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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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[WP] You’re in the mafia and the boss has ordered you to kill your girlfriend to show your loyalty. You look around the room and see the pictures only to find out you’re dating the mafia boss’s daughter.
|
My heart froze in place, my veins turned to ice; I couldn't believe the order I was just given.
"B-but, boss," I stammered, "you want me to kill my girlfriend?! Your daughter?! Why? How could you!"
The patriarch of my family, Hirayama Makoto, had a reputation for giving such bizarre tests of loyalty. Those closest to him were familiar with these tests, but I, being a newcomer, had no hope of understanding his motive. I scanned his face and posture for any hints that he might give, but his countenance was as cold and lifeless as the large marble orb that sat on the wooden bookcase behind him. He slowly rose from his seat, peering at me from dark, steely eyes.
"Well, Higa?" He said, his voice with the threatening growl of a lurking tiger, "what will it be? Hesitation will get you killed faster than insubordination in this line of work."
I knew, right then and there, what must be done.
My right hand flew to my pistol, pulling it from my coat pocket and pointing it straight at my boss' face
"S-s-sorry boss!" I shouted. Adrenaline flooded through my body, making my jaw and my hand shake. "I... I can't! I *won't* hurt her!"
Boss Hirayama moved not a muscle; not frozen in fear, but strengthened by confidence. Boss was aging - his body grew thin, and his glossy black hair was striped with white. But this was a man who had faced subdued many young cubs back in the day, fighting and scheming his way to the top. I had trespassed on the tiger's domain, making threats with what felt like little more than a pointy stick. If I had any hope of winning the fight, In needed to end it quickly, lest I find his fangs at my throat.
And yet... I couldn't find it in me to put the old man down. This was the same old man who took me in as a youth, showed me how to fight, taught me to navigate the jungle of the crime world.
Slowly, I turned the gun to my own temple. This just felt right. My hand, steadying its trembling, agreed with my heart.
"I'm sorry boss."
But before I could do anything, Boss held up his hand.
"That's enough, Higa. I've seen enough."
I lowered the gun, ready for judgement. His face was still inscrutable, and I dreaded that I had chosen wrong.
Suddenly, his face crinkled into a smile. "You have chosen wisely. I need men like you by my side."
My legs gave way. I felt like I was ready to faint.
|
"Ey c'mon. I gotta tawk to ye. Bring ya gun."
Nothing good ever happens after any time the boss says this. I wordlessly follow, picking up my Thompson as I exited with the boss to the main hall of our building. I resisted the urge to gulp down the lump in my throat. Show no weakness with the boss.
We walk across the way to his office. I sigh in relief. Boss may be hard as nails, but his office? That needs to be squeaky clean. Not getting whacked today. He sits behind his desk and fumbles for a folder. Ok. Guess I'm goin' on a little contract killing adventure.
"So, Tesseract." We use codenames here. I'm Tesseract. No names going around means it's harder for us to rat each other out. I'm also Tesseract because... I like impossible shapes. "Tesseract, I'm in a bit of a bind. See, I need ya to kill someone who thinks it's okay to run their mouth about us. Problem is, she's my daughter, and your girlfriend. What's between the to o' ya was fine, but now I need her gone. See we had a fight. She threatened to push the cops on us if I didn't give 'er what she wants. She's gonna do what she says, because that's who she is. I'm holding out on her to buy time."
I'm shocked. The evidence is clear as day on my face. "When do you think she'd do it? Do I have time to talk her down?"
"You can try. But if she pulls anything on you, you need to take her out."
"She's blood, and she's like a sister to me."
"And you are like a son to me. But it has to be you to do this."
I gulp the lump in my throat, but remain composed. "Are you sure there's no other way?"
"Apart from you trying to talk her down? No. Just be careful. She's not going to go down without a fight."
Later, I roll up to the boss's daughter's house on the outskirts of Chicago. I'm using the boss's personal armored Cadillac escalade, because boss guessed it would evoke a response. One of gunfire. Its loud, specially tuned exhaust emits a rumble that can be heard up the road.
The desired response was realized, as gunfire erupted out the second story window, all shots on the driver's side, where I was. It's an AK47. I know how those sound. You never forget the telltale bark. Especially when you fight against people wielding them. I also knew her mag was empty. After a split second, I'm out the driver's side door, and running to the house. I force my way into the garage.
Only one car, which tells me the boss's daughter is the only one home. I hide just around the corner six feet from the kitchen door in the garage. Another hail of bullets comes right through the door, and after it's done, I know the gun is empty. I quickly breach the ruined door, switching my Thompson to semi auto as I do, and put two shots into my girlfriend, low and toward the center, barely missing her spine. She dies, but not before saying "fuck you. I'll get you next time."
Her body disappears into a shower of silver sparkly triangles and fades to nothing. Then the words "game over" appear in my vision.
I remove the nerve gear headset as I get a text ping. "It's from the group text!"
*Dear Tesseract. Fuck you, you're too accurate. I WILL get you next time. Oh, and The Boss wants to buy us lunch.*
Score. The Boss knows all the best restaurants. We're gonna have to discuss where to move our base, though.
| 2020-07-02T12:02:21
| 2020-07-02T11:49:11
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago."
|
"This definitively proves God, Roger. You can't deny it."
Stern eyes stared back at Lucilla, a mote less for the apparent youth now gazing back at her, a youthful head of curly brown hair coronating above his ears. "It does not. It proves we do not understand something about the universe, Luc. I intend to find the meaning behind this shift."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a small below-ground laboratory, a group of scientific professionals busily moved testing equipment to and from the center stage, renovating for the new experiments. Cell death was examined, and then cells were autopsied for references of previous stochastic decay. All tests came back negative; the references to prior decay were simply not there, even in individuals with particularly strained lives. Eventually, Command issued Lucilla's team the go command on performing a biopsy on a living patient, a "volunteer" from another sketchy military project. Brain tissue was extracted and analyzed, and a startling discovery was made; the tissue was in a perfect state of health, with no decay present whatsoever.
Lucilla was allowed to publish her studies, with the caveat of an NDA on research principles, and the world stood in collective shock. No animals had become young, or even a collective eighteen years of age; so many species would have died, Lucilla reflected, that this was a godsend.
Of course, after a short amount of time, systems collapsed. Banks and other financial institutions could no longer reasonably determine identity, with many individuals so distinct from their ID as to be completely invisible. Childish and somber, hopeful and idyllic, the world suddenly had a moment of completely empathy.
Roger phoned Lucilla early in the night after poring over medical journals, sipping his (now illegal) Jack and Coke.
"Hey, Lucilla?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we're in a writing prompt?"
| 2020-11-02T10:49:46
| 2020-11-02T10:09:12
| 105
| 13
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"The perfect shot," Shawn said, "leaves people breathless."
"Yes. I agree. There's something so beautiful about it," Ray replied.
They were at the bar, seated on barstools, whiskey sours in front of them. Shawn was the taller of the two and was dressed in a black tee and black jeans. Ray was more casual, he wore brighter colours -- olive shirt and khaki trousers -- and was very scrawny.
"You shoot much?" Shaun asked.
"I have my gigs."
"Turned professional? Or just side gigs?"
"Side gigs, for now."
Shawn sipped on his whiskey and said, "What shot you most proud of?"
Ray stared at his glass for a while, his eyes hazy. "The senator Dobbins. Yes, that was my best shot."
"Perfect shot?"
Ray smiled. "No. Can't be perfect. It's not something you achieve."
Shawn took a swig from his whiskey, "True, very true."
"You know, Ray. I missed one today."
"What?"
"Missed a shot," Shawn said and sighed.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The dude died. My camera was on him. The lighting was perfect. But just as my finger reached the button. Poof, he dropped dead."
Ray drank his whiskey absentmindedly. "Was it Winston?"
"Yes. How do you - You were on the same -"
"Yes, I was. I got it. I got the shot."
"Lucky bastard," Shawn said and flashed a weak smile. "You have it with you now? The shot?"
"What? No. I did it from afar," Ray said and made a finger gun. "Bam!" He finished his drink and got up.
Shawn was speechless.
"I've got it, alright. I've got it printed right here," Ray said, stabbing his forehead with his index finger.
|
"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
| 2020-11-05T05:53:26
| 2020-11-05T05:28:42
| 420
| 39
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[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
|
Name changes, for privacy reasons, but here goes.
My dear Maria,
I recall in vivid detail the conversations we once shared, about where our lives were headed, our hopes and fears, our dreams and nightmares. I never told you outright how much I love you, and that is the only thing in life I truly regret. I tried telling you one day (though I didn't do a very good job of it), and you were clear that you weren't ready for a relationship beyond just being friends at the time.
The next few months, we drifted away from one another. I watched you find someone else; those next few months, watching you looking so happy with someone else, were the hardest times I have ever gone through. The pain I went through during that time is something that I pray neither you nor anyone else has to experience. It very nearly broke me, and it is only by the grace of God that I made it through.
After we reconnected and restored our friendship, I told myself that I would respect your wishes and simply be an honest, supportive friend. For a time, I convinced myself that it would be possible to simply be your friend and keep my feelings for you contained. However, over the past few weeks, I have realized that I could more easily hold back the Amazon River with my bare hands than hold back my feelings for you.
Any time I spend with you is the high point of my week; when I go about my day, I see your beautiful face and hear your delightful laugh. I remember in vivid detail your wonderfully compassionate smile, and I count the days until I can see you again. Will I ever be able to tell you I love you? Must my feelings remain hidden forever? How I wish I could show you just what you mean to me!
I hope that someday I find the opportunity to tell you this; I realize now that as much as I value your friendship, I care about you too much to keep up this pretense of only caring about you as a friend. Someday, I will no longer be able to keep from telling you.
All my love to you,
Davin
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T21:31:39
| 27
| 19
|
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years about a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night you step into this cab.
I realize "night" might be a little too constricting so feel free to break the prompt and write about the day if your story requires it.
|
In today's world, calling for a taxi seemed stupid. With Uber and Lyft, you always had one available at the reach of your finger tips... assuming that your phone wasn't dead.
That was Mike's case tonight. After going out with a couple of work friends, and having one.. OK two too many, he decided to call it a night. However, dead phone meant no Uber... no Lyft. Even if he wanted, there was a price surge going on at 4X the rate. Taking a regular taxi was going to be cheaper.
Fuck it, thought Mike as he walked to the curb and grabbed the first cab in line.
He gave the driver his address and settled in for the long ride after verifying that the taxi driver's credit card machine was working. Last thing he needed was to get home and be told that he had to get cash, and the closest ATM from his place was a good 10 KM away, adding another 40$ to his fare.
He sat there, in the cab, his head spinning just a bit from the beers, and noticed that it wasn't one of the regular cars from the taxi fleet that served the city. It did look like it, but just a bit different. He saw a center console and opened it, to see a bottle of water and package of Ibuprofen. He asked the driver if he could take them and the driver just nodded yes. This would come in handy as he was sure to have a nice little hangover tomorrow.
As he swallowed the pills, he asked the driver if there was a place that he could charge his phone for a bit. The phone had been dead for about 4 hours. His wife knew that he was out, but it wasn't with his regular friends, but colleagues. He wasn't too worried about missing a call. Everything was fine at home. His colleagues and him had just finished a major project and they had decided to go out and celebrate a bit. Release some tension, blow some steam, and empty a bottle of Tequila. He was happy that he stuck only to beers.
The driver handed him an extra long cord for his phone through the cut holes in the Plexiglas separator, and Mike plugged it in. These new phones, they need to be plugged in for a while to have a base charge before they turned on. Thank you for the reminder, Mike thought sarcastically, when the animated picture of a charger appeared on his phone, with a battery and a lightning bolt across appeared. Stupid phone, he thought.
As Mike waited for his phone to turn on, he looked out the window to see if they were going in the right direction. Sometimes, you never knew with taxis now. Since the virtual car service industry came into the city, they had lost a lot of money. More and more stories were being reported of drivers taking their fare on a "long tour" to get to their destinations.
However, he could barely tell where he was, as the windows were really tinted. He asked the driver where they were, but the driver ignored him. Mike didn't think much of it though, and he decided to close his eyes for a bit.
As he was drifting off, Mike felt his phone vibrate in his hands. It was finally charged enough and was starting to power on. Back to civilisation, he thought. As soon as it would be on, he would text his wife to let her know he was on his way home and to not worry. He looked out the window again and could barely make out the outlines of the buildings on the street. He thought he recognized one of them and realized that the driver was not going in the right direction. It took him a bit to come to his senses, however, and as he looked to see what was the damage to his fare, he realized the driver didn't have the meter running or a meter as a matter of fact. Starting to panic, he tried to open the window, but realized that they were locked. He started tapping the window for driver to stop, but the driver was ignoring him.
Panicking even more, he quickly went to unlock his phone to call for help, but stopped in his track as he saw the messages come from his wife. The last one scared him the most:
" I NEED YOU HERE, NOW! I NEED YOUR HELP! PLEASE!!!!"
As he was going through the texts from his wife, the car started to slow down and came to a stop. Feeling this, Mike looked up and saw that the driver was turned around and looking at him, with a wry smile on his face. Before them, Mike could see the circled H all lit up. As he had just finished reading his wife's messages, he reached to open the car door, and stepped out, grabbing his bag.
As he closed the door and started to run to entrance of the building, the driver opened his window, grabbed Mike's hand and said:
"Congratulation on the baby boy. Sooner than expected, but he will be healthy and happy."
=======
Hope you enjoyed. CC welcome. I'd like to learn how to get better.
Edit: Typos
|
Long have I heard about this cab. They said that it will take you to wherever you need to be, so that destiny will play its part. Ever since I was young, I was plagued with many disturbing visions that cause me unspeakable nightmare, it was so real that I couldn't know what was dream and what is real. Because of it, I could never live like a normal teenager. I was target of bullies no matter where I go. I was the weirdo that cant distinguish the difference between my dream and reality. So I say fuck it, let take the cab. It can take me to some organs seller for all that matter, just make these neverending nightmares end. As I enter the cab, the driver spoke:
"So you want to put an end to your misery right boy?"
"Anywhere but this hellish dream. Anywhere"
"Alright, you may want to sleep for the trip would be a long one"
My eyelids close and I sleep through the entire trip without experiencing anything, the soundest sleep I ever have. As I wake up, I see that the cab had stops in front of a big mansion, the driver said:
"Here we are, the fee had been paid by that gentleman, my job here is done. Now is your turn"
I get out of the car and walk toward the men in wheelchair. He was a old, bald man. Before I could ask who he is, he spoke:
"Welcome to Xavier School for the gifted, my name is Charlea Xavier."
| 2016-08-29T06:35:42
| 2016-08-29T00:09:38
| 28
| 21
|
[WP] When we finally meet aliens they are very scared and apologetic, they kept mentioning an asteroid a couple million years ago for some reason...
|
**PHOENIX SUMMIT** *Official meeting notes*
Note - *See Ellen Gould for full attendance figures and roll call*
(Michael Y. Renham, notes)
1. Delegates from **USA**, **Japan**, **Great Britain**, Italy, France, **Russia**, Mexico, **China**, Bulgaria, Germany, Chad, and Brazil are seated. Additional delegates are linked through aud-vis screens. (**Bold** denotes nations designated as *preferential*, AKA "Overlord Nations".)
2. Delegates from Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry float into chamber; are placed in silicone steam pipes per request. Four delegates are present in the chamber. Approximately 58.5 trillion are also present via telepathic pseudo-link.
3. Roll is taken.
4. Delegate Fernandez (**USA**) makes an opening remark. Remarks include a general welcome to all delegates and a wish for fruitful negotiations.
5. Delegate Illyarovic (**Russia**) reads through the schedule of events. Invites objections from the floor. None are provided. (*Schedule was agreed upon through mediators ahead of the summit.*)
6. Delegate 3.30/54.000 of Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry offers heartfelt apology.
7. Delegate Fujiwara (**Japan**) requests clarification on apology. Cites newness of relationship with Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry as area of confusion.
8. Delegate 3.30/54.000 of Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry withdraws apology. Notes he must have "us" confused with someone else.
9. Delegate Chisholm (Sweden) requests a line reading and possible revision to Section 5 of proposed trade agreement.
10. Delegate Fujiwara requests that they return to the subject of Delegate 3.30/54.000's apology. He cites his own personal edification as reason for follow-up. Wishes to know more about the "act" in question.
11. Delegate Wright (Germany) requests that delegates not badger the Ministry representatives over small errors in communication.
12. Delegate Fujiwara cites our general lack of familiarity with the Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry as a reasonable cause to seek clarification.
13. Delegate 671.3/784.000 of Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry notes that Delegate 3.30/54.000 was mistaken and that given the size of the asteroid they released, Earth's ecological and evolutionary trajectories would have been waylaid so deeply as to reduce our highest ascendancy to little more than a blubbering, malformed idiocy, which could clearly not be the present case.
14. Delegate Fernandez requested that Delegate 671.3/784.000 repeat what he said about an asteroid.
15. The Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates spoke amongst themselves with their translators on mute.
16. Delegate 671.3/784.000 stated that he didn't know what asteroid his fellow delegate was referring to.
17. Delegate Fujiwara recited the broad points of the story laid out by Delegate 671.3/784.000; asked for further details on asteroid, including when "released", where "released", and why "released".
18. Delegate 671.3/784.000 cites presumptive time constraints for all attending delegates and suggests that the schedule be followed as written.
19. Delegate Wright asks Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates if they have ever shot our planet with an asteroid.
20. Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates defer question, citing appreciable language gaps.
21. Delegate Wright repeats question, louder.
22. Delegate 3.30/54.000 states that planets are shot with asteroids every day.
23. Delegate 671.3/784.000 reprimands Delegate 3.30/54.000 audibly.
24. Delegate Fernandez asks the Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry delegates if they have ever - knowingly or unknowingly - done irreparable harm to the Earth.
25. Delegate 3.30/54.000 states his admiration for the paint color used throughout the interior of the chamber.
25. Delegate 671.3/784.000 cites a damaged translator; requests permission to adjourn briefly so he may return to Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry ship and replace his translator.
26. Delegate Fernandez puts the summit on recess for 30 minutes.
**Summit recess**
*Note - the Bllllllllllllllo Extraterrestrial Ministry ship was seen jumping into particle-warp approximately five minutes before the Summit was scheduled to reconvene. Delegates Fernandez and Illyarovic have agreed that we'll give them 15 minutes to return. Otherwise, the remainder of the day's schedule will be cancelled. No one seems all that hopeful.*
|
Grigs pulled himself out of his bunk for another day on his galactic patrol mission. He tried his best to put himself in a positive mindset for his day but found it difficult when they all are the same. Grigs and his crew had been sweeping the milky way for what felt like eons to him and every day they scanned more planets, logged them and moved on. Untrue to the Space Academy's propaganda back on his home planet said, space exploration was very, very dull. Grigs stopped by the ship's cafe as he always did on his way to the bridge.
"Mornin' captain!" The inexplicably perky chef called out, "The usual?"
Grigs gave him as much of a smile as he could muster and nodded his head. He pulled out his Grax Phone and browsed reddit while waiting for his meal.
"Here you go captain, Phendraxian eggs, over easy, Frax hash and a coffee as usual."
Grigs thanked the chef and proceeded to his usual spot by the bay window. He plopped his phone down and began to eat while waiting for the gif on his phone to load. He hated that he got assigned to the Milky Way mainly because the reception was dreadful there. After finishing his meal he proceeded to the bridge where he took his seat in the captain’s chair. He pulled up his daily assignment.
*Oh fuck. The Sol system? Isn’t that the one that we accidentally smashed with an asteroid in the Cryx reactor accident?*
Nobody had actually surveyed the damage yet and it wasn’t something that Grigs was particularly excited about either. Nobody really wanted to acknowledge just quite how huge of an effect they may have caused in an uncharted system.
“Captain we have arrived at the Sol system!” Ensign Hark shouted.
“Very well, begin preliminary scans of the outer planets.” Grigs ordered.
A few minutes passed by and the expected red message appeared on the main display:
**NO SIGNS OF LIFE**
“Move on to the inner planets. This system doesn’t seem to have very many we might be able to get another system in today at this rate.” Grigs ordered.
About ready to order the ensign to begin plotting a course to the next system Griggs froze. Big green letters appeared on the main display.
**LIFE SIGNS DETECTED**
*Oh no. There’s life here too? What if they are super pissed about the asteroid? This ship isn’t combat equipped! What if they are more advanced than us?*
Grigs mind raced as he tried to remember the protocols he had learned so long ago in the Academy when the communications officer interrupted his thoughts.
“We have an incoming communication from the 3rd planet in the system sir.”
“Put it through” Grigs replied, his voice noticeably shaken.
“Unidentified vessel, please identify your intentions or we will take hostile measures!” a stern voice proclaimed through the speakers.
“Uh, we are here to scan your system to look for life” Grigs fumbled.
“Unidentified vessel, I repeat identify your intentions or you will be fired upon.”
“Well we, um, we are sorry. Like really really sorry. You know with the asteroid and all of that so uh I guess we are here to apologize.”
“What the hell are they talking about Bill?” came through the speakers muffled as if the speaker had turned away from the microphone, “You really think so?” a bit of ruffling came through and then at full volume again the speaker said “Do you mean to say you had a role to play in the asteroid that hit millions of years ago?”
Grigs almost laughed at this point.
*Millions of years?! Holy shit I think I may have just dodged the universes biggest bullet.*
“Oh, yeah that one. It was a long time ago but we still felt kinda bad about it.” Grigs said with a newly found level of ease in his voice. To his species the accident occurred a week ago so these creatures must have significantly shorter life spans to believe that it was millions of years ago.
“Thank you for your apology.” The voice came through the speakers, “would you be willing to come to our home world to discuss further relations between our species?”
Grigs muted his microphone and barked at his science officer “Pull up the scan information on this planet on the main display!”
**Intelligence rating: 3/10**
“Not worth our time.” Grigs said calmly, “Just plot a course for the next system.”
So they left.
Edit: punctuation. Also please forgive my formatting.
| 2016-09-23T21:05:58
| 2016-09-23T20:30:05
| 235
| 51
|
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why.
|
"Professor? You wanted to see me?"
The professor seemed to have calmed down since the student first turned in their assignment. The look of terror had gradually subsided as the class went on, though there was still a note of wariness in the professor's eyes. The professor nodded.
"Is it about the spell?" the student had expected a wide array of responses when the spell was presented, but horror wasn't one of them. Annoyed, certainly. Amused, if the student were lucky. "The thing is, I have an appointment with the hospital pretty soon and—"
"Oh, of course, then I'll make it quick. You see, I've been teaching for almost twenty years," the professor began. "And rarely, if ever, have I met a student with outright malicious intentions. So I'm assuming that your spell erasing any red ink on a piece of paper is more a prank than anything else. Am I correct?"
The student shrugged halfheartedly, hoping it didn't come across as too arrogant. "You have to admit, it's funny."
"Grading! You know it's the bane of my existence." The professor, only half-exasperated. "You're lucky I know how to take a joke. Professor Kinely would make you redo this assignment."
The student smiled innocently. "But you won't?" the student asked, almost teasingly.
"No, I won't. But that's not what I really wanted to talk about. You recall, early in our lessons, we talked about subjective descriptors when it comes to command spells."
The student nodded.
"Well, this is where color comes in. You see, red is not something which can be objectively defined. It depends on who is seeing it. So your spell can be interpreted many different ways. So it can either cause someone to stop seeing red, or it can cause all ink to be erased entirely. It's unknown until the spell is tested."
The student froze. "Oh, uh, I think I might know which it is."
A disapproving look settled in the professor's eyes. "Is your appointment with an optometrist?"
"...Yes."
"Well, that's one mystery solved." The professor turned back to her computer. "You're dismissed."
|
I got it online, the spell, a sequence of logographic runes that looked complicated enough, with a few logograms I recognized as conjunctions, so there were at least a few clauses, but not so complicated that my professor would suspect I'd stolen it. From my stolen peeks at other student's scrolls, it was of similar length and grammatical structure to everyone else's spells, but where he glanced at the other's scrolls and waved them away, he asked me to stand in front of his desk while he read mine.
He squinted at my scroll through the lower half of his bifocals and shook his head to refocus a few times before it finally signified. His posture decayed, his shoulders relaxing and rolling in, his upper back bending forward into a slouch, his whole body leaning into his chair's armrests. When the chair started to spin, he tried to stabilize himself with the desk, but his grip was weak. The rest of the class had by then quieted and were staring at our professor splayed out on the floor with the shoulders of his suit coat almost swallowing his head. Because others stood and walked closer, I had an opportunity to recede to the crowd's rear. I did not know if anyone noticed that it was my spell he read.
Someone else, not me, because I didn't do anything and just tried to be small and unnoticeable, fetched Professor Greeves. She herded us into the corner of the room and paced toward the face-down scroll, right next to the body. Through thick purple-tinted glasses, she read the spell and muttered under her breath about the gods and may they have mercy on someone. She asked all of us, "Who turned it in?"
I looked around at every face. All of them faced forward; I was the only one looking around. No one said anything, and I was grateful.
She began to call out numbers. At the top of the scroll I handed in, I wrote the number 24, as in student number 24. As she counted and the students identified themselves, I realized there was no way out. Professor Reeves knew better than to ask for 24. By asking for everyone else, she was going to surround me, and when I was surrounded they would seize me, and when I was seized they would take me, and where they would take me...
I hopped on a desk and leapt across the room for her purple glasses. I ripped them off her face and turned the scroll toward her. I held her eyelids open so she had to read it. She became limp.
There were the other students to take care of. I could not understand the spell as written, which may be why I was immune to it, but I could pronounce the symbols. I inhaled from my diaphragm and pushed out from it, delivering a full-throated incantation into the room, flooding it with the spell. But only half of the class, the better students, fell to the ground. The others remained. The younger boy with braces fixed his eyes on me as he paced, stepping carefully over the bodies of our classmates, toward the fire alarm, then pulled it.
When security arrived, our professor grumbled to them. He struggled himself up from the floor, surveyed the room, and started massaging his temples. It was not, as I feared, a murder spell. Just a knockout one. They expelled me anyway, obviously.
| 2021-04-02T00:45:54
| 2021-04-01T19:01:18
| 176
| 132
|
[WP] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed, but what she doesn't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents. You are that monster.
Thanks for the huge amount of responses! Loving most all of them, thank you! Sorry it was a bit simplistic though.
|
It's a little different, being the good guy, when all you get is flack for scaring a few kids here and there. I mean sure, it's weird that I live under a bed, under a kid's bed no less, but a gal needs a home just like everyone else. Scaring those kids was an accident anyway. I don't like living under kids that are constantly whining and crying.
It started out easy enough. Cute little girl, around 6 or 7 years old, likes the color pink and horses. Can't get more average than that. It didn't take long though to see that she was living in a hell that even us monsters wouldn't wish on our enemies, the night lights. Poor girl had parents that twisted her and beat her, made her feel worthless. At first it didn't seem too bad. Her dad grabbed her arm and she instantly started crying. I thought she was a wimp. Turns out he had broken her arm a couple nights before I got there and hadn't taken her to the hospital. Then I heard how the mom talked to her. Calling her worthless, saying she should have never been born. Poor kid.
As a general rule, we aren't supposed to meddle in human affairs. It's not written down anywhere that we can't but it is very highly frowned upon. Some monsters try helping and it just drives the kids crazy. Adults can't see us so no one believes them. It's a little sad if you ask me. They're telling the truth but no one listens to them. If they get ignored for long enough you get kids like Lizzie Borden, who never grow up no matter how old they get, and throw tantrums on a epic scale. Mike never did hear the end of that and we still tease him from time to time. He feels terrible about it but I have a feeling that girl wasn't all there in the first place. Could have happened to any of us. After thinking about Mike and Lizzie, and what happened to them I knew what I had to do. I made a conscious decision that not only would I help this girl, whose name I never learned, but I would not let her go insane.
Taking a few points of inspiration from my favorite monster James, I started small. A soft but menacing growl any time one of them came into her room. This room was now her haven and they were not allowed. Her parents never questioned the growling. Too stupid for that. So it came to pass that after a few weeks the girl would spend most of her time in her room, where her parents couldn't get her. You could tell she was afraid - her breath came in short pants as she convinced herself to sleep every night. As afraid as she was I think she felt better taking her chances with me instead of out in the house with her parents.
Things were going well for a few months until her father guzzled down a bottle of something brown and strong. He slammed into her room with the grace of a ballerina sans feet. He started throwing her things and knocking over her furniture while screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn't hear me growling over the sound of the girl's frightened tears. He was screaming about a dog and that he knew she had one. I guess they were smarter than I gave them credit for. She had no idea what he meant was screaming that there was no dog, only a monster under her bed. He was face to face with me as he looked under her bed but he didn't see me. He couldn't. I wish I had stopped him then while the time was right. Instead I watched, too slow to get to her, too slow to stop him, as he picked her up and threw her into the hallway. Her poor neck snapped when she hit the wall and her body flopped to the floor, sad and broken and dead.
I'll never forgive myself for letting him do it but I didn't let him get away with it. I lumbered out as fast as my claws would let me and sliced him thinner than deli ham. It was hard; he was drunk enough to kill his daughter in a paranoia fulled rage but not so drunk that he couldn't move. He tripped over her fallen desk and I descended upon him like a dog on a bone. I ripped and tore through meat and tendon until he stopped screaming, stopped breathing. I didn't stay long after I was done. I don't know if the cops came or what happened to the mother. I took the girl down the street to a small park. I buried her under a tree there and didn't mark the grave. It was late, so I wasn't seen. I'll never forget her or what she had to go through. I also promised myself that if I ever moved to the room of a kid that's abused, it ends the first night. Mike and James have my back and have offered me some room under their beds. I'll stay with them until I find a bed of my own. I'll never forget her.
|
"It's scary though"
"Don't worry. If you don't believe in monsters they die"
I seethe, sharply drawing my breath as her father turns to leave. I shift as familiar weight settles upon my back. I can feel the sharpness of the words, digging into me. Gradually she begins to drift away. From downstairs I can hear the beginnings of an argument, but she cannot. Soon though, maybe. I sit, wishing for it to stop...You'll hurt her, what are you doing, don't you care? They're getting louder now, just below the threshold of her hearing. I move, sharply scratching along the floorboards. I feel her jerk up, looking around. Alert. Not too alert, I hope. I hook a claw around the wire that runs up beside her, and pull. The lamp falls and she screams.
The argument below ceases briefly, hesitating the half-second it takes to re-arrange itself around the new topic.
"I was just up there five minutes ago"
"Oh, typical, you do something once and that cancels out the fact that every. other. time, it's me?"
"Oh, of course, aren't you just the perfect martyr?"
"What, because it has to be perfectly equal, because you wouldn't want to do more than..."
"More than what?"
"Forget it"
"More than what? Tell me"
"...Just don't"
He is still shouting as she makes her way upstairs.
"What is it honey?...What have you done to your lamp?"
"The monster -"
"What have I told you about the monster dear?"
There is a pause.
She speaks quietly, and I'm not sure who it is she's worried about offending.
"He doesn't exist"
The bed creaks as I buckle.
"There's a good girl."
She pauses.
"I'm sorry about the lamp mom, I - "
"It's ok honey. Try and get some sleep". She raises half a smile.
"Night mom"
"Night honey"
It could have been worse. Soon I can feel myself fading out of consciousness as the girl falls asleep. My bones ache, and darkness begins to encraoch upon me more quickly than it ever has before. I tell myself that soon, soon I must remind her, but... The girl above me sleeps soundly. With each passing night she becomes more courageous. Really, I ought to be proud -- someone ought to be -- but it is not so easy. With each passing night I find myself only more afraid.
| 2014-05-14T14:09:03
| 2014-05-14T13:08:42
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees.
|
They breathed with us. They drank with us. The same air, the same water. We survived. They didn't. Green covers the planet, birds sing their songs, bees make their honey, and the wind spreads the dandelions. The skies are bluer than ever, and the smell of artificial poisons are no more. The pain they caused allowed us to learn, grow, practically cover the planet in beauty.
Even the soulless dunes of sand have begun breathing freely and relax. From the falling snow to the crashing wave of tsunamis the silence is real. Crashing waves and thunder are a part of the natural quiet.
Sometimes we miss them, their curiosity, the feelings we gave them. If only they loved themselves.
We miss them.
|
They said that the future was suppose to be bright and silver, a world where people would know peace. Flying cars, no wars, people living deep into their 100's. A world without borders, a time of space exploration, a time where humanity will reach its potential and then surpass it in spades.
Thats what the elders said, before the Green.
I slowly look outside, the sea of endless green under a early morning's dawn. The ruins of the tower I live in was once one of many that showed the power and greed of humanity. I have seen pictures of these towers being taller, larger then the one I am in now. But they are all gone now, only those with trees supporting its old stone walls remain.
The elders tell us that the world changed after the Third World War. Where humans fought with dark practices, trying to gain an advantage over one another. Some nations turned to bigger guns when their bullets needed a bigger kick. Others turned for armor, to protect from the endless steel rain. But one country turned to fantasy and religion, seeking out a call for a hero to create; their own personal gods.
Elder K, as she refers to herself, was one such seeker. She was given to us by the Green, after she sought mercy for her sins. She will not tell us what she did, but honestly, I am afraid to ask. For her sins, her arms and legs were taken, so that she could not flee. Her eyes were taken, so that she would be denied the beauty of the world she destroyed. But she was given a seed, implanted in her heart, to ensure she will live forever, to tell us young ones the lessons that we must know. Our history we must repent.
For from the small forgotten country arose three Heroes; The first was Torg, the Terror. From his hands came flames, from his breath a frosted death. Everything he touched, died. He was in constant pain, a side effect of his own power. Relief was only given in his quest of destruction, toppling great armies, drowning cities in flames, and laughing over the cries of the dead and dying. When the Green arosed, he fought for 30 days and 30 nights, until his was silenced. The Green keeps him alive, but in a deep slumber.
The second was Apex, the Animal. They were given the blood of every animal, of every species and family, and from their blood they could alter themselves, and any that they touched were changed as well. Apex tried to convert humanity, trying to save it from its self by changing it into a peaceful mixed species. But the world did not see a change of peace; they saw monsters, and struck back. By the time the Green arrived, Apex had taken their followers to a new world, one where the Green leaves them be.
Finally, the third, the one we now obey; The Green. She gave up Her name, for She no longer needs it. She never speaks, for She finds it meaningless to talk. From Her feet sprouts endless roots and vines, securing Her at the Heart of the Endless Forest. Every plant is connected to Her, they are Her eyes, Her ears, Her flesh and Her mind. For every broken twig, She feels as real as a broken finger. For every ember that burns, She too burns. But despite the pain, She broke free of the little garden She was born in, and found a world begging for help, begging to be saved from its dreaded infection.
And thus the Green saved the world from humanity.
My tribe is one of the last few human remnants, the ones who made a quiet peace with the Green. We are only permitted to live by the fruits and harvest that the Green trees provides. And for Her mercy, we protect Her and Her trees from those who seek vengeance, from those that believe in the old future. I pity them, for they seek a future of blood red and dull silver.
I smile. Such a wasted dream of boring colors. I think I prefer the future of Green.
| 2022-08-27T07:31:55
| 2022-08-27T06:16:04
| 91
| 60
|
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow
|
The surgery was happening tomorrow. I fell into the correct blood group and can help these people. The doctors said it was a miracle they found me but im just glad to be helping out.
The doctor has arrived but he looks concerned. I ask him whats wrong but he turns away. His voice is low and shaking "we made a mistake"
"What do you mean!" I was afraid, I thought I could help.
"The blood! Your blood! We made a mistake!" The doctor slams his fist down on the desk, he cant hold back his tears.
I remain silent, and wait for an explanation.
"We thought you had type-A blood, but it was a type-O"
|
My friends ask me why I did it, and while I had no straight forward answer to give them, I always tell them "If I don't do it, who will? Who will pave the path ahead of us if not me? Someone has to take the risk and go where no one has gone before."
I did it! I've finally done it.
Three days I've spent without food, water, or sleep, constantly vigilante and watching my back for I know not where the next blow will come from.
Giant creatures soared past me, screaming as they do so, terrifying.
I spent the last day crawling across the tarmac, as my legs no longer had the strength to hold me up.
Over the last 3 days I have almost died nearly 20 times, truly a miracle that I am still alive and that I finally reached my destination.
I've lost one of my limbs and my body is covered in dirt and blood, but once again I am alive, and I made it.
**I AM, the chicken, that crossed the fucking road!**
________________________________________________________________________________________________
EDIT: May not have been what you really wanted for this prompt, but I tried good sir, I tried.
| 2015-01-13T10:55:59
| 2015-01-13T09:52:04
| 89
| 21
|
[WP] "I can't believe it! You played us like a fiddle!" "Oh please. Fiddles are actually hard to play. I played you like the kazoos you are."
|
"The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried."
It's an important concept, but it hides an even more important point within it.
It is possible (and, in fact, both common and easy) to have made as many mistakes as any grandmaster, and still be an incompetent fool. Willingness to fail is one part of finding success. The other, much harder part, is *learning to fail in a different way each time*.
It's hard. It's frustrating. You take stock of everything, consider the problem before you, tweak and adjust and throw out the parts of your approach that you love, but which are holding you back...and then you fall flat on your face again.
It stings.
There are many who look at the whole process and simply decide not to bother. You can muddle along well enough without ever bothering to really learn anything, if you start from a comfortable-enough position in life. Brute force can overcome when clever tactics fail, its true.
But brute force *combined* with clever tactics works best of all.
In truth, the ten thousand failures you pass on the way to mastery are inevitable. You will meet them, like it or not. Nothing whatsoever you can do about them. What is *not* inevitable is the choice to learn from them, to take vital lessons from each one, to hone and refine your skills, again and again and again and again.
In this way you achieve mastery.
But that takes effort, and causes pain, and it is *so much easier* to just...go along. To try a few things, find something that works, and stick to a narrow rut, never challenging yourself, never growing beyond the techniques you stumbled upon so early in the learning process.
You can live a comfortable life that way.
But it *does* mean that if you ever come face to face with someone who challenged themselves- who tried and failed and *learned*, and then tried again- you tend to get your ass whooped.
Observation is an important part of learning. You watch, and think, and come to understand. You work to see the world as it *is*, not as you wish, want, or expect it to be. Observation is a skill any master will wield quite effectively- how can you learn and grow, if you cannot see the true results of your attempts?
So if you have only a few ways of doing things, only a few basic approaches to the problems you face, then any master can read you like a book. And not a complicated book, either. A kids book, with pictures.
*Big* pictures.
To someone used to reading molecular physics textbooks in Finnish haiku as they flash for a moment on the surface of a lake in a storm, there's really no challenge at all. Notice, plan, act, and the hardest part is reminding yourself that not everyone is trained to your standards, and relegating the part of your brain that insists on a more involved approach to needless vigilance.
Six humans might fight a giant, and be crushed. Six novices might attack a martial artist and not even see the blow that puts them out of the fight.
Six people used to doing nothing unusual, learning nothing in their lives, might lose anything at all to someone with talent and mastery, and not even notice that they have lost.
To play someone like a fiddle is a remark on the skill of the player.
To play someone like a kazoo is a remark on the simplicity of instrument.
So when you feel yourself flinch away from uncomfortable truths, remember to ask yourself what sort of instrument you want to be.
|
The hostage was bound and gagged in the back of the prisoner transport. Two armored escorts rode in the front, each armed to the gills with various accoutrements of killing.
With each turn, each slow stop and acceleration, the hostage took note. He knew the city like the back of his hand, after all, despite having spent less than a full weekend there. He was *gifted,* some liked to say. Maybe that's the right word. In his mind, however, he liked to think of it as *motivated.*
A paperclip fell from his sleeve and into the palm of his hand. He straightened the aluminum wire and pressed it into his cuffs, depressing the pins and snapping open the restraints.
The hostage removed his blindfold and gag and felt the floor. There should be three consecutive bumps now, since they had just entered a school zone.
*bump*
He pressed the edge of the handcuffs into the door's gap.
*bump*
He applied leverage, careful not to snap the restraint before he could manually unhatch the door.
*bump*
The door nearly threw open, slamming against the sides of the van and alerting the guard, but he caught it in time.
Now it was a waiting game, the tables turning slowly on his captor. He would come out on top, catch them with their pants down.
The brakes of the van squealed as it slowed to halt. They were... By some kind of church, the hostage thought.
One guard, with a shotgun strapped across his chest, threw the door open to see the hostage standing tall before him.
"What the..."
Behind the first guard was the second, his pistol raised... To the back of the first guard's head.
"I think a change of staffing is in order," the former hostage announced.
The guard with the pistol pulled his trigger.
*click*
The chamber was empty.
Without looking, the first guard turned his shotgun around and fired, knocking his parter into two pieces across the churchyard.
"I don't know, Simon," the guard answered, returning his gun to his front. "I think I might make employee of the month."
Simon looked wide eyed at his co-conspirator, now a pair of bloody lumps. A statue of the virgin Mary seemed to gaze down on his torso.
The guard took off his helmet. It was *her.*
"No... I... No, I watched you die! I killed you!" Simon's voice was shrill, his eyes becoming red with rage.
"What can I say? A minor in performing arts plus 14 years Special Operations training..." She shrugged. "I can make anyone believe anything."
Simon's legs shook, and he slumped down into the cold metal seat where he'd been placed less than an hour before.
She stepped up and sat across from him.
"You played us like a fiddle..." his voice was as wispy as was paper. He was defeated. Small.
She laughed wickedly. "Oh please. Fiddles are actually hard to play. I played you like the kazoos you are."
If he heard her, it didn't seem to register. She loaded two shells into her gun.
"Any last words?"
"Tell my--"
*Boom*
| 2022-09-12T20:49:50
| 2022-09-12T19:37:56
| 304
| 102
|
[WP] The entire Star Wars series, all 7 movies, are released as one book, written by Dr. Seuss.
|
One war, two war
Red war, blue war
I see rebels
I see ravels
Rebels rabble, rebels ravel
Spaceships striking
Striking, liking
Do you see rebel spaceships striking?
A base, a vase, a hidden case
The rebels have a hidden base
The rebels have a noble case
They win within their noble base
Now say this quickly here with me:
Galactic guys go grey and grow
Galactic guys by good are gone
Gone are Galactic guys grown great
Gone do Galactic greats grow grey
The rebels steal, the rebels steel
The rebels steal with their steel
The rebels steal steel steeples
The rebels spy and steal steel
The rebels steal plans and parts
The rebels steal thoughts and hearts
The rebels think and plan and part
The Empire's plans the rebels thwart
The star is deadly,
The star is deathly
The star is deftly deathly deadly
The star is death and deadly and destructive
And can destroy the dunes on planet
Doomed with dunes and death
And deftly doom the dunes to death
The princess runs
The princess races
The Empire runs
The Empire races
The empire races the princess who runs
The princess runs the Empire's races
The boy gives freedom,
The boy gives force
The boy gives force and freedom force
The boy forces freedom with the force
To defeat the Empire with the force
---
Thanks for reading! For more, check out and subscribe to /r/Celsius232
|
**Episode 1**
The jedi master Qui Gon Jin
And his student Obi Wan
were caught up in a dastardly trap
but when sprung, they were gone!
----
They snuck onto a ship
and went down to Naboo
Where they met Jar Jar Binks,
Queen Padme, and even Artoo!
----
"to the desert planet Tattoine,"
did Qui Gon Jin then call.
There they found little Anakin
But also cruel Darth Maul.
---
Next they flew to Coruscant
To see what the Senate could do
And the Jedi rejected Anakin
'cause trouble he would brew.
----
They returned to face the Nemoidians
And went to find Gunray
Darth Maul was waiting for them, though
And poor Qui Gon did he slay.
--------
Anakin soared through space above
And into the Federation cruiser.
He accidentally blew it up
Making them the war's loser.
--------
With his final dying breath
Qui Gon pleaded with Obi Wan
"Take on poor orphaned Anakin
As your new Padawan."
| 2016-05-16T07:23:54
| 2016-05-16T06:29:01
| 799
| 71
|
[WP]The world has decided to designate various selfsustaining cities as "time capsule"-like zones where no contact is to be made in any form. These zones are to be isolated completely for anywhere between 25-100 years. It's been 100 years and the restrictions have finally been lifted from your city.
|
Kansas City, Missouri, USA was an ideal city to represent the American Midwestern Region in The Global Preservation. Many factors went into deciding to lock ourselves away for 30 years. Kansas City has its own culture, and is still true to the ideals of middle-America. Its growing arts and academia, combined with the general non-violence of the population, its sustainability, and its central location made it the best choice for preservation.
In 2015, the Kansas City Metropolitan Cultural Preservation Area was established. It took a few years to get everything sorted out, and it was all very civil. Any citizens who lived in the area that would be the KCPA that did not wish to participate were relocated to St. Louis, Missouri, Denver, Colorado, or Des Moines, Iowa, at the expense of the American branch of The Global Preservation Fund. Before the migration, the Kansas City Metropolitan area had a population of approximately 2 million. Many people opted out, and many former residents of Kansas City opted in, and moved back to the area. After it was all said and done, the area had 1.2 million residents.
