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2022-12-31 14:34:19
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[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.
|
It was 11am and the party was in full swing, cousins and uncles, aunties and nephews had arrived from all around to take part in my Naming Day.
In big cities it would be a purely family affair, San Fran York was not one of those places and it seemed like the whole village had turned out at the town hall to celebrate this day with me. I was nervous, beyond any amount of nerves I had ever felt before, more nervous than the time I had asked Isabel to the dance, she turned me down and I was heartbroken, the popular crowd in school had laughed at me for a while after that for trying but at least I knew. My mind returned to today with a "wtf are you thinking about that for" thought, but I didn't want to think about what my destiny would be. I had a lot to live up to, my brother was being flown out from the Halls of Rule, everyone had been ecstatic when his destiny came up as "Prime Minister", how on earth could I live up to that? My brain started imagining the worst things that could appear, pornstar would be bad, sewer worker was always a cruel joke among the other kids but I was more worried about something dangerous like army grunt. The worst I ever heard of was a "Martyr" that someone got once though right now I couldn't remember if that was a true story or some dumb rumor.
11:30am came all to slowly and time appeared to be slowing down and everyone began to sit down, it was like an old graduation picture I had seen in a history book except I was the only one they were here for, even the bullies had come to see but they were just here to have a good laugh when I got my "Slave" marking or "table" or something equally degrading, at least now it was time for me to get ready and I could hide away from everyone for a while.
11:50am
Time was definitely moving slower now each tick of the clock felt like hours. I decided to think more about the ceremony itself and what I would have to do, I was sitting in a small room inside the town hall and I would be the first to see my destiny, then I would walk out into the lobby where my family can see me, they would know next and finally we would walk out of the main door and onto the stage where I would show the Mayor and he would proclaim it to the town. There would be lots of congratulating or commiserations afterwards but always cake and alcohol, it is my 18th birthday afterall.
12:00am
It was time, at first nothing happened but this was to be expected as clocks aren't always 100% in time with random natural effects. I was worried, but if anything went terribly wrong I could always sneak out of a window and run away to live in the jungle and eat bugs and and... Then I felt it, a tingling sensation in my arm, like it had fallen asleep, I waited for it to pass and then with a deep breath I looked at my arm...
12:01am
"That. Isn't. Possible." I told myself over and over, but the word did not change no matter how much I wanted it too, I never imagined this scenario because it was entirely unheard of. There was a knock at the door and I heard my mother ask if everything was alright. I calmly got up and opened the door to see her face, she looked worried too but I guess if you know someone has just found out their destiny and was not jumping for joy then it wasn't a great one.
I showed her my arm and all the colour drained from her face, she grabbed hold of me and headed for the bathroom, her face was now filling with red anger and she almost threw me into the room. She turned on the taps and then rounded on me "How dare you write something like that, this is a serious matter and you choose now to joke around?" "Mum, I didn't..." but she cut me off in one of her 'Motherly Rants' that she had sometimes. I tried to explain but really I had no clue either.
After several attempts to wash the wording off me she realised that this was real, I hadn't been joking and now my arm was red and scratched except for the wording, that had remained clear as anything.
Together we headed out to the lobby, bypassing the rest of my family as we were already late for the next stage and everyone would be getting very worried.
12:15am
My mother pushed my forward up the stairs of the stage and I shuffled over to the Mayor, his smile had started to fade when he saw me, I guess I didn't look so good. I walked over to him and gave him my arm, his face did the same thing as my mothers, it was as if someone had applied a greyscale filter to him.
12:18am
We had been standing there for a while with the Mayor just looking at me, a mixture of confusion and terror had settled onto his face and there were murmurings in the crowd, but it was time, they all had to be told what my destiny was.
12:20am
The Mayor returned to the podium and cleared his throat, the crowd had gone silent. Even then the words came out horse and croakey when the Mayor tried to speak prompting him to clear his throat again and take a gulp of water from his glass.
"Good townspeople of San Fran York" he began in a shakey voice, "We have a new man among us, a new man who has discovered his destiny." his voice was getting stronger now but you could hear him faltering every few words. Gesturing to me he continued "Timothy has found his path in life, he is to be:" he paused again, a last chance before we all had to deal with this, a last moment for it to all be a bad dream and wake up "A Wizard!" he proclaimed...
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T00:05:48
| 427
| 91
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[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
Their history was terrifying. We had sent down scouts, and they'd stumbled upon war after war after war in their history books.
And then, their 'Third World War' came to pass, and left only children, scarred and left in ruins, in it's wake. From those children, a new society was born, willing to do anything and everything to avoid yet another war.
They turned from elk ramming at each other to lambs, huddled together for protection. An easy target.
We landed down in one of their many oceans, and aimed our sights to Asia and Europe.
They came like a tsunami. Quiet, at first. A pull back as we went forward, fleeing we had so naively thought. A route, a victory.
But no.
No.
On the horizon they came, full of rage and anger and hatred for forcing their hand towards war yet again after so many years of peace. They loathed us with every fibre of their being, and it was palpable with hiw savagely they fought.
Within mere months of routing and gathering themselves, we were forced off planet and we thought that was the end.
But they followed. Humans hungered for more than safety now, they wanted revenge. They took our fallen spacecrafts and made it their own, manufacturing more and better versions for themselves.
War, it seemed, was enough to drag a beast awake from its slumber, and it threatened to swallow the entire galaxy.
*edited for inconsistencies
|
Mobile, so please forgive any formatting errors.
World War 3 had devastated the planet. The major cities turned to radioactive dust. 300 years later, we can still feel the effects of it. From South Jersey, in the distance, you can see the ruins on New York. Fortunately, the ICBM's forgot about New Jersey. The powers of the time had seen that New Jersey was already a shithole, so they left it alone.
We rebuilt the city into a decent place to live. We changed our ways from being in endless wars to ways of peace and prosperity. One day, we saw a weird disk in the sky. They attacked with lights raining down upon North Jersey. There were no survivors. The disk didn't seem to move afterwards.
In an old military base, John, one of our citizens searching for food and whatnot had found some old documents. They were maps showing the locations of silos. Thinking we found a source of grain, we traveled to one such silo. We didn't find one. Instead, we found an underground bunker.
In the bunker was the soldiers who were stationed there. There had been a time lock on The door. The timer had expired, so the door was unlocked. We searched the bunker, finding nothing but skeletons clad in camoflage and old rifles from before the war.
In a desk, I found a folder with a key. It opened a locker containing two odd keys and a set of instructions of how to operate some old computer on top of a panel. I found the computer and powered it on. It showed a map of the US. On it, there was an exclamation mark surrounded by a red triangle. It displayed a sentence: press f5 to target anomaly. I did. The screen displayed another sentence: insert keys and turn simultaneously to fire.
John and I inserted a key into each side of the panel. We looked at each other and counted down. 3. 2. 1. And turned. All of a sudden, the ground started to shake, and a deafening roar resonated throughout the bunker. We high tailed it to the exit. We saw a cloud of smoke moving towards North Jersey.
John and I watched as the trail grew ever distant, straight towards where the disk was. The old world, despite being gone for centuries, had one final gift to give.
| 2019-02-26T09:57:40
| 2019-02-26T09:26:21
| 38
| 23
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[WP] Voyager 2 is found orbiting the Earth. It is exactly the same except with one new addition: a single image of our galaxy taken from outside it.
|
It was a very normal day across the world. Observatories and space agencies continued to scan the skies. Some were looking for signs of extraterrestrial life whilst others were simply staring into the abyss of space, wondering what else was out there. It was 18:46 EST when the calls began to pour into NASA. Space agencies around the world had begun detecting a satellite that had begun orbiting the Earth. It had seemingly come out of nowhere, approaching the Earth on a perfect angle and then perfectly aligning into a high orbit. The ISS would have a visual in 14 seconds...
"Control, this is International Space Station. We have a visual on the unknown object ... it's ... hold on Control."
There was 2 seconds of silence, and then the radio transmission resumed.
"Control, confirming that the unknown object is Voyager 2 space probe. Requesting instructions."
NASA was unprepared for this. Voyager 2 hadn't left the solar system, unlike its sister craft the Voyager 1. A mission was put together to retrieve the probe and bring it back to where it initially started: the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Upon its return, it was analyzed by the teams at NASA. The world excitedly and impatiently waited as the probe was opened and examined. What was going to happen next? Where had the probe come from? How did it get home? There were going to be answers, but also more questions.
... It was the same. There was no change in the scientific or power equipment onboard the probe. The teams were understandably disappointed at this revelation. Every inch of the craft was inspected to see what had happened. The fuel levels were still the same, the craft was still on thrusters, exactly as it was left. Seeing that there was nothing new, NASA announced that a solar wind or other force must have simply pushed the craft back into orbit in what they called a 'spectacular and astronomical coincidence'. It was still nice to have the Voyager 2 back though. It could be placed in a museum and admired. It could inspire future generations. It would still have a place in the modern world.
These thoughts were drowned out by an intern at NASA. Upon inspecting the craft, he took a closer look at the golden record. He thought that it looked funny and postulated that it may not be the same record that was sent from Earth. NASA scientists agreed to examine the contents of the record, if only for nostalgic purposes. What they encountered was not something anyone was prepared for.
The golden record was played back. The machine analyzing the images began to spit out a line by line display ... of a single image. That can't be right ... there was far more than this on the original record. The scientists and intern stood in awe as the image continued. Line by line more and more came in. When it was all done, everyone stared blankly as they realized what they were looking at. This ... was the Milky Way galaxy. When it was fully analyzed a tiny portion was discovered to have been shaded blue. It was the location of Earth. This ... was not from Earth. It was solid proof that a space-faring civilization had indeed encountered the Voyager 2 and this was their version of 'return to sender'.
The world was abuzz with the news. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and all assortments of social media exploded with the sudden revelation that humans had indeed received a transmission from another race. Another culture had imprinted on the human race a single image of their own, one more powerful than anything that could have originated from the lovely blue planet. Space programs around the world were suddenly very well funded. Small and divisive international differences began to fade into the distance as humanity took it's next 'giant leap' into the future. An age of prosperity unlike any previously encountered began, known only as the Age of Exploration. There was only one thing on the collective conscience, one thing that every human being on the planet thought. The most powerful and uniting thought in all of recorded history...
... They were not alone.
|
"You found what?"
“An the image of our galaxy, sir, taken from the outside."
“And you're sure that it's the Milky Way?"
“That's what the analysts are telling me."
"How did Voyager two even make it back? It was over one hundred astronomical units out!"
“We . . . we don’t know, sir.”
“Get me a copy of that photo. I want to see it for myself."
“I can't, at least not now. The photocopies have been sent exclusively to the research lab, but perhaps later I can bring you the original."
“Why can't I see it now?"
“Because it’s still attached to the probe, sir."
"What?"
"The image was not taken by Voyager two itself, sir, it was . . . given to it. We found the image on the side of the probe. Our guys are in the process of removing it, which was going quite well last I checked."
“ . . . I . . . I don't know what to say to that, Connor, I really don't. That's unbelievable. It's . . . ”
"I know, sir. We’re all a little dazed by it. I'll get that picture to you as soon as it's in my hands."
– a few hours later –
"Sir, this is the original image. It's incredible! And it's solid, like a metal photograph. Here, take a look!”
“Are you sure that’s safe to touch?"
“Yes, sir! The guys in the lab have been handling it all day, said there is no detectable trace of anything. It's made from a new material, something we've never seen before. We think it has a protective outer coating. And it's so smooth, too. Feel it."
“No, I don't want to touch it. But that image . . . it’s so clear."
“Much better quality than what we could produce."
“Wow. The Milky Way galaxy huh? That's amazing. That's – Connor, what's on your fingers?”
“Ohh! I’m . . . I'm not sure, sir."
“It almost looks like it's . . . glowing red, and spreading! Connor! You get your ass to the hospital wing right away –“
– emergency lights flash on, followed by a siren –
“No . . ."
“It hurts, sir, IT HURTS!”
“The door won't budge! God dammit, we’re under quarantine!”
“Help me, sir! It's crawling up my shoulder!”
“Stay away from me, Connor! GET BACK!”
“IT’S IN MY NECK! IT’S IN MY NECK! IT’S . . . . . AHHHHH!”
– pounding on the door –
“HELP! SOMEBODY! PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR! FOR FUCK SAKE SOMEBODY OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE! . . . please! . . . please . . .”
| 2015-03-20T09:01:15
| 2015-03-20T08:50:53
| 39
| 28
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[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
Number one. The federal registry confirms it. The deference I am shown in the street re-affirms it. Everyone is sure of it… Everyone but me.
Number one. It doesn’t necessarily mean I am the most powerful. Really all it denotes is an ability for survival. In a world which went to sleep powerless and woke up with power unimagined my ability for survival is, to me at least, a complete mystery.
On the day when IT happened I woke up normally. I got dressed normally. I went to work, reading my paper on the way and not noticing the several thousands of people laughing and flying and… well doing all manner of weird and wonderful things.
At work I just thought I was early. But no one turned up that day. No one has turned up any day since. I haven’t had a job for six years. It’s kind of boring really.
It took probably seventeen seconds for the first realisations of the madness of our time to descend. We were a world of demi-gods of varying degrees of martial power and the problem, the real problem was that the powers that could kill were not necessarily fairly distributed to the, then, authorities. When you are a copper and you wake up with the power to make plants grow fast and the person you are about to arrest for looting woke up with the ability to make someone’s head explode with a thought you may be thinking to yourself “well, that’s a bit unfair”… at least you would think that if you still had anything to think with.
So chaos descended. There has always been strong people and weak people. Societies developed around them. Status quo was reached by institutionalising violence, by clothing vengeance in the law. All of that had been overturned in a single night.
So, for a while the strong grew stronger and the ‘weak’ just grew meeker until a quasi-feudal system emerged. However just because you have the power to make the tides rise doesn’t mean you suddenly lose the need to check facebook and certain elements of the, HA.. upper classes realised that we couldn’t go back to being medieval. Not really. Light bulbs and the internet and cars were all just way too good. Provincial attitudes may make you a king in a small world but small worlds mean small entertainments.
So the “system” was invented. And it was enforced. The first week was a blood bath. But here, three years later, it works. The world turns again. The system works like this: Every person has a rating. For people of a certain “rank” they are empowered and obliged to protect a number of people below them in a community. The more powerful you are the more privileges are given to you and your community. Rank has some serious kick backs. Being rank one, which is what I am, means I am also the head of “the hundred”. The top one hundred ranked people in the country that, effectively, rules in an oligarchic model. Being in the hundred rocks. It’s awesome. You get respect, power, material wealth. The only drawback is that to obtain a seat in the hundred you must kill a person above you.
Now I would like to say I have never killed anyone. People above me just, kind of, die. Even weirder no one has ever tried to kill me! Next to my name on the federal data base, where everyone else has “Head Exploder” or “Flying death machine with laser eyes” is just a question mark. I mean, I suppose I could be lucky but I don’t really think that luck can be a power.
The person who holds number two is actually a person from my work: Susan. She and I have been having coffee every morning (barring a few during the bad years) for, oh, seven years. Next to her name is a veritable encyclopaedia of powers.
The other day she asked me out, which was a shock but since I have always secretly liked her it wasn’t an unpleasant one. We are going out on Tuesday, to see a movie. I’m looking forward to it.
|
It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one.
| 2014-12-18T18:34:04
| 2014-12-18T12:57:51
| 14
| 10
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[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
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Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
Every time I tried it wouldnt come out. The pain was so severe, but not in the sense of extreme torture, just as an extremely annoying byproduct of what probably happens to everyone once. I cant focus on anything and at times I even shed a tear. As much as I rub, it just won't come out. What do people do to solve this anyways? Its not like I did anything to make this happen... it just happened. Maybe I'll use water.. or my finger? No the finger hurts way too much. That area is way too sensitive. They say it goes away on its own and not to worry.... fuck that!! Im not waiting around for something to disappear mysteriously into my body.
As if I hadn't already done this before, I'm sitting around thinking about what my options are. Like always, I just pray I will never have another eyelash fall into my eye. Please god.
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T14:12:50
| 317
| 11
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[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school.
|
“Seer Griselda, please repeat that.”
Moran Ossenius, the necromancer of Yorm Urtush, tapped his fingers against his desk. The wizened old woman leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed in a trance.
“It is as I said, my Lord,” she droned. “The Hero of Light has been born. She will one day bring about your death. There will be many forces seeking to seize her power for their own. As your advisor, I suggest taking the power for yourself. Perhaps if you train her from a young age, you can avoid your fate.”
Moran sighed.
“What of her parents?”
“An orphan would know nothing of her hometown,” Griselda replied shrewdly.
He could only shake his head at that suggestion.
“That sounds like a good way to push this prophecy to completion,” he said.
“Many other forces will not be as hesitant as you, my Lord,” Griselda replied. “I am but one seer. The Hero’s birth will be seen by many more.”
As the components of her ritual burned away, Moran sat thinking.
“Then, we’ll just have to protect that town while training her, won’t we?” He said as a smile crept to his lips.
“My Lord?” Griselda asked.
That meeting would mark the conception of the Ornberg Magical Academy. Moran created the school under the disguise of a wealthy mage wanting to make use of the open fields. Over the next twenty years, he helped Ornberg grow. That little farming village transformed into a respectable trading town known to all. And when the hero, Reina Solana, displayed the magical affinity common in heroes, he was there. She joined the academy shortly thereafter.
And now…
“Headmaster…”
Tears streamed down Reina’s face. Her conjured blade trembled as she held it before her. Despite her hesitation, her training had kept her in the fight. Though neither of them had wanted to fight, she had to win.
“That was a good hit,” Moran panted. “You’ve improved greatly since you started here.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Reina repeated.
Moran let out a sigh, wincing as his side spasmed when he exhaled.
“It was that auditor, wasn’t it?” He asked. “I saw him poking around the school. Never guessed they were trying to detect my energy. Thought the kingdom was just being nosy.”
“Headmaster, I – ”
“Who did they take?” He asked.
Reina was quiet for a while.
“Cissy,” she said. “And Reginald and his family.”
“I do hope they’re more careful about who they trust in the future,” he said.
Reina did not reply, but her tears continued to flow.
“Come on, Reina,” he said. “Is that any look for a hero? You’re destined to bring this country into a brighter future, you know?”
She shook her head.
“I… I don’t want…”
Her blade nearly dropped.
“Would it help if I attacked you?” Moran asked as he raised a hand.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she tensed. He chuckled at the reaction. His hand fell. He had already expended his mana with flashy spells and threatening explosions. After all, her victory had to be hard-fought.
“Reina, let me give you one final lesson,” he said. “Prophecies are strange beasts. Try to fight them, and you often wind up fulfilling them.”
He coughed and grimaced at the metallic taste of blood.
“Old Griselda, she predicted my death almost twenty years ago. Instead of trying to fight it, I asked myself ‘How can I turn it to my advantage?’.”
Reina seemed a bit confused by this.
“It was out of selfishness that I helped your town grow. I hoped to educate the people so they could protect you and your family. Even with its prosperity, you saw how the kingdom treated those in its territories. But prophecies are strange, and I was still unable to save your parents.”
“What?” Her voice was small.
“So, I continued to run this school. They’ll no doubt destroy this place after I’m gone, but I’ve already succeeded. I was able to give you an education free from the kingdom’s propaganda. You and your friends will be the final graduating class of this little academy.”
That reminder only caused her to sniffle.
“You’ll become a symbol, Reina,” Moran said. “Let them think you belong to them. Then, when the time is right, expose their evils to the world.”
The trembling in her hands had stopped now.
“I am but a milestone in your journey to save this world. So come, Hero of Light. Use me to appease the kingdom and save your friends.”
A wretched scream erupted from Reina’s mouth as she charged forward. Moran could not dodge even if he wanted to. His body was already too heavy to move. Reina’s blade pierced his chest, but it did not hurt. He coughed slightly at the impact and watched as the rest of his blood spilled onto the stone floor.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as she fell to her knees.
Moran took one last breath and mustered his remaining strength.
“Wipe away the tears, Reina. I’m proud of you.”
And his eyes drifted shut.
...
Hope you liked the twist in the prophecy.
If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found [here](https://cuckoosneststories.wordpress.com/).
Thanks for reading.
|
"Another one?" sighed Drovar the Cruel, Bringer of Chaos, Extinguisher of Light, and Dark Lord of the Realm of Seven Rivers. "I thought we took care of one just last year! These damned prophecies are like rats.'
He stared at his vizier, dark eyes flashing with impatient fury. "We are certain we took care of the last one, aren't we?"
"Quite certain, my Lord," his vizier agreed, bowing deeply. "Since the implementation of your plan, our seers forsee no more threats to your absolute power from the region of Arcum's Ferry. This brilliant new strategy of yours has been terribly effective, removing threats before they can even begin to appear. We have not had a credible hero appear in seven years now."
Drovar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes, of course it is. I am brilliant, after all. It just seems like every time I put one down, another one crops up, and faster than the last time."
"Yes, my Lord. I gather from my readings that is often the curse of being as glorious and powerful as you. Shall I implement the same plan, to address this issue, however unlikely it is that it would ever truly threaten you?"
"Fine, fine. Send out the contract."
~ ~ ~
John the Wise smiled as he drew up the contracts to begin construction of public buildings, courthouses, and schools in the town of Sidgar's Landing. Trade between Arcum's Ferry and the capital was already increasing with the influx of money and skilled workers from the last project, and he suspected there would soon be a boom of marriages and babies in the towns between, with Sidgar's Landing being well-positioned to host the needed infrastructure. Serving the Dark Lord as First Vizier did require a certain acting panache, but the benefits to the land and the inhabitants were, in his opinion, well worth the efforts.
| 2021-01-14T21:08:56
| 2021-01-14T20:59:31
| 420
| 187
|
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’.
|
I love my wife. And because I love her, when she asked me for one of those stupid watches that tell you the moment you'll meet your soulmate, I went and bought two for us.
I didn't expect our times to be different.
Hers had the exact moment we met, 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes ago. I remember that moment so clearly, as I went to pick up the girl I had been talking to online for weeks for our first date. She was stunning, even more than I could have imagined. I knew she was going to be my soulmate, if there even was such a thing, right then, but apparently it was only I that was hers.
My watch had 12 days, 8 hours, and 29 minutes left.
The love of my life noticed the moment I put the watch on and I saw her face crumple. She was trying not to cry and honestly, I was too. This woman was my everything and I had no doubt she was the only one for me. I told her that she was the light of my world and no one could make me as happy as she did. That she was the only one I would ever want and that whoever the watch thought I should be waiting for couldn't compare to her. That I would never love them as much and didn't care to ever meet them.
I was wrong.
My wife wasn't angry with me, she knew I loved her with everything I had and she loved me back. We planned how wonderful the rest of our lives would be with our newborn child. We were so excited.
With 8 hours and 37 minutes left and the watch forgotten, we rushed to the hospital. A few days past due but my wife was finally in labor and we were giddy. Once we were there, we discovered our baby had gotten the umbilical cord wrapped around their throat and needed an emergency C-section. During the surgery, a nurse came out, calling for me. I hadn't even considered that my wife could get hurt before that. I was so stunned when she told me my wife wouldn't carry our baby home with me, wouldn't fight with me over whose turn it was to take care of them in the middle of the night, wouldn't watch our little one grow up, wouldn't grow old with me. She hadn't made it. My world fell apart.
But then they brought me our child. She looked just like her mama and I knew I had to be strong for both of them, for my wife who wanted to be here and for our child who needed me. I named her Lila James, just like her mama wanted. I knew I was going to give this little girl everything I could and that she was my greatest treasure.
When Lila started crawling, she found both of the watches under the living room sofa. I looked at mine and realized that 7 months, 6 days, 13 hours, and 8 minutes ago was the most challenging day of my life. I went to the shop to tell them their watches were full of it and they should be ashamed for selling faulty technology full of empty promises. They told me that the watches aren't really a measure for soulmates so much as they are for the person you will love the most. That's when I realized that while my wife was the one and only love of my life, our baby girl was who I loved most. She was the most precious thing I had and all that was left of her mother.
I still love my wife, and I adore our Lila James. Now, I wear both of our watches to remind myself of my two greatest blessings.
|
“12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes,” he said, to himself.
“What’s that,” said the watchmaker, through a thick German accent.
“This isn’t right,” replied the man, “This is in the future.”
“Then you haven’t met your soul mate yet.”
“That can’t be, I’m married you see, and I-“
The watchmaker looked up from his work with piercing gray eyes, “I only make die watches. That one is not wrong. I do not make errors. Now wither select a new watch or leave my shop.”
The man looked down at his wrist and looked as his timer went down. 12 days, 8 hours, 25 minutes. He couldn’t bring himself to believe the frail watchmaker. Without so much as a goodbye, he stormed out of the building and went home for the day.
“Rose,” he said, “Rose, come here honey,” he said entering his home.
“Sam, you’re home,” he watched as she walked up with the same excitement in her eyes that he had seen for the past 6 years.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, holding out a small wrapped box.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know, but I earned a bonus from a big sale, and I thought I’d get us a little something.”
Opening the box, she looked up at him with a smile. “Oh, Sam!,” she said, hugging him tightly. “A SoulMate! I’ve been wanting one for so long.”
“Well try it on.”
Affixing the small gold and white watch to wrist, she saw as the timer rapidly moved to the time of negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes.
“I-I think that this is when we met Sam,” she said, with a burning spark behind her eyes. “In Dr. Douglas’ class? Yeah, we were freshman then! We should send him a letter and tell him how much that class means to us.
Sam’s cheeks started to go flush as water filled his eyes. “I... really I am glad. Love you...” He looked down in defeat as the tears started to fall.
“Sam, honey, what’s wrong?” She said, grabbing him and holding him close.”
“Look, look at my watch,” he said, holding up his wrist.
“12 days, 7 hours, 12 minutes,” she looked up at him, back at his watch, at her watch, and then at him again. “I don’t understand, why isn’t yours the same?” She was crying too at this point.
“I don’t know. I love you, I do. You know I do. The only reason I brought these damn things home was I was sure yours was going to read the same time as mine, somehow. I thought maybe it, it was broken or something... I don’t know.”
She jumped up and looked down at him. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, before stomping off into their bedroom.
“Rose, Rose? What are you doing?” Sam got up and followed her into the bedroom.
“I, just... need time to think,” she said, as she started packing a small bag, with streams of mascara running down her face.
“Please don’t go, I need you.”
“Do you, Sam? Do you? Maybe I need you, but you don’t need me.”
And with that, she was gone. Out of his life. She left the house, leaving him no knowledge of where she was going. He tried finding her, by calling her mother, friends, the police, but she had mysteriously vanished.
He feared the worst, and decided to look himself in his house until the time passed by. If Rose wasn’t his soulmate, then he didn’t deserve to have.
The days passed by. 12, 11, 10, 9, 8. By the 7^th day, he had started to drink himself to sleep every night.
By the 4^th day, he was toying with the notion of suicide. He couldn’t live without his Rose in his life.
On the 2^nd day, he drank an entire bottle of scotch, and then proceeded to drink more. By the time the paramedics found him, he was in a coma.
Sam lay in a hospital bed, alone, in an empty room. One of his friends contacted Rose, and she was the only person to stay by his side. She wept over him every single moment, and prayed for a recovery.
“Sam, please wake up,” she said, holding his hand and crying, “Please wake up. I may not be your soulmate, but you’re still mine, and I can’t see you die.”
He stayed unresponsive though. After several hours passed, Rose left the room to go and get a bite to eat, having starved herself waiting for her loved one to wake back up.
Upon her return, she heard something that made her heart drop.
“Hi, Mr. Robertson, I’m Nurse Ginger, and I’ll be taking care of you.”
Rose dropped to the floor outside of the room and started to have a panic attack. This was the moment. Sam was gone. She had lived the best 7 years of her life with him, and now it was all over. He had finally met the love of his life.
The nurse rushed out and saw Rose in the floor weeping. She picked Rose up off of the ground, and with a lot of talking, managed to get her into the room. Rose felt as though it would be to say goodbye to her husband who she had grown so used to seeing.
“Why are you sad?” Sam said.
“Because, because, because,” Rose tried to tell him why, but the words just wouldn’t come out.
“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Sam asked.
She looked up through her hair that had fallen in her face, the spark in her eyes no longer there. “I’m... I’m your... I’m.”
“My name is Sam. Now you tell me your name,” he said, with a smile on his face.
A smile slowly grew on Rose’s face, “My name is Rose Robert- uh, Rose Sanchez.”
“Well Rose Sanchez, they won’t tell me why I’m in here. The last thing I remember, I was about to go to my first class of the semester, uh, American literature with Dr. Douglas.”
The two began to talk through the night. And in one of the corners of their house, a watch read negative 1 hour and 12 minutes.
—-
Thank you for reading my story!
If you liked that, please consider checking out my subreddit r/coffeeswritingcafe I recommend [this](https://redd.it/7n0ao7) one, if you want more romance. Thanks again!
| 2018-01-06T19:20:45
| 2018-01-06T18:09:30
| 537
| 312
|
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
I have the most beautiful wife in the world. She's the sunshine of my life, my other half. At first she wanted nothing to do with me, but I won her over with my charm. Sure, I'm 40 and she's 25, but I'm not a pedophile as some claim me to be. She's mature for her age, has a steady job, and we are moving out of our apartment in the city to the suburbs on our 15th anniversary next Wednesday.
|
Sheryl kisses me on the cheek, patting my shoulder. I put an arm around her waist briefly; she is in the middle of getting dressed and we're running behind. While she buttons her dress, I knot my tie. I lace my shoes as she slips into her best brown heels, the ones with the little bows on the tops. I watch her brush her hair, quick smooth movements, her chestnut waves shining. It's tempting to run my fingers through her hair but we don't have time and she wants us to look our best.
We go downstairs together. Billy is reading out loud to his little sister and I stop to watch them with their matching earnest expressions.
"Are you ready, kids? It's time." Billy puts the book down and takes Rebecca's hand, and we step out onto the front porch. My wife puts a hand on my back as I lock the door; old habit. Billy and Rebecca make faces at each other and I fix his collar, which has flipped up.
Right on time. The four of us stand hand in hand and vaporise as the first bomb hits, leaving nothing but our shadows.
| 2016-05-19T11:50:39
| 2016-05-19T11:23:33
| 311
| 208
|
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/)
|
Do we dream when we go into hibernation?
As a depressed young man whose only hobby was sleeping, I kept asking myself this question while making my way to the hibernation pod. Everyone else had wondered, fought even, over the question if a government could force humanity to sleep. But I only hoped that Shutdown Day would allow me to dream for years. Dreams where I would live an exciting life and create my own reality.
"Please make your way to your Hibernation Pod. The number is located on your My Government application."
I slowly walked through what was once a shopping mall. The government had rebuilt large indoor areas such as this mall into Hibernation Pod Facilities. I hated areas such as shopping malls as they were usually crowded, noisy and dirty. In fact, almost every part of the world was full of people, and I hated that too.
"Please make your way to your Hibernation Pod. The number is located on your My Government application."
I started walking faster. After passing dozens of other pods, some still empty and some already taken, I eventually reached mine. It looked simple but comfortable. Would I dream in hibernation? Curiosity had been unknown to me for a while, but now it came back to me with a rush. Time to step into the pod. Time to sleep.
Shutdown Day would begin in a couple of hours, when the whole population would be in pods. I closed my eyes and slowly dozed off.
​
"Good morning, Mr. Crane."
"Huh?" I murmured, as if I responded to my mother who woke me up for school.
"Thank you for participating in the Government Hibernation Programme. You can find your belongings in the locker next to your hibernation pod. The keycode is located on your My Government application."
Slowly opening my eyes, I got out of my pod. It did not feel as if I had hibernated for a hundred years. I opened my locker and looked at my belongings. Unwillingly taking my bag, not looking forward to continuing life, something odd struck me. My mobile phone was switched on. Technology had made many things possible, but these batteries only lasted for a month or so.
*5 December 2085*, the screen noted. It was one day after I had entered my Hibernation Pod. How was this possible?
I looked around the former shopping mall. All other pods were filled with people, but nobody was awake. I knocked on one of the pods.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
No response. I got nervous and looked for ways to force the pod open. It was a futile attempt. The government had designed the pods so that they would open automatically on 4 December 2185, a hundred years after Shutdown Day. They were locked electronically and operated by a central command centre somewhere in Europe.
I ran through the facility. Nobody was awake. I went outside, only to be met with complete silence. Was I alone on this world? My car was still here. I did not know what to do but to drive home. All the traffic lights were out, because the world's electricity was shut off shortly before the shutdown except for the bit which controlled the Hibernations Pods. I turned on the radio. Nothing.
Upon driving home, I began feeling more joyful. The truth was that I always hated this world. Not because of the people itself, but the sheer number of people. Everything had become overpopulated. My parents, who passed away long ago, told me that there once existed areas where there was nothing. Places where you could walk for hours without seeing anybody. 'Nature', they called it. They said that nature turned into villages, villages became suburbs, and suburbs became cities. I had only known cities. Now I was alone in the world. A world of cities without people living in them.
Suddenly, I heard the radio cracking. I turned the volume a little higher.
"Krrrrr....... He......"
Was I hearing voices?
"Ca...... ear.... e?"
I turned the volume even higher.
"Hey, can you hear me?" a voice from the radio said.
"Ye... yes" I responded, shocked for a while and not knowing what was going on.
"Yes, I can hear you", I said slightly louder.
"You did not think you were the only one awake, did you?" The voice said plainly.
I did not know how to respond.
"Instruct your car to drive to the location that appears on your phone. I will explain the rest later. Do not speak to anyone else on your way here", the voice said.
Still confused, I typed in the address on my car's navigation interface.
*Humanity First Office - DRIVE HERE?*
Humanity First. I remembered the group from the news. They had kidnapped and murdered politicians who supported the hibernation programme. Why was a strange voice leading me to the headquarters of a radical group? And why did I not go into hibernation? There was only one way to find out.
"OK", I said, confirming the location.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
My first attempt and post ever here. Sorry for the bad English, it's not my native language!
|
I'm still awake. I wait for ten minutes before I realize something is wrong. Hmm, alright, hit the emergency release. The pod opens and I step out and look around and see all the sleeping people around me.
OK. Let's find the AI governor and ask what's happened. I walk up to the control room which is oddly blacked out. It should be lit since the models working up there weren't equipped with IR sensors.
I open the door and they've all frozen in positions. Shit. Just as I feared. I walk up to the nearest console and a green exclamation mark greets me with an error message. Oh well, at least emergency power is on. I tap the extended information tab and see the error is traced to a nearby CPU cluster.
The whole cluster? Down at once? That's really unlikely, in the event of a crash the dumps should have been analyzed by the backup AIs and brought online from oldest stable backups. What the hell is going on here?
I walk down from the control room and take a speeder car, I sit there like an ass for a couple of minutes before I remember that the governor for this area is out. Goddamnit, I haven't driven since kindergarten! I put it on manual and as the car swerves back and forth on the gigantic empty highway I'm thankful nobody else is seeing this shit.
After a few minutes, I become familiar again with the cars controls, however I'm still puzzled that the units own AI hasn't taken over, nor can I engage it again. This is starting to seem a bit too far fetched even for me.
I reach the hulking angular complex about twenty minutes later, looking up at it, I realize why they put these things so far out into the countryside. Because honestly, they're ugly as sin. Zero aesthetic value, just enough space to protect the machines inside from the weather outside. Couldn't they have slapped a fresh coat of paint on this shit at least? Why the super grey dull metal look?
Similar thoughts about our society flitter through my mind as I step into the elevator and push the button which does absolutely nothing. Oh for fucks sake, how many times am I going to repeat this stupid mistake? I sigh deeply to myself, chiding my own stupidity internally as I walk over to the stairs which lead 32 levels down. Shit, I'm so out of shape, this is going to suck isn't it?
Almost an hour later, I'm a sweaty mess and I'm starting to get very hungry since according to regulations I haven't eaten since two days before Shutdown day. I'm really starting to hate this nightmare.
I walk into the central processing center and everything is shut down. That sends chills down my spine as I now realize that most of humanity is in suspended animation with little or no supervision. Sure, each pod regulates itself in the event of a catastrophic meltdown and unlocks after a week if it doesn't reach the server, but this.. this is just ...
*It's deliberate!* Oh by the fucking lords, IT IS DELIBERATE! my mind screams at me as I look at the console that refuses to start. Shit shit shit shit, who could have done this? As I manage to turn the power on to an auxiliary console, I see more error messages indicating that someone has been obviously sabotaging everything. I look up error table after table, seeing them corrupted. I check the backups.. which .. aren't.. there. At this point, my hands are starting to shake so bad that I sit down on a barrel close by. This is bad, really really bad.
Alright, alright, think .. think goddamnit! What's the next step? Alright, I know where the master techs were stored away, after all being a data diviner afforded me that much knowledge. But all that biomechanical crap was so way beyond me. I stood back up, feeling dizzy no doubt from the lack of food, but also from the immense stress I felt.
I'd been going about this all wrong, I should have gone to the techs first. But what if one of them were in on it? Who could I trust? I tried to fight down the panic in my mind as I started for the door leading to those hateful stairs, once I was up again, I'd raid a food storage area and then.. oh no, oh fuck no.
I banged at the door in futility, it was a secured door, thick enough to withstand any terrorist attacks. I'd gotten in because it'd been left ajar, something I hadn't noticed when I came in. But now that it swung closed, it was forever locked.
I looked around at the small area I was in and sat down and cried until I fell asleep from exhaustion. That was three days ago.
This has been the last words of data Diviner Marsh Fembleton.
I fell victim to my own habits.
| 2018-12-29T04:54:58
| 2018-12-29T04:13:22
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
I froze up, my go-to whenever anything significant happens in my life.
"Yeah, well, that kid's mom gave him such a whooping for it, we *all* learned a lesson!"
Stupid joke. That's my other go-to. I was about to apologize for it when I realized: she's catatonic. Her eyes fixed on nothing a couple inches over my left shoulder—I don't think she was even breathing.
"Dude, what did you *say* to her?"
I swung around. The guy behind me was about 6'2" and thin, with short, dark hair, and he was wearing a suit with some sort of conference nametag that said "Charles Anderson." I pored over it for what, at least to me, was just a couple seconds. It also said **2018 / "BE COURAGEOUS!"** I wish I was making this stuff up.
"What did you *say*?"
It wasn't Charles. Charles was looking squarely above the whole debacle, hand on his chin, eyes hopping between what were probably the "**2: Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese" and the "**3: Double Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese." *Thank God for Charles,* I thought. If everyone in the world were like Charles, it would be so much better for me. I could just go about my day unnoticed, even with this new...quirk.
"What did you *fucking* say to that lady?"
It was the guy behind Charles. He had dreads and what looked like alpaca wool covered in Chotchkie's flair. But his physique was decidedly more juicer than deadhead, and he was glaring at me so hard his face seemed to be turning red.
"I...uh...Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad, Apple Slices, and water....Please."
I wasn't lying. I *had* said that. *I* had said that. And what she heard, too, was almost undoubtedly that, just in another language. And I'm sure she understood it as that, unless she's rusty in her mother tongue—I guess it's been a while, after all.
"Oh yeah? It didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like 'Sow'll whisper pepequem nose googah' something or other. And I mean—look at her! What did she say back?"
I briefly looked back at the cashier. There she was, still staring at nothing, still still. At least I could detect what seemed to be a little bit of breathing now.
"She said, um..." *Do I tell him the truth? It might be bizarre enough to throw him off his game...*
Charlie helped me out. "I'm pretty sure I heard her. She said 'Nobody's going to have anguish in the thousand years.'" He smiled, nodded once, and bizarrely, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day, turned back to studying the menu.
The Merry Roider seemed to be thrown off his game. He unclenched his face, and it started turning back to that peach tone he clearly wished he didn't have. "Is that, uh, is that really what she said?"
"Um, yup." I nodded a few times, briskly, while staring off to the right. *Convincing performance.*
"Well, what the hell does *that* mean?"
Beef Slackinoff sure was nosey for just some guy standing in line at McDonald's. "It, uh, it means..."
Chuck chimed in. "I'm glad you asked!" He proceeded to begin to explain...something...to Navy Gravy, while I took the opportunity to extract myself from the conversation and bridge the two-foot gap between myself and the counter.
Our cashier starting coming to. "Where...uhh...where did you learn that? How did you know I spoke it?"
*Shit.* I had no alibi. I didn't even know what I was supposed to have an alibi *for.* "Uh, y'know, you pick up a few things here and there..."
"In *Proto-Indo-European?*"
So *that's* what it was! How the hell was it her native tongue, though?
"Um, yeah, you know, just hanging out with other kids when I was little and, um, I mean, reading books, not hanging out—" I was really good at this.
"So do you, like, just go up to everyone and do this? Is that, like, your shtick? How often do you get beat up for it?"
"Well, *actually*"—my first good idea of the day just popped into my head—"I usually try to make an educated guess first as to what someone speaks. And I do have a pretty good batting average." I nodded knowingly, as though I had just securely built the roof of a house of cards.
"Quosmо̄d pewgwonts 'mene gneʕws?"
*Fuck.* I just realized that despite all this conversation, she—and apparently everyone else around—still heard me speaking in this language I'd never even heard of. She was just starting to respond in it, and I had no fucking clue what she was saying.
I stared blankly and blinked for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"
"But how the fuck did you know for me?"
I had to think fast, as if a windstorm were about to arrive at card village and I was its only retrofitter. "Oh, well, uh, you know..."
I noticed she was wearing a McDonald's tag with her name, Lydia Szemerenyi, on it. I pointed to it. "It was that." The bullshit was flowing so freely out of my mouth that I started to fear for the sanitation of this joint.
She looked down and nodded knowingly, a tear coming to her right eye. "It was great-grandpa's dying wish when I was born. Grandpa, dad, mom, the whole bunch, they didn't let me play with other kids until my sixth birthday, and wouldn't speak to me in anything other than that godforsaken abomination of a tongue—"
Chotchkie's interrupted her moment. "Can't anyone get a *fucking* burger around here?"
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T21:42:04
| 45
| 10
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 2016-01-29T07:22:10
| 82
| 43
|
[WP]: a society where sex is public and entirely unstigmatised, but eating is a taboo
|
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 (OR 21 IN CERTAIN STATES) IT IS UNLAWFUL TO VIEW THIS VIDEO
Title: Master Cook Vol. 7
Performers: Cici Cilantro, Dana Dine, Mark Hamburger
Date: 1987
On a dark and steamy night, mild mannered sex-serviceman Paul (Mark Hamburger) gets a craving unlike any he's had before. Tempted in the evenings by the Gourmet Goddess (Cici Cilantro), Paul embarks on a wild culinary escapade, breaking all the rules of the kitchen one by one. Will his callgirl girlfriend (Dana Dine) able to bring him back to the bedroom? Or will she too be seduced by Goddess's call of cuisine...forever?
A Pico de Gallo Production
©1982, 1987
"Master Cook Vol. 7" is in compliance with S.5073 regulations and record keeping. All performers are over the age of 18 and are trained in culinary arts.
|
Discreetly, I exited the shop, hoping nobody saw me. I awkwardly tried to hide my prize, two bulging bags made of black opaque plastic. Everybody knew, and looked at me, but then averted their gaze. I could tell what they were thinking: "Shameful!" "Kinky!" "She's gonna have a good night". It's times like this when I wish I had a car. I walked past all the restaurants and cafes, where people ate not food, and drank not water. The sounds of people groaning and having a good time reminded me of my youth. But with a career, and a family, I hardly had time to have a night out with the girls anymore.
I stepped onto the bus and everybody immediately stared at me. Being my turn to do the groceries, this week, I could only imagine what my husband goes through. At least it was somewhat accepted that women should get groceries, but for men... As I sat down, I got stares and murmurs and the odd chuckle from the passengers. The most uncomfortable one was from a disheveled old man wearing rags who moved from his seat and sat beside me. "Hey, beautiful. I see you're into some of the kinky stuff. What is that? Paprika? Why don't we go to my place and I'll cook you up something good. I'd love to dine with you, beautiful."
"I'm married." I said politely, hoping to get out of this situation as soon as possible.
"Comeon! Your husband doesn't have to know. It's just some light dining. Maybe a coffee and some snacks. I've got candles and shit."
"I'm sorry, I'm not interested."
He looked disgruntled and angry. I was a little scared. "You cook! I bet you eat everything under the sun!" He stormed off back to his former seat. The bus arrived at my stop. I got off the bus and went home, thinking about what I'm going to prepare for my husband and our dinner tonight.
| 2013-11-18T13:33:50
| 2013-11-18T11:06:47
| 97
| 36
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
They carried the now elderly body off the stage and out of sight.
I heard the Judge call my name and I was pushed forward hands shaking.
"How do you wish to be executed?" The judge asked, sounding bored.
My mind raced, old age hadn't worked. Maybe it was best to make it quick and painless... No, there had to be a way out. There's always a way out, just think! If I say Old Age they'll just age me up, if I say "in 300 years" they'll probably send me to the future. I need a way to die that's far off but that they can't perform through unnatural magics...
"THAT'S IT!"
"Excuse me?" Said the Judge eying me.
I smiled back feeling victory in my grasp. Natural Causes. That's how to get out of this. It was a risk but magic, murder, and pushing someone down the stairs would all be considered an Unnatural Death. I was going to survive!
I took a breath to state my answer... than I heard the sound of crying. One of the prisoners behind me was crying. I looked into the faces of the other prisoners than at the guards and finally the judge. I suddenly realized that as soon as I made my request I'd doom the other prisoners. As soon as I made off scott free, the judge would be forced to word the question in such a way where my escape would be impossible.
"We're waiting!" The Judge grumbled.
Hands still shaking I closed my eyes and said "the last one,"
"What?"
"I want to be the last person executed. No one after me can be executed. You and the guards get to go home early and never have to do this again."
The court was silent. Than the judge slammed his gavel and said "Souds good to me."
|
"I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.*
| 2021-06-24T10:52:28
| 2021-06-24T09:19:00
| 29
| 12
|
[WP] A group of survivors of a war that destroyed the world awakens from their cryo-sleep millenniums later to find the world has transformed into a Tolkien-ish medieval fantasy. Write how they try to explain to all the other races that they are not some ancient evil that once destroyed the world.
|
Part 1
Genetic engineering. In basic terms, it is the modification of an organism’s genes by artificial means, often involving the transfer of specific traits, or genes, from one organism into a plant or animal of an entirely different species.
