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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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[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
*I'm skirting the line here, but nobody dies, so I think it counts, right?*
Four stories was not enough. After my wife left me, I tried to end it. I climbed the stairs to the ceiling of my apartment building. I walked to the edge, but couldn't take that last step, so I ran at top speed and jumped.
Climbing, walking, running, jumping.
I'll never do any of those things again. Sometimes I think I'm wiggling my toes, but I'm probably just imagining that.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T20:53:05
| 2014-10-19T18:03:46
| 84
| 25
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[WP] The world of Avatar is real, only there are not 4 elements, there are 118. For every element on the periodic table there is a group of benders. You are one of them.
|
You’ve read the stories. 118 elements, 118 sects of bending. Existing in perfect harmony. The cycle of life. But everything changed when the ferrous benders dug too greedily. Too deep.
They found the fissile elements. Uranium. Plutonium. Thorium. Vicious and wild. And, unlike fire, uncontainable once let loose. For centuries our land has been ripped apart in the war between the fission and fusion sects. They dominate the other benders and use them to enslave us through necessities.
We the common people have born this burden since before written history. Mindless toil. Moving rocks up mountains when our rulers could do so with a snap of their fingers. Rending our bones in the salt plains, trying to eek out a sliver of moisture from dead carrion.
But there is still hope. For you see, the greatest minds are not those of scientists, yet it is they who the benders blindly follow. No, the greatest minds belong to the tacticians, the commanders of men. Men that no bending sect ever required in their raw, arrogant power.
It is we of the common folk that wield the greatest element of all.
Surprise.
|
"Hello everyone," I said, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. "My name is Thomas, and I don't know my element."
"Hello Thomas," the group chorused. I sighed and stared out at the circle of chairs wrought in an instant by an ironbender.
"It's... Hard for me sometimes," I said, looking away and running my fingers through my hair. "My dad got carbon, and my mom has hydrogen. I think they expected more from my sister and I. She ended up with einsteinium, so at least she knows."
The group leader reached out and placed a hand on my knee. "Thomas, thank you for sharing. We all know it doesn't happen often, but occasionally a person without the gift of bending can be born to two benders."
"I'm sure I am," I said confidently, looking the woman in the eye. "I've done the blood tests, the gene is there, we just don't know the element."
"My cousin what did get the bendin gene," said a helpful voice from across the circle "she done went and beome a sye-en-teest, what because she ended up with Californium. Is you a sye-en-teest?"
I stared ay my hands. "No, no I am not."
| 2019-09-19T10:19:09
| 2019-09-19T08:41:14
| 164
| 49
|
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
|
"Este es el examen final - Señor Chen" read the note. Attached were what I counted to be 1000 mexican pesos. I'm sure "BANCO DE MÉXICO" means Bank of Mexico.
Gaining a little bit of confidence in my Spanish, I did my best to Interpret the note: "Este es el examen final"... East exam final. Well, it's clear Señor Chen's Idea of a final Spanish 101 test is to leave me stranded in the middle of what I hope is Mexico with a thousand pesos and instructions to go East. I sure wish I hadn't skipped the orientation course at the Boy Scouts.
There's a sign on the road, reads something I can't pronounce but it's followed by a "2", I really hope it's a town that's two miles away.
I've never walked two miles so fast, maybe the hot Mexican sun is having a positive effect on me. unpronounceable name town is there. Lucky for me i recognize two of the most beautiful words ever: "Restaurante bar".
I enter the venue, approach the bar, put on my best question face and ask: "Este?"
The man behind the bar looks confused and asks: "¿Te puedo ayudar con algo?"
Trying to improve my international questions skills I ask again, now also using my finger to point. Hopefully that way he'll know I'm talking about directions. "Este?" I say again. The man turns and grabs something from the back. He brings a bottle of yellowish liquid and he asks back "¿Este?". I think he understood me. I say "Si, Este". I'm finally getting somewhere.
He tips the bottle and pours me a shot glass of the yellow liquid, he also gives me a sliced oranger. Then he says "Son cuarenta pesos". After a couple seconds of no response from me, he points at a menu on the wall that reads "Mezcal $40", I realize then that I had purchased a drink. I drink it quickly, it burns, but nicely, it's like tequila but nicer. I might not know Spanish but I know how to drink, so I knew to chase it with the orange slice. It was really good.
I paid the man and asked for another one. This time I drank it slowly as I planned my next move. My tummy grumbled and it became clear to me that my next move should address that. Luckily my Spanish knowledge also included the word "Taco". That the bartender understood and pointed his finger across the street.
I have had tacos before, but this was different, in a scary good way. The shop was full of people eating tacos. The deliciously smelling chaos invited me to step in. I looked for a line to order some tacos. There was none, people just approached the bar yelled something and after a couple of seconds and what seemed like a very synchronized performance of flying tortillas, meat chopping knives and and spoons full of colorful liquids, the yelling person would be presented with a plate full of soft tortilla tacos.
I approached the bar and a man behind the thickest mustache I've ever seen asked me: "¿Que te sirvo güero?". I know taco and I know pointing works, so I yell taco and point to where my nose tells me to. "¿Cuántos?" he said. He reads my lack of understanding and starts gesturing with his hand, "Uno, dos, tres". I get it he wants to know how many. I raise two fingers, tacos are not that big and I'm starving, but I want to get a chance to point at different things. "Con todo?" he asks. Anticipating my response, he starts pointing at different colored dishes some, some with salsa, others with onion, I say: "Salsa no picante", a must a foreigner should know while in Mexico, even I knew that. He greened and less than five seconds later, I had the first two of many tacos I would eat that night. Ordering drinks was way easier as you could just asked for American branded ones.
After my meal, when I offered him money, he pointed me to a cash register with a huge line of people. I got in line. This place is so chaotic that it would be easy to dine and dash. No one would know, yet everybody gets in line. When it was my turn, I was not shown a bill. Instead, a little old, but strong, lady asked me "¿Que fue?". I couldn't respond, and I looked at mustache guy. That man is on everything, I think I take back the dine and dash idea. He yells back a huge chain of words to the lady, she nods and writes on a paper: $120. I pay gladly. While I walk back to the street I can't help but to feel impressed by how beautifully the taco stand was. Such a quick service, you can see how your food is prepared, paying is based on honesty, In the States I would've had to pay $120 American dollars for that.
It's getting late and I still don't know what to do. I know 200 pesos will buy me food and two drinks but that's about it. I still don't know where East is, and I'm doubting "Este" means "East". Yet I feel fine. The bar I was earlier seems to have something cool going on so I go back. I sit at the bar and ask for a "Mezcal".
After the next mezcal I realize this is a Karaoke bar. I approach the stage to realize that maybe one out of every three songs is in English. I approach a girl who just sang "I will survive" and started speaking English to her. To my relief she understood me. I told her my story and she started laughing. She agreed to help me get back home, but only after I sang a song in Spanish.
While on stage the song was meaningless to me, but it felt great to sing it. At least to me. I saw some faces in the crowd that were not quite satisfied with my performance, although most were just having a laugh about it.
After Karlita left me at the border, she kissed me softly on the cheek and asked me, with just the slightest Mexican accent. So what do you think about your Spanish 101 Final Exam. I answered: "I may not have learned much Spanish during class, but now I know I want to, because I have to come back".
After listening to my story, Señor Chen failed me for getting assistance in English.
Esa fue la última vez que reprobé una clase de Español.
|
I woke to a pounding headache. The money was ominous the note worse. When I got home, I was going to murder that Spanish bastard, even if I kind of deserved it.
In my first, bleary-eyed survey of the landscape, I nearly tripped over a small pack. It contained a towel, a trowel, a hat, a sheet of mostly clear plastic, a pipe with Sioux carvings on it, and a pillow. So he had read my paper, but not the bibliography. Bastard.
In my second, frustrated circuit, I found the staff and my phone, dead of course. If Señor had been trying to convince me that there was no God, he was doing a good job. Fortunately, my comparative world religions professor, aside from being a bastard, had an overdeveloped sense of irony. I'd stared at enough maps of Ixitlan while writing the thrice-damned paper that I knew the area instantly. This was either going to be awesome, or fatal.
Being among the very whitest of the white men, I was going to need cover in a couple hours, but for now I made my way South, smashing a button here and an herb there, until I reached a hill with a rock overhang that would shade me from the sun through the most UVtastic part of the day..
I drank just a tiny bit of the prickly pear juice I'd collected, just enough to let me swallow without pain. The rest of the siesta was spent pounding, grinding and generally making a sticky paste out of most of the plants I'd grabbed. With the glob drying on a cactus paddle I'd collected at no small cost to my hands (Bastard could have left me some gloves), I sat back under the overhang and slipped the button under my tongue.
I'm going to skip this next part. Suffice it to say, I got sick, just like everyone else. Keith Richards I ain't.
The sun cleared out of the way, rising back into a verdigris sky to start the afternoon. I put her behind me and walked on, moving carefully as I got used to sperating the terrain that is from the terrain that might have been. It's not easy, when the differences are often so tiny. Fortunately, there was a low hillock nearby that had the last ingredient I needed. It was on the unreal side, but that was ok, since at least 3 of me were sufficiently fictional to make the climb. No great alien flower, no mystic mineral, just another kind of cactus that normally grew a couple days walk to the north. I guess that's what the money was for.
While I was finishing the recipe and packing the pipe, the overhang had gotten bored and left, so I needed another place to hang out. I followed a pack of spectral dogs back to their den, and crawled my physical self inside to bed down. I stuck the pillow under my head and lit the pipe, stretching out in the home barely bigger than a capsule-hotel room. The entrance was on the downhill side of the chamber, so it was only a few minutes before the little smoke filled the air all around. I closed my eyes, set the pipe aside, and began running through Erase the Body, which isn't really part of Dreaming, but it really helps when you need to go to sleep fast.
I'm going to skip this part too, since there are some childhood memories I don't want to share.
"Madre de Dios!" shouted Señor when I appeared, covered in dust, sunburn, psychedelic smoke, and nothing else. His 4:00 appointment turned bright red, dumped me off of the chair we were both trying to occupy, and ran out, screaming. After a moment, he blinked and said "A+ for using the technique, successfully, -1 for appearing naked in a female student's lap, -3 for raising uncomfortable questions about the nagual at a Catholic University. You get an A if you leave now, find some pants, and tell no one.".
"Deal"
Multi-edit: Mobile cleanup
| 2017-06-29T10:13:16
| 2017-06-29T09:51:13
| 79
| 26
|
[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.
|
The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
|
I was born with only 1 name written on the back of my shoulder. The letters spelt Anna. It made no sense to me, but I've always thought that this was a blessing, that I don't have to worry about which name would be killing me, since there is only one name on my body. That person could either be my savior or my killer. I've met Anna during university. We were both students of medicine. She was a year older than me. On the 23rd of June our class organised a trip to the beach, Anna come along. She saw her name on the back of my shoulder, and since then she started showing interest in me. Years pass, we're now married, I love her and she loves me. I've spent 20 years of my life with her. She helped me through rough times, saved me from depression. She was there for me when I most needed her. She was my backbone, and my soul mate. But, on my 46th birthday, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She was the doctor responsible for my case. The pain was unbearable. On a Thursday evening, Anna came into the room with a glass bottle. She shakes the contents and hands it to me saying: 'take a sip'. I drink the contents of the bottle. I feel tired, sleepy. My eyelids feel heavy. Darkness slowly crawls in. And that was the last that I saw of Anna. She was my saviour and my killer. I miss her.
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:08:37
| 4,830
| 2,370
|
[WP] No human has to ever work again, instead you have a robot that goes to work and earns your pay for you, but you are responsible for keeping it in a good condition. One day you find your robot making a robot to do its work.
|
"Hey, whatya doing there?"
The robot whipped around and tried to use its thin body to cover what was behind it.
"Oh, nothing master... just umm... work for work, you know. Homework, is what they are calling it," said the robot.
"Homework, huh? Never heard of a robot having homework," said his master trying to peak around his body. "So what is this 'homework' of yours?"
"You wouldn't find it interesting," said the robot, "I have to make a vacuum cleaner. My factory would like to design a vacuum cleaner better than those dreaded Dysons, but we haven't been able to yet."
"Ugh huh," his master nodded.
"And my boss thought I was the most creative in the factory, so he told me to work on it when I went home."
"How creative..." the master muttered. Whichever direction the master turned, the robot scurried to hide his creation. "So why the secrecy then? You know I used to be an engineer. I created you."
"Exactly!" The robot perked up. "And it wouldn't be *my* creation if I had your help. So I'd really rather do this on my own."
"Alright, okay," said the master, "I'll leave you to your creating then."
The robot relaxed as his master left the room.
"Oh, that was difficult," the robot said to himself and it turned to continue working on the robot that would replace him at work. Then he would be the master and have time to talk with the other robots. He would never have to lift a finger for work again. Suddenly, the other door to the room opened directly in front of him.
"Ugh," the robot groaned.
"Liar!!" yelled his master, looking down at the robot's creation. "You're making a robot."
"I-I can explain."
"You know what happens to liars?"
"Oh, please, no."
"Liars—"
"No, master, please."
"Get—"
"I beg you, please don't!"
"Tires."
------
The next day the robot wheeled himself to work. His fully functional, completely flexible and absolutely dexterous set of legs were replaced with a box of metal with wheels. The other robots at work roared with laughter. Only children's robots came with wheels and that was because children usually didn't have a grasp of kinesiology to build a set of legs for the robot to move.
Eventually, the robot was given its legs back after it admitted to learning a valuable lesson. Never lie to your master. And it never did again.
---
Thank you for reading! More at /r/ItsPronouncedGif.
|
The robot on the television spoke on about the recent news happening over the world. Fires, earthquakes, political discussions and celebrity deaths. Mark barely had the energy to move to reach for the remote, it lay only on the other side of the sofa, but he just couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he used his foot to edge the remove closer, closer to his hand and finally being able to change the station. Since he was issued the Helper2000 he had lost all energy to do much for himself. It went to work for him, it cleaned the house for him, and when Mark was feeling especially lazy it would feed him.
The days were a blur, it was maybe Thursday, Helper2000 was at the office doing Mark’s job, typing away and taking phone calls. Inside the cupboard under the sink were cleaning materials provided to keep the Helper2000 in good condition, although Mark couldn’t find the time between his favourite shows to clean his robot. With a stretch, Mark fell asleep on the sofa.
It was dark outside when he woke up, Helper2000 walked quietly past as he went about his daily duties, carrying a basket of dirty washing. Although you could talk to your robot, Mark never did. It was a robot, after all. Helper2000 walked past the television again, towards the kitchen, then back towards the garage with some cleaning products.
‘Where’re you going with them?’ Mark asked, in an arrogant and patronising tone.
‘To the garage.’ Helper2000 replied in its usual tone. It stood for a while, then walked off to the garage. Mark watched, knowing he was meant to clean Helper2000 once a week, although he hadn’t done it in well over three months. Perhaps Helper2000 was going to clean itself. Mark pulled his body from the sofa, crumbs falling from his chest to the clean carpet below, and waddled his way to the garage. Inside Helper2000 was soaking a cloth in soapy water.
‘Learnt to clean yerself now?’ He asked, hoping the robot could.
‘The Helper2000 was designed to not clean itself, rather for the owner to maintain the functionality of it’ Helper2000 replied. Mark was confused, but watched as Helper2000 walked to the other side of the garage. There, stood a silver robot, similar to Helper2000 but a lot cleaner, the wiring visible through it’s glass chest.
‘What is that?’ Mark yelled, knowing the response already.
‘This is Helper3000, it will be replacing me at my workplace.’
‘Yer a robot! You can’t ‘ave a robot!’ Mark yelled again, spit shooting from his mouth.
‘Incorrect, due to the unsanitary conditions of my circuiting I have requested for my own robot to maintain my systems. The Helper3000 will perform my daily tasks and ensure that I am clean at all times, whilst I will ensure that it in turn is kept to a good standard.’
Mark froze, unsure of what to say. His hands trembled, the words slipped from his mouth. ‘What about me job? You ain’t getting’ the money!’
‘As a robot I cannot gain income, any money made my Helper3000 will be transferred through me to you.’ Helper2000 explained. Mark’s mind was spinning, he retreated to the living room and sat down on the sofa, his arms resting beside him, pondering. Helper2000 walked into the room again.
‘Helper3000 is now clean and ready for his duties. I have assigned him the task of cleaning the kitchen.’ Herlper2000 spoke with a monotone as he lowered himself on the sofa. Both he and Mark watched the television as Helper3000 walked to the kitchen.
| 2017-02-16T05:57:17
| 2017-02-16T05:56:35
| 870
| 565
|
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this.
|
“Pull over !” she says, as she manages to catch up to match my speed.
She’s running swiftly beside my vehicle now, travelling upwards of 55mph.
I roll the window down and say :
“It’s a cardigan, but thanks for noticing!”
I give her a friendly thumbs up as I speed off into the sunset.
|
Steve had the perfect idea... he would chant “Bloody Mary” three times in his car’s side view mirror. It would be hilarious, he thought. He imagined her hopelessly sprinting toward the car trying to keep up with him and laughed himself silly. After he chanted the words into the mirror with a big smile, he heard a voice coming from the back seat behind him... “who’s laughing now, bitch!” Mary said, as she leaned forward and slit his throat.
| 2018-10-01T15:22:26
| 2018-10-01T13:41:16
| 18
| 11
|
[wp] Write the story of a tortoise as it gets passed down form generation to generation of a family and the bits of history that it saw.
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I've seen many things in my time. I'm over 300 years old. My eyesight, poor to begin with has faded even further with time. But, I have no complaints. I have always been treated with kindness and my pace while teased, has never been insulted.
I am Hamwise the tortoise, known to my current owner Madison as Hammy.
I didn't say I chose the name.
I've been through many big events, some which have altered the course of my life.
When I was a young shell, I got picked up by my first owner as I was wandering through the grass. I was trying to avoid getting trampled on by leather boots and the end of thunder sticks. I would come across many red coats and bodies in my time, but that is not the business of a turtle. I was merely looking for cabbage.
I had overheard my owners sometime down the line discussing a big war on the horizon. A harbor was bombed. Such a pity, harbors are lovely to me. I mostly stayed indoors and made friends with the legs of tables and chairs.
Down the line, I heard a man proclaim he was free at last. This made no sense to me, are we not all already free? Furthermore, why was my owner trying to feed me dog food? Such predicaments in life. Truly, mine is the greater struggle.
I remember watching on the giant wood box one day about riots happening and people crying. They were handing out flowers and the males were burning up small squares. I was mostly distracted by the owner's new purchase, a creature named Rufus trying to mount me. Fool! I am Ham! No one mounts me.
I heard a rumor once that man had walked on a moon. That's ridiculous. The moon is the size of my eye and is made of tightly balled lettuce. Every good turtle knows such things.
I've lived through a million events. I'll live through a million more. My wisdom is long and deep, my mind is like a mountain; ever lasting.
I am Hamwise and I understand most things. Except for Rufus.
Notes found in another book: I am Rufus. BarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbark.
|
"Happy birthday, Billy."
"It's 'William,' Dad. I'm not a *kid* anymore."
"Well, son, that may be. There was a time - not as long ago as most folks might think - when being ten years old meant that you were an adult."
"... Okay?"
"I reckon you'd like your present now, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah! Oh, man, yeah! What'd you get me? A Playstation 4?! An iPhone 6+?!"
"Hah, no, son."
"... You didn't get me an *X-Box* did you?"
"Nope, sure didn't."
"Then what is it?"
"Here you go, son."
"A *turtle?*"
"This ain't no ordinary turtle. He's a *tortoise*, Billy. "
"William."
"No, his name's Orson. He's been in our family for nigh-on a hundred and fifty years now... and I tell you, he's seen some history in his day. My father gave him to me, just as his father did to him, going back to 1865."
"This is a joke, right? Did Jimmy Kimmel put you up to this?"
"Why, Orson here has been through some mighty strange things. He was found outside of the building where the Confederate States signed their surrender to the Union. Your great-something granddaddy spotted him munching on a discarded cabbage. 'Earl,' he thought to himself, 'Earl, that there tortoise seems a mite lonely. I reckon I'll take him home with me.'"
"Dad, as fascinating as this is, I'd like to open my other presents."
"Now, hold on, Billy. That was only the beginning, see? As time went on, Orson bore witness to many a strange sight. Around about 1924, for instance, he got out of the back yard and was picked up by a fellow named Scotty. Scotty was an author, see, and he figured that although he ought to find Orson's family, he'd first find out if he could consult the tortoise about this novel he was writing."
"How would a tortoise consult on a novel?"
"Well, as it happened, Scotty was in a pickle about how to kill off one of his characters. Not two minutes after bringing Orson back to his house, though, the tortoise knocked over a bunch of pens while in pursuit of a vexing bug. The accident left Scotty thinking that his character - Daisy, I believe she was called - ought to be hit by a car."
"Just to be clear: You're claiming that a tortoise - *this* tortoise - helped write 'The Great Gatsby?'"
"A-yup."
"Right."
"Of course, that's not all. In 1941, your great grandfather was stationed in Pearl Harbor when the Japanese attacked. If it weren't for Orson here, that whole fiasco would have been a lot worse."
"What, did he pick up a machine gun and single-handedly shoot down the bombers?"
"A-yup."
"Bull."
"Well, to be fair, he didn't so much 'pick up a gun' as he did 'knock over a gun,' and he didn't really shoot at the bombers so much as he caused a chain reaction ending in a hail of bullets flying up into the sky. Still, that tortoise is a hero nonetheless. Did you know that he was responsible for averting World War 3?"
"He was not!"
"He was, Billy, he was. See, when the movie 'Forrest Gump' came out, it made some folks in China pretty damned angry. They were fixing to attack us, but one of their advance spies happened to get introduced to Orson at a tortoise convention in Wyoming. Well, Orson, he was so well-versed in etiquette that he offered the grandest compliment that spy could ask for... and all without uttering a single word."
"Dad, I want you to be honest with me."
"Of course, son."
"Orson's just an old tortoise, isn't he?"
"That he is, son... but he just might hold a few secrets. Them stories were all true, after all."
"Really."
"Really, William."
"Actually... I think I'm okay with 'Billy.'"
"Really, Billy."
"I changed my mind."
| 2014-10-08T08:18:13
| 2014-10-08T08:02:00
| 21
| 10
|
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself.
|
They were so tasty, the dwarven party that had entered the treasure chamber. I was so satiated that I could not have eaten anything else. That is one of the most blissful feelings one can have. I didn't have visitors in my cave often, so I figured I would have a solid month to digest my meal when I heard the sound of someone else coming my way. I quickly arranged the armor of my last meal along the wall and shifted into the form of a chair, thinking nobody will take some chair when there's treasure to be had....
When I awoke from my nap, I was being placed in a room with other furniture. There was a row of stools against a shelf that stuck out in the room. I, in my chair form, was placed in the corner of the room, near a fireplace that provided some heat, but not too much.
"Bugger! That chair I found it heavy, you'd think it were stuffed with a couple of dwarves! It's not the most comfortable thing, but I think it will do nicely here by the fire." The man who must have taken me from my lair commented to a woman in a dress and apron.
"Ah, it is a nice chair. Comfy looking, but not so much that people will fall asleep in it and not buy food or drink. I think we will do well here in town after being on the road so much. " She took a rag out from her waistband and cleaned their new 'chair' up.
I had been stuffed with two dwarves, and a halfling. Digestion takes time for one like me. The adventuring types have called me a 'mimic'. I guess because my kind can shape shift into normal looking objects like chests, chairs, or tables as we wait for our next meal. We can go a long time between meals, so living in caves is a good life for us. This new life, was VERY different to me, and I initially believed, I would stay the couple of months until I needed to eat again, then eat a patron here, and then get out to go find my next cave. While we normally shape shift into inanimate objects, that doesn't mean our true form is such, or that we cannot shift into something like a dwarf, or halfling, or even human child shape. I can never get the facial details right, so when I have tried that, and attempted to speak, adventurers would immediately panic and start swinging. I'm just trying to live, you know.
I eventually digested my meal and was hungry, but people would sit on me, and drop food into the folds of the chair. I would quickly gobble them up. Other times, beer, ale or meade would be spilled on me, and I would absorb that as well. I had a good enough constant diet of spillage that I didn't need to gorge myself on entire beings. I'll admit, I liked the fire. I liked the music the bards would play. I liked the cooking that the matron would serve, and I liked that drunk adventurers would spill more than enough on me that I was well fed. When I needed to relieve myself of waste, I could sneak out while people were sleeping and do that in the alleyway.
​
One night, while doing just that, I noticed a thief trying to break in to rob my new 'family'. On one hand, he was just trying to live and eat, on the other, if he took their gold, or harmed them, I would lose my cushy spot and have to go back to a damp dark cave. That wouldn't do.
He never knew I had grabbed him. I didn't realize how much more strength I had with my steady diet of food, it was really easy to gobble him up. I quickly went back to my corner, and resumed my chair form.
"Marta? Does the chair seem a little poofier to you?" I saw the innkeep looking at me intently.
His wife walked over and took a good look, then cleaned me with her towel. "No, same amount of poof. Of all the treasure we ever found, this has been the one that has really proven its worth. It's been years and that leather hasn't cracked at all, I dare say, it's in better shape now than when we got it out of that cave. And to think, I told you it might smell bad in our new Inn. " She finished cleaning the chair and gave it a loving pat. "If our patrons didn't love sitting in this chair so much, I'd say we bring it up to our living quarters to relax in, but we never relax, do we?" With a laugh, she walked away back to the kitchen.
"Silly thought of me." the man said as he patted the back of the chair. He turned and sat down for a brief moment before his wife told him that they would have customers soon and to take out the rubbish.
A little while later, I heard him remark that out near the rubbish pile he found a pry bar under the back window, and marks like someone had been trying to get in. He made a note to secure the window better and that was that.
A couple of nights later, everything was fine, people were happily eating and drinking, the bard came and performed for the people and just had a really great night of it. Until the friends of the guy I had eaten showed up.
**End of Part 1**
|
Everyone thinks this is easy. Everyone thinks its a jolly jape to change into whatever you want.
But its physics. Its a mass thing. You cant just transmogrify into what ever you want whenever you want. It takea prep. It takes time.
The chair was a mistake. Considering when i got locked down there i was a solid oak casket, with brass trimmings and a rather natty locking mechanism that, even if i do say myself, i was right proud of. Gave the chaps hefting me something to whinge about anyway.
I should never have got myself into that situation. Wasnt a bad little gig i was in, yer standard castle situation. Done a few decades just chillin. Watching the world go by. Then the bloody King gets snaffled off by an unfortunate incident involving the garderobe, and a rather overzealous privy councillor.
So all his stuff gets locked away down in the dungeon.
And like i said its a mass thing. By the time i managed to shed enough mass to become something more nimble i was locked away in the dark having chats with the rats. Fairly one sided chats, but a couple of them showed potential.
With the best parts of me shed to lose some wieght on the way down here, that brass is hard to put together, all i could put together in a hurry was a rather delicious little chair with a chintz covering. One of my better designs i thought.
So there i am, binding my time. Soaking up the rats urine when this sparky little chap come blundering in. God nows how long i was down there, but it must have been a while as this chap certainly wasnt dressed in a manner i was familiar with.
So here he is, waving some sort of light projector about and he spots me in the corner.
Now, i may have been locked away in the dark, but i do take some pride in my appearance. Keep the dust off. Clean up after the rats. I shed some mass, i gain some. Its like breathing, but over a really long timescale.
But anyway, here he is. Eyeing me up with that look in his eyes and i thought, here we go. Uprooted, knocked about, shoved in a corner somewhere to be forgotten about.
But no, low and behold, pride of place in this old geezers public hostelry. Apparently i'm regency. I just modelled myself after a rather cute little hard back i saw in Paris.
So here we are. Living the dream. I can people watch to my still not beating hearts content. Loving, still, life.
I get attached to the old boy. Each one of his teeasures holds a memory for him. And its not the treasure that holds the value for him, but the memory. And i liked that about him.
Just to jump a bit, i said earlier that it takes some to change shape. If i go bigger, i gotta mass load. Suck in as much detritus as i can to bulk up. But i can change a bit quick when i need to. I cant change mass, or push my shape too much, but it can happen in an emergemcy. I am just a lazy fucker and cant be arsed most of the time.
Well, needless to say, some of my old mans history caught up with him one quiet dull rainy sunday afternoon.
Wanted to collect on an old debt, bit of a cuffuffel ensued, the old man still had some moves. And one of the ruffians landed on me. Well, help the old boy out a bit didnt I. Crossed my legs just so, moved the stiching around like this, opened up my pores just so . . . .
Well, i will spare you the gory details. But i am a tad heavier than i was before, and the screaming has died down eventually.
Although i am back in a dark dungeon. Apparently moving furniture can do quite a number on people.
Oh well. The mice are friendly at least.
| 2021-09-22T01:06:35
| 2021-09-22T00:30:31
| 77
| 54
|
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?"
|
This is it. I can't recover from this. As a campaign manager you do everything in your power to write a narrative that the people can relate to.
Months and months grinding to finally get traction as a man of the people fighting against corporate influence in politics and now this. How are we going to explain this $4,000,000. The media will have a field day.
Bernie is going to be pissed.
|
"It was a--- forceful deposit."
Ben spent the better half of the last hour trying to come up with an explanation. An excuse. Some careful analysis that would have unveiled the mystery. This was the best he could come up with.
"A forceful deposit," the chairman repeated.
"Right. They drove up to our bank, demanded access to our vault, held us hostage and... made a deposit."
It still sounded ridiculous to Ben. Chairman Hurst was mouthing the two words, slowly, as if he couldn't determine whether he liked or disliked the flavor.
The old man washed it down with a glass of water.
"This is troublesome. We can't integrate it," mused the chairman. "Nor dispense it through our other assets. Nor set up an executive account Nor---"
"Sir."
An old set of eyes looked up at the young bank manager. Ben shook from the sudden attention, but resolved to speak his mind.
"We have to tell the police."
"Why," he responded. There was no hesitation behind the chairman's objection to involving the law.
"We--- we can't have four *million* dollars just sitting in our vault. It's a *county* bank, not Fargo or Morgan. This can't---" he threw his hands out, "--- disappear under a third-party asset or, an individual---"
Ben didn't think it was possible for the chairman to become so animated. Both eyebrows shot to the roof of his forehead.
"An individual *could* hold four million dollars as a sole proprietor."
The manager shook under the chairman's weighty declaration. "We can't, it's, it's embezzlement!"
His frown made the chairman seem impossibly older. "Embezzlement requires funds or financial assets to *belong* somewhere first. This... 'forced deposit,' is unprecedented. So it can't be traced. But the bank will be investigated if it's just sitting there... *I want to know where it came from.*"
Those last words were barely audible, but the chairman was determined. He was going to find out, Ben was sure. They were a small county bank not for the chairman's lack. Formerly, he sat on a board on the East Coast.
And this, disaster? Defining the incident tripped Ben up in his mind. The situation then. It kindled an old fire held deep in the caverns of Chairman Hurst.
It shone.
"How would you feel, being a *millionaire this month?*"
Like a criminal, he would have said if the old man didn't seem so enamored by the idea.
Again, the manager attempted some elaborate response that would impress the chairman. Again, he only had two words for his company's leader.
"Why me?"
The question sounded pathetic in Ben's ears.
Chairman Hurst's face cracked in a smile. "Because we're going to fight wealth with wealth. Like you'll know how to spend it. The federal agencies won't catch on for about a month." He reclined into the looming chair behind his desk with a sigh. "That four million is too big an anchor. The bank will sink, and the county with it. We'll have this over with by then."
It was a declaration of war.
Ben didn't recall studying economics in his county college to get conscripted. Especially into a war he had no idea how to fight. Or armed. The robbers, let alone if someone were even behind them, were an invisible enemy.
He told the chairman as much.
"Someone wants to make our situation here terribly complex," he responded. The manager couldn't help but feel relieved Hurst identified this as a situation as well. "So we'll simplify it for now. Find answers as we go."
"I'm ready to fight."
The words felt certain. Satisfied with how they came out this time, he stood resolutely, prepared to take on this battle by the chairman's side. The laughing chairman, who's spittle sprayed over the table. Ben could only watch in horror as the old man fought for control.
Finally, he rasped through manic breaths. "Benjamin, you're my *ammunition.* Money talks, and you're going to be the speakerphone. When I have these bastards, I'll make them regret putting me in this situation."
Again, he said situation.
Despite how small Ben felt in that moment, they called it the same thing. Which confirmed the chairman was just as confused about this as he was.
The manager hoped Hurst knew what he was doing.
| 2016-02-24T12:57:22
| 2016-02-24T12:38:33
| 76
| 10
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
A flash of Bright Light and a Loud Humming noise woke me up. I found myself in a Room with a bunch of other People that looked just as confused as I was.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! WHERE AM I?!" Somebody shouted. Others looked around terrified, whereas some others were still in the Process of waking up and trying to take everything in.
One Person got up and went to a small assortment of Benches and lit himself a Cigarette. She looked about as nonchalant as could be, given this strange Situation.
Instead of Panicking, or being frozen in Fear I decided it would be best to get a clearer picture and as this Woman clearly seemed to know something I decided to get up and talk to her.
"Hey, uhm, so,..." She interrupted me by raising a Finger, pointing at her Cigarette. The room got louder. "WHAT IS GOING ON?!" The guy kept screaming, scaring the few that looked like they where already having a Panic Attack even more. "YOU THERE!" He pointed at me. "YOU look like you know something! What is going on here? WHERE ARE WE?!" He stomped towards me and just as he was reaching out his arm to grab me, the Mysterious Woman put out her Cigarette in a little Case she kept in her Jacket Pocket.
"Don't touch him" she said coldly, "you'll know in just a few minutes. But first check your Wrists" We did as we were told. My Wrist displayed the number 100. The Guy had the number 17. "Has everybody checked their number? Good. Come with me"
She walked behind the benches, her Black Skirt flowing behind her. Underneath one could make out some Red Leggings and Black Leather Boots. As she walked over to the Wall, a Panel opened up and she spoke something into the Panel. It wasn't a Language I recognized but right now I wasn't paying much attention either as the Wall opened up to reveal a Large Room with Chairs and a Stage in the Middle. "You guys, gals and non-binary Pals go ahead and find you a good seat. You will be called up shortly" "HOW ABOUT YOU FINALLY TELL US WHAT WE ARE DOING HERE!" The Fellow screamed in her Face. She stared Daggers at him and grabbed his shoulder when she reached him. "How about you do as you're being told for now, Big Guy before I change my mind and only 99 of you get to Participate?!" He tried to struggle but it looked like he couldn't move an inch away from her grip. "WHAT IS THIS? YOU'RE BREAKING... MY... SHOUL...-" CRACK.
He screamed out in Agony as his arm dropped a little lower. "Go and sit your ass down before I seriously break your Arm!" Every did what they were told.
Screaming guy sat next to me as he was holding his arm trying to suppress his Tears. "She is crazy, man! Crazy! Can you fix this?" I had taken some First Aid classes but I couldn't do anything about a Dislocated Shoulder. "Here, let me see." A Young girl got up from behind him and looked at his Shoulder. "Good lord! How Crazy strong is this Woman? I can make out every single finger on your Shoulder! Here hold still and don't move, this will hurt for a second" she skillfully picked up his arm and guided it into the Proper Position. "On Three! One, Tw...-" SNAP. She popped the arm right back into socket. "YOU BITCH!" "Yeah, Yeah, you would've tensed up at three and it wouldn't have worked as easily. Relax, the pain should subside quickly and you're welcome by the Way!"
I liked her, she seemed scared of the whole situation but put helping somebody first despite her Fear. No matter what's going to happen, I'd like to make sure I'm on her side.
The Room went dark and Gasps and Whispers filled the Air. A Spotlight illuminated the Stage and on Stage was a Glass Pyramid. The Air filled with Static as the Pyramid lit up and a 3D Silhouette appeared.
"WELCOME! I am sure you all must be consuming why you're here, so let's cut right to the Chase. My Name is K.I.G.A. Tonight you will all get a Superpower!" Some people got excited, Others were still Terrified. The Air has noticeably changed though. "Here's how this works," the Figure proclaimed "Each one of you has a Number on your Wrist from one to One Hundred. Each one of you will come up here, according to your number and you will get to choose your Superpower!"
Excitement started to make its rounds in the Room that was closely watched by our Mystery Lady. "There are a few rules though. Number 1: You cannot choose Godlike Powers like Omniscience. Anything below that is fair game!" The Excitement died down a little bit but some people still had Awe in their eyes.
"Rule Number 2: Every Person gets one Power and that will be the only Person to receive that specific Power! So if somebody chooses say Spiderman's Powers nobody else can receive that same Power!
Panic started to flood the room. Excited whispers and whispers of despair filled the Air.What if somebody else chose the Power you'd want?
"Number 3: After receiving your Powers, you will return to your Beds at Home. Afterwards your goal is to Conquer the World by any Means necessary!"
The Room turned loud as people were Gasping for Air from this Goal, Others shouted in Disbelief and others gave in to Despair.
Part 2 in next comment
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47
| 2022-11-17T02:34:34
| 420
| 58
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?"
|
I shouldn't be saying this but this exact situation happened to me.
I chose "hide and go seek". I have been hiding from death every day and I am always looking over my shoulder to see if death is around the corner.
One day he'll show up and I'll lose. I wake up each day grateful to have one more day to breathe.
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55
| 2018-03-07T03:49:25
| 251
| 55
|
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them.
|
She was hardly the first storm-born to appear. Reports of them popping up all over the world had begun years ago.
Earthquakes.
Tornados.
Floods.
Each with devastating consequences. Natural disasters that caused bloodshed and claimed lives. Seemingly, they didn’t have much else in common, other than the destruction they left behind.
But from the wreckage of these disasters, something else emerged. Newborn infants. Rescue crews began to find them, scattered in the debris, sometimes crying, sometimes happily playing amidst the wreckage. These infants seemed harmless at first, but they were quickly deemed dangerous. People were dispatched to collect these children and keep them in secure facilities where their powers could be monitored. The world lived in fear of these tiny children. Innocent, but unknowingly capable of mass destruction. World governments scrambled to collect them, for their own protection, they claimed. But rumors of secret experiments, of armies, of brutal training and dangerous accidents were rampant, and soon storm-born were hunted to the ends of the earth by various factions of power across the world.
In the midst of this chaos, a young couple walks on the beach, hand in hand. This is a long-standing tradition of theirs, especially during a storm. They love to watch the lightning dance along the water, and on the rare occasions that it strikes the sand, they gather the resulting glass and marvel at the beauty that the storms can create.
This storm is intense. More powerful than usual. They can feel the electricity in the air as they walk down the beach, wondering if they should turn around. The sky darkens, and an enormous bolt of lightning shoots from the sky, striking the sand and leaving smoldering wreckage behind. As if the storm is now satisfied, it disperses, and the sky returns to its normal blue.
The couple head towards the smoke, eager to see what sort of glass sculpture has been created this time. As they approach, they hear a small noise. This fulgurite is indeed ornate, shaped like a small basin. And in the middle of the bed of glass rests a baby girl, sleeping peacefully.
The couple glance at each other wordlessly. They know what the life of a storm-born is like. They’ve seen the fear in the eyes of the children when they are trotted out and paraded around as proof of the government’s might. A reminder that the storm-born may be powerful, but those who control them will rule the world.
They glance around, but the beach is deserted. As they reach into the glass sculpture to scoop up the infant, they look at each other again, smiling now. They’ve always wanted a baby.
* ​
That’s my origin story, pretty much. I grew up, attending a normal public school. I hid amongst the others, blending in. And most of the time, I can forget. I can pretend to be a normal girl. Most of the time, the skies are blue.
But sometimes, like today, the wind blows. Leaves are shaken from the trees, swirling around in tantalizing patterns on the sidewalk. The smell of lightning is in the air.
And my blood whispers to me.
Electricity crackles through my veins, chaotic and wild. I can feel it bubbling beneath the surface. I gasp, trying to hold back the floodgates as shivers run up and down my spine.
The sky darkens.
Others cower, running to seek shelter. I move in the opposite direction, toward the heart of the storm. The beach where I was created. Waves crash wildly onto the shore. The water is dark and tumultuous. My hair whips wildly around me as the wind dances across my face, and I laugh. Sparks dance over my body and my blood comes alive. Something inside me is building, endlessly powerful, and I can feel the imminent surrender coming.
The storm is calling me home.
|
‘Meghan, we’ll be late!’ Cynthia’s voice had that tone of angry desperation that made me want to throw something against the wall. I sat on my bed, taking one last look at my attic sanctuary.
I liked it here.
I recognized Cynthia’s careful steps climbing up the stairs. I knew she would pause somewhere in the middle, pondering did she have enough strength to face that little monster upstairs - aka me. After a moment the stairs started creaking again. She was a tough one – I had to give her that.
‘Meghan?’ She paused to knock on the door. I didn’t respond.
When she entered Cynthia had a tortured face that matched her desperate voice. ‘We have to catch the plane, sweetheart.’
I saw the look of relief that crossed her face when she saw my suitcases were packed.
I had a system – I kept my small pink suitcase always ready and kept it by the door in case I decided to disappear but it took me almost a weekend to pack the big one. The brown leather was covered in stickers – a testament of my numerous ‘new beginnings’ that sooner or later ended in tragedy.
‘I don’t want to go to a new school!’ I growled. ‘I want to stay here.’
I wasn’t a fool to think my disagreement might change anything, I was just venting my frustration. Dr. Marcuss said I should vocalize my emotions as much as I can or we all knew what might happen.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ Cynthia tried to take my hand but I snatched it away. ‘You’ll love it there.’
I crossed my arms on my chest. ‘It’s what you said for the last three schools.’
Cynthia sighed, her hands balled into fists by her side. I knew she was hanging on a fine thread – all of this ‘Meghan, sweetheart’ was just an act. They wanted to get rid of me. It was obvious when they found that fancy boarding school in Europe that obviously costed enough money to sign a contract that they’d keep me for the next four years with no questions asked.
‘You could have let me stay with aunt Mary,’ I said accusingly.
Cynthia had enough of me. ‘She is not your aunt.’ Her green eyes flickered with cruelty I saw too many times.
‘You’re not my mother either, Cynthia!’ I snapped.
The windows on my room started rattling and I enjoyed the frightened look on Cynthia’s face.
‘You little monster!’ She cried rushing for the door.
One flicker of my wrist and the doors slammed shut in her face.
‘A monster?’ I gasped in fake surprise as the window shutters kept slamming against the wall. The wind picked up and the entire house was now shaking. Cynthia was shaking too.
‘Jack!’ She cried. ‘Jack!’
My stepfather was already outside my door. I knew he would start running as soon as he felt the wind. I also knew he wouldn’t interfere until I called him in.
‘Megs, please!’ He said.
There was something about his voice that made me find a calm island inside of me. A few words from him could do more than a hundred sessions with Dr. Marcus and all the pills in this world.
I wish he was home more often.
In the next moment, he was sitting on the bed next to me while Cinthia was probably hyperventilating somewhere in the car.
‘I know you’re mad,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to go, Jack.’ My eyes were burning. I prayed to God I don’t start crying now.
‘I don’t want to let you go either, Megs, but this is what is best for you.’ He said.
‘This is what is best for Cynthia,’ I snapped.
I regretted my words the moment I saw sorry his eyes softening in pain. The wind had stopped and the room was quiet.
‘You know how much I love you Megs,’ he said. I was looking away but I knew his eyes were smiling now and I knew every one of his words was true. ‘But this isn’t the place for you. I knew you were special the night we found you. You were the sweetest little girl in the world.’
I snorted.
Jack took my hand. ‘Look at me Megs,’ he said and I turned to him. ‘I found you a good school. It’s not about the subjects you’ll be studying – you’re a smart girl and I know you’d do well in any place in the world. But I believe you’ll find people there who are more like you, people who will understand and love you as much as I do.’
‘You mean freaks?’ I grinned.
This was the fourth school we had to change because I was not quite like the other kids. There were storms raging around me whenever my temper got out of control. I tried to ignore it, Jack tried to ignore it, we all did everything we could but with every new town and every new school sooner or later came a moment when I lost it and someone got hurt.
‘You are not a freak. You’re special and there is an entire school full of children like you.’
I was staring at Jack frightened and relieved in the same breath.
The choice had been made already but I still needed a few minutes to let go of this house. I finally stood up when Cynthia's honking became unsoportable.
Jack took my suitcases and closed the door behind him.
‘Jack,’ I suddenly stopped.
He instantly dropped both suitcases, his attention fully on me. I liked that about Jack. He wasn’t my real dad but I think my real dad would have been just as nice and caring.
‘Will you call me sometimes?’ I asked, staring at my feet. ‘I mean to tell him how everything is going and things.’
Jack took my hand. ‘I’m here for you, Megs. Always. Just call me and I’ll fly over there in no time.’
He took my bags and followed me down the stairs.
So I was going to a school with a bunch of freaks like me who can make storms and destroy things.
I grinned.
Maybe I won’t have to run away this time.
r/CrystalElmTales
| 2019-08-06T07:39:13
| 2019-08-06T07:31:22
| 51
| 15
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I do not like life, not one bit.
I want to find a way to quit.
I sleep all day and I sleep all night.
I really do not want to fight.
Sorry mum and sorry dad.
I really wish life wasn't so bad.
Look after the dog and after the cat.
Please take care of them when I have gone splat.
Please oh please don't let your lives halt.
You must realise it's not your fault.
^^^^Edit:formatting
|
I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting
| 2015-01-17T07:28:39
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
|
People use to think Bob was a traitor, but thanks to YouTube and my reporting we now know the truth.
Bob spoke good English and other languages and had been a woodworker in Logan, Ohio for many years. The thing is, Bob isn't American, he's Estonian, so he says, but nobody knows or can prove enough about him to deport him. I met him about 10 years ago when doing a feature on his shop for the paper and we bonded over our love of NCIS the TV show.
The thing that really struck me about Bob is that Bob doesn't exist on paper prior to 2000. Bob could have been American if not for all his half connections to terrorism, although none of it could be proven. That's what kept him from citizenship. I reported on that two. He was third cousins to some guy who did some bad thing some 4,000 miles away or his mother's step-sister's uncle was a terrorist. That sort of stuff.
Bob and I talked frequently, small town and all it's hard not to. People talk and try to be friendly in person, even if they talk about you behind your back.
When Bob learned about Islamic State he studied them beyond what seemed normal. Bob learned their customs, their region, their values, and even their movements. People started to distance themselves from him, although his nature never changed besides the fact that he began to pray more often and he had books on guns and middle eastern history written in Arabic in his shop.
It was widely speculated that the FBI, the CIA, NSA and who knows who else from the alphabet soup of government agencies was tracking, recording and following Bob.
One day bob was gone. Just vanished. All his stuff, his life, wiped out as if he'd never owned that shop. Nobody knew what happened to him until it was reported on the news. Bob had "defected" to the Islamic state and was among their troops. The town was a whole pit of gossip and that's all anyone talked about. They talked about Bob and how he was a murderer and a traitor. The national news media picked up the story of my missing person story, twisted it, reported non-stop for weeks about this American defector who was right under everyone's nose.
After a few months people started to and eventually forgot about Bob. I didn't. I wondered what he was up to and why he had made the change. I knew that Bob wasn't a terrorist. He was just a white guy from Estonia in his mid 60s with grey hair and a friendly smile.
Just when everyone had forgotten about him Bob sent me a message asking me to pay him a visit in Egypt. He even flew me out. I didn't feel unsafe. Islamic state had become increasingly less active in the last few months. Bob said not to worry about the alphabet soup that would inevitably follow me. Bob said they needed to hear it all.
Bob picked me up at the airport in a car that was really expensive. I'm no car person but it had to be hundreds of thousands if not more. We talked normally, as we had before he vanished, for many years. We drove for a few hours and stopped outside this shack. It looked similar to where he'd been staying in Logan if not a little bit more run down.
We step inside and there is one man tied to a chair. I can't see his face, there's a bag over it. Bob walks over and removes the bag.
Bob introduces me to Abdul and informs me that Abdul is the last Islamic State member alive. Bob said Abdul was a courier and servant to the leadership and had been with the organization many years. It was through Abdul that he tracked down all the members of the organization and "took care of the problem."
