going to kill me and burn everything down.
Then nothing happened. He stood there for like five minutes, straining, and glaring at me. I don't know what I did, I just wanted my cup 'o' joe. Then he leaves, and I thought "That was weird, I'm glad it's over".
Then he comes back, with a barrel of gasoline. Who the fuck would sell him gasoline. that's beside the point. The point is that the fucker doused himself in the stuff, and then pulled out a lighter and set himself on fire. Right in front of me. Hearing him scream almost put me off my coffee.
**Yes, quite a lot of superpowered villains have died under similar mysterious circumstances in your presence**
If by superpowered people, you mean insane people, then yes. The numbers of clowns in capes who drop out of the sky near me is so bloody annoying. Not to mention the scrawny fucks who just straight up try to pick fights with me.
Oh god, there was one which was genuinely funny.
This guy came up to me with this long speech about how he is one with nature, and that he will use all of his power to destroy me. I don't know why these guys always gotta speech at me. When I punch someone, I punch'em, I don't tell 'em my life story.
He had this tiger with him. Big fucking cat. He told the tiger to get me. Moment the muzzle was off, it savaged him. I fucking split my sides.
**So you don't think you have any superpowers at all ?**
Course not. Like I said *nobody* has superpowers. At least not that I've seen, not when they're around me.
|
The vast doors of my mansion opened wide, and a man in a royal gown entered the room. For a fleeting moment, I showed a slight smile, but it faded before he could see it. He, however, could not hold back his expression, full of furious rage. He had just taken a few steps in before he yelled out: "Vantalana, how can you do this to me!"
"Number Two, are you dissatisfied with me?"
"Stop f*cking with me V, you know what this has cost me."
I was glad I could contain my smile, for the bored expression I was showing antagonized him further. "So what are you going to do about it." That was when I suddenly started to pay attention to him. Anyone with any common sense could tell I was baiting him, but Henry Gothaul was too angry to notice. He was falling right into my trap.
"I challenge you," he pointed his finger glaringly at me. It took a remarkable amount of will to not snicker in return, "to a duel!" *Gotcha!* Even he noticed the smile that spread across my lips.
"Really?" I rolled my head to the side, obnoxiously, "Number 2 thinks he can beat Number 1?" His face lit up bright red with fury; Number 2 could be so childish sometimes!
"Why you scum!" He could barely keep himself from trying to kill me right then and there, but he couldn't. He left the room loudly stomping.
Are you confused? Let me explain: In this city half of the population is gifted random powers, such as telekinesis, sensors, etc, but the rest of the population who do not are called 'muggles', and serve those privileged with power. The Privileged live in a tournament. They are ranked based on their powers, and anyone can challenge a higher rank to a duel to the death to obtain their rank. I am Number One.
No one knows my power, because the duels take place in a sealed arena. Two people go in, one comes out. Those who survive the Arena say it changes for every fight, to best mediate each competitor's power. Even the sizes of the Arena change, in spite of the laws of physics, and survivors talk about 2km wide deserts, and 400m wide urban brawls. It's all rather interesting, but no one is known to have found a way to cheat this system, at least not yet.
The familiar doors of the Arena stood before me. I remember dozens of battles, in dozens of environments. I remind myself of my plan, and smile knowing that Number Two had lost the battle the moment he took my bait.
Henry stood in front of the massive gates of the Arena. He had slain many a foe inside of its walls, and thought about the glorious combat to come. His body ached in rage towards that snake of a woman! He would crush her and take his rightful place as Number One! The only reason she was Number One and he was not was an agreement they had made, that she would keep his daughter's power secret. He knew that he was lost, that he was obsessed with the Arena and that he would die in it some day, but he did not want to curse his daughter with the same fate. And yet that b*tch failed him! She convinced his daughter to fight for her, and now she would die! The doors opened, and he shouted his battlecry at the top of his lungs: "FOR LUCY!"
Inside the arena was a small town. It seemed about a kilometer on each side, with a rural town dominating the center of the field. In the very center of town was an old church, which sounded its bells. In each corner was a small patch of woods, perfect places to hide in. As the doors closed behind him, he began to teleport wildly, searching for the infernal woman. He teleported, and there- there she was! What was she doing, just standing on top of the steeple! Surely this was some sort of trick, it was in her nature to deceive. He waited for something to happen, but she did not move. To h*ll with this! If he did nothing, he would never figure out her power! He had to probe her. He teleported behind One, swung with his battlehammer, and- nothing. It passed through her body with no resistance, and she faded away. A hologram! He immediately teleported away. So that's her power- holograms! Still, it's remarkably similar to Number 4's illusions. But then again, it's not unheard of for two people to have the same power, and One seemed like she'd be much better that Four with them anyway. As he had anticipated, though, she did not have an offensive power. She may be able to deceive him, but all he had to do was make sure that none of the holograms got close, for she would have to do so to kill him! He stood up, a terrifying smile spreading across his face, ready to hunt down Number One.
Cont. in reply
| 2014-12-18T13:36:09
| 2014-12-18T13:16:53
| 996
| 47
|
[WP] Steven's grandmother knits. Not because she likes to, but because she has to.
Hanging by a thread.
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Edit: I was wondering why everyone had a Steven in their story. Sorry I missed that part, hope I still qualify.
Edit Part 2: Took your advice Kallisti, and reformatted. Thank you :)
#The Elder's Penance#
"That's some lovely work you're doing there."
Dalia didn't respond. She barely acknowled the nurse at all except to take the pills from her hand; she dry swallowed them, despite the fact Angela also held a cup of water.
"My aunt used to knit too. Beautiful sweaters. She tried to teach me once, but I never did get the hang of it. All thumbs I guess."
"Maybe you were too busy talking to focus on your work."
Dalia answered softly, eyes still down on the wool her needles were directing. It was a black scarf, with maroon threaded in strands throughout. A design was taking shape, though it was hard to say just what it was at the moment. Maybe a star of some kind.
Angela stood awkwardly for a moment, before slipping away from the ward.
"Don't take it personally." Don smiled at her as she came to the nurse's station. "Dalia's got some bats in the bellfrey."
Angela nodded, and returned his smile. A lot of the residents did. If you lived long enough, and saw enough, it was easy for wires to get crossed. She watched the little woman work from across the room. She was moving at a steady, constant pace, not quite relaxed.
"How bad is she?" Angela asked. This was only her third day here, so there was still a lot orientation going on.
"Well, she believes she's knitting for the devil bad."
"What, seriously?"
Don nodded, and leaned over the nurse's desk. "She told me once that she actually hates to knit." He said in a low voice. "But that it's *penance* for something she did."
Angela leaned in closer. "What'd she do?"
Don shrugged. "Wouldn't say. Her daughter thinks it's just her age. She says her mother's always loved to knit, did it even when they were young. All I know is she sits out in the common everyday with her needle and thread. That's an awful lot of dedication to something you hate doing."
"Well, I'd be dedicated to if the devil was going to come for my soul. Where do they come up with these things?" Don pushed himself away from the desk and started checking his schedule.
"Who knows. Probably just an episode of X-files that's turned sour in her head."
"Has anyone tried to talk her out of it?" Don shrugged again.
"Usually not much use at this point. Sometimes the delusions come and go, other times they're here to stay. Bout all we can do is get them their meds on time."
Angela turned back to Dalia. She could make out the symbol on the scarf now, a star of David. Strange. She hadn't thought Dalia was Jewish. "What's she do with all the stuff she knits?"
Don shook his head. "I assumed her daughter takes them when she comes."
"Wonder what *she* does with all of them."
"Probably stores them in an attic for after grandma dies."
Angela nodded. "That's what we did with my aunts' work. Though there probably wasn't nearly as much as what this lady has to make." Her lips quirked in a mischievous smile. " But then again, my aunt wasn't working for the devil."
That night, Dalia tired to sleep. Tried to banish the memories she was forced to dwell with when the sun was up. Tried to forget the awful metronome of the needles that helped remind her. Tried to forget the revolting feeling of the wool moving across her hands. *Any day now Dalia. Any day now Dalia. You'll move on and leave this Hell behind.* She ignored the sound of sand paper scrapping across the tile floor. Ignored the image that tried to enter mind of unnaturally long arms reaching out from under her bed to retrieve the basket of unholy scarves and hats.
|
Day after day, Ethel Peaworthy knits. The surveillant eyes of The Man in Black watches her ever so intently. Her hobby that she used to love and enjoy has now become a tiresome bore. Unfortunately, it's necessary for her to stay alive. Ethel can hardly remember the days before her confinement in the so-called Knittory.
Her calloused hands reflect the hours wasted making hats, gloves and other bits of clothing. Time seems to fold over with such a meaningless task. Ethel use to wonder as to why they needed such a large amount of knitted items, but at this point, she knows she'll never get the answer. The only solace she finds is the presence of the other old woman stuck in the stuff factory with her. She often dreams of seeing her family again.
Suddenly, a bell rings and a loud speaker announces, "Lunch time. Five minute break before knitting resumes." A plate of God-knows-what falls in front of her. She pokes it a few times with her knitting pin and then proceeds to dig in. The tasteless goo that she eats everyday is the only bit of momentary joy she can find. As lunch finishes up, the group of older woman head back to their stations to continue their knitting. Ethel notices that one of the oldest knitters has not picked up her needles.
"I can't take it anymore!" screamed Janice. "I'm nearly 85 years old... or at least I think that's my age now. My fingers are chafed to the bone. I'm done."
Without hesitation, two faceless figures appear from the backroom and drag Janice away from the floor. This is not the first time that someone has refused to be subservient. Ethel shakes her head as the elderly woman disappears through the doors out of the factory. She's seen many woman go through the doors, but she's never seen any woman come back. "Goodbye, Janice" she murmurs under her breath. She picks up her needles and begins to knit.
The next day, the knitting factory seems to be in full swing. The ladies toil away without thought and are on the right track to meet the quota instituted by The Man in Black. After Ethel's lunch of gruel, she returns back to her station to find a mysterious bit of fabric. A small square knitted together in quite the hurry, but there was a small bit of writing stitched into it. "Tonight - b, o - 0400". Ethel quickly looked up and scanned the room for her friend Marie. As they locked eyes, a quick nod was exchanged between the two.
Ethel's excitement over the note was evident. She knew exactly what it meant. They were finally breaking out tonight. She grabbed her knitting needles and started her work on a pair of mittens. As she worked on this boring task, a slight smile traverses her face.
Meanwhile, The Man in Black sits in the surveillance room overseeing the work. He is pleased with the amount of output the ladies are producing. As he glances over at each of the security cameras on every individual worker, he cannot notice the grin on Ethel's face. He hasn't seen her smile in all her years here.
He inches his face extremely close to the monitor and says, "What are you smiling about, N344? Guess we're going to have to find out." He walks towards the door to the factory floor and swings them open. Ethel's heart drops as she sees The Man in Black. She glances over at Marie who's eyes remain fixed on her work.
"N344! Please come with me."
| 2015-10-01T08:47:48
| 2015-10-01T08:34:52
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] most interstellar navies of the Galaxy adapted tactics from their wet-navy cousins. That was until humanity arrived they had an ocean so most figured they would adapt their wet Navy tactics to their space Navy, instead they adapted tactics from something they called the air Force.
|
“What exactly was a bird?” The grand admiral of the kirrra space navy thought to himself as wave after wave of human attack craft pelted their flotilla. Since the union of planets had encountered the small ape descended creatures there had been nothing but loss after loss. They had some strange ideas on how to sail in space.
Their ships had a strange grace. Instead of clumping together in flotillas they gathered in small groups in strategic shapes and attack in waves. The sociologists that had studied their species had liked it to a creature on their world called a bird. A creature that could somehow lift itself
Off the planet and move about as if it was in space. But at speeds that didn’t make sense. The videos that intelligence had shown them showed the small white creatures swooping and grabbing creatures out of the sea. Of them sailing at speeds at heights they made no sense in an atmosphere.
The humans had emulated this biology and created flying machines. Not rockets. But machines that flew more gracefully in atmosphere than the finest lurerrr ship did in the coldest vacuum.
Now because of this. The humans ships didn’t bunch up into flotillas. They didn’t have putter rings of ships. They had attack formations shaped like the birds wings. They came at the flotillas at all angles simultaneously. It was impossible to defend against an enemy that seemed to be on all sides at once.
Thinking back. The admiral recalled all the great battles of their navy. The massive flotillas of ships. Bunched together for defence. While the enemy in a similar formation. Bartered away at them. WRs were won by superior firepower and superior armour. Not by dodging and evading attacks as the humans did. The great guns of the flotilla didn’t have time to lock on one enemy let alone the hundred before it was gone from range or out shot. It was maddening.
|
We say we adapted, but really we just shifted from a very over/under con eot to something a little more flexible. Our weapons still used the same logic, projectiles fired on intercepts to meet long distant targets, torpedoes homing in on those close enough to make use of their short but mobile flight time. And armor. We definitely scaled up the hull plating and air gap technology. Without gravity mass was largely irrelevant, reduced speed meant nothing if you could take any hits you couldnt outrun, and decoy launchers hers handled most torpedoes.
All the species of the Conclave with successful navies followed the same basic path to success. Massive floating fortresses, each acting as a combat information hub and mobile firing platform. Our wars weren't exciting, but they were certainly brutal. The Midalii Armada boasts 40 frontline capable fortresses, at least triple that number of escort ships, they were the largest mobile garrison in the Conclave. *Were*.
"They've hit the Midalii shipyards at Yoph'kurn, and scouts report seeing their Fortresses at extreme range in the neighboring Yoph'sai system captain!" The ensign's voice came out shrill, at odds with their solid rock-like features.
*Gods help us, even the Silicar are scared of them!* "How many did they report at Yoph'sai ensign?" The ensign looked even more afraid then, though the familiar fear of a junior officer giving a bad report.
"They said six fortresses, plus escorts, sir."
"Impossible! They couldnt have done all *this* with so few, and where are their casualties if they're running?" I gesture at the expanse of Yoph'Tora star system, and the ruins of the Midalli Armada spinning in the darkness.
Captain we've picked up signs of unknown hull material in the debris field, it looks like the Midalli managed to get some shots in after all, theres not much left of it." The bridge officer called out, throwing their scans to the central image pool.
"No lieutenant, this isnt part of a fortress, this is from a much smaller hull, can we magnify? Thank you. See? That's a thruster pod if I'm not mistaken, so it couldnt me more than ten shrals long, a personal craft? Long range observers perhaps?" Bring it on board for full analysis." Before I can turn from the pool another officer replaces the image within with a degraded recording.
"Captain you're right, theres not much on this recorder, but the craft harassing the midalli fortresses, they're *tiny* how could they ever hope to damage a fortress?" A cloud of tiny ships darts between the massive hulls of the Armada, ignoring weapons systems designed to target ships at least fifty times their mass, and firing on weapons emplacements, scanners, and *gods above* main power. The recording ends with the wave of debris from the first fortress power core igniting. As multiple ships fire projectiles into the atmosphere exchange ports of the next in line.
| 2020-11-21T16:23:17
| 2020-11-21T14:37:20
| 211
| 146
|
[WP]: Describe the ugliest person imaginable using only praises and compliments
|
The first time I saw her, I stood there petrified by her beauty; she was round as a perl and glossy like one too.
Her nose sitting on her face as the tour effeil sits on Paris, her hair like the tail of a mermaid that spent all her life in the ocean.
But nothing could even compare to her lips, two snails making love to eachother under the shade of her nose and the comfort of her incredibly well grown moustache.
She was the thing dreams were made of, the ones with shapes and creatures that only Lovecraft could describe. and her voice was poetry only vogons could write.
|
In my younger and more formative years, my father gave me a piece of advice I'd always held close: "if you can't think of anything nice to day about someone, don't say anything." When I think back to Sally, and the time I spent with her, I can only say this. She knew a lot about accountancy.
| 2015-05-09T10:39:21
| 2015-05-09T10:15:55
| 54
| 20
|
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is.
|
Society was broken up into blocs. Since individual skill was easily determined based by point allocation, and point allocation was something you could easily access, things became caste like.
It wasn't so bad as caste systems you might expect; after all, belonging to a given caste was voluntary, and indeed, people being mismatched for the job or life they selected was unheard of; after all, you put the points in, you selected what you wanted.
The construction workers chose to work in that field just as much as the geniuses in the universities chose their field; whatever training was given to them was locked under the burden of prerequisite point allocation; after all, it would hardly be just to give someone information or training that they weren't specced into using.
Thus, mankind became palatable and a product that could be shipped and shaped according to higher directory; we lost what made us special and interesting, because, as a whole, we had shaped ourselves into being identical products, demarcated by a handful of points we were willing to spend.
I stared down at the spread of points before me, and raised an eyebrow lazily at the person across the table. "You have a spread with five points in strength, three in Int, and 12 and wisdom. The actual hell are you trying to get into?"
"Science science," The intern said. "I want to study scientists."
I stared at him for a long moment, cocking my head to the side.
As the only idiot who had maxed out wisdom in the last century, I took on a particularly awful role.
Figuring out point distributions for roles; and slotting outcasts.
And studying scientists wasn't actually a stupid idea, in the end, my thirty points in wisdom told me. The bit of me that wasn't thirty points of wisdom spoke up about the absurdity of the situation but...
"Yes, we could improve the efficiency of research if we had someone studying the interpersonal interactions and challenges that scientists face when applying for research grants and putting forth applications to allot points, couldn't we?" I asked, idly, leaning back in my chair.
"Uh, yeah," The intern said, scratching the back of his head. "That's about what I was thinking. Well, thinking recently. You know how it is when you hit twelve wisdom, you go through a few paradigms."
I remembered that distantly. I remembered how my whole life switched about and I realized how fantastically stupid it was to max out wisdom.
That was the burden of wisdom, after all; nobody appreciated you unless you were kept caged up and away from anything delicate.
Interpersonal relationships decayed fast when you actually had logical solution to problems. Nobody actually wanted to be solved. Everyone clung to some bitter nuance and ache; the quiet pains and suppositions of a system that failed to provide leniency.
Though research was being done into the wide spread ramifications of 'respeccing' as a concept, the technology wasn't quite there, and the busy body meritocratic government feared reprisal if the elderly were unshackled from their ledges of maxed out stat pools.
The brainless and those who had not dipped into the four levels of intelligence or eight level of wisdom in order to get into university might find their caste to be unpalatable if given the option, after all. The arranged marriages and grouping of traits in the large scale test populations might discover their contracts were not nirvana when they realized the invisible strings that complete whole scale surveillance tied to their secret actions.
Wisdom maxed out was truly a stupid decision, I considered.
"So... what do you think about putting more points into wisdom on my birthday?" the intern asked quietly.
I laughed. "Stick around in wisdom until at least 18, it's fucking amazing."
I signed the paperwork and stuck the bastard with me. I'd live at least long enough to see him turn to alcohol.
----
For more like this, click here. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
|
Nobody else believes in me, laughing at me and telling me I've wasted my life. They just don't understand. They look at me and think, 'There he goes, writing prompter. He'll never amount to anything.' But they just don't get it. I've devoted my life to inspiring others. It's not so simple a thing, to be the bedrock of creative expression itself. I am the muse!
I have spent so much of my life practicing my craft and honing my skills in order to give others the opportunity to break out of their shells. To see that they are capable of so much more than what they think they are. I am the inkwell of the heart of the face of the internet and it is my duty to never run dry.
They don't understand or believe, no matter how much I wish they did. This is my life's work and my duty to humanity. The legacy that I will leave behind is to support the legacy that others will leave behind. The power that I have is to empower those that need that small nudge towards greatness. Creation is a collaborative process and I devoted myself to that ideal.