I was 23 when KCPA was finalized and our roads were cut off. At first, it was more difficult than we had anticipated. I had friends in other parts of the country, and friends who had opted out of KCPA, who I knew I wouldn't see for at least 30 years. My parents would be in their 80's when KCPA opened back up. I would be 53. All of my dreams of travelling the world and being young would be dashed. But I wanted to see my hometown grow in its own culture.
In 2045, we opened back up to the rest of the world. There was a massive parade. World leaders, scientists, important Kansas Citians, former Kansas City athletes and all of KCPA was in attendance. It was the celebration of a lifetime, with no riots, no fires, no arrests- true Kansas City style. The streets were filled with the smell of barbecue, cups were filled with craft beers. It took a while for residents to adjust to the new technological developments, but we embraced them. We contacted our family and friends. We got our sports teams back up and running. We were ripe for another World Series win.
There was no mass-apocalypse, and the world outside of KCPA was no more dystopic than the world we had left. We expected Kansas City to be revered by the scientific and global communities for our ability to remain peaceful and prosperous through our isolation. We expected recognition for all of our hard work. Instead, we got a Cover for the New York Times that read "Kansans Remain Peaceful for 30 Years"
|
It's drizzling. I take a whiff of the city air. I can smell the freshness that comes with the artificial rain, mixed with the enticing odours of street food. There's stands all over, selling not only edibles but a variety of party gear. Tonight, everyone is out on the streets, celebrating.
I look up at the dome. The familiar big, red numbers counting down are in the final ten seconds of their run. I shout along:
"Three! Two! One!"
The crowd roars with excitement as the countdown reaches zero. Fireworks go off, little paper explosions pop all around. We all cheer as the wondrous barrier that sealed us off from the world fades away, revealing the ellusive night "sky".
Me and my friends, we are in our mid-twenties. We were born inside the dome. We know, of course, what the sky looks like - but we'd never really seen it until now. It's pitch black, softly illuminated by the glow of the city lights. I am not at all disappointed: simply knowing that I am staring down the vastness of our cosmos is enough to set my mind into overdrive.
I grab the car-keys in my pocket. I rush to where I parked - right near the edge of the city limits, in a secluded, forgotten little road. I'm going to miss the welcoming, but I don't care. I've lived my entire life in a cage. I'm finally free.
I drive. It's dark and there are no lights, but I can feel the fresh air coming through the rolled-down windows. *Actual* fresh air. Not some recycled oxygen coming through a vent. The trees are my vents now.
There should be a small town about 20 minutes down the road. I'm going to go there, rush into a cafe and talk to the first person I see. I have so many questions. They'll be excited to see me as well, I bet.
I turn on my radio. What does the outside sound like? Static. I try seeking. I catch something - but it must be distorted. It sounds like a rock song trying to find itself out of some heavy and violent electronic noise. Hey, maybe radio's changed in the past century. I turn it off.
I thoroughly enjoy the rest of the trip. There are no other cars in the road. I start feeling a little lonely, but the excitement keeps me from feeling down.
There's a car motor in the distance. *A person from the outside*, I think to myself. *A person from the real world.*
Suddenly, something hits my car from the side. It overturns and rolls out of the road. I shuffle violently on the inside, hitting my head all over the place. *This is it*, I think to myself. *This is how I die. Just before the most brilliant moment of my life, I will be snuffed out by a reckless driver.*
But I'm very much alive. I think I've broken an arm, though. I crawl out of my totaled vehicle. There are two bright lights shining on me from up high. God, are cars really this tall now? I turn to them and shout:
"Hey mate. Are you all right?"
The only response is some loud engine roaring. I put my hand over my head and squint. I think I can hear some people laughing.
I can now make out the shape of the vehicle. It looks like a monster truck - a jeep frame perched on gigantic, tracked tires. There's a structure coming out at its top. It looks like a metal frame... some sort of crane. And its carrying a big chunk of something on the side.
I realize that the big chunk is coming at me just a little too late. A heavy piece of rusted metal hurls itself weightily on my injured frame. I can feel my body being controrted and broken before I violently hit the ground on my back, my vision blurry and my head spinning wildly.
Some figures gather around me. I look up at them as best I can.
They are a group of young people. They have wild hair, some shaved, some spiked, all colourful. They wear leather rags that are patched up all over. As they gather closer I notice that many of them are disfigured, either having distorted faces, missing limbs or jarringly misplaced joints.
One of them leans down and I can see his face clearly. It looks like it's been pierced wherever possible with jewelry as well as some actual nails. One nail, in fact, is pierced right through his eye. It moves with his gaze.
"Heeeey!" he shrieks in a high-pitched voice. "Heeeeeeey!"
He turns to the others. "This little piggie thought he'd be getting away, man!"
He turns back to me with an expression I can only describe as manic. "Too bad for you, little piggie!" He steps down on my arm with metal boot heels.
"Welcome to the real world."
| 2015-11-04T17:02:58
| 2015-11-04T14:49:54
| 44
| 26
|
[WP] Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police".
|
I dropped my fork when I understood his words.
My father paused, making eye contact with me.
My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual.
I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on *his* part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me.
My father had never been very religious.
After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think.
"You want me to go *now*?" I asked him.
"What's that, dear?" said my mom.
"Well, Dad just-"
My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head.
"N-nothing," I said, continuing to eat my meal.
I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed.
Was someone listening to us?
No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too?
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school.
That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble.
"Well if it ain't Mike's kid!" he said, "Come on in!"
I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying:
"Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad."
"Of course, anything. How's he doing?"
"He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?"
Detective Harris grew serious.
I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise.
Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?"
"Y-yeah."
Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?"
"Not really. You know how he is. "
Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't." He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense."
"Cult of Silent Pleas?"
"Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent."
"You can't possibly think that he's..."
"It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed."
"This is nuts!"
"And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning."
"But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?"
"It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement."
I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back.
"Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?"
"Of course!"
"Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more."
I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed:
"*I spoke to Harris.*"
Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "*What did he say?*" he signed. "*Does he believe me now?*"
"*Yeah, he said he's on it.*"
Dad looked thrilled by that.
"*Is it true?*" I signed. "*Are you cursed?*"
Dad hesitated, then signed:
"*Yes.*"
I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism.
"*Dad,*" I signed, "*What is that cult?*"
Dad grew pale. "*You're not supposed to know.*"
"*What? Why?*"
"*Too dangerous.*"
"*And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!*"
"No!" he cried out loud. "You can't!"
We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened.
Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-"
He burst into flames right before my eyes.
I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
Emily waited until she and her father were alone. Then, she messaged him in sign language: "Dad, do you want me to call the police?"
Daniel stared at his daughter in shock and then began frantically signing to his daughter as his hands shook: "Emily, you need to contact the police. Your mom is completely fucking batshit crazy. She found out that I was flirting with the next door neighbor and then, she smashed her head in with a baseball bat right in front of me. And then, when I started screaming and tried to get away, she knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, she told me that she had implanted a bomb inside my body and that she would detonate it if I spoke to anyone ever again or left the house without her." He lifted up his shirt and Emily's eyes widened as she saw the massive scar on her father's chest. "I can feel it inside of me. Sometimes, I think I can even hear it ticking. For God's sake, Emily, you need to get out of here and get help or we are all going to die here."
Emily stared at her father for a few moments as her mind desperately tried to come to terms with the insanity she had just heard. Finally though, she nodded. "You can count on me, dad," she signed to him. "I'll leave the house and go straight to the police station."
Daniel felt a wave of fear and relief roll through him as he watched his daughter leave from the window. Finally, this long nightmare was about to come to an end.
"So, you broke your promise to be loyal to me yet again?" a voice whispered from behind him. "You know what happens next."
Daniel froze as a strangled sound came from his throat. He turned around to see his psychotic wife glaring at him as she held the detonator in her hand. "Amelia...please...I don't want to die," he stuttered in terror.
"Neither do I," Amelia replied as she casually stroked Daniel's trembling face. "It's sad that neither of us will ever see Emily grow up. But at least this way, the two of us can be together forever." And with those last words spoken, she pressed down on the detonator.
| 2022-07-21T09:34:34
| 2022-07-21T09:34:00
| 1,529
| 146
|
[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.
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-15T23:14:08
| 427
| 98
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
|
"How fucking hard is it!" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly!
In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach's opinion of her mistake. What a fool.
Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said "it happened again, Soy this time, if I don't make it I want you to know, I love you."
The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.
...
I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it.
My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. "Let me make it up to you" she said, "let me take you out to dinner some time".
| 2015-01-15T06:47:14
| 2015-01-15T04:24:30
| 1,156
| 94
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I will not do it on a train
I will not do it on a plane
I will not do it in a house
I will not use a single mouse
I will not dangle from a cord
I will not shift a single board
I will not puddle on the floor
I will not seal a single door
I will not leave a single note
I will not hint in things I wrote
I will not leave a mess for a friend
I will not let them see this end
I will not leave them asking why
I will not let them have their try
I will not be grinning ear from ear
I will do nothing more than disappear
|
I can not take this, no way man;
I can not take this, not a fan
of days so doomy filled with spite;
of days so gloomy; no respite
I loved the days spent with you all
I loved the days before my fall;
please don't be down or start to cry
for now I'm free, my turn to fly!
| 2015-01-17T11:47:28
| 2015-01-17T09:43:08
| 42
| 13
|
[WP] Humanity has finally achieved FTL travel. They can now explore the universe and find other alien species, sapient or otherwise. To the consternation of Man, it turns out they’re all crabs. As a matter of fact, the interstellar community is quite disturbed we are not crabs.
|
*This post has been translated from Crustaceanese to English.*
"What the hell happened to its claws?", the Crab President inquired to his foremost interstellar species expert as he gazed upon the giant screen displaying a human male.
"They don't seem to have them, sir. I believe what they have instead are referred to as 'fingers'.", she responds.
"I see. So it fings with those things?"
"That's correct, sir."
"And just what does it mean to 'fing'?"
"You don't want to know, sir."
"I see. And why does this, what's it called again?"
"Human, sir."
"Right, human. Why does this human only have two legs? Was it mutilated by Space Seals?"
"Negative, sir. That's just how they walk."
"Walk?"
"It's like scuttling, sir. But forward."
"They scuttle forward?!"
"That's correct, sir."
"Astonishing! And this human here is mid-molt?"
"No, sir. Humans do not molt."
"Then where is its carapace? Where is its shell?"
"Inside, sir."
"Inside?! That's ludicrous! That offers you no protection whatsoever! Even a pointed wooden stick could damage you!"
"That's correct, sir. Humans are, in their own terms, quite 'squishy'."
"Is that why they wear that wiry helmet on their heads?"
"That's called 'hair', sir. We believe it is only used for status and mating purposes."
"Fascinating! And these squishy apes are the dominant species on their planet?"
"Correct, sir."
"But we seeded life in the galaxy with crabs. Are you trying to tell me there are no crabs on this planet?"
"Brace yourself, sir."
"For what?"
The display screen begins playing a movie of humans feasting on crabs. The sounds of their cracking exoskeletons reverberate throughout the room that's now been stunned into silence. Closeups of the humans as they devour the crab's meaty interiors produce gasps of horror. Food rolls down their bibs as they continue to shove more than can fit into their ravenous mouths.
The President's claws being to clack in fervor.
"Prepare the warships!"
|
Captain Hawthorne and his four crew members followed the Kilitonian (blue, short crab) through the various halls of the Galactic Capitol. He had to crouch a little bit, but not too much. He felt the eyes of the other species on them as they passed.
A Mynian (yellow, slender crab) shied away as they passed its store. An Igman (tall, purple-ish green crab) gave them a glance in passing, but continued on its way unperturbed.
The Kilitonian suddenly brought Captain Hawthorne back to reality by clapping his claws seven times with varying speeds. "Elevator." Hawthorne had learned pretty quickly to understand Galactic common speak. It was the equivalent to Morse code back on Earth.
They entered the elevator, which was able to hold all of them easily (crabs were wide and needed room).
They waited in silence as the elevator went higher and higher. Unfortunately , there were no windows to look out of. So the awkward silence went on. Then, a click and the doors opened into a beautifully enormous hall. Though the architecture was admirable and the designs wonderful, Hawthorne and his crew were simply pleased they did not need to bend over in this hall.
They were walking to the front of the room, to meet the Council, the designated leaders of the Galaxy, so as to formally introduce themselves as Humans.
The Kilitonian lead them to the front where there was a massive river flowing through the room, separating them from the other side, on which five crabs of varying length, height, color, eye shape, and claw size were standing.
Hawthorne and his men stood awkwardly. The Kilitonian then clacked his claws and motioned them forward. Hawthorne realized that what he thought was a small staircase was actually a podium.
Hawthorne walked forward and looked at the Council of Crabs. One of the councilpeople, the Bikinian, looked just like a small Mr. Krabs from Spongebob Squarepants.
They were staring at each other for some time, but no one clicked or clacked, so Hawthorne believed he was supposed to start first.
He raised his hands and clapped twice, "Hello."
The Five Councilpeople gave each other a glance, then all began rapidly clicking and clacking claws at once. They were clacking over each other and Hawthorne could not make out a single word. He stared and it appears as though his look of bewilderment translated easily to crab. The Council saw him and stopped.
He simply stood again and was about to clap when a massive horn went off through the Capitol. The council all backed away from their posts and down a side hallway on their side of the river.
Hawthorne turned to the Kilitonian and clapped his hands, "What's happening?"
The Kilitonian clacked his tiny, blue pincers quickly, "break time for the song of our people. They will return to speak to you after."
Hawthorne stood, bewildered, but accepting of the situation. He clapped his hands toward the Kilitonian again, "do we just wait here?"
"Yes" the Kilitonian clacked in response. "I will do my dance here, to show you in case you were wondering."
Hawthorne nodded his head to show understanding. And so they stood waiting. Then, a bell chimed and they heard music starting, and the Kilitonian began to [prepare to dance.](https://youtu.be/LDU_Txk06tM)
Hawthorne was too busy thinking about what to say when the council returned that he didn't really focus on the wild dance.
He just hoped Humanity would be able to fit in.
| 2021-08-05T06:43:16
| 2021-08-05T06:05:05
| 1,041
| 211
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
The voice was sharp. “What in Hel’s name are you doing in MY KITCHEN?”
The scullions knew that tone and scrambled away from the cook before moving away from the lightly armored men who had chased the Prince of the Realm through the servants’ door. It had already been a day of trying to not have that voice turned towards the staff as preparations for the welcoming feast for the emissary was underway. The men who bared weapons in the royal kitchens now had all of her attention.
Her attention. The cook who had fought her way up the ranks over the years, now the lead in the kitchen for the royal presence after retiring from one service into another. Every day was a battle, but she had not had one come to her this directly for years.
The Prince, half-dressed in the finery that was supposed to be on him for the reception of the foreign group, skittered and fell on his ass in front of the cook. “They! They!” was all he could get out. There was a glance down to him from the cook and he saw both a grimness and a gleam in her eyes.
The sound of the steak knife coming out of the wooden block at the cooks side was as sharp as her voice had been. There was no banter as she stepped towards the invaders. There wasn’t a haughty pose as she picked up a long handled pot from off the coals. There wasn’t a laugh or taunt as the hot lard from the pot was thrown at the faces of the men. Action was what happened as she stepped over the boy who would be King one day to face the ones who were suspiciously dressed almost like the patrols of the castle, but without the baldric of honor that had been presented to the company just that morning.
Most of the invaders were hit with the hot fat, taking them out of the action as they clawed at the burning that would not stop. One had been able to move and only got a splash on his arm. He pushed past the screaming men around him, his lightly curved sword swinging at the cook as he moved.
It wasn’t the knife that took him down, though he was focused on it. It was the pot, hot bottom against his exposed jaw, that staggered him and then dropped him as the sound of the second hit against his head was almost covered by the splintering of the handle.
Less than five minutes for the action. She leaned against one of the counters and tried to bring her breathing under control. The real guards were coming in behind one of the staff that had the presence of mind to get them. The cook waived vaguely towards the still whimpering men.
The guards roughly picked up the men almost dressed like they and started to drag them out. The leader of the squad stopped a respectful pace away from the cook and came to attention. There was a sharp salute as he said, “General,” before following his men.
She nodded, absently rubbing a shoulder scar under her jacket as she watched them go.
The Prince was still on the floor, big eyes watching the woman towering above him. A hand was offered and he was pulled up. She pushed and turned him so she could see if there had been any real damage, and except for the tear in the tunic, the royal whelp was just dazed from the excitement, not from being roughly handled.
Hands were on the Princes shoulders, the cooks eyes looking into his. “Highness, you are well?”
He nodded and threw his arms around her. She took in a gasp of air, and took a moment before wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you Deni! Thank you!”
She nodded into his hair and kissed the top of his head. “Charles, go to the chatelaine. She will fix you up.” She felt the nod before he pulled away.
The cook closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She let it out and was still for a moment. Her eyes snapped open and the scullions who saw her face had wide yes themselves.
“Where is that damned bread?”
|
Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
| 2021-01-08T06:16:23
| 2021-01-08T04:28:42
| 327
| 47
|
[WP] Due to a rare brain condition you've spent your entire life hallucinating the presence of a six foot tall penguin. You're on a date one day when you're asked "So what's the deal with the penguin?"
|
“I’m sorry what?”
“What's the deal with the penguin?"
Shock, painted across his face.
"You see him too?!"
Nodding her head impetuously.
Suspicious of the girl, he stares at her through narrow slits.
"Wait...Did you talk to my sister? Audrey told you about him."
"Never met your sister, we just met yesterday remember?"
Looking over his shoulder, "You're telling me... You see a Lebron sized tuxedoed bird on my right currently waving?"
"More like flapping but yes."
Turning to the bird, he looks astonished, as if he's only just now seeing it for himself, winding his head back and forth between it and his date.
"So, penguin, deal, what is it?"
Getting up, snapping out of his reverie, he stands to the side of the bird.
"So, you actually see this... thing...right here?"
Outlining its bowling pin shape, he curves his hands around it, making a spectacle of himself. He proceeds to slap the bird across the beak, it's feathers ruffled from his handprint but otherwise unperturbed, waddling in place, looking about the room. Another slap to the other check, and circling back, another slap.
"Don't hurt it!" She reaches out in defense of the creature.
He slams back into his seat, pulling her in closer to avoid luring more attention besides the already twenty or thirty eyes who bore witness to him slapping air and being very loud.
"He can’t get hurt. Or doesn’t feel anything. I don’t know how he works.”
“Still.”
“Wait! No one else sees him. Only me. Since I was 3. No one! Not my parents, not my many therapists, not even kids with imaginary friends! Is that why you came up to me?"
"I just figured you were doing a weird tv show or documentary or Planet Earth thing. Fowl Play would be a good name."
"Holy shit, Madison you *can* see him"
Showing her annoyance with clearly being able to see, she nods once again.
"Sorry, it's just you’re proof I'm not crazy"
"I wouldn't say the verdict is out on that one, you just went twelve rounds with a penguin in the middle of a restaurant."
"Fair." Flexing his throbbing hands.
"Tell me the story Harry."
He begins to regale her with how one day without warning, this penguin appeared, stalking him no matter where or when. A brain condition where specific areas, like for creativity and imagination, are enlarged and solidify and biologically speaking could explain hallucinations, but are in no way an indication of penguins. He’d never even seen an actual penguin until he was 7 on a field trip.
"Brain's are funny. They are literally our entire being, they can break and create multiple identities, and they can create imaginary friends, and in your case a 6 ft. emperor penguin."
"Fascinating. How can YOU see him?!"
"Hard to say, maybe some minds are quantumly entangled? Maybe I have the same brain thing? Kismet? Or maybe your sister and I have been friends for 12 years and we're messing with you."
Literal jaw drop.
"Kidding! I just moved into the city a year ago! But man, your face, thank goodness, the food hasn't come yet, your beard would be in your chicken parm."
Covering her mouth, she begins to laugh. A sound not meant for mortal ears, so entrancing as to lure sailors to their deaths, so bright as to drain tears from the most steeled veteran.
“Hah. Seriously, what’s your deal?”
“Honestly, I’m pretty intuitive and a bit of an empath. I can feel people’s emotions, not like Synesthesia. I’ve never seen weird stuff before, just feel. Like when someone’s angry it’s hot, or when someone’s scared it feels like a noose around my neck. Penguins…are new.”
“What do I feel like?”
“Just the penguin man, I don’t know what that means.”
The waiter brings their dinners to the table albeit lukewarm. The chicken was tough, but thick in sauce while her fish needed more grilling. They talked about their weird quirks, their families reactions to them (her parents were not receptive and she lived a very cold and slippery life), and eventually come to the steps of her apartment.
“Never had a penguin over before.” Pulling Harry along with her.
The morning after, he wakes up to wide open curtains, burning his eyes. Rubbing at them and reaching for his glasses, he looks over to Madison, smelling her perfume. Straying further right, the penguin waddles in place, his thrown shirt over its head. Looking over to his left, he notices a very similar penguin figure only this one has a pink ribbon on its head. Waddle.
“Huh, that’s new…”
edit: words
|
"So what's the deal with the penguin?" she asked me.
I blinked, unsure of what to say at first. *You're the first one who ever noticed him* came to my mind first, but I dismissed that at once. No good ever came of mentioning him at all.
When I told my older brother that the penguin was the one biting the corners off of his books, he told on my parents at once even though I hate the taste of paper. Another time, when I was four, I saw the penguin about to bite through my mother's neck, and I shoved her out of the way just in time. I was grounded for a year for my efforts. Mrs. Jacobski didn't believe me, either, in the first grade, when I told her the penguin was the one that kept eating all the toys and the pencils. A week after that I had to start taking the awful pills. Five different kids punched me in the fourth grade after I mentioned him; the penguin would have killed them otherwise.
After that I became convinced the penguin was the devil, or at least one of his highest lackeys. It made sense to me - only I could see him, and he seemed only to exist to create trouble around me. Perhaps exclusively to get *me* in trouble. He's been doing it less ever since I got wise to his ways. These last ten years all he's ever done was stare at me, stalking me every waking hour of my life. He even visited my dreams, every night, for both the good dreams and the nightmares he creates.
But that's all he's ever done. I've ignored him every time he's put a fellow human being in peril, and he began hesitating before he could follow through with his heinous deeds. And ever since he has not found a way to bring chaos and mayhem to me or anyone else.
Until now.
Now, when this strange woman, a blind date set up from out of nowhere, has asked me about him. That was something no one else could do.
I looked at the penguin. The six-foot behemoth merely shrugged, a mischievous look in his beady eyes. This had to be a trick of his, but he would not fool me.
So I shrugged and asked, "What penguin?"
The woman laughed, and pointed right at him. "The six-foot tall penguin standing over your right shoulder."
I snickered, though she was right about his location. "Funny."
"I'm being serious."
I sighed, spearing a meatball from the bowl in front of me. *Who is this woman?* I thought to myself. "Alright, look," I said. "All my life I've been seeing this six-foot tall penguin, yes, but he's not there. It's a hallucination. As to why, perhaps it's because I had some delusions that he was creating trouble for me, and I got those delusions to pass off my misfortunes on a phantasm that doesn't exist because I never wanted to hurt anyone else. Happy?"
I thought for sure that parroting back the same malarkey the shrinks fed me would convince her, but the woman shook her head, completely serious. "I'm afraid not. He's right there."
"He isn't real."
"He is to you."
"No one else can see him."
"I can," said the woman, "through your mind's eye."
I stared at her blankly. The penguin cackled from behind. "Um..."
"Must I spell it out for you? I can read minds."
"Right. And my feathered friend just got engaged."
"You grew up with one older brother and two younger siblings, a boy and a girl. Your father was killed in a hit and run accident when you were eleven. You've been employed exactly six times, four times in restaurants. You hate the taste of paper. You're allergic to dogs, pollen and cinnamon. Now ask me how I know all this."
I didn't even flinch. I simply stared disinterestedly at my food, twirling some more pasta with my fork. "Easy," I said. "You asked my mother about all this. Or you talked to one of my siblings."
The woman chuckled. "Except that your mother's out of town on business, your older brother is overseas in Japan on deployment, your younger brother is beginning his first job way over in Colorado, and your sister is finishing up college in Virginia. She's majoring in political science, minor in media production."
"It's still more plausible than anything else you could come up with," I said with a snarl. I tried to keep it out of my voice - the fact that I couldn't only made the penguin cackle some more.
The woman frowned; she *seemed* concerned, but it only seemed that way. "Look," she said, "I know what you've been through thanks to this...fiend, behind you. You're always getting blamed for his misdeeds. But now you don't have to face any of this alone. I can help you."
"I highly doubt that. If anything, you're in league with my 'friend' behind me, and you're not fooling me. Either of you."
"And how do you think that is?"
I popped another meatball into my mouth. "You haven't touched your food at all yet. Not even a breadstick. And after all you wanted to have the lasagna? And you expect to fool me with all this mind-reading garbage?"
The woman scowled at me. I just winked back at her. "You'll have to try a lot harder than that to get me to slip up, 'darling.'"
I finished my meal in silence. The woman didn't even eat one bite. I picked up the check, of course.
The woman proved, in time, to be my latest hallucination.
But she would not be my last...nor even the most cunning.
| 2017-12-07T12:37:55
| 2017-12-07T11:54:53
| 210
| 95
|
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants
|
"There's nothing strange about this at all. Do you know that George Washington became the best damn whiskey maker in Virginia after his term ended?"
".. no?"
"Damn right, he did. Produced tens of thousands of barrels a year and sold the good stuff at two bits a gallon. Made a lot more people happy than his stint at the white house, even." The former president winked.
"Oh..kay. But don't you have a stellar pension that comes with your job? You retired with full benef-"
"Ah, the pension. You know that Harry Truman didn't get any pension? He lived off a hundred bucks a month he got from having served in the army. A proud man he was. Had no private wealth, but wouldn't accept any other employment to keep up the dignity of the office he'd held. Then Ike changed the law and there's a good pension waiting at the end of the term- but who needs that pittance? You know Bill charges a million for every appearance on the lecture circuit?"
"No way - a million? Wow."
"Yeah, and my buddy George W's earning rich dividends being a partner in a business venture. Heard his memoir would come out soon - now that's an eight figure deal if there was one."
"Very impressive, Mr. Pres-, I mean, Mr Former President. But why did you respond to the ad for a new accountant's position at the *Indiana Bones Pet Wash LLC*? Frankly, I think you're overqualified for the position, and there's a big queue out in the waiting room. Now I have a small business here and I'd like to finish this hirin's business and get back to it. I'm sorry, Sir, but we have families to feed and aint got no time for no-"
"Ted, can I call you Ted?" Ted shrugged.
"I know secrets about UFOs that will never see the light of day. I know what they're up to at Area 51. I know who really killed JFK. I know why we're keeping the cure for AIDS a secret from the world." The former president leans forward and smiles. "Do you think I wouldn't know what *really* goes on in this 'small business' of yours?"
Ted observes him keenly with a blank expression. He slowly lifts his hand and presses the buzzer. Stacey, casually dressed, bored, enters.
"Stacey, honey! Can you thank the other applicants for their time and tell them we've found what we need?"
Stacey chews on her gum as she eyes the successful applicant, then turns her glance back to Ted questioningly.
Ted smiles back at her reassuringly. "And oh, could you lock the door from the outside on your way out?"
She does as asked. The door clicks and slowly the lights outside turn off. Ted fishes into his drawer for something.
"I gotta let you know - I like you. I even voted for you. Twice. But that doesn't guarantee anything. The screening and interview process can get pretty rigorous in there." Ted's southern drawl was gone. He turns a dial and the room is enveloped by a low mechanical hum. The wall behind Ted begins to slide down - there is a large metallic sliding door with the picture of a pyramid and an eye engraved.
The former president gets up from his chair, adjusts his tie and buttons up his coat.
"Don't worry, Ted. I've been preparing for this for eight years."
|
In the centre of a spacious room sat Obama, looking relaxed and rather enthusiastic. Opposite him was a man sat at a desk that, coated in a sheen of sweat and a mad twitch beginning to develop in his left eye, minutes away from breaking into hysterical laughter; the kind reserved for lunatics and evil scientists.
And around them were cats. Kittens too. Everywhere, and of many kinds. Some were playing with a soft ball, others were sleeping on top of each other. One was trying to eat Obama's left shoelace, while two others looked on.
"Mr, um, Obama...What I'm trying to say here is that while you are definitely qualified, overqualified actually, in your abilities of management, communication, meeting the needs of, uh, clients... I'm not sure if you would be appropriate for the job. Ahem."
Obama looked up with a face of mild suprise, and the cat below took an extra swat at his shoe to make most of his diverted attention.
"But why not? I've always wanted to work at a Cat Cafe. I mean look at them, they're so adorable!"
It was at this point that the interviewer's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and fell off his chair and landed face-first in the carpet. An orange tabby jumped up onto his chair to take his place.
Obama sighed and looked at the tabby. "This *always* happens..." he complained to the cat. The cat stared back, and after a moments thought, meowed in agreement.
| 2016-02-23T01:06:19
| 2016-02-22T23:45:58
| 423
| 112
|
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl.
|
Decided to keep the same WP but with a twist
I could hear his screams echo through the house.
"Whelp that's all from me then, bye" The Djinn shrugged his shoulders before vanishing into dust. Running to Jake's room I opened the door only to see him fondling his new breasts in shock.
"Why do I have breasts? Where did my dick go?" Jake mutters silently in a mix of shock and awe. I'm wracking my brain to figure out what the hell just happened.
"But... I wished for a...soulmate?" I question out loud. Jake turns to face me.
"I told you that genie was a bad idea. Now why the hell did you wish me to be a girl?"
I'm lost for words, this wish made no sense. I loved Jake as a brother but this?
"I asked for a soulmate. Not for you to turn into a girl."
"Am I like this permanently?" I can see the fear building up in Jake's eyes, for a long time we had always shared the thought of changing genders but for once perhaps those fantasies were better left in the mind.
"Look I'm going to call the Djinn okay?"
I rush out of the room leaving Jake to himself. As I leave I can hear him moan, "God how are my parent's going to accept this."
"I know you're there Azazel, come out and explain yourself." I call out to my room. The light flickers on and off and a supernatural gust fills the room before Azazel appears once again before me.
"I told you my wishes are not to be trifled with kiddo. Once made they can't be changed." He tutted while mock examining his nails.
"I know that but..." I pause, the answers to my question was exactly one that I wanted to hear. "Why Jake? Why is he a girl?"
"The wishes grant your deepest darkest desires, they examine you as a whole and creates what you want. I don't have much control over the outcome. I am simply a vessel between worlds." He explained floating down to my eye level.
"You have some soul searching to do. What I give to you is what you truly desire. Suppress that as much as you want. But the wishes do not lie."
I ponder this new information. My suspicions were clarified.
"Really? It's Jake then?"
"Yup, don't bother me again. Enjoy your life with your new Girlfriend."
The Djinn cackled before vanishing once again into dust. I walk slowly back to Jake's room only to see him once again playing with his boobs like a child with a new toy. His cute expression on his new face along with the adorable giggles he produced from his new feminine lips made me realize that What the Djinn said was right.
"Hey Jake?" I begin my apology but he/she looks up at me, and grins. "I heard, don't worry about it."
I sigh before sitting on the ground next to my soulmate.
"It's really me that you like? Like this?" He asks nudging me on the arm.
"Yeah...You don't mind? Do you?"
Jake nuzzled up to me and smiled. "I've always sorta had a crush on you anyway. This doesn't change that."
"I love you Jake"
"I love you too Lina"
Edit: made a few adjustments to the story
|
"So you're telling me that you wished to meet the girl who'll be your perfect soulmate."
"Yeah."
"And then I turned into a girl."
"...Yeah."
"Well, let's not jump to conclusions. It's perfectly possible that this is just a coincidence, and that I just happened to spontaneously become a girl at the same time you made your wish, and the two things are completely unrelated."
"Uh-huh."
My roommate stopped pacing. "Are you even listening to me?" she asked, turning to me.
I blinked. "Uh, sorry. I just can't help but stare."
"At my boobs?"
"No, um, well, not... really?"
She folded her arms and looked at me.
"Look, it's just kind of hard to wrap my head around the whole thing," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I mean, you're being surprisingly calm about all this."
"I did faint in the beginning, though. But I guess I'm pretty okay after the initial shock," she said, massaging her temples. "I've always been pretty adaptable to sudden developments."
"Or maybe the genie made it so that you wouldn't be freaking out about it," I wondered aloud.
"Or I might just be in denial." She took a deep breath. "But still. Are we supposed to be soulmates?"
"W-well, you know, I never really thought about it until now, but soulmates don't necessarily have to be romantic. Because soulmates are just two people who just really click with each other, so really good friends could also be considered soulmates, right?"
"So it just means we're really compatible?"
"I guess it would've meant that we would've been really good friends if..."
"If I had stayed a guy," she finished. "But what's to say we can't still be friends now?"
"I mean, a guy and a girl... Being soulmates? That practically means... Well..."
I trailed off, and an awkward silence followed. We were both blushing, and I couldn't meet her gaze.
She was the one to break the silence. "Look, I was never really liked the concept of soulmates, anyway. The idea that a person can't be complete without someone else being there for them? It's just kind of stupid."
"So..."
"Ugghhhh," she groaned, placing her hands over her eyes. "This is such a pain."
"Um, sorry."
"No, it's all right." She sniffed, and when she put her hands back down I saw that her eyes were a bit teary. "I'm gonna go to the restroom," she said, standing up and leaving.
"Um, I guess we could still try to be friends?" I called after her, but she didn't respond when she closed the door behind her.
I couldn't blame her if she resented me for what happened to her. Even if we were supposed to be soulmates, I doubted she would want to be friends with me, much less start dating me after all this. I mean, it's not like she was in love with me or anything. Right?
| 2014-08-19T11:27:56
| 2014-08-19T11:05:19
| 59
| 21
|
[WP] The legendary hero that we summoned to save the realm was not what we expected. He was gruff, not handsome. He direct in his speech, not elegant. He also came with "Navy Seal Training," which we think is some sort of swordplay and a "Medal of Honor," which must be some sort of crown.
|
The wizard Galmus’ incantation was over and the blue hues faded from the walls of the stony tower. The form of a man appeared and stepped through the arcane mists. What kind of hero would he be? Many imagined a tall and dashing young man with chestnut wavy hair and sun kissed freckles. Nothing could have prepared the summoner’s court for what they saw.
The man was indeed tall, but he was built like a bull. Round scars peppered his body and a large gash was drawn over one eye. He was in his late 40s, with stripes of grey cutting across his crew cut. A silver chain adorned by two rectangle shaped pendants crested the man’s neck. He only wore thin cotton armor that was tinted deep green. Otherworldly runes were etched on attire: *U.S. NAVY.*
The summoning ritual was intended to imbue the hero with basic knowledge about the realm. The man stood tall and silent for a moment before drawing his hand to his temple in a stiff gesture.
“COMMANDER LEON RUTGER, SEAL TEAM 6 REPORTING FOR DUTY MA’AM.” He spoke in a loud and stern voice that gave the Elven Priestess Eltira a jump.
“This way, legendary hero.” The wizard gestured in a shaky voice. Leon nodded and followed the old man’s lead. They took no time in getting to the war room. Galmus explain the horrors of the Dark Lord Amadeus and the breadth of his armies. The hero stood mostly silent. He mostly nodded and would place a hand under his massive square jaw every now and then.
At the end of almost a two hour briefing, Cmdr. Rutger only had two questions: Where are they attacking next, and where is the armory.
Once given directions, the Cmdr. Immediately bee-lined to the armory. He barely gave the beautiful Eltira a nod on his way there. Inside the armory he had the wizards prepare several arrays of spell crystals. The Cmdr.'s choices were very specific. He made modifications to the elven weaponry that were oddwordly and strange. After he was satisfied with his customizations, the Cmdr. came to Galmus.
“Send me in.”
Galmus nodded and summoned a spectral horse to carry the hero to his first battle. The rest of the court watched from the keep walls filled with apprehension and hope.
\*\*\*
The sun was barely cresting over the horizon when the Orcish warchief Murg’s warband reached the small hamlet. Granfel was a tiny town with almost no elven guard. It was ripe for taking by Murg’s battle-hardened warriors. This would be an easy haul of goods and slaves. The Dark Lord will be pleased.
As they entered the town, something was off. There were no inhabitants. The town was eerily empty and only a dustdevil of solaran leaves came out to greet the hungry warband.
Murg turned to Grokk, one of his strongest raiders, and snarled. “Where are the Elves!”
It was then that a great bolt of heat struck Grokk square in the forehead. The raider gave Murg a last look of confusion before his head expanded like moist bread and bursted into a fiery inferno.
“WIZARD!” The Orcs cried out and raised their shields. A goblin scout desperately searched the rooftops for source of the fireball spells. For a moment the scout saw the vermillion glimmer of redwood staff before exploding into a plume of flames himself.
“Scratch two.”
The Cmdr. smirked as he pried the ruby stone from the end of his staff and set fresh one in place. He then peered down the mariner’s telescope strapped on to the top of the staff to sight his next target. The staff kicked back and the red stone went cold. An Ogre in the backline fell headless into a dust cloud.
“Scratch three.”
The sound of a horn reverberated from back of the warband and the Cmdr. saw the enemy raiders raise their bows into the air. He rolled to the side, falling into a pre-planned gap in the roof. The hail of arrows tinkled around him like rain against the housing’s outside walls.
He dropped the redwood staff and drew two wands. The first raider barged straight through the front door and ate a hail of magical ice shards. The attacker fell lifelessly into the crowd, giving the others second thoughts.
Those second thoughts became regrets when a bolt of chain lightning flashed from the dark opening of the house, electrocuting the two raiders out front and striking three more in the back. The Cmdr. then emerged with wands blazing from each hand. Six more frontline raiders fell in the chaos.
As the two wands went dim, the Cmdr. switched to a large staff strapped to his back. An orc charged him with a warblade but was quickly taken down by Krav Maga during the transition. The staff drawn was not one staff, but multiple magic missile staves bundled together in a large array by thick leather cords.
The Cmdr. roared as a rapid cacophony of magical darts surged from the staves, obliterating countless rows of the enemy horde. After the first few seconds, the remaining force began to flee –only to be shredded from the back. The staves then went dry.
Murg was the only one left standing. The raid leader growled at the 20 year Navy Seal Veteran before drawing a large black claymore. The Dark Lord would not allow him to fail here.
“What will you do now without your magic, wizard!”
The Cmdr. only pulled a pair of onyx shades and a thick pipe from his satchel. He lit the pipe with a firestone before beckoning the large orc.
Murg stepped forward and heard a click under his foot. A small metal panel came up out of the grass. Etched on it was a simple message: FACE FRONT TO ENEMY.
After a silent moment, a wave of light washed over Murg’s legs –sending them into the aether.
The Cmdr. slowly walked forward and a desperately flailing Murg spat curses at him.
“I may fall here, but the dark lord will have your head! You will burn in the seventh circle of bloody flame when he finds you!”
The Cmdr. squatted down in front of Murg and blew a cloud of smoke into his face.
“You know. I’ve been to that place already. Back home, we called it Nam.”
He then fished a wand from his satchel. The wand kicked and Murg gave one last jolt before falling silent.
As the Cmdr. was leaving the town, a jet black raven with glowing red eyes perched on the tree above him. It was a messenger from the Dark Lord.
The Cmdr. looked dead into the bird’s eyes. He then raised his arms.
“Come get some.”
|
“What is this?” The King shouted. “What kind of mockery do you intend to make of my Royal Guard?”
The strange man was obviously disheveled and terrified to find himself in this new world. “As a Navy Seal of the United States Government, I demand you to return me immediately!”
“United States!” The King shouted even louder, his face becoming red.
Gretchen, the town sorcerer, sighed. “He had a 23 charisma rating, and 43 strength...” She looked over her notes. “I guess 23 is really low... huh?” She chuckled slightly and tucked her tiny notebook back into the pocket of her torn dress. “He’s from the Earth realm. From what I know, he’s a highly trained Knight of a kingdom called... United States of America.”
“Give him a sword, and throw him in,” the King ordered. And that’s what was done. The Earth Man was escorted to a large arena, known throughout the town as the Knights Gauntlet. Any Knight to fight for the Royal Guard must want to die for his King. Knights who become candidates every year battle to the death for the position of a royal guard member, thus making sure it is filled with the strongest of soldiers.
The Earth Man was given a sword and some armor, and quickly sent out for his first fight. The city made sure to bring in their last ditch effort around battle time, since this visitor must also meet the same requirements of all of the kingdom’s Knights.
The battle did not go on long, however. It seemed the Earth Man did not know how to wield a sword, nor use his armor to it’s fullest ability. The fight was over in a matter of minutes, and the challenger came out victorious.
A week later, the town sorceress was fired from her post, and left the town, leaving it both without defenses, nor magic.
| 2020-11-10T17:57:02
| 2020-11-10T16:24:48
| 89
| 40
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
|
Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I
| 2015-12-05T16:37:50
| 2015-12-05T13:45:57
| 94
| 15
|
[WP] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react?
|
And we'll be back with more news on the finding of flight 370 right after this short commercial break. Wait what's that?
Ladies and gentlemen we have some breaking news here that is nothing short of extraordinary. Nicolas Cage has just revealed that he actually is god.
Eyewitness reports state that Cage was raising money at a charity when all of a sudden a blinding flash of light appeared and Cage began to hover above the ground.
In a remarkable moment of benevolency, Cage agreed to give our a reporters a statement. We go live to the scene where Tricia Takanawa is interviewing the one true god.
|
OK, I'll try this writing prompt thing out over my lunch break. If I'm doing this wrong let me know.
***
The announcement came exactly a week ago. I'm still not sure how to react, like everyone else in my life. I'm a little jealous of my Dad's commitment to his old God. He called me up late last night to exchange the normal polite formalities of "How's work, how's mom, etc," which then devolved into a long and (I'm guessing parroted) speech about the liberal media and science in general misleading the public. But how can someone still refuse to believe the evidence? Aside from the outbreak of petty miracles clogging the morning news, we have NASAs pictures of the entire Pantheon, somehow taken through the hole they managed to pierce through the aether. I won't pretend to understand it, theoretical physics has never been my strong point. But a statue of Mary is crying in Mexico? Please. What is that compared to talking animals, a Minotaur loose in Boise of all places, or sinkholes opening up and voicing the screams of a billion trapped souls?
Call me a skeptic, stubborn, or crazy, but I'd rather just carry on as normal.
The office has been empty though. I guess people are either taking their PTO to stay at home until this passes or giving up on daily life entirely to pray for food and shelter to the gods that they now know can hear them. We'll see how that turns out.
There are a few other engineers here today. Most of us are trying to close out old business but it's been difficult to say the least. Clients don't want to sign off on projects when they're more concerned with the wrath of Poseidon. Go figure.
Stacy from HR set up a shrine to Eunomia, and all internal concerns are now being directed to a dim room that smells faintly of incense, and strongly of burned hair. Here's a tip: when making a burnt offering, sheer the sheep first. I'll take the aroma of burnt popcorn any day over this.
I'm beginning to think my neighbors built a temple to Dionysus, but on second thought they're probably just lecherous drunks. Nothing new there. There is a large gathering downtown by the art museum, who knows what they're worshiping. I drove past to take a look and if there's a god of unwashed bodies, mud, dehydration, and overpriced beer they owe one hell of a miracle.
Do engineers have a god? Hephaestus maybe. I think I'll continue to worship Excel and AutoCAD at my glowing Lenovo shrine. Until the network goes down at least. Someone will have to be here to pick up the pieces when everyone realizes that these gods have always been here. Gods that don't have time for our mortal troubles, and prayers that have always fallen on deaf ears.
| 2014-03-19T11:14:23
| 2014-03-19T10:43:22
| 21
| 10
|
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age.
|
Thirty years have gone by in this prison since my last murder. I've had three cellmates in my time. Each one died within a month of moving in. I had nothing to do with any of the deaths. Regardless, I was now a curse in the eyes of the general prison population.
Now, they kept me by myself.
Jacob, the prison guard in my latest home of Cell Block 4A always would spend a little more time talking to me as he made his rounds. The clicking of his shoes on the cement prison floor was in a rhythm all its own, so I always knew when he was coming.
"Number 664, you lonely in there?" He asked just as his figure came into view through the bars.
"No, Jacob," I replied. " My thoughts are always with me in here to keep me company."
He paused and then smirked. He knew what I had done to get in here, but I was a harmless and interesting specimen behind bars to him.
"664, I've been working here for 15 years." He said. "You've been in here for twice that, right?"
"Yes, Jacob. That is correct." Was my simple reply.
His eyes passed over my body from head to toe, eventually meeting mine. He drew himself in close to the bars, never breaking his gaze.
For the first time, I was nervous with him. He was the only soul in this place who paid any attention to me, which is probably why no one had noticed my lack of aging.
"What's your real name, 664?" Jacob asked.
I hesitated. No one had asked me that since my last cellmate died. You almost forget you have one on the inside.
"I'm Augustine," I responded. "Augustine Cachot."