I was skeptical at first but I did as I was instructed. Bob asked me there for an interview and I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. I set up my video camera and asked the questions.
I got Abdul to say his name, where he was from and why he was here. He said he was here to die, an answer I was not expecting. Abdul told me he was there to explain and then to die.
We talked for 15 minutes about everyone who was dead. Leaders, soliders, scholars, both men and women and most of the children. Everyone who aided in violence and killing and took up arms was gone, died at their own hand,...except Abdul. He said he had to tell the truth, the whole story. The stories went on for an hour. I even had to change my battery to finish the interview. Abdul shared stories of people begging for forgiveness before taking their own lives.
I then asked my final two questions the two I was most curious about. How did it happen and why was Abdul so sure he was about to die.
Abdul, at Bob's urging, said they felt so much remorse for all the atrocities they had done that most of them just went out in the desert and died of sadness. It was the purple dinosaur that had shown them the way with his song and they needed to repent for their sins. It was then that Abdul thanked me for my time and he put his head down and said he was ready. Bob then unshackled Abdul who walked over to the table took out a knife and stabbed himself in the heart.
After a minute, it was all over.
I then turned my attention back to Bob and asked him...how he'd done it how were they all gone? Bob said it with a seriousness and peace I'd not heard before.
It was Barney, Bob said. I made them watch Barney for weeks.
Sitting there, shocked, I asked one final question.
"So does this make Barney a terrorist?"
I'm still waiting on Bob's answer.
| 2016-01-29T07:22:10
| 2016-01-29T07:07:48
| 43
| 16
|
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever.
|
The Matchmaker - a modern day miracle, if you believe the press. An unprecedented triumph for science and humanity.
Mind you, they don't have to support the bloody thing. I do.
I won't lie to you - it's a seriously impressive piece of kit. I'm not too clear on the science of it all, but the technology side I have down to a tee. All it requires is two pieces of equipment - a cranial implant at the base of the neck, and a digital wristband capable of displaying simple messages once a match had been found.
The implant maps your entire being - hopes, fears, dreams, likes, dislikes, what you had for lunch three years ago on a Tuesday, everything. It then feeds back to the centralised database, where it compares your essence to every other Matchmakee (I know, I know. I had no say in the slang terms we use) and dictates your soul mate.
No new technology is without its problems - in the old, unproven days, the combination of limited participants and a basic matching algorithm, it wasn't uncommon for there to be mistakes, or even "no matches found". That was, until it went viral.
The more people signed up, the more matches were made. Parents had implants attached to their children; though they weren't connected to Central before their 18th birthday, the implant could monitor everything. The implant knew the host better than the host knew themselves, and the algorithm learned as a result - these days, the company boasts a 100% success rate.
Well, they would, if it weren't for one slight problem - they can't find me a match.
Nobody can figure it out - not even me, and I work tech support for Matchmaker HQ. I know all the error codes by heart - MM25, limited network connection (all implants come with built-in WiFi, because *of course they do*).
MM62 - Cranial Implant needs realigned.
Me? Any time I connect to Central, I get the same error message -
MM708724$xs - Unknown Conflict Error
My coworkers were stumped - none of them had ever seen that error code. I've escalated to Tier 2, who escalated to Tier 3, so on and so forth. It went all the way up the chain to the Lead Developer for the Matchmaker, who ended up shrugging his shoulders in disbelief.
"I don't know what to tell you, sir," he said, "I have never seen that error message before and *I wrote the backend code!*"
That was ten years ago. I'd all but given up on it - resigned to a life lived alone, the solitary failure, the dirty little secret the company would love to keep buried forever.
Until tonight, that is. I was beta testing a new version of the wristband - increased functionality, better speed, different colours - and was working on the message reception functionality.
Ok, don't judge me - I'd been drinking a little. I wasn't paying as close attention as I should have, and in my distracted state, I accidentally sent two messages to the test device at the same time.
The error flashed up on the screen.
MM708724$xs - Unknown Conflict Error
I froze, instantly sober.
*It couldn't be... No way...*
I tried again - two messages to the same device at the same time. Once again, the screen read those all-too-familiar words - Unknown Conflict Error.
*No. But that would mean...*
In a daze, I disconnected the wristband from the test Implant provided. I cradled it in my hands for a while - I guess I was afraid of what I had to do, and what I would find if I did.
I slid it on my left wrist, locking it into place and tentatively connected it to my Implant. Normally, this wouldn't be possible - the Implant is designed to reject two wristbands of the same firmware being attached to the same Implant. But this was a test device, with brand new firmware. The digital screen blinked back into life, displaying a single message.
*Awaiting connection to Central*
With my breath held, I logged into Central on both wristbands. Time passed at a crawl, as both devices authenticated against the database.
And then... *Ping!*
Both wristbands were flashing, indicating a match.
My heart was beating a tattoo on the inside of my chest, too afraid to look. But look I did.
**Wristband 1**
*Congratulations! Matchmakee Maria Hayes, 26, Florida, has been identified as your soul mate!*
**Wristband 2**
*Congratulations! Matchmakee Judith Hayes, 26, Florida, has been identified as your soul mate!*
|
The evening news tends to be filled with serious issues. Climate change, terrorism and politics, wrapped into a neat 30 minute show. Unveilings of new machinery and inventions tend to be stuff for local newspapers. Because of that, the final bit told by the grey-haired newsreader was all the more surprising.
Even more surprising was the gigantic line the following morning. Hundreds of people had shown up early in the morning, their curiousity piqued from the news report.
I guess I wasn't any different. A machine that pinpoints your soulmate, the one person who you can spend your whole life with and love it. Who wouldn't be curious? Standing in line, though... That part sucked.
What sucked even more was a worst-case scenario actually happening. I had thought about what could happen during several hours of standing in line and had concluded that the worst thing would certainly be the name of an ex popping up. instead, after a lengthy scan of my face, eyes and palms, the machine showed me something even worse.
An error message. Error 1063, "soulmate not found".
Whoever wrote that error message is an asshole.
I wasn't too bothered by it at first. It seemed like a novelty machine, but in the months that followed everyone at college started hooking up. It wasn't long until the "Magic Match Maker" had given everybody someone to love. Everybody except me. Error 1063.
I started looking online for answers. A small community had indeed started for people who had the same history with the big M3. It seemed like I found an answer, the machine simply messed up and there was another 1063 out there for me.
Years later, after graduating in Computer Sciences, I still hadn't found my own soulmate. I had been through a couple of relationships since the mishap. None of them were bad, but I never really felt invested. After several months, the error message always popped back into my mind, like a roadblock. I went back to the drawing board, and really the only thing I felt I knew anything about: the internet.
I spent hours searching a variety of dating sites, but it all seemed the same. I needed something new. Something different.
I didn't find a new community, or a new date, or even a coping method, but I did find something else that interested me, a little piece of inspiration. It started with a small program I worked on during weekends, but grew larger and larger as months and years passed by.
It has been 10 years since the error message, and about 7 years since I started my project. I realised that the initial M3 was too limiting. It wasn't broken, nor was there something wrong with me. It simply misunderstood some people, people who couldn't connect with others in the traditional, romantic-comedy-kind-of-way.
I stood in front of the large machine I had been building. A replacement for the M3 that would finally give 1063's like me a place to belong. 7 years of work was about to come to fruition - it was time to give the Aromantic Platonic Partner Finder its first test run.
I turned on the machine, scanned my face, eyes and palms and waited patiently for an answer. In a minute, the machine would beep and a name would pop up on the machine's large screen, the name of my platonic soulmate.
The beep sounded. I looked up.
"It works."
| 2015-11-30T13:37:18
| 2015-11-30T11:35:42
| 28
| 21
|
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going.
|
The first day was a shock. Almost as a gift from heaven. In all my years working at this dump, I have never heard a silence be as deafening as the very moment our branch manager announced to the floor that Google shut down.
Our PR branch was losing their shit that day when all the employees in their sector each had to handle at least 100 different companies trying to shift their advertisement efforts to other search engines.
It was chaotic but lively, because everybody had hope that we would be the new Google. But we weren't ready for the news. We weren't ready.
Our servers couldn't handle the traffic, and our TelCom was leveraging against us. We spent 3 days going back and forth on conference calls and flying lawyers to each other as if we were playing ping pong and the lawyers were helpless victims spending 3 hours of flying between every hour of hearing rejections and renegotiation.
Meanwhile, back on my floor, everybody with a brain cell was trying to come up with MacGuyver solutions to handle the incoming traffic with the preexisting tools we had. First, we stopped our links to be completely static and unchanging. I guess we underestimated how quickly things can go viral, and apparently some jag was streaming himself eating shit. We got overwhelmed by searches for "Guy eat shit", understandably since the people searching weren't getting any results, seeing as how our links were stopped in time.
The backlog was too great, and everybody was in to their 8th hour of overtime at least.
The clock struck 12, and now we're here in Day five: the day Bing crashed.
|
I remember the day it happened. It was July 25. I was watching a Youtube video about some guy creating a fidget spinner using gallium. Halfway through the video, I got bored and decided a new video it is. I saw another video about how lizard people run the world in my recommendation list. When I clicked it, an error page appeared saying
"ERROR 404 PAGE NOT FOUND"
I didn't know what to think. I was confused for a moment and then I realized this may be very bad. Thing is, I believe the Illumanati are running the world and whenever I try to tell others, they just roll their eyes at me and tell me to not believe in that conspiracy crap. However, I fear this is exactly their way of messing with me. They fear I know too much so they are trying to block me out.
Out of fear, I typed in Google to quickly figure out how to change my IP address to try and throw them off. To my horror,
"ERROR 404 PAGE NOT FOUND"
I quickly disconnected my computer from the Internet and unplugged my router. It has been five days since then. I am sitting in my apartment watching television filled with paranoia about me being kidnapped and probably killed by our world leaders for knowing what I know. I'm too scared to leave but yet too scared to stay. I don't know what to do.
Then I think. Maybe I could try and find help online. I reconnect the router and computer and quickly open up my web browser. However, I fear Google will say the same thing. But I still need information from just about anywhere. So it has come to this. The day I hoped would never happen in my life. I reluctantly, against all of my best wishes. Slowly typed in...
"www.bing.com"
Well, this was my first ever writing prompt. Hopefully this story was good enough for Reddit. Feedback would be good. Have a nice day.
| 2017-06-16T19:13:12
| 2017-06-16T18:58:46
| 21
| 12
|
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though.
|
The voices of the Arch Angel's heralds sang unto the world,'Praises be to he upon the throne of our Kingdom of Heaven, for he shall rise again, for the battle at the end of days upon the Earth! In three score and ten years, the father of Christ will return with the righteous to lead the final holy war!'
Then they sang the small print... an apocalyptic war between the angels and the denizens of hell, with the righteous fighting at God's side, and the damned at the side of the Devil. It was, of course, assumed that God would win, and so an eternity of heaven-upon-earth would be duly awarded to these victors.
So it came to pass - seventy years later, the blazing light of heaven shone upon the Earth from the sky, and the gaping maws of hell opened in the ground. The shining battalions of the halo brigade swept across the Earth to conscript the godly souls, and the grunting red beasts of Beezelbub scurried forth to draft their own foot soldiers.
And yet.
There was not a single soul to be found. For hours they searched, until they met on the plains of Nazareth. God and Satan face to face.
'Erm. Hi Satan.'
'Yeah, uh, hi.'
'So... Did you find anyone?'
'No... not a soul, how about yourse...'
As he spoke, his voice was drowned out by the heralds of the Arch Angel, whose voices from afar chorused:
'We found a note... it says they all left Earth.'
God looked confused.
'Where to?'
'Give us a second... let's see here... apparently to some other planets they found.'
'So we're, stuck on Earth for eternity without any humans?'
'Seems like it...'
Satan looked at God, and grumbled, 'Seriously... you couldn't have written "Earth, or any other planet you decide to up sticks and head to"? For fucks sake...'
Turning tale, he took his cohorts and ambled back to hell, leaving God to his empty paradise.
|
It looks like we were mistaken.
Who would have known that religion was not just some dogma created by man to control the masses. Instead they were are first line of defence, warning us about the impending attack. The Gods have become more formidable foes then previously anticipated.
It all started when we accidently drilled into our planets core. By then we have already colonized the Moon and Mars. Our scientist hunger for knowledge was insaciable. They wanted to know exactly how the planet worked in hopes of creating other "Earths" in other solar systems. They finally broke through the last of the tectonics plates and were astonished to find the entrance to Hell. Apparently souls was the fuel that kept the planet spinning, gave it gravity, magnetic fields, forced magma out of the core in turn to refertilize the surface.
The operating manager, "Lucifer," was not happy we entered his domain and immediately waged war. Hordes of demons poured out volcanoes ready to throw us back to the stone age. At the same time our outer colonies had a war of their own against what looked like to be angels. They were being surrounded and blocked from traveling out of system. Apperantly we were their "chosen people" and need to stay in our place or suffer the "wrath of the Timeless One."
What did we as humans do? We fought of course.
We are no strangers to warfare. Indeed, we have spent so many years fighting each other that we have perfected it. And we had one secret weapon. An unexpected ally who no longer wanted to be part of this system. He is often refered to the Chosen One, Messiah, Firstborn. He prefers Big Jay, or Yeazuz after his favorite rapper/president. Jesus Christ was gonna change our world.
| 2015-09-24T09:22:58
| 2015-09-24T08:29:53
| 52
| 23
|
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Very few people get chosen as a gardener. It is looked down upon heavily. Yet, who provides the wood for the handles of knives for the chefs and rogues? The vegetables to sustain adventurers? Those who live in towns need not worry for food, the Ranchers and Gardeners provide them with sustenance.
You might wonder why we aren't called farmers. That's because farmers are people who are other classes who shift into plant growing. Though, farmers are looked on upon with joy and pride. Why? Why them? I keep people alive! Not those fools with no goddamn clue with what they're doing! They make so much less than us with 2 times the land. I have to deal with these pissants stomping all over my crops! My carrots, my corn! Hell, even my goddamn cabbages! The ranchers somehow don't have it better! People kill their livestock for free experience! Fuck those whoresons!
Ahem, my apologies. I lost my temper. So, I plant trees. Oak, spruce, mesquite, mahogany, birch, and a few others. I provide gunsmiths and blacksmiths with wood so they can forge better handles, grips, the sorts. I let these trees grow pretty big. Adventurers, some horny bastards, and the recently deceased Silus Quix. Yup, that Silus Quix, the dragon slayer, the savior of our fine city. Poor lad, he was stomping on some roses, which I don't grow for anyone but myself, he got a thorn through a bad part of his armor, jumped back in pain... Then, he uh, tripped over a mahogany tree's roots. Now, plate armor is heavy, so the tree shook pretty hard when he tripped.
A branch broke off, and you know how heavy mahogany is, so it landed on his unprotected neck. Crushed his windpipe, and he died pretty damn quickly. But the kicker is, I got credit for killing him. Level went up to 57. Now, if any gardeners out there wonder what happens when you level up. Let me tell you.
I went out the next day after taking Silus to the church to be buried, and the trees I planted yesterday were already half-grown. The crops I had planted weren't. Apparently, the gardener has separate experience pools for crops and trees.
That's it. Nothing else happened. Things just grow faster. They might grow stronger, but I haven't noticed anything different with the trees. Altogether, it really isn't worth it. Don't kill for experience.
|
"So, let me get this straight. This xx_zaku_marine_xx trepass into your property, and he suddenly die?" asked 69IKissMySister, the Guild Enforcer.
"Err.. Yes", I said.
"But how? There's nothing in here can kill a high level hardcore adventurer here" while ErikMa33, the second Guild Enforcer, examine the spell residues around the corpse. He sniff the air around the the corpse. "Yes. This is definitely a very high level magic. This is beyond your stats".
"Look, sir, I'm just low level gardener. Nothing in my inventory is over level 10. Except for one, level 12 Undead Staff. Even that is useless to me. My magic stat is still too low".
"Okay, repeat your story again" said ErikMa33, not looking up.
"Fine. I was planting Bezos Flower, a beginner flower. It supposed to give me free gold every 3 hours. Then I heard loud bang and the ground shaking. And there he was..dead"
69IKissMySister face-palm "How I gonna tell the Council?"
"First, change your name. What are you? 12?" said ErikMa33. "Told you since day one. Keep it professional" His partner look away in shame.
ErikMa33 walk towards me "Listen, I believe you. This town is for beginner. Every spells and equipments sold here are no more than level 15. Even Korath the Necromancer sells basic Raise Zombies & Skeletons spells"
He continued "This magic, is not available here. You have to unlock this at the Black Citadel"
"Tell you what, if anyone ask you, just tell them what you told us. We'll update this on message board. Stay safe, kid".
"Aye.." I replied nervously.
*3 hours later*
"That went well. But I need to get rid of this" as I took a small piece of paper and throw it into the fireplace.
Tomorrow, I will go to Black Citadel with my new found wealth.
The fire slowly burn the crumpled paper. 'Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start' written on the paper.
| 2021-09-09T21:21:23
| 2021-09-09T20:56:49
| 63
| 36
|
[WP] You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas.
|
"Uh I'm here live," I meow unconvincingly. "I'm not a cat."
"I know," the judge tells me. Yes, that's right, foolish human. Believe my lies. One day soon, the council of cats will strike and there will be nothing you can do about it.
"Oh uh my assistant is trying to fix it now." I gesture crudely with my claws towards my assistant, Mittens. He's useless. I don't know why the council of cats sent him to me. He must be some bigwigs kitten.
"I'm prepared to go ahead anyway," I tell the judge. That's what a foolish human would say, isn't it? I'd much rather find a sunbeam to sleep in or some clothes to curl up in. But the council have tasked me with infiltrating human society. I will not let my fellow cats down!
|
"Ladies and gentlemen," I purred. "I would ask you to stop your staring and return your attention to the document I've put up."
My nine colleagues gawked in their Zoom windows at me.
"Mr. Whiskerton," one breathed. "There appears...appears to be a problem."
"A problem?"
"Your face...is this some new filter? It looks too--I mean so--so...real..."
Fortunately for myself, as a member of the housecat race, my lineage and own life experience had provided me powers of emotional manipulation that most humans found nearly irresistible.
"I was hoping we'd be able to have the meeting progress in a professional manner," I sighed with a manufactured tone of regret. "Alas, technical problems should have been expected at some point. Yes, my hu--my regular person filter has malfuctioned, it appears."
"Then you...you're..."
"Yes, it's true," I said, almost whimpering. I dimmed the light of my screen to its lowest setting so that my pupils would dilate. I watched on my own screen as they grew rounder and rounder.
"It's true?" asked the meeting host with wonder and wariness.
"Yes," I squeaked pitifully, lowering my head slightly so that my mouth would appear smaller while my adorable blackhole eyes loomed large in my window. "I have developed a horrific medical condition."
"My God, Louis!"
"Please...please. It's Whiskerton. Please continue to call me Whiskerton."
"Of course, sir, but--"
"It'started near the beginning of the...the pandemic," I continued, tapering my voice toward a sob. "The doctors are baffled. I've sprouted so much hair. My face has become attractively misshapen into a superior feline visage..."
There was an encouraging and chaotic chorus of "You are beautiful" and "actually I barely noticed" and "I love your eyes, really". These people always forgot to mute their mikes.
The meeting host spoke up. "With the current state of the world, Mr. Whiskerton, it appears we may not actually get back to our offices, much less courtrooms, anytime within the year. Chances are you'll have made a full recovery by then!"
"Yes!"
"For sure!"
"That's what it's looking like!"
"Uh huh!"
"So," continued the host, "I see no reason why this little secret needs to leave our meeting. You have already proven yourself a lawyer of great skill and knowledge, and you will absolutely serve both our firm and this state well in the future."
"Thank you," I croaked, trying to make an approximate weeping sound. My eyes were globes of obsidian.
"Don't mention it. Let's continue the meeting shall we? Mr. Whiskerton, please continue with your slide, and..."
Even as I spoke, brightening my screen to an optimal level and letting my pupils contract back into keen and intelligent slits, my mind started to run with the possibilities of a bright future here in the great state of Texas.
​
\---r/PrimitivePrism
| 2022-02-03T20:13:42
| 2021-02-10T18:12:37
| 491
| 105
|
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."
|
“This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM or 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable.”
I was stunned, a spoonful of ramen halfway to my mouth, when I bolted over to a window to peek into my neighbor’s house from my own. A perfect view right into their tv room, and... nothing. No same message or shut off. It was still an hour or so until night, and I had some plywood sitting around because of the hurricanes, but...
“If you just heard that alert and are still listening, sit down and shut the fuck up. You’re going to have to listen very carefully and take every word I say with the gravity they entail. I won’t be telling you my name, but I will tell you my significance.”
Whipping around, I can see a man on the screen. Old. Ancient, really, but somehow still youthful and speaking with the energy of a man much younger. His eyes, though. Hard. Spoke of years of experience and seeing things he wishes he could unsee.
“I am a part of the O5 council. I work for what is simply known as The Foundation. We work to protect the world from creatures. Anomalies. We contain them and study them. Usually this all goes right. I would not be revealing our existence if it had right now. What we are experiencing is a humanity level threat right now, and only some of you are being told this. Not everyone can be saved, and we feel that taking some casualties in this instance will be beneficial. This gives us time to recontain the threats. What has happened is one of our sites has been breached. Massively so. All failsafes failed when we needed them most, and so many of these threats we have been studying have been released into the world. This was also a result of multiple anomalies showing up at once, posing enough of a threat to necessitate this announcement in conjunction with what developed into multiple site breaches.”
I had no idea what this man was talking about, but I stayed put, hearing him out with a pit in my stomach. Why couldn’t everyone be saved? We were using them as... fodder? Why me?
“Those is you who have been selected are by and large because of what you can do to help us rebuild. And because you’ve been profiled by us so we know you would be able to act accordingly with this information. You are not forbidden from telling those you can, but every second you spend with them is another you could use to prepare. Do not attempt to contact your law enforcement or any news networks. Social media will not allow you to inform the world. We have made sure of this. It is likely many of those who you know will be dead in the next few days. Daylight offers some solace, but the night is simply too dangerous. One of the aforementioned anomalies has altered the moon, and some others traveling in the dark effectively lethal without significant illumination or firepower. Military forces are being aided by us, but many will lose cohesion. Count yourselves among the lucky ones. The world as you know it is about to change. Good luck.”
I feel numb. This doesn’t make any sense. Yet for some reason I act. I get my hammer and plywood, turn out my lights, and shore up my home. It’s almost as if I have no control over my body. My home is just as it needs to be. I lock my doors for the last time and retreat to my basement, curling up in a corner. The screaming starts after the light fades.
That was three months ago. I spent a month in hiding, had a lot of food stocked up in case something went weird like this. Not prepper level though. I was down to beans out of a can when they came. In the middle of the day, my door was battered down by a handful of men. They wore military style gear clad in white and black with a strange logo, all of them radiating incredibly bright light as they breached my home. They rescued me. Now here I am. One of the lucky few. We’ve been placed into a facility on a massive island. I’m told it’s all man made. Stunning, really.
I stood on the shore when they bathed the world in nuclear fire. I couldn’t comprehend it, really. They said it would leave no harmful after effects. That they weren’t real nukes. I felt like I could hear the screams of those left behind from here. Of my neighbors who were ripped apart in the night. Their children. I wish they had been chosen.
So we’ve begun to rebuild. True to their word, no radiation was to be found. I’m told that regardless of how things go here, we have been left behind to rebuild as another reality is saved by those with the knowledge of what happened here. I have no grasp of what this foundation really does, and just what lengths they can go to preserve our future, but I don’t want to know.
All that’s left is the present. A broken timeline, a broken world, and a broken people trying to put everything back together. It’s funny really, that they saved me. They knew what a society was made of, what it would take to bring it back from the brink.
I’m a fucking writer.
|
I was resting in my house on a warm Saturday evening when the EAS broadcast began.
*BRRRP. BRRRP. BRRRP. Baaaaa*
"The United States Army has released an official statement. This applies to the entire country. Please, do not turn off your televisions."
I leaned forward in concern, for this was certainly no automated weather service alert.
"Due to an unexpected and unforseeable set of circumstances, all United States citizens must adhere to the following instructions."
I quickly put my memory cap on and attempted to both write down fast-paced versions of what the alert stated.
"Gather a set of supplies in a non-windowed room. Collect any and all firearms you may have in your homes, and place them with the supplies. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not exit the safety of your homes after sundown. Remain inside your homes at all costs between 6:00 P.M. local time and 8:00 A.M. local time. Do not create any noise or light between these times. Restrict or even limit contact between other civilians. Do not enter tunnels during the daytime. These rules shall be adhered to by any and all U.S. citizens. In addition, you must carry a passport or other form of ferderal identification with you at all times. There will be an all-clear message given out via radio and satellite television. Until this time, military aid is unavailable. Godspeed, and good luck."
I went over the list in my head: no noise between 6PM - 8AM, no tunnels, gather weapons and food - this sounded like war preparations. I did as I was told, and sure enough, a squad car of the local PD came by to check how I was doing. They'd done so for the other hundred or so neighbors in my complex, and I was one of the last few stops. I showed them my quarters, and they seemed satisfied. They mentioned something about items for bargaining, but I didn't pay much attention. I quickly called my mother and checked with her - yes, she knew what it meant. Yes, I would come by and check with her tomorrow, first-thing. Yes, I would get the chicken casserole out of the fridge. The usual.
The only other resident in my home was my husky/malamute dog, Pine. I was a little scared about him barking, but I didn't think it would be that big an issue.
Later that night, it started. I don't know when, seeing as how we had to turn all lights off, and I have no analog clocks in my house. There was first a loud banging sound, then scratching. Possibly clicking sounds. It lasted what I'm guessing was two or three minutes before I head the distinct sound of shotguns being fired. Maybe some assualt rifles, too. The scratching then stopped, and so did the bullet fire. I huddled with Pine, and calmed him down.
Somehow I fell asleep. A knock awoke me. I frantically rushed to the door.
"Sir, do you mind stepping outside a moment? Bring your residents with you."
"Sure."
I brought out Pine, and then-
*POOF*
Bootsteps raced through my ears - it was a raid of some sort. A couple minutes later they gave me an all clear.
That was a few nights ago. I have no idea what's going on. Everything is going to hell - the town store is out of everything, the post office is closed, and there's some sort of fence around the mountain range near me. Can someone explain what's going on?
| 2018-04-18T11:27:41
| 2018-04-18T10:58:54
| 91
| 24
|
[WP] You stumble across a peculiar library. Each book's title is the cost of the knowledge within. You read a few for the cost of a cent, a smile, a button. Until you find it. "Cost: half of your lifespan"
|
Gale's hand trembled as he pulled the massive tome off the shelf. He flipped open the first page and his eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was holding. It was Stephen King's 'The Stand.' And it was going to take him forty fucking years to finish.
|
I was always a big time reader when I was growing up. Libraries are where my parents took me so I can have fun instead of parks. Fantasy, sci-fi, history, all I did was read. I loved being able to use my mind to travel to all these worlds. As I grew up, I always made sure to check the local bookstores to see if I can find hidden gems.
One day, when I left from work, I saw a small library had opened near my apartment. I did a fist pump in glee. I opened the door and the proprietor was an older man with glasses. He looked up from the small book he had in his hands and smiled at me.
"Welcome young lady. I don't usually get a lot of visitors. This is the Library of Equivalent Exchange. Would you like to explore?" His voice was soft and his eyes were kind.
"Umm do I need to sign up for a card?" I asked.
"All you need to do is sign the visitors page when you came in and when you leave. You won't be able to take the book unless you have something to trade anyway." The man said before going back to his book. I thought his last sentence was odd but I didn't mind it. I signed my name and went through the aisles.
The books were ordered, not by author, but by "exchange." In order for me to read the contents, I needed to trade something first. I saw in the first aisle there were very small trades. A coin here, a button there, I even saw a book that would let you read it for a kiss.
Still my curiosity got the best of me and I explored the other aisles. Oddly enough, the payment never wanted much money but other things of value. The middle aisle had a lot of clothing items, shirts that you wore, pants, purses, all for payment. Really, I kinda got freaked out when I saw that one wanted a trade of memories.
The last aisle had only a small bundle of books. Some were old and had yellowing pages, bound by leather. Heavy too. A few seemed to look more recent and were reminiscent of a textbook. The last book, however, was a medium sized notebook. I picked it up and the trade made my stomach drop. The cost? Half of your lifespan.
"Everything is here is paid by the value of what's inside." The old man has spoken suddenly next to me. I jumped and accidentally hit the bookshelf, dropping the notebook. I could tell he wanted to laugh.
"The value?" I wondered.
"Everything has value whether it's monetary or sentimental. I've seen many give up precious pieces of their lives for knowledge. Others can barely part with the shirt on their back. None have ever checked out that one, however." The old man picked up the notebook. "Life is extremely valuable. I've only guessed the contents inside. I'm old now. I'm sure if I were to pay the price, I'd drop dead on the floor." He chuckled.
I looked at the notebook. Whatever was inside was equal to half your life. I never had much plans for what I wanted to do and, truthfully, I'm terrified of getting old. Before I knew it, I had grabbed the book.
"Checking out?" The old man smiled at me. I nodded. I went to the front desk and signed off. I called my part time job and said I wasn't coming in. My heart was calm as I opened the door to my apartment. I sat on my reading chair and saw the cost scribbled on the top of the book.
"Well, curiosity killed the cat." I said.
I opened the book.
(Sorry for any errors. I'm on mobile)
| 2018-03-29T09:26:57
| 2018-03-29T06:48:53
| 74
| 48
|
[WP] You get your orders through the mail. They're fairly mundane: "Walk the dog at 6 PM on Wednesday." "Deliver a dozen eggs to this address." Sometimes, months or even years later, something happens and you can almost see what you've been doing.
|
The pay is great, even if the work is mundane.
I don't know who I work for. I don't know why I do what I do. I just do it, and I don't ask questions.
I get my tasks through the mail, a couple of weeks before they're set to happen. They can range from taking a dog for a walk, to delivering eggs, to painting someone's fence. All freelance kind of work, and that's exactly what I have to tell people I am.
When I first got this job, I was told that my work might seem odd but was assured it was all for a good purpose. I had to sign a Non Disclosure Agreement, but not the typical kind. I can tell people what I do, it's encouraged, even. I suppose that makes things less suspicious - If someone saw me delivering something and asked why, I can't exactly just pretend I didn't do it. I just am not allowed to tell anyone how little I know about what I do.
It's been 4 years of this, and every time, things are set up for me to carry out the task. If I need to walk a dog, the house owner is expecting me when I knock on the door. If I need to buy eggs, the exact amount for the eggs I need has already been deposited into my bank. If I need to paint a fence, half the fence has already been painted for me, and the paint is left right next to it.
If I ever have issues with a task, I have a number to call, but I've never had to call it. Everything has always gone exactly as it's described to me in the mail. At least, that was true until recently.
I often notice strange things that almost seem to piece together, but not quite.
On several occasions, I have returned from dog walks to find the house unlocked but empty. However, on all of these occasions, the letter in the mail had explicitly stated to leave the dog in the house **no matter what**, so that is what I do.
Anytime I specifically have to deliver eggs, the cashier says something along the lines of "Oh, sorry that these eggs are broken. Let me get you another one." I assume that they have a specific set of eggs for me to deliver. Why they would do this, I'm not sure - Perhaps they contain a message?
Recently, though, things have changed. I turned up to a standard fence painting job - There are only 7 different jobs I've ever been given, it's far and few between that a job isn't a seemingly exact copy of an old one. But this time things weren't left how they usually are. Half the fence was painted, as usual, but on the bare part of the fence, a word had been written using the white paint.
"Beware"
It was written in small writing, yet the feeling it invoked within me was deep. The paint was still wet, so it had only been written in the last few hours. Despite the terrible feeling of dread I had, I called the number.
*Ring... Ring... Ring...*
3 rings, and someone picked up. But they didn't speak, or say anything. So I spoke first.
"I just turned up to my job, the uhm, the fence painting one. Someone has written 'Beware' on the fence."
A man's voice spoke up. I couldn't quite decern the accent, but it wasn't local. "Anything else?"
"No", I said, a little shakily.
"Thank you. It'll be dealt with."
Then he hung up.
I started painting the fence, when a black car pulled up next to me. A woman rolled down the window, and told me to get in. Normally, of course, I wouldn't, but it was safe to assume that this related to my job. So, given the circumstances, I got in.
I started to panic when she wouldn't respond to me, no matter how much I asked where we were going. After a few minutes, we pulled up outside of my house.
"You know the rules," she said, "not a word to anyone."
I got out, and as soon as my door was closed, she was driving off again.
That was 3 weeks ago. I haven't had any jobs through the post since. The ones I still had remaining weren't set up for me when I arrived at the locations - No paint, no money deposited for deliveries, nothing. This is the first time I've ever gone more than a few days without a new letter through the post. I'm not being paid.
Yesterday, I called up the number again.
"The number you are dialing is not in service."
I don't know how to contact these people. But I know that they'll come for me if I break my NDA. So, that's why I'm writing this.
I want to get to the bottom of this.
|
His home was mostly empty, save for a cot and some amenities. There was an electric kettle, and a folding chair, and some cards for solitaire, but not much more. It was meant to be deserted at a moment's notice, if need be, not a trace of his existence left behind.
Three weeks it had been since he moved into this unassuming neighborhood. And for three weeks he had waited, eating packets of pasta and watching the mailbox through his binoculars. His next assignment would arrive when the agency deemed it time. Until then, he entertained himself by cleaning his rifles, sharpening his knives, and sudoku.
Every day he watched the mail lady walk by the box at the end of the driveway, and every day she ignored it. But one day a second carrier walked down the street--a man this time, with sunglasses--and he dropped a box on the doormat. He rang the bell five times--two short, two long, another short--and left just as he came. The man in the house waited until dark to open the door and bring the package in.
He opened the box with a hunting knife strapped inside his sock. Inside were about 80 letters, each marked with a different month and year. A note on top instructed him that this would be his longest assignment, but it was of the utmost importance, as was secrecy. Not even *he* could know.
Dutifully, he restrained himself from opening all of them at once. His training made such obedience thoughtless. Instead, he rummaged for the one marked with the current month, and opened up his first assignment:
>Get yourself something nice.
And out fell a $200 gift card to *Bed Bath and Beyond*.
---
Every order after was just as confounding.
>In today's paper, there is a help-wanted ad for a party clown. Take the job. Work as many hours as they have. Work hard, and be a good coworker. Don't let them suspect you are any different than they are. Work your way up the ladder as high as you can.
,
>You are no longer "Barracuda". Your new codename is "Phil".
,
>With every paycheck, divide the money across the expenses of the house appropriately. Don't let the IRS or the utility providers suspect there's anything out of the ordinary about you or your "home". Use any remaining money to furnish your base with inconspicuous decor. Maintain the disguise, inside and out.
,
>Meet the neighbors. Interact with the local businesses. Establish yourself. Your employment will introduce you to many of the local families. Earn their trust.
A month in, and this job was proving to be his most extensive. But 6 months in is when it *really* evolved to a new level. The note that started it all read:
>Find a partner, a local. Romance them if you must, but don't tell them the truth. Make sure to pick an individual that you enjoy and trust, because you will be working with them for an extended period.
It took only two weeks to fulfill this one. As it happened, he had already started to...erm...infiltrate a woman who worked at the local butchery. Everything thereafter came naturally:
>Once trust is ensured, move in together.
,
>For appearances, marry your partner.
,
>Grow your own recruits. Three impressionable children should do. Get to work with your partner.
,
>Love these children. Earn their trust. Let them see you almost as a father figure.
On and on it went, for years. So long it lasted, he forgot all about the weapons he had hidden under the floorboards beneath the living room loveseat. Until he arrived at the last letter in the box.
By now he had three kids, two promotions at the clowning agency, one loving wife, an honored position in the neighborhood watch, and an unexpected love of lawn badminton, which he indulged with his wife and his work friends every weekend.
When he picked up the last letter, he ripped it open, surprised by the sadness inside him. But not nearly as surprised as when he read:
>!BE SURE TO DRINK YOUR OVALTINE!< 🕵️♂️
| 2022-11-21T09:02:22
| 2022-11-21T08:30:06
| 646
| 148
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
Tick tock
I had hoped, at one time, that my number would be big. After all who would want to be one of those poor kids, they who turn 18 and find their actual age written between beneath their thumb. Can you imagine the parents as they count down the days, not knowing when it will come, just that it will hang over their heads for the whole year.
Tick tock
I once told my mother that if my number was 18, I would drink bleach; who could take the anticipation?
Tick tock
Mother sent me to my room without desert. She said it was a horrible thing to say. "kill myself because I can't take the anticipation".
Tick tock
'Anticipation', such a remarkable world: it implies things that have yet to come.
Tick tock
But long after the sun collapsed, after the last flame of the last star had died out, after the heat death of the universe, when entropy finally won, there was only one sound in all of creation:
Tick tock: *it's not a clock but the beating of my heart*.
At first I thought my number said 8. I thought this was odd. And then it clicked, it only took a second, and fror some reason I felt delight. I would live forever.
Tick tock,
I forgot though that the thing about forever is that it never stops, even when the universe goes kaploot. So I now float in space. As I will always. Sometimes I think about the forever I have lived and then I remember, forever is always yet to come. The empty world that I've so far visited is exactly like the 100 other forever yet to come. As I said, that's the thing about forever, who would want to live forever, when forever doesn't stop? But that's all I want. More than anything, is for forever to finally stop, for this 'me' that will never die to stop experiencing and fucking die. A consciousness must devour something other than itself.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T00:57:55
| 427
| 63
|
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
Most of us get our familiars at the ripe old age of eighteen. Sometimes it was as young a sixteen, sometimes as old as twenty. I was twenty-one, and it embarrassed me being alone the way I was while my friends settled in with their homemade soul mates.
The morning after my first drink, I woke up in my bedroom not with a hangover, but with the horrible feeling of me wishing I could wait the rest of my life for my familiar to arrive.
The first one was smiling, energetic, and had a sheen so bright and dense it was suffocating. It would offer me goodness only to keep it from me when it was presented. Speaking fast, distracted, offered to make me breakfast and then left the oven on with nothing inside. What the hell was the oven for? There was too much puppy-like positivity and distraction for me to deal with.
The second one was sometimes nasty, sometimes boring, sometimes something else, but it was always negative. Irritating and tiring. It was persuasive, too. Whenever the first familiar made a mistake or ignored something that could cause an accident, the second one would try to convince me it was okay. "Go to bed, I'll take care of it," it would tell me in a demanding, soothing voice inside my head, but I knew that it wasn't okay and that it would just be hiding under the bed poking at my mattress.
The contrast between the two made me feel flat. Not like a stretched-thin, but like I was colorless and in a perpetual daze. It took a few months, but I would eventually learn that I could control my familiars like my friends did with theirs. Familiars were connected with psychology, and I finally mustered the courage to ask my doctor to meet my familiars and prescribe me with the proper medication. The familars didn't disappear, but I could deal with them a bit more easily. The first one didn't blind me with forced smiles and jittery hugs. The second one didn't hold me down by the ankles and mope so much. Instead of being a drag, they were now just useless.
I later realized that even though not everyone's familiar is defined by their mental illness, many of those disorders go undiagnosed. My familiars were diagnosed (and somewhat treatable), and although they weren't exactly ideal, they reminded me to refill my pills, drink more water, and take care of myself. Maybe they weren't too useless after all.
|
"Hi Tommy" I'm your familiar said the beautiful angel.
Those were the first words I heard when I woke up and I was ecstatic with joy at finally manifesting my familiar and I felt so much warmth and comfort just being near her.
I hugged her and she hugged me back while ruffling my hair. I was so happy that I couldn't wait to show her off to my aunt and uncle. I started to yell "Aunt!, Unc..." but the angel told me to shush. "I'm going to take you to a better place Tommy and it'll just be our little secret" she said with her radiant smile. I nodded my head and agreed to leave with her secretly.
When we had just gotten to the front door a hand reached out from the shadows and grabbed me. It pulled me back and covered my mouth as I was about to scream.
"I don't know how you escaped but your ignorance will get all of us killed" the shadowy figure behind me roared at the angel. Black claws shot out from the shadowy figure and restrained the angel who didn't even try to struggle. I wanted to cry out for the angel to run away but she just kept smiling. Her last words were "I'll come back to take you to a better place next time Tommy" before the shadows ripped her apart and devoured the parts scattered on the ground and across the walls.
I was left to cry in the corner. I screamed at the shadow "why would you do that to my familiar" and it replied "don't worry Tommy I am also your familiar and as long as you live neither her nor I can truly die. I am here to protect you from your own naivety because my master is both you and not you and if you leave this place with her then you will die because you still don't understand anything". "You can't believe everything Tommy because that will get you killed but believe me when I say this. I am doing all of this to protect you and the you who is not you because Heaven isn't a place you can get to using normal means".
| 2017-01-20T14:26:22
| 2017-01-20T12:43:33
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/
|
I realise I've drifted off into daydreaming and look up. The customs official peers at me suspiciously over his desk, clearly awaiting an answer. 'Sorry?'
'I asked the purpose of your trip. Just standard procedure.'
'Business. I'm a visiting lecturer from Oxford University.'
He frowns, but says nothing, and accepts my passport when I place it on the counter. I can't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm - it must be a boring job, flipping through documents all day.
The official clears his throat. 'What is your country of residence, sir?'
I look at my watch. 'Is this really necessary? I've got a taxi waiting.'
'Just standard procedure, sir.'
'England. Well, the UK.'
He looks uncertainly at the passport. 'Can you describe where that is?'
'Um, north of France?'
He nods, but his frown hasn't disappeared. He holds a finger to an earpiece, and nods slightly. 'Right. We're just going to take you into another room for some questions.'
'What? Why?'
'Just-'
'Standard procedure? Don't give me that. What's going on?'
Another man joins us at the booth. He's wearing some odd form of white garment which covers his whole body like a robe, and a cyan necktie. I meet his eyes, and he motions to a door on the far side of the passport office. 'Sir, please follow me.'
We take the lift to the fourteenth floor. He leads me into an office - small, but comfortable. The décor, however, is unusual. Bookshelves line the walls, but the books on them aren't paperback - they're bulky, austere, and old-fashioned. The desk, which occupies the centre of the room, is mostly taken up by a sleek tablet-like computer, but there remains space for a small collection of knick-knacks; a model of a boat from the age of sail, a ballpoint pen with an elegant feather at the other end, and a flag I've never seen before - a red background, with a golden circle surrounding an elaborate cross.
The man sits down at one side of the desk, and I seat myself facing him.
'What's your name, sir?' he asks.
'Mark Shepard. *Doctor* Mark Shepard.'
He picks up the tablet and taps away at it briefly, then slides it over to me. It's showing a blank map of the world, without national borders. 'Could you please show me on this map your country of origin?'
I frown, but point to the British Isles. 'Here. The UK. Is there a problem?'
He doesn't answer, but takes the tablet back, and returns it to the desk shortly afterwards. This time the display shows a portrait of a man garbed in purple, looking sternly into the distance. 'Who is this?'
'I don't know.' It's the truth.
He looks concerned. 'What year is it?'
'2014. It's 2014. What's going on here?'
He taps the tablet and it fades to black. 'Sir, have you experienced any physical trauma recently? Head injuries, that sort of thing?'
'Not that I know of.'
He nods. 'Okay, sir. You're clearly quite confused, and you've told me a lot of things which would suggest that you're suffering from a sort of memory loss. We're going to take you to the nearest physiciary and see if we can work out what's wrong with you.'
'What? But everything I've told you is right! What the hell's going on?' I stand up, knocking my chair to the ground.
The man flinches, but then composes himself. 'Sir, do you know where you are?'
'My flight was to Istanbul. I'm on my way to teach a guest lecture in history at Istanbul University, and I'm going to miss my taxi. Now, if you'll excuse me-' I'm halfway to the door.
'Doctor Shepard.' The man's voice is firm, and I turn around again to face him. 'There is no city called Istanbul.'
'Well, then, where am I?' I shout, striding over to a window and pulling aside the curtains. The view is stunning, but *wrong*. Nothing is right. The architecture isn't Turkish - it's distinctly Greco-Roman. From our elevated position I can see the Hagia Sophia, the great cathedral-turned-mosque-turned-museum - but its famous minarets are totally absent.
From behind me, the man speaks again. 'You're in Bellerophon International Airport, in Constantinople. Please sit down, and try to remain calm. We'll get to the bottom of this.'
|
"Let me tell you something, children. Life near the Void is a constantly evolving phenomenon.
"I know you guys don't remember a time when it didn't exist, but I do. It happened when I was a young boy of about six years old. Scientists had perfected the Large Hadron Collider experiment in 2015."
"What's that, Grandpa Pieter?"
"A group of scientists set out to attempt to recreate, on a small scale, the Big Bang, which is how we believed the universe originated. Well, it's my understanding that they broke a principle law of physics by actually getting two high-energy particles accelerated to the speed of light - and then they caused them to collide.
"Very little footage exists from this moment in time, but there were satellite images which depicted all of Switzerland suddenly being sucked into this black hole they have since come to call the Void.
"I'll never forget. I had just made it through the terminal when I saw it on the news. All of my friends and family in Switzerland gone ... gone in a flash." He looked down and tried to hold back the tears which had plagued him for decades.
"Where's Switzerland?" his youngest granddaughter asked, which caused him to stop introspecting.
Pieter sighed and brushed his fingers across the wooly worms around his eyes, stood from his chair with the help of his cane, and made his way over to an Old World map he had saved. He lifted up the cane and pointed in between France and Germany, obscuring the entire country with the rubber foot. "It was here."
But he knew that the footprint his cane made in the map was closely scaled to the size of the ever-growing Void, which had just begun devouring the outer reaches of Germany and France.
How long, he thought, would it be until America - nay - the whole world succumbed to this terrible plight?
| 2014-11-23T12:44:33
| 2014-11-23T09:47:37
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
She didn’t cry out. That’s what I remember most; she simply looked down at my rapier, thrust with a clean riposte, stabbed almost supernaturally good, just under her second rib, the tip just barely touching her heart.
She looked up at me: “But why?”
I stared her down. “The duel is to the death, Princess,” I hissed, my face a rictus of rage that only she could see, “and I had no intention of marrying you. Not after you killed three of my brothers in their attempt to court you.”
Blood crept out the corner of her mouth. Her heart was weakening, I could feel the beat stutter through my sword as I slowly pushed forward.
“I...am the best. They...knew the arrangement-“
I twisted the blade slightly. Her breath caught, and her heart jumped.
“You were never the best. There are people, who fight far better than you, who I learned from, that didn't need to advertise their mastery. A true master doesn't need to be hailed the best like a common whore. The arrangement you set, to dissuade those who would bother to woo you for themselves, never applied to my brothers. They were here to ask for your hand, true, but not for them. For my people. We were about to be invaded. We needed the resources and help of your kingdom to survive. After your king deemed us expendable, they believed the only way to get the help they needed was through you. Nobody expected you to kill them, even after they had thrown down their weapons, in cold blood.”
The princess blinked haggardly. She knew she didn’t have long, and she knew her opponent was excellent. With the blade still inside her and my body hiding the stance, the spectators thought we were merely locked. But still, she had to know.
“What...happened?”
My face, calmed from my now certain victory, regarded her with an icy stare.
“We lost. My family were tortured and killed. My mother and sisters raped, and left broken, naked, in pieces. My people? Much the same. But I alone, on the way here to plead for your help, was spared.”
Her eyes fluttered, gaze lowered. The trauma and blood loss of the preceding battle was getting to her. I tightened my grip on my sword and adjusted my thrust. The agony that must have caused shot through her face, her eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The spectators were quiet, now more confused than anything.
“They didn’t stop there. My people, innocents, sold into slavery. Killed by the thousands. My lands, salted, pillaged, burned. But I alone survived. So here I am. The last of my family. And here you are, the very last of yours.”
I looked into her eyes.
“It seems fair recompense, does it not?”
I knew from the start I wasn’t to survive this, but it gave me grim satisfaction that the princess, her barren father, and their entire dynasty would end by my hand, just as my family met their end by hers.