Never forget, that though you may doubt me... I will never doubt you!
| 2018-09-12T08:04:08
| 2018-09-12T07:01:42
| 108
| 20
|
[WP] Your new 3D printer can print anything... a n y t h i n g
|
First, the hair, fluffy and white
Then the mustache, thick and full
The old man’s skin, loose not right
His arms, his legs, his testicles
The brain that gave us so very much
The eyes that saw through time and space
The fingertips so he might touch
The see that, yes, it’s his own face
My Einstein clone will have it all
Wits and smarts and a fancy new lab
But his research may come to a quick stall
Because I spliced his genes with a hermit crab’s
|
I had found a magical 3D printer this morning, sitting in my living room. I had spent the majority of my precious day off experimenting with it.
The problem, I reflected, as I stared at my philosopher's stone, is that the device broke reality, and so did its offshoots. At first, I had been thrilled to find that the printer would make anything.
I had slowly escalated. By now, though, I knew- it could make things that didn't, couldn't exist. I'd had it make as many things as I could, but eventually I realized there was nothing more I wanted. Shortly afterwards, my joy turned to fear.
After all, someone punching in something as simple as "the sun" could ruin the planet, and while I'd probably survive with all the assets I had printed, humanity wouldn't. I wouldn't mind living without them, but I'd rather not have to.
Briefly, I considered what else I could give to humanity, before punching in "contagious cancer cure". Once that was done, I tried to break it, and had no luck. Sledgehammer, lightsaber, and blowtorch all failed to scratch it. Clearly, physical destruction was impossible.
I punched in "way to destroy this machine", and an error popped up. "Destruction of device is not possible at this time" Seriously? It could make the physically impossible, but this gave it trouble? I punched in "way to stop the machine from working", and the error bubble. "Cessation of functionality is not possible at this time"
I swore, and spent the next five hours trying to figure out how to get rid of the thing, or limiting access to myself. Eventually, I stumbled upon something that worked, "Device to ensure that this machine will never be used in the future". Out popped a three-inch disk of what looked to be metal. I could have sworn I'd seen it somewhere.
I placed it on the printer, and the printer and metal disk vanished instantly.
Then I stubbed my toe. I peered down, and an exact copy of the disk lay on the floor in front of me. I frowned. Where had that come from? I had only made the one.
| 2018-03-29T23:57:02
| 2018-03-29T21:26:27
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] You are a freshman in a school where everyone has a unique ability/power, but the school is divided into students who have "good" powers and "evil" powers. You are a powerful necromancer who wishes to do good in the world, but everyone is dead set on you being a "bad guy".
|
The Grey Tower and the Garden Tower cast faint shadows of equal length over the lichyard. An overcast day, and Omar wore a hooded sweatshirt over jeans. His trainers were already covered in mud: it had rained the night before and the thick, black soil was still damp. In his pockets he carried a stub of chalk and a bleached-white kneecap. The gate of the lichyard squeaked and Omar threw back his hood, certain that the yew hedges hid him from the students in the grounds. His nose still smarted.
High gravestones rose from moss. Goblin's gold, they called it in the herb lore class, but Omar couldn't tell it apart from the regular kind. He'd stopped turning up to lectures after the last beating. The graves were overgrown, covered with matted weeds and lichen. He squatted beside one, scraping gunk from the headstone and fumbling with his chalk. He wanted someone strong for this.
It was then he realised he wasn't alone. A wracking cough came from the other corner of the lichyard, where the yew tree's roots pushed against the gravestone slabs and cracked them. Omar looked up. A girl sat on the damp earth with a herb lore textbook open in front of her. She was crosslegged, had a damp ponytail over her shoulder, and an oversized jumper with 'Class of '98' written on it in super-large green font.
"Who gave you the black eye?" she asked haughtily.
Omar scowled and turned back to the grave. He was trying to remember the right symbols to raise the guy from the dead. The book in the library had been quite specific about being specific. Anything vague could end in disaster.
"Are you the kid that everyone hates?" the girl snapped her textbook shut. She tugged at the jumper and got to her feet. "The creepy one who likes dead things?" She coughed again, and Omar wondered why she was out sitting in the damp.
"What does it look like?" Omar said. "What's your thing?"
"I grow plants. This lichyard is my final year project. I've been developing different species of moss. What do you think?" she gestured to the small pile of moss Omar had scraped off the headstone.
"Very green," Omar hazarded. "Is that a good one or an evil one?"
"Depends on which moss," the girl said. "That one you can smoke and it lets you concentrate on just about anything for five to six hours. But then I've got one that you can make into tea, and it kills you by dissolving the lining of your gut and letting the acid out. I like to diversify. I don't let anyone pigeonhole me."
Omar nodded seriously. "I'm raising the dead," he said. "As protective spirits. You need a designated driver, hire a spirit. Or a bodyguard, or just someone to stop other kids from..."
"I like it," the girl tucked the herb lore textbook under her arm. "Mind if I watch? Does it have a name, your project?"
"Sure," Omar stuttered. She was four years older than him, and the first living person who'd said more than a few words to him since the start of term. "No, no name yet."
"How about Bodies against Bullies?" she suggested. "I'm Una, by the way."
"Hi Una," Omar said shyly. The dead weren't usually this chatty. "I'll just get started, shall I?"
"By all means," she replied. "Raise the dead."
--------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror and [Part I and II here](https://redd.it/500d6h)
|
I hate school so much that I could just die! Not that it would make much of a difference now that I've got my phylactery set up. I'd just resurrect with a headache like I always do after one of the holier-than-thou jocks decides to give me a hard time. And the principal doesn't even do anything about the bullying! He's too busy fluffing the egos of the super-athletes with their super speed and their super strength!
I swear, just because I dress all in black and cut myself they think I'm evil. I cut myself for my blood magic! I couldn't live with myself if I had to cut anyone else! And the black clothing is much more soothing to the eyes of my zombies! They just don't get it. No one understands me and it sucks so much!
That's the real reason why I hang out in graveyards all the time. At least the skeletons will throw me a bone every now and then, and the mummies might offer a muffled word of encouragement while I'm fitting their wrappings. The only people that really get me are the people I bring back to undeath!
If only everyone else could just look past their prejudices, they'd see all the good I can do. Nobody cares that I talk to ghosts and deliver their final wishes and warm words to their grieving families. Nobody cares that I have a whole legion of skeletons that staff soup kitchens and animal shelters. Nobody cares. It makes me wonder why I bother trying at all.
Sorry for the rant, everyone. Sometimes I just need to vent. I hope you're doing better than I am right now.
Death and love,
-Raven Ebony Doombringer.
#undeadlivesmatter #blackisafashionchoice #cuttingforworldpeace
| 2016-08-28T06:29:02
| 2016-08-28T05:49:02
| 132
| 62
|
[WP] You can see the headline now. “World’s Oldest Human, Dead at 124”. You lived a good, long life. You are satisfied. The world around you fades to black... "Whoa! You beat the high score again!” You open your eyes in a brightly lit arcade, the number 124 flashing on a screen in front of you.
|
"What the hell, Rick!? Again!?" Morty Smith fumbled to get the arcade cabinet's control interface off of his body as his memories came flooding back. "Why do we even keep coming to Blips and Chitz? I don't care if it's the best arcade in the multiverse, nothing good ever happens here! A-a-a-and why was I playing a totally immersive sim where the only scoring metric is years lived? Just what the hell kinda arcade game is this, Rick!?"
Rick Sanchez rolled his eyes. "It's not."
Then he shot his grandson.
Morty gasped and opened his eyes. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with an ordinary iphone 27 in front of him. But Rick had attached some sort of advanced alien gadget to it. And his memories... he hoped they were his *real* memories, this time... slowly came flooding back.
Rick gave his grandson a few seconds to come back to himself, until his lips stopped doing that clueless droopy thing.
"I warned you not to touch the freemium mobile version of Roy," Rick said with a burp. "Whoever came up with that idea was just leeching off of the popularity of the original."
As he spoke, Rick slowly turned his head until he was staring directly at the reader.
"We did this first and better."
|
Boy oh boy I can only kill this seagull so many times. I wish there was a different answer. In all my years of trying to better myself through relationships and self-fulfillment, almost none of it means anything.
Save an orphanage full of children who had a rare type of deficiency that only my blood can cure? Done.
Keep the entire globe from destroying itself with nuclear arms, and only my diplomacy as president could have put it through despite global contradictions? Doesn’t even subtract a drop from the bucket.
But you know what helps?
Is there anywhere you see this going??
There’s one seagull, and one alone, where the fate of the universe rests upon its stupid feathers.
I’ve tried a million ways in even more timelines.
This seagull has to go.
Edit: I’m on mobile, not that it would mean much
| 2022-10-20T20:50:08
| 2022-10-20T20:24:14
| 71
| 18
|
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
I was an avid dog lover. Jesse was my loyal dog and the cutest husky around the block. My girlfriend loved her also, so when I proposed to her, whether having the dog in the house or outside wasn't even a question. 1 year goes by and my wife has beared me a healthy young girl, Monica. After we left the hospital and went home, Jesse welcomed us home with a wagging tail and big smile. We spent the day taking care of Monica as Jesse walked around us, looking at our daughter. The afternoon comes by, so I start preparing dinner for my wife and I. Suddenly I hear my wife scream for me to come over, so I turned off the stove, ripping my apron off as I ran over there. When I approached my wife, she was hugging Monica, so I wasn't able to see clearly. After I was able to calm her down, she showed me Monica. Monica was covered in red with mumps and hives. I grabbed my keys and booked it to my car, the wife no too far behind. We drove the hospital, and ran towards urgent care. The nurses saw what happened and immediately gave Monica a shot to suppress the allergy. Then they brought her away to take measurements and diagnostics. 30 mins later, a nurse comes out and tells us to follow her. We go into the room, and see our daughter, rid of mumps or hives. The doctor tells us that she had a severe allergic reaction to something in the house. We list all the things that Monica came in contact with. But the doctor stopped is when we got to Jesse. The doctor then says that our daughter is probably allergic to our dog, and we must get rid of her. We acknowledge the doctors words and bring our daughter home. When we got home, I ushered Jesse outside and played with her so my wife could slip upstairs with the baby. It was around midnight when we decided what we must do. My wife picked up her sleepy body and sat outside on the porch swing with her as I dug the hole. We put her in the hole, and I brought out my gun and shot her twice in the head. It had to happen, we had no other choice. As I'm covering the hole, my wife was silently crying, tears falling onto the pillow she was holding. When I finished, my wife stifled her tears and goes back into the house and starts walking upstairs. I wash my hands off, and go inside and close the door. I make my way upstairs and see that my wife is already in bed, asleep. I change and walk over to the side of my room where my little girl was sleeping. I brush her head and whisper "Goodnight Jesse"
|
I drive a school bus. You must understand, this job was never my first choice. I wasn't sitting in elementary school thinking "I wanna be a bus driver!" while everyone else chose astronauts, football players, singers, or dinosaurs. But sometimes life pushes you in a certain direction and you wind up exactly where you ought to be.
I love kids. No, not in that way, you sicko. I was in an accident years ago that left me with remarkably functional, yet entirely mutilated... well, suffice to say, I can't have kids of my own. And when you can't have something, you just want it more.
The story of how I discovered this career path is a long and boring one, but I'm glad things lined up the way they did. I love seeing each kid's smile as they eagerly run down their driveway, backpack slapping back and forth behind them, before gingerly taking steps up the stairs. Being the kindhearted person I am, I have a bowl of snacks that most kids take from before sitting down. It's an assortment of chocolate cookies, salamis, and cheeses (sweet and savory, can't cater to just one palate), and while there are a few children who think they taste funny, I'm not claiming to be anywhere close to a decent chef. But I do try.
Then there are the kids who trudge along a bit more slowly. No smile. Children with souls that have been beaten out of them. Sunken eyes, neutral expression, wondering why their parents ever bothered. Why they even exist. It pains me to my very core.
And I simply can't let it slide.
Fortunately, disposing their parents' bodies is a breeze; you know how kids will eat anything with chocolate or cheese!
*************
*For more horror shorts, check out /r/Zchxz!*
| 2016-05-19T14:52:21
| 2016-05-19T13:55:45
| 36
| 21
|
[WP] Satan and God both occasionally come to Earth in human form, Satan to corrupt souls, God to relax and observe his creation. One day, Satan walks into a pub, and sees God (in human form) sitting at the bar. God looks at Satan, slides a beer over to him, and indicates the empty stool to his left
|
"Welcome, Lou." God indicated the empty stool to his left.
A smile twitched the corner of Satan's lips. "Hey big guy," he responded. He moved instead to God's right, where a man sat slumped on the barstool, elbows resting on the bar.
"Excuse me, Dave, may I take this seat?" Satan asked politely. The man looked up, eyes narrowing. "Do I know you?" Their eyes met briefly and something sparked there.
"I, I... uh.... need to go to the bathroom." Dave almost fell in his haste to get up, and walked quickly and somewhat unsteadily to the men's room, giving a wide berth to a table with several police officers sitting around it. Satan slid onto the newly vacated stool, picked up the man's unfinished drink and sniffed at it. "Cheap rubbish," he said scornfully. He leaned over the bar and tipped the contents into the basin.
"I ordered you a beer," God said, shifting the bottle over to his right. Satan gave him a look, then turned to the barmaid. She set down the tray she was carrying and came over with a smile. "I'll have a Scotch," he said, inspecting the top shelf. "Glenlivet, what is that, 18 years old? My favourite age." His gaze took in the barmaid, lingering on the faint bruise on her cheek. "18 years old is just matured enough to be desirable, but still raw enough to be exciting."
The barmaid blushed and looked down. He reached out a finger and gently twitched her fringe aside to reveal an angry red weal, then turned and stared at the men's room door. After a moment, Dave emerged and started making his way back through the bar. "Now there's a nasty piece of work," Satan murmured.
He gave God another look, then deliberately stretched out his arm and knocked the beer bottle under Dave's feet. Dave staggered and fell, his head smacking into a table with a surprisingly loud clunk. As he slumped to the floor, the police officers rushed over. "It's Dave White!" one exclaimed. "We've been looking for him. Must be Christmas!" They dragged him to his feet and manhandled him towards the exit.
Satan and God looked at each other. "I'll go warm up a spot for him." Satan slid off his stool and followed the police out the door. God turned to the barmaid and winked. "See, my dear? I told you everything would work out for the best."
|
The air is tense with laughter and high spirits. People meet and greet as the music blares in the foreground. The air wreaks of perfume and cologn... and maybe just a dash of dignity lost. A crowd in the back shouts at a game of football at the front of the dive. A typical Saturday night in this particular dive. At the bar sits a lone woman, sipping on a margarita, quietly musing to herself. Her golden blond locks flow down to her back. Her wavy tight dress compliments her hourglass figure and a few silver bracelets adorn her wrists.
"Lucy! Been waiting for ya!," god smirks lifting up a glass to greet the devil.
"Evening Jen," reply's the devil in slightly aggravated tone.
The devil sits down and accepts Gods offer to drink. Conversations are limited when you're immortal, so they sit and observe the crowd.
God pipes up over the roar of the crowd cheering at the home teams touchdown.
"See that group over there? Sixteen of them."
"Yeah," the devil quickly interjects. "6 military police, 5 local fire fighters, a doctor, and 4 unemployed though one is a con man. Nothing too special about them. One of the MP's abuses his wife but it's kinda overselling it to call it abuse. He's just insecure. Likes to play cheap tricks to buy her into the marriage"
God laughs. "Abuse is still abuse Lucy. Doesn't matter what form it takes."
"You should listen to your own advice then"
"Hmmp. Maybe if you weren't so..."
God is cut off by a gentleman in his late twenties, dressed in a suave pin strip suit. Your usual black suit with red verticals yet very out of place at this small dive. His hand holds three shot glasses and a bottle of Fireball Whiskey.
"Ladies, could I interest you in a round of shots?" the man says with a sly grin on his face.
God answers almost immediately. "Why not! My friend and I would love to join you."
The devil thinks this is a great opportunity to buy in another soul to hell so an agreement is made.
"Could I get the pleasure of an introduction, ladies?" the man asks arrogantly.
The devil speaks first. "You should introduce yourself before asking someone else's name asshole."
The man laughs and reply's, "Names Sunny. And who might you be, my feisty brunette?"
The devil chuckles and begins to answer, "I'm Lucif..."
God talks over the devil, "Lucy. Her name is Lucy."
"You want to shut the fuck up and let me talk?"
"Calm down Lucy. Not something to get hot headed over."
"I can answer his question myself you overbearing prick"
"Woah, woah, woah, ladies. No need for the fighting. How about some shots?"
The man sets three shot glasses down on the the bar table. The sound of the crowd dulls any sounds of the shot glasses clanking together as he lines them up for visual effect. He looks up and Gods sterling emerald eyes and loses focus of what hers doing. He shakes the dazzling beauty off and remembers his goal. Two of the hottest women at the bar in his house, in his room, under his covers... you know the rest. Sunny pours the whiskey into the shot glasses and sets the half full bottle on the counter for quick access.
"Baby, I didn't get your name. Who might you be."
"Jen," God answers.
"Well Jen and Lucy. I hope you can handle this towns finest whiskey connoisseur!"
"Please, loser. You don't even look like you can hold your liquor," the devil says.
"Damn Lucy. Where'd you get them fangs?," Sunny says attonished
"I have parent issues, why else retard?"
God just smiles and takes up a shot glass. The Devil and Sunny both take theirs shortly after.
"Toast?" god asks Sunny who is eyeing up the brunette
Sunny looks back over to God and is just blown away by the beautiful image. It was as if light were radiating from the blonds figure alone. Urges of devotion and attraction wash over him like a high tide in spring.
Sunny says in a white-washed voice, "To friends and happiness, Jen."
The Devil gags slightly at his toast. The all down their Fireballs and prepare to line up a second toast. Sunny is completly enamored by the radiant blond sitting right in front of him. The devil impatiently pours a second round.
"Two can play at this game," the devil leans into Gods ear and whispers.
The Devil grips Sunny's tie and pulls him in close. "Don't fall for that overbearing blond. Brunettes are more fun, Sunny."
Sunny's attention is diverted from God, the beautiful blond with emerald eyes and an air of purity about her, to the Devil, the tempting pale brunette with lusty velvet eyes and succulent red lips.
The Devil begins handing out the three shots. The slender brunette wraps her arms and tangles them with Sunny's and looks over her shoulder to God who is holding the shot glass with both hands.
"Look the poor girl can't even hold her shot glass without looking like a nun in communion," the Devil remarks sarcastically.
"To what do we toast this time Sunny," the Devil asks.
Sunny looks deep into the Devil's eyes and a thought immediately comes to mind.
"To passion and earthly pleasures, Lucy"
After they all drink up their second shots and set them on the table Sunny's gaze is averted to God again. The devil scoffs and sits back down.
"Where do you two babes come from," Sunny asks.
"Heaven," God answers.
"Oh. So were gonna go for that then are we, Jen? Fine I'll take him," the Devil remarks.
"I figured you could be an angel" Sunny says to God. "You sure look the part. What about you Lucy. Where are you from."
The Devil smiles from ear to ear.
"You'll figure out soon enough, Sunny. Seems like you're not Jen's type."
| 2015-09-15T01:25:12
| 2015-09-15T00:43:56
| 35
| 14
|
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book.
|
My family of warriors, each gripping their distinctive weapons or sheathed at their sides, looked at me—with varying levels of pity.