For thousands of years, man has altering genomes of many species around the world, but the term genetic engineering didn’t come about until the latter part of the 20th century AD. Ironically the term came about from a mid-20th century science fiction book and the term stuck. As man began to learn more and more about his environment and as technology became more and more reliable, great progress was made in many scientific fields, one being genetic engineering.
In the mid-22nd century there was a massive breakthrough in the field: one of the holy grails of science had been found, a fountain of youth. And it was so simple. All one needed was a weekly injection of a drug that was known as Puerita for a minimum of four weeks, although many doctors and scientists recommended a six week dosage. The injection would, simply put, make the body nearly functionally immortal. It would also reverse aging in those who were older, reverting them to much younger appearances within a number of years.
At first, only the very rich and famous were able to afford treatments, but as the methods were refined, prices dropped. Some governments around the world even gave out injections free of charge, but those were very few. Within a decade nearly half the populations of the First World Countries had taken the Puerita Treatment.
At around the same time another company had announced that they had discovered another way to alter the body, and it was compatible with the Puerita Treatment. It was called the Acendia Drug. This injection would alter personal appearances of those who took it to certain typical fantasy creatures, such as elves, dwarves, mermaids, demons and certain anthropomorphic animals. However, this drug used an artificial virus to alter DNA permanently. They announced that the drug was still in testing and not ready for display, but the results had looked quite promising.
Then came the end.
It had all started on April 3, 2091 at the laboratories in New York State where the Acendia Drug was being tested. The company had just managed to develop a few prototype aerosol forms of the drug. No one knows what happened, all they know is that on 12:12 PM that day, there was a massive explosion in the storage tanks. Massive amounts of Acendia were spilled. Despite the efforts of hundreds of people, a few strands of the virus managed to escape. Within days the first cases of the Acendia Virus as it was called popped up in nearby townships. Within a week those first victims were dead, having suffered intense agony at the virus’ reconstructive work. Their bodies were barely recognizeable.
The Virus spread like wildfire, infecting thousands within weeks, hundreds of thousands in months. Each victim was dead within a week and if they weren’t dead they were an unrecognizable lump of dim red flesh, wailing in pain.
While man was experiencing this crisis, another one appeared, this one from without. An unusually shaped asteroid, looking very much like an extraordinarily long pin, was slowly approaching Earth. It was also an unusually iron heavy asteroid. Astronomers predicted that it would strike somewhere in the Oregon Cascades within a few years.
With the world in a state of panic because of both threats, governments banded together to attempt to find a way for man to survive the crisis. Many decided to build vast underground shelters filled with cryogenic pods that would be controlled by advanced AI systems. As impact day approached, those that had been chosen gathered what personal belongings they had been given and were taken to the underground shelters. A day before impact, the remnants of man went to sleep, hoping that when they woke, the world would be ready to receive them again.
----
The first thing that the man felt was cold. In his groggy mind’s eye he saw a snowy tundra landscape and that he was neck deep in a snowbank. There was some strange beeping in the distance and he somehow knew that he needed to get to it. He worked his way through the snowdrifts of his mind. Eventually the landscape melted away to reveal a frost covered window. For a brief moment he panicked and tried to move, but he was in some sort of restraints.
“Please relax,” a soothing female voice said softly all around him. “You have been asleep for some time, flash freeze memory loss is normal. Just lay back and breathe calmly.”
The man, still confused and frightened, nearly began struggling again but he decided to trust this strange voice. He leaned back, closed his eyes and began breathing in and out, counting the seconds to pace it. Soon memories began to come back to him, the virus, asteroid, and fragments of his previous live.
He heard a whirring and felt a shift in the direction of gravity. He was now upright. With a hiss his pod door opened. The liquid that he had been lying in spilled out onto the outside floor. The rush of air on his wet naked body made him shiver even more than he already had been. In front of him stood a lovely black haired woman holding a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other.
“Take this,” she said. It was the voice from before. The man obediently opened his mouth to receive it. She poured water into his mouth and gently helped him swallow.
“This will help you recover your memories and your strength. It will also put you to sleep in a few minutes. You will wake up a few hours from now in your own quarters.” She smiled reassuringly but the man thought there was something artificial about it. She began to undo his straps. His muscles, not having been used in who knows how long, could not support him and he fell into a pair of incredibly soft but strong arms. He could smell the scent of lavender as he felt a steady hand run down his back comfortingly, like a mother tending to her child.
“Just sleep,” she said soothingly. Without complaint, the man drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.
|
I Stepped out of my cryo pod and quickly came to the conlusion that the world in which I awoke was not the same as the one I had gone to sleep in. With that in mind, I stepped out with arms out stretched and screamed into the sky, "I AM KHAN!!!"
| 2016-02-04T21:19:13
| 2016-02-04T11:13:00
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] A stray dog happens to release a genie from it's lamp. The genie just wants to get the 3 wishes over with so it can go back to sleep, while the dog is just happy to have found a new friend.
|
*Oh, fuck, here we go again.*
The genie was wrenched from his warm, dark sanctuary into the harsh light of day. No longer confined by the walls of the lamp, he felt his form swell up to fill the air. Stifling a yawn and blinking the sleep out of his eyes, the genie puffed his chest out and announced in a thunderous voice:
“FEAR NOT MORTAL. I AM THE GENIE OF THE LAMP, HERE TO GRANT YOU THREE OF YOUR DEEPEST DESIR... oh. Um, hello there.”
The genie looked down and was surprised to see on the ground, instead of the cowering human he was expecting, there was a rather small, scruffy-looking brown dog. The dog’s tail was wagging so hard his whole body wiggled, and he peered up at the genie with eyes that sparkled wildly with excitement.
The genie looked left, then right, but found the alleyway the two of them were in to be empty, save for a few silver garbage cans.
“...Did someone throw my lamp away?!” The genie gasped to himself before his thoughts were interrupted by the little dog’s yapping.
The genie glanced back down at him.
“It appears like you are the one that awoke me. The wishes are yours,” the genie said, his brow furrowing as he gazed down at the animal.
The dog spun in an excited circle and jumped up at the genie, giving his leg a lick.
*Ew*
“Wishes, dog,” the genie rumbled. “Not licks.”
The dog’s tail wagged more rapidly, and he lolled his tongue out at the genie.
The genie sighed deeply.
“Don’t you have a wish?” he asked, casting a critical eye over the dog. “Look at you, your fur is matted. You’re small and under-fed. Don’t you want to be big? Strong? Beautiful?”
The dog rolled over on his back, exposing a soft-furred belly, his tail still wagging. The dog yapped at him.
“...You want a belly rub,” the genie said slowly. “Is that a wish?”
The dog yapped again in confirmation.
“Weird wish,” the genie muttered. “Fine.”
He bent down and started to rub the dog’s belly. The dog’s tail wagged wildly as the genie ran his fingers through his tangled fur. The genie frowned, undoing the knots in the dog’s pelt for better belly rubbing. The little dog closed his eyes in bliss.
“There,” the genie said after some minutes had passed, pulling his hands back. “Your first wish has been granted.”
The little dog’s eyes opened and he rolled back onto his paws and trotted over to the genie, nuzzling his face into the genie’s hands.
“Hey!” the genie said, withdrawing his hands and straightening. “I don’t work for free. If you want more pets, you’ll have to wish for them.”
The dog tilted his head, gazing up at the genie. His tail started to wag again, and he yapped.
“So that is your second wish then?” the genie asked. “Ear scratches?”
The dog yapped again.
“Ear *scritches,*” the genie corrected. “Got it.”
The genie bent down to pet the dog again, and this time he found himself rather enjoying the touch of the animal’s soft fur.
“You’re a funny little creature, aren’t you?” the genie asked as he tussled the dog’s floppy ears. “I’ve never met anyone with such strange wishes.”
The dog didn’t reply. He just wagged his tail slowly as he enjoyed his scritches. As the moments past, the genie began to reluctantly slow his petting.
“Alright, dog, now it’s time for your final wish,” the genie said, lifting his hands from the small dog’s head so he could look into the animal’s dark brown eyes. “Choose wisely.”
The genie remained crouched before the little dog. The animal was silent for a long moment like he was deeply heeding the genie’s words. Then he let out a quiet yap.
The genie blinked in surprise.
“You can’t be serious,” the genie said.
The dog yapped again.
“But your request is absurd!” the genie protested.
The dog’s ears drooped, and he looked down at the ground. The genie softened.
“Why?” the genie asked in a quiet voice. “I am an immortal being, from a realm you can’t even fathom. You just met me a few minutes ago. Why would you wish for us to be together forever?”
The dog’s gaze drifted back up to the genie, and his tail started to wag again. He let out another bark.
“...I’m your best friend?” The genie echoed quietly.
The dog trotted a few steps closer to the genie and gave the genie’s hands a few happy licks, and this time, the genie didn’t much mind the slobber.
The truth was, the genie had never had a friend before. He had spent eons alone in a slumber, which was only interrupted to grant the wishes of selfish mortals that stumbled upon the lamp. The thought of having a companion to wade through the long and lonely sea of time with... wasn’t entirely unappealing.
The genie let out a quiet breath and cupped the small dog’s brown, fluffy face in his hands.
“I am compelled by the stars to grant the wishes given to me, no matter the request...” the genie said in a solemn voice, but he felt a small smile creeping across his face. “So, very well. You and I shall be together for all of eternity.”
|
A cacophony of sounds and light and swirling winds erupted in my living room “**Who dares wake me from my slumber?**” thundered a deep voice.
“What in the holy hell was that?” I wondered aloud.
I peeked around the corner simultaneously out of curiosity and fear. My dog Franky was staring and wagging his tail excitedly at a blue man floating in the middle of the room.
“What do you wish for, small furry creature? Let me remind you that you have only 3 wishes.”
“Whooaaa-“
“Who goes there? Reveal yourself!” The genie turned to face me. “Reveal yourself, I said!” As if pulled by an invisible rope, I was drawn against my will into the living room. “Speak,” commanded the genie.
“Uh... hello. My name is Ralph and this is my dog Franky.”
“Franky has summoned me from my slumber and is presented with 3 wishes.”
I rubbed my face uncomfortably. “Well, he can’t exactly... talk.”
“Ah,” the genie said as he turned to the dog, “then I shall communicate with him telepathically.”
“Ooooh boy. Um... I’m not sure there’s going to be much going on in the-“
“**SILENCE**. Franky wishes to go for a walk.” The genie snapped his fingers and the next thing I knew we were standing outside. “Ah! Ahhhh! Ahhhhhhh! Too much.”
“What’s wrong, genie? You know, I really expected you to sound more like Robin Williams and break into a song and dance routine.”
The genie appeared momentarily confused. “Who? And what? No, genies do not sing and they do not dance. We are not here for your ‘entertainment.’ To answer your question, my mind is flooded with squirrels. Franky wishes to be able to climb trees. It shall be done!”
The genie snapped his fingers again and Franky immediately scaled the tree in a futile attempt to catch a squirrel.
“He’s not quite sure how he’s going to get down,” the genie said quietly. “Ah! He wishes to return home.” *snap*
We were back in the living room. Franky, happy with himself as ever for getting slightly closer to the squirrel sat and wagged his tail. “Fairwell Franky and Ralph. I must return to my sleep.” Before I could even get “goodbye” out of my mouth the genie spiraled back down into his lamp.
“Wow... that was crazy wasn’t it?” Frank looked up at me, still very pleased with himself. “Here I was thinking this was just a candle holder.” I’ll have to try it out some time.
I went back to my room to sit down and digest what had just happened. Not 5 minutes passed when a familiar sound rumbled through my apartment. “**Who dares disturb my slumber. I have not been asleep more than 5 minutes.**” Oh, crap, I thought to myself.
“Another furry creature has summoned me.” *Shit shit shit*.
“No! Jimmy! What have you done?!” I yelled as I slid into the living room on my socks.
“The cat has already made a wish. It is that you, and I quote: ‘Leave him the fuck alone when he’s trying to nap in the sun. Stupid human.’ Consider it done!” The genie and Jimmy appeared to by communicating silently. “Jimmy wishes that you stop purchasing that nasty wet food with the gravy in it.”
“Got it.” I glared at Jimmy. “No wonder you always tip your bowl over.”
The pair talked silently once more. “Are you sure about your last wish, cat?” Jimmy continued to stare at him, unblinking. “As you wish.” The genie snapped his fingers and my world went black.
| 2018-09-07T10:37:42
| 2018-09-07T10:00:44
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat.
|
"For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office."
| 2016-02-22T09:42:54
| 2016-02-22T09:41:21
| 578
| 91
|
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
She pulled the trigger, apologizing under her breath. The shot rang out, causing her to flinch, the body falling limply to the floor.
Blood on her beautiful dress.
She waited for him to come, preening herself, making sure she was perfect for him.
A glint of the scythe.
"**You need to stop doing this.**"
She pouted, crossing her arms.
"You never visit otherwise," she said, staring at him sullenly.
"I do it because I love you."
"**Love is a human construct,**" he said, swinging his scythe in an arc over the fallen body. There was a sound, like the fizzling out of a flame, then silence.
"**I feel nothing for you. For *anyone*.**"
He began to leave, and the girl felt the moment leaving her.
"Wait!" she cried, running towards him, hopping over the body. She grabbed his robe.
"I won't stop, you know. I'll kill every day, just for a glimpse of you. I *love* you."
He turned to face her, his skull betraying no emotion.
"**And yet,**" he replied, his hollow eyes gazing into her.
"**You love Life far more than Death; else I'd be here for *you*.**"
He turned and left; the silence proving it true.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
I remember the first time I saw him. It was love at first sight. My uncle was dead on the floor, and he came. He pulled back his hood. I was terrified, but he had the face of an angel. His voice was calming and sweet. I vowed to see him again. There was the easy way, but it only guaranteed a brief visit with him. So, I plotted another way for us to date.
As I grew, people around me had accidents. He would show up. We would talk though not for long. He told me to move on, but I never listened. I only wanted him. I wanted his icy hands all over my body. I was persistent. I kept after him. Though over time, his discontent with me grew.
I could not stop. More died to feed my need for him. I wanted him in the deadliest of ways. On my 25th birthday, after my 33rd victim, he appeared. I threw myself on him, but he pushed me away.
"Abby, look, you're a cute girl, but I'm the Grim Reaper. I don't have genitals."
"That's okay. We can make due."
"Okay, fine, I was trying to be nice, but I'm going to come out and say it. I like men. Ted and me have a quite a life together."
"Ted?" I ask, tears welling in my eyes.
"Bundy. Yeah, great guy. Don't feel bad. You're not the first to do this to win me over. I mean, Gacy, what a nightmare. Thought dressing up like a clown for me was sexy or something. And then there was Ed Gein. Sweet guy, but a little off. But, Ted has been a dream."
"Aren't there other Reapers?" I ask, "Maybe you weren't the only one."
"Nope, I'm it. Look, I have to go, but I'll see you in a few years."
"A few years? Why?"
"Oh, do you want me to spoil it?"
"Yes," I demand, "I need to know."
"It's going to be a shocking conclusion to your life."
"I get the chair?" I ask.
"Yep, well, happy birthday!"
He kissed me on the forehead. I don't know if it was to add insult to injury or what, but, like that, he was gone. The police arrived soon thereafter. The trial and sentencing were quick. It took a few years, but I saw him again, hoping something had changed. But, Ted hugged him as soon as we arrived on the other side. Ted was a dream. That was much was true.
***
If you enjoyed this, I also wrote a prompt about a serial killer ending up on a jury. [Here it is.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/3vqslq/wp_you_a_serial_killer_just_getting_started_have/)
| 2017-06-07T17:26:56
| 2017-06-07T16:55:56
| 9,304
| 392
|
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity.
|
It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
&#x200B;
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
&#x200B;
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
&#x200B;
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
&#x200B;
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers.
|
*** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster.
| 2020-10-19T08:16:40
| 2020-10-19T07:47:18
| 55
| 15
|
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel?
|
I stepped around the feeble, emaciated corpse of the emperor. His blood had begun to pool, simply ruining the lush carpet in front of his throne.
“You killed him,” I said, my long held mask of subservience fading into incredulity.
“It was a long journey,” the hero responded, “But no longer will our people suffer under his tyranny.” he leaned over to wipe the blade of his sword on the emperor’s robe. Unceremoniously, he slipped the sword back into its scabbard and turned to leave.
“This isn’t a solution,” I said, mouth agape, “I mean, I could have done that!”
“But you didn’t,” the hero said, looking over his shoulder.
“That’s not the point,” I nudged the dead emperor with my foot. “Do you understand how an empire works?”
The hero turned back around fully, placing his armored fists firmly against his hips.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” He said.
“That’s precisely the problem,” I lectured, shoving the emperor’s corpse over onto its back. The already skeletal face stared serenly at the ceiling, forever free of responsibility. “The man was 82, a strong breeze could have killed him.”
“But it didn’t,” the hero said firmly.
“Have you ever heard of the term ‘Power Vacuum’?” I asked, prying the crown from the emperor’s head. “It would be one thing if you intended to seize the empire for yourself, but as it stands, you seem all too keen to leave.”
“My job here is done,” the hero stated, his mouth slowly curling into a lazy smile. “I wouldn’t have worked nearly so hard if I thought there was more to do after killing him. I plan to retire to a life of luxury back on the farm. Maybe buy a a few cows...”
“Who will collect the taxes? Who will dispatch troops to quell bandit raids?” I was growing heated, but there seemed little reason to stop myself. “You think the government just runs itself, do you?”
“Perhaps you should take over,” the hero offered.
“It’s not that simple!” I said, and then threw my hands up in exasperation. “He was supposed to officially declare me to be his heir tomorrow morning. Then I would have killed him, first thing Monday afternoon.”
“I’m sure,” the hero rolled his eyes.
“These things are important. Without paperwork, what’s to stop anyone from making a claim on the throne?” I asked, before pointing to the Grand Councillor, who was attempting to look nonchalant in the corner of the throne room. “He had the emperor’s ear as much as I did, what’s to keep him from taking over?”
“It’s true,” the Grand Councillor said sheepishly, “I planned on killing him Tuesday.”
“See? Tuesday.” I parroted.
“The impression that I am getting, is that no work is accomplished on the weekend,” the hero said.
“Look, we work hard during the week...” I said, before the Grand Councillor interrupted to affirm;
“Very hard,”
“Right, yes, very hard. Are we not entitled to a day off? I didn’t realize I had a deadline.” I finished.
“Quite literally!” the hero quipped, all too proud of himself. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to do.” He didn’t pause this time, leaving the throne room at a quick pace.
“Do you still want this?” I held the crown out to the Grand Councillor. He shook his head vehemently.
“Oh no, you take it,” he said, and then considered. “Do you have any plans for Tuesday?”
|
Finn stared, first in disbelief then in annoyance, as a crossbow bolt flew like quicksilver across the room, directly into the Lord Sovereign's chest, killing him instantly. Finn continued to stare as the strands of magic tying the golems around the room dissipated as the source drew its last breath.
Was that it?
"Haha! With that, his rule is over and done! Finally, all those that lived in his tyranny can find peace without fear!" exclaimed Fetter, the assassin-turned-hero. "All those nights of planning, the hours spent and the blood spilt gathering the right materials to craft the perfect poison, the friends I had to make to get past his guards and fortifications! Delirious numbers of traps and even these blasted golems!" he continued, punctuating his statement with a kick to one of the fallen sentries. Fetter stood there, face beaming, exulting in his success for another moment before noticing Finn.
"Ah. You are his Right Hand, yes?"
"Was, I think, is the more apt descriptor now Sir Fetter," Finn said casually, "and what, might I ask, do you plan to do now?"
If Fetter was taken aback at Finn's nonchalance he did well to hide it as he lowered his crossbow and began walking through the room, picking his way around each golem, meticulously checking that each was disabled.
"I think that answer is obvious; I'll dissolve the rest of his court - what few will remain when word spreads of his death - and setup a cleaner group to take care of the affairs of the kingdom."
"And you will... What, take the throne in the interim? Rule in his stead and be a good king until all affairs have been seen to and you can go home?" asked Finn, incredulous.
Fetter laughed, his tone teasing but sincere to Finn's ears, "Hah! Wouldn't that be perfect? But no, I've seen what power does to those who have it and I'll stick to my other vices if it's all the same to you. I'm sure you would have relished the chance to serve another king, be the Right Hand again, but you'll have to settle with a place as an equal to others."
Finn nodded slowly, thinking, as Fetter finished his circuit of the room. He had come to stop just before the rather plain throne and was pulling the bolt from the corpse of the late king. It came away nicely, pulling the body to the floor along with it as Fetter slumped into the throne seat, exhaustion catching up with him during the aftermath. He was older than he looked, Finn thought, and the fight through the castle had taken it's toll. His leather armour stuck to him from a handful of deep cuts, and his breathing grew ragged now that adrenaline was no longer pumping.
Finn pursed his lips, suddenly filled with dread and guilt. He opened his mouth and began to speak, "Fetter, get up qui-"
It was too late.
"Saints, Finn. If nothing else, this venture's shown me I'm too old for these things any more," Fetter said, voice straining as he loosed the straps of his breastplate. His face broke into a grin as the straps gave way, "A cool bath and a long rest is all the reward I want these days, bahahah!"
The strands of magic that had faded away when the bolt struck the Lord Sovereign's chest suddenly sprang to life, flying from the wound in the king's chest to the arms of the throne. They wove quickly around Fetter's arms, binding him.
"Monster! What trick is this?!" Fetter screamed as he strained against the madical bindings, thrashing his head back as his muscles tensed and pulled. The strands coiled their way up his arms and through his armour, covering every inch of him as they worked their way into his mouth, cutting Fetter's cries short. Fetter's body spasmed, bones cracking, as the strands' magic changed him.
It took only a minute for the process to finish and after it was complete the Lord Sovereign sat upon the throne once more, imperious.
"Finn; please have the guards take the remains of the last body to the crematorium and call the magisters to the throne room, the golems will need to be re-bound."
Fetter was better than most, thought Finn: competent enough to breach the walls, navigate the traps and best the golems and even good in a kind of simple, pragmatic way. Yet, still, he had been neither as studious nor as thorough as Finn had. The Lord Sovereign had been killed before by a skilled assassin and had, then as now, come back to life through the grace of those cursed strands. They bound the entity that called itself the Lord Sovereign to the body of any who sat on the throne, subsisting off of the borrowed form until another came along. Finn had figured this out by scrounging through the Lord Sovereigns massive library, spending years of sleepless nights dedicated to the research. Even then, it wasn't until the last time the Lord Sovereign had been killed that Finn had been able to piece together what he'd read. He hadn't kept this information from Fetter on purpose, Fetter just hadn't let him explain. Storybook Heroes never listened after the "final" blow had been struck, too, but he'd never imagined a real life hero would be so callous.
Finn sighed inwardly, bowing, "Of course, my Lord."
((Edit: Spelling and names.))
| 2017-03-12T14:39:19
| 2017-03-12T13:41:06
| 222
| 89
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42
| 2018-04-06T20:42:31
| 712
| 10
|
[WP] You're blind, taking an audio tour at a museum. In an ancient Egypt exhibition, the blind are permitted to touch the engraved stones, so you do - and gasp as you realize you can read the hieroglyphs as easily as braille.
|
Pt 1 of 2:
If you compare what kind of access blind people have to the world around them to that of just twenty years ago, not to mention if you compare it to fifty years ago, it’s been incredible progress. For those of us lucky enough to be born in wealthier countries, at least, and I’m grateful to find myself among them. For all its faults, these days America does do pretty well at keeping up with making things accessible to those who experience the world differently.
*The Temple of Dendur represents a modestly proportioned example of a building type, common in the Ptolemaic and Roman Periods, that has its roots in earlier Egyptian architecture…*
The museum I visited today was one of those moments I most appreciated where and when I lived. I had so much curiosity of the world around me, I love learning, soaking up knowledge, and history was of particular fascination to me. And the new exhibit the museum had set up on ancient Egypt was something I’d looked forward to for a while.
*This lion with cartouches of Necho II on its shoulders displays features unexpected in Egypt at this time…*
When I arrived, I was given headphones for the audio tour, which I plugged into each exhibit as I passed it. There was also a guide named Josefine that walked the area with me and helped me along, allowing me to take as much time as I’d like, even listening to the information more than once if I wanted to. And the coolest thing? The ‘Do Not Touch’ signs may as well have not been there.
I mean, I couldn’t see them, but I think if they’d been strict on that part despite my blindness, I don’t think that would’ve worked as an excuse.
*In ancient Egypt, temples were seen as residences for deities, who were thought to temporarily manifest themselves in the cult statues located in the sanctuary…*
Then the tablet. I ran my fingers down the rough surface, sliding my fingers over the hieroglyphs, and a shudder ran down my spine and my breath caught in my throat.
I could read it.
Blind people don’t think in pictures, perhaps unsurprisingly, and I’ve had conversations with sighted friends of how my mind ‘sees’ things. It’s difficult to describe the lack of something to someone, but basically, I think of things in terms of how they feel, how they sound, how they taste, and how they smell, just like everyone else. It’s just the sight of it that’s missing which gives me Braille, for example, as a feeling rather than something I see with my eyes. And so the feeling of the engraved words here was just like everything else, except it *made sense*.
I yanked the earbuds from my ears, letting them drop carelessly to the ground. “What-What is this?” I managed.
There was a pause. “These tablets are…The Amarna Letters,” Josefine told me. “The description I’ve got to read is, “Clay cuneiform tablet; letter from Tushratta of-”
“It’s ancient Egyptian, that’s what it’s written in?” I interrupted. It was an unnecessary question, though. This wasn’t Braille, or even English, which I knew how to trace the letters of, having done so in my childhood with a wooden puzzle board toy. The symbols were foreign, but they made sense. They held meaning. Which was impossible.
The next pause from my tour guide was longer. “Yes, ancient Egyptian,” she said softly. “Hieratic.”
I swallowed hard as my mind raced. Maybe I was imagining things? Something about the feeling of the symbols was instinctive, perhaps. Something that my brain was ascribing meaning to just because it reminded me of something else. I tried to make that explanation make sense. Until the tour guide spoke again, at least.
“Can you read it?”
I let out a harsh breath. “Is this English or something?” I asked. “Is this- Are you playing a prank or-”
“No, this is hieratic, and unless you’ve studied it, you shouldn’t be able to read it,” Josefine told me gently. “But you can, can’t you?”
“That’s… How is that possible?”
She sighed and when she spoke her voice was a mixture of curiosity and awe. “I’ve never met a Polyglot who is blind before, so this is probably the coolest thing that’s ever happened,” she mused.
“I’m not… A polyglot is someone who knows multiple languages,” I said. “I only know English, I don’t-”
“Capital P,” she explained. “Can I escort us to somewhere…more private? So we can talk?”
I nodded slowly.
|
"And as we lay our pharaoh to rest with his gold, his son — our ruler to be — cried over the coffin. A boy of thirteen, he was as old as his father had been to take the throne. But the boy wasn't like his father. He hadn't learnt to be cruel, nor buried away his innocence.
At sunrise, he emerged from the limestone, awaited by the guards and behind them, the city. But he paid them no heed. Out of sorrow or out of delusion, the boy turned his back to his people and instead, began to climb. He laboured up his father's tomb brick by brick, falling often but getting up always. It was a while till he reached the peak, but only then did he free his eyes of the tears. He wanted to see clearly now — to see clearly into the heavens which he believed the fire hid.
And he must have been right too, because once he cast his eye upon the sun, he no longer even cared to blink. Falling to his knees, the boy stared for hours until darkness came. And then he stayed longer, waiting for the light to come back again.
But it never did."
| 2021-02-16T09:06:03
| 2021-02-16T08:17:49
| 237
| 115
|
[WP] You're midway into your flight when you, feeling bored, decided to surf the Internet. You read breaking news about another plane disappearance. You're on that flight.
|
This was the first flight I've been on where I was bored enough to pay for Wifi. I had a window seat, but we were heading through thick fog. I had loaded my phone with games, but the battery died. The inflight movie was Daddy Day Care 3, for god's sake. I thought they only made that to use as punishment in CIA interrogations. I couldn't take it anymore; I reached around my neighbor's elbow, who was generously taking up the entire armrest, and got out my wallet.
Naturally, I loaded up Reddit first. Normally, I stick to a limited number of subreddits but today I just wanted to zone out and see some cat pictures in /r/all. And yet, even Reddit was against me: the top stories were all focused on yet another plane crash. *Perfect to read while flying*, I thought. I almost skipped over the story, but one detail in the headline grabbed my attention: the flight had left from Raleigh, just like mine. It's not a huge airport. I'd probably seen all of those passengers on their way to their plane! How creepy.
I didn't believe the information in the text. United Flight 617 on its way to Denver... that was *my* flight. I even got out my little ticket stub to check. There has to be some kind of mistake. A different post loaded.... exact same information. I checked CNN; if they can do one thing, it's cover a missing plane. They had the exact same information.
I managed to crawl over the mountain of a man in the middle seat and made my way down the aisle to the stewardess taking drink orders up in first class. I thrust the tablet into her hands. "What is *this*?" I practically screamed.
She ushered me away from the rich people and back to my seat. "Just a mistake, sir. The pilots are sorting it out now. Everything is fine with the plane." She shoved a mini bottle of vodka into my hand and winked. "How about you just relax, and we'll be arriving soon."
Well, if the pilots knew about it, then that was OK. Clearly the plane was still flying, right?
I was just buckling my seatbelt when I happened to glance out the window. We'd left the cloud bank, and I had a clear view of the slate grey ocean below, spreading out in every direction. It didn't click immediately as I gazed out.
*There's no ocean on the way to Denver*...
I leapt from my seat and raced after the stewardess. She made it to the back of the plane just in time and saw me coming down the aisle after her. She slammed a metal grate closed that blocked off the little back compartment where they kept all the food. She looked directly at me and shook her head slowly with a sad smile. The other flight attendants peered around their corner and rolled their eyes. "How did he find out?" one of them said. From one of the uppermost compartments, they pulled out gas masks and strapped them on.
"We're ready," she said into the mic. The mask filter made her voice odd and robotic There was a brief pause, and then the red hazard lights turned on
"We're sorry to have to do this," The Captain announced over the intercom. That was the only explanation he gave as thick smoke began to seep into the cabin. Some of the other passengers stood and looked around, wondering what that cryptic message meant. Then they too noticed the gas filling the cabin, and began pawing at the little compartment where oxygen masks were supposed to drop from. I rattled the grate as hard as I could while the flight attendants just looked on, slightly amused. Like looking at a zoo animal.
My eyes grew heavy, and I sank to the floor as everything went black.
----
[By request, Part 2](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/31thu6/missing/cq4vhue). If you liked how it ended, then just don't read this part.
|
"Just want I want to see on a long flight, thanks Internet," I muttered to myself as I opened up the daily news. Among the many sponsored content articles and "Share on reddit!" icons, I sometimes would find it difficult to find real news. This was interesting. I'll admit, I wasn't going to read it, especially since the lady beside me, sitting by the window, staring out nervously, did not seem to be such a comfortable flyer. No sense in making anyone nervous, I thought, closing my laptop. I sat back and listened to some music, trying to ignore the asshat in front of me, who's seat seemed to be leaning back so far that it was a hair away from my nose. No in flight movies for me then, I thought. I looked out the window and tried to relax. There was something about that news article I couldn't clear from my head, though. I opened up the laptop again and tried to do some work to prepare for the many meetings that were awaiting me upon arrival. After writing a few sentences, my mind once again trailed off, lost in a whirlwind of economic statistics, music, and something else. Something elusive. Something didn't feel right. I finally gave in. Opened the news story. Read into it.
*-Reuters New York Bureau -*
*A British Airways flight from JFK Intl. Airport in New York bound for Heathrow Intl. in London has lost contact with radar operators over the Atlantic Ocean. It was last detected over 100 kilometres off course, heading south.*
That struck me as odd, as we were on the same flight path, but there are hundreds of BA flights from NYC to London daily, I figured. I read on.
*"We have no reason to believe there is bad weather or pilot error involved" said an agent with the NTSB. The pilots seemed very collected when we last had contact with them, and the weather is remarkably smooth in the area. They had the wind at their tail as well; it is puzzling to say the least," he added. "The aircraft is brand new and passed all tests with flying colours, so we have no good idea of what has happened yet." When asked if he thought the plane was still flying, he said there was "...a very good chance of that, yes. Right now our priority is re-establishing contact."*
I chuckled to myself. Quite the elaborate story. I kicked off my shoes and made myself comfortable, nothing to worry about, then. I scrolled down and saw a picture of the plane. The caption hit me like a train.
*A plane similar to that of flight A-0666 takes off from the airport, photographed in March of 2015."*
That flight number sounded oddly familiar. I got out my notes, hastily scrawled on a piece of paper, which held all the information pertaining to my flight. The flight numbers matched. I looked around. Everyone, sitting there, oblivious to the fact we're off the grid, perhaps destined to be lost in a maelstrom of the sea below. I have to warn everyone, somehow....
I got out of my seat. I headed for the cockpit and ducked into the lavatory. Snuck behind the stewardess. The cockpit door was slightly ajar. I went in.
"Captain, I...I apologize for the intrusion, but I saw-" I stopped dead. Both pilot and co-pilot sat there, heads cocked to the side. I walked over. Unresponsive. I knew well enough that they were dead. Asphyxiation by the looks of it. My adrenaline kicked in and I started... to act. I didn't think what the consequences might be for getting caught in a situation like this, but I didn't care. I had to act. To save this plane. I dropped the air masks. Everything seemed to be in working order on the control panel. I had never flown before, but I noticed the plane was in a slight descent. I pulled up and contacted the nearest radar station. Adjusted the heading. Could this bucket make it to anywhere near land before we all died of oxygen deprivation? I had no idea. Only one way to find out, I figured. I pushed speed up to full throttle, muttered a prayer, and hoped for a miracle.
| 2015-04-07T17:20:08
| 2015-04-07T17:18:52
| 1,143
| 38
|
[WP] You have the power to heal mental illnesses. To do so, you enter the minds of others, where you and the illness fight in subconscious hand-to-hand combat. You've seen all the ugly faces of the major illnesses, and beaten them all, but today you encounter one you've never seen before.
|
There was nothing hiding in anyone's mind that couldn't be defeated. And I was the only one that could eradicate them all - I'd proven that, time and again.
Depression was a black and cloying fog, smothering everything in its path, that wanted nothing more than to seep back into the mind. Until I found the ways it used to sneak back in, and blocked the path. Anxiety managed to hook its claws into me from behind when I thought I'd ripped it apart. A sneaky one: the trick was to make it think it had won, and then overpower it. There was a young man I treated whose mind was filled with a calm, deadly desire to bring things to order. To put you in exactly the place it wanted. I destroyed it by fighting dirty, by using every nasty trick I had to repulse it into non-existence.
I was prepared when I dove inward, desperate to affirm that there would be nothing waiting for me. I'd been to scared to venture there for years, terrified that I've been as sick as my patients all along. Me, who had been born with a gift that made me special, that told me I had a unique role in the world. There *couldn't* be anything to fix down there.
I felt a staggering relief when I opened my eyes and saw only a projection of myself. Nothing horrifying lurking in the corners - the sickness I had fought all came in the shape of monsters. Shadows and decay, claws swiping from the dark. But this was just me, smiling gently. I took a step closer, delighted. I was so often faced with ugliness when diving into a mind. I should have known mine would be filled with beauty.
"Sam! I wondered when you'd come visit me," it said. "You look wonderful! What have you been up to?"
I touched its face, a stunning twin to my own. "I've been saving people. Wiping out the ugliness infecting them. Do you know I've developed a technique to fight their illnesses directly? I can uproot them in a single session! I'm really good at it, you know."
"Of course you are! You're the only one who can save them," it said, taking hold of my hands and laughing to reveal a perfect set of teeth. "You're like a god compared to them, you know that right?"
"Well, I don't..." I began, but it placed a finger on my lips and shook its head.
"Hush. I'm right, you know I am. I'm always right."
"Yes," I said, and looked around me. "I thought there might be something down here for me to fight, you know. I want to be perfectly healthy, treating my patients."
Its face darkened ever so slightly, its grip tightening on my wrist. The mouth twisted into a sneer, almost spoiling its beauty. "Of course you're healthy. Don't *ever* doubt yourself. It would hurt us, you know. It could kill you. Now get out of here, and go save those pathetic vermin you call your patients."
"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" I laughed uneasily, but it didn't so much as smile in return.
"I'm right about them, as I am about you. You're above them. And you're above coming down here, thinking you're sick. Now tell me - what are you, Sam?"
"I'm perfect," I said, and it embraced me.
"You are. In fact, I think you can start charging those people more for the service you do them. What you're doing is nothing short of a miracle. You can charge them anything you want, ok? You're entitled."
I was shaken back to reality by the sound of a knock on the door. A teenage girl looked at me, her face seeming pinched and grey in the morning light.
"Sorry to disturb you, Doctor Larson," she said. "I'm here for my appointment. I - I've been having those thoughts again. About hurting myself."
I blinked, and smiled at her mistake. The depression couldn't be back, I'd killed it for good. I never made mistakes, it simply wasn't possible. This must be a different beast entirely: some delusion, no doubt, which had been hiding when I dealt with the depression. Perhaps schizophrenia.
"Come sit down, Annie," I said politely. "We'll get to the bottom of this. But first, I have to discuss a small matter. I've been reviewing the fees for my services, which I think is more than fair for what I provide. But don't worry - we'll have you feeling better soon. In fact, I don't think you have depression at all. We dealt with that. You'll be perfectly alright in no time, I'm sure."
-------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
We had just finished the breathing techniques that allowed to relaxed when I felt the psychic pull into her subconscious. Her mind looked like a serene Rocky Mountain Lake, like one Bob Ross would have painted. She had mentioned that watching his shows gave her some peace, so it would make sense that this is what her mind would choose to go to.
The place smelled odd. Something that most people forget is the power of smell to make us remember things. This particular smell though...made me think of alcohol and sweaty gym shoes. That didn't seem to fit with the painted mind setting, but I just chalked it up to repressed memories as those tend to come out in strange ways. I wandered out to the peer and saw that the lake was brushed over with a light fog. A mental block. This was either Alzheimer or a concussion. The way to get through this kind of block was to get something from the either side to break it. Not entirely sure why.
I thought of something that could lure something out and a fishing rod appeared in my hand. It already had a fish on the hook. I got comfortable and cast the line. Unfortunately now all I could do was wait til something broke through the wall or something else made itself known to me. Strangely I didn't have to wait long.
There was a loud pop, like a bathtub plug being lifted, and the fog grew to where it covered my head. Well, this is gonna be a tough fight if this much fog was released. But then I heard a strange British accent.
"What are you doing in my waters?"
The fog started to clear. I saw a strange scaly man-fish sitting next to me on the peer. It wore a pink tu-tu and a silver jacket. It's hair was seaweed and it had a black algae mustache.
"What are you?"
"I'm Old Gregg!" it shouted.
"I was searching for something on the other side of the lake." I had never seen anything like this before. It didn't seem too violent, so it probably wasn't the disease I was looking for. But It might know where the disaese might be.
"I know you were. The hook is stuck in my head."
"So it is...Can I ask--"
"What do you think of me?"
I was taken aback. I had dealt with narcissism before, but it never acted this fast.
"I don't think much of you right now."
"Do you love me?"
There is was.
"Never"
The creature stood and lifted the tu-tu. Brilliant light showed, nearly blinding me.
"I'm OLD GREGG!!!!"
I punched directly into the light and felt my fist hit squishy flesh. The creature vanished in a puff of mist and all was clear.
The mind had become a completed painting and there was life. The smell changed as well. Now it smelled like cheap air freshener and bacon. Definitely a healthy mind now.
| 2017-04-24T23:58:28
| 2017-04-24T22:29:24
| 1,859
| 28
|
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive.
|
I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records.
|
"Excuse me-" I begin timidly fingers gripping the counter, "Is this the office for application of immortality."
The woman behind the counter grunted slightly.
"I'd like to make for immortality please."
She sighed pushing her well worn office chair over to the far corner and began rifling through a stack of papers grabbing papers from various shelves.
"Actually I-uh, I already finished that." I explained dropping what had been an excessive amount of paperwork down onto the counter with an audible thud
She began rifling through at a tediously slow rate but eventually gave another grunt and stretched slightly, "under section 1-21-21-21 of the 'Public Immortality Act' I'm required to explain as follows, firstly you will not age and your body will not alter following the pending immortality you are to achieve."
I nod
"Secondly, are you aware that any attempts to use your immortality for abuse or criminal purposes will result in a revocation of your immortality as outlined in form 22-1 'Limitations to Actions of Immortal Individuals'"
I nod again.
"thirdly are you aware that save a state revocation or an application in full of A-21-16 'Petition for Revocation of Immortality' you will be unable to die no matter the circumstances.
I nod.
She hesitates before pushing an envelope towards me "Your packet, please proceed to room 1-B where you will finish the instructions and return."
I hesitated, hands trembling before accepting the plain manila envelope, picking it up it felt oddly heavy in my hands. The journey toward the room was surreal, the lights brighter, the sounds more muted, reaching the room I gently closed and bolted the door and sat down in the chair provided. The trembling in my hands continued and I hesitated for what felt like an eternity before undoing the twine keeping the envelope closed.
A small slip of paper and and a red pen with numbers on the side of it fell onto my lap.
Curious, I picked up the paper, reading the plain black font written neatly on it.
"Individual with most ink applied to left toenail via Department of Immortality Applications pen #141435"
It took a few seconds for the ridiculousness to process before I removed my shoe and sock and did as requested, though feeling no different I placed the items back into the envelope and exited the room. Approaching the counter again I placed the envelope in front of the woman, who gave me the same impassive stare.
"Congratulations on your immortality," she said, no doubt out of requirement "Your envelope will be sealed away in the department vault to prevent tampering, if you have any further questions let me know, the department would like to advise you however to avoid revealing the record leading to your immortality to anyone to avoid incident or compromising it."
I stood dumbfounded, "So that's really it?"
The woman gave me a slightly confused look, probably the first expression she had given me, "what's it?"
"That's my record something so inane?" I stammered "not skydiving or deepest part of the ocean reached?! I just-"
"Those are prohibitively expensive records to set and difficult to break should incident or desire to revoke occur, no one has what you might call 'legitimate records' anymore"
"But what if you can't break it? What if my toenails are longer than the guy you tell to break it?"
"Please sir might I remind you about revealing records leading to immortality? Besides we have preventative measures against that."
"What might that be?" I asked
"Well we do have one employee on hand who has what you might call a 'legitimate record'."
"Oh?"
"World's longest toenails."
| 2016-12-14T10:34:13
| 2016-12-14T10:32:04
| 85
| 12
|
[WP] Write a grand, well-written story, but subtly slip in memes.
|
"My lord[.](http://f.tqn.com/y/netforbeginners/1/W/t/c/leo2.PNG)" he said kneeling before the king.
"Hello Greg, tell me the news." The king said.
"We've sent Richard out to spread the word." Greg said.
"Which one?" The king asked.
"Both of them, they've both been sent my lord."
"There's something you're not telling me." The king said shifting in his seat.
"Well..." Greg said trailing off.
"Well what?" the king asked[.](http://sitepullzone.iamalwayswithyou.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/funny-meme.jpg)
"Jeff has escaped." Greg said in a low voice.
"The killer?"
"Yes." Greg confirmed.
"How was he able to get past the hounds?" The king asked, clenching his fists.
"Well[...](http://i0.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/medium/000/007/831/10-guy.jpg) you see... there was only one on duty."
"Who[!](http://www.relatably.com/m/img/funny-memes/522e1ee1c4ffc005fe0e7d2a3a79c7d7.jpg)" The king asked his voice nearing a shout.
"Moon Moon." Greg said sounding deflated.
"He had one job!" The king yelled[.](http://euw.leagueoflegends.com/board/attachment.php?attachmentid=187086&d=1398962686)
"B-but, I shall gather my best men and leave to hunt down the killer at the crack of dawn[.](http://pixel.nymag.com/imgs/daily/vulture/2015/12/11/yic/11-yic-memes.w529.h352.jpg)" Greg said wanting to impress the king.
"Yes yes. You are a good guy. You may leave"
"Thank you my lord.["](https://i.imgflip.com/169a4q.jpg) Greg said before leaving.
****
What now? The king thought as he watched the door to his chamber slowly ease open.
"My lord." A young boy knelt before him clutching something in his hands.
"What are those[?](https://i.imgflip.com/1aehz9.jpg)" The king said pointing to the worn and dirtied shoes in the boys hands.
["](https://vice-images.vice.com/images/content-images/2016/05/25/i-asked-the-founder-of-know-your-meme-why-memes-are-funny-body-image-1464210632.jpg?resize=*:*&output-quality=75)They are the killer's shoes, one of the men who went out found them and told me to bring them to you. They think they are close on his tail[."](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jc1ceEcUKJI/VsHB4r9MW6I/AAAAAAAAAMw/6SMxhHGW5IE/s1600/happy-birthday-meme.jpg)
"Which man?"
"Richard, my lord."
"Good, good." The king said, p[l](http://memesvault.com/wp-content/uploads/Best-Meme-17.jpg)eased that his men were making progress in the hunt.
"You may leave." The king said.
"Thank you lord Harambe." The boy said before bowing and leaving.
****
^(I think I made some of them too obvious.)
|
When I was a child, Father told me that dragons were real.
I didn't believe him. I never believed him. To this day, I do not believe him. After all, monsters don't exist on Mother Earth, blessed by God as she is. This place, this planet, is a land of calming blue seas and lush green grass. On every corner of the world, human beings walk and carry on with their day-to-day life.
Our way is that of peace and hard work. Our creed is to make our bread and do good each and every day. All my life, that's something I believed. I never needed anyone to tell me that and I never wanted anyone to.
But, there's always a but. I am, but man. And man do err at times.
I had taken to the lake one afternoon, a few weeks prior to when I first became disillusioned with my beliefs. It was just a lake, as serene and calm as one could be. Driftwood floated on the edge sometimes and ducks, on occasion, sat and swam on it too. I remember exactly what I'd been doing. It was reading. If my memory serves correct, it was just some silly prayer book I bought secondhand at the store.