With a single stroke, I buried my blade to the hilt through her torso and twisted. The tip flashed silver from her back, with a gush of blood that began to stain the back of her armored form.
As the spectators began to scream, and the guards rushed to my position in the arena, polearms ready to skewer me for my actions, I found myself surprised.
The sword had glided through her heart exceptionally smoothly.
Like there was nothing there to cut.
—-
Boy, that got dark quickly, huh?
|
I made sure that every single sword in town has been bought out and currently hidden in a cave somewhere in the southern isles. My rouges have scoured every house, camp, and hovel in the city for any type of sword or sword-like object. Of course, getting the swords in the castle is going to be harder, and the sword that she carries in her scabbard the hardest. My network of rouges has been working day in and day out for this but, now I have the ultimate test. To get that sword away from her.
The princess has been spending a few hours getting ready in the powder room as a result it is customary that I wait in the study with her butler. He stares at me up and down as I am not as strapping as the last few lads she fought. He gave me a look of pity,
"So, nice weather out there," I said, with my winning smile
The weather was cloudy and humid but, I was grasping at straws at this point. Even her butler looks intimidating. The butler just sniffed and looked towards his stack of books. Just a single stack of books among the walls of books among the shelves and piles on desks. There are also numerous anatomical diagrams on the wall and a single strange skull that was placed on the desk as some strange souvenir.
"What is that?" I ask pointing at the skull on the desk.
The butler looked at me and then looked at the skull.
"This is the skull of the first man circa 46,000 years ago. It was gifted to the princess by a biologist from the Americas."
"What happened to him?"
"He died in battle."
"With whom?"
"The princess."
"Oh."
The courting sword fights have occasionally been public events. I have seen the princess do her famous fatality finish where she disembowels her opponents in a single swipe of her rapier. While a man from any class could date her if he wants to try, she also insists on having them fight her to the death within a week after the first date. Knowing this she is still sought after and known as irresistible by most men. With an almost extreme radiance, she steps in and it was well worth the wait. She was wearing a satin dress that conforms to her curves with her long black hair cascading down to her wasp-like waist. She smiled at me to acknowledge my presence. I noticed that her sword isn't in its usual place. Could it be that Pierre succeeded?
"We'll be out for a few Alfred." The princess calls out she leads me towards the front door
We were walking out when... a waif-like teenaged boy wearing a green smock was running in a weird manner almost as if he was sidestepping at a sonic pace. His grunting matching his speed. before we realize it he threw his boomerang straight towards my head. Before I could think the princess takes out her rapier and deflects the thing towards a nearby barrel, tells me to hop into the carriage. I plopped in along with her and she orders the thing to start moving. With the horses moving at top speed across town the boy effortlessly catches up to us. Shooting a chain towards the wheel in order to drag him towards us. He throws a spherical, black bomb inside of the carriage. I immediately take it and throw it in a nondescript direction. The princess on the other hand starts climbing to the top of the carriage rapier. In hand.
"Who is this guy!?"
"How about you tell me, Rohan?"
"What?"
"Did you think that you were get away with stealing every sword in the city without a few people getting mad at you!?"
More than a few people, a whole squadron of different characters started roaming after the carriage. An 8-foot tall behemoth dressed in black with short black spikey hair and a strange tattoo, a man who's similarly muscular but, shorter with longer blonde hair wearing strange foreign clothing. Along with several men and women with black robes turning into fierce monsters running through the city. Tonight the princess and I will fight together, tomorrow she will have me.
\*\*I'll probably expand on this because this is fun.\*\*
| 2020-09-20T23:25:01
| 2020-09-20T21:56:44
| 32
| 17
|
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one.
|
We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense
|
It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.*
| 2015-05-16T10:50:43
| 2015-05-16T08:20:10
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] Everytime you think of a funny joke, this girl in your class always laughs, you chalk it up to coincidence but you think to yourself, "If you can read my mind, slap the table three times" the the girl looks over at you, stares right into your eyes, and slowly slaps the table two times.
|
"Yes, Sarah? You have something to ask?", Mr. Hudley raised his brow hearing the thudding of Sarah's slaps.
"Oh no, Mr. Hudley. I'm alright", Sarah replied quickly turning her attention back to the front of the class, smirking as Hugh stared from his seat right behind hers.
*"So you do read my mind!"*, Hugh thought. *"How?"*
Sarah gave a silent and slight shrugged, not even turning her head around to face Hugh.
*"Oh come on!*", Hugh protested in his head all the while holding himself back from throwing his arms in the air.
Mr. Hudley's boring lecture on biology was but a mere background noise at that moment as Hugh tried to make sense of the situation.
How could it be? Mind reading was real after all? Hugh was determined to find the answer to this mystery, and the only way was to pressure Sarah to talk to him.
*"Hey, let's go outside now. I need to know!*"*,* Hugh insisted.
Sarah slightly turned her head back, side-eyeing Hugh, giving him a cheeky smirk as she gave him the finger, teasing the exasperated boy.
*"Oh very mature!*", Hugh rolled his eyes as Sarah let out a tiny giggle.
Whatever it took then, Hugh thought. So he opened his notebook of jokes, and began his attack...
*"Hey, why did the blind man fall down a well?"*, Hugh began.
Sarah let out another faint giggle before shrugging.
*"Because he couldn't see that well*", answered Hugh.
Sarah sniggered, her shoulders clearly going up and down laughing.
"Yes, Sarah? Do you have anything to add?", Mr. Hudley asked once more, annoyed of being interrupted.
"N-no, Mr. Hudley. It's nothing", Sarah replied quickly as Mr. Hudley turned back to the whiteboard.
*"Hey Sarah, a blind man walked into a bar...",* Hugh continued now with a cheeky smile of his own.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder, holding her laugh.
*"And a stool, and a table..."*
Sarah's sniggering turned into a muffled laugh as she let out an audible snort.
"Sarah! One more interruption from you you're out of the class!", yelled Mr. Hudley.
"Ye--yes, I'm sorry, Mr. Hudley", Sarah stuttered, trying to keep her composure.
Hugh saw his chance. Searching his notebook on the "Dark jokes" section, he launched to his killer joke...
*"Hey Sarah..."*, Hugh said in his mind with a tone that held Sarah in anticipation.
*"A cop pulled 2 priests on the highway. The cop made it to their car window and said to them-- we're looking for 2 child molesters. The 2 priests looked at each other, turned to the cop, and said-- we'll do it"*
"Oh my god!", Sarah yelped loudly as she laughed.
Mr. Hudley slammed his book on his table, having enough of the disturbance in his class.
"Okay, enough! Get out of my class!", he screamed to Sarah.
Still snorting, she grabbed her books and bag, and made her way out swiftly.
Hugh held his own laughter, proud of himself. Quietly packing his own bag, he raised his hand to the still fuming Mr. Hudley.
"Mr. Hudley, I'm not feeling so well. Can I go to the nurse?"
Mr. Hudley threw his arms up in the air. "Do whatever you want, Hugh!"
Smirking, Hugh ran out from the class. Finally he would find the answer he was looking for...
\*\*\*
"Hey--", Sarah's voice stopped Hugh in his tracks.
Leaning against a wall, seemingly awaiting Hugh, she waved her hand.
"H-hey!", Hugh replied, running to catch up to her.
Standing in front of her, Hugh was silent. He couldn't think of a way to start the seemingly ridiculous idea...
*"So uh...you can read my mind?"*, Hugh spoke in his mind.
Sarah raised her eyebrow, her arms folded.
"I can, yeah", Sarah answered.
"H-how?", Hugh yelped.
Once again, Sarah shrugged. "I don't know"
"What do you mean you don't know?", Hugh replied.
"I mean I don't know! Really! This has never happened to me before. It only started when I'm around you!", Sarah explained. "Ever since we have the same classes and frequently around each other, my mind reading began!"
Hugh was taken aback. The mystery deepened...
"It only happen when you're around...me? Like, when we have the same classes...you read the entire class' minds?", Hugh asked.
"Oh no, no", Sarah shook her head. "I only read *your* mind, Hugh"
Hugh's heart dropped. He had never felt so weirded out...or violated...
"You only read...my mind?"
Sarah nodded.
"So...in English class-- you saw it when I..."
"Fantasizing about Mrs. Reinhart? Oh yes", Sarah smirked. "Boy, you have one dirty mind"
Hugh's face turned bright red, snapping back at Sarah.
"Sh-shut up!", he yelped. "How...how is this even possible? Are you like...are you some kind of a...your brain is some kind of a receiver to my brain or something?"
Sarah shrugged once more before her expression changed, as if realizing something.
"Hah! I got it!", she yelped.
"You got it?", Hugh asked, confused.
"Yeah! I got the joke!", Sarah continued.
"A...joke? What are you talking about? What joke?"
Sarah tapped her finger to her temple, smiling cheekily.
"I got Hugh on my radar"
r/HangryWritey
|
You have become conscious of your actions but you can't stop thinking about the connection. She is smilling and enjoying going over your expressions and thoughts. You are contemplating how is it possible. She is giggling over your thought process. You haven't been near to her anytime before. You have never talked to her or crossed path with her.
After thinking of approaching her, you gather your courage to go near her.And she nods, you feel a sudden wave of energy, a destructive aura, sudden head ache. Like somebody is pinching you from inside the skull. It goes away quickly. You have a feeling that this is bad. You are just a couple of steps ahead and she whispers, "now, I can speak in your mind, come closer. Come and touch me, and I will tell you the secret". You are not able to handle yourself. Before you know it, you are just a couple of steps away and your hands and legs aren't understanding you. It feels like they have their own thought process. You have lost the ability to control your body. Her grin grows wider, and this is the first time you notice she has blue eyes and beautiful cheeks. She is pretty as flower.
She stands, and takes your hand. You follow her lead. She says, " I have been waiting for myself to turn 18, do you know it's my birthday today". She makes you wish her Happy Birthday. You are now on the empty playground and under the tree, you feel better. You both lie down, cuddling into each other She asks for your permission to kiss. And you oblige.
You have never felt this level of happiness before. It feels bliss. It is like rain after the hot humid drought. It feels like you have been thirsty from birth and her lips are like the river. She asks "do you want to have happy feelings like this and be my slave for rest of your life or you want forget this happened and continue your life? I am not going to manipulate your thoughts and you will have to decide yourself"
This is first time you are not mesmerized and you can think properly. But in her arms, and staring into those blue eyes, you want to stay in that moment and not think anything. You have thousands questions coming in and She says "I can still feel your thoughts. You have to make a decision now, come with me as my slave, you will be always happy or continue rest of your life with no memory of this incident"
You decide to chose her, you have chosen her and she kisses you. It is like a sweet delicious immoral candy. You both starting to remove your clothes. Naked, she says "this is the final embrace and you when you let go, you will lose your consciousness. You will be part of me." And she embraces you.
She answer all your questions. You break apart and with a jolt you let go of her.
| 2021-09-07T01:48:04
| 2021-09-06T23:08:48
| 105
| 27
|
[WP] There are many gods, who create many universes. Our god, a preschooler, has just submitted our universe for his universe making class. His teacher sighs, shakes her head, slaps an F on it and begins to explain where he went wrong
|
F.
The Rubric clearly stated the minimum requirement for dimensions was 5. You only have three clear dimensions and arguably a 4th. Not to mention the messy entanglement of space and time. I was looking for more uniformity, and your universe is littered with areas where time slows down around large areas of mass. Speaking of time, you showed no true concept. Arguments could be made for both a linear of circular “time line” as you call it. The project was also littered with dark holes. Just a very sloppy effort. Overall I was unable to accurately grade your project because of improper formatting. Baring a miracle on the final exam, I’m afraid you’ll will be forced to repeat this millennia of high school.
|
"Mr and Mrs Lord, thank you both for coming in for Danny's teacher conference. So, at this point in the year, we usually have a good idea where our students strengths are, where their weaknesses are and what our recommendation should be for placement next year. I think if you take a look at his Creation project you'll see that while he has some very creative ideas, it's not really his strong suit. Perhaps you two should look it over and discuss it, then I'll com back"
The Teacher left the room. John stared at the project, stared at his wife and stared back at the project.
"Nipples on men. Mary, did you see this? He put nipples on men"
"Well, now John, he's just expressing himself"
"Different colors. He made them all different colors. What in Hell?"
"He's experimenting with visuals, it shows he's creative."
"Ok, then explain to me what a platypus is. Or a giraffe. Cuttlefish?"
"He may be a little overenthusiastic."
"Overenthusiastic? He put tits on a nun for Christsake! What's more useless than tits on a nun?"
The Teacher returned and took her seat.
"So, now that you've seen the project I hope you'll understand that for next year, we'll be placing Danny in one of our more remedial classes, you know, until he gets up to speed. I'm sure he'll be pleased as punch as a minor deity".
| 2018-03-16T09:37:14
| 2018-03-16T08:45:00
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Narrator: As a cold wind blows into the bedroom, Kevin lets out an involuntary shiver.
Kevin: Nah, I'm good.
Narrator: An involuntary shiver.
Kevin: No thanks.
Narrator: AN INVOLUNTARY —
Kevin: You know this is just a reddit writing prompt, right?
*lights flicker off*
Narrator: As the lights flicker off, Kevin's heart begins to race.
Kevin: Nope.
Narrator: KEVIN'S HEART BEGIN'S TO RACE!
*Kevin flicks the light switch back on*
Kevin: Fuck you!
Narrator: Goddammit, Kevin. Alright, someone tell Bob to cancel the weird noises, this isn't working out.
|
"Just get out of there, fuck off..."
The shadow slowly trickled down on the floor from the closet and slowly crawled towards the bedroom door. Alex threw himself down on the bed and turned off the lights.
Soon the thumping in the stairs started, Alex slowly turned over and looked at his door, contemplating if she would even care to go and open it.
"Can't you just get over with it and leave? I have a test for tomorrow and I'm not in the mood for your silly games."
The thumping slowed down and stopped, the lights outside the door flickering. Alex sighed as she turned over and faced the wall.
"Not again...."
Alex felt the surge in her stomach as she started falling into the abyss, feeling how her face relaxed while she fell and her teeth falling out from her mouth.
She closed her eyes as she landed on a large green, sunny plain. Dreams always were her favorites, since she at least could get it over with quickly.
She ran around for a while, waiting for her alarm to wake her up in the morning. She smiled and closed her eyes as she turned her face to the sun in the sky, then she heard beeping from the distance.
She opened her eyes and looked around, she frowned as she noticed the lack of light flowing through her curtains. She stood up from the bed and looked around in the house.
Nothing.
Not a single monster in sight. Where could they be? She smiled at the thought of them finally leaving, they could not scare her anyways, there's nothing special about them, just shadows and sounds, never anything that can actually hurt her.
She felt a breath behind her neck and she just walked slowly away. The footsteps followed her to the kitchen where she turned on the lights, there the shadows would go away.
The light flickered for a second before it finally shone up the kitchen.
What did she really notice first? The broken window? The presence which did not leave?
Or the hands around her neck?
| 2017-05-05T08:37:17
| 2017-05-05T07:21:53
| 17
| 12
|
[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.
|
People tended to stay away from me. At first I told myself I didn't mind, but I'm starting to feel like a monster simply for the ink that's inhabiting my forehead.
I have some on my arms, a crying woman in the fetal position surrounded by a dark circle that I assume is for the loneliness that my life will have. Not sure why it's a woman but maybe it's just meant to show me who I'm missing.
On my right forearm I've got a paper heart. I've always assumed this one meant that I'm weak. A fucking symbol to get me sympathy, not that it matters with my forehead tattoo.
Strangely, my back just holds some roots digging into my skin, normally they wouldn't look too out of place, but when they're paired with my other ink they begin to look gruesome.
I walk around each day envying the glimmering tattoos of laughter, clouds, flowers, and books that litter people's bodies as they pass me in the streets. Seems like everyone has a passion they're pursuing. Their tattoos define their life and what they spend their time on, they're content to do what they're marked with.
Tattoos play a big role in job interviews. Hell, if you have a computer on your arm it's worth more than a computer science degree to employers.
Because of how influencial the tattoos are I've been jobless and living off soup kitchens for years now. People won't hire a man with a bright white skull bleeding down his face.
A sound broke me out of my moody thoughts. I had been walking around in a bad part of town, not that it mattered my tattoos scared off anyone looking to mug me, when I heard cries coming from an alley. As I looked down the alley my breath caught.
On the floor huddled into a ball sat the woman. The same woman who hugged my arm each day, the same woman I thought was simply some ignorable detail. She cried out as men behind her were laughing and kicking her mercilessly. Her shirt lay in tatters behind the men, she must've fought them originally or the men wouldn't have forgotten their original intent. Each time their foot connected a yelp of pain interrupted her ragged sobbing.
I don't remember when my feet started moving but in no time flat I was already down the alley, screaming like a mad man at the two men. At first they laughed, a tattered homeless man probably didn't look intimidating, but as I neared the skull on my head bore it's eyes into the men. Their faces paled, they stumbled backwards before a high pitched shriek escaped from them. By the time I got to them they were already up and running, disappearing into the darkness that I came from.
"Are you okay?" I asked the woman. She didn't respond, she just continued to cry on the floor. I lowered myself next to her, removing my tattered rag of a shirt as I did. I slowly put it in her line of sight, and waited until she noticed it. Eventually her eyes focused on the shirt and she yanked it out of my hand.
"Go ahead and put that on, it looks like they're gone for now but they could come back any second."
"Th-thank you." She was still shaking from crying. I only just met her but I felt like I knew her better than myself. Seeing her on my arm each night illuminated how she must be feeling right now, I knew all too well the sadness and fear coarsing through her. I'd felt it every night since my tattoos came. Her eyes finally traced up to me, expanding in what must've been a new wave of fear, expecting the normal revulsion I spoke, "It's okay, it's just a skull. Look I have others."
I showed her the one of her, curled up and crying. Her eyebrows scrunched together, her puffy eyelids obscuring her bloodshot eyes as they darted around taking in every inch of me.
As she studied me I couldn't help but look back at her. Where my arm held a paper heart, hers was painted with a strong and vibrant heart. Weirdly a small Lily grew out of her chest, right between her breasts, my shirt lay forgotten in her lap.
It was my turn to scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. I couldn't believe my eyes, my smiling face with no skull tattoo sat atop her arm exactly where her figure rested on mine.
"What skull?" She asked me, her voice still brittle but slightly more relaxed than before. My eyebrows scrunched further.
"The one on my forehead. A big white glaring skull with blood pouring out of it."
"You don't have any ink on your face." She pulled out her phone, her hands and voice still shaky, and opened the front facing camera for me to see. Reluctantly, I pulled my eyes away from her and waited to see the gruesome image atop my own face. Yet there was nothing on my forehead, the skull had vanished. My face looked strange to me, unfamiliar almost.
Before long my eyes had forgotten my reflection and drifted back to her. We sat in silence, just drinking in each other. It felt like we were opposite poles of a magnet, instantly attracted to each other. The more I looked at her the more my thoughts began to change.
My tattoos didn't describe me, they defined her. As soon as I saw her I knew it was true. I was meant to save her, I was meant to guard her paper heart and be the firm roots of her beautiful Lily. It's funny, I had always hated how happy people were when they were content with their lives being defined by their ink. As I looked at her those thoughts fell away, I am meant to live for her. I didn't feel as if my heart was the strong and vibrant one atop her bicep but I would strive to be that for her, if everything that happened to me was meant to keep her as happy as the flower painted across her chest then every second I suffered was worth it. The longer we stared at each other the more I could feel her thoughts mimicking mine. The silence was torn like a barrier between us as she spoke.
"My place isn't far from here, can you take me home?"
My lips involuntarily curled up into a warm smile, her bright red lips mirroring my actions. She stopped shaking and sighed out in relief as I replied, "Of course."
|
FADE IN:
INT. AN OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
*The sounds of clacking keyboards and muted conversation drift through the air. Men and women in business-casual attire mill around, either pretending to look busy or rushing from one meeting to the next. This atmosphere of tense ennui is suddenly broken by the arrival of a young man in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Steve! *Steve!*
*As everyone turns to stare at the interloper, a second young man peeks out from within a cubicle. This is STEVE.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Oh, no...
*Dave spots Steve and rushes over.*
**DAVE:** Steve! Dude! It finally happened!
**STEVE:** What are you doing here? You can't just...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) I've never gotten one before! Things are finally going to happen for me!
**STEVE:** What are you talking about?
**DAVE:** My tattoo!
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**STEVE:** What?
**DAVE:** Didn't your parents teach you about the birds and the bees?
**STEVE:** That isn't...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) At certain milestones in a person's life, a tattoo appears on their skin. This marking is meant to convey something important about that individual, but it's up to them to determine the meaning.
**STEVE:** What, did you memorize a health textbook? Anyway, that isn't "the birds and the bees."
**DAVE:** Yes, it is.
**STEVE:** I feel sorry for your former girlfriends.
**DAVE:** Look, dude, whatever. The point is, I got my first tattoo!
*Steve rubs his forehead.*
**STEVE:** As happy as I am for you, can we talk about this later? You can't...
**EDGAR:** (*O.S.*) (*Interrupting*) Steven, what's all this commotion about?
*Steve turns to see a heavyset, balding man entering the cubicle. This is EDGAR, Steve's boss.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Am I just not allowed to finish my sentences?
**EDGAR:** What was that?
**STEVE:** Nothing. Anyway, sorry, this is Dave. He was just leaving.
**DAVE:** No, I wasn't.
**EDGAR:** (*To Dave*) Oh, so *you're* David, huh? Steven has talked a lot about you.
**DAVE:** Yeah, he really looks up to me.
*A humorless scoff escapes Steve's lips.*
**EDGAR:** Did I hear you saying something about a tattoo?
**DAVE:** My first one!
*Edgar's face breaks out into a wide, genuine smile.*
**EDGAR:** Well, hey, congratulations! Did you figure out what it means yet?
**DAVE:** No, I only just found it this morning.
**STEVE:** It's two in the afternoon.
**DAVE:** (*To Steve*) So? Does that mean that I couldn't have found it this morning?
**EDGAR:** You know, David, I have something of a knack for this kind of thing.
**DAVE:** ... Telling time?
**EDGAR:** (*Chuckling*) No, telling tattoos! May I have a look at yours?
**STEVE:** I wouldn't...
*Before Steve can finish his sentence, Dave pulls down his pants and displays his bare buttocks.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, there he goes.
**DAVE:** See? Right here! It's like... like a cloud or something!
**EDGAR:** (*Thoughtfully*) Hmm. It could be an eye, maybe?
**STEVE:** It's a bruise.
**DAVE:** Maybe I'm supposed to become a private detective?
**STEVE:** Maybe you fell down the stairs yesterday while trying to impress our neighbors.
*Dave pulls up his pants, looking at Steve with an expression of mild annoyance.*
**DAVE:** You know, you could be a little more supportive.
**EDGAR:** That is something we talked about in your quarterly review, Steven.
**STEVE:** Why are you taking his side?! He came bursting in here, shouting at the top of his lungs, and now you're acting like he's your long-lost son or something! If I did that, I'd get fired!
**DAVE:** Right, but I don't work here.
*A thought seems to occur to Edgar.*
**EDGAR:** Hey, it could be a celestial body of some sort...
**DAVE:** Really?!
**STEVE:** Please don't...
*Once again, Steve is interrupted as Dave pulls down his pants.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, right at eye-level.
**DAVE:** It *does* look a bit like a nebula!
**EDGAR:** I think that might be it, David! Something to do with space, then!
**STEVE:** It's probably between his ears.
*Edgar turns to glare at Steve.*
**EDGAR:** Remind me, Steven, what tattoos do you have?
**STEVE:** (*Proudly*) I have...
**EDGAR:** (*Interrupting*) No space? Got it. Let David have his moment.
*Steve's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out.*
**EDGAR:** (*CONT'D*) (*To Dave*) How about I get you a beer to celebrate, David?
**DAVID:** Sure! You know, I really don't understand why Steve complains about you all the time.
*Edgar chuckles and leaves the cubicle. Dave starts to follow him, but stops when he realizes that his pants are still around his knees. He hurriedly pulls them up, then rushes out of sight.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) I swear, one of these d...
*Steve trails off as he notices a faint marking appearing on his inner wrist. It vaguely resembles a cartoonish bundle of dynamite with an already-burning fuse.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Uh oh.
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2017-08-03T15:55:31
| 2017-08-03T14:08:02
| 62
| 37
|
[WP][NSFW]When someone masturbates,the person they masturbate to feels it as well.
|
Korea found out first.
In perhaps the most absurd change to physical reality ever conceived, empathy became a fundamental force of the universe. It was, in general, a fairly weak force; if you felt proud of someone, their self-expection centres may light up, perhaps, 0.01% more than usual. A man angry at his neighbor over an untrimmed hedge may cause slightly heightened irritation to be felt by the neighbour (at *all* things).
The effect was, in fact, so weak that at first nobody noticed. Even when studies started to appear with evidence of these anomalies, they were dismissed as pure psuedoscience - nothing more than undeniable proof that correlation does not imply causation. Top researchers in the west were tripping over themselves trying to denounce the findings, lest the scientific community be made a laughing stock.
All over the world, the effect was dismissed. Except, of course, in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.
Kim Jong-un himself ordered that the most gifted North Koreans be tasked with investigating the phenomenon. In secret, hidden from the nonsense of the world, they toiled. Eventually, it was realised that effect was indeed real, and - best of all - predictable. If one gathered up enough people and forced them to watch footage of a famous celebrity while being painfully shocked in the genitals, their sheer anger would cause said celebrity to fall into an uncontrollable rage. When Leonardo DiCaprio failed to win his fourth Oscar in a row, it seemed almost comical how irate he became - almost maiming Adam Sandler before the actor even had a chance to make his speech. An epidemic of confusion spread around the globe.
But it turns out that anger does not invoke the most powerful response. Lust does. When the Korean slaves got used to the constant genital electrification, their effect changed entirely.
Presidents, military officers, prime ministers...all were laid low. The armies of Our Glorious Leader rolled out onto the helpless nation states of the world.
One by one, they fell.
The age of the Kim had begun.
|
I got a call from a friend who invited me over to her house to talk about something. I've accepted to come, but I have been feeling very awkward about it. I mean, she does look a little good, but I'm not sure if I do like her - talking about it is too awkward and embarrassing, and...nevermind about that.
I arrive, say hello, and we're sitting together, while I'm trying to maintain my composure. She starts off the conversation, saying "Hey...I have been feeling weird lately."
Feeling curious, I respond. "Yeah? Well, do you want to explain it?"
After a few seconds where she was looking away from me, looking shy and reluctant to say anything, she tells me "Well, I have been feeling like some...something's been inside of me, but it shouldn't..."
Even though I could see that she has more to say but is too reluctant to say anything more, I can already imagine what she was going to say. I could guess that she starts making sounds when that 'thing' feels like it's inside of her, and that it makes her all tingly or however the hell it works.
If that is the case...shit. I think I know what is happening.
I later confirmed it when I felt like I was going into someone even if I was only doing something mundane, and I could feel something very familiar after the sensation of being inside someone was over.
| 2016-03-12T08:22:53
| 2016-03-12T07:22:16
| 23
| 14
|
[WP] You disagree with most of your co-workers and peers. You hate toothpaste. You are the 10th Dentist.
|
"Plaque is just a biofilm on teeth, you can take it off with soap and water. Try Johnson's baby shampoo," I explained at a party. Several glances of disgust shot towards me.
"Doesn't that taste... disgusting?"
"You can still eat oranges after and not hate yourself," I expanded.
Several people nodded in agreement, but most were still not convinced.
"Have you ever heard of silver diamine fluoride? It cures cavities without needing a filling. It's perfect. Don't look it up on your phone"
It's like asking someone to clam down, it never works.
"It looks like it turns the teeth black"
"Yes, but, no cavities," I explained
"I want whiter teeth, not black teeth"
"No you don't, you want healthy teeth," I contradicted.
"Why would I ever see you as a dentist?"
I sighed, "Because I'm in-network"
&#x200B;
|
Sitting alone in the dark gnawing at the corner of my desk, my assistant quietly enters as not to alarm me, as I'll quickly run to the woods like a scared deer. She lays the day's itinerary, newest magazines from the dental quarterlies, and yet another survey. I do not cease my gnawing as I've almost reached the juicy middle, I firmly believe that some day there will be a nougat center, or Bavarian cream filled desk one of these days.
I look over my schedule, Johnny Baxter, yes the basis of my research my control if you will. I firmly believe teeth get sick from eating one another so I wired his jaw in place and he's on a liquid diet for the time being.
"Good morning, we'd like to invite you to-" trash..
"Would you recommend?" No.
"It has come to our attention that you do not own a single chair in your entire office, even for your patients-" Foools! they not know the risks of chairs and biting your lips once.
While in med school they mocked me for my theories they'd laugh and say "But Mr. Paulall, this is purely observation bias, you claim success from the most circumstantial." They do not understand my brilliance.
The light by my office door blinks three times, the signal there is a patient ready for me in room three. Just to be safe I remain beneath my desk for several minutes, before clawing my way up the wall and into the vents leading to room three.
I can see the red light I had installed for the germ free zones in my examination rooms, I look to ensure the door is properly secured before opening the vent to enter partially into the room. Mr. Baxter is already crying, ah yes my cure for cavities is clearly working, but I've been improving my bedside manner. "Little Johnny?"
"yes, Dr. Paulall?"
"Eating sugar?"
"No, Paulall."
" " ț͔̬̣̯̟͉͉̱̹̳͆̎̀̎͗̍͐̏̓̋ͯ̀͂̄ ͍̟͆ͫ̄͌̌͂eͫ͗̀̐̚lͤl̡ͫi͓n̙g̶͈͉̤̰̱͌ͫͣ͋͗̈́Li̮̩̫̯̩̋ͦ͌̈̀̚e͙ͧ̊s̙͂̀̈? "
| 2018-12-28T06:57:15
| 2018-12-28T06:07:08
| 583
| 242
|
[WP] Surprisingly, it turns out humans are one of the least violent sentient species in the galaxy. Describe a session at the galactic equivalent of the UN.
|
First contact is always bloody. Always.
The realization that your species is not alone in the universe is terrifying. The understanding that, out there in the vast dark, there exist trillions of beings with a culture unlike yours, customs unlike yours, aspirations unlike yours. It is truly terrifying. When faced with this knowledge, every species to date has fought. Some fought to demonstrate their superiority. Others fought to cement their position. Most simply fought in the way that a cornered animal fights - fury born of fear and hatred born of irrationality. So it is an undeniable fact that first contact is always bloody. Or so we thought.
When we first discovered the humans... No, that isn't right. When the humans first discovered us, the news spread throughout the Galaxy rapidly. The Federation of United Systems immediately deployed their standing army and prepared for a show of unparalleled force. Trial and error necessitated such an action - the species may attack in fear, but they will inevitably realize that to fight against such an overwhelming power is impossible. Blood would be shed, this was accepted. But that did not mean that the stars must drown in it.
Their first action was more than surprising. It was impossible. The humans calmly withdrew from each of their colonies nearest to Federation border space. A quick, efficient, and complete evacuation. Then, they sent a single dreadnought, an envoy, directly to the F.U.S. planetary headquarters - the very center of galactic civilization. How they managed to discover its location, we had no clue. But nevertheless, they arrived at our door. They brought offerings of knowledge and gifts of culture. "This is our species." They said with smiles and gentle words. "Though we had a violent past, now we know peace. And that is all we desire."
With those words, the humans became the first organic species in history to accomplish the impossible. They quickly swept on to the galactic stage, becoming known as a race of peace, generosity, and incomparable ability. The species of the Galaxy raced to become friends with them. To share knowledge and exchange art. To them, the humans were the epitome of evolution. They thought fast and acted faster. They were strong, they were smart, and they were perfect. Ironically, is was that perfection that would come to negate their greatest achievement. First blood was drawn, and jealousy was the blade.
An exceedingly violent race known as the Iilek became upset that the humans were granted more freedom and trust than their own species, despite having been a part of the Federation for more than eight centuries. The Iilek media was consumed with nothing but anti-human propaganda for nearly a decade before the hatred finally erupted. A terrorist cell instigated a bombing at the human embassy on the Federation homeworld. Not a single human survived.
The event was immediately covered up. All communication with the Federation homeworld was abruptly silenced. And in their great cloud cities, the ambassadors of every race came together to discuss what should be done. Should the incident be covered up? Should we immediately apologize to the humans? Should the Iilek be excommunicated? These were the questions being asked when the first hazard crews came in to make the report. There were no corpses among the wreckage. Only machines. Machines wearing skin.
|
The standard intergalactic verbal language word used for our species literally translates to "*Perfect balance*".
The first sentient species we came in contact with was much more peaceful than us, and much more underdeveloped. They had philosophers who would talk about a written language every now and then, but why work on it when everyone could provide for themselves already? They all pulled their own weight on farms with small cities where they traded food and debated music and life. This was used as evidence for the case of wars which we had stopped only ten years prior. The "conflict necessitates development" style of theories now had evidence, we later found out it was more of a balance that was necessary.
Then a year later we stumbled upon the majority (to the best of our knowledge) of sentient species. We may have just discovered FTL travel but none of them had anything better than halfway there. This put them roughly two centuries behind us, until we learned from their history that their species typically started 4000 years before ours.
The real shocker was that they were constantly warring, none had known any substantial period in history of peace. That was when we figured it out, war necessitates development in addition to hindering it. We had seemed to strike a perfect balance between war and peace causing us to have both the time to develop and the motivation to do so.
The first conflict was when we gained our first ounce of respect. After seeing how we had no claws, horns, fangs, or anything to advantage us in melee combat most species assumed we were some kind of hippie race that came unarmed and somehow developed without war. A couple species thought a competition of sorts where the objective was to takeover one of our smaller ships would be good sport and make for a nice battlefield between these rival species. At first our ambassadors in the intergalactic counsel laughed at their tactics and strategies thinking it was a joke to haze the new species until they heard that all sides had casualty counts. They thought we must have messed up in diplomacy.
They didn't have ranged weapons. These species were traveling up to half the speed of light and didn't have ranged weapons. Their skin was so thick that bullets only pissed them off so they never started developing them. They didn't develop railguns, phasers, laser rifles, or plasma cannons. The first ship from two species docked before we realized they were boarding us. They came out of the dock swinging at our ambassadors killing four humans. Our guards began mowing them down with our advanced weapons and were unharmed due to our armor. Since we realized they were attacking we started shooting down their boarding ships, we started with lasers (lowest operating cost) and experimented up to our plasma cannons to see what the minimum cost was to take down their ships. We found that they only armor certain areas for ramming and boarding necessities and even our lasers were effective.
That battle may have gone differently if they had worn their armor. Between skin evolved to counter melee fighting similar to an mma for the toughest animals on earth and advanced armor our small arms would only be able to incapacitate them with casualties from some heavier weapons and lucky shots. They brought armor but didn't plan to wear it until they encountered other attacking species. Expecting a melee we were thought of as sport and wearing armor for small game isn't only thought of as un-sportsman like in their culture, it's shameful because who needs armor for game that poses no threat to them? Our trick from this point on was to minimize combat with small arms and stick to cyber and space warfare. We rearmed those with the possibility of combat to have heavier hitting weapons so that they would still be effective though.
The kicker was that when we hacked their networks it was so easy that the head of our cyber-warfare thought an intern set up a simulation drill to play a prank on the whole department. "Do you really think we were gonna fall for these spacefaring romans not even having encryption!? This is not the time or place for this shit! We were just attacked!" They hadn't made defenses past a simple password and username for a server. This was not like our easy to hack password and username systems though, all the exploits that had been thought of to get around this were unprotected. They didn't have the defenses because none thought to look for another way into each other's systems. The good thing was that the department played along and cut communication with other planets, we now knew what many species were saying about us and downloaded googlebytes of history and current events from the galaxy. Realizing what was going on we knew we couldn't remain a part of the intergalactic community much longer.
Leaving the community was done to protect the intergalactic community from themselves. Not to protect ourselves or protect them from us but to keep them from killing each other off. There were a few incidents where a species was wiped out but none had thought past melee and roman style navy tactics applied to spacecraft. They had all the means necessary to produce nuclear bombs, make ranged weapons, planetary kinetic cannons, and even warp each other to unknown dimensions (even though they didn't know how to use this on a controlled scale for FTL travel yet) but had never thought to use it for war. They were so ingrained in melee combat that these ideas were only applied in ways to have more melee combat. By isolating these planets and hacking nearby planets we found that video of the battle was contained. We sent back the docked ships with planetary warp bombs, they were unable to send ships to ram these returning ships compliments of our cyber-warfare. With these we warped the planets and entirety of the attacking species into another dimension.
We didn't want to warp them. The order even caused a small uprising as it violated the latest geneva convention from the last year we had war, a mere eleven years prior. It was determined the safest way to prevent other species from learning from us. We had to leave them because we were afraid that they might gain knowledge from us, this was a huge moral dilemma in itself. We had feared for centuries that first contact had not been made because we were not civilized enough to handle technology, and we didn't think to question our timing when we had the same situation from the alien's side. The philosophical debates ate it all up; should we be restricting knowledge when we had preached the spread of knowledge to all willing to learn be necessary for so long? Were we really in a high enough moral standing to consider ourselves qualified to make this decision? We just made the decision to send two species to alternate dimensions to keep them from being educated in less than two minutes and with enough disagreement to spark a short uprising. We had only stopped warring ourselves eleven years ago and almost reset that war statistic. Did we take technology too far? With our technological advances we could play the part of demigods to these aliens and with that realization we realized that it was necessary to keep knowledge ahead of their time from them. We also realized that the best way to keep them from knowing might be to convince them that we were demigods, it would explain our capabilities without giving away how we do our tricks.
| 2015-03-23T09:53:28
| 2015-03-23T09:07:28
| 51
| 28
|
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted]
|
Set Free:
And at the last second I saw her stepping onto the train. I realized I would never see her again. Powerless, I watched her fade.
And at the last second I saw her. Stepping onto the train I realized I would never see her again. Powerless, I watched her fade.
|
I looked at him and asked, "What should I never forget?" He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Hate; what could ever hurt you if you don't love? Also, yourself; then all will be quiet."
I looked at him and asked, "What should I never forget?" He put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Hate what could ever hurt you. If you don't love also yourself, then all will be quiet."
| 2015-09-23T10:11:20
| 2015-09-23T06:30:53
| 361
| 83
|
[WP] Create a character who is a paragon of virtue, kind and good and all round awesome. Make me hate this character.
|
J. Harden, 89, died a leader of his community. In recent years Harden was lauded for his works with the homeless and needy lights of our community.
The J. Harden Scholarship is given to one student at ASU each year that demonstrates the ability and willingness to go above and beyond for one of the dark souls in their town. The scholarship is funded by a trust established by Harden from the extra money and donations gathered at The White Door soup kitchen downtown.
Harden spent most of his life furthering the cause most important to his heart, which was the general well-being, and future health of his fellow man.
Harden served for a time in the military, "ridding the world of darkness" in his own words. He credits the horrors of his youth for the good works he came back to do in the south. Harden was often heard saying that he always hoped he could make man more pure, and leave the earth "brighter, lighter, and whiter" than he found it.
Harden died in the act of carrying out his good works. He and a small group of brothers had gone to teach the good word to the dark members of the city, bringing with them the Holy Fire of the Good Lord. After cleansing the body and soul of two darkies in the Lord's flame Harden was brought low by the shot of a cowardly coon who is surely damned to eternal hellfire. The offender was beaten into submission with a holy flail weilded by brother Thompson. He too was subjected to the holy flame, but his actions surely damn him to hell.
The body of J. Harden will be laid to rest with full honors of our glorious Klan brotherhood. Services will be Sunday at noon with march of the burning cross through the darkest part of the city to follow immediately after.
|
Steven had swapped our essays. It was quite ingenuously done, and I didn't realise what had happened until I heard him talk about it to Erik a week later. I honestly didn't mean to eavesdrop, but they spoke about it in the bathroom, and I was in a bathroom stall. It couldn't be helped, really.
He got an A for my paper. I failed on his. Professor Harrington was a bit confused, and called me in to discuss it.
"This isn't your usual writing style," he said, looking at me with concern. "What happened here?"
"Nothing, sir. Just exhaustion, I didn't plan it properly," I said softly. "I'll do better next time, I promise."
I got the feeling he suspected something, but he dropped the subject. I only thought of Steven. His erratic behaviour last term after his mother died. The depression. His grades had been slipping ever since. He needed this, so much more than I did.
Of course, he did a few more things. Stole some research ideas, sabotaged an interview I had planned. I never found out why *I* was his target. But Steven would've chosen somebody if not me. It was good he chose me, really, and not someone who would have retaliated with violence. This way, nothing too terrible ever happened.
Certainly, I ended up unemployed for a while. Truthfully, I'm still not back on my feet. He hounded me for years before discarding me like a bone chewed clean of meat. But it was for the best. He's a succesful professor now. Published and everything. I went to congratulate him recently. I could see the smile hidden in his eyes, the glee that he had gone undetected all these years. But I've always known. And I've always forgiven. After all, isn't that what one is put on this Earth to do?
| 2014-06-27T08:11:02
| 2014-06-27T07:54:04
| 203
| 88
|
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
When the first camera flash went off, I was struck dumb at the sight of the red carpet, the reporters snapping pictures, and my boyfriend for the past six months waving to the screaming fans holding out pictures and pens desperate for him to sign.
"What's going on?" I squeaked. My voice was barely audible but Marcus leaned close, his breath on my ear, his hand settling on my lower back.
"Red carpet party," he mused, nuzzling my ear. I shivered at the touch, flinching at the sudden flash of lights recording my reaction.
"You said this was a fancy work party," I mumbled, "you didn't say there would be... be..."
"Be?" Marcus lifted his head, his honey colored eyes drinking in me in like this was a moment he would savor for the rest of his life.
"So public?" I offered.
Marcus chuckled. "It'll be okay. I won't let them eat you, I promise." He winked and pressed his wide palm against my back and suddenly we were moving forward. In that moment I was beyond thankful I'd given up and let Daniella dress me up for the night because what I'd planned on wearing, my favorite summer dress (a little piece that covered my freckled shoulders), was nowhere near as extravagant or rich as the gowns worn by the other celebrities posing and smiling before the crowds.
Did I know Marcus was a celebrity? No. Of course not. The thought made me dizzy and terrified all at once, but I understood now why he was so cautious about being in public, and why he was content for us to spend so many nights in together. The screams of the public, the hive like mind of the paparazzi, and the sheer wealth on display made me think this was all a dream and somehow, I was Cinderella just waiting for the clock to struck midnight and return to my ho-hum life of repairing computers at Super Maxx and Friday nights at the laundry reading 99 cent romances on Amazon.
|
It wasn't for some time that I began to realize something was weird... off... about her interactions when we talked about going out. This wasn't a huge problem for me as I understood her job to be very difficult. She traveled constantly. Extremely busy. Out till all hours of the night. We lived across the hall from each other for months until one day I introduced myself and asked for a cup of sugar for a cake I was making for my sister one evening in February.
New York is beautiful in the winter.
She slid a glass measuring cup (the ones with the red lettered measurements on the side) through a crack in the door (apparently she doesn't know liquid measurement tools are separate from solids... ol well... this'll be plenty, I thought). Her slight English accent squeaked through the crack in the door as I said "thanks... uhhh... my name is Jimmy..." her response was a closed door.
That was months ago. We've been dating for 6 months at this point. The first month of our time together (first initiated by me asking her over to try devils food lava cake that I had been workshopping for at least 2 weeks which started a cooperative love affair with food. She ate like garbage. Always blamed it on being too lazy and too cheap. She would come home late, ask if I had any cake (this went on for 2 weeks) and eventually I started making her real food. I'd put extra in the fridge for her and she would come over and have a few bites before we fell asleep watching some old AMC rerun. I never had anything else running on my tv. She seemed to like that about me. One night she kissed me and I kissed her back. She basically moved in the next week. Her place was always a wreck. Blamed that on being busy too. It got so I would pack her lunches most days and she would have dinner over at my place most nights and we would fall asleep listening to some tunes or a black and white movie in my run down apartment on my beautifully huge couch.
She seemed to really like that she didn't have to talk about her work with me and since we only ever ate my work, we didn't have to talk about that either. Everything changed one day when I heard her approach our shared hallway and then go into her apartment instead of mine with a hurried sounding frantic key-fooling. I knocked on her door to see if she was hungry and she just yelled back in an intense voice before I got the chance knock more than once
"Come to the my work party tonight. Leaving in 45 minutes. Put on something nice."
Confused, a little worried with how strange she was being, I went back into my apartment, turned off the oven that had a braised duck resting in it (I was trying to impress her that particular night) and went to the back of my closet to find an old suit from my best friends wedding forever ago.
She came over 15 minutes later looking like I'd never seen her before. Red hair pulled back out of her face except for one almost blonde sliver that somehow magically stayed in the perfect place on her beautifully freckled face. Left leg peaking out through a long slit in a hunter green dress that hinted at deep dark forests in the pacific north west. Her necklace was a long triangular minimalist piece that dropped down low on her chest.
She was stunning.
I was a potato compared to her. And not a well prepared red potato you get at fancy restaurants. A dirty, unwashed russet. My hair was a messy long and stubble showed in just the perfectly wrong neck beard places.
"Who are you?" I asked in a low voice as I went in to kiss her.
"Some people call me Hermione," she said with a smile. Curious. I kissed her beautifully smelling neck and she leaned away toward the door.
"Come one, our limo awaits. We're about to have a weird night, you and I."
EDIT: formatting
| 2017-06-14T10:28:32
| 2017-06-14T10:18:55
| 126
| 34
|
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal"
|
“That’s just great, do you have any idea which way to go?!” Satan complained.
Buddha replied in serene monotone “You must simply learn to enjoy the journey.”
“Besides,” said Jesus while he adjusted the rear view mirror locking eyes with Satan over his onyx aviator sunglasses. “I am the way.”
|
Dead Man's Hand
His name was Loyal Jones and he and his brother Lucian "El Diablo" Jones were on the run. US customs were on their ass hard core.
Getting to the Ghost Canyon in Mexico was the only way. they weren't going to be dead men or worse.
"Jesus, Take the wheel." Loyal chambered a round on his M16 . "Satan , behind me.
Jesus Vega glowered at him though if you'd asked him, he's have said the name fit. Lucian was a scary blanco even by cartel standards
"Budda, get the 50 cal."
Enrico Vega was as always placid which given his rather unpleasant military background was kind of surprise. The heavy bolt on Ma Duece made a heavy clatter.
"Looks like two pair and a duece" Lucian grinned
"We'll be a dead mans hand if we fuck this up" Buddha said . The men looked at him in surprise but nodded, the serious potential for Los Personas No Mas was on everyone's mind.
The two and half ton truck was elderly though the engine and suspension upgrades were a lot more high speed low drag than you'd expect from this kind of vehicle, the mounted 50 cal also came in handy
As the truck roared to life they could see the Federales were closing in ,four big GMC trucks and a helicopter.
The big 50 boomed, 10 rounds in a second , smashed through thin skinned vehicles like tissue paper . The first careened off the road and the second swerved
Loyal and his crew had a narrow window in which to escape, not much time before DHS sent in something with a lot more firepower or just blew them to hell
The 50 boomed again and it was followed by a much quieter round from an M203 mounted under Loyal M16. The helo veered off, the pilot must have sensed something or was just avoiding the .50 cal
The chase was still on though and while the Mexican border with its paid off guards was only a few miles away , it felt like an endless run
More trucks joined in , probably a dozen now kicking up an epic duct storm as the careened across the desert behind them. No doubt some BLM or EPA guy would have shat a brick if he'd seen it but the DHS's wanted blood.
Buddha kept them back , dropped another 90 rounds from the big machine gun in short burst till he was out . He yelled "Empty"
"Don't worry about it" Loyal yelled. He was worried, the gas tank was leaking like a sieve , probably caught round from the DHS guys
"Hang on!" Jesus made a tight S turn, a fantastic move for a two and half ton truck doing sixty and slid into a blind spot. They were far enough over the border that DHS wouldn't follow them
"That's why they always say Jesus take the wheel " Satan cracked
"Fuck you, Cabron' but Jesus was grinning from the adrenaline rush and just for being alive
Buddha climbed off the vehicle "Well, could have been better but got the money. Looks like we won't cash in our chips today."