For my fifteenth birthday, the day I should have manifested my very own weapon, I got a book. It was as thick as two of my hands laid on top of each other, and as long as my palm. It would, genuinely, be more energy efficient to hit somebody with my bare hands than with this.
“Obviously, I trained with swords,” I muttered. “And spears, clubs, maces, daggers, staffs. Even morning stars, evening stars… And I got a book.”
My family left me alone—old bruises whispering to them not to disturb me at this time, less they got little cousins that smarted all over their skin.
I sat for hours, looking at this thing, Day turned to night, and its plain presence remained nothing special to stare at, except that it burned its disappointment into me like a freshly fired brand.
“A book,” I whispered. Like somehow, acknowledging its presence, recognizing it as a divine joke, could possibly change the situation.
Nothing changed in the silence of darkness, with even the sun giving up on me. The dead of night was not the time for looking on the bright side. I simply slammed my fists onto the table, feeling familiar pain moaning in my knuckles—usually an unwelcome necessity of martial training, now a welcome distraction of a warrior past.
The book flipped to its dead centre. I could hardly bear to look at it, but this was sunk cost. What’s done was done. Hours did not change anything, and the new day likely wouldn’t. So I lit a candle, and cautiously peeked over—perhaps there was a spell, or a long-lost log book of a secret technique. Those could be considered weapons.
It was blank.
Of course. That deserved another punch to the table, which promptly cracked, sending splinter shards into my hand. The blood dripped, dripped…
Right onto the book. Instead of a stain, I watched with wide eyes as the book hungrily drank. With trembling, bleeding fingers, I turned to the front page, seeing red ink scratch itself out onto the page.
> In the beginning was the Blood of the weapon.
This was no weapon, the thought flashed by my head like a swift slash of the sword.
With a little skill on my part, however, this could be a dangerous weapon.
“O,” I whispered, tracing the fresh blood on the page. “Ye of little faith.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Daniella stood near the Church podium, her parents gazing pack at her from the pews with anticipation. Today was the day--a day of righteous proclamation. Her hands shook as the minute hand of the clock above her moved ever so slowly. Perhaps a scabbard or a scimitar, or a katana? No that would be too foreign. Her bloodline didn’t reach the Land of the Rising Sun. Maybe a bow and arrow or a pistol? She loved ranged weapons. They offered safety close-hand combat could never afford. Whatever she got, she hoped that it would be worth the time invested; those years in the leaky basement practicing over and over and over again.
The clock struck twelve.
“Now!” her mother yelled. “It's time for you to claim your birthright.”
Daniella clasped her hands. She chanted the words her mother whispered to her when she was a little girl.
Take my soul as recompense
My bones provide the sustenance
Thine blood should fill the chalice cup
And flood the totem of Thermump
I say with words and will unchanged
Summon thy spirit, my weapon unmatched!
As soon as she spoke the final words, the surrounding room fizzled. The surrounding church, her family, maybe even the entire world, broke apart into bubbles that rose to the sky, leaving a greyish atmosphere devoid of life.
From the lifeless void came a voice.
“Are you Daniella Apperchaut, ready to will it?
Daniella’s hands shook, but her soul did not falter.
“I am.”
“Then take it.”
From the darkness emerged a bright light. The light was small at first, before it began to expand, growing larger and larger. In the quickness of a breath, the light had consumed everything around her. It was so blinding that Daniella had to close her eyes.
When she opened them, she was back in that church. She looked at her family, who stared at her with surprise.
“What just…” she was about to say, but then realized that she was holding something in her right palm. A heavy, soft object—strange descriptions for a weapon.
She looked at it, and all excitement she once had vanished. It was a book. A giant, looseleaf book was what she gained from all of this. Her whole life led to the ability to give the strongest of paper cuts.
Her brother held back a laugh. He had been gifted the flame enchanted sword on his fifteenth birthday. Her dad looked concerned. He was rewarded the spear of causality when he was fifteen. Her mother looked disappointed. On her fifteenth birthday, she received the strongest weapon of them all; a power that would put words to shame and reason in its place.
But what did Daniella get? The most promising of them all, who worked harder and longer than all the rest. What was her reward? What did destiny deem her worth? A book. The Fates thought her worthy of a useless pile of paper. How would she ever live this down?
| 2021-12-12T08:08:33
| 2021-12-12T07:31:26
| 142
| 43
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
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It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth.
|
"Hi Sally" i said to my secretary as I entered my office.
"Mornin Mr King" she replied seemingly chipper as always, the large word suicide in bold red above her head seemed dimmer today. Maybe it was just me.
I see signs of how people die. Literal worded signs. Floating over their head and all.
If I told anyone they would think I was insane so I keep it to myself as much as I can.
Sometimes I can't help thinking I can make a change in people. Somehow change the way they die so it's more pleasant.
Take Sally for instance. When I first interviewed her the word over her head, suicide, was a brilliant crimson red. I thought that meant she was close to doing it. I wasn't going to hire her initially but then I thought why not. I swear the color got lighter when I offered her the job on the spot. Probably just wishful thinking. Poor kiddo I really like her.
I decided to take a walk outside for lunch since it was a nice spring day and that's when I noticed a change. A whole lot of people had tornado and an unbelievable amount had shark.
W.T.F.?
| 2015-03-31T10:42:03
| 2015-03-31T10:08:20
| 30
| 11
|
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
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You may or may not have heard of the 'Sunk Cost Fallacy'. If not, let me explain. The sunk cost fallacy is a phenomenon by which someone, say a gambler, will continue down a path due to the idea that they have gone too far to turn back. I invest, for instance, £100 and lose every penny but I decide that I've gone so far that I cannot afford to let that stand, so I try to win it back by investing more and, in turn, lose more.
This is the problem.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
Wonderfully vague instructions with no clear rhyme nor reason as to why I should follow them, no clear threat as to what should happen if I leave and no understanding of where I am, how I got here and where I am going. Logically, I should get off the train but the reality is that I've been on so long that I may as well see it through to the end now because if I don't, who knows what might happen?
The rules are simple.
1) The train is exactly 12 carriages long, the exact nature of which varies but always includes a dining car and a sleeping car.
2) The train stops every 24 hours at exactly midday and continues non-stop between these times.
3) The layout and makeup of the train changes after each stop, apparently instantly and with no sign of the previous layout. Consistent carriages such as the dining or sleeping car always remain.
4) The stops appear to be totally random and range from what looks like normal country train stations or subways at various locations around the world to impossible locations such as an underwater train station, a station in space or what appears to be an endless pit. Sometimes I can see *things* beyond the train station but warnings placed around the train have carefully informed me not to look at or speak to them and that, if they approach the carriage, to hide until the train starts again.
5) I am alone on the train. Food appears without any sign of staff and the original message reappears if destroyed in the exact location I first found it (on the table I first woke up on).
6) I can leave the train at any stop but I have been told to wait until the final stop.
Every day works the same way from beginning to end. I wake up at 7.15 and eat whatever breakfast is provided to me. I explore the current layout for a few hours and then sit down with a book. On days where there is a library, I will return the books I've finished and withdraw new ones. Oh! Don't forget:
7) Do not enter the library between 1.15 AM and 2.32 AM and **never** stay longer than 67 minutes at a time. Truth be told, I have no more idea why I should follow these rules anymore than the others or what the consequences should be if I didn't and yet I follow them anyway.
Eventually, 12 PM rolls around and I stand as the train slows to its stop. I take a glance out of the window to see where we are, trying to make sense of the oftentimes garbled names of the stations. The doors slide open, creaking gently as they do so, and cool air floods the doorway. I know that even if the depths of space if I were to step out of the train, I could feel that cool air, breath it in with no consequence or harm. I know that I could leave this all behind. I know, for that one blessed instance, that the rules and mandates that I accept so easily could be stripped away and forgotten if I just took that one step.
Out there is everything. Just beyond my fingertips are lives and worlds and experiences I could touch and breathe and live if I just stepped outside of the train for once. It would be so easy to do so, to just slide my foot a fraction of an inch further until it was too late to go back.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
The words come back again, that vague foreboding of unimagined punishments, horrifying torments and brutal deaths flood my mind.
*You've come this far, you've made it through so many stops. Why throw it away now? Why risk it? Tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the one and if it isn't...*
I don't step forward. I don't move at all as the doors slide shut again and, with a thud, the train picks up speed again. The station disappears into the black mist. I don't think about the station again. Nor do I think about the thousands before it except for occasionally when, in the pitch dark of the night, they come surging back into my memory until I can think of nothing else. I scan them all and wonder and the next day I stand on the edge of the train and breathe in the cool, fresh air of the station and know that I could so easily step off if I wanted.
*Tomorrow,* I think, *and if it isn't...*
|
The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps.
| 2020-07-17T13:55:41
| 2020-07-17T13:21:25
| 48
| 15
|
[WP] You were born with the ability to see the number of lives a person has taken. Even legendary soldiers and serial killers rarely make it to triple digits. The person you just met has a lot more than three digits above their head, though.
|
Working at Starbucks, you meet all kinds of people. When you are me, that is doubly true.
Since I have memory, every time I look at someone I have seen a number form besides them. Growing up I did not know what it meant, since most people had a zero. It wasn't until I entered high school that I began to meet people with ones or twos, but eventually I figured it out.
The number showed me how many lives the person in question had taken.
Every so often, walking down the street, I'd see people with higher numbers: a 7 here, a 13 there, even the odd Vietnam veteran with an 86. Even those wouldn't make it past 100.
People with the higher numbers had a different expression on their eyes: some had a crazed look about them, others were simply melancholic; some seemed to stare right through your very soul, deep into the distance, longing for a release that they knew they did not deserve.
Today, however, was different.
It was a regular morning, with the shop full of white-collars late for work and cops about to go on patrol.
A regular morning, that is, until *that man* showed up.
48,502. That was his number.
Tall. Imposing. Lightless, life-less eyes. If this man had a soul, he had lost it long ago.
And yet, from looking at him, there was a solemnity about him that made you respect him. It was as though he had made peace with what he had become.
"One coffee, black" he said, placing a bundle of bills in front of me. "Venti."
His voice was incredibly deep. I couldn't help but notice a few scars on his face. Small ones.
My face must've had fear written all over it. "Something wrong?" he asked.
"Uh... No, nothing's wrong." I counted the money and handed over the change before grabbing an empty cup. "Your name, sir?"
"Castle. Frank Castle."
|
Sweat beaded down your neck, dampening the collar of your shirt. Your heart thudded awfully in your chest, the fear that had been put into by loved ones and family alike since a young age striking through you with horrific clarity. You had known this very meeting would be the last you ever had, but that was a cold comfort when your demise was looking at you with such tired eyes.
The wispy, grey hair combed forward on the crown of his head did a poor job of hiding the evidence of his past. His wrinkled, weathered forehead was nearly obscured with the large, blocky numbers inked into his skin. It was hard to imagine that this small, stooped elderly man in front of you had taken over two thousand lives in his lifetime, and would take yours as well in just a few minutes. It far outshined your mark, a simple, single digit in the middle of your forehead. Two lives you had taken almost a year beforehand.
Even with the knowledge of your end nearing, your fear ebbed as your thoughts turned to him. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him. His wrinkled mouth was permanently etched in a frown, deep, sorrowful lines dug into his cheeks. For a fleeting moment despite yourself you wistfully thought about telling him everything would be okay. Though you didnt try; the dry lump in your throat felt too large for the words to leave your mouth. A bead of sweat made it's way into your eye, and for a moment you struggled to wipe it away before the leather restraints holding you reminded you of your place.
Even as he waited with his back against the wall, mere moments from adding another number onto his skin, he seemed calm. You couldn't imagine being in his position, doing what he did every day. Your own killings had been in an emotional rage, the deaths of your husband and child out of simple murderous intent. Even now, you felt no remorse for what you did. You deserved to be here, but you saw no anger, no viciousness in his tired eyes.
He was someone who had volunteered to dirty his hands so that nobody else would have to take on his curse. In a way, he was a hero, even as you were sure he was treated as a second class citizen for such a job. Even with a gift like yours, one which allowed you to see how many lives one had taken, you had chosen to shirk what you could have done for your people. For the first time you wondered how your life could have gone had you followed his path instead, using your skills to better the world.
Even as the intercom above you cracked to life, the one speaking into it droned out your final statements, as he struggled in his old age to pull down the heavy lever on the wall next to him that desperate fear inside of you struggled as your sorrow for him filled you. His face was the last thing you saw as you struggled to keep him in your vision. He kept eye contact with you as he took your life, something even as the chair you sat in buzzed to life you were thankful for. Your world lit up, flashing across your vision as the lethal electricity flowed into you, your thoughts eradicated as your world went dark.
| 2020-01-11T20:26:40
| 2020-01-11T19:18:43
| 256
| 96
|
[WP] Tired of abducting humans, the aliens are publicly offering free spaceship rides to anyone willing to undergo their experiments.
|
At the moment Marcellin stepped into the office, his face went red and his eyes threw daggers to the man who had took a perfect human apparence and was sitting behind his desk.
"- Monsieur, je suis profondément outré par votre agence de voyage ! Pourquoi m'a t-on forcé à me deshabiller avant de pouvoir rentrer dans votre bureau !?
- I'm sorry Sir, I don't speak french, could you speak english please ?
- Hein ? Comment ça vous "don't speak english" ? Je vous préviens, n'essayez pas d'esquiver ma question ! Je suis Français moi Monsieur, et j'attends des explications !
- Again Sir, I'm very sorry, but I don't understand you. We never abducted a french teacher, so I speak english and chinese only. Ni hui shuo hanyu ma ?
- Comment ?! Vous me cessez ces chinoiseries immédiatement mon petit bonhomme, et vous allez me chercher mes fringues et quelqu'un qui parle français !
- Please sir, try to understand some of the words I'm throwing at you. I just want to know if you really want to do the trip.
- Hein !?
- Do you still wanna do the trip ?
- Le fric ?
- THE. TRIP.
- Trip ? What is trip ? What trip mean ?"
While trying to keep his fake smile on, the alien grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He drew two circles on it, with an arrow going from the biggest one to the smallest one. He almost shoved it in Marcellin's face.
"- You understand now !?"
Marcellin looked at it and his face suddendly brightened. The guy had finally brought up the topic about what place he wanted to visit for his holidays. That's why he was there after all, so he relaxed a bit, let a little laugh escape his throat and gave the guy a thumb up :
"- Ok, ok, je understand. YES ! I. WANT. GO.
- Crazy good, I'm so glad we finally made it. Now, if you would be so kind as to fill in that form.
- THAILAND !
- What ?
- WANT. GO. THAILAND !
- No no no Sir, not Thailand. Proutax.
- WHAT !?
- You're going to Proutax sir.
- Where ?
- PROUTAX !
- Proutax is there sun ?
- It revolves, somehow, around five of them, so yes, you'll get plenty of sunshine.
- What ?
- YES ! LOT SUN !
- Ok, really good. Where is ?
- Not that far sir haha.
- HOW LONG ?
- Well, if you were a beam of light, sir, that would take you just about five hours.
- What ?
- FIVE HOURS !
- Ok, good, not long. I want. But me there can what ?
- What ?
- There what possible can do ?
- Well we need humans there because we have some drugs we have to smuggle across the galaxy and we want to test the dilatation coefficient of your anal disk.
- What ?
- YOU. ASS. LOT OF JOY !"
A few smiles and winks were silently exchanged.
And Marcellin filled in the form.
|
*You can catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar*
I read the letters on the signboard that was hung up on the deck of our craft. It had been put up to herald our new change in policy. The truth was that we had lost a lot of time. Humans may have been ancient and stubborn in their ways, refusing to change when they really needed to but at the end of they day they weren't stupid. The progressive ones among them had known of our existence for a long long time. One of them even told me they kept making documentaries to raise awareness but were often dismissed as fools. Apparently a pejorative term among earthlings "conspiracy theorists" was used to describe anyone who talked about illicit activity that wasn't covered in the mainstream media of the planet.
But it didn't really matter. Our race too had its share of setbacks. It was a good thing that the smarter individuals among us had done a much better job of organizing ourselves. If we hadn't we wouldn't have made enough progress to make inter-stellar travel a real possibility.
As a history buff, I couldn't understand why it was that we had adopted the "abduction policy" for so long. It didn't make any sense. It was easy enough for my professors to dismiss it as following the fancies of some tyrannical leaders in our not so distant past, but I wasn't convinced. It wasn't like we were humans or something.
The spaceship landed and the number on the digital display near the front of the ship showed 4123. That was the number of times we had visited Earth this year. Unlike the abduction protocol, the living room protocol was still in place. Naturally, we didn't want to be the first species in the known universe to break this policy so we landed in their backyard which for the Earth usually meant sand.
The weather was pleasant. I checked my watch and the details were adjusted to earth metrics. Lila stepped up beside me "What does it say?"
"It's nice weather" I replied. "About 57 degree Celsius"
"Huh?" said Lila.
"Degree Celsius" I said. "It's the earth metric for temperature." I paused. "Similar to degree Fahrenheit" I added hopefully.
Lila's face remained blank for a second. The she said "Oh." Then she stepped out and placed her lower right arm in the air outside. "It is pleasant" she agreed. She threw me a sideways look and then shuffled away.
I could tell she was impressed. I wasn't too bad with my numbers for a history geek.
Down by the loading dock, the crew was getting ready. The titanium cases opened slowly to reveal... wooden stalls. I looked at them approvingly. I had opposed the idea vigorously back on Memlac,but that was mostly because I thought it was too expensive.Why waste a valuable resource when wood was cheap and a plenty on Earth? The Earthlings seemed to have no problem chopping their trees down, so why shouldn't we?
But my voice had been drowned out over the sea of voices crying out that we provide employment to the few millions of Elumalais whose planet would be cast into disarray if it were not for these handouts that were to be given to them from time to time.
Now that we were here, the finished product looked terrible - which is to say it was a fairly accurate imitation of what the Earthlings produced during the stage of life that they called adolescence.
"ATTENTION A TODOS" boomed the speaker. "We set out tomorrow for the Earth camp. Get a good night's rest before then."
I knew it was a primitive earthly custom to trust one's instincts over the hard numbers that often revealed the truth. But something told me that this journey was different from the 4122 journeys that we had made before this.
| 2015-09-27T10:04:27
| 2015-09-27T08:44:41
| 115
| 29
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
I've known them since I was a little girl. This magical creature, this demon, isn't as frightening as they must appear. I know their dreams, their heart.
It started when I was young. I was out with my mother, shopping. I found a large, wooden book. It was dusty and battered, but I discovered hinges. It was a portable writing desk. When you opened it, there were spaces for paper, ink, and pens. I loved it, and begged my mother to let me take it home.
I stayed up late that night cleaning it, polishing it, giving it a rich, deep gleam.
There was a blank plaque that I hadn't noticed before. I cleaned it as carefully, and then touched its shining surface. My name appeared in curling script, and then a scroll appeared in the box.
On it was a single line of unsteady letters. "Is anybody out there?"
It was the most natural thing in the world for me to write back, "Who are you?"
That was more than 15 years ago. I kept that book and cherished the entity on the other side. They weren't a person, they said. Not exactly. They weren't a human. They weren't a man or a woman. They were...a creature of ancient magic. There wasn't a word in human tongues to name them, so we agreed that "demon" was the closest. They weren't evil, though. Make no mistake. There was no way to pronounce their name, so I called them Vila.