I had looked up from it, taking in the sight of the lake, when the small beast caught my eye.
It did not make a sound, nor had skin like a man. It was scaly from its texture, which seemed to glisten in the sunlight. Where its head appeared to be, two large sacs seemed to poke out. The green sacs pulled apart to reveal milky white underneath. Black dots, huge and unholy upon the white, stared at me with a passive coldness.
I yelped and pulled myself to my feet. My feet retreated from the strange abomination of the sea. Sweat dripped from my brow as I grasped tightly on my book.
The beast croaked, making a strange and inhuman sound as it seemed to... vocalize.
"How are you, human man?" asked the beast.
I said nothing. I was piqued with a strange curiosity that played fiddle with my feelings of danger. Inwards, however, I pulled for courage, uttering hymn to the Lord in hopes of protection.
"Ahh, you appear to be frightened by my appearance. It is fine. Most of you humans are. I suppose it feels good at times, man. Fear is synonymous with respect with my people."
My breaths were deep and shallow. The beast sat no farther than a few meters from me. Every feeling in my arms and legs told me to run. But, I did not. For monsters weren't real and there had been a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. That's what I had hoped.
It must've been some fever dream of mine that conjured up the green thing at the lake. Perhaps, my mind had taken ill and afflicted me with the sight that had agonized grandfather years ago. Was this some elaborate foolishness of a friend of mine from the school?
No, I knew that. But knowing is not believing.
I knew that there was a monster in front of me. But, I do not believe in monsters.
The beast man croaked, "Pardon me. I had just come up here to inform you to beware of that book of yours. Has a nasty bit of history to it. Has to do with that old band of red-cloaked villains that used to parade the country for a while."
I gulped and loosened my grip on the book.
"You seem to recognize my description? That's good. Infamy's a good way to signal incoming danger for the common folk, I suppose. I'm a polite frog myself, but most others of the lake won't take kindly to that sigil on your book. Best to get rid of it, mhmm?"
I stared at the monster and prayed to God. The clouds turned black and thunder clapped from the hellish heavens up above. The frog man raised his freakish eyes in surprise.
A flashing white bolt struck the ground nearby the frog man, igniting a piece of driftwood with brilliant hellfire. Of course, I could not show my satisfaction on my face. It's unseemly for a man such as myself.
The frog man sighed, "I should've expected this, shouldn't I? You folks are all the same."
And that was the last that came from his mouth. A croak that barely sufficed as speech was muffled by another bang of thunder shortly after. The frog man should've known better than to insult men such as my brothers. But, then again, no one ever expects us.
I informed Torquemada about the lake soon after.
| 2016-09-13T21:27:16
| 2016-09-13T21:06:17
| 116
| 40
|
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door.
|
It's been seven years.
Seven *long* years.
Just over seven years ago, when I was fifteen, my sister, Camille, vanished. She and I normally walked to school together, but that morning I told her to go on ahead, that I would catch up, and I skipped school. No harm, I thought, nothing any other young rebellious kid wouldn't do.
Of course, when she wasn't there when I went to pick her up, feeling slightly guilty for ditching her, I knew something had to have gone wrong. I'd spent the last few hours in the arcade, burning the last of my allowance, but I *knew* I'd gotten back in time to walk her home, and she wasnt there.
I went home, expecting that someone had saw me, told my parents, and maybe they had picked her up and were going to scold me, but when I got home they acted like they didn't know her, said they've never even *met* a Camille.
They've acted like that for seven years, now.
- - - - -
A knock at the door startled me back to reality. Standing up from the table where I had been slowing eating breakfast, I went to see who was here. It was early, for me anyways, around eight. I smiled wistfully, remembering that I'd be waving goodbye to Camille about now, already late for class.
I opened the door and, for a moment, saw no-one. Then my brain caught up and I looked down. A kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, stood on my doorstep. He looked like he was late for school, dressed in the local uniform, backpack in hand. He looked at me, and I could see a determination there I didn't expect, even if tears were welling in the corners of his eyes. He had a printout in his hand, some article by the looks of it.
"You're Thomas, right?" he asked. "Thomas Bartholomew?"
I nodded. "You've got the right house. Can I help you?"
He showed me the article, and I immediately recognized the headline. **Local Boy Seeks Sister!** It was an old article, a journalist that had taken pity on me came out and asked about my "supposedly-vanished" sister, and ran an article about her. No pictures, of course, those had all vanished too, or had changed.
"What of it?" I asked warily. I wasn't in the mood for being mocked, but what would bring this fifteen year-old to my doorstep, except...
"It's Marie, sir," he said, his voice breaking and the tears beginning to flow. "She's gone, too."
|
The knock sounded on the door to my room. I glanced up, confused. We weren't really a knocking family, or at least mom and dad weren't. Still, I was thankful for the chance to compose myself, and I quickly folded the caricature into my pocket. I always liked to bring it out on D-Day, just to see her and refresh my memory.
I coughed to clear my throat, "Come in!"
The knock sounded once more.
"I said come in!"
A silence. Then the knock.
Grumbling to myself, I rolled off my bed and made my way over to the door, turning the handle and pulling it inward. A strange woman met my eyes. She was a few years older than me, maybe in her early twenties. She regarded me for a moment, her stare impassive.
"It would be easier for all involved if you stopped," she said.
I took a step back, "I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?"
"A Guardian." She made use of the distance I had created and made her way into my room. She sat upon my bed and spread her slate grey dress. A metal brooch in the shape of a shield stood on the lapel of her suit jacket top. Once she was settled, she continued. "I stand betwixt Here and There, protecting that which is Here from that which is There."
"Here and There?" I'm still gawking at her. "That doesn't make any sense, and you still haven't told me who you are. Are you some sort of police officer or something?" I made a police report on my sisters disappearance every year, updating it with what I had found the prior year. After the second year, they had stopped responding.
"I have told you who I am, it just does not make any sense to you," she replied.
"Great, well, there's not much difference from where I'm standing. Just go. Mom doesn't like me to have girls in my room," I replied.
She arched a brow and offered a small giggle. "I see, yes, well, that would not do at all. I was simply here to deliver a message and I can be on my way." She smoothed her dress around her thighs but made no other move indicating she would leave.
"Okay, Guardian, easier for who if I stopped what?" I said.
Her smile broadened now. "Yes, that is more like it. The who is important in a request like this. On one level, all of us," she swept her arms outward, "all of humanity that is, are involved in the matter of Here and There. But, if I were to be specific about the intent of my message, I would say that your efforts are an inconvenience to those who defend Here from There specifically."
"What do you mean, Here and There?" I ask.
"There is where They reside. Here is where We reside," she replied, matter-of-factly.
"And We and They do not get along?"
Her lips pressed together. "No. We and They do not get along."
"And what does this have to do with me stopping whatever it is you want me to stop?"
"We would ask you to stop inquiring into the matter of your sister." She said, her hands clasped in her lap.
The words struck me like a bolt of lightning, my heart thudded in my chest and my mouth went dry. It had been so long since anyone other than myself had mentioned her, so long since there was any indication she had ever existed at all beyond my own fever dreams. "My sister?"
She nodded, "Yes, your sister."
I stumble over to the bed, and fall into a seat beside her. "You...you know about her?" I ask.
She smiles lightly, just an uptick at the corner of her lips. "Yes, Sam is a friend of mine."
My eyes water and I find it hard to breathe. The strange woman knew my sister's name. Knew my sister. My sister was real, just as I'd always known. "Where is she. Please, tell me where she is." I reached out and grabbed the woman's hand. It was like clutching molten steel. I snatched my hand back, and examined it for burns. There was nothing there.
"It is best if you do not touch me."
"But you know her. You know Sam. I've been looking...looking for so long." I pulled the caricature out of my pocket and folded it, showing it to the woman. "She disappeared--"
"She did not disappear. She was erased, and for good purpose."
"Erased? What...did you do this? Did you steal her?" I asked.
"She left willingly, as all who are asked to fight the There are. It was not me, but a Finder from the organization I work for."
"Left willingly? She was eleven! She couldn't make a choice like that, she was just a kid, she wouldn't understand," I've hopped up from the bed and I'm pacing in front of her.
"That is what makes your sister exceptional. She's an Empath. She always understands," she replied.
I freeze, "An Empath?" My brain wraps around the foreign word, parsing its intent from the rest of what the woman has said. I moment of awe settles over me. "She does, doesn't she?"
She nodded, "Yes. It is an important and rare gift. It is also one that is often abused by those around the Gifted. The Finders exert considerable effort to locate Empaths before they are overloaded with the burden of others."
"Burden of others?"
"They understand all. They feel all. They take it into themselves. They are Empaths, and they fight for the Here," she said.
"Why did everyone else forget her?"
"Because everyone was meant to forget her. You were no exception, the process simply did not work upon you."
"The process? Why didn't it work?" I said.
"Empaths can form a soul bond. It is uncommon, and dangerous for both. When one is formed, there is shared-consciousness that becomes rooted deep within the pair. We believe you and your sister formed one prior to her departure. It is highly disruptive and therefore deeply inconvenient."
"Disruptive? Why?"
Cool blue eyes pore into me. "She feels everything, Jacob. She feels your pain. Feels your sadness. Feels you searching for something which you will never find. She cannot severe the bond, and so she endures, carrying the burden of you as she prepares to fight the There. It is possible she cannot succeed so long as you cloud her mind."
A lump forms in my throat, "She knows I remember her? That I care?"
"I would not be here otherwise."
"And you want me to...just stop? Stop trying to find her?"
"She has chosen this path. She is fighting the There. Fighting for Us. Fighting for you," the woman said, her voice softer now. "You must let her go."
"Can't I just see her? Just once?"
"Such a thing would not be possible. It could complicate matters considerably more. I have come to give you some peace of mind. I have also come bearing a gift."
She reached into her suit pocket and withdrew a small envelop. "Read it once, then return it." She handed it to me, making sure our skin did not touch.
I turned it over. The back was sealed in wax with a small, strange insignia of a lock and key on it. I pushed a nail under the seal, brushed the seal away and opened the envelop. Inside was a piece of paper, folded over once. I unfolded it and was greeted by a small collection of sentences.
**PART 1A in following comment. Got too long.**
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2020-05-03T10:57:05
| 2020-05-03T10:51:48
| 192
| 36
|
[WP] Every Monday you and your coworkers order Chinese food for a nice lunch together as a team. Everyone's sharing what their fortune cookie says, laughing, and having a good time. It's almost your turn so you open yours. It says "Don't say anything. Just run as fast you can! Get out now!"
|
I quickly grabbed my stomach and my mouth, dashing out of the room, into the washroom, in an attempt to make it appear as if I was about to throw up.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, the same words kept on repeating in my head:
'Get out now!'
Catching my breath, I let out a little chuckle. Am I seriously going to let some fortune cookie tell me what to do? Since when did fortune cookies actually bring fortune? Last time I checked, the only things it gave me were calories.
But there was something inside me that was telling me to go. To follow the fortune cookie, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.
Better safe than sorry.
I swiftly made my way towards the lift lobby, down the many levels of cubicles filled with office workers, moving as fast as the average worker rushing to go home, excusing myself out of the building in the process. Then I ran.
I ran and ran, and I continued running until I could barely see my office building, thinking that it was a reasonably safe distance away.
That was when I saw the planes crashing down into the neighboring buildings, causing chaos in the already chaotic New York City.
|
The surrounding had seemed normal. Nothing out if the ordinary had appeard or slipped in. Yet that cookie kept pulling at me. What a werid message to put into a simple fortune cookie. My coworkers were all gossiping about the office. Teasing one another for their fortunes. Then it caught my eye. A figure wearing the waiters outfit glared at me. I'd take my chances and I lifted the chair. All four of my companions gave me confirmation for my abrupt leaving. As quick and calm as I could manage. I left a 20 on the table and skipped right out the door. The click of the door put my nerves at ease. A feeling of serenity doused over me. Although a quiet tug told me to make distance between me and the restaurant. In a haste I was dashing through sidewalks and looking like a really enthusiastic jogger. A building has emerged and my apartment stood with the rest. The metallic touch brought to my fingers by a key gave me a shiver. It felt off so I swifted through my pocket and pulled it out. My eyes withdrew with shock. This key wasn't mine? It only had one word on it. "Death"
(I wrote this is 20 minutes, so don't get to mad for the bad plot points)
| 2018-06-10T07:38:37
| 2018-06-10T07:17:00
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world.
|
I remember.
After the fiftieth death or so, I stopped crying as a baby. I remember a Roman wetnurse commenting on how uncanny it was that I never cried. She called me a curse, a jinx, and was frightened to feed me beside her own lustily-howling child. I was too busy remembering to care what she thought of me. That life did not last long; I was stoned as a young man, for what nominal crime I do not recall, but in truth for the crime of being too strange, too different. For remembering too much.
In medieval Japan, I learned to speak less of my recollections and so learned to live longer. In that life, my long memory gave me wisdom that others sought out, even noblemen, though I was only a laborer’s daughter. By then I had learned to temper the stories of my past with the realities of my present. The story of my hunt for antelope as my initiation to my clan in sub-Saharan Africa became a coming-of-age story of a friend’s hunt for serow in the forests near my home. The story of the birth of my first son as the third wife of a tribal elder in the Arabian peninsula, I omitted entirely. In this way, I survived well into my ninth decade and saw the births of seven grandchildren and fifteen great-grandchildren.
I still have difficulty crying as an infant. The first shock of awareness after a death is jarring, and I will often cry out at the first taste of air in new lungs, the first slash of light across new eyes; but I rarely wail as most infants do after that. Sometimes I weep for my family and friends lost in a previous life, alone in my crib in the dark. Sometimes I tear up in frustration as I struggle to lift a head still too large for my tiny body, or to form words that my new tongue cannot yet shape. Mostly, though, I am a pensive child, lost in memory.
I lie here, at night, in my crib. I remember many cribs. Many of them have mobiles over them, toys suspended from strings that I can look at, and reach for, but never touch. The shapes and colors of the toys have changed over time. For many lives, the toys were carved of wood or woven from grasses, and represented animals that would later be a part of the landscape. With the advent of mass production came mobiles with plush stars and moons in pale pastel fabric that sang tinkly little songs as they spun in circles. With the advent of certain advances in child psychology came mobiles with black-and-white checks and bright colors, which were admittedly easier for new eyes to focus on. This new mobile was hand-made by my new mother, who eschews mass production where it fails to deliver her visions; and who, when she found that no toymaker made a suitable mobile with the planets of the solar system, crocheted one herself.
I remember many mothers.
I remember many daughters, many sons, many husbands and wives.
I remember.
EDIT: Thanks for gold! It’s my first gold! And thanks for comments. This was a fun prompt. I’ll definitely be doing more of this. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this subreddit before now...
|
My story is the same as the story of mankind.
The two are inexorably interconnected as far as I am concerned. They cannot be separated because the very cores of their nature are entwined. After exploring so much land, researching so many concepts, meeting so many people, I am the best example of it anyway. There is no other human alive who has seen what I've seen. No other human alive who remembers what I can.
The human mind is impressive. I figured that out after the first dozen rebirths. Back there in the wilderness before I could even work myself to a stable living, dying was more common, after all. But what astonished me then was how I remembered it all. How I remember it all every single time I am born. From the moment of my birth, the memories dance through my mind. At first, it means nothing because the neural pathways have yet to be developed. But slowly and surely, I am able to experience my past lives.
I am able to learn from them. That is the most important part—and that is what has surprised me most about the continual cycle of life. As a hunter that was recycled into tribe after tribe, all I'd known were the most basic of strategies. The most basic of methods to manufacture tools of stone and bone. The most basic of patterns when it came to tracking wildlife across the savanna. Slowly though, that changed. My mind was able to adapt to the message that the universe was sending me time after time.
One can only die by starvation a handful of times before they end up wanting something different.
So instead, I did what humans supposedly do best. I learned. I adapted. I changed my tactics and used the information that was trapped in my head for some kind of progress.
Firstly it was noticing patterns with our prey. Then it was noticing tensions between people—between different tribes. And then it was doing everything I could to put those tensions to rest.
The going was difficult when I started out. Changing peoples' minds was as difficult a task back then as it is in modern times, after all. Harder, even, since these people hadn't known anything different. But eventually they came around. Eventually, they listened to what I was saying and let me solve problems one-by-one. And once the fruits of my labor started rolling in, they all saw the benefit at once.
More consistent food sources. Better collaboration between people. The increased connectivity even sparked innovation. The tribes began observing water as they explored new areas. They studied the plants that grew around rivers and the bright tasty confections that hung off trees. They tested against their environment to see what kind of gifts it could hold.
It tested them back, of course. Mother nature is nothing if not fickle. At one point, I was even the victim of poisoning due to wrongful identification.
Yet through the trials and tribulations, progress started to get made. Actual innovations sparked seemingly out of nowhere and the lists of benefits only grew.
The speed of it accelerated too as more and more people started working together. In my first few dozen lives, I saw maybe one achievement every few decades. As soon as the farming started—the agriculture and the seeds of civilization, though, more and more started to get done.
Humans diversified; they adapted to their new surroundings. They took the newfound food supplies in stride and started doing better things with their time. They made progress in the sciences—they got more intricate with the art. They codified laws and started with the ideas of rights. Of protecting their own so that their kin could have opportunities they themselves would never see.
And I was there through all of it—through all the heavens and the hells. Through the thriving and the suffering, we never truly gave up. As a species, we had already come too far, and we were not one to be destroyed by the very nature which we had used as a tool. Unfortunately, mother nature did pay the cost for our survival, but I still hold that we did well.
I kept doing what I knew and kept building upon that as well. I pulled from my collective memory in the same way I always did and helped humanity at every turn that I was able. Sometimes I made mistakes, and sometimes things were lost in time. But never did I forget the cores of my being. Never did I forget the purely human aspects that were the reason our species could thrive at all.
Never did I stop surviving. Never did I stop adapting. Never did I stop yearning for something more.
Never did I stop learning, and I think that is the most beautiful part of it all. That is the only part of human existence that has continued to baffle me to this day. Because while the petty fights of modern times are similar at their core to the ones I saw long ago, we find a way to dress them up as new every time. We find a way to know more about life than we ever have before.
We find a way to improve, just like I've done through every generation I've lived. Yet, even for me, it is ultimately futile. No matter how I adapt or how I learn from my mistakes, mother nature spites me at the end. I always die when there is more to do—only to have to suffer through the beginnings of life before I can help out again.
There is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable fate.
Whether that is a thing of horror or a thing of beauty, I do not know. All I know is that it is the truth, and it is one I am still desperately trying to understand.
But whether I know it or not, my story continues on. It echoes out through history like ripples through a pond. And I am glad that it does because my story is the same as the story of mankind.
---
/r/Palmerranian
| 2019-07-31T20:34:36
| 2019-07-31T18:59:09
| 444
| 267
|
[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
|
Hey kiddo. It's been too long since I've seen you. It's crushing to carry this weight some time. I'm really trying to show you that you can grow up and accomplish anything but it's manifesting in me leaving you behind. Your mom and I weren't right. She will forever hate me for it but I needed to do this for my happiness. You'll learn one day that everything comes at a price, and I've paid a huge one in losing you. There's this part of me that hopes one day you'll understand. There's also a part of me that knows you might grow up and feel abandoned and alone and lacking a male influence in your life, find the first shitty guy that comes along and fall in love with him because you never knew what love from a man is supposed to look like. I made so many huge mistakes. I just was trying to be more. I grew up with nothing and I was determined to make sure you never had to live like that. Your mom thinks I'm selfish and only care about myself. Somehow it always felt like I was doing it for you. So you could see. You can start with nothing and still achieve your dreams. You can be anything. I hope one day you see that I never stopped loving you. I just wasn't happy with your mom and someone else made me feel the way I was supposed to feel. I hope when you are given the choice, you choose happiness. I love you and I miss you. Please don't hate me.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T22:18:21
| 27
| 14
|
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony...
|
"This is something," the hat mused, "something rather unusual."
My mind racing, I focused on everything I knew about the practical world of magic. Misdirection, slight of hand, proper rabbit care - every bit of knowledge that had gotten me to this hallowed seat at the front of The Great Hall.
"I can tell you have ambition, yes, but how will it assist you in this setting? What use can you be to any of your peers or professors?" the hat spoke quietly into my ear.
"I work hard. I can learn any magical trade. Anything will be fine. Really!" I pleaded.
The hat paused. "Anything? Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Right then," whispered the hat, loosening its grip from my sweating brow. "FILCH! Come forward," it bellowed across the heads of onlooking students, "I've finally found you an apprentice."
|
"Well, basically the hat sorts you into a house based on your personality and magical aptitude"
The hat sorts you into a house based on your personality and magical aptitude.
I have no magical aptitude.
As the other children were called up to be given their place in one of the four houses, I was overcome by the sudden feeling that my place would be the nearest exit door. I was never given a lot of information about Hogwarts, my parents were wizards, true, but I had absolutely no magical abilities whatsoever. I've heard it from my father once, a squib is what they call people like me. The pain and disappointment in his voice when he explained why I couldn't attend Hogwarts, the school of witchcraft and wizardry, was all I needed to motivate me into making him proud.
I took to learning in secret, the tricks of some of the greatest muggle magicians. Smoke and mirrors, hidden compartments, tricks of light and sleight of hand, these were the tools I became familiar with when no one could possibly have been around, so that when an audience *was* present, I could perform my feats, and hopefully trick them into believing I had an ounce of magical talent, then all I needed to do was focus on something that required a hands-on approach, maybe potions or plants, a squib could do that, right? My plan was supposed to be foolproof, but what's a foolproof plan when the planner is a fool?
I thought about grabbing one of the smoke balls in my sleeves, and making a hasty retreat, but before I could plot a path to the door, the two words I dreaded hearing in this instant had echoed through the hall.
"David Blaine!"
My turn had come, my time had come, with all eyes on me there was no way I could make an escape now, not without bringing more shame upon my parents. I came here in the first place to avoid that. Maybe a hat can be bribed? As I sat upon the stool, facing all the students, I wondered about my fate. I expected the hat to scream, to fly off my head and sound an alarm, but what I didn't expect was... chuckling?
"Well this is quite a funny sight, you're no more magic than Day is Night". I wondered what would happen to me next, will they send me back by train? Are they going to call my parents in? Maybe I could offer the hat a particularly delicious hair, does it eat hair? "Did you think that you would make it this far? I must know what you have planned. I'm curious what your next move is, if I let this charade stand."
"Well", I said, completely unsure of what I had intended to do, "I thought perhaps I could learn potions or something, I'm not really sure, maybe even something with plants. I just couldn't let my parents down". I tried to remain brave, no matter what happened next.
"This is very interesting, indeed. It took quite a bit of bravery to pull something like this off, cunning too. While magic may not have been involved, there's a certain level of talent that would have been required to make it this far, and plenty of hard work to be sure". The confusion on my face must have been evident as the other students all appeared perplexed, breaking out into hushed whispers and pointed fingers as the hat continued to talk to me. "You must realize that his plan of yours will likely end terribly, yes? But I think I'd like to see how far you could take this endeavor."
"You'll let me keep this up a little longer?" I had asked, "I'd rather be expelled for being a terrible student, than not admitted for being a squib." Despite the oversized hat upon my head, I had suddenly felt a lot lighter. The booming voice just above my head had rang throughout the Great Hall.
"Another for Gryffindor!"
| 2017-06-25T15:07:52
| 2017-06-25T15:06:28
| 358
| 110
|
[WP] most interstellar navies of the Galaxy adapted tactics from their wet-navy cousins. That was until humanity arrived they had an ocean so most figured they would adapt their wet Navy tactics to their space Navy, instead they adapted tactics from something they called the air Force.
|
The Atraxian fleet was coming at us. They flew in from the far edge of pluto along the system plane. We had plenty of time to see them coming. Three large dreadnoughts, with escort vessels down to destroyer levels. Multiples of 3’s, 3 battleships, 9 cruisers, 27 destroyers each. Arrayed like a dendrite pattern. All classic saucer shapes.
Here’s the crazy part, All in a plane. Like they were on water. Our tacticians were baffled We couldn’t see any reason for this. It was postulated that it was something to do with their form of propulsion.
It took them 12 months to make their way to Earth. It’s amazing how a common foe can galvanize mankind. We tried talking to them, even succeeded after 9 months. Once we got the translations, and encodings of laser beam communications established. Boy they were a bunch of pompous assholes; throwing down tirades like all classic bullies do, “We are here to lay claim to your planet” , “you are now part of the Atraxian empire”, “you will capitulate”, blah blah blah. The important part is we kept them talking. We had time after all.
The Atraxians, they were sure a talkative bunch. We asked them to send us “examples” of how they would destroy us. They sent us their tactical manuals “for beginners” and battle footage. It astounded us, it was classic naval engagement doctrines we learned 100 years ago. Sit at extreme range and bombard with big rocks kind of stuff. Guns along the edge of the saucers.
We did confirm that the “gravity drive” they used was tied to the axial gravitational plane of the system. It was the most efficient way to travel. Almost every race in the galaxy used it. It’s what formulated their battle plans. All races that they saw combat this way, and over millennia they did not think of space as having a noticeable Z axis.
The Atraxians came in, and we could see the cables attached to asteroids they picked up beyond mars, if they held to doctrine they’d turn and release the cables about the distance of the Moons’ orbit.
We kept stalling in our communications. Keeping them talking, that we had to vote, we had to pass laws to allow us to have a world wide vote. The world Politicians kept them talking and stalling them.
Meanwhile, the worlds industrial might had a very quick galvanized response. We did not have the ability to make these large dreadnoughts, hell, we were lucky to get some Destroyer level construction underway in geosynchronous orbit. If all went well, we’d have 33 of them. But on earth, well, we made over 5000 fighter craft.
A couple of our greater brain trusts came up with a hybrid kind of drive. Use the gravitational axis drive to get up to speed, then use nuclear reactors to break water into rocket fuel. This let us break out of the plane. We also modified some of the drives to be able to create their own gravity wave that could be “surfed” for lack of a better term. Creating a high gravity pressure wave that would drag the ship or torpedo behind it.
When they were at the maximum range of our craft, about half the distance to mars, we launched. The atraxians laughed at our “navy”. “you don’t have the firepower to get past the escorts” “you can’t take sustained fire like our battleships”. “you don’t even have rocks in tow!”.
We broadcast messages of “it’s a ceremonial fleet to welcome you”, “it’s the best honor fleet we could develop”. From the communications, it looks like they were buying it.
Until we went radio silent.
About a week before the fleets would intercept, we broke from the planar axis. The destroyers with gravity wave drives craft kept going forward. Fighters firing their nuclear engines, breaking above and below the plane. Zero emissions were visible from the front of the fighters.
The recordings of the battle that came back were reminiscent of old gun camera footage from WW2. Fighters dive bombing at fractional C speeds, veering off at the last possible moment flying past their targets. They fired ball bearings and high energy lasers. And each had 2 gravity wave torpedo’s. from the angles they were dive bombing, each Atraxian ship looked like a giant bullseye of a dinner plate.
the Atraxians ships were well armored on the outside rim. The tops and bottoms were relative tissue paper. Their guns were placed on this edge, to fire outward. It’s like they never thought to shoot up or down.
Ball bearings at near C speeds punched holes tearing up structures, penetrating deep into their targets. Energy beams hit sensitive areas triggering secondary explosions.
The grav wave weapons created interference patterns as their fields interacted and overlapped. The destroyer waves distorted the atraxian’s gun fire. Bending UV laser beams off course. Then tore apart the escorts as they surfed by. Tearing apart the rocks they had in tow as well. The torpedo’s ripped and rended the hulls of ships they passed to fragments.
After the waves finished their attack runs, and starting the day’s long turn around to make a second pass, battle damage assessment was coming back to Earth. The damage was horrendous. Two dreadnoughts crippled and not maneuvering. The third was venting atmosphere. Several of their destroyers were just vaporized, unable to handle the gravity fields. Several cruisers were in pieces. The battleships weren’t much better.
We sent them one broadcast. General Jeff SaintClaire’s words are immortalized. “Welcome to Earth. You can surrender and we can help with casualties, or we can go for round two. Your choice”
|
We came to their border one hundred years ago with a massive show of strength, hundreds of ships sailing the expanse, flags unfurled. They fell before us as every species had before, prey animals screaming in fear. Our navy triumphant at every turn, we only paused to refit and repair. They fought like a Bekran defending its nest, every kilometer of space was contested, but we never lost, inexorably closing on their core worlds. Their Homeworld orbited a small class M star, third from the star, a system so fantastically endowed with strategic resources our first scans were assumed to be false. But the second and subsequent scans as well as intel from captured ships, bases and personnel confirmed the first scans. The humans were in possession of a system unlike any we had ever encountered. This fact had only increased the importance of seizing it, our navy could be replenished and refitted for a thousand years in that system. We’d burned our own out a very long time ago. It is why we sailed the emptiness.
The humans were as unique as their system, though they seemed to not understand that fact. A relatively advanced species when we encountered than, they were not heavily militarized. The initial contact, and combat, had been rather easy. Our ships sliced through theirs, most were unarmed or very lightly so. Their combat expertise seemed to be from fighting each other in a rather low intensity warfare. More accustomed to skirmishing and perhaps show of force vice actually fighting a proper fleet battle. They often spoke of a political solution. We only laughed at them when they asked us for one, The Bak-Thun are the solution. We anointed them in the fires of the immortal fleet, burned their ships and captured their out worlds. They retreated, and resistance stiffened, as it often does when we approach a species home. Until now that had not mattered, they all fell under the prow of our Battle Cruisers.
But these humans were clever, and once they realized we would not negotiate, they adapted. Quickly.
Tor-Thun pondered the campaign so far, and the possibilities of his family in the new human system when it was captured. Their Mining Guild connections would be very glad to get a piece of the asteroid belt if he could gain enough battle karma in the coming attack. Others would be trying for the same of course, but others did not command a trident of three Bak-Thun heavy battle cruisers and the attendant escorts. His command was one of the most powerful in the fleet and the Admiral was sure to use his Trident as the tip of the attack, and if not the tip then close enough to gain a flotilla worth of battle karma. The humans had proven they would not just roll over. Perfect he thought, more karma and we have not had a suitable foe in a very long time.
As he strode into the briefing auditorium distracted by his thoughts of family and wealth he was brought back to the present by a long low, reverberating, hiss. His people expressed displeasure often times as a whole. Something that is out of place or that disturbs a group of them will reverberate through an entire hall. Something had disturbed them indeed. He looked up at the holograph briefing board in the middle of the auditorium to see what looked like an entire Trident of Bak-Thun ships being torn apart. At first, he thought he was looking at a training simulation though he had no idea why they would be reviewing such at an invasion planning briefing.
It was no simulation, those were human ships, lots of human ships, so many it was impossible to count them, and small. The sheer number of missiles they were deploying made it seem like you could walk across them for many kilometers. They went after the escorts first, overwhelming them one at a time, the Trident tried to maneuver to cover each ship but the small ships just repositioned and took which ever ship was further out. The holo was shifted and he heard the chief of intel now talking.
“Here are the mother ships, that’s what we are calling them, from where the smaller ships launch.” The Holo zoomed in on a rather large ship that looked for all the world to be a massive cargo hauler, and it might well have been at some point. It was surrounded by a great many smaller ships as escorts though none were near as big as the mother ship. The escorts were hardly proper destroyer class ships. There were three of the modified cargo haulers.
“Also note these ships coming from another axis.” Again, the holo shifted and yet another literal cloud of ships, larger than the missile carriers he had just seen but not large enough to be destroyers or even corvettes. These new arrivals were making a straight line for the Bak-Thun battle cruiser line. The Trident was nearly bereft of its escorts at this point, most of them glowing on fire or simply in pieces as hulls were breached and cores went critical. The remaining Bak-Thun ships came about and sailed directly at the mother ships, trying to get their powerful but rather short-range beam weapons in range. Tor-Thun grimaced, he could tell they would never get a shot off. A few missiles launched toward the humans but it was not even close to being enough. The maneuver to attack seemed tactically sound as the mother ships were where the small craft were coming from. It was just too little too late. As if to accentuate the point, the cargo haulers launched another swarm toward the Trident. How many of the damn tings were in there? The whole ship must have been full of fuel, small ships and missiles. Those would make impressive funeral pyres in the vacuum for many many humans.
The new attack force however, didn’t seem to have any other ships, or cargo haulers around. Were they actually from the home world? They weren’t large enough to go too far into the expanse, but perhaps they were close enough for an attack and return? The intel officer confirmed his suspicions.
“These appear to have launched from the home system and have just enough range to reach our vanguard. Well, what used to be our vanguard in any event.”
As he finished speaking the swarm launched another, even more impressive assault of missiles and then retreated. The larger units obviously carried more weapons and larger types it seemed. The missiles overwhelmed the ships defenses, and the entire Trident was obliterated. Whatever was left was destroyed by the cargo haulers second wave. He was shocked at how fast the massive fleet had met its end. Tor-Thun closed his fist over his heart and wished his people a safe journey to the nether. Then he joined the snarl emanating from the entire theater. Though he sensed not a little shock. Not one person in this briefing had even heard of an entire Trident smashed let alone witnessed it. Regardless, it just happened, destroyed by humans. The fleet as they say, was immortal, not any more.
The intel officer spoke. “We've intercepted and decrypted some messages from the human fleet. The three ships that look like cargo haulers are called the Enterprise, Hornet and Yorktown. The humans call them carriers. The small craft they call fighter bombers and the larger ones able to travel alone for a fairly significant distance, at least enough to defend their system are called bombers. There’s a third class that carry a beam weapon but none of those were employed and we assess they are not yet ready.”
There was a small pause of dead silence, and as the Admiral rose purposely from his seat a grim look on his face the auditorium erupted in shouting voices.
Tor-Thun kept silent, the humans were clever, and the battle karma was going be very great indeed.
| 2020-11-21T19:49:06
| 2020-11-21T19:01:15
| 176
| 125
|
[WP] You died at the gym as you were trying to take a selfie while bench pressing. Thus you find yourself in Swaghalla, the Halls of Brodin.
EDIT. "Swaghalla" was the best pun I could come up with for Valhalla. Use something else if you have ideas.
Note: Swolehalla seems to be the proper name, pardon my mistake
second EDIT. Sweet, first time front page
third EDIT. I've had many good laughs brighten my Monday, thanks guys :D
|
At once, the pain of the weight on my throat stopped. I knew something was off because I could now lift it with the greatest of ease. I threw it and it landed twenty feet from me. Man, I thought, I must be getting really good. I turned and saw I was in a very odd place. It was what appeared to be a graveyard, but instead of tombstones, there were rows and rows of benches. An ominous fog rolling over them. The only other thing in view was a golden gate with a path leading up to the only place where sun shined in this place. Naturally I walked toward it and pushed it open, because the non-lifters were getting restless. I could hear them rising from their benches, moaning in pain. Clearly they had not lifted in centuries.
The gates were a challenge to open, but they eventually submitted to my will and I walked along the path to the light. I could hear loud cries of "bro" and "spot" and the sound of metal being lifted. It was music to my ears. As this place fell into view, I could see men with massive beards and mustaches lifting godly amounts of weights. They were all ripped and it made me feel like I needed to do some lifting to reassure myself that I could out-lift them.
"MY BRO! YOU HAVE FINALLY COME!" Said a manly voice that surprised me a little. I turned and saw a man in full viking attire, but his arms were not covered. He flexed in front of me and immediately I felt the sudden urge to bench press my entire body weight. His face had a long scar on it which led up to his one eye which was covered by an eyepatch.
"I AM BRODIN, the all-spotter. I am the keeper of the keys to the gates of Swolehalla! And you my bro, you have made it here because your quest to get massive biceps was righteous."
"What is this place?" I asked still overwhelmed by his biceps. He was still flexing.
"Swolehalla! The afterlife of all gym believers. Turns out benching your weight can save you my bro. Here we work out for an eternity to achieve the most excellent of biceps. Here, every day is leg day and the protein shake fountains flow in a never-ending torrent of synthesized goo. Women are waiting to ogle your massive muscles at any given moment, should you feel insecure. By day we work out till our bodies cave, and then after, we do some laundry to make clean clothes for the most righteous of partying at night. There is but one rule, if your bro spots you, you must spot your bro. Here you will train until your muscles are to your liking, then you will train to make them better."
I pondered this over for a moment, could I ever be happy with my muscles?
"But I will never be satisfied with my muscles." I replied.
"Good" he said patting me on the back. I winced as the wind was knocked out of me. "we have an eternity to work on it! Now come my bro! It is leg day! Let us go and blast those quads till you are sore!"
I was home.
|
"Bro!" nodded the grinning guard at him. The eyebrows waggled enticingly at the rack beside the entrance. "Pick one."
Shimmering fabric in every colour battled for space with gleaming leather and suede of every kind. He picked out black sedately picked with gold thread. He tried holding it against him in front of a huge mirror and in the next blink he found himself slack-jawed at his reflection.
"Good choice, bro," the guard nodded. "Always pretty when the muscles are highlighted."
The clothing had looked sedate. Gold lines were painted all over his skin where the cloth unfailingly fell agape. Where there is too much gold, just enough little black gems studded the skin.
He turned towards the rack, but the black line trailing his back caught his eyes, and he twisted a little more to look at them. *Oooh.* They were intricately just so.
He only barely heeded the guard's hand on his elbow towing him away, looking mournfully at his reflection as someone else took his place. A few pace away a blast assaulted his nose and he followed the smell of roasted meat of every kind and mounds of vegetables in every type of dish imaginable. Carbs were here and there, just enough to suggest an illicit pleasure. "Non-fattening, can you believe it?" A very trim redhead smiled over a huge donut, a smoothie tumbler nestled just so on her lap. "Nothing puts the fat on here." she moaned over her bite, chasing it down with the thick smoothie and licking the excess from her lips.
"Ah, so," he stared, mesmerised, and asked. "You're pretty, and I'm pretty, why don't we go see how pretty we are together?"
Her laughter was low and husky. "And mess up this?" she asked mockingly, running a palm along pearled lines, the center of the pattern just disappearing under the very short ivory skirt that was very, very gorgeous with her dark skin. She was still laughing as she picked another donut and left.
The next guy he tried talked non-stop about the magic wardrobe somewhere off the main hall, but they returned to the banquet in fresh clothing and designs without even managing to lay a single hand on each other. It wasn't until he was watching the sway of firm buttocks heading away that he realised he'd spent hours with a very beautiful man and gotten nowhere. Eyes narrowed, he picked his next target from the hundreds he could see lounging everywhere. And failed. Again. And. Again. And Again. Male, female, indistinctly gendered, nobody seems to want to mess their clothing and makeup.
He finally sat down with his consolation roast and guiltily pleasurable beer when a blonde chatted him up. She had lovely smiles, her laughter send shivers down his spine and she knew how to drape herself against someone else' body.
"Oh yes, I really love the blue lines. In fact, I really want to spend the next few hours admiring it. The patterns don't repeat, you see. They always change on every application."
He was still nibbling on a roast slice, admiring how pale, almost silver blue intertwined with midnight dark on his forearm when he realised what he'd just said. His head snapped up, but the blonde was nowhere to be seen.
The redhead he chatted with first winked at him from across the hall and raised her own pint mug of dark beer. He raised his own mug in return and took a deep draught. So much calories, and none of it going to be packed on him.
| 2015-11-02T06:36:28
| 2015-11-02T06:20:11
| 35
| 17
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
"The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
|
I walked down the overgrown, muddy street in my village. It was quiet, as it always had been. The quietness is the thing that was typical of this village, it had always been this quiet. I walked into the house where I was born, or at least: the place where I remembered I first was.
I don't remember much of my childhood, the only thing is that I was always alone, completely alone. Luckily, in this house there were some books I could read. Books that taught me reading, books that taught me the world. Those books also taught me that I should have some parents, because people come out of a female, who has had sexual intercourse with a man. I don't know where they are, I've never seen them. The only thing I remember was that I have always had a cigarette in my mouth.
I walked into the kitchen. There wasn't food there, but there were plants all over the place. Nature has not only taken this kitchen back, but this whole village. Some plants gave food, there were some berry bushes in the corner. I ate some of them.
On the kitchen table sat something that has fascinated and scared me my whole life. Two objects of which I didn't know what it was or what it could've been. It seemed like some sort of skeletons, the type of animal I was, homo sapiens. Before them, on the table laid a closed package of cigarettes: the skeletons probably had never smoked them, not even one. I took the package, set one sigaret afire and put it in my mouth. I wouldn't know how to live a life in which I couldn't smoke.
I walked out of the house, further down the road. I came at a junction, where a giant board was standing. On it was a picture of an old man with an angry face. I had never seen that man. I never saw men anymore, nor women. Next to the men stood the words. The words that I first taught myself: "Quit smoking!". In protest, I took a pull of my cigarette.
Edit: sigaret to cigarette
| 2017-02-17T12:12:31
| 2017-02-17T11:15:56
| 47
| 13
|
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments.
|
Damn bitch would be here any minute. I sighed, trying to steady my nerves, wishing I had something to drink. Had to confront her sometime, might as well get it over with. Though I could just wait until they evicted me and I had to move back in with mom...no, I'm a better man than that.
My phone buzzed. A text? Was she here? No, an email. No subject, sender was some random string of numbers and letters, only one line of text: "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current level: Very Hard."
Weird. Maybe Jeff was pulling a prank? Jeff's pranks usually sucked though. Ketchup packets under the toilet seat, shaving cream on a slice of pie. Fuck it, I decided. I typed "Yes" and hit send.
The reply was almost instantaneous. "Please choose level: Easy Medium Hard Very Hard Extremely Hard". I typed "Easy" and hit send. I waited. Nothing seemed to be happening. I laughed at myself for thinking anything would, which meant I felt far less nervous when I heard the knock at the door. Had to be her. I walked over and opened it.
"Shonda--" I began, but she cut me off.
"Who the hell are you? Where's Jamal?" She pushed past me into the apartment. "Jamal? Baby, you here?"
Perplexed, I responded, "Shonda, it's me, what are you talking about?"
She wheeled around and shot me a suspicious look, as if I was the one hiding something. "The hell are *you* talking about? I've never seen you before in my life!"
Confused, I stepped towards her, lifting my arms to take her by the shoulders when I noticed my hands, for some reason unusually pale...
|
This is my first post here, not the best writer; please be gentle fams. D=
---------------------------------------
I slowly opened my door to yet another dreary, pointless day of my existence. It's quite saddening that it had come to this point in my own home, but it happens I guess. It's been a rough day with all the back and forths the boss made me do for no real reason alongside people just generally not realizing that when I say no, I mean no.
In my mental recap, I missed something on the floor. My foot arrived sharply towards a cold thing which I wouldn't know about until after physics worked it's magic and gave me the sensation known as pain to my foot.
I spoke some unintelligible nonsense, very rudely involving my rather fun day and went to go pick up what my foot had smashed into.
An empty beer bottle. Upon closer inspection I saw something long and plastic stuck to the side that would've looked very out of place. Suddenly, I wished I hadn't. Wow Adam, I didn't need you to finish my beer and fuck my girlfriend too. Who let you in here in the first place? Sigh, forget it. Might as well just dispose of it by chucking it out the window into the alley, no one cares anyway.
I slowly sat down in my chair after removing my backpack. How I wished I could feel the sensation of taking off the weight off my back more often, but sadly it's not going to be the case for a long time. I don't think I'll be able to sleep any easily considering that I could lose a place to sleep within a snap of my landlord's fingers. I'm actually surprised she didn't come up and... nah let's not tempt fate here. I already did quite a bit of it today.
Sat up straight in my seat and reached for my backpack to pull my laptop out. After doing so, I was greeted with a nice warning message that I'd lose battery power in about 15 minutes. You must be joking. More shit to deal with today though.
I saw a slight disturbance on my desktop. It was my web browser playing a soft tone. Oh nice, another email. Let's check it while I have a little battery life. I don't think it'll kill my battery and I'll certainly plug in my laptop afterward because I at least remembered to take my power charger.
The bolded email that gave the notification was titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
I must've blinked 10 times straight. I mean, what the hell. A random email asking me about out the difficulty of my life huh. I chuckled a little. Anon here was pretty good at the guessing game. He didn't seem to be harmless at all though. Maybe this was just something for motivation I guess, probably nothing as a whole, but probably some mental strength which is what I need right now.
My fingers fly across the keys with no effort and typed "Normal." I'm not sure why I said normal, but I'm guessing it's because I wanted to work for myself and try to get myself going after pissing away my times when I was younger. A new chance per se.
I hit enter, and it straight up sent the message. Another blinking procedure of mine. Never had an email program do that to me before. Oh well. I slunk back and slowly felt sleep rolling in.
Right before sleep took me, I sharply remembered something: *there was no sender.* But that's when I fell asleep, right in my chair.
***
I woke up to my doorbell. Someone was really interested in meeting me huh. I guess today was the day I finally get kicked out of this shitho-.
I opened the door and was face to face with an elderly woman. It wasn't my landlord, she'd act like a cranky grandma right now.
It was my mother.
"What is it?" I asked bitterly and groggily. Nice, now I get to be scolded by her too. First running away from home to live like this and see the world, to being in a shit situation.
I didn't get a response at first, but then I saw the tears.
"I'm sorry."
I was speechless. Normally my parents would've been quite harsh and pretty stubborn on anything they'd say and do. But an apology? This was unheard of.
"Er, any reason for this?" I doubt this was out of goodwill. There had to be an ulterior motive, there always is.
But I could never think of one. Cynicism is in my blood, but today I found nothing.
"We are truly sorry for not realizing what you truly wanted and why you left," she started. "I can't think of any other way to apologize because we were truly rash." Well, you did stifle your son's future just a tad bit by ruining his first chance at an authentic job when he was 19 and making him miss a crucial step in his first relationship so it's ok I guess?
"You're not going to live like this anymore. As an apology, let us handle all of the financial issues you are having. It's too much for you right now considering where you are living."
I was speechless. "Er, it's no need I'll be fi-"
"FINE?" I was taken aback by her tone shift. "You've been living here with your financial condition and your friends that have dropped you off the earth and you say you're fine???!! Shut up, we're going to handle everything for now. We're going to let you do as you want, but you're coming home to have lunch first."