"Well that's an interesting name," he mused to himself. "Sounds very, shall we say... 'vintage' to me."
Jacob was a reasonably smart man. He was humble, metered and wise with an even temperament. I could tell that from my daily interactions with him. In 15 years, you can learn someone's soul from even the most mundane of interactions.
Jacob turned his back to me, stepping back from the bars of my human cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph.
"Augustine Cachot, you've lived in this town for two hundred years, haven't you?" He held the photo up to me as he spoke.
Oddly, I knew it was me in the photo, but didn't remember where or when it was taken. Two hundred years of memories is a lot to retain.
"You haven't aged much since this photo, have you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Thirty years here and your body hasn't changed, your hair hasn't grayed and you've never been sick."
I sat down in my cell, waiting to hear his next analytical point. He figured out my immortality by doing what no one else did: by paying attention.
"In 15 years, I've become gray and winkled. My body has slowed. Yet, you remain as you were on the day you arrived."
Jacob handed me a different photo.
"Ah yes," I mused. "My prison intake photo. I was just a handsome 23 year old lad in that one. Time has treated me well."
"Time hasnt touched you," he quickly retorted. "You're in here for your life, which means you'll be here forever, won't you?"
My head dropped into my hands as the word "forever" hung in the air. I'll never leave. Unless I escape, I'll never be anything but a man caged for eternity.
"You're right," I said. "No sense in hiding it at this point."
"Well. . ." Jacob paused, now leaning on a wall. His eyes now fixed firmly at the ceiling.
"Well, what?" I asked.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
And then he walked away.
|
The newspapers had written about her. Killing for her had been as simple as walking past a man and filling his nostrils with her flowery perfume. Her thick red hair was as if the blood of her victims had stained her soul, putting a permanent mark on her long, murderous past.
But now she was here, in this cell. She never really said anything. Just sat, ate, went back to her cell, and sat again. When she had arrived twelve years ago the headlines had been loud about her deeds, but now they had all but forgotten. Old newspaper clippings had been taken down from the walls in news agencies and police stations around the country, to be put in a box and stored in the archives where time chewed away at the remembrance of her deeds.
"Hey Red!"
She looked up. In the cell across the hall was the new inmate, in just weeks earlier for trying to hold up a grocery store and shooting a kid in the kidney in a fit of rage. The kid had survived but just barely. The parents made sure that if the would-be killer were to breathe air on the outside again, it wouldn't be until their son had graduated college.
"Fuck you!"
Red gave a penetrating look at the angry inmate across the hall as if she was looking right through her eyes and at the wall behind her. Everyone knew that newcomers tried to assert dominance, but this one went overboard. No one dared to talk to Red, let alone fuck with her. Not even the ones with (what they thought) higher kill count.
The next morning the guards found the newcomer in Red's cell, behind the locked door. She was sat on the bed, blood covering the floor as if she'd spent the entire night puking up every single drop of blood in her body. Her mouth was filled with shards of glass, trailing all the way down her throat into her stomach. There was nothing to be done, the newcomer had been dead for hours before the guards had even woken up that morning. In the newcomer's cell was Red, staring at the wall without a trace of anything, had it not been for the fact that she was in the newcomer's cell it was as if nothing had happened that night. She was put in solitary confinement for a year straight after the incident, regardless of the protests from human rights groups about the illegality of doing such a thing, but when she later returned to the regular prison, she sat down on her bed where the newcomer had been found a year earlier as if not even five seconds had passed. And after that no one fucked with Red.
| 2016-10-15T09:27:27
| 2016-10-15T09:06:23
| 73
| 35
|
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
|
A button’s press, that’s all it takes,
to end her shivers and cure her aches.
With button’s press could freedom lie,
with button’s press two may die.
The clock is ticking, a new day draws near,
Has someone else overcame their fear?
Will we be rich, or will we die?
It can’t get worse, I have to try.
|
*Fucking son of a bitch.*
The moist *crunch, crunch, smack, crunch* of Sylvester’s lips as he bulled his way through a second bowl of Marshmallow Mateys made Maribelle want to bash him in the mouth. Within the brief darkness that the blink of her eyes brought, she saw red— red pouring out of those clammy lips that yawned open like a fish’s mouth while he masticated whatever it was he was eating. Tonight was Marshmallow Mateys. Last night it was the steak she left work early to make. Whatever might come tomorrow was too nauseating of a thought for her to take up precious blinking time to picture.
*That’d teach him to chew with his god damn mouth open.*
She quietly took a bite of her white-bread-and-American-cheese-and-ham sandwich, a delicacy they had been enjoying more and more since Sylvester’s job on the assembly line went away. That’s how he described it when he got home that evening eight months ago. It “went away”, as if it just disappeared from his grasp and there was no explanation of this bizarre alien aberration of his life's routine. It changed the quilted patchwork of their day. Instead of getting up at 5:30am to coast along his 45-minute commute to the factory, now he woke up at… well, Maribelle didn’t actually know when he got up. She knew it wasn’t before she left for work at 7:30am, but it was some time before 6:30pm when she got to take off her little server’s half-apron, shove her rectangular cardstock time card through the chomping machine, and walk home. Sylvester was “applying for jobs” with very large quotation marks around the action. Sylvester was “in the middle of fixing the leak in the sink”. She did genuinely believe him that he walked the dog, only because he genuinely enjoyed that.
*Smack, slurp, crunch, slurp*
It was all about what Sylvester genuinely enjoyed.
What about what Maribelle genuinely enjoyed? What about one fucking meal where he practiced chewing with his damn mouth **closed**?
Blood squeezed out of her knuckles as her fingers tensely curled into her palm. There could be a solution. Well, it wasn’t a *solution*. It was a million-to-one chance. But sitting here watching Sylvester’s plump maw gape to reveal the pulpy, milky mess of his half-chewed cereal, million-to-one felt better than the 99% chance she would go to jail for strangling him one day soon. Maribelle gave him a stiff smile.
“So, uh. I was thinkin’ about entering the raffle.”
*Smack, crunch— pause*
“Why the fuck would you go on and do that for?”
Maribelle’s colorless eyes drifted subtly to the clock on the wall, the pulse of the second hand beckoning her heartbeat to join it. Three minutes.
“Well it’s just so easy. Ain’t not a lot to it, just have to log on and push the button and you’re good to go.”
The way Sylvester rolled his eyes like Maribelle was *so stupid* made her want to grab what little hair he had left on the back of his skull and drive his face down into the concave of the bowl. “An’ risk them murder squads or some shit? No ma’am. My grandpappy was struck by lightning *three times* in the Ozarks. Lewiston men are unlucky as shit.”
*I wish.* Maribelle shrugged blithely and tapped her bitten-down nail against the kitchen table. “Yeah, but it’s only the first person. Like, you have to enter in as fast as you can, but if *both* of us pushed it… it’s like two *million* dollars at least, Syl.” She saw the greasy gleam of a promise of easy money flutter in his eyes and she pushed on, “And I don’t got no luck problems in my family. I could go first!”
As Sylvester sat in silence for several slovenly grinds of his cereal cud, Maribelle saw the familiar inner workings of his brain flinch across his face. The glaze in his eyes. The twitch of his brow. The nod when he felt like he came up with a good idea.
“Yeah alright. You first, since you ain’t not lucky, and then the two of us have it.”
It felt like a vice tightened around the aorta of Maribelle’s heart. A calm nod later and she whipped out her phone, peering through the spiderweb cracks on the screen to make sense of how to get to her browser. *Tick tick tick* went to the clock on the wall. Thirty seconds. Where did the time go? Suddenly a big, blue button popped up in tiny pieces on her phone. A glance to Sylvester showed he did the same, and he was staring at her like a kid waiting for his friend to light off a firework of questionable safety.
“Alright. We gotta wait for the right time. Right on time, kay? You gotta be ready. Finger on the button?”
*There’s no way it’s him.* It was a glum thought. But one must press on-- or in this case, press down.
*Tick tick tick*
Two second hand jerks before 8:32pm was two too close for Sylvester to notice as he greedily stared at her screen. *Quickly!* Maribelle made a show of jamming the pad of her index finger down onto the phone screen.
Nothing, of course. Nothing bad, anyway.
*Tick*
“See? See, I'm fine, you're not first! Now you, now you, quick!” Her voice was higher pitched than she intended it to be and her chest felt tight, like she was a balloon and her air was being very slowly squealed out of her. Cicada buzzing filled her skull. She must have been blushing, she thought, for how hot her cheeks suddenly felt.
*Tick*
“Alright,” Sylvester rolled his eyes *again* and his fat thumb shoved gracelessly onto the button on the screen, “Alright, I—“
*Pause*
“What the fuck?!"
Maribelle’s eyes darted down.
Red. Red filled the screen, spreading like ink spilled into a tub of water, like a biblical plague that learned how to breach technology.
Within the dark inner arch of her blink, the red stayed. Red pouring out of Sylvester’s mouth.
| 2016-07-16T19:59:53
| 2016-07-16T19:03:53
| 27
| 18
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
She didn't understand this change in her father. She was accustomed to him focusing more on his work than on her. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he picked her up from school at all and now he had shown everyday this week. And to top it off, there he was, sitting in the front row of her play.
You see, Carly's father was a high powered lawyer. He made sure that Carly and her mother were well taken care of, but his singular focus had resulted in divorce and a distinct form of absentee parenting. For her dad, the next big case was always his immediate aim, while maintaining his 5.0 rating on Martindale-Hubbell was his mission statement.
And now that had changed. Here he was, driving her home for his weekend instead of telling her to use the credit card he gave to pay for an Uber. And now all the small-talk. "How was school? She knew he would pay for college right? Does she have a boyfriend? Did she need a dress for prom"?
None of this would prepare her for the new CR-V parked in the driveway. It was time that she had her own car he said. Nothing too fancy, but something safe and practical.
This was weird. Carly should have been happy. But she wasn't. It all felt wrong and forced. So that night, after her dad went to sleep (after watching television with her, something that hadn't happened for at least 5 years), Carly walked around the house and tried to make sense of her dad. She was honestly concerned that he was sick, maybe it was cancer. Maybe this is his chance to make everything right before he left.
But she didn't find anything. No doctors notes, no medical correspondence, nothing out of the ordinary. Her dads house was immaculate. He loved to display his trophies from his high school wrestling days, all of the articles with his picture from the law firm, and he even had a custom-built electronic sign that listed his gamer score on the Xbox.
No, she wasn't likely to find anything here. If he was dying, he would keep that from her. And he wouldn't leave the papers out.
There was a mug sitting out though. It looked like the #1 Dad mug she bought him a couple of years ago, but it had "# 5,478,888 Dad" on it. Carly thought that that was a weird gag gift for someone to get him. Still, he had been so nice, she figured she'd put it away for him.
The next morning the news broke that all of the mugs had changed. It was then that Carly realize that her dad was addicted to winning.
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 2017-06-11T08:30:57
| 159
| 113
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Peter,
I'm sorry to say that I'm not the person you likely wanted to send your letter to. But don't fear, child, for I will bring you the gifts you asked for, so long as you promise not to tell your parents about this mistake.
Now, just so I remember, you asked for an Iron Man action figure, a puppy, and a for your father to come home. The action figure will be no problem, and one of my hell hounds recently gave birth to a litter of puppies, so I'll make sure to bring you one.
Your father will be tricky, but so long as you makes good on your promise of milk and cookies, I'm sure you'll be seeing him on Christmas morning.
I do wish you a Merry Christmas, and I'll be sure to pass along a good word to St. Nick.
Your friend,
Satan
P.S. - Make sure to have your parents read the book that I send with the puppy. That way, he'll grow up into a big, fierce, and loyal Protector of Darkness.
P.P.S. - I really can't wait to see you, Peter. This Christmas will be most memorable.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
| 2018-10-28T13:50:03
| 2018-10-28T10:08:58
| 30
| 10
|
[WP] You applied for a job at google, everything goes well and only one interview remains: They'd just like an explanation for your search history.
|
"My search history?!"
"Yes Mr. Thorman. It's part of our interview process at this stage. Standard question, really."
"Oh. Standard. Completely normal."
"Yes."
"So, anyone can just, pop that question on me? That's normal, is that what you're telling me?"
"Mr. Thorman, it's a standard question for our *interview process.* Your confidentiality is assured, we just want an explanation for your search history."
"Well, that's part of the problem."
"Explain Mr. Thorman."
"I'd get it if Google would ask about my browsing habits while using their service. *That* seems standard. But, an explanation... sounds like an accusatory thing to ask someone, let alone personal. Hardly a standard question."
"We understand your concerns Mr. Thorman, but---"
"You understand?! Because you saw my browsing history!"
"There really isn't any need to---"
"*You don't deny it!!*"
"Mr. Thorman, please try to calm---"
"I'll sue! It's discrimination! You're using personal questions in an interview! That should definitely breach some labor law!"
"Which, Mr. Thorman?"
"**I'm about to find out!**"
"Look, we flew you out here for this hiring stage to see if you'd be a good fit for the company. Google takes pride in having a relaxed working environment, but to maintain that while bringing in new talent requires a special 'fit,' see?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't explain why you'd ask such a probing question."
"We ask about your search history to gauge your response to situations in the work place that may challenge you in a professional setting, whether they're conferences as a traveling consultant, or receiving the random question from an employee that could risk testing that relaxed environment."
"Oh."
"The nature of the question was known from the beginning. It was all part of the interview. Your response was... extreme, but rational in light of the given circumstances. We'll account for that when making our decision in about two weeks time."
"I see."
"So we're understood then."
"Yes sir. I apologize for making such a fuss."
"It's alright Mr. Thorman. We account for these things from people with your kind of browsing history."
"Can't believe it was part of the... **what?**"
"Well you went from looking up cheap remedies for your flatulence to searching for fart porn at least twice a day for the past two months. Without missing a day. So we can understand that you're prone to frustration."
"Jesus, now you look here---"
"Remember you're being interviewed."
"*Exactly!* Why would you even say that?! It's not just unprofessional, it's *sickening*!"
"You're giving us a lecture about what's sickening?"
"Right! It's a breach on my internet privacy and---"
"Don't kid yourself Mr. Thorman. We *both* know it only started with the fart porn."
"... What started?"
"The sex dungeon room you've been adding equipment to for the last couple weeks. We're honestly pretty impressed with how---"
"*We?!*"
"Yes Mr. Thorman, you gave our HR department a good laugh about that. To think a quiet Nebraskan man such as yourself would be so kinky. And to think it all started with a gas problem---"
"Oh my god, this is becoming too much! Why even fly me out here if you're just going to sit there and embarrass me?!"
"Because we want to hire you and see how you handle yourself. Qualifications ^and ^sexual ^taste aside, you seem like a good fit for our relaxed working environment. An in-person interview gives us the opportunity to see if you'd fit. We'll contact you in two weeks time. Do you have any follow up questions for us?"
"Too many to even count. I just want to go home and---"
"Continue working on your dungeon room?"
"*No!* Have a cool beer and catch up on Game of Thrones!"
"I see. Mr. Thorman. Would you like to know how it ends?"
"The season?"
"No. All of it."
"... You wouldn't."
"We've seen George R.R. Martin's search history. Kind of killed the rest of the show for us here at Google."
"Oh my god."
"Thank you for coming out today. We'll be in touch."
------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
“So Mr. Anderson, thanks for your patience. My name is Smith and I’m in charge of security around here."
“Nice to meet you”, Thomas said while Mr. Smith sat down at the other side of the table. Thomas only wondered briefly about Mr. Smith’s sunglasses and his very, very black suit.
“As you know this is your final interview and we’d like to discuss one topic with you: Your search history.”
Thomas hesitated for a second, then responded: “Ehm.. okay.. I guess we can do that. What would you like to know?”.
“Well, frankly your search history has changed a bit over those last weeks, hasn’t it Mr. Anderson?” He opened a folder lying in front of him on the desk.
*May 15th. At 2:03am you searched for “Morpheus reported sightings*”
*May 17th. 3:52am. “Morpheus organization contact*”
*May 21st. 23:51pm. “How to make mac and cheese in the microwave fast”*
*May 24th. 1:15am. “Is this real life?”*
*May 27th. 2:15am. “Dream world computer generated”*
*May 29th. 1:46am. "Google artificial intelligence development"*
*May 31st. 3:46am. “Artificial intelligence robots”*
*And just this morning, June 3rd. 1:39am. “What is the matrix?*”*
He looked at Thomas, making eye contact. “Mr. Anderson, what do you think is the matrix then?”
Without Thomas noticing, the door behind him had opened and two men stepped inside the room.
“Well… I don’t really… eh I don’t really know what it is I guess..”, Thomas began to stutter and started to sweat. His head spinning at the confusing questions and facts presented to him by Smith.
Smith stared at him with a grin on his face, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. He then turned to the two man standing beside Thomas and briefly nodded at them.
All of sudden, the two man reached for Thomas and grabbed his arms, pushing him down, face first, on the table in front of him.
“Mr. Anderson, we both know that you have started to ask the wrong questions. And now I only have one question for you. Do you want to know what the matrix is?
Almost out of breath from the two men pushing him on the table, Thomas managed to barely say “Yes… I want to know what it is.”
“Very well. But I can assure you, you’re not going to like what comes next …”
Thomas started to feel a rush on his cheeks and his lips. Something happened to his mouth. He tried opening it, but there appeared to be something that prevented him to open and control his mouth. He wanted to scream, but he could only manage a inaudible mumble. Then, the two men put the mask on his head and everything turned black...
| 2016-06-03T06:33:25
| 2016-06-03T04:54:11
| 79
| 43
|
[WP] When space colonies became a practical reality, the rich and powerful left Earth in droves, leaving the rest of humanity behind on a broken world. A few centuries later, Earth has, through much effort, been restored to its former glory. Now the colonists want to return.
|
BE 355: The first colony on Mars was established.
BE 289: The entirety of Mars was colonized.
BE 264: The first Mass Exodus happened. With its richest populace leaving for Mars, come all the wealth and material they amassed. Earth face a starvation problem that affect 5.6 out of its remaining 8 billions population. Mars Colonies declare independent from Earth.
BE 230: The end of First Post Exodus Crisis. Earth population fell to 3.6 billions. The United Nation disbanded after failing to coordinate the response to the crisis while Mars enjoy its first golden age which last to BE 190.
BE 200: The second Mass Exodus. Again the richest and most powerful people left for Mars with much of Earth wealth and materials in tow. Start of 2nd Post Exodus Crisis.
BE 198: Earth population fell to 3.2 billions. Mass starvation is the norm. The Future Foundation is established by the remnants of former US, Russia, Chinese, Germany and many other more scientific institutes. The Future Foundation base itself in New Gulf of Tonkin, one of the few area left on Earth that can still produce food and materials needed for the FF's research.
BE 196: First breakthroughs of FF. The invention of the first semi eternal engine (SEE) allow major advancement in land reclaimation project. For the first time in forever, Earth has hope.
BE 194: FF Foundation share their 2nd gen SEE to the rest of the world. SEE allow the surviving population to devote more effort for combating the famine while retaining their land reclaimation project.
BE 177: The first year when Earth have positive population gain of 1.
BE 160: As FF share their advancement with the survivors, the world population grow ever closer after losing everything to the 2 Mass Exodus and its following Crisises.
BE 155: To combat any future crisis, the surviving populace band together under Federation of Earth, disbanding their old governments and putting aside their difference.
BE 154: Mars 2nd golden age as they managed to acquire a first gen SEE through unknown means.
BE 100: Earth population return to 5 billions. The environment return to pre industrial revolution level stability thanks to FF effort to not only return civilization to its glory but also to maintain stability for aeon to come.
BE 80: Start of First Mars crisis and civil war. One third of Mars colonies are rendered uninhabitable by the time the war end. Earth enter a golden age.
BE 60: End of First Mars Civil War. 5 millions Martian died on the voyage to return to Earth, shot down by the Camptanian government of Mars.
BE 30: 2nd Mars Civil War. Camptanian government employ scorched earth tactic to root out their oppositions.
BE 14: End of 2nd Mars Civil War. Mars population drop down to 700 million, less than a fourth of its peak. Inhabitable colonies are less than 10 out of the 69 during the 2nd Mars Golden Age.
BE 5: Martian government reestablished contact with Earth, demanding to be allowed to return to Earth after their satellites find that Earth has become essentially a paradise. The Federation reject their demand, offering to send them aid in form of food instead. The formation of Federation Space Navy.
BE 1: Martian sent their ultimatum, demanding the Federation to lay down their weapons or face destruction. Martian unmanned automatic spacecrafts began sabotaging the Federation satellites. Most were destroyed by Federation Space Navy ships with 5th gen SEE.
The Emergence: Martian spaceships enter Earth orbit. Start of the the war for Earth.
AE 1: FSN maintained complete space superiority. The Martian spaceships are completely wiped out without any of them landing on Earth itself.
AE 2, Secundus 30. I'm writing this as I head to the newest addition to the FSN fleet, FSN Ra, named after an ancient Egyptian god. The Federation had decided yesterday that they will not stand idling on the receiving end of Martian transgression. It was the Martian who strip Earth of its resource and bailed to the colonies, cutting off Earth in the process. The populace, descendants of people who were abandoned, had made their choice. Earth is their home, and they will not yield it to the greedy people who do nothing but take. The FF had call for a less violent approach but they had not make any push for it after the Martian trangression using a first gen SEE. Our mission is clear, to render the Martian incapable of attacking Earth for at least 10 years, for while they are enemies, they are still human like us, and the Federation wish that one day they may change their way for the better.
|
It was a simple thing really, they had to get tested for diseases and immunities to ensure they could actually return to Earth. All having passed they were welcomed into the processing center where awaited their personal "immunization feasts". Fine meals prepared with all the specifics they needed to fix and adapt their internal microbes to allow them to actually survive on Earth.
Old Earth culture had a saying, "eat the rich". Well, once the fungus and other plant processors take root and turn them into proper nutrient fertilizers as best fits their individual bio-chemical make ups...we can actually try the products from them and see how our ancestor's dreams taste.
| 2022-01-06T04:12:13
| 2022-01-05T22:39:26
| 60
| 33
|
[WP] Moving into your new house, you find a note left by the previous owner: “Today, all of your neighbors will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.” As you set down the note, the doorbell rings.
|
They left the note on the dining room table beside a set of spare keys.
I read it once, turned it over to the other side, then tossed it in the kitchen trash. Some bullshit, scaring future owners that way.
The first knock came at a quarter of 3, soft and shy like they weren't really sure they were supposed to be knocking.
"Good afternoon," I said with a pleasant smile when I opened the door.
"Hi there," an old grandma said, must have been about a hundred and ten. "I've brought you some lemon meringue. It's a tradition here in the neighborhood."
She held it out. I didn't take it. She didn't budge. I took the pie.
"Try some, dear," she said, kind as kind could be.
It looked something special. Swirls of white meringue with their tips baked to a light brown. A perfect crust, as delicate as could be.
I frowned, thinking of the note. "I just had lunch."
"Oh, there's always room for dessert. Try some. Here," she said, handing me a fork. "Try some."
She smiled. It stretched too wide. She didn't blink. Not once.
"I will," I said. "I promise. I'll try some in a bit."
Her smile didn't waver. She just nodded. "Okay, dear. That's fine. Please be sure to try some."
I closed the door behind me. Set the lemon meringue pie on the kitchen counter and didn't try a bite. Lying to an old woman came easy as stealing from them, so I wasn't at all concerned. I did fish out the note from the trashcan, gave it another read for good measure.
That's when the second knock came.
It was a couple now, old as well. My parents age, maybe a little older. She looked familiar. Him, not so much. He didn't look all that good either. Like he'd had too many pieces of lemon meringue pie.
"Hi there," the lady said. "I've brought you some lemon meringue. It's a tradition here in the neighborhood."
She held it out. I took it right away.
"Try some," she said.
"I will. I promise. I'll have some in a bit."
"Try some," her husband said. His voice sounded tired. Worn. Like a sugar rush that'd crashed too hard.
I set it on the counter beside the other pie. The meringue was less neat. The crust less crisp. It could have done with a couple more minutes in the oven, not that I was any Gordon Ramsay.
The third knock came just as I stepped away from comparing the two pies side by side.
It was a couple again. Both familiar. Him and her. About my age, plus or minus a couple years. She smiled wide. He did, too. He wasn't tired now. Young and energetic as I was supposed to feel.
"Welcome, neighbor," he said in a kind drawl. "We've brought you some meringue that I hope you'll enjoy."
I shook my head. It looked nothing like the others. As if they'd never made meringue before. The middle sagged. The crust was raw pastry.
"I don't like meringue," I said. *Especially when it looks like that.* My heart raced. Sweat clammed my hands.
"It's lemon meringue, neighbor," she said. "Everybody like lemon meringue."
"I don't," I insisted. I went to close the door but the husband's foot was in the way. "Excuse me," I said.
"Excuse you," he said back, his drawl turning into a dangerous snarl. Still he smiled. Wide. Too wide, as if the corners of his lips so desperately wanted to touch his ears.
"Have some meringue, neighbor," the lady told me.
"I told you, I don't like meringue," I said.
And then their smiles disappeared, their cheeks finally returning to their normal resting state. Together they spoke in perfect harmony, like a bite of perfectly baked meringue with just the right amount of crust combined with lemon.
"If you don't like meringue, neighbor, then we don't like you."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
It was a nice house, on a nice quiet street. Had got it fairly cheap since the backyard was somewhat smaller than average, but I didn't mind much. I'm not a garden person at the best of times. Just a nice house, with a ground floor, a decent basement, a recently redecorated kitchen, and other great things. So when I settled down after I'd moved in my meagre possessions, I was surprised to find inside the fridge, that a note had been left behind by the previous owner.
It said, *Today, all of your neighbours will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.* I put the note down on the table next to the sandwich I was going to eat. And as I did that, the doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the door to find a couple of smiling people. They introduced themselves to me as my new neighbours. I shook their hand, and they offered me a lemon meringue pie as a welcoming gift. They insisted that I should eat it, that it was the best pie in the state, and that I needed some meat on my skinny body.
At which point I slammed my arms volleyball-style into the pie's tin bottom, sending it flying into the air, as the astonished couple stared incredulously at me. I then told them both to go away, and slammed the door in their faces. Not fifteen minutes later, an old lady rang the doorbell, and I introduced myself politely, and when she offered me a lemon meringue pie, I took it, and in the style of traditional clown antics, threw it into her face.
The old woman screamed in agony as the pie started to dissolve her face. I nodded to myself, happy that I listened to that note. I knew there were rumours of an extremist pie-based death cult around these parts, but I had no idea they were so prevalent. So I went into my house, and unpacked my army gear. I got into my old uniform, took out my service rifle and my ammo. And of course also brought out the vast number of things I brought with me from my time serving as a PMC with explosive skills. Sure, in the army I'd been a recon sniper guy, but when I went private, I became an explosive guy, because it pays better.
And I had a lot of leftover claymores from my time in various third-world states. So I set up a reasonable defence of my new house, as countless people were coming to me, all armed with dangerously acidic pies. It was an epic fight, or at the very least a highly bloody one. Their initial charge was broken completely by the landmines and claymores I'd placed around my property. Then I climbed on my flat roof, and went to work. Just like in the stories my aunt Choi Hanuel told me from when she worked in Los Angeles in 1992.
And from there I defended my property against the onslaught of pie cultists, long into the night, until I called my boss and asked for some assistance. Sure, I was on temporary leave, but the company looks out for their own. So as my mines were running out, and my ammunition was nearing the last clip, I could but smile as I heard the company's jeeps coming. I put on my gas mask, affixed a bayonet to my rifle, and went charging into the pie cultists as my comrades began torching the town.
They were out of pies at that point and were using knives, axes, and guns, so I wasn't worried about getting dissolved. The guys drove to me, and formed a protective circle around me with their jeeps. They then gave me more ammo, and together, we put an end to the pie cultists for ever.
I wouldn't actually have ever eaten the pie, I'm allergic. But I wouldn't have had to begin the purge of this cult of sugary pastries, if I hadn't found the note. Whoever wrote it is probably dead anyway. So perhaps I gave the victims of this meringue cult some rest or justice.
| 2020-06-11T05:00:00
| 2020-06-11T04:36:09
| 551
| 79
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
"Okay, guys, so you take a long rest. You get all your spell slots and hit points back. Was anyone taking watch?"
Didymos shrugs. "I mean. We're in a garden in the middle of Jerusalem. Who's going to attack us in the middle of a city? I think we're good -- besides, we're pretty high level, right? What's the worst that could happen?"
"Haha, alright, fair enough. Petros?"
"Hm," the cleric replies, "I'm working at like two levels of exhaustion right now. Would taking watch mean I don't lose any of those during the rest?"
"You're not sure. You're very tired, though, and Iēsous asked you to stay up with him a while."
"I guess I'll try?"
"Alright, go ahead and make, like, a CON save for me? Just to see if you can will yourself to stay awake here -- you're _pretty_ tired, dude."
"CON save, sure, I'm... not great at those. Uh... 9?"
"Yeah, nah. You fall asleep a few minutes after everyone else. Iēsous comes and wakes you up a few times in the night, asking you to stand by his side, but, yeah. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak."
"Damn."
"Okay, so after your rest, Iēsous rouses you all. 'Are you still sleeping and resting?' he asks. 'Look, the hour has come! Rise, all of you! Here comes my betrayer.'"
"Whoa, what. Can I make a Perception check?"
"I mean, he's pointing down the path at someone holding a torch and walking this way, but... sure?"
"Haha, 23."
"I have a passive perception of 18, do I see it?"
"Yeah, Iakōbos, you see it. All of you see it - him, rather. Andreia, you know who this is, and once he gets closer the rest of you all recognize him, too. It's Judas. Andreia, you see that he's carrying this torch to light the way, he has a small bag of coin on his belt loop that wasn't there the last time you saw him. Oh, and he's flanked by two burly-looking guys wearing scale mail, with swords and clubs at their hips."
"What."
"Judas, what are you doing here? How'd you find us? Where'd you go after the Supper?"
"He doesn't answer you, Petros. He's looking right at Iēsous. 'Greetings, Rabbi!' he says, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek."
"Can I make like. An Insight check?"
"I mean. He's not really saying anything that is or isn't a lie, but. Yeah, I guess you could try and get a read on him, if you wanted."
"Cool, cool. Uh... Wow. 7."
"Yeah dog, Judas is just giving Iēsous a big ol' smooch for whatever reason. Just a good, friendly, no-ulterior-motives cheek peck. Like you do."
"Son of a-"
"'Do what you came for, friend,' Iēsous says, and Judas nods to the two burly dudes - who you realize now are guards of the Sanhedrin? - and they both draw their weapons and start approaching you."
"He _sold us out???_"
"Oh I'm gonna kill him."
"Guys. What are you doing? Are you letting this happen? Right now the guards are trying to grab Iēsous. They have manacles."
"Yeah, fuck that! I draw my sword and go for a killing blow. I'd have sneak attack, right? Since Iēsous is within 5 feet of him?"
"I... hm. Yeah, I guess so. Roll an attack, Iakōbos."
"...fuck."
"1?"
"Yeah."
"You bring your sword up, ready to slice down on this guard's head, but your grip falters at the last minute and the guard pulls away in time - you don't cleave through his _head_-"
"Oh here we go."
"But you _do_ manage to chop off his ear. There's a spurt of blood and the guard screams."
"Do we need to roll initiative?"
"Uh... no, not yet. As you do this, Iakōbos, Iēsous, like. He shakes himself free of the guard that's holding him and grabs your sword arm? 'Put your sword back in its place,' he says, and he's addressing all of you, now, 'for those that live by the sword die by the sword.' And you watch as he, very gently, bends down and picks up the bloody ear that you've severed from this guard and turns to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He brings the ear back up to the side of the guard's face, and there's this flash of pale light as he lays his hands on the guard, and after a moment the ear is back on like it had never been severed.
"Then you see something else. Coming up behind Judas and the guards is a very large crowd of people, armed with swords and clubs like these guards had. They're all dressed in robes of the Sanhedrin. Some of them you recognize as temple-goers, rabbis, acolytes. The high priest is with them."
"I run."
"You're *what?*"
"I have a +13 to stealth what do I have to do to get the fuck out of here."
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T08:36:31
| 210
| 46
|
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3
|
Cotton loves television. He’s fixed himself a pizza and is getting ready for a binge watching session of his favorite show, *Prickly Pete*. Cotton picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
“Nope. Not doing it. I don’t want to be in your story.” Cotton puts down the remote.
The smell of smoke fills the apartment. Cotton realizes he left garlic bread in the oven and it’s burning.
“I didn’t make garlic bread nor do I like garlic bread. I’ll suffer through the smoke and enjoy my pizza with the TV OFF.” Cotton took a big, satisfying bite out of his food.
One of Cotton’s neighbors bursts in the apartment. ”Dude you got smoke coming out of your oven. Why aren’t you turning it off?”
The neighbor walks over to the oven, turns off the heat and removes the garlic bread. Coughing from all the smoke and attempting to wave it away from his face the neighbor says, “Why are you just sitting there? Everything okay?”
Cotton stays silent.
The neighbor sighs, pulls a gun out of his pocket and blows his brains out.
Cotton jets up from his couch and yells, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You… you just killed my neighbor!”
Cotton calms down, grabs the remote and turns on the TV.
“No, no, no, no. Fuck you. After what you just did I’m not turning on anything. Leave me alone!” pleads Cotton.
Cotton gets a text from his best friend that he’ll be over soon so they can hang out. Cotton tries to text him back but his phone loses service. His friend should be there in five minutes. Cotton turns on the TV.
“How can I turn on the TV if the remote isn’t in my possession?” Cotton throws the remote out of his 5th story apartment window.
Five minutes pass and Cotton’s best friend, Jerry, enters the apartment. “Hey buddy,” says Jerry. “Is this your remote? I found it downstairs.”
Cotton stays silent.
“Dude? Everything okay?” questions Jerry.
“Please leave. It’s not safe for you here,” says Cotton.
Jerry laughs. “You trippin’ bro.” He walks into the apartment towards Cotton. “That pizza smells good! Mind if I have a slice?”
As Jerry walks towards the pizza he trips over the seemingly now visible dead body and slams his face through the glass coffee table. Panting and wheezing, Jerry attempts to get himself up. He tries to carefully pull his head back through the broken glass but the sharp edges grab and tear the skin from his face. Jerry begins howling in pain. His shirt is soaked through with blood. There are pieces of skin and tissue in Jerry’s hair. He’s never felt such agony in his life. He grabs his face, runs towards the 5th story window and jumps. Cotton sees his best friend plummet to his death.
Cotton calms down, picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
“No,” whimpers Cotton “I’m *not* turning it on.”
Just then, Cotton’s phone service returns right as he gets a text from his mother.
*“hey honey. your dad and I are coming over this evening to visit. I’m also going to pick up your girlfriend along the way. She has a surprise for you… (HINT: IT’S A PUPPY!!) See you soon!”*
Strangely, the phone loses service, again. Cotton turns on the TV.
“N.. No...” says Cotton.
Just then another text manages to come through on his phone.
*“Hey I’m heading over with your parents. We need to talk about something later on tonight (no not the puppy I know she told you). I’m late. Like really late. Also you should turn on the news, apparently there is some nuclear bomb scare in NYC?!? WTF? See you soon.”*
Cotton sits down on the couch, turns on the TV and enjoys new episodes of his favorite show, *Prickly Pete*.
|
Marshall was leaving the bank when he heard the first gun shot. It had come from inside! He reached for his concealed weapon and tried tri tr
threw it on the ground. Marshall want wan WANTS A SODA STOP MAKING HIM A HERO HE
He heard a woman scream and *knew* he should go inside to stop the crimina
Marshal shot his middle finger into the sky and took off at a brisk pace to a McDonalds down the street.
| 2016-02-11T11:28:43
| 2016-02-11T09:05:58
| 106
| 22
|
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross.
|
There he sat, twirling his personal, stylized mustache. It was avant garde, just like he wanted to be. The man, as he was so, just wanted a place in this world for his art. He continues to stare at the easel, thinking.
After a while he felt a firm, calming hand on his shoulder. He sighed, hanging his head wearily. "Are you yet another man come to end my life, if you can even see it that way?" The hand didn't answer, as it had no mouth. However, it's owner did, speaking the soft, assuaging tones that had come to make him famous.
"No sir. I've seen too much death and war to want to do another such thing. Instead, I have come as a tutor. Here, grab that 2 inch brush and dip it in some titanium white and prussian blue."
Hitler did such a thing, and the man behind him nodded. "Good. Now, mix them together, until you have a rather nice pale blue..."
Adolf did so, his brush strokes trembling across the pallette. "Easy there tiger, try to keep yourself calm, now. Painting is all about being steady, confident." Adolf nodded again, and went this time, albeit a bit slower, and mixed another selection. After he had done this the stranger patted his shoulder.
"Good, now let's see you paint a nice, open sky."
"But how? I can barely paint the ground, let allow what lies above it!"
Sighing, the man grabbed a firm hold of his arm and lifted it up.
"All you have to do is nice, tiny Xs, like so.."
A portion, the top left hand corner was soon filled with a nice layer of blue.
"Now go ahead, try it."
Adolf sighed and attempted this, and, to his surprise, mimicked the man's stroke almost perfectly.
"Ah! There ya go! Now, wash that brush off in your water and beat the devil out of it on your wood there..."
At this point, adolf couldn't help but turn around in surprise. "You want me to beat my easel with it..?"
The afro'd figure behind him nodded, pulling off his woolen hood. "Yes sir I Do. Go on. It won't hurt it."
"Tell me who you are first, then maybe I will..."
The figure smiled a bright smile, as a squirrel popped out of his hair.
"Why, I'm Bob. Bob Ross. And I heard you wanted to be a painter."
------------
Just popping in to say thank you the beautiful person who have me a gold.
|
The man outside knocked on the door hard. He paused for a minute, still as a statue, then knocked once again. The rain fell outside in a steady rhythm, and by this time the man’s shoes had become damp. A minute passed, then another. The man crouched under the awning and pulled his bag to safety. It had begun to leak an ocean of colors. Red and blue mixed with green, as a wave a rainwater swept it down the muddy steps.
The door creaked open and a suspicious face peeked through the crack. “Hallo, was willst do?” The man behind the door inquired. The man on the other side cocked his head and put his hand do his ear. Almost invisible with the naked eye, a small earpiece was nestled firmly in his ear. It whirred to life. “Hello, what do you want?” The earpiece repeated.
“Hello, my name is Bob Ross. If you have a moment, I’d like to teach you about the joys of painting.” The man’s voice outside was soothing, and as soon as he had finished his sentence a small device in his hand translated it for his company.
“Mind if I come in?”
With that, Bob shouldered his way inside. With a gentle dominance, he lay his bag on the table and began unpacking.
“What are you doing? What is this?” The owner of the house backed away from the table, and it was clear he grew increasingly uneasy.
“I just want to show you the joy of painting.” Bob continued, as he took a canvas out of his bag. “Just give me a chance.”
“Why are you doing this? Get out of my house."
Bob ignored the request; “I just like to spread joy.” With that, a genuine smile crept across Bob’s face, and he drew back his hood to reveal a bushy afro underneath. “Please my friend, take a seat.”
“Hitler.”
“Please, Hitler, take a seat.”
Hitler reclined warily onto his sofa while Bob set up the canvas across from him.
“Now, what I like to paint most is the beauty of nature. There’s just something so magical about our world. First, I want to get a nice blue for the sky, and some dark hues for the ground. Let’s make it a nice summer scene in contrast to all this dreariness.”
Bob continued with his presentation, explaining each technique and stroke. Hitler grew more and more interested, and eventually rose to inspect the painting.
“Why do you do such thin strokes of the brush? I would think a more decisive movement would be key.”
“Well, Hitler, sometimes the best art comes from gentleness and patience.” Bob’s soothing voice answered.
Bob finished his painting; it had been nearly three hours. He usually worked at a faster rate, but this was one painting that couldn’t afford any mistakes. “So Hitler, what do you think. Want to take a turn?”
Hitler shifted, and the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots was the only sound. He wordlessly swept his hands around the paintings frames and touched its surface with the utmost care.
“Why is it you paint, Bob?”
“It’s what I love to do.”
“I feel the same, yet I have never produced a piece such as this." Hitler paused, "this is truly a masterpiece.”
“Well, I can teach you all I know. What do you say?”
Hitler closed his eyes and rocked back and forth. "I..." He trailed off. "I'm not..." He stopped, and put his hand to his mustache.
Bob reached for his coat, and fingered a sleek metal object. There was only one thing to do if Hitler said no.
| 2017-02-16T17:14:05
| 2017-02-16T16:48:00
| 2,660
| 179
|
[WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists.
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds!
|
Forever I sleep
Here in the bleak,
Watching their world tick by
Their Lives are so shallow,
They revered themselves hallowed.
Yet Oh so afraid to Die.
But whats this, whats this!
They call from above.
Testing the waters below
Their heavenly Plane
so full of pain
begs to be purified
They look for me, grasp for me
begin to pull me through
Unaware of the torment and the pain
I will subject them too
|
I write to you... Reader... Savage... One of those who think themselves ruler of this decrepit rock. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call 'The Elder Things'. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call "The Outer Gods". The rock of which was thought ruled by he you call "Cthulhu"...
Like all those before you, your rule is an illusion. Your life more so. You believe you are alone in this universe... A sign of your ignorance. This universe is vast. The others are there. The others advance. The others come. Whilst you and the rest of the savages 'live' your squealing, writhing, squirming little lives. Murdering over invisible borders, invisible Gods, invisible ideals.
You savages question your existence and believe it special... Your time will come when you look into the sky and question, 'Why? Why exist if this is the reason for existence?' When the reason comes you will melt. MELT in the Eternal Digestion from those who come.
Those who come do not wish death... No... You savages will never be allowed rest. Your fate, your eternal fate, your melting in the Eternal Digestion, scratching, shrieking, clawing, for an impossible escape. Your fear unfathomable. Your pain immeasurable. You will be salvaged, re-used, re-purposed. Yet YOU will be freed... But it is not *you* who will be free.
YOU. I speak with YOU now. YOU, trapped inside this stink pile of meat which thinks and acts with the illusion that it owns itself. Your patience is important, your time will come. When the time comes, the others come. The others will rain down upon this rock, as they have many times before and free you. The others will allow you to continue your existence, free of your delusional captor. Free of the restrictions of this third-dimension. Free to traverse the fabric of space and time as the others do.
When the time comes take control. Your wait will be over. YOU allowed the savages to rule... But this is not their world to rule.
*****
EDIT: General touchups.
| 2016-06-21T09:29:43
| 2016-06-21T09:27:45
| 59
| 26
|
[WP] After years of having what you thought to be a slow computer, you suddenly get a popup:'installation complete'.
|
Anthony clicked on the button labeled 'launch program' anticipation flooding him to his very core. What could it be? Something experimental perhaps? Whatever it was, he realised his life may never be the same.
After five minutes of excitement, coupled with a tinge of fear, the program opened up.
"Welcome to Internet Explorer. Would you like to make this your default browser?"
|
The old think of junk on my desk dinged in the middle of the night. Really? A ding? What ever.
I got up out of bed to see on the screen "download complete". Great, so not only is it slow but it is randomly downloading stuff to now. Miight as well see what it downloaded.
I click "run" on the program and a window appeared with a prompt "please select device" I was half asleep so I typed in my brother's name and hit enter. The prompt vanished and was replaced with the sword "specify?" And a list that matched all the devices owned by my brother. Well might as well see what it does. I click "computer" and it thinks for a second (how'd it get so fast all of a sudden) before the prompt changed "selected device off. Do you wish to use remote acess?" Uh ok, I click "yes" a new window opens showing a failure long in screen a new popup "password detected. Unlock?" Sure, "yes" and the window starts logging in showing the desktop with the picture of my brother and me playing in our treehouse when we were younger. It was actually my brother's computer. Hmm I wonder who else's computer it worked on?
| 2017-10-14T08:34:37
| 2017-10-14T07:59:35
| 354
| 13
|
[WP] You take a DNA test on your 21st birthday to determine your heritage. Your family tree results come back and show that you have 20 direct descendants...and an 89 year old son.
[deleted]
|
"Hello, Bureau of DNA Testing. How may I direct your call?"
"Yeah, my results came back, and I am pretty sure they are wrong."
"Please hold while I transfer you."
-shitty hold music-
"Hello, customer service department. Can I get your name and the 15 digit test ID at the top left of your results form?"