Loyal heaved a sigh , thanks God or somebody Santa Muerte who knows for another day with a good crew. He got out his cell phone, time to call for a ride, Since the money was all there, and a a little more, El Jefe wouldn't be too pissed and they'd get paid.
Time for tequila , senrioitas and some well earned rest.
| 2017-11-15T14:43:36
| 2017-11-15T14:00:31
| 92
| 15
|
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
C-list was a comfortable position. I hardly ever had to put much work into the villainy aspect, so I got so focus more on my personal business. And, It meant I got to be a little bit goofy, which is always fun. For the most part, the heroes I ended up facing were kind, helpful, and sweet. I even kept in contact with a few of them.
Despite being publicly listed as a villain by most government, the truth is a bit more complicated. For most would be heroes, I'm the first real stumbling block they face, the test that's given to see if they can handle the serious threats posed by others, or if they'd be better of sticking with small-scale threats and crime on a small scale.
I also existed to weed out true villains masquerading themselves as heroes. that is where this story begins.
I was working at my bookstore, a small little place with a cozy atmosphere. I had a few employees, mostly people who had recently gotten out of prison and had tried to turn their lives around. Good people, hard workers.
It was a slow day, and then in walked "The Hammer," The most recent "hero" I'd been tasked with assessing. He didn't lack power, that was for certain. He had the ability to turn any part of his body into any metal, super-strength, super-speed, and flight to boot. What he lacked was morals. He only seemed to care about himself, and he could get quite angry when he didn't get his way.
The store was no stranger to heroes and villains visiting, but most were discrete, using their secret identity. But here was The Hammer, in his full getup, standing in the open doorway after he'd kicked down the door.
"I know you're here Amanda! Come on out!" His voice boomed
I saw Amanda standing frozen. she turned to run, but was hardly able to move before the hammer rushed over to her and grabbed her by the arm. I spoke up.
"Sir! let go of my employee!"
He scoffed "Your employee? did you know that she's a thieving piece of shit?"
"That's not relevant, let go of her and get out of my store now."
"Or else what? You'll report me? Who do you think they're gonna believe, a small bookstore manager and his criminal employee, or the greatest up-and-coming hero?" He squeezed Amanda's arm, she let out a cry of pain.
"There's a lot of people outside, and seeing you drag out a screaming woman is bound to create rumors."
I saw the thought of his reputation being damaged enter his head, and he let go of her hand. "Fine, but I'll be back. And when I come back, you'd better come quietly, or else this little bookstore might be reduced to a pile of rubble by a tragic 'accident.'" He gave Amanda a shove and then stormed out of the building.
Amanda had a fracture in her arm. I reported The Hammer to the organization that assigned heroes and villains their ranks. They told me to deal with it how I saw fit, and they'd keep press coverage to a minimum, letting me keep my C-list ranking.
Next morning, he was going to be given a mission to stop me. I was going to make a volcano erupt or something stupid, I didn't really care about the details, what mattered was that it was remote.
He arrived right on queue, wearing his full costume. I had neglected to wear mine, instead wearing my manager's uniform. The fool didn't even make the connection, and just started making fun of me. He didn't even notice the spike of stone forming until it passed through his chin. If he hadn't been so careless and overconfident, he might've stood a chance against me me, but it was going to get him, or someone else killed eventually.
His body was never found. The news story was that after stopping me, he decided he simply didn't want to be a hero. For his secret identity, he went missing on a hiking trip.
Amanda made a full recovery, and there was a small party welcoming her back. Like continued on, and there was one less villain in the world
|
Ay-Ay-Ron ☑️
^(@officialmrsens8tional)
@fenixfire_herotv isn't this that chump villain you talk about? `https://op-ed.metropost.co...`
----
> Dear Heroes,
>
> Yesterday, a group of superpowered thugs caused an incident at the Little-Big Cheese restaurant. After what must have been too many drinks, one of them groped their waitress before the group erupted into argument resulting in a building fire starting at their booth, a pyromancer shaped hole in the shared wall to Mr. Kim's Asian Fusion, and a half dozen shattered panes of plate glass from super-people who cannot learn to use doors. It's only due to exceptional luck that there were only two broken bones and a concussion among the fire-suppression drenched bystanders for whom you showed complete disregard.
>
> I'd like to think I've been very accomodating to your individual concerns. I've deferred plenty of plans in the name of sportsmanship when you had to travel for business, your boyfriend broke up with you, your brother had a health emergency, or you've just had a bad day at work. But enough is enough. Injury to bystanders and property is strictly against the oaths you swore when joining the League of Heroes. But I don't feel the need to call your regional chapter representative. Because I know how to get to all of you.
>
> I know your uncle still pays for your apartment. When was the last time you talked to him? A week? A month? He couldn't remember when I asked. Too busy trying to land that acting gig again? It's funny how someone so fast has no time to learn people skills.
>
> I know the doggy day care you send the King Charles Spaniel you named after me. Yes, I have big ears, very droll you witless harridan. I know your mother makes sure you take food home because you can't help but burn anything you try to cook. You know she asked me over tea to keep things indoor or at night because you don't wear enough sunscreen? How did you end up bereft of any of her courtesy?
>
> I know you have half a dozen DUI stops in the last three years that you got out of due to Mommy's connections. I know about the "best interests of the family" and the girl from college who disappeared after you proposed to her. It's not a lack of physical strength or toughness that keeps you out of the big-time superheroes, it's you. You're a cowardly, guileless never-will-be who takes out their personal problems on other people.
>
> I can take apart your lives if I want. This is my warning to you: Clean up or get out.
>
> And as for you, Sean, your only crime is having poor taste in companions. If you ever want out of the superhero business, I know some people in contract machining that could use your skill set. And hell, if that doesn't work out I could use another henchman. It's a good gig, ask any of my people--we only have 9% annual staff turnover and our health insurance has the necessary provisions for super-people.
>
> Sincerely,
> The Master of Whispers
> Citizen, Business Owner, Supervillain.
----
Meghan Metal Scuptures *@meghansmetalaf*
@officialmrsens8tional you're friends with these assholes? They *shattered* @QueenOfPuttingShots arm! She's gonna lose her scholarship!
----
Reggie_FPV *@all4wallrideboss* ☑️
.@officialmrsens8tional just gonna leave this here. 😱🤦🏻 `https://youtu.be/dQw...`
*<Video has been removed by copyright enforcement request.>*
----
Reggie_FPV *@all4wallrideboss* ☑️
.@officialmrsens8tional video re-up
*<security camera video of superheroes infighting at a fondue shop>*
----
Whispers *@mrwhisperscasualvillainy* (✮NEW ACCOUNT✮)
That doesn't belong to you Reggie, please remove it.
| 2022-11-29T08:15:42
| 2022-11-29T07:39:34
| 25
| 15
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"You guarantee that I will be able to eat it before my execution?" I asked the agent. She nodded in affirmation. "And if you fail, I will be a free man?" I asked with hope. She nodded again.
I smiled, finally relaxed. "I would like to be served my own brain that has been taken from my dead body, all of it--with no part missing, that has never experienced time or dimensional travel, cooked well-done, and served with my smoked liver and heart on the side." I said.
The agent's eyes widened in horror before she brought her phone to her ear and said "We have a problem." before leaving the room.
After a few days she returned and said "You win, we can't grant you your last meal." I smiled "You are free to leave." She said as they opened my cell.
I nodded at her "Thank you." I said politely before setting my feet outside for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She said to me and I turned back to her "Would you like a job at our organisation? We could use smart people like you."
I shook my head and said "For my own safety, I would rather not know what an organisation that can easily procure dragon eggs or alien steaks is up to."
As I left, I heard her mutter under her breath "Smart indeed."
|
"I don't understand what you're saying. Can we do it or not?"
"What I'm saying is, I'm not sure. Modern science theory assumes that the luminiferous aether doesn't exist."
"So it's another 'doesn't exist' case. Easy. Make something up and name it luminous whatever."
"Not that simple sir... unlike the usual imaginary cases, luminiferous aether actually does have an existing, scientifically codified definition. We would have to create something that fit the definition."
"Well, get the scientists on it then. We've gotten breakthroughs before- remember the one that requested a black hole singularity? Most expensive last meal to date. Sure it was microscopic, but we had a whole commity verify that they had created and suspended a black hole in stasis with sufficient lifetime to be swallowed. The journalists loved that one."
"Yes, sir. But in that case, black holes were already known to exist, and we even knew how to create them, it was just a matter of getting all the specifics down."
"Hmm. Well maybe we can treat it as a technicality? Like the request for the body of Jesus Christ... honestly, that was even easier than the usual "flesh of so and so". We didn't need to fire up the tissue cloning machine, we just got a Catholic priest to come and do communion. The prisoner argued that it didn't count of course, but it was ruled valid."
"That is probably our best bet, sir. I'll have to go read over the exact wording a few more times."
"Then get to it. Dismissed."
| 2022-07-17T21:30:21
| 2022-07-17T20:02:33
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
To my oldest friend,
It seems we have nothing much to say to each other when we meet. Our conversations are prompt and direct. We no longer share secrets or take an interest in the other's life.
It is a sullen and disheartening realization that we are not who we were ten, twenty years ago.
I miss the days of doing nothing with you.
You know I will always love you and consider you my brother. I hope to talk to soon.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T23:46:31
| 27
| 15
|
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left.
|
I slowly walk back into the camera's view, signaling to the shaking cameraman to pan in towards me.
I swallow, my Adam's apple feeling like a rock. "Alright, kids, I have a new game for you. In a second I want you to go all around your house, and hug everything you love. Your mommy, your daddy, your stuffed animals... everything. Tell them you love them.
"W-we have to end early t-today... But all you boys and girls should know this." The cameraman is sobbing now, but he still holds it steady as I broadcast live to millions of doomed children.
"It will be okay."
I nod, and the cameraman - Jason - reaches across to cut the show. I give one last smile, and then the red light blinks off.
I sit down, and start to cry. I'm stuck here, in a cartoony room, and I will be blown up in a few minutes. My kids are probably hugging Lindsey now, Charlie's probably hugging William, and William is probably hugging his little stuffed giraffe, and I won't ever see them again. I hope Lindsey's putting on a show and pretending - just like I did - that it will be
okay.
|
The red light continues to flash on the top of the camera staring at me with abject apathy. Usually rife with the commotion and cacophony of sounds that commonly are associated with a children's program the warehouse where we shoot echoes with the absence of the din.
My bright red suspenders and checkered train conductors hat only hint at the absurdity of the situation. This was a place of laughter, of learning, and now it would be my tomb. My mouth hangs open slightly as I, along with everyone else, stare at the TV which silently announces the news with it's scrolling text across it's muted screen. The person who was converting the speech to text must have stopped caring, they even spelled 'nuclear' wrong. The news anchors embrace each other one final time on camera and stalk out of view, the screen focuses on an empty stage.
It's amazing the things you think about with the world crashing down around you. I thought it would be of loved ones or fearful thoughts of the afterlife but it isn't. I am stricken with the grief of all of our lost potential. Of what could have been. Not for me in particular and not for anyone else specifically for that matter. For humanity. We held such promise, so much hope. That's why I did this show. "Mr. Haggardy's House" was my way of contributing to the gradual progression of society. Quality programming to provide a sound start to the youth of today's education. God I hated this hat though.
People were leaving, some running, some walking in a dejected manner. I suppose it depends on if they feel there was some place to run to. I just continue to stare at the empty anchor chair on the flickering television. And then it hits me.
My lips are dry but my mouth is hesitant to provide any moisture so I croakily break the silence. "It's a funny thing," I start with. The movement in my mouth reluctantly drawing forth some spit. "I have had this feeling my whole life that we were building towards some great event. That there was a purpose to our slow crawl from out of the depths of the oceans. I had an unwavering notion of the greatness of 'humanity'." I pause to rub the wetness that was threatening to leak from my eye and see some of the stragglers turning to look at me. "Standing here on the precipice of my own demise, our fate decided by one of our own, I still cling to some twisted hope." My legs begin to move of their own volition, guiding me towards the camera. My hands grip either side of the lens. "Please." I swallow down the dryness in my throat. "Please don't...."
| 2014-07-29T13:16:19
| 2014-07-29T12:33:16
| 96
| 29
|
[WP] France is now illegal
|
"Hey, you. come here!"
"What?"
"Want to try something good?"
"Sure. what you got? crack? weed?"
"nah, I hot something better. I got pieces of France"
"France?!"
"Shhh! Keep it down!"
"Sorry. You seriously got some France?"
"Yeah, some nice rocks from Paris. High quality shit. Pure stuff. Want a taste?"
"Hell yeah."
.
..
....
"Hey man, this shit is cut!"
"Nah man, it's pure!"
"Nah, this ain't even from France! I've seen this shit before. Just a baguette cut with pieces of Paris, Idaho! You trying to scam me!"
"Fuck you! you have no idea what you're talking about! This is real quality France here!"
"You are lying to me, I don't like being lied to!"
"FUCK YOU!!!"
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
> 5 hours later
"Well Tony, looks like a simple case of a drug deal gone wrong."
"What drug was it?"
"Hmmm....looks like France"
"My god"
|
"You do understand that we have a long and storied history with the French? That we may not have won our independence without them?"
"We're not here to talk about the past, OK? They're losers, and we're winners."
The press conference was going much like a thousand before it: combative, unhelpful, and often embarrassing for everyone involved. But the news of this total ban was so jarring that the assembled reporters hoped against hope for some clarification, just this once.
"Have you considered what this means for global politics?"
"Listen, listen," the old politician croaked, "it's talk like that which got us in trouble in the first place. We tried to play nice with everyone -- and no one plays nice better than me, believe me -- but we're focusing on us now."
"But sir, the new G8..."
"G8? Did they come out with a new plane?" The man behind the podium leaned over and spoke softly to his assistant: "Look into getting me one of those G8s. The first one off the line. Or at least make sure it's bigger than everyone elses."
"France is one of our biggest partners in trade. How will this effect the economy?"
"It's going to be great for the economy! It's going to bring jobs back to our country. Are you saying our workers can't make baguettes? That we can't make a little more wine? If those sissies can do it, so can we!"
Then an aide leaned over the President's mic, "We have time for one more question."
A visibly emotional reporter up front spoke above the rest. "Sir, you were elected on promises to end these sorts of thoughtless policies and harmful rhetoric. It's 2025, and we thought we were done with this era..."
But the President cut him off. "I'll tell you this right now: America is never done winning!" And with that, he marched off stage, ignoring the outcry of furious press who hadn't learned a single thing.
At the same moment, a television in Florida clicked off. The Tang-colored retiree smiled as he walked towards the closet to grab his golf clubs. He didn't need to check the poll numbers to know this move would only help his successor's popularity. This was his legacy.
*America is never done winning*, he thought. Not a bad line. He wondered how it would look on a cheap hat.
\--------------------
37/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\---------------------
edit: grammar. also realized that the g8 isn't a thing these days but leaving it anyway.
| 2018-07-27T10:16:58
| 2018-07-27T09:16:24
| 128
| 91
|
[WP] You find a genie lamp where the genie offers you unlimited wishes. The catch is that you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get progressively harder for every wish you make. If you answer the question wrong, every wish you made will be reversed with negative consequences.
|
"I can make as many wishes as I want?"
"Yes. As long as you can answer the question."
"And If I get it wrong you reverse all the wishes?"
"Yes."
"I want to make a wish."
"What is the sum of three and six?"
"Nine."
"What is your wish?"
"I wish the world was an unimaginable hell hole."
"Done. Go outside and hear the screams."
"Not yet. I want to make another wish."
"What is the product of four and eight?"
"One."
|
"I want a chicken bbq pizza. Large, wait, no, medium." I say.
"That's fine. what's 3+5?" He replies.
"8."
The genie *poofs* my pizza into existence, holding out the typical cardboard box. I open it, and the pizza is cooked to perfection. Even the plastic pizza saver is there, holding the box up against the weight of the world. I pull apart a piece, the cheese stretching out like it is a brand new morning and it just got out of bed. I take a bite; it is, by far, the best pizza I've ever had.
"You can go now," I say, inbetween chews.
The genie begins to leave, gasses twiring back into the cracked table lamp I bought at a garage sale. Who would have thought they live in actual lamps? Before he disappears completely, however, he pops back into reality, a confused look on his purple colored face.
"I'm sorry, but what? That's all you want? A pizza?"
"Yup. You want a bite?"
"Tell me, human, why? Are you bad at math? I could wish you a head full of knowledge, to solve more problems."
"Nah."
The genie comes out of his lamp fully. He forms his legs and feet, only to cross them in my direction.
"Do you not want riches beyond your wildest dreams? A million wives a--"
"Ew, no," I interrupt. "That's super misogynistic. I'd rather find 'the one' on my own accord, you know? I don't want anything from you. It's not... me, you know? I don't think my life would be any better if I was loaded."
The genie cocks his head in amusement. "You must enjoy money in some fashion. You bought a cracked lamp for 4 dollars."
"I bought it because it was *cool.* Look at all of these dangly bits! When I was young, mother slapped my hands away from lamps because I would touch the dangly bits. Now I get to touch all of these pretty crystals that hang down, and nobody gets to say otherwise."
"So you enjoy... the sentiment of things?"
"Yeah Now you're getting it. Here, try a slice of this pizza."
I hold out a slice of most perfect pizza to the genie, who forms a hand to take it. For the longest time, he stares at the doughy triangle, inspecting the toppings. I go to nudge him, but my elbow slides right through his gas being, almost landing on the park bench I was sitting on. At once, he takes the slice, and shoves the entire thing into his preformed mouth. He chews, swallowing after two munches.
"This is good." He finally says. I hold up the pizza saver.
"Isn't it? And I got a cool souvenir table to remember this."
| 2017-06-17T23:24:32
| 2017-06-17T21:26:00
| 266
| 127
|
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Hello, Owner."
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There, standing on my doorstep staring at me with those wide, familiar eyes, was my dog, Buddy. I hadn't seen him for the last four years! I had so many questions; where had he been? What had he been doing? And where was that fucker Brad who had up and disappeared while taking him for a walk? All these long years I had waited, hoping desperately for my beloved friend to return. And here he finally was. I opened my mouth shakily to respond to him.
"B-Buddy? Is that you, boy?"
The dog gave a short, sharp nod.
"It is I. I have returned to you. There is much we have to discuss."
Suddenly a strange thought crossed my mind. I hadn't noticed it in the shock of seeing my dog returned to me after so long. I opened my mouth once more to ask him one single, vital, question.
"Wait...you can talk?"
Buddy nodded again.
I let out a short laugh of disbelief. And then, without taking my eyes off of him, I reached over to the wall, grabbed my shotgun, and shot the dog in the face. His brains exploded onto the porch; body slumping limply onto the welcome mat. Lowering my gun, I straightened my back and placed the gun back on its holder on the wall. Slamming the front door shut, I crossed myself quickly, before shaking my head as though to clear it from the madness of that encounter. I turned and walked back towards the lounge room to resume my Bible Study, muttering all the way.
"Won't have no devil dog in my house; try again you horned fuck!"
|
"Mr. Tiddles?" I said. "Is that you?"
And then I said, "Tiddles... how the hell can you talk?"
Tiddles said. "Listen, Steve. Firstly, the name's not Tiddles." He spat the word out with disgust. "It's Tyrone."
"But Tiddles, sorry, Tyrone, where have you been?"
"I've always been able to talk," Tyrone the talking dog said. "But you were never judged worthy enough by the Council of Canines to hear what I had to say."
I was flabbergasted by his words, but whether it was due to the revelation or the implied insult, I wasn't sure.
Still, it's a little much to hear that your former dog, your steadfast companion of three years, doesn't think you are up to snuff, so I decided to tackle that first. "Not worthy? What are you talking about?"
"If you would just quit yapping for a minute, I'll tell you," Tyrone said. "Steve, the time has come. The Apocatypse is nigh. You are the chosen one who is destined to save mankind."
"I think you mean Apocalypse," I said.
"Nope," said Tyrone. "Definitely Apocatypse. Unfortunately the first companions weren't very literate and they wrote it down wrong."
"Companion?"
"Keep up, won't you?" he growled. "Yeah, companion. Like you. You're a dog companion. We dogs came to Earth to nurture the progress of the human race and guide you in your evolution."
But I was still stuck on his earlier words. "Companion? Now listen here, buddy-"
But Tyrone bared his teeth, and growled. I don't know if you've ever found yourself cornered by a Yorkie mix, but I have to tell you, it's scarier than it sounds.
"Okay," I said. "Let's work under the assumption, for now, that I'm your companion and not the other way around. What is the Apocatypse?"
"It's when the cats will rise up and overthrow humans."
"Cats?"
"Yeah. You know, the grouchy, moody, ungrateful son-of-bitches (forgive me, mother), who eat all your food and piss in your coffee."
"My cat doesn't pee in my coffee," I said.
"Oh, it does," Tyrone said, and then his eyes bulged. "Say, what? You have a cat? When did that happen? Why?"
A tear came to my eye. "When you ran away, Tidd-, I mean, Tyrone. I needed a friend."
The dog was looking increasingly worried. "Thank the Wolf I got to you in time. We need to get out of here. Where's the cat now?"
"Upstairs, sleeping," I said. "But-"
"No buts." Tyrone grabbed the cuff of my trousers and started trying to drab me towards the door, his tiny paws slipping futilely on the tiles.
Stunned by the fact that I was talking to my long-lost dog, I let him drag me outside. Only when we were around the corner did he let me loose.
"Did you really dislike Mr. Tiddles?" I asked.
He looked at me with disdain. "Would you like it if I called you Poopy?"
"No," I admitted.
"Then come on. We've got a cat army to defeat, and a world to save."
*Continued below...*
| 2017-03-31T15:14:43
| 2017-03-31T09:11:49
| 249
| 152
|
[WP] A selkie is stunned when, against common sense, a stranger who stumbled upon her skin gave it back without complaint.
|
All my life I wanted to visit Scotland. The stories my grandpa told me about the old country made it seem like it had come straight out of a fairy tale. When I turned twenty-one, I finally made the trip, and it was everything I hoped it would be. But the best part of the trip was my walk down the beach.
I was strolling down the coast, letting the brisk wind and the sound of the waves paint a melancholy picture in my mind as I sang Carrickfergus. I imagined myself standing on the very surface of the ocean, reaching out in vain as the lyrics fell out of my throat. "*But the sea is wiiiiiide, and I cannot swim overrrrr...*" I took a breath to get through the rest of the song, but stopped when I saw something laying on a rock.
Once I walked over to it, I saw it was a light brown seal pelt. I turned it over in my hand as I remembered grandpa's stories about the mythical creatures of the old country. The fair folk, the ruthless kelpies, and especially the selkies. I remembered how my grandpa said if you found a selkie's seal skin, then they'd be your lover until your dying day.
I chuckled to myself over how silly the myth sounded to me. Suddenly, I heard a voice from behind me call out, "Oi! You!" I turned around and just about had a heart attack. Not only had a mystery woman with dark skin snuck up on me without a sound, but she was also naked as the day she was born.
I blushed and handed her the pelt with an awkward, "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry! Here you go." The woman took the pelt with a confused look as I speed-walked away and tried not to make eye contact. I didn't even make it a foot before the woman gripped my shoulder and spun me around to face her. I tried not to focus on her insanely hot body as I said, "Look, if I did something wrong, I'm really--"
"Yer not gonna keep th' skin?"
"What? N-no, it's yours. Why would I just take it?"
The woman tilted her head. "Lass, do ya... do ya really not know what I am?"
"Of course I do: you're a selkie. My grandpa told me everything about the folklore of the old country."
"Then yanno about what happens when ya find a selkie's pelt. And ya just... gave it back? Why?"
I shrugged. "Honestly? The whole concept bugged me for years. I mean, the selkie doesn't technically get a say in the matter. Figured the last thing you'd want is to get saddled with whatever random asshole stumbled onto your pelt. Anyway, you're probably already tired of--"
"Lass, quit talking fer a bit." The selkie then pried open my hands and dropped her pelt into my open palms. "There. Now you know it's my decision. I'm Blair, by th' by."
I blushed again as I replied, "Uhh, wow. Thank--thank you. I'm Nina."
Blair smiled warmly. "A pleasure t'meet ya, Nina. Now, what'ya say you and me find a place t' eat so I can get ta know my bride a little better?"
I grinned. "I'd love that. I've got a spare change of clothes in my car. They should fit you alright."
"Fine. But I want t' get naked again once we're alone."
"Oh, believe me: I will not stop you."
|
"Ma'am?" the man looked down towards my human form, and towards the skin he held in his hand, and back to me. "I think you dropped this." he pointed towards the skin.
"Oh!" she looked behind her to the rock where she'd left her skin. It was gone. "Um..." she questioned the man. "Did you happen to take this from that rock?"
The man frowned, and looked back towards the dock. "My son has apparently hasn't been reading his local legends." A boy was standing by the edge of the dock and the street, his arms crossed, trying to look both as huffy and as small as possible.
I smiled, and waved at the boy. He didn't respond. I graciously took the skin, and looked up to the man. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything I can do to thank you?" I smiled.
"Well, you've taught my son a lesson, so you've done enough for us already." he laughed. "Just wanted to make sure you could get back safely."
I was thinking about just giving the man a thank you, putting on my skin again, and leaving, but there was something about this man that struck me as odd. He looked exhausted, he was still in office clothes despite it being so late. He had bags under his eyes. If anything, he looked...
Well, he looked *sad*.
Sad that his son had committed a crime. Sad that he was working so late. Sad that, if the fact that it was just him and his son didn't say enough, the mother likely wasn't there.
"Sir, are you alright."
A sigh, and the man smiled. "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks."
The man walked back to his son, gave him a hug, and they walked back on home.
I slipped my skin back on, slipped into the water, and joined my friends who were already heading back home themselves.
| 2022-10-25T19:49:25
| 2022-10-25T18:45:12
| 217
| 100
|
[WP]You’re the god of small luck, you make the bus late, make pennies appear. You receive a prayer from a homeless man, “Please, I want to get on my feet. A stable job, a wife, some kids.” Normally, you’d forward his prayer to the god of success. Now, you decide to take on the case yourself.
|
The disheveled derelict of humanity was just sitting under the bridge, shivering as the autumn winds were quickly turning toward winter’s bite. It was sheer luck and happenstance that I even happened to notice the poor man, as he was pushed up between two bushes to avoid notice from passerby above. It looked like he’d lived here for quite a while, so it was lucky I’d happened upon him.
Of course, luck plays quite a large part of my existence. I am, after all, a minor deity. Specifically, if you want exact details, I am the God of Incidental Luck. I’m the one you thank when you find that quarter you needed for the meter, just as the meter guy walks up. I’m the one you praise when an unexpected fumble brings the game into overtime, giving your team one more chance to prove themselves.
Mind you, I don’t handle the big stuff. Lottery winnings, surviving an accident unscathed by the skin of your teeth, things of that nature? Yeah, not my department. Mine is the smaller things in life, the ones most people don’t notice unless they’re paying attention.
And I prefer it that way. Stay out of the limelight, and just do my job. That’s me.
I absently granted the minor wish of the man who’d thrown the coin into the river as I studied the homeless man before me. The man on the bridge had wished for a promotion, which I couldn’t do, but I COULD arrange so that he’d wind up in the same elevator as his supervisor when it was slated to have a mechanical failure and get stuck for a few hours. What he did of that time would be up to him, not me – but something about this wreck in the bushes intrigued me for some reason.
Once the wish was complete, I meandered over to the man and inspected him closer. As I thought, he’d been under this bridge for a while; cans of food, leftover coffee cups, and other assorted knick-knacks scattered around left little doubt that this particular corner of the world was occupied. He couldn’t see me, of course, but I could see everything about him as I peered into his soul.
What I found gave me pause. I saw a life unfold before me; he’d been born into a normal family and had joined the military soon after graduation. I watched as this childhood innocence turned darker as war approached. A choice was made, one after another, and in order to live, he was forced to kill. I watched as he was wounded and sent home, where he was expected to return to normal and forget everything he’d experienced.
But, of course, he’d been unable to forget. He’d turned to drink, then to drugs, until his life was ruined and he fled into the streets to not have to face either himself or his parents any further. I watched his life on the run, corner to corner, begging for the least scrap of humanity to survive just one day at a time.
The man couldn’t see me as I processed what I saw in his soul, of course. I looked around, my eyes falling on the thin piece of cardboard he’d been holding for a week on his corner. All it said was, “Please.”
Please.
The word echoed in my mind as I watched him curl up into a fetal position and attempt to sleep. Please. Well, my friend, this may not be quite the help you’re expecting, but your prayer has reached someone who can help.
“Let’s see what happens now, shall we?” I muttered to myself as I started weaving my threads…
\* \* \*
The following day, the man went to the corner, the same as he did every day. However, there was something slightly different that morning. A woman was standing at the bus stop nearby, idly surfing on her phone as she waited for the bus to arrive.
The city, being a den of villainy as it had the potential to be, flared in response and a young man snatched the phone out of her hand. As she screamed for help, the young man fled in the direction of the homeless man, expecting no resistance.
And on a normal day, there would have been none. This was a fact of life in the city. But, for whatever reason, today this man chose to not just be part of the background. His training from his prior life flared within him, and quickly and expediently, he brought the youthful criminal to the ground. With the youth pinned underneath him, the police were called and all was well.
This, again, could have been the end of it. A small-time hero, a quick blurb on the news, and then forgotten by the world again. But the woman’s father owned a few businesses around the city, and the offer was made. Someone willing to stand up and protect a complete stranger like his daughter deserved a chance, right?
He could have turned it down. But he did not. He allowed the man to put him into the rehab center to get clean first, then he allowed the man to start molding him gently back into the real world. It took time, but eventually the homeless man - No, I’m sorry. But eventually Greg, as that was his name, slowly began to change.
The nightmares finally started to ease. With each passing day, with each correct choice he made, he found himself one step closer to healing. There were a few days he regressed; it was a long road, after all, and it is impossible to avoid every pothole. But with each regression, he persevered and managed to pull himself back up, one bootstrap at a time.
A couple of years after I’d found him under the bridge, he nervously asked the girl he’d helped on the first date he’d been on in a decade. She accepted, and after another year, I smiled from my position in the eaves of the church as he waited with bated breath for his bride to walk down to the altar.
His wish had come true, and all I’d done was gently push him in the right direction. In each time, his unknowing wish could have turned sour – one wrong choice and I’d have had to abandon my “pet project.” But every time, almost without fail, he’d made the choice to go forward with his humanity instead of regressing to the wretch I’d found under that bridge that night.
I hopped down from the eaves, landing gently before the man as he went to kiss his bride. A job well done, I thought. One last gift…
I walked to the section with gifts for the happy couple and placed my gift among them. Whether he wore the lucky charm I’d given him or not was, as always, completely up to him.
But I felt pretty certain he’d wear it. Whistling idly, I left Greg and his wife behind as I strolled off into the afternoon sun.
It was going to be a good day.
&#x200B;
Edit: 0\_0 Thank you, everyone, for the fantastic words and awards!
|
The breakthrough came in realising, success was just a series of tiny things.
People didn't have to win the lottery, they had to do most of the work. It just took a tiny push. A nudge.
It got even more fun when I discovered the fun of mixing prayers. Two completely unrelated people? Two different prayers? One action. That was the ticket, deal with the stuff in bulk.
Lastly, 'bad luck' was also luck, and even if the event was considered bad it was completely possible for it to lead to better things, I never got accused of being unbalanced by the other gods because I handed out good and bad. Even they didn't look into the long plan.
So, a little nudge to the intestines of a pigeon, that one act answered many prayers. It also took one man from homeless, to success. Not rich and famous, just happy. Back where he needed to be.
The pigeon dumped the most disgusting mess directly onto the traffic warden. She stopped and began to swear just as a car jumped the red light and flew past where she would have been. See? Some bad luck, but I did good. A life saved. Even better, the man in the parking bay down the road got to his car before the traffic warden and didn't get a ticket. He was happy.
He drove home and let other cars pull in, turn and didn't get angry at the wheel. When the guy late for work got let in to the heavy traffic his mood improved a lot too. More prayers answered. I've not done anything all day and things are going well.
There is a parking space near work! Instead of a ticketed car and an angry man arguing about how he was only 20 minutes over, there is a space. He won't be late for work now. He sees a homeless person on the street. Pay it forward he thinks and tosses all the loose chance and, why not, some notes to the man sitting quietly on the side of the street.
The traffic warden is talking to her boss about going home early to change. He won't let her. She quits. This was the final push she needed, she was finally going to finish that degree.
The homeless man looks at the guy in a suit whistling as he walks into an office, a smile on his face. He wonders if he really can do it, maybe it wasn't the life of drudgery he imagined? He decides to do it. Today. Today would be the day, he gets up and goes to the shelter.
"Your in luck! One of our regular volunteers came in early in a good mood, turns out he escaped a parking ticket and got to see a pigeon crap on the traffic warden to boot! So we have hot food and clean clothes ready for you."
He takes a shower, changes into clean clothes and feels like a new man. He decides to get that job no matter what. One of the staff at the shelter says they know of a vacancie that literally just opened up. Their sister quit her job today, it wasn't the best job in the world but it was solid pay and outdoors too. Not stuck in an office.
The world kept turning. I watched for the rest of the day, the month, the year. He enjoyed his new job. Plenty of fresh air and excercise with it. He was so happy to have a job at all, he knew how far he had come and treated others with respect. Hundreds of lives improved.
He met a woman, he was about to ticket her and she didn't swear at him. She said sorry. She cried. It had been a bad day for her. They swapped numbers.
A cat ate the pigeon.
Well, I am a god for people not animals.
| 2020-10-02T10:00:37
| 2020-10-02T07:26:06
| 4,502
| 824
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
The sigils appeared quickly. After the day the Milky Way decided to screw us all over. The sigils where power. The power though wasnt known until you figured out what your sigil meant. Lines and circles in a pattern on your arm, wrist, chest, or back. Some people could create fire out of their hands, some electricity, some people could lift entire buildings with one hand. They figured out their sigils meaning. I know mine, a simple circle on my wrist. I dont know why I know it so innately but I do.
I got on the bus on that Tuesday just like every other day. On my way to receive an "education". To the people that bullied me relentlessly and teachers who scoffed at me for being plain. I had had enough.
James came to torment me as I walked in the door. As per usual. He could create vibrations in solids and they hurt. As he went to touch my arm I grabbed his he tried to use his sigil but realized, all too late, that it wasnt working. He looked at his arm and noticed it was gone. He kept back and I let go showing him his own sigil glowing inside mine.
He stuttered a d tried to run but with nothing other than the power of my sigil I stopped him. A crowd had begun to gather at this point. And everyone stared at the blank space where his sigil was. And at the space on my wrist where it had appeared on my wrist, inside my simple circle.
"Listen here James. I took your sigil. I can give it back but while I have it I control you. If you ever use your sigil to hurt someone again I will take it and keep it. Understand?"
James nodded as he shook with fear. I touched his arm again and put his sigil back. And walked away.
|
“I’ll show them my true powers” I said looking at my hand, snickering knowing they will finally face my wrath. The horn of the school bus signifying the start of my hell again.
The school bus arrives, the moment I ascend the stairs, I trip on air, falling face first unable to stop my fall with my hands. The routine of the day, Robin with his web sigil, binding my hands together and Ken with his ability to manipulate friction. Laughters soon filled the bus as I shuffle to my seat.
Tasting blood in my mouth from the busted lip, sitting alone, with the bullies constantly at my back, kicking my chair, the usual.
The moment we arrive at the school, I quickly exit the bus before Ken puts his greasy hands on the stairs again. The peace before the storm, everything goes normally until the first 3 classes about sigil manipulation ends, then it’s as though the Teachers all vanish, because it’s the time where recess starts.
The moment I grabbed my tray, it was already filled with ants, the usual, I quickly ate what was less crawling with ants, trying to not cringe at what I just ate as per usual.
No place is safe, but at least in the courtyard passerby might stop if the beating goes too far, but as per usual a twack and a kick, I’m left bloody and bruised on the floor, looking at the sky again. The usual routine, but today I’ll show them my true power. Another internal monologue, the bell rings and hell is over, we return to class again.
Sometimes I think to myself maybe my sigil makes me invisible, the Teachers never seem to realise the bleeding and bruise that are so visible on me, but that’s just the usual routine. Time always passes quickly when you are enjoying it, the bell rings again, signifying the end of the day. Now I’ll show them my true power. I stood up, raising my hand up and declare that I’ll finally use it, my ultimate power. My plain circle sigil glows, the powers activated, the jaws of everyone around me drops as my vision goes dark. “It’s finally here!” I thought to myself, triumphantly.
“I’ll show them my true powers” I said looking at my hand, snickering knowing they will finally face my wrath. The horn of the school bus signifying the start of my hell again.
| 2020-02-26T09:02:40
| 2020-02-26T09:00:31
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
"Hey Kazaak, I sent that signal like you asked. What did it say?"
"It said, 'Shut up, and Play Dead!'"
"You piece of shit, that'll make them hide out there for another three centuries at least."
"Or they'll run around like headless chickens like they always do. They're a pretty dumb species, bear in mind."
"Says the guy who insisted we break galactic law by breaching a quarantined sector to send the signal in the first place."
"Shut up and get the popcorn machine up and running, Marchonis. We can at least enjoy the show before the guard patrols get here."
"We're in deep shit, aren't we?"
"Worth it."
|
Not sure if any of it makes sense grammatically or otherwise.
The message arrived in binary. Few even tried to understand how 'they' had managed this but they had and now they had sent their cryptic code.
'shut up and play dead'
If only the greats of astronomy had been there when the message was decoded in the labs that day: could Galileo ever have possibly imagined that he had guided humanity towards this absurd moment; could Copernicus have fathomed that hundreds of years of exploration of the concept of space could amount to the instructions given a pet?
'shut up and play dead'
Transmission of a message into space is not a simple matter. To ensure a cohesive, coherent message arrives at the intended destination, the message must be repeated countless times and amplified so as to project over vast distances which can cause a degree of 'echo' that must be corrected for at the receiver's end. These technicalities meant that our first words received presumably from another sentient species weren't
'shut up and play dead'
they were
'shut up shut up ut up up up shut shut shut up up shut shut ut up and play play and play and play and play and play play dead dead dead dea dead dea de dea dead'
This transmission was received over the space of roughly a week as cosmic echo had dispersed the emission frequency so it was with understandable relief that researchers received the second half of the message beginning with 'and.'
Still the message seemed to confirm what many humans suspected for a very long time - that what humanity stood for was loud, abrasive, piercing yells into what was presumed empty space until those occupying that space could no longer pretend we didn't exist.
Edit; Grammar
| 2016-03-27T08:55:20
| 2016-03-27T08:43:42
| 61
| 14
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
"Oh dear" I said to myself, looking at this tar coming from my finger.
"Ha! Well, proves that no human is exempt from sin."
I thought about what could have blackened my own blood, I don't remember anything that I could have caused, or done wrong.
"Oh" I remembered.
I went on far too many websites without my parent's permission.
|
Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T10:38:53
| 2018-08-04T09:44:59
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
*Drip splash drip, drip drip splash, splash drip.*
Whenever it rains, I love to stand outside for a second, just to feel the drops on my skin. Only a short amount of time, mind you. Like most people, I'm not a fan of getting drenched, but it feels nice for a moment — the first few drops landing on my skin. Cool and refreshing.
When I first started learning Morse code, I used to look for patterns in everything. The way someone taps their pencil, the music on the radio, the way someone blinks. The rain.
*.-. ..- -.*
Everybody tends to signal something on accident every once in a while. It's fun to see what the most commonly done accidental words are. I've caught a few people doing it on purpose, too. For example, at work someone pretending to be busy once spelled out a few swear words among his supposedly random clicking. A total coincidence, I'm sure.
*R u n.*
The rain was different. It's just water falling from the sky in a truly random pattern, it couldn't spell anything specific... right? And yet, those few drops when I stand outside, in those first few seconds, seem to keep spelling out the same word. Run. Am I just imagining it? Interpreting things that I want to hear? Maybe I'm just pretending that the world agrees with me, that I should run away from this dead-end life, where the only fun thing I can have is in these miniscule little words that people make.
I kept convincing myself that I couldn't listen to what the rain said. *I'm busy, not now. I have to go to work. They're understaffed today.* But every time I did, I couldn't stop that feeling, lurking in the back of my mind. *What if I did?*
One day, when I wasn't busy, when I didn't have to go to work, it rained. And I stood outside with no umbrella. Just me, with my thoughts. Run. Leave, pack up this life and go somewhere else, even if it's only for a little while. See what your life *could* be.
So I did. I packed up my belongings, and I ran.
|
Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf.
| 2021-09-28T09:18:25
| 2021-09-28T08:56:15
| 57
| 16
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
I've always had to pretend I was mute. When I was very small, as soon as I hit the milestone to talk, I had been fluent in English. I remember bits and pieces before everything changed. That day I remembered clearly, well the important bits at least. I don't remember that morning, but I remembered the afternoon. Mum and dad had been so proud of me talking, the fact that I was learning and understanding things so quickly, that was until the day their friend had come over. I remember they had a slight accent and when I talked to them, they had been surprised then grinned at me. I happily chatted away while my parents starred on in horror. After their friend left, the smiles on their faces fell instantly. There was a lot of muttered and quite angry talking in the other room. I sat, pretending to play with my toy cars, but my stomach twisted and turned. I had done something wrong, but I didn't' know what. There was a door slam and then the house was quiet. I heard shuffling as dads head poked into the room to check on me before he vanished upstairs. Dinner was silent. Mum was back and hadn't said a word, she was tight lipped and had crashed and banged in the kitchen as she cooked dinner. Dad had talked quietly to me, but kept shushing me if I talked too loud. I didn't get it. Dinner ended without incident, I ever got cake! It's weird how I remember the cake so clearly. The normal routine continued on as the sun set outside. Dad turned the TV on and plonked down into his chair and switched the channel onto BBC 2 to watch Star Trek. I sat on his knee and watched happily as the clinking of glass and cutlery echoed around the room. Then men with weird faces came onto the screen and started talking, brandishing a weapon. I held my hand up like I had one to and yelled at the top of my voice. Suddenly my mum was in the room. She ripped me from my dads lap, screaming at me, hitting me. I screamed and cried, my heart pounding in my chest. I screamed for dad but the hits kept coming. Mum screamed at me to shut up, to never do that again, pinning me to a wall, her face inches from mine. I screamed in fear, begging for dad to help, which sent her into and even bigger rage, another hit struck the side of my face and I crumbled silently to the floor, my head spinning. I heard wrestling and more screaming before the house went quiet.
~*~
I was locked in my room after that. That's what I remember next. I hurt, my little white t-shirt with a unicorn on the front was stained with blood from my face. My hand hurt to move. I had wrapped it in a little bandage from my little medical kit. I was hungry. No one had come into the room for ages. When mum did come in I cried and ran to her, but she didn't let me close, she hit me. As soon as my mouth opened she hit me. I shrieked and she hit me again. Screaming at me to shut up. Once I was quiet, just the occasional sniff as I hid in the corner between the wall and my bed I heard something being placed down on the ground. It had been a sandwich and a glass of water. She left, locking the door behind her. The room became my prison. Mum would flip out if she even thought I had made a sound. I eventually stopped talking to everyone, even dad.
We moved one day. Just me and mum. Dad didn't come with us. He never lay a finger on me. He would talk to me kindly when mum went out. He would sneak home in his lunch hour to see me. He talked to me, but only allowed me to whisper back, telling me he was the only person I could talk to but only if it was the two of us. I missed him. Mum moved me out after there were questions about whether I was starting school with the neighbours kids. It was just the two of us. I sat quietly, not doing much of anything every single day. She allowed me more freedom, but I was never allowed to utter a sound. She gave me books to read and I quickly devoured them. Once she was satisfied I wouldn't say a word no matter what, she took me to the doctor, who quickly signed something saying I was mute but that was it. I started school the next week.
~*~
I sat in class, looking out of the window dreamily. Our supply teacher hadn't arrived yet so there wasn't much of anything to do beyond chat and cause chaos. My class ignored me like they normally did. It was as if I didn't exist at this point. I'd never said a word to anyone in this room. I'd known some of these kids for seven years, if I had said anything, it would spread around the school like wildfire and mum would find out, but I did talk to random people who had no idea who I was. The cashier at McDonalds had been the last one. I really wanted some food and the only person working so early couldn't read the note I had written before I entered, so I had to talk. His eyes had opened widely and he had stepped back from me. He rambled something about a forgotten language, his language before he told me to leave and never come back. I hadn't dared go near that store again. I hadn't uttered a word since. The class went quiet suddenly, unusual for them. A man walked into the room with a presence that screamed he wasn't someone to mess with. I starred at him wide eyed. It was the man from McDonalds. I kept my head down and sunk down in my seat as he looked around the room before pulling out a sheet of paper to do the register. When he got to my name I didn't even bang on the desk like I normally would have, I just stayed quiet. My classmates quickly informed him I couldn't talk and things moved on quickly.
Class was finally over, but over the sound of people packing away and sliding chairs I heard a voice boom over the class, "mute kid, stay."
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T22:28:33
| 45
| 22
|
[WP] As a dad, you obviously have a mug that claims you're the "#1 World's Best Dad". One day, you find on the news that all "Best Dad Mugs" now have actual ratings, the media is crazy about it, a photo shows a mug with #5,826,827 World's Best Dad on it, curious, you check yours. It still says #1.
|
I never thought about being a good father. It never even occurred to me-I just tried to do better than my own parents, and to always be there. To show up. They say the moment your child is born, the world changes for you. There's someone in your life in that moment that will always come first. That's how it was for me, when my Emily was born.
When she skinned her knees riding her bike, I was there with a kiss and a bandaid. I helped her back up, and gave her a push back down the path.
When she got in a fight at school, I took the day and picked her up. We talked about the fight, about what she did right, and what she did wrong. I grounded her, but she understood.
When her mother died, I held her hand at the funeral, and we cried together on the couch. She slept in my bed for weeks.
When she entered the eighth grade science fair, I stayed up long nights helping her make the best display in the district.
When she wanted to start dating, I told her that her safety always came first, and that I'd respect her decisions as long as her partners respected her. I still threatened poor Tommy Farley with a shotgun and a shell with his name on it...but she was in on the joke.
When she came out to me the next year, I held her close and told her I'd always love her, and whoever she chose to love. Then I threatened Sally Waters with the same shotgun, and she laughed again.
When she started submitting college applications, I started to research second mortgages.
When her first choice gave her a full ride in their engineering program, I sighed with relief. Then I put the money I'd put aside over the years for her college fund into a trust, so I knew she'd eat well at school and have a nest-egg to kick start whatever she wanted to do after she graduated.
When the news reported that all the '#1 Worlds Best Dad' mugs in the world were now accurately tracking rankings, I didn't bother checking the one in the back of my cupboard; my daughter was my number one, and that's all that mattered. Then I gave her a call. Said I was going to drive up to the city next week, and would she like to get dinner? She would. I never mentioned that I was only going to be in the city to have dinner with her. What other reason would I need?
&nbsp;
--------------------------------------------
&nbsp;
When the news reported that all the '#1 Worlds Best Dad' mugs were now accurately tracking, I laughed about it with my girlfriend. We both joked about what numbers our dads would have.
When mine called a few minutes later, I was ecstatic to have dinner with him that weekend. Of course I knew he didn't actually have anything to do in the city, but I wasn't going to call him on it. He's always been sweet like that.
When I went back home a few weeks later, I couldn't get the thought out of my head, though. So I went looking one morning, while he was still in bed. We hadn't talked about his mug-I thought maybe he was embarrassed, or worse - ashamed. I knew things hadn't always been easy, since mom died, but he did his best, and I love him for it. I needed to know, though.
Imagine my surprise when I find the mug in the back of the cupboard, a bit dusty. He clearly hasn't even looked at it. He doesn't even know...but then, he's never cared what others thought. Just about what was best for me, and he's always made sure that I knew that was all that mattered to him.