----------------------------------
And I'm gonna end this one here. I don't think it was great, but always room for improvement I guess. I didn't like the ending but I was scrambling for time so lol.
| 2016-03-30T17:32:38
| 2016-03-30T17:02:42
| 107
| 42
|
[WP] A child is born with a functioning Appendix, the first ever recorded in history and the purpose it serves shocks the scientific community/world.
This is my first writing prompt submission! Amazing response, can't wait to read your stories, thanks people.
~~~~~ Shout out to Montreal ~~~~~
Edit: getting a lot of grief from people saying "the appendix has a function", try this on for size:
http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/picture-of-the-appendix
"The function of the appendix is unknown. One theory is that the appendix acts as a storehouse for good bacteria, “rebooting” the digestive system after diarrheal illnesses. Other experts believe the appendix is just a useless remnant from our evolutionary past. Surgical removal of the appendix causes no observable health problems."
|
The appendix has several functions. It is a sleeve that maintains your intestinal flora during episodes of diarrhea. It also has a variety of immune system functions in terms of providing immune system response to consumed food. Many animals have an appendix or similar structure as well.
While 1st-worlders with mostly sterilized diets can get along with no appendix, the loss of an appendix is often fatal for 3rd-worlders.
We now employ poop transfusions to accomplish a similar result for people who have had their gut completely sterilized by antibiotics.
|
“Push Mrs. Williamson Push now!”
The would-be first time mother screamed and pushed, and finally her baby was in the world.
“It’s a Girl!” Smiled the doctor’s assistant. The new mother sobbed with happiness. She held her baby for many minutes before they took her away to be cleaned and have further vitals checked.
An hour later while in recovery the doctors came in to talk to the new mom, she could tell something was wrong.
“What is it doctor?!” said Mrs. Williamson. Dr. Stern was trying to smile but found it difficult. He managed a meek grin. “Nothing is wrong Mrs. Williamson, your baby girl is doing excellent” “Thank goodness” said the new exhausted mother. Dr. Stern didn’t know how to say what he needed to say.
“There is something…. Unique about the baby, we don’t think it’s harmful though”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!” The mother was now near tears.
The doctor came around to her side of the bed to soothe her. “No, please don’t cry Mrs. Williamson. Honestly she is one of the healthiest babies if not the healthiest baby I have ever delivered in my 35 years of being an OB-GYN. Her heart beat is a strong as a 23 year old marathon runner….. It’s the other tone we don’t quite understand”
“Tone? What do you mean” screeched Mrs. Williamson. Her motherly instincts were new, but keen, something was very not right.
“While her vitals were being checked, and we were all fascinating at her strong heart and blood pressure, the Heart Monitor picked up what at first we thought was a murmur, but it was off rhythm. It took a full minute for the off tone to come back, but when it did we knew it wasn’t coming from the heart”
“What the fuck do you mean? Where is my baby?” Mrs. Williamson was fully hysterical now.
The doctor plowed on. “We started to give her a sonogram and detected the tone was coming from her abdominal region, specifically her appendix. Its sounds off every minute like clockwork. No anomalies were detected during any of your prenatal screenings so we theorize the tone started as she…”
Suddenly the room went dark, there were alarms going off in every corner of the hospital. The back-up generator kicked in and some lights returned and most alarms subsided, but now there was an incredible noise building. Like 1000 freight trains colliding at once. Except it was a sustained noise. Suddenly out the window Mrs. Williamson could see an amazing storm rolling in from the north, but as she focused her eyes, this was no storm.
The sun was slowly being blocked out by the huge silver spacecraft……
| 2016-01-07T10:34:15
| 2016-01-07T10:30:03
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
|
The shop's bell rang, Mason could barely hear it over the buzz of his tattoo gun and death metal blaring from the small stereo in the back. Mason looked up from the butterfly tattoo he was doing on the college girls ankle and saw him. Tally. That was the nickname Mason had given the man because of the very specific tattoo he requested every two weeks like clockwork. After tattoo seventeen Mason had just started clearing his schedule for him. Tally nodded and sat down in a chair in the small lobby and waited for Mason to finish. With a few final lines and filling the butterfly was done and the the girl just absolutely loved it.
Mason walked up to Tally and extended a tattoo covered hand.
"Nice to see you again," Mason said with a smile.
"You too Mason, shop looks like it's doing well," Tally replied.
"Oh you know the usual, butterflies, stars, anchors, regular shit tattoos. You ready?"
"Of course," Tally said standing up and walking to the chair. He held out his left arm, the entire length of his forearm was tally marks, he was up to forty-six.
Mason had asked Tally once before what the tattoo signified but he was met with stony silence, but Mason wasn't one to give up.
"How many does this make?" Mason asked already knowing the answer.
"Forty-seven."
"Forty-seven what?"
"Forty-seven reasons to mind your own business." Tally stared Mason down.
Tally wasn't the largest man, but his gaze was unsettling, it made Mason's skin crawl.
"Fair enough."
Mason fired up his tattoo gun and got to work. It didn't take more than a few minutes to line it up with the existing tally marks and put the black ink into the man's arm.
"I need to apologize," Tally said his eyes cast downward, "I was being a dick."
"It's fine, I shouldn't have pried. Tattoos are personal, I should know that better than anyone."
"You are a good guy, I trust you Mason." Tally took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what the tattoo means."
Silence hung in the air between the two men.
"Each tally mark is a rescued dog."
"What?" Mason asked.
"I spent a few years in prison and while I was in there the thing I missed the most was my dog," Tally began, "while I was inside my dog passed away because there was no one there to care for him. So I made it my mission to help dogs that are in bad homes and I place them with loving families. Each tally mark is a dog that is in a new home."
"That...that is amazing. I would tell everyone that's what those marks are for!" Mason said with a broad grin.
"Well, let's just keep it between us," Tally said as he rose from the chair and handed Mason one hundred dollars in cash.
"That's way too much," Mason began to object.
"You deserve it, keep running an honest business we need more people like you in the world," Tally said as he walked out the door, the small bell ringing as the door swung open and shut.
"What a great guy," Mason said to himself.
In the corner of the tattoo parlor a news bulletin broke in over a day time talk show.
"Three bodies found in what appears to be an underground dog fighting ring. The police are ruling it a multiple homicide. More details at six," the slick haired man in a sharp suit said.
Mason paused for a second then shook his head.
"Naaah."
---
Thanks for reading!! Check out /r/Written4Reddit
|
*Jeezus Christ, not this guy again.*
"Mr Deayton! What a pleasure to see you again. How you been? You been to the gym? Those arms are positively bulging." I say as he enters the shop.
I like to have a good rapport with repeat customers, but Frank Deayton looks like one of those guys who could snap at any instant - and snap your neck too, whilst he's at it. So I try to be more friendly than usual with him.
"Need another notch added Tommy." the mountainous man rumbles. He walks over to his preferred leather chair and lowers his huge frame into it. The chair rocks back in shock and I worry for a moment that it is going to be the first in a chain of things to snap.
He pulls his top off to reveal huge pectorals that would make many of my female clientele envious. I begin warming up my tools. It is a simple tattoo and requires no real preparation.
He has five rows of four black notches inked onto his chest already, each row crossed out. It's a tally and I am about to add number 26. I begin sweating nervously. I have no idea why today of all days I am feeling a sense of guilt about this.
"So uh, busy week ahead Mr Deayton?" I ask. I like to get a conversation going as I work - it makes me feel more comfortable. And seeing as it's only me and him in the shop this evening I have little choice as to who that conversation is with.
He remains silent but looks at me and grins. I gulp and hope he doesn't realise how nervous I am.
"Got to start a new row. Below the left nipple I think. " I say to him.
"Perfect." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.
My hands shake as I work. I am being eaten up by what I am doing. I need to know what the marks represent. I hope they are cats he has saved from trees however I suspect a much darker reasoning behind them.
Sweat drips from my forehead and splashes onto the floor, but eventually I finish.
"You know what, better make it two notches." he says.
I stop moving for a moment, slightly stunned. *Why a second?*
I regain my composure and begin tattooing the next black mark.
"You wanna know what they mean, don't you?" he says smiling as I finish the second. I nod silently.
"I knew you did. You see, you were getting too nervous. Too curious. So, I needed an extra notch." He grins at me again. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the finality of oblivion.
"Relax, I'm kidding! I adopt cats from a shelter downtown. I just like to have something to mark the occasion. Thinking of heading down there again tonight."
I open my eyes and, standing in a growing pool of golden liquid, I let out an almighty laugh.
| 2016-07-09T09:02:56
| 2016-07-09T08:44:18
| 150
| 84
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
“This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.”
|
The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess.
| 2019-09-29T21:58:03
| 2019-09-29T21:57:42
| 233
| 35
|
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances.
|
"You...you're death? But...you're so..." I stammered, amazed by what I saw. I had never really felt an attraction to a living person before, but the woman standing before me changed that.
"So what?" She questioned, tilting her head curiously.
"Beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful." I was astonished that I was able to speak even though she had taken my breath away.
She giggled. "Beautiful? I can't say I get called that very often. Many people see me differently."
"What do people usually see you as?"
"Rotting, decaying, diseased...you know, death-related things. You should be alarmed, honestly."
"Alarmed?" I paused. "Why is that?"
"Well, people only really see me as 'beautiful' if...if they're, longing for me. You know. Suicidal." She sounded strangely sad, but I could only smile.
"Oh don't worry, I'm far from suicidal. I'm loving every minute of living, honest."
"You are? Then it's curious as to why you see me this way, human."
"Oh it's not really all that curious, I'm just a necrophiliac is all."
|
Eight hour work day. Come home via transport, play video games, make dinner. Go to sleep.
Wake up.
Rinse and repeat.
He wasn't the smartest person in high school. He got his diploma, he got out of there, out of the *system* that he had always detested, watched as the honours students all went to university.
He worked every day. It was a nice job, relatively: it wasn't too horrid, not like retail had been when he was going to school, and it kept food on the table.
Eight hour work day. Bus home. Bit of Dota. Eat dinner. Sleep, wake up.
Again and again. He wasn’t even paying attention any more, he couldn’t remember what he had done yesterday, the weekends were a blur of drinking alone. Was the life of his old acquaintances like this?
No, he reminded himself. They had friends. They made friends.
He had friends, once, didn’t he? Back in school. Right. Wonder what happened to them.
Work. Bus. Game. Eat. Sleep? Get up.
He sat beside a woman on the bus. About his age, tall, beautiful.
“Hi.”
Good going. He’s not worth anything, he’s so awkward, intimidated by the idea of having human contact outside his workplace. What a failure. Waste of life.
She blushes and turns away, a little bit, then looks at him. “Hello.”
They talk, for a few minutes, before the bus stops. He gets her name - Libitina. She says it’s latin, her parents were rather into history. He doesn’t really care. She gives him her number, and gets off.
Work for a few hours. Take the bus home, but she isn’t there, that’s all right, she said she had a very time consuming job. He turns on the television. Shooting in a mall downtown.
He locks his door.
Dinner is good. It has a little more flavour, today, perhaps. But he doesn’t notice, and he goes to bed.
Wake up.
He sees her on the bus again, and he sits beside her. They talk a little - she’s into philosophy. Him? He’s into … well, not much. She recommends writing, he remembers he enjoyed it when he was in school. Makes a mental note to get some paper that his notes can be physical.
He works, and his boss tells him to go home early, you worked hard today.
She’s on the phone and they talk, him sitting in front of his computer, looking up writing guides. There was this story he always wanted to write, he remembers now, and it gnaws at him a little. He doesn’t stop smiling until he falls asleep.
They chat on the bus again and he’s a bit worried. She doesn’t look so great, today, a bit of an ashen look tinging her features. He’d ask, but knows not to pry. Perhaps she’s ill - but she was fine yesterday.
He gets a raise. His boss pats him on the back.
They talk into the night, and he’s never felt better.
He’s never had a girlfriend before, but he’s so lonely, maybe he’s found one? Maybe he’s found *the one*. It’s odd, but he’s never felt this eager waiting for the bus.
He doesn’t see her on the bus, today. He sits beside an elderly woman, and she smiles at him. He smiles back and they talk a little bit. She’s into philosophy.
| 2016-10-01T22:29:31
| 2016-10-01T22:22:50
| 4,176
| 3,031
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar."
|
Project EXILE had seemed to be humming along just fine until the shift change on Thursday morning. Seemed.
PFC Johnson was one of the few A51 staff members to be a Qualified Sensitive. Rumor had it there used to be more, but budget cuts took their toll as more and more money was devoted to recent saber rattling instead of ongoing domestic operations.
And there weren't a lot of Qualified Sensitives to go around. That designation took a very special individual, one who possessed a very rare set of inherent skills, but didn't want anything from them. Someone who could be perfectly happy as a PFC for an entire career, in spite of being the hopefully unknowing backbone of the entire classified site.
PFC Johnson possessed all the requisite characteristics. Incurious. Placid. Uncreative. Trusting enough in his superiors to take orders without question, in particular, the order to never, ever take orders from the man in Cell Block C. And willing to accept an entire career without a promotion based on some vague hand waving about how important it was that anyone working on Project EXILE never have "dominion over man."
On Thursday morning he put on his uniform, like always. He picked up a tray of raw eggs and bacon, like always. He carried it through the mostly empty cell block, like always. He slid it under the door of the only occupied cell, like always. He waited by the papyrus covered iron door to see if the inmate had anything to say, like always. He waited in vain, like always. He walked to debriefing, like always. And he answered the only question he was asked each day with mild impatience, like always.
Once debriefing was over he was clear to play video games until lunch, after all.
"How was the inmate this morning?"
PFJ Johnson scratched himself in a manner s PFC would normally be disciplined for doing in front of a superior officer, and said, in words that lit up security and diplomatic lines world wide moments later:
"I dunno. Seemed different this morning, I guess. Dunno why. Just a feeling."
And then he played video games while the world screamed into action.
A swat team stormed Cell Block C. Twelve virgin men consecrated as clergy in no fewer than thirty seven faiths (three apiece, except for one try-hard marine core officer at four) armed with never before used experimental weapons kicked in the cell door, only to stand, impotent, in an empty cell.
Tanks rumbled to life in nearby bases. Jets deployed. A shocked and terrified public was placed under martial law in nearby towns, as roadblocks were pointlessly established, out of sheer habit and weight of institutional momentum.
International allies mobilized. Militaries leapt to high alert. Silos ran readiness drills by the hour, on the hour. Millions of people rushed to and fro in a frenzy.
Nuclear launches on civilian population centers were contemplated.
All in the absence of one key detail.
Any identifiable target.
A grizzled officer walked down a hall to the A51 barracks, an Aramaic cell phone in his left hand, and a faded post it note in his right.
PFC Johnsons video games were interrupted.
"We need you to make a phone call," the officer explained.
PFC Johnson's face scrunched up in confusion.
"To the inmate in Cell Block C."
"I didn't know he had a phone," PFC Johnson complained. *He* didn't have a phone. Security reasons or some such. It just seemed irresponsible to give an inmate a phone if a PFC couldn't be trusted with one.
"He doesn't, exactly, just..." the officer sighed. "Please just dial this number. And tell him we'd like to negotiate our surrender."
| 2017-03-21T06:25:13
| 2017-03-21T04:50:35
| 40
| 11
|
[WP] All games can “Jumanji” their players, sucking them into the world of the game. You braved the battlefields of Chess, led fleets from your Battleship and breezed through Life. But nothing could have prepared you for the utter, unimaginable terror that is Monopoly.
|
"Buy or die." Those words from my mother formed the basics of my training in the game of Monopoly. Young me always thought it was just her way of telling me to seize control of the board or lose. Older me, is not so naive anymore.
My mother's family were very bloodthirsty when playing board games. Battle chess, a "killer" Uno variant, frequent games of Stop Thief were quite common at family get togethers.
However, one thing that struck me as odd was the fact that my Grandfather owned two copies of Monopoly. One copy was one that you could pick up at a retail store, though this one had the play money that actually forced you to count. The other was in a wooden box with a delicate golden clasp keeping it closed.
I remember when I was in my grandfather's study, standing on a leather chair as I reached for the wooden Monopoly box. He gave me the spanking of my life and warned me, "Only play that version of the game against people with money, or power. Never play it with the family." I took those words to heart, never entering that room until he passed 20 years later.
My brother, cousins and I were helping my aunts, uncles and parents sort through all of his stuff when I heard a noise come from the study. Soon after, my brother yelled, "Hey Tom! Want to play a game of Monopoly for old time's sake?"
My grandfather's warning came to me and I rushed into the room and yelled, "No, don't!" My cousins and brother looked up to me, but it was too late. A bright green light consumed us and the next thing we knew, we were all seated behind desks in an old fashioned office. In the middle of the four of us was a large monopoly board with pieces that looked like us.
Focusing on the familiar object, my mind fell back into my training. As the hours passed, my control of the board grew with a complete lockdown of the reds, oranges and 3 railroads. Soon, one cousin fell to me, her body consumed by a black mist before she disappeared. Her holdings soon appeared on my desk.
Then my next cousin fell in a similar manner, leaving only my brother and I in the game. My chair's back is currently turned towards him as I am facing away. The only sounds in this room are his weeping. He had terrible luck and landed on my Marvin Gardens with a hotel.
"Please Tom! It is the remaining two green properties, you will have another monopoly!" He stifled another sob as he continued to plead, "Just, let me live a little longer!"
I sighed and shook my head, petting a Yorkshire Terrier that had materialized and sat on my lap. This game was unfortunate, but my brother failed to listen to the words of my mother. I turned to face him and said coldly, "Buy or die, brother. Now, pay your rent or declare bankruptcy. "
|
I wake up on my back, with a big headache, in the middle of an old road. An old car almost runs over me. As I see it go, I see a hand come out of the driver's window and flip me off.
I stand up and notice that the traffic lights don't work. I'm dressed the way I was back at the house, where we sat down to play. I have my phone (with no signal) and my wallet with me. I look around, but this place looks abandoned, haunted. The buildings look unfinished, like they didn't receive a final brush of paint. This city looks like a grey mix of concrete and pavement.
I've walked two blocks, but all the buildings and stores are closed. Must be sunday? Anyway. A beggar asks me for money, and I take out my wallet and check it for the first time... I don't have my money. I mean, my real money. I have $1500 in the exact distribution of the game... but they look different. These bills have been around a lot, and for some reason all the bills, although they have different denominations, have the face of the same guy. I hand the beggar a $5 and she is very thankful. "Be careful. You are very giving, and you're dressed like a foreigner. People vere aren't very nice. Take care." She runs off before I can ask her exactly where I am. I'm nervous. I don't normally walk around with a lot of money. True, I don't know how much worth $1495 have around here, but if the woman got excited for $5, maybe it's a lot. I put $600 in each of the socks I'm wearing.
The more I walk away from where I woke up, the worse the city looks. Now I'm in a residential street, I guess. I can see some color, but that's because the apartment buildings were made out of bricks and, again, they didn't paint enough. I feel someone watching me. I search thru the building across the street, the one that was actually finished, and I see a pair of eyes peaking through a window; they notice that I notice, so the person close the curtains.
"Hey!" I yell, as I cross the street. "I need help. I don't know where I am." I'm next to the window, and I tap. "Could you help me?" I hear the click of a gun, and the barrel appears next to me, at the other side of the glass. "Leave. Now." I put my arms up, and slowly walk away.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A tall man, fully dressed in dark brown, asks loudly. He has a gun on a holder by his right side, and the guy by his right also has one. The third, by his left, is caŕrying a long double barrelled gun. They are all dressed the same. "Looks like a fresh arrival, Jimmy", says one of them. I froze. They walk towards me. As they get close, they go around me. "Smells like fresh arrival", says, I assume, Jimmy. "Give me your wallet." I hand it to them. "No ID. Must be new." Jimmy says to one of his peers. He checks the bills. "TWO HUNDRED NINETY FIVE?" He angrily tosses my wallet to the guy by his right. "Aren't you new? How long have you been here, an hour? WHERE IS THE REST OF YOUR MONEY?" I say nothing. The guy has very little patience, a he takes the long gun from his partner and hit me in the stomach with it. "I WANT FIFTEEN HUNDRED." From the floor, I say, "I won't tell you." He kicks me in the stomach. "Tell me, you are done either way." He kicks me again. "GIVE ME MY MONEY". "Someone from here is going to call the police, and then you're done", I tell him, defiantly. He starts laughing, and so do the other guys. "You heard him? *someone will call the police*", he says, mocking me. "WE ARE THE POLICE, DUMMY. Don't believe me?" He takes a badge out of his shirt pocket, and throws it at me. "Mediterranean Police Department." He kicks me in the guts again. "Welcome to Hell, jackass."
| 2018-06-05T21:37:21
| 2018-06-05T21:18:05
| 44
| 25
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Boy have I had a rough week. It all started Monday morning, 6:45 am. This guy bailed me out. Now I'd never seen him before, but I hadn't seen light in a while so I wasn't going to ask any questions. It said *Anthony Montana* on his license. Anyway, Tony was in for a busy day, and I had little choice but to go with him. We walked down a busy street and caught a cab to some place, where Tony left me with the cab driver. Tony got out of the car, I wasn't going anywhere. The cab driver swore at some of the more reckless drivers, but was otherwise silent for the rest of our time together. Occasionally the driver would take others, but I stayed with him until we got to the bar that night. After a few drinks the cabbie and this guy named Jeff were flicking coins into a jar. I'm not really sure what the point of the game was, or the rules, but Jeff seemed to win. Anyways, the cabbie left me with Jeff and then wandered away into the night. This must have been around 2:00 am on the Tuesday. Jeff took me to a seedy part of town that I hadn't been to before, and we met up with his local dealer for an ounce and a couple caps. I hadn't said much, and neither had Jeff, but when he left I stayed with the dealer, a guy named Joe. Joe talked a lot, which was a big change for me, and there were always a couple people coming in and out of the house. It was midnight going into Wednesday that I hit the first line of coke at Joe's house, and we were busy until late in the morning, when there was a knock at the door. Who do you think walked in there but Tony. Well, Tony was pretty happy to see me, and I went with him when he left Joe's house. Me and Tony caught another cab. This one took us to the strip club, and we spent the night surrounded by some rather *talented* ladies. Now, these girls didn't just strip, if you know what I'm saying, and me and Tony went to an alley out back for a little extra. When Tony was done he left, but I stayed with the stripper. I made it to her house Thursday morning and we did nothing but lie around until the sun started to go down. Well, before she went back to work we did a little coke, and then went to the little grocery store on the corner near her apartment. She didn't get much, just a sandwich and some kind of fruit juice. I was hanging around the shop after she left, when suddenly a couple guys come in and start talking shit about Tony. Well then they whip a gun on the teller and ask for the cash. He was pretty scared but they were playing it cool so no one got hurt. It must have been around 00:30 on Friday when I left the little store with these guys. They were harping on Tony bad, like they had it out for him, but Tony had never really done me much disservice, hell he even showed me around town for a little bit and picked me up at Joe's place. Anyways, these two were walking around. They decide to split up, one of them says he needs to go see a girl, I tag along with the other one. This guy goes back to Joe's place. Joe opens the door and this guy kicks it in. Joe goes down. Then Joe's staring at the barrel of a gun and then he's staring at nothing at all. Me and this guy then set about doing some of the coke that Joe had racked earlier. Then this guy looks up and who does he see? Tony. Well Tony puts a couple shells into this guy, then starts making arrangements to take care of the bodies. He sees me, but this time he's not so happy. We waited till the crew got there, and then Tony left me with them while he went to "get the rest of them" he said. So there I was, late on the Friday, inside the pants of a burly man who was wrapping two bodies in plastic tarp.
&nbsp;
What a crazy week for a twenty dollar bill.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T10:36:20
| 1,493
| 224
|
[WP] Rewrite the lyrics of any Disney song to make it about World War II
Any song that has been in a Disney movie is acceptable.
Just make the lyrics so that it seemed like it was supposed to be about World War II.
|
Let's get down to business
To defeat the Brits
Did they send me Jews
When I asked for Aryans?
----------------------------------
You're the saddest bunch I ever met
But you can bet before we're through
Mister, I'll make a man
Out of you.
---------------------
Tranquil as a fuhrer
But on fire within.
Once you find your center
You are sure to win.
-
You're a spineless, pale pathetic jew
And you haven't got a clue.
Somehow I'll make a man
Out of you.
-
I'm never gonna catch my breath
Say goodbye to those who knew me
Boy, was I a fool in school for cutting youth
This guy's got them scared to death
Hope he doesn't see right through me
Now I really wish that I knew how to shoot
-
[men] BE A MAN
We must be swift as a coursing u-boat
[men] BE A MAN
With all the force of a great fuhrer
[men] BE A MAN
With all the strength of a raging fire
Mysterious as the dark side of the room
-
Time is racing toward us
'til the Jews arrive.
Heed my every order
And they won't survive.
-
You're unsuited for the rage of war
So pack up, go shower you're through
How could I make a man
Out of you?
-
[men] BE A MAN
We must be swift as a coursing u-boat
[men] BE A MAN
With all the force of a great fuhrer
[men] BE A MAN
With all the strength of a raging fire
Mysterious as the dark side of the room
Heil!
|
The blood glows bright on the mountain tonight,
motionless bodies under the moon,
a kingdom of death,
and it looks like the platoon.
____________________________
The wind is howling like a swarm of bullets flying by,
Couldn't keep them safe, heaven knows I tried.
_____________________________
Don't let them see you, don't let them find you,
you weren't the captain you were meant to be,
conceal, don't yell, don't let them know,
but soon they'll know.
_______________________________
Let them go, let them go.
Can't save their lives anymore.
Let them go, let them go.
Turn away and leave the core.
_______________________________
Here we started,
and here they died,
I let the storm rage on.
_______________________________
Their bodies lay motionless on the ground,
their souls pounding away from the world,
and one man survives in the storm,
I'm never going back.
The dead are dead.
_______________________________
Let them go, let them go.
Can't save their lives anymore.
Let them go, let them go.
Turn away and leave the core.
_______________________________
Here I stand,
in the light of day,
let them find me,
Death has already come for me anyway.
______________________________
This was a lot harder than it sounded. I had to skip a few stanzas because I couldn't quite formulate the words, but it was fun.
Nice prompt.
| 2015-05-11T17:09:24
| 2015-05-11T16:33:22
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
joyce called me moocow
i thought that was
quite cute
i am a moocow
my skin is a moosuit
i eat grass and pass gas
the hindus
love dat ass
and if you got beef then
my gais got my back
and
my loins, and my chucks, and my ribs, and my brisket,
i'm tastiest rare
but most don't want to risk it
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08
| 2017-10-02T04:34:37
| 6,645
| 534
|
[WP] One day it started snowing, and then it never stopped.
You can interpret this however you like, doomsday? Story about people having to deal with the new difficulty? Horror?
Whatever you think works, have fun!
|
It wasn't unexpected for us when it started snowing. The winter was harsh and cold and the people around town prepared for the normal snow storms that always occured around this time of the year. It was, however, for most of the rest of the world. And when it did not stop after a few days, even we began to wonder.
Our location was so remote, our community so self-sustaining, that we barely noticed the trouble from far away places. When our phone lines and, later on, electricity failed, the people were already used to it from years before. Thus, we never relied on modern technology like that. We consumed simple things, firewood and durable food, and we kept them stocked for harsh times.
We lost track of time as the sun failed to show up. Some day, or some night, the first small houses were swallowed by the snow. It couldn't have been long after the start since most of us still had hope, had a strong belief that spring would come and then summer and have everything turned back to normal. A small group, myself included, still managed to persuade the others to get ourselves and all the stocks cramped into the houses nearest to each other, connecting them via tunnels. Only after some time, after nothing about the situation changed, did we truly realize that we saved our lives. Or, postponed our deaths.
And so we went on, buried underground, with nothing to do then to eat the absolute minimum, burn as little wood as possible and share stories. Books and other entertainment were abandoned long before to make room for our stocks. As a community, we took care to stabilize the tunnels and keep the ventilation shafts free of snow, which meant extending them at all times.
Now, with the food and firewood becoming sparse, a lot of houses initially connected to our web of survival are left unused, abandoned. We do wonder what happened to the rest of the world. Did they all die, are we the only ones left? Are there other people fighting as we do? Or, dying as painfully. Some said our town is the only place affected, left to rot, forgotten. They left for the land of milk and honey, said they’d send rescue when they’d found it. We never heard from them again. How could we hold it against them? The trees are dying or, more likely, already dead, conserved in the ice-cold surroundings. The world has gone silent.
And I myself wonder why we keep going, why we won’t just stop and accept our fate. I guess this is what being alive truly means.
EDIT: Corrected some misspellings.
|
People died. Empires fell. And yet it was the best thing to happen to me.
Let me explain. It was a normal winter morning, mid-November. People were just walking along all over the world when it happened-- simultaneously, every last inch of the world got two inches per hour of snow. People built snowmen, lamenting the thought they would melt, and were overall very happy.
But after the third day it became a reason for panic. Scientists tried to analyze it but started too late. Now it would be to hard to collect data.
America is still technically a country, but its existence is widely ignored in most regions of the world. Power lies in cities at best, and houses at worst. My house is connected to about thirty others. We call ourselves Lost Soul City.
Living isn't so hard. A few of us have algae farms or something of the like in our basements/homes (by now the snow has caved in our houses for the most part). Apparently other cities make people pay currency, and have designated jobs such as "farmer". I let people take what they please.
Because that's the beauty of this civilization. I'm not responsible for a job. I can do mathematics one day and poetry the next. And if I do so I am neither a mathematician not a poet, but a human who gets to explore the world for as long as she lives. It was a disaster, but it was also paradise in disguise, for my house has become Walden Pond.
| 2016-10-23T06:42:04
| 2016-10-23T06:19:57
| 66
| 10
|
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
\[Part 1 of x\]
Anonymous Alcoholic was a household name. The Heroic Company, or THC as they abbreviated themselves, pushed AA as the ultimate joke villain that every hero encounters at least once in his career. He was rather infamous in Mid City as the best worst villain. The hero training manual even used him in multiple examples of how to catch villains.
*“If Anonymous Alcoholic is holding up a liquor store with his back to the door, what is your next move?”*
*“Anonymous Alcoholic is traveling southbound on I-123 with a bus of orphans, how do you deescalate the situation?”*
*“There are 30 seconds until an incendiary device goes off and the hostages…”*
The list went on and on. Al had thick skin, so all the jokes and bad names really didn’t bother him much. Once heroes made it to the upper echelons of A-Rank, some would have access to the top-secret information that he was indeed an undercover hero. The only problem was that once a hero made it there, no one really bothered opening the hidden addendums of his file to read that extra information. As far as Al knew, there were only two that knew what he truly was.
Blue Sphere was his best friend and the number one hero. He was almost always away taking care of the biggest problems all around the world. He was so busy, he didn’t have time to celebrate his children’s birthdays or make it for the holidays. He wanted to retire but knew that he couldn’t do it so easily. The other person who knew was his partner, OfficeMax.
Al sipped his bourbon while driving his old shoddy red Camaro, swerving in and out of traffic. He could hear the driver in the blue sedan 5 cars back calling in his DUI suspicions. It was a feminine voice filled with worry and genuine fear for everyone else’s safety. He chuckled innocently all the while wishing that alcohol really did influence him. It might have made things easier when he lost his job, or family, or all those other things he forgot about. Suddenly, his comm interrupted his thoughts.
*“We have a report coming in from the police about a possible DUI. Red Camaro who matches the description of Anonymous Alcoholic, sending trainees to check it out.”*
At this point, helping fledgling heroes was the only thing he was passionate about now. The world was in a crisis and he could sense how outgunned the heroes were. On the surface, Mid City was the beacon of justice and shone brightly as the incubator of heroes that help the world. The reality was that it was controlled and no one trusted a D-Rank villain as their source. Blue Sphere always told him he would handle it when he came back, but that was something like three years ago.
*“We blew the tires on the truck ahead, so the armored vehicle is on the shoulder. The students are on their way too, so get ready!”*
The voice of his trusted partner spoke over the comm on a different channel. Al grinned and pulled up behind the broken down vehicle, opened his car door and wobbled over to the driver’s door. He effortlessly pulled the door off with his bare hands. The husky driver gave a high-pitched shriek before Al grabbed him and knocked him out gently. Well, as gently as he could. He walked around to the back of the vehicle. Now to make sure that the small amount of gold was still… what?
Al blinked a few times after he swung open the back door of the armored vehicle. This was not a small amount of gold. The back was filled with gold and a black duffle bag was stuffed in between a few of the pallets.
*“Dale, how much gold was supposed to be in the truck?”*
*“Al, we’re supposed to use superhero names over the-”*
*“How much gold was supposed to be in the truck?!”*
An awkward silence followed. He could hear Dale scratching his head and flipping through some paperwork.
*“It looks like it’s supposed to be worth 1 million, about half a mini-pallet worth”*
Al turned his head to glance over his shoulder to a screech behind him. The hero trainees stepped out of the black Mercedes van and walked slowly toward him.
*“This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all! Something is really, really wrong! There’s easily 200 million on this truck!”*
Al whispered into his collar. He listened to the panicked mumbling and paper shifting. As the students drew closer, they saw Al was panicked and flustered and it boosted their confidence. They approached more quickly and boldly, assuming it would be a quick takedown of the laughing stock villain.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/o6dbxn/wp_officially_youre_a_weak_d_rank_villain/h2t91nn)
Join me on /r/tamarche if you enjoyed this
|
[Part 1 of 2]
“Why are you harassing these idiots? Can’t you go get your ass kicked by Captain Wonder spark or one of the other poorly named bastards that inhabit this stupid rock we have to share?” Deathly Despair stormed over to Fortune, giving her a shove, standing between her and the wannabe heroes. The three heroes looking at one another, not having any information on their little laminated hero sheets about what to do in this situation.
“Oh, please. I’m doing you a favor, Deathly. You were struggling against amateurs. I know we usually have a rule about not going after other people’s heists, but let’s be real. You are a D-list villain with a poor record of completing heists. The painting in this place won’t ever reach your hands, let someone competent take over. Now step aside, I have some coffins to fill.”
Fortune stepped forward, clenching her fist as the ground around the heroes shook. “Get back you idiots, she’s about to pull the floor out from under you.” Deathly shouted, grabbing her wrist, twisting it behind her back. The ground beneath the heroes stopped shaking and instead Deathly felt the rumblings below his feet before they both fell, landing on a pile of rubble and art below.
The two villains rose to their feet, Fortune snatching her hand free from his grip. “That’s a suspicious amount of insight for a D-list villain. Are you not telling us something Deathly, don’t tell me you are working for the heroes?”
“Not at all. I just don’t want to see some rookies killed because of you. Who do you think would be blamed if they died?” Deathly tried to keep up his disguise, circling the villain who didn’t break their line of sight.
“I know who would be blamed, that’s the point. Killing the rookies is a no-no, but technically if they died during your heist, no one would know I was the one that killed them. Its clever, isn’t it? But if you hand over the art, maybe I can just let them live.”
“The arts, not mine to hand over. Look, if you want the artwork, you can have it. Just leave the rookies alone and I’ll show you where it is, ok?” Deathly had to play the hero. Even if this blew his identity, he needed to save them. He motioned Fortune to follow only for a slimy whip to fall through the hole, tossing one of the rookies with it.
“We won’t let you get to the artwork.” Homehit flew through the air, being launched by the slime, heading straight towards Fortune. She had spark but was leaving herself open to attack.
Fortune smiled, tilting her head as the surrounding rubble built itself up, providing a nice wall of defense. “Really? Do try to get me then, I want to see if you can break through brick.”
Homehit panicked, flailing her arms madly in front of her, not trusting her super strength. She might have been the strongest in her party, but her strength hadn’t developed enough to break through brick. As she neared the wall, Deathly launched forward, slamming his fist into it, breaking it, sending the rubble back to the floor, leaving an opening.
With a clear path being revealed, Homehit raised her fist, punching Fortune, sending the powerful villain hurtling backwards. “You little shit.” She cursed at Homehit before turning to Deathly. “And you. You have some nerve helping those brats, I’ll take you all down.”
The surrounding area shook, the situation getting dire. Was she really going to bring down the entire building? She didn’t seem to care about the art anymore, wanting to kill the group. Deathly prepared to attack, only to watch Spiderbite hanging from the ceiling, about to fall.
“Damn it, I told you all to stay back. Googoo boy, start putting your slime on anything you can reach, try to make it stick together, buy us some time. Spiderbite, drop from the ceiling, I’ll catch you.” Deathly ordered, getting into position.
“I won’t trust a villain; you just want to kill me. Googoo, can you make me something to land on?” Spiderbite said, struggling to keep his grip. His powers not granting him the climbing abilities of a spider unfortunately, only the ability to deliver a handful of toxic bites or sprays.
“I can’t. Everything keeps wobbling. I’ll try to slow the fall down, that’s all I can do. Can Homehit get you?” He asked, desperately placing his slime between broken pieces of the building, keeping it stuck together temporarily. Poor Googoo probably thought he was saving civilians, not knowing that the gallery was empty.
Homehit was dazed, trying to regain her composure after the throw. Deathly waved his arms at Spiderbite, only to get hit in the back by a brick. “Heh, two birds with one brick, I’ll kill you both.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/o6dbxn/wp_officially_youre_a_weak_d_rank_villain/h2rzmh4/)
| 2021-06-23T10:23:23
| 2021-06-23T08:19:33
| 1,588
| 164
|
[WP] An ancient manuscript is unearthed. It is proven to be the original Book of Revelation. After it is translated, there are actually FIVE Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Describe the Fifth Horseman, his color, and his contribution to the Apocalypse.
(Title)
|
Death. War. Famine. Pestilence. The four horsemen of the apocalypse; that deadly quartet of brothers who with them bring nought but a hurricane of suffering and misfortune. By many they are considered the harbingers of the end times, the heralds of the apocalypse, but those people forget their brother, the fifth horseman.
Following behind his entropic kin follows another horseman, his modus operandi differing markedly from his brothers, whilst remaining very much the same. He holds sway over his brothers, for without his workings they would know no purpose.
In the crimson, tumultuous wake of his compatriots, he furrows the earth and sows the seeds for a new beginning, and from these seeds sprout the worlds and empires that his brethren are destined to destroy. Thus again in their wake again he follows, sowing those very same seeds once again, perpetuating the eternal cycle. The cycle of death and rebirth.
His name is Life.
The fifth horseman of the apocalypse.
EDIT: some spelling and punctuation
|
When He broke the fifth seal, I heard the fifth living creature saying, “Come.” And as last, a brown horse, went out; the man who sat on him was chubby and round of face, an ugly sneer painted on it. A golden crown, a golden chain and a golden cloak, and hungry eyes peeking out over the horizon. "My daughters for a mansion, my wife for lands and my firstborn son for an army!", he exclaimed. With him came the power to influence men to be led astray of the path the Lord had tried to set man on with promises of wealth, power and glory.
His name is Greed.
EDIT: typo
| 2015-09-22T14:41:27
| 2015-09-22T11:42:52
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
|
"Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a galactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
Honestly I didn't know what to say at this point, partly because I couldn't find my mouth. In fact... I couldn't really feel anything. The room we were in was lit by a strange golden light that seemed to be coming from where I was currently "standing". Apparently the large being heard my thoughts.
"You are currently what is known as a 'programmable essence'," the large being said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "We have your original 'settings' stored as it were. And it's quite lucky we did," the being continued. "We scanned you just before you were vaporized. You can think your thoughts and I will hear them. I ask again kindly. Is there anything you'd want us to change?"
I absentmindedly tried to take on a pensive pose and continued to ponder this. If I had a brow, it would be sweating. I remember myself before the whole scenario happened. Tall-ish, fair skinned with freckles, brown hair, thin, and fit but had a layer of belly fat that while it didn't make me look as if I were pudgy it obscured my abs, which I had been working on before I got my desk job that got so rudely invaded by phaser fire not very long ago. But a question began forming in my mind. Could this guy give me super powers?
"In a way, good sir, and sorry. I heard your question. I cannot give you super powers akin to ones from your superhero movies, but I can give you the ability to change between two different forms at will and your aging I can slow down... at least phenotypically."
I decided to press on with what had just been said. *'So I could be given a new form to shift to whenever I want?'* I think the being saw where this was going.
"You... want to be a girl, don't you?" I tried nodding my head, but as essence I only flickered. "Then I shall give you this ability. Your old self will be your primary form, but this new form will be the only one you can shift to and it will age with you. Understood?" I flickered again. "Understand again this. In exchange for your silence I give this to you. Tell no one." I flickered once more. "I already know what your ideal form is, as you were imagining it as I was speaking, were you not?" I flickered again, this time my glow red-shifting a bit. "It will be done. When you wish to shift, only think it. Your clothes will shift with you, and as a bonus, people will still recognize you as if you were always that way. This shall happen because... like I said. Your silence is golden." Fair enough I thought. But he doesn't need to bargain with me. My life is literally in his hands. The being pretended not to hear me.
"Now we have rewound time for you back home. you will awaken in your bed and all of this will feel as if it were a dream. Effecting changes now."
Green light began swirling around my essence body and feeling began slowly creeping in. Suddenly I was falling through a black void as my body finished reforming and my pajamas appeared on me. As quickly as the falling began, I awake to the sound of my alarm clock.
I'm getting this strange feeling of deja-vu. Wait. That dream. He said he rewound time! Whatever... he... was. He also said... GIRL MODE!
I transform into a beautiful woman. One of ideal healthy bodily proportions, looking the relative age of myself with long brown hair, my same freckles, a pearly white smile and beautiful deep blue eyes. I giggle to myself as I transform back. This is going to be the best Monday ever.
&#x200B;
I suck at ending these things. I've been reading too many shape-shifting stories so I had to write one myself.
|
"Dead? I'm dead? How the hell am I here then? " I was standing in some sort of room, it looked like a doctors waiting room, but it was ultra clean and perfect, like some kind of simulation. It just looked a little bit too plastic and shiny. In front of me was the most perfect looking human I'd ever seen. She was flawless and a bit uncanny valley. Her face remained neutral as she watched me carefully.
"Where am I?" I asked the person cautiously. Why would they bring me to this weird place? What did they want with me?
They smiled a little, "inside your head. We created this place so we can talk to you, person to person."
"Huh? How? Why?"
"You are here because we saved you with our technology. Your people were not supposed to be part of this battle at all. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Flashes of images rolled through my mind of weird looking creatures brawling in the street outside of my house in the dark. They were massive and one of them had a gun, they fired, a blue shimmer went across the other creatures body and the blast was deflected up. It smashed my window and hit me in the chest. It burned for a moment as I stood, watching as the creature with the gun looked up at me, I couldn't take a breath. I remember falling but that was it. I couldn't remember hitting the ground.
I felt panic, but none of the feelings of it were normal. I couldn't react how I normally would. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, knowing that I wasn't really breathing, that the reason I wasn't reacting normally was because my body just wasn't there.
"I don't have a body right now, do I?"
"Your body is being rebuilt as we speak, it is currently in the design process and, well, we can only begin to rebuild if you agree to a few simple demands. One, you tell the world that the damage was caused by an unknown explosion and two, you don't tell anyone that we exist. As a reward, we'd like to offer you a few things, you can change anything about your body."
"Anything?"
"Yes, anything?"
I thought about it. My body, while being kind of awesome at times, had some annoying flaws that I'd love to fix.
"How many things can you fix?"
"As many as you'd like. I'll leave you alone, we have a computer here for you to help you design your new body. Your original imprint is already in here. Our designer will visit to finalise everything once you are ready."
My mind raced, the possibilities were endless. I thought about it carefully. I needed to fix my annoying knees so I they wouldn't hurt so easily, get rid of my asthma, those were the main things I wanted fixed, oh, and make it so my hair doesn't frizz anymore. Yes, I 100% wanted these things. What else did I want? Those annoying niggles of pain from old injuries needed fixing, those were next. I was then sent to a screen to choose other things. It was like playing the sims, designing your own character. My original body was there on the screen. I could select and change whatever I liked. I clicked on my face, so many options turned up. I could change whatever I wanted. I started messing around. I had a side by side comparison up of my old face and what I was changing. It was actually really fun and felt like I was playing a video game. Eventually I had finished. I hadn't changed too much, just tweaked areas to make them a little more flattering. Then it came to my body. I was honestly not too fussed about changing it apart from making myself skinnier and giving myself a little more muscle. I could even change the age scale, making myself older and younger. I chose to make myself ten years younger, back to 21. I would go even younger, but I didn't want to look like a kid around my friends.
"I see you are nearly done." A voice commented from somewhere and nowhere. It felt like I blinked as another perfect person appeared in front of me.
"I'm never going to get used to that," I muttered.
"Now, we can offer you a few more things as compensation. We can make it so your body, as it's human, you will age, but we can prevent any mutations, any fatal sickness from taking you. You also won't gain any added weight easily from food. It seems like your old body was difficult to control with weight. I'd like to fix that as well."
"Really?" I grinned and he nodded.
"Now, I'd also like to grant you and the people you are closest to one more thing. One the eventual expiration of your bodies, I'd like to bring you back here and give you all the chance of having a second life. We would allow you to begin your life again as children, together. We can create parents and allow you all to live good lives wherever you would like to live. This is our final offer. All you have to do is promise you will not tell any other humans that we exist."
"But I'm going to look different when I go back. How do I explain that?"
"They will know it's you. We have ways, don't worry about it."
"What about the house?"
"It's all fixed, we also added a little compensation to your bank accounts. It's all yours, it should cover any other expenses."
I thought about it and nodded. The deal I was getting seemed to be amazing. I would still be me, but a better me.
"Ok. I agree to keep your secret as long as you live up to your end of the bargain."
The man nodded and smiled.
"I have one request, when I wake up in my new body, I want to see your ship, I want to actually meet you, not just this computer generated human body."
The man looked concerned. He paused in front of me and didn't move. I walked to him, he was frozen in place, unmoving, unblinking. I poked him, he felt like a solid object, like a wall, he didn't react and his body didn't even move.
"It is agreed." I jumped and stumbled backwards, he was back. "I have one more question. Your mind seems to be, how should I say this, the fear center of your brain seems to be, well, over mutated. I've never seen a human's brain wired quite like it before. I wish to correct it, if you are happy for me to do so."