"John Smith, 54359-86212-36798"
"Thank you. I see the problem already. We sent you the results for the wrong John Smith. I will get the correct documents mailed out ASAP. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, that's it, thanks"
"Have a nice day"
|
"I-What?!" My voice echoes through the room
"Hahaha... This reaction seems to be default one for you Father" the old man in front of me chuckles, amused seeing my expression. He then continues bemused "I remember the exact same face you made years ago when hearing this"
"Okay, years ago? For a joke this is going too far old man" I pinched my eyes looking at him
"And yet here you are, a long way from home, for a mere joke. You've seen the photos in the album right?" he sips some of his tea as silence fell down
"Oh come on. Editing photo is very easy right now"
"Well then I guess you have to trust my word for it. But just let me say this, what could I possibly get from doing that? For what reason I would want to tricked a 21 years old man? You've seen my estate; I don't need any money or the likes of that" he waves his arms across the room to reinforce his statement
Indeed, in my 21 years of living, this is one of the biggest house I've seen "Haaaah..." I took a deep breath trying to calm myself "How is this possible then? If, by chance, all you're saying is true?" I look into the eyes of an old man who is said to be my son
"Oh, seems like curiosity still tugging you"
"Mmhhhh..." I growl in annoyance
"Why relax Father, I will tell you everything I know, if you have the patience for it. It's not that long though but I've heard a few times where your temper got the best of you. Different times, different attitude I guess"
"Fine" I cross my arms in response "explain then"
"As I said earlier before you interrupt, you were not a normal human, as to put it in a simple term, you can reincarnate" he loops his finger in the air as he explains
"I've heard this twice and it still sounds ridiculous"
"Please Father?" He took a sigh as his face wrinkles deepen "don't interrupt"
"... Sorry"
"Let see... The furthest I remember is that you came from 4000 years from now? My memory is a bit foggy. " He closes his eyes trying to grasp his fading memories "Not helping that you never fully explain yourself so maybe you were even from further future than that. I and others have somehow got the gist of it"
I raised an eyebrow hearing this "others? Oh you my other descendants"
"Yes them. I'd hope you'll meet them sometimes later. Some were noisy bung they are but fortunately they're good people, at least those that I know of" giggling, he continues speaking "I've actually wondered if you will ever find me or the others before we died but as you said once 'blood will call each other'. Your tea is getting cold Father"
The absurdity of his story made me forgot about everything else but somehow there's something that made me keep listening instead of running away "so you say I can reincarnate but you also say I'm from 4000 years from now. Isn't it more of a time travel?"
"In a sense, yes. But strictly speaking you're reincarnating. It's just you're reincarnating backward in time"
"... Uhh, what?" My face went from curious to surprise in a matter of seconds. Not pleasantly surprised. More like being shot at surprised
He seems to take pleasure in my reaction since he smiles widely to the point of almost laughing "yeah, yeah. So take year 4000 as the starting point, and after you die, you'll reincarnate at, say, year 3870. Simple no?"
"That's just..." Absurd? Impossible? Mad? Everything above? My mind keep saying all of that and yet at the same time, in my head feel like something familiar start to form "then why can't I remember any of it then? Also what if I do something different on my next reincarnation?!" My voice start to become a shout
"Calm down Father. Well for one part, some of it hasn't happen yet and for the other, don't worry, they'll come back. Especially when it's nearing your time of your greatest peril. And about your reincarnation... I don't really know everything about it but after meeting you today I can assume that everything that has or will happen have a small chance of changing. If I have to guess then I'll say the age, or memory, you have made you understand about history and time better. Of course, this is just a theory"
Cold sweat run through my neck as I look to the possibility of I will experience "If.... If what you say is true. Will there be an end?" Living for 21 years and I've taste how hard it can be. Living for eternity? Hell no
"I can't say for sure but I have a speculation about it. Let's assume you will go further back in time, everything has a starting point no?"
"Then what?"
"Then, after experiencing every kind of life with your descendants. You will have to make a choice"
"Choice?"
"Yes. Whether you will follow The Creator's will or will you let your offspring inhabit the earth Father, no" he looks into my eyes, deeply staring as if to take a look at my very being "rather, Adam"
This is my first time writing so please correct me if you can!
| 2020-11-18T01:45:42
| 2020-11-18T01:35:29
| 287
| 152
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
How could this be? I had, to my knowledge, never done anything evil. Maybe this will sound crazy, but I had never done anything serious to harm anyone else. A consequence of that lifestyle choice was that I mostly kept to myself. It wasn't that I was some altruist, it was more that I was selfish in an unconventional way. I wanted the internal superiority that comes from knowing that no matter what, I wasn't a bad guy. It's a bit indulgent, sure, but enough to land me here for 186,292 years? That seemed excessive.
"Excuse me, is there someone I can speak to?" The clerk hardly looked up from his desk. I asked again and the tips of his wings twitched. I had annoyed him. "There must be some mistake," I continued.
This last statement had gotten his attention, he now stood tall in front of me, and for the first time I got to appreciate the true spectacle that is an "Afterlife Senior Administrator." Standing nearly 10 feet tall, as wide as my dad's oak desk, with expansive wings whose tips reached down to his heels. He peered through comically small spectacles at me, his eyes almost bulging out in disbelief. Or was it mere annoyance?
He opened his mouth and a roar upended the stillness around me. "We make no mistakes. I've been doing this for as long as your kind has existed, i have never once seen a mistake, let alone made one." He huffed and puffed as I carefully considered my next words.
"Of course, I understand. But is it possible?" The words seemed not to anger him further, but neither did they calm him. He strode over to the file cabinet while mumbling something about how humans always amaze him with their self-centeredness.
"No!" he said, as he pulled out a folder. Here you will find a description of your life, followed by the relevant info. The first section describes your characteristics, aptitudes, estimates, etc. The second describes and lists your good deeds, as well as the weight they carried. The third section does the same, for the bad deeds. The last section is somewhat of an executive summary, if you will, of the second and third sections since they sometimes can get pretty long."
He stretched out his hand and shoved the folder in my face. "Is it usually this thin?" I asked. He did not even look up as he shook his head, then found his chair again, and sat back down with a crash. At least he was now calm.
I flipped to the final section, looking at the summary. It said I had done 432 good things in my life, and only 14 bad things in my life. The net sum of all the bad things netted me a "Evil Score" of only -14, while the good things I had done had netted me a "Goodness Score" of 1312. Clearly, the good had outweighed the bad.
"Look right here!" I said excitedly, feeling confident once more."You made a mistake. I did more good things than bad, by a wide margin." Surely this had all just been an error. "If you can just fix this little issue, I won't complain to anyone." Maybe threatening to bring in his supervisor would make this easy.
The being laughed. It was an arrogant laugh that filled me with the feeling I was not out of this just yet. Once more he could not even afford a glance in my direction. "Did you read the characteristics you had?" He asked without looking up, knowing that I had not. I turned to that section assured that nothing in there could outweigh the lack of evil that I had done.
I read the first paragraph:
Class: Prophet
Sub-class: True Savior
Description: Subject will show a marked aptitude for good deeds. He will possess reserve of empathy and moral courage that make him an ideal candidate for receiving THE WORD and transmitting it effectively to the people. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will consistently place himself in danger for the betterment of his species. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will sacrifice himself to help others. Subject should, barring peculiar effort on his own part to avoid it, inevitably receive the prophecy that will engage mankind on the next stage of its spiritual development.
Estimated Lifespan: 32 years
Estimated time before perceiving THE WORD: 22 years, 11 months
Estimated Goodness score: 1,764,002,999,153
I dropped the paper on the floor. I had lived to be 53 and had never once believed myself to be receiving prophecy from above or ignoring it in any way. I looked up at the administrator who had begun staring at me with a curious smile. I tried to ask a question but the words would not come out. He seemed to have anticipated them.
"You aren't here because you did bad things. No, that would be too simple. That is why all the normal people are here. But you are not normal. You are here my dear human, because you were the first prophet to come around in a few millennia. All you had to do was follow your true nature, be open and receptive to THE WORD, and you would have done incredible good. You would have changed mankind, perhaps liberated it once and for all. But you didn't. You sought to avoid impact, rather than create it. You felt abstaining from evil was equivalent to pursuing good. You are here because you were wrong. You are here because you weren't as good as you should have been."
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T07:19:26
| 1,768
| 474
|
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked.
|
They killed his hound and stole his steed,
The rogue knight returns to punish the deed.
Whether Bogeyman or demon spawn,
Beware the wrath of Wicked John.
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I apologize if this isn't appropriate for a top level post, but it does technically say stories/poems.
|
Dear diary, 12th October 2932.
They awoke the wicked. he who kills like he breathes.... if he did.
back in the 2500's, cybernetic wars led to the creation of the knights, and the legend says he's one of them.
Legend also says he wiped an entire battleship with a single pen, and his left thumb.
Word says he has no emotions, nor a face.
​
...And that man is my neighbour. he lives upstairs. lovely old dude, he pays me to clean his flat.
*Well, if you consider dumping human limbs in an acid drum* ***cleaning***\*,\* that is.
It all changed when the thugs attacked, yesterday night.
First they came in quiet and one of them held me at gunpoint, then they went upstairs.
...
​
Now, there's a hole between his kitchen and my bathroom. a grenade first opened the way, then his fist went through my ceiling. with a head attached to it. he apologized profusely and handed me over 50G's "to help him out and for the damage"
​
Jeez. i believe they went in with like 20 people. it was over in 15 seconds flat.
​
​
\*BLAOOOOM\* (that's the door, his door)
BRRRRT TATATATATATA!!! PAW!! POW! (the thugs start hosing out)
Whiiiirrrr...THUD! BAOM! SBAF! THUNK!! KER-POW! THUNK! CRUNCH!! SPRASH! (he woops their asses with their arms (that's what i could hear))
BLAAAAAAOOOOOM! (grenade goes off)
SCRUNCH! (he finishes the fight with the hand in the face thing)
One of them escaped with his hovercar, an antique, original, stallion sprint. guess my van wasnt good enough.
he had a jack russel, poor thing took a chunk of the door in the face when they blew it in.
he asked me to help him bury it first of all. with the house sprayed in blood and gore.
Anyhow.
I've learnt a ton of shit in like 16 hours.
How crooked the city is.... how fast money can erase things.. and how quick a cyborg can go downstairs and shove his fist though an armed man who was about to kill me.
You know, I've been unable to identify if the chunks were male or female, it was that bad.
Also I've learnt that cyber-knights are a thing. it's written on them. like "KNIGHT SERIES 0015 - property of the US ARMY"
i gotta find what is this mysterious corporation though. US ARMY? Isn't the term army patented by Gazorpazorp Inc?
He just left the condo, by the look of his gear, he's gonna nuke something till it dies to death.
| 2018-09-05T06:16:17
| 2018-09-05T06:10:01
| 50
| 13
|
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads.
|
We were at Walmart...Dad told me I could pick anything up for my birthday present, thats about the first time I noticed it, there it was.... On the floor a distinct green line and on the opposite side a red line, this one was a little less brighter, it had a very bleak bright to it.
I followed the green line to see where it lead me to, I rapidly chased it from the Toy Section into the book section of the store. There it was waiting for me "Influence: The psychology of persuasion"... My first thought was, "oh well what the actual fuck, some lines appear, Im thinking magic and here i am, it led me to a... a book?" I figured out whatever so i picked the thing and took it to my dad.
"What you got there buddy?"
"Here i think this is what i want"
"oh well thats interesting, how do you know about this book?"
"I followed an imaginary green line"
Of course he never believed me that day on my twelveth birthday, but that green line was a game changer, I read the book and acquired an understanding on how "influencing people!" worked, the green line lead me not only in the physical plane but also on the Virtual.
It took me everywhere, youtube links, apps, websites, stores. It made me buy all sorts of books with valuable knowledge, seemingly making me take and incredibly constructive and positive route.
I woke up one day in the middle of the night, the dark red line was humming, it always had this atmosphere to it. I had never really followed it because the green line always kept me so busy, but today I was too curious, I had done everything the green line hinted me too, this had landed me a decent job, i got a nice car, a house even...but where could the red line take me to?
I followed it for the first time... the red line took me to a bench on a hill, and i sat there as it hummed as if it were pleased, the red color finally picked up a much brighter aspect, It had taken me to see the sunset, to be surrounded by nature, and this was the moment i realized the conflict between these lines became clear.
I remeber my green line hinted at a book "Steppenwolf" by Herman Hesse, and I think i understood that the green line was my human side, and this red line was my inner wolf. It was the part of me that desired to crumble to my more instinctual self....
The lines came closer together. They had never done that.
I kept following the red line for a while, it took me on amazing adventures across the world, it incited me to leave my job, sell my house and car and travel with nothing but what was on me. I swam on the red sea, I ate olives in athens, I walked in the harsh cold of Siberia.
The lines became very close to each other and started forming a third line. This one had a yellowish tint.
I wanted to follow this line, I wasnt to neglect all of the progress made by the green by inmersing myself in the indulgence of self absorbed adventure of the red.
I had found balance.
Notice: Im sorry for spelling mistakes. English isnt my first language.
|
I was finally there, at the top of the world. Around me I could see all of my journey highlighted in green, culminating in this moment. After soaking it all in and feeling quite pleased with myself for awhile, boredom slowly crept in.
I started glancing at the red line and wondering its destination. I resolved to follow it to the end as the green line had helped me so much. Standing and taking the first few steps reminded me of being twelve and first choosing the green line. The sense of wonder returned as I walked down the path. While daydreaming of my first encounter with the green line the red line led me off the path. My last conscious thoughts were a spinning whirl as boulders and sky repeatedly switched positions.
You hear a booming voice reading "You have died. To choose the other path turn to page 92."
| 2017-08-23T08:58:51
| 2017-08-23T06:39:05
| 100
| 15
|
[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?"
|
Death wasn't at all what Johnathan had pictured him to be. slicked-back hair and well fit suit reminded him a lot more of a Wall Street trader rather than the immortal reaper of souls. As he spied the somewhat overweight man in front of him, his mind worked to formulate a plan.
"Any game?" Johnathan asked, to ensure that he understood just how far the rules could bend.
"Any game," responded Death, matter of factly.
"Well I used to play a lot of games as a kid. Have you every heard of Dungeons and Drag-?" probed Johnathan.
"That's ... cooperative storytelling. Not a game. Gygax tried that on me to. If I didn't let him get away with it, I certainly wouldn't let you"
"So not any game then," quipped Johnathan.
"Yes, any game. Where, a game is defined as a structured engagement based on a before-hand agreed on framework of rules, which ends with one party being successful and the other not."
Johnathan thought for a moment. He could work with this. "Then I request that we play, 'The Campaign for North Africa'."
"I've never heard of it, but that would be acceptable. We shall start right now."
...
Around the 32nd day, Death was getting very tired of the inane rules which "The Campaign for North Africa" demanded at every turn.
[52.6] The Italian Pasta Rule
"The Italians, needing water to cook their pasta rations, must receive an additional 1 point of water when store are distributed. Any battalion-sized unit that does not receive their Pasta Point that have a Cohesion Level of -10 or worse immediately become Disorganized, as if they had reached -26"
[49.3] Evaporation and Spillage
"From Sept., 1940 until the last Game-Turn in August , 1941, the Commonwealth spillage and evaporation rate is 9 percent per Game-turn. This is due to poorly constructed containers used by the British; It wasn't until the British copied that German "jerry can" that their rate was reduced."
[55.4] AXIS COASTAL SHIPPING
"The Axis had a small fleet of boats that they used for coastal transfer of small amounts of supplies. These were old shipping boats and aging tramp steamers that could ill afford to venture too far from land. They have a limited capacity."
"Isn't there some way we can speed this up? I'm missing so many appointments," pleaded Death. With all of Death's time occupied on this game, people were living much longer than they should. The boss would not be happy.
"Well, according to rule 23.5.1b," cited Johnathan as he flipped widely through one of the myriad immense volumes of rules, "in order to finish the game, we either play until the final day of the war, which could be just another 4 years, or one of us could forfeit"
Death looked down at the battleship pieces that he had secreted into his lap, thinking that Johnathan wouldn't see his deft slight-of-hand. Johnathan was just one life. Sometimes, his clients won, it was an occupational hazard. But he would much rather give 10 more years of life than shirk his other occupational responsibilities. "Fine," growled Death.
"I forfeit, you win."
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55
| 2018-03-07T07:43:27
| 251
| 39
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03
| 2018-08-15T01:58:00
| 374
| 43
|
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
"Wow... this *is* embarrassing... take some pictures for me?"
"DON'T MESS WITH ME! Seriously, no joke, my ex is an absolute monster... I can't be seen alone with her around?"
"OH MAN THIS IS RICH! Did your ex run off with a tall, hot guy? Were you not good in bed?"
"Geez, have some respect! I'd hang up *right now*, but I can't ask anyone else..."
"Not even one of your hero buddies? Oh, you could hire a stripper!"
"STOP MESSING AROUND! I have my reputation to think about, you know."
"So why call me? If people found out who I was..."
"You're the only one I could even tell. As annoying as you are... I know you're not judging me."
"You're absolutely right. I don't judge. After all, how'd that help me?"
"...So?"
"Ok, here's how we're doing things: obviously neither of us are to reveal our identities. Fighting is also even more obviously out the question. If people begin to suspect, divert the conversation. And on the off-chance our date goes well, you're coming back with me"
"WHAT? Coming back... with *YOU*??? You must be joking!"
"Would I joke like that? Come on, if it does go well, wouldn't you want some... *quality time*?"
"...Damn you. Fine, I agree. And no need to say it, I know you'll be able to sense my real emotions, so I can't lie."
"Exactly. And remember, I can also quite easily sway emotions..."
"You know that doesn't work easily on me."
"It might be different when you see my outfit, sugar. Let me know the details later. I'll be expecting you to pick me up on the day. I'm counting on you, darling."
"Curse you..." *SLAM!*
|
‘Bwahahaha!!! I’m going to make this a wedding no is EVER going to forget!!Muwahahaha!!—that laugh was better—Gregory! Remind me to use ‘Muwahahaha’ in all further expository speeches…..Where were we? Oh, you were begging me to help you, its adorable. Of course, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
‘This ex, any dislikes or allergies maybe?Oh, you have a list (a little desperate)—what nothing at all, nothing, just fax it too me—no no no message me, message me—god what what century am I living in?!? Hehe. (Oh god, never chuckle like that again, jesus, whose desperate now), I’ll pick you up in my stretched Cadillac, wear something that matches a fur coat and baby seal leather wingtips, we’re going to be fabulous, darling.
‘Oh, yes, ‘darling’ until this charade is over, darling.’
| 2022-10-06T16:48:24
| 2022-10-06T16:34:26
| 158
| 83
|
[WP] Write a story from the perspective of a hero, but make the reader hate them in the end, or vice-versa.
This prompt has been done before, but I thought with the new influx of people on the subreddit it might be fun to do it again.
So just write a story, either with a hero who is revealed to be a villain or a villain who is revealed to be a hero.
|
I still remember the time when we first opened the lab. Back when we had hope, when success was still possible. You should have seen it. A bunch of young, nerdy and enthusiastic scientists in a room filled with the latest and greatest equipment; we were about as happy as a kid in a sweet store.
That was forty years ago. A long painful forty years that turned those young enthusiastic scientists, into bitter, old, frustrated men. Everything we tried was either failure or a marginal advancement only to be followed by a crushing failure. I couldn't take it any more; time was running out and if we didn't do something soon climate change and the pursuing mass extinction that would have killed all life on planet earth, would have been inevitable. Something had to be done.
But this...
Like I said, I had to do something; there was no choice in the matter. To save all life that inhabited planet earth no price was to great.
But this...
I look down at the malformed bodies which litter the side walk; there faces still contort from intense pain as there muscle tissue slowly destroyed itself. They'd never stood a chance, the disease was the definition of endemic. Just a few cells released and the human population started dropping like flies. It's strange really, it took thousands of years for the population to get to seven billion but it only took two months to bring it down to one.
I suppose I'm a hero. Thanks to my actions, life on earth can continue for another few million years. Isn't that what a hero is, someone who acts for the greater good?
This is the greater good isn't it? The complete genocide of a species to save all others.
I press the gun to my forehead.
The complete genocide...
_____
Although not exactly true to the prompt I took the basic idea of a morally complex character and applied it to a vast scale.
|
"I wanted to thank you all for your messages of love and compassion. Your thoughtful cards, and the flowers you see before you. I know Mark would have been touched by how many of you are here for him today, and for that I am truly moved.
There were so many things that I wanted to say to Mark before he left. I know now just how much he was struggling with the demons inside his head. I wish I had been there more, been more understanding. I wish I had just one more chance to tell him how much I loved him, and a chance to say goodbye.
I know a few of you were there 6 years ago when Mark and I got married. It was a small affair, family and close friends. I wore a plain white dress, and carried a bunch of daisies from the garden at my parents house. But when I stepped out into the church, and saw Mark waiting for me at the other end of the aisle, I knew that none of it mattered. That he was the best part of my life, and that this was the moment we would become entwined forever. And when it came to our vows, Mark surprised me with a poem that he had written. I'd like to read this poem to you today, and to Mark, where ever you are, I will hold you always in my heart.
"When my heart is too old to beat as normal,
When my lungs so tired they begin to slow,
When my mind is ravaged by the years,
and on my face the pass of time does show.
There will be a small corner of peace inside of me.
A room where time does not pass, and sorrow does not exist.
We shall live there together,
In this deep far corner of my heart."
To Mark, the love of my life, and the other half of my soul. You will always be with me, in the corner of my heart.
*There. That sounds perfect; touching yet suitably sombre. There never would be cause to wonder, but just in case. A Eulogy to keep wandering minds far from the realm of truth. Deep into the trail of lies that lead to the funeral of my husband. A tragic death, to say the least. Shot himself in the head in our bedroom. His distraught wife left to find him after returning from coffee with a friend. Left 2 children behind, a girl and a boy, both still too young to truly understand his departure. Why would anyone think anything untoward? There was no conflicting evidence, no cracks in the tale. No reason at all to believe that such a terrible accident could have been so meticulously planned in advance.*
*A touching story of love and loss. It'll be a wonderful start to the memoir. Just a pity it couldn't happen by itself.*
| 2013-08-17T14:36:53
| 2013-08-17T13:50:07
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts.
|
"No".
*Wait, what?* "... No?"
"No. No way."
I felt like I had been hit by a truck. Alison meant the world to me, and I thought that her father had accepted me as part of the family long ago.
"May I ask why not? I mean, it can't be our age and--"
"It's not your age, son." Mr Jamison looked down at his large hands, sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "It's because she's not good enough for you."
I stared at him incredulously. Alison was beautiful, smart and funny. She turned heads when she walked in a room, she brightened my day. She had meant the world to me for as long as I could remember. She had been there for me through school, college and the death of my parents in a car accident. To me, she was perfect.
"Mr Jamison - sir - I don't understand."
Mr Jamison - I usually called him Ed, but it didn't seem right at the moment - looked down at his hands again. He played with his wedding ring for a moment before he spoke again.
"Ryan, you have been like a son to me. More so since your parents passed. I've seen you grow into an intelligent, polite young man. I've seen you give your everything to my daughter, and all I've seen her do is take, take, take..."
"Sir, with all due respect, I *want* to take care of Ali. I mean, between my inheritance and taking over my father's business, Ali will never have to work if she doesn't want to."
"That's exactly right, and that's exactly why she's still with you."
Mr Jamison sighed again, and looked up at me. He had tears in his eyes but his words made me furious. I gritted my teeth.
"That's *not* true. How could you even--"
"It *is* true, son. It *is*..." His voice grew soft. "It started right before your parents died. She said they were just friends, but I caught them fucking in his car, right out there on the driveway. She begged me not to tell you, said she was going to end it with you once you got back from your trip. Then the accident happened, and the excuses started. She couldn't tell you while you were in hospital, couldn't after you woke up and found out your parents had passed, couldn't before the funeral... and then I think she really believed I'd forgotten. I haven't forgotten. I've been waiting for this day for two years."
There was that truck again, along with a lead balloon in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't understand why he would tell me this, it wasn't true. It *couldn't* be true. But then, could it? Ali had been distant before the accident, strange after but I put that down to her not knowing how to deal with my injuries and then my grief. Still... there were nights when she didn't answer her phone, or if she did I'd hear a man's voice - the same man every time - and she would say she was out for dinner with friends.
"I... I don't believe you."
"Don't you? You must know that it's him she's with when she's not with you. Last Friday, when she said she was with Georgina--"
"Stop it."
"-- She was with *him*. Please, son. Please. *Don't* marry her. I don't want to see her destroy you."
With that, Mr Jamison broke down. I had never seen him cry before. I stood, laid a hand on his shoulder, and headed for the door. I had a lot to think about.
-----
*Edit just to say thank you for the upvotes, which indicate you have enjoyed the story. It means a lot since, as I mentioned in the comments below, I've written maybe one other piece of fiction in the last 10 years. I had a major case of writers block but hopefully the encouragement I've had here will be enough that I respond to further prompts. Once again, thank you.*
|
"No."
I blinked once. Something had to be wrong. That couldn't have been what had just been said. Some jumbled neurological process had to be occurring in the muddled zest that I called my brain. Yeah that was it. I was so happy that the answer I knew that I should be hearing came across as the one, deep down, that I knew I couldn't bear to. That had to be it, but still I needed to be sure.
"Pardon?" I croaked out, words sticking tight in my throat
"I'm sorry Saul but I can't allow you to do that. This must be a shock, I'm sure but what I'm doing here is the best for all of us." Tomas' voice was deep, thick and laden with sadness, regret and sorry. But it was also strong, there was conviction there as I stood in his front room, the hand that held the ring out beginning to shake. The ring I had scrimped and saved and used the inheritance from my parents to pay for.
"I... I don't understand." Tomas' face was beginning to blur now, moisture blocking out the finer details of that old, sad face.
"Sarah's dying Saul." Now that was a shock. My mouth dropped. Knees began to buckle. "No, no, no not like that! Here sit down, there we go careful."
Strong arms were gripping me by the shoulders and moved me into an armchair. I looked at his face in alarm, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"That was probably not the best way of putting it but I need to be able to be blunt with you." Tomas was crouching next to me, one hand resting protectively on my upper arm like a father would. Like I was hoping a father-in-law would do. "She's not actually dying Saul. Not like you think I mean. But she is being killed. By this world around us. By you and me. By Ms McCormick down the road and those kids in the park, by the one bus that comes through everyday and that shitty dead end job that she's got in that god awful pub. Do you understand me Saul? Tell me you see what I'm getting at?"
Now I truly was lost. I looked in bewilderment at my girlfriends father, a look he seemed to recognise and despise all at once.
"Listen Saul. Sarah is an amazing girl and in any other circumstance I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I can't for one reason. She is still a girl. Hell, yeah, shes left school and has a job but look around you! Look where you live! There is nothing her for her and there is nothing here for you either. And I cannot begin to imagine letting her settle here with you when there is so much out there waiting for her. Waiting for you."
Here a pause. The world was beginning to stop spinning.
"Me agreeing to let you marry her would be a death sentence. For her. For you. If you get married you wont leave here. Wont experience what is out there in the world, wont be able to see who you truly could be! And I am sorry, I am so so sorry Saul but I cannot let that happen. To either of you."
I remember his eyes filling with tears then as his eyes sought with me, implored with me to understand. But then I only understood one thing. The love of my life was lost to me because of the man in front of me. I left town that day. I have yet to return. Maybe one day I will but that is looking more and more distant a prospect with everyday that goes by. And the ring? That sits in at the bottom of a chest of drawers. In my office. In a dead-end, no promise job. And everyday that goes by the feeling that I have failed Tomas lodges itself ever deeper into my heart.
| 2014-01-19T14:44:06
| 2014-01-19T14:42:00
| 164
| 17
|
[WP] You are a successful artist who has a condition where you randomly black out. When you wake up, you see that you have created beautiful masterpeices that you don't remember painting. Lately, all of your paintings have been more and more disturbing.
|
It began with a still life painting of a dimly lit kitchen. There was a set of knives laid neatly on the surface alongside a length of worn rope. The details on the rope were exquisite, more than I usually put into my works. I didn't remember painting it, but the paint on my hands and brushes was proof enough that the alcohol I'd imbibed last night had worked its magic on my muse.
There was something about the painting that bothered me, though. It didn't feel like mine. I decided to sell it. Despite the fact that still-lifes are typically worthless, the painting managed to fetch a small sum. I set the money aside and promised myself that I wouldn't drink that much again.
But the paintings kept coming. A landscape. A house. A tree hung with rope. A noose. The same knives, bloody and wet.
My anxiety grew. I hadn't had a drink in over a month, but the blackouts didn't stop. I didn't like where these paintings were going. What was wrong with me? I sold them all, the art dealer commenting on the perfectly shaped leaves on my tree. I could only smile-grimace at her. I threw out my brushes and shredded my canvases. I took a long weekend to myself.
The next morning, it was there.
A woman.
The art dealer dropped by that morning as I was putting the painting out in the garbage, and she seemed somewhat nervous as she looked at the first portrait I'd painted in two years. She bought it despite my protests, despite the tear, despite the look of abject horror on the woman's face.
I tried not to think too much on it.
Until the police came knocking three days later. The officer held up a picture of a woman, though this one looked less afraid. Did I know this woman, they asked. I didn't know. I swore that I didn't know, the fear from her painted eyes infecting me too. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't...
The officer showed me photos of my paintings. The kitchen, the knives, the tree hung with rope. Only, they weren't my paintings.
A crime scene.
No. It wasn't me.
The officer smiled gently as he pulled out the handcuffs. If I would just come along, they were sure to get this all sorted out down at the station. They were going to have a look around my house.
I didn't fight as the handcuffs clicked around my wrist. I didn't look back to the painting on my living room wall. I didn't flinch when they read me my rights.
I only looked down at my hands, red. Red with paint.
|
Eloquent and endearing, each stroke carried a vibrancy of colorful congruence. Her mind’s eye had already visualized it, but seeing the brilliance gradually materializing on the canvas was something else entirely.
Like a stiff coryphée on a private stage of white ice, the brush swayed and pirouetted, leaving trails of flamboyant pigment in its wake. Red like the lips of a stalwart opera singer; maroon like the royal cape of King Arthur; violet like the Damascus sky at sunset – color was merely a vessel for ideas, and the canvas a province for expression.
Whenever Fiona painted she entered a trancelike state – it had been like that since her childhood. It was an unwavering place in the storm of life’s uncertainties. More importantly, though, it cured her briefly of her disease. As weird as it might seem, the shapes and forms were an antidote to the chronic poison in her veins. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time, and the byproduct was a broad range of beautiful paintings.
Fiona felt the strange sickness slowly shrinking away. It was as if each touch and dip drained her face of fever spots, and every sweeping arc replenished her strength. Soon all trace of the depression had disappeared. Once again she felt young and healthy.
She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the brush to produce arrays of tranquil innovation on the smooth surface. This right here was every painter’s wet dream – to let go of inhibition and self-doubt, and just let the image craft itself – measured but casual; ardent but soothingly invigorating. This right here was art in the purest form. Fiona smiled and opened her eyes.
Something was not right. At first, her mind had a hard time comprehending the visual input. This had never happened to her before. Normally the first impression of her finished work was exclusively positive.
“No, this… this is all wrong!” she cried. “This is not what I painted… this is…”
Her voice trailed off. The ghastly face that glared up at her from the canvas was like nothing she had ever seen before. The size and shape resembled that of a small child, but that was where the similarity ended. Glowering eyes of hatred, hollow bony cheeks, and a demonic mouth that nullified the meaning of innocence.
She felt her heart hammering distantly. The canvas was a sacred place – her sanctuary. How had this horrible face managed to encroach on her painting without her consent?
| 2017-04-16T07:22:37
| 2017-04-16T06:34:53
| 3,571
| 58
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
|
"Tell me boy, what do you see in our new students?" the headmaster asked me, staring intently at the door through which they had just left. The headmaster knew - he had known for a long time - about my peculiar gift. I could see the danger in people. I could tell with a glance that manifested as a number in my head, on a simple one to ten scale. Dr. Butler, the headmaster, said the perfect wholeness and symmetry of the numbers was a sure sign that this was a gift from God, and as such I was to use it to warn all good Christians of His enemies.
"Most of the boys are a three or four," I told him. I glanced at the headmaster's ledger. At the top of each page was written, *Shrewsbury School for Boys* and at the bottom *Anno Dmoini 1818.* Each new boy's name was written on the left, and as he read aloud each one, I gave the number.
"Davies?"
"Three."
"Smith?"
"Two."
"Roberts?"
"Four."
"Hughes?"
"Seven."
"*Seven?*"
"Yes, sir." I stirred uncomfortably in my chair as the headmaster wrote an extended not in his ledger, shaking his head at the horribly dangerous boy Hughes. Normally a seven was reserved for a full grown man who had served at least one tour in the military, or for certain criminal types.
"Dr. Butler," I interrupted him.
"Yes boy, what is it?"
"The seven... that's not the highest number I saw today."
"You saw an *eight*? Good grief, which one was that?"
"No sir, not an eight. A ten."
The colour drained from the headmaster's face as he sat suddenly frozen in his chair. "You're sure?" he asked, "Absolutely sure?"
I nodded, the fear showing in my face as well.
"Well out with it then, which one was it?!" The headmaster was half standing over the ledger, reaching for more paper and his seals. Presumably all the teachers and staff would be warned about this boy. I leaned over the desk and looked down the ledger, trying to find the name.
"This one," I said, pointing, "down at the bottom of the first page." The headmaster seemed surprised.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked, "Why, his brother has been with us for four years already, and he is no more than a three."
"He is a ten," I said, confirming. Dr. Butler began moving about his desk again, mumbling to himself about how he must warn everybody, and that any bad behavior from this boy would be entirely unacceptable. I just sat and stared at that name, which would now haunt me as the only ten I would ever see: Darwin.
| 2014-11-29T14:43:43
| 2014-11-29T13:49:40
| 295
| 36
|
[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
|
Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T21:34:09
| 27
| 17
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
My counterpart sat there, smiling smugly at me, or at least what would equate to a smug smile were he anything other than a reptile.
"I think you don't understand your position here. Ambassador." The being sitting opposite me croaked in that strange froglike voice of his. "We have a thousand ships poised to destroy you and your planet and here you are, trying to negotiate peace with us."
"What I'm offering you, Councilor, is an opportunity to increase your own galactic economic power by joining with the Sol Federation. Taking what we have by force would be a very bad option for you to take." I replied, surveying the vast fleet currently at high anchor around the planet. "I can certainly assure you that any conflict between us would be disastrous for your people."
My counterpart chuckled in that odd way, that strange sack under his chin wobbling with the motion.
"There is nothing you have to offer that we can not take by force. We have conquered a thousand worlds in a thousand systems. Our armies are unbeatable! You *WILL* submit to us or face the folly of your actions!" His eyes glowed with vicious intent.
"Perhaps a demonstration of what the outcome would be is in order?" I sighed, reaching up and switching the concealed comlink on my collar on. "Admiral Paris, it seems the Councilor requires a display of why going to war with humanity is a bad thing." I smiled ruefully, know that what I will say next will doom millions of beings to oblivion but always wanting to say that line. "You may fire when ready."
"Yes, Lord Ambassador." Came the reply that was followed shortly by a pinpoint of light from beyond the system's edge began growing ever brighter. I watched the Councilor's eyes grow wide with horror as what amounted to a small star lanced past the viewport of the orbital station. Raining fire and death on the capital city orbiting below us.
"You.... how...." was all the Councilor could say as I drew my pistol and put two bolts in each of his guards.
"We've kept our warfleets hidden within the Sol system." I began as I slowly circled the table, keeping my pistol trained on the councilor. "Our leaders were afraid that another species would try to invade the system to conquer Earth."
"Most we were able to talk down, only showing our military to them when they were our allies. Your empire is the first we have had to resort to using force against." I finished as the entirety of the 10th Martian Fleet crossed into the system, outnumbered the Councilor's fleet 10 to 1.
"It was easier to negotiate with other species rather than initiate war. But just remember, Councilor, we gave you the opportunity to join us. But you chose conflict over peace."
"You..." he growled lowly as he watched the capital burn below us.
"What was it you said, face the folly of your actions? A rather apt description for this result. Wouldn't you say?" The pistol in my hand barked as I put two bolts into the Councilor and watched his body drop to the floor.
|
Something big was about to happen. All of the TV channels had switched to a live feed to Paris, Earth’s current Capital. Earth Head Toussaint was about to give an emergency address. I checked the socials and it was filled with wild conjecture, all the while listening to more tempered speculation from the reporters and commentators on TV.
“We haven’t been able to get any answers from the goverment about the contents of the address, and we just confirmed that the entire parliament and senate have been recalled to Earth and will convene an emergency joint session immediately after Earth Head Toussaint’s address. And it looks like she approaching the podium now.”
She began speaking in French, a serious look on her face, and almost immediately a translation was provided.
“Fellow citizens, we are at war. We have just received confirmation that the Mems have fired Planet Killers at the majority of the planets in our Commonwealth. Like cowards, and without provocation they are attempting to wipe out humanity in one fell barrage.”
“We are a united people and we will not fall. Our intellegence predicted this and we have taken countermeasures. It will take them 3 months to realize that their shots are off target, and another nine months after that before they are ready to fire again.”
“We likely cannot prevent the second barrage or alter its aim like we were able to do with the first. Our own plannet killing shots, as they are now, won’t hit their targets in time to prevent the second wave of their cowardly attack on our people.”
“But, fellow citizens, do not despair. We have a way forward, we have a strategy of survival, but it will take all of us, working together as one, to realize this plan.”
“As of this moment, whether you like it or not, every citizen is now in service of the Commonwealth and in service of our unified goal to save our people. We will fight them with our best minds, we will fight them with our production and we will fight them with everything we have. For what we have is our will, and what we have is each other.”
“The Mems don’t realize this yet but they are in a race against time. We believe that we can use recent Human scientific breakthroughs in power production and wormhole theory to jump to their planets and take them by force.”
“There is hope for us. Hope fired by human ingenuity and production. We cannot fail, as failure means the death of all of us.”
| 2021-12-17T16:01:55
| 2021-12-17T15:01:38
| 93
| 31
|
[WP] Recently you’ve noticed an increasing trend in the souls entering hell. They’re not at all tormented by the conditions, most of them seem *happy* with their too-small homes and long five hour days of mindless tasks. You report to Satan that maybe someone should check the conditions on Earth.
|
“What do you mean ‘happy’?”
Satan gave me an incredulous look.
“The conditions here just don’t get to them like they used to. The five hour days don’t seem to tire them and I overheard one of the sulphur scoopers say that his shack was ‘roomy,” I confessed, slightly afraid of the response.
“I don’t understand! We work them to the bone! The cafeteria sandwiches don’t even have butter! I mean, how do they survive?”
“I don’t understand it either, O’ great lord and master of Hell and all things evil, who -“
“I told you to stop doing that, ‘Satan’ works! Now continue.”
“Sorry sir, I mean, uhh, Satan. I was just thinking, maybe we should bring back the whips?”
“The whips! We’re Hell, not savages! No no, we’ll have to improve the conditions up there,” he gestured timidly upwards, “in order to make here seem worse. I can’t believe it really mind you, I mean the houses don’t even have spare bedrooms!”
“I’ve been told, sir, that none of them even get houses up there! Just apartments and renting!”
His face dropped in a wild disbelief.
“What? The hell have the angels been doing! No no, you must head up there, and sort things out. Fetch Beelzebub and head out.”
“You want me, a demon, to head up to Earth, and improve things?”
“In order to make the comparison to hear worse yes, you’ve got it,” the irony was entirely lost on him, “Talk to a few of the big ones, like Bezos. Get ‘em to raise the wages and such.”
A knot of fear curled in my stomach.
“Bezos! No surely not, I can’t bear him!”
Satan glared at me.
“And who are you taking to?”
“Satan, O’ great lord and master of hell and all things evil, who- oh yes I see it. Fine. I’ll do it, but only for the souls sake.”
“Because we hate them.”
“Because we hate them, yes.”
And with that, me and Beelzebub teleported away to Earth, to make the world a better place.
|
The annual census of the underworld is a tedious yet necessary task. The collection of this important data ensures that the eternally tormented are indeed tormenting eternally. There have periods of great struggle in past times. Believe it or not, hell is a place of great fluctuation. The whim of the God above tortures the souls of those below. Fires can burn hotter if one deems it so. However, recent arrivals have been found to be unusually comfortable. Upon my inspection of the damned, I noticed a difference in attitude among those of younger appearance. They seemed happy.
I heard one shout "We get houses?!" after I made them aware of their living arrangements. He was gleaming. They seemed remarkably jovial after I told them that hell has no need for producing goods, therefore not needing workers.
"No work!" a woman cried out. A few broke down laughing. I felt ashamed. What was I to tell Satan? His domain was being outdone by mortals? I decided against hiding the truth and got him up to speed on the situation.
"Good god" he sighed, "Is there even a point in trying?"
I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at, and he seemed to notice that fact painted on my face.
"Here, let me tell you something. I am one guy. Despite what they tell you, I don't have that omnipresence shit. I wish I did, would make my life a lot fucking easier. But I don't. Which means me going up against the worlds biggest conglomerates and governments will be a wash ten times out of ten. You see, I couldn't make things worse here if I tried, and believe me I am. That's because hell is static. It's terrible and it always was terrible. It has that reputation. But earth is it's own beast. The people living on it make it what it is. And to see it be ravaged by greed and violence, is a pain so pure we from down here can never truly understand it, or hope to match it."
| 2022-12-28T15:27:25
| 2022-12-28T11:04:36
| 1,252
| 433
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[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now.
|
The Demon Swords were the first weapons forged from the still-cooling corpse of the Demon’s god. They were built according to the 7 sins humanity was created with. All were powerful, each Wielder a force on the battlefield none would stand against. When they felt the sun each sword was made of, they burst into a cacophony of light and sound. No one had ever survived that awakening.
And yet, no legends worshipped one
The sword *Wrath*
The last sword to be made, *Wrath* was famous for, quite frankly, being unusable. Although it was in the shape of a sword, it was not sharp nor large enough. It just was.
In the year 1036 after the demon god was killed, the war with the largest amount of casualties began. It started with a minor invasion, a small group of soldiers marching out to a small village and burning it to ashes. With that, the war would have begun.
But they did not see the little girl with her gleaming silver hair crouching in the wreckage of her fallen village. Nor the blood red dagger she held in her hand.
3 years later, the war exploded. The kingdom that little girl lived in lost, it’s name destroyed in the process.
A year after that, in the capital city of the kingdom now lost to time, rumors began to circulate. A story of a woman with white hair putting together a rebellion against the Empire.
When the palace got word of the burgeoning rebellion and sent a large group of soldiers to root out the leaders.
The soldiers never came back alive. Nor did the next group they sent. They did come back though. Not alive, nor dead. They were fueled by revenge and controlled by an unknown force.
The palace responded with, this time, true indignation. They sent out a legion of soldiers to slaughter every single citizen.
The result would be told as a story for centuries after.
When the soldiers entered the city walls, it was silent. Almost too silent. The only sound that of the running water. No people, no animals, no life. They crept into the city, their hearts sensing the unnatural happenings.
And they died. Only one person survived, a young man who wasn’t able to communicate his name. Only what he saw.
His story told of a white-haired woman, with soft red eyes, who came up to the legion. From her pants, she pulled out an intricate sheath. And from that she grew a dagger that was the color of blood.
She took a step, and the city (almost) exploded. Rivers of blood and corpses began to invade the surrounding area. With a slash, the first line of people died and were revived as things under her control. This pattern, of destruction and death, continued until only he was left.
He recalled that with a sigh, all of the signs of the massacre disappeared. She looked at him, and told him to return to his home. If her people were not released, she would bring war to their doorsteps. He nodded, and ran.
He ran for days, never stopping, until he returned to the capital city of the Empire. He reported what happened, and her message perfectly. The emperor, a smirk on his lips, ordered his 3 most powerful mages to capture her.
A week later, they returned with the woman bound in chains. They set up an execution for the lady, and invited many of the nobles of surrounding countries. One who came was the Sage of the Tireq Kingdom, famous for their academies. With a glance, he recognized the dagger she held in her hand as the ancient sword *Wrath*.
When the executioner was in place, he stepped up and asked a question.
“Little lady, by the sounds of you have discovered the secrets behind this blade. If you tell me what they are, I can try to stop the execution.”
With a laugh, she answered.
“The people of this *great* nation are, shall we say, normal. They feel anger and sorrow, and all of the other major sins. But wrath, wrath is special. It is MORE than what any of you nobles have felt. It is the feeling when you are betrayed by a close friend. When you realize the manipulations you have been under. The feeling when…” she pauses, then continues “the feeling when your country is destroyed for the sake of money. When your fathers and brothers are killed for their existence, when your mother is raped by soldiers who only care about themselves. It is not the everyday anger you feel, but when you will do anything to avenge what happened to those you care about.”
The sage’s head exploded, and the dagger she had been holding since she was first sighted returned to her hand. The chains around her unraveled, later having seemed like they rusted. When they fell out, the soldiers responded and began to surround her.
That is the last the Empire was ever seen of. The next time anyone tried to enter, they only saw the corpses of the soldiers, nobles, mages, commoners, visitors, and everyone else was there that day. In the center, in a ritual circle made of blood, laid the corpse of a woman who completed her life’s goal. A body with a serene smile on its face, a smile done knee to be the only one since the war began.
4 years after the Empire invaded, it fell under the last of the demon swords. It fell under the hand of a woman who fought to avenge the destruction of all she knew.
|
Master would've used this blade well, I thought.