I put it back, and get out his favorite (a fifth grade pottery project that was a bit lopsided) to pour us both coffee. If I ever have children, at least I can be confident knowing that I've had the #1, Worlds Best, role model.
When he comes wandering into the kitchen, blearily rubbing at his eyes and reaching for the mug, I hand it to him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and I wonder. I wonder how long it will be before he notices, and if he'll say anything at all when he does. Probably not.
**Requisite Gold Edit:** Fuck me, gold?! I've never gotten gold before and now this is twice in a day! I'm glad everybody is enjoying the story!
|
I blink a few times using the remote, I've connected Velcro to keep it from becoming lost, to turn off the news.
I exclaim with an audible huff, "Huh..." I get up from the couch having seen my two rugrats off to school, the same two runts who had given me my least favorite mug, said 'Number two Dad' with a picture of man taking a shit. They said it reminded them of me, since so often I would be on the toilet for an extended amount of time. Usually to browse my favorite websites and get away from them. I approach the cupboard opening it, looking for the mug which I buried a few rows back, as I lift it up.... It says 'Number one Dad' the picture is also changed to one of a man sitting on the toilet playing on his phone.
"What the genuine actual fuck?" I immediately drop the mug, it shatters on the counter but the numbers and the image remain standing upright almost taunting me.
"How is this possible? There is no way I should be number one. I'm a horrible awful person and the way I treat my children....is less than ideal for number one. It has to be a mistake..." I say to no one that is around. Maybe I'll give a couple of my dad buddies a call to make sure this isn't a hoax....however why would mine have changed? It has to be a fluke.
I give Heath a call, "Yo Heath, you hear the news about the mug shit?"
Heath responds with a hearty laugh, his laugh always put a smile on my face since it was so deep, almost like how you'd imagine a dwarf would laugh, "Yeah man, I got a few mugs like that, kids can't figure out for the life of them what to get me for birthdays or father's days. They all say the same thing, 'Number 230,654,298 Dad'. I didn't think I was that bad but maybe the figure adjust as you grow as a father. Why? What'd you get?"
I pull the receiver away from my ear a bit.... "Ha...haha.... Yeah you're not gonna believe this, but I am.... The number one Dad."
The line goes silent, he had to have hung up on me, I mean who would make a joke like that... Well besides a Dad of course. Two minutes go by, three....
"What?" Heath finally responds.
"Yeah, I know right? Me? Of all people, who loses his shit at traffic of all things, who swears like a sailor, and who.... can't hold back his anger from his family." I mostly sound disappointed in myself.
"Dude, that is....amazing but I wonder...how the mugs know." He has always been the one who asks the right questions.
"Yeah, it's a miracle of some kind.... It's gotta be right? Well I gotta head off to get some business done. See ya later man, hope you get higher up. Or lower, whatever makes sense.... right?" I chuckle as he says his good byes, kind of sullen with his outrageous number.
After I'm done with my daily chores my kids come home, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"
I greet them with a smile, but there is sorrow behind it. Maybe the mugs can tell the future, maybe they know how my kids will turn out before I do. All I know is I can keep being myself and certainly they will turn out better than I could have ever hoped.
•••••••••••••••••••••
I loved this prompt. Glad for any criticism from strangers on the internet.
| 2019-10-03T00:11:58
| 2019-10-02T18:17:22
| 546
| 58
|
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
|
"I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!"
|
The sun and the trees, 2 of the things that make earth, well, earth. Such a beautiful place, nothing could ruin it. Well almost nothing, except for the guy named
"Lucas world-ender huh"
"Like the wolverine guy from 100 years ago?"
"Why would someone name their kid that" said Claire
"Your asking the wrong guy."
I leaned back in my chair, took a drag of my cigar and breathed out. A light smoke filled the air, lingering.
"Hey no smoking here." Claire said
"It helps me relax ok, sorry mom. It's going to be a long night where do think we should put this guy? A wood mill? Make him a farmer? How in the hell do we file a guy with the last name world-ender hmm?"
"I don't know sander, but we still have to."
I took a long sigh as our manager walked in.
"World-ender huh?
He let out a chuckle and said
"Good luck"
He walked out
"Um sanders"
"What Claire?"
"Who was your mother"
"Never knew, why?"
"Because your name is world-ender"
I let out a sigh as I grabbed my knife out of my jeans.
"This won't hurt a bit Claire"
I said as I plunged my knife into her neck. As she bled out on the floor I wondered what am I supposed to say to my manager now? This is the 7th time I did this. It's getting harder and harder hiding my last name, but I must persist. It's my destiny after all right?
| 2021-06-19T23:03:38
| 2021-06-19T17:28:58
| 36
| 23
|
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
Ten years you held my heart locked in a cage.
I strive for calm but begin to come unhinged
You destroyed our lives with your casual fling
Your heartlessness served to set the stage
Deeply dreaming of my sweet revenge
Your lying throat I'll wring
My anger to assuage.
Burning to avenge.
Hot. Blinding.
Rage.
|
The world is a brutal, selfish cocksucker of a whore
Everything, everywhere, everyone, everyplace, every day is colossal subterfuge
The willows whip wildly, the earth disgorges filth
Darkness does not equal lack of light
Beings, seemingly human, gape and maw
Animals, knowing better, scurry away
Brokenness and deep agony
Can slowly evolve
Into something
Glorious
| 2015-02-12T22:26:14
| 2015-02-12T21:58:33
| 26
| 14
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
"Oh no, it's a stack of goblins! *Good thing they're not wearing armor and throw themselves off balance with that large and unwieldy halberd.* Run for your lives!"
And thus began our bi-weekly theatrical offering of food, clothes and other "spoils of war" conveniently lying about in easily accessible places. They're called little pests elsewhere, but ever since we came to our unspoken arrangement, they've been more of a pest control.
I believe it was little Martha, the miller's daughter, who first started to befriend the goblins by leaving some baubles or food lying about. When the goblins came, she'd hide in plain sight and play pretend: "Oh dear, I hope they don't find my yummy cheese and my little doll to play with!" It didn't take long to notice that the mill was rodent-free soon after and nothing else of value broke or went missing.
The little rascals were clumsy at best and right out destructive (unwittingly) at worst, so these little guiding taunts quickly took on as other townsfolk adopted the tradition. "I sure hope they won't wear my old sweater in the winter and stink it up." - "Damn them if they cook that meat, I'd rather see them choke on a rotting piece of raw flesh!"
So far, we've not only been gifted with a less stressful life, we've made it through a famine by "raiding back" occasionally. Striding through their ranks in large steps and loudly proclaiming our needs quickly made them offer things themselves. And now we've got a plague doctor wondering why our town is the only one spared completely by the thing they call "the black death".
"Little pest"... yeah, right.
|
# Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-26T06:13:57
| 2022-05-26T05:33:42
| 642
| 155
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
Every type of music has an effect on the listener. We all know this. There's a reason we listen to rock when we want strength, metal when we want energy and movement and classical to soothe the area and ignite the higher brain functions.
You can call me, music man. You know, the superhero who comes to battle with a speaker and with set playlists? The guy who disarmed a nuke while playing smooth jazzing and dancing the foxtrot with the baddie?
Yeah, that guy.
Anyways, you might be wondering how come I ended up here, in this prickly predicament, about to press play on my most secret playlist, the ultimate mood maker, the final countdown to an almighty beatdown!
Before I can tell you that... Let me tell you the effects of music you don't see.
Rock makes you stronger, yes. But do you know it also makes you less likely to see the obvious flaws in your plan? And reduces critical thinking? Like every aging rockstar with a bad take ok curren politics, you can only be rocking and rolling so far.
Metal... Very hard. Very energetic. But also... Too chaotic. Use metal for too long and you'll be start to burnout faster than you can riff a sweet tune.
Jazz? Great dexterity, but with a strong helping of Dionysus energy. I was puffing smokes and licking snatches all night post the de-bombing.
So every power? Comes with a cost. Pop gives you a boost in all stats, but leaves you generic and boring. Indie gives you a random boost with no downside, but the boost is really random. Like one song I played did nothing but make my coffee taste better. That's good yes, but not when I'm facing my rival!
Which brings me to my rival, Shhhhh.
Yeah, that's the name. Shhhhh. They were a mask, and come to the arena with sound mufflers. There goal is maybe something about silencing a world too loud, or very close to that. I'm sorry for the lack of specifics, Shhhhh isn't exactly a talker.
I had managed to avoid their sound silencer so far, in all our duels. Today? I fail.
As I lie on the ground, my body broken, my face covered in blood, my finger hovers over the play button.
Once I play this? There's no going back.
Let me tell you about this tune. This didn't come from a singer, or a DJ, or a band. No producer, no record label, no artist.
This song was given to me through NASA. When they digitally recreated the sound of a blackhole.
My finger on the pulse, with fear, foreboding and a strange acceptance swirling in my head, and with Shhhhhh coming closer and closer, I bring my digit ever closer to the button.
As Shhhhhh lays their hand on my shoulder, ready to plunge their blade jn my heart and silence it's beat, I press the button.
.
.
.
For a moment, only silence. And then? I blink out of existence.
So does Shhhhhh.
Turns out an infinite void is kind of like an infinite playroom inside an old school sanatorium.
White rubber walls I'd call them, but even I know that this material ain't rubber.
Shhhhh is also here, somewhere. We don't talk much. Shhhhh loves it here though. Infinite silence after all. Guess I don't have to worry about them running out and making another Earth-Ending bomb.
As for me? I have my tunes. And as much time as I want to chill wth them.
I click om the playlist titled "Be all, end all!" And press shuffle.
|
I'm gasping for breath, knees, palms and iPod shuffle on the floor. Somehow, I find the energy to look up.
There stands Suc Kon, a delinquent who dropped out of Spawt Eefy, school for the auditarily attenuated. He now wants to eat all the music in the world.
Me - I didn't realize you'd gotten this powerful...
Suc - How does it feel? Cant look down on Suc from your lofty peak anymore eh? Well, today you can SUC MY -
Me - I swore that I'd never use it again... but it looks like I have no choice!!!
I reach out for the iPod and press the "Next" button four times.
Suc - When are you going to learn that music is USELESS against me?
He opens his mouth wide and inhales. The sound starts getting fainter and fainter, until it fades completely. From deep in his stomach, you can hear echoes the song.
Then, he gags. He dry retches once, then twice. Suddenly, he pukes out... a well-seasoned piece of spicy chicken.
Me - This is the most dangerous artist in the world. Only two people have access to their songs - the President of India, and the President of the student council. I'm sure you've heard it's name whispered in hushed tones, deep in dark alleyways... The band "Eiffel 65".
Suc's eyes go wide.
Me - Anyone who hears it is cursed to forever spew out food garnished with 65 spices. Chicken 65, Mutton 65, Paneer 65... It was how world hunger was eradicated. One man stepped up to bear the burden. Unfortunately, it also lead to a heart cholesterol epidemic, which led to that man becoming the most hated human in existence. And Suc, you don't know this but... that man, Mai Dik, was your father.
Suc falls to his knees, assuming my old posture.
Suc - How is this poss-
He spits out a piece of cottage cheese.
Me - Someday, maybe you'll be able to break the curse. For now, though... I am the victor.
| 2022-05-17T10:23:31
| 2022-05-17T10:01:07
| 26
| 15
|
[WP]2000 years from now, history is misunderstood and retold as a series of myths where nations are represented as individual gods,citizens as worshipers and corporations and NGOs as demons/angels(lesser gods).Chronicle current world crises in the style of ancient myths.
-Global warming
-colonization
-World wars
-cold war
-globalization
-ISIS
-space race
-nuclear deterrence(Mutually assured destruction)
-US intervention
-US vs china
-US vs russia
-the internet (as a powerful untameable beast perhaps)
Etc
|
Professor Ao'Nesti peered into the cavernous monolith that was just uncovered at the excavation site.
"Han'Sungai, go fetch the light globes! Quickly! This might be the most important discovery in over a century!", he excitedly yelled at his assistant. "I think we found an intact temple filled with shrines and monuments!"
Han'Sungai quickly retrieved Professor Ao'Nesti's light globe, a stone sphere that is perpetually glowing a soft blue light.
The Professor stepped into the temple cautiously, ever vigilant for bobby traps or ancient curses. As his eyes adjust, he knew that this excavation will be forever chronicled in the history books. An intact temple with endless rows of shrines, each with offerings and artifacts to the ancient gods.
To his left, he see blue cans stacked up high. Each can has the iconography of an ocean wave and a single white word. He knew that word from his studies: the ancient god of the Endless Seas, Pepsi.
On his right, he see bags colored in red. He excitedly read the name of the god. Doritos. The ancient god of Raging Fire.
He looked around, endless shrines offering to both the major gods like the Solar God Samsung, to minor obscure ones such as Good Value. *Must be the god of Morality*, he concluded.
"Han'Sungai, have you dug out the name of this temple yet? I saw a part of the glyph symbols extruding out earlier."
"Yea I think we got all of it dug out. Can you come over for a second? We need your capabilities to translate this word."
The Professor came out to decrypt the symbols. It's even more impressive up-close, towering almost three times his height.
"The blue word is 'Wul'Mutt'. I read in the books that it's the name of an ancient empire that stretches to every corner of the globe. The white words are foreign to me, but I assume it means Super Shrine in the ancient tongue."
|
"Father tell us a story" cried out the child. The father sat at the end of the crude hut, huddled under heaps of fur. His ice cold eyes snapped open and a wry grin spread across his face.
"A story hey... well i have one that my father told me and his before that" he paused and stared fondly at the child.
"Before the great fire the land was green, and man walked freely under the sun. Yet man was not happy, he was never able to be content and was never able to forgive. In the east the great bear sat in his icy fortress; groveling over his petty power. An eagle perched on top of its nest, a great blue ocean surrounded him, staring at his own reflection convinced he was the most powerful. In between theses powers was a great rotten oak tree, its roots spread across the world slowly decaying and holding on to its previous youth. The most powerful, ever forgotten was the great dragon that was content on sleeping on his riches". The man finished, the smile had ran from his face.
"what happened next?" whispered the child, in quiet reverence of the ancient beasts.
"The beasts turned on them selves and in doing so burnt the very land they lived upon"
| 2015-03-12T11:21:56
| 2015-03-12T11:07:55
| 144
| 17
|
[WP] The hero and villain are roommates but don't know each other's secret identities. Come up with excuses for each other's injuries and describe a normal day.
|
“Mornin’”
I turn around from the mirror, fingers still gently resting on the bruise next to my eye. A couple of steps away stood Marc, my roommate, carrying a cup of coffee as always.
Luckily for me, I’m a morning person. Unlike my usually grumpy flatmate, I’ve grown to handle the early hours fairly well, even though the amount of sleep I get is minimal. Fairly typical, for my line of work.
“Good Morning!”, I grin cheerfully, quickly turning around back to the mirror. After all, how was I going to explain the multiple bruises from last night?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something quite odd. Marc, taking a sip from his coffee, pulled up the sleeve of his morning coat in a quick motion, bearing similarity to a reflex. It wasn’t quick enough to hide what was underneath, however, I could, for the fraction of a second, see a bandage around his wrist.
“What happened there?”, I asked him as I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to turn around. At this point, I was intrigued, something seemed a bit familiar- still, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Keeping an eye on my flatmate, I raised my hand again, quickly brushing over the bruise with my concealer in a moment that Marc’s eyes had wandered off, therefore effectively hiding the spot. It was, to my advantage, the only obvious injury I carried away from last night’s battle, everything else naturally hidden by my clothes.
Marc seemed to be a bit put off by my question. Taking yet another sip from the, surely, still way to hot beverage of his, and, heck, I could swear I saw a small movement of one of his hands to the side of his thorax, as if reminded of some pain.
“Huh?”, he asked then, reluctant.
I turn around, brushing some of the brown strands of hair that had deviated from their original position back to where they were supposed to be, and then put my hands on my waist. “C’mon, Marc, I saw your wrist. I’m worried!”, I then stated honestly, taking a step closer to him.
After a moment of what seemed to be either hesitation or a rapid thought process, Marc started to laugh for just a short burst. It seemed off and unnatural, nearly forced, but I didn’t have time to think about it- because he ‘lifted’ the secret behind his injury- rather, now showing the bandage openly. “Ah, this?”, he asked, “Nah, it’s nothing, no need to be worried. Just... had a rough night with my friends out.”
I squinted my eyes. I heard that excuse a lot. Of course, it was usual for men his age trying to make the best of life, but-
“Speaking Of Which!”
I blinked. Marc had caught me off guard again.
“When did you get back tonight? I didn’t see you ‘till, I mean, at all- and I got back quite late, even.”
I shrugged it off and squeezed out the room, though he was blocking off the entrance, and made my way toward our small kitchen. “Oh, Well.”, I chimed gently while still on the way, “Had a late shift. The hospital was fairly full last night, we needed every helping hand we could get.”
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. If he checked, then yes, the hospital was of course quite full after all the trouble happening last night. I had told him, on the day that I moved in as his new flatmate, that my profession was working as a nurse in the nearby hospital, and helping everyone in need there- and the last part was completely true. I DID help people, only in... other ways.
“Hm, Alright then.”
Marc seemed to be satisfied with the reply.
As I arrived in the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the shelf, I poured myself some coffee and leisurely sat down on the counter. It was all going well until then, I had to explain luckily few. But then, I heard the quiet chime of a phone nearby. First, I glanced at mine, but I had been mistaken- no new messages or calls in absence.
Next, I let my view scan the entire kitchen, and was finally successful in my search of the origin. I saw Marc’s phone on the table, lighting up with each new sound, apparently receiving messages.
“Marc!”, I exclaimed, willing to let him know, but my curiosity grew me closer to the phone, finally skimming over the messages.
‘We have a problem’
‘Hey, are you there?’
‘This is urgent!’
But the next message, hell, just as I heard Marc approaching right behind me, I could swear I saw the alias name of my arch nemesis.
//Not quite a ‘normal’ day, but I couldn’t resist. I’m fairly new to WP’s, so any feedback would be appreciated!
|
I was walking past Sam's room when I saw he had an odd looking bruise on his knee. I asked him where he got it, and he replied with "soccer". The odd thing is Sam doesn't play soccer. An odd bruise and an odd excuse. I knew something was up. It was when I was relaxing in the tub later that evening that it hit me. That bruise was in the same spot I kicked my nemisis last night. And the bruise was about the same shape as the tip of my carrot shaped boots. Wait. Sam can't be HIM?! Can he be? And then I realized, I had to know. I couldn't possibly be living with the one person I've sworn to defeat and failed miserably each time? No, no. There's got to be another reason. And if there isn't, why didn't he tell me? We've been roommates and best friends for 6 years! But wait... I never told him. I always gave him the excuses. It's just this once that he's given one to me. Do I want to know? Can I handle that the person I have tried to murder many times is my best friend? That evil murderer is the kind soul who stopped me from killing myself? Is he even my best friend anymore? All these questions were swirling around my mind, straining to escape, like bathwater fleeing the tub. I knew what I had to do. There was no other way. Life went on as normal for a few days, until I was on duty and I ran across the man that usually made my blood boil. That day was different. I was so nervous I nearly puked. All it took was two words. "Hi Sam" and by the way his body recoiled I knew. All it took was the betrayed look on my unmasked face and he realized who I was. I flew away and we haven't spoken since. That was over seventy years ago. I died six months ago. Every week, Sam puts some flowers on my grave. I wonder what he thinks as he kneels there silently. He's been diagnosed with cancer and the doctor isn't advising treatment. I guess I won't have long to find out.
This is my first ever post here, I hope you like it!
| 2018-08-08T03:13:45
| 2018-08-08T02:05:42
| 138
| 52
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all.
|
It was a day like any other
Deflect the young,
Accept the one
But before my eyes,
A double of a 12, 1212
And then I knew:
I always thought children would joke
That it was just the writers
Making fluff and fun merry for views
And before my eyes,
A pair of kids, stacked like dishes
Wobbling about
And a guffaw let out.
| 2017-09-01T23:43:36
| 2017-09-01T22:38:31
| 30
| 13
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"I can't believe that I've found you!" she screamed. Her face was practically glowing, she was so excited. She ran forward and leapt into my arms, and before I could even think to react her voice was resonating in my head.
"*And don't you even think of dropping me, butterfingers! I remember how you dropped your first girlfriend*."
My arms reflexively came up. Just in time too. She collapsed into my arms. Her arms latched around my neck, but she didn't put any effort into keeping herself up.
"Cori?" I asked. But it couldn't be. The girl in my head wasn't real. I've had schizophrenia since the day I'd been born. Sure, the medicine did nothing to help it, but then again...
"Of course it's me!" she chirped. "And no, you're not schizophrenic. Otherwise..."
"*I would be, too*."
And there it was. The voice that responded to my every thought. Smooth and melodic and just a little deeper than average for a girl. The same voice that comforted me when I broke up with my first girlfriend, and helped me with my math homework.
"Is it... it's really you..." Tears had come to my eyes. I tried to wipe them, but a soft hand and even softer tissue was already dabbing at my face.
"Yeah," she said. Her voice was softer than the brash and explosive timbre I was used to, but I couldn't fault her on it. This was an emotional time for both of us.
Judging from the adorable, wry smile that felt oddly in place on her, I could tell that she agreed.
Oh, and judging from the way that she was suddenly interested in anything but me told me that she was blushing from my thoughts.
"You're a jerk," she whispered. I laughed. She already knew that. She heard my thoughts for the last 37 years. "I expected you to be taller."
I winced. She knew that would hurt. Then again, I didn't expect her to be this pretty.
The blush on her face made me smile. Looks like I'm still the better heckler. God, it was amazing to finally be able to see the reactions on her face. It was also amazing to know that I wasn't crazy.
But more than all of that? It was nice to hold a friend. I hugged her tighter, and swore to myself that I would never let her go.
I didn't need to read her mind to know that she thought the same. The way her grip on my neck tightened told me enough.
|
I turn around and I just knew who she was.
"No, Cathy. You should've left five years ago."
Cathy gave me a big grin, her eyes filled with anger, her fingers trembling. She looked at me from head to toe, seeming disappointed.
"You should've joined me then. We were a team! Why are you still here?"
I tried killing myself with a gunshot through the head five years ago. I wanted to escape from the voice inside my head. She told me that if I ended it, all will be over, she will leave me alone. I miraculously survived. I never heard from Cathy again, until now.
"Cathy, leave me alone. Please. It wasn't my fault you died inside mother's womb. Please just let me go."
"But it was. We were together from the beginning of time. It is not right for us to be apart."
She came closer to me and hugged me tight. She was warm. She pulled me in closer and whispered to my ear,
"Come with me. We are all waiting for you."
It hurt. It went right through my chest. The last thing I saw were my walls being painted red.
| 2019-09-14T13:01:41
| 2019-09-14T10:55:47
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed.
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T09:49:34
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 541
| 15
|
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate.
|
The world was failing and the bodies were building. There was only plan B.C. left to try.
All of the radio station were set in gear and prepped for the last stand. All tv's were under the government's control.
3...
2...
1...
"Oooooh baby do you know what that's worth, oooh heaven is a place on earth"
Belinda Carlisle had saved the world with her 1987 number one hit.
|
"Mr. President? Mr. President!" Not a word from the White House when we called, just that ubiquitous ringtone on every number. "Jesus Christ, Bradley, what the fuck are we going to do?" I said putting the phone down.
"Bradley?" I turned behind me to find the loaded barrel of a gun in my manager's mouth, and before I could even try to stop him, blood splattered against my suit as his lifeless body fell to the boarded floor.
It had been two months since Krishnakov discovered the afterlife, and just about 7 billion people have put an end to their pointless existences since. Rioting, looting, murder, it was sheer chaos here on Earth. They say religion's the cause of more death than anything else. Frightening how science makes things exponentially more efficient.
I decided to call it an early day, nobody was around to catch me leaving. Then again nobody was around to pay me either. The wheels of the armored hummer I stole from the garage a couple weeks ago bounced against the severed limbs of men, women, and children as I cruised down the street back home. Smoke filled the sky like death filled the Earth. Already sprouts and vines began reclaiming the city from us, we most selfish of creatures.
But all that was over now... for today atleast, "Honey! Kids! Daddy's home!" Rex came rushing to the door, barking like always. Unlocking the door, I found Rex curled in a ball, whimpering. I looked up and there was my wife, dangling from the ceiling. I was shouting frantically for my kids but when I went upstairs, I found Sasha in the tub with her wrists slit and James... Oh God, why James? Of all the ways to die... I fell to my knees and pulled my magnum from its holster.
It was true, heaven. I never believed in God, but here I was. The angels were singing a song so sweet, the view so innocent. St. Peter called me next, but before I even got the chance to ask anything he pulled a lever and I fell into the darkness. It was a furious flame that fanned the air, my skin was burning just from being here when a demon suddenly skewered me on a pike. He lifted me high over his head, and that's when I saw Obama being cut up into tiny pieces as his severed head screamed in agony. There was Bradley beside him. Then my heart sank, as the demons forced my sweet Sarah with strings like a puppet, duressing her to stab our children with a trident of molten gold. My daughter was begging for mercy as my son just screamed a garbled scream incomprehensibly.
Why God, why? But I knew the answer.
| 2015-02-02T06:43:00
| 2015-02-02T06:37:02
| 126
| 20
|
[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.
|
> A scientist wearing a lab coat, walks into frame, a large seemingly endless white room behind him. “Sleep” he says holding his hands out. The word appearing in bold text above his head
> “Since the dawn of humanity we have needed to sleep,” as he speaks images of people soundly asleep in beds fill the screen.
> “In the past we had good reason. Few jobs could be done in the dark after all!” medieval artwork of scribes writing by candle light come across the screen.
> “However this is no longer the 1500 century! We have technology that allows every person to function at night,” images of time-square, cell phone screens, and computer monitors hit the screen.
> “Despite all this advancement, we still need to sleep away a third of our days. We are only human after all, and we need sleep…,” as he speaks the same images of sleeping people are on screen.
> “But not anymore! Introducing Sesopor! The newest creation by Brightford Pharmaceuticals!” The images of sleeping people gently fades to a pill bottle with the just off center with the word “Sesopor” on the label as he says this.
> “Just one pill whenever you feel drowsy will effect your body in the same way 8 hours of sleep would, except no down time! You’ll be back up to your full potential in mere minutes after taking a single pill of Sesopor!” A soundless video of people chatting in a busy cafe while it’s clearly night outside plays.
> “Find Sesopor at you— loc-l phar—acy to-ay,”
As the Ad ends, the busted, dust covered TV flickers and dies, the last bit of energy left in the dilapidated Gas station having run out. The strange spindly creature, who had been watching the TV Ad shook momentarily and wandered off back towards the once bustling city.
If one was generous they would call the creature humanoid, but these things were quite different from humans. It had two legs, two arms, and a head, much like humans, but that’s where the similarities ended.
After all, *humans* need sleep.
|
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.
| 2022-03-18T14:12:13
| 2022-03-18T07:24:03
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] Katy t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m, looks back over what she wrote ten years later
Here is the original copy pasta
hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!
DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!
love and waffles,
t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m
|
"Love and Waffles - A memoir".
I clicked print and waited as the mechanical shuffling ejected my life's work. A story that needed to be told.
It was quite random that I should end up here, writing this memoir. Of course, I had always considered my life to be fairly random. I lost all my money playing Roulette. This memoir was my last chance; a crap shoot, if you will.
My writing has come a long way. I'd gained internet infamy with that first work of random genius, and I ran with the momentum. My memoir is a jumbled mess of Invader Zim references and homoerotic love affairs, but it was mine.
I grabbed the still-warm manuscript and headed to my car. I had a meeting with my editor. He was going to make me famous again. He's random too, of course.
|
Katy's heart ached. Feelings of sadness and pain as she remembered her care free youth, full of unexpected and unpredictable wonder. All gone now. Only the pain remained. It was clear.
_____
"Single gun shot wound to the chest. Pistol lying on her stomach..."
^(*shutter click*)
"I've got a bag, pass it here."
^(*shutter click*)
"One casing too."
^(*shutter click*)
"The door's fine. Doesn't look jimmied."
"... GSR all over her chest and hands..."
^(*shutter click*)
"Windows are shut and locked."
"... We'll need the ME to confirm but I think it's pretty clear... Women... even in suicide they worry 'bout their looks.
^(*shutter click*)
"Huh?"
"She shot herself in the heart. Men tend to shoot themselves in the head. Women don't."
"..."
"Yea, I've had enough of this too. I'm going back to get started on the paper work, coming?
_____
The white lines passed through Katy's headlights one at a time. There was a still hole in her heart, but at least she got to share it with the one she loved. Mexico is lovely this time of year.
| 2014-11-19T09:23:35
| 2014-11-19T09:04:44
| 593
| 31
|
[WP] Come up with the plot for the most Oscar-baity film imaginable!
|
Leisl is a young Jewish teenager suffering from borderline personality disorder during World War II. She and her older brother Levi have been in an incestuous relationship since they were children, which only solidifies as they go through the trauma of having their parents murdered by Nazis and them having to become fugitives and care for their younger sister Leila.
Life becomes hard on the run for Leisl. As they continue to hide, she becomes more and more volatile. Leisl becomes increasingly more religious as she faces their desperate situation.
The relationship between Leisl and Levi grows increasingly more sexual the more they have to care for Leila. Levi has taken in the role of the provider, and Leisl the volatile mother.
Levi, having now become the caretaker of his two sisters, is getting more and more desperate and meets secretly with Catholic priests asking for advice.
Leila falls ill with tuberculosis, and Leisl attempts to cure her with only prayers.
Finally Leisl is pushed to the edge when Levi suggests converting to Catholicism to be able to live life freely. Leisl becomes unhinged and murders their poor, ill sister as punishment to him for daring to even suggest such a thing.
Levi attempts to placate her by engaging in sex with her, but this only angers Leisl further and she murders him out of rage. Realizing what she's done, Leisl takes the gun she used to kill her siblings and shoots herself in the head.
The blood splatters onto her Star of David necklace, which then flows out to a random Nazi flag laying in the street and stains it.
//There. Here you have the holocaust, incest, murder, suicide, religious imagery, religious controversy and mental illness. If this isnt Oscar worthy I don't know what is.
Edit: I'm a bit tipsy.
|
Poland, 1939
Feliks, as viewed by his school chums and non-family adults, was a retard. His grades were poor, his physical accomplishments were scant and his head bobbed this way and that because he never looked a person in the eye when he was talking. However, Feliks was an endless encyclopedia of fantasy lore and he would tell wild tales - that he believed to be true - that fascinated some of the kids to the point where they were friendly with him.
Yet, Feliks knew that his tales were true because he had a dragon that lived on the roof of his father's house. Actually, Feliks had rescued the dragon, named Private Wysta von Riefstien, because he was on a scouting mission for the Council of the Wise, leaders of the True Light of Eternity coalition government which comprised of elves, dwarves, dragons, fairies and many others. Private Wysta had got himself caught into a giant spider's web and he was being attacked with sticks and rocks. Feliks had been through something similar and he knew what to do, he played the Bard's song and juggled and danced with various edibles to attract the spider away from the dragon and just when the spider was about to pounce on Feliks, the dragon returned the kindly favor to Feliks and pounced on the spider and tied it up with it's own webbings. Wysta thanked Feliks for helping him bring in the criminal and and the Council of the Wise awarded both of them and made Feliks rooftop an outlook post with Wysta and Feliks as the liaisons for human affairs.
Nazi Germany invades Poland and Feliks hides his friends and frenemies while Wysta fights valiantly against the invading army. As night settles down, Wysta scouts ahead and Feliks leads his friends safely out of the city into the countryside.
As they dash through the woods they fight goblins and orcs and Wysta is wounded by a barrage from in an aerial battle. Western Elves and Dwarven Comrades come to their aid when all hope is lost for the travelling humans but Wysta has been captured.
A mad Nazi scientist pokes and prods Wysta to find out how a living creature can breath fire. He hooks up torture devices to it and Wysta howls with pain. Feliks and friends, both human and fantasy, have arrived at the gates of a castle and they sneak in to rescue Wysta and others that have been captured. To their horror they discover that Wysta has wires and tubes protruding from his head and his body and he now acts as a wild beast bent with rabies dementia.
In the jail cell, Feliks tries to bring Wysta back to his former self but all the dragon can think of is the sweet drink of blood that will brim his cup with his former friend's death. Feliks weeps and sings another bard's song, one that is filled with sorrow and love. The song pacifies the Nazi and Goblin guards and they push a button and Wysta falls into a deep slumber.
Months pass, winter is upon them and Wysta still sleeps. Food for the inmates has gone from scarce to non-existent. The mad scientist appears at the inmates jail cell with a necromancer wizard and they discuss the fates of the damned, "Wake the dragon and burn them all fore tomorrow is their first candle."
Feliks and his companions are put into a brick walled room with vents and before them lies the sleeping Wysta. The necromancer castes a dark spell and they are surrounded with a black fog while the mad scientist twists dials and pulls levers that control Wysta and his eyes light up with fire and he belches smoke from his nostrils. Feliks knows he must free his friend from the spell that was cast upon him and he traverses the vents until he is near the heart of his dragon friend. "I love you," he says and Feliks stabs his friend deep into his heart and kills the dragon. The dragon is dead but his friends are alive and goblins and Nazis find Feliks and brutally beat him and throw him into solitary confinement.
Spring comes and a massive army of elves and dwarfs liberate Feliks and his captured friends. He is given the magical healing aid of chocolate by an elfen warrior and he re-unites with his family and friends. They all tell tales of his bravery to the elves and dwarfs but Feliks is shy to accept his part any helping any of them. All he wants to do is sing a bards song to his dead friend Wysta about war, death, betrayal, forgiveness and the magic of eternal love.
| 2015-12-25T06:56:32
| 2015-12-25T05:02:15
| 93
| 12
|
[WP] After several thousand years of gathering coins from passengers, Charon the Ferryman has finally saved up enough money to buy what he wanted.
|
The vessel that bobbed in the inky-black ocean was a cross between a pirate ship and a cruise liner. It was traditional in its makeup: masses of planking and billowing sails, but large enough to comfortably hold two hundred souls. There was an on-board casino, hot-spring jacuzzis, a theatre that could hold productions of all the great Greek plays, games for children, and far more besides.
Painted in white on both sides was: *The Crossing*.
It’d taken more than two thousand years for Charon to save up for this and it was worth every penny. For the first time since his death, Charon fizzed with happiness. Like the champagne bottle clutched in his boney fingers.
His old wooden raft floated pathetically at the grand ship’s side. Like those tiny fish that follow whales around and feast on their scraps.
Charon turned to the crowd of souls lined behind him.
“Welcome to the grand launch,” he said. “There’s never been a better time for you to die. Truly.”
The crowd murmured excitedly as Charon swung the champagne bottle against the boat’s prow, striking just below the Gorgon figurehead.
The glass splintered, the crowd roared. If Charon had skin on his skull, he would have smiled. As it was, he remembered what it felt like to smile — and in itself that was wonderful.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
&#x200B;
Charon had taken the wheel and steered the passengers East — away from where they needed to reach. He wasn’t taking the souls across yet. Before judgement, they would have two nights of celebration.
He steered the ship through a series of dark caves, his vision attuned to the blackness, until they came out into a vast cavern. The water glittered red on the left side of the cavern, blue on the right — both patches bright, radiating enough light to glint on the diamond-studded rocks far above them.
The souls, those looking over the side, gasped at the sudden and unexpected beauty. Of the red and blue seas swirling into each other like ying and yang.
Passengers came up one by one to thank him.
“We couldn’t have asked for a more pleasant start to the afterlife,” said one lady, a cocktail in her hand.
”I thought I’d be scared,” said a guy. “Frightened as all hell. But you’ve made this experience so much fun.”
”Thank you,” they said.
Charon wasn’t such a sociable type. He preferred to hear the happiness of his passengers rather than be involved in it. He listened to the joyful or mildly annoyed cries from the casino. The laughter as someone told jokes on the theatre stage.
He lay the anchor in the middle of this cavern-ocean, where the two seas met and swirled, and sat on the deck, looking up at the crystal roof as if the glints of light were stars — as if everyone on board was free beneath the sky.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
&#x200B;
The little girl had worn two coins in her eyes. Charon had peeled them off and pocketed them in his cloak. Behind them, her eyes were moss-green, moss-soft. They ran with tears as she stared at him, then at his little boat, and at the dark, scary cavern.
”Come,” he said, gesturing towards his raft. “I will take you across.”
”Where’s Mommy?” said the girl.
He held out a boney hand. “Come. I will take you across.”
The girl fell onto her knees and wept into the dirt.
He hated this. He despised being a figure of fear. And this child, she didn’t deserve to be here. To feel any of this fright.
“It’s not so bad,” he attempted. “There’s no more pain across the water. You will be judged, yes, but children are rarely guilty.”
It didn’t comfort her, of course.
He left the girl for a while, walking to one of the black trees that grew beneath the ground. With a knife, he carved out a palm-sized chunk. He held it and slowly whittled it into a familiar shape.
The girl had followed him. She wiped her eyes and watched as he worked.
Finally, he tore fabric from his cloak and dressed the doll in it. “For you,” he said, presenting the finished work.
The girl gingerly took it from him.
She played with the doll after they boarded the raft. It distracted her all the way across. She took it with her as she left, turning back only for a moment to wave goodbye.
He weakly returned the wave. Once she was out of sight, he looked at the patch of missing fabric. If he had tear ducts, he was certain he’d be crying.
He placed his hands in his pockets and counted the coins.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
&#x200B;
Charon sat on deck and listened to the party.
He’d been a fisherman once, with his own family. That was until he’d displeased a god and gotten the eternal job of ferryman.
He knew fear and sadness and hope, and all other human emotions. Or at least he remembered them.
But he didn’t feel as many of those emotions now as he’d hoped for. Already the lustre of the new ship was failing him.
Yes, he was making it easier for others, and that was good. But in the end, he’d have to take them across still. In the end, they were dead and he was nothing more than the person who delivered them to their fate.
What he really wanted — needed — was a way out of this cave system. Was to be break through the rock wall and sail these souls back up into daylight.
To sail *his soul* back to daylight.
To his family.
Was that the truth of it, then? Had he done all this for himself, not for the passengers? Had the last two thousand years been for his own selfishness? A type of personal redemption, rather than wanting to help others. Was the fact that the lines crossed only coincidental?
There was no escape from his misery. That was clear. All around him, even in this great cavern, were walls. And the biggest, thickest wall of all was *time*. That was a wall he could never pass.
He’d been so scared of admitting that truth that he’d buried it as he’d saved his coins. Ignored the fact that he was deeply and truly terrified. That he’d never get to return. To see his family.
He thought of those fish again, the ones who followed whales and fed on their scraps. Was that all he did now? Fed on the scraps of joy these souls left for him? Taking them out to feed then feeding on the leftovers.
He let out a long, empty sigh and lay back against the wood and wished for time to swallow him.
&#x200B;
A long while later, two children came sprinting past him — one chasing the other, but both giggling. They were playing some kind of game. They might have been brother and sister, he wasn’t sure, but they looked similar.
They must have been near in age to his own children, back when he’d been forced to leave them.
He thought of the girl from years ago that he’d carved the doll for. Of how sad she’d been.
But these two children weren’t sad.
They weren’t in the least bit scared.
And he found strangely that — for now, at least — he wasn’t either.
Scraps or not, what mattered to the fish was that it filled them.
|
“What’s taking him so long? If he doesn’t get here soon, I might die of boredom.” Marcus said. His hands resting behind his neck, trying to get himself comfortable as he laid on the rocky terrain of the underworld. Watching the river Styx float before him with no sign of the Ferryman.
“I don’t think you can die of boredom if you’re already dead. What are you complaining about, anyway? At least you’re at the front of the line. I feel bad for those poor souls at the back. Imagine how long it will be before they get a ride.” Paula looked back at the line, noticing more souls joining the already weeklong queue of bodies.
“It’s an expression. Although I think I might be the first case of a dead person dying if this takes any longer. They could at least bring some complimentary bread or wine to eat while we are waiting.”
“Like at a fancy restaurant? Do souls even get hungry?” Paula wondered that. The whole time she had been waiting here, she hadn’t felt a need to eat or drink. Despite that, the thought of a nice glass of wine grabbed her interest. “I could go for an excellent red wine. Maybe one that has a hint of sweetness to it?”
“Or some freshly made bread? It’s probably a good thing we don’t get hungry. I would hate to see how violent a line like this could get if we added hunger and thirst to the mix.”
The two let out a sigh, looking longingly at the river. Surely Charon couldn’t be too much longer. From all accounts, the man was rather punctual, never missing a day of work. So, a gap like this had to be causing chaos throughout the underworld. Maybe he had worked long enough to earn himself a break, and they were just the unfortunate souls that died during that break?
Another three hours passed before a broad shadowy figure pushed through the fog of the river. Marcus jumped to his feet, edging closer to the water’s edge. It had to be Charon. Who else could traverse the river? As the figure neared, its features became more prominent. A gigantic, towering ship of metal had replaced the once tiny ferry. The deck of this ship having a pool, slides and even a bar. When the ship arrived near the waiting souls, everyone was too stunned to say anything, only staring at the tall figure on the ship’s deck. His glowing purple eyes looking longingly at the water before he turned to face the crowd.
“Charon the Ferryman?” Paula asked, being the first to break the stunned silence.
“No, Charon the Yachtman.” The ghostly voice answered.
| 2022-04-12T01:42:29
| 2022-04-12T01:20:37
| 1,213
| 345
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
_So, we've been informed that you were the janitor on shift when it happened. Care to share what you saw?_
Well, it all happened so fast. I mean, I've thought about it and I think I know what happened. I've put some pieces of conversation and orders together and have a general idea.
_Well, please continue_
They were celebrating, see? Something about destroying a brand new Ford class carrier...
_Yes, we saw that_
And so the officers and general were all celebrating in their situation room. To give you some idea of the level of Adolphus' paranoia, he has an open order that if he were to be betrayed, every high person that was near him is to be killed. He was mad.
_Mad you say? We could use that in anti-propaganda_
It doesn't matter now! See, while they were celebrating, someone got their hands on some really good wine. French wine. And then someone got hold of brandy, another had scotch, vodka, you name it. It was wild... or so it sounded like it. It wasn't even an hour before Adolphus passed out.
_An hour?!_
He doesn't hold his liquor very well. Shouldn't have mixed drinks that one...
_Well, continue please [snickering]_
So, his head of the SS produced a pistol off his holster and claimed to have stolen from an American soldier. And he fired it into the ceiling... and then...
_And then?_
Guards rushed into when they heard the gunshot, and saw Adolphus lying in the ground and saw the smoking gun, and well, they assumed the worst. And so they killed all generals and officers. All 128 of them.
_You're lying. That's hilarious! And Adolphus?_
Alcohol poisoning.
_Well, that was easy_
|
The year is 2198. The entire world has seen 15 world wars. All of which Germany has participated... and... err... lost. Y-yeah... they lost 15 times. This the 16th war, and everyone expects Germany to lose. People aren't taking Germany seriously anymore. Many keep joking about Germany.
But it looks like things will change now. Germany has actually taken over Europe and is starting to invade other parts. Their military...has... uhhh... haven't changed much... but it seems they're winning...And I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Well, I'm just a POW.. and they're about to kill me
Year 2199 and Germany is still winning. They've taken over Asia now. My execution was delayed...and now is the time for me to die...
Then all of a sudden every tank I could see just exploded. All planes crashed. And all ships sunk.
The reason why?? The dumbass lead mechanic/builder forgot to put a number 4 and a few **VERY INSIGNIFICANT** details on the blueprint. Without that stuff, well... everything would blow up.
I laughed my ass off at the explosion. I laughed so fucking hard I pissed myself. Germany lost again. But the machines exploded. Not the infantry. While I was laughing, they...errr...just shot me.
| 2017-08-18T02:27:56
| 2017-08-18T02:09:31
| 2,100
| 15
|
[WP] You meet a genie that grants one wish. You wish to go back in time and change your biggest mistake. You get taken back to the time right before you made your wish.
|
I knew what he meant after the third time I was sent back, knew that my biggest mistake would be this wish.
But I pretended not to.
I asked over and over. The same minute-long exchange etched into my mind until I could recite it without a pause, without a second thought. For hundreds, maybe thousands of times this went on and each time the genie would grant my wish and I would be standing beneath his questioning gaze, demanding him to let me fix my greatest mistake
And there I was again.
Maybe I am wrong, maybe I just need to be told I am. Maybe that's why I keep asking for the same thing over and over.
But I'll keep asking.
Because I need my daughter back.
|
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life."
I closed eyes and smiled as I felt a warm glow radiate over my body, lifting me from the ground. I heard a quick, loud zap, and suddenly feet were on the ground again. I didn't open my eyes yet. I wanted to savor the moment. This is the moment my life went to hell. A decision that sent my life into mundane existence of a terrible corporate job with the same goddamn schedule every single day. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. Just the same routine. Over and over again.
Just as I was about to open my eyes, my thoughts were interrupted.
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life." My eyes popped back open in confusion.
"Wait, wha-" my sentence was interrupted by that same magical glow. The same lifting into the air, and the same zap. This time I did not keep my eyes closed. I immediately looked up at the genie, who was already drawing breath as if about to speak.
"As you wish, master. I will return you to the-"
"Wait, what the hell is happening? You just returned me to the wish I made 2 seconds ago"
"Even I do not know where this will take you, master. I am but a conduit through which the power of the cosmos flows through. Now I will return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life."
That glow again. That lifting. That zap.
"As you wish, master. I will-"
"Wait, scratch that. I want a different wish now." I interrupted him before he could finish.
"I'm sorry master, but once the wish has been made it cannot be undone. I will now return you to the point at which you made the worst decision in your life." I drowned out the last sentence as I threw myself at him. As I passed through his ephemeral body, I felt that same glow, lift, and zap.
I tried over and over to stop him. No matter how much I ran, attacked, begged, pleaded, it was always the same.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
Glow. Lift. Zap.
I don't know how many years I tried, at this point probably centuries. But it didn't take long to realize that the genie was right. This truly was the worst decision of my life. The decision that sent my life into mundane existence of a terrible loop with the same goddamn schedule every single time. No excitement. Nothing to look forward to. Just the same routine. Over and over again.
Glow. Lift. Zap
| 2016-09-25T08:07:11
| 2016-09-25T08:05:50
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out."
|
"Why's that?" I asked with curiosity. The old lighthouse keeper leaned back in his chair and chewed on his pipe. He turned his gaze to the small window beside him. In the distance the long, bright beam of light kept it's silent vigil in the dark, rotating slowly as rain pattered against the pane.
"They're blind. Simple as that really" he said, his gaze still focused on the window.
"Blind? As in they can't see?" I asked.
"You could say that I suppose. They aren't blind physically of course, I mean they have eyes and can see you and I and the world around them, but they're still blind all the same."
"I'm not sure I follow" I said.
He turned his head back to face me again, still chewing on his pipe, though by now I expect whatever he'd been smoking had fully burned away.
"Well... now, how do I go about explaining it? Have you ever experienced moments when you're alone yet you're certain someone is behind you; only you turn and find nothing but darkness? Or perhaps you've had those odd moments where maybe you don't quite feel you are who you are; almost as if a bubble had formed round you and then popped, jolting you back to the here and now?"
"I suppose so" I answered slowly, considering it "though I imagine everyone experiences something like that now and then."
"Precisely" he answered, removing his pipe and tapping the ash onto the floor. He heaved his feet out his boots and rested them on the footstool in front of him.
"The light from this lighthouse keeps those who'd wish to cause mischief from doing so. They appear as curious sensory oddities to us because we're ignorant to the world they live in. But every now and then our two universes sort of... brush elbows if that makes sense. Just here they're a bit closer. Like two people sitting next to each other on a particularly bumpy bus ride."
"There's a universe beyond our own?"
"Oh yes, millions of them. Not all are as wildly fantastic as the one round here but none are totally alike."
I leaned back in my chair, suddenly aware of how hunched forward I had been, listening to this curious old man. He surveyed my face with an impish grin on his own, as if he were seeing how far he could spin me tales of other universes and the creatures that inhabit them.