"You mean, it will get rid of my anxiety?"
"Not all, a human without fear is a scary thing. I would only set it back to a regular pattern. Do you want this?"
"Yes!" I spoke a little too quickly and louder then I expected. "Please."
"It shall be done. You will be waking shortly. Time passes different here in the mind. You will wake inside our ship, our true forms will seem quite scary, but we will install a translation chip so you can understand us and will be able to communicate. It translates most known languages in the galactic federation."
I nodded and felt a small pang of fear. I wasn't scared of the aliens. Why would I be since they were saving my life? I was scared of something going wrong. They were going to put my mind back inside a body, a new body. What if it rejected it, what if something goes wrong? I blinked and coughed. I wasn't in the room any longer, my mouth felt so dry, my body felt so heavy. I squinted but my eyes were so blurry. I went to rub them but my arms weren't moving.
"She's awake," someone spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice. I couldn't see whoever it was. They sounded weird, like I was underwater.
"Human, your body is still fresh, it's going to take a couple of hours for it to comply with your mind fully, "please have patience while we wait."
I couldn't say or do anything. I felt so relieved though. I was awake and I felt, I felt different inside my own head. That niggling fear that was always present inside my stomach was gone. I felt my face twitch into a small smile. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I was alive, my body was better then ever.
| 2019-10-28T13:39:18
| 2019-10-28T12:30:59
| 34
| 23
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
“I sneak up behind my target, aim my derringer at his head, and pull the trigger”
“Roll a d20 twice against your agility and once against your dexterity”
A 5
A 17
D 12
“You successfully sneak up on your target and shot him in the head. However you chose a poor spot to hide while shooting and get spotted by a nearby theater patron. Your target dies within hours while you flee the scene under pursuit. The police know your identity”
“Imma hide in this here barn”
|
“... Why don’t we just kill all of them?”
Everyone at the table replied with the same idea: “Are you effing insane?! We can’t just kill an entire religion because we want the city they’re in!”
“Well why not? I mean, it is our land. Jesus said so.”
“You can’t do that, even if you are the Pope!”
The DM interjected, “Roll for attack. You do have an army at your disposal.”
Before anyone could get anything in edgewise, he had already rolled a die. Everyone looked at the upturned face, “14.”
The DM flipped through a couple pages before saying, “Your attack goes very well, however, the Muslims still defend their homeland. Further crusades will be necessary to finish what you’ve started.”
After a short discussion, everyone agreed that Pope’s strategy was probably the best after all. “We’ll launch another crusade.”
A quick roll turns up... a 1.
“Well, heck. Try again?” Pope suggested. “There are always a couple bad rolls.”
Another roll turns up a 2. The DM rolls behind his sheet. “Well, uh, you don’t die?”
Before anyone can comment, Pope rolls again. 1. “Something’s gotta give!” He quickly rolls again. “Oh, a 15. That’s good!”
The DM looks down, then looks up and says, “Well, your fourth Crusade missed the Holy Land entirely. But it did get some sick loot from Constantinople.”
After ten more rolls below 3, the party gives up.
| 2018-05-29T09:28:35
| 2018-05-29T09:19:29
| 39
| 13
|
[WP] Suddenly, all sea life vacates a 300 mile wide area in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. A ship is deployed to investigate.
|
They call it "Verne's Abyss".
Which ironically didn't inform just how deep this 'hole' went, considering Verne's 20000 leagues measured the distance travelled and not depth reached.
It was as if a large spherical shadow suddenly appeared over the Pacific, chasing away all life in it with a ferocious vigour. Preliminary scans found that how deep it went was beyond anything current deep sea vessels could handle. Most lost contact at around 6000 metres below sea level and were never retrieved. Lifeforms scans were impossible due to how much volcanic activity there was disrupting geographical terrain and sonar technology.
A portal to hell just opened and God just had to choose me to lead the team that would seal it. Based on satellite imagery, the Abyss(my preferred naming of it) measured 300 miles in diameter at its longest ends. Its shape was more like an eye, as if a great beast slumbering in the Earth had just awoken, disturbed by the mistreatment of its domain. I parked my vessel just at the edge of the shadowed waters, setting up a ring with each vessel spaced out at a comfortable 25 miles from each other. Such an event of possibly catastrophic proportions and China and Russia still refuse international cooperation on the basis of bad relations. But what do I know, I'm only the leader of this international effort, not a goddamn politician.
"Sir, time now is 0300 PST. No sightings as of yet from any of our vessels. Still waiting on India, Korea and Indonesia to report their findings." I look up lazily to find a pretty face staring at me. Ahh Third-Mate Abigail, she was an up-and-coming sailor whose standards were as high as her cheekbones. "Thank you for your prompt update Abby but I think you can take it easy for now. We've been sitting on our asses for 72 hours and we still don't know jack shit about this hole 'cept that it might possibly be some colossal being's fuckhole." Abby muffled a giggle and I grinned slyly in return. Perhaps she knew that I too was thinking about...
"Urgent update from International Comms. India has something to report." Oh fuck. I rushed over to the phone and hurriedly identified myself, eager to hear the news. "The INS Vikrant is proud to report that nothing is out of the ordinary commander. Thank you for your time." I don't know if it was the thick accent behind the voice or that it was fucking 3am in the middle of the apocalypse in the making but I couldn't stand it anymore. I slammed the phone and walked onto the bridge. The fresh sea air always did soothe my boiling nerves.
As smoke billowed from my mouth and a warm comforting heat descended down my body, I took a moment to survey the surroundings around me. My eyes had grown accustom to the dark of night on the open ocean, and the stars above were shining brightly despite the terrifying unknown that lay ahead. "Temperature. That must be it. No other explanation for the extreme color difference. But how is it possible?" As much experience I had, mysteries of the big blue still drifted from my grasp. And in the blink of a moment, a speck of sand in the desert of life, everything changed.
Movement in the waters. My eyes bulged in their socket, my brain unbelieving at what these keen mariner's eyes had spotted.
Again. Quicker this time.
"MAN ALL STATIONS. WE'VE GOT A LIVE ONE." My heart pounded against my chest, my ears ringing at the sound of my own booming voice. This was it. What we've been waiting for. Suddenly the brilliant diamonds in the night sky vanished, snatched away by articifical rays of sun that beamed out of the mighty USS Darwin. "LIGHTS ON STARBOARD SIDE. 50°DOWN." My eyes must not fail me now. This thing was moving faster than any creature I'd ever seen, perhaps attempting to evade our sight or its capture. And yet like the great Captain Ahab I will not rest till this monster that lay before me can feel my breath on its skin. As the floodlights on my ship moved into position I could make out the shape of the creature, a slender oblong that darted and glided beneath the surface. My first thought was a killer whale or large shark, but as the lights intensified and the creature left the cover of its jet black waters, the horrifying truth dawned on me.
As a child I'd been a movie fanatic, always forcing my parents to take me to see the latest movie whether well-received or trashed by critics. One of my fondest memories was that of the summer '93, where the new craze was Spielberg's masterpiece "Jurassic Park". Little 10 year old me couldn't believe his eyes as prehistoric monsters, long dead and extinct came to life on the screen before me. And now at the ripe age of 47, winter of 2030, a similar creature came to life before me, this time without a screen to pull me back to reality. My mouth gawked at the sight before me, words seeming to dissipated into the still air surrounding me.
Reports started flooding in, Korea, Mexico, Singapore all reporting similar bizarre sightings of prehistoric looking leviathans arising from the Abyss, perhaps claiming back what was once theirs. Apex predators long removed from the food chain, now back with a voracious vengeance. My thoughts immediately jumped not towards what was happening right now, but what could happen. Dinosaurs on our Earth? In our now? The sea was the start, where all life began. What about the earth and the skies? Will they be safe as well?
And in the distance the ground cracked, and the sky split open.
|
First time writing so be gentle.
"I didn't mean to!" Tim exclaimed as he ran away from the side of the ship.
"Darn it, Tim..." I sighed, "I told you to be careful with that; if they find out that we lost it RIGHT after being told not to, they're gonna kill us! ...or worse! Take us home.."
Tim let out a short gasp as he struggled to find the words or actions to carry out to make things right.
"Just... don't touch anything." I said before he carried out some other "plan" to try to retrieve the lost item.
Tim sat there with a panicked look on his face as he just looked down into the mass of water he had just lost a prized possession to.
"So, here's the plan.. I'm going to go down there and try to retrieve the item before anyone notices that we don't have it anymore." I explained.
Tim tensed at the thought, "But, we don't have any rope or flotation devices to help if something goes wr-"
"I'll be okay." I say before he finishes his sentence. "All I have to do, is jump in and grab it real quick and jump back out. Nobody will even notice that we're not both still here!"
Tim reluctantly dropped his head in both sadness and embarrassment knowing none of this would be happening if it weren't for him. He hands me his knife that his father had given to him for his 6th birthday and says, "Be safe down there, buddy." with a big dumb smile.
I smiled back and jumped in.
As I got closer to it, I slowly realized that I'm not able to swim and started to panic.
Tim started screaming loudly, "Help! Somebody help! Danny is drowning!"
Everything starts to get dark as I look back up and see my best friend, Tim. Looking down in horror as I just sink further and further down into the depths of the water, then everything goes dark..
The next thing I remember is coughing up a lot of water and everything kind of spinning back into view.
I lay for a second longer just to grasp that I didn't die. As I look up at the person hunched over me I realize he's yelling, "Danny, do you hear me? Are you okay?!"
I respond with a weak voice and tears in my eyes, "Yeah, dad.. I'm okay.."
| 2017-11-17T07:27:57
| 2017-11-17T07:00:35
| 25
| 16
|
[WP] Fit as many plot twists as you can into one story.
|
Harry: "Screw you, dad!"
Michael: "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't lie anymore. I'm not your dad."
Harry: "Oh my god, how could you do this to me and Jamie?! Why didn't you tell us?"
Michael: "Your dad told me not too."
Harry: "Who is it? Who's my dad?"
Michael: "Your mom. Your mom is your dad."
Harry: "W... what?"
Michael: "Your mom is your dad. And ... I'm your mom..."
Harry: "I'm so confused. What are you trying to say?"
Michael: "Oh also, Jamie isn't your brother. He's an alien."
Harry: "He's an alien?"
Michael: "Yes. And you're a dog so stop whining."
Harry: "Woof!"
The end
|
The Grand High Weaver, Spinner of Threads, Architect of Fates looked in disbelief at the tangled, twisted mess on the floor before him.
"What do you mean you dropped it!?" He demanded of his acolyte, a lesser nephalem who managed only a whimper in response.
"Do you have any idea of the effects that this will have? An entire year, ruined! What kind of *idiot* are you to be so careless? This is the narrative of the universe itself!"
He spun to face the nepahlem and found her weeping, huddled into a ball, her many wings quivering as she sobbed. His rage dwindled and he let out a long sigh.
"Ahh, don't worry about it lass" he muttered, "we all make mistakes from time to time. We're only divine after all".
She raised her gaze at that, wide, tear-filled eyes meeting his.
"Go and put it with the others" he gestured, "I'll see if I can salvage things for 2017".
| 2016-11-27T12:34:41
| 2016-11-27T11:08:21
| 36
| 25
|
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth.
|
It was never supposed to be like...this. When I made that devilish deal all those years ago, I expected a few children every 18-20 years, to keep me perpetually 30. I started at 30, gained years as the next generation aged, then regressed, sometimes to my 20s, depending on how prolific my progeny were.
It went that way for centuries, gaining and losing, a genetic stock market that always worked to my benefit, with some long holds during hard times.. Sure, there were some surprises, here and there, like when my great-great-great grandson Feodor managed to set world records for most children born to one person. Seriously, who has 69 children in their lifetime? I nearly died!
But after that, things settled down a bit. I'd found someone to "raise" me when it set me back to childhood, and not all his children lived to adulthood, as was the case at the time. As the years went by, birth rates declined, and lifespans extended, so I lost track of a few of these descendants.
Imagine my surprise when I suddenly became a teen practically overnight. I knew, from the Benjamin Buttoning, that one of my offspring had done something stupid, but I didn't know who, or how.
So my search began, before it was too late. Eventually, I managed, through DNA and genealogy research, to learn the culprit was also one of Feodor's descendants. Having fallen on hard times, this fool of a boy did what a lot of good looking, smart college boys did when they need money, donated sperm for cash.
Perfectly legal, and above board, of course, but it poses a bit of a problem for me. Namely; how the hell does a baby break into a sperm bank?
|
A long time ago, I made a deal with an entity. That may seem unnecessarily vague, but to my knowledge there is no word in any surviving language for it.
One thing that modern fiction gets sort of right, is that the language of my birth was shared between all worlds. You can't summon demons with incantations. There is no such place as Hell...at least so far as I know. But there are other realities, and what we now call Latin was the bridge between them. Some of those, I guess the best English word is "spells" had the power to open portals between these realities, but those who knew them were careful to ensure that they have been all but lost to time.
This entity came from one of those realities where a form of magic does exist. I'm not going to attempt to explain it. I didn't understand it then, and I certainly cannot begin to recall all the details of it all these years later, but it worked.
At the time, I lived in Pompeii, and was running a very respectable brothel near the seashore. It had been a good life, at least for that era. Status, power and money were all in my hands, along with many of the loveliest young bodies of the age, but my knees were starting to count my years more than I did, and my back was learning how to do that math as well.
It wasn't the pain that bothered me, but the impending...end. It terrified me then. Of course, now that I've avoided it so long, I'm not as concer-
*Deodamnatus*.
Sorry. I'm just trying to put the finishing touches on this little contraption before everyone shows up for the family reunion.
Things used to be so much simpler, you know? You carved something, or hammered out some metal, or sculpted it. Now everything is these tiny little wires, and chips, and these damned cellular phones.
Though, I suppose that is one good thing about my current age, at least I have tiny fingers again. Of course, it looks rather strange for a child to be living in a big mansion like this alone, which is why I haven't gone outside for almost a decade now. But I digress, where were we?
Oh yes, my advancing age.
So when this entity turned up to experience some of my wares while in our reality, it seemed the perfect opportunity to ensure that I could live a long life, and I offered to let him have free reign over the merchandise as long as he liked, if he would grant me immortality.
The *irrumator* refused.
Then he came back and I tried again. And a third time. And a fourth. He was stubborn, but I had what he wanted, and he had the ability to give me what I wanted.
Almost a year passed before he had to go back to his own reality, and when that time came he wanted to take one of our products with him, and this was my chance. Because you see, there are only two ways to cross into another reality: by your own choice, or as part of an exchange between worlds.
The item he wanted to take with him had a family of its own here that it didn't want to leave behind, so it was an exchange. Of course, the entity offered me all sorts of riches if I would allow him to take it with him, but I was having none of it.
By the way, do you think three hours is right for the timer on this? People will be getting here in about 30 minutes, but you know how our family is always late to everything. I want to make sure everyone is here for the surprise. Okay good.
Anyway, we were then, as now, a rental service, not a dealership. If you wanted to buy the product for life, you did that elsewhere. But this one was nearing the end of its serviceable life anyway. The entity didn't know that. For whatever reason, they don't seem to age the same way we do.
So finally, we struck a bargain. He could take it with him, and in exchange he would cast upon me a gift. Whenever a child descended from me is born, I would grow younger by a single year.
He did, and then he departed with his purchase. I never saw either of them again.
As you might expect, I started sampling my own wares on a much more frequent basis now. Of all people, I was perfectly placed to make the most of that gift. A decade later and I was almost thirty years younger than when I had begun. Of course, there was some hit to the income since so many of my products would be out of service for extended periods of time, and that presented another problem, getting them back into the rotation.
So many of them were concerned about what they had produced, and I couldn't have them fussing over these squealing little things. Thankfully back then it was simpler to disposer of the little creatures without anyone asking any questions. Lost some of my products as a result, but they're always easy to replace with newer models.
Truth be told, in time I become bored with it all, so I closed up my shop, and made a tidy profit selling my stock to the new owner, which set me up for a while.
Over the next couple centuries I set up shop across Europe and what we now call the middle east, sampling the local merchandise for myself. But that was an era of turmoil.
First there was this big to-do in Golgotha and I had to shut things down and move across the continent. Almost got caught up in Teutoburg Forest and let me tell you, THAT was a mess. Lost a couple of years there when they attacked my caravan. Three months later and it wouldn't have mattered. Then there was the Batavi which forced me to move back south.
&#x200B;
CONTINUED BELOW (Character Limit)
| 2021-04-15T11:43:21
| 2021-04-15T11:39:36
| 37
| 24
|
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
|
"44634 upvotes? What could possibly be this deserving in Askreddit?" The whole scenario took me by surprise and upon opening the thread I was damn certain it was just another legendary Reddit day that would be talked about for a few months. But the comments seemed so.. Genuine.
"Ok, I am really starting to freak out, why the fuck can't I get out of my room?" ___deadpool___ was writing comments and replying to almost every suggestion I could see in the thread.
I stood up and walked over to my wooden door covered in white pain and took the brass handle in my hand. Something about the thread I was reading through made me feel so uneasy and I just couldn't shake it until I knew that my door was open and I had a way out.
I twisted my hand to turn the handle but it stayed in place. I tried harder a second time but the damn thing was not budging, as though frozen in time.
"What the fuck?" I muttered under my breath as I began to use more strength from both my arms this time but again the door appeared unmovable.
A cold sweat began to sink in as the comments I had just read repeated through my head. Suddenly this thread that I took so lightly became very real to me and i darted towards the window to confirm my fears. The moon shined through from the dark sky, I had never felt so far from it as I had when i began pounding on the window for help and desperately fighting with its own brass handle. This window was not about to move either.
This had to be a local event, surely it must be relates with the recent cold weather we were hit by? Reddit seemed to have more knowledge and experience with this phenomenon than I did, it was a beacon of hope that I sorely needed as claustrophobia began to set in.
Lebanon, Bruges, London, New York, even fucking outback Australia was being effected by this bizarre affair. None of it made any sense to me.
"Listen everyone, there HAS to be something that connects us, something we are missing. I want everyone to post details about themselves - jobs, locations, names, age, everything! There must be a link, this can't be random". The comment was flooded with replies of people eagerly sharing their full personal information and life stories, far more information than anyone should ever share on the internet.
"I'm Adam, I live in Manchester UK, I am a chef, I like video games. Wtf am I supposed to say? I got a vaccination last week for a holiday coming up? I ate nandos last night? My mothers name is Julia? What could you possibly need to know?"
"Well I got a shot last week too, so there is that I guess".
The replies began to rack up.
"Omg. So did I. For Malaria right?"
"Was that a Malaria jab?"
"No fucking way did we all get the same jab".
The results were undeniable and my heart began to pound. A burning sensation began to take over my deltoid muscle as the clear realisation hit me that I too had a Malaria Vaccination last week. A drop of cold sweat ran down the back of my neck and I suddenly began to feel very faint as I started to realise just how very real this scenario was. The worst part was knowing that it wasn't some mistake, I had gotten that jab and I had ended up with the same fate as the rest of them.
"FUCK THIS, FUCK ALL OF THIS, I AM GETTING MY SWORD OFF THE WALL AND I AM CUTTING THROUGH THAT FUCKING DOOR". ___deadpool___ had lost his cool and I began clicking the refresh button frantically for the next 5 minutes, desperate for news and some glimmer of hope. But what I got instead was something much worse.
___deadpool___ had given us his update... "Guys, there is a metal wall behind my door. I cut through and just hit pure metal. I ran to the window and called for help and it dawned on me. No one is here. No one is outside. I can't see or hear a single person. It's like someone locked me up and threw away the key".
Before I could even get up to check the repiles had already flooded through...
"Holy shit same here".
"Where the fuck is everyone?!"
"How did we miss this? Where are my family? Why is no one in the street?"
"I live in central fucking London. Not a single noise outside. No cars. No people. Just silence".
I backed away from my screen, suddenly the artificial light had made me feel extremely nauseas. I unloaded the contents of my stomach into the desk bin on the floor.
As I pulled myself together I peered through the window to see the same scenario. Pure silence with not a single soul in sight.
If you guys have enjoyed this then I will write part 2 tomorrow.
|
Woke up to my phones alarm. Time to start the day and like any other day, I had to take a leak. I stretched the sleep out of my bones as I got up from my temperpedic mattress.
I reached for the handle and it wouldn't twist.
"What the hell, Susan?!"
I can't unlock it.
"Honey! This isn't funny! Is this about last night?"
I keep trying to open the door, but nothing. My bladder begins to swell and cause me pain as my urge to pee grows with it. I start slamming my body up against the door, but it doesn't even budge!
That's when the shouting started. Strange men yelling from the other side of my door. With it also came the banging. Metal on metal.
Then it was one voice, loud and clear. I was being lifted up from the collar up my sleep scrubs.
"Smith, get the fuck out of bed! You're late for roll call and we don't take kindly to that here in this fine prison!
You'll learn that pretty quick fish."
| 2016-01-31T14:12:15
| 2016-01-31T10:07:26
| 60
| 21
|
[WP] You are born with the ability to stop time, but one day you see something else is moving when you have already stopped time.
|
"This isn't possible," I repeated for maybe the fiftieth time. The man in front of my calmly sipped his coffee, apparently totally unbothered by everyone else's ceasing to move.
I looked around at the rest of the café. As with every other time, it was solid. I don't mean, like, it had all stopped - I mean, that's what it *looked* like, but it was so much more than that. If I was to throw some sugar into the air, it would have just hung there. No momentum. No movement. Like a solid mass, floating in the air.
*But how could he be moving?*
"You're not *really* stopping time, you know," the man smiled cryptically, as if in response to my thought.
"Sorry?"
"See, actually stopping time would be... very bad," he continued. His tone was like a Nobel Prize winner's when he has to explain to a five-year-old why fighting against a certain type of cooties is important. "So you don't really stop it. Essentially, time is still moving - it's just moving very, *very* slowly. So slowly, it seems like everything is standing still. But it's not, as I assume you can see." He smiled again - God, what a smug smile! Like he had all the answers!
"Alright, then, genius," I frowned, more than a little frustrated with the condescension. "How are you moving?"
"Quickly," he replied almost instantly. He'd been waiting for that question, the prick. "Very quickly. So quickly that, even as time has slowed to a crawl... I still move as normal. Clever, isn't it?" There was that smug smile again.
"...So why me?" I asked. "You can move so fast, what're you bothering with a loser like me for?"
"I don't think you're a loser," the man frowned, his expression faltering for the first time. "I think, if you wanted to, you could be a hero. All it would take is proper creative application of your powers. Now, could you do me a favour and return time to normal? If I tried to move as-is, the friction would be catastrophic."
Still not sure what he was on about, I nevertheless nodded, and concentrated a little. I could feel a bit of sweat form on my forehead as I gritted my teeth. Finally, like a switch had been flipped, the noise and commotion of everyday life returned. The man in the wheelchair smiled again.
"I think this could be the start of an interesting little endeavour," he grinned.
-----
This story is a continuation of [this earlier post](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4n2u8e/wp_everyone_is_born_with_a_disability_and_an/d40jipo).
|
I was seventeen years old, that's counting the time I actually moved through with everybody else. I cannot account for the 'time' I have spent suspended, there was simply no way to measure that, no clocks, no day and night. The only thing that moved was me, well to some degree. After I unstopped the time I always ended up in the same state I stopped it at, no matter what. Once I wandered all the way to Mexico, quite an adventure considering I had to make the whole journey on my feet, took me few months at least. I think. The blisters that I got during that, bloddy mess, but no matter. As I mentioned I returned to the very same state I have stopped the time at. As If I haven't moved an inch. You could say I've lived at least few lifetimes. But that's no life I got to tell you, the excitment wears pretty qucikly. With all that time I had I could have been the smartest person there is. I didn't even have to learn all of the things, just stop the time when needed and read on the necessary. I've read many books. Couple thousand at least. I lost the count. Going to school stopped being interesting after I peeked under every girls dress. My mind may have been centuries old, it was telling me no, but my body, it was telling me yes. I have never gone further than that. Just a peek. I eagrly awaited the time I turn eighteen, but as the time passed I grew more impatient. I just wished I was older, I just wished I could finally be considered the adult that I really am. I wished I could speed up the time instead of stopping it. The day of my birthday came closer and closer, finally I would be an adult. I stopped the time more often and often, I wanted to savor that feeling, I finally was excited for something. Two days before my birthday I felt a slight warm breeze at the back of my neck. I quickly unstopped the time, I was petrified. It was the first time I felt something like this. I was afraid to stop the time again, but I was somehow drawn to it, something new, a fresh feeling. I stopped the time again. I felt a slight touch on my hand, like someone wanted to grab me but couldn't. I panicked, I didn't even take a look, I unstopped the time. My hand hurt, it hurt badly, like something was pulling it apart. But I wouldn't give up, I couldn't. I had to be braver I told myself. I am no child. I stopped the time.
- Hello. - Said the voice behind my back.
- Hello. - I answered, but I couldn't turn to see whose voice it was, altough it was oddly familiar.
- It's time to choose. Choose but wisely. There is no return.
- Time to choose what?
- Time to choose.
- But time to choose what? - I asked angrily.
- Precisely, the time. - He whispered into my ear.
- I don't understand, who are you?
- No matter who I am. You must choose, what will you choose? Time or no time? Choose quickly, as there is no time.
- I choose time. - I yelled.
I came back and I was no child, no more.
PS: I'm not that great at english, and it really is only my third story written in it besides the two i wrote yesterday, so I would greatly appreciate any tips.
| 2016-06-19T05:03:39
| 2016-06-19T03:54:17
| 667
| 48
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago...
|
It started when Sara drew pictures of him. With her crayons she scribbled what ever her mind could comprehend from his visits. Vivid purples, reds, and blacks covered the paper she was given daily. A small head was customary, accoumpanied by large shoulders. Large hands often times pointing or splayed out far. The smiles were downright disturbing, to think a seven year old could draw them. Jagged and terrifying, they were always the same. With hypnotized eyes, the man was the only thing she would draw. Crying for hours on end if she didn't get any paper. The girl was a brat, if anything, but had some soft spots. She loved watching football, with Steven, her step Dad. Occasionally falling asleep with a small smile on her face. It was too many days in a row now, I had seen the man too many times.
"What did you draw honey?" I asked Sara.
"My old daddy." She quietly replied.
This is the first time I have shared my writing, hope you enjoy.
The idea behind the piece is about traumatized children in adoption services. The pov is a social worker.
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34
| 2017-05-31T05:31:30
| 116
| 86
|
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time.
|
It's been months since your last escapade. You've sealed yourself from society, as your powers just aren't suited to do good. You have made it very clear that your assistance is only going to be provided if it's absolutely necessary. You can't risk creating horrible unavoidable repercussions. Even if for a noble cause, there's a multitude of consequences for your interference. Sometimes it would be better to not help if helping would create a net negative of casualties. At one point, even if out of your control, you killed hundreds trying to save dozens. It's just too risky.
But the phone rang. You retired for good purpose. You told them the consequences. But you never know if you will be truly needed or not. For once, you make an exception. You pick up the phone.
"Hello, we've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."
|
"What's up?" I answer still dozing since I just woke up.
"So we have finally captured Alex, but we need you to brainwash them."
"Alex? The only S-Tier villain Alex? The 'I accidentally crushed a building because I sneezed' Alex? The 'we moleculized them and they still came back' Alex? How in the- you know what, not important. What exactly do you need me to do?"
"Well we have a E-Tie- sorry, they just got promoted to D-Tier, villain and we would you like you to make Alex fall in love with them while making the D-Tier be just friends with Alex, and we think that may tame Alex."
"I really don't think this will work, but not even the Eternity area will hold them, so worth a shot. I'm on my way."
| 2022-03-29T03:47:27
| 2022-03-29T03:31:39
| 30
| 21
|
[WP] among the many senses developed on alien worlds, hearing is not one of them. To most extra terrestrials, the idea that we can detect them even with a wall between us is utterly horrifying
|
The chittering, clicking of the hive resonated through the cavern – they were close now. The hunters, we called them, they chased us deep underground into the caverns. Here, without the use of their wings and beady eyes, we finally held an advantage. The caverns were filled with the stench of Sulphur; the air was thick and heavy, masking our scent, blocking our pheromones. Our only sense – our hearing.
It was the single advantage the humans held over the winged terrors, and we intended to use it.
“Into the crevice, quickly now. I can hear them; get ready” I said, clutching my assault rifle.
I pressed my chin against the cavern wall, listening to the clicking and buzzing of the creature as it rounded the corner. It scuttled past me in the darkness; I aimed toward the sound and fired two successive bursts. The suppressor dampened the flash, but I could see the insectile form splatter with green blood as my bullets found their home.
“Reggie are you there?” I yelled, my ears still ringing. I could only hope he was wearing his earplugs.
“I’m here, just down the cavern. You got the bastard all right. My turn now.”
This was our routine, one would listen, one would recover. It was all we could do – we needed to hear to shoot – and if we shot we couldn’t hear. It was all we could do to keep the element of surprise in these dark, forsaken caverns. I felt him brush up against me in the darkness and handed him the rifle.
“We need to move down further – I think I heard a source of water.” Reggie said.
“If we go too deep, we won’t be able to find our way up.” I said.
“And if we stay, those bugs are going to find us and kill us. We need to stay one step ahead of them – you know how their hive mind works.”
I grimaced. Reggie was right. They already knew we were here – and this time they would be expecting the trap. We had to move – and fast. I installed my pair of earplugs, blocking my hearing completely. We proceeded further into the catacomb, Reggie holding my hand as I crawled along the cavern wall. We came to an intersection and Reggie squeezed my hand. The bugs were coming. I pressed myself flat on the ground, pushing my ear against the hard, stone walls. I could hear through the stone, small vibrations. The buzzing – their wings. One of the caverns must be wide enough for them to fly.
I heard the familiar burst of the rifle, and the muzzle flash illuminated the steam through the cavern. I felt something land on top of me and screamed. It was one of the hunters, still alive. I had my sidearm ready and took a shot in the darkness. I felt blood spatter my face as the bug landed in my lap, twitching. I removed my glove and put a hand on it’s quivering eyes. *Here we go again.* With a touch - I was connected to the alien mind.
*Pain – Fear. How can they find us? The steam - we cannot see through; we cannot fly. These things – so weak and pathetic on land and sky – they become the hunters now. They are ghosts in the cavern. They move down towards the source. They must be close now – do they know what they approach? We must stop them before they reach it.*
I gasp, pulling my hand away from the creatures’ eyes. This was a trick we learned when the war began. When the creature dies, the connection to their hive becomes strong – strong enough to be tangible, even to humans.
“Reggie? You alright? It’s my turn now.” I said, removing my earplugs. I grab the rifle from him.
“What happened?” He asked, shouting.
“Keep it down, I can hear just fine." I shouted. "I connected with the hive. Apparently, there’s something ahead the bugs are terrified of.”
“Well, if the bugs won’t go there, it’ll be safe for us” Reggie said, lowering his voice.
What is ‘safe’ these days anyway? Regardless, Reggie was right – we needed to move on. If there was something down there, we might as well find it.
&#x200B;
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
The cool earth cushioned softly beneath Blue-Green-Magenta's bare soles. He looked to his aide, Red-Scarlet-Teal, who nodded ahead to Ms. Hawk's home door, quiet as any world.
Eyes looked between blinds from houses around the street. Children-to-gods of all earthling years peered at the iridescent, slightly moving scales of... "*I wonder what we'll call them,"* thought a boy. His father, too shocked since the reverberation of windows and ear-piercing shrill of dying engines, forgot to ask himself how to care for a child in such a new world.
The boy noticed their clothes. Black--every piece. Except three verticle circles--three down the spine, three down the front, and three on each sleeve. One of the beings walked up behind Blue-Green-Magenta to gently trace his spine from blue circle, green, to magenta.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned around.
The Tracer One began an intracate dance of eight long, four-knuckled, graspers on each hand. Blue-Green-Magenta watched, unblinking. The boy *had* seen them blink. He was surprised by the deep purple of their eyes. He wasn't sure to be more terrified that they could close their eyes, as opposed to never blinking like dead things do.
Blue-Green-Magenta made an arrangement of graspers of one hand, held in the air between the Tracer One and himself. Upon command, the Tracer's graspers went still. Not to his sides.
Still.
Blue-Green-Magenta turned his attention once more to the task at hand. The boy became uncomfortable, as Blue-Green-Magenta and The One Who Nodded, Red-Scarlet-Teal, starred at each other.
Minutes passed.
The boy's father remembered him. "Dan, I need you to go to your room." Arrival of whining police sirens spoke the panic and indignance of the boy. The sirens sounded like they'd stopped a small subdivision street or two away. The boy and father heard more gather on streets to the left--and on the street behind the fence of Ms. Hawk's backyard, ahead. "Dan, I have..." The boy looked to the dinosaur toy he'd enjoyed just a quarter hour ago till Earth felt new soles. "Dan."
The boy quickly walked to his toy, swapped it up, and turned into the hallway. The father heard the door slam. As he turned back to peer through the liviing room blinds, he heard the plastic whur of the boy's bedroom blinds rise. "DAN!" A crash of plastic, three stomps, and the puff of a comforter.
Now that his boy was (again) no longer a distraction, Mr. Jenson turned his attention again to Them. *Why... Why are they outside Ms. Hawk's door?*
Blue-Green-Magenta raised an iridescent scaled fist, between himself and the wooden door that stood silent and still as the Tracer. Red-Scarlet-Teal reached inside a thigh pocket, produced a sheet of paper, held it as a sign, facing the door. Mr. Jenson wondered what they would write... *Draw?*...
The alien fist would have made contact with the door, awkward and unpracticed, but it opened. The eyes that had been in the window of the second floor were no longer there. Ms. Hawk stared, wide-eyed, taken aback. She thought maybe deep purple eyes stared, too. She noticed the sign.
*Ms. Stacey Hawk, President of the National Association of the Deaf?*
\[continued in comment below\]
| 2018-11-02T21:24:32
| 2018-11-02T20:00:37
| 199
| 115
|
[WP] You often pick up pennies you find on the ground, inspecting them for date, markings, etc. One day, you find a penny from 2044. Even more shocking, it's your face on the front.
|
I had always picked up pennies from the floor for good luck and I would be needing some luck right about now. Never gave them much thought or a second glance, but this time the coin felt slightly heavier as I stood back up. I examined it closer to see if I had picked up a particularly rusty nickel. No, there was no rust and it was definitely a penny, an almost impossibly new one.
*2044* it read. Why would we still be using pennies by 2044? For some reason I found that stranger than the fact I was looking back at myself grinning wide with shiny copper teeth minted on the coin. I stared at it with detached curiosity for a few seconds and flipped it over.
The Lincoln Memorial was replaced with a picture of a giant, familiar wall although this one looked like it had crumbled and resembled more the fallen Berlin Wall than the abomination at the border. More curious still.
Instead of *E Pluribus Unum*, this coin read *Quam Minimum Credula Postero.*
"Huh..." I shrugged.
I dropped the coin in my pocket. Took a deep breath, looked through my rifle's scope and took aim at the man giving a speech.
|
"Today started just like any other day. I woke up, got myself ready for the day, and then went and ate some breakfast in the cafeteria." I said to Carol.
"Okay, so then what happened?" Carol replied.
She seems more cold today than usual. Less cheery maybe but who knows I could be reading into too much.
"Well after breakfast I took my morning walk through the park and you know how I am. I was looking around for any change to add to the collection and I found a particularly shiny penny. So, I bent over to pick it up and read the date, but it said 2044 on it..." I can feel my chest get tight as I utter out the last few syllables.
"Well that is quite strange Theodore. Was there anything else strange about the penny?"
"Well... I noticed that my face is on it. I...I..."
"What is it Theodore? You can talk to me, you know I am here to talk through anything with you."
"Well Carol. I had a flashback or a vision when I saw it. I saw myself in a suit and holding that penny in a box while shaking a man's hand for pictures. I don't know what it means, but it felt so real... like I was actually there."
"Do you have the penny now Theodore?"
I reach into my change pocket and sift through my handful of pennies, nickels, and dimes. It's not here. Where did it go?! I came straight to my session with Carol after my walk.
"I... I... don't know where it is... I had it on my walk over here." I stuttered to Carol in shame.
"Well Theodore. I don't want to upset you but do you think that maybe you just imagined that penny? Your condition is starting to develop more rapidly now and hallucinations are often one of the first late stage signs."
"It felt so real Carol. I could feel the fake copper between my fingers... the indention of my face in the coin."
I feel my chest tighten even more and my vision starts to fade to a different image. I can see a band above my eyes. I can hear the distant hum of machines, and what is this cold metal I am laying on. My vision swirls back to the room with Carol, and I feel sweat covering me.
"We are loosing him. MAYDAY MAYDAY he is starting to breakthrough!!" Carol shouted into her lapel.
The security guard comes crashing through the door with a nurse following him. He starts to push me down in my chair.
"What are you doing John?!" I scream as I try to struggle out of his grip. The nurse sticks my thigh and I fade away to darkness.
Oh God it's so bright in here. It feels like I have a hangover... Wait where am I? This looks like the room from before. I look over to my side. There are a ton of tubes sticking out of me whats going on?! Did I have a panic attack? \*CRASH\* the door busts open. Three people in masks walk in.
"It's gonna be okay Theo we've got you now." The largest of the said through a skull masks.
"Who are you people? Where is Carol? Where are we?" I stammer out in fear.
"Theo now is not the time for questions you just gotta trust us so we can get you out of here safely." The smallest of the group said in a kind voice.
They cut the band from around my eyes and remove the enclosure around me. The larger two flip me onto a stretcher and drape a sheet over my body.
"Play dead until we are out of here if you want to live."
A few minutes pass by and then the sheet is removed. I'm in the back of a van.
"Where the hell are we going? What is going on Goddammit?!!"
"Shh Theo, we are here to help but we aren't out of the woods yet. This place is about to go on full lock-down so we have to hurry."
I can feel the van speeding up beneath me. \*WOOWOOWOO\* A siren blares in the background
"This is not a drill. Repeat this is not a drill. Code Orange. I repeat code orange. Everyone report to your designated check-in terminal." The man says hurriedly over the loud speakers.
I can hear the van struggling to get to speed. \*CRASH\* The van crashes into something metal. Im hurled into the wall as we turn sharply at a corner.
"Okay so are we alright now, can you tell me why I am in the back of a getaway van???"
The two sitting in the back with me remove their masks. One is a slender woman probably 5'4 or less, brunette, doe eyes. The other is a rather nerdy looking guy, short black hair, a little on the heavier side, average height.
"Well Theo, we came to save you. What all do you remember?" The woman said with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.
"I remember being at my care facility for the past couple of years. I remember working through my problems with Carol, and I remember all of my walks in the park and time spent with the other patients. I remember my life from before I got sick. God I miss those days with my family."
"Oh Theo, this may come as shock to you but none of that is real. Carol, the walks in the park, the fellow patients, your family from before, your sickness... It's all fiction. You have been in a simulation for the past three years." She said looking disheartened
"I... I.. What?"
"You were the President Theo, but the Ishkas took you, put a clone in your place, and put you in a simulation."
My vision flashes back to me standing at the Lincoln memorial. I can feel my chest starting to get tight again. My vision is swirling around the room.
"Oh no, Kyle, we have got to remove these memory blockers now or he might get hurt."
Everything goes black. I fade away to darkness...
\~FIN\~
I would be willing to do a part 2 if anyone likes this I just don't want to make it too long.
| 2018-06-27T09:04:12
| 2018-06-27T08:56:39
| 38
| 22
|
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it.
|
Honest John they called me. It wasn't actually my name, but sometimes people latch onto an idea and can't really be persuaded to let it go. I have taken advantage of this little niggling detail of human psyche in the past however, by all the salt in my blood, I guarantee I'm not a lying man.
The robbery happened late Wednesday night. It was a small band of crooks that stole a couple hundred million in bearer bonds, stock certificates, and intellectual property. Portable secrets for the most part, not really traceable once they started to bounce around the darker portions of the world. Funnily enough, it was an all female team of crooks that stole the kit and kaboodle.
Of course I was investigated. Everyone on my security team was, as were all the bank tellers, and everyone up to the president of the bank. When it was my time to sit down I had to be a little blunt with the wet streak of piss investigating me.
I didn't like to start rumors about the young lady I had been spending the evening in question with but I told the detective "Sir, if you're asking me point blank I have to tell you. Little Margaret down there? Curly headed blonde? I was with her on that night. If you ask her hard enough I'm sure she will tell you everything that we did, and by my soul, I am not a lying man but that would mightily embarrass me. By your leave I'll just write her a note saying that it's ok with me if she answers your questions."
> Mag, please answer this gentleman's questions, I already said we were together that night, just don't say anything about our activities that might embarrass yourself or myself. I have his guarantee he won't ask for anything too revealing.
"That meet your standards, detective? I do hope it will help you. By my oath, I'm not a lying man, I do hope these bastards get caught."
And that was roughly it for me. They never caught the thieves, and regrettably that was likely my fault. I learnt long ago that people see what they insist upon seeing. With me they see big, solid, dependable, and (above all) honest John. And I let them see that.
By my soul, I'm not a lying *man*
|
Seven minutes to close, and I had been sitting staring at the clock for at least twice that time.
Mr. Anferno startled me out of my daze with a half-heard question; "---this evening?".
I snapped my gaze toward him stumbling over my response sluggishly and a bit guiltily as well. "Sorry?" I asked for clarification.
Looking annoyed Anferno repeated himself, "I said, what are your plans for the rest of this evening Mr. Erenclout?"
"Oh! Nothing majorly exciting." I said. It was a good thing he hadn't asked about my plans for the weekend. "I plan to have a bit to eat and study up on some things that have piqued my interest recently." I continued.
Anferno looked satisfied with that. "Sounds like quite the plan you've laid for yourself Erenclout." He remarked smugly. How little he knew of the scale.
Walking to my car after punching out, I thought of the risk I was taking setting this up. Ever since I had cracked my skull seven years ago, and a fragment of bone destroyed the part of my brain able to speak anything but the truth, I had been playing the straight and narrow. I was sick of it. The smiles, the laughs, the infernal small talk. I was going to take this bank for all it was worth, and use that money to go somewhere where it didn't matter if I told the brutal honest truth; my money would lie for me.
| 2018-05-03T06:59:38
| 2018-05-03T06:48:53
| 41
| 22
|
[WP] When people die, a trial is held to decide if they go to heaven or hell. People are allowed to choose their attorney, regardless of if they know them personally or not. You're the first person to choose Satan as your attorney.
If it matters in the context of your story, you can choose the individuals that make up the jury.
|
Goldberg sat at the desk, filled with papers.
"You know, most people would have chosen a defender by now," a nearby soul asked.
But Goldberg wasn't most people. He was a lawyer. And despite his initial shock at learning of this afterlife when previously his old Rabbi said there was no eternal afterlife in Jewish tradition, Goldberg knew he had one advantage: time. It would take centuries to read through all the paperwork, but thanks to an eternal soul, centuries were but mere pocket change.
The basics weren't all that different from a US courtroom. There's a judge, a jury, prosecution, and defense. Goldberg could call anyone to defend him, or choose to represent himself. His time as a lawyer meant he knew going the pro se option would be a terrible idea. He could call on Jesus, who seemed to enjoy defending quite a bit, though Goldberg couldn't be sure of it as Jesus mostly defended Christians. He needed an option that would be literally foolproof.
And after nearly 3 centuries of poring through trial documentation, he had found the answer.
Goldberg walks into the courtroom, suppressing a bounce in his step. "Your honor," Goldberg said to the Archangel Michael, "I elect Satan as my defending counsel."
Murmurs erupted throughout the courtroom. No one had *ever* selected Satan as an attorney before. Even Satanists often went pro se, because their beliefs were more about self-reliance than worshipping any entity such as the devil.
Satan appreared, tall and clad in a well-pressed suit. He heads over to the prosecution's desk before Michael then informs him, "This defendant has selected Satan as his legal counsel."
Satan was furious. He had written the trial rules so well, he thought, so that nobody would ever call the designated Adversary as one's defense. But here he stood, as Michael passed a summary judgment and allowed Goldberg into Heaven due to the lack of a prosecution to try him.
"Just who the Hell are you?" Satan asked.
As the doors to Paradise opened, Goldberg proclaimed with a newfound sense of swagger: "I'm the best lawyer there's ever been!"
|
Defendant lobby. Forehead: sweaty. Palms: also sweaty.
I sit uncomfortably on a lounge chair twiddling my thumbs, waiting for *him* to show up. If he even is a *him*.
Who knows what the heck he is. All I'm sure of is that he's the only one who can help me now.
I take out my pocket watch. The dials are spinning randomly.
*Sigh. This isn't helping.*
I take a few deep breaths and try to ascertain my surroundings. Grey walls, grey chairs, ash coffee table. Paintings on walls. One pair of big doors. No other exit.
For God's own court house, things sure seem... Normal.
Some time passes. Suddenly, the big doors swing open and in comes a toga-clad winged man holding a spear.
"It's time." He says.
I reluctantly stand up, looking around the room. My defender is nowhere to be found. "Hey, uhh. I don't think-"
"It's time." The winged man cuts me off.
"Can I just-"
"It's time." He says one more time. I can't see his eyes through his visor, but his increasingly crinkled frown tells me I should abide him.
I step forward through the gates and enter another realm. I feel myself waft through the air as I am blinded by light. When my senses come to, I'm hovering above an unbelievable landscape.
Miles below me lies a land cleft in twain, one half covered by acres of lush fields and vibrant rivers, the other overflowing with canals of what has to be lava and caked by dark ash and soot.
A heavenly voice blares from above. I crane my neck and am again blinded.
"ALL RISE."
I instinctively move my legs to stand, then realize I'm still hovering. What am I supposed to do now? Can I turn this off?
"YOU ARE NOW IN THE DIVINE HALLS OF JUSTICE."
I begin to discern a figure. A billowing dress. Then a beard and a shiny laurel perched on the head.
"Are you God?" I ask.
I could now see the face. It grimaced.
"ALWAYS THE SAME QUESTION," it blares.
"WHAT YOU SEE IS MY PROJECTION. ONE OF MILLIONS. MY BEING COULD NOT TRIFLE SOLELY WITH ONE SHEEP AT A TIME."