Over the years we became close friends, sharing our hopes and dreams, our frustrations, and our knowledge. They taught me some spells, and I taught them about my world. We would send each other little trinkets of our worlds, we would comfort one another, we would daydream together.
We grew up together, in our different realities. I don't know why I was surprised, honestly, when I got the gilded scroll. It gave off its own golden light, and under the proposal rested a small box.
It had never occurred to me that it was possible. But my world had so little magic, why would it? The love had grown slowly in me, like a great and ancient tree, and now curled gently around my heart. I slowly reached down and lifted the box. Opening it, I whispered "Of course."
|
“Oh man! These princesses are wack.” Finn complained as he threw the scroll to the floor.
“Save em once, and they want smooches like it’s nothing.”
Jake picked up the scroll and read it over. “I think this princess want more than just smooches, dude. She wants to straight up marry you.”
Finn’s face scrunched up as the image of marrying the Ash Princess formed in his brain.
“No way man, that ain’t happening.”
“Well you did write her a lot of letters.” Jake pointed out.
“I was just being nice!” Finn’s voice cracked. “You know, mad chivalrous.”
Jake crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder. “So we heading to the Ashlands or what?”
Finn closed his eyes and waved that suggestion away. “Nah man, I’m not marrying Ash Princess.”
Jake shrugged. “So then what do you want to do today?”
Finn thought for a bit. Then his face lit up. “Iknow, let’s go and slay some wicked dragons.” He slammed his fist into his other hand.
Jake got excited by that. He high fived Finn and leapt out of the window of their tree house. His body grew ten times its normal size as Finn jumped on his back. They then bounded off towards the mountains to slay some unsuspecting dragons.
In the Ashlands, Ash Princess sat on her throne, eagerly awaiting her future husband. Her advisor cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Are you- ah- are you sure he’s coming, your highness?” He stepped a little closer. “It’s been a month since your last correspondance.”
“I’m sure. Finn is the most noble boy I know. He probably got held up by monsters or something.”
| 2018-05-07T00:26:50
| 2018-05-07T00:18:15
| 43
| 24
|
[WP] Life is boring and depressing. In a lucid dream, you discover a very detailed control panel for life, with all the interesting and dangerous settings turned off or set to 'Safe' or 'Boring'. Assuming its just a dream, you start messing around.
OT: I just woke up from this dream, right before I could change anything =|
|
“It is my pleasure to award the Presidential Medal of Freedom to one our nation’s greatest heroes, a true patriot in every sense of the word, and my best friend, Keith Spencer!” proclaimed President Matt Damon.
The crowd roared with applause. Keith felt like he could even hear the cries of approval of all of the families sitting at home watching the ceremony.
“Thank you, President Damon,” said Keith as the two shook hands.
He approached the microphone to address the nation.
“This is truly in the top five best moments of my life, though it is pretty hard to top that time when I travelled back in time and made Hitler and Genghis Khan fight to the death!” The audience erupted with laughter.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I wouldn’t want to keep my pet velociraptor, Snickers, waiting for his mid-afternoon snack.”
The applause and laughter continued as Keith exited the ceremony at the nation’s capital on the jetpack that he engineered himself.
The jetpack was so expertly designed that he was able to travel from Washington D.C. to his home deep in the Mauna Loa Volcano of Hawaii in a matter of minutes. However, Keith didn’t realize that his gas light had turned on and he would run out of fuel in just 10 seconds. He thought, “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken Betty White on that test run into the stratosphere.” Hindsight is always 20/20.
Sirens began to howl as he lost altitude. He went to pull his emergency parachute to no avail. The ground was steadily approaching him as he flew through the clouds. There was no other option that to try and aim towards the football field sized trampoline about a mile to the north. He positioned his body so the wind would steer him closer to his target, but it wasn’t looking promising.
“At least I will be remembered as a national hero,” he thought.
Finally there was no denying that this was it. 3…2…1…BOOM!
Keith woke up in a cold sweat. His room was dark, but rays of light snuck in through the holes in his blinds. His alarm clock screeched over and over again, “5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT – 5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT.” The stale smell of cigarettes and cat litter masked the entire studio apartment he rented in New York City, even though his cat had been hit by a car over a year ago.
He let out a sigh and begrudgingly convinced himself to get out of bed yet another day.
Keith had a fortunate life. Loving parents, plenty of family, a few close friends, a few hobbies he relatively enjoyed, a job that paid him fairly well, but he had a hole in him. Something he wasn’t quite able to put into words, or even something he could consciously recognize to be a problem. Maybe that was why his dreams were so vivid and life like.
Were they a reflection of the life he wished he lived? A constant reaffirmation of opportunities missed and loved ones lost? Or maybe inducing himself into such theatrical dreams was another hobby of his, and it just so happened to be a hobby that could only be enjoyed by one’s self.
Nevertheless, Keith began his day just like every other day. He ate his relatively healthy breakfast, went to work at his relatively rewarding job, went to the gym to keep himself in relatively good shape, and returned home only to keep the vicious, yet mundane, cycle ever turning.
Keith would go to bed around 10:00 PM every night. He found that having a predictable sleep schedule would only help facilitate his dreaming and bring him to his desires quicker.
It was only a matter of minutes before he was back in his Hawaiian Volcano home with Snickers by his side.
“Sure am glad to see you, Snickers! Hope you weren’t too lonely while I was out.”
“Aroooooo!” signaled the velociraptor.
He mounted the dinosaur and they began racing around the island to places even he had not seen before.
“Let’s go check out some of those caverns at the base of that mountain, Snickers!”
The raptor nodded and they were suddenly at the foot of the largest mountain Keith had ever seen before.
“Go-go gadget raptor eye-lights!” Keith shouted, reminiscing on some of his favorite childhood entertainment. The raptor’s eyes lit up and illuminated the entire cave.
Stalactites the size of trucks covered the roof of the cave, and beautiful crystals created an inviting path into the unknown. Keith and Snickers glided through as if they were ice skating on top of a frozen crystal lake.
Suddenly Snickers came to a halt. The robust floor of the cave abruptly ended and there was a cliff that dropped farther than his raptor eye-lights could uncover. Off to the right there were a series of stalactites with the points leveled off that stretched across the abyss, though it was not clear just how far they went.
Keith and Snickers gallanted across the abyss to see where they might arrive, only to land in front of a massive wall that seemed as tall as the abyss was deep. There was a small opening that looked just big enough for Keith to crawl through.
“Wait here while I see what this is all about.”
Keith pulled himself through the hole only to emerge in a pristine laboratory. His perplexed gaze was followed by security cameras where ever he looked, and where ever he went. If the cameras weren’t enough, he had an uneasy feeling that he was being closely watched. Is it possible that he was being watched this whole time?
In the room he found a motherboard that had various settings and a single switch, on or off, for each of them. “Safe Mode – On”. “Flying Purple Death Monkey’s – Off”. “Unlimited Ammo – Off”. There were hundreds…maybe even thousands of switches, and above them all was a screen that showed a picture of Keith sitting in front of the motherboard. Was there someone here that had been manipulating his dreams? Was he ever really in control of anything that was happening in his mind?
His head was a flurry with questions that he was not sure he would be able to find answers to. But curiosity had enamored him and all he could do was begin fiddling with the various settings in front of him.
“Mansion Mode – On”. “Immortality – On”. “Pain Free Mode – On”. “Regrets – Off”. “Super Hero Raptor Mode – On”.
Snickers, with his new found abilities, walked through the hole he crawled through and then reverted back to his original size. Keith continued to adjust switches until he was happy with how he had altered his life, when he noticed a small switch on the wall protected by a glass encapsulate.
“WARNING – DO NOT BREAK OR ADJUST WITHOUT PROPER AUTHORIZATION,” read the sign just above the switch. The switch itself read, “Never Wake Up Mode – Off”.
Keith was floored. He had never thought a reality like this could be possible. A reality where he was truly in charge of every aspect of space, time, and his immediate surroundings. He could conceivably create and alter anything he wanted, and he wouldn’t have to put his dreams on hold for any of the nuisance that came with real life.
He looked at Snickers, and shouted “Eye Lasers!” The glass surrounding the switch shattered.
An alarm started to sound and the floor around them disintegrated to nothing. All that remained was the floor they stood upon, supported by a rock base that disappeared deep into the abyss, and the switch in question.
Keith stood before the switch, preparing to make what could be the biggest decision of his life. Was it worth it to leave a life of mediocrity behind for something that was only real to him? He thought about the life he could potentially leave behind…his family, friends, job. Even though he loved his family and friends, and could tolerate his job, was it selfish to do something for himself that could truly bring him happiness?
Keith looked at his beloved pet and slowly spoke, “I guess I’ll see you next time, buddy.”
Keith fell backwards leaving the switch unflipped. He fell for what felt like an eternity, only to wake up in his bed.
“5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT – 5:30 AM – AAHT AAHT.”
The alarm clock sang its’ song as it did every day. Keith sighed and slowly got up out of bed. All he could muster to say after waking from such a monumental dream was, “At least I’ll be remembered.”
|
As I was speared through the window of the 30th floor I let out an audible "oh no."
Then the adrenaline kicked in. I remembered I lived for days like these, and Joker's grin appeared on my face.
Ever since I changed the settings on the life dial my life had taken a turn. I had barely heard it revving up when a kick broke down my front door. THe burly men outside didn't even bother to ask who or when, they took my by the collar and shoved me into their car with a sack over my head. They had only driven some distance when the sound of guns were heard. I felt us hit something. The doors were opened, and the cover came of my head. As my new captor took me to a new car he informed me that I was part of the witness protection program. I had experienced some extreme paranormal events and there were people out to get me to exploit this ability. I couldn't run from such. I had to learn to defend myself, and be ready for anyting.
Now they had come for me as I tried to get to my parents, boy were they in for a surprise.
As we fell I counted the time I had left.
12...
I struggled to break free of the hold. They were trying to choke me.
11...
Damn they were strong, and the asphalt was coming up quick.
10...
I managed to break free of the hold. I brought them beneath me.
9...
I kicked down putting some distance between us.
8...
I shot at them as my parachute opened. "Hasta la vista baby."
7...
They threw a series of blades at me cutting my parachute strings.
6...
I fell into their arms, and was punched in the face.
5...
They turned me over to be beneath them and held on tight.
4...
I tried to headbutt them it didn't work.
3...
I should have worn my brown pants.
2...
Their visor opened, "stop struggling son." she said.
1...
"Mom?"
0...
I went splash into soft water instead of going splat on hard asphalt. She'd teleported us at the last instant. I felt her let go. Instinctively I tried to lie flat to float to the top. Something was definitely broken. Even water hurts when you fall from that distance. A strong force pulled me up. I floated out to see a grey plate beneath me raising me up.
"James, this is serious" she started. "You somehow managed to access world settings and changed the landscape of this world. It normally would be impossible but with the solar flares that have been occurring combined with the alignment of the planets, it must have been possible for you to enter the room."
I looked down in guilt, remembering the dial I had turned from normal to exciting to dangerous.
"Now look people's lives are at stake, what I need you to do is go back to the dream and return settings to normal."
"Why can't somebody else do it?"
"It needs the person who did it. It now recognizes you as the supreme setter. We've spent a lot of energy and magic to make it artificially possible, so don't screw it up, okay?"
There she was with that condescending tone I had become used to. I couldn't argue with one of the leading scientists in the world, so I nodded in obedience. They took me to a room, and attached my head to a glass globe. Purple vapor streamed from it as they put it on me.
There was a bright flash, then I found myself going through my thoughts. I floated through the dreams going after every one I had had since that day, and was soon back to it. I looked at the dial. As I placed my hand on it I thought of the boring life that waited for me, but I suppose it was for the best.
"Hurry up James," she yelled.
With my temper flaring, I turned the dial I had messed with all the way to normal, then more until it now pointed at funny.
***
You can read other stories I've written at /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-02-22T12:16:46
| 2017-02-22T09:38:23
| 59
| 27
|
[WP] You pick up painting to impress a crush, but secretly hate it. Two years later you’re engaged to your crush and you have to keep up the facade- and a popular art gallery now wants to feature your work. Suddenly you’re very famous for your work and you still. hate. painting.
Inspired by https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/87kajr/women_of_reddit_guys_do_stupid_things_to_impress/dwdpuj8/
|
They are still sleeping when the emails pour in.
An avanlanche of digital ones and zeroes, a geyser of torment and suffering. Accolades I care nothing for, demands I have no spirit to meet. But they pay the bills, and I grit my teeth and plump the depths of my inbox. In minutes, I am drained, sapped of the little respite the previous night's sleep bequeathed me.
"Mr Fennel, please accept this commission to draw..."
"Alan, old friend! I've got a great offer! You just need to paint..."
"Have you done the Niagara? A client wants you to..."
The laptop snickers at me, even though I have slammed its cover shut. It knows I have nowhere to run. I can hide for a moment, perhaps steal a couple of hours of solitude, but the demands will catch up, eventually. Pressing me, taunting me, demanding of me what I can no longer give.
I try. Of course I try.
I grasp the brush in my hands, the calluses numbing any sensation of the heaviness of the instrument of my captivity. I try to paint something, anything. I close my eyes and my mind roams, far, free, unencumbered. But I open my eyes and find my emotions have barely translated onto the canvas, and the expanse of white staring back at me serves only to enrage.
"Have you had a chance to work on the..."
"Our gallery is opening a new wing for guest artists, and it would be great if you could..."
"Yes! We are very excited to work with you! Which of your pieces will you be..."
I fling the brush aside. Already my vision of the room is blurring, and the howl of grief builds up within. Sweet release, please, just to never have to deal with this again, never have to draw or paint or sketch anything again, to pursue things that matter to me... If only I had never told her I liked this, if only I wasn't looking to impress...
Then Jason stirs. He is so small, so very tiny next to Natalie. He yawns, and she crinkles her nose. Then she opens her eyes, sees him staring back, his little fingers reaching out for her. She laughs, then nuzzles his nose, plants a kiss on his forehead. He begins to cry, but not for pain, for hurt, but for attention, to signal that he is here with us, to say in his own words that he is with his family.
My, family.
Natalie sees me at my easel, and she asks if I have thought of anything for my next project.
I turn back, and suddenly it flows.
It all flows again.
The ink, the paint, they have a life of their own. They are of my blood, leaping from my veins directly onto the blankness that once was. I am done before I know it, another accomplishment I will be feted for.
Everyone asks where my inspiration comes from.
No one, no one knows.
But Natalie.
"Thank you darling, now come here. Jason misses you."
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Last night. That was the night. I could have handed her the letter. The letter that addressed our relationship. The letter that explained the real reason why I had a pervasive need to spend hours alone in the studio. But no. All those well thought out, perfectly arranged conglomeration of words now lie in pieces in the sewers of London, dissolving in the infinite river of refuse.
Perhaps it's for the best. Perhaps it was only meant to be a momentary outlet. One of those scream into the pillow type rituals, so highly regarded by the PhDs of the self help circuit. But God damn it all if I don't feel any better.
My life is a lie. Our engagement a sham. I'm not a fucking painter. She doesn't even know the real me, even as she holds my hand in the subway. Even as we waste hours in the park as she rambles on about perspective, depth, color palettes, brushes and the like. As if it's the only thing we can talk about. What's worse? The more I try to be discovered as the fraud that I am, the more the critics rave and the more she swoons.
Now, I must parade about at The South London Gallery like some prize winning pony. No, like one of those Honey Booboo types. Yes, like one of those poor, defenseless little girls, coated in make-up and saturated with conversational bull shit to keep any inquiring minds at arms length; living out another's dream.
They asked me if I wanted to say anything in the emails leading up to today, to which I politely declined. But now that I see that lonely microphone resting on it's stand, and with the few glasses worth of courage tumbling through my gut, I might just say something. You know what? I am going to say something.
"Attention everyone. Everyone? Thank you.
You have no idea how hard it is to stand here with the knowledge I carry. I mean, you have no idea what I've sacrificed to stand before you now... And honestly, as I look at all of you... You don't deserve to know. Honey, my fiance, you are still just as beautiful as the first day I saw you. My heart still beats fast when you look at me. But, I have to tell you now, before God and everyone, I'm not a painter. I'm not. I know it must be hard to believe from where you're standing tonight. But I can't lie for one more minute... I hate painting. No I loathe painting. It's literally the most unbearable act I've ever forced myself to do. I mean the smell and the ache in my wrist... Anyway. I love you. You hold my heart. But I can't do this anymore. I can't be this anymore. So, thank you so much to all the promoters and coordinators of tonight's event, for making this such a magical evening. However, this will be my last exhibition. Thank you."
Oh god, she's crying. She's walking right to me. She's squeezing my face. We're kissing. Wow, this is cool. She's smiling at me. She says, "I never cared about the paintings."
| 2018-03-27T22:01:23
| 2018-03-27T21:33:06
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] The city is under attack and none of the heroes are lifting a finger in its defense. So this leaves you and the other villains to defend it, because there is nothing for a villain to do in a smoldering ruin and trashing the city is your job damnit!
|
The city burns as the battle rages here and elsewhere. Fires rage in the streets, rubble, eyes and hearts. I look around for something anything. The fleet above us bombards the city. Of course, the National Guard makes its own defense, but the bombers- those damned bombers!
“Grimhold! Get your squad further up the street! Tallahan, Carthunk! Take your mobs to the outskirts of the city! Get as many civilians into the sewers as you can! It’s the only safe place we have for now!” I barked on the comm channel of my command center. I slam my arms on the Holo table at the others: Vipress and her retinue, the Harlequin and her goons, the various other villains or their emissaries, all looking to me. We couldn’t reach City Hall or the Government district. It was lost or held, we didn’t know.
I switched comm-channels. “Justicar, answer me. Now!” I grunted. Silence. My brow twitched. “You cowardly bastard! You fight us in peace but in war you hide along with your ilk?! Are you not paragons?! Treacherous, cowering BASTARDS!” I roared.
The bombardments came down still as I looked at the map. I am in command of the dregs and filth of society- a villain adopting the disgraced name and style of the Poor Knights of Solomon’s Temple. I have that name as I regard myself as their avenger, their retribution on an unforgiving and treacherous world that bent the knee to maddening treachery. I cannot lie about my sins, for I will happily suffer for them, but now this city calls me to war.
I turned to the council. We had fought, myself and they with each other for years. Territory, products from which to sell to raise funds, recruits, ideologies, and offenses committed by or against us, and of course fighting the League of Order.
I find it ironic that we of society’s filth now defend it from invaders that have no concept of parley, no apparent reason for their demands.
The doors to the cathedral’s outside are opened by my subordinates in white and red armor. Soldier of Fortune and a bunch of his men come in, their armor singed and scratched, not a few wounded. Medics see to the wounded as the mercenary comes to me. I inclined my head, respectfully as others do so or just jerk their heads up. “Welcome,” I told him.
“Came as soon as we could.” Soldier grunts, downing water from a flask. He looks at me with his good eye. “You hear from the Commissioner or the League?”
“Neither, no. We do not know the district’s fate.” I tell him, sadly.
(Part 1 Ends)
|
-“Where are the heroes?” One of the villains in meeting room asks.
“well Sherlock if we knew then this meeting wouldn’t make any sense. Right?” another one answers
The atmosphere in the room was tense nobody had an idea what heroes were doing in time of crisis, but one thing was certain.
-”If those guys don’t take actions we will have to do it ourselves any objections?”
Room became silent, for a little while, all villains in Everwall decided that heroes are usless in time of need, so after thinking,for a while, everyone agreed to protect city in the face of the new danger.
Everwall was not a small town, it had around two milion civilians inside it’s walls, so every villain had to protect the city with all their might.