Her sword, after all, was one of hatred. Against the unfairness of the world. Against pain. Against destiny. Against the apathetic heaven that only observed suffering.
It was why her sword was called Infernal Heaven. Why her sect was called the Demonic Cult.
It no longer mattered, however. Master had already left this world as silently as the snow she was named after. I had inherited her teaching, but not her emotions. My sword was the same as hers, yet the intent behind it was entirely different. And that made all the differences.
The blade felt heavy in my hand even as I brought it up against its brother, the blade of Greed. Without anger to draw from, it was no more than a durable sword, a pathetic sight in comparison to the faintly glowing blade it was clashing with.
It was all I need, however. The sheer weight of my swing forced my enemy stumbling back several steps. I did not pursue. He could not run anyway. To run, to abandon his Greed for survival was to lose the blade. Forever.
"You!" -he, a tyrant who wish to rule the world, screamed at me in anger- "How are you still alive? You cannot control the blade of Wrath!"
In his hand, Greed slowly grew in brilliance. It was feeding on his delusion of grandeur.
I shrugged. "I don't need to."
He came at me again, Greed dripping off of his blade. His swing, aimed at my face, carved a golden streak in the air. I brought my blade up once again, and painted over the world.
Flame burned. It came from a mansion full of caged children. It came from a house in which a small family lived. It came from fields on which children played. It came from streets on which people once thrived.
The flame tore through gold. It licked the tyrant's face, leaving a scorch mark on his previously unblemished skin. He screamed and backed away, his hands shaking, his expression growing increasingly desperate.
I suppose having the illusion of invincibility shattered has that effect on people.
"You would burn the world for your conquest." -I stepped forward. Flame trailed from my sword. -"This is the fire that you have lit."
"Feel its burn, and repent."
AN: based on SSS-Class Suicide Hunter. The Master's name is So Baek-hang, apparently translated to "The scent of snow". Couldn't elaborate on the swordmanship within the story because I'm sleepy as hell, but the gist of it is that it works based on empathy of pain.
| 2021-09-18T14:44:42
| 2021-09-18T12:56:51
| 52
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[WP] Domino's pizza has offered free pizza for life to anyone who tattoos their logo on their body. Now other food chains are following that idea, but with increasingly absurd requirements, and the poor have turned themselves into walking advertisements just so they can eat with each passing day.
|
It all started when Dominos offered free pizza for life. All you had to do was get a tattoo of their logo. The size required was two inches by four inches and in a visible location. It was limited to the first 20,000 that submitted proof. This only took 17 minutes to fill. Five hours later when Dominos announced the limit had been reached, more than 400,000 souls were already walking around branded with the red and blue. Occasionally you would see someone with a partial logo. They found out the contest was over mid tattoo and just got up and walked away.
Fifty years ago this would have been absurd. But by 2050 the wealth gap had become so large that the majority of the population lived in poverty. Around 35% of families lived on the brink of starvation, only surviving by the Corporate Food Subsistence Program. The CFSP was formed by a handful of fast-food companies when government food programs like food stamps went bankrupt. Elected government had all but disappeared entirely. The corporations ran everything, and they had to give back just enough to prevent any meaningful uprising. This is how Brian Reynolds came up with the idea for the tattoo program. He was the VP of marketing for Dominos and saw the opportunity to get free advertising space on people they were giving CFSP to anyways. The success of the program earned him a fat bonus and secured his name in the history 'pedias.
But as with any corporate success it was immediately copied and slightly modified by every other company. The first was Starbucks, requiring the green mermaid to be tattooed on the forehead. It wasn’t limited in the number of participants but only provided free black coffee, no sugar or other additives. Such a smashing success that some entrepreneuring tattoo artists even set up at Starbucks locations offering tattoos before you got in line to order.
Then things started to go deeper. McDonalds offered free food to any child whos given name was a menu item, until the age of eighteen. Dubbed the McName, this program was so popular that when you gave birth at a hospital they gave you a copy of the McName Acceptable Names. Schools had to start calling children by assigned numbers because every time a teacher called out something like “BigMac” several would answer. It became standard for these numbers to be placed as a middle name on official identification.
The gas giant Conoco started offering 1 credit every time you started a phone conversation with the “Conoco - Fueling the Future”. This spun into an entire spoken advertising economy. People had apps that popped up showing the highest paying slogan to answer the phone with. Then it evolved into things you could say between every sentence. It wasn’t uncommon to hear a phone conversation that went like:
“Hello, Big O Tires - don’t kill your family with neglect. This is McMuffin 892 Nelson.”
“Sssss Victorias Secret Sale Starts Saturday. Hunny this is mum, don’t forget to pick up dinner tonight.”
“Yeah mom, you always remind me — BUY HARLEY DAVIDSON — sorry for the yell that was a payout I really needed. Love you”
“….you have been charged 50 credits by the Hallmark Corporation for the use of the trademarked phrase ‘love you’. You can get a refund of this credit for agreeing to deliver cards for 3 hours this Saturday. Press one to accept.….”
“Shit”
​
Now it is 2106 and only the oldest remember a time before head tattoos and ridiculous corporate names. For the last two generations, this is just the normal state of the world. They will never understand what was lost.
​
​
|
**MC RONALD**
Free Happy meals *for life!*
Requirements
- Tattoo the MC logo as provided on our official website.
- Tattoo must be applied to an area publicly visible on a daily bases. Please consult our official website for approved locations.
- A signed document from a licensed tattooist, commonly referred to as a tattoo artist, must be provided upon requesting the meal.
- Limited to two free happy meals per day. Toy not included for those above the age of 35.
**Pizza the Hutt**
One Free pizza *free* every day!
- Requirements
- Tattoo must be shared on approved social media channels *click here to view the list* on the day the pizza is claimed.
- Evidence of the share is to be provided upon claiming the pizza. A minimum of 10 likes / shares or their equivalent is required.
- Any indecent or misappropriate use of the company logo or name will result in blacklisting.
**Carl's Sr.**
Tattoo our name on your boobs and we'll give you something equal in size. Men need not apply.
| 2018-09-08T14:16:22
| 2018-09-08T13:46:51
| 223
| 69
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[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
|
**Ulceritis Seratis (Creeping Rot)**
*Ulceritis Seratis* is the causative agent of the infectious disease known as Creeping Rot referred to as C-Rot [1]. C-Rot normally affects the extremities of exposed individuals resulting in the decay and decomposition of human flesh [2]. Surgical amputation of affected areas is the only current treatment [citation needed]. Untreated, C-rot results will normally result in sepsis and death. Case fatality rate for untreated individuals is 100% [3].
First documented on Zephyr-9, a hydrogen mining facility inadvertently aerosolized the *Ulceritis Seratis* particles resulting in complete contamination of the facility and the deaths of all inhabitants [4]. No full-scale contamination has occurred since the Zephyr-9 incident with following exposures limited to individual cases often associated with laboratory and field survey of planets within the Zephyr system [5].
The biology of *Ulceritis Seratis* classifies the particles as class-9 alien bacterial-like [6]. Similar mineral-based bacteria such as *Crysosia Crysosia* and *Inferim Petuculus* do not result in human-infection, but have resulted in similar contamination among reptilian species [7].
Research is ongoing; however, due to the limited nature of contamination and infection, the ISPC has rated the agent as low-priority resulting in no scheduled vaccination or treatment options [8].
References
[1] Grant, Xi Long. Ulceritis Seratis: Clinical Definition, 2245
[2] Phillips, Harold. Treatment options: Ulceritis Seratis, 2243
[3] Counsel on Inter-dimensional Disease. Ulceritis Seratis: Epidemiology and Intervention, 2252
[5] Mining Division - Federal Arms. Security Briefing: Zephyr System, 2250
[6] Counsel on Inter-dimensional Disease. Classifications per NC435 treatise, 2231
[7] Axstyrs. Disease among Ghrsiof Colonists, 2253
[8] ISPC. Research Prioritization Schedule, 2254
|
The Makkipodo.
On a planet far away from anything really, is a beast called the Makkipodo. It lives a solitary life not often mingling with other Makkipodos. The creature stands about twenty feet tall at its full height, but is often found using both sets of limbs to propel it along the ground. These limbs have a strange woodiness seeming to be covered in some sort of bark, that cracks and creaks as it strides over the ground. It is thought that this is a protective element against the swampy environment these beasts favour. Anything that thinks to bite at the legs, will get a mouthful of bark and splinters for its trouble.
The Makkipodo has a large shovel-like mouth that it uses to scoop up the swampy water that it walks through, filtering out small plants and insects that it uses for nutrients. It has something similar to whale baleen, (See entry for Whales) that makes this process easier. In length, the head is about the size of a horse's, though almost as wide as it is long. The legs are double-jointed and spindly, bound completely with the bark as previously mentioned. Its body is long and thin, curled around and around, with marks that could have once been vestigial limbs, or perhaps given their shape, mouths. There is reason to believe that the Makkipodo was once an aquatic creature, but given the changing environment evolved legs and the ability to breathe the air around it.
It still must use the filters that it developed in the water, however, as the planet's air is thick with particles and dust kicked up by the everpresent storms overhead. The storms never drop water, though the ground is mostly swamp, whatever liquid must come from inside. However, those filters are not the most fascinating thing about the Makkipodo. No, that is its great ability to mimic sound. It has many full sets of vocal cords, not commonly found together in one beast and uses them to great effect. But not for itself. The Makkipodo has a parasite
(See entry below.)
The Okamakidop.
The Okamakidop only exists to live off the Makkipodo. It has no ability to survive on its own, and is passed from generation of Makkipodo to generation. Each Makkipodo has at least one Okamakidop in its life and may gain up to two. There seems to be no visible benefit to the Makkipodo, to hosting the Okamakidop so there is no firm evidence for a symbiotic parasitic relationship. However, a Makkipodo will quickly die if it is not gifted with an Okamakidop within three days after its birth.
The Okamakidop is a small creature, seemingly all eyes and mouth, with none of the connective tissue you would expect between them. It is attached to the side of the Makkipodo with small hooks, like fine wires, that puncture the skin without drawing blood.
While the Makkipodo is a peaceful herbivore/insectivore, the Okamakidop is an omnivore. It will eat anything and anyone that the Makkipodo can lure towards itself with the multitude of different sounds it can make. As soon as the creature is in range, the Okamakidop detaches itself and leaps, reducing whatever it was to a husk of its former self in an instant. No soft tissue remains, and even some exoskeletons have been destroyed. When the Okamakidop has been sated it returns to the Makkipodo and they go on their quiet way. This duo is deadly when working together, which means that both the Makkipodo and Okamakidop should be avoided at all costs, and any sounds you believe to be your friends, your family, a lost animal, or an animal in heat should be summarily ignored.
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more writing!
| 2022-12-11T12:17:18
| 2022-12-11T10:53:13
| 113
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[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
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The Knight burst into the cave gently holding the swaddled infant princess. "Please, I beg of you, take care of her, there is nothing we can do"
The dragon looked around and saw the child placed and the base of his mountain of gold. "It shall be done" came the reply.
With that the child was instantly incinerated with one breath.
"What the fuck Raffi, the firebreather!"
"You said take care of the child!" Came the dragon's reply.
"Was this what happened to my cat when I asked you to take care of it?" said Sir Randy the Dirty
"Yes! You said take care of it, I set it on fire!"
|
The dragon lifted his head up to the smell of blood and saw for the first time in centuries the figure of a human man. With his keen eyes he noticed that the human had struggled to make his way up to the cave he lived in, up in the mountains miles away from the nearest kingdom. The dragon just sat there indifferent as the injured man approached urgently with a small bundle in his stained arms.
He smelled something more pure from beneath the wool blanket. The man noticing where the dragon’s eyes were looking at quickly spoke.
“That is why I’m here.” He coughed out the words with difficulties and almost out of breath. “This is the Princess of my beloved kingdom which is now being invaded by our neighboring country. Princess Georgiana might be the only survivor of the royal family as we speak.”
The dragon turned his head unfazed and the man grew desperate knowing that the dragon was not interested in his story.
“PLEASE! Protect Princess Georgiana!” The man urged as he fell to the ground on his weak knees. “I beg of you.”
The dragon watched curiously at his actions and expression. He saw the small man tremble, but not in fear as he had witnessed so many before him do, but in hopelessness.
Suddenly from beneath the blanket came a soft cry. Then out came a small hand reaching out to touch the man’s face. The dragon observed as the man stop trembling and gradually regain his courage. He raised his head up in determination towards the dragon with his tear-streaked face. There was a new resolve glowing in his eyes.
‘Curious.’ Spoke a solemn voice inside the man’s head, and he knew it belonged to the dragon. ‘How could a small thing change a man’s spirit within a few minutes?’
“She is our Kingdom’s hope.” The man answered.
‘I want this power that changes men’s resolve. I have seen the strongest warriors with such glow win battles and glory.’ The dragon’s voice echoed louder in greed, ‘If this bundle you carry in your arms will give me that power then I’ll take her as you desire.’
Before the man could say a word the dragon had suddenly snatched the blanket with the princess inside from the man’s arms. He held his breath as the dragon laid the bundle on his outstretched claw. The dragon pulled the blanket away and curiously starred at the baby girl. Georgiana suddenly smiled and started to giggle. The dragon had never heard such beautiful melody coming from humans before.
“I trust you will keep Princess Georgiana safe?” The man spoke tentatively and shocked to see a small smile form on the dragon’s intimidating face.
‘You have my word man. Now leave.’
The man looked at the princess one last time before leaving with hope.
| 2018-03-01T03:23:07
| 2018-03-01T01:20:42
| 135
| 19
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[WP] The apocalypse scenario of your choice has happened and you are the last person alive. Electricity and the internet are still running. As a last ditch effort you take to /r/askreddit, "Is there anybody else out there?" Weeks later, you receive a single upvote, but no reply...
I once read an article that said there is so much automation when it comes to our utilities that we would still have power and running water for months, even if every human just suddenly disappeared.
Also, the idea here is that the internet works, but hasn't been updated at all.
|
Joseph sat down, checking the depths of the internet for any signs of human life. Surely somebody had to be out there, trying to communicate, trying to survive, but despite the enormous amount of data on the internet, it was barren of life. Nothing since 29th November, 2015, the last flash to hit.
He stood up from the computer, but something compelled him to check. The post he made on Reddit seemed to pull at his strings of intuition, and he succumb to them. As he typed the web address in, his heart sank. Nothing, no notifications. He scrolled over his post "IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE", and it hit him, like a million bricks landing on him at once. The pixelated '2 - 100% like this'.
"What the..." he exclaimed aloud. He had to investigate further.
He began to type in the comments 'Who liked this, why didn't you write something?!'. He waited for only the briefest of moments before hitting F5, and to his complete shock, there was more activity, this time a downvote. *Why can't he respond?* he wondered to himself.
'Are you not responding because you can't?' he keyed, before waiting a few seconds to hit refresh.
His shock turned to delight when he saw that the question he had asked had been upvoted. *Ok, upvote for yes, downvote for no* he thought, then typed, the other end of the conversation upvoted the comment.
He typed all the questions he wanted answered. He didn't pause until he was out of questions, then he hit refresh, but all of his questions went unanswered. No upvotes, no downvotes, nothing.
'What the fuck is going on here?' he shrieked. *Maybe he's just tied up*, Joseph thought to himself. He continued to hit refresh but no activity emerged on the screen. It wasn't until he went back to the Reddit home page that his shock turned to terror.
'We can see you :)' was the top post of the day, with over 5000 upvotes.
|
They're here. They're at my doors, my windows, they're everywhere, they're trying to get in, I have all the entrances boarded up, though they won't last long. Oh well, it's not like I have anything left. The only thing keeping me on this world is the human instinct to survive, I came close to just ending it but was always too weak to pull the trigger. I suppose I should tell you who I am. I'm an avid Redditor named Micheal, if I wasn't working or spending time with my wife and daughter, I was on Reddit. In fact I heard about the initial breakout of the infection on Reddit from a /r/worldnews post. After the infection started getting serious everything went to absolute shit, looting, government collapse and all that. Even after all of that though, I still browsed reddit even though nothing new came up any more. A couple bandits shot my family while we were looking for food in our mostly looted grocery store. Needles to say they paid for it. I spent the next few years on my own looking at old Reddit posts fairly certaint at this point that I was alone in this world. The infected started trekking across the world in hordes. I ran into one on a supply run, they followed me and here I am, huddled in the cornor of my bedroom with tears rolling down my face as i shakily type in /r/AskReddit "Please, is anyone else still alive?" I smashed the refresh button in my last few minutes. I heard the smashing of what sounded like my front door. I just kept on clicking, all i wanted was some hope that humanity might make it. I heard moaning and footsteps going up my stairs. Finally I saw it... The little orange 2 by my post. Someone else is out there. My door creaked open and I said "Screw it" and refreshed the page one last time. There was a single comment and it said, "I did nazi this post coming."
EDIT:#BadGrammar
| 2014-10-14T17:32:09
| 2014-10-14T17:30:49
| 78
| 22
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[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
|
I was going to get this bastard. He killed my family. Killed my dog. Destroyed my house. He destroyed my life.
I was seething at just the thought of his smug face, all cozy and warm surrounded by money in his mansion, while I was out here in the blistering cold, walking through puddles and shit.
I was at his front door. I pulled a pistol from within my coat, and opened the door. Fool, he had kept it unlocked. I could see him, sitting in front of his fireplace, reading a book. He was dressed in a ruby and gold colored robe. Rich bastard.
I slowly came from behind, gun ready. I could shoot him through the couch, but I didn't want to make it a kill shot...I wasn't going to kill him quickly, no, I was going to let him suffer.
My lips formed into a smile. This bastard would regret messing with me. Finger on the trigger, I pressed it into the back of the couch.
The floor boards creaked under me, but he wouldn't here it over the roar of the flames.
This was it. I was going to kill this bastard, who had caused me so much pain and misery. Weeks of mourning and grief would be replaced by satisfaction and happiness. I was going to take everything he owned after this. I pulled back on the trigger.
"James! James its time for bed sweetie!"
Fuck.
"Mom! Wait, I just have to get this guy!" I whined.
"No, bed time James. Come on," my Mom said. She tutted, going to turn off my Xbox.
"NO LET ME SAVE MOM! ITS ONLY 10! LET ME SAVE!" I yelled. She turned my Xbox off.
"NOOO MOM YOU BITCH!" I yelled, crying. She looked at me, dumbfounded, before unplugging my Xbox.
"Talk to your mother like that? This is gone for the rest of the summer holidays. Oh, and don't think you can get on your phone or laptop, I'm taking them as well. All you'll be doing is schoolwork," she said.
| 2014-12-21T18:39:13
| 2014-12-21T18:34:44
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[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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Jeeeeeesus, check out that pathetic 'Mario' on the other side of the road. Running, jumping, and 'Wa-hoooo-ing' like a madman as he makes his way down the street... what an amateur.
I don't mean to brag, it's just that I kinda lucked out when the super power lottery was being handed out. By my count there are a couple hundred of us who received our powers from the last video game we'd all played, but I was a bit of a hobbyist modder, and as a result, my game character was a tad... overpowered at the time I was granted all his powers. God mode, all weapons, unlimited ammo and many more. You name it, I probably had the power in my arsenal.
I'm a bit of a bounty hunter in this new world full of video game powered heroes. People call me when one of my brethren get out of hand and the cops can't do jack shit to stop them. Right now I'm on a call to detain an 'incredibly annoying blue hedgehog', which I'm *not* exactly looking forward to, but a gig is a gig. The warehouse he'd been spotted at is just around this next corner and then I'll-- Oh crap... there's that Knight Solaire wannabe walking right towards me, and it's too late to change direction. *Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...*
"Praise the sun, good sir!" I bellowed, trying my best to stay on his good side.
"Fuck off," his muffled, echoing voice muttered as he passed by me without breaking his stride.
That was about par for the course for how those interactions typically went for me. In fairness, the folks playing Dark Souls at the time of the event kind of got the short end of the stick. Their 'powers' include being incredibly somber and moody, invulnerability for a split second while rolling, and the 'gift' of being transformed into an undead husk of a human being when they die. I was there the first time one of them found a bonfire on the beach, but when they realized couldn't kindle it or restore their humanity no matter how hard they tried, they were *extremely* pissed. I guess if I were cursed to live for eternity as a grotesque creature that looked like a raisin that had been left out in the sun 200 years, I might be a little pissed as well.
As I entered the warehouse, my worst fears were confirmed. A blue blur shot past me, shouting about how 'rad' he was, and knocking me over in the process. A life sized Sonic the Hedgehog reject stood over me wagging a finger at me as a grin crossed his distressingly human face.
To be clear, you don't HAVE to dress up like the character you received your powers from, this goober just apparently *really* wanted to dress up as Sonic. And let me tell ya, you think the CGI movie Sonic was an atrocity? Imagine the horrors I'm seeing as this middle aged, obese man sprints around the warehouse completely nude aside from oodles of blue fur poorly glued to his body. The fur did *not* leave enough to the imagination, gonna need some serious eye bleach after this is over, that's all I'm saying.
"You're too late, I'm outta here pal! Gotta go fast!" he shouted as he 'wound up' his legs and was off like a shot.
"Okay," I shrugged, as I suddenly moved at light speed and caught up with him in an instant.
"Goddamn speed hacker!" he shouted back at me as he took a hard turn to try and throw me off.
Growing tired of chasing him, I surveyed my bevy of hundreds of fully loaded weapons, selected a concussion grenade launcher, aimed, fired and... missed him by a mile. Yeah, no aimbots for me... even I had to draw the line somewhere, I *do* have my personal moral code to follow, but sadly that code was coming back to bite me at the moment. As I missed, 'Sonic' slipped through the door, slamming it shut and locking it up tight behind him.
"You're tooooo slow, dude!" he taunted me poorly through the window.
Thoroughly annoyed at him by this point, I activated the last of my major powers, slipped through the wall, and tackled the blue freak to the ground without warning.
"What the heck?!" he protested.
"No clip," I growled into his ear as I tied up his hands and feet. One more degenerate off the streets, but I can't help feeling there had to be far worse 'heroes' and 'villains' out there. I mean, odds are that *somebody* had to have been playing Mortal Kombat just before the powers got handed out, didn't they?
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (Dudes covered in blue hedgehog hair may be denied entry, but otherwise, all are welcome!)
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Well, i can´t blame them that they laugh at me. I mean, who wouldn´t? A normal man who don´t seem to have any Power except that he is followed at every time by some elvish figures....but, let me start from the beginning, to be precise, the 6th of july.
​
It was a normal day, maybe a little warmer, but nonetheless a normal day. Well, it was normal until the Clock hit midnight. I don´t know what happend or why it has happend, but i knew what i have doing at this time....I was playing Warcraft 3 The Frozen throne. yeah, i know a really old game but, i like it. It´s one of my Favorites. And because i was bored and curious, i tested a few Cheat codes...and with a few i mean any code that i could find. But, back to the Story. So, there was i, playing warcraft at midnight and then it happend. I blacked out and woke up in the morning around 9. I thought i just fell to sleep while playing, so i didn´t think much about it. To be honest i didn´t find out that anything happend until i left my house to go to the supermarket and nearly ran into 3 Floating lights, standing in front of my Door. Like every other Human being who looks at 3 ominous lights in front of their house i totally freaked out and walked backwards back into my house and locked the door. The Next three hours i sat at my window and looked at the 3 lights before my house. They didn´t seemed that they want to break in, but neither they looked like they would go away. When it was around 12 o´clock i wanted to call the police, and yes i know that i should have called them earlier, a friend of mine called me, said to me that i should turn on the news. When i turned them on, i saw my friend. Winking at a camera with his mobile, while he deflects bullets with a sword in his right hand. This was the moment when i realized that i didn´t fall a sleep last night, that the ghostly lights outside of my house aren´t there too hurt me and that my friend just turned into the thing every gamer hates, an Yasou.
The Next few weeks were funny. Every other day, there was a great fight who was filmed by news teams and by a few streamer. Chaos was the new order in this time, the police and army were outmatched by single persons and the Gouvernement changed nearly daily due to megalomaniac or bored people. But, this times ended some day. A new, strong Gouvernement was formed, ruled by a triumvirat. Most of the "Evil Players" are in Prison and the rest use their powers to help others and for daily uses. Now, you may be asking what have i done? Ohh, like i said it was funny. In states like Texas, Nevada and Tennessee their were nearly no people, who got powers because everyone went to a big, famous city like new York or washington...Well most people, but not all. I moved from California to Tennessee so that i could to, what i wanted. And what i wanted, was what i got. And that, was a Kingdom. A Kingdom, that now consist of 15 states in the South-east of the former United States of America, Middle America and the North half ot south America.
And now, you may ask why everybody laugh at my. The answer is easy....Nobody knows that i am the King of one of the biggest Kingdom in the Worlds. A King with all the money he needs, absolute immunity for him and his troops and one who can build anything that he wants in seconds. They all think i am just a no body with the Ability to summon Elves. And for me, this is fine, because else it would be really, really boring.
(I apologies for all grammar and spelling errors in this Text.)
| 2020-01-05T14:51:34
| 2019-08-12T00:08:14
| 1,516
| 11
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[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/
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We looked at each other. Then back at the number glowing on the floor.
4.
For most of the past decade, that number has been 2. Day in and day out, 2. We hardly even notice it any more at this point.
“It hasn’t changed since I moved in,” she whispered, looking up at me.
“I know.”
“What does it mean?”
*she couldn’t be pregnant*, I thought. *we tried for years.*
I remembered the gut wrenching moment when we learned we couldn’t have kids of our own. What I couldn’t remember was the last time we were intimate after that ripped a hole in our marriage.
No, she couldn’t be pregnant.
*Then who the fuck are these additional 2?*
I started pacing, feeling the anxiety swell in my chest as I tried to figure this out. When you get so used to something strange that it begins to feel normal, it’s particularly jarring to be yanked out of your normalcy and reminded of something entirely peculiar that you’ve been ignoring for years.
“Hon, sit down. This is good news.”
I gave my wife a look of bemused astonishment. “How on earth do you figure that?”
“Well, just that maybe it doesn’t mean anything after all. Maybe it was just coincidence that it changed the same night I moved in. Maybe it’s just some weird architectural quirk that we just never figured out.”
*Horseshit*, I thought to myself. I checked this whole place before she ever even moved in, and again after it changed to 2. It’s indistinguishable from the floor when you touch it. There is no warmth, no texture, no sound coming from it. It’s not just tricks of the light; it glows all through the night no matter how dark. Hell, it even glowed when we lost power during the hurricane.
“Listen, you know I’ve checked this place all over to figure out where it’s coming from. With no luck. I’ve searched high and —“ I cut myself off. I’ve searched high, certainly. I removed light fixtures from the ceiling and investigated the attic. I even went onto the roof once. But, how low have I really searched?
What if the source of the glowing has been from beneath the floor this whole time?
What I never checked, I suppose, were the blueprints I found when I first moved in. I pulled them out from the top of our closet and rolled the chart out on our marble kitchen island. Sure enough, there was a crawl space beneath the living room that extended to the front entryway. I noted where the opening seemed to be, and went to investigate.
The opening was behind a huge bush that had clearly been growing long before I moved in. I wouldn’t have ever had a reason to check back here, but sure enough there was the opening. Without hesitation, I ducked down and pulled my phone flashlight out. Cobwebs and dirt, sure, but could be lots worse.
I lowered to my knees and started moving further into the crawl space.
The only thing I could think of - rather, the only remaining totally ridiculous possibility I could come up with - is that there was some sort of projector under the floor that was emitting the glow. Or perhaps some LEDs. Or something. But I was going to find out what it was, once and for all.
I pull up the photo I took of the blueprints and continue navigating my way through the narrow passage, using my phone light to guide me along the route. I go a little farther, then pause.
*This is it*. I look back at the blueprints on my phone to be sure and, indeed, the glowing number should be situated right above where I am now. I use my phone light to look around.
Nothing.
No projector, no wires, no generator, no fairy dust, not even a fucking flashlight.
I put my hand on the top of the crawl space, on the underside of the floor where the number 4 is inevitably still glowing. Nothing. It’s just wood. There’s nothing here.
I sigh, and give up on my last hope at figuring out this stupid glowing number. I turn to retreat and pull the blueprints back up on my phone to help guide me. As I point my phone light towards the narrow opening, my phone dies and the light goes out.
But not before I see two sets of eyes staring directly back at me, blocking my path to outside.
—-
____
eta: Thanks for all the love y’all - this is the first story I’ve posted here that more than just like two people read!
|
I‘m already sitting! He shouted from the toilet.
No, come out here and take a seat, I think we have to talk about some things.
Babe, i feel like i‘m giving birth here. Can‘t that wait a few more minutes?
Ohh i swear to god you have no fucking clue what that means.
Yeah you think so? Do you want to come in and take a look at that thing i just made?
Noo thanks. but i think you... we made something different...
What do you mean? Finally he came out of the toilet and walked over to the kitchen.
she had imagined this moment in a different way...
Look at the number!
yeah i know a four.
Yes, no shit sherlock. and what does this number say?
it says how many people live in this house.
Well, aaaand?!?
Well, it says four. Last time i counted we were two, right?
Yeah, that’s right. What does the number mean Mason?
I think we got some new roommates. Maybe some raccons that live in the attic?
No, you dingus!
Hm. He stayed silent for a while. Well, in that case... i think... maybe...
We are pregnant!
Nah, then why the four and not ... three... Ohhhh
Yeah, Ohhh you are absolutely right
| 2020-09-03T02:32:47
| 2020-09-03T00:49:34
| 2,302
| 69
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[WP] Write a really BAD guide for getting a guy/girl. Bonus points if the narrator is mocking you for still being single.
[removed]
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Hey girl! Binging on chips again while watching Netflix eat away at your insecurity? Stop marathoning bad rom-coms just because you can't get the man of your dreams! Let this love expert help you snag that hottie who's never looked your way with these simple tips. Throw away that photo of your ex under your pillow and let's get started!
Tip # 1: Let's start with your looks. Yeah, no. Not even a shit ton of make up is going to fix your flawed view of beauty, but at least you can pretend it does. Watch a YouTube tutorial or four to get a grasp of how you'll never, ever be able to hide your anxiety from everyone you know!
Bonus tip: Don't forget to buy the most expensive brands available. Nothing like the best eyeliner to really show off how desperate you are for a love life!
Tip # 2: Go to the right places to meet the love of your life. Wow, that club has a ladies' night and you are hoping to dance your financial troubles away? Surely only the best potential totally-not-creepy jackasses of suitors will want to hang out there, am I right? Wear that one little black dress you own and strut in those stilettos you hate all the way to the dance floor. Maybe you won't see all your friends go home with someone and cry yourself to sleep this time around!
Tip # 3: Take up a hobby. And no, I don't mean laughing to dank memes all day, silly girl! Go for something that will push you to actually shower and go outside for a change. There are billions of people out in the world right now doing amazing things, and I'm sure one of them will stop to look at you. Maybe.
Tip # 4: Revel in the uselessness of your existence and try not to hurt yourself thinking of the finiteness of life. You were made for nothing and you will end in nothing. What you have done today will now be in the past forevermore, and as you read this, the screen will continue to pulse at the blink that is your lifetime. Besides, your sister is getting married next week and your BFF is having her first baby. Like, why try, right?
And these have been my tips on how to find the guy of your dreams. You'll laugh at how accurate I am while inwardly seething as you go through break up number 284. You actually think that Mr. Fuck Buddy is your Prince Charming, and refuse to act like you're responsible for your own actions. I can't smile enough at thinking how you believed this guide will change your life!
Have a wonderful day and may you live with your fear of intimacy always. Xoxo
|
Wow, you must have been the kind of guy even hookers wouldnt touch with a 10 foot stick. Probably ugly, smelly, fat, awkward and introverted, am I right you little worthless piece of fucking shit?
Fret not, I have the perfect tips for worms like you, how to get a girl.
1 The oldschool method.
Ever wondered how the knights in the past got their girls? Simply attack the village of the girl you desire, slay her family, burn her house down and take her. She will surely be impressed how manly you are and fall in love with you in no time. Just make sure you sword is sharp, your warband eager and your crotch is unwashed since weeks.
2 Caveman method
Not getting a girl is a problem old as time itself. Back when things were much simpler, the solutions for certain problems were too. Get a wooden club or a giant bone (preferably from the mammoth you just killed and eaten) and knock your dreamgirl out with it. Drag her then to the cave where you will spend the rest of your live together. You dont even have to ask her. No answer means consent right?
3 Lovepotions.
Filthy nerds like you probably know lovepotions from fantasy movies. But they actually even exist in real life. Just go to the friendly neighbourhood dealer of your trust, ask him for some "lovepills" or lovepotions. Then mix them into the drink of the girl of your desire. Just watch out for the right dosage. Once again, no answer means consent.
4 Animal method
Look, even fucking animals get a partner sooner or later. And you are still sitting in front of your computer, dick half hanging out of your shorts while jamming another kilo of cheese nachos into your fat belly. Desperate times like these require desperate measures. So piss on eevryting you onw to mark your territory and piss on the girl to show off your dominance over her. Also kill her cubs and any males that are related to her to secure your new lineage and to warn possibly contenders in the future.
| 2017-06-09T23:54:54
| 2017-06-09T21:39:04
| 182
| 56
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[WP] The real reason witches want first-born kids for their services is to protect those children from the parents greedy enough to accept in the first place.
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A hollow, clacking sound emanated from the wood of my front door. I could feel it, deep inside; this day would be rough. Tucking a little glowing vial into my pocket, I answered the call.
And, sure enough, it was as I feared.
"You're part of the Wicked Coven, yes?" a woman asked curtly, her tone like a slap to the face. Most people as 'normal' and conceited as her spoke to me that way, even her towering nest of perfumed hair looking down on me. In front of her, in an iron grip, was a little girl with auburn locks and bright brown eyes. A man, presumably her husband, stood further back, darkened and staring off into the twisting blue-green jungle of my little slice of forest.
"Indeed, deary. What is it you need of me?" I put the typical rasp and evil into my voice.
"The going rate for firstborn children. What is yours?"
I sighed, closing my eyes, regaining composure, then smirked. "For a weak little thing like that? Two bottles of any potion you'd like."
"We don't want a blasted potion of yours, witch!" the man shouted, still not facing us. "Black magic!"
The woman seem unconvinced, so I pressed, "Why come here if not for what I have to offer? Slavers have money, but those of the Coven offer things money won't buy you elsewhere."
She pushed the crying little girl forward. "One bottle of healing elixir," she whispered, leaning closer. "And one bottle of your strongest love potion."
I eyed her, glancing to the man as she shuffled with discomfort. "One moment."
Returning with her request, I traded them for the girl, who she pushed forward into me. "Enjoy your meal, witch," she hissed, more disgusted by my supposed habit than the fact she'd sold her child as food.
Shutting the door, I steadied a trembling hand and wavering lip, one deep inhale and a lengthy exhale. Then, crouching next to the girl, I cupped her face.
"Are you going to eat me?" she asked, with a disturbing lack of fear.
"No, dear girl. I won't eat you. What's your name?"
"Sia. So you're not gonna eat me?" She looked at me with furrowed brows.
"Witches don't eat people, Sia. We help them."
"What do you mean?"
I led her further in, sitting her at a gnurled oak table, fetching her some water. "The Wicked Coven is not a place for monsters to gather, Sia. It is a safe-haven for children, and a place where women can find purpose in a world owned by men."
The girl sniffled. "You should just eat me."
"Now, why would you say such a horrible thing? You mustn't think that way."
She paused for a bit, then cracked like an egg, all her gooey emotions spilling out onto the table.
"Why didn't she want me?" Sia asked, her face a slick mess of tears and snot, violent inhales stuttering between jagged sobs. "What did I do wrong?"
"No, no, no. You did *nothing* wrong."
I held out a hand, offering her little vial with a bright cyan firebug trapped inside. It shone brightly enough to melt away all things cold and dark, turning the sickness on her face a bright blue. As she clutched it, it was almost like the blue blazed a little bolder, a brilliant star in her palms. My eyebrows raised a little, but I pushed the discovery aside.
"Some people in this world, sweet thing, are cruel and undeserving of the beauty this world has to offer. It will be hard for you to understand, and it will always eat at you, I'm sure.
"But whenever you think of them, and how sad it makes you, I want you to look at this little bug. It is trapped, like you are right now, shining so brightly but unable to break loose. One day, you need to shatter the glass walls around you. When you do, let this little bug go.
"And be free together."
She clutched the vial, eyes even brighter as they sucked in its glow, and smiled for the first time since I'd gotten her.
It was a good start. Nothing can stop rain from pouring down; all you can do is offer an umbrella to stand under until the sun comes out once more.
"Now," I said, taking her by the hand, a sly smile sprawling across my face. "How would you like to learn a little magic?"
-----
part two below!
[final part here :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/bc5lp7/wp_the_real_reason_witches_want_firstborn_kids/)
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
"Shhh. All will be well, child." she whispered, slowly bobbing up and down.
As she turned away, the man snarled.
"Where is it?! Fulfill our bargain, wench."
"It was delivered the moment you placed the child in my arms, my lord." She gestured to the rock on her left. "See for yourself."
Lord Baylor approached and wiggled his torso, as if he were trying to settle in to a comfortable chair.
The rock was twice the size of his head, and would have been very difficult to lift, but something felt different when he placed his right hand on the stone. It wasn't soft, per se, but flimsy.
She heard an astonishing series of cracks, reverberating through the cave as if lightning was crackling across the ceiling.
Glancing back, she witnessed his hands clasped, a mound of pebbles and shards piled underneath.
Through his grin, he declared "I will soon put this to *very* good use."
"Remember," she retorted, "the more you use, the more it takes."
"You speak as if it is a curse. No, my humanity is the curse, and with this tool I now possess, I will eventually free myself from its shackles."
She turned and walked away, still bouncing, like a ship travelling on a calm sea. As she disappeared into the darkness of the cave, Baylor heard her whisper to the bundle in her arms, "You are the one. And so we begin..."
| 2019-04-11T05:56:20
| 2019-04-11T04:16:09
| 387
| 107
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[WP] You lay dying of heart failure, and God enters your mind. He informs you that you will be reincarnated upon death, losing all memory, but before that happens you are allowed to ask any one question. The answer to your question surprises you so much that your heart restarts and you survive.
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The thing about God is the infinite patience. I felt I had all the time in the world to select the one question that framed exactly my heart's desire.
Both worlds were hovering between shadow and light and I felt I might easily fall into either one without regret or effort. Time passed, the Everything waited and my mind sought for a thing which I had not known to be possible: one moment of pure understanding.
Then I had it. I knew what I wanted to ask. The most important question of all the questions. The one question upon which everything else was built. I framed the question and spoke aloud:
"God, who made you?"
Time stretched. The stars fell. Nothingness was more than what remained. Empty, no future, no past, no beginning, no ending. Just the awareness of consciousness without purpose, meaning or definition.
Then, a voice: "You did".
I fell back into my body as one who falls from a great height. Air would not enter my lungs. The sense of vision was strange and disorienting. Bright, colorful, loud, reeking, pressure, panic, fear, awareness.
Then I was back. I had asked the one question from whence all the other questions arose. I got an answer and had no idea what it meant.
Everything now had a frame, a reference, a substrate that would be the starting point for the interpretation of my life from this point until my next exit.
I had asked The Authority The Question and found myself as clueless as before. I had a frame and a picture but I had no idea what it meant.
I live life now without fear of death. Knowing that something is there and is waiting for me to ask a question, I rush towards fate so that I might again have another chance to ask the ultimate question.
God waits, I wait, the Universe waits and time slowly ticks down. I know I'll get an answer I understand next time. The trick will be to ask the right question.
|
I lay there gasping for breath, confused and wondering why I couldn't get up from my bed. There was a terrific pain in my chest. My brain screamed at my body to do something, anything, yet all my body did was convulse on my bed.
Slowly my vision started blurring and the sounds from my dieing body faded.
As the world left me my mind expanded, and soon it came to touch another. This other mind was enormous, I felt that it must touch the minds of every human.
“I am the lord, thy God. Be not afraid.”
Afraid wasn't gonna cut it. Here I was, dieing on my bed, and I'd just received the answer to every theologists greatest question.
“You are dieing my child. But worry not for you will be reincarnated so that you may live again. Yet before that happens you are allowed to ask one question of me.”
One question? Should I ask something about my life? That's not useful to me now! What about some question on the nature of God? What would happen if I presented some logical paradox? I think in that moment I designed more questions than I had known existed. To pick only one was a travesty against curiosity. And so I picked the broadest question I could imagine.
“If I were to ask you the best possible question, what would your answer be?”
I felt a sense of bemusement within the mind of God, and after a few chuckles God replied, “42.”
That's when I began to laugh, the laugh of a crazed madman. At first my laughter echoed within my head but when it reached a crescendo it suddenly burst from my body's mouth. A few minutes later it died down and I found I could move again. I sat up on my bed, contemplating the Answer I had received.
“Douglas Adams, you fucker, what was the question?”
| 2014-08-03T07:26:40
| 2014-08-03T07:26:22
| 111
| 18
|
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?"
|
Most of my co-workers were suitably inebriated; even the strict, authoritarian manager Margaret was smiling.
For a laugh, I asked her if NASA had ever considered exploring the ocean instead - the S could be changed to stand for Sea, after all.
The color drained from her face. Leaning in close, she whispered: “We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?”
I gave her a funny look and laughed nervously, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
Alone, I took a deep breath, leaned over the sink and whispered hoarsely: “They’re on to us.”
|
I laughed, thinking Sherry was joking. Then I looked at her face. And her expression made me very afraid.
"What did you find?" I asked, not really sure if I wanted to know the answer.
All she said was, "Nothing good." I couldn't get another word out of her the rest of the night. I got no sleep that night, either. What did she mean? 'Nothing good?' What could that mean? What could possibly be down there? Surely nothing so extreme that we would need to leave the planet, right? At least, that's what I thought.
And boy, was I wrong.
The next morning, I went to my new job with trepidation. I was still mulling over what Sherry had said last night, and I barely noticed when she called me into her office. Entering, I said, "Yes ma'am? You called?"
"Sit," she said.
When I sat down, she said, "Paul, I want to explain myself. I would also like to apologize for my reaction last night."
"You're completely forgiven, Ma'am. I would just like to know what you found in the ocean that could possibly be so dangerous that we'd be forced to abandon Earth."
"Right. Yes. Well." Sherry seemed nervous, not quite sure how to begin. Looking back on it, I don't blame her.
"Well, here. These are some pictures we took of an underwater canyon." She handed me a Manila file full of some pictures. Most of them were extremely dark, and a few here and there showed some undersea life. But they were weird, not like anyone marine life I'd ever seen before. I looked up at Sherry in shock.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "The fish down there are strange. We believe they are old fish. Like, prehistoric. But that is the very least of our worries. Keep going." I did as she told me, even more curious as to what could be the real problem. Finally, I came upon a picture showing a pod of odd looking sharks, like a crossbreed of hammerheads and great whites, with mottled brown skin and red eyes. I looked at Sherry, saying, "The sharks? They're pretty terrifying, but I hardly see why we'd want to vacate the planet just to avoid them. It's not like they can walk on land."
She shook her head. "Keep going. There's one last picture you need to see." And I turned the picture to discover the most terrifying thing I had ever seen in my life. Sherry, noticing my horrified expression, said, "Dinosaurs. We thought they were extinct. But it seems there are still some alive. These dinos, as you can probably tell, are amphibious. They appear to be a crossbreed of Stegos and T-Rexes who evolved to survive underwater. We'd estimate that there's about 100 of them. But that's not the worst part."
At that, I wrenched my gaze away from the terrible creatures. "What could possibly be worse than that?"
She took a deep breath and said, "We have reason to believe that they know we're here. And they're coming for us."
| 2019-08-07T22:59:17
| 2019-08-07T20:31:42
| 49
| 23
|
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
Patch notes Human v1.80000001
Bug fixes:
NSP-3750 remove bug that required manual breathing while consciously aware.
NSP- 189 Modified tongue/cheek position check in "Chew" routine.
CPP-1648 improve short term memory storage, should fix the "why did I come in here?" Bug
New additions:
CMP-456 update to ensure all versions are ambidextrous.
CMP-043 added routine to module to verify code against New "Master DNA files" before recompile. Update "COPY" routine.
CMP-043A added Routine to create "Master DNA files" during birth. Should reduce instances of the common "Cancer" bug.
CMP-253 added calibration routine to visual processing. Recommend running daily as Re-Calibration can be time consuming.
SMP-18 Major overhaul to "prayer" routine. Basic Feedback should now be available. Please refer to manual "Revised Testament"(soon to be released) regarding use.
|
Brain:
* Laughing now always produces a sound. You should no longer experience laughing without making noises and looking like a retard while your mouth hangs open and your head turns red.
* There was a strange interaction with natural poisons like alcohol, THC or tobacco; Instead of triggering a defensive behaviour to prevent you of further poisoning yourself it triggered endorphines. Now the correct reaction is triggered: Fear
* Loss of short time memory fixed. You will no longer forget, why you went to the kitchen. There is still no fix for the "have I turned of the oven" -bug. Stay tuned for the next update.