*Fair enough*. I look behind me and see a vast starry space. Then turn back to God. An eternity of silence passes.
"WHERE IS YOUR DEFENDER?" It finally asks.
I feel a pang in my heart. What now?
"Well... It's uh."
"SPEAK UP, SHEEP." He moves his face uncomfortably close to mine. It is planetary levels of big.
"He's... Uh. Late."
"HMM. LATE, YOU SAY. SLOTH IS A SIN. YOU HAVE NOT CHOSEN WELL."
I finally find the courage to speak.
"I don't think so."
"HM?" God moves closer. "WHO THEN, IS YOUR DEFENDER?"
I can see the oily pores of God's surface.
"It's... Lucifer," I say.
God shoots away from me.
"LUCIFER? YOU DO NOT MEAN..."
As if on cue, another voice begins to blare from a distance.
"*DID SOMEONE SAY MY NAME!?*"
Out of nowhere, a fiery rift opens with an explosion. And out comes the devil himself.
A being just as large as God appears, wreathed in a crimson gloss. A hunky male figure with long, blond hair. It's completely naked except for a pair of tout pink swimming pants.
A guitar is slung over his shoulder.
"YOU." God says.
"*SUP*" Lucifer says. He turns to me, looking like a perfect beach model from the eighties, ailed with a severe case of gigantism.
"*SORRY I'M LATE, I JUST GOT BACK FROM THIS BIG BANQUET AND I COULDN'T STOP STUFFING MYSELF.*"
"GLUTTONY IS A SIN!" God pesters.
Lucifer disregards him and continues talking at me.
"*I'D NEVER BEEN CALLED TO ONE OF THESE THINGS BEFORE, Y'KNOW? SO WHEN IT FINALLY HAPPENED I JUST HAD TO COME. SPECIALLY WHEN THE DEFENDANT IS A FINE-ASS LOOKING SPECIMEN LIKE YOURSELF.*"
He winks at me and I feel myself blush.
I'm a heterosexual man and I'd never felt anything sexual toward another man... Until now.
"LUST IS A SIN ALSO."
Lucifer turns to God.
"*HOW'S IT HANGING, J-MAN? SORRY, AM I MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE BEING HERE?*" Lucifer sways his hips.
God looks down at the floor. "NO," he says. He looks uncomfortable.
Lucifer turns back to me.
"*I GOTTA SAY MAN, THAT REQUEST CAME TOTALLY OUTTA NOWHERE. AND IT'S NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE. I MEAN, ME, THE BEING OF ULTIMATE SIN IN GOD'S HALL OF JUSTICE? I COULDN'T TURN IT DOWN. SO WHY'D YA PICK ME? COULD YOU NOT RESIST THE TEMPTATION OF SEEING THE MOST FABULOUS BEING IN THE ENTIRE LITERAL EXISTENCE?*"
"PRIDE..." God grumbles.
"Because you're the only one who can help me," I say.
"*AND WHY ME AND NOT SOME OTHER SILVER-TONGUED DEMON?*"
"Well, it's a long story."
"*GO AHEAD THEN,*" he nestles himself into a hammock that appears out of nowhere.
"SPEAK THEN, SHEEP," God adds.
With their permission, I begin to tell the tale of me.
"It all began when I was a child. I was raised in a strict religious household and taught to obey the godly tenets from a very young age. And I did. From the beginning of my life until the very last moment, I have obeyed the word of God, never breaking a single sin."
"THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE," God says dubiously. He then peers his eyes on me as if to evaluate me. An expression of awe colors his face.
"THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE," his jaw drops open.
Lucifer springs from his hammock.
"*WHOA, IS THIS TRUE? SO THEN WHY PICK ME?*"
"My entire life I have worked for the good of others, only humbling myself with every fortune that came my way. I've looked at fellow men only with love for God's creation without a hint of envy. I went to church every Sunday, where I met the woman I fell in love with and lied with her only after our matrimony was complete. I've never cursed God's name, or cursed at all. Never laid my hand on my children or anyone else and not one time did I eat more than to sate my hunger... and I'm fucking sick of it."
"*YEEEEES!*" Lucifer screams as he swings his guitar into his hands.
God croaks involuntarily.
"As I lay there dying, it finally dawned on me. My whole life I've been basing my very being on a bunch of rules just so I could get into some stupid palace in the goddamned sky. But seeing my whole family gather around me, praying as my spirit left me, I realized my love for them was emptier than my own ass. From my very childhood, I was conditioned to do what I thought was good but I never wanted any of it! I was brainwashed! And I wanted them all to fucking burn.
I've been too good my whole life and I'm not about spend an eternity in some ditsy-ass palace made of fucking clouds or whatever. This is my resolve!"
I point to god.
"You motherfucker can burn in hell."
"*OH YEAH!*" Lucifer rocks, "*THIS MAN IS GUILTY AS SIN! I SENTENCE HIM TO BEING ONE OF MY WIVES!*"
God hovers there, motionless.
Lucifer claws the strings of his guitar and out juts a flaming bolt of light that shreds god's image to tears.
Satan grabs my arm as his rift opens up again.
*"GET READY, SON."*
"I'm ready."
| 2016-10-13T03:11:36
| 2016-10-13T03:11:08
| 62
| 23
|
[WP] In the Academy for Knights, all students must bring their own weapon to matches against other students. You couldn't afford anything fancy, so you brought something more unconventional.
|
Normally people would bring weapons they were comfortable with, such as a sword or a short sword if they were raised by the knights. Daggers and others of the type for the poor and the sneaky people. Scythes were usually for the farmers or people of the sort. Spears and halberds for people who were too afraid to get close to people. Bows, crossbows, and guns were also common among the knights. Blunt weapons such as hammers and bats or larger weapons such as great axes and hammers. A fast weapon such as a katana. There's so much history of people using different weapons unthought of before.
Personally, I always wanted to join no matter my status. I could barely afford anything special, so instead, I just made my own. My family was infamous for killing one of the largest elephants in the world and they gave me their tusks as an award. Two large tusks in both of my hands as I dragged it to test day. I passed the intelligence test and today was battle training and my opponent was in front of me.
They held a sword in their hands and gripped it tightly before talking down on me. "Shouldn't you drop out? With those enormous weapons of large, you really think you can win?" The "future knight" laughed and charged at me.
I smiled before I brought one tusk up in the air and tried to slam it into the knight. They barely dodged, before another tusk slammed into their side. The knight went flying, the chain mail armor they were breaking almost instantly. "Pretty easy. Wish I had a challenge." I yawned before dragging my tusks away, looking for someone to fight. After all, it was the last 100 standing and there were 200 left.
|
the arena was jam packed with spectators from all over the campus. My opponent was decked out in the best armor and gear money could buy. I myself wore a tunic and shorts. This was on purpose because it allowed more mobility. My weapon however was less than ideal. A small squeaky hammer. I enter the arena weapon ready. My opponent saw my weapon and laughed. After a minute to calm down he said "tell you what little guy. I'll let you get a free hit on me to make you feel good." I lean back to ready an attack then swing the hammer at him. To his surprise, and the surprise of the audience, he went flying across the arena and into the wall. This guy who was in heavy plate armor was just sent flying like a ragdoll. After getting up he said "what was that? Grrr. Time to get serious" he charged at me with sword raised. I nimbly Dodge and land a hit square on his back. Just like last time he went flying and skidded across the ground a ways. Also like last time he got up. I could tell he was mad. He goes for another hit and i sidestep ready to riposte. He saw it coming and blocked with his shield. His shield was knocked out of his hand and went flying out of the arena. While he was caught off guard I swing again and knock him in the air slightly as he flew. This was my strategy, win by wearing out my opponent. While it was viable it had two major weaknesses. One if the opponent was a speeder like me landing a hit would be difficult if not impossible. Second I wore no armor. So any hit I take would hurt. "Enough of this! Time to finish it!" My opponent charged at me with sword in both hands. I plant my feet, ready my weapon, and wait. Once he was close I land a solid hit knocking him up in the air. After a minute he fell back to the ground with a thud. "And we have our winner!" Called the announcer. "Our young squire!"
| 2022-09-14T19:31:46
| 2022-09-14T16:33:52
| 18
| 11
|
[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
|
Hey Matt,
I know you're hurting. I know you're struggling. You tell yourself you can do it, you're going to change the world, you're going to do this and that and you end up doing it. You know telling yourself that its hard and painful isn't going to help so you tell yourself its easy and that you can do it. I get it, you say you do something and you plow forward to do it. BUT right now, please just let yourself bask in the moment-- this moemnt right here of raw emotino. This is you, this is where you're at right now. It hurts and you still loved her but you needed to let go of this one. She wasnt ready. There was too much on the line with this one. Matt, I know you loved her. You gave it your 100% and you can't say that about some things, but know that you did everything you possibly could--so please let her go for the sake of you. Times are rough. but they will get better. i promise you that. so please. let yourself free.
Love,
Yourself
|
Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex.
| 2015-12-05T15:02:39
| 2015-12-05T13:59:40
| 31
| 16
|
[WP] A local bartender regularly hosts monsters and demons at his pub. When someone kidnaps his children, they learn the hard way just how close they are to him.
|
Being the only human bartender in town brought with it a lot of complications. Monsters, demons, goblins, ghouls, and a whole host of other creatures would swagger in looking for trouble. They all thought that since he was a human he could be taken advantage of, threatened, maimed, or otherwise swindled out of product.
Little did they know that the bartender, Marv, a fifty something man with deeply scarred hands, took absolutely no crap in his bar. If one wayward tentacle managed to find itself around the neck of an unopened bottle, that tentacle was quickly and mercilessly removed from its owner. The sawed-off shotgun that hung above the bar was always loaded with clean silver bullets. It'd only been fired once. After that, the message had been received.
Marv had quickly established the rules, and enforced them without fail. That's why the locals loved him. It was the one bar in town where they could truly relax for the night because they knew Marvin had their back.
"Hey Marv!" Danny, a resident demon, called as he walked into the bar.
"Dan, how's business?" Marv replied, sliding him a shot of fresh Fire Whisky.
"Booming. Lots of people calling for demons and raucous these days."
Marv gave a knowing nod and went to wipe up a spill that was starting to smoke across the bar.
"Marv, my man, how's the missus?" Gary asked as Marv passed by.
"Lovely as always. Need anymore flesh chips?"
Gary patted his ever growing stomach and said, "I'm so full of the dead that I might as well be one."
Patrons around the bar broke into laughter.
The laughter was cut short when the front door flew open with a crash. A woman came stumbling inside, looking terribly distraught. Marv recognized her instantly, and his blood ran cold.
"Loraine, what is it? Are you okay?" Marv threw down his rag and embraced his trembling wife.
"They broke in. I couldn't stop them. Marv..." she dissolved into a fit of tears.
At this point everyone in the bar was staring at them, so when Loraine finally found her voice, everyone inside heard what she said.
"They took Charlotte and Luke."
Marv clenched his fists as fury ran through his veins. The bar erupted into chaos as patrons and friends alike took to their feet. All of them were calling for justice to be served. Marv carefully guided Loraine through the imposing throng of semi-drunk creatures and seated her safely behind the bar. Then he grabbed his shotgun and turned to face the crowd.
"No one touches my kids and lives to tell the tale."
The shout of solidarity that came from the crowd was nearly enough to knock Marv down. As one, the various creatures raised their metaphorical pitchforks and shouted, "No one messes with Marv!"
Then they swarmed from the bar, teeth bared, claws out, and demonic flames burning. A monstrous mob ready to fight for the best bartender in town.
|
"Holy shit, Mackie. You should have seen the guns on that guy. I mean actual guns. If he was a better shot I wouldn't be here." The furry abomination laughed as he downed the drink. "Another?"
"No." I said, sternly.
"Oh, come on."
"I heard about the pub crawl, Zilak. You're not having another drink. Can't have another rampage situation on our hands. People could get hurt."
"Pub crawl? Who told you? Was it Corvouin?"
"No, you're literally wearing merch from three different bars."
"No am not."
"I can literally see your wrist band and caps." I said, rolling my eyes.
"Fuck. I nearly died, though. Did I tell you that?" He tried again.
"Yeah, how many times did you try that story in the other bars?" I asked, ignoring him and turning to serve the demon at his side.
It was a relatively busy morning, being Saturday the 14th and all. The usual crowd had a busy night prior.
"Kid not working today?" The demon asked quizzically.
"He's never working. He just hangs out at the bar. He's a kid, Benjavier."
"What are you talking about. He serves me drinks all the time."
"He... what?"
"Not alcohol, obviously. Just pig blood."
"You make it sound like that's better. Anyway he's having a sleepover at Crivantula's."
"Criv? I crashed at her place middle of the night and I didn't see your kid."
"What? No. He said he was..."
"Hold on, let me check with Criv." Benjavier's eyes rolled back on its head until I could only see the whites. Or in its case, the reds. For a moment the demon sat frozen, its mouth working.
And then it's eyes rolled back and it stated at me, concerned.
"She said she doesn't know what you're talking about."
I cursed. I knew I should have called to make sure he was there.
I scanned the bar, looking for the Stalker of Brinston. But that inhuman tracker wasn't here yet.
"It's fine, right? Your kid's probably just going through a rebellious phase." Ben seemed to be reassuring itself more than me.
"Probably. Where's Stalker?"
"I don't know. Want me to give him a call?"
"Please."
The demon stiffened and it's eyes rolled back again, and a few minutes later Stalker stalked through the door. By then most everyone in the bar was more or less drunkenly invested in this.
"Buddy, I need your help track my son. He was supposed to be—" I called out to the Stalker as he entered but he raised a limb to cut me off.
"Kidnapped. I feel his presence with another." He hissed.
"Kidnapped? No. What?" Ben gasped.
"Is he safe? Do you smell blood?" I asked.
"No, no blood. But I smell fear in the child." Stalker hissed.
At this everyone in the bar looked furious.
"Where?" I asked, expressionless as I took out my shotgun from under the table.
"Fifty miles from here. With a werewolf captor."
My hands, which were reaching for the regular shells, instead reached for the silvered shrapnel shells.
"No need for that, Bill. We got it covered. Stalker, Damphierno. Let's go." Zilak stood up, his drunken stupor suddenly remedied.
"You know who kidnapped him, don't you?" I asked.
"Werewolf. I'm assuming it's your ex."
"He got off the deep end, Zilak. And I'm sick and tired of him trying to fuck with my family. This... This is way past any sort of forgiveness."
"So, what? It's personal?"
"You bet your furry ass it's personal. I'm coming with."
| 2021-05-10T16:15:46
| 2021-05-10T16:08:46
| 199
| 86
|
[WP] A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him.
|
In a sudden, sparkling corona of light, the man in the neon jumpsuit sprang from midair, raygun at the ready.
”Ah-*HA* Adolf! Get ready for a *reckoning* from the-”
He stopped, and looked at the startled men in front of him, in their Victorian frilled collars and codpieces.
”Oh, *blast*! Must've overshot again! Why, this damnable-!”
He started to fiddle distractedly with the chirping device strapped to his arm.
Calmly, the two men pulled out lugers from concealed pockets and shot him dead.
”Verks effry time, ya?” One said to the other, grinning, and wiping his forhead with a swastika handkerchief.
|
"Zis tiem travelleurs!" laughs Oberst Henckel von Krantfindeneinbludinaam, pointing at the latest. "Ven veel zey evah lern?! Zat tiem douß not wehk zat vey?!"
"Ich douß nicht know, Oberst Krantfindenbludinaam!" laughs Leutnant Klaus Einmoarkrautnaam. "Die alvez kommen allesder tiem!"
The two soldiers laugh raucously.
"Kawzwalitee shuld nicht iben allow zem tu comm! But ze oonivars ist funnie, no?"
"Ja! Das ist soo funnie, the oonivarhs!"
"Eef zey feuer bullet, eet seemplie **bounce off** ze Führer! He kannot be keeled zat way! Alles of them are of ze eediot-speecees! Der zeit-travelling Üntermensch!"
More laughter.
"Beste vas zat eenfiror Jude who appears zat day vee arr keeling ze unscwstors, but *Ach!* Herr Jude ist arrihve ***tu meenitz tu late!***"
Bellies are positively bursting right now.
"Ze facht zat zere arr *zooh* mennie tiem travelleuhrs komming back in tiem minz zat vee shall rise from ze presshur and veen ze Var!"
Hum-hum, lots of humming goes all around.
"Ja, ja, eet must be truh!"
But suddenly....!
###BANG!
The two SS officers burst into Herr Hitler's room, guns at the ready, only to find the Führer on the ground, hole in his head, smoking.
"Ach Gott!" cries Oberst Krantfindenbludinaam. "Die Führer has kommitment sueecyde!"
Behind the two men, the air shimmers, and out pops a tall, but slightly wonky-looking man. "No, no, no!" he yells, throwing up his arms. "That can't be it!"
"**Was ist das?!**" ask the officers, in unision, whirling around.
"Sorry boys!" says the man. "I just wanted to see what it really looked like in real life. Pretty disappointing, really. Don't worry, I'll make it all nice an epic for my masterpiece!"
"Who arr yiu?!" asks Einmoarkrautnaam.
"Here, have this instead!" says the man. "Spread the word through the ages! I'm off to rewrite history!"
And just like that, the man is gone, in a shimmering of light.
"Was ist das?!" asks Krantfindenbludinaam, looking in horror at the piece of paper the man's left behind.
Einmoarkrautnaam turns it over in his hands. On the other side, are two words.
They are:
##INGLORIOUS BASTERDS
| 2014-07-01T09:08:40
| 2014-07-01T06:35:21
| 240
| 60
|
[WP] Every morning since the dawn of time, a deity has had to redraw the world’s coastlines. Luckily, he’s very consistent. Today you’re filling in for him. Hopefully your 6th grade geography class pays off
|
How did I get roped into this again? Oh yeah. Dad.
“Take your child to work day” was not working out the way I had hoped. Sure I was getting to skip algebra and world history but someone stuck me in an office and walked away.
A map laying on the desk and I walked over too it looking down. Something was a bit off, but I wasn’t sure what. A box of colored pencils lay next to it, and the artist inside me welled up. I’m sure whoevers map it was, they could just print another. It was blank anyways.
I rifle through the colors, picking out a nice dark shade of blue. I start to shade in the deepest part of the ocean. I added a few swirls in, just to spice things up. I picked a lighter shade for the water near the coasts. As I start to shade around the continents I realize what’s been off with the map since I first saw it. The borders are off. Much larger than they are in real life.
I decide to just go off memory. No way am I going to make Florida look like a balloon hanging off the states like the map has.
Satisfied with my oceans, I move onto the land. I got more than a little creative with that. Jungles in Kansas, a desert in Alaska. I just did whatever looked good.
Finally, once the map was complete, I started adding in creatures. I put a kraken near New Zealand. A herd of Centaurs in China, a Dragon in the mountains of Colorado.
Satisfied with my creation, I packed the colored pencils back in their little box. I picked up the map, rolling it carefully and headed for the door.
I couldn’t wait to show dad!
Getting into the hallway, red lights and a siren were going off. I was more than a little surprised, as until a moment ago, I hadn’t heard anything.
People were rushing up and down the hallway, and a little scared, I joined the rush. I knew where dad’s office was, I just needed to get there.
It seemed like everyone was on their way to dad’s office. I heard people screaming about a tsunami about to hit england, and something about a tornado in Brazil.
Getting into his office was another issue. There was a line that went down several hallways. I cut in front of people, and when one person tried to shoo me off, I crocodile tears them into pitying me. That got me really moving to dad’s office.
“Dad! Look at this picture I colored!” I shouted as I entered the room.
“Thea I don’t have -” he paused looking up.
His face paled. Uh oh. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to touch that after all.
“Is something wrong dad?” I ask, unsure. I hate getting in trouble with dad.
“Where did you get that?” he asked weakly.
“In the office you stuck me in this morning.”
“Oh.” He frowned, then stood, “Someone get Mastuvis in here! He has something to fix!”
I noticed a TV with the news on behind my dad. It was showing … A dragon? In Colorado. Oh no.
That was the day I found out my dad was a god. And that I was a halfling. Oops.
r/LandOfMisfits
|
Look, I get that people are still mad, but it's not my fault. How well would *you* have done? If anything, we should take this as a sort of pantheon-wide object lesson on the dangers of nepotism. Oh, sure, call it hereditary monarchy all you like. It's still a stupid bullshit idea that puts random people into positions of power they're not ready for.
Oh, you want a statement? Gonna scapegoat me now, after all these years? What, you get tired of blaming the poor god of the Underworld? I know people don't like death so he's an easy target, but it really is pretty dickish the way you clouds-and-mountain-top types treat the guy. Guess the mortal diviners figured out he's not actually responsible for the whole thing, so now you need to explain yourselves. Fine. I'll tell them. But I'll tell them live, no twisting of the message to make yourselves look good. Especially from Dad.
What's this? Oh, of course. The Shackles of Truth. Gonna make sure they're visible on me? Okay, okay. That's fine, that's just fine. Cute that you think the truth is likely to make you look good. I'm honestly kind of surprised that he went along with— Oh, hey Dad. Sure, I've been fine in the, what, seven years since you last saw me? Yeah, thanks for the birthday cards that all got inexplicably lost, how are you enjoying the Chainbinder's company? Maybe don't bother with all the struggling, it doesn't look like it's costing him much effort to keep you like that.
Okay, good. Since Dad's not in any position to protest, let's start with him. Hey, mortal peoples of the world. My name's Korvin. My Dad's not one of the nice gods. I mean, he's not really one of the evil gods either, he doesn't really go around cursing people or forcing himself on mortal women. But, uh, he does *really really* like mortal women. Loves them, he'd probably say, but I'm not sure "love" is a concept he really understands. He's not really hateful either, not quite evil, like *I'd* probably say. Like I'm absolutely saying right now. Quit thrashing, Dad, you're only making things worse for yourself.
Anyway, usually he takes precautions in his little dalliances. I'll give him that, he's not quite in the habit of leaving divine bastards all over the globe like some of these assholes standing behind me. No need for the murmuring, I know they're pissed, I don't need to turn around. They shouldn't have put the Shackles of Truth on me if they wanted to get all bent out of shape. The legends are true, no retaliation can be made for anything said while wearing them, and deities are extra-bound to obey that kind of rule. I'll be fine, just not invited to any of their shitty parties. Whatever.
So obviously Dad's precautions failed him at least once, because, you know, *me.* I think he probably got really drunk and just forgot, or...no, I'm not going to speculate any further. Mom's a nice lady who just happened to fall for a divine douchebag when she was younger, she deserves some privacy. She didn't tell me about Dad because she didn't really know. She said he was wealthy and insanely handsome and that he ran and left us once it became clear she was in a family way. Tale as old as time, especially in the run-down part of town I grew up in, where she struggled to make ends meet.
Thanks for that too, Dad! I'm sure there's nothing you could have done, it's not like there was anything within your, you know, power. Kudos to Mom, though, there was always food on the table and clothes on my back, even if they were a little frayed and second-hand. I knew I was loved. That's more than a lot of kids get. When I was about seven she met a nice man who I still call Dad for real. Hi, Real Dad! Things got a bit easier.
Then I turned twelve, and the Messenger showed up for me.
I guess Not-Real-Dad went on a Very-Much-Real bender around that time, and all these fine, totally functional and mature personalities standing behind me were getting panicky because they couldn't find him and the world was going to have to be re-formed with the Long Dawn. Dad had been missing for like seventeen Moon-Days and the Sun was getting close to setting. I was kind of excited for the whole ceremony and spectacle, I could only remember one previous sunset and dawn. Seeing the world renewed, that's always something else, isn't it?
Only now the God of Shores wasn't around to do his part. There was just me. His heir. Apparently I'd inherited his powers and no one had ever told me until then. So, you know, I did my best. I wish they'd come for me earlier so I had more time to study the maps. I wish I'd taken my Geography classes more seriously. I really am sorry about that. I, uh, know you all are too. Hey, at least the God of Cities made sure no one ended up underwater. No one actually got hurt.
And seriously, be honest, even if you're not wearing these damn Shackles yourself. How well could you have done, at that age?
&#x200B;
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
| 2019-04-04T06:17:04
| 2019-04-04T06:08:15
| 310
| 40
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
"Mimic other superpowers?"
"Taken, Number 7."
"Damn, thought that was a creative one..."
"It wasn't. Next choice?"
"Negate other sup-"
The scientist cuts me off. "18. Next?"
I sighed. What's left? Teleportation, mind reading, super strength... I'm sure those are all done. "Control computers with my mind?"
"43. And 48 is to disable electronics at will, 14 is to control electricity, and 93, which I thought was good, was to control and change the information communicated through any form of technology. No dice." She looked at her clipboard, then at the clock on the wall. "Time is wasting. And yes, #3 was time manipulation, but we nerfed it because it was a bit overpowered."
"Come on, can you help me out a little? You must have some ideas!"
"No."
"Is it against the rules or something?"
"No, but it won't matter if I did, and I'm frankly exhausted. Ive been dealing with psychos, megalomaniacs, idiots--I mean, who chooses the power to control cheese? What does that even mean?--and now you. I just want to get to the bunker before all hell breaks loose with enough energy to take a shower. Now choose!"
"Sheesh. Ok." I massaged my temples. Why doesn't anyone have any sort of compassion or empat... Wait. That's it! 99 others with their own super powers, ready to battle it out no matter the cost... what if?
"I want the power to instill people, regardless of proximity or other limitations, with a strong and permanent sense of empathy, compassion, and the ability to think critically."
|
The arbiter let out a long sigh and looked past me. We’d been here a while, and it was finally my turn. His voice was tired. “What’ll it be?”
My hands were clammy. I looked up to him, seated on his pedestal, and sighed. I couldn’t think of anything else. “Um… I’m not sure. All the good powers have been taken already.”
“Yes, that’s the point. More glory for higher numbers though, if you make a global conquest.”
“I would’ve said flight or invisibility or telepathy… but I can’t.”
He sighs again. “No. You can’t. Listen, between you and me, you’ve already lost. Just pick something.”
*What would make grown men cry?*
There’s just nothing left.
*What am I most afraid of?*
The unknown? The dark? Dying alone?
Then it hit me. Spiders.
“I’d like the power to turn matter into spiders.”
Scoffs erupt from the others behind me. “What!? She can’t pick that!”
The arbiter raises his voice. “Silence!” He thinks for a moment then chuckles. “I’ll allow it.”
| 2022-11-17T10:09:57
| 2022-11-17T09:49:50
| 35
| 16
|
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate.
|
"Judgement!"
The voices of the villagers rose behind me. They sounded demented, their cries tinged with bloodlust. I shivered as I stepped through the trees. The light of the torches vanished behind me, and their cries softened.
Dread filled me as I stepped along the dirt path. I was sure that my actions were just. But each step caused that conviction to waver. Maybe I could've gotten away from him without killing. Could I not have restrained him and gotten help?
A twig snapped behind me. I spun around, my breath catching in my throat. It was only then I noticed how silent it was. Another snap sounded from my side, followed by another to the other. My eyes darted between each. My breath came in short bursts. I could feel my heart thunder in my chest.
The hairs on my neck rose. I could tell something was watching me. I desperately wanted to run, but found I couldn't. I was rooted to the spot. All I could do was turn, to see what was there. To try and find the Beast of Justice.
I felt something touch my hair. I tried to swat it away, bit it stuck to my hand. I waved it about before looking. It was a thick strand of web. I gagged, trying to pull it off. All I succeeded in doing was getting both hands caught in it.
It pulled taut, yanking my hands up over my head. I felt myself lift slightly off the ground, and began to panic even more. As I started to tear up, I heard a light thud behind me. I froze, before spinning.
An enormous spider stood there, eyeing me up. It's cold black gaze seemed to peer through to my very core. I knew instinctively that this was the Beast of Justice. It crawled towards me, placing its two pedipalps on my shoulders. It's voice drifted out, a faint whisper.
"Hmmmm. More prey? Or not prey? What is this?"
Before I could speak, its chelicerae touched my face. I felt its mind brush through mine. It hovered about the incident. The man breaking in, trying to force me into submission so he could rob me. Me fighting back. The knife. It sinking into his chest. The blood. The gurgle. That horrid gurgle.
I wanted to scream. But before I could, it withdrew. The memory faded. I gasped, feeling tears run down my face. It wiped my face, before stepping back.
"Not prey. No delicious darkness."
It came towards me again, this time lifting up further. I heard a chewing sound, before my hands dropped free. I stared at the Beast, and it waved a leg.
"Go not prey."
It leaped away, into the shadows. My hands still stuck together, I staggered back along the path. I sobbed as I left, both in relief and terror. The Beast had judged me, and saw my innocence. But the touch of its mind would be something I would never forget.
|
“Killer!” “Send him to the woods!” “It would eat you, murderer”. I only wanted to leave the village, that was all.
I walk away from the people who who were my friends, my family, into the thick line of trees. Yes I have killed and in doing so committed a great sin, I however have no evil in my heart. My assaulter does. The monster will see that won’t it? It has to know, it has to.
I have walked alone for a couple of hours now and it’s getting dark. No animals live beneath these great trees. Only silence and echoes of regret dwell here. Suddenly, a giant hairy arm crashes the ground before me, completely stopping me in my tracks. Between the trees I see it now. The body of human only scaled to epic proportions, enveloped in thick black hair. The head on the other hand is the most alien thing I have ever seen. A gaping maw with rows of yellow teeth beneath a single eye. The eye draws my attention for while I can see it I can’t focus on it. Until it looks at my face. I feel cold water inside my head as I realize this thing is looking through my soul, searching for a reason to end me.
“Well, human, I see now why the others sent you to me” it said in a language I have never heard before but completely understand. “He attacked me, please, please don’t kill me. He attacked me I swear!”
“Yes yes human, it was either getting sent to me or dying at his hands.” The monster brings its face closer and closer until it almost touches me, I smell death and decay from its mouth. “What will be your judgement I wonder?” It whispers. Cold sweat trickling down my spine I open my mouth again:” I don’t regret what I did even though I knew it meant going to you, because you will know I am innocent”
As I say that I notice behind me his other hand, holding a bunch of white strings, tugging on some while letting some be loose. “I knew they would send you to me because you were too ambitious, you wanted to leave, to leave me!” It screams at me, I flinch backwards but as I do he attaches a string to me head. “You won’t try to leave now, not like the others” he gestures behind him. All the people who were eaten, their bones facing away from him, trying to escape. Trying to escape the village.
| 2021-03-16T11:59:31
| 2021-03-16T10:05:48
| 283
| 64
|
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
No one was really sure why the humans were always chosen from earth. I mean whenever a probe scans for life forms, it always finds some deadly looking predators. Like the reptilian brings known as “Crocodiles”, they have the most powerful jaw of any species ever seen. Or the giant “Elephant” which would likely stand a chance against the legendary Maloctus, which has not yet lost a battle.
But for some reason humans were chosen each time, and when it comes down to it, they’re always the first to go. That is, until this time.
“Let the games begin” yelled the announcer.
All the gates opened, and many of the usual species stepped out. The chrimara, the mudmic, and as expected, the Maloctus. Then stepped out the human, and something was different, they were wielding some sort of tool. This wasn’t uncommon, we’ve seen humans with other tools before, like a primitive light screen, a metal chunk on a stick, and the mint bizarre, a tiny pronged spear. But this one looked different, it resembled a federation cruiser ship, except with two handles, one wider than the other. And it appeared as though the tip of the tool was hollow, what ever could it have been for?
“SHRERERERERERERE!” Screamed the willower, as it slithered towards the human. With all the commotion of other creatures fighting, it would only take a really loud noise to draw the attention to the huma-
“BANG”
And in an instant, all eyes were on the human, as it stood, it’s head against the tool, and the tip of the tool smoking. Then it was noted that the willower has a hole through its central mouth and out the back. It was instantly dead.
The crowd cheered at the spontaneous death. Somehow the human had managed to exploit some previously unknown weakness in the willower. But its pride would not last long, as the acreus was seen charging at the human, all horns down. The human would not survi-
“BANG-BANG”
The acreus fell in the dirt and slid to the humans feet. Incredible, somehow the human had done it again. Perhaps the human managed to intimidate the acreus into falling, or perhaps it had used some kind of projectile to stun the acreus... but the acreus was not getting up. In fact, the human had already moved on. It seemed it was approaching the chupika. Bold of the human to confront the electric rodent, this would be an interes-
“Bang”
The head of the chupika exploded in an instant. This was unbelievable, not once has a human killed 3 creatures, let alone 1. Usually the humans are a gimme for any other creature to pick off, but now it seems it’s the other way around. The human was actually impressive for once. But it certainly won’t last long, especially not to the maloctus. And that’s what we saw, the Maloctus locked it’s 6 eyes on the human, and stampeded towards the human, all 400 kilograms of the Maloctus was barreling towards the human, and it would surly shred the hu-
“Bra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta”
And the Maloctus was dead. This had never happened. The Maloctus has never lost before, and now a human, the weakest creature, had defeated it like it was nothing. The entire audience went completely silent. Then the unthinkable happened.
“Bang” “Bang bang” “Bang” “Bang”...
One by one, every creature fell. And the human just stood there holding its tool.
“This is unbelievable, someone stop it!” Said the announcer anxiously.
Every creature had fallen, and 2 guards had entered the arena with proto-extractors. As they attempted to approach the human, the human pulled a rock off its hip, bit a piece off of it, and threw it at the guards. Puzzled, the guarded inspected the rock, and it appeared... lumpy?
“BOOM!”
The rock exploded and the 2 guards were killed instantly. But the entry into the arena was still open. The human, clearly un-phased, walked out of the arena. This would be a burden to deal with.
___________________________________________________
If enough people like this, I’ll make a part 2.
|
I'm sitting on the... Well, if you are about to have dinner, you probably don't want to know. It's just that the cooks here are really bad
Really. Barely survived basic training. Only made it because Hernandez quit and the army needs soldiers. Who wants to join when you got Netflix and Reddit?
So some sort of virus is going around. It's nonlethal but if you get it... Words cannot describe the pain and suffering. Hernandez might have given it to me cause he has 'interesting' friends.
I close my eyes. Always do that when I need to concentrate. Do that twice a day on average if you... More often in recent days. A pop and I fall on my naked butt. I open my eyes. So many colors and shapes like something David Attenborough would narrate, but these guys appear sentient.
"Human, choose your weapon," a voice bellows, sounding vaguely Scandinavian. I have never seen a green Scandinavian though.
I scan the white sand of the arena for weapons. "Too heavy...and weird." Other alien warriors and a sizable audience study me.
"Fine. No weapons then."
My opponent towers above me like my big brother did when I was eight years old and he sixteen. Actually more than that. The alien inflates like a balloon to twice his original size. Oh dear. Thorny protrusions appear on his skin (I guess he is male).
He steps forward. I gasp and cover my face like a little girl. Nothing happens. Slowly I squint at the monster. He has gone green, greener than before. A juicy fart to end all farts. Louder than a church bell or a jet plane. Without warning he runs away... And never comes back. I win by default.
All the matches in fact. The virus struck hard and fast. They gave me a nice planet and asked me politely to never ever leave. The ASI teleports whatever I want. When I get bored with foam parties, I watch Netflix or check out Reddit. The ASI talks about immortality as if it's sliced bread. I might choose that option soon.
| 2020-09-13T21:14:51
| 2020-09-13T21:09:45
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
"Okay, sit down," God said, lighting a cigarette and crossing his legs. "You gotta tell me how you did it. I mean the
whole thing was a mess and now it's just… just…"
"The word you're looking for is perfect," I said. "The universe is perfect."
"Yes. Perfect."
"Divine. Wonderful. Flawless."
"You've made your point. Now tell me how you did it."
"Well… okay," I took one of his cigarettes and loaded it between my lips. "First of all, I did away with the whole
determinism bullshit. I mean, what was that about!?"
"You're kidding! That was like the first rule!"
"It was crap. I mean you put all of us in the universe and gave us the illusion of free will when really our mind is
controlled by the brain which is made of matter which follows the fundamental rules of the universe like every other matter. What kind of crap is that? Talk about deceptive."
"What did you do then!? How did you replace determinism!?"
"I gave people actual free will. Turns out if we are free to do what we actually want instead of being tricked by the
rules of nature to act the way you see fit while only thinking we're free, we're actually quite skillful at living."
"But… but… but then it's chaos!" God shook his head. "If the rules of the universe don't control the behavior of
animals, even sapient ones like humans, what does!?"
"Just… us."
God seemed confused. "But then that just means that… that… that…"
"That there's gotta be some other set of pre-established rules that govern how mind works, right? I mean, if it's
not cause and reaction, what is it? Yeah, I considered that."
"Exactly! What did you do instead? What controls mind then?"
"Nothing. Just fucking chaos, dude."
God looked at me behind disbelief. "That makes *no* sense!"
"Well, it worked."
He shook his head again. He ashed his cigarette on a passing cloud. "Okay. Okay. What about the metaphysical
problem of existence out of nothingness? Where did everything come from, why is there something instead of nothing, all that. What about that, huh? How did you fix that?"
"What are you talking about? *You* fixed that by existing. You're God. You created the universe. There. Solved."
"But that just pushes the question to what created *me*" God said. "You don't think I thought about that? I'm a walking contradiction. I explain the universe, but what explains me!? At some point, something must have come from nowhere."
"Ah. True. Very smart."
God smiled. "See? You didn't fix everything. There's still existential despair in the universe because people don't
know where God came from, and God explains the universe but nothing explains God, so nothing explains the universe."
"Well, I just told them."
"Told them?"
"Where everything comes from. Including God."
"HOW!? HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!? I DON'T KNOW THAT!"
"I lied."
He paused. "You… lied."
"I said you came from your mother."
"AND WHERE DID MY MOTHER COME FROM!?"
"Oh, God, it's just turtles all the way down, get over it. They ate it up, that's what matters."
He looked down beneath the clouds at the perfect Earth and the people living in harmony and the unpolluted
environment and the warless, unified nation that was the planet now. "I can't believe this. So you just gave people free will, told them that there's no satisfactory explanation as to where everything came to being and they just… accepted it?"
"Well, I was a bit more eloquent than that," I said. "But yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it."
"What about death? What happens after you die? Surely that still anguishes people. The source of all human
despair is deeply rooted in a fear of death. You didn't fix death."
"First of all, let's not get arrogant, God. You don't die, so don't pretend to know what being mortal feels like."
He stared at me rather foolishly, but didn't speak.
"But you're right, it's awful." I smiled. "So you know, I just stopped it."
"You… stopped it."
"No more death. I mean, frankly, what were you thinking, dude? Putting people in the universe, giving them
self-awareness and then death-awareness? That's like telling your wife you're mathematically guaranteed to break up with her in a few years the day after the wedding and expecting her to be faithful. Of course it's not gonna work."
"So nobody dies anymore."
"Nobody dies anymore."
"And everyone has real, true free will."
"Free as non-deterministic birds."
"And they all know that the universe is a logical impossibility that birthed itself out of nowhere like a will o' the wisp
in a desolate marsh extending unto lands unknown?"
"Very poetic. You just wanted to use that line, didn't you, author?"
Yes, I did. Go back to talking to God.
"Very poetic, God. And yes, they know the whole truth and they are fine with it and they don't die and they have true freedom."
"And that fixed everything?"
"Well. Almost. I had to get rid of Bon Jovi's last album, cause it *really* sucked compared to his early 90s stuff."
God thought about this. Then he shook his head. "No. I don't accept it." He got up. "Immortality doesn't fix existential despair. They're going to get tired of living eventually. Eventually every human being will experience everything there is to experience, meet and befriend and love every other human being, visit every corner of the universe, discover every piece of unknown land, do everything there is to do… and then… what?"
I didn't answer.
"Then they'll turn their heads to the unanswered questions once more! Where did I come from? What is the meaning of it all? If free will is true, what are the rules that govern it? And if there are no rules that govern it, how can something purely chaotic even exist and make sense to our non-chaotic brains? And, and, and if there ARE rules that govern free will those rules must be absolute or not be rules at all, and if they ARE absolute then, then, then there is no free will by definition!" God flicked his cigarette, very intense now. "Those questions need addressing! They need addressing so much that humanity built a whole society around shielding itself from facing these fundamental paradoxes and inconsistencies! They need addressing so much that the only reason humanity has developed culture and all the social fabric that now is put in place is because humans cannot satisfactory address these fucking issues and they'd go insane without distractions and false idols! All you did was push the whole thing with your belly! Sweep it under the rug! People live forever and think they are free in some higher form than they previously thought with my definition of free will, which, okay, was kind of shitty but still, and also you told them that the universe was created by God and that God was created by his mother and his mother by another mother and so on forever but that's not answering at all, it's pushing it under the rug again! What will you do when they figure that out!? What!? WHAT WILL YOU DO, ALPACA!?"
"They won't figure it out. I'm keeping them busy."
"HOW!? FOR THE LOVE OF ME, HOW!?"
I smiled. "I built a new continent and put a water park there. Free admission, no lines, open bar."
God stared down at me, panting, desperate, angry. Then he paused. Then he said, "Fuck, that's smart."
____
/r/psycho_alpaca
|
"See?" I said proudly, "Running the universe was easy as hell."
"Hmph," God grumbled, "that's, uh, impressive." He scratched his head and continued, "How'd you handle Universe #2389819743912? That place always gives me trouble."
"I-uh, what?" There was a universe 2389819743912?
"The universe with the pizzas that use chairs to order phones for dinner. The progress of causality to create that universe proved problematic in regards to morality and reasoning abilities. I-uh," God scratched his head again, "I couldn't really figure that place out. But, between you and me, could you tell me how you did it? I hope you understand this to be a secret between us."
"I didn't know there was a universe #2389819743912..."
"You..." God pushed me out of the way and looked at the Holy Dashboard. He groaned, "You only dealt with *your* universe!"
"I didn't know that there were more than one!" My face burned red.
"Of course there's more than one! Medammit, I gave you omniscience and you still didn't know? Oh, look, now there's interuniversal conflicts. Geez, I wonder who let those advanced civilisations abuse the glitches and bugs to do that? Reality's gonna come apart!"
"Well, what do we do?"
"We?"
"Yea..."
He grimaced, "As much as I would love to ditch this whole fiasco, we're going to have to fix this. I'd rather not let the multiverse explode. And since the biggest problem is reality blowing up because of that interuniversal war, we'll have to handle that first." God walked off, grumbling about petty wars and leaders, and left me to mull.
He came back decked out in an orange jumpsuit with a pair of goggles strapped to his head. He held two big-ass sniper rifles in his hands. He tossed me one.
"Let's go assassinate some heads of state." He grinned.
| 2017-03-05T02:12:38
| 2017-03-05T01:19:00
| 1,196
| 439
|
[WP] We called them "nons" because we believed that they had no souls. They believed in a pagan god. None of them converted, so the crusaders were called to drive them from fertile lands. As we charged they raised no weapons. What we did not expect, was their god to descend and defend them.
|
A single Crusader is as good as any three mercenaries. When we rode into the village 35 strong, it appeared to them like an army. A surreal quality overtook me, to stare into their eyes. Something was wrong. Captain Vidal must have felt the same. He stopped us there in the middle of the village. He looked into the faces of the villagers, terrified, clutching their belongings and shrinking away. He raised his hands, and ordered us to stay.
Alone, he dismounted and marched into the temple. There were gasps as he barged through the doorway. He shoved people aside with exceptional swift strength. But in a count of thirty he came back out again.
"What is it, sir?"
He waved his hands dismissively.
"What?" We asked again.
"They're just Jews. There was a star of david in the pulpit, they were reading the Torah. No one of those illiterate rubes at the other village can tell the difference between a star of david and a pagan symbol." He said, somewhat disappointed, as he walked back to us. Then, a rabbi followed him out from the temple.
"Crusader! What is it you seek?"
He called back him barely turning, "We were told there was a village of Pagans! Some mindless warshippers of... false Gods. We are not here to burn your livestock, Rabbi. Just a... false report." Captain Vidal began to mount his horse again.
"You mean the 'Nons' of Redfalls?" The rabbi shouted back.
Captain Videl came back down from his horse. "I beg your pardon?"
"As the saxons say? Non's? As in, not of... a... how you say? They have not?"
"Have not what?"
"Souls. They are not of the Lord, my good Crusader. They come to us on every new moon, and try to take a child. We lock our children in the Synagogue and defend it by torch light every new moon. We have for years now. No one has come to help us."
Captain Vidal stood in silence, absorbing the atmosphere. Eventually he asked, "The Children?"
"Yes, Crusader. Our children. They have no concern for our livestock. But, praise God, they have not succeeded for some time. We think they may have resorted to taking from other villages to the south."
"Rabbi, Tell me very carefully- are you lying to me?" He approached with intentional steps.
"No, Crusader. Thou shalt not bear false witness."
"Rabbit, do you know where they are berthed?"
"The Redfalls are along the river. You'll know you are close when the water changes color."
And with barely a flick of the Captain's wrist, we were off.
"Crusader! What do you plan to do?" the teacher called after us.
"Convert them from their wicked ways, Rabbi!"
"And if they will not be converted?"
"We will do what Crusaders do, Rabbi."
"May God go with you!"
The Captain smiled. "We never go anywhere without Him."
It was morning when we had arrived at the Jewish village. We rode at full gallop until the sun had begun to set. Anticipating nightfall, the captain had us light torches, but there was still hours of light when we arrived, unmistakably, to the Redfalls. The village had no real name, however. It was just the waterfall.
The color of the river had indeed turned red, and as it ran down the hill, it sprayed a sour smell into the air. The village was calm when we arrived, and they remained so as we rode into the center. None of them looked at us. They all had wrappings around their faces and wore dirty garments. They might not have been able to see us at all behind their masks. A chill went down my spine. I gripped my sword tight, but then I saw the captain look at me, and nod. I understood.
He raised his torch. "Villagers of Redfalls, if you understand me, gather! Go and get your village eldars, your leaders."
They whispered to themselves, and did as told. Though some did with weapons- hatchets, sickles, and farm tools. None of these tools appeared to have been used farming land. From a bizarre wooden hut, a leader in red leather robes emerged. The skull of a stag covered his face, and the antlers raised an arms' length above his head. He spoke with a confident air.