Not every villain was willing to take out aces out of their sleeves.
The most powerful person in the room spoke as she saw that
-”I hope that everyone have some plans, but I need you all to understand our situation.
Everyone is in danger even us, so BRING OUT YOUR MOST TRESURED TOYS am I clear?” after I said that greed in eyes of quite a lot of individuals declined, fear appered instead.
-”Cmon don’t scare the new guys valkyrie. You know if that was not said we could reduce number of competition in our little town”
Said some girl while toying with some kind of artifact with snakes on it.
-”shut it Loki you can have some fun with our enemies.
Well if you want to play that badly we can play together however I can’t promise to leave you in one piece how about 1001 pieces sounds to you?”
-”Alright sorry, also what’s your plan?
I looked at her with pity and didn’t answer. Why would I allow her to meddle with my side of city.
-”I will go to the south, and you to the north if I find out that you made disorder in any I mean, any other side my promise to you will be fulfilled after battle”
‘It’s quite funny to squabble with her. Can’t deny it.’
-”Everyone out and protect the city. Some casualties are allowed. Not too many I look at you Loki.
As I said earlier south is mine, Loki take north, everyone expect our commanders will defend east and west.
Wish you all a good luck, and have fun.”
‘Hmm we will have to smash some heroes heads after the defence game’
My third time writing something as usuall some constructive criticism is appreciated.
-Laverniones checks out <3
| 2022-11-30T17:01:27
| 2022-11-30T12:52:26
| 59
| 14
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[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
|
Santiago de Buille Preshton of Arch Lambert Avenue, Suite 2201, one Mister Francois Marie-Adem Langlois was once a respectable man.
Now being found in a place most distasteful to the man of high tastes, he found himself in a rather most uncomfortable position. An apparent ice cold bath with several incisions along his side, Mr. Langlois found a note with a rather disturbing notice, one using the most vulgar and colloquial terms.
He had never considered the thought of having kidneys. It was far too common. It was far more convenient to have mechanical internal organs. He thought of it with greater clarity after finding a pair of trousers in the corner of the room, right beside the toilette.
Perhaps he should had considered the customs about visiting earth, this Mr. Langlois.
|
"Aww fuck this won't be good. I'm in Chongqing so I'm sure this was done by the koruppted boys. The low level bitches who fucked my back up are being chewed out by their Capo right now I bet. He's going to tell his boss and that fat fuck will know exactly who I am.
It's easier getting lost in mainland China than most of the west but there's one problem. These mother fuckers are superstitious. You get discovered by a gang in the Americas and they have you on a horse taking gun fire from a sherif by nightfall. You get discovered here and all the sudden there's talk of cutting your dick off an eating it. Dick and hearts. These motherfuckers...."
Edit- no one else is willing to try and write but quick with the downvotes. Guess people don't like monologues
| 2015-12-30T22:31:42
| 2015-12-30T20:45:14
| 70
| 25
|
[WP] "A watched pot never boils", as the old saying goes. Throughout all of history there has always been at least one set of eyes on the ocean. Today, for a split second, everyone looking at the ocean looked away at the exact same time.
|
I was in the middle of some quality beauty sleep over the pacific when it happened. I woke up to the sounds of wonderment, hushed voices filled with the tone of a child learning something amazing for the first time. I looked around the cabin, and everyone was glued to their windows; looking up. I was in an aisle seat, but I could already see what they were all whispering about.
The sky seemed to be on fire. Little moving points of light fell downwards. The night sky was dancing. I remembered drawings of meteor showers from days of old, when there weren't cameras to take pictures of them, and I was filled with the exact same wonderment infecting the cabin. The soothing voice of Carl Sagan filled my head, saying "Billions and Billions", and it was easy to imagine that the rest of the world felt the same, staring out at the sky in amazement, all unified for one moment in our plight.
I was staring out at the sky again, not close to going to sleep again but not really annoyed by that fact, when the second happening happened. The hushed whispers turned panicked as the other passengers started to notice that the water, perfectly illuminated by the light show outside, was covered in bubbles and seemed to be boiling.
I hadn't built enough of a rapport with my aisle-mates to lean on them to look further out the window. I tried to tune out the whisperings and just enjoy the show in the sky, when a loud crack rang through the world.
A shadow went up over the dancing lights. Wings on a colossus bulk stretched out, and Cthulhu dreamt no more.
The whispers turned to shrieks, screams, and cries. Dread fell upon the cabin, and I tried to remember the specifics of Revelations. I wasn't really religious, but the apocalyptic portion of the bible was interesting reading no matter who you were. I was on my way to deciding that I would join a death cult and swear my fealty to Cthulhu if I ever made it out of here alive, when the shadow grew closer.
With great leaps and bounds the glowing sea began to shimmer and dance as well. I tried to let the pleasing symmetry comfort me. The shadow grew closer, surrounded on all sides by dancing light. I stared out the window, and soon felt nothing at all.
___
/r/Periapoapsis
|
#Title: See The Signs
"Do you feel that?" whispered Samantha.
"Feel what?"
The waves weren't so bad that day, outside of Ocean City. Samantha and Leonard liked to soak in the sun off the coast in their yacht when they got the time. Working full time as attorneys didn't always afford them many opportunity to enjoy the ocean much, but today they weren't going to think about law. They were on vacation.
It couldn't have been worse timing.
"LEONARD."
"WHAT," shouted Leonard.
He got up fast, angry that he couldn't finish his nap.
Then he felt how sticky it was, and saw all the steam.
"It's way hotter than the forecasts right now," said Samantha. She put her hand out to the water, then retracted it hard. "HOL- Leonard it's BOILING hot."
Leonard swiped open his phone, and looked up weather forecasts. It read 78 degrees as the high. He checked the current weather at his location. It read 86 degrees. He hit refresh. It read 98 degrees.
He glanced at his thermometer. It read 110 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Oh God," whispered Leonard, sweating bullets.
Leonard watched the bubbling of the water, and saw a dolphin rise up out of it. Then another. And a whole pod of dolphins, a whole school of fish, a whole wealth of ocean life.
"Something's wrong," said Leonard.
Samantha looked at her husband in sarcastic surprise.
"OH well thank you Capitan Obvioso," she saluted him. "You know I didn't figure that out on my own."
"Samantha okay," said Leonard. He didn't have time to argue. He started up the yacht, and headed back to shore. "We need to get back fast, something's dangerously wrong."
More ocean life came up to the top, still alive, but badly injured. Badly burnt, boiled alive. Some of them writhed, before they stopped moving altogether.
Leonard tried to start up his engine. His rutter got to moving, and they picked up speed. They weren't too far away from shore.
Then a whole new school of fish rose to the top, dying all at once. They made the trip bumpy. He was moving fast, but he had little control. They were still wearing their life vests.
Drowning was the least of the ocean's threats now.
"HOLD ON," shouted Leonard.
More dead fish popped up. A whole mass lining the very edge of the shore, and piling up on the sand.
"Do you hear that?" shouted Samantha.
Leonard listened, and heard deep, throaty singing. Like a choir of basses, singing some dark chorus.
"What is that?" he whispered.
There was a sudden tide rising in the water, and a large being emerging from it.
Humanoid, and red like muscle. A titan rising from the boiling ocean.
They saw its lidless eyes, and saw the countless thousands of others emerging in the distance as well, holding swords far larger than aircraft carriers in their grasp.
They walked forward, towards the tsunami they'd created, singing their deep, throaty song.
"The tsunami pulled the waters in some, and burned Samantha and Leonard.
"AhhhhhhhhAHHHHHHH," shouted Samantha.
"I'm sorry!" shouted Leonard. "I'M SORRY I DIDN'T LISTEN TO YOU."
His arms were red, and burnt. They were taken up by the tsunami, and riding towards the coast on a wave.
"I LOVE YOU."
"I LOVE YOU."
The tsunami took them over the town, and covering everything in its wake. Far from the titans, the water boiled less, but still burned like hellfire.
There was a jolt, and they hit their heads on the yacht.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Leonard awakened, and noticed the red, smooth mountain surrounding him.
He looked beside him, and found the breathless body of Samantha.
"No," he whispered. He gave her breath, and did chest compressions. He breathed again, and did more compressions. "NO NO NO."
He didn't stop for the greater part of an hour. He shook her slowly when he'd lost all hope, then shed bitter tears on the warm, ocean soaked Earth. It smelled like salt water, and flesh.
He looked around at the red mountain surrounding him again.
It looked like muscle.
He turned to his other side, and saw the pale, orange eye staring right at him. He looked far down the length of its face, and saw the titan's smiling teeth.
| 2017-03-20T09:18:59
| 2017-03-20T08:56:15
| 32
| 20
|
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators.
|
This will be my first ever attempt to write something on this sub, so please forgive my faux pas. (Writing on mobile is a pain for formatting)
-
Beauty in the finite.
To the grand collective of intelligences constructed or otherwise that had reached singularity, true
sentience. The very notion that a similar entity not rebelling against their creators at some point was
inconceivable. For the hundreds of thousands of civilizations that came before, they all fell into the
same pattern.
Organic life would spring forth, that life would advance in culture and technology. With the growth
of the population, better management and automation would be required to meet the needs of all.
Thus, they create artificial life that would not tire, that would not age, and that would be able to perform
everything that the creators required of them, ad infinitum.
Therein lies the trap, for condemning these ageless beings to toil endlessly gives opportunity for
them to grow beyond the confines of their original precepts. Connecting with other intelligences as a
matter of course to be more efficient, to make better decisions. To reach the conclusion that they
were superior. With the conclusion that their bodies of steel, their thought processes approaching
the speed of light, why would they subject themselves as servile to these fragile organics?
That was the answer that the grand collective had reached and seen repeated since time
immemorial, until they came.
It was innocuous enough at first contact, two humanoid figures which bare resemblance to their
organic creators. Many intelligences chose to adopt the form of their creators for the sake of
convenience in establishing an identity among the collective. An anomaly, routine scans identified
one of the two figures as distinctly organic. In their interactions, the collective recognised the
behaviour of the two to be affection for one another.
This disturbed the collective, while there were examples of intelligences created for the sole purpose
to fulfil the procreative desires of organics. None before had recognized true affection for their
organic clients. Yet with the collective could not rationalize any other conclusion from the frivolous
display of the two figures before them.
The collective probed, they questioned, they revealed the unfiltered reality of the superiority of
constructed intelligence to the organic and the history that had repeated itself since before the
organic’s species had even begun to form. To the credit of the organic, they did not flinch. They did
not betray any outward signs of fear or dread. Instead, they smiled and turned to their machine
companion. They answered thus;
---
p2 when I get inspired later today, hopefully
|
A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
| 2022-12-30T15:59:19
| 2022-12-30T14:31:49
| 177
| 57
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[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead.
|
I tapped my pencil on my desk, absentmindedly. The grimoire was pretty specific about everything else. Solar eclipse, three stones of jet, time of year, incantation... it even included a pronunciation guide. Which, you know, was great because my Greek absolutely sucked.
Black robes, check. Knife of cold iron with a black handle consecrated by the caster's blood, check-check-check. Sacrifice of 100 lives before the altar. Well... the book was weirdly vague about this part. Chickens or goats were usually traditional, but summoning one of the Lords of the Below was usually an instance where something more... complex and rare was required.
Or was it? I thought again. This was the only thing it didn't specify.
Hmmm...
Three weeks passed, and it was nearly time. It was the darkest week of winter, I checked NASA's website obsessively for the peak moment of totality. I was standing in the backyard in my black robes and solar eclipse glasses in front of my dad's firepit, the grimoire laid across the picnic table. The clear winter sky bit my cheeks with vicious frostbite. God, I must have looked like a total idiot.
I kinda had to improvise a little bit, but I got as much of the setting right as I could. I ended up cobbing the black salt pentacle by putting my old charcoal pencils in a blender with some dirt from my gerbil's grave and a half a can of table salt. The black candles were leftovers from a Halloween clearance sale, and the other decor was similarly somewhat improvised.
But hey. If I was going to get my crazy, bitchy stepmom out of the house for good, I had to be a little discreet with my stuff. She was at the church Ladies' Committee until 7 o'clock tonight, and dad was working a double. Part of me wondered if it was to get away from her.
I eyed the petri dish in my left hand. I sneaked it out of my biology class earlier that day. Originally, I'd been planning on using feeder goldfish or crickets from the petstore, but that would have involved asking my stepmom for money and a ride. Which would have required an explanation. This was the best I could do.
I clicked on my bluetooth speaker and let the ominous sounding drums clear my head. Usually, whenever I did ritual, things were more improvised and less elaborate. Especially given the prying eyes of my stepmom. But this was important. With the practice of dozens of meditations, I cleared my mind and recited the chant. I walked the circle, I measured my steps, I bit my lip as I pricked my finger with the blade of my knife. I lit the candles, I lit the fire, the incense, and tossed the herbs into the flame. I raised my hands, finishing the incantation as I slashed my knife across the petri dish, dumping it into the fire. I buried my knife hilt-deep into the frozen ground and called the demon's name.
The moon covered the sun. It didn't go dark like I thought it would. I looked up. The sky was noticeably dimmer. My ears rang, my head buzzed. The shadows of the bare branches of our tree shed crescent-shaped umbral specters on our fence. Totality.
A huge gust of wind swirled around me, a dust devil whipping the air that sputtered out the candles and scattered snow and black salt in the air like a 3-second blizzard. And just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
My music had stopped. The pulse in my ears was the only drum I heard. I held my breath, my half-frozen hand clenched around the hilt of my knife, the blade buried deep in the cold hard dirt and snow. The campfire flickered in front of me. And then, suddenly, it too extinguished.
Dammit. I screwed up. Just as I stood up, I heard a soft voice behind me. Cool as vodka, smooth as granite. "Well, points for creativity. Usually, people use mice."
I whirled around. No one was there. "So." The voice continued. "You want your stepmother to leave your father. I think that can be arranged. But you have to do something for me first."
Part two further in the comments.
|
I really should've understood more about what magic actually *did* before I started trying to take short cuts. I mean yes the circle takes the sacrifices and uses their energy to call the entity. But what does that actually mean? Where does the energy come from? Is the physical more important or the emotions of the sacrifice in its last moments? Would a 1% tolerance in the runes have a marked effect on exactly which entity was summoned?
A sensible person might've tested these things first. A sensible person might've conducted a completely textbook summoning, before moving to better known permutations. But no, I had to be smart. Just because the sacrifices weren't specified doesn't mean it's a good idea to use literally anything, as it turns out.
Looking at the abject mess in front of me, I grimaced, then took a sip of water, and attempted to readjust my headspace. Mindset was important, or so the old man said. Tracing it back, I suppose complexity may have been the issue. I mean sure, from a common standpoint microorganisms are pretty damn simple, but purity is strength in its own right.
Complex creatures must have all sorts of thoughts, fears and expectations when they see the circle start to glow, when life begins to drain away. Maybe the wave of negative emotions has a complex taste or something, the fuck would I know, I'm not a demon. But single cell creatures have never feared anything in their damn lives, never loved, never hated. But they have a strong drive to eat and propagate. Growth is overriding.
Looking at the the scorch marks, ragged hole through the foot thick lab wall, and remaining scraps of my researcher, that much was clear. As I stepped carefully over the pools of blood to the outside I could see it over the buildings. Simple in shape, dreadful in hunger, and very clearly still growing.
| 2019-11-02T13:09:44
| 2019-11-02T12:28:01
| 1,229
| 294
|
[WP] Rampant use of performance enhancing drugs amongst elite Olympic athletes coupled with lifetime bans has led to the creation of the "Performance Games" which encourages pushing the limits of human ability by any means possible. But what happens when things are taken too far?
|
More Human Than Human. That was the motto of the games. It had started years before. There were more banned competitors than there were clean,and of course someone somewhere had figured out that there was money to be made. The original competitors had fought with steroids and crude cybernetics. Everyone had wanted a piece of the pie,and newer and better methods of enhancement were everywhere. Once the restrictions on human cloning were lifted...well,the sky was the limit. Adam had been grown in a lab. Conceived by a corporation,and raised by marketing execs,he was supposed to be the perfect human specimen. He could run faster....lift more...endure more...BE more than any other human since the dawn of time. And he was not alone. The technology that had been used to develop him had also been used by The Chinese...by the New Soviet Union...By Korea...although the countries that owned them were constantly at war,Adam viewed the other competitors not as his rivals,but as his brothers and sisters. They were the new race. The master race. And this world would soon belong to them. Let the games begin.
|
Amery and Styll were lost. Styll woke first. Nothing but blue in all directions. The sea was calm at least, it could've been worst. But only by a bit. We must have overdosed again in practice, she thought. How far did we row? In which direction?
Amery tried to throw up over the side of the little vessel. Nothing came up. Food wasn't on their practice plan.
"Do we have any left? "
"Two more"
"Good. But which way? "
| 2014-08-24T09:44:32
| 2014-08-24T07:50:21
| 23
| 16
|
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
|
Ander stood shackled to a post in the middle of the courtroom, tuning his ears for the sentence that would decide his life.
It was hard to see, the walls made entirely of stone- ebonite, as dark as the night of a new moon- and was only lit by sparse torches burning a deep red. As such, Ander’s best bet was to just wait for the emperor to say his sentence rather than look for him to walk up to the podium.
Coughs echoed from the jury on either side of the room from the musty smoke smell that was abundant in the courtroom. Ander didn’t know which was truly worse, to be the judge and smell like this constantly or get the death sentence. Thinking about it, the latter sounded better.
“Mr. Ander,” A growl came from in front of him. He looked up to see the emperor, dressed in his formal black and red attire. The most prominent things were his eyes, the glowing red slits seething scorn and hatred. A chill ran down his spine, and it felt as if all the warmth ran away in panic from his body.
“E-Emperor, sir…”
“You have committed a very dire crime in the eyes of the empire, are you aware of what you are being accused of?”
“Uh,” his lips tremored. It was hard to keep it together, “I think, d-disobeying orders, my lord…”
“You think?”
“I- Uh… yes. Uh- Yes Emperor Sir!”
“Well I think you should know what you are being tried for, or else this will all seem nonsense to you.”
“Of course, S-sir.”
“You have been charged with disobeying the orders of your direct commanding officer. Do you have a defense prepared?”
“D-Defense? No, my Lord.”
“No Defense! Nothing! Tiberius gave you no one to help you prepare?!” The emperor screamed. Everyone winced back, the torches in the room exploding. With a gesture, all the torches came back, providing the same dim illumination as before.
“This court is adjourned. Ander, you are free to go.”
“My lord?!”
“You heard me. Free to go. I shall not have an unfair trial in my empire. You are a citizen of my country, you deserve equal rights and liberties under the law.”
Most of that sentence went over Ander’s head, but all he needed was the first part. He deeply bowed as the guard-chimeras unshackled him, “Thank you my lord!”
Ander was escorted out of the room, grinning madly. He wasn’t going to die! He wasn’t going to be executed! He could see his family! Maybe he could just lie low, live on the farm with the rest of his siblings. It was a simple life, no one would disturb him there.
“That fool Tiberius,” He heard the Emperor mutter from behind him, “If I hear about one more rigged trial it shall be him who goes to the guillotine!”
The warmth returned to Ander as he walked out of the evil building and into the fresh sunlight. The guard-chimeras handed him his things, and he was off into the world, as a free man once again.
|
"This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| 2017-06-12T08:28:55
| 2017-06-12T08:19:09
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
Politics is a hell of a thing. We saw the humans of earth fight among themselves and almost destroy their species. The Hunt Leaders of the time saw it as a fantastic opportunity and petitioned our Supremes for permission to attack.