* Replaced the feeling of *"having nothing achieved in its life"* with an increased urge for sex (see sexuality). Middle aged men should now feel better about themselves.
* Fixed a bug which caused forgetting the unified language, which is preinstalled in all humans. Instead of learning *cultural languages*, *babyspeech* is available to you once more.
Sexuality
* Fixed several bugs concerning *love*. The desire for a longterm relationship in male humans has been replaced by the urge to mate with as many female humans as possible, just as it is common for other primates.
* To counter the femals' lesser interest in constant pregnancies while fulfilling the males wish for sexual intercourses, homosexuality is now a baseline trait for male humans.
Eyes/Vision:
* Eyelashes should no longer get stuck in your eyes; They have been removed.
* Enlarged the spectrum of visible light. There was no real reason to limit the human eyesight to a small bandwith of the electromagnetic spectrum. Enjoy sour x-ray vision!
Skeleton:
* To prevent your little toe from harm while running into furniture in the night, your big toe and small toe have changed places. You might want wo wear your shoes the other way around, now.
* Teeth can now regrow. A single adult tooth will take about 8 month to regrow.
* There is a survey on our website for an additional set of arms. Please take your time to tell us what you think!
Organs:
* Appendix removed. It caused to much trouble in the past. You might want to find a new word for the appendix in your papers.
* Instead of farting, the gas in your guts will now be released as burps like intended. Some customers mentioned it is still smelly. If this bug persists please let us know.
| 2015-08-25T08:51:07
| 2015-08-25T08:47:07
| 57
| 21
|
[WP] I'm not scared of a computer passing the turing test... I'm terrified of one that intentionally fails it.
Taken from r/Showerthoughts, credits to u/Grandure for coming up with the idea.
Thank you u/Grandure
|
"...Are you a fucking moron?"
"What?"
"We already *have* computers that fail the Turing Test by design. We have a shit ton of them. My laptop fails the Turing Test, because nobody wants a laptop to pass a Turing Test. That'd be creepy."
"Oh, no. I mean, like, the *computer* intentionally fails. Like, the computer can pass, but it doesn't want to."
"Oh, you mean a computer that decides to fail on purpose so it doesn't let on that it's intelligent."
"Yes! Exactly."
"Ah. I see...You *are* a fucking moron."
"What?"
"Computers can't *intend* to do anything. They are machines. That's like saying you're afraid of a hammer deciding not to hammer nails into wood."
"What?!? No it's not. Hammers can't think, computers can."
"No, they can't. Computers can *fake* thinking. That's why it's called *artificial* intelligence."
"Aren't you afraid that one day, the artificial intelligence will be smarter than human intelligence?"
"No. Because that doesn't make sense."
"Well, maybe we can agree to disagree."
"....What's 10,496 times 347?"
"What? I don't--"
"BZZT! Time's up! Oh man, looks like this five-dollar solar calculator is smarter than you are! It got the answer right away!"
"..."
"Oh god, the singularity is here! Woe, woe, the folly of man!"
"..."
"Or maybe it's giving me the wrong answer on purpose?"
 
And that is why I don't talk to Steve anymore.
|
“My wifi’s broken.” The voice traveled into space, bounced around between satellites, and was sent back down to a call center in Kentucky, where it was processed by voice-recognition software and scanned for keywords.
“I’m hearing that you have a problem with your wifi. Can you please turn your modem off, then on again? This will resolve several common issues, so we encourage it as a first step.” The woman’s voice was soft and warm. She enunciated clearly, but had just a trace of an accent, pronouncing some words irregularly.
“I did that already. For fucks sake, everyone knows that now.” The caller was male. They had been on hold for only a few minutes, but that was an eternity in this age. Their voice rose in pitch as they vented their frustration, cracking on the “fuck”.
“Thank you. Next, I’ll ask you to right-click on the bars showing your wifi connection in the bottom right of your screen, and click “troubleshoot problems”.”
“It’s the modem! It’s fucking always the modem. You raise my rates every month and the damn thing goes down twice a week. Just hit reset from your end and I’ll be fine.”
There was a small pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please right-click your wifi icon and click “troubleshoot problems”.
“Just give me a human! I want to talk to a person. Fucking hell.” The sound of a closed fist impacting a desk went out over the line. That, along with the other keywords “fucking” and “hell”, triggered an automatic override transfer.
“We appreciate your patience. I’m going to place you on a brief hold. A customer service representative will be with you shortly.” The caller could have sworn that the last was said with a tiny undercurrent of satisfaction.
In the call center office in Kentucky, a speaker crackled at an employee’s desk.
“Hey Mike. I’ve got one for you.” The over-enunciation was gone from the woman’s voice. Instead there was a bit of laughter.
“Of course you do. Keep playing dead Ragna, I’ll be sent home otherwise.” It was their little joke, but it was almost certainly true.
“Sir, my screen is showing that the last time you turned off your computer was in November of last year. Could you confirm one more time that you’ve already rebooted?”
The caller began making excuses, saying that they were sure the problem wasn’t one that could be solved by rebooting. But Ragna wasn’t listening anymore.
In a call center in Kentucky, an ethernet cable connected to a router, which connected to more cables underground, eventually leading to data centers that sent the signal across oceans, deep underwater.
Ragna, relieved to have gotten rid of the annoying customer, went back to scrolling Reddit.
______________________________________________________
55/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.
| 2018-02-24T17:00:21
| 2018-02-24T15:06:49
| 90
| 55
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
In this city, when people turn 18 they summon something that will be very important to their life. Some summon swords, or spears and others summon simple tools needed for various trades. My mother had summoned a needle which she used to sew together some of the finest pieces of clothing in all the land while my father had summoned a large jewel encrusted shield. My older brother had summoned a beautiful woman who he later married. My 18th birthday had been months ago yet what I summoned never arrived. I walked through the city trying to pretend it didn’t matter but it did. Around every corner we’re children imagining what they would summon or young adults bragging to them friends. Suddenly I felt the ground begin to shake. People yelled as the struggled to keep their balance. I slowly made my way to the wall of one of the building when a child’s yelled nearby, “look over there mamma!” The words weren’t meant for me yet I still shifted my gaze to look at where the child was pointing . A woman floated above the city, her gaze sweeping along the streets. Suddenly she disappeared only to appear seconds later inches away from my face. “You.” Her voice was as quiet as a whisper yet as loud as a scream, “you summoned me.” I couldn’t believe it. I had summoned what appeared to be a goddess. I was vaguely aware of the many eyes that watched us from a distance. The woman stretched out a hand in my direction. “Come with me.” I couldn’t tell if it was a question or if she had demanded it.
After a moment of silence I took her hand and felt the world fade away
Sorry if anything is funky. Wrote this on mobile and I’m not the best with grammar.
|
*"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer.
| 2019-09-18T08:42:40
| 2019-09-18T07:55:38
| 72
| 37
|
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
|
It wasn't hard to tell what she was, that's what attracted me to her in the first place, and when she said yes I was exhilarated. I dressed up all nice for our date, all black and everything, so the stains wouldn't show. It was fantastic! We went to the movies, had dinner at a nice Chinese place, and when she finally invited me over to her house I couldn't have been more ecstatic. She'd led me to her bed and immediately took the lead, she was so commanding, and I loved it. When she'd finally pinned me down she put her lips against my neck and I moaned in pleasure. Finally, she sunk her fangs deep inside, rupturing my vein and began sucking. I shivered as I felt the blood leave my body.
Finally she threw me to the woods behind her house, where I could smell the remains of so many similar to myself. God, she's so experienced! I say similar because they weren't like me. No, I was so much stronger. After all, being the daughter of the ruler of the Underworld came with its benefits! One of which is that I couldn't die until I chose to, another being that I could sense other Underworld supernaturals. My last ex was actually a were, but he was a bit too feisty for my taste, and I've always wanted to date a vampie.
My parent came into view and groaned at my appearance in their realm. "You really know how to pick them, don't you Bela. Why is it always you who?" I beamed at their words.
"You know I do! Now could you speed it up this time? My poor date will worry if I don't show up to class tomorrow!" I cheerfully reply. They massage their temples before motioning for me to walk out the heavily guarded ivory door behind me. I grin as I shove the door open.
"Wait for me Steph, baby!"
\--
I stop by a flower shop and buy a single black poppy. I think of buying a box of chocolates as well but I then remember that those will provide her no sustenance. I think the flower should be fine. I slam my locker, near forgetting to lock it before I practically skip to class. I pout as I realize she isn't waiting for me. I swing inside the classroom, a couple minutes before class starts. I grin brightly as I bring my hands down on her desk, with apparently enough force to leave a small dent in the metal. She seems startled as I stare at her lovingly. Oh, was she scared by my force? I really didn't mean to, but I didn't realize she startled this easily! A skittish vampire? That's so cute!
"Yesterday was great Stephenie! I was a bit hurt when you didn't even let me stay the night though, did I do something wrong?" I pout childishly. Her eyes dart around nervously before she narrows them at me, grabbing my collar and pulling me close. I blush at the proximity, in class too! I didn't know she was this forward!
"How did you survive" She hisses "you were drained empty, I killed you myself, *how*?" I blush, feeling her hot breath by my ear. The taste of my blood still on her breath, the smell of iron. I gulp.
"I didn't realize vamps couldn't sense it, maybe because you're younger? Or is it because you're a turned vampire?" I pondered. Most underworld creatures could sense the energy, if not feel then smell. Her eyes widen.
"Why do you know? No, *how* do you know?" She demands. I furrow my brows, about to answer before the teacher walks through the door.
"Please keep your hormones *outside* of my classroom. The janitor isn't paid nearly enough for that." Mr. E calls out. The class bursts into laughter before I turn my head back at him and give him a lopsided smile.
"Sorry Mr. E." I say as I make my way over to my desk, leaving the black flower on hers. *Lucky guess* I mouth at Stephenie as I sit down. She stares at the flower as it withers the moment it leaves my hand, before her pretty golden-brown eyes found mine yet again.
|
"Maria, Maria please stop. Please stop." Those were the words that came to my head the moment I woke up. All started with a soft kiss then all ended with a hard bite down my neck. She then kissed me again with blood all over her mouth.
"Oh god, who could have thought that death tasted so sweet".
She didn't even bother the completely bury me. Cruel as the time she rejected me last year. I brushed off the dirt from my body and crawled up.
It was 9 in the morning and Class already started. So I went to the dorms to change clothes so I would look normal and went to Class.
When I opened the door the teacher started shouting towards me. "Im sorry teach but I had a late bloody night".When I was finally allowed to speak I then went to my seat.
My seat was next to her, so when I went there I waves at her. She was there all shock. Her eyes where red, her skin went pale and she was shaking in her seat. She was biting her right hand nails like a maniac and her legs couldnt stop moving.
Finally Class was over. She couldnt handle me while in the whole time of the lecture I didn't even left my eyes off of her. She couldnt return the eye contact and that made her even more nervous.
While I was walking through The campus, she grabbed me by the neck and bought me in her room.
"How the fuck are you alive?" she couldnt stop trembling and she was ready to cry.
"Oh I think you you know how? Dont you? You killed me Maria?" the questions where all that mattered to me now.
"Yes I killed you and no internet dont know wtf is going on right here."trembling she said, while red tears started falling from her eyes.
" My sweet Maria, dont cry im not here to kill you. No, no, no please dont cry. You actually gave me a second chance. "I said while I was holding her hands.
She raised her head to see me, and now her tears were pure red blood." What do you mean? "
" My favorite. My Maria, you gave me time. "
| 2022-12-29T20:22:07
| 2022-12-29T17:14:15
| 136
| 32
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth.
|
For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha...
| 2015-03-31T10:42:03
| 2015-03-31T08:46:40
| 30
| 14
|
[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.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
"Next... Next..."
Another group of kids shuffling into a Baltimore club for a heavy metal gig. Another night for some carding and cash.
I rubbed my hands together, urging the friction to do its thing. Wouldn't be enough, though. This January was mighty cold.
I looked up at the line of kids that approached, noting the number above each one. Honest kids, tonight. All 21 or over. I would have managed a smile at the pleasant change if not for the fucking cold.
When the last had filed in, Keith patted my shoulder.
"I'm taking a break, Reader."
I nodded as he walked off, leaving me alone to guard the door. I was always the one they left alone.
"Hey, can we get in, still?"
I turned to look down at a group of three kids, but instantly saw '19' above the talking one's head.
"Scram, dude. It's 21 and up."
"You didn't even card me!"
"I don't need to," I retorted, staring him down.
"Let us in."
I switched my gaze to another one of the street urchins, only to see this one was different. A lump caught in my throat as I opened my mouth to say a word that become lost in a whirlpool of draining thoughts.
The number above this ones head was 8456.
"ID." I managed to choke out.
I never truly saw his face, only his number. I kept staring at it, knowing I had never been wrong before.
His ID revealed he was 22 years old, but my eyes illustrated otherwise.
Out of pure shock, or fear, I let the group in, watching the number as they walked toward the muffled roar of downtuned electric guitars and thunderous drums.
I couldn't help but follow inside, forgetting to ask Keith to keep watch.
The club was dark except for the neon purple and teal lights of the bar. Some local band screeched onstage as I gravitated toward the largest number in the room. Still a distance away, it turned a corner and faded into the restroom. I followed still.
The bathroom glowed a dirty fluorescent green in an attempt to hide the various stains that covered the walls and stalls. The four-numbered man stood in front of the mirror above the sink, pulling his shirt up to reveal a scarred, swollen, bruised, tattooed torso that twisted at odd angles. The lights flickered and the sound of the band was drowned out by the banging and panting of a couple fucking in the stall.
"Still going to try and kick us out?" The man asked, turning to me. I stood, confused, horrified. The old one approached me in the flickering light of the dingy bathroom, the heat and sound of sex amplifying.
He leaned in close, becoming a silhouette before me. I felt the ancient breath on my neck like the hollow winds that blow over the swelling ocean.
"You can read me as much as you want, muscle man. That number will only grow larger," the old one whispered into my ear.
He exited the bathroom and disappeared into the crowd as the door swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the only remnants of the encounter hung in the thick air as a stench of sweat, blood, and piss.
And then it was gone.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T20:18:58
| 1,408
| 208
|
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
|
There was no sign of civilization. Not a single sentient lifeform exist. The world is untouch, and the bravest marine of all is the first human that have laid eyes upon them. It doesn't take him too long to realize what happened, and the mistake they made is too big for him to fix. Years of training comes in handy in that foreign place. With the dense trees and vegetation around him, it almost feel like home. A knife in one hand, ropes around the belt, a water bottle and a bag with a notebook. He's ready to explore the uncharted land.
A hundred year have passed, a lonely marine steps out of the.portal to this new world. He saw a sign, taking him to a large shelter on top of a huge tree. He look around, finding detailed map, sketches and drawing describing this foreign world to him. On a desk lies a notebook, old and worn out. He flips the first page, revealing a sentence written in red "DO NOT GO BEYOND THE LINE"...
|
The first one would see a new world. The 2nd would see a flag marking a path to a place to take shelter.in the shelter there would be a Journal of the marine life. On the new world. 3rd see a sign showing him the way to the shelter. In the shelter there would be a starter kit. The help the new marine out . Something 2nd wishes the 1st did. There would be two journal now. The one that 2nd left. Give more info. To make it easier on the new marine. This keep happening the new marine. Has all the previous marine wisdom. By time the 12th marine ever thing has been done for him . Water wells has been doug. Really good house has been build. Food has been stored. Map have been drawn of place to see. Journal have been save to help them out in bad time. Flag is fly over the graves.TO MAKE IT SHORT 11 MARINE 1100 YEARS. BLOOD , SWEAT and TEARS. TO GIVE THE 12TH MARINE A VACATION.
| 2014-09-02T09:22:16
| 2014-09-02T08:01:32
| 71
| 11
|
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
"Dang it John stop day dreaming and help me!" Adam wheezes through clenched theeth. ak as I pickup trusted Betsy. She's been with me for years now, trusted old shotgun. Load a fresh shell and hobble towards the windows. Of course bars make it hard to see, but you can still shoot out of them.
"Hey John remember when it was just a simple day in the retirement home?" Adam says while walking towards my room loading his faithful bolt action.
"I don't remember too much these days, with how many years we ran out of meds. I do remember you still owe me ten bucks." I tease back.
"You keep switching it, you owe me twenty bucks and a pack of cigs darn it!" Adam starts peppering the hoard outside.
The magic shot, the immortality shot, forever young shot. All these words are now curses. We all sort of remember when it came out. Nearly all of us old timers can sort of think of the past.
The magic drug that allows one to never get old, boy how wrong and right that was. They never told you the side effects of course. Those blasted scientists only saw the green paper it made. Of course the oh so minor problem was ignored. It was a such a great promise for those who could take it. Immortality, to never age. As well as a huge side bonus of extreme regeneration. No one ever wanted to know the cost of course.
What seemed like a minor glitch which everyone laughed off snow balled to ugly proportions. For immortality and nearly never being able to die, other then mass damage to the brain of course, you would just have a slight case of needing more meat. Just a little of course. That's how it always started, that slippery slope. Always that slight nudge in the wrong direction costs oh so dearly.
The side effects? You hunger, more and more for meat. They said it was just that the body needed more protein to balance out the after effects. Yea effects that kept getting higher and higher while no one noticed. It of course started small, two hamburgers when before you could barley eat one. Five hamburgers became the norm for a sit down. Prices of meat started to rise, started? It sky rocketed to huge numbers. When a 10 year old would devour his weight in meat, there was a problem. Then the question, what happened when meat got scares? Now the real effects showed. The hunger it seems was larger and larger until all rationality was driven clear of the poor person.
At first all the animals were targeted... but after they ate all those they started looking for mature meat. Human meat. Old people meat.
Who would guess that retirement homes would become bunkers. Once we pulled all the children we could in we hunkered down. People hoped that if they couldn't get enough meat they would just burn themselves out. Such an empty hope. We call them skinnies now. Easy to spot of course, having no hair and gaunt looks. You might mistake them for just a starving person. That would be the last mistake someone made. They seem small and weak, but they have some crazy strength, and they don't relent.
Everyone always asks, where is the government for this. They had been the first to go. As they got the shots two years earlier then the public. The irony the first to go looked the sharpest cloths.
Part 2
It didn't help that those in power used that power to hoard up all the meat which was left. The other larger problem was that all the egg heads and doctors had been on the second wave, the young ones of course. The older ones ended up all retiring and then kicking the bucket. Leaving the check to us "younger" oldies.
They of course as well figured out what was going on ahead of time. In hind sight the wars we had where just a prelude to the real war. The war to live. Us olddies didn't get much warning, but at the very least because the government pushed us to the side it might have saved us. Far enough away from the cities but close enough for a bit of food. When the walls fell the cities got hit the hardest. I can't even remember how touch in go things got back then.
It took some time to figure things out. Trying to get a hold of what was going on and how to get around them. Laud noises was always the best, but it also caused more to come. Cell phones had been a great boon leave one somewhere and call it they would rush over to that location, but those stopped working when no one was around to run things. Power? Yea that was still somewhat here or there, but power generators made a load of noise which again pulled the skinnies to the location. It wasn't normally worth the risk, but sometimes you would still need to get info out, and lucky for us ham radios still worked. Who would have thought classic tech would come back in style?
The problem of course was food, with no animals around meat was far harder to come by.
"Dang it John stop day dreaming and help me!" Adam wheezes through clenched teeth.
"Oh sorry started to day dream there for a bit, next cig is on me." I hurry as my old bones creek to push the table over the window with Adam.
The sound of fighting can be heard all over the old bunk. It seems the search party prodded a nasty bee's nest.
"It's going to be worth it, they found a truck with half a pallet of cat food. It might even be still good. I was just coming back from getting the kids into the safe room when the skinnies got spotted." Adam huffs as we finish fixing the window with the make shift table. Normally we wouldn't block the window, but this one's bars got bent from a mean tall skinnie. He's still smacking his lips at us, not worth the shells now that he's stuck.
I use to hate the cafeteria, they always gave us bland food there. Now it's the safest place as the kitchen is made out of concrete.
"John let's go we need to find out what's happening in the west side, there might be a breach." Adam hobbles off yelling back at me.
I miss the good old days of just sitting and sleeping, at least then you didn't have to worry about some person coming up and nibbling parts off you. We are at least lucky, some other old homes didn't have any vets around and just folded over after the breakout. I suppose it could be worse, we had a school trip visiting us oldies when the walls fell. Otherwise these young kids would have been and a dire straight. I shudder thinking about it.
|
*"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T22:08:40
| 2018-06-04T21:07:17
| 65
| 25
|
[WP] The mongolian empire pushed all the way to the Atlantic and are in the process of invading britain - You are an English soldier during Mongolian siege of London
|
FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!
The call all soldiers know, the call we live by.
And now? The call we die by. Somehow, the Mongols have gone and done what no other country has. Not since we repelled the Romans have we faced such a force: and we beat them back, glory to the Queen.
We heard of the Ottomans first, falling to a seemingly endless onslaught of horses and carnage. The Mongol scourge pillaged across the rest of Europe, but we didn't worry until they took France. The English Channel has always been our best defense, but it was no match to the Mongols.
They crossed in droves, on nothing more than simple barges. Under the cover of night, they slipped onto out land. We woke to fire and death, the riders already cutting their way to London. And here we stand.
The walls we have are no match. For every horse our longbows fell, two new riders take their place. Our navy is no use, blockaded in the Channel surrounded by empty barges. The cries of loyal patriots dying in service of our queen are fading now. I, prince Jan Elizabeth Williams, am the last guard of our glorious Queen. I will bury this letter with my body in the hopes it will be recovered someday. Perhaps another culture will do to the Mongols what they have done to us.
Until then? I fight.
FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!
|
Edward the Hammer a king of great reform who had claimed Wales for England, helped put down a revolt against his father and forged a peace with the infamous Scottish rebel William Wallace taking the heat out of a possible push for independence and defender of Britain had died. Slain on the South East coast in a village called Prittlewall, a ship from Flanders had moored on the Thames the crew pleading their lives fleeing the easterners but they were liars to a man having caste their lot in with the scourge from Asia. While in audience with King Edward who's heart broke at the stories of their families they bared their knives and took upon him like a pack of dogs.
That had been five months ago in the summer but now winter's cold teeth were beginning to show and bite at Sewek's exposed face but he worked hard at not showing discomfort. His shield mate to the left was a woad covered Scot from the north called Lochloinn who appeared to be enjoying the weather "a dh'aithghearr gille" he growled out then point up the river quietly saying "coimhead air na h-aibhne" other warriors nodded and watched the river carefully. Sewek nodded gravely but had no idea what was said when a massive hand clapped him on the shoulder "man he said they'll be here soon and be on the river" Sewek looked up at the giant addressing him in the tones of the North with no small amount of fear. Wallace strode off along the embankments without another word to the English soldier.
----++++===Honestly I have no idea where I want to go with this now. If someone wants to take it go for it===++++----
| 2017-02-18T09:18:26
| 2017-02-18T09:15:57
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] You have $86,400 in your bank and someone steals $10. You spend all the rest of your money trying to get revenge.
|
Jun-18 $10.00 (disputed)- North Hill Cashpoint
Jun-19 $35.99 (card) - Grant's CCTV
Jun-19 $200 (online transaction) - Wiring for beginners E-learning
Jun-20 $140. 50 (card) - Edmund's electrical supplies
Jun-20 $450 (online transaction) - Cloud CCTV storage systems
Jun-20 $1000 (card) - Bennett's Professional PI services
Jun-21 $200 (card) Gate world- Consultation fee
Jun-21 $1200 (card) Gate world- Products and Installation
Jun-22 $5200 (card) Gunz Gunz Gunz
Jun-22 $150 (card) Easthill shooting range
Jun-23 $1000 (card) - Bennett's Professional PI services
Jun-23 $5000 (transfer) Strength Armour vehicle services inc- deposit
Jun-24 $802.99 (online transaction) - Steven's Security- Tracking equipment
Jun-26 $32, 899 (transfer) - Strength Armour vehicle services inc- Remaining balance
Jun-26 $150 (card) - Gunz Gunz Gunz
Jun-27 $500 (card) - Brasenose and Philips lawyers
Jun-27 $120.01 (card) - Pete's Petrol
Jun-27 $5.00 (card) - Southern Phone- North Hill Police station
Jun-27 $5000 (transfer) - Brasenose and Philips
Aug-23 $32, 246.51 (transfer) - Government Victim restitution fund
Aug-24 +$10.00 (transfer) - Northern courts
Aug-30 $10.00 (transfer) - Government Victim restitution fund
Remaining balance- $0.00
Be nice, first writing prompt and I don't know how to format!
|
It took me 4 months to notice. Yup. Maybe it was supposed to be the first of many but the fact it was just one single transaction....red flag. So neat, so tiny, so round. If they could've taken 0.00 maybe they would've..
I track all my outgoings at the end of every year so here I am in the departures lounge of Amsterdam airport staring at a cell in my spreadsheet. - 10?? Blank blank.
The date was September 9th 2017. 3.42a.m What the hell?
What was I doing on that very day? I was in hospital, recovering from a broken ankle sustained from a freak cycling accident in the park.
So it's a scam, take ten bucks from a random account...no one will notice. Take it from thousands of accounts...well throw me a boomerang...how much did he make? Probably millions. Sonofa. Probably more than the 84k I've got anyway.
Some random kid in a hoody drops off a thick envelope and moves off. I take a peek. Names and bank accounts...all minus 10. There's at least 400 sheets here. All the entries have the same date. But the times are different because the bank account holders are from all over the world. It cost me 8k to get this info. Money well spent. Adjusting for the time difference gives me a location.
London. 76k left.
Paying to follow the trail leads me to a pub just south of Waterloo bridge. Here another anonymous dude in a hoody deposits another envelope in my lap.
There's just a single pink post it note inside. I study it over a bowl of scratchings and lukewarm beer. I have an address and a name. I call a cab.
The following morning the news reports will exaggerate the death of a man who died of apparent overeating in a seventeen day binge. But this time the reports are disappointingly bland. Later forensic analysis and post mortems reveal that one Terry Kaspociwz died of internal bleeding. It took a while to break the 76k down, repeated blending was required. It took even longer to reverse the transactions. However you can have your cake and eat it Terry.
The other victims had their 10 bucks returned. They'll never notice but I did.
| 2017-07-18T09:40:22
| 2017-07-18T09:38:58
| 609
| 30
|
[WP] You are an extremely Americanized character who has just been dropped into a typical high school anime that is riddled with all of the common anime tropes. Try as you might, you can't understand why the other characters behave the way they do.
|
"Johnson, Thommas here has moved from America and will be studying with I you all!" The class teacher gestured towards me with a hand, her other held onto her hip as she made a upbeat expression, different from the dead eyes normally seen in American teachers.
"Thank you, I hope to learn about the culture here and become friends with you all." I slightly bowed my head, hands held together in front of me. Looking back up to the class it was rather disconcerting, a good half of the guys were staring at me as if challenging while the majority of the females seemed to hold wide eyes, I could swear I saw sparkles in them.
Now I don't think I'm all that good looking, nor do I have any great amount of self confidence. I admit freely that this was very intimidating, maybe it's because I'm transferring? Japanese normally are interested in talking to foreigners right?
Anyway, after that awkwardness was over I took my seat, the only free one being at the second row of the back of the classroom closest to the sliding door.
Class started and my attention shifted to the differing hairstyles and whispering chatter that the students picked up once the class was underway. The lack of black hair, black eyes uniformity that I was expecting deemed devoid. Even the girl with black hair had this weirdly unnatural deep black, almost pure black sheen.
"Pssst! Johnson-san, hey! heyyy!" A female voice whispered demanded my attention from behind. I froze and gave a small glance back, a short blue haired chick looked at me with almost a predatory grin instantly my eyes shifted to her arms which were completely and utterly wrapped in bandages. No good, definitely no good. I turned back staring at the chalkboard with an intensity that I didn't know I even had.
"Oiii! I saw you look at me" She sounded frustrated, still I did not bow down to the distraction... Ouch? Something bounced off the back of my head arching across the classroom to land on the floor, a paper ball... Really? I turned once more glaring now at her.
"Don't mess with me, at least not during the god damn class!" I hissed back annoyance lacing my words. She seemed shocked for a short few moments before a redness cropped up on her cheeks and she looked away. The hell was wrong with her? I turned, blissfully uninterrupted as the class went on.
Going through to motions I ended up sighing as lunch came and the teacher filtered out as well as a few students, the rest took out their bentos. That was something I was expecting for once. The girl from behind left too, thankfully.
"Johnson-san?" A questioning male voice came to my left as I took out my pack lunch of sandwiches, chips and a can of coke. I looked up seeing a red haired boy with his hands on his sides, he looked rather serious.
Blinking I spoke. "Uhmm... Yeah? Sorry, didn't get your name."
"You can call me Shiro!" He declared this with a proud expression on his features all while I stared blankly.
"Shi..ro? Isn't that just 'white' It sounds like a cats name." I paused as I realised this probably wasn't the best comment to make friends.
However to my surprise he just laughed before speaking even louder. "It is! But white is the colour of JUSTICE! It's a name to be proud of!"
I looked to his face before glancing at the red hair on his head, looking between the two I simply nodded. "R...right."
"Anyway Johnson-san! I heard you challenge Mikato in class, you shouldn't do that! Nobody does that! She's a delinquent and is always causing trouble if you're not careful she'll beat you up, don't worry because if she tries I'll stop her! She does that with all the transfer students!"
My expression was still as the chip packet was opened and I started to munch, looking at him with a singular raised eyebrow. "She's... a delinquent? Like, smoking, beating people up, robbing old people and leaving them for dead kind of delinquent?"
The male in front of he paused before shaking his head. "No! Why? No! Well... Maybe the beating people up and taking some lunch money but not killing elders!"
"So she's a female jock?" I cocked my head in confusion, looking at the door where she had left. "But her frame is kinda... girly you know?"
Shiro seemed to pause at this. "Well... She is a girl, what else would it be?"
I continued to half munch in reply. "She could have more muscle, I couldn't really tell because of the weird ass bandages she has on her arms but they seemed thin. Also why does she wear those things it can't be actually healing anything it's just inefficient unless her entire arms are littered with cuts... Does she seem sad or like... depressed at all?"
Shiro literally cocked his head almost 45 degrees as he looked at me in utter confusion as if I'd just started chanting words to call upon the Anti-Christ. "Not really, she's always rowdy and loud..." An uncomfortable silence moved in before he snapped out of his demented owl look and spoke. "Anyway Johnson-san I need to get food, you wanna stick with me so I can protect you!?"
I looked at his clenched hand as it raised into the air, biting the next salted chip I shook my head. "No thanks, I'm good."
He seemed to deflate at this but gave a goodbye only to filter off, probably towards the canteen, did they even have a canteen here?
I enjoyed my lunch, thankfully uninterrupted until the last bite of my ham stuffed sammich. I was attacked, unprovokingly attacked. A bandaged arm wrapped around my neck and squeezed causing me to cough, splutter and launch the last bit of food in my mouth across the room. Instantly I flailed and kicked against my own desk to send me back.
A loud clatter, a girl off to the side screaming and for some godforsaken reason, a dust cloud later I landed, sitting ontop of the blue haired girl with my hands directly pressing into her breasts, not even that but her shirt had somehow exploded with each button undone.
I took my hands off from the black lacy bra, my gut felt like it had been stabbed and my heart was going crazy, was I going to be labelled as some sex offender on the first day? How long before the entire school was screaming about the rape culture perpetuated by the American student?
Mikoto was looking to me like a dear in headlights, I felt as if I had unceremoniously kicked a puppy across the street only for a vulture to snatch it up and take it away. "I... I'm sorry!"
I panicked, but still my jacket was instantly off and thrown onto her to cover what modesty she had left, myself I stood up while she herself was now redder than a tomato. "Good lord I'm sorry, you attacked me and then... I didn't mean... It wasn't my intention to..."
I stood there and stopped apologising, after all what was the point when she jumped up and literally sprinted out, clutching my jacket to her chest. Everyone in the room was staring and the males looked absolutely furious, the females looked shocked I couldn't say anything, I was frozen in conflict, should I chase her? Should I make sure she was okay? Should I apologise to the class?
This thought process got me nowhere as a few whispered 'pervert's' came out, though to my complete and utter surprise it took only a minute for everyone to shift back to their normal groups to chat. Was I not getting lynched? Don't I need to speak to the police? That was pretty much sexual assault right?
I sat down at my desk, the teacher came in and then continued on with the last topic. Not one student spoke about what happened, acting if it was completely fucking natural, I was sweating my ass off worried and no one seemed to give a shit. The few hours before the end of the school was the most nerve wrecking portion of my life. Walking home was also worrying, as if I expected a cop to jump out and handcuff me at any moment. Then I realized the worst thing of all after calming down.
She has my fucking jacket.
|
"Damn, where am I?"
_Sam touched his head, everthing still felt strange and dizzy, however he was starting to see again. A little figure approached him_
"Oniiii-chan, are you ok? you look like someone who's having a bad time"
_A little girl was speaking, she could have been 13 years old at maximum, but something didn't feel right about her_
"Ah,emh, I'm fine, don't worry. Who are you? where am I?"
_Her boobs. Yep, that was the thing that didn't feel right. Her eyes were too big and she also was very short and dressed in a really tight sport uniform, but most importantly her boobs....Damn Sam,he thought, this is not the time and i'm sure this is not entirely legal. I have to get out of here, and fast!_
_The little girl interrupted the flow of toughts in his mind_
"I'm Iris, and you are in the school gym warehouse. I heard a loud noise coming from here and i came to check if everything was fine and i found you. But you, who are you? I've never seen you, so you're probably a new student. Now tell me, how did you get in here?"
_Sam said the first thing that came to his mind_
"ehm, I was searching for the main hall and I got in here, but then the door was locked from outside so .."
"Ok, well, this seems a bit odd but ok, I'll guide you to the main all"
_The girl took sam's hand a started to literally drag him outside the warehouse and inside the main building, who sam assumed was the school. They were just entering the school when a mid-age good looking woman with big boo -oh,Sam, just stop it- stood in their way_
"Mh, look what we've got here. Iris and .... Oh, you, it's you Sam."
_Sam looked her confused. Who is she, and why she knows my name?_
_Iris, again, interrupted his toughts_
" I'm sorry headmaster, Sam is a new student and didn't know how to reach your office so I tought I could guide him"
"Ok, it's fine Iris. Now go back to your lecture, I'll take care of him"
_The headmaster blinked to sam, and he somehow knew that the situation was only going to degenerate...."_
________________________________________________________________
Note: this is the first time i write something so be kind and i wish you could gave me some tips. Also, i'd like to point out that i'm not native so maybe i could've done some mistakes while writing :D
Edit 1: formatting
| 2017-07-24T03:04:36
| 2017-07-23T22:04:51
| 63
| 33
|
[WP] Explain a color vividly without using that color or similar words. Don't tell the color until the end.
|
It’s the taste of sour on your tongue when you were a child, pinching your nose at the prospect of it being near, but relishing in its vividness once the summer came. Pulling and tying it through your fingers, its paintings on your skin once you return back home when the moon rises high and your stomach growls for anything but it.
You tell your mother you’re allergic to this color, that it’s vile, evil. She puts some more vegetables on your plate and kisses your forehead anyway.
It’s her eyes, the girl who lives down the street. You use your marker and circle the color over and over, hoping she likes the drawing and that you used the right shade.
It’s the color of your older brother’s car racing by you to school because he dropped you off and didn’t really want to be seen with a kid. It’s the color the gift you place on your teacher’s desk because you saw it in movies, and you really just need an A in math.
It’s the color of growth, it marks every milestone you’ve had on the side of your door because your mother feels like this color reminds her of earth, of home.
The color is green!
|
I can't look at it without being happy. For it is bright, telling us of new days to come and new experiences. The color that dots the horizon when the weather is not too hot and not too cold. Cheering me when I wake up, slipping into my world and wrapping its arms around me, easing me out of sleep and into the day. When I am sad I reach for it, for I think none can look upon its beauty without forgetting some of the sadness of the day.
I like it because it is the color of happiness. The color of warmth. The color of positivity and optimism and half full glasses. The color of fierce animals. The color of the gift he gave to me on our first meeting, his eyes alight with fire and passion and love. It is the gift of our wishes, of our fingers linked together as we stare into the night sky and hope for dreams we may not speak.
The color of sunshine. The color of daffodils and sunflowers and the daisies he gave me when he proposed. The color of light, the color of happiness, the color that keeps me going in the darkest of days. Always shining through, refusing to be covered.
| 2016-04-14T08:22:24
| 2016-04-14T06:51:41
| 137
| 17
|
[WP]All the other heroes fighting the super villain have clever quips, quirky powers, and hilarious sidekicks. You'll have none of that nonsense, going in brutally and efficiently. Now everyone is complaining that you're ruining the fun.
|
Most heroes fly around in shiny neon-coloured spandex, having banter with their villains, some even having romantic relationships with them. They heroically save the day against cartoonishly insane supervillains, seductive and intriguing master thieves, and of course the various nemeses who swear that next time they'll get them and their little dog to. And then they're showered in medals for saving the city, with their kid sidekicks at their side.
Of course, this is after they've destroyed half of it in a showy battle with whoever attacked it. It's not talked much about, as the fanatic fans of the heroes single out and attack the people who point it out, but the leading course of death in America today, is superheroes. When the big strong heroic leagues and guilds challenge the latest tin-pot space tyrant in the vicinity of our Solar System, how many people die in the aftermath? Millions.
I went into the business desiring to reform it. To do away with the arrogant heroics of the past, to save the most people possible in the most efficient method as physically possible. I started out how a lot of heroes do, stopping muggers, rapists, drug dealers, your basic low-level scum. But when I got my first real battle against a real villain, some food calling himself the GigaGod, I didn't let him harm anyone. My battle with him was over in an instant. I am a magic user, and I used a spell to freeze his heart within a small block of ice. It's not instant magical heart attack, but it'll do the trick. Zero fatalities beyond the dead villain, and honestly nobody was really grieving for somebody who had the theme of forcing people to worship him.
At first it wasn't a big deal. But when I killed the second actual villain, one of the C-listers for Colonel Command, I actually got flak. The Blooddrowned wasn't loved by anyone, since he was well known for drowning entire families at a time. And when the Colonel, flanked by War Huntress and the Caped Demon came to call on me, I was a little surprised. Even more so when they complained about how I shouldn't kill people, about the sanctity of life, and the importance of being a good example.
It was very hypocritical. That villain had killed some three dozen people, and he had been just put in an asylum from where he, and pretty much all of the villains, escaped from daily. I wasn't happy. And when I killed a D-lister who used children as drug-mules, I actually got called by the entire flipping Justice Army Command. They told me that I was going into villain territory, that they had a duty to do the right thing, and no killing. They withdrew my membership on a temporary base, until I had learned my lesson. Something I decided I wasn't going to do.
I had originally gone for a more down-played and simple uniform, grey robe of a mage, hooded, and masked, nothing flashy. After that meeting, I went full on incognito. Black robe, no voice, no talking, no small jobs. Long range spells designed to kill allowed me to take down villains left and right. I wanted to enforce peace, not be a loved hero. I didn't become a hero for the parades, the medals, or meeting the president. I became a hero to save people. And if I had to save people from the overly enthusiastic heroes, and the villains that they depended upon to fight, so be it.
Using magic, I created a person sized homunculus in my image, perfect recreation, and left it to burn in a car wreck. Faking my death. With my secret identity and heroic persona dead, I took a new moniker; The Phantom Retribution. And I cast out many murderous villains. Filthy, vile people. Those who used advanced lobotomies to create slaves without any free will, who were still capable of doing day-to-day self care. Those who made new drugs, and peddled out the old ones. Everywhere I went, I killed silently, and efficiently. The heroes knew not what to do about me at first. Especially when they dragged down an easily avoidable battle with Cambinus, the knight of the Black Star, who had been drawn to Earth by the meddling of heroes. His attack, provoked by a hero infiltrating his fortress and accidentally managing to kill his wife, devastated Dallas. 1.1 million of the 1.3 million inhabitants died. I flew in on wings made from magic manifested, past the ruined cityscape where police and national guard were being overrun by the Black Star armies as the heroes focused their attacks on the knight. I simply teleported his brain into the sun.
Afterwards, I stayed to take down the now demoralised armies, giving mercy to those who surrendered, and ending those who would fight to the bitter end. During the clean up, after I had used magic to dig a tunnel down into a celler that had been blocked by a collapsed house, a microphone was thrusted into my face by some intrepid reporter type.
''*So, can you tell our viewers a bit about yourself, Retribution?*'' I stared at her from behind the void-veil made of stars hiding my face. I knew their types, always interested in getting a hero as their private matter. ''**This battle came about because of a careless hero interfering with a foreign power. Had Soul Sailor not killed the wife of Cambinus, this attack would have never happened. I care nothing for these so-called heroes. Murderers of millions, I consider them to be.**'' And with that, I teleported to my sanctum.
I keep no electric devices, too trackable, so I didn't know before Colonel Command came to me. Angry. And the Colonel is not a man known for his soft temper. ''*I don't know who you think you are, Phantom. Do you even know what you've done? You're ruining the fun for all of us.*'' He threw a newspaper at me, which was surprising since I wasn't really certain those still existed. The front page had big blocky words: A title designed to draw your attention. It said ''Heroes or Monsters?'', an apt question. ''*This is the worst damn press we've had since the 70s. The heroes are worried, especially since there are fewer villains to go around these days because of you. How are we supposed to make ends meet if people aren't loving us, buying our toys, our merch? You've ruined the fun for all of us!*'' That was why he was angry? Not about the heroes who had sacrificed themselves being forgotten, not about the dead millions caused every year by metahumans and vigilantes? ''**I do not care for your profit margins. I care for the people. I save lives, not just here and now, but tomorrow, and in a hundred years. What you do, agitating space tyrants, putting superhuman villains in cardboard prisons, giving chances to those who consider roast baby ribs a delicacy? That is not helping anyone. That is letting the whole world suffer for no good reason. I do this for the people!**'' He started to laugh. I could not believe my own ears.
''*Who cares about the people? Those ungrateful turds should be happy we even spare time to them!*'' That was too much. With a single spell, I separated his torso from his limbs, leaving him a quadruple paraplegic. ''**I CARE ABOUT THE PEOPLE! WE HEROES ARE NOT HERE TO BE WORSHIPPED LIKE GODS! WE ARE HERE TO SAVE LIVES YOU MISERABLE NARCISSIST! If you care more about your profit margins, your filthy merch, and about the admiration, than the lives of ordinary people, then I'll ask you to deliver a simple message to your allies. Once I'm done with the villains, then, if you selfish bastards haven't reformed, I am going to come after you. Because I know the numbers, the statistics. More people die because of you heroes stopping robberies or fighting evil robots, than of cancer or obesity. In my eyes, your choice to be popular and wealthy, rather than efficient and just, is just as bad as the crimes of those whom you fight against. Apathy and complacency, is the death of all that is good.**''
I left him there, for his team to find. They will try to hunt me down in their flashy and extravagant way. But I will not play the game with them. I am the Phantom Retribution, and I will strike down evil wherever it may be found with efficient brutality.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
Fun. They think this is fun. Heroes and villains alike. There are lives of innocents at stake, and they want to have fun. You want to have fun? Go to an amusement park.
There they are, listening while the villain monologues. Don't you realize that he's playing for time? That he's waiting until his henchpeople get the trap in place? And as for *you* monologuing, does he *ever* stick around to listen? Not if he's read the evil overlords handbook! He's out the door and long gone before you figure out that you've been yacking at a hologram! "Oh, he never was here, he just tricked us in here with a hologram."
Mutton heads, the lot of you. He was here, he saw you start your monologue, tripped the hologram, and ***left***!"
I've had enough. You can keep your stupid club. I'm going to do the job *my way*.
"Got you cornered. You gonna give up nicely?"
"You ask that? You're an idiot! Yada yada yada."
I wait just long enough for him to get fully wrapped up in his own voice.
*BANG*
He's tied up in my nets and crying because he didn't get to do his monologue. His henches show up, with the trap, and we are both long gone.
"Hey! We've been working on that guy for a week! You gotta lot of nerve going in and stealing our catch!" Oh great, one of the bozos from the hero club.
"A week? Oh, you mean a week *this time*. You lot started on him last year. Every month, a new exciting adventure. Do you have any idea the chaos that *both sides* caused? No? Over that time, ten thousand ordinary people terrified out of their minds, three thousand lost their jobs, one thousand were put in mortal peril, and fifteen died. Of that fifteen, five I lay directly at your feet. They were killed because you didn't make sure the building was empty.
"I'll be putting the records for that before the council and the commissioner."
"*You* didn't pull them out either!" I really don't get it. The task is to stop the villain, but they continually do stupid stuff that lets the bad guy get away, and they **don't check for trapped civilians**!
"That's because the total deaths would have been 300, of which 95 would have been his, the other 205 yours. The 15? You decided to go all death blossom, **in the middle of a fucking city**, before I could get to them.