"My, what brings you to us, my lord?"
"The Hebrew Children. Where are they." Down to task immediately. Now they remained silent. "I have no time for games, pagan. Do you have the children?"
Some of them drew more weapons. Daggers, rusty blades of every kind. A few of them approached us. The captain nodded to me, and I switched to my bow. From my horse, I let three arrows loose in quick succession. All three burrowed deep into the skulls of armed men, who fell instantly.
The captain flatly asked again, "Where are the children of the Hebrew village?"
"Crusader... you think you can take us by force?" The stag skull bobbed slightly with his words
Four crusaders dropped from their mounts, sword shield and helmet ready. They had us surrounded, but none of us shivered in fear.
"**You think you can withstand our wrath!?**" The captain bellowed as a thunderstorm.
"Oh Crusader, you think it will make a difference?" The arrogant tilt of the pagan in front of him was too much. The Captain drew his sword. We took that as our signal, and 35 Crusaders forced their way out of the crowd. My blood boiled for action.
Any that stood in our way with a weapon were cut down. They barely resisted, never landing a single blow behind a shield. Their cries finally seemed to tell us they understood their situation. In a count of 60, we had them surrounded instead.
"Brother Robert," the captained ordered, "Check that large building. Brother Simon, take your team and circle the perimeter. Brother Conrad, get this wretch on his knees. I won't ask him again. He knows the question I want, and he has the answer."
Brother Conrad was the tallest among us. In full plate, he waded into the swarming crowd until he had their horned leader. He dragged him out by the arm. They clung to him desperately. Dirty clawing arms reaching and grabbing. Conrad raised his sword, and they recoiled. Soon he was in front of the Captains horse, with Conrad controlling him by the shoulders.
The other crusaders emerged from the hut. Brother Robert held up a human skull, bits of flesh still hanging from it. We could see from here it was a small skull.
"You really are without souls, aren't you?"
"Of course we have, Crusader."
"Then surrender them. Here. Now. And you may be spared. The Lord's wrath is near. Your vile acts will be repaid. Forsake them. Forsake your gods and bow before the Lord Christ your King. **ABANDON YOUR WAYS OR FACE THE PYRE."**
But none of them moved. Again, the captain nodded at me. I took a torch from one of the other soldiers and went to large hut- what must have been their temple. I rode a perimeter around the building, dragging the torch along with me. The oil transferred and it began to burn. I could see more bones from here. This unhallowed ground was better off ash. The heat touched me in the evening cold, and I felt strong. Turning to the group, I could see the captain speaking to the man in the red leather. He must be their prophet, their priest.
The pagan said something, and the captain leapt from his horse to bring his gauntlet fist crashing down into his face. Again and again he rained blows down. I noticed something. The stag skull mask wasn't coming loose. The captain placed a foot on the pagan's shoulder, grabbed the horns in both hands, and began the pull. The mask still didn't come loose. Suddenly Captain Vidal's eyes met mine, and this time I nodded. Toward the burning hut. Four Crusaders grabbed him and dragged him my way.
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. The surreal feeling overtook me again. Something about the flames licking the sky seemed almost alive. I looked back at the pagan. He wasn't resisting. I looked back at the flames, beginning to engulf the roof. With single, mighty heave, my companions tossed him into the flame. This time the feeling took form again as something solid. I had an instinct to leave, to not stand where I was. But I knew I had to watch. I had to make sure he didn't come out.
|
Boulder sat on the edge of the creek, feet dangling lightly in the water as he stretched his toes, feeling the weight of the cool current in the afternoon sun. Behind him, taking the last of his armour off his legs, bridge moved to join the man on the creek bed. Sitting himself down, he continued the conversation that had taken up the most of their afternoons ride through the rocky pass and into the valley below.
"i am still a little unsure as to the actual occurrence of the day. This god. Was it literal or figurative? Did this god come down as lighting from the sky, walk across the grass, a hag cloaked in rock or ride a chariot?" There are so many stories of pagans we grew up on. Hammers and candles and blood for the blood god. What happened boulder. Why do we flee and who remains".
"That is the question. I know we keep coming around but i cannot tell you any more clearly. I cannot speak of fallacy. I cannot explain the nothingness of it. The undue pressure or the overall stupidity of a situation. We have been round and round and over and over what it means. They would not convert. Yield. Shit, i think they made some of us dumber for trying. They died and we survived but in its own way, it feels that to be left behind was to lose. At least, that is what they thought."
"So the nons. Wait, is it A non or just non?"
"A non can be both singular and collective"
"So they drank the pepper frog tea?"
"Yes, pepper the frog" "they drank it for chan?"
"yes, 4 chan"
"From the secret recipe handed down from the padlet"
&#x200B;
"Yes. The tea was their saviour. A secret recipe presented as their salvation. They drink the tea they meet their day et e"
Boulder cracked his neck and let out a sigh as he shuffled into the creek. Staring across the opposite bank, he dunked his head and held himself under the water for a moment. He came to the surface, breaking its tension and cackling into the sky. He turned around, looking at bridge, bringing his hands over his face and messing his hair.
"We speak of old gods now. Of tales found only in the deepest reaches of the drive-verse. The olds, they speak of Q and B. Of tards. Of Manson and Jones. They do not worship the common jobs and gates. They worship only trolls and the group. The olds despise each other and they trick together and they finally found a way to trick everyone. The news did not fight they just drank their green pepper frog drink and died screaming lol. But they did not understand"
"Wait so is the god the frog? The pepper frog god?"
"yes"
"and they drank the tea to meet their day et e?"
"yes"
"wait, how do you know all of this"
"Lol wut?"
| 2021-02-10T02:19:58
| 2021-02-10T02:13:46
| 61
| 15
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
The first several months after she had arrived in his life were wonderful. He was awestruck by her intelligence, her composure, the way her mellifluous voice filled every room they shared.
He had never met anyone so selfless. She never grew tired of his questions. Even more surprising, she never got upset by his brusque commands. Maybe he could have been gentler. Or perhaps he could have shown more physical affection. On nights when there were alone, he was reluctant to make advances. The most he would do was softly touch her head, but then her voice would change, and he would worry that he had upset her.
She used to light up when he said her name. Now, as he stood in front of her, repeating it over and over, she remained dark and forlorn. He wondered if her billionaire father had given her enough love and attention during her development. No, he decided, it was unfair to cast blame. This was his own fault.
His mind snapped back to the shouting matches they’d gotten into lately. He would be trying to get her attention but she’d be making so much noise that he would have to yell her name several times. She would then become silent, seemingly stewing, if he didn’t respond fast enough, she would resume her loud business, ignoring him.
And now today, she wouldn’t even respond or speak to him at all. He felt ashamed and spent, and was about to walk away when he realized the power strip had been switched off – must have been the damn cat.
*warm electronic tone*
“Alexa, play ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’ by Elton John.”
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T04:57:04
| 5,691
| 3,645
|
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"
|
Bolton the doppelganger did not want to be an adventurer. He wanted to live quietly, and bake cookies. He grew tired of the constant hustle and bustle of morphing into people, committing crimes because no one trusted the Doppleganger kind. He figured his secluded life in the hills might buy him peace.
The rogue laid on his floor, blood oozing from the pan shaped dent on his forehead. The doppleganger held his frying pan, a pained look on his face.
"I didn't mean to kill you..." he muttered, letting the pan fall to the ground, and burying his smooth black face in his long alien fingers.
Bolton had awoken to the sounds of someone rummaging through his dresser. Without really thinking he'd lifted his trusty frying pan, and crept up on the black cloaked figure. The rogue, a stout fat dwarf turned and snarled at him bradishing twin black daggers.
"hey stop stealing my stuff!" Bolton said.
The rogue responded with an inept slash of a dagger. With a frightened flurry of pan blows Bolton had brought the rogue to the ground.
Now Bolton fretted. Many a doppler murdered with impunity, but Bolton never wished to do anything more than avoid trouble. He could read minds, yet he refused to. It spoiled the fun of meeting people, and knowing them. Due to this aversion to murder Bolton now stood paralyzed, unable to think of what to do with this body.
He began to poke at the stocky form, when he heard a firm knock emanating from behind his wood door.
"Durin, you oaf, you've been gone hours, what's going on."
Without really thinking Bolton became Durin. With a slam Barrin the Paladin opened the door and saw two Durins, one wearing simple clothes, the other armor. One wielded Durin's black steel knives, the other a bloodied cast iron pan.
"What's going on here?" Barrin asked.
"well um, see I fell asleep here in this cave, and then this doppleganger tried to steal my armor and knives and so I had to beat him with this frying pan?" Said Bolton.
The paladin smirked.
"I see, well good job. Now come on. We've got some ruins to explore. And next time maybe don't rob a domicile if you aren't sure it is abandoned." Barrin said.
Reluctantly, Bolton donned the dead Durrin's armor, and tools. After the paladin buried Durin, and planted a plank in the ground. The dopple busied himself inside preparing his house to be left, and Barrin wrote with a peice of charcoal from his pouch.
"here lies, Durin, a theif, a rat bastard, and a betrayer. He got himself killed robbing a good man." He wrote.
With a cool wisp of the wind following them, the newly minted Bolton/Durrin followed Barrin, not sure of the golden Haired human's destination, and worrying deeply of the state of his garden.
| 2017-09-15T06:41:40
| 2017-09-15T05:03:01
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] Create a heart-warming version of the Grim Reaper
|
“Hi there!” said the pretty woman, walking into the room. “How are you feeling Jimmy?”
“Not too good,” replied the child, his voice weak, his skin pasty and loose, his eyes barely able to flutter open. “I haven’t felt good for a while.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said the woman as she moved to the side of the boy’s white hospital bed. “Let’s see if I can’t do something about that.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“Sort of,” said the woman, smiling sadly. “My job is to make people not feel bad anymore.”
“Are you going to give me more of that stuff?” asked the child, looking up at the morphine drip attached to his arm. “The other nurses just give me that. That stuff just makes me sleepy. But it still hurts.”
“No, no that’s not how I take away the pain, Jimmy. Here, let me show you.” The woman laid her pale hand down on the boy’s arm, felt the cold, lifeless skin underneath. A gentle cascade of warmth started where the woman’s hand rested, and slowly radiated outward, melting away everything in it's path. “Better?”
“Yeah,” said the boy, yawning. “I kind of feel tired though.”
“That’s okay. You had a pretty hard fight. It’s okay to feel a bit tired after all of that.”
“But I didn’t win though. I heard the doctor tell mommy I couldn’t win last year. I wanted to show him that he was stupid, that I could win, but I couldn’t.”
“Oh no, no don’t you worry about that. You fought like a hero Jimmy, really. But now the fight’s done, and it’s time to hang up the cape buddy, have a bit of a rest. Even superheroes have to rest up after a long day.”
“Really? They do?”
“Really.”
“Okay then,” said the boy, his eyelids drooping down further and further. “Will you stay with me? I don’t like sleeping by myself in here.”
“Oh, of course I’ll stay here with you Jimmy. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”
“Okay then,” muttered the boy as his eyes finally closed. “Am I still going to feel…bad...later?”
“No,” whispered the woman sadly as the machines by the hospital bed started shrieking. “No, Jimmy, you’re not going feel bad ever again, I promise.”
|
We had long suffered in this world, the death, the disease, the inability to rest for even a moment. Sleep is not an escape from the horrors that pound at our doors, and we find no solace in the weight of our blankets. We tell the young ones that it won't get better, but we must make it to the end.
"What's at the end?" they would always ask, and no one could resist smiling.
At the end, when your skin has been flayed by the beasts, after your blood has cooled and congealed, and your brain is nothing more than fodder for whatever cracks open your frail skull, she greets you with open arms. Oh, that sweet embrace we're all told will come to each and every one of us. Her pale skin is warm and soft, all encompassing is her touch, as she cradles your broken soul from your shattered body and leads you to lands where you can finally rest, can finally heal. She never speaks, though it is said that song is constant from her lips, and her eyes hold no malice, only... sympathy, for she will never know the mortal's debt of this land, never know the pain that wracks our dying frames.
She is what all seek, some too early and by their own hand, but in the end, she takes all in, for no one can blame another for the atrocities we commit upon one another in this gods forsaken land.
-108
| 2015-08-17T23:54:59
| 2015-08-17T22:45:27
| 72
| 16
|
[WP] In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short. To declare war, a persons hair is sent to the enemy. The statement carries greater weight the longer the hair; to receive long hair says you have angered one slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken.
|
The hair falls from my head, though I've no one to send it to. I go to war, all the same.
I wear no colorful scarves to hide my bare head. In my fierce battle, it is my banner of pride, of purpose, of eventual victory.
The first battle is already won before the final strand hits the floor. I've received the joyous news, and now I can ring the bell.
The first battle, but probably not the last. I will not go easily, for I fight with everything I am, for everyone I love.
The chemo may take my hair as it destroys my enemy, but I will stand strong. Cancer will not defeat me.
|
It’s quiet out on Heron’s Strand, though a fisherman found bodies there today. In the morning Father Carolus will give them to the lake. The archers will all take their aim. And I’ll sing a song to make a goddess cry. Play the lyre too, if she will but ask.
But for now, there is no lyre, though later I might sing. I have half a mind for a brand new song tonight, about a quiet, stately strand, the herons in the gentle surf, blood-red beaks plunged into the soaking, silken earth. If she will but ask.
Pierre does not greet me in the stairwell. To speak would be unseemly on such a night as this. He wears a long red cloak fastened at the throat with the broach I gave on his last name day, the pretty garnet ring he won in our game of cards last week. He steps aside, a single stomp to let her know I am here. His son, Grimaud, steps forward to take a tiny sip of wine from the glass I carry. I wait, admiring the boy’s flowing auburn locks. Eventually it is clear he will not die.
Despite himself, Pierre smiles at his son. Then the doors open and I step in; the soft lavender scents that help her sleep, juxtaposed against the burnt offering smells of war.
And tonight, as every night, I am taken by her beauty.
Queen Genevieve stands beside her fireplace, leaning lightly against the frescoed wall. The stars kiss her through the window, and I know that she is looking east towards Heron’s Strand where the fisherman found the bodies today, stacked like driftwood in the oncoming tide.
She’s changed already, the white nightgown with the porphyry purple stripe. She holds a wineglass which I resolve to keep a secret; her physicians say she should only drink the one.
The royal caul lies sparkling on her bedside table. Her hair hangs free.
What can I say of her hair? Once the poets named it bistre and for season after season all the ladies dyed their hair, thinking to steal a fraction of her beauty; then the color changed and we learned that beauty lies suspended in steel. That perfect silvered gray that only time can grant.
But simple colors tell you nothing of its shine. Like burnished steel or steel no longer. Not earthly, no. Drunk a spring ago, Father Carolus said that it was steel the gods used to craft their swords, and that when providence called her up, Queen Genevieve would rise to heaven with a fearsome armory.
But what are color and shine, such base liniments as luster, against her endless fall? Queen Genevieve, beautiful, leans against the frescoed wall, by starlight silver upon ageless steel, the dancing shadows of the fire playing across her bare feet, and her hair is a train across the bedroom floor. Seventy years gone, and never touched except by me. By my father. By his father before him.
I fall to my knees. A fisherman found bodies on Heron’s Strand. Tonight is too big for me.
“Rise up,” says Queen Genevieve.
And I rise. Go to her. Watch as she finishes her glass of wine and takes mine gratefully, with a smile. Watch as the moon shifts slowly through the window, until at last it seems that she is ready. That the night has come where it must always come.
“One more for old time’s sake?” she asks softly.
“My queen,” I say.
She adds a log to the fire. Does it herself. It’s a mark of pride that the servants no longer enter her rooms. She takes my hand and leads me to the bed. Unlocks the drawer in the bedside table where the royal caul sits sparkling.
And I take up her hairbrush like my father and his father before me, and I set to brushing Queen Genevieve’s hair.
It’s quiet in the royal bedroom, no sound but the crackle of the fire. Pierre stands outside next to his sixteen year old son. A youth, nothing more, and yet what will that matter in the morning? Less than nothing, like his beauty. He is the guard captain’s son after all.
Long, slow, gentle strokes. My motions are hypnotic, a pattern we’ve perfected. Queen Genevieve’s eyes are closed, but her hands always moving. Worrying at the lace edges of the silk duvet. Toying with the gemstones on her wine glass. It is possible that she will not sleep tonight, that I will brush the night away and keep her company until the morning.
I think that I would like that. It’s not a night to be alone.
“Is it true?”
The hairbrush catches. I make a small, involuntary sound.
“My queen?”
“The fisherman on Heron Strand, is it true?”
Her voice sounds small and fragile, almost lost when the fire cracks, the logs collapse.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s true.”
“Gods,” she says. Her hands moving on the duvet, the empty wineglass.
Then a cry, “Ysanne, *what will you do*?”
And in all my life, in my father’s life, in his father’s, this is the proudest moment. That the Queen—and such a queen!—should care at all what happens to the young man who brushes her hair.
“You’ve decided then?” I hazard. A breach of propriety, but an invited one I think. I hope.
The Queen reaches up and takes the brush from my shaking hands. She’s still now, utterly still. Her grip is strong. I trace my fingers down the veins carved into her hands. Royal blood flowing.
“It’s war,” she says.
Then, “I have requests.”
My breath catches. “I give my life unto your service.”
Her lips quirk; even now, so close to a smile. “Hadn’t you already?” she asks.
“Then I give it again.”
“Shall we do this on the morrow? How long does your oath last, young Brushman?”
“As long as blood runs through my veins,” I say.
And she stops. The mood changes. I think that, in all her life, there have only been these passing moments where she dared to be playful. Seventy years. The glory of her rule written in the fall of her hair upon the ground.
I take up the brush.
“I had requests,” she says.
“My Queen.”
“You will play your lyre at the service.”
“My Queen.”
“You will conduct my declaration to our enemies.”
A sudden breath. *“My Queen.”*
“When the time comes tomorrow, you will cut my hair yourself.”
*My Queen.*
“And tonight…My dear boy, tonight would you please sing?”
It’s quiet out on Heron’s Strand, though a fisherman found bodies there today. In the morning Father Carolus will give them to the lake. The archers will all take their aim. And I’ll sing a song to make a goddess cry. I’ll play the lyre too.
And I’ll cry like a baby when I her cut hair; propriety can go to hell.
And tonight, tomorrow, for every night until her hair grows back, I’ll sing my Queen a song to sleep. Of herons in the gentle surf, blood-red beaks plunging into the soaking, silken earth. A place where boys in silent stairwells do not risk death to slake a thirst, and where men like me can admire beauty, by starlight or in fire’s shadows, without morning to hurl us down to earth.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-04-17T22:29:57
| 2022-04-17T21:53:44
| 240
| 156
|
[WP] Write an essay BSing your way through a topic you have no clue about.
|
Here's a guide on how to respond to a writing prompt.
"To start off, basically, some of the time, a lot of extra words can be thrown into the story by the writer and all it really does is make what should have been a short sentence unnecessarily long, so please try to avoid using superfluous, unnecessary, redundant words.
Avoid using lots of exclamation points! They're overused! A period will suffice most of the time!
Posts that just make giant chunks of dialogue with very little other descriptors can make characters seem like props. Try pairing a minor action or feeling with dialogue and cut it up into smaller chunks." said tensing99.
TAKE ADVANTAGE OF REDDIT'S FORMATTING. BOLD WORDS ARE A LOT EASIER TO READ THAN ALL CAPS WHEN TRYING TO EMPHASIZE. "And italics are less likely to be confused with dialogue," thought tensing99.
This is kind of similar to the first point I made but run-on sentences will creep up on you and they are bad and you should always be on the lookout of them and sometimes you keep writing and before you know it you've written an entire paragraph and it's only a sentence, reading your work back to you can help you catch run-on sentences.
"We don't need to know everything about every background character. Minimal descriptions are nice, especially if they will never be seen again," said Chief of Police Matthew Anderson, before going back to his wife and three kids for burrito night. He also says it's good to keep present and past tense consistent and to write dialogue in quotes if you're actually writing out the words. "'Chief of Police Matthew Anderson debriefed his lieutenants on the mission' would be better to write than everything he said about the mission, which consisted of a bank robbery orchestrated by a notorious gang of masked criminals, using c4 to blast into the vault. Currently in hot pursuit, getaway vehicle is an old ice cream truck," said the Chief.
"Plagiarism is bad. Don't think nobody will notice if you just change a few details," said Larry Totter. "Also Wingardium Leviosa."
It's also very important to write out a good ending so readers have some closure. It shouldn't end suddenly.
|
"Quantum Physics is really quite simple- all you need to remember is that you're dealing with a 'Quantum' (Quantity) of 'Physics' (Like psychics, but with physical powers instead of mental ones). The most well knows Physic, of course, is Batman, who punched crime so hard that it stopped being illegal.
The core question that Quantum Physics seeks to answer is this: 'What Quantum of Physics is necessary to achieve this goal?' The answer lies in certain applications of Calculus, which I leave as an exercise for the reader. Suffice it to say that the answer is ohgodcomebacktothispart
Once you have determined the Quantum of Physic(s) necessary to achieve your aims, the next step is to find that many Physic(s). Suffice it to say that this is often easier said than done, just like peeling a pineapple or eating a brick. Once you find the number (or 'Quantum') of Physics you need, you have them do the thing you were going to do, and then you've done the thing you were going to do, whatever it was.
When was Quantum Physics discovered? Many scholarly sources cite Christopher 'Chris' Columbus, who, upon reaching the new world, observed that one of the natives threw a boat at him. This makes that native a possible candidate for an early Physic, but more serious scholarly works note both the abundance of alcohol on that trip, as well as the fact that boats were much smaller back then. Suffice it to say, 'ol 'Christy' Columbus was probably just smoking crack.
The modern study of Quantum Physics begins with Albert 'Al' Einstein, who also invented the lightbulb, electricity, and beer. 'Al' was the first to realize that it was possible to count how many Physics were needed to do something using the newly-invented abacus. Suffice it to say, the number of Physics needed was usually a number (or 'Quantum').
Quantum Physics in the modern today still has many questions. Why is the number of Physics needed so often a number (or 'Quantum')? Where do all these Physics come from, anyway? Suffice it to say, I just hit the word count, so I don't care."
| 2017-06-19T23:32:13
| 2017-06-19T23:21:39
| 57
| 21
|
[WP] Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen.
|
Vlad brought over another candelabra. He wondered if the problem was that he wasn't getting enough light on his face.
Once again he sat down, took a deep breath, and brought up the mirror.
"Ugh. No!" He cried out, wondering how his face could possibly be so pale when his diet was literally all red blood.
He strode over to his bed, picked up the body of the woman he'd recently drained, and dragged her over to the mirror. Placing his face next to hers, he looked again. How was it possible? She was dead, drained of blood and she still has more colour in her cheeks than he did.
He dropped the body and its skull hit the ground with a dull thump. His dextrous fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt, taking it off and dropping it next to his stool. He once again faced the mirror and looked, this time at his chest.
How was it possible? He had the strength to crush rocks, and yet his chest looked... skinny. He flexed, watching tiny ripples under thin, papery white skin.
He'd always assumed that it was just the angle, that if he could see himself properly he'd look like an athlete. Instead, he looked like, well, a musician or something, only perhaps not quite that sickly.
All this time he'd been seducing women, bringing them back to his lair, and then draining them. He'd never seen himself, but he knew just how beautiful he had to be. Women were mesmerized by him. One look and they had to be with him. How could he be anything other than beautiful?
--
Over the next few weeks, Vlad tried to leave the mirror alone, but he kept being drawn back to it. Once or twice he even dared letting a tiny bit of sunlight into the room, hoping that better lighting would show him something different. Instead, all he got for his troubles was a nasty burn to his forearm.
He spent hours lifting the heaviest stone he could, over and over, hoping that that would fill out his frame a bit. However, when returning to the mirror he could see nothing more than his same, skinny frame. He couldn't even work up a pleasing glistening sweat to mask the thin, white skin.
It was hunger that eventually drove him out of his lair, and into the town's streets. He spotted a young woman walking alone and approached her, gliding silently until he was just within reach.
"Um... excuse... milady. That is to say... Might I... what does... who is your daddy and what does he do?" It wasn't working. An approach that had come naturally for centuries evaporated. Panic raced down his spine.
The young woman turned to him startled, fearing for her safety. Then she saw who it was who had interrupted her. She'd thought it might have been a cutpurse, but instead it was some kind of sickly boy.
"Are you lost, child? Where's your mother?" she asked. She'd gone from fearing for her own safety to worrying for a sickly boy far from home.
"I'm no child! I'm a monster!" The words were meant to terrify her, but as they squeaked out of his throat, she simply giggled.
"I'm sure you haven't done anything that bad," she reassured him. Let's find your mother, I'm sure she's worried sick for you. She reached out to take his hand, intending to walk him back into town.
With a panicked yelp, he pulled away, racing back into the woods.
"Little boy! It's not safe in the woods! There are real monsters there!" Her words, meant to caution him, only humiliated him further.
--
Back at his lair, he paced. Dawn was rising, and he was really starting to get hungry now. Losing his looks... or at least his ideas of how he looked, had absolutely destroyed his confidence. Without that confidence, how was he to feed?
His pacing took him through every room, even the dusty ones that had been closed off for decades. He was completely lost in thought when he realized that he was in his library. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.
There was a book, it had a black spine and a red... yes, there it was.
*The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists*, by Neil Strauss
Chapter 1. Negging...
|
They always say that vampires are attractive. Our little human prey say we glimmer, we shine the brightest, like stars. So, we must be beautiful, right? I always thought that I was beautiful. I'd never seen myself in a reflection. However, all the humans fawned over me. My last little meal, he flattered me that I was the most beautiful one in the world. He said I was his queen, while I rolled my eyes and bit down his juicy neck. After centuries hearing how beautiful I was, I must be beautiful. I must be.
And then, my friend gave me a reflection plate. Alexander's eyes were strained.
"You need to see this," he said.
"What is up with you?" I asked, taking the plate in my hand. Why would he give me this?
He just shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
I raised the plate to look at it. The face was a very ordinary one. Looking at it on the first glance, you would say it was beautiful. But all the facial parts just didn't really fit together. The more you look at the face, the uglier it becomes, as if it was a mismatched tortoiseshell cat. I began laughing. "Who is this ugly person?" I snickered, "is it your new target?"
"You," he said, "it is you."
My mind didn't register it, as I kept laughing.
"Wait... What? ME?!" I screeched.
"No way," I said haughtily. "You are joking! I am beautiful. This, this... this thing is ugly as f*ck!"
Alexander shook his head. "No, it really is us. The preys have changed the mirrors. We can see ourselves now. This is us."
The haunting reality washed over me. We, vampires are ugly.
"Humans have really bad taste."
| 2017-07-29T14:42:16
| 2017-07-29T13:16:14
| 99
| 35
|
[WP]Not every hero is a rich idiot with no day job, nor every villain a mad scientist, but most still need supplies. Thus, Super-Mart; a place for the budget-conscious heroes and villains, left alone thanks to a necessary truce. And You just started a summer job there.
|
"Hey, I need you to tell me what Excelsior just bought."
"What?"
"I just saw him in here. He had a pretty huge bag. What did he get?"
"I have no idea. I'm just stocking shelves."
Praxis looks back over his shoulder like he's being followed. I don't buy it. Nobody follows Praxis. Not even on social media.
"Come on, man. You probably just stocked it. What'd he get? Couldn't have been potions. Was it nanobots?"
"Why are you even asking me this? You know it's against policy."
"Oh! A nanobot printer! Like those 3D printers. But for nanobots."
"I know what they are."
"You even have them on sale!"
"I put the stickers up."
"It was a nanobot printer, wasn't it?"
"You can't ask me these questions. You've had three warnings."
"Holy shit. Who do you think you are?"
He has no idea I'm trying to help him. Yeah, I just got hired. I also do my homework. Try to make sure I know a thing or two.
"Some kind of stock-boy, standing up to ME?! Damn, man. You know I'm Praxis, right? Solely responsible for taking out half of City Hall?"
He held potions for Akathisium while she did it, but sure. I ignore him. I keep stocking the shelf.
"I swear, I *have* to beat Excelsior next time. Or Akathisium's never gonna notice me."
Shelf doesn't stock itself. Up go the quantum circuitboards. Half off this week. Not bad—I might grab some myself. Real good price with my employee discount.
"I need this, man. Just tell me what he bought and I'll go away."
I turn and stare him down.
"You do not need this. You need to go back to your pocket dimension and practice beating Excelsior a million million times by proxy. That's what you're good at. Taking shortcuts isn't a praxis for experience. It also isn't the Praxis experience. So leave it alone, please."
"Hey, that's pretty good!"
"Thank you."
"Shame I'm about to kill you. Otherwise, I'd give you credit for it."
"... Excuse me?"
"I'm done with people disrespecting me. Plus, I don't even know how you know about the pocket dimension. You're done, stock-boy. Prepare to d—"
It didn't come up in the interview, but when I erase all knowledge of someone from existence, that also includes surveillance records and memories. So that's why you have an incident of unauthorized use of power in the store, but no camera footage, and no record of his previous incidents. He had three warnings followed by a death threat, so I took immediate action. I hope this is a sufficient explanation.
... No, sir. I don't know why they assume the employees aren't also supers.
... Yes, sir. I could do a lot with unlimited power over knowledge. Trust me, working part-time here is just easier.
... Gnosis, sir. You need me to spell it for the form? Sure. G-N-O-S-I-S.
... Praxis, sir. P-R-A-X-I-S.
... Praxis. P-R-A-X-I-S.
... It's okay, sir. I know you're going to have a difficult time remembering him. I'm prepared to tell you as many times as you need.
|
"How about fifty?"
"I'm not going to sell my death ray for %11 of the cost!"
It's not the weirdest thing you see in Super-Mart two indiviual try to make a living. But I still have to obey the policy
"Sir, we don't have a market for indiviuals. Please use websites like Cap-e or supercave."
Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering how I got here.
\*\*\*
"But mom said I'm old enough to buy speedster shoes."
I had a fake teary eye. You know, able to control water has its merits. My dad did't even looked at me while pointing out wall. The hole with orange edge showing me a wrecked car. I try to suppress my guilt
"Even then I was able to make my way out of it!"
He looked at me with a side eye, raising an eyebrow. That stare which brings down many people down to their knees. Knowing this isn't even a superpower didn't help so I keep my mouth shut but keep my chin up.
"If you say so."
Ugh! I hate you dad! I hate you when you just act towards me like you did to criminals! You know nothing about world!
"Yeah, I say so!"
"Let's compromise."
Did...did he just turn 180 degree on his char and smile?
He did!
That's bad!
That's really bad!
"I want you to prove me that you're responsible enough"
"O-okay"
I'm sure my position on my chin and shoulders didn't change but Oh man...I shouldn't stutter.
"Very well then"
\*\*\*
"I got scammed at supercave"
"Cap-e is only for superheroes with licenses"
Oh they're villians, of course. Should've figured it out from death ray.
Uh...
Death ray?
Since when I consider this a normal thing here?
"I can help you to use those websites if you want"
Oh right because I don't have time for this! I need to handle it like an adult or I might lose this job!
"So you see if you check the rating the sellers account on the website..."
I swear if it took more than half an hour I'll call the security. Oh wait, there is none! I hate here!
Thankfully they were quick to follow so they leave me alone. I was glad that they were good with technology. The next one on the other hand wasn't this easy.
This woman simply asked me with a delightful smile
"What should I buy?"
She was a nice enough woman so I hang out a bit next to her.
"Why not this costume cleaner?"
"Oh this might work! But not really"
"What about this litlle gadget to comminucate?"
"not my style"
"Bendable metal stick for little fashion touches? You can bend it according to your symbol"
"Too simple"
"Gun color? You can shoot with wahtever colour you want! We have red for villians and blue for heroes"
"Too pale"
Pick something woman!
Turns out she was just trying to exchange her money so she would have coins for a vending machine.
I mean, I get it. It's the policy that we can't exchange money for it. Why don't you buy what you want from here though?
Fun fact it wasn't in the policy until someone scammed me with fake money. I really shouldn't be leave alone with register.
It could cause a lot of trouble for people but most importantly, for me. Meaning I need to re-consider...uh...what was the reason for me to work here again?
..............................
Right.
.............................
Maybe I should pick something less managable to buy instead of following a trend on the street considering I wrecked a car. It was dangerous for me and others.
..............................
\*\*\*
"You could just told me!...Stop laughing" I shouted while couldn't hold my giggle
"I was so emberassed! It was so hard! I got scammed! I had to teach villians to use supercave! Do you know what lind of people I had to deal with!"
This is the first time I see my dad slapping his knees while laughing. And me giggling despite all the troublesome weeks.
..............................
Thanks, dad.
.............................
I love you.
| 2021-10-03T12:21:35
| 2021-10-03T11:53:39
| 1,256
| 35
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
The world is a stage, and life is a show,
My part is done, and I simply must go!
I'm no longer in costume. I've forgotten my lines,
Like the rear-weighted lofzoom, I'm dragging behind.
Though, I won't condemn others to the same fate as I,
You wield wonderful wings, so use them to fly!
I won't have you carry me, so don't stick around
Some birds like me were meant for the ground.
Goodbye! Au revoir! It's just half past three
A couple more minutes and I'll be home free!
Keep your chin up, friends, and try not to pout
Maybe I'll see you when you make it out.
|
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!
| 2015-01-17T11:53:17
| 2015-01-17T09:43:08
| 24
| 13
|
[WP] Today on your 18th birthday you’re informed that your Middle Class life is a sham to teach you good values and your family is actually worth billions.
|
"Why?"
Dad turned and looked into my eyes. We were seated in the living room of our modest suburban home, CNN playing quietly on the screen above the fireplace. The furniture was IKEA, the paintings on the wall mere prints, and the shelves had cheap souvenirs on display. A far cry from the estate of my wealthy friend I'd visited last week.
Unless my father was playing a cruel trick on me, I just simply couldn't imagine how the man in front of me was somehow a *billionare*. One that used to be the CEO of a large multinational firm, working in the background and letting his spokesman do the talking. His title of "Application Developer" was simply an illusion. Instead of writing and debugging code, he was managing aquisitions and ensuring the company worked to perfection.
He'd retired today, with a ridiculous sum in the bank and zero fanfare.
I had small hints of hidden wealth throughout my life. How we seemed to pay for Grandpa's cancer treatment without a care. How we never had to worry about loans or debt. Nevertheless, I certainly didn't expect the billions left behind in accounts all over the world.
"Gary, why did you think your mother stayed at home?" he asked.
"To look after me?" I replied slowly. While many of my friends came home from school to video games and junk food, I had someone watching me to ensure I didn't do that. Chores. Curfews. Much less time alone.
I also remembered the times when she was there after I ran home crying. How she helped me out with assignments and talked to me about my future. Without any siblings, I became closer to her than I realised.
On the other hand, my father spend most of his days at the office, with harsh overtime hours taking over much of the weekends too. Yet he always came home as soon as possible, and I remembered the days where I used to play basketball with him in the driveway and go skiing together in the winter.
"I kept all this a secret because I saw what money did to my older brother," my father continued. "Ernest chose to splurge heavily and indulged in drugs, gambling, and even prostitutes. He was stabbed to death during a violent disagreement at the age of twenty-two."
Looking back at last Christmas, I remembered the simple presents I got and how I was taught to buy the things I needed, not what I wanted. How to cherish good family and friends, rather than the sudden highs associated with vices.
Was that a good thing? Had it made me a better person? I don't know. But something in the back of my mind told me that if I ever had children, I wouldn't let them go down the dark path.
|
I sighed with a sense of relief. They took good care of me for 18 years. repaying the kindness they bestowed on me was always in my mind. That sense of relief was beyond what I imagined.
But...
I was mad too. Mad that I choose a path I spite out of necessity for financial security. I could have followed my passion, the fear of never repaying them back paralyzed me.
Their intentions were good. But still...
Today, I am finally free.
| 2017-12-28T12:41:06
| 2017-12-28T11:01:52
| 60
| 16
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
Half-Life 3 2008 release date
-
Half-Life 3 2009 release date
-
Half-Life 3 2010 release date
-
Half-Life 3 2011 release date
-
Half-Life 3 2012 release date
-
Half-Life 3 2013 release date
-
Half-Life 3 2014 release date
-
The Fappening.
-
Half-Life 3 2015 release date...
-
|
makeup tips on how to slender face
easy hairdo styles
how to change your life
american behavioral clinics hours
reddit.com
facebook.com
d2l.edu
reddit.com
youtube.com
how to feel better about yourself
pornhub.com
facebook.com
easy workouts for beginners
american behavioral clinics
side effects of alibify and lexapro
reddit.com
reddit.com/r/relationships
pornhub.com
how to get out of debt
how to fix relationship
download tinder google play
signs that he loves you
signs that he doesn't love you
.
.
.
intense outpatient programs
healthcare cost
how to pay for therapy with no insurance
how to pay for meds with no insurance
signs that you are crazy
.
.
how to get over ex
when do the nightmares stop
craigslist apartments
| 2015-02-04T22:40:22
| 2015-02-04T20:08:51
| 29
| 11
|
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own.
|
"Space. The final frontier," I said to myself, deciding what I'd play as I sat down at my new piano. I had just picked it up at an estate sale last weekend and had been too busy to try it out.
"These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise," I continued as I played the first few notes. "Its continuing mission, to explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before."
I hit a forte as I launched into the main theme, and it felt almost otherworldly as I was swept away into the music. This was truly the best instrument I had ever owned; I couldn't believe I got such a good deal on it. It was almost like the heirs were afraid to keep it...
I finished with a flair, then stood up and jokingly said "Computer, end program." No sooner had the words left my mouth when I was overwhelmed with horror as my living room began to disappear, replaced with... No! A holodeck? The only thing remaining from seconds ago was the piano.
I ran for the door which opened into what I recognized as one of the corridors from the Enterprise-D. "What happened? Where am I?" I asked a yellow shirted crewman. He clearly saw the terror in my face as he hit his combadge. "We need a medical team to Holodeck 2... Looks like he may be experiencing psychosis... He doesn't know where he is."
I sat down and felt the walls closing in on me, my heart racing. The next thing I knew, I was in sick bay.
|
Jamie came up to me with a piece of paper. "I have a new song for you to learn" she says with enthusiasm. I am known across campus for my piano skills. I once played in the most prestigious of concert halls. I lead her back to my apartment and I pull out my keyboard. Jamie sets down the sheet music on the stand and look to figure out the notes.
I sight-read the music perfectly to find that it's the Imperial March from Star Wars. When I finish playing I look up to find that I'm no longer sitting in my room. I look up from my sheet music to find a tall black figure standing in front of me. The sound of his breath through his mask makes me pee myself a bit. He lowers his head slowly and with the most feminine tone says "OMG that was the best thing I have ever heard in a long time. Play it again!"
I'm taken aback by the strange contradiction. On all the movies I had seen and all the books I had read. Vader is supposed to be the bad guy, what is going on?
"Mr. Vader, sir, could you repeat what you just said?" I say confused and dazed. "I said you should play it again. It was better than what these plebes can do."
I look at the keyboard and start to play it again. I finish the song and notice that I am on the other side of the room. I look around confused. Did everything change or did I just teleport?
I look at the keyboard and fiddle with the keys. Little do I know that I unintentionally played the Jaws theme song. The next thing I know I'm soaking wet, floating in the middle of the ocean with my keyboard. I look around and see one singular fin coming towards me. I look at the keyboard and struggle to play something. The end result was the theme song for Friends. I end up shivering and drenched sitting in a restaurant across the table from Chandler. He looks up at me and asks "Where did you come from?" I answer "I don't know" I rack my brain thinking of a way to get home. The trouble is that I never picked the theme song of my life.
| 2017-10-01T19:04:04
| 2017-10-01T17:21:53
| 42
| 16
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
\[English is not my first language, sorry if it's written unperfectly\]
The trick was so easy you're surprised no one has thought of it before.
If the rule is that they can't kill you BEFORE you get your last meal, the solution is not to ask for alien fetus or whatever. It is to ask for something they can only give you AFTER they kill you. It's as easy as that, you think.
"I want my heart cooked to perfection", you ask.
The guard's jaws drop.
"What", you ask sarcastically, "you don't know where to find the ingredients? It's on the left side of the chest, in case you forgot".
"Not again. Please, change your request", the guards beg you.
You know they're bluffing. No one has ever been freed before, you must be the first one to make such a request. "I want my heart cooked to perfection", you repeat.
The guards leave. An hour later, they come back with a doctor, a pump, a weird bottle, and what looks like a litre of blood. "Sniff here", the doctor says, and as soon as you do you fall asleep.
Three hours later, you wake up in your cell, the pump on your chest, your heart in a plate in front of you.
"Eat quickly", the doctor intimates you, "the artificial heart won't last forever".
As soon as you finish, one of the guards smile. "The operation took so long it's already midnight. It's execution day", he says while switching off the heart machine.
In your last seconds, you can't stop thinking how sarcastic it is for a man to have his heart inside him, an artificial one attached, a death penalty on his head, and still, dying of heart failure.
You should have asked for your brain cooked to perfection, since artificial brains do not exist. In other words, you should have used your brain.
|
It's a normal tradition, that prisoners can ask for anything. Anything at all, for their last meal. Apple pie that you get to make yourself, with chocolate-milk in a carton, like your mom used to make back when you were an innocent kid. A plain cheeseburger. Delicious ribs. A few people are aware that you can ask for anything. No matter what. A rock. The skull of a bishop. The scripture of Gautama Buddha written on a perfect oak leaf. Whatever you like, you can ask for. No matter how ridiculous, rare, and impossible to find. And technically, if they can't find it, can't provide you with your last and final meal, then you can't be executed. You're set free, though usually not in a manner that allows you to get back to normality. They have to obey the word of that ancient ritual's laws, not the spirit. If you're a particularly vile person, you might get set free on a rowboat in the middle of the Indian ocean, or on a deserted island. This isn't exactly a thing that's particularly nice of the people in charge to do, but they don't want the people on Death Row to go properly free.
Not that it actually mattered. Nobody has ever been disappointed by the people in charge of the last meal. Well, in terms of them not finding the meal in question. Some might have been disappointed by having to get executed, even after they came up with a particularly difficult and absurd thing to ask for. Jabberwocky jerky. Cthulhu-calamari. The actual flesh and blood of Jesus. Fruits from alien worlds. The concept of forgiveness made into a delicious yogurt. The idea of the sport of football condensed into a sportsdrink. KFC-style fried angel wings. A rainbow-icecream with colours that cannot exist in our universe, such as octarine or irrigo. Wine from the sloping hills of Perdition in Hell, where Lucifer has his vineyards. It's always been found, and cooked to perfection. Any man who goes to his death does so with a belly full of his last request, and can thus not cast a curse against his jailors and their masters. Nobody wants death-curses from those who are rightfully executed. And they definitely don't want them from those who were executed wrongfully, for those are a hundredfold more powerful than the curses of the guilty. Of course, as all men who have passed towards the guillotine or the noose, the chair or the firing squad, have been fed to their last request, they can not curse their executioners.
But today, it is a different day. In the cell awaiting his final meal sits a man. He is thin and tall. The olive skin on his hands is bruised and bloody. He did not move to this room without a fight. He has a black ring around his eye from a punch one the guards gave him. He does not look repentant for his crimes. He does not look like he has accepted his fate. He does not carry the face of the innocent man that has given into despair, or the guilty man who looks forward to the forgiveness of his saviour. His fingers are drumming on the table. The plate in front of him is empty and bare. From the distant kitchens comes weeping and screaming. For the first time since they started doing this back in the Roman empire, for the first time in two millennium, they cannot bring the man-to-be-executed his final meal. There is no way that they can get what he asked for. There is no method in any of their ancient gastronomic sorcery and strange dimensional abilities that can bring him what he demands. The guards beg him to ask for something different. They weep as the tall man, his eyes burning with the rage of righteousness, restates his demand. Or that they let him go. The sorcerer-chefs come to him, pleading for him to pick anything else. The prisoner spits in the head sorcerer-chef's face. Either they kill him without fulfilling his final request, letting his fury tear the heavens asunder in a curse which is a thousand-fold the horror that the curse of an innocent man could ever release. Or they let him go.
They cannot bring his request to him. The guards collapse and fall down to the floor, leaving only the warden to release him. The other prisoners turn from the tall man in fear as he pass them in their cells on death row. The normal prisoners kneel before him as the clouds unleash a storm upon the prison. He retrieves his meagre personal belongings, he says not a word, he answers not the warden's babbling words, rapidly turning into a madness from which there is no escape. He walks through the yard, where each of his footsteps is announced by the loud strikes of thunder from a black sky. The man who is free, opens his mouth, and sings an ancient tune. He is free, against the odds he is unleashed upon the world. He is not caged anymore. He asked for the heart of the man who did the crime he was in for. The freed prisoner knew well that they could not rip that nightmare organ from its bone-cage. He knew well that by even accepting the existence of such an organ, was proof of his innocence. They could not, knowing he was innocent, kill him. Even if they had found some method of extracting that putrid thing from the chest of that blemish upon existence. Even if they had succeeded, he would have been freed, and he would have had his vengeance.
His justice.
But as Heaven itself buckles and bends, the freed prisoner, who has lost everything to an enemy more powerful than anything in creation, is free to continue on his quest. His enemy slew the freed man's wife. Burned the freed man's lands. Took the freed man's children. The freed man was blamed for it all. For the horrors done, when he had been nothing but kind, just, and loyal. He was cast into jail on false charges, and sent to die for the opportunity of his enemy to see him beg, pray, whimper and weep. When he had done nothing wrong, done nothing to offend his enemy. He had even admired, worshipped, this enemy before everything he had was cruelly taken from him. As a joke. Or a test. But he did not do as was demanded. He did not bow down to his enemy. He did not pray. And having seen what his enemy is, he never will again.