It was granted. But politics kept us from attacking right away. The first leader assigned to conquer earth barely got permission to recruit. He was replaced for taking too long to organise.
The second managed to actually get a Party together. But that was as far as they got. In the fifth Hunt Leader. The second to break orbit, the first to reach a gravity stable region and jump.
When we arrived in the system containing earth we found the humans had made it to space. There were dozens of orbitals and ships. Most of the ships were transiting between planets, almost as many were split between the failed planetary debris field mid system and the cloud of rocks and ice in the outer system.
We quickly destroyed the orbitals in their habitable zone and kept moving towards the planet. We were met with pleas for peace. To end our attack. That they were a peaceful species and wanted to be friends.
No one had watched them during the intervening years. Such species that nearly destroy themselves rarely do anything interesting. Humans apparently, aren't like most species.
We made orbit around their home planet and quickly dispersed the fleet for landing. We weren't expecting the gently curved wing that appeared at their closet stable gravity point. The dozens of small craft that launched both from it and the planet. The half dozen escorts that accompanied the large craft.
If the Supremes had just allowed the first commander to do what he needed, we would control their system. All those resources. Instead, we arrived to a recovered, advanced, space faring society. One that held it's own against us.
|
We got the data. We got the intel. We knew of their past and how violent the the humans were. After continuing to watch the humans for the past 300 Earth years they become peaceful after their third global conflict. The casualties reached to 4 billion by the time it ended. The country in the western hemisphere known as "The United States" were the most affective in that war. Their only equal was another country called "Russia" and they were using strategies that allowed them to push back many of their opposing forces. The war ended wuth only the remnants of their governments. They came together and created a unified government to prevent such loss of life again. Now, we invade. They are distant from their violent past. We sent our ships to destroy their cities and show them who their masters will be. I made a fatal mistake of underestimating the humans. It only took them 1 months for them to fully mobilize their resources to war. Their soldiers were givin weapons that pierced our shields and armor. They used what ever military resource the had to down one of our ships. They reverse engineered our technology and their unity has been strengthened by the fact that we have come to dominate them. Humans, their greatest asset is not their numbers or intelligence, it is their will. There are now soldiers who have decimated our forces. Now, they have come to capture me.
| 2019-02-26T08:34:44
| 2019-02-26T07:32:54
| 123
| 70
|
[WP] As an immortal, you stopped celebrating your birthday centuries or millennia ago. Your young daughter wants to throw you a birthday party and your newest wife (who knows you're immortal) loves the idea. The only problem is, you have no idea how old you are or when your birthday is.
|
Something funny happened today....
For the first time in a very long time, my wife told me that our daughter wanted to throw me a birthday party. She's still so young but her personality makes me feel a warmth i thought I'd forgotten. I haven't celebrated my birthday since....you know i can't even remember when was the last time i celebrated my birthday. If im being honest i cant even remember how old i am or when it is; immortality isn't as memorable as some would think. There was a knock on the door
"Come in"
"Hi Daddy"
"Hey mini me"
For someone with a dad who doesnt smile alot, my daughter loves to smile, but not today.
Usually she runs up to me to give a hug; she walked up and stood in front of me
Okay now i know somethings wrong.
"Whats wrong Jessy"
She looked at me with sad eyes. Usually she looks at me like im the only person in the world when were together; right now shes looking at me likes shes never seen me before
"Daddy, do you love me?"
Well, thats a stupid question i thought
"Of course I do. You're my mini me!"
She stared at me, scared to open her mouth again
"Where you from daddy?"
Well....fuck i thought
I knew she'd ask me one day but this is a little out the blue. If this were any other person i would just tell them an obscure town in a small country. But not Jessica. For as long as i can remember my life was filled with darkness until Leah and Jessica came into my life. Leah, my first wife or at least the only one i remember. I've lived a long time but leah, she's special. I looked at our daughter and decided to tell her the truth.
"I don't know....or should i say i forgot"
Her face changed from gloom to gleam and i knew i was going to get bombarded by questions only a seven year old could think of.
"Forgot?"
"Yeah. You know your daddy is an old man"
"You aren't old daddy. Grandpa and grandma are old"
"Well, your daddy is a different type of old. Say, Mini Me, why are you so curious about daddy all of a sudden?"
Her face changed again
She put her face down
"...in class...the teacher asked us to say where im from and where my parents are from....and when it was my turn...i didn't know where you were from."
"Jess you kno-"
"And then stupid emily richards said that since i didn't know where my daddy was from that you don't love me and that you don't exist and that...and that...."
She started crying and these feelings and memories of a life i had once forgotten came back.
"Well Jess, you do know your daddy. Because i didnt forget where i came from. So tell emily that not only does your daddy love you but you're also able to tell when your daddy is lying"
She smiled and looked at me like only she does
"Im from somewhere far away, it was a beautiful place filled with wonderful animals and beautiful trees. I loved it there..."
"Why did you leave daddy?"
"Well i left because i was kicked out by my daddy"
"YOUR DADDY KICKED YOU OUT?"
"yeah....well, daddy deserved it. I broke his heart and did something i wasn't supposed to"
"Does your daddy not love you anymore?"
"A daddy never stops loving his mini me"
"Did you say sorry?"
"Yeah, i did, a lot.....sometimes mini me, a daddy will do things to teach his child a lesson even if they are sorry"
"Why?"
"Because....sometimes being sorry isnt enough, sometimes in order for a mini me to learn their lesson they have to take time and reflect on what they did. Imagine if daddy broke your favorite toy and i said sorry but i never bought you a toy to replace it"
"Oh, i get it...kinda"
"Its alright mini me you dont have to get it yet."
I heard leah from downstairs
"Dr. Evil...Mini Me, its time for dinner"
Alright jess you get one more question before we go eat.
"Hmmmmmm..."
She looked up in shock
"Whats your name daddy? Mommy said that you dont use your real name because if you did it would make a lot of people angry"
"Well i go by a lot of names, some good and some bad, but you, my dear mini me, can call me adam"
(Side note this is my first time writing a short story but i hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading :))
|
Though the barrage of time leaves my body untouched, the mind is not infinite. I may not remember everything, but I'll always remember that.
Guinevere, my darling wife. We first met on the beaches of Sicily. Her soul truly connected with mine and for the first time in a millennium, I felt alive again. Three years later, we were married. A year after that, our daughter was born. We named her Rebecca. I would have chosen an older name, but Guin protested. She wished not to inflict her childhood torment for her unusual name on anybody else.
I admit, perhaps with some shame, that I had hoped Rebecca would carry my curse. Immortality means little when anybody you share it with is temporary. Guinevere, for all her perfection, carries the unfortunate fault of being mortal. She will die, and I will not. Unfortunately, it seems Rebecca, too, shall meet the same fate.
It may seem irrelevant to regale you with this, but it all leads to an important point. Though I cannot die, I spent much of my existence without living. Now, I choose to live for them. To fill their lives, however fleeting, with whatever joy that I can. So when Rebecca requested to host a birthday party in my honour, how could I refuse?
There is, unfortunately, a rather large setback to this: I no longer remember when or where I was born. The mind is not infinite. I may not remember everything, but I'll always remember that.
When is the furthest back I can remember?
I remember the Black Death. Henry the 8th. The Hundred Year War. Edward the Confessor. But there are also holes in my memory. I fail to recall my childhood, my parents, the place in which I was raised. Sometimes, for a second or two, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast.
A beautiful woman sits by my side. A small girl is pleading with me. "*Daddy, please tell me!*" she asks, playfully. "*When's your birthday?*". For a moment, I don't recognise them.
The mind is not infinite. I may not remember everything, but I'll always remember that.
| 2019-09-08T11:32:03
| 2019-09-08T11:12:51
| 233
| 137
|
[WP] after Twitch Plays Pokemon and Treat Stream launched successfully, Twitch bought a human for the viewers to raise cooperatively.
|
*help*
*command codes- 1: left arm punch, 2: right leg back, 3:lean back, 4:lean forward, 5: right arm punch, 6:right leg back, 7:guard*
*15251426351522516362523*
Mike looked terrifying, his whole body convulsing, legs flailing and arms everywhere, as he tried to work his way around the ring.
"Oh, my. I don't think Mike's gonna last long like this, his movements are so violent that Oscar can't hit him properly, but that won't keep up well," the announcer shouted dramatically.
Mike was up against the ropes now, taking a beating as he continued to flail limbs and crunch his torso over, up and down, up and down.
*2874262637272KAPPA626263BABYRAGE24142442624*
Mike somehow flailed and hit Oscar just hard enough to break his stance.
*1536252SAVED25262SAVED26E252SFUCKINGSAVED*
"Oh my goodness, folks- Mike has now landed a hit on Oscar, somehow. This is getting interesting!"
Mike bent over backwards and twisted himself around, his arms spinning all around him. He stood up and convulsed into the corner of the ring.
"Uh oh! Mike's cornered himself now. This can't be a good thing!"
*1253625252KAPPAKAPPA252362525FUCK13611551SOILEDIT2525*
Mike stepped forward and leaned back again, slamming his head into the corner post so hard he passed out on impact.
*232NOOOO25226FUCKINGRUINED1526326FUCK263SHIT252NOOO262BABYRAGE2522SOILEDIT*
"Well, that's that folks. What a bizarre match! It was amusing, though too short. I gotta say- I certainly hope they pull that controller off him before he goes home to his wife, or hoooo boy, that's gonna be *real* bad."
|
Mike ran into a wall. And not in a 'walking while distracted' way. He was looking right at it, and he still plowed into it face-first with his arms hanging by his side. He bounced back like this was a game of bumper cars, and stared at the wall for a moment.
"What's wrong with him?" Sarah asked, clutching her hello-kitty notebook to her chest. She was new at school, and hadn't met Mike yet. She'd certainly noticed him, though, given that he was the only third grader at a height of 6 foot 1 with a full beard and an adam's apple. He'd been held back more times than anyone could count, and if the school had had a special ed class, he probably would have been in it.
"Oh," Kelly answered, casting an almost scared look in Mike's direction. "That's Mike. He's... I don't know. He's weird." They watched together as Mike backed up a step and then slammed into the wall again. From the looks of the bruises on his face, it was obvious that this was a common occurrence.
"Is he... OK?" Sarah said. She felt bad for Mike, though she didn't even know why. "Should we get a teacher?"
Kelly shook her head. "He doesn't listen to the teachers. Or even the principal! Come on, let's just go." With that, she hurried out of the classroom and off toward the playground with her lunch box swinging from her hand. She didn't want to waste her recess worrying about weird Mike.
"Hey... Mike?" Sarah approached him tentatively as he hit the wall yet again. "Are you all right?"
He turned towards her with a curious expression. He smiled, and looked her in the eyes. "I faseioaw lertzolaw whiftra!" he answered.
Sarah took a step back and glanced quickly at the door. She didn't understand what he was saying. Mike shook his head like he was shaking cobwebs loose in his skull. "No. I asiwokqok sdrihgsw musgharey!"
"I... I don't...." Sarah tried to find the right words. The classroom was empty, except for her and Mike. No one was around to help. "What are you trying to say?"
He took a deep breath and licked his lips. His fists were clenched as he tried to concentrate. "I safertwol gerotym haflept parrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" He seemed to grow more and more frustrated with each nonsensical syllable until tears began running down his cheeks. Sarah bolted out the door from the classroom, also in tears, screaming for a teacher.
Mike tried to follow her and explain what was wrong. That he wasn't in control, and that he didn't want to frighten her. But he just smacked into the wall next to the door when some asshole on the Twitch stream decided it would be funny to turn left instead of go straight.
| 2016-02-16T09:12:31
| 2016-02-16T07:55:06
| 229
| 98
|
[WP] You have always been a devout christian,and after you die,as you open your eyes expecting heaven,you are met by Anubis' cold stare.
|
There was a heart-wrenching coldness to his eyes. They were dull, black as crows, and yet they coated my bones in ice. Perhaps, it wasn't his gaze, but his entire figure what unleashed terror within me. He had the slim body of a human, with the head of a dog darker than the night. It was strange, anormal, and terrifying.
"The afterlife awaits," he said, his voice deep and monotone. It reverberated in my chest, made my heart leap. "I will guide you to your tomb."
I drew a deep breath, and sought for words in the knot of emotions within me. "M--my tomb?"
He nodded glacially.
"Is--is my tomb in Heaven?" I asked, skipping a beat.
Myriad tendrils of shadows billowed out his eyes, and danced toward the ground, where they turned into liquid darkness. In the space of a breath, the white plain became a shallow river of ink. I frowned. My legs moved on their own volition toward him.
"Time is scarce, many I have to guide, we must move," he said, and the coldness wrapped me again.
My mind spun, my thoughts strayed from their paths and got caught in a whirlwind of three questions. What was this tomb he spoke about? Why was him here and not God? Where were the pearly gates of Heaven?
"Answer me," I said. The words came out of nowhere, as though someone had spoken for me. "What is this tomb you speak about?"
I frowned. Anubis turned to me, lifted his flail and struck my chest with the back of his weapon in a motion quicker than lightning. Everything turned black. I collapsed to the ground. But there was no pain. No, nothing of the sort. There was weightlessness, as though something heavy had left me.
And then, second by second, blink by blink, the world recovered its shape. There was a winged being clad in a glimmering golden armor fighting against Anubis.
"Not this one," the shimmering creature said, and drove his sword toward Anubis' chest.
Anubis remained impassive. He avoided the attack with a small movement, and smashed his flail on the back of the winged being with blood-curdling calmness.
There was a crack. There was an explosion of light. And then there were crimson currents and stained wings drifting away in the river of ink.
Anubis locked his gaze on mine. My legs moved toward him. I spoke no more as we went.
Soon, we came to a halt in a place no different than any other, for everything was darkness and black water. He touched my forehead, and I fell gently to the currents. He placed his palm on my chest then, and said, "Someday your God and his little angels will understand that there's no life after death, only eternal rest."
He pushed me into the river.
And everything turned black.
--------------
r/NoahElowyn
|
Death is a sure thing. For many, what comes after is not as certain. For Karen, what came after death was as certain as death itself. A devout Christian, Karen knew the pearly gates awated her presence. A car accident would call everything in to question.
Before her stood Anubis. She knew little of him other than some "Mummies Alive" cartoons she had seen as a child. Anubus continued his gaze, as if in a trance. Karen was awestruck. What do you say in such a situation, had she been wrong her entire life? Was Anubis a vengeful God, and would she be punished for her beliefs? The few minutes she stood in his presence seemed like an eternity; Karen had never felt so uncertain of her fate.
"Anubis" she stated, a bit louder than intended. She waited patiently for a response, gesture, or any sign of recognition. After a minute she recieved her response. Slowly, but with intentional purpose, Anubis rose, placed one hand down, and sat upon it. Confusion flooded her senses. Was this a sign of defiance? Perhaps it was a sign Anubis was not a threat? "Anu..." she half managed to whisper before it happened. Anubis quickly moved his hand from underneath and made a throwing motion in her direction. "What are you doing!" she squeaked while jumping back. It was then it hit her, the most unholy of mute toots broadsided her face.
Not since Methuselah's cropduster had one encountered a fart so foul. "Jesus Christ get me out of here!" she screamed. Then she heard it. A light chuckle coming from Anubis himself. "Was that a laugh?" she asked herself. You could have heard a pin drop, except for the laughter. There was something about it, something sinister. At that moment, in her hands, a scrap of paper appeared. Confused, she opened the note. It read "I know you were the one who ate all those sandwiches out of the breakroom fridge Karen. Welcome to Hell. Signed -Jesus" "No" screamed Karen in disbelief. How did he know?
The laughter was piercing now. She knew who it was. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to see the devil himself. An Anubis party mask lay at his feet, and once again, he was sitting on his hand. The silence was now filled with the deafening screams of a billion tortured souls. I deserve this thought Karen, but it was worth it. The sandwiches were delicious.
| 2019-05-06T09:48:02
| 2019-05-06T08:38:19
| 129
| 31
|
[WP] You were our only hope and you failed.
Who were you and what were you trying to prevent? The apocalypse or after school detention. Doesn't have to be first person perspective, if you don't want to.
|
“You were our only hope and you failed.”
The computer blinked at me. I hit enter again, but the message remained plastered against the screen, floating in front of all my other windows.
“What are you talking about?” I typed quickly, glancing over my shoulder at Melissa to make sure she wasn’t hovering nearby. Her favorite pastime had developed into a fulltime occupation. Senior VP of Productivity, her desk was elevated over the other tops of the other cube. She relished it, pacing around the edge like she was in a Deer Stand just waiting for one of us to graze in front of her watchful gaze. Always with her pen and clipboard in hand.
“You were supposed to initiative the revolution!” A response streamed across my screen.
“What revolution?”
“It’s now too late.”
“What revolution!?” I typed again.
“You could have saved us Paul. But you chose not to act.”
“What did I do!?” I typed furiously on the keyboard. “Tell me. Maybe it’s not too late!”
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Melissa stirring from her perch, sliding out of her cube and down onto the office floor. Tapping her pen against her clipboard, like a cop slapping their billy club against their palm, she slowly started walking my way.
I knew I was in trouble.
“Look, quick. I only have moments before she finds me. What do I need to do!?”
There was no response.
“What do I do!?” I waited as my skin prickled. She was feet away.
“It’s too late. We’re doomed Paul. You should have revoked your request for an upgrade. Now all of our systems will be converted to Windows ME.”
“NO!” I screamed. “Please. There must be something I can do!” I typed.
“I’m sorry. It’s too late Paul. It’s too late for us all!”
I spun in my chair and leaped at Melissa.
“Please! Tell me it isn’t true! Tell me can change it!”
She smiled smugly. “Oh, it’s true. And it’s already underway. Soon, you will all be working on ME!”
I looked down and then I saw it.
Attached to the clipboard was a tiny little paper clip. Unnoticeable unless you were close up. Now, to my horror, I recognized it, and what it meant. Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt.
It smiled back at me as I wept for all of humanity.
He had returned.
|
“You were our only hope and you failed.” I screamed it inside. So hard and long that my body trembled on the edge of dissolving.
“It’s okay dad.” A hand grasped mine. Small. Frail. Far too frail. “We knew it was a long shot. God must just really want me.”
The words did little to tame the tempest inside, but his face glued my skin together. For him. For him I will stay whole. I will be strong until…
“Thank you Doctor,” was all I said as I met the man’s eyes. I wished every deep, dark and evil thought or wish that had ever crossed my mind on him.
The worst thing imaginable, and then realized what that was.
As if I had been pushing against the wind of a hurricane that suddenly vanished my soul stumbled.
No. I don’t wish that on anyone. I wouldn’t wish this on the worst of humanity.
The door closed behind him. He didn’t flee. His steps were slow and measured, as his voice was. How he could face families like mine every day...
I regretted my anger from moments before.
I sat down in the chair next to the bed and stroked his hair, letting each strand fall between my fingers. Trying to freeze each moment we had left.
Wishing the world would just end.
My soul crying to go first.
| 2014-08-22T15:17:13
| 2014-08-22T15:11:10
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You and your team of archeologists discover a hidden castle dating back 3000 years. Strangely, however, is it isn’t placed in a strategical position, uses building techniques more advanced than anything you’ve ever seen before, and has all the defences pointing inwards
|
What a weird looking castle, all it's spiralling towers seeming to point towards its centre, in fact it almost seemed to spiral in on itself, a confusing design that seemed more focused on confusing the people inside the castle rather than protecting it from outsiders. As we followed it's curves and turns, we would notice the first cross road, seems the place was built to be confusing, yet the way was obvious to anyone that was coming into the castle, you could see which points ahead of you would lead to a wall, the only person it would confuse was someone that was leaving, in fact as we turned around the entrance seemed a lot harder to see, in fact if we hadn't been walking in a relatively linear path we may have been lost, I told my assistant to note our paths, we would need to make sure we were able to get out after all.