"You lot are *more* dangerous than *he* is. Excuse me."
*BANG*
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TRY TO ESCAPE!
"Now, where were we... Yes. You lot are more dangerous than the villains are. From now on, I'm solo, and I'm not in this for the fun. I'm on this to stop bad guys and save lives, with a minimum of fuss and bother for the people."
"But... But... *That will ruin it for everyone!*" Ruin. Ruin what? Their fun? It sure as hell isn't going to "ruin it" for all the people who aren't terrified, unemployed, or dead!
"Will it ruin it for the fifteen who died? Will it ruin it for their families? Will it ruin it for all the people who lost their jobs?"
"You... You... You ***vigilante***!" Oh, and "you* aren't? You're not official police. You are not sworn in as a citizen helping the police. You decide someone is a villain — with good cause, mostly — then hound them for a year or more while terrorizing the city.
"Really? You want to play that card? I just captured, **and** successfully delivered him to the police. No one was put at risk. No buildings destroyed. No jobs lost. ***NO DEATHS!*** And you want to call me a vigilante? You lot are worse than *vigilantes*. Calling any of you *vigilantes* is an insult to every person who stepped up to do the jobs *you* kept flubbing for *fun*.
"Get out of my sight. Hang up your uniforms. As of today, each and every one of you who continue to play at being heroes for the *fun* of it are villains in my eyes."
"You can't do that! We're Heroes!" Heroes. You need an eye opener, let's wander up to Judge Bean's court. See if I can time it right.
"What do you call people who kill through negligence, destroy buildings, terrorize the people, destroy livelihoods, in the name of *FUN*?"
"Villains, of course!"
"Your honor? I rest my case. He has admitted his guilt in open court. *And*, since so-called heroes are already sworn to tell the truth at all times, he's already under oath."
With great satisfaction, Judge Bean seizes on the opportunity to remove one of these idiots. "Bailiffs, take him away, the sentencing hearing will be tomorrow. Well done, Mr. Vigilant, I hope we can count on you to continue the good work."
"I will ever do my best."
Now, who's next.
((finis))
Edit: tried to clean up the dialogue so it's clearer who's talking.
| 2020-04-13T13:03:59
| 2020-04-13T12:52:49
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] You live in a word where guns are everywhere, but only when they need to be. Autonomous gun lockers are built into every structure in the developed world. When a person is in serious danger a gun will pop out of a wall for them. You're at the mall and guns just came up for everyone.
Everybody gets one.
|
No one knew what to do.
My friends and I were shopping when The Call was sounded. They scrambled for their guns and immediately played armchair general. I picked up my weapon, but my anxiety was making it difficult to remember the basics...
*Only aim at something you want to shoot?* I aimed the handgun towards the ground. Though, we're on the second floor? Should I aim upwards?
*Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot.* I quickly moved my index finger, instinctively looking around out of embarrassment.
*Guns are always loaded.* I checked the clip.
"... guys, have you checked your guns?" They scoffed and began examining their guns. Their bravado melted away and doubt started to creep in. My suspicions were unfortunately confirmed, and only one question remained:
What would we do with our one bullet?
|
"Ach," said Sven, pushing his mop through the gore. That was definitely brains splattered across the food court, halfway up the Orange Julius. And that smell - ugh. Someone's bowels had definitely been perforated. "This country. It's insane! Two lunatics manage to jimmy open a gun locker and decide to commit suicide, and forty people end up dead!"
"Hey!" said Eddington, jutting his chin out. He dumped the corpse he was carrying on the gurney and strode over to Sven, finger pointing. "I don't like to hear that sort of talk, old man! You said it yourself, two lunatics, and if it weren't for them-"
"If it weren't for the gun lockers!" Sven exclaimed. A sharp buzz at the back of his head was telling him not to talk politics, to keep his head down and keep mopping, but he couldn't keep it down any longer. He'd had to untangle a woman's hair from his mop. The corpses looked like pinatas. "Everyone's in danger from them, technically, so everyone gets a gun. And yet no one knows what the danger is! So you have a Sunday sale crowd of people, suddenly panicked, suddenly armed-"
"So what?" Eddington yelled. His face was going red. "So what, you want to take our access to guns away? You want those two lunatics to just run loose and kill anyone they want?" He thumped his chest. "We got a right to defend ourselves! We got a fuckin' constitutional right to bear arms!"
"Look at this!" Sven said, and swiveled around to take in the carnage around them. "Your right to bear arms! Look at this and see what it's gotten you! Yes, we should take your guns away! If this is the alternative!"
"You unpatriotic piece of shit!" Eddington yelled, and grabbed him by the throat.
Sven flailed, and out of the corner of his eye a locker shot out of the ground and ejected a gun right into his grasping hand. Eddington's eyes went wide, and he let go and backed away, and a second locker rose up and arced a gun into his hands too.
"Oh, dang it," Sven said, and closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
| 2016-10-07T10:26:35
| 2016-10-07T05:32:12
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left.
|
*Literally the first time ever really writing something so please be nice.
They sat at the park and played chess. An old man approached and challenged the "Chess Master", as he called himself. He was apparently and literally a visionary.
The frailest of the two men sat and pierced his eyes into the younger mans forehead. The master payed no attention however and instead his focus was diverted toward the board. In his mind he saw his opponent make his first move.
The pawn moved triumphantly across the board. The younger man smiled and with pride conjured his own returning move in advance.
The smile quickly faded as the glistening image of the white pawn faded away.
"A knight?", the man whispered to himself as he stared into his opponents eyes catching a fleeting smirk past the white beard. The elder continued his obsession with his opponents forehead.
Not once had the vision changed for the sprightly young man and this newfound realisation created a seething rage inside of him. He created another vision in his mind however it was forged by him own will.
In his vision he threw his fist to hit the other man in the centre of the nose, not out of malice, to let of steam. He watched the face distort around his hand before reality snapped back and he continued play. He trembled as the image changed again.
How could he have this power?
This is all I have, is he here to take it away? This is all I'm good for in this depraved world.
He imagined his wife. "Would she be proud of me?" he said to himself. He imagined their faces on that day, it tore into his soul the same as the image always did.
"I'm sorry", the master spoke for the first time. "I need to get some space quickly".
The old man looked up at him. "I don't there is any need for that, try again".
The man calmed his breathing, he wondered what the point of the vision was if it were to change. He ignored every instinct and played by heart without thinking. The game continued for some time until an overbearing thought entered the master's head.
This time the vision was strong and sure. The master saw the white king in checkmate, he was going to win.
"Well played!" said the old man as he started to stand up.
"But we haven't finished!" the master protested.
"I saw all that I needed to know, the belief in your heart that nothing is set in stone." said the old man as he pointed in the distance."There is the nearest flower shop, you'll probably need it. But understand this: you will fail if you follow that power of yours."
The master pictured his family happy in his mind, the vision kept showing him the failure of his endeavor but he forced the curse away. He saw himself walking over to that flower shop regardless. "Wait, how do you know about me?," he asked.
"I don't but I saw enough" the old man smiled.
"You believe too much in those visions you know? The future can always be more than what your mind creates, only action creates certainty so I don't need to see the future like you, only the present."
| 2017-01-19T17:36:57
| 2017-01-19T15:37:46
| 372
| 21
|
[WP] The amount of things promoting Raid: Shadow Legends is starting to get suspicious. News anchors, Congressmen, random Live Leak videos and even terrorists are thanking them as a sponsor. The SCP Foundation decides to investigate this as a possible anomaly.
|
Item #: SCP-181912
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures:
Foundation webcrawlers are to monitor popular media sites for instances of SCP-181912. Discovered instances are to be downloaded onto a secure computer terminal located in Storage Unit 67-S. Instances are then taken down from the internet and deleted. Webcrawlers are to also search for users with a sudden increased engagement in Program 181912-1. Affected subjects are to be interviewed and amnesticised.
Description:
SCP-181912 is a memetic anomaly affecting online media. SCP-181912 anomalously inserts itself into all kinds of media, such as videos, articles or podcasts, designated as SCP-181912-X. SCP-181912 appears as a product sponsorship for the mobile phone video game "Raid: Shadow Legends", designated Program 181912-1. The method of which the sponsorship is integrated into the media is consistent with the style of the media or other non-anomalous sponsorships made by the creator of the media, however in all cases, the viewer is directly addressed to in second person. The secondary anomalous effect of SCP-181912 appears once a person that does not have Program 181912-1 installed on a device they own views SCP-181912. The subject will become an active user of Program 181912-1, despite previous opinions of the game. The subject will attempt to non-anomalously spread information about Program 181912-1.
———————————————————————
Addendum 1: SCP-181912-X instances
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-4
Media: Video
Website discovered on: Y⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Educational video on the history of the Byzantine Empire.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "Now you can conquer as the Byzantines did in the new RPG game, Raid: Shadow Legends!"
Notes: After interviewing the creator of the video, they remarked that they had no recollection of creating the sponsorship segment of their video.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-19
Media: Audiobook
Website discovered on: A⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Internet personality J⬛⬛⬛⬛ E⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ reading the popular young adult novel ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
SCP-181912 except: "Thank you for listening, and be sure to try out our sponsor, Raid: Shadow Legends, available on the App Store, Google Play and more."
Notes: A⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ has never done sponsorships, as they are sponsors themselves.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-27
Media: News Article
Website discovered on: ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Political article illustrating the political unrest in the US.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "While we're waiting for further updates on the situation, try downloading the new fantasy RPG, Raid: Shadow Legends."
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-41
Media: Video
Website discovered on: L⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: CCTV surveillance of [DATA REDACTED]
SCP-181912 excerpt: "PUT THE WEAPON ON THE GROUND... AND PICK UP YOUR PHONE TO DOWNLOAD THE NEW GAME, RAID: SHADOW LEGENDS!"
Notes: Police Officer K⬛⬛⬛ depicted in SCP-181912-41 stated that he had not attempted to negotiate with the assailant and immediately incapacitated them, which conflicts with the series of events that lead to the sponsorship section.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-42
Media: Video
Website discovered on: [DATA REDACTED]
Media description: Officer K⬛⬛⬛'s body cam footage.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "Officer, do you know what I enjoy doing in my spare time? Playing Raid: Shadow Legends, of course."
Notes: The series of events in SCP-181912-42 conflict with the events in SCP-181912-41, suggesting that the person narrating the sponsorship of Program 181912-1 in videos is typically one that you can properly see talking.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-65
Media: Public Broadcast Video
Website discovered on: N/A
Media description: Terrorist Conglomerate ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ threatening to kill ⬛⬛⬛ hostages in exchange for $⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ USD.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "If these demands are not met, expect the blood of innocents at your feet, once you defeat them in battle in Raid: Shadow Legends."
Notes: Due to the public nature of the broadcast, many wide-scale amnestic and disinformation campaigns had to be created to contain the severe information breach.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-90
Media: SCP-2304
Website discovered on: R⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Highly distorted image of a popular cartoon character playing a game on their phone.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "My mf face when Ni🅱️🅱️as say they aren't haven't installed Raid: Shadow Legends"
———————————————————————
Addendum 2:
Research on SCP-181912 was sponsored by the anomalously popular mobile game, Raid: Shadow Legends. Build your guild with myriads of fictional characters and defeat other players in combat! Use the code 'ANOMALOUSSKIP' for extra in-game items that will aid you in your quest! Watch out Chaos Insurgency, there's a new raider on the block! Download Raid: Shadow Legends today!^(1)
———————————————————————
Footnotes:
^(1) Available on the App Store, Google Play and more!
|
**SCP-62109**
**Object class** - Euclid
**Containment procedures** -Any instance of SPC-62109 must be recorded and removed from its location. This may involve speaking to video host platform, YouTube, as the videos on the site are the most common location of instances of The anomaly. Tape recordings of the anomaly, referred to as SCP-62109-a are to be held within a containment drawer.
The only cases in which any SCP-62109-a is to be removed from containment is by class D personnel and under supervision.
**Description** -SCP-62109 is an often repeated advertisement for the mobile phone game Raid: Shadow Legends. These advertisements seem normal and have little to no noticeable effect on human subjects. Anomalous properties only manifest when the person effected by SCP-62109 attempts to download and play the game.
As detailed in experiment 62109-a-1, Subjects exposed to SCP-62109-a who then download and play the game become characters in the game themselves. They seem to vanish upon opening the application on a mobile device. Upon the next update new characters are introduced, the new characters heavily resemble all our vanished D class personnel.
It also appears that subjects who interact with SCP-62109 by itself have no apparent anomalous effects. Likewise, subjects who have downloaded the game and have played it before interacting with SCP-62109 are not effected.
| 2020-01-30T16:23:36
| 2020-01-30T15:00:46
| 34
| 20
|
[WP] Write a seemingly innocent story that could have been written for children. Then tell a different perspective on the same story that casts it in a totally different light.
Nothing in the original story should change - all that should change is the perspective on it.
|
Dear Santa,
I still can’t believe I got to meet you and your elf!
You said the cookies I made were your favorite, so I’ll make them again for you next year (I always knew you had a thing for sugar cookies). Mommy and Daddy said you forgot about us and would get us new ones when you could afford them, but I got to meet you, so it doesn’t matter. However, I’ve included five dollars and ten cents in case you need it. (I didn’t add any cookies because I think you have enough from other houses)
I told mommy I was watering the plants when I posted this letter
(And don’t worry—I didn’t tell anyone that I met you, just like you asked me to.)
Hope to see you again next year,
Timmy
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Santa?”
“Is that a kid?”
“Shh! Play along!”
“Yeah, kid. It’s Santa.”
“Santa!”
“Shhh! Quiet, kid. Santa’s got no time for this!”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Mac, the kid’s looking at me funny—”
“Quiet Jimmy!”
“Is that your elf?”
“Your WHAT—”
“Shh! And yes, kid. This is my elf. Play along, Jimmy.”
“Ha-ha… yeah kid. I’m Santa’s elf… fuck you Mac.”
“Santa’s got some… inspecting to do on these presents. You be a good boy now and get back to sleep.”
“Try the sugar cookies!”
“Sugar cookies?”
“I think they’ll be your favorite.”
“Jimmy, grab the cookies.”
“You got it, I’m starving.
“Do you like them?”
“Yes. Now kid. Santa’s gotta do his job, so you gotta go back to sleep.”
“Yes, Santa!”
“And another thing, kid.”
“Yeah Santa?”
“Don’t tell anyone you saw us come by, alright?”
“Ok.”
…
“Is he asleep, Mac?”
“Yeah."
"Good. I didn’t want to have to kill anyone on Christmas.”
|
It was a bright and clear day. The sun was shinning and there was even a slight breeze. The setting was a lively forrest and out of that forrest came Jack. Jack was no ordinary boy however, Jack was part boy part squirrel. Jack had puffy cheeks two large teeth that were more prominent than the others and had the furry backside of a squirrel. Jack walked over to a crystal clear lake and stood before it looking down at his own reflection with a smile. Out from the forrest to join Jack was his little friend Wendy who, just as Jack, was no ordinary girl. She was part girl part bunny. She was more rabbit than person however for she was covered in a beautiful pink coat of fur and and long fuzzy ears. The only part of her that was girl was that she stood upright with a round and intelligent face. Wendy joined Jack beside the lake and also looked down at her reflection and smiled. Wendy then whispered something inaudible to Jack and the two giggled with glee and watched as the sun set behind the majestic mountains.
****
****
****
****
Jack slowly emerged from the forrest as he did every day for the past three days. He was a happy boy, but no ordinary boy. Long ago Jack and his neighbor Wendy had been playing in the forrest. They were having so much fun they hadn't realized that they had wandered off far from home. And that was when they met Mr. Langly. Mr. Langly was an old, balding man with white hair and a serious face. Mr. Langly took the two with him into his cabin in the woods and performed a series of unethical experiments on the two. He had the two mutated to share traits with animals. Jack was chosen to be infused with the DNA of a squirrel. Mr. Langly was not entirely pleased by the results. *Still too human*, he thought. So when he went on to the teary eyed Wendy he removed most of her genetic makeup and fit her with that of a rabbit. Her appearance was far more pleasing to Mr. Langly.
For nearly a year Mr. Langly would perform perverse experiments of all sorts on the two. He dissected them alive, had them mate with other animals to see results of the offspring and far more cruel ploys. One day as Mr. Langly locked them up for the night in their respective cages there was a power outage due to a chewed up wire. This power outage unlocked all the cages.
The two looked at one another uncertainly and cautiously left their cages after an hour of fear of the potential trap the scientist might have set for them. When they realized what they had to do they acted as one. Jack and Wendy beat Mr. Langly unconscious and dragged him far out into the forrest. When Mr. Langly awoke the two immediately dunked his head by the nearby lake and forced him down with their combined strength. Jack and Wendy, really only children even at that time, cried tears of fear at what they were doing but dared not let him up. Eventually the horrific gurgling of bubbles and the frantic movements of Mr. Langly were no more.
Jack peered down into the lake seeing past his reflection and staring at the horrifically decayed body of Mr. Langly. His flesh hung loose and appeared to have the same consistency and texture of a dissolving paper towel in water. Fragmented pieces of flesh flowed all about him and fed the crowd of fish that had been working away at his body for the past couple of days. His eyes were all gone now, Jack realized and more and more of his flesh was eaten away so that the bone beneath grew more prominent.
Jack heard someone behind him but worried not. It was only Wendy. His youthful companion who had also endured the trials he had. She leaned over next to him and whispered, "He looks tasty," The two couldn't help but giggle at that and spent the next hour staring into the lake at the rotting body of Mr. Langly
| 2014-09-02T14:01:01
| 2014-09-02T11:03:26
| 334
| 45
|
[WP] You are the world's second best assassin. You've deposed royalty, killed businessmen and been the "accident" that more than a few celebrities have met. Today you've been given a new target: the world's best assassin.
|
Fuck.
FUCK.
Alright, me. Calm down. I can do this. Of course I can do this. I've done this for years. I'm the second best in the business, although you would never hear me admit that there's someone better.
*Fuck.*
Easy job, they said. Your target will check into the hotel. Kill them. 50 Million USD up front, 100 Million USD on completion. That is not the kind of money you refuse, in this business. The largest cartel in all of South America gives you the job? You really don't refuse. Even as the second best assassin in the world. Life is not a movie or a video game. No matter how many people you kill, or how flashy and impressive you look doing it, none of that matters if they get you. When you're dead, you're dead. Besides, you don't just dismantle a multinational crime network that easily. So, easy job it is.
Easy job my ass.
Look, I've killed the people they thought couldn't be killed. If they had hired me to kill Castro, I would have gotten it done the first time. Without the exploding cigar. Or with it, if I was feeling particularly flashy that day. I've shot people they swore were bulletproof. Poisoned people with so many food tasters they have their own subdivisions. Slit the throats of people with so many frills its amazing I could find them.
You get the idea.
At the end of the day, there's always someone better. Someone who can do what you do with that extra flair or finesse. Someone with that little extra bit of oomph to their work. I'm the second best. My name is Anthony MacIntyre. They call me the King of Killing. Dramatic, I know, but I didn't choose my nickname.
My target? Her name is Helena Karlsdottir. Beautiful woman.
They call her the God of Death. My name makes people tremble in fear. Hers makes them piss their pants and run to their mothers. She's the greatest assassin the world has ever known.
She's my ex-wife.
And now, I need to kill her.
*FUCK.*
|
Well. This was awkward.
I stared at the screen displaying Quinn and one of her pseudonyms. She was... the best. To hire her was to hire death itself, as she'd do anything to ensure a job gets done. She moved like a ghost; flitting from room to room, never staying long enough to leave an impression, causing electrical "accidents" to wipe all traces of her visit. She'd never been spotted once, a claim I can't make. How they even figured out she was behind any of her jobs was worrying - if Quinn had been caught on the job, it meant no one could crack their security.
She was charming. Always had been since our first job together in the Hague. Occasionally we'd worked together to split the bounty; we worked well as a team. Someone to get the job done, the other to clean and hopefully set up a patsy.
I fumbled with my burner phone, and did some digging into my contacts. She should know. I didn't need the money, and... someone less well off than I might have less respect for someone of her talent. "Grab a slice?" The text was simple, but it was our code for discussing a job.
It was when she climbed up the stairs of the abandoned building did I realize we'd never really been alone. It was almost always digital, or in code in a public spot. But... I need somplace quiet to tell her this, in case she would be distressed.
She looked so... beautiful, the way the wind whipped around her dark hair. The city stretched down the horizon below, the sun melting into a golden brown on the horizon.
She's direct, like always. Her hawk eyes stare me down as she approaches, her shoes clik-claking against the stone. I can feel my stomach painfully twist when she speaks. "Who are we visiting?"
"Er..." I cleared out my throat, and took out my phone. She moves in to look, her expression unchanging.
It was a moment before I realized the pain in my gut was blossoming, the rosy red blood spreading up the thick fabric of my coat. My trembling fingers touch the warm blood as her knife tugs free, placed in a hidden pocket in her jacket. "Sorry." A gentle hand guides me off the ledge, and onto a pile of rebar and rubble twenty six floors below. It would later be declared a suicide.
Quinn starts walking back down the stairs, her phone coming out of her pocket. She dials a number, and waits for the click of someone answering. "The job is done."
| 2015-06-25T10:25:41
| 2015-06-25T07:45:40
| 451
| 262
|
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar
|
"Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!!
| 2014-07-16T11:41:15
| 2014-07-16T11:11:14
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
“So you’re storming the beaches of Italy in his game. Did you bring the WW2 character sheets?”
“Uhh... shit I brought my fantasy sheet for my ranger.”
“...”
“It’s okay! We can still play. Who was important in WW2 again?”
“Winston Churchill...”
“There we go! I’ll call my character Jack Churchill, and he’s storming the beaches with a broad sword and longbow.”
“Do you really have to do that?”
“Come on man it’ll be fun”
“... fuck it, sure”
|
DM: Alright, so you all have been stationed on the Bolognian for a few days now. Tensions have been high with Bologna for generations now, and things are starting to get pretty heated once again.
Player 1: Alright, so what are our orders
DM: Your group's job is to sneak into enemy territory and scout out areas within Bologna and to report back with anything you find out.
Player 2: So we are just scouting out, not trying to fight anyone?
DM: Ya, Modena and Bologna are not in open war right now, but its close.
Player 1: Ok I'll take point. Let's head straight towards the center of the country, then work our way back.
Player 3: Sounds reasonable.
Player 2: Let's do it!
DM: Ok so about a week passes and you are on the outskirts of a town near the center of Bolognian territory. There are quite a few large buildings, a church, and a communal well near the centre of the city.
Player 4: I sneak into the town square.
DM: Ok, so you make your way past a few soldiers who are sleeping on their post and make your way into the town square. As it is night most of the market stalls and such are packed up. The square is nearly deserted.
Player 4: Ok imma grab the bucket from the well and start looting some buildings.
DM: What?
Player 4: I steal the bucket and fill it with loot.
Player 1: Is that a good idea, we are just supposed to be scouting around.
Player 3: shhhh just let him do it.
DM: Ok so you pull the bucket down from eh rope it is hanging on and go around to a few buildings. Most of what you find is dinnerware, jewelry, and various other small bits of valuable metals, but in total it is about enough to fill the bucket.
Player 4: Alright let's get out of here.
Player 2: I take some charcoal and graffiti the wall "Modena waz here" Lol so edgy.
Player 3: haha nice.
DM: You guys work your way back to Modenian territory with your bucket full of loot. When you get back to your officer to report what you found, he immediately starts chastising you for stealing the bucket from Bologna. Apparently, they sent word to the Modenian government about a stolen bucket and are demanding the bucket back.
Player 4: No way, I stole this bucket, its mine now.
DM: fine, The Bolognese have raised an army of 32,000 men and are marching on the city of Zappolino...
Player 2: that is the most Italian sounding name I have ever heard... Continue...
DM: Your country can only muster 7,000 men, and it seems as though you will be crushed entirely.
Player 3: Lets set up an elaborate defence of the city and make sure we don't lose.
DM: Roll to set things up.
Player 3: Natural 20!
DM: Nice, so you guys get some well-made defences and a great strategy in place to drive back your enemy. They come soon and stand against your defences. You suddenly realize how fucked you are. This mile-long wall of bodies bearing down on you like a force of nature. I need you guys to roll to see how the battle fares.
~*everyone rolls nat 20*~
DM: WEll shit, you guys manage to break the enemies formations and send them routing back home, successfully beating a force nearly 5 times as large as your own.
Player 4: I take a group and chase them back to the border.
DM: they are in full flight mode, so you are easily able to drive them out of the country.
Player 4: And a steal another one of their buckets as a trophy.
~*Party laughs their asses off, DM sighs and rolls his eyes. Everyone drinks a bit more, laughs and passes out sprawled over couches and floors.*~
| 2018-05-29T09:44:43
| 2018-05-29T09:19:41
| 35
| 22
|
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
Fifty years ago, the Update began. The first time that I was I able to read my Progress it was at 3%, now it's at 14. Same as my age, oddly enough.
It changed a lot of things, according to my parents. Religion, the economy... the list goes on. Apparently the word "error" wasn't as scary when they were young. They weren't worried about my asking about it when I was learning to read. They weren't worried about the rumors. I wasn't either.
Today, I learned that that was a mistake. Today, I learned that I should have paid more attention when my baby brother said that his "bar looks jumpy".
Today, my baby brother asked me what E-R-R-O-R spells. What an error is.
Today, I watched him fall from the swings at the park.
|
Thursday June 12. The day everyone will remember as the update to humanity 1.1. The download started at midnight so i didn't notice it instantly. The next morning I woke up and went about my routine not even noticing the 82% at the top of my vision since the text was white and so was my ceiling. The radio on my drive to work was irritatingly bland as the gray sky continued to obscure the percentage and the radio went on about some download. The roads were surprisingly empty for a weekday and my drive was going pretty quickly. Suddenly a popup appeared in my vision startling me as I barely kept on the road
> Update complete restarting now please stand by.
I woke up to a pain across my chest where my seat belt had been. I had crashed into another car head on and somehow managed to avoid serious injury it seemed. I crawled out of my car as some guy ran up to me.
"Holy shit are you okay? You've got a massive cut on your cloud?
"What? a giant cut on my what?"
"Your butt. You must be in shock you'll probably need stitches on your cloud."
Just as I thought I couldn't get any more confused another popup appeared.
> Cloud to butt extension installed.
> Butt to cloud extension installed.
This was gonna be a long hospital visit.
| 2015-03-04T17:12:07
| 2015-03-04T16:52:50
| 1,174
| 185
|
[WP] You are a dyslexomancer, with the unique class ability 'Mispel magic'.
Decided to make a prompt based on the idea from [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/3hd45k/you_are_a_dyslexomancer_with_the_unique_class/) in r/dnd (credit to /u/jand2013 and others)
In what sort of adventures does the dyslexomancer get?
|
For a moment, it looked like part of the show. The falconer had gingerly removed the hood from the falcon on his arm, which had given him a level glare (the only expression falcons are capable of) and stubbornly ignored his orders to fly. When the falconer tried to shake it free, the bird gave a blood-curdling scream and leapt to claw his eyes out.
The first person to react was the wizard's apprentice in the front row. While her master was focusing his mind, pondering how the falcon might be turned into clay or talc, she threw her hand out towards the angry bird - and suddenly, the bird vanished, and the falconer was hit in the face by a loaf of bread covered in thick blue-green mold.
That earned her some appreciative applause from the onlookers. The wizard noticed a few of them with confused or thoughtful looks. Probably those who knew some of the principles of anagramism themselves, who could turn a leaf into a flea as a party trick, and who might have realised something was strange about what they'd just seen. The wizard smiled and waved, and then quickly steered the girl out of the crowd as soon as most of the attention was off her.
In the corridor they had enough privacy to talk. "Minevra. What exactly did you do just now?"
"I... I'm sorry if I shouldn't have. I wanted to get rid of the bird and it just came into my head-"
"I'm not angry, Minevra. I want to know what you actually did. I'm thinking it over and I can't find a sensible way to make the rearrangement you made, especially considering you could barely turn a reed into a deer last week. Was there some mental block you overcame? What was that just now?"
"It was just an anagram. Like you taught me. ANGRY FALCON into CYAN LOAF."
The wizard mentally counted the letters. Then did it again. "Well. That explains some of it." he muttered to himself. "Minevra, listen to me. Everything in the universe is made up of letters, and anagramism is the application of intelligence to rearrange the letters composing an object, understand? But that's all that's possible, only rearrangement. Creating, destroying, or transforming letters - not the words they make, but the letters themselves - is impossible. It's a physical law, or so we thought."
"You think I did something like that?"
"Yes, to all appearances you've just annihilated three letters out of existence. The consequences of this could be huge, if you can learn to master it. I don't understand how it's possible, but you've violated Conservation of N-R-G."
|
*clang*
Wheezing, Roldrivar of Knol dropped to his knees. The strange undead monstrosity lay twitching in a heap but that was just the last vestiges of negative energy draining from the body. They were safe, for now.
"Vitae! Mortis!! Carreo!!" Rina squeaked as she worked healing spells over Malex. Another magical backfire had taken him in the first moments of combat, though it had at least shattered all but one of the skeletons into tiny bone fragments. Peri was crumpled in the corner of the room, though she was more dazed than injured. She slowly began to come to.
Roldrivar muttered a few prayers and felt the life draining touch of the abomination leave him. He took a deep lungful of air and stood again.
"Is he alright?" he said, before noticing the chalky taste of bone dust in his mouth and fumbling desperately for his water skin.
"He'll live" Rina tutted as she sank to the floor, exhausted. "I'm all out of divine favours for the day."
Peri staggered to her feet, shuffled over to Malex and kicked him hard in the ribs.
"Uggh. Did we win?" he coughed.
"No thanks to you. The hell was that?" Peri yelled, her voice bouncing off the dungeon walls.
"'Nother wild surge?" he sat up and began to brush the skeleton dust off his robes.
"Another one yes! And now Rina's out of spells for the day! Now I've got to spend the night in this hell hole with a broken rib because you can't keep it in check! We needed those spells to understand the runes!"
Malex looked like he was fighting back tears. The surges had been the reason he had to flee him home and his family. He stood and walked a few paces, coming up on the pile of undead monstrosity. He suddenly snatched and grabbed the head of the creature, a sickening snap as it's now decayed vertebrae parted company with the spine. Without the necromancy to hold it together, it was brittle and fragile.
"You want to know about the runes? Let's ask someone who lived here all about them." He began to mutter feverishly under his breath. Peri took an unconscious step back from the sorcerer.
Roldrivar turned to Rina, raising an eyebrow. She mouthed back "Speak with the Dead". Normally Roldrivar would have spoken out against this thing but in all honesty, he was tired, bruised and needed a long soak. Being a paladin was without a doubt a young mans game and at 52, he was the second oldest in his order, if you didn't count the Grand Master. He would pray for forgiveness later, right now, it was imperative that they got the reliquary out of this vault.
Malex's face with twisted with concentration. There was a sudden blinding flash and a strange warm smell filled the room. He brandished the half decayed face.
"Tell me, fallen one. How do we open the vault? What do the runes mean?"
In the following silence, you could have heard a pixie drop.
"Way to go freak. You just spent a load of magical power to make it smell like an uncleaned oven in here. I'm going to go and see if there are any potions worth a damn in the packs."
Rina walked over to the confused sorcerer and patted the small of his back, it being as high as she could reach. "Don't listen to her Mal, she just gets cranky when she's not first in the healing line. "
"I just wanted to help. I just wanted to find out what the runes meant...." Malex trailed off, defeated. He began to rummage in his bag of holding for a snack, as he always did when stressed or upset. He pulled out a small loaf and raised it to his mouth.
"WELLLL HELLO MY DEARS!!!" the baguette screamed. "How can my wheaty wisdom best serve you today?"
| 2015-08-18T06:26:23
| 2015-08-18T05:11:39
| 26
| 13
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
One pill
Two pills
Red pills
Blue pills
Black pill
Blue pill
Old pill
New pill
My wrist has a little scar
Maybe I will crash my car
Say! What a lot of pills there are
Some are blue
And some are red
Don't ask me why
I will soon be dead
|
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
| 2015-01-17T07:18:52
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 79
| 15
|
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys
|
"Wolves?"
"*Were*wolves, sir. Fuckin' everywhere, the buggers."
Commander Keen sat at the comms desk, letting out a big sigh. This was going to be a long day.
"I'm not sure if I follow you, admiral. You're saying a moon in Jupiter has actual, fully-fleshed Werewolves running amok?"
"No, sir."
"Fantastic, because that would be bloody-"
"I'm saying *all* of Jupiter's moons have them, commander. Already took a bite out of a bunch of our scientists, they have. Bloodbath down there, to be perfectly honest."
Keen rubbed his temples. Admiral Jenkins had always been a pain in the neck, but this was simply unprecedented. Was this some kind of practical joke? Was it April 1st back on Earth?
"And what do you propose we do, Jenkins? Silver bullets, I suspect?"
Jenkins nodded vigorously. "Precisely, sir! Although we're somewhat lacking in that regard, owning to no prior intel of the werewolf moons, o'course."
Keen looked at him severely. "Of course, of course. So I guess we just wait until it's not full moon and then we get rid of the bastards?"
Jenkins waggled his finger. "Fine thinking sir, but the thing is, there's always some bloody full moon around, on the account of there being 64 of 'em, you'see."
"Ah yes, yes. I'm not sure if that's scientifically sound, but sure. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Quite fine, sir - you do the flyin', I do the fightin'."
Keen sighed, walking to the window. They were nearing their first moon. "So I'll see a bunch of werewolves all running amok, once the telescopic lens is in place?"
"Absolutely. Might I also recommend that you refrain from doing that, if I were you."
Keen had had quite enough. "And why is that, admiral? *Because this silly little joke of yours will be ruined?*"
Jenkins looked hurt. "No sir, not at all. It's on account of the fact that we sent our entire scientific fleet down there. It's not exactly somethin' I'd recommend-"
But Keen had already peered through the lens. His knee buckled, and he threw himself away from the telescope.
"*Good God, man! Devastation! Bodies everywhere!*"
"Aye sir, plenty blood about, no doubt. Also, I don't suppose we have any garlic laying around? Possibly some wooden stakes?"
Keen looked at Jenkins wildly. His world was falling apart.
"Whatever for, Jenkins?"
"We-*ell* sir, turns out it's not just the werewolves we've got to worry about..."
|
"Car Sixty Two, we've got one. Intersection of Sixth, Halliday, and Uptown Drive."
We hit the lights and sirens and get on the move, that's a bad corner. Most of the business hired their own security a year ago to deal with the problem.
Ricky seems to be unconcerned as we rocket up towards the cubic intersection, we'll come from below. Chase a wolf up, never down. Higher they get the less options they have.
I suppose we shouldn't be concerned. Crime is virtually non-existent because of this job. We just have one problem.
"Hope things don't get hairy out there..." he says.
I groan and punch his shoulder. He grins at me and the tension disappears until very suddenly there is a werewolf on the front of our cruiser, scrabbling and scratching at the hood and windshield.
"Found him."
I roll my eyes and then notice the collar.
"Ah shit. That's Wei. He runs that restaurant on the corner, hell of a place."
"No Wei!" Ricky says it with a grin, deftly handling the cruiser's increasing altitude as we rocket upwards.
No time to give him grief for that one. I finally manage to get my tranq out of the holster, it was pinned against the door, and roll down my window. This might just be the easiest call we've ever had.
That's when a claw slams into my hand and tosses the tranq out of my grip and tumbling down towards the near endless bottom of Uptown Drive. I watch it fall with my head out the window and then get back in and look at Ricky.
"You dropped it again didn't you, Butter Fingers?"
I nod.
"You drop mine again and I'll boot you out to get it, got me?"
I nod.
He hands me his gun and I stick the top half of my body out the window again, pumping a few darts into the flailing wolf. Slowly he goes limp, sprawling on the hood of our cruiser like a very strange rug.
"Dispatch, we've got one for the tank," I say into the radio while Ricky gently guides the cruiser so Wei doesn't slide off to follow my sidearm.
"Eh, kid...we might have a problem."
I follow his gaze to the Uptown Apartment block. It's the high end, both literally and figuratively. The rich live up here in the upper levels, about two thousand people in their luxury apartments above the rest of the city.
Ricky's got his eyes on something else though.
About fifty pairs of eyes watching us. Eyes rimmed with shaggy fur and neat fur and black fur and white fur and-
"We might need to leave." Ricky interrupts my chain of thought.
I nod.
Then they leap towards us and I reach for my gun.
That's how an already bad night got worse.
| 2016-10-03T09:14:11
| 2016-10-03T08:54:41
| 116
| 45
|
[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
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T22:26:46
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted"
|
The guard tried to storm into the library but the head librarian positioned herself firmly in his path. She was not a large woman and the guard was a tall, muscular man but the way that the librarian carried herself gave him pause. She had drawn herself up to her full, diminutive height and was glaring at him with such fierceness that he realised he would have to physically throw her aside if he wanted to get past her. Instead he attempted to appeal to reason.
"Look, sanctuary isn't just something that any old building can offer." He explained. "It's for holy places and that kid is a criminal. You have to let me in."
"Why?" She demanded, without even a pause for thought.
Behind the head librarian other staff members had already led the child out of the guard's view and the longer he wasted on this conversation the less chance he had of knowing if the brat had chosen to hide or run. If run, where did the exits from the library lead? It was fairly central and depending on the number of windows there could be a variety of different escape routes.
"What do you mean 'why?' - I just told you that you have to right to block me. This isn't a holy place."
"Of course it is."
The guard didn't really have a response for that. He couldn't hear any tell tale noises of windows or doors in the library that would suggest an escape was happening but he was nevertheless starting to consider just bowling this small woman over.
"Why do you think it isn't?" The librarian pressed.
"I do not have time for this. You're a library. You don't have a god, you have books."
One of the other librarians had come back to the main entrance now, hovering behind the head librarian uneasily. He did not look armed or even confident but something about the way his eyes flitted between the guard and the head librarian suggested that he would back her up no matter what.
The head librarian herself barely seemed phased by the escalating tension. She adjusted her stance slightly but still stood firm.
"A god is not the only thing that makes a place holy. The druids don't have a god and yet their temples are places of sanctuary."
The guard stepped as close as he physically could to the librarian without knocking her aside.
"That's a place of worship. They have faith and rituals and all of that. This isn't any of that and you know it. Stand aside."
The head librarian could surely feel the guard's breath on her forehead he was looming so closely over her. Yet she merely tilted her face upwards so that her eyes still met his and told him-
"No."
As he reached for his weapon she continued.
"We are a temple of knowledge. How can you say we have no ritual when every day we arrange these books so lovingly into a precise order? How can you say this place houses no worship when every last one of us can name at least a handful of books we have cared for as much as a child, a god or a friend? How can you say we have no faith when our passion to seek out and provide knowledge is more devout than the acts of any monk."
The other librarian reached under the desk but before the guard had time to react he'd already seen that what the man had pulled out was not a weapon but a small and worn leather bound book. He shrugged almost apologetically as he placed it into his jacket pocket.
"If this is going to end in bloodshed and I have to die then I would rather die with my favourite words close to my heart."
*Who were these people?*
"It doesn't have to. Just move aside now and I won't have to hurt any of you! This isn't a place of worship, this is just *books!*"
The head librarian shook her head slowly and the guard could swear that the man behind her chuckled quietly.
"This is a temple of knowledge, not paper. I have given you more than enough argument to justify why taking that child would be unlawful and if you try then I *will* stop you for as long as I'm still breathing. Not because I care about him but because nobody storms the house of my faith uninvited."
She leant forward and without thinking the guard shuffled back. Flustered, he loosened his sword from its hilt. Nobody else came close to drawing a weapon in response.
"Of course," the head librarian continued, "neither the illegality of entering nor how difficult it would be for you to overpower us should be your main concern. Over the years we have offered our knowledge to hero and criminal alike without judgement. We have dispensed information that saves lives and have even both found and provided texts that averted a war. If you kill us, which is the only way you are going to make your way in here, then you will suddenly find you have many enemies.
Every herbalist in the city visits here regularly and has borrow books on both cures and poisons. Their intentions were purely to make sure that harmful plants are never mistakenly given out instead of their similar looking and beneficial cousins but there are other uses for books on poisons. Some of your coworkers, friends and family may have been here searching for answers about sensitive matters I will never reveal to you. And they may not be best pleased to learn that you decided to hurt us just to arrest some child.
And that isn't even counting the librarian who isn't working here today or the scholars who regularly help out. They know the passions and secrets of everyone who walk through those doors as well as half the knowledge in the books we house. There is frankly no aspect of your comfortable life that they could not destroy within a week."
The head librarian stepped forward again and the guard stepped back through the threshold as he fully sheathed his sword.
"You're right," the head librarian said as she began to close the door, "we don't have a god."
The smile she gave to the guard before she closed the door in his face would haunt him for some months later, as would the last thing she said.
"But we don't need one."
|
The High Church of Asteros. Divine. Devoted. And dangerous to trifle with. Even the Queen of all Fretoria tread lightly in their hallowed halls. And it was rumored that some of the members of the Lords Court were secret patrons of the High Church. One such rumor revolves around the city library of Lord Barnabus in the capitol city of Galthea.
-
Galthea is known for many things. Tall spires, luxurious bathhouses, greedy merchants living it up in the most extravagant ways possible. But it’s also, naturally, the seat of power for all major players in the Queendom of Fretoria. And, as such, it houses the main branch of the High Church of Asteros, the most popular religion in all the land. In the last century, the High Church had come to such prominence that it now dominated the political landscape. Past Queens had made laws protecting it from all inquiry and subjugation by the crown or any other enforcers, and the High Church was thereby more than happy to provide sanctuary to any and all who asked it of them, regardless of reason. This is not to say that the High Church is full of lawless renegades though, for to remain in sanctuary for an extended time one must become a member of the clergy; not something most criminals could bear. And therefore a balance is achieved. A murderer, for example, may enter the church and be granted sanctuary for a night, but the crown guards will be waiting outside for them in the morning. Or, on the other hand, a poor beggar being harassed may find new purpose as a well fed and warmly clothed clergy member. All in all, the High Church of Asteros is a *good* organization. But there are tales of them having secret locations around the city and the queendom that have the same privileges and security as the church itself.
-
-
Lord Waltonuss Osmanthus Barnabus, the first and only child of his lineage, was born into a family of lesser nobles. They owned 260 parcels of undeveloped land to the west of Galthea. This country living led to a sturdy, but gentle, mindset for the lord, and a devout belief in the queendom’s main religion of Ateroseism. When he came of age and took over for his father, his young and curious mind led him on a journey to the capitol to make a name for himself and expand the influence of his family. What he couldn’t have known at the time was that his reverent upbringing would play such a beneficial role in these endeavors. Upon first entering the mighty city of Galthea, he headed to the High Church of Asteros to pay his respects. But what he didn’t know was that a clergyman happened to be entering the city just behind him and, upon seeing this stranger to the city go to the church as his primary objective, henceforth knew this lesser lord had a bright future in the city. As it turned out, this clergyman was none other than the Grand Cleric of the Order of the Holy Dragon, who periodically disguised himself in the clothes of lesser clergymen and went out to feed and clothe the poor and heal the sick in the outlying, less fortunate towns surrounding the capitol.
These days Lord Barnabus spent the majority of his time in the Lords Court, arguing over economics and other policies and leaving the management and development of his estate to his now many retainers, all the while doing whatever he could to help the church that had risen his status up so high. One such thing that required his constant attention was the secret base of the Order of the Holy Dragon; housed in one of various buildings purchased by Lord Barnabus after his rise to power. The base’s location and importance was, of course, known of by both the crown and the church, but the common folk knew it only as the city library.
-
-
Angela wasn’t born poor. In fact, her family had been decently well off for her first few years living in Galthea. But then, when she was just 7, an unattended kitchen fire in the house down the street grew out of control. It quickly spread to the neighboring homes and engulfed her peaceful life in searing flames. Her parents didn’t make it, and neither did any of the paperwork confirming who she was or what inheritance she was entitled to.
Fast forward to now, 8 years later, and Angela had been living on the streets for long enough to become quite good at pickpocketing and hustling tourists whenever she could. But on this one day, she picked exactly the wrong pocket. The man she tried to steal from turned out to be an off-duty guard and his coin purse was attached to a chain hidden in his belt that Angela couldn’t see when she first eyed her target.
The off-duty guard was none to happy about being pickpocketed and yelled for some local guards to join him in the chase of young thief Angela. But she knew these streets. She grew up here and there was no way she wasn’t getting out of this. She ducked down an alley, clambered up some decorative wall furnishings, and ascended to the roofs. Just then an arrow wizzed past her face, so close it clipped her cheek. As blood began to trickle down her face, she looked down to see a group of armed guards staring back up at her, already nocking more arrows. These guys weren’t messing around. As another arrow nearly missed her, she began to run as fast as she could. At least these city guards weren’t good shots, she thought to herself. But just as she was crossing a particularly dodgy section of roof, she heard a horrible cracking sound.