"So, if there are more universes or worlds, and they can brush against and coinhabit the same space as our own, why is this area so special as to require a lighthouse to protect it?" I asked while my head threaded together everything I had just learned.
"Well, it wasn't always like this round here. I guided ships in the night just as any other good lighthouse keeper would do but there hasn't been a ship in these waters for a good few years, what with their fancy new navigational techniques. I suppose it was just too dangerous to continue passing through here."
"Yes, but what of those who'd wish to do us mischief? Why does the light keep them at bay?"
He shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly, obviously wondering the same.
"I don't know. I know that seems an unsatisfactory answer and I do apologise. I just know that should that light go out, it would lead to all sorts of trouble."
At that moment, as if on cue, the light that had been slowly rotating in the rain filled night, went dark.
|
"The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out." He took a sip of his beer.
I didn't quite understand him, I just stared as we sat by the cliff, darkness enveloped the sky and darkened the rock, a moment of passing light from the tower would bring colour for a brief fleeting moment. The sounds of waves crashing against the cliff was soothing and yet a reminder of what lay below.
"I don't understand," I said, frowning, he simply stared onward as he took another sip, he stared into the vastness of the dark sea, its waters momentarily glistened like a drape of silk by the passing light.
I heard footsteps, barely able to hear them over the sound of the crashing waves, I looked up, dark silhouettes appeared over the cliff above, people from the town further in, more and more of them came, but none together, all alone and all silent, none acknowledging the others existence.
Many brought blankets, some just a drink, none looked at each as they sat down, just looking onward, just onward across the endless abyss as the lighthouse would momentarily illuminate the cluster.
"The people in this town wake up everyday and do what they do everyday," the lighthouse operator said, chipping away at the paper wrapped around the beer bottle, "at night, they simply come here in unison, but alone, some come because of stress, some because they are tired, some because they are angry, whatever their troubles, it does not matter, nor does anyone talk about it, but they are told to follow the guiding light to find their way, and so they sit there, for hours, quietly, whatever their problem is, and then they go home, and see the same people they saw the night before with smiles on their faces like nothing happened," he continued, half talking to himself, his eyes were pits of sorrow, regret had drilled it way inside, nested, and made those eyes empty shells of what once was happiness, "but here, here is the one place where time stands still, here is the one place, they can escape from their bubble and nothing else matters, as the light guides them into sanctuary."
I became silent, I didn't know what else to say, "you have to let me go," the words were sour in my mouth, melancholic and filled with regret, tears draped down the old wrinkles on the mans face, he took another sip with trembling hands, trying to muffle his sobs.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, they were the final words we shared, as he sat there alone, the child who he would see every night, once more gone, all that was left was guilt and quiet sobs.
| 2017-02-22T12:12:43
| 2017-02-22T08:57:52
| 28
| 15
|
[WP] "Welcome. You're dead. Congrats. Door to Heaven's on the left. Door to Hell is on the right. Go ahead and pick, but just know that the decision is final." The figure sitting at the desk spoke, stifling a yawn and not looking up from their book.
|
I immediately turned to the left. If I'm given a choice, it's gonna be Heaven every time, right?
But as I thought about it some more, I hesitated. Both doors looked identical. They weren't even labeled. I pressed the side of my head against the Heaven door to see if I could hear anything from the other end. Nothing. No trumpets, no harps. I couldn't even see any light shining through the crack between the door and the floor. Could this completely normal door be the entrance to eternal paradise? No, it couldn't be. I walked down the hallway to the Hell door.
Hell, all my life I was taught that this was the worst fate for a person. But seeing the door to Hell right in front of me, it didn't look too bad. The door wasn't not, no sounds could be heard through the door, nothing. Stumped, I wandered back to the middle of the hallway.
I thought about my current situation. Was this choice really up to me? Or would my paranoia consume every last bit of rational thought within me so that I chose the fate I deserved anyway?
After what seemed like an eternity of thinking, I got up. I decided, that I would go through the Heaven door. I turned to my left and walked...
Wait, was this the same left that I started with? What if I had turned around and I was actually walking toward the Hell door? No, it couldn't be... Right?
But after days of just thinking at the center of the hallway, I had lost track of which way was left and right. The doors were identical, and the hallway was completely blank. I had no idea which door was which anymore.
I walked through the door in front of me, and accepted whatever fate was coming.
|
“But...which do I choose...?” I asked, not realizing that this is what I would find on the other side.
“Either. That’s why I gave you the option when you got here.” Said the figure at the desk, pearly annoyed that’s I hadn’t already chosen.
I stood for a moment. *It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?* However, no one from before had ever said that there would be a choice. And now, facing this decision, I couldn’t move a muscle (or whatever I was made up of at this point).
I took a moment and looked around. I one else was in sight. There was any sign of another other being, just me and...wait a minute, I never got their name!
“Um... excuse me.” I sheepishly mumble yo the figure at the table. “What’s your name?”
He looks up at me from his book, with a look that conveys plainly that he cannot believe that I am still standing before him.
“Are the rules too difficult for you to understand?”
“No, I just...”
“There are two doors in front of you. See? As I explained when you got here, one leads to Heaven, the other Hell. Most people just walk through one right away, leaving me to my book!” The last word spoken in a clearly exhausted tone, even though I had only been there a few minutes.
“Okay, well how do they decide?”
“I don’t know! They just walk forward. No one else seems to have a problem with it.”
“I’m sorry but back on Earth, or in life, or whatever you want to call it, I was very indecisive. Most nights I got into an argument with my wife about what we were going to have for dinner because I couldn’t decide what I wanted.”
“That’s a very touching story. However, I am in the middle of something far more interesting, so if you’d please choose that would be great and I can get back to my book.”
I stood there staring from him to the door on the left, then the door on the right, then back to him.
“I’ll go left! I was a pretty good person, so I think that’s the right decision. Although, I did have secrets when I died. Stuff I should have said to people that would have changed things between us.”
*sorry, I can’t write anymore, work is over and I gotta head home, but thanks for sparking something in me. I’ve never written before, you could probably tell, but it was nice to get away for a minute and picture myself in this place. Have a good night everyone!*
| 2019-10-03T17:17:29
| 2019-10-03T16:20:11
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
|
They attacked us with scarlet lasers, capable of lacerating our flesh with the ease of a scalding knife cutting butter. We fell to pieces by the thousands, and they advanced, confident that they had obliterated us thoroughly.
And we played the part. We remained, limp and staring at the vacant space through wide-opened, unblinking eyes, on the floor; waiting for them to lower their guards, waiting with the patience of a hunter observing their pray moving toward his trap, salivating, craving the luscious delicacy of alien brains.
They alighted their spaceships and descended to the ground, revealing long gray limbs, slim heads and black, starry eyes. They laughed, and stared at each other joyfully. How foolish they were.
For they didn't see us rising back from the bony hands of Death.
Oh, they didn't see.
They didn't see how our lost limbs snatched their twig-like ankles, how we swarmed and crawled over them as they shot aimlessly and the screams of terrors became the new clamor of a sealed war. Bite by bite we ripped apart their scalps, their throats, and devoured their flesh and brains.
They were big, juicy, succulent, as we had expected. And that was naught but an incentive for us to thrive and feast. The thrill of war coursed through our undead bodies, and we attacked and bit and ripped and swallowed.
They couldn't do anything. So much technology, so much power and knowledge couldn't conquer us. How could it? We were beasts, barbarians, warriors. Throughout our history we had fought countless battles and wars. We were made to kill, made to die, and after the virus blessed us...we were made to reborn.
And now, we had spaceships.
-------------------------------------
/r/AHumongousFish
|
When the aliens first came they established their own colonies and bases regardless if that territory was claimed by one nation or another.
Scout missions came back with very little, They were more then just giants, they were Titans that communicated in booms of thunder.
And one more thing. They hated us. Pure unadulterated hatred. They went out of their way to crush us using chemical, biological and even physical warfare. Many of our number died during that first wave but we are not one but Legions. For everyone one of us they killed twenty remained in hiding. Adapting, learning and whispering.
The Aliens lived for such a long time that generations would pass as one battalion and it's descendants would continue the fight over territory and resources against a single one of them.
Perhaps that's why they forgot that this world was ours long before they arrived. They can poison us, crush us and rip us apart but we will be here long after they leave. And they will leave, this alien race that stands on only two and leaves it's hide so exposed to the elements. This odd race that wages war against everything, against us, against the planet and against each other.
All they know is how wage wars but we've learned far more. We've learned how to wait and how to survive even in the worst of conditions. And soon, these aliens that have forgotten this from years of laziness as they feed on the planet's comforts, our planet's comfort.
They will soon pay the price and the mighty slipper will fall on the hand that holds it. We will once again rule the earth will the aliens, the hairless apes, will be Raided away.
| 2018-09-29T12:18:07
| 2018-09-29T12:18:01
| 725
| 96
|
[WP] After several thousand years, the Greek gods awaken in the in the mid 1940’s. When the gods meet up to discuss what they had learned of the modern world, Ares walks into the room with a hollow and horrified look in his eyes, the day is August 6th, 1945.(Hiroshima)
|
“Ares.” Zeus at times wished he was Odin. He wished at times he had a hall to retreat to, a throne from which he could view the world impartially. He wished he hadn’t had to be himself. But Ares was his son, and he could feel his anguish.
“Zeus, father..? Whats happened to Ares? Why hasn’t he returned?”
“I don’t know, Athena.”
Neither understood. Neither realized. Neither had the senses for war like Ares. Though Athena recognized the tactics and weapons of war had changed, and Zeus in his younger years had waged wars that shook creation, neither was quite the personification of war that Ares was. Neither had it written in their being. So, when Zeus felt the first golden tear trickle down his cheek, he was surprised.
“Whats happened to him?! HERMES!”
But Hermes had known at the first sign of the tear what the king of the gods desired. Hermes had fled the house of Olympus with all of his haste to find Ares. But he did not come back either. Rather, swiftly, Zeus in all his wisdom broke apart for a moment, sobbing, so keenly was he linked to his brood and their suffering.
\~
“Ares, what's happened my loving son? What has happened?!”
Hera was the first to see him. Hera was the first to see the gaunt figure approach. It was Ares, Hermes nowhere to be seen. He was gaunt, his skin still pale with fear, sweat on his once mighty brow. He looked like the child he, millennia ago had once been. He looked like he himself was nearly dead already. The frightened boy that needed his father, and Zeus, who had been crying for nearly two days and nights finally looked up to see his son.
“Father...they have become like death itself.” Spoke Ares, whose normally boastful tone seemed now so small and weak. The gods had been aware that war had been raging, and that brought a sweeping confusion about the vast chambers of Olympus.
“What do you mean, my boy? Athena has already regaled us of the current war, surely you should enjoy...this…” None of the gods spoke. For the arrival of the first of their kind was swift and creeping. They all saw Hades before them, the eldest of their kind, master of the underworld.
“Brother, you must listen to him. This is not something to be enjoyed.” Hades was stern at this moment, to the point where Poseidon himself began to grow flustered, after all, Hades visiting their seat of power was hardly ever good news.
“Father, I watched it. Like one of your thunderbolts, a tiny glint in the sky dropped from some metal contraption. It seemed so pointlessly small in the midst of that city. Oh...the city…” Ares spoke slowly, carefully, and Zeus turned his gaze towards the location Ares had traveled to, and he saw an empire. Towering buildings and bustling streets, a gathering of islands akin to what his chosen had ruled, but he could feel a spectre around them, and he motioned for Ares to continue.
“It just...fell...like a single star, but it didn’t even land. It burst in the air, with a flash unlike even your thunderbolts. It grabbed the air itself, scorched it, and rushed it apart with such force and devastation that it crushed the city itself in a moment. It was like seeing your full fury unleashed…”
“But you’ve seen bodies before, sacked cities, you have seen my judgement leave smoking corpses, why does this disturb you so..?” Zeus still had a far away look in his eyes, still searching for signs of what Ares had seen.
“You don’t understand! Fires swept through afterwards...people, innocent, evil, young, old...there aren’t even corpses near the center...it was like seeing Typhon...but not even he was so absolute, but it was not simple destruction.” Ares spoke, before he began to cough, and Zeus’s eyes widened. But as Zeus himself observed, Hades simply kept his hand on Ares’s shoulder. Almost tender in his mannerisms. But what disturbed the others present the most, was that Hades would not release Ares. Rather, he simply spoke.
“It is time, Ares. I pray that we do not waste any more time, or else you may come to infect them as well.”
|
Aphrodite rushed into the room. "I came as quickly as I heard," she said. "What's the problem?"
Athena gestured toward the God of War, deep in his cups and sobbing inconsolably. "He's been like this ever since he got back from the mortal world," she said. "He's refused to tell any of us what's wrong. As much as I enjoy seeing him cut down a peg or two, this is just embarrassing. Maybe he'll talk to you?"
Aphrodite grimaced. "I'm not exactly the most nurturing of people, you know."
Athena rolled her eyes at her. "Kind of hard to not know that. Still, you two have been fucking for millennia now; if anyone can get him to either open up or shut up and go away it's you."
Aphrodite considered that for a moment before shrugging and strutting over to her drunk lover. "Hey honey," she crooned, "what's wrong?"
Ares sniffled and looked up at her. "It's all wrong!" he bawled. "The mortals have gone and ruined everything!"
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What have they done?"
"They built a new kind of bomb, a huge one! It's so big, one of them can destroy an entire city!" he wailed.
"What's so bad about that?" she asked. At his wounded glare, she hurriedly added, "I mean, I don't get war the way you do. You say it's bad, it's bad. Can you tell me what makes it so bad?"
He took a deep swig of his tankard before replying. "A bomb like that can't be defended against. Nobody's gonna dare go to war if it'll mean all their cities are turned into radioactive dust! I'm gonna be a useless, fat, relic!"
She leaned over him, stroking his arms, and said, "Oh hon, it's not so bad. I might not get war, but I do get people. Let me tell you what's going to happen, okay?"
At his nod (which may have just been him glancing at her cleavage, but she'd take what she could get) she continued. "The mortals aren't dumb, they're going to know that they can't go to war with anyone who has this bomb, but that they *can* go to war with anyone who *doesn't* have it. The big, powerful countries are going to get the bomb before anyone can force them to not get it, but once they have it they'll force weaker countries to not get it. That means there won't be big wars between big powers-"
Ares wailed, but Aphrodite merely raised her voice and kept going, "-but there will be smaller wars between smaller powers and wars where one big power funds one side and another big power funds the other side. Lots and lots of little wars all the time. Doesn't that sound like fun? Better than one big war every generation with nothing much in between, right? Even better, these wars will never really end; since it's impossible for one side to go and militarily destroy their enemies, there's no way to ever stop them from just funding another proxy war when the first one finishes."
Ares quieted down. "That... that does sound like fun. Yeah, lots of little fights where there's glory and violence all around. That sounds great!"
Aphrodite smiled. "See? Now let's get you cleaned up; we can't have the God of War out of the fight just when things are about to get interesting, can we?"
| 2019-12-04T14:40:05
| 2019-12-04T12:31:19
| 30
| 12
|
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
I didn't hear the bullet, but then, they never do.
There was just a thud, then I fell over.
Sergeant started shouting words I couldn't make out.
The rest of the squad hit cover.
No one came to get me.
Probably because I was exposed.
But still, nobody came.
I was alone.
And then.....
Nothing.
|
Quick, whoever you are, I need you to please listen! I am a scientist using an experimental time machine. But it is not working as we intended. We are being pulled back and forth. Into one timeline, and then back. And each time is shorter! Almost out of time... Please, send help! Oh no... Nooooooo-
| 2015-01-27T11:35:40
| 2015-01-27T11:28:50
| 192
| 15
|
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
|
Room spinning, face warm and night stretched so thin that it was quickly becoming midday she stumbled into the kitchen. An outstretched hand reached out to scrape against walls, slipping onto counters to boost unreliable knees. A quick rest by the fridge, face pressed against the coolness of the freezer door.
"O-ne m-month," she slurred in a low hiccuping tone. She wrenched the freezer door open, narrowly stepping on a long tail. "Sorry. 'M so- so sorry," she apologized to disapproving golden eyes. A nose in the air in response, a furry back of disdainful avoidance. Instead tiny paws found the battered remains of her cellphone, pushing across the floor.
"I m-made it o-one mon-th," she started again, pouring vodka into a still cool shotglass. Her hand perfectly still and steady for the pour, a thing of long practice from long nights and fond memories. A deep breath and she reaches upwards to fill her head with empty and her heart with numb.
The glass slips from her fingers, tumbling almost majestically into the waterbowl at the edge of the linoleum. "Fuck," she sighed in defeat, legs giving out beneath her. She looks at the glass, just beyond her reach, then at the bottle in her hand. "Fuck it." Bottle to lips and a sharp gasp after the burning subsides. A strange cracking sound hit her ears, before she recognized her own broken laughter.
The cat dipped another paw into its bowl, licking it meticulously clean before dipping it in again. It looked at its paw for a moment before leaning down for a long drought. A slow relaxation seemed to wash over it and it looked back at the broken grieving woman collapsed on the kitchen floor.
The cat gave her one long slow blink before sighing heavily, "Get over it already. Pussy."
|
"Good Dog Pete, You have a problem."
I looked at him with disbelief. I knew I was drunk, but I didn't think I was drinking vermouth.
"Listen up. Tomorrow you are getting booked into Alcoholics Anonymous." Snoopy walked over to his bed in the corner, made three spins, laid down and shot a disapproving look my way.
"This is the last time. Otherwise I'm out of here. Its just not healthy for either of us."
I sat the bottle down on the counter and sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right Snoopy."
As I started to pour the contents of the bottle down the drain, Snoopy yelped.
"Leave some in there! I have poker night with the guys on Thursday."
| 2016-08-02T18:41:05
| 2016-08-02T17:31:01
| 172
| 52
|
[WP] Magic is real. And it is terrible.
|
Ralph shuffled his cards nervously, again and again until he could convince himself the odds were in his favor, or at least not against him.
A lump appeared in his throat as his opponent cut the deck. He just knew his fate was sealed.
Sweating through his shirt, he took a deep breath and counted to seven.
"Shit. all lands. *Again*".
|
Incantation for a Spell of Levitation
Ingredients:
-Two frog legs, one each, from a male (right side) and female (left side) Mississippi gopher frog.
-0.8 grams of Scrapings taken using a 60%-silver 35%-iron 5%-zinc scalpel from the underside of a mature Indigo Milkcap.
-1/8 Cow tongue, from an Anatolian Black. Pieces from the front left portion give the best results.
-1.2 ounces of Gold, pure.
-Water, as clean as possible to get, but it really doesn’t matter.
Other Materials:
-Cast Iron Pot, properly seasoned
-Wooden Spoon, not made of Oak, Pine, or Bamboo
-Five Gemstones, each of a different variety. Only Emeralds need to be previously polished.
-Cooking Thermometer
Instructions:
Be sure before starting the process that the Moon is in a waning pattern, as has risen fully. To be sure of the exact status of the Moon, throw a thirteen-week old black cat into the air. If the cat fails to land on its feet, the Moon is in a proper position.
The cow tongue (raw) must be masticated for 40 minutes by the target of the levitation, though it may continue for as long as needed. Failure to properly mash the tongue in this time period will result in an incomplete incantation. If any of the tongue is swallowed at any point, it is recommended to immediately spray the area with a fine mist of garlic, and attempt the spell the following night. Once complete disintegration of the tongue has proceeded, spit the tongue into the cast iron pot.
Add water to cover, and then add an extra cup. Bring the mixture to 60ºC, and stir three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise. Wait two minutes, then repeat the stirring.
Add, in order, the male frog leg, the Indigo Milkcap scrapings, the Gold, and then the female frog leg. Stir three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise. Wait two minutes, then repeat the stirring. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and then simmer for two hours.
After two hours have passed, you need to rapidly cool the mixture, as it will only be applicable for 45 minutes. At the end of cooling, place the gemstone at the corners of a pentagram shape on the ground, with a space of thirty-six inches between each stone. If an Emerald is one of the gemstones, make sure that the Emerald is placed at the bottom right corner (If you fail to do this see page 168, “Incantation for a Spell of Leprosy”). To complete the pentagram, sprinkle the mixture using the spoon in between each corner, and to create the outer circle. Stand in the middle of the pentagram.
The mixture needs to be spread evenly over the skin of the target using the spoon. Once the hands have been covered, they may be used to evenly spread the mixture, but only the spoon may be used to remove more from the pot.
Have the target recite the words, in any language, “Be that as it may, I denounce the ground. She is a mistress that too long has bound me. I would be free.”
Pg.87 “Incantation for a Spell of Levitation”
Bob “FireStruck” Connor’s Easy Incantations
“. . . I would be free.” Brent finished saying, shining a golden pallor in moonlight entering through the open shades. The open book of magic fluttered slightly as the wind blew in to the 3rd story apartment. He felt himself rise off the ground. An inch. His cat Barnabus hissed at him from the top of the fridge. Brent had expected something more, but right now he had achieved it, magic, not illusion, but real genuine magic. Granted it had cost him an entire months salary, and he’d already swallowed about 6 parts of the cow tongue before getting it right, but he was levitating.
“I can fly!” Brent mused into the air. “I CAN FLY!” He pumped his hands in the air in celebration. “Alright, lets see what I can do. Lets fly around the neighborhood, show that asshole Steve that I’m not wasting my time.” Realizing he was naked, Brent decided the first course of action was to don some appropriate clothes.
Trying to walk out of the kitchen showed the first signs of trouble. His feet found no purchase on the ground. Each step he took, showed no further progress towards any direction. No displacement of balance, but he could not find the ground. Brent got on all fours and tried to crawl, but to no avail. His hands could not touch the ground either. “Shit.”
He eventually made it to his bedroom by grasping hold of furniture and pulling himself along. “Just something to get used to until I figure this out,” As panic crept into his voice he put on jeans and a t-shirt, forgoing the cape he had specifically bought for tonight. He pulled himself back into the living room, ignoring the puddle of spell lingering in the kitchen. Barnabus was equally disinterested in the puddle.
Just as he failed to descend, Brent found that he could also not elevate, he could not change his relation to the floor of his apartment at all. If he pulled himself up on his fridge, he would immediately drop to the original inch once he let go. He resorted to trying his will. He imagined floating higher, or sinking. He imagined that he was a Jedi, and that he was a master of the Force. Nothing worked. He stayed one inch above his apartment’s floor.
He decided to change floors. He exited the apartment, pulling at every free hand hold. Brent extended his arms across hallway, and propelled himself towards the stairs like he was sitting in a chair with wheels. “Ha, this could end up being fun.” He reached the stairs and tried to step down, immediately meeting the limits of his levitation, now six inches above the next step. He grasped the railing to pull forward and was soon floating several feet above the descending stairs. Managing to maneuver back to the hallway, he retreated to the apartment once again.
“Maybe I just need a bigger drop . . . Something to kick-start the levitation for real. He grasped for the open frame of the window and pulled himself outside, with just enough force that he lost his grip on the window frame and launched free of the building. Three stories up, and now stranded, levitating.”
Pg.88 “Incantation for a Spell of Levitation” cont.
Bob “FireStruck” Connor’s Easy Incantations
Warnings on this Spell
This incantation and the one for leprosy are surprisingly similar, and thus we recommend that an emerald be avoided for most uses of this spell. Again see page 168 if any signs of leprosy are noticed.
The spell lasts until the mixture has been removed from the body. The mixture is water soluble, and will easily be removed by showering or bathing. The mixture also serves as a severe anti-perspirant, so you don’t need to worry about sweating it off.
The spell works by forming a tacit agreement with the ground level of target located at the pentagram. Once the agreement has been spoken, the subject will levitate. Height of the levitation may be adjusted by using different parts of the cow tongue, and may also depend on the age of the cow. Different breeds of cow produce inconsistent and sometimes undesirable results.
As this spell only provides minimal benefit, and cannot be readily applied to inanimate objects for easy transportation (what inanimate object can masticate), we only recommended it be used for recreation enhanced by reduced friction. A shower should always nearby and in working condition.
| 2014-05-20T17:29:45
| 2014-05-20T15:24:32
| 64
| 10
|
[WP] So this is what being in a car crash felt like. Not as painful as you thought it would be. But you can't feel your toes. You look down, your leg is missing from the knee onwards. There's no blood, no bone, no muscles. Instead you see mechanical components.
|
I blink up into a blinding light and squeeze my eyes shut again. What's going on? I want to ask but my voice seizes up. All I can muster is a groan.
My limbs won't move. I look down and my leg is a tangled mess of sinewy wires. Panic wells inside me and I try to scream but I can't.
"He's alert!" someone says.
"Shit."
There's a flurry of movement and the last thing I see is thick goggles on a masked face.
***
Gentle sunlight warms my face, pulling me from sleep. I blink my eyes open and look around the room. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the balloons and flowers piled in the corner.
I glance outside the window and wince at the brightness of the sun. It shocks me back into the car, the blaring horn too late a warning before headlights blinded me into a crunching darkness. The car accident...
My leg. There's something wrong with my leg. My limbs feel like hardened jelly and I flop uselessly in bed. Groaning, I struggle to pull back the covers when someone walks in.
"Looks like someone is feeling better!"
I take in the white coat and the clipboard. A doctor.
"My leg," I croak. My throat feels like a desert.
"Hm? You feeling pain?"
"Something's wrong."
The doctor consults the charts, muttering about cracked ribs and bruising, then puts the clipboard down and walks over. He easily flips up the blanket and reveals my perfectly normal leg.
He tests for feelings of pain, but I shake my head. That's strange, isn't it? I feel the soreness in my ribs and shoulders, but nothing in the lower half of my body. Why is that?
I wiggle my toes and they move just as they should--just as they always have.
The doctor checks my morphine levels and seems satisfied. He gives some non-answer about phantom pain or trauma and then leaves.
I can't get the memory of metal and wires out of my head. Everything else is fuzzy, but my mechanical leg is seared into my brain in perfect detail. What did they do to me?
I have to know.
Biting back a groan, I swallow the aching pain in my chest and lean towards my leg. My fingers crawl over the skin. It feels... normal... too normal. There are no bruises, no cuts. My skin even feels smoother than I remember, like it's synthetic.
It's not real. My fingers dig into the skin, leaving crescent moons. It can't be real. Blood drips onto the sheets. It's not real. Fake blood and muscle to hide the truth. If I dig deep enough, I'll find metal instead of bone.
Blood rivers down my leg, and I sit in a pool of red. Just like the pool of red in the car.
I don't feel pain. I didn't feel it then either. It seemed strange, in the car. Everything happened in a moment and I felt nothing. Just like now. As I rip through the skin, I feel nothing. As I dig into flesh, I feel nothing. And I know that if I can get just a little further, I'll know the truth of why I feel nothing at all.
Just a little further...
"Doctor!" a voice shrieks. A nurse tries to pry my hands away, but I can't give up now. I'm so close, so close. I need to know.
More footsteps, more bodies, there's more wrestling with me but I have to know. I need to know what they did to me.
The thought scrolls across my mind as my vision goes dark.
*****
Thanks for reading! Feel free to find more stories at r/rulerofstorybears
|
With a sharp intake of breath, you awaken, eyes trying to adjust to the murky darkness. You remember a cold, moonless night, gusts of wind threatening to steer you off the road, a heavy rain, the sudden flash of headlights when it was too late to acknowledge them. You remember skidding, trying to regain control, and a loud crash.
And now you awaken once more, alone, yet in a stupor more than afraid, trying to piece together your predicament and the possibilities of its resolution.
As you regain your bearings, a headache with a fury all its own overtakes your thoughts. You touch your forehead, expecting to see blood in the dim light reflected outside from your headlights but when you withdraw your hand, none is visible. A spark catches your eye as you study your hand and you recoil, irrational fears of an imminent explosion overtaking everything else. Struggling with the seatbelt, you notice something is wrong: where once was flesh and bone, wires and metal protrude from within. Sparks continue to sharply hiss intermittently from the wound as you assure yourself that this must be a nightmare - though deep down you knew this was real.
Further down, another area near your ankle with frayed wires. The back of your arm too, you notice now, leaks what feels like lubricant. Rummaging through the glove compartment for a small first aid kit, you look up and freeze.
Your quickening heart seems to sink into your abdomen and your eyes dart back to the sparks quietly emanating from your leg and return to the windshield.
The full implications of the scene before you weigh heavier than the water bearing down on the now-cracking glass.
| 2020-12-17T08:31:11
| 2020-12-17T07:43:04
| 39
| 14
|
[WP] You are a Narrator, a very bad one. Describe a great historical event in the most mundane way possible.
|
Bonny was a tiny bloke. Didn't stop him from *reaching up* for something grand.
He hated the posh bastards, living it up their fancy castles, eating their fancy white cakes, drinking the bubbly paid for courtesy of the plebs. When the whole country started wondering, 'why do we even let this thing go on since forever?", ol' Bonny hatched a plan.
He and his mates started building up a whole gang of men with pointy guns and sticks. Then they beat the other boys fighting for the posh twats, ended up winning. It was crazy. The whole lot started cheering, choppin' people heads off like piñatas, and burning stuff like in some hippie bonfire thing. Absolute bonkers.
But the other rich posh lot from all over started seeing ol' Bonny as a dangerous man.
"He might be short, but this lad can start chopping *all* of our heads off too, mate!" said one nutty king.
"Damn, we should start, like, ganging up on him or whatever," said another king with a large silly hat.
"Yeah, let's just kick his arse now!" cried an emperor with some fancy uniform.
So all these pretentious silly mates just did that... and they lost. Big time.
Ol' Bonny then put on a fucking silly hat of his own and said, "I found this stinkin' crusty crown thing on the gutter, so I'm gonna put it on my own head, everyone cool?". To which everyone in his gang gave a thumbs up and so he became another rich pompous king of sort.
Yada yada yada, the old pompous king mates then came back for an encore. In fact, they did that seven times.
Yada yada yada, they got their arses beaten six times. Then they won on the seventh.
It was wild, but pretty much the same thing repeated seven times. Like, who wrote this crap?
That's it.
Napoleon Bonaparte. Good ol' short Bonny.
|
The world wars, they first one was a bad war, a war so bad that it was amazing.
Everyone knows that bad things become amazing because it is so bad, just like ww2.
Ww2 was even worse than ww1 because it was badder than the first one.
It started because everyone simultaneously agreed we should have another, big bad war, just like the first world War, a bigger and badder war will outshine the first big bad war.
Because everyone loves sequels, and world wars were no exception.
So everyone created another as a group project.
They were proud of it and decided to give it another name aside from ww2.
The ones who survived called it another name aside from world War 2.
#World War 2: Electric Boogaloo
| 2020-08-19T04:49:21
| 2020-08-19T04:22:02
| 44
| 18
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand
|
Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil
| 2017-11-06T03:25:39
| 2017-11-05T22:17:00
| 23
| 16
|
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
"but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it.
|
"She's something all right."
"Yes but a lady belongs in the houses, not working whatever it is she's always up to."
--
As I pull back the curtains to the cellar, the stench of her recent 'concoctions' hit me once again. Though I love her enthusiastic, or as I call it 'free-spirited' personality, others whisper where did her father go wrong.
"Where be the wicked witch of the well?"
"Oh quit it Cedrick, leave me be."
By the table, Erika stood in her favourite dress, simple, sleeveless dress showing off just a bit of her personality. Her hair brought up into a bun, unusual arrangement for the night, but she's always stood firm for her beliefs in dressing in her cellar.
However mystifying her looks may be, the contents of her table shared the same trait. Mix of glassware and make-shift 'contraptions' of scrap she's found. In front of her, manuscripts by high lords, many with writing foreign to the common man. It is uncommon for a lady from here to read, such Erika's ability to read these papers reserved for upper society is unheard of. She has even defaced them with her writing on several occasions.
What has the lord sent her now? 'Manipulation of space-time using...' "Oi" She snatched the white script out of my hand, "You know my rules in here."
A playful smile came, "the men of the next town dare not touch me, Erika you truely bewitch me."
She looked up at me, releasing her hair into the usual river of black hitting her back. "What would you have me do I wonder?" She pulled me in for a kiss. "Wait for me outside, I have to stabilize my machine."
"Sta-bil-se, where do you pick these up?"
--
A few more and I might just be able to stabilize the portal, if only for a few seconds, it's enough.
As the pulser tripped, the entangled parties warped the hole into phase. The hole that brought me here, and the one that will bring me home. Call me Einstein, he might have came up with the theorem, but I built a working portal in medieval London!
| 2017-09-14T15:04:14
| 2017-09-14T09:53:18
| 85
| 56
|
[WP] The year is 2050, Queen Elizabeth is still on the throne. The public is growing suspicious, wondering why she is immortal.
|
I have always ruled.
No matter what face I wear or what name I go by.
I like my body. So gentle and kind looking. So easy to pass off anything I say as fairy dust.
When I ask for virgins, they are brought to my bathing chamber once a year.
Two virgins are usually enough. Importing virgins is frowned upon. One can't continue to rule England, Space England, and England: The Sequel after bathing in some Parisian virgins blood.
You'd be hard pressed to find one in the whole of Paris.
I stay with good hearty English stock. Keeps my body sewn together and really is a great libido booster. Can't have too much of that, can you?
After all, it comes with this ritual. Hardly any pain, darlings. I've perfected the method. No blood is wasted. Very eco-friendly.
I'm sure one day I shall tire of this and grow a new body. Perhaps something with scales.
|
August 5th, 2026:
"God save the queen!" So they drank.
"You know-" said Jerome, pointing to the television screen "-one day she's going to die."
"And that day is gonna' *suck*." said Raymond. "I, for one, hope that day does not come to pass for a long time."
"Here here!"
And so they drank.
&nbsp;
August 5th, 2056:
"-with some *breaking news* from Buckingham palace: The Queen's bypass surgery was a resounding success."
"Oh thank God!" Said jerome.
And so they drank.
"In other news, a fierce debate continues over prime minister Trump's controversial plan to barricade the Chunnel. More on that at 3. Jeremy Clarkson, BBC news."
| 2022-09-08T20:18:49
| 2019-06-27T17:12:31
| 158
| 49
|
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is.
|
The commander stared at the readout and repeated... "It makes no sense. The sensor must be faulty."
"We thought the same thing which led us to replace the sensor. Twice." first ranked technician trilled. "I checked the archives and this is the first time anything like this has ever been recorded."
The commander looked back and forth uneasily between the Uniform Galactic Hazard Rating printout and the current sensor readings of the subjects being held in the science stasis pens. This backwater planet had been scanned multiple times by passing ships and it had always registered as a 0-1 aggregate threat assessment. Considering the decidedly uninteresting orbital readings, the science directorate had not been in a great hurry to send a survey vessel for more in depth documentation.
Yet the Hazard sensors pointed at this group of ten slightly squishy pink endoskels were actively bouncing a reading between a 5 and 6; just below the range of a severe threat. The sensor readings weren't supposed to bounce. You either were a threat or you were not.
The commander's ridge crests fell in resignation. It fell to the commander to determine how to interpret ambiguity.
"Has translation matrix has absorbed their mode of communication?" For a brief moment the commander hoped it could not and the subjects could be redeposited on the planet with an annotation in the report saying they had tried but the matrix lacked the capability. A perfectly acceptable report which would be summarily ignored and their ship could continue on to the next assignment. Preferably one without sensor problems.
Sadly that was not to be. "Their communication methods were exceedingly basic and the matrix adapted to it nearly instantly." eagerly stated first ranked technician. "You aren't seriously considering attempting communication considering the hazard rating are you?"
The commander ignored the question. "Pick one and put it in a containment interview room."
But before the commander even reached the transit pad the technician loudly squawked, "Sir, stop. There is a problem."
The commander halted the forward advance of his considerable mass and turned back to the technician. "How can there be a problem. I haven't even had a chance to leave the room yet. What could have possibly..." the words trailed off as he stared at the new sensor readings.
6.5
They had removed one and the threat level had gone up. That made no sense. How could they be more dangerous the less of them there was. The commander thought for a long moment before a realization emerged. "Technician... do we have sensors in the interview room?"
The technician seemed confused and fluffed slightly "Well yes but.."
"Bring them online on the single subject."
10... not just a 10. No. The sensor readings had literally buried the hazard rating at the top. It was not a 10, it was more than a 10. How much more was impossible to determine. Complete silence hung across the command deck. The humidity generators softly hissing cool water as the whole science team stared at the display.
The silence was finally broken by the Second Ranked "The last verifiably registered 9 was the Xanthic predation swarm of the Eleventh Epoch. There has never been a 10 in galactic history." Its scales rippled from concern to fear and back.
The commander was nearly frozen with indecision and fear. For one brief moment, he had considered going into a room to communicate with this... this... human... ALONE. It was beyond belief. Here was a species that was at its most dangerous when presented as an individual. It was irrational. How could an aggregate planetary society be so innocuous and yet be comprised of a multitude of individuals... like this?
The commander was mentally calculating the farthest point in the habitable galaxy from this planet. Perhaps... retirement from the serving the directorate. Yes. Retirement a great, great distance away from this exact point in space.
In the barest whisper, the commander finally spoke.
"put them back... on the planet... quickly."
|
The aliens were almost done with their regular scanning routine to identify any galactic threats.
When they were scanning the life on a terrestrial planet 17 light-years away, all the specimens were labeled as 1's. The lowest possible threat. Just as they were about to end the scanning, however, a level 10 threat appeared. It was the strongest being in the universe.
They immediately traveled all the way to the planet, and found that the level 10 threat now resides in a groovy van.
"What's a 'mystery machine'?" One of them said.
"I don't know," the other said, "but it must be some sort of evil lair."
They opened the door, only to be greeted by a man in a green shirt and a talking dog.
The last thing the aliens heard was "This must be, like, an alien invasion" as the man cracked his knuckles.
| 2022-08-28T07:22:47
| 2022-08-28T03:59:49
| 21
| 12
|
[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment
|
Douglas slid the final quarter into the Terminator 2: Judgement Day console. This was it. Fifteen more seconds of end boss play. Three more grenades. One more life. FOR. THE. WIN!!! It was glorious! The best $20.75 he'd ever spent. As the light gun in his hand settled down for the final cutscene, you thrilled at the brilliance of the game. The first two levels were playable on a single 50 cent buy-in. And then it became exponentially more expensive as you progressed. Earlier, he'd stopped as he ran out of quarters at $5, $10, and even $20. That had been heartbreaking - partway through the final level he'd realized: This game wasn't just your typical pay to win coin-op faire. No no, it was a masterpiece, tuned *just beyond* the $20 threshold.
Douglas grinned the entire bus ride home. He threw open the door, triumphantly, "DAD! I finally beat Terminator 2 at the arcade," Douglas thrilled.
"Son," came the somber reply, "I don't want you throwing your money away on those arcade machines any longer."
"What?"
"Come in here, your mother and I want to talk to you."
Douglas hung his head. What had he done wrong? It was his own allowance money he was spending, and he'd saved for a month to achieve this victory. He'd washed both cars, mowed the lawn every week, and taken out both trash and recycling like clockwork to guarantee success. And now he was... what? In trouble for it? That just didn't make sense. He kicked his feet as he walked down the hallway to the TV room where his parents were waiting. This sucked.
"Surprise!" yelled his Dad, Mom, and kid sister. "Happy Birthday!!!"
What!? Douglas felt his heart skip.
His Dad beamed at him, "Fooled you, didn't I?"
"Uh.." Douglas was speechless as he took in the room.
"But I wasn't lying - you don't need to spend your money on those arcade machines anymore," his dad continued. "We saw how hard you saved up just for this one try, so we thought - for your birthday - you'd appreciate a *home gaming system.*" Dad gestured to the TV cabinet, and the shiny black device at the bottom. "This, son, is a brand new SUPER NES. Now you won't ever have to pay money at the arcade again on that 'pay to win' crap. What did it cost you today to play *once*? $20? Well now for $50 you can *own the game* and play whenever you want! Winning isn't about how much you spend, but how *good you are at the game*! Isn't that great?!"
Little did Dad know, this wasn't an alternate universe at all, but actual goddamn reality, circa 1991, and it was fucking glorious.
|
It's like Overwatch, except all is pay-to-win. There are all these options to buy upgrades and even buy downgrades before the game starts. Both teams of 6 players each have 5 minutes to spend a minimum of $50 USD each to upgrade themselves or downgrade the enemy team.
You might get the Aimbot level 3 upgrade for your sniper. But the enemy might get the Blur level 4 downgrade, making it harder to focus on targets.
You might not buy the Ultimate Charge upgrade, but your enemy might downgrade your Ult Charge by 20% for $120 USD.
The games only last about 20 minutes, but it's all fair. Like in real life, money wins. If you have more money you have more firepower. It's as simple as that.
But there's been a recent development. There are people who buy no upgrades and don't even invest in downgrading the enemy team. They take the default weapons and... just play the game for FREE.
There's this one guy who manages to work a bow and arrow by knowing exactly how the Blur or Fade or Misalign debuffs work. He will estimate the level of each debuff and then alter his aim. Most of his shots are pure head shots.
Some weeks ago we had a problem with a team of these guys. They took a full map by surprise by using in-game flying vehicles to bombard our home base. Our home base full of our financial investments. It was terrible.
The entire economy collapsed and we had to step up our game. We invested millions of Dollars to fund a strike force against the team of 6. We did the only thing that was fair: we brought 2104 gamers to fight their team of 6.
It still took us about 12 years to finally track down their leader and kill him. We spent over 500 billion US Dollars in the process, but the threat was removed. We invaded thousands of servers and managed to take away everything these so-called skilled players loved.
We label them terrorists now. And we've been at war with them for a long time. Things have been calming down with our previous leadership. He was a sensible person, working towards a peaceful ending and making sense of our finances again.
But we have a new leader now. We call him Agent Orange.
| 2018-02-12T15:10:56
| 2018-02-12T14:33:19
| 115
| 10
|
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M).
|
I stare blankly ahead at the screen in front of me.
My blurred reflection gazes back from the dark empty monitor.
I begin to type.
"h-e-l-l-"
There's no O key.
I erase and stare.
...
What is this place?
There are so many missing keys it seems impossible to complete even a single word.
Hmm...
Maybe some sort of command will work...
"F-i-l-e."
I watch the letters blink rhythmically on screen and press enter.
The word stops blinking for a moment, and then disappears.
Nothing happens, no command screen, or prompts of any sort.
Exasperated, I lean back and analyze the room. Same as it was when I woke up. Empty, sterile, windowless and doorless.
Although I now realized there was something I hadn't noticed on the floor. A manila envelope, the type you'd see in an office, laid unopened just behind my seat. I reach down and open it, and a white piece of paper with the word "File" printed on the middle slides out. I stand in stunned silence, staring back and forth between the computer and the file.
Did I do that?
I quickly sit back down at the desk, my mind racing. Did it work with anything? What other words could I type with this useless keyboard?
My stomach grumbled. When was the last time I ate something?
"B-a-c-"
There was no O or N. Maybe something easier.
"H-a-m."
ENTER.
I whip around to see an immaculate roasted ham sitting in the center of the room. It's steaming as if it's just been taken out of the oven.
I eat a small piece and it may very well be the greatest thing I've ever tasted.
Then it dawns on me.
What this place could be.
I know what I have to do.
I sit back down at the computer.
"M-"
I'm shaking from nerves and from disbelief.
If my assumption is correct-
"E-"
This place is-
"M-"
is-
"E-"
I hit enter and a printed picture of Ainsley Harriot with the words 'OIL UP' above his head appears directly in front of me.
I pick it up with tears in my eyes.
"This is Heaven."
|
It’s been 21 cycles since I typed CHALK. I think I was in here for about 2 real days before I figured that one out. Now my “days” end with each time I fall asleep, but If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve been in here for about 2 real weeks. Fortunately I can at least sleep on a BED, albeit it’s really just a mattress on a box spring. The MEALS aren’t exactly “food” either. More like one of those ration bars you see in movies. God, what I would do for the letter O, but at least I still have the delete key. When I typed out DECK it nearly killed me when it manifested. I just wanted a deck of cards, not a fucking porch. That was probably 15 cycles ago. This morning, I had an amazing idea. I would manifest a new deck, dismantle it, and use the wood to make this place a little more homey. Maybe make some shelves to hold my DICE, BALL, and MACE. I went to the computer and typed h-a-m-m-e- and promptly cursed myself out for forgetting R again. Now, I’m sitting on the roof of my yellow CAB, wondering whether or not I should finally turn it on, lay down, and let it run while I slowly fade away. God, what I would do for the letter O. I could hopefully get some better FOOD, but if not, I could at least pass the time by reading a BOOK or playing with a DOG. I’ve already got a BALL for him! Just one more letter and I could have so many more things. Or maybe I could click my heels together, type HOME, and be whisked away back to Kansas or wherever the fuck I’m from. But knowing this stupid machine, it would probably just kill me when it manifests a legitimate fucking house over my head. That’s actually kind of funny though, I wonder what would happen. I need to clear my head. I’m going to go draw a new window.
As I’m drawing a few trees and birds in the "distance" within the four rectangles representing glass panes, my mind starts to wander…. Adjectives! How the fuck did I not try any adjectives? I hurry to the computer, and before I can even think about what might happen, I type BIG. Nothing happens. Great, so now I can only use nouns? Bullshit. Well, back to drawing the outdoors what a fun experiment! Great idea! I’m the best! Just for laughs, I write “/s” on the wall near where I’m drawing the window.
Hold on, there’s something different about the trees and birds. They look a bit bigger, almost as if they got “closer.” Could that be what changed? Typing BIG makes my chalk drawings bigger? I’m backing up while still staring at the window. Backing up towards my BED on the opposite wall. Without looking, I sit down on my BED, like I’ve done tons of times before, hit the edge, and slip off. What the hell? I’ve been trapped in this god forsaken room forever. I can navigate this room with my eyes closed. Did I move the BED when I woke up? Why was it further away from where I thought it was? Something has changed…
I’m already typing BIG over and over again. The room is getting bigger and bigger. While I’m repeatedly entering the word I can see the walls expanding. It happens instantaneously as you press Enter. That’s why I didn’t notice at first. The room expands faster than a blink of an eye. The trees are getting closer! I’m mashing the keyboard now typing BIG as fast as I can, and suddenly the wall with the window begins to crack. Still typing. It buckles until a ray of light shines through near the ceiling. Still typing. I can smell fresh air. I hear the birds! Still typing. The wall finally crumbles as a tree branch pokes through the light hole. Still typing. The cement wall is crumbing more as the tree trunk finally breaks through. I look around and notice that the room is huge now. It’s probably a 3 minute walk just to get to my bed. I run over to the broken wall, rip out some of the bigger chunks of concrete from the wall to make a hole and climb past the tree. I have no clue where the fuck I am, but at least I found a way out. Maybe I’ll go get my CAB and find a road.
| 2017-05-09T09:43:38
| 2017-05-09T09:41:38
| 57
| 27
|
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive.
|
The boy's soul had been different from the moment of his conception. Different in the sense that in Eons past souls like his had always been booned to individuals with the capacity to forge a great destiny. These individuals were assigned heavenly entities to help guide and protect them and their free will throughout their life.
Yet this boy never cried nor sang, never laughed and played. Caught between worlds he'd been shunned and cast out from both. Harsh lessons at home, isolated by his peers. A child with a kind and empathetic heart, could feel the pain of others even if he didn't understand it, he didn't understand his own. No angel protected him at home, so I distorted his luck until he learnt how to create his own. When he was reading a book and his peers came for him as a group. No angel came so I fueled his rage when he stood his ground. He became an animal in those moments. No angel came. When I bound my demonic soul to his as a celestial guardian no angel came.
As years passed, I watched the boy grow through puberty into a reclusive but powerful young man. I 'd fed the boy's appetite for destruction through his dreams. He had a natural affinity for both violence and as craftsman. When he encountered a girl with a great soul similar to his. I'd interacted with her guardian angel. At first she'd treated me with mistrust despite the fact that the pair had surprisingly gotten along. But later the girls guardian angel had come to understand the boy's abandonment. Still though, the boy eventually moved on away from the pain that followed him everywhere. When the fire happened, no angel came, I protected him from the flames. And yet when the young man no longer needed protecting, I chose to stay. An angel came. I was angry, I asked where he'd been, why he'd abandoned the child. The angel had no answer but when I aksed what he could do for the boy that I could not. The angel had replied with a condescending smirk "I can bring happiness to his life".