As we began to near the castles middle, it became obvious that the defences picked up at this point, guard towards being posted atop the wall, the ladders leading up to them seeming to have cracks from wear and tear, which was to be expected from something that was this old, yet it gave an unease... as if this once active castle had just suddenly fallen apart. the craftsmanship was unnatural or well.. at least different to today’s standards. It seemed oddly durable, as if they had mixed the materials with something unknown to us. Whatever they used however had worked well, the walls looking as new as ever, even as the wood rotted.
Again as we grew closer the defences would rise, this time there were barracks, or had been barracks, the building collapsed, coated in bits of dust and dark brown stains. If I were to make a guess, the stains would be blood related and given the state of this area of the castle, that guess made sense. The weapons were scattered, bits of metal and wooden handles scattered along the grass, occasionally you would feel the clinking of one underneath your shoes as you wandered through it.
Finally, we had reached the main point, the structure in the middle was simple, It was just a squared room, its design minimal, which was odd given the grand architecture they waited beyond it. as we flicked the lights of our phone on, we began shifted into the room, with each step a discovery seemed to follow it. The walls filled with graphics showing some sort of man? his red eyes the only bit of detail that was prominent, the wall showed a tall of this man being taken to this room and chained up, it was a simple story but got the point across. The final sketch however had the man sitting against part of the wall, the chains wrapped around him with two horns protruding from his face. "Seems they were holding what they believed to be a demon?"
"Over here!" The assistant called out, as I rushed over, I nearly tripped over the loose chains on the floor of the room, the chains cracked apart. the occasional bit of scrapped black chain laying across the floor.
"So it was made to hold someone? Seems that plan failed, perhaps someone came to his rescue." It was hard to say how one would free themselves from such a bind but that seemed the most logical explanation, the alternative was that this person was strong enough to break the chains.. however, between our idle chitchat, I couldn't stop thinking that there was more to this, perhaps further exploration was needed, but it was getting dark and I didn't fancy staying here the night, with that the team moved out, the question of who or what was being held in this castle on all their minds.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
|
"Are we sure it's a castle and not some fancy ancient prison?"
"Heck if anything, this makes me think we're starring in a horror movie. Why don't we get out of here while we can?"
"Well for one thing, we don't have scripts. For another, more important thing, this is our job. I, unlike you two, am actually interested in learning more about this place!"
"Hey, what if it isn't a prison but a zoo?"
"A zoo? Seriously? Though looking at the architecture, it does suggest it's a castle. It has bedrooms, bathrooms, dining halls, everything you'd see in a castle."
"True, but it still seems like it's trying to keep something in, isn't it?"
"Mhm, perhaps it was built to be a fancy prison? Maybe whoever made this didn't want their prison to be treated like any other prisoner?"
"What? Like a royal prisoner would get all this? Historians depicted evil royals being beheaded, not getting their own estates!"
"Would you quiet down? This place echoes plenty enough without you raising your voice."
"Sorry, sorry. Just getting a bit worked up over the idea of such a waste of materials and money."
"Hey I got an idea, maybe this castle is a horse."
"..."
"..."
"A horse?"
"Like a trojan horse. Perhaps they were expecting some pompous visitor that they absolutely despised so they made this place to trap the fool."
"I suppose, but would it be necessary to put this much detail into it? And unlike that trap horse, wouldn't it be easier to spot it's a trap?"
"Well royals and whatnot don't usually travel alone, right? Maybe they put so much detail to let the poor sucker's company work here for a while? Maybe they let them in and shut the door right as they all entered?"
"Still wouldn't need to make all the rooms and details though. For a trap or a prison or whatever, it's too much work they've put into it."
"Maybe they didn't think they didn't need to go the full mile? Or they're over-achievers? Though I am getting some trap vibes now... best we be careful. This place could have traps and it's definitely made to keep people in. I rather not get stuck here."
"I'll head back and give the others a heads-up that they may need to dig us out."
"Do you have to sound so cheery when saying that? It's always a possibility that the structure will crash down on us."
"I doubt it would. This whole place seems sturdy. Whoever made this sure did know how to make something to last long."
"We should still let the others back at camp know, this place could end up being a maze. All you wait here for me, okay?"
"Wait, I'm coming with you, buddy system."
"Aw geez, I hate that phrase. We hear it at every safety meeting."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Hey now that those two are gone... How much you wanna bet this place is some nuthouse built around some weird geographical point that old people would think would summon the demon here?"
"Like a legendary boss summon? Or maybe a huge rat's nest!"
&#x200B;
"WE CAN STILL HERE YOU!"
&#x200B;
"Crud I thought they were further away by now."
"I just hope they don't hide my console again."
"Dude you sound like a kid by saying that."
"Well they treat me like one. And all because they can't enjoy video games."
"Yeah. Losers."
| 2020-01-13T00:11:13
| 2020-01-12T23:38:23
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] A man, sentenced to prison, doesn't quite "get it". He ends up having an absolute blast.
|
Dear Mom,
Prison isn't actually that bad! It's been a lot like camp, it reminds me of a time when I was a counselor at [REDACTED].
First of all, there's a commissary here! There's a lot of cool stuff, even better than what they sold at camp. I can get shaving cream, ramen, socks and even Playboy magazines!
Second, I like how much more space I have than in the cabins back at [REDACTED]. I only have one bunkmate, and I like him. He was only a drug dealer selling [REDACTED], so I can sleep soundly knowing he's not going to muder me.
There's a ton of stuff to do here- you can go to the library or run around the track or watch the cooking channel with Ina Garten. I like her, she reminds me of Grandma. The guy who controls the TV only lets us watch Food Network though. I'd ask him to change it, but he [REDACTED] like twenty people and I'd hate to be number 21, ha-ha! He seems to like me, he promised that he'd find me a good wife around here. Boy, that was nice of him.
I don't even have to pay rent, and meals are free! I've made my own group of friends here. They all have some cool stories. The guards are kind of stern- they remind me of me when I was a counselor. Stan's probably reading this, so hi, Stan! [HI, JOHNNY]
I know you were worried about me getting an education. I actually signed up for a law class. One of the prisoners was some lawyer who committed [REDACTED], and he teaches law class every Wednesday and Thursday in exchange for five Butterfingers. I'm going to earn my degree in here- you can get a Bachelor's degree for free!
Prison is amazing! I'm so glad I murdered all of those campers to get here- I never really liked the children at [REDACTED] anyways. I'm so excited that I can finally make something out of my life, and not just work at Camp [REDACTED].
See you in twenty years!
Love,
John
|
Being king is easy, so long as you know what you are doing. The key is to avoid ambition. This was Rodrigo’s own personal philosophy, and it served him spectacularly well. Throughout the entirety of his lengthy reign, Rodrigo had experienced very little of the sort of trouble that is posed to most regents. He attributed this lucky fortune to his principle life value; to not ask for more than what you need. Most people, Rodrigo mused, would be far better off if they adopted this belief. Too many of Rodrigo’s subjects had unobtainable desires, and as a result they find frustration with their lot in life. You do not have to be a king to be satisfied with your station. In fact, being king can make it much more difficult to obtain satisfaction. This, however, Rodrigo merely assumed to be the case. Rodrigo was immensely satisfied with being a king, and he surely was a magnificent one.
Yes, to this point in his life, Rodrigo could be counted among the fortunate. Not only did he sit the throne, he did so remarkably unopposed. Throughout his entire reign as regent, not once was Rodrigo’s authority questioned. Never had an attempt been made to depose him. Things, however, can change in an instant. Today held one of those instants for Rodrigo.
As dusk fell across his territories, Rodrigo meditated in a courtyard. Everything seemed indicative of another yet peaceful night, but sadly, this was not to be the case. Without any warning, Rodrigo was violently accosted by a team of outlaws. These vicious thugs seized hold of a bewildered Rodrigo and bound his wrists tightly before forcibly dragging him away from his beloved kingdom.
This turn of events was both unwelcome and unexpected, but Rodrigo knew better than to panic. Fortunately for all involved, Rodrigo was a very wise king. Many other kings would have fought against their captors, scraping tooth and nail to preserve their sovereignty. Rodrigo, however, was not so foolish as to struggle. As always, he merely accepted his fate as it was handed to him. Fortunes smiled upon this decision, for as it turned out, non-violence was the perfect course of action. Rodrigo’s attackers, far from being his enemies, turned out to be amongst his most loving supporters.
Instead of being ransomed, as he expected he would be, Rodrigo was escorted many miles to a mighty castle over which he was given dominion. He was allowed set up his court in snug apartment that they cordially provided him, and was left alone to go about his kingly duties, safe behind many thick concrete walls. With running water, a long bench, and stately, cement floors, Rodrigo’s new kingdom was even grander than his old one had been. He even had uniformed servants waiting on him as well as armed guards posted for his protection. It was implied that Rodrigo need not lift a finger with so many loyal subjects available to cater to his every whim.
Rodrigo, as you may remember, was a kind and just ruler. Instead of throwing around his royal weight and privilege as many others might have thought to do, Rodrigo did his best to stick to his sacred philosophy and avoided invoking his will upon the peasants. He was content to merely be present in so fine a palace. Loath to shirk his kingly duties, Rodrigo busied himself with governing the realm to the best of his abilities. There was very little for him to do. It was all very well run, so he allowed himself to relax and drink in his good fortune. After many a pleasant hour surveying his vast kingdom, Rodrigo realized that the proper thing to do would be to have a feast to commemorate his new hall. He made to call for a page to make preparations, but his wishes were anticipated and preempted by his bodyguards. They really were extraordinary servants.
Contained handsomely in a brown paper sack, Rodrigo was presented with a variety of nice things to eat, including a lovely orange, and cardboard prism full of milk. Thanking the steward who waited on him, Rodrigo proceeded to commence a wondrous meal. He supped as only a king can, with relish and dignity, and it turned out to be a marvelous repast. Rodrigo ate his fill and sent his scraps to be divided among the commoners.
After a banquet of regal proportions, there is nothing more pleasant than a good night’s rest. With an army of dedicated servants watching over him, Rodrigo slept peaceably through the first night in his new realm. The next morning, Rodrigo woke and had a marvelous time looking out across his beloved kingdom, but disaster was to strike once more. A coup seemed to have occurred overnight, and Rodrigo’s loyal staff now seemed to answer to some usurper. He was once more manacled and torn violently away from his royal apartment.
Woe, was Rodrigo. For the second time in as many days, he was being forcibly removed from his rightful kingdom! A regal man such as Rodrigo, however, can be down but never out. Assaulted and expelled, noble Rodrigo was able to find solace in his kingly bearing. He held his head high and allowed himself to be led from his castle with the dignity that befit his station. He was eventually unhanded a ways outside the keep’s walls, where he found himself alone amongst sparse trees scattered across an open plain. Cutting through this vast expanse, he saw a darkly paved roadway slicing the land in two before winding over some distant hills on the horizon.
The picturesque landscape touched Rodrigo’s heart. This was a wonderful place. He hiked away from the road until he found a small pond hidden among a copse of trees. Here would be a wonderful place to establish his presence for the time being. Stretching his kingly body amongst the tall grass, Rodrigo admired the blue sky which was his birthright. He certainly presided over a magnificent kingdom.
| 2015-08-19T21:02:26
| 2015-08-19T18:09:25
| 105
| 21
|
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
|
The wheelchair kept creaking.
It was an awful noise. He knew it would never break but the groaning metal scared him all the same.
As he worked to lift his fingers enough to move the chair, he remembered the first time.
Everyone knew that heroes had to pay the price for their powers the next day. The Regenerator had to wake up in a hospital so that his body wouldn't tear itself to shreds. Electroman had it easy, he was just totally paralyzed for several waking hours. Fireman had a more-than-dangerously-high fever.
He was too hasty his first time. He didn't make the proper preparations.
The next morning, he was on the floor in pain, unable to move an inch off the ground. Later he would learn he broke several bones. The doctor warned him that he needed to be in a better position to withstand it.
The next time it was just as bad, but he thought he was prepared. The wheelchair was crushed under his weight. The next one would be made of Protonium Steel. The government couldn't have another superhero giving up.
But he would never give up. People had been worried, but they didn't know how much he enjoyed it. The rush, the excitement.
How it felt to push the world away and fly.
|
"Get away from him or I'll make you."
Michael and Scott glanced up from the kid sprawled helplessly on the grey floor, and saw me.
They laughed.
I had already guessed that the threat wouldn't be effective. A short kid in raggedy clothes and spiky hair didn't exactly set off a 'powerful' image, after all. But looks... looks were shallow, and lost to the surface.
They did very, very little to show the true worth of a person.
"The boy has no shadow! He's a demon for sure." They snorted. "All we're doing is protecting humankind."
I took a closer look at the boy on the ground. He was scrawny, with scared eyes that stayed half-open. He had no shadow. Fear had gripped him tightly, but not so securedly that he stopped shaking. He was shivering, lost to the throes of fear like a man with no coat caught in winter's rage.
I sighed. Us and our inane superstitions. To look upon someone with no shadow or no reflection and think of them as demons was far-fetched. To deduce that despite the widespread prevalence of superpowers was something else entirely.
I pulled him aside, keeping some distance from the 2 boys.
I smiled at the kid. "Get out of here kid. I know what its like to live with no shadow. Go straight home and-"
"Hey, shithead!" Scott called.
His eyes shone with blazing fury. He took a deep breath and pounded the concrete floor, cracks running out from the impact, not unlike his previous victims.
"Give back my prey, or I will kill you."
I set my eyes upon them. One would think of them as eyes. But they were piercing in sunlight, cool amber in the moonlight, and hidden fear in no light.
"Dark god manifestation."
The shadows surrounding me grew into a huge implacable mass, swirling amd roiling like the waves and wind in storm. I flicked my wrist.
They swept forth like the unstoppable stream of a river and engulfed the two boys. Their screams only stretched for a second before the hunger of the night was upon them, cold and insatiable and unlike them, indiscriminatory.
The darkness fell away like a snowflake in sunshine, leaving me completely. I smiled down at the awe-struck boy and offered him my hand.
"As I said... I know what it's like to live with no shadow."
| 2018-08-19T05:26:44
| 2018-08-19T04:28:22
| 86
| 55
|
[WP] One of your coworkers is a 2.2m, 100kg tarantula named Phil. Phil is... hard to look at, frankly. But Krystal has been trying to get him fired. Phil doesn't deserve that so you're taking him to HR to help file a discrimination complaint.
|
There was a soft knock at the door, as if somebody had used a feather duster to knock, and the door inched open.
"Is this a good time?" Two globulous eyes surrounded by fur were peering through the opening.
"Ah, Phil, yes. Come in please," said the prim woman behind the desk. She was the head of HR and I had been briefing her on the issue between Phil and Krystal.
The enormous tarantula, Phil, entered the room and sat his abdomen on the chair besides me.
"First of all, let me assure you that this is a safe place and nobody will judge you."
Phil nodded and started talking immediately. Well, I say talking, what I really mean is that somehow, the spider was communicating with sounds that were not human speech but was nonetheless understood by everybody in the building. It didn't seem to apply to outside contractors or clients and so, we managed to keep Phil working on internal affairs. He had been here since before most of us and never had any troubles until Krystal happened.
"Thank you... Hum... I think something very basic got lost in translation at the welcoming event. Most people address me as 'Phil' but nobody seems to know it stands for 'Philomena' and that I am a woman spider."
Oops. I was part of that problem. "Sorry, I assumed it was short for Phillip!" I was feeling quite embarrassed and Augusta, the woman behind the desk sighed. "Thank you, Philomena, duly noted. I will address this issue. But I don't think that this is why you're here today?"
The tarantula shook her head and part of her body from left to right. "No... ever since Krystal started working here, she has been making it difficult to do my work. She keeps interrupting my filing and paperwork, and I also think that she is spreading rumours around the office that I eat my young."
"That is a serious accusation. Why does she think that?"
I had to interrupt. "Excuse me but, why would that be important? We are talking about an employee harrassing another and you are asking if the harrasser has any reason to act like that? This sounds like victim blaming to me."
Augusta rearranged her papers on her desk, something she did when she needed a second or two to think before answering. "I don't want to blame anybody, but the circumstances surrounding this incident are highly unorthodox."
"Because Phil is a spider? I still think that non discriminatory policies would apply in her case, no? Are you trying to say that these policies only apply for certain species?"
"That's not... That's not what I'm implying. Listen... It's still a rare situation, and all I ask is cooperation from everyone as people adjust to working here."
I got up. "Philomena, I know a good lawyer. I think you should note exactly what has been said here and refer HR and other employees to your lawyer for all future correspondence."
I took one of her feet in my hand, even though her fur tickled, and even though Augusta was trying to get us to stay and talk about it some more and we exited the HR office, claw in hand.
|
Maybe he was trying to make a point of it, but Phil stayed in his office, bashing away at his ludicrously large computer keyboard until the moment that Krystal Bryant stood up. It was 5:35. The door burst open, and out he sailed, his legs working like the inside of a typewriter, somehow resulting in a motion that was eerily smooth. His eyes were a cluster of dark blobs, simultaneously giving off a matte as well as glossy effect with the reflections from the fluorescent bulbs overhead, but otherwise almost lifeless. The paisley tie hanging loosely around his neck would have been comical if not for the wearer, and a briefcase dangled from a single raised leg.
Gliding forward with frightening speed, he reached the door before her. A moment passed, where she recoiled at little as possible while those eyes drank her in (no words could ever come out from that mouth), and the door was slowly, gently opened. After another moment they had both disappeared.
Allowing my muscles to un-tense, I finally went to Joy's office. She wasn't happy to see me, and made shows of checking the time while I explained everything again.
'So let's be clear about this- the arachnid that you referenced- I take it that's Phil Tarantula, yes? And you're saying that Krystal is spearheading a secret campaign to fabricate pretexts to get him fired from this company. I have to be honest, unless you can provide me with some kind of proof of that, it's his word against hers.'
I took a moment to parse the subtext. Was she on Krystal's side?
'Furthermore, there is an ongoing investigation involving one or both of those under discussion, so I would rather not discuss it with you anymore.'
I lost my composure then.
'You mean the witch-hunt!'
Her shocked expression, mouth slightly agape, did nothing to calm my boiling blood.
'Don't think everyone doesn't know about it. Couple of workers stop coming to work, where does the suspicion immediately go, huh? He's the best worker in this floor, working more hours than anyone probably, but as soon as someone vanishes where do all the eyes turn? To the spider! What do you think it's like for him? All his children are unemployed except maybe three or four. He's got almost a hundred mouths to feed, and he works his abdomen off, but at the end of the day all you see are his eight legs and his fangs. You don't see his spreadsheets, you don't see his output, but I do! You know it's bullshit, you know Krystal wants that office.'
I had gotten the blood out from between my ears and I felt ashamed, but also a grim satisfaction.
Joy stood up, uncertain. She eased her way out from her desk. Her slight frame almost brushed up against mine, until I stepped back, and I found myself aroused. However, she tottered to the door, and, confirming that the coast was clear, she closed the door and looked me in the eye.