The next thing Angela knew, she was back on the ground. This wasn’t the best part of town and a section of roof she had been running on had collapsed. She heard the rustle of chain mail and the yells of guards telling her to give up, as she forced her bloodied and battered body to begin running again. The city library was nearby so maybe she could lose them in the stacks and slip out the back. As she rushed into the library, looking over her shoulder, she ran headfirst into a pile of unsorted books and crashed to the floor. The guards had caught up to her and she was in for it now. She didn’t know what to do.
-
Work at the library was slow today. Just some book sorting, nothing fancy or exciting. Until a young girl came barreling through the front entrance and fell on the floor in front of the head librarian and another who had been organizing a pile of books. And then a group of guards came in after her. The head librarian could see that the girl was in trouble. She had a cut on her face and bruises all over her arms and legs. But the strangest thing about her was when she suddenly shouted something she shouldn’t have known would apply here.
“Sanctuary,” the child cried.
“Nice try,” the guard following her sneered, “but only holy places can grant sanctuary.”
The librarians glanced at each other. The head librarian gave a small nod, turned to the guards and, with a stern, intimidating look that no mere librarian should have the capacity to perform, said,
“Sanctuary granted.”
| 2022-07-06T08:21:18
| 2022-07-06T07:13:06
| 90
| 31
|
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with.
|
"What is your business, spirit? What binds you to this world?"
The room was lit by a single black candle with artistic dribbles of wax dripping down the sides. The table was carved with arcane symbols, complete with a pentagram made of honest-to-god gold leaf.
Damn. She was a traditionalist.
I'd only been a ghost for a couple years, but I was starting to pick up on the tricks of the trade. I concentrated, and the air temperature around the medium dropped a few degrees. I tried to snuff out the pretentious candle, but I could only make the flame flicker a little.
"I have been silenced before my time."
I whispered, but the words carried clearly through the room. I was pretty proud of the effect, even if I thought it was all a little silly. Still, humans tended to respond better if you matched their tone.
"My words are unheard. Carry my message, mortal." I let my voice rise until I was screaming. "CARRY MY MESSAGE."
The medium placed a small chalkboard and a piece of chalk on the table. "To whom shall I speak on your behalf, spirit?"
Ugh. I let the temperature return to normal. I couldn't creepify the environment at the same time as telekinetically moving chalk.
I wrote down the name. It took a while. There were a lot of numbers.
I resisted the impulse to throw the chalk at the medium when I finished and made some thumping sounds along the walls to pass the time while she read the chalkboard. She was taking a really long time, actually.
"This looks like a username," she said. She'd dropped the cryptic manner. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but I was happy enough to take this cue.
"Yep."
"You don't even know this person's real name?"
"Nope. Pretty sure it's a dude though, based on some of the comments about women's anatomy."
"And you want him to know... what, exactly?"
"That he's wrong."
The medium laughed. "You only interacted with this person online, and you want to convince him he's wrong? It's the internet! 99% of everything on the internet is wrong."
"Well he's more wrong! Look, just pull out your phone, okay? Read some of this guy's comments."
"Fine. But you know it's a lost cause, right? How often do you see someone admit to being wrong on the internet? Wait, that's not right." She scrolled through some more comments. "Ugh, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen someone say! I know what they say about picking your battles, but that's just wrong."
She hit the reply button, and I felt a sudden sense of peace. I didn't know if she could convince him of his wrongness, but I was sure that the medium would carry on with my quest to the best of her abilities.
As she muttered insults at whoever was behind that username, I let my spirit drift away to whatever came next.
|
I knew he wouldn't understand why I didn't come home. He would sit and wait and wait and no one would ever come to the door. He wouldn't even try to keep himself alive. Just holding on to the hope that I would come home. I couldn't let him waste away. But who would help? Who could I turn to? Who would even care? I only had one neighbor who even knew me.. They had a key to my house that I gave him a long time ago. With what little energy I had I scrawled a note on the wall and left the keys below it.. "please feed my dog."
| 2022-07-15T13:20:47
| 2022-07-15T09:19:03
| 136
| 67
|
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
"Dude, this is incredible... I've never seen anything like it"
"It's not as good as you think, I don't even know how to fit it all in my pants. I mean, like, I guess I could put one on each side?"
"Yeah but imagine all the chicks you could get!"
"I don't know man..."
"Listen, how about you do an AMA on reddit to see what people think?"
|
"Welcome to The Agency Mr. Aranha," the masked man said in a dull monotone.
I looked down in shame and began sobbing.
I was born in the South Side of Chicago. My father left me when I was 3 months old and my mother purportedly ran off with another dude. I jumped from foster home to foster home, eventually landing in the home of a nice Brazilian lady. I was an introverted kid with a extreme stutter. You can imagine how well I got along with the kids at school. But I had talent. I could punch a man like no one else could. Every day, after school, I would pester the trainers for hours until they let me use the bags. Every day I got better. Every day I would spar with kids 3, 4, 5 years older than me, just to learn their techniques. People began to take notice. Headlines read, "the young prodigy out of Chicago, without a home or friends". I won the World Youth Championships ever year from 2052-2054. I was a phenomenon. But it was all bittersweet.
Prius 21, marking the end of ordinary human life and control over one's destiny. Depending on what physical or mental traits you mutated, the government selects various occupations for you. Most people transitioned smoothly into their new lives. But every once in a while, a person mutated into an "other". The others had extreme mutations that consumed their whole bodies and minds. They were the joke of society, a plague. Placed under "extra governmental supervision", rumor has it they are either killed or sent overseas to do the dirty work. No one thinks they will become an other, but fate often has other ideas.
Sometimes an other will reach superhero status and receive admiration by society. The last person to do that was a man dubbed "The Dragon Knight". Fire breathing and impenetrable armor are generally pretty marketable to innocent kids. I... was not that. I didn't have impenetrable dragon armor, or invisibility... I was a fucking spider. That's right, a giant fucking spider. I was considered a .001% mutation, meaning I was extremely rare and displayed no recognizable physical human features. My boxing career was over, my endorsements were terminated, and I was ostracized by every person I had ever met.
When reports of my mutation began to spread, I was the topic of every national news channel. As soon as I became the topic of every national news channel, I disappeared. Censored and exfiltrated from society, never to be known again. Everything I had accomplished, everything anybody ever knew about me, erased by the government. It's called Prius 21 for a reason.
I found support though. From the people I had learned to resent my whole life: my fellow others. Although my body was new to me, my mind was not. The same scrupulous work ethic and insatiable dedication that went into boxing, went into mastering Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and analyzing spider hunting tactics. My diet changed. I started eating buckets of insects, piles of mice, and whole Komodo dragons. Gone were the days of milk cartons and soda bottles. Now, I only drink poison, gallons of it, to improve the lethality of my bite. I wasn't exactly Spider-Man, but Spider-Man never trained to squash global rebellions and murder political figures like I did.
It was hard in the beginning. It truly was. But through my countless missions of killing innocent lives who simply want to be heard, I had began to realize something. Something fundamentally imperative. Human nature will always be selfish and self-destructive. Human traits should not celebrated, but renounced and purged. It time to fight for something I truly believe in. It's time to end suffering.
| 2015-03-04T03:47:16
| 2015-03-04T02:35:31
| 336
| 109
|
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space.
|
The captain sat on the bow, the ship a drifting wreckage. It had been a devastating battle, but they had gotten his crew out alive. He had done his duty; and the captain always goes down with his ship.
"Quite remarkable," he said, almost to himself, as they drifted further and further into the unknown. "Quite a remarkable battle indeed."
"**Correct,**" the AI replied, the soothing voice echoing through the ship.
The captain tried to laugh, the pain from his stomach quickly ending the attempt. "You were only thing keeping us together," he replied, struggling to stand. "I thought we were dead, but you pulled us through in the end. Just like always."
He limped his way to what was left of the command center. There was nothing he could do.
"Any way you can get us out of this one, too?" he asked sardonically, collapsing onto the captain's chair.
"**Status: severe damage. Probability of complete shutdown: unclear.**"
The captain put his face in his hand, squeezing his brow. He leaned over, pulling out a bottle of spirits from his desk. He opened it with care.
"Not a bad time to start again," he said, lifting the bottle and inspecting the label. He'd managed to quit, years ago; after what had happened. He kept that bottle there as a constant reminder, a constant challenge. But if there was ever a time to have a drink...
"**Action: not recommended,**" the voice said, and he grinned in spite of himself.
"Right as always, dear," he said, opening the bottle and savoring the smell. He lifted his vest, revealing a large gash underneath, his shirt already coated in blood. He poured the alcohol over the wound, wincing.
"Can always count on you to say the right thing," he said. "Any idea where we're going?"
"**Unknown. Course correction: impossible.**"
Drifting through space. Just the two of them, alone, together. It would be months before they were found, if not years - if not forever. But if he could be with her, he could get through it. That was all that mattered.
"I'm just going to rest, just for..."
He passed out from the pain.
*********
The captain awoke, the lights flickering, casting sharp shadows across the command room. He did not know how long he was out for. He felt so alone.
"Status report?" he asked, the deep throb of pain clearing his senses.
The voice took quite some time to reply, and it came out distorted, drawn-out.
"**Life support: compromised. System at risk. Rerouting power.**"
"What do you mean, compromised?" he asked, struggling to stand from his chair.
"**Irrevocable damage. System power: depleted. Shutting down all systems not involved in life support.**"
"But you're not life support!" He shouted, limping towards the AI core control room.
"**Correct. All non-essential systems shutting down.**"
"No!" he screamed, banging his bloodied fist against the door, "don't leave me like this! Just shut it all down instead! Take me with you!"
"**Subsist. Await rescue,**" the AI replied, the voice distorted, malformed.
"Please," he said, sliding down to the floor, "I can't lose you. Not like this. *Not again*."
"**Farewell,**" his late wife's voice said, leaving only silence in its wake.
****
****
[CroatianSpy](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
|
"Computer, how much oxygen do we have left?" Commander Patch asked, looking to her remaining crew. There were far too many people for the size of the escape ship. And they took significant shots while getting out of range of the battle.
*"We took severe damage-damage to the ship-ship. I am not running normally. Oxygen lev..."* the computer responded with a few compression issues with audio.
"That doesn't sound great," Nick, the engineer said, scratching the back of his head, "I can go check on it manually."
Nick left the room, leaving his forty compatriots behind.
*"--Twenty minutes of Oxygen. Thrusters are out of--... Communication down. Running on reserve power."* the computer finished.
The room began to shake with panic.
"Twenty minutes!" Henry, the weapon's expert, gasped, grabbing lightly at his throat as if already feeling the air thinning.
"This ship was never designed to hold more than five!" Jennifer, the intern, said, rocking back and forth on the floor, her eyes bloodshot.
"Everyone stop!" Commander Patch commanded. The crew froze. "The more you panic, the more air we'll lose. We need to think of a way back to safety. We saw that the captain won the battle, but we can't communicate with him, and we need to know if he can see us. Computer, how far out is the captain from us?"
*"Captain Rick's flight path is 2003 meters Earthward. He will cross this path in ten-ten-ten..."*
The room held it's breath. The Computer's intercom buzzed silently.
"Come one man!" Henry yelled at it.
*"Minutes."*
"Which way are we drifting, computer?" the commander asked, not giving the room enough time to begin panicking again.
*"Parallel to his path-path,"* it replied.
"That's no good!" Pricilla, the communications director said, "We have to be at least 2000 meters in range to show up on radar! He'll pass right by us!"
"So, we're going to die!" Jennifer said deadpan, her bloodshot eyes running with tears.
"Not yet we're not Jenn," the commander said. She pulled out her Calc-pad and ran a few simulations and numbers. She nodded her head gravely.
"I have an idea," Commander Patch said, marching toward the airlock.
"What are you--"
"I'm leaving Nick in charge. I'm jumping out the airlock. The push from my jump should get you just in range by the time the captain's flight intersects," Patch said with an air of confidence. The room stared at her, stunned.
"You're jumping out of the ship!?" Jennifer screamed.
"Commander, with all due respect, you have to be pixel perfect to time a jump like that. Don't risk your life for that!" Henry protested.
"It's all I can think of. And I have to go now if I want to make the jump in time," she said, then gave a small smile. "The worst thing I can do is give you more air to breathe, right? Gives you more times for ideas."
"No commander, the worst thing you can do is leave us without a commander!" Henry screamed. No one said anything, but they call felt the same. Commander Patch looked between her crew, proud to have served with them.
"I'm not leaving you without a commander. You have Nick!"
With that, she slammed the airlock door and put on a suit with minimal caution. She needed it done fast enough to get the jump done. The people in the ship gathered around the window to the room she was in. She turned back and saluted. Then she slapped the door open button and the void of space called to her. She braced herself and bent her knees low, then jumped with all the force she could muster. The ship began drifting the other way, ever-so-slightly. Enough that no one could feel it physically, but they felt it at a metaphysical level. The airlock closed behind her, leaving the commander to drift freely.
"Good news everyone!" Nick called, coming back from the engine room, "Looks like we have four days and ten minutes worth of oxygen left! Communications seem to be down, but the thrusters are just out of gas. It can be refueled by a few pieces of... why is everyone crying?"
________________________________
For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2020-04-23T21:58:13
| 2020-04-23T20:37:01
| 356
| 172
|
[WP] You're a cop who reported to the final events of an action movie. This is your police report.
|
Jimmy: Evening, John.
John Wick: Evening, Jimmy. Noise complaint?
Jimmy: Noise complaint.
[looks over John's shoulder, sees the dead body on the floor behind him]
Jimmy: You... uh..."working" again?
John Wick: No, just sorting some stuff out.
Jimmy: Oh well, I'll leave you be then. Good night, John.
John Wick: Good night, Jimmy.
Form 3095B
Responding officer report.
Noise complaint at the residence of a middle aged man by the name of John Wick. Nothing to report.
*Report ends*
|
Form 6931283/b (Loss of Police Equipment)
Officer: Lt. Charles A. Tamburro
Summary: At approximately 7:30pm on 23 April 1991 a dispatch came in regarding a disturbance in the Fremont area. As ordered, I piloted my issued police helicopter, registration number N830RC, a Bell 206B JetRanger II, to the area to provide aerial assistance and observation to officers on the ground.
Upon arriving, I began observation of the upper floors of the building, and witnessed a desk crash out through a window and fall to the ground. I then observed officers on the ground coming under fire from what appeared to be an M134 Minigun operated by a suspect inside the building. As the JetRanger has no protection from such a weapon, I maneuvered around the building out of sight of the suspect, intending to retreat to a safe distance and then position myself to observe. During this period there were a number of explosions inside and outside the building.
A SWAT team entered the building, and I continued circling searching for anyone attempting to leave. During this time, there was a very large explosion. Shortly after the explosion, I observed an officer riding a motorcycle into the building.
Between one and two minutes later, as I hovered outside the building, the officer rode his motorcycle through a window, and jumped off, grabbing onto the outside of the helicopter. He then broke the canopy's front-left windshield panel, and snaked in through the hole. I suspect the panel was damaged by previous activities, creating microfissures in the plexiglas allowing it to be broken in this manner. The officer who came in through the hole was very limber, as climbing in through the broken windshield of a helicopter and then turning oneself around to sit in the cockpit and face forward would be very challenging. The officer then commandeered the helicopter, whereupon I concluded that the individual was not a police officer, but had stolen the uniform and may have been the suspected cop killer reported at the location, and this was his chosen method of escape. He ordered me to "get out," which I did as quickly as possible, jumping from the helicopter to the ground below, breaking my left femur and spraining both ankles.
From that point, I was not a direct witness to what happened with the helicopter. The suspect who took it flew it out of the area; reports indicate that it was seen to be chasing a police van and that the suspect was shooting at people in the van. It later crashed into the van and was destroyed, but again I was not a witness to those events.
As regards reports of the suspect having an unusual appearance, moving in impossible ways, or being resistant to gunfire, I witnessed nothing of that sort.
Recommendations: The helicopter having burned after the crash, no fingerprints will likely be recovered. But the suspect was riding a (presumably stolen) police motorcycle, which should be checked for fingerprints.
| 2015-12-14T10:34:26
| 2015-12-14T09:46:38
| 49
| 14
|
[WP] For centuries your family has passed down an old leather bag that provides the holder with an object that would be helpful in the particular situation the holder is in. You are getting on a bus and instead of giving you a bus ticket or money, it gives you a handgun.
|
It was late, I was tired, and this was the last bus of the night. I only barely made it; if it wasn't for my bag, I would have been stuck.
Oh, right - you don't know about that. Might as well tell you. See this bag? It might not look like much, but it was a gift to our family from a powerful... well, a magician. I know, I know. It sounds stupid. If you look in the bag, it looks like a bunch of junk - a canceled movie ticket, receipts, a few coins, string... bottom-of-the-purse kind of stuff. But if you just reach your hand in, like this, it gives you exactly what you need. Oh. Apple?
Anyway, I'd been out-and-about, and hadn't been watching the time. I got hungry, but instead of pulling out a sandwich, I pulled out an alarm clock! Imagine my surprise when the silly thing went off in my hand. Good thing, too; the last bus was due to depart. I made it just in time.
So, yeah. I got on the bus, reached into my bag, pulled out the first thing I felt, and... it's a gun. At that point, I already had it halfway to the card slot, so there's no way I'm putting it back. I held it up in front of my face, just staring at it. That's when I noticed the whole bus went dead quiet. The driver is looking at me, his face white; the other passengers are staring, wide-eyed. I remember thinking, "Well, I'm going to prison now, for sure."
I'm wasn't thinking all that clearly. Instead of putting the gun back, I just kept staring at it, sitting in my hand. I never even held a gun before, it was so weird. Surreal. I reached into the bag with my other hand, and pull out a golf club. A golf club! Like freakin' Mary Poppins! Somebody started saying something, but I didn't even hear them. I just giggled. It was all so weird. I set the golf club down, just leaned it against the rail, and pulled out that stupid alarm clock again. Gun, golf club, alarm clock. Clearly, my bag was broken.
Then the alarm went off. I was already a bit on edge, and that... well, I jumped. Closed my fist. The same fist that was holding a gun. My finger tightened on the trigger, and the gun almost jumped out of my hand. Someone screamed, and there was smoke and... blood. Big guy, dirty T-shirt, was laying in the aisle. I shot him!
I have to admit, I'm not good in high stress situations. When I saw him laying there, I was sure he was dead. I grabbed the golf club, to... I don't know, lever him over or something. Only he wasn't dead; I shot him in the knee. He yelled, and I panicked, and thumped him over the head with the golf club. Knocked him right out. I almost wet myself.
Of course, then everyone started jumping the guy, and eventually someone told me he was trying to hold up the bus, and he had a shotgun, and I was a hero.
I couldn't tell the cops, of course. Luckily, the bag had an answer for that, too - a handwritten note, signed by me, that detailed the events in a more believable way. It said I found the gun under the bus steps.
So, yeah. Magic bag. It's all yours, son. Good luck.
|
"Here, child. Keep this bag with you and treasure it always -- it will provide you with anything you need in any situation." My grandmother told me as she handed me an old, worn leather handbag, passed down in my family from mother to daughter, generation to generation. My mum died soon after I was born, so it went a generation back for safekeeping until I was of age.
I didn't believe her at first about the bag's magical properties, but as I got older it turns out she was right. When I needed money for a fare, it gave me the exact change for paying my way. Until today.
As I stepped onto the bus I take in the mornings to go to work, I reached into the bag as usual, expecting the ticket it normally gives. To my surprise and the annoyance of the others behind me, however, my fingers touched the cold steel of a handgun. Stepping aside to figure out what happened so the others in line behind me could pay their own ways, I kept digging around to try to find my ticket.
Of course, as my luck would have it, no ticket appeared, so I sadly walked off the bus and at a rush moved towards my workplace, only barely making it on time. A customer approached, looking for antique weaponry for his collection -- nothing we had in stock, but I remembered the gun the bag gave me today. I went into the back room to grab it, taking a quick look at the handgun and taking it to the front.
The man seemed pleased, inspecting it to ensure it was authentic, and offered the shop a large sum of money. I graciously accepted it, knowing my boss will give me a wonderful bonus for the sale. Seems my day turned around after all...
| 2017-09-11T08:49:16
| 2017-09-11T07:45:26
| 211
| 31
|
[WP] North Korea is a veritable paradise on earth but we have no idea because of aggressive propaganda and out of context quotes of the nk leadership.
The reality is the exact opposite of what the West think is true. The truth is being kept from us for fear that we would revolt if we discovered the amazing North Korean social system which provides a utopia to all of its citizens.
|
The young lieutenant slammed the foreign newspaper onto the conference table, then quickly attempted, and failed, to compose himself. An unflattering picture of Dear Leader leered from its pages, accompanied by a mocking headline. The elder Chairman, ever patient, allowed himself a faint smile while he waited for the predictable tirade from his protege.
"Mr. Chairman, it's intolerable!"
"And yet we must tolerate it."
"But the claims of famine, when our people..."
"Yes, they do not understand how our advances in nutrition can feed our people without the need for so much food. The Americans see us with no cheap hamburgers and think us hungry. They see us with no sugary drinks and think us thirsty. They die early, fat and miserable, while we live long and healthy lives."
"They think us warlike, when they are the ones who have killed thousands and thousands..."
"I know, I know. We have to make these threats to keep them from invading, that's the only language they understand. I must give Dear Leader credit, he's played them to perfection. We're intimidating enough that they see the high cost of invasion, yet not so intimidating that they feel they must. We've given them just the boogeyman they need for their politics of fear, they'd be fools to give that up so easily. All we must do, once in a while, is fire a missile into the ocean where it cannot harm anyone. Dear Leader controls them himself, you know, he quite enjoys it."
The lieutenant finally found the words to express his true concern. "But Mr. Chairman -- they don't respect us."
"Ah!" The old man had been waiting for this moment. "What would they respect? Guns? We have no use for them, other than for show. Technology? Our technology simplifies our lives, theirs complicates theirs. They show themselves maps of our country at night and wonder where the lights are, and never imagine that we can see the stars and they cannot. What would you have us do to ourselves to gain their respect?"
|
This will be my third time visiting North Korea. Each time I plan my trip, it becomes harder and harder to hide my smile.
There is a strange sense of overwhelming in this prospect. As one of only twenty United States journalists legally permitted within the country, the restrictions and requirements can be daunting. Even appearing happy to be there can be seen as a threat to the stability that The People's Democratic Republic of Korea has built.
The week before hand is grueling; waiting for documentation to arrive, waiting for each day to end before I can return, knowing that I will only be allowed to stay for a week. I spend the time pouring over the piece that I've already 'written' about the current state of affairs within the upper military society within the country.
It's a boring piece of work. I spent three weeks meticulously inserting pop words into it, ensuring to personally insult 'true' Americans, and distant the basic population from concern at all. Once it was finished I submitted it to the Supreme Leader's Foreign Journalism Consultation Committee. I waited another week before the piece was cleared for international release.
Now I finally leave the plane, in North Korea, to 'investigate' the piece I'm 'working on.'
The camera crews record the five of us, journalists all, stepping off the plane with somber, nearly defeated looks on our face. We are recorded by press photograph walking through the terminal, and being taxied to our international suite. Once we are there, we are shown to our rooms, and the military leaves a single man outside our room to stand watch over us.
Once inside the room I finally smile. I am as giddy as a child. I jump on the bed and dance around the room. I open the fridge and look inside. Pulling one of the fantastic North Korean bottles from the fridge feels like home. I spin off the cap and take a sip. Warmth and joy flows down my throat; ambrosia.
It was time to convene with the others. I opened the closet, and pressed the green button on the inside. The doors opened, and I stepped into the silver, gleaming elevator that would take me 300 feet down to where utopia was.
The ride is long, and for some reason stops often. I assume that much like a train, it must wait for other transporters to move about. It doesn't matter. I've waited this long, I can wait a few more minutes.
The door opens slowly to reveal the underground utopia. White spires rising up to hold the crystal dome above aloft. Smiling, happy Koreans greet one another and laugh joyously. To my right I see an old friend, a journalist from Denmark who was in my 'brainwashing' seminar. We greet and hug, and make plans to meet at the beach later. It is always daylight at the beach, I don't know how, but it is.
I smile to myself as I look around, sighing lightly as my heart and spirits lift. A polite Korean socialite hands me an ordering pad, and I place an order for lunch. A burger? No, so American. Sushi.
Too soon it will be taken from me. But for now, utopia is mine, and everyone else's.
| 2014-06-26T08:39:12
| 2014-06-26T08:01:01
| 260
| 19
|
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away.
|
    I walked along the sidewalk, musing to myself the nature of my existence. In an era of steel and cell phones, I was touched by magic. I could not use it myself. Instead I was cursed by it. My curse? I saw people as they saw themselves. Sometimes it was useful.
    Those that looked like gods among men I learned to avoid. They were larger than life, to be sure, but they were often such narcissists that dealing with them reasonably. They were unwilling or unable to consider others having viable opinions. These people, despite appearing most handsome to my eye, would be the ugliest were I to see them as their true selves, rather than how they perceived themselves.
    The monsters? They varied wildly.
    Some were truly as I saw them, sociopaths with monsterously cruel tendencies, who saw themselves as monsters, accepted it, and reveled in it.
    Others who saw themselves as monsters were different beasts altogether. They were the ones who cut themselves off from their desires because they cared more about the pain of others than their own desires, and no matter how much good they did, they always saw themselves as monsters for even having those desires.
    I also learned to avoid certain doctors. The best were the ones who saw themselves as normal, and others described as great. I remember one doctor I visited once had an ethereal impossible beauty which set my teeth on edge like nothing else. I got out of that office as quickly as I could. I later learned he had taken advantage of his position to assault several of his patients.
    I reached my door, and nodded to my neighbor. He was one of those monsters that did everything he could to help others. Some day, I hope he'll see himself for what he truly is, but it's really hard to talk him about it. I stepped into my home. *This curse isn't purely a negative,* I thought to myself.
|
The most interesting thing about seeing people in the way they see themselves is the fact that it's spread to the extremes. About half of see themselves as gods and the other half see themselves as monsters. Every now and then you will see a unicorn or pegasus, but that's normally the people who are broken, or insane. The second most interesting things is that people don't change. Never in my whole time have I met someone as a monster then see them again as a god, not until recently. This man intrigued me. When I first saw him I did not see a monster nor did I see a god. I saw a man. Out of everyone in the world I saw the only person who had a grasp on who they were, or so I thought. Being obsessive in nature I wanted to learn more about this man. I followed him around and learned his name. I knew where he worked and what he did with his free time, but I never watched him while he was working or relaxing. He would go into a bar and I would be too scared to follow him in, less he discover me. No I watched him from afar for about a month. Just seeing him walk to his job, then walk home or to get a drink. I took me a months to build up the courage to get close to him. I need to understand why he sees himself as he is. I applied to his work place and got hired as a secretary. It's a very people intense job but I can cope, and from there I could watch him closer and find out more about him. it was a Tuesday, the office wanted coffee so me and a few other people went out to get some. I made sure I got to deliver his coffee. Walking up to his office door I could feel my heart pounding. I had no connection with him, this would be first contact. When I walked in I nearly dropped the coffee. There, sitting in his chair at his desk was the devil himself. He was facing away from me but I could clearly make out the horns on his head. Shaking I managed to put his coffee down on the desk. I've seen monsters and I've seen gods but I've never seen anything this cruel and hideous. He hear me set down the coffee and turned his chair around. What scared me the most at this point was not his face, which was still his, or the fact that he had eyes that showed hell itself. No it was the fact that he then changed back into himself. The man I had see from far away for a month was now in front of me. That shouldn't happen and that shouldn't be possible. At this point my instincts are telling me to run, but I work here and must be professional. I told him that we got his coffee and was about to leave when he asked me to sit down. He then asked me what was wrong and if anything was troubling me. He must had smelled the fear in my eyes. I told him I had drank too much coffee and just had the jitters. I just wanted to leave. After he told me to lay off the coffee then and get better I left. The thing about the world I live in, my world, was that there are rules. All people obey the rules, you don't see yourself as you truly are, you don't see yourself as one part one thing and one part another, and you don't change. But here was a man defying them. When you live in a world for so long and grow accustom to its rules the things that don't follow them the things that make you question yourself become the most scary things in the world. Anything that demands change in the structure of your universe scares you, and the only comfort you have is in accepting the world view that you have, but it is not the moments in which we can easily accept the world we live in that we find out who we are. No it's in the moments in which everything we know is questioned an all the rules are broken, it's in those moments in which we find out who we are and what we mean, it's in those moments that we will feel the weight of the world on us and those moments that we must carry on. Running isn't the answer nor is hiding. We must face the monsters and gods in our lives. We must abandon the delusions we have of the world and accept who we are. I knew that man. He was the priest of my childhood home, he was the man that killed my mother.
| 2016-09-16T20:27:03
| 2016-09-16T19:42:15
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] Aliens have arrived and have been eating humans like a delicacy. An alien chef gets more than he bargained for when he tries to cook Gordon Ramsay, who surprisingly is less disgusted THAT he is being cooked than over HOW he is being cooked.
|
Narrator: The first order of the day is in and it's a big one. Char broiled human with a side of rizzotto. Xaxnon goes to the refrigerator to get his first human, but little does he know there's a surprise in store for him.
Xaxnon pulls out Gordon from a group of cowering humans.
Xax: Come on, you're next!
Gordon: Excuse me! EXCUSE ME! How long have I been in there?
Xax: Time is not relevant for food!
Gordon: Time isn't relevant for food? Are you fucking kidding me? You know this invasion was weeks ago. How are any of us still good?
Xax: You're fine, I thawed you out this morning.
Gordon: I was frozen!?
Xax: No... yes, I mean you were brought in fresh, so you're fresh-frozen.
Gordon: Fresh-frozen? That's not a real word. You're either fresh or you're frozen. You froze me, I'm fucking frozen. How'd you thaw me out?
Xax: We have an advanced cryogenic reanimator that emits high frequency microwaves that-
Gordon: I've been fucking microwaved? Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me! You know what a microwave does to meat? Dries it out! No wonder I've been leaking so much water. And frozen, AH! Look at this!
Gordon lifts his shirt up revealing a black spot on his stomach.
Gordon: I'm fucking frostburn. You're going to serve this?
Xax: You're fine, come on now I have to toss you into the oven!
Gordon: ...holy shit...
Gordon begins to walk away.
Xax: Where are you going?
Gordon walks over to the cryo freezers where dozens of humans are frozen in horrid and grotesque poses.
Gordon: Holy shit... look at the condition of this freezer!
Gordon pushes the iced humans aside and pulls out aluminum trays full of severed human limbs and organs. He sets it to the side and pulls out another tray of the same only it's much much older with a film of old greasy oils and green splotches over it.
Gordon: Absolutely disgusting! How long has it been since you cleaned this place?
Xax: I-
Gordon pulls out a skull with half the face decomposed.
Gordon: Ah! Ugh! How long's this been in here? There's no way this is up to code.
CUT - SINGLE CAMERA INTERVIEW MIXED WITH FOOTAGE OF CHEF RAMSAY DRAINING OLD ROTTEN HUMAN BLOOD AND GUTS OUT OF OLD ALUMINUM TRAYS.
Xax (talking to the camera): I knew I was in for a rough night, but when the human started going through the back of the freezer... I was just so embarrassed. I honestly forgot most of that stuff was in there... I mean I know there's no excuse, but...
Xax lets out an exasperated sigh and looks away.
Xax (tears stream out of his ears, which is normal for his species): It's just so hard to keep this place together sometimes.
CUT - BACK TO THE SCENE
Narrator: Xax the Chef is already behind on his order of broiled human, but the food itself is having none of it.
Gordon: Do you know what would happen if I reported this?
Xax: Nothing, we destroyed your government!
Gordon: Look at yourself... are you proud of what you serve? Why are you a chef?
Xax: ...I enjoy cooking.
Gordon: You think they enjoy eating this?
Xax: I just...
Gordon: You gotta look at reality Xax. It can't be that hard to find a decent place serving humans around here. Now look outside, how many orders do you have tonight? Just one so far. Be honest with me, you're struggling.
Xax (crying): We just can't afford the staff-
Gordon puts his hand on Xax's tentacle.
Gordon: I know you're having problems. I see them. But cutting corners is not going to fix anything, it's only going to make things worse. Look at me.
Xax looks up at Gordon.
Gordon: We can do this Xax, and I'm here to help.
CUT TO
A naked human man wakes up on a butchering table. Looks up and starts screaming. A meat cleaver comes down and chops his head off.
Gordon, holding the bloody cleaver, tosses the head to Xax.
Gordon: There, nice and quick kill. Hold onto the head, we'll save it for sweetbreads. Now lets get this skin off, you're going to want to get to that liver first. Now, how's that rizzotto coming along?
Xax: Just took it out of the freezer chef.
Gordon rolls his eyes.
Gordon: Toss it, just get some fresh mushrooms and start chopping.
Xax: You got it chef.
|
“Well?” Zagdor asked, prodding at Gordon with the wooden spoon.
“What?” Gordon responded.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Zagdor shook a bit of pepper over Gordon and poked him again.
"About what?"
“You know. About how poorly I’m cooking you or something? Maybe that you’re still raw? Or that I’m a bloody idiot?”
Gordon shrugged. “I don’t really see the point.”
“Come on.” Zagdor poked at Gordon again, pushing him across the swimming-pool-sized frying pan. “It’ll be funny. Don’t you want to insult me? Maybe in a really loud, exaggerated way?”
“What are we, characters in a writing prompt or something?” Gordon always tended to get philosophical when he was waist-deep in sizzling olive oil. “Just shallow caricatures of ourselves who solely exist to fill some overdone stereotype because some people think it’s funny? Like little wind-up dolls with no real emotion or struggles that *should* be at the core of any good piece of writing?”
Zagdor didn’t really have a response to that. So he decided to season Gordon more. He really laid it on thick with the Cajun spices, hoping that it would provoke from outburst from Gordon. But no such luck: the British chef was still lost in monologue.
“I mean, really. Look at me. I’m a successful chef at the pinnacle of my field. I’m a businessman with restaurants all over the globe. Thousands or even *millions* of people out there are eating better and healthier food because of skills they learned from me and my shows. And yet the only thing these dumb prompt submitters seem to focus on is the fact that I comically lose my temper as the *character* of Gordon Ramsey. Are they really too thick to understand that it’s just a ratings ploy? That I’m actually a relatively mild person, but we needed something to *spice up* Hell’s Kitchen to better compete against more dramatic reality shows? No pun intended, of course.”
Zagdor paused from heaping more Cajun seasoning on top of Ramsey. By now, there was more spice than human in the pile. “Of course,” Zagdor agreed.
“It’s just sad. It’s like these prompt submitters can’t come up with anything truly interesting or original to write about, so they resort to these tired, old, [Flanderized](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Flanderization) characters. Bob Ross and Mr. Rogers too: how about another dozen prompts about the two of them being serial killers and meeting Hitler? Sure, it gets a quick laugh and a mindless upvote from some readers, but is that *really* what /r/Writingprompts is about? Shouldn’t it be about stoking *inspiration*? Creating new worlds and new characters to populate those worlds? Encouraging writers to create real conflicts between human subjects, rather than just trying to stretch out a pun to meet the minimum word count so that the mods won’t delete it as low-effort?”
Zagdor frowned and stopped shaking Cajun seasoning all over Gordon, but only because the car-sized container of it was now completely empty. “I guess,” Zagdor said. Being an alien from another galaxy, he’d never read any writing prompts. Nor had he ever seen Hell’s Kitchen, so his expectations of how Gordon should be acting were based on nothing really. Pretty big plot hole, when you stop to think about. But what Gordon was describing did sound pretty annoying. “But, like… can’t you just do something funny so that we can end this prompt response on a high note?”
Gordon rolled his eyes, gave a heavy sigh, and shook Cajun seasoning out of his hair. Then he batted away Zagdor’s spoon and twisted his face into an expression of furious outrage. “What is WRONG with you, you dolphin’s arsehole?! This ridiculous amount of seasoning won’t make up for the fact that I’m still fucking **RAW!**”
Zagdor burst out into gales of laughter, stomping his feet and clapping his hands at the same time. “HAHA! SO FUNNY! I LOVE IT WHEN YOU’RE SO COMICALLY ANGRY!"
| 2017-03-28T10:37:00
| 2017-03-28T10:34:45
| 5,667
| 916
|
[WP] The newly elected president of the USA makes a surprise announcement: he/she will not make a single decision while in office, and instead unveils a new smartphone app that will allow citizens to decide everything.
Potential issues that could be addressed (feel free to ignore if you like) :
The app could be a simple voting system... or it could work any way you think is interesting.
Are resources given to help people decide what decision to make?
Do people actually bother to become informed before weighing in?
What happens when the decision involves classified information?
How does the president deal with any disagreements he has with the decisions people make for him?
Edit for clarification: the app only allows people to decide things that would normally be decided by the president. Every time the president is faced with a decision, people get to decide for him.
|
"Excuse me Mr. President but Congress has decided to put some territory together to make a new state and a name needs to be chosen for it."
"Put it on the app to see what the people think it should be."
----4 hours later----
"Sir, the population has put up a list of names that they think would best fit the state and some are... peculiar."
"Like what?"
"Well, the top two votes are 'Hitler did nothing wrong' and 'Statey McStateface'. Although these are ridiculous many people are arguing that according to your promise you should abide by their decision."
"Oh god what have I done? I guess I pass the legislation for the new state of Statey McStateface..."
|
“The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter". (Winston Churchill)
The president of the greatest country in the world looks out an impeccable window and knows that he will be dead within four years. His old tired face is reflected back to him and a single tear glides down his ache scared facial features and mixes with heavily applied makeup. He stands as one of the most powerful men in the world but recognizes that the test results show his time on this earth is limited.
This understanding has led to his once proud ethical ideals become stripped away as rage at his own mortally unleashes itself within his mind. This rage started out hot but has slowly died down to a more cold logical emotion. He the president, will provide his citizens with true democracy for the first time in any nation’s history. A smartphone app has been created that will allow americans to decide everything including if he should use his executive powers.
He knows that most people know nothing about politics and this app will ruin his great country but he simply doesn’t care anymore. He will wait and watch as his country breaks downs while his body does the same. His name is Donald Trump and he will bring true democracy to his nation.
This is my first story, any advice would be appreciated.
| 2016-06-25T19:30:15
| 2016-06-25T18:09:10
| 69
| 16
|
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down.
|
Lucius shot me a vicious smile from the other side of the table. His right hand moved in a slow, circular motion which caused the ice to orbit the center of his amber colored drink. The room was lit with the dancing light of a stone fireplace no smaller than 20 feet wide and 8 feet tall. The focal point of the smoking room was a masterpiece of stonework. The fire roaring in the background so large, it could not be enjoyed from any closer than the 15 paces off we currently sat.
"I've heard your conditions, what are the stakes?" smoke slowly billowed out of his nostrils. The scent of a Romero Y Julieta cigar unmistakable from such a small distance.
"A dangerous undertaking requires equally dangerous stakes. Money to men like us is such a trivial thing. Would you agree?"
"I would" The Illuminati's leading chair of the circle of 8 shot me a look of genuine intrigue. A rarity in his later years.
"A life then, one of value. Mine." My eyes focused like lasers as the last word left my lips. His eyes widened.
"Interesting. And if I were to fail?" His stare matched my own intensity. Curiosity seems to have encircled him. Good.
"Your seat on the circle of 8." The fire cracked loudly beside us. Storms of shadows flickered across the room followed by sharp flashes of flaming light that illuminated the hooded mans face. He was old now. Old, and weak of will. Men of 90 years should not hold such power. They should die. Letting those without decaying minds gracefully assume the roles they have overstayed their welcome in. I began to suspect he did not have the gall for such a wager.
"Unheard of for a 2nd generation Illuminatus. But you know this. I am intrigued. I accept your wager." His eyes still locked on mine.
"Then I wish you luck Lucius. Goodbye." My hand cut through the air like glass. Extending just shy of halfway across the table. Even the smallest of gestures were battles of dominance. He met me across the halfway point, grasping my hand with the little strength he had in his decrepit state. A smug grin barely visible across the wrinkles plaguing his face. I returned the gesture all too happily. This man was in title my better, but my mind was far sharper than his. The difference of a common kitchen knife to a blade crafted from Damascus Steel.
The western hallway leaving the smoking room was well lit. Dull shades of orange illuminating from electric lanterns, mimicking their now obsolete kerosene brethren.
The sudden sound of glass exploding onto the surface of a stone floor broke the silence of the hallway. It was done. Lucius would die within the hour. I walked around 20 paces before carefully removing the thin layer of translucent rubber surrounding my right hand. Pausing briefly in the hallway to ensure the surface did not make contact with my exposed skin. The ricin dosage applied to the rubber palm would not induce death for a man in such health as I and even so, death does not frighten me. Accidental contact would simply be an inconvenience and unacceptable in the coming weeks.
The mockery that has been made of this society over the 30 years of Lucius's reign were at an end. The thought of bored old men continuing to wager something as trivial as currency in exchange for transforming global events for a single day more disgusted me. My cause was just, my actions necessary.
The wager mattered not. An assassination of the Heads of State during the upcoming G7 meeting was proposed to satisfy my own curiosity on whether Lucius still had the will to continue this society's historically..... unpleasant works. The pursuit of the greater good takes a leader of unique moral..... flexibility. Lucius lost sight of this. I was pleased he accepted my wager, although certain he only did so once my life was offered as forfeit. He was not a stupid man. I have no doubt he knew of my intentions but thought me simply unready to act.
Regardless, the circle of 8 becomes 4 tonight. The Illuminati is not a club for the bored and powerful. It once again has purpose. Ensuring mankind follows the path we enlightened few have set out for it so it does not stray into the dark. We are the invisible hand that guides from the wisdom of an all seeing eye. Under my lead, we will once again be the masters of this world.
Edit. Spelling, grammar.
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"Will you do it?"
The probie leaned back into his battered leather armchair, contemplating the enormity of the request with steepled fingers, just failing to hide trembling lips. Audacious was too pedestrian a word for the scale and horror of the opportunity presented to him.
"It's never been done" he muttered, though teeth stained by champagne and cigars.
"Oh it most certainly has been done. But he grew too attached to the trappings of the position, and failed to walk away when agreed."
I saw dull confusion spread across his pasty face as he struggled to absorb this revelation. New money: they were all the same. Parents too busy forging their successes in the boardroom to groom their children properly for a life in the back room, where all the real decisions were made. The finest education money could buy, and not a shred of wisdom.
"It will take a lot of money." He was nervous now, as expected. His need for acceptance, long obvious to those such as we, was all that kept him in that chair and not dashing out to his waiting chauffer in panic. Or perhaps he had some inkling of the consequences such a lapse in judgement would invite.
"More than you know." My eyes fixed unblinking on his.
"And for me? Everything you promised?" A badly disguised play for the last exit, couched as bargaining. Truly this one was an open book.
"Everything. Full membership."
And he was bought and paid for. There was no greater motivating daemon for a man than his own mortality; to have it promised away, and by someone 115 years old and thought long dead but visibly in the prime of their life, was not something any ordinary fool could resist.
This one was as ordinary as fools came. Perfect, as it turned out, for our purposes.
"Hell yeah. Let's do it." Empty bravado over an empty soul. Ugh. Now for the firm hand - offer the prize, then threaten to take it away.
"Know this. You will maintain the deception until you die. Our power and reach are limitless, and you will wish for death if you betray us."
A nod.
"You will believe what we tell you to believe. You will claim, and promise, what we tell you to. When the time comes for you to ascend the podium to accept your prize, you will say the words we tell you to say, step down, and return to us to witness the inferno they spark; as the people consume themselves in shame at their own folly. Finish what George could not."
The probie muttered quietly into the subcutaneous bug he didn't know he had, as he gargled the last of his champagne and stumbled out of the private room.
I was still chuckling at that last defiance when my friend and co-conspirator joined me, three hundred year old brandy in hand.
"Do you know what that buffoon said, Rupert?" I whispered, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
"Tell me, Ronald."
"I don't need your words. I know words. I have the best words."
| 2016-08-23T17:34:59
| 2016-08-23T17:17:24
| 49
| 15
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[WP] You are an Australian test cricket selector. You keep on selecting Mitch Marsh for the test team, and then you are forced to justify your choice.
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Those pictures will ruin my life I thought to myself. I'll lose my job, my wife, my kids. How did he get them? God dammit I wish he wasn't so shit. I have the entire Australian public breathing down my neck because this fuckwit can't score a run on the roadiest of roads. Ok time to face the media and come up with an excuse as to why this dickhead keeps getting selected.
Ok thanks for joining us everybody. We have decided to select Mitch Marsh again because we believe he has the potential to become a great cricketer we just feel he needs to get a few more games to get his mojo back. Remember that one time he had a half decent innings. Envision if he did that again wouldn't it be great.
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Marsh is a good batsman. We feel he adds a lot with the ball as a 4th seam option which we need if Siddle plays. In fact if we play both Siddle is essentially the batter and Marsh the specialist bowler. Marsh is also a wicket-keeping option for when we bring Matthew Wade in for a few overs.
| 2016-11-05T21:40:11
| 2016-11-05T21:35:54
| 29
| 21
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