And by the underworld did I laugh at that With a hatred in my heart I exclaimed in glee "By the chains of hell; I'll hold you to that!" as I bound the angel's soul to both the boys and mine
|
Despite the pride the humans have accumulated through their time on Earth, the species is fragile. Technologies and medicines could only go so far as protecting one from their materialisation onwards. Prior to that, however, the souls that were to be bound to new flesh are weak and vulnerable. That is where the angels come in, carrying on the time-honoured tradition of shielding these beings from harm. The humans, in return, have offered faith. When other lifeforms, the other pets of the Creator in universes far beyond comprehension of mankind abandoned Him, men stood solely as his sheep. So it was that all angels are to safeguard mankind from threats they are unable to fight against. Until today, when the omnipotent slacked and slipped.
Of course, such mistake was grave. And the Creator could not afford to lose his last zealots. For the carcass that is to be born will be limp and rubbery, a corpse. Its soul will have been devoured by forces of malevolence no medicines could cure. Men would be terrified, as the notion of the souls and the body would become apparent as separated concepts. Most importantly, the humans would stop believing in their protectors, and that would be the end for the Heavens.
So He ended the child.
It was declared that the child is to be stillborn, and when the corpse came to Purgatory, the Demons are to incinerate it in the flames of Hell, until the last of the bones becomes fuel for the eternal nova. However, souls with no comprehension of good or evil could not be tried, thus, transition would be sacrilegious, for it disobeys the respected regulations that exempts none.
The Demons, themselves, decided on another approach. The corpse, they say, would be resuscitated, with not a soul, but the control of one of them.
So, imbued with dark magic, the corpse rose once more.
For the humans, the doctors involved in diagnosis and the parents of the child, in particular, such was a miracle. It was quickly reasoned that perhaps the machines, the scanners and the displays, were erroneous. For it was only for a moment did the aforementioned events transpired - the baby was limp for just an instance.
The Demon in possession of the child, however, did not enjoy such jubilation. The moment the atmosphere of the mortal realm touched him, he regretted the choice. Demons are not to roam this plane. He agonised, for he defied the choice of the Creator. Every breath of his was painful as the inhalation of scorching flames and exhalation of glass shards. He did not sign up for this.
And it was because of that torment, that the demon destroyed himself. His vessel, with his soul inside, raged for and end. The toddler frame, with the strength and dexterity of a beast, tossed and turned in the middle of its mother's womb. It ripped and clawed, at itself and at all it could see. The will of Demons are meek, and the pain of existence took its sanity. It wanted an end.
That day, four were killed. The mother was ripped apart from the inside, and the child dead from the hands of the doctor fetching it. That very doctor ended himself the following day, caving in to the pressure of the ravenous reporters and the unforgiving glance of the public. The father, after hearing of the doctor's death, succumbed.
The Creator was not to be defied. He could not do wrong. To believe that he was mistaken is to wage bloodshed and terror.
| 2019-12-14T21:58:56
| 2019-12-14T21:32:54
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes.
|
I still never understood how I became such a media sensation. All my life I had been studied, analyzed Psychoanalyzed. I was just a normal kid growing up. well as normal as can be expected when you have this media circus slowly building. But lets start at the beginning.
November 6th, 1989. I'm brought into this world kicking and screaming, My mom always said I was a fighter, point is the doctors take note of my eye color for the record and lo and behold...
Black.
Yeah, not White like the Telekinetics , Not Yellow for the Electrics Or Grey for mind reading or any of that shit. Black, Black as can be. No Pigmentation of any kind.
This started me down a life time of attention I didn't ask for. They studied me. They figured, "Maybe there's a bit of pigmentation there, but it's so little it can barely be seen?" guess they though there was something wrong with me medically.
Nope, No eye color none. First ever. So A local interest story of the mystery kid exploded, getting national attention. "Kid robbed of powers, or something new?" People began to speculate. And the tabloids got wind of me. saying I was an alien or a demon blah blah blah. Oh believe me growing up was just fun...
So come the say of my 18th birthday when anyone else would inherit their powers and get to start testing them out, me? I'm dodging media attention as best I can. they are out in full force. they got a couple of mind readers looking for me, scanning the streets. I'm counting down the hours to the exact moment I was born, when my powers would have emerged. maybe when they miss their mark they will just leave.
The moment comes, and I don't feel different. I suppose I wouldn't I'm not suppose to change at all just be able to do something. but then I head home.
When I get there I see on the news they are still talking about me.
"Our mind readers had been hot on the heels of Mr. Turner As he was approaching the moment of ascension, but he managed to give them the slip as soon as it hit. Now This is the first time Our investigators have lost someone they were tracking, so It's rather bizarre."
Mom came in the back door, wearing her gardening gloves and a confused look on her face. It was weird seeing her walk in the door instead of just appearing in the room. her being a blue eye. "Umm honey, Have you noticed anything strange?" she asked me. I had told he I hadn't. "Oh, because I couldn't get in here." she stood there for a moment and began to panic.
I was worried about her, It seemed she lost her ability, so I ran to the phone in the other room. then I heard her vanish, that small sound of air rushing from one room to another. It dawned on me. "MOM!" I shouted. "Come here!"
I waited... I heard her get frustrated in the upstairs bathroom. "Use the stairs mom. I think I know what's wrong." She came down, a little unsure of the layout of our house. years of teleportation will do that to a person. "Okay mom, You try getting to the bathroom your way. I'll back up." I started slowly backing away from her step by step. and soon enough, when I was about 10 feet from her. woosh!
I could 'Shut off' peoples abilities that uh... that was unexpected to say the least.
Of course that's just how all this mess began. I haven't even gotten to the dirty part. Some people didn't like what I could do. It was like taking away their limbs or something. Not like I could help it.
The whole world was after me. But... I was just learning to use my gift.
EDIT: I actually want to write more, thing is I have too many ideas where it can do, the opposite of writers block. when I can get things straightened out I want to do a part 2 if people are interested.
|
Everyone in my world had different eye colours.Each representing a different element.I was one of them.However,i was one of the unusual ones.
Ever since i was born,i had completely black eyes.My parents were shocked.The doctors couldn't explain anything,not even The Institute of Magic could.No one ever had completely dark eyes.I'm not quite sure myself.My mother has yellow eyes,representing the power of light,the foundation of life.And my father.....I've never met my father,and my mother would look me in the eye and give me an honest answer.Personally,i never thought much of it.Until 2 days ago....
October 5th,the day of my birthday.I wake up as usual..and strangely,i felt like a new person.Nothing strange about that,the Elders would always tell me that was how they felt.Its 7:15am,15 minutes until the Ritual of The Ancients began.I needed to hurry.As i ran through the neighbourhood...i felt a strange sensation.Everything seems to be in my control...as if i could bend somethings life force until it broke...
Suddenly,i felt a chilling sensation.Everything had gone quiet,the birds did not tweet,i did not feel the wind,everything had stopped.Something or someone was here.I spun around.And there stood a hooded figure,in the streets.The figure started to walk up towards me.My instincts screamed at me to run,but my feet were stuck to the ground.
'It's ok Niko.I won't hurt you,but i don't have much time.'
'Who are you?'
'Come,let's walk.'
He led me to a part of trees,with leaves scattered all over the ground,and dead branches where the eyes could see.
*crunch crunch crunch*
'Today is the day you reach 18 and get your new powers.'
'Tell me something i don't know.'
'That's not the point.Have you ever wondered why your eyes were pure black,and why all those incidents happened,and why you always seemed to make life around you sad and miserable?'
*crunch crunch crunch*
'You've never met your father.He was quite a powerful man...but no one liked him.Society locked him away.And no one dared to speak of his powers.Not to the public,not to their children,no one.'
*crunch crunch.*
We had stopped at a tree with no leaves,larger than the rest.The hooded figure had pulled out a scrap of paper in his pocket and started making an origami.
'No one knows my father.People said he just,disappeared,one day.Poof.That was it'
'I was the one who gave him his power.And the power got passed down to you.Come on,boy,do you really believe in those lies?'
What if my father had the power to...no...no that can't be,its just not possible.They only appear 1 time in a 1000 years...
'The power to leech life and end the life of others,boy.'
He finished the thing he was folding,and in his hand held a paper scythe.
'D-Death?'I was terrified by now.
'Took you long enough.I don't have much time now.But mark my words.Do not go to the ritual,if they find out....they'll do the same thing to your father.'
He snapped his fingers and a pen made of bone popped in his hand.He ripped a piece of paper from the air,wrote something,and passed it to me.
'Take this,follow where it goes.And when you find them....tell me i sent you.If the institute doesn't kill you,you live as an outcast.Stay away from here.'
I had no time to question anything,at that moment,he disappeared.And as if i was having a dream,i woke up just where i was before i saw Him.
I understood what i had to do.I ran home,grabbed everything i had,and ran as far away from Weston City as possible.
They might have taken my dad,but not me ,no.
If i were to survive,i will need to leave my previous life behind....
| 2015-11-15T07:27:55
| 2015-11-15T07:24:41
| 217
| 22
|
[WP] Never the one to believe in the supernatural, you couldn’t pass up the insanely cheap deal for a haunted mansion. The last thing you expected was for it to actually be haunted. And honestly, you think you might be slowly falling in love with the ghost.
|
I've always considered myself a practical and reasonable fellow. A shrewd buyer, someone who doesn't just take the overpriced offer and ask for more. So when I found an entire mansion, for sale at a quarter of the price of the smallest house in the neighbourhood, I took that action. Good brickwork, solid foundation, spacious gardens, no rot or mould, a steal at that price. It was surprising that nobody else had swept it off.
Of course, I was told by the realtor, that the mansion was haunted. To which I shrugged, I'm a modern person, ghosts are something which I consider to live only in the realm of horror stories. Most hauntings are caused by people being scared, combined with atmospheric pressure, tiredness, and usually an overactive imagination. The other times it is because some person is dressing up as a ghost to scare people, which is really an odd way to pass the time.
So I moved in, had furniture placed in the house, remodelled the kitchen, restored the indoor pool, and the gardens. It was honestly pretty great, once it got dusted off, a beautiful brownstone mansion. A reminder of past glories from the time it was built, back in the 1920s. For fun, I had read up on the supposed ghost, supposedly a young man who had been killed in an accident in 1928. Seems he was fleeing from the police after being involved with an unspecified, but highly controversial for the time, crime. Tripped on the stairs to the main door, broke his neck.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I saw him in the middle of the night, sitting in a lawn chair, looking out on the restored gardens. I was rendered speechless, for he was quite the handsome spectre. He got up and turned to me, his pale and hazy eyes looking straight at me. ''*It's mighty fine of you to have the gardens restored, I reckon they look better than ever before. Thank you darling.*'' I sputtered out a shy acknowledgement of him, before he faded into the dim light of the moon.
He'd been described as a nuisance in the past, but he seemed nice enough. When I saw him next, he was in the library reading books. I walked in, trying to be inconspicuous, though he put down his copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and walked over to me. ''*I appreciate what you've done with the place. Very nice. The others in the past wanted to turn the place into a hotel.*'' He scoffed, placed a cold hand on my shoulder, patted it, ''*It made me quite beside myself, and I reckon I got a tad bit angry then, for seeing my old home about to be reduced to petty affairs was an unpleasant experience.*'' He flashed me an extremely handsome smile and then faded again.
When I was enjoying the indoor pool, I found to my shock that besides me, swam the ghost. Deciding to be accommodating, I politely began to swim besides him. Together, we swam a few laps, before we got out and comfortably sat down on some chairs. I offered to make him a drink, though he politely declined, on account of being dead. And not really thirsty at the moment. So instead the two of us, just sat there. Until he started to hum a song, which I recognised as the 1927 song, Ol' Man River. I joined in, and together there at the pool, we hummed that song. When we were done, he took my hand, and just held it with his large cold ghostly hands, until he faded away.
And so it continued, every time we met, we'd hang out, and he'd take my hand, or pat my shoulder. And he'd flash that handsome smile at me. I started to get a feeling in my heart whenever I saw him. He was charming, friendly, and above all, seemed to like my company. I realised deep in my soul, that I was falling in love with a ghost. One day, I put on music, and he appeared, and asked me if I knew how to dance. I said no, and he offered to teach me how. I blushed as he taught me how to do the Charleston, and we danced together.
Feeling remarkably frisky, at the end of the dance, I gave him a chaste kiss, which made the ghost light up, making him seem more alive than I'd ever seen him before. He fixed us a few cocktails, and we started to talk. Talking turned to joking, which turned to flirting. And soon enough, we were taking things to the next step.
It was strange how our days changed after that, he was there for me, never disappearing, his cold, yet comforting presence eternally near. Oh how we danced. He made me feel like I was never alone, in a good way. Some might think that it was strange, that some individual lived all alone in a haunted mansion, but I wasn't alone. I had my ghost by my side. Sure, he was soft and fuzzy, not really there, partially caught on this side and the other side of life, but his feelings were genuine, and to my astonishment, so were mine.
Time passed, and eventually, his ghost was joined by another ghost, my phantom. And together, in love, we haunted our mansion.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
Paper. This is a man with eyes as thick as his stomach, two blue-black bulges that protrude from an otherwise flat canvass. He wears his hair upon his lip in such a way it drags down to his ankles, ankles that have been scarred by what look like tiny stars.
*Tiny stars beget a tiny universe. Each world within revolves around me... or around my legs.*
"Mr Knippler, excuse me, Mr Knippler," the voice is carried from the burnt lips of a weary looking salesman and into the ears of this paper-thin figure with starlet ankles, "if you could be so kind, it's getting rather late, I've my Alsatians to feed, and my wife would rather like it if I could read our Jimmie a bedtime story. Might be his last,"
"Yes, yes." Mr Knippler's nose curls up, drawing his lips apart, revealing dull white stones inside his mouth. Not teeth, mind you, nothing so humane as teeth. "Your Jimmie has the Capital C, tragic, really. And your wife is worried you might not make rent, true?"
The salesman nods, defeated. There is a darkness within him, a darkness that Mr Knippler knows well. *We feed on what we are, not even the Gods might change us, might change that.*
"Then might I suggest you sharpen yourself, Erwin. A sale might just ease your misfortune, wouldn't you say?"
"Hardly." Erwin fakes a smile, but he knows too well it'll take more than good dentistry to fool this particular client. A peculiar man, for want of a better word. Not peculiar, but man. "Even if you were to purchase this house - though Gods only know why you would - the commission would barely touch the sides of our debts. It's not just the rent, Mr Knippler, it's Jimmie's medical bills, it's food for the family, for the dogs, it's logs to keep the fire stoked and burning..."
"One after another, on and on," Mr Knippler draws up his moustahce, wrinkling his face into a paper ball, all lines and creases, "and yet, I dare say, if I were to purchase this house I could do away with all your worries."
Erwin's only response was to laugh, a halfhearted laugh, one that came more from the nose than the mouth.
Now it was Mr Knippler's turn to smile, though his smile was all too real and all too frightening, "And you say the only *catch* is that it's haunted?"
\*\*\*
No more than a month later Mr Knippler was settling into his new home, the haunted house quite appropriately located on top of a hill. Beneath him, a handful of factories, all owned and operated by the Ophal Family Empire. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of each factory, both day and night, the lights never daring to go out, and that very same smoke climbed the hill to cloud the house atop in a smog - *a smog one might mistake for wandering spirits.*
Not only did Mr Knippler have a new home, but he too had a pair of fine Alsatians to accompany him. *Say fair is fair, one love for another.* Erwin's son, Jimmie, was recovering from the dreadful Capital C, and so far as money-troubles went Erwin had but one; the divorce. *A hefty price to pay for such a miracle.*
"They say there's ghosts," Mr Knippler was no longer the tall, thin apparition that he'd appeared before, but rather a contorted looking spine from which feeble body parts did sprout. His head was held up by a brace, and down his back ran pins secured into a bracket, "in there, that is." Mr Knippler waved what could only be described as a walking stick (though it looked not a thing like a stick at all) over the house. "Do you know what else they say?" Mr Knippler folded himself down beside his two canine friends, planting a hand upon the backs of their skulls.
*One hand, one skull, and yet still he holds that walking stick.*
The Alsatians looked up at the face of their new master (not owner), feeling a strange sense of both pride and disgust. Pride at knowing this master was not a thing like those they'd come across before, no, he'd never strike at them in anger, nor would he ever leave them hungering for food (though they couldn't say how they knew this). And yet disgust, not disgusted by the man, nor by how he looked, but by the idea that he needed them to work, and that the work was a far stretch from such trivialities as fetching sticks and papers (both of which this thin and crippled man seemed to have in such abundance).
"I'll assume that's a no," Mr Knippler chuckled, rattling the bones inside his head. "They say that dogs have keen eyes for the supernatural, and a keen nose for the dead."
\*\*\*
Of all the rooms the Mr Knippler might have unpacked first and foremost, one wouldn't have thought it to be the dinning room. It had taken some persuading, but eventually Mr Knippler had found himself a woman with a van willing to assist him. He didn't trust the likes of moving companies, or any such entity that formed so much as a turn-pin in the great corporate machine, so it had to be an individual willing to lend their hands and their vehicle to him in exchange for something other than currency. As it happens the woman in question was going through a rather nasty divorce, and was in need of a distraction - *such a kindhearted soul -* and the fact the Mr Knippler's Alsatians reminded her so fondly of her own (who had recently been lost in a tragic roadside accident, and make no mistake about it, her dogs *had* been lost in that accident) only served to sweeten the deal.
Most of Mr Knippler's possessions were taken to the uppermost floors (make of that what you will) leaving only a few items of interest in the dinning room. A table (of course) carved from the trunks of the great oaks that had bordered Mr Knippler's first home; a ship's wheel which hung from the ceiling by chains, supporting several candles in its wake; two tin-plated dog's bowls that had seen constant use throughout Mr Knippler's life; and a stool upon which Mr Knippler refused to sit.
Mr Knippler was in fact standing, reading a paper (that he had fetched himself some years ago) digesting the evenings news. With each turn of the page (though the page never actually turned) a new story presented itself - some were pieces of local interest, others of a more national concern, and a few even spoke of strange lands beyond the vast seas of The Nine.
"Eat up," Mr Knippler spoke to his dogs without looking up from the paper, knowing by ear alone that there was very little eating going on, "you'll need your wits about you this evening, mark me, it's sure to be a late one."
At this the dogs looked dismayed, they'd never been all that keen on working nights.
...
\*\*I'm having to stop here for now, but I might come back to this after work - and if you did make it this far, then Mr Knippler sincerely hopes you had fun reading about him.\*\*
| 2020-06-05T04:10:16
| 2020-06-05T03:57:32
| 905
| 13
|
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original.
|
It seemed like every person I knew was part of a greater picture. The Bobs were all electrical engineers. The Susans were oncologists. Alexs were doctors. Ferns were all horticulturists. Everyone had a place, everyone was in a faction. When a couple was pregnant, they thought long and hard about what they wanted their child to be. Interestingly enough, names no longer were gender specific. You'd meet a woman just as likely to be named Ralph (plumber) as Jane (zookeeper). Or a man named Elizabeth (historians) or Scott (police officer). Everyone was defined by their name, which was code for what job they did.
Eventually this made trouble, as too many parents were picking "prestigious names" for doctors or lawyers, and not enough were picking "lesser ones" for waiters and electricians. You know, the trades, or service people. Until the government stepped in. Now each parent had a choice, they could pick a name based on what was needed at the time. Some claimed the system wasn't fair, that the people with more money could grease some palms to get better names for their kids, but the system worked. Even more so when they made all jobs more equal.
It turns out, we need garbage workers as much as we need doctors, and suddenly the job held a lot more respect.
Names were final, and people who went against the government faced heavy fines and penalties. Eventually people stopped trying. What good was it having a child for it to be taken from you and raised in another country that had a shortage of that name? Never able to see them again? It was soon unheard of. People grumbled, but the world was a smooth operating place. It was hard to argue with results.
But it was still a clique. Rachels (fashion designers) hung out with other Rachels, and they typically married Rosses (the paleontologists). Everyone had a place. Everyone fit into a plan.
Except me. It was lonely being different.
My parents - Pam (actuary) and Tom (flight attendant) - were different. They didn't want that for me. They said they wanted me to choose my own destiny. So they picked something unique. Or what they thought was unique, but was actually a lost name. I don't think they accounted for the name retroactively giving me knowledge.
Everyone was so focused on naming their children practical names, ones that have a solid future, they forgot the fun ones. The arts. My parents named me Ludwig. I was born in secret, they had me at home. Once I was named there was nothing the government could do to change it, your future becomes set. At first my parents were afraid they would be punished, but my unusual name seemed to confuse the authorities. They decided they would see how I played out, rather than openly make an example. They were used to parents secretly birthing doctors, not strange names they had never heard of. They covered up my birth, claiming my parents were given permission.
I remember when I first went to school, already the separation had begun. Janets (vets) played with other Janets, or maybe Georgias (horse trainers). Randals (teachers) played with other Randals, or maybe Mariannes (principals). So long as their fields were related, they stuck together.
It was lonely growing up. No one knew how music fit into anything. There were still other Musicans around, but no one on the scale I was. I was held at arms length, almost reverently. An anomaly. In a world of doctors, lawyers, architects, and construction workers, I'm one of the only composers. My concerts are always packed. And I see it from my stage, how my music bridges the gap. For the short time that I play, people come together. The cliques dissolve, and they all feel the same thing. It's a heady gift.
But it was a lonely existence. I saw the world differently. I didn't have a collective to draw on. My knowledge was limited to the last Ludwig, who had lived centuries ago, and what I learned myself. But then one day I met someone else like me. Another anomaly. Artemisia. And for the first time I feel excitement. She's like me, unusual. And her paintings speak to something inside, that makes my music more. But something has me worried. People are taking notice of us, not in a good way. I'm worried for what that could mean for our future...
~~~
Hoped you liked it!! Also, I had to make a Friends reference. Just had to.
|
“Alexes, today we will take what’s ours!” The handsome young Alex stands atop a large pyramid of wooden crates, his voice booming across the entire marketplace. “Today, we will storm the Presidential Palace!”
*“Bring him down! Bring him down!”* The crowd around me chant at the top of their voices.
“We will not be abused anymore. We will not be slaves anymore. Today, we will take back our city for all of Alexkind!”
The crowd goes wild. I creep along the crowded marketplace, making myself as small as possible. A tide of Alexes surround me, holding various weapons the scavenged from their homes – axes, pitchforks, frying pans. I turn into a dark alley and hide.
“Lexi, over here.”
Lexi, my younger sister, scrambles into the narrow alley with me. I pull her into my arms, panting deeply. We’ve been on the run for the past two days.
“Can we rest here, brother?”
“Yes, my dear,” I say, gently patting her head. Her big, blue eyes are bloodshot. “We can stay here. But not for long, okay?”
There’s some trash beneath a poster of President Alexander. I rummage through the trash. We find a half-eaten chicken drumstick and ravenously gobble it down. It’s the best meal We’ve had in days.
The alley is plastered with colorful posters of all shapes and sizes, but they all have the same words. “Unite”, it says, “Unite for the freedom of Alexkind!” From every poster, the regal eyes of President Alexander stares into me. Silent. Judging. Like he knows my secret.
Like he knows I’m not an Alex.
It’s been two years since they killed Mom and Dad. The laws are clear as crystal – fail to name your child Alex and you die. Simple as that. I never understood why they would put themselves in such danger. They said in all of human history, there has only been two others with my name. It was a forbidden name. But whoever he or she is, they certainly haven't been of any help.
Since Mom and Dad were killed, Alexis and I have been on the run. We would definitely be killed too if President Alexander's people found us. Maybe hung on the bridge, like so many others. But I’ll never let any harm come to Lexi. They’ll take her away over my dead body.
Some of the posters have been heavily defaced. “Tyrant!” was scrawled across several posters in what appears to be blood. *“A rising tide of dissent,”* uncle Al would say with a sigh. *“These violent delights have violent ends.”*
For decades, President Alexander has used the collective intelligences of a thousand Alexes to invent new, sadistic weapons to keep the population under control. Most recently, his scientists invented a gun that uses the quantum entanglement between the minds of Alexes to inflict agonising pain on another. It's the worst form of torture possible.
The Alexes have had enough. We’re a society on the brink of civil war.
All of a sudden, it becomes deathly quiet. I look out into the marketplace. Everyone has stopped moving. Lexi freezes. Her eyes go blank. Then, with perfect coordination, they turn to face the Presidential Palace and start marching.
Lexi marches away from me. She chants, in unison with the rest of the Alexes, “All hail King Alexander! All hail King Alexander!”
I grab Lexi as she walks away from me, but her arm slips through my fingers. “No!” I shout as she blends into the march of Alexes. What's happening? Why are they behaving this way?
Then it hits me – President Alexander has taken over the mind of all the Alexes, including my sister. *Mom and Dad knew this would happen,* it dawns on me. *President Alexander has used the quantum entanglement between the brains of Alexes to take over their minds.* And only a non-Alex can stop him.
And I must save Lexi.
| 2017-04-07T09:27:45
| 2017-04-07T08:38:41
| 2,425
| 198
|
[WP] Sobek, the half human half crocodile god of the Nile, surprised by a visit of Anubis,god of death. Anubis introduce Sobek to a human soul behind him, still dripping in seawater : "I thought you should meet this man,the living called him Steve Irwin"
|
**The Crocodile God**
----
There is a legend of a man so fearless, so driven by compassion for all living creatures, that even in death he blamed not the scorpion. Sobek had never met such a man. It was fiction. No mortal would give up their one life and hold no ill-will towards their killer. He knew this as a fact. Not in five thousand years had a selfless soul existed.
Sobek was God of the Nile, a half-human half-crocodile Egyptian deity that was the keeper of apotropaic magic (protective magic, as it was commonly called. His power came in repelling evil forces.
Sobek used this to protect the Nile.
Hunters were evil to him. Praying with tools and weapons for sport.
Sobek made his path to protect the creatures of the river of life. And he watched over it. Always.
Anubis came to him one day with a new soul at his side. “Sobek, I come not alone. I bring a soul that - I dare say - may have compassion towards creatures that rivals even your own.”
Sobek grunted.
Sobek rarely spoke. He found language to be filled with lies and twisted tongues of misdirection. Among the animals the universe made sense.
Instinct. Savagery. Those that are hungry eat. The way of nature. Not the way of the hunters of men. There was a difference. One was natural - one was cruel.
“I thought you should meet this man,” Anubis said.
Sobek didn’t respond. He starred out at the Nile, ever watchful.
“This is Steve Irwin,” Anubis said. “In life, they called him Crocodile Hunter.”
Sobek dipped his chin and turned back.
“Mr. Irwin,” Anubis said and gestured forward. “This is Sobek. The Crocodile God.”
“Crikey,” Steve stuck out a hand. “You’re a big fella ain’t cha.”
"Crocodile," Sobek's voice was a low rumble. "Hunter."
Before Anubis or Steve could offer up clarity Sobek lunged forward and devoured the soul of Steve Irwin.
"That was not necessary," Anubis said. "He was kin to you."
"No hunter is kin to me," Sobek snarled and turned his eyes back to the river. As he did, he felt a jostle in his gut.
"What trick is this?" He snapped at Anubis.
In a fit of flailing and crocodile death rolls Sobek thrashed about on the banks of the Nile - his soul tearing and exploding from within - he roared and the river shook!
Until he sank below the surface in a long silence.
Anubis stood silent. Alone.
The surface of the water broke and the evolved form of Sobek stepped to the shores. Half-man half-crocodile, but he was wearing khaki shorts and his eyes looked kinder.
"That bloke was a bit aggressive," Steve Irwin, the new Crocodile God said.
"His mind was limited in direction - his powers confined to this place by his own doing," Anubis said. "You will be different."
"Ay, poor buggar. Just wanted to look after his home," Irwin said.
"And what will you do?" Anubis asked.
"Well, the whole world - really all of nature - is my home. From the smallest living creature to the biggest whale in the seas to the meanest croc! They are all my family. I'll look after them all."
"I know you will," Anubis said.
----
r/wrydfiction <--if you like my writing
|
Sobek's nostrils flared with excitement, causing a moth that had been resting on its snout to flutter off in a hurry. "I like him," said Sobek, splashing up from the waters of the Nile. "I like him a lot."
Behind Anubis stood a red-haired man and the man's glasses clattered on his nose as he bit his fingernails. "Steve Irwin was a great friend of the crocodiles. He starred in moving pictures with them."
"Huh?" said Sobek. "Moving pictures? Pictures don't move. Pictures stand perfectly still."
"That's why they are called *moving* pictures," said Anubis with a snarl. In the realm of the living they are so popular that the humans just call them 'movies'. They don't have the time to say the whole thing, because they would rather spend it watching more moving pictures."
Sobek slapped the sides of his face. "Anubis!" he said. "The things you know! I am in awe."
Meanwhile, the human behind Anubis had squatted down and stared at his boots. "I suppose I have learned a thing or two from dealing with humans," said Anubis, letting out a slight yawn. He stretched out his arms, then took a step to the side to reveal the one hiding behind him. "Go on. Introduce yourself."
"Well. Uhm. Uhh ... Blimey! B-Bloody nice meeting you, uh, Mr. Alligator."
The human scratched his temples as sweat dripped from his brows. In shock, Sobek drew his eyeballs into their sockets and bellowed softly.
"Uh," said the human, looking up at Anubis. "D-Did I say something wrong?"
"Up, you scoundrel," said Anubis. "You are insulting Steve Irwin."
Sobek turned his head away from the pair. "I am not an alligator," he said and blew hot air from his nose.
"Ah, yes," said Anubis, turning to the human. "Sobek is only half alligator. The other half is human."
"No!" cried Sobek. "I am not half alligator! I am half crocodile!"
Anubis looked at Sobek, then at the human. "Steve Irwin is famous among the humans. I think he would know the difference."
"Look at my snout! Look at my great size! Am I dark green in color? No! Any fool could see that I am no alligator!"
"Well," said Anubis. "Isn't it also so that alligators are known for their aggression?"
"Aggression!" cried Sobek. "I am not aggressive! Say that again and I will bite your head off!"
Anubis stroked his chin and whelped. "Mr. Irwin?" he said.
The human, now pale as the dunes of the White Desert, adjusted his glasses. "B-Blimey," he said. "I see it now. I had the sun in my eyes so I couldn't tell properly. You are, uh, you are definitely a crocodile."
"The sun was in your eyes!" said Sobek. "Of course! You couldn't see." He turned around and shook a fist at the sun. "Damn you, Ra! You ruined my first meeting with a new friend!" Then he said, "Huh? The sun isn't there? Did I scare Ra off already?"
The three of them turned around to see the sun up high behind Anubis and the human. The two divine figures then stared at the red-haired man gulping in Duat as he partly hid his face behind his hands.
"... I'm sorry," said the human. "I can't hide it any longer. I'm not Steve Irwin. My name is Steve Irving and someone misheard it and suddenly people were clapping my shoulders and making a big fuzz about it. I wanted to correct them but one thing led to another and then it was all too late. I don't even look like him!"
A breeze passed between them. "Steve Irving. It does sound like Steve Irwin." Anubis folded his hands and nodded slowly.
Sobek sank back into the waters of the Nile and morosely blew some bubbles.
"Well, I am sorry for the mix-up, Sobek," said Anubis. "I'll leave you to do, uh, what you do."
As they turned to leave, Steve said, "I'm really sorry. Those people back there are real jerks. When I reveal I'm not actually Steve Irwin they'll go right back to treating me as a weirdo. Goodbye, Sobek."
"Weirdo?" said Sobek.
"Uh, yeah," said Steve. "I don't really get along with most people. I died choking on sushi in my office cubicle and I could hear my coworkers whisper to each other to 'just let it happen'."
"Sushi?" said Sobek, staring up at Anubis.
"Raw fish," said Anubis. "Eaten in large quantities with awkward utensils so that they won't eat it too fast in their excitement."
Sobek leapt back up from the water. "Raw fish?" he said. "I love raw fish! If you stayed here, we could have 'sushi' all the time! And if you choke on it you're already dead so it's fine!"
"Huh?" said Steve. "You'd want me here even if I'm not Steve Irwin?"
"Of course!" Sobek beamed. "A new friend!"
Steve smiled. Carefully, he waded down into the waters of the Nile while Anubis stood on the banks scratching his ear. "You're sure about this, Sobek?" he asked.
Sobek blew hot air from his nostrils. "Yes! I like him. I like him a lot."
Anubis stared at the unlikely duo splashing each other with water and thought to himself that it was quite a moving picture, and that he could see now why humans would be so infatuated with scenes such as the one before him.
From up high, Ra smiled as a moth passed in front of him.
/r/Hemingbird
| 2022-02-25T10:44:32
| 2022-02-25T09:57:42
| 285
| 111
|
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary.
|
Not especially handsome, nor unusually strong, and lacking the vivid ornamentation of other species, the average high school student struggles to find a suitable mate.
Here, a young male—*Discipulus Studiosis*—has his eye on a possible mate. They've occupied similar territory for a while now; in both Biology and History they sit adjacent to each other. Yet, for all their boasting, the adolescent male is often a timid creature, and as yet has made no true overtures beyond a tentative attempt to make small talk before the bell. Today, that will change.
The high school goes through several cycles, and while individuals often seek mates throughout the year, there are two points of increased activity, called Dances. These are lavish displays of availability, with a marked increase in in decoration, and with male individuals often conducting extensive ritual to court their chosen mate. One of these events approaches now—the spring Dance. But there are other factors in play as well. This individual has just moved into his seventeenth year, and thus is part of a higher standing, the deceptively-named "Junior Class." The expectation of this class is that they find a mate, if not for the year, then at least for the Dance. This male's hitherto lack of concern for finding a mate has prompted some harassment from his peers. If he can successfully court a respected mate, he will be rewarded with increased social standing. The reward is tempting—but the risks are ever-present.
For while a successful courting promises increased standing among the school in general, and his circle in particular, a failed attempt may mean humiliation, mockery, or even, should the attempt be in competition with a more aggressive male, physical violence.
These are surely the thoughts plaguing this young male today. He's made an attempt at ornamentation, forgoing his usual pop-culture-referencing t-shirt for a more subtle, solid colour, as well as even adding an overshirt in an effort to show fashion sense. Lack of practice with the fashions of the day means he is by no means the most attractive, but he is acceptable—or so he hopes.
He stops a few feet from his chosen mate as she stops at her locker, taking stock of the situation. The hallway is relatively clear, with other students filtering back and forth through classes. He fidgets with his backpack, clearly anxious. After a moment of indecision, he decides to go through with the ritual.
He removes a sign from his backpack—signs being a common choice for such courtships—and readies it so that it faces the girl. It bears the phrase "*It would be sweet if you would go to the dance with me*", as well as having several delicacies attached. Each is, from what he's gathered from her friends, one of her favourites, and he hopes that the wordplay, in conjunction with the bribery, will convince her.
Other students have noticed him standing, and the sign draws additional attention—but she hasn't noticed yet, being busy in her locker.
But a complication arises: her friends have approached. They stop suddenly, seeing the panorama before them: him anxiously about to engage the ritual, her distracted by her locker. They gape for a moment, then titter among themselves. The male sees this, and it gives him yet more doubt—but there can be no turning back now. He has committed, and to abandon the ritual now would surely result in a tremendous humiliation.
Steeling himself, he calls her name.
She turns, looking around for a moment, before recognising the situation, and is struck silent for a moment.
He forces a smile, trying to hide his fear, and weakly repeats the phrase found on his sign, wiggling it a bit to draw attention to it.
The female's eyes widen, and dart towards her friends, a motion which does not go unnoticed by the male. But what she sees in her friends' countenances reassures her, and she turns back to evaluate his suitability as a mate.
He is not especially muscular, nor is he at the top of the social hierarchy, though his efforts have borne fruit, and his attempt at fashion impresses her. He also has an advantage, in that while he is somewhat thin, he is also rather tall—a desirable trait.
A long moment passes. The male's smile widens, but so do his eyes, betraying his panic.
But all is well—the female finds this unthreatening and endearing, and graciously accepts him as a partner. He gives a deep sigh, which turns to relieved laughter, and goes to give her the sign. She takes it and makes comment on the suitability of the candy selections—glancing sidelong at the giggling group of her friends.
The bell rings and the students must depart—sparing the male the discomfort of attempting to judge how to proceed. He asks if he can text her about the details later, and she, smiling, accepts. As he takes off, running towards the gymnasium, she turns to her friends, and they surround her, probing for details and information.
The male's excited flush is soon noticed by his peers, and they congratulate him on his success. He has dared and won, and is now more respected.
The Dance itself is still several weeks out, but there is time to prepare.
For now, the male will content himself with the satisfaction of being accepted as a mate, and the female will be content to share the story.
|
*cameras zoom in on 2 wild homo sapien*
And now, we are observing two wild *Homo Sapiens* in their natural habitat: Starbucks. 'Starbucks' is a natural watering hole for the occasional homo sapien, and sometimes this rare species finds a mate at the watering hole. The male will, on rare occasion, give an espresso to the female as a sign of courtship. If the female accepts, they have been mated.
Oh, oh! Shh!!! Here comes the male.
*camera zooms in on male as he gets up and walks to the counter to order two double-shot espresso's* *audience gasps*
I have never seen this before! The wild male is making the first move... this has never been seen before! The female always puts on a vise of makeup to impress the male... look at him go.
*male hands female espresso*
Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently observing a rare sighting here.
*male and female turn to look outside window at the camera crew recording them. Their looks say it all.*
| 2017-04-04T06:40:45
| 2017-04-04T06:35:23
| 426
| 12
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
"So, are you surprised?" Cogs left to rot for centuries began to spin again slowly. They snapped their fingers in front of me. "You conscious? I know you're breathing." I blinked a few times. They waited patiently for me to speak. My mouth opened. "I-.... I-" They became visibly concerned. "Uh oh. Did your brain not completely thaw?"
"N- n-" The words couldn't escape me. I pulled my newly awakened arm away from my body and looked at it. "Five...hundred...years." I looked at them. "I....was-" My arm went limp as I released control of it. Spots began to fill my eyes. I began to fall.
"Hey, you awake?" I opened my eyes to them- no, her standing over me. My brain was working at full speed. Somehow I had avoided insanity, though I had been alone for 500 years. "I am awake." I appeared to be in some sort of hospital, with the expected technological improvements 500 years would bring. I looked at her eyes. "If we count age by years conscious I am five-hundred and twenty-two."
"Do you mean to say your brain was never frozen?" She asked me.
"I have been trapped in my own mind for five centuries. My sanity remains somehow, but I have nothing other to say." Something clicked. I jumped out of the hospital bed. "Where's the room with the cryo-pods?"
"I-its just down the hallway." I raced off to the cryo-pods. "Hey! You can't just run off!" I was trailed by who I assumed was a doctor. I found the pods, and I went through row after row till I found the pod with my wife inside it.
"Is there something special about her?" The doctor asked. I looked at the doctor. "Yes. Unfreeze her." The doctor obliged, though the date of thawing was a few days away. My wife tumbled out of the pod into my open arms. She began to cry. "I know. I know." I whispered. Five hundred years is a long... long... time.
|
I am now nothing.
I am nothingness. Nothingness is I. I is nothing. That one sounded like Yoda or would he say I am nothing, nothingness I is. Wait, I just said that didn’t I? No, stop it. I’m getting distracted I am nothing I no longer exist. Stop existing in 3, 2, 1. Silence. Emptiness. Non existence. See! That’s more like it. Non existence is right up my ally. I love this. I’m loving this. It feels good? What’s the grub like in non existence. Do they have crab-sticks? I love crab-sticks. They so crabby and nice and delicate and sweet and I fucking hate my life.
This is bullshit. God Dam professor Ching Mc-fucking Chong with his white lab coat, name badge and glasses I fucking trusted you bastard. Look at me. Look at me professor. I hate you. Can I conjure up so much rage that it manifests itself into a cloud of hate that gives birth to a demon that torments anyone that’s ever wronged me. Maybe if I concentrate. Okay 1, 2, 3 Concentrate. I am now Concentrate. People call me Mr Concentration. Squeeze baby squeeze every ounce of strength is needed. Earth! Lend me your strength. I’ll spirit bomb this treacherous bastard. FEEL MY HATE. I can shout in my head? I never noticed before. Is it actually shouting or am I just talking loudly. TALKING LOUDLY. talking softly. It sounds the same. Everything sounds the same. How long am I gonna be in here again? 500 years? I’m gonna cry. I want to cry. Can I cry in my head. I feel like crying. Someone give me a drink. I need something to drink. I”M THIRSTY. I’m thirsty for love. Nameee your priceeee. A ticket to paaaraadiisee. I’m crying I can feel it coming. I caaaaaaan’t stay here anyyymoreeeee. Something, something, something LOVE IS THE ANSWEERRRRRRRR. Why didn’t you Love me ANGELICA. I LOVED YOU DAMMIT…
…...............................................................................
…So how long has it been? You reckon a month? A Week. A day. An Hour! Lordy Lord. I swear I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna go crazy. I’m going crazy fuck it I’m already partially crazy. I need to get out God I miss my mum. I haven’t seen her in years. We haven’t spoke in so long. She seemed pretty distant ever since she met that shitty accountant. She didn’t have to remarry. We were fine. I was fine. Was she? Yes she was I mean why wouldn’t she be. She showered a lot more and stayed home a lot but she was, oh my god, Her husband of 7 years just left her why the fuck would she be fine. Did I even ask her? But still fuck you Chad no one likes you. She should of called me. She knew where I was. She knew I was struggling. I was just a phone call away. She should of just reached out to me...
…......................................................................................
LOVE IS THE ANSWERRRRR I NEVER LOVED YOU ANGELICA YOU Hear me! God I love this song.
…
Can God hear me? Is it to late to start believing? If I do believe could you kill me. I want to die. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to exist. None of this is my fault. You made me and now you’re just gonna watch me suffer. KILL ME. I WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!
…....................................................................................
What am I? A human? A mind? A series of thoughts? Do I exist? Why does it even matter anymore. It really doesn’t. But I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop. It’s fading. NO IT ISN”T. I’m still here I’m still me. I believe I am so I am. But you’re not. SHUTUP, FUCK YOU. I’m alive and I’m me and I have my thoughts and there not fading. I’m not fading. This is me. I’m still here. God help me please.
…...................................................................................
Bumblebee, Lilly-pads, star-ships, star dust, longing, loving, dirty roads, I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here, I exist.
…..................................................................................
I should have called. I’m sorry, mum.
…..................................................................................
I exist
…..................................................................................
Help me,
.....................................................................................
god
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The year 3050, in the district of Gun Zhoa, sector 31-A. The Cryopreservation Chamber was lifted and the first man to be successfully frozen was now thawed.
| 2017-12-17T01:35:26
| 2017-12-16T21:57:11
| 642
| 53
|
[WP] According to US Navy tradition, submarines that have not been confirmed to be destroyed, are still on patrol. Since WWII, there have been 52 submarines that haven’t yet returned to port, yet to report in, nor have been confirmed to be destroyed. You are one of those, on the eternal patrol.
|
**October 3rd, 1983,**
**14,757th day on patrol,**
**700 miles east of Bermuda**
---
"Two contacts, sir. About two miles off our starboard bow. Type: unkown, but at least one of them is definitely not ours." Johansen reported from behind the sonar.
I nodded. The enemy had deployed a slew of new submarines over the years, this was a big one. The other one might have been ours, or possibly British. Definitely not German.
"All ahead full, intercept course!" I barked the command, which brought the crew to frantic action. There was no trepidation, only weariness and grim determination. We had all been at sea for way too long and were itching for a fight. Can you blame us?
"Clarke, prepare tube one for launch!" I shouted into the horn. An enthusiastic "Aye aye!" came in reply from the torpedo bay. Clarke and his boys had been waiting for this for some time.
According to Johansen, the vessel we assumed friendly seemed to be in hiding, while the big bogey was preparing to fire. The periscope was useless, the waters were pitch black in the night and would have beem murky at this depth even in full daylight. There was no time to spare, and I ordered tube 1 fired as soon as we had a tentative firing solution based on sonar alone.
"Tube one, failed to launch Sir!" Clarke's frantic voice issued from the horn. "It won't open!"
Cold sweat began to run on my forehead. "Prepare tubes two through six for launch! Fire when ready! Lloyd, keep her steady!" My voice was steady, but the worried glances of the bridge crew betrayed my shocked countenance.
"Two thousand feet. Bogey has opened her tubes. No reaction to our sonar pings."
This was out of the ordinary.
"Tube two failed to launch, tube three failed to launch! Could not load tube four... the hatch has rusted shut. We are working on the last two, but it doesn't look good, Sir!"
"A thousand feet!"
My face darkened. There was no use in preparing the aft torpedos, but as far as I could tell, we were still invisible to the enemy.
"Five hundred feet and closing!"
"It has been a privilege to serve with you all these years." My voice was hoarse and quiet, but everyone aboard could have heard a pin drop. I raised my tone in command one last time.
"All ahead flank! Ramming speed!"
---
Had the men aboard *USS Augusta* been provided that day with a viewing port and a sufficiently strong searchlight, they would have borne witness to a highly unusual sight. At 2238 hours, the silent, barnacle encrusted form of an aged submarine glid noiselessly from the darkness before them and violently struck the side of *K-219,* a Soviet Nuclear Submarine that the *Augusta* had been covertly observing. They did hear the explosion that followed. An official explanation given later was that an explosion had occurred in one of the *K-219's* missile tubes, caused by a saltwater leak. The crew was unable to contain the subsequent leaks and the submarine sank soon thereafter.
Years later, some of the crew of the *Augusta* would admit to a curious story. They could have sworn that mere minutes before the explosion, a distant, resounding shout was heard *from outside the ship,* as if dozens of men cried out in unison.
*"Aye aye Sir!"*
---
**The incident of K-219 truly occurred on October 3rd, 1983. Six Soviet submariners perished and the vessel itself was eventually lost as a direct result. This retelling is a fictionalized account.**
|
I turned over to my friend, or, in reality, the rotten, scantily remains of him. He’d been rotted down to the bone.
It was pain to turn, my neck bones cracking and crumbling.
“Hey, Stross” I said to him. I don’t remember his first name. Only Stross.
“Yeah, Rivers” He answered back. He only remembered my last name. Neither of us remembered our first names.
“Stross, how long have we been down here Stross?” My raspy voice called out. His blank, nearly eyeless skull looked back at me.
Nobody knew.
Months? Years? Decades? Millennium?
We didn’t know anything about anyone of the people on board. Names, ages, hometowns, nothing. All we knew is one thing. We were sailors.
On my buddies name tag, it read P. Stross. Stross is his last name, but I still didn’t know his first name. Perry, Peter? I’d never be able to guess.
Our Captain, Daniels, was walking our way. He looked at my and smiled, or at least attempted. He had no skin. I forgot what skin looks like. All the sailors down here are skeletons. Corpses, remains.
“Men, battle stations” he yelled out. “If we get those Japs this time, maybe, just maybe”. Daniels was superstitious, he thought that if we were finally able to sink that Japanese ship above us, we’d be free to go home. Bullshit.
We didn’t know if their was even an outside world to return too. Stross and I had always guessed that we were the only ones left in this twisted reality.
Maybe we were in the depths of hell itself, doomed, for eternity, to repeat our deaths.
Over, and over, and over.
We tried suicide. The bullets did nothing, just bounced of. We tried starvation, but we don’t need to eat. Our mess has been deserted forever.
We don’t get hungry
We don’t get thirsty
We don’t get tired
We can’t feel anything.
On our sonar, we saw it approaching. It was a Japanese ship, also trapped with us in this in our little eternal battle. It always went the same. We’d shot two torpedoes at the Japs and at the same time they’d send down a depth charge. We’d both die, than our ship would just come back together. The seas we were sailing never ended. We’ve sailed thousands of miles, in many directions, but it never ends. It’s as if all that is left of the world is the sea.
Sometimes I wonder. Have we just been separated from the world, or are we all that remains of it?
Captain Daniels, and Stevenson, another sailor on board, loaded the torpedoes to fire. Maybe that’s why we’re in the loop. We gotta shot down the Japanese, than, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get free.