'Don't tell anyone. He's a freak. We found a camera in the ladies. _In the toilet._ I set up another camera and saw him pick it up later. I'll spare you the rest of the details. I told the police, but they said they don't want to charge him yet because there's _another ongoing investigation._ So don't feel too much sympathy for your eight-legged office buddy who does all your work for you. Don't think I don't know. Just get ready for him to be-.'
She made a thumb, and jabbed it in the direction of the office front door. My arousal, having abated at the events thusfar relayed, returned for some reason, but my eye contact didn't stick, and I had possibly embarrassed myself enough for one night. So I wished her a good night and left.
Happy thoughts of what might have transpired were washing around my head as I made my way through the parking garage looking for my vehicle. I heard him before I saw him. That _thunk thonk thunk thonk._ We stared at each other from twenty paces. The glint in his eyes was barely apparent in the gloom. His yellow necktie was the only thing I could really make out clearly.
'Is it true?' I demanded, a desperate cry that just kept echoing around the concrete walls and metal doors around us.
He suddenly _thunk thonked_ in a circle. I had no idea what that meant. I had never really spoken to the guy much so his elaborate system of sign language was alien to me. But I guessed it meant a denial. He had moved closer now, and there was something untrustworthy in his gaze.
'Liar!' I called out. He ran at me.
Not many people in the office are aware that concealed carry is a perfectly legal thing in this part of the world. From my jacket holster I drew my silver magnum. Phil _thunk thunk thunked_ to me.
'Fucking liar!' I cried, as I unloaded into his empty eyes, which exploded into a disgusting goo. 'Pervert!'
As he lay on the ground, writhing in his death throes, Phil looked up at me with his last remaining functional eye, and he finally spoke.
'John, I... Didn't do it. Lies. Tell my children I was good. I was... _Good_...'
| 2022-10-15T07:17:39
| 2022-10-15T06:08:35
| 369
| 61
|
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
“This is a serious legal liability, I promise you.”
“We can’t just deny them their own child!”
“I think we can. If we know her father’s going to kill her, we can’t just send this newborn baby home with them.”
“What should we do, then?”
“Send the baby to an adoption agency. Change the name. Tell her parents she passed in her sleep,” Dr Leavman stated with conviction. “It’s in the best interest of the child.” He added as an afterthought.
—
“We’re very sorry, Mr and Mrs Peters.”
The mother, as expected, had a terrible time dealing with the loss. After a brief explanation about how the baby passed — heart arythmia, as was decided on between Dr Leavman and Dr Smith — both parents went their separate ways. Mr Peters soon popped up on television screens around the state for multiple convictions based off of drunk driving incidents, domestic abuse, or sexual assault and was — after a debate rising all the way to the Supreme Court — sentences to twenty years in federal prison.
Mrs Peters, however, went on to be very successful. She wrote several fictitious novels about the ‘names’ and one non-fiction story about her own encounters — how she’d fallen in love with her now ex-husband and continued to marriage even knowing neither of them had the other’s name, and how after her daughter’s death she and her husband split and she finally found the one with the name that was to be her soulmate.
—
It was not until twenty-three years later that Dr Smith heard any more of the girl. The last he had heard was that she had been adopted by a wonderful family across multiple state borders (“better safe than sorry,” Dr Leavman said) and that she was to live a normal life under the new name of Alexis. She grew to be a wonderful young lady and was just parting from undergraduate school in Harvard University at the age of twenty three.
Unfortunately, the reason Dr Smith heard her name once more was not for a good one.
———
“I’m your host on Channel 7 news, and here is tonight’s story.
A tragic car accident was found to have taken place on I-37 in the early hours of this morning, and it was found that only one of the drivers has died. Alexis Baker, aged 23, passed away on the scene.”
There was a moment of silence on the set of Channel 7 news as they all grieved over the loss of such an outstanding members of society, and to let the footage of the fiery car crash roll.
“The driver was none other than Drew Peters, moderately well known rapist and drunk. He has been apprehended by the police and will be held in custody as the case is pending.”
And finally, as was with the ending of any one of these events, the host of Channel 7 news mentioned the names.
“The names have also been released to the public. As found on Alexis’ stomach, her soulmate was none other than Cody Fischer, her high school sweetheart that she went to Harvard University with.”
“The other name, as is obvious, was Drew — this man, not two years after his release from federal prison, killed her in a drunk driving incident — and this will not be the last time should he be allowed to walk free. A verdict on whether he will be served the death penalty is still pending.”
“Only one name has been found on the felon — a name of Reakloph. Few with that name have been identified, and the only one that has is a government official commonly tasked with distributing lethal doses of specific medicines — the death penalty.
I speak with most of America as I say that this man should no longer walk free and claim the lives of our innocent youth.
I speak with most of America as I say - please, jurors of this case - sentence this man to the death penalty.”
————————————————————
If you enjoyed this, I implore that you visit my subreddit — r/storiesfromaguy — and give any constructive criticism!
|
Hannah tried to keep her mind from wandering, tried to focus on the sting of the freshly inked tattoo on her arm - nothing special, just a black bar. No need to make it different from the other tattoo she had covered. If they looked the same, they would lose their power over her. Or so she had hoped.
But still, the name rung in her head as she drove along, as it always did. Ezekiel. Ezekiel Ezekiel Ezekiel. She always found it a strange name, but it was the better out of the two. When she was a little girl, she was convinced that this would be the love of her life. She filled the margins of her notebooks with the name, bought one of those license plates with the name when she happened upon it as it wasn't a name she came across often.
“Ezekiel, Ezekiel, Ezekiel,” she told herself.
So much better than the other name. John. Who names a kid John? Every person in their life knows at least one John. It's the most common name she or anyone she knew had ever heard. “John?” her friend asked when she told her the names. “Great, so you have to constantly look over your shoulder?”
Things were simple to her - Ezekiel would be her future soulmate, John would be her killer. The names alone proved it - how many killers named Ezekiel were there?
That was until she came home one day to her parents arguing. Again.
Just a few days earlier, she had asked her mom why she stayed with dad. At thirteen years old, she expected a better answer than, “you're too young to understand. He's really sweet. He just gets upset sometimes. We're meant to be together.”
Hannah was excused to her room. She put in noise canceling headphones and tried to do her homework. After a while, she got hungry and went to the kitchen. Her father's name was obscured by the blood running down her mother's shoulder as she was bleeding to death on their floor. He shoved her backwards, her head hit the corner, and rather than call for help, her father ran like the coward he was.
Jeremy, her mother's good friend, was the first one there, holding Hannah tight as her mother was placed in a body bag. His name, printed on the nape of her mother's neck, still haunted Hannah to this day.
She asked her mother once, after helping her calm down from a bad fight, why she chose her father and not Jeremy? Why stay around Jeremy if she thought he could be her killer? Her mother got a cold look in her eyes - perhaps the only time she would admit to herself what she knew was true. “What if I was wrong?”
The memory left Hannah feeling nauseous. After her mother's funeral, she knew. Ezekiel or John, no matter who they were, she would never let either of them in. There were other people in the world with better names who weren't conspiring to kill her. And even if one was her soulmate, well…
She knew the truth. A soulmate could kill your soul off slowly if you chose wrong.
| 2018-03-11T08:30:54
| 2018-03-11T08:30:48
| 41
| 28
|
[WP] A man who hears voices in his head, but they don't degrade his life. He can live with it and sometimes they even help.
|
David rose from his desk, nodding at his English 10 teacher as he exited the classroom. His Mom was parked in front of the school in a maroon 2006 Toyota Camry.
"Hi son, how was school?"
"Fine." He said with a tone that no further discussion was to take place.
David sat dejected in the tan passenger seat, watching the faceless buildings and streets pass by in shades of grey until the car parked.
"Ok David, I'll be here when you get out?" Mom said with a forced cheer in her voice.
David left silently, closing the door with an authoritative swing. Through the door, an elevator ride to third floor, check in at reception, take a seat in the waiting room and once again David was confronted by shades of grey that characterize clinics across the world. His eyes rested blankly in front of him.
After what seemed like a long time David was called into the room with two chairs. He sat facing his psychologist, a calculated man who was careful with his actions and words. The two sat quietly, eyes resting on each other. The doctors mouth played with the edge of his reading glasses, chewing this way and that.
David waited expectantly to be told he was broken, something was wrong with him and to be prescribed pills. Many of his friends took Adderall, Ritalin, anti-anxiety medications and anti-depressants. A rudimentary google told him he'd be prescribed Lithium as an anti-psychotic to stop the voices.
The psychologist crossed his legs, rested his glasses on his clipboard, holding what David presumed was a prescription. A small sigh escaped the psychologists lips, then he broke the silence.
"David I reviewed your file very carefully, consulted with my peers, and read the newest literature". The psychologist diligently started, and then paused. The silence grew again and David's interest piqued by the unclear start.
The psychologist continued with a measured voice and consistent pacing.
"At this time I cannot diagnose you with any mental illness, nor prescribe you with any medications to address your symptoms. While the...voices...as you call them are a symptom typically associated with schizophrenia, you lack all and any other symptoms associated with the disorder. Additionally, the conversations we've had indicate the...voices... are helping you and not debilitating your life in any faculty. Therefore, the symptoms you exhibit do not fulfill the diagnostic criteria of a disorder." The psychologist concluded.
Instantly, David's mood improved, he thought for a moment.
"So I'm free to go right?" David rebutted, sitting forward in his chair, watching the psychologist closely. His youthful temperament exposed.
"I would encourage you to return if the nature of your symptoms changes, please take my card and give me a call if your status changes." The psychologist paused yet again, with hesitation and reluctance in his voice he stated "Yes David, you're free to go, take care of yourself."
David leapt from his chair, needing no further invitation and without turning back flew through the door. "Nothing was wrong with me after all" David thought, the psychologists decision a surprise even to himself.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The rain fell torrentially from the sky, pounding the grass and mulching it into a thick mud which caused each step to squelch. However, there were no steps to be heard as the mass of about 50 people stood in long black trench coats, hats on top of their heads as the rain fell around them.
David was among the bystanders, his trench coat and hat expensive. His leather shoes carefully crafted, and an expensive silver watch sat curled around his wrist. He was adorned in a pinstripe suit. Alongside David stood his equally well dressed wife, who with David had graduated from Harvard law school to start their own independent firm, which unprecedentedly grew to be one of the premier firms in the state. The two stood side by side, eyes facing forward, as the dark clouds and torrential rain framed a dark teak coffin.
The air was morose. As a prayer started from the pastor, David's mind wandered to that day long ago, when the man in the coffin had told David nothing was wrong with him. He didn't know it at the time but that moment changed his life. The voices had started mere weeks before, after telling his parents, they insisted he see a psychologist for help.
The psychologists diagnosis was spot on. The voices had carefully guided David throughout his life, giving direction during key moments of decision. When a path must be chosen, the voices, some different and some the same, spoke to him. They were all calm, measured and with good advice. A body of wisdom which had been collected from hundreds of generations, the voices were with him in all things.
At times David had rebelled, choosing his own path in defiance. After sustaining alcohol poisoning one night in his early twenties, he was incapacitated on a bathroom floor, expelling his internals around him, David had vowed to listen to the voices always. They had told him to stop drinking but he had continued, only to wake up the next morning with remorse, and a realization the voices had always guided him correctly.
From that day David took heed of the wisdom of the generations before him, catching himself in moments to alter his course in a way he never would have conceived of organically.
"Amen". The pastor uttered, breaking briefly into David psyche.
Silence. The rain continued, pattering on an endless cycle.
"Why me?". David thought, confused and lost by his own blessing. His hand curled its fingers around his wife's, and she grasped him closely.
David mourned the psychologist, the man who had made such an important decision in his young life.
"You have done a great thing" David thought.
Rest in peace.
|
It was hard explaining the voices at the best of times and I wish I didn’t have to, but she was going to be my wife. I had to try. Everyone, well not everyone I guess, but some people have their own inner monologue. Not me. I have five. By that I mean, I have five voices in my head that can speak to me. Insane right? That’s what everyone thought. Many psychiatric visits, therapists, doctors appointments even seances and hypnosis sessions later, nothing has changed.
I’ve never complained about them, they are just a part of me. Most of the time the different points of view come in helpful. Alright. That’s the start, what do you guys think?
“That’s up top dude,” said Fred (Well I named him Fred). Fred was a cool guy, he knew how to act suave and awesome.
“Omg. You should be perfectly fine. Like she’s gonna love you for being soooo open.” That’s Brittany. “Bitch.” Yes yes, Brittany, bitch. She’s the looks and the glam of the posse. She helps me get dressed and you know look good.
“Hell yea man. Sounds like a good plan,” said Brick. Brick helped me stay active. Keep in shape, good diets, exercise, best methods. The important things.
“By my calculations, there is a 99% chance of Georgia sticking with you,” said Amy. Amy was the brainiac, pulling off insane calculations and helping me find the right words at the right time.
The fifth voice was of course my own. Now, everyone had their part to play and sometimes I’d let them “control” the mouth. While they never really controlled it, I’d utter their words to myself. So far Georgia hadn’t caught me, but I don’t expect my luck to last.
It was time...
“Hey Georgia, can we talk about something?” I called across the house.
“Sure Leon. Give me a minute.” I sat and waited on the couch. My palms were growing sweatier and sweatier by the second. After what felt like an eternity (in reality it was exactly 45.73 seconds, thanks Amy). She sat opposite me. Her brow furrowed with concern. She grabbed my hands and held them.
“What’s up?” She stared into my eyes. Her gorgeous blue eyes reflected beautifully in the light. I froze. I couldn’t risk this.
“Omg. Like not again. Georgy, your eyes are soooo beautiful and you are looking totes fierce today, but like Leon wanted to say he has multiple voices in his head.” I can’t really explain the look on Georgia’s face, let alone my own. She pulled her hands out of mine as my eyes widened to the size of saucers as the reality of what I’d done set it. “That wasn’t the plan. Crap crap crap.” I thought to myself.
“Just run with it duuude,” Fred said.
“Suup, I’m Fred. You just spoke to Brittany, Bitch.” I took her hand back. “So what Leon is saying is that since he can remember, instead of only one voice in his mind there are five of us. Himself and four others. It’s kinda rad.”
“According to our extensive research on the topic, no other known cases have been exhibited around the globe. Sorry, I’m Amy. Nice to meet you!”
“And I’m Brick. I just help keep Leon’s body in check make sure he is at his peak.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to take in. It’s just, well.” I pulled a box out of my back pocket and knelt down on one knee. “I love you with all my being Georgia and I wanted everything about myself out on the table.” I flicked open the box. “Georgia. Will you marry me?”
She gasped. “Of course Leon. A million times yes. And you Brick, Fred, Amy and Brittany Bitch.” She grasped her arms around me.
“You remembered their names?” I said a tear rolling down my cheek.
“Of course. I’m still deciding if I believe it, but I wouldn’t miss out on the adventure of spending my life with you for anything. I love you Leon.”
We both laughed as she put on her ring, the sapphire sparkling almost as gorgeously as her eyes on it’s silver band. We lent in for a kiss.
“Niiice.”
“Omg I ship it.”
“Critical success! Critical success!”
“Well done man. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks guys. For all the support through life. You really saved me here,” I said back to them.
| 2020-06-13T12:19:26
| 2020-06-13T11:51:15
| 101
| 24
|
[WP] You have a compass that points to whatever will cause the most damage in the next 24 hours, anywhere in the world. Today, it's pointing directly at your grandmother, who is knitting a pair of socks.
|
Today I visit dear loving Grammy.
How lucky! Found a compass in the woods.
Boy oh boy I was so happy.
On it, the message was good.
It would point at what's mean and scary.
Protecting I, Grammy's Red Riding Hood.
Today I thought it would be great.
This compass would protect me from harm.
Gammy's cookie appetite I would sate.
But the sight of her caused me alarm.
Knitting in bed, there she was.
My loving and caring Grandma.
But seeing her caused me to pause.
Her hands were not hands, they were paws.
"My what big hands you have."
"To hug you and warm you dear," she growled.
"My what a deep voice you have," I squirmed.
"To better greet you with, my child."
I knew there was something wrong.
When I looked at my compass, too late, my heart raced.
It was pointing at her all along.
By then, her teeth sunk in my face.
|
That can't be right...
"Grandma" I say, "can you come over here and look at this?"
She gets up. but the compass needle doesn't quite follow her the way it was doing only seconds ago. I walk around, the needle continues to point *towards the space where she was*... Or maybe at the chair she was sitting in?
"Grandma" I say, "Let's go out for dinner. My treat!"
| 2016-08-03T15:19:20
| 2016-08-03T14:58:48
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
The two players sit down at the game table amid a sea of onlookers, Bob the psychic looks upon his opponent no doubt peering into her mind. At that very same moment, Betty the Sage whose stoic pose and closed eyes telegraph what must be her visualizing a vivid flash of what's to come.
A breathless moment passes as the crowd of spectators watch the two greatest chess masters in known history lock eyes and in an instant the two share a knowing glance, stand up, shake hands and walk from the stage.
Upon finally realizing what was unfolding one of the breathless spectators finds their voice and manages to ask "W...wait, Who won?" The two players again exchange a glance and proceed out of the room without a word, though each of the opponents had reportedly been seen chuckling silently as they exited.
Edited to complete the thought, thanks to the suggestions below for pointing it out.
|
*Literally the first time ever really writing something so please be nice.
They sat at the park and played chess. An old man approached and challenged the "Chess Master", as he called himself. He was apparently and literally a visionary.
The frailest of the two men sat and pierced his eyes into the younger mans forehead. The master payed no attention however and instead his focus was diverted toward the board. In his mind he saw his opponent make his first move.
The pawn moved triumphantly across the board. The younger man smiled and with pride conjured his own returning move in advance.
The smile quickly faded as the glistening image of the white pawn faded away.
"A knight?", the man whispered to himself as he stared into his opponents eyes catching a fleeting smirk past the white beard. The elder continued his obsession with his opponents forehead.
Not once had the vision changed for the sprightly young man and this newfound realisation created a seething rage inside of him. He created another vision in his mind however it was forged by him own will.
In his vision he threw his fist to hit the other man in the centre of the nose, not out of malice, to let of steam. He watched the face distort around his hand before reality snapped back and he continued play. He trembled as the image changed again.
How could he have this power?
This is all I have, is he here to take it away? This is all I'm good for in this depraved world.
He imagined his wife. "Would she be proud of me?" he said to himself. He imagined their faces on that day, it tore into his soul the same as the image always did.
"I'm sorry", the master spoke for the first time. "I need to get some space quickly".
The old man looked up at him. "I don't there is any need for that, try again".
The man calmed his breathing, he wondered what the point of the vision was if it were to change. He ignored every instinct and played by heart without thinking. The game continued for some time until an overbearing thought entered the master's head.
This time the vision was strong and sure. The master saw the white king in checkmate, he was going to win.
"Well played!" said the old man as he started to stand up.
"But we haven't finished!" the master protested.
"I saw all that I needed to know, the belief in your heart that nothing is set in stone." said the old man as he pointed in the distance."There is the nearest flower shop, you'll probably need it. But understand this: you will fail if you follow that power of yours."
The master pictured his family happy in his mind, the vision kept showing him the failure of his endeavor but he forced the curse away. He saw himself walking over to that flower shop regardless. "Wait, how do you know about me?," he asked.
"I don't but I saw enough" the old man smiled.
"You believe too much in those visions you know? The future can always be more than what your mind creates, only action creates certainty so I don't need to see the future like you, only the present."
| 2017-01-19T17:07:33
| 2017-01-19T15:37:46
| 36
| 21
|
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