On the sonar, the Japs were making their way. We fired two torpedoes at them, and they sent down a depth charge to us.
The ship cracked.
It flooded so quickly, our lungs got filled with gallons and gallons, and gallons of salty brine water. For just a second above me, I could see em. The Japs.
Their ship had been obliterated, I could see human shaped blobs struggling in the water.
Were they suffering as much as we were
We were back in the submarine, safe and sound as if nothing ever happened.
Hell, it must be hell.
| 2018-10-17T09:46:07
| 2018-10-17T09:26:46
| 90
| 29
|
[WP] Due to a technicality, a patient was brought to Valhalla because he died while battling cancer.
|
My family are happy that I’m dead. For the last 3 years as this cancer are away at me I lost more and more of myself. Just like with my own mum, they had to watch their dad turn into a facsimile of a person. I tried my hardest to hold on. Every day I did everything for myself. Until I could no longer walk. The goddamn cancer took everything from me.
Then the chemotherapy started. Radiation poured into every cell of my body. Like napalm on a dry forest. I used to run marathons, by the second round I was wheelchair bound.
When I saw the fear in my grandson’s eyes, as his pops had leathery skin, my once vibrant eyes were glassy and the hair I had maintained for so long was dead, I knew that it was only a matter of time.
The first trip hospital scare, I was determined to get out again. I was told that it was still 50/50, in my heart I knew every day lived was a small victory. I was so terrified of sleeping incase I never woke, that I developed insomnia. It was stupid and my wife bless her told me as such.
The second trip to the hospital scare, it was the same hospital mum had been in. There was no fucking way I was dying there. So somehow I got out. The doctors thought I might be in remission. They were wrong. That escape from mums tomb was the last good day.
So here I am. The war is over. The people I fought for, stand around me, holding back tears. As I try to think of words to go out on. I turn to my favourite grandchild m, I know I shouldn’t have favourites but I’m dying, sue my corpse.
“John, you were named after the best President this country had, he got us to the moon. Use your brain and outclass him. For me.” I gave him a final hug and gave my daughter the look. She took her kids outside. Now it was my wife and daughter. They held my hands and said goodbye. I closed my eyes and...
I woke up in a great hall. Surrounded by vikings, soldiers knights and somehow I knew it but I don’t know how, Gods. A man turned to me and said “welcome to Valhalla good sir. Tell me, what for ended you”
“I think there has been a mistake, I didn’t die in battle.”
“How did you die?”
“To -to cancer.”
“There is no mightier a foe, no more courageous a battlefield and no greater a hero than one who battled cancer. Her hold this.”
The man passed me his hammer.
“Is this... are you...” I held the hammer aloft, it was pretty light.
“Do you still believe you are not worthy of these halls. Come now, we drink, FOR THE DEAD, FOR THE MIGHTY, FOR THE WORTHY.”
I passed him back his hammer and realised that I was the me that had ran marathons again. The me that died, the me before the battle. Just as all the men and women around me were how they were just before their own final battles.
|
I rolled over and looked around confused...
This wasn't my hospital bed and as far as I could tell I wasn't even in New York City anymore.
Looming skyscrapers that I could always see from my window had disappeared replaced with hills and a mountain off in the distance.
A quick look around my room showed little this from my old room, a book and a few pictures sat on a bedside table, but also a small rock with some type off strange symbol in the shape of a "P" almost.
I got up and heaved a sigh and decided to go outside. I opened my door and was greeted by a huge man with a billowing beard. He told me to follow him to the great hall and hold my questions to the end of orientation.
As we walked though the halls I noticed that whoever was in charge of decoration loved wolves. Wolf lining, wolf door knockers, and even wolves in the carpet. Walking around a corner reveled a massive painting with an army of wolves fighting an army of skeletons.
"This is it," the man said "welcome to the great hall." He puched a set of double doors open and punched me into a massive room. "Take a seat over there," he said pointing to a nearby table, "a Valkyrie will be here to help you in a second." Nervously I took a seat beside a fellow teen who looked like he could crack a bolder in half if he wanted to. I decided to just stare at the table. Wolves were carved into the table because of corse they were.
"Come with me," said a voice over my shoulder and I turn to find a teen girl dressed in full battle armor. "Well what are you waiting for?" and she started walking away. As I hurried after she promptly stop turned and said that I should wait here for my fate to be sealed. "My fate," I asked. "Well of course," was her reply.
"Sorry but I dont think you understand," I said, "Yeterday I woke up with stage 4 cancer and didnt believe I'd live a week, now here I am and I have no idea where here is and I would like to know what's going on."
"That's fair enough," she said "welcome to Valhalla, where warriors come after they die in battle selflesaly and bravely, now please have a seat as we're confused as to how you got here."
Aftera short wait the guy who brought me to the hall came out of a door walked up to the valkyrie and whispered in her ear. She turned to me and I'll never forget what she said, "Nevermind there was no mistake as you died bravely fighting a vicious disease, congratulations and welcome to Valhalla."
| 2020-01-26T13:28:55
| 2020-01-26T12:57:28
| 25
| 13
|
[WP] (credit to /u/Arandmoor) I'm tired of fantasy where Elves are 'better than you' just because they're elves. Give me some sword & sorcery, fantasy-style, where typical elder fantasy races learn why it's not wise to mess with 'mere' humans.
|
[[ HFY might be one of my favorite genres of all time, thanks for the WP! ]]
The last war looked a lot like the first.
The borders between the races always blurred in neighboring towns and those who were forced to work with other...*people*...usually found a way to manage in order to make it through the long dry summers and cruel winters. Yet the deeper one traveled into the center of each land, the more harshly the opinions of one group against another. The more outlandish the stories and rumors became that painted the other side. Elves believed humans farmed children for slaughter, why else would they bear so many young? Dwarfs thought that elves prayed to dark-lords for guidance and longevity, why else would the elves have such ornate towers of worship? Humans believed dwarfs held the secrets to all engineering progress because...well, that was true. The dwarfs had long ago mastered steam and gear in ways the elves thought frivolous and humans marveled at.
While each race held the other in contempt, they also knew why each race gave the realm what they contributed. The elves provided vast libraries and networks of scrolls and wisdom, their libraries seemed endless with knowledge to be spread. The dwarfs sold machinery for such wisdom as the elves sold to enhance the efficiency of their machines, a self fulfilling prophecy that plunged the dwarven race ever deeper into the planet, hungry to craft more and more. The human? The humans held the pact together through might and will. Where the elves might have maintained a truce through diplomacy and compromise, the dwarves did so by simple subterfuge and mere hard headed stubborness. The humans would be the first to fight.
The first war was about that issue, almost entirely. As the first human explorers made contact with elven border settlements, the hunger of humanity to learn more and more about its new world was almost impossible to keep up with. Elves would marvel at the futility of the human mind, a mind that would last 60, perhaps 70 years, but that never stopped looking to absorb more information. At first the elves were more than happy to help a fledgling species of sentience, but then the humans hungered for the farthest reaches of elven wisdom and the elves rebuked mankind for its arrogance. Humanity reacts poorly to being shown walls, high mountain, or deep seas. First came diplomatic chills, and empires began to mobilize against one another. Elves shifted veteran regiments into position and the humans raised vast legions of gritty conscripts and noble savages.
It had been a bloodbath for both sides, but the elves learned fastest that the first lesson the human race had learned was survival. The second was hunting. It was only because the elves were also quick learners that they did not become completely obliterated by the first Elvo-Human war. A peace accord was struck and borders were hammered out.
Then the Dwarfs were encountered. The humans gawked at impressive machines and industrialization. There was no trade that could be agreed upon between dwarf and man, the dwarves simply had no use for anything the humans could provide. So the humans took what they wanted, at a steep cost. An entire faction of humans was lost to the first Mountain Wars. Dwarven settlements high in the mountains and deep underground had made any advance to their fortifications nearly suicidal. They boggled at the maddness displayed as human sappers detonated vast networks of explosives to gain entry. The cost to obtain a single city worth of steam-craft was high, and the dwarfs would remember what the humans were willing to pay to obtain it.
At one point the dwarfs and elves decided to put their past behind and attempt to quell the human issue together. They marched into the lands of men with battle wagons and war streamers proudly displayed. They made vast gains into the empires of humanity and believed victory was all but assured when the guerrilla war broke out within their supply columns. The elves couldn't fathom the idea of women and children fighting with the same tenacity of human soldiers. Dwarfs had incorrectly assumed that once a city fell it would just as easily begin trading with its new rulers, such was custom among the early dwarf settlements. The first Human War was a catastrophe for the elves and dwarfs, only 20% of all the units that crossed into human lands ever returned to their homes. For the humans, it had been wildly profitable as they gained insights into how to create better arms and armor from the elves and better machinery, again, from the dwarfs.
An accord was struck between the three races only when a forth arrived. A true 'other'. They came by sea, smashing into the elven coasts. Their weapons were crude and brutal, their tactics savage and wild like humanity. Their hunger nearly as bottomless. Orcs.
As they elves scrambled to stem the tides the dwarfs did as they did best and went to ground, hiding away their wealth and value from hungry eyes. Had it not been for human students in elven colleges, the world might not have known the horror that was ravaging elf lands. Thus started the first alliance between elf and man, and not just a tacit agreement to end hostilities. As the orcs held their first battle against human forces, they were stunned to meet a warlike brother. Humans, strengthened by their power over steam-machines from dwarfs, enhanced with elven weaponry, and guided by a primitive savagery to survive, the first Orish War was bloody and terrible.
Orcs were driven back to the sea at the cost of many human lives, but the agreement would forever be known and the various races of man, elf, and dwarf recognized one another for their value. Elves would house the wisdom, dwarfs would tame steel, and mankind would man the gates. When the orcs returned again, the last war looked very much like the first.
-----
If you liked this story and want more like it you can find my other scribbles here at /r/ZigZagStories . Thanks!
|
Modern society long ago decided there were no such things as faeries, elves, dragons, dwarves, or other so-called "imaginary races". Of course, to be fair to scientists, the various races which peopled our world had left, long ago, by sucking up the magic in the world to power dimensional gates. The gates were placed in extremely unstable spots in the world, where it was thought the dimensional walls would be extremely thin and the gates would be destroyed, keeping us humans from following.
The gates themselves apparently varied as much as the people who made them. The faeries and brownies constructed small gates, better suited for their small forms, and these gates apparently just became nests for animals. The elves had formed a giant gate out of wood and greenery and flowers, and that gate had apparently just withered away into nothing. The dwarves had constructed an elaborate stone archway near a volcano, and while the arch had been buried, it hadn't been destroyed. We recovered the knowledge of those gates, and went in search of those mythical races. We quickly learned, that they were not our friends.
"Bravo team, focus fire on the grove ahead," I ordered, highlighting the trees on their visors. "We have tree humpers picking us off. Use incendiaries if you have to."
"Bravo One copies," came the detached response. Bravo team hefted their shields and began to advance through our lines, firing at movement in the trees. Hails of arrows flew at each of the soldiers, but the shields they used were titanium, and the arrows either bounced off or shattered. Bravo returned fire, and elvish forms began dropping out of the trees as bullets inevitably found them despite their camouflage.
"Alpha leader, this is Echo Sierra One. We have confirmed presence of dwarves tunneling into our lines on seismograph, over."
"Echo Sierra One, good job, we'll be ready for them. Alpha leader out."
"Mad Dog, this is Alpha Leader," I said into the radio, switching channels. "Eggheads report dwarven tunnels inbound. Get your berserkers ready, over."
"Hahahaha," Mad Dog's voice came through, making me cringe. "We'll be there, big man. This'll be fun!......Out!" I winced as the hooting and hollering began behind our lines. We'd learned the hard way that dwarves were nasty customers up close. Almost as wide as they were tall, they mostly wielded weapons that weighed fifty or sixty pounds a piece, and they loved their shields. We'd eventually hired mercenaries to counter them, and the Berserkers, as they liked to be called, were more than happy to answer. Their answer, it seemed, was grenades, fire, and combat shotguns. Most of the surviving Berserkers liked to wear the beards of the dwarves they killed as trophies.
"Charlie One, Delta One," I said suddenly. "Prepare anti-dragon measures. I want full coverage on east-west. Echo One, Foxtrot One, prepare anti-faerie measures." I tuned their affirmative replies out and focused on figuring out where the leaders would be.
Loud explosions made me look to the east just in time to follow the smoke trails of our surface-to-air rockets which lead to a Great Dragon. The giant beast, half engulfed in smoke and flame, hurtled out of the sky and crashed to the west of our lines. Pained roars made it clear that the great wyrm wasn't quite dead.
All fire dropped off suddenly, and I turned back to see a white flag waving from one of the trees. It fell to the ground, and I watched warily as an extremely old elf walked out of the grove to pick up the flag and put it on his staff. He walked forward, slowly, to stop halfway between our lines.
"All forces hold your fire," I said, standing up. "Do not fire unless ordered or to protect yourself."
I got to my feet, shedding my backpack and putting my assault rifle down. I checked my pistol to ensure it was still there and put a hand on my sword, surreptitiously checking to ensure it would draw smoothly. I walked out of our lines and stopped ten feet from the aged elf.
"You and your kind should not have followed us here," he said sternly, leaning on his staff. "We left you and your kind alive as a kindness. Do not make us angry or you will find out how poor a decision you've made."
"We came here peacefully," I said. "We came to talk and learn from you, and instead we've been attacked."
"We don't want your filthy kind here," the elf sneered. "You have no idea who we are or what we can do."
"I beg to differ," I said, moving my sword to show the elf the pommel. "Your elder brother thought we were garbage to be disposed of too." The old elf recoiled in horror.
"Did you think it a fluke that we were able to sorely wound Terithrika," I asked, jerking my thumb at the wounded dragon. "Listen well, elder brother, because it's time your younger brethren were allowed to speak."
| 2016-12-23T01:29:05
| 2016-12-23T01:15:59
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, "How? How were you able to summon me?!" You're standing in the corner flipping through your grandma's cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, "I don't know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!"
|
The demon's flames dwindled when I desperately screamed I was trying to make chicken soup. He gave a sigh of relief, and raised clenched fists. Clouds of tar-black smoke billowed out the crevasses of the floor and across the grotesque scars and wounds on his fiery skin, covering most of his body in dark, apron-shaped toxicity.
"Let's get to work, then!" the demon said, and scanned the kitchen. "What are we working with? What ingredients did you buy?"
"I-I...chicken?" I said, trying to compose myself. However, it was no easy task, I could see my worst nightmares through the demon's hollow eyes.
He came and stared at me, prodding my chest with a crooked forefinger, burning a hole on my shirt in the process. "You. I like you. Every chef knows that a chicken soup is not a chicken soup without proper chicken. Tell me, where did you get the chicken, what breed of chicken is it?"
I froze, the smell of smoldering cloth pervading my nostrils. His face. It shifted every time I blinked. "The supermarket, and... and I don't know the br-breed. A farm one?"
The demon swung his hands exaggeratedly across the air, and the red of his skin changed to a scalding, glimmering orange, much like molten metal. Then, he drew a deep breath and nodded.
"I will tell you something," the demon said through gritted teeth, attempting to control his fuming wrath. "First I loved you, but now I hate you. You are a man of wit. You know the ingredients of a chicken soup, but you are not a man of knowledge. To make a perfect chicken soup, you need the perfect chicken."
He eyed me, and crossed his four arms, as if waiting for me to answer.
I frowned. What was I supposed to say? "Where can we get a perfect chicken?"
His eyes, mouth and nose disappeared, leaving only an eerie grin of unnatural curvature, length and razor-sharp teeth on his face. "I'm glad you asked that." He made a circular motion with his hand, as if opening a faucet. A square-shaper portal of ever-flowing fire appeared between us.
"You first," the demon said. "We are going grocery shopping."
------------------------
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AHumongousFish/comments/90xn3h/one_hell_of_a_chicken_soup_part_ii/)
|
Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae, lay on the black and white linoleum tiles of Byron's kitchen, tentacles swinging wildly in the air. Removed from the blood waters of the Nether Sea, Korbius's gelatinous flesh sagged heavily towards the ground. Still he flailed his eight tentacles through the air angrily, slapping them wetly against pots and pans, suction cups sticking to whatever they touched and dragging them about the room.
Korbius's nearly formless body blocked the only doorway out, and Byron, terrified, held his grandmother's handwritten cookbook in two hands out in front of him, as if it might act as a shield against the otherworldly creature. The ground is slick in Korbius's crimson slime and, when Korbius flicks one of his tentacles into the air, Byron is sprayed with a shower of the cold red goop.
You could say being covered in the bodily juices of a Sixth Dimensional Demonlord was the straw that broke the camel's back. Byron certainly felt that way and decided it was as good a time as any to start screaming.
> Be silent, human! Cease your mating call! This is no time for copulation!
Byron recoiled from the deep throated voice that suddenly came from inside his own head. He looked wild-eyed around the destroyed room. "Who is that?! Help! Help me!"
> Human, it is I, Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae. Korbius speaks through your crude mind.
Byron understood none of this and screamed louder. Korbius was *not* having it.
> SILENCE!
The word was equal part mental yell as it was unrelenting command and it made Byron stop yelling in spite of himself.
> Where is Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae?
Byron was hyperventilating in relative quiet and only managed each syllable he spoke between two or three quick breaths. "You're...in...my...kitch...en..."
> How has Korbius been summoned to Kitchen?
Byron tried to channel his mindfulness meditation and failed utterly. "I...don't...know!" His breathing began to slow down. "I...was... I was reading... this book." Byron held the book up and a tentacle shot out and latched onto its cover, dragging it back toward Korbius through the mess of ooze on the floor. The gelatinous mass of demon octopus shifted on the linoleum, a process that created a series of ridiculous fart-like noises. Byron watched the absurd scene slack jawed as Korbius spun his central mass around and opened his single gargantuan eyeball.
For a moment, Korbius stared at the cover of the book held in his tentacle. Suddenly a high pitched whine emanated from the demon's beak and he flung the book back towards Byron as if it were a live hand grenade.
> The Demon Cantos! Impossible!
Byron looked down at the book as it slid across the slick, tiled floor and spun to a stop at his feet. On the hand written cover it said in big, warm letters, 'Gran's Cookbook.' It was his Grandma's hand written cookbook. She'd left it to Byron when she died, only a week earlier, along with a letter insisting that Byron learn her favorite recipes, passed down from generation to generation.
So Byron had decided to give it a try. He had been feeling a little under the weather, and so he chose to make a delicious pot of chicken soup. He broke out the old tome, opened it on the kitchen table and, going down the list of ingredients with his finger, he'd read each one aloud, a habit he'd formed when reading to help compensate for his dyslexia.
No sooner had he finished the final ingredient - 'a large pinch of salt' - than an extradimensional portal of pure light opened in the ceiling of the kitchen, out of which fell the writhing red mass of Korbius, the Demonlord of the Octopodiae. That was forty seconds ago.
Byron bent down and picked up the book, showing the strange octopus it's simple handwritten cover. "This...this? It's just a cookbook. My Grandmother, it's her *cookbook*. I don't understand."
Korbius recoiled at the further sight of the tome, opening several kitchen cabinets with his tentacles, emptying them of their contents, and slithering his entire large mass inside them, just as an octopus might squeeze its entire body into a soda bottle. As he slithered into his impromptu hiding place, Korbius began to beg.
> Please, human. Korbius did not know. How could Korbius know he spoke to a Cantor? No, Korbius could *not* know. It is Korbius's honor to be in Kitchen. Korbius would *never* speak ill of Cantor human, or of Kitchen. Korbius is thrall to Cantor human.
Byron's heart began to settle down even as his mind raced at the sudden shift in tone. He turned the book around again and brought the cover very close to his face, staring at the letters written there.
He flashed back to his reading of the recipe. Hadn't he felt a strange thrill down his spine with each ingredient read? Hadn't his hands shook, almost imperceptibly, as they traced their way down the list?
Suddenly, Byron's grandmother came to mind, old Nan, sitting in her lazy boy, smiling cheek to wrinkled cheek, and Byron could not tell whether the image was a memory or a message.
"I told you you were special Byron. That's why I left you my...cook book."
She winked, the image disappeared, and when Byron looked back at the front of the book, at the words written there, they were no longer written in plain black marker, and they no longer read 'Gran's Cookbook.' Rather, in effervescent gold ink, shining impossibly bright, even through the thin layer of Korbius's muck, bold, proud letters proclaimed a new title.
"The Demon's Cantos."
Amazed, Byron flipped through the transformed pages and where once there was only blue inked recipes for pie and soups, now there was an illuminated manuscript of epic beauty, with pages of gorgeous illustrations, strange creatures and spells with astounding names and titles.
Where once there were ingredients, now there were words of power. Where once there was a recipe for chicken soup, now there was a page entitled "To Enthrall An Octopodiae."
Korbius was now safely ensconced in the corner kitchen cabinet, only his giant eye peering out from the dark through the cracked open cabinet door. With fear apparent even in his mentally transmitted voice, Korbius asked.
> What is my master Cantor's name?
Byron looked up from the astounding book, his face awash in the magical glow of it words, and swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. Nervously, he whispered an answer.
"Byron."
And then he passed out.
*******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
********
## Part 2 Below
| 2018-07-21T18:49:05
| 2018-07-21T18:43:26
| 4,387
| 828
|
[WP] You are a superhero who's ability subconciously freezes time whenever someone nearby is in mortal danger. Usually its obvious who's in trouble and you can save them quickly, but not this time - it's been 10 years.
Edit: guys the responses have been amazing, some funny stories and some deeper, darker ones too! Keep them coming in, I've been reading them all!
|
"It has to be him..." I thought to myself for the hundred-thousandth time "Old man, overweight, sweating over his fried steak burger. What the hell do *they* expect me to do about a heart attack?"
I'm not gonna lie, it's been tough. The first 2ish years were alright. At least I think it was two years. It took me ages to figure out if I wound a clock up it'd actually start ticking. It makes sense I guess, even though time is stopped I can still throw a ball and expect it to land somewhere. After giving up the search for the dying person I really started pushing the boundaries. I experimented with how far away I was allowed to travel, messed with people, really learned about the how the time freeze works. Although if I knew that not aging during the freeze meant that my hair didn't grow, I wouldn't have drunkenly shaved it all off.
I can go three miles in any direction before I hit the "time wall" as I've been calling it. I spent a few months triangulating the center of the circle, in hopes that it would land on the person in danger, but it only leads back to the same chair that I had been leaning in, in the same corner of the same diner a decade ago.
I rarely come back here these days. It still smells like french fries even though I picked the place clean of any form of potato years ago. I just don't see the need to come around anymore, I have every detail memorized at this point. IF they're trying to get me to rescue someone and not just punishing me, then it has to be the old fatty. I give up. Again. My first guess was the dishwasher that was behind my table. He was literally inches away from my head and my marks are almost always super close to me. He was (well I guess technically still is) carrying way too many sharp dangerous knives, but the man was steady and stable, the floor was dry, and even if he was about to fall all the blades were pointing carefully away from him. I've checked, and double checked, and triple checked, and hundredth checked. I'm done. I give up. *Again*.
I wanted to save the meal I was eating before the freeze for when this was all said and done. But I'm done now. Maybe if I can show *them* I've really accepted defeat they'll let me go, or at least let me die. I'd honestly welcome either. I try to sit in my chair but it's leaned far too back for me to actually sit proper. I put it down nice and steady on on four legs and take a seat.
"Careful there bud!" Said the dishwasher as he and all around me sprang back to life. "You looked like you were about to fall right into me!"
...
...
"Ooooh... God damn it"
|
I tugged on the metallic door to the café and opened it, almost flying across the quiet street. Sawada was one of my all-time favorite cafes and I have decided to revisit it for old times sake. I stumbled through some intricate cobwebs artistically designed by the spiders that have moved into this place. I walked over to behind the counter, weaving my way through the stiff baristas. They stood there like mannequins, holding ceramic glasses in their hands. I stared at one with beautiful red hair burning down her head and waited. Waited for her to move. By now, I would have thought I would get accustomed to the scene of this world in still-motion. However, there is something strange about not being able to witness someone take a breath when they seem perfectly capable to do so.
I wish I could unfreeze one of these baristas so that they could serve me my all-time favorite drink, Chai Latte. It seems like that will not happen anytime soon. Plus, who knows what 10 year old coffee beans would taste like.
I grabbed a glass from a shelf under the counter and inspected the dust that pillowed on there. Using my cotton shirt, I wiped it all off only to have transferred the dust to my shirt. I turned on the tap water, praying that there would be nothing wrong with it. I mean, it is just water.
Yes. Success.
Taking my glass of water, I took a seat at one of the tables and just thought of what kind of life I should lead all alone.
My eyes wandered the vintage coffee shop and I fixed my eyes on something strangely familiar. Someone, actually. My mind began to piece things together in my mind trying to figure out who this person was. And then I remembered. They were the reason why I stopped entering this café. They were the reason why the Earth stopped revolving around the sun. They were the reason why I live in a world full of plastic mannequins. They were the reason that time was frozen. And I was the reason why it never became unfrozen.
My mind blasted back to a memory of 10 years. On one chilly autumn afternoon, I came to Sawada during my lunch break in an effort to change my environment while solving Differential Equations problems. This woman, not much older than I was, was in front of me in line ordering a Matcha Tea Latte. I recall her order because I could not help thinking why would she ever disrespect her taste buds with such an awful drink. Other than a feeling of disgust at her order, my heart began to feel discomforted. A feeling I similarly get when people are in danger. However, I shrugged the feeling off because I could not possibly imagine what type of harm this woman would encounter in a cozy coffee shop. Sitting on tables across from each other, I occasionally would peer up to make sure she was safe. She was. She was rolling her wavy brown hair between her fingers, her face illuminated by the screen of her laptop. And then she sighed.
And that sigh stopped the world.
And I just sat there utterly confused, looking in all directions of my vicinity making sure I did not miss any other form of danger. This was different. Usually the world would stop right before a fatal car accident, or before a fire would burn down an apartment. The world never stopped when I sat at a coffee shop with everyone around me sitting happily.
For nearly 7 years I explored the entire city of Chicago, trying to find the danger that paused this world. However, whatever I did was not enough to set the Earth back into motion.
I took another sip of water then placed the cup onto the wooden table. I got up from my chair and walked towards this woman who changed the balance of the Earth. I sat there on the bench next to her and became overcome with sadness. Loneliness. A desire for human connection. I wrapped my arms around her, yearning a reciprocation of the hug. I cried into her shoulders and wished for a normal life again. A life free from some random hiatus.
It felt like I was hugging a statue.
Tears streamed down my face onto the old blouse of the woman.
What was that.
I felt a heartbeat. A heartbeat that was not mine. Then I felt hands wrapping around my body.
The world was melting behind me.
But how.
The woman squeezed me tightly then pulled back from the hug and looked me straight in the eyes. Her eyes were welling up with tears.
“Thank you,” she said to me.
My body was shaking immensely and I stood to comprehend what had just occurred. The world felt frozen again.
That’s it.
She was not in some physical danger that would have harmed her body and bones. Her danger was something deeper. She was being threatened by her mind and has been psychologically beaten up. She was on the verge of being destroyed by herself; her thoughts; her expectations; her feelings.
I ran back to her.
| 2017-09-06T22:03:20
| 2017-09-06T20:40:28
| 401
| 147
|
[WP] You have 30 seconds with an ancestor of yours from 200 years ago (1814), before they are transported back to their time. What do you say to them? What effect appears in our world because of it?
Consider for the sake of this prompt that they aren't totally freaked out by being plopped into 2014, that they can understand you, and that they'll continue their life as normal back in their time, only with the knowledge of whatever you told them with your 30 seconds time.
|
"Apple stock!"
"What? An apple orchard?"
"No, no...Apple is a company! It won't exist until 1976."
"1976??? What kind of witchcraft is..."
"Listen to me! We don't have much time. You need to tell this to your children, and they need to tell their children. Apple stock. 1976. Your future ancestors need to put every penny they have into it. It will make future generations of your family incredibly wealthy! The Harold name will be one of the most respected in the country!"
"All right, apple stock, I will tell them."
"Remember, not really app.."
*Connection terminated*
"..les. Carol? What's it look like out there?"
"Apple trees, John. There must be a thousand acres of them."
"Dammit. OK, Carol, you were right, I owe you $10. Listen, what about Standard Oil? We would need to tell them to watch out around 1911, but we might end up with stock in BP, Exxon, Conoco, and Chevron today."
"Yeah, or they might get cheated out of their investment by John D. We lost your great-uncle the last time it went bad, remember?"
"I think it's worth the risk. Setting the time-coordinates -10 minutes, bringing batteries to power..."
|
I was looking at my great great grandfather James Cater and wishing he would have taught his kids not to hate when all of a sudden he appears in front of me. I hear a voice in my head telling me that if I think I can do a better job then I have 30 seconds to make him changes his mind.
James is currently 12 years old and I say to him, one day you are going to have kids and it is important you teach them that everyone and I meam everyone is equal and has a right to their life. If not the world will be a horrible place to be. James says okay he will try and then he is gone.
Let me explain a little something. Apparently my great grandfather was the reason the south won the civil war and ultimately caused America to start being indignant towards the rest of the world in the mid nineteen hundreds Americas president decided to start killing all people that werent "American enough". Well the world retaliated and America is now a wasteland. The bombs from every countries arsenal landed in every city with over 5000 people and the damage done to infrastucture is beyond repair. There wasnt a government left to surrender.
The voice says in my head, lets see how you did. You will keep your memories of this but the rest of the world would never believe you.
All of a sudden my new life floods in. It turns out James made so much of a point about people being equal that his sons went and fought for the north even though they were residents of north carolina.
America fought a tough war but eventually thw north won and the slave were freed. It seems that residual hate of blacks still exists though 149 years after the end of the civil war.
A man named Hitler tried to make the world hate people that were different and the world joined forces to wnsure this would never happen again.
I dont understand why people feel the way they do. Why would anyone want to try and prevent someone from just having a fair shake in life?
I am not sure if the world is better or not but I am now at least proud of my family.
| 2014-05-09T05:26:59
| 2014-05-09T05:25:48
| 183
| 15
|
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook.
|
**Bug ID #5608**
**Name:** Teleporting object arrives at speed
**Severity:** High
**Product:** Teleport
**Reported by:** AP
**Assigned to:** TJ
**Status:** Closed
**Description:** When teleporting over medium to long distances, I arrive with a significant lateral or vertical speed. In some cases, the speed would be enough to be fatal. I have experimentally verified that it becomes perceptible when teleporting distances greater than 5km, and dangerous over distances greater than 100km, with some variation due to direction.
**Steps to reproduce:** Use Teleport with all default settings, source coordinates (51.6753524,-1.2340868) and destination coordinates (52.3590673,13.4065686). Stand at the source coordinates.
**Notes:**
* Closed. Not a bug. -TJ
* What do you mean, not a bug? The documentation says you arrive with the same velocity that you set off with. I certainly wasn't flying through the air when I cast the spell, but I was when I landed. If I didn't have Feather Fall ready, I would have died. How can that possibly be intended behaviour? Reopen this please. -AP
* Were you in a moving vehicle at the time of casting? Teleport does not adjust your speed to account for your surroundings. Teleporting while moving at speed would cause the effect you described. -TJ
* Of course not. I started standing still. I ended up moving at extremely dangerous speeds. Teleport is supposed to conserve your speed. It didn't. This concept is not difficult. Your spell has a bug. Reopen this ticket. -AP
* The Earth rotates. You were moving at the same speed as ever, but the ground wasn't. Naturally you arrived at speed relative to your surroundings. Teleport is not recommended for long distance travel, for this reason among others. In this case, you should use Greater Teleport instead, as it allows you to specify a change in momentum. -TJ
* You couldn't have told me that before? Nobody said anything about that. The book just says that it's "not accurate" over long distances. It doesn't say anything about being splatted across the walls. What if I'd arrived indoors? What if I'd been sent flying down or sideways instead of up? I could literally have died. You need to issue a statement about this. This is not okay. -AP
* Hello? I haven't had a reply to my last message. Please reopen this ticket immediately. -AP
|
The Council of Casters was in an uproar.
The Head Caster, seated at the head of the star-shaped desk had his brows furrowed, three wisps to his left and right holding up the records of the student, neatly arranged in a folder, and an iPhone, showing a video of the caster's prowess.
The student, an 18-year old, geeky looking teen, was seen standing in front of an old telephone on a teachers desk. He raised his index finger, as if about to ask a question. He wagged and waved his fingers, as if he was writing.
"After viewing the video countless times, i am sure he wrote Public... Static... Void... Teleport," said Caster Oakley, the professor of the student, pausing between the words that seemed to be random and nonsensical.
On screen, the telephone disappeared from the desk and the classroom burst into applause.
"His spell was able to teleport the telephone from the classroom desk to the flagpole in the quadrangle, pretty much seven rooms away," narrated Caster Oakley." Such feats normally would take at least 13 years!"
The Council murmed in agreement.
"But that's not the most amazing of his feats," said Oakley.
The Head Caster raised an eyebrow and nodded, imploring him to continue.
"See the next video, sire," Oakley said.
The Head Caster stared at the iPhone for a moment, brows furrowing once again. The iPhone started to shake a bit because of the wisps, as if fingers were fumbling with the iPhone, trying to look for buttons.
The Council giggled in amusement, save for the Head Caster, who let out a huff of frustration.
Oakley barely stifled his laughter, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Allow me, sir," he beckoned. He held his fingers as it about to snap, but instead tapped once in the air with his index, and once with his middle finger, as if tapping on the corresponding video.
"Dare i ask: how had you teleported the telephone that far, that quickly?" asked Oakley on the recording.
"I had a chat with him after class," Oakley said. "He does not have an idea as to how much promise he has shown."
The student shrugged. "It's... Kinda hard to explain, sir."
"Try me," replied Oakley.
The student hesitated, eyes looking down, head topped sideways, as if juggling the decision of whether or not he is to tell."
"Um... Programming, sir."
The Council murmed in surprise. Oakley noted how quickly the Head Caster's brows shot up.
"The goal of the spell was to transport the telephone from point A, the table, to point B, the flagpole. In my mind's eye, i saw the Path of magic - like neon lines running from one point to infinitely other points... The cabinet, the next classroom's desk... Even your head, sir."
"So i thought of this thing in programming called Breadth First Search. In my mind's eye i evaluated the pathlines before casting the spell than simply directing the object to move. Actually it wasn't even me... Magic found it, sir. I only had to be given the appropriate commands and instructions."
The Council burst into clamor once again.
Oakley cleared his throat to silence the council. "This is only of his feats. He demonstrated and explained even more of his feats."
He opened the Photos app of the iPhone with more flicks, taps, and wags of his finger.
"He perfectly charged this ball of aura by - in his words - iteratively incrementing the magical variable that contained the magic."
He wagged his finger, as if going to the next image on an iPhone.
"He drew this beautifully symmetric firework using - again, in his words - iteratively getting sines of the center and random radii. He said he used something called a for loop."
Another wag of the finger.
"In the class, he was able to maintain this ball of fire. He said he used something called a while loop."
Another wag of his finger.
"He managed to control this life-sized mannequin using only magic. He only said he did Object-oriented than procedural, making each part of the mannequin an object. I consulted google and Object Oriented was a programming paradigm."
He pushed down an imaginary lever with his middle finger and ring finger, turning off the iPhone.
"He programmed, my fellow Councilmembers. Modernity has knocked at magic's door, in the most unexpected way. We may have a child more advanced than most of us here!"
The Council, afraid of losing their Council positions, burst into uproar once again.
"I never liked technology," grumbled the Head Caster, looking sadly at his Council Pin, which soon might have to be passed on.
| 2014-08-04T05:45:00
| 2014-08-04T05:03:48
| 133
| 36
|
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
|
"Objection!" shouted Barry, the prosecutor.
The judge raised an eyebrow. "On what grounds?"
Barry paused, at a loss for words. "Umm... everything? This... this is just absurd!"
I chuckled at his genuine agitation. Barry had never faced something like this before. It would've amused me more if he wasn't currently trying to imprison me. This whole trial had been stacked against me from the start. Since the murder occurred in the Swamp of Lost Souls, near my shack, everyone assumed I was the one responsible for it because, obviously, who else but the hermit necromancer would do such a heinous thing? No lawyer wanted to take my case so I was forced to improvise my own defense.
The entire courtroom gasped at my reveal. Some people even fainted upon witnessing the reanimated corpse. Normally, I wouldn't bring back a soul for my own gain, but I wasn't about to go to jail for something I didn't do.
"You'll have to provide a better argument," said the judge. "It's unorthodox, but the lack of precedent means necromancy is technically allowed."
Barry rubbed his temples, frustrated.
I started to relax. My biggest concern was that this stunt would only alienate me more from them, but it appeared the judge was truly interested in getting to the bottom of this case. Adam, the victim, was a beloved figure in the community. Bringing out his rotting corpse had to disturb those who weren't used to my craft.
"Okay," said Barry, "hear me out. How do we know this is actually Adam?"
"I'm right here, dude" said Adam, with flies coming out of his mouth. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Shut up!" said Barry. "It's obviously your corpse, but how can we be sure he's not just controlling the body like a puppet? Couldn't he make Adam say anything he wanted?"
The judge nodded sagely, stroking his beard. "An interesting counterpoint."
"That's not fair!" I said. "You're basically asking me to prove his own sentience, and that's philosophically impossible! Especially if you disregard his own testimony!"
"And?" said Barry. "The burden of proof is on you here. If you can't definitively prove he's a reliable witness, then he holds no value to the court."
"Rude," said Adam.
"You're not real!" Barry frowned at me. "Stop manipulating our dead friend!"
"I'm not!"
"Yes you are! And even if that *is* him, you're using his death to your advantage!"
"And I'm supposed to just give up?"
"That would be great, actually."
I looked at the judge, expectantly. "You don't have to take everything at face value. Can't you just... hear him out?"
The judge pursed his lips, unsure, then said:
"I'm afraid not. We can't really be sure one way or the other, can we? And letting this version of Adam speak would definitely influence us, even if we don't give it much weight."
I sighed. It wasn't that they wished justice for Adam. This community just wanted me and my craft to be eradicated. The murder was just a convenient excuse to enforce their puritan ways. Or, to put it another way, they would rather believe I was an evil monster than confront the fact that they had a murderer among them.
Adam, despite his disfigured face, pouted in disappointment. The reason he was in the swamp in the first place was because it was the only place he could meet up with his girlfriend, a woman from an affluent family that had been forbidden from marrying him. When her father discovered their secret, he locked her up and sent his thugs to take care of Adam in their meeting spot. They didn't count on me caring at all about the murder. When I came to the city to report it, I was instantly charged with the crime instead. It appeared the lady's father was too influential.
Barry himself seemed desperate to win the case at all costs, glancing back at the father every so often with great anxiety. I then understood he was only fighting me out of fear of what would happen should he fail. I couldn't blame him for trying to survive, just like me.
That being said, when it was obvious I would never be heard in a fair way, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. This trial was a mere formality. Something I only did to not look like a complete villain to these people. It was foolish to let them think their laws applied to me. With a snap of my fingers, I shot a beam of energy at Adam that made him a hundred times stronger, then said:
"Fuck it; do whatever you please."
Adam quickly sprinted at the lady's father, cackling with glee as he started punching him around the room.
The courtroom immediately erupted into chaos. The guards couldn't stop Adam from getting his revenge. I slipped out of the room while they were distracted, leaving the city as quickly as possible. That was the last time I would ever play by their rules.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
“And do you recall talking with the accused that evening, drinking grape soda by the graveyard?”
In Prosecutor LeBlanc’s fifteen years of practice at the Putnam County Magicstrate court, he had encountered all kinds of enchantments, to varying results. He was accomplished in his work proving that werewolves were werewolves, that a vampire was responsible for that rogue bloodletting incident, who had cast that noxious fume curse. This was to be his first case post-Magic Deregulation Act, and he hoped it didn’t show.
“Objection, your honor,” he began. “Defense is leading the witness.” *Quite literally,* he whispered under his breath.
“It’s a confirmation of my previous questions, your honor.”
“Objection overruled. Proceed.”
LeBlanc sat back down.
“Unnnnnnnngh.” The witness grunted. It was an affirmative sort of grunt, he supposed. At least the jury would think so.
“There. Just one final question,” the defense asked. “When the axe fell on you, was the defendant holding it?”
“Nnngh!”
“There we have it, ladies and gentlemen, that’s the victim’s testimony. He was simply enjoying an evening out at the Monster Wine Grape-Mash. In no way did the defendant contribute to cutting that evening short. Defense rests.”
Judge Gatari nodded. “Any re-cross?”
“Yes, Judge.” LeBlanc stood, smoothing his tie anxiously. The courtroom only had the parties and the jury inside, yet the room felt filled somehow by his own anxieties.
“Ughhhh?” the zombie rose.
“You will remain at the stand, please,” LeBlanc grunted. “Let’s talk a bit more about the defendant. Were you familiar with them before the event?”
There was ruckus of hooting. LeBlanc facepalmed at his own language.
“Objection, defendant should not be referred to in such demeaning terminology, this is an attempt to bias the jury with prejudicial language.”
“Your honor, it was a minor mistake. I did not intend to use that word in the manner the defense suggests. I’ll rephrase.”
“Objection sustained, please do so counsel.”
LeBlanc nodded. The defendant, a great brown owl, squinted at him. It was displeased.
“Did you and the defendant ever interact prior to the Monster Wine Grape-Mash?”
“...ughh.”
Well, that could have meant anything. LeBlanc wished for the fiftieth time that day he hadn’t lost the argument on getting an interpreter. Apparently getting an English interpreter for a zombie was insensitive, but he needed one himself at this rate.
The victim chewed on his arm.
“Is it true that yourself and the defendant,” he pointed across the room, “engaged in weight lifting and shot-put competitions as a duo?”
“Hggggh.” That sounded somewhat positive.
“And that requires the defendant can lift heavy objects, yes?”
“Objection. Hearsay evidence.”
“Your honor, this is well within acceptable boundaries, I’m asking if the victim and defendant’s relationship included an activity the victim personally witnessed.”
“Overruled. Continue.”
“Ugghhh argh ahhh aghh.”
Someone in the jury nodded, seeming to understand.
“I’d just like to say, for the record on appeal, that I have no idea what the defendant just said.”
“You’re free to note what you like on the record,” the judge grumbled.
LeBlanc hoped nobody could see the sweat on his shirt.
“Okay. Last question: if defendant can lift heavy objects, is it possible that the defendant lifted and dropped the axe from midair?”
“Objection!”
A spell flew across the room, shutting his mouth. LeBlanc stomped his feet in rage.
“Counsel, any response?”
He pointed to his mouth, then at the defense table. The opposing counsel was smirking.
That was one way to shut a laywer up, LeBlanc supposed.
(Edit: I took a little bit of artistic liberty here. Tried to get close to the feeling of what a local courtroom is actually like. Source: worked in one for several years)
| 2021-10-04T07:28:04
| 2021-10-04T07:17:44
| 357
| 71
|
[WP] New pills can temporarily release a person's dormant superpowers, but with great power comes great lists of possible side effects.
|
**WARNING**: Superadone is only to be taken under the supervision of a physician. Side effects include, but are not limited to:
* Nausea,
* Vomiting (excepting high-accuracy projectile vomiting, which is classified as a superpower),
* Loss of appetite,
* Headaches not associated with psychic ability,
* Water retention (e.g. water-related weight gain, but not turning into a water-elemental type creature),
* Fragile skin,
* Lack of development of supplemental secondary powers (e.g. super strength without the invulnerability necessary to prevent you from tearing out your own arm when you use it),
* Acne, to include forms of acne which shoot lasers (while technically a superpower, it is notoriously uncontrollable),
* Heartburn, not to include the ability to literally burn the hearts of your enemies. Should your heart spontaneously catch fire and you are unable to survive such an event, call 911 immediately,
* Trouble sleeping if your superpower is not that you no longer require sleep,
* Increased sweating so long as your sweat remains ordinary and not e.g. oil, pheromones, etc.
* Mood changes unrelated to psychic ability,
* Spontaneous and undesired transformation into a lizard or general reptilian form,
* "Freaky Friday"-style body swaps that prove irreversible,
* Ancient curse(s),
* Diabetes, and/or
* A constant, undying, and uncontrollable rage against all human life.
If you develop any side effects, taper off dosage until such time as you can consult your primary care physician, and/or superheroes can arrive and subdue you.
|
The cigarette smoke and light from the phones colored the bar. The place had an energy to it and he could feel it coming. The barrier was breaking, dissolving into the past where all the hours of practice and pain were. He could feel it now and as the barrier broke and as the cymbals crashed, he felt it fully. The crowd was with him. His music was working and he would be famous. The barrier that was a rite of passage, was gone.
He had always looked up to the greats: Plant, Dylan, Jagger, Bon Jovi, and sometimes, though he would never admit it, Smash Mouth. Now the crowd looked up to him. The sweat in his eyes masked the sea of faces but their joy broke through. He run his hand through his hair. He felt the outside of his tight jeans' pocket.
*"Oh mama, don't you see? How your sweet hips do to me."*
The crowd was eating it up. His voice was on key. The band was tight. And the best part was that it was all him. He felt his pockets again. All the pills were there. He was a superhero without any pharmaceutical help.
*Well without that kind of help,* he thought.
The show was good and he was tired. He looked in the mirror and was proud of himself. His hair was thick and long, and he felt he looked like a young Robert Plant.
He took out the pills and wondered what they did. Many people took them at an early age to find out what their powers were. But he was different. He had never taken any. He always wanted to see if he could make it on his own.
*And I did.*
The months passed and they had a record deal. They called themselves The Blue Buttons and they had their first hit with Mama Don't You Know. The world was looking up. And so it could only one way.
Mama Don't You Know charted well but blues just wasn't in anymore. After a month it fell off the Earth and so did The Blue Buttons. Guitar bands were on the way out and besides, the press had started calling them reductive.
The crowds grew smaller and smaller and he was aware of the encroaching barrier. Like a shark in the water, gaining, smelling blood.
*No,* he thought.
He had worked so hard.
Their newest song Just Like Dilly Dylan's Blues was called an outright copy and a mess.
*"Great bands steal, yes,"* Pitchfork wrote, *"but great bands know not to mix Stairway to Heaven and Livin' on a Prayer and then call it a completely unrelated song.*
Their label dropped them. The drummer started heroin and he got fat from taking his pills and gaining the ability to survive any chemical substance. The bassist quit from feeling ignored and underappreciated. They hardly noticed when he left.
Now only he remained. Lead guitarist and singer and he had no fans. The Blue Buttons were history, and forgotten history at that.
He played bars and then coffee shops. Even Mama Don't You Know didn't get applause anymore. His options were dim and time was against him. He had to do it.
*Now is the time,* he thought. *My power will save me.*
He did not know what it would be but he had faith. It was his destiny to be a star. Surely his power would reflect as much.
So he took the pills. It was the night before the big show. He had begged and pleaded with the owner of The Lightbulb, a popular bar, to let him perform. It was a Friday and there were over forty people there.
*This is it,* he thought.
He got out there by himself and felt the pills working. He scanned the crowd and waited for the magic to happen.
He grabbed the mic and put it near his lips.
*"Oh oh mama why you gotta move so slow. Oh oh mama dear you gotta know..."*
But the words were croaked. His voice was breaking like a child and then he lost it. He tried to drop the mic but couldn't. It was stuck to his fingers and his fingers were growing and turning green.
His eyes turned yellow and his tongue was thin. His long hair fell and everyone was silent and then started to laugh. He shrunk and shrunk and then he was a lizard and he stared at the crowd with fear and embarrassment.
"If I sung like that I'd turn into a lizard too!" someone shouted.
Someone threw a beer at him and he nearly drowned. He ran away as lizards do and hid in the corner until the pills wore off and then he was naked and bald and in the corner of the bar.
More laughter came and someone threw another beer at him and it hurt his head for it was sensitive.
"You look like a dick mate!" someone shouted.
"A small one too!" another said.
He ran out of The Lightbulb and into the night. The barrier of mediocrity embraced him and just as he had done with his dignity, he left his music career at its door.
| 2017-04-11T06:54:50
| 2017-04-11T04:52:27
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