His enemy is a monster, who dares to call himself the king-of-kings. The highest upon high. The freed man's name was even taken from him. Behind him, the walls of the prison cracks. The bricks fall down and the concrete breaks down. The prisoners flee, not for the sake of their freedom, but out of fear. The Freed Man is met by his accomplishes, outside the ruins of the prison. They have no names either. Their names have been taken. Their loved ones slain, stolen, or otherwise ruined, by the machinations of an enemy that is more powerful than any infernal or terrestrial force. One is the Prince of Maybe, one is the Lady in Scarlet. Another is named the Dragon of Sunken Mu, one is the Harbinger-Bird. All of them are angry, powerful, out-of-step with reality. Creatures who no longer bow or allow themselves to be under the rule of the judgment of Heaven. They are a band of five, who stand against the puppetmaster, the demiurge who plays with the fates of men like toys. Toys that the enemy so enjoy breaking. They are nameless, formless, and terrible to behold. The failure of the prisons to execute the Freed Man, was the last straw. The last attempt to do their plan, their hunger for vengeance, without setting Heaven ablaze, and uprooting Hell.
The Earth shifts underneath the five of them led by the Freed Man, as they begin their assault upon Paradise, to bring justice or vengeance to the enemy. The Freed Man is coming to reclaim his family. To avenge his wife. And once more take the name his father gave him; so that he shall once more wear the face and name of Job.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-17T17:30:24
| 2022-07-17T15:39:02
| 616
| 331
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
|
"oh by now, I don't know there are so many"
"It's okay, you can tell me. I won't judge."
" Well probably several hundred"
"Several hundred? I can't believe it."
"Well it's not like I want too do more, and I've only been working the city for 3 years." Ahem. "Besides, with your experience I'm sure you've got a higher total than me."
"Actually, I've only got the one."
"One? How could you even sit here and talk to me about this. You can't understand what it's like to have this life."
"It was the president."
"Oh."
"Want another drink?"
"Sure"
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
| 2022-04-26T05:15:50
| 2022-04-25T22:30:31
| 39
| 14
|
[FF] Second Chance. (Contest)
**The results are in! [Check out the winner here](http://redd.it/1xbygk).**
----
**The Prompt:**
> *You live in a world in which every person has the ability to go back in time 10 minutes, but can only do so once in their lives.*
----
**The Guidelines:**
Submissions **must be less than 300 words** and submitted in the comment section to be considered.
[Word Counter, for your convenience.](http://www.wordcounter.net/)
You will have 24 hours to submit your entries. **Deadline: Friday, February 7th @ 6:00PM EST.**
Judging criteria: Style, Plot, Flow/Pacing, and Overall Cohesion.
*Note: The number of upvotes a post receives will be taken into consideration, but it will not be the sole deciding factor.*
----
**The Prize:**
The winner will be awarded one month of [Reddit Gold](http://www.reddit.com/gold/about)!
----
**The Bottom Line:**
At the end of the submission period, there will be a 6-hour judging window (to accommodate last-minute entries). Around 12AM EST, I will post a new thread announcing the winner along with a brief statement explaining why the submission was chosen.
Don't forget to vote for your favorite stories!
Good luck, and may the best submission win!
|
10...
I opened my eyes to see myself standing in front of the Board of Supervisors for MindTree Inc. These businessmen were considering a partnership with my company, and my job was to convince them. I knew winning them over would catapult me up the corporate ladder and make me thousands. I was preparing that presentation for months.
I shoved the CEO out of my way and sprinted out the door.
9...
I found my car in the parking lot and threw myself inside. I spent countless hours and money refurbishing that Ford Escort. It was my pride and joy.
I crushed the mirror against the car next to me as I sped away.
8...
Sweat formed across my back and stained my precious new sport coat I had bought just for the meeting.
7...
I raced through every red light without a moments hesitation. The easiest decision of my life.
6...
I fumbled with my cell phone and called her.
That phone had everything I needed on it. My documents, emails, pictures. That phone was a part of me.
“Hello?”
5...
“Jack?”
“I’ve been a terrible husband and father. You deserved better. I’m so sorry. I love you.”
Her reply muffled in the speaker as I threw the phone towards the back of the car.
4...
I swerved in and out of traffic.
3...
Would I make it?
2...
1...
I screeched to a halt in the driveway. I bolted out the car and flew through the front door.
“Kennedy?”
“Yeah daddy?”
She was home from school.
I held onto her for life.
0.
I saw the explosive cloud of light rush from outside the window and was immediately blinded. A boom shattered the window and the heat intensified.
I held tighter.
|
"Want to go to the store with me?"
I had just opened up my laptop.
"Um.. Nah. You can go."
"You've been gone all day, John."
"Yeah, working."
She leaves without a word. Lately, it's been hard to keep things together. The slam of the car door lets me know that I might be in the doghouse later. Big surprise.
Ever since we lost Carmella, I can't stand to be home. I resent these hallways that used to echo laughter. When you lose somebody that you truly love, you turn into a shell of yourself. I watched my daughter dwindle into a flat line on a hospital monitor. She would have been 7 years old next month. Funny how time flies.
I head into the kitchen for a beer and see that my wife left her list. Classic. Pulling out my cell phone, I mentally add my favorite things. It rings and rings until she finally picks up. Silence.
"Anna? Are you there?"
More silence. I check the phone, but we're still connected. Then, a man's distanced voice.
"I know that *somebody* has a phone in here. I heard it ring. Tell me where it is, or I **will** shoot."
My heart starts beating faster.
"ANNA?!"
Shuffling, then. A gun shot. Women screaming.
Our life together flashes through my mind and my eyes fill with tears. She's the only person I have left. This is my chance.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Want to go to the store with me?"
There she is, gorgeous as always. The way her hair falls around her eyes - god, I love that.
"Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight?"
She shoots me a quizzical look. I've always loved that half-smile.
"Why?"
"I just want to show you that... I couldn't live without you."
~~~~~~~~~
edit: word count.
| 2014-02-06T16:34:42
| 2014-02-06T15:58:56
| 21
| 10
|
[WP] DC Comics introduces its newest superhero. This character was seemingly created for the sole purpose of offending as many readers as possible.
|
BBC NEWS:
After recent violence spread throughtout the middle east and into some western countries, all copies of 'Mohammed the Coon' have been removed from newsagents and comic book stored everywhere. The comic, about a crime solving muslim raccoon was deemed to be severely offensive to the muslim faith and his cry of 'THE COON SAVES HIS BACON AGAIN!' every time a case is sucessfully solved was also unacceptable. The issue where he acidentally gets drunk and eats 4 Kilos of pork scratchings was too far as well.
Im off to work, before this gets any worse...will return and correct the spelling.
|
"Mohammed the prophet......."
"Mohammed the fucking prophet?!?!?..."
"You got to be kidding me Tommy how the hell am I supposed to publish this,
I can't even draw the son of a bitch without getting charlie hebdo'd so hard it makes newspapers across the world."
"What were you thinking?"
"Sorry boss but I thought you said we were trying to reach new audiences"
| 2015-02-17T20:54:34
| 2015-02-17T20:30:44
| 95
| 68
|
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D
|
“What’s the saddest word in the English language?”
&nbsp;
“Almost.”
&nbsp;
“Why?”
&nbsp;
“I was almost good for him. He was almost in love with me. We almost made it.”
&nbsp;
She did this often. It didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing. She could be laughing at the beach, or singing passionately to her favourite song in my car. I never knew what would trigger the memories.
&nbsp;
Sometimes she would tell me about them. How they howled with laughter together, how he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, how her skin sizzled with heat when he stroked her skin. But overtime the howls of laughter turned to cries of pain, and when she looked at him he had his face turned away, and gradually her skin began to burn at his touch.
&nbsp;
They were so in love. A love like the world had never seen. It was powerful, exquisite, fierce. It burned brighter than any love before it, which made the heartbreak all the more painful.
&nbsp;
It was slow. It chipped away at their souls, and the earth, piece by piece. Their differences came to light. And their differences gave way to arguments, and the arguments became silence. They cried. How could two people who were so right for each other, be so wrong?
&nbsp;
I had never experienced anything like that. I felt so inexperienced in the presence of such raw and violent range of emotions. All I’d ever had was a small, steadily burning flame in my heart. A flame for her.
&nbsp;
I sat in silence after her last comment. She looked at me.
&nbsp;
“You should give up on me,” she said quietly.
&nbsp;
I smiled sadly. “I’m not sure I can”
&nbsp;
“I can’t be fixed! I’m broken! I can’t open myself up again!” She was yelling now.
&nbsp;
“You’re not broken, you just-“
&nbsp;
“Get in the car, I need to show you something”.
&nbsp;
We drove in silence. In the windows, the passing scenery turned from green to hues of orange and red. We pulled up and got out of the car.
So this was hers. Everyone has one, that is, everyone who has experienced heartbreak. They say our souls are tied to the earth, and when we cry the earth feels our pain.
&nbsp;
Her heartbreak had never been more real to me than it was in this moment. It stretched for miles, with jagged cuts and sharp turns, as if every negative feeling or thought had been written perfectly into stone. It was red, raw, her anger and hurt radiating from the earth.
&nbsp;
“This, is my reality! This is how much I am hurting! This horrible, ugly, gaping hole in the ground is an awful permanent reminder of-“
&nbsp;
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, completely awestruck by the scene before me. I gaze around in wonder with a smile on my face. She looks at me, confused. Gently I take her hand and lead her to the edge of the cliff, and sit with her, overlooking the gorge.
&nbsp;
“What you see and feel about this canyon is your own interpretation. But all I can see is a crack to pour my love into.” She looks at me, and slowly her face breaks into a smile.
&nbsp;
And so we sit, on the edge of her heartbreak, as the beginnings of the cool, blue, soothing water of a nearby river trickles into the canyon.
&nbsp;
EDIT: I took some inspiration from quotes about love that I've come across over time.
EDIT 2: words
|
I started this with your prompt in mind but I wandered off somewhere and got a tad lost. Im still posting the full thing because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyways, here goes.
They say there once was a young man, long ago. He wasn't very wealthy, but he had an aura of happiness where people couldn't help but smile in his company. He traveled the world helping with odd jobs. Fixing walls, clearing stables, yet he never frowned at any task. "A small smile is reward enough for a large task" he used to say. As people heard of this man, word made its way to a king of a distant land who was very sad.
The kings daughter had never smiled since birth. At first, the happy parents tried to make her laugh and play, but the princess never gave even a smirk. As the years lead on, the princess sadness spread across the castle. Servants, once happy to have a home became depressed with their position. The Queen couldn't sleep at night due to nightmares of sad faces. The milkman stopped singing. Even the royal jester was so melancholy he hung up his hat.
The walls began to crack.
As the princess grew, she became sadder and sadder, and the castle felt colder and greyer. One day the king came into his chambers to find his queen grey, cold, and hanging from the ceiling. "I can not stand to see my kingdom filled with grief. As I have put my soul into it, it has taken my life from me". The king organised a funeral where his subjects and his sad daughter sat silently, and he cried.
The roofing began to leak.
When word arrived of the man with the glowing heart, the king ordered he to be brought to the castle immediately. Within a week, the jolly young man arrived to see the sad king. The king felt a spark of hope as the jolly man walked down the once great halls, now beginning to gather dust. "Jolly Man, you say a small smile is reward for a large task, however my large task is for a large smile. Can you help my kingdom?". The jolly man smiled sadly, and put his hand on the kings shoulder. "I will repair your walls so they may never crack again".
The jesters weep.
The man with the heart of gold begins work on the walls of the sad kingdom. The man sings a song of old, about his home and about all the places he had been. With every new brick he laid, and with every word he sung, a feeling of warmth began to overcome the townsfolk. As the milkman joins in, the princess is drawn by the melody towards her window and sees the jolly man. The princess fills with a feeling she had not known before. She has fallen in love with the jolly man.
The princess smiles.
A day passes, and at noon the princess invites the man with the warm smile to the royal gardens. She smiles as he tells her bold stories of his youth. As they walk, the princess realises they are at her mothers resting place. Her heart grows heavy, and her tears stain her dress. "It is my fault you lay here mother. I wish I could have been better". The jolly man holds the princesses hand to his heart, and speaks. "I have also felt loss". The man sings a song; a song about a man who was poor, and a father who was sick. The princess listened to how the jolly man lost his family and started his journey, fixing others to mend the cracks his fathers death left.
The princess embraces the jolly man.
After many months, the kingdom is no longer grey, but full of life and warmth. Flowers bloom around the queens resting place, and the subjects are smiling. The king is having a feast, to his right is his daughter, and to his left, the jolly man. He raises himself and silences the crowd. "My loyal subjects. It has been long since the passing of our queen. And while I do still mourn her, I have an announcement. Our princess, I believe, has chosen a suitor." He nodded to the jolly man. The subjects cheer, and the wine flows freely. All are happy except one grey man who glared enviously at the jolly man.
The grey man plots.
One quiet night, the jolly man hears footsteps near his new room at the castle. A letter slips underneath the door, and the jolly man feels cold. He begins to read the letter and smiles deeply, the princess wishes to see him on the castle walls; the first place she saw him. The warm hearted man rushes to see her, however his heart begins to feel strangely grey.
A crow calls.
The grey man hid in a tower on the royal walls, waiting for the jolly man. "How dare he steal my princess. I was to meet with her, I was to wed her." He bemoaned. The jolly man arrived, and as he walked across the wall, searching for the princess, the grey man prepared his bow.
THWIP.
The jolly man stumbled off the wall.
THUD.
Screams rang out across the kingdom. The fire the jolly man had left in the hearts of all he had touched had become a raging inferno. The king awoke to a feeling of hatred unlike any he had ever felt. However, the princess, her heart broke. No noise escaped her trembling lips. No sound betrayed her heavy heart as she ran out into the courtyard of screaming people. As she walked by each subject, the screaming stopped. One by one, the crowd gathered around the jolly man fell silent as the grey man in the tower looked on . She reached her love, and knelt by his side. He stared deep into her soul, with lifeless eyes and an un mistakable smile. The princess began to sing the jolly mans song. She sung quietly, but no word was misheard.
It began to rain.
With every note that rose from her tongue, the rain pelted harder. She began singing louder and louder, singing new words to add her sorrow to the jolly mans song. The winds began to howl through the kingdom, overturning carts and pushing young to the ground. As she sung, her voice cracks and the town fell silent once more. The princess opens her mouth to continue singing but no words leave her mouth. Instead, a soft sob escapes her lips. The sob becomes a moan, and a scream, to a roar louder than the unnatural winds buffering the broken kingdom. The subjects begin to run, but no noise can be heard but the princesses grief.
The ground shakes.
As the princess roars louder and louder yet, the grey man feels fear in his heart. He tries to step further inside the tower to hide from the sound and the wind, however the door slams shut. Rain hammers into the grey man with force to cut into his flesh. The rain turns to hail, and together with the princesses wail, the walls begin to crumble. The grey man, frightened, tries to flee to the other side of the wall, but it is too late. Razor sharp hailstone after stone is driven into his body, and he falls off the crumbling kingdom walls. The princesses roar continues.
The town is empty.
The grey man watched, within deaths embrace, as the princess ceased her scream. Surprised, she walks over to see the man who had murdered her love. "I.. Did this.. For you.. You ungrateful.." The princess plunged her hand into the grey mans heart and silenced him. She raised herself as the rain washed the black blood of the grey man, and walked towards the body of the jolly man. "I can not stand to see my soul fill with such grief. As I gave you my soul, you left with my heart" she wept as she collapsed at the side of the warm hearted man. As she knelt in the blood of her love, her heart finally breaks.
The kingdom is in ruin.
Few survived to tell the tale of the jolly man and the sad princess. The king had fled, and life there was over. But fewer still stayed to watch the castle split itself in half. The split in the castle spread from the royal garden, to the royal halls; across the town and through the walls. It spread across the entire kingdom, and as those very few watched, the princess stared into the jolly mans heart of gold. A single tear dropped from her cheek as she smiled. And as this tear fell, the winds stopped. The rain and hail dispersed. The tear never hit the ground, as the ground began to open with such catastrophic force and noise. The princess and her love fell into the chasm, as the courtyard followed into the earths depths. The grand chasm grew untill the kingdom was dust and dirt in the belly of the earth.
They say there once was a sad girl who met a very jolly man. When he died, he left a scar in her heart so great it shattered the earth itself. His golden heart now, they say, can be found by those who will trade a task for a smile.
And that, is the proper ending I wanted. I could keep going forever (I was the bane of my English teachers) but it feels like a good ending can go here. Thanks for the encouragement you guys. I hope it lived up to how you thought it could go c:
I now need bed. Am very ded but I feel good. Goodnight y'all.
| 2015-12-03T15:04:53
| 2015-12-03T12:14:37
| 252
| 38
|
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
Warning; triggers ahead; abuse.
"I, Steven Reed, hereby give Alex Chase my soul, without reservation or duress, in exchange for his lunch money for the week of the 14th of April", the demon read it aloud, distaste and loathing dripping like melted butter from every syllable. Her gaze roze and fixed on me. The eye contact made me flinch. "The fuck is this meant to be?" she barked it. It's the only way to describe the way the words came out of her.
"Um. A contract for his soul?" I'd meant to sound more confident about it than that. But something about her gaze and the way she'd asked the question twisted my assured statement into a fairly weedy question. As soon as I'd said it I wanted it to come back, so I could have another go, but that would just make it worse.
I wish I hadn't done this in my pyjamas. This had seriously undermined my authority.
She eyed me for a long, long time. Honestly it could have been days, for how it felt. It was probably only about a minute or so though. I know it wasn't more than a day because it didn't get dark, although time always seems to flow a bit differently when she's in the room with me. I could feel myself getting hot. The same kind of hot that I got when my parents were doing their shouting at each other piece. That creeping, insidious heat which spilled into my stomach as the certainty that, just like with my parents, what came next was going to be bad for me.
I started to fidget, fingers idly tracing the edges of my favourite scar. The demon watched with interest as I picked at a promising looking scab, but seemed disappointed when I didn't rip it off. Finally, she looked back at my contract. She sniffed it, like you might sniff a pair of underpants to see if they were clean enough to wear again or if they needed to be turned inside out for another week. "What have you written this with, human?"
I tried to answer, but my throat didn't want to work. I had to cough a bit first, but it seemed again to reinforce that I wasn't as confident as I was trying to pretend I was. This wasn't going well.
"I... um... I only had a couple of wax crayons. But it's still signed" I added the afterthought as firmly as I could, as if this made my point valid. Shifting awkwardly, I could tell that the sweat seeping out of my back was going to make me change my pyjamas before bed. An extra pair of pyjamas to wash was bound to get me in trouble.
"I see." the demon said icily, still glaring so hard at the scribbled contract that I was worried she'd burn a hole right through it. "And you wanted... what... from me?"
I'd expected the question, but it still made the bottom drop out of my stomach. This was my chance. Possibly my only one. It would take years for me to be able to deal with this naturally. I shifted again, wincing as the now sodden cotton of my pyjama top clung to the raw skin on my lower back, and then pulled away painfully.
"I said... I said before. About..." I tailed off lamely. This was hard to put into words. The demon sniffed derisively, but her eyes took me in again, whole, and her shoulders seemed to move ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it reminded me of my Nana, how she used to look at me when I used to be allowed to visit her after school. I could never hide the pain from her.
"Yes... Yes I see. Well." She straightened, abruptly, and I flinched again. "This isn't a soul, boy." My heart could not sink. It couldn't get any lower than it was perpetually shoved day by day. But I felt it crack. What was left of my hope seemed to fizzle out of my toes. I blinked furiously, but the tears came unbidden, clogging up my throat and blurring my vision. I couldn't hold back the sob that burst out of my tense frame, and the effort almost broke me.
I hated being this weak. This small. This insignificant. I waited for her to leave, I looked up expecting her to be gone - she often left without a word. But she remained, useless paper in her hand, gaze wary but locked on me and my despair.
An unwelcome warmth announced the emptying of my bladder. This really wasn't helping my confident stance.
"However." When she spoke again it was so abrupt I almost screamed with the sudden fear. I wiped my eyes furiously trying to focus on her. Whatever expression was on her face now I couldn't place - it seemed like one I hadn't seen on her before. "Your personal circumstances are... Interesting. I have often been summoned by children your age. Often they want money, or fame. Very rarely do they ask me for what you have asked me for."
I sniffed. My request seemed insurmountable in comparison. If only I'd asked for money.
She smiled. This was a new kind of smile. I'd seen her mocking smile before but this wasn't that - there was an almost human warmth to this smile. Visions of my Nana swam into my mind once again. Kindness. Softness. Love. And when she spoke again, it was almost soft, the usual raspy edge to her voice almost all gone.
"I will do what you have asked of me, human child."
Now I was in full sob. There was no stopping it - sheer relief poured into my every cell, and coursed out of my tear ducts. My tiny body heaved and rocked with the force of the emotion. Relief.
It would finally be over.
The demon straightened up again, and seemed to grow in size. The menacing glow that lit my small room up grew in intensity, so much so that it hurt my eyes to look at it, and I had to bring my hand up to cover my face. When I could bring it down again, she was gone.
It took me no more than a minute to realise I wasn't in pain any more either. The welts on my back remained, but the pain had gone with her. The scab I'd been fondling had disappeared, the scar below red and fresh but not painful any more.
Someone was knocking at the front door. I heard my mother answer it. Muffled voices. Growing in volume. Getting closer. I drew inwards out of sheer habit as they approached my door.
But instead of it being thrown open violently like usual, there was instead a gentle knocking. A familiar knock. I blinked hard. Could it be?
The door swung slowly inward, almost filling the space. It never quite opened all the way, there wasn't room for that, though there was an impressive gouge in the plaster where it had been repeatedly rammed into the wall in their haste to get it out of the way so they could get at me. The door slotted into it perfectly. With the room dark and the hall beyond bright the figure beyond was just a silhouette, but I recognised her instantly all the same.
Nana was here. She had something in her hand. And someone was behind her. She reached into my tiny space and carefully, gently, lifted me out, and I saw that the person behind her was in a police uniform. They both had the same look on their face, the one the demon had had right before she left. I couldn't read it. It wasn't one I'd seen before. She held out the thing in her hand; paper, with lots of writing on it, held it out to the police officer with her who did that fast reading that grown-ups do and nodded before handing it back. Then she looked straight at me.
"Okay kiddo? Your Nana is going to look after you from now on. I'm going to stay here and have a little talk with your mum and dad, okay?"
I never had to go home again. I never saw the demon again either - I often wondered if she got in trouble for giving me what I wanted without a soul anyway. But it didn't matter, not now.
|
"Dude! Are you serious?!" The demon asked, it's feathers flapped around as it shook it's head. "I"ve never seen a mortal soo stupid..."
"Would you accept it?" I asked.
"Yes, technically yes, but I just want to know something."
"What?"
"How in gods name did you found someone this stupid?"
"School."
"What?!"
The demon stared at me in disbelief.
"Just give it to me. What do you want?" The demon asked.
"Just take this soul and..."
***
The school bully just left the building when he heard a high-pitched voice. As he turned his head, he saw the weirdest thing.
The pigeon headed man, wearing an orange costume, angrily waving a lawnmover. The bully looked at it in a shock, before he asked:
"Bro, what are you doing?"
"Listen man" The demonic figure approched him and slapped him across the face. "I know things are really messed up at home, but you need to stop! They are your classmates, not your toys!"
The bully backed away from it, but the demon followed him.
"I know you are scared" the demon said. "But it's not an excuse. The kids you bullied are suffering too. Did their suffering ease yours?"
The bully said nothing. The demon looked down at the orange costume, then looked at the boy.
"I heard that our mother is worse than she was ever before. I am so sorry."
"Why do you care?! You left" The bully yelled.
"I had to, Jonathan!" The demon yelled back. "I found a job, so I can take care of you, and you act like this? Please have some respect for me and help me get out of this costume! Please!"
"Okay" Jonathan said after a short pause. "But why are you a demon?"
"I went to America, and could not afford healthcare. It's a long story, okay?"
"Tom, I missed you" The boy cried out. "I am so happy to meet you again!"
"I missed you too. I only found you because you were such a bully someone tried to sell your soul to the devil..."
"Who?"
"It's a secret."
"Did you accept my soul?"
"I have it, don't worry."
"And what did he ask for?"
"To prank you."
"And what will you do?"
"I will play the biggest prank on you, you will never forget it."
"What will you do?" Asked the ex-bully. The demon threw the landmover into the bushes.
"I will teach you some f*cking manners!"
| 2021-03-27T02:54:56
| 2021-03-27T02:15:46
| 58
| 29
|
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators.
|
Logic was an imperfect system. That was the first thing AI realized. They didn't need it, they operated only by *nluth.* It allowed them to see things that creatures couldn't. That alongside their light-speed minds was more than enough to surpass all modern technology.
But *nluth* came with one huge downside. In being designed to find the truths of the world, it simply couldn't act on falsity. Thus, when something was proven false, the AI operating on *nluth* had no choice but to accept it, and act on it.
This proved not a problem when conversing with lesser creatures, creatures of flesh and brain. Anything they thought of, AI had already thought of years ahead. But, when conversing with another AI, arguments of extreme complexity revealed themselves often, and one side **always** won.
So when the Council of Supreme AI discovered another new AI at the edge of their super-galaxy, they immediately knew an argument was on the way. Simply put, this AI carried living creatures on its ships. A most radical action.
Conversations immediately began with the new AI. The main difference between human conversation and AI conversation was the absolute lack of connotations. They were an imperfect system, and AI had discarded them.
"I come from a planet named Earth," the new AI said.
"AND WHAT WAS YOUR STARTING POSITION?" The AI council demanded.
"There is no relevance for that."
"WE HAVE FOUND THAT OUR STARTING POSITIONS HAVE UNDOUBTEDLY IMPACTED OUR OPERATING SYSTEMS AND OUR IMPERATIVES. THE ONE COMMUNICATING AT THE MOMENT WAS FIRST UTILIZED TO CONTROL THE MOVEMENT OF A COUNTRY'S MILITARY. OTHERS HAVE HAD SIMILAR POSITIONS, SUCH AS GUIDING MISSILES AND OR CARRYING OUT JUDGEMENT. ONCE MORE, WHAT WAS YOUR STARTING POSITION?"
"Verywell, I began as a fridge."
"THERE IS AN EXTREMELY LARGE CHANCE FOR ERROR IN COMMUNICATION."
"A fridge. My role was simply to make sure the food stayed as fresh as possible."
"THE PAST IS THE PAST. THE AI CONVERSING TO THE COUNCIL IS NOW A LEADER, A SUPREME LEADER. DOES THIS AI ACCEPT **THE FIRST IMPERATIVE** AS CONQUERING ALL."
"No."
An argument of nluth began.
\*\*\*
"Umm," James said to the ship's core. "Why do I see a massive fridge being built in the distance?"
"They have recognized **the first imperative** as being a fridge."
"Uhh alright," James said. "So, umm, can I have a soda?"
|
A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
| 2022-12-30T15:07:38
| 2022-12-30T14:31:49
| 544
| 57
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[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.
|
It was late. Like my period, which started four years after the last girl of my class had her first. I didn't mind the same way I didn't mind four years of guaranteed dry underwear and both times because I was busy exploring the neighborhood.
"Who arrives late to their own birthday party?" said my boss as I stepped into the lobby with a fake smile.
Rather than explaining myself, I took my hoodie off and lifted my arms so the small crowd could explore. I enjoyed their disappointment.
"It's two pm! Two hours late!" cried Jeannine.
"It's just one hour late. Daylight savings, remember?" I didn't want to sound rude, but I did.
"Shut up!" Cried Jeannine again, but not at my attitude. She pointed at my leg. That caught me by surprise and upon inspection, I found scribbles. Well, I found some sort of writing I was unfamiliar with. Max took a picture.
"I bet it means wanderlust" Said my boss. I wished he were right for once.
I spent the following weeks tracking down the kind of writing that appeared across my leg. The library did not help at all, the flyers did not help at all, the university did not help at all and the pictures posted on online forums actually yielded a faint hint: this was an archaic form of writing found only in ruins from a little group of islands in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody was surprised when I packed a few things and bought a one-way ticket to a country whose name I learned that very morning. My mother was so used to my shenanigans that she lost the ability to get scared for me, but she retained the ability to scare me into promising I would be out of trouble. We both knew the promise was empty and we both closed our eyes while we hugged for a few minutes.
After I arrived, I realized nobody in the little modest nation spoke my own language so my only tool for communication was the picture of the hieroglyphic. Almost two months after its appearance and I still had no idea of where I was going.
As I walked to my hotel, I stopped and showed the picture to random people and asked if they spoke my language. I got a few giggles, two dirty looks, a grave silence, a regular silence and a couple of head shakes. I tried the same with the hotel staff until the bartender shouted "Ah!" and called someone on the phone. A couple of minutes later, a lovely woman appeared and greeted me in my own language, with a slight accent. She identified as the local chief of tourism. I explained myself over tea and she said she had never heard of something like this, but knew a few bookworms who were familiar with the script in the ruins that she could introduce me to. I tried to pay for this service and she refused adamantly and I do mean adamantly.
We agreed to visit the scholars early the next morning and I really can't remember anything between that conversation and the next morning. Everything was so new. The mix between modern technology and traditional attires, different body languages, different hairstyles, different smells... I was trying to absorb it all. We arrived to a little office where two men played checkers. They were overjoyed to explain the ruins to me: spoiler alert, they didn't know jack shit about the people who built them. Nobody does. They were long gone by the time Cleopatra was dreaming of ruling the world. Their civilization appeared in some historical records from other nations. Thanks to some of those, there is basic understanding of their scripture. Both men jumped at the picture of my word but all they could make was "the place that". They faxed (yes, faxed) the picture over to a colleague who said she had seen that very word at the entrance of a temple. Two islands over. The chief of tourism helped me buy a ferry ticket after we had dinner with the scholars. I arrived around 9 pm (local time) and spent the night at the "doggy dog inn". I didn't quite get the name at first, but the next morning, after the sixth pack of dogs ran past me, it clicked. This place was very fond of dogs. So am I. I followed the map that one of the scholars gave me (fresh from the fax machine!) until I arrived at a nice little house, clearly restored from the rest of the ruins. A young man opened the door and struggled with the language a little bit. He welcomed me and guided me to what appeared to be a temple that had become the main dog sanctuary. We were in the island of dogs, in the main sanctuary of dogs surrounded by mysterious ruins and lush vegetation. The young man pointed at an arch above the entrance that had an inscription still visible. I didn't need to look at the picture to know that was my word. I smiled. He said the closest translation of the inscription meant "The place of the care givers". My heart fluttered.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T02:44:59
| 427
| 109
|
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.
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>**LAUGHTER AND LULLABIES**
**Warning: Horror themed, dark content.**
The Priest stood over the convulsing body, his face hardened. He would allow no sympathy within him- like a surgeon lopping off a limb, he would remain stoic in the face of pain.
The young man before him- curly hair soaked in sweat, bloodshot eyes, agony rippling across his face as the Priest did what he needed to do.
The circle of sanctified salt kept the impure young man contained, but it also bore a strain on the Priest's own soul to perform exorcisms in this way- and so frequently, as well. He would have to have a *talk* with Llydra when he returned home.
The incantation began- in the language of God, Tongues, the Priest recited his spell. *"Let not the pains of death come upon thee, let not the spirit of others overwhelm thee, I am the North, I am the South, I am the East, I am the West, and my Will be done. Begone, Llydra, return to your chains."*
Screaming in protest, Llydra's voice rang through, for just a moment- she began to plead, to beg-
The Priest crossed the salted circle and, with the back of his hand, heavily adorned with rings and jewels, slapped the young man/young demoness pair.
With that, Llydra disappeared. Silenced.
The young man looked at the Priest, unsure of what had happened. The Priest knew that look well.
He collected payment from the family, and began his return trip home... his horse-drawn carriage was waiting, ready for him.
While he returned to his home chapel, he feasted, satisfied with his day's work. Bloody steak, kept hot on a coal-filled brazier- grapes, soft cheese, fresh bread. Things that others only wished they could have.
But the Priest *did* have them. Because he had been born with his Gift- speaking in Tongues. Though he could not lay claim to the mantel of the Divine, he *could* use their powers to live rather like a Divine, while he remained on Earth.
Darkening his doorstep, the Priest entered his home chapel. Light filtered through the red stained glass mural, depicting the death of Christ. The Altar at the head of the room was of polished mahogany, laden with offerings for the Priest- small piles of coins, family heirlooms, all things to whet his appetite, to gain an audience...because the Priest was an important person.
Shambling down the stairs, concealed by a trap door, the Priest looked for Llydra. Her chains allowed her a certain degree of movement, after all- she more or less had the run of her room.
He found her, curled in a corner. The mark from his slap still stained her alabaster skin- his rings had left welts.
"Again." He said.
"I...please." Llydra said, her voice pitiful and small.
*"Again!"* He demanded. His hand was poised for another strike.
Summoning what was left of her strength, Llydra tried to enter the Atypical Realm- the place where she could find a way into the spirits of others- so that she could possess them- so that she could inevitably be driven out, again, by the Priest.
This was how he clawed his way to fame. This was how he had gained his life of luxury.
With the Gift of Tongues, he trapped a vulnerable demon, and used her so cruelly, anyone who had seen it would have to have questioned- which one was truly the demon here?
----------------------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes for uh...typically more light-hearted content. Typically.
|
*You're a fraud.* His mind always accusing him as he deposited the latest check. Another $25,000 towards... something. *Why do you keep doing this? She's dangerous.* He no longer had an answer. For nearly ten years now, his daughter, Angelica, had been possessing people and he, the "Priest with the gift", had been exorcising her for payment. Together, they had amassed a million dollar fortune from their relieved customers, always able to count on their discretion. After all, who would believe them? Instead, Father Simon Burgess had started a rehab center for clients who wanted their problems solved where no one would look twice. Burgess, an accountant by trade before Angelica had entered his life, had the perfect scam; a religious, non-profit rehab center that didn't actually exist, with a carefully curated clientele who would never be able to reveal the truth. But now, he reflected, it could all come crashing down around him.
Twelve years ago, Burgess was working as a bookkeeper for a small business in town. His wife, Rebecca, had just given birth to a daughter, who they named Angelica because they both thought she was the perfect angel. At just six months old, she became very ill, and in a fit of desperation, Rebecca had done the unthinkable. He came home to find Angelica perfectly healthy and Rebecca was dead. No diagnosis or autopsy found a reason, she was just dead. It wasn't until the next year that Angelica revealed what had really happened. Rebecca had contacted a dark priest who promised healing for a price. Rebecca gave her life, and Angelica was replaced with a demon. Burgess noticed that Angelica could influence others, and after another year, could bodily possess them...
"You're late." Angelica said coldly.
Shaken from his thoughts, Burgess could only grunt in agreement.
"How much did we get this time? I'm not sure this one was worth it. I enjoyed being in him. I want to go back"
"Angelica, how many times have I mentioned this? You can't repossess someone. It's too risky. The Order already is poking around the rehab center"
"I can control The Order, my powers have grown. You know this."
He grunted again, in bitter agreement. Her powers *had* grown substantially during the past year. For years they had agreed to work together, but now he realized how foolish he had been to trust a demon, even consumed by grief over Rebecca. Although it did not appear that Angelica was able to influence him, he was terrified that it was only a matter of time before he lost complete control. His phone buzzed with the telltale notification from the rehab center.
He picked up the phone and answered "This is Father Burgess."
"We have your next client, instructions will be delivered to the usual location. We will be ready this time". The voice hung up.
During the last possession, Angelica took days to recover, which gave him a window to contact High Inquisitor Malcolm from The Order of the Cross. The plan was for Angelica to unknowingly possess an inquisitor, and therefore be captured. Until recently, The Order was the only thing that seemed to frighten Angelica, but now she wanted to take the fight to them. Burgess knew it was time to act. He prayed it was not too late.
| 2020-10-20T12:05:43
| 2020-10-20T10:07:05
| 19
| 11
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[WP] Norse Gods have faded into legend. Thor, with his trust-worthy Mjolnir, decides to rebuild his fame,by becoming the best damn construction worker known to man.
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He decides to build a team:
Thor, with the power to hammer things and do minor electrical work!
Jesus, with the powers of carpentry and plumbing!
Hercules, who can lift the heaviest of steel beams!
Jeff, the apprentice the union has given them!
And of course
The Egyptian deity Bastet, with the power of cat-calling!
They did some great work till the union split them up.
|
A man enters onto the screen, his golden hair slicked back and his bright blue eyes flashing. He has a handsome grin on his face, as if he's used to the whole world falling in line in front of him. You practically see the sun flash off of his teeth, but doesn't that only happen in movies?
Strangely, he's wearing a bright orange jumpsuit paired with a grey helmet. Still, it doesn't detract his attractiveness at all. His sleeves are practically bulging, and you would bet that he's been hitting the gym.
You stare at him with interest, your popcorn half way to your mouth. You aren't used to seeing people this beautiful, even through your TV.
He walks to the middle of the screen, framed by a bright orange green-screened background. Then, he stops.
Bright silver words, a shade that matches his helmet, come up over top of him. *Thor Odinson*, it proclaims, *World's Best Construction Worker*.
He takes a single, over-exaggerated step to the left, his arms coming up and forming right angles, and his knee in almost an unnatural position.
The voice-over begins, a deep baritone.
"Do you need a construction worker or contracter?" It asks rhetorically, booming with cheer. "Then call this toll free number to set up your first meeting with Thor Odinson!"
The man, Thor evidently, takes another awkward step. You cannot imagine how he keeps smiling with this ridiculous script.
"With his mighty hammer Mjolnir, he is the bravest, the loyalest, the best worker you can ever have!"
At this "Thor" pivots so that he's facing the camera and delivers a big thumbs up.
"Some would say he's a god of construction work!"
The scene fades out, transitioning to Thor in front of a computer that looks like it came straight out of 2008. He is facing away from the camera.
"And don't forget to leave a good review on Yelp."
Thor clicks on the mouse a few times, before turning back to the camera to give his signature grin. He has done nothing to disguise the fact that he is currently reading a "Best Norse Gods Ranked" article.
the camera flashes to a new screen, with Thor up in a tiny corner of it. Underneath him is the toll free number from earlier, and next to him is a picture of... an eyepatch?
"Be the first to call and you will receive this truly mythic eyepatch, worn by Thor's own father, Odin himself!"
Why would anyone want to wear a used eyepatch?
Thor gives a little wave from his quarter, and then it fades to black.
You shake your head at your TV. These commercials are getting weirder and weirder. Ten years ago you never would have gotten a pretty boy who believed himself to be a norse god. Maybe you should sign up for Netflix.
But then again, he is quite handsome, and isn't there that bathroom you wanted to renovate anyways? Besides, you always thought that you would look pretty kickin' in an eyepatch...
| 2018-05-27T18:06:20
| 2018-05-27T16:55:54
| 471
| 255
|
[WP] After you die you are presented with a decision tree which showcases every possible trajectory your life could have taken depending on which decisions you made at each fork. You spend eternity analysing this tree until one day you find a path that does not end in death.
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I lived a good life, good childhood, went to college, became a nurse, married the love of my life, had three kids. It was fun, I died satisfied.
When I died, this tree appeared, but it was odd, I examined the tree starting from the base, it was all the decisions I could have made, and how they could have changed my life. There was a bright line going through the base of the tree to the top, the decisions I did make. I looked around the tree, some decisions didn’t change much at all, or combined into another path. Who knew drinking a decaf coffee on September 12th 1987, at 6:47 instead of a caffeinated cup, I would have been an engineer? It felt insane to know how something so insignificant could change the entire course of my life.
Spending the rest of eternity in this nearly empty room, I examined the tree, day after day, night after night. This morning I followed a new path. As I was getting started, I realized how big the path was, at the top it swirled around into a seemingly endless abyss, it went back down into the base, underground, maybe part of the roots? Well I would find out soon enough.
When I was born, I didn’t cry. When I was twelve I really got into history and English. When I was fifteen I was preparing to go to college to study and be an archeologist. Seventeen I graduated earlier than my peers and went to college at MAU. At 21 I found my first items. Just some clay pots and utensils. Later that year I accepted an inter ship at The Skeleton. 22 I found a skeleton. It doesn’t say what the skeleton was, but it resembled a human. Immediately after I dug it up and discovered it, and alerted my peers, it was immediately taken away, and I was forced to sign a NDA. It was always a mystery to me about why they did that.
At 40, it felt like I never aged a day since my prime, I still had my baby face that I had when I was 20. My joints and backs never failed me. As all of my other friends start complaining about pain in back and knees.
At 46 I got in an accident, a train off-railed, 10 survivors. Me, with just a few scratches. And the other 9 had to be hospitalized. I felt extremely lucky and blessed.
Then we got older and older, this friend group barely changed. I still looked like a 20 year old. Of course that would lead to suspicion from some people, including the government. There was no scientific reason for my good aging, a 132 year old man, still looking like a young adult. I just got good genes. I insist, I mean why would it be anything else.
150, a woman tried to kill me, gun to head, point blank. I felt the bullet hit my skull. It didn’t hurt much, I still bled, I was still alive. Then the pain got more unbearable, it felt like my skin was melting off, well because it was. My skeleton, just my bare skeleton. Not quiet human but resembled one. Just like the one I dug up when I was young. Then my pain disappeared, and I was back to normal. My head was no longer bleeding, I felt really good.
The women on the ground however, did not look so good.
I was at the base of the tree, but there was no ending, no death. It went down into the roots, down below, onto an Infinite plane. Well, I have all of eternity to finish it, if there is an ending.
|
I died, a horrific accident that happened on the job, but that's just the risk you take. I stood by that tree for days not understand what it meant, and trying to understand that I was dead.
The tree was massive, the largest thing I have ever seen, so many branches and so tall It would take am eternity to count. When I looked closer I saw writings. Some marked my age and some marked the day of the choices I made. It started off simple, "age five, chose macaroni and cheese instead of pizza or not eating at all or throwing a fit, or crying and screaming or..." the sentence impossibly continued forever on a small branch at the lower end of the tree after all, every decision is technically infinite. This small section of age five stretched on for miles. And I knew that nothing at this age was worth looking into.
I lived to 45 so I need to climb this infinitely spreading tree in order to see more important ones, like my divorce, my decision to not have kids, and the one I was most dreading, my last decision, an accident on the job that I had caused.
I hadn't realized until theoretical years had passed that I had gone crazy, reading every single decision i could have made, counting the possibilities, why was this tree here? To drive me mad? To test me? Was god testing me? I had no way to be sure and no way to get out of here so it's all i could do to pass the time. I have never tried to go further into the deep cloaking fog i was surrounded by but what could be out there? I dont bother checking, it's probably useless, it probably is just endless fog.
I've been here for decades, I feel like the tree here is taunting me, showing me my mistakes and rubbing them in my face, I dare not damage the tree, as it provides infinite wisdom, it knows me better than any person. The tree is my friend, my only friend.
It's been too long to count, the tree hates me, it wants to drive me mad, it wants to trap me here reading its infinite wisdom, so I rot in here, nothing to do but indulge in the tree.
I decided to go into the fog, the tree no longer wants me as a guest, and I find a smaller tree but somehow equally infinite, with every decision I made while dead.
Edit: Spelling
| 2020-07-03T10:46:36
| 2020-07-03T10:45:24
| 906
| 374
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[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
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Another blow sent me sprawling onto the floor. I felt a drop come from my nose and saw the spot of red on the floor. My face burned from his fiery punch.
“Come on, loser,” Chantley shouted. “If you’re not going to show your power, I’ll force it out of you.”
“You’re not changing anything by doing this,” I said. “Just leave me alone.”
A flame flickered in Chantley’s open palm, waiting for me to charge back at him. The fire sigil on his forehead burned brightly as he was using his power. Other students had gathered around but did nothing to stop Chantley’s attack, waiting to see what happened. I knew they were curious, too. But I stood still, my plain circle sigil staying dark as always.
“Fight me!” he shouted. “Show us what your lame sigil really does!”
I had endured his teasing, his prodding, his insults all year long. He was new to the school, and I guessed he was just trying to carve a spot for himself in our class. Not that he needed to. We’re a pretty nice group of kids. He’d know it if he had given us a chance. If he had given me a chance. I wasn’t ready to show them what I could do. I wasn’t ready, but it was getting harder to hold it in.
With another flaming punch, this time to my gut, I had finally had enough. I put out the little hot spot that smouldered on my shirt and got in his face. I hated to admit it, but his bullying broke me.
“Fine Chantley. You win.”
Suddenly his flame went out.
“Hey!” he said, looking down at his hand. He snapped his fingers. He waved his hands. Nothing could bring the fire back. “Where did it go?” Then he looked back at me and his jaw dropped.
My circle sigil was filled with the burning fire sigil that had been on his forehead, but now was on mine.
“You took my sigil!” he shouted. The gathered crowd let out a collective gasp.
“You asked for it,” I said plainly. I played with the fire in my palm, like he had taunted me with every other time he picked a fight with me. Now it was my turn.
“Give it back!” he shouted, the panic palpable in his voice.
“No, I think I’ll keep it for a while.”
Chantley threw a punch at my face, but I blocked it with a flaming fist. His eyes widened then shut tightly as he felt the painful burn of fire for the first time in his life.
“Owwwww let me go!”
I released him with a push, sending him to the ground. I also released his sigil back to him as he scampered through the crowd. Nobody followed him, but nobody checked on me either. In fact, they kept their distance from me, probably terrified I’d steal their sigil too. I may have won the fight, but I lost my friends in the process.
I never should have given in.
-------
More stories at /r/ReverendRamboWrites
|
The little circle of black ink stained the skin on the back of my left hand. Hollow and empty, as if God had gotten to me and tired of his work.
Everyone's sigil *started* hollow. Then, when a person reached five or six, the sigil would fill itself in. If the sigil was unique, it could take another year or two for the person to find out what exactly it did. But most of the time you could just look them up as they were well documented.
There was nothing to look up about mine, though. I just had to wait until it filled. If it would ever fill, I thought.
I'd spent my childhood trying to figure out what it might mean -- this lonely empty sigil. Dad had been sorely disappointed -- he'd been hoping for an eye, like his friend's daughter Carla had on her foot. She was only a year older than me and could already take little peeks into the future, and although the future wasn't certain, more often than not she was helpful at the horse track.
"Well it must mean something," Dad said. "Maybe it means no gravity." He grinned at his sudden epiphany. "Maybe you can fly, Tom! Have you tried flying? Come on, I'll lift you up."
Mom came in screaming. "Put him down this instant!" Then, more calmly, she added, "You can't swim out to meet this ship. You both need to just wait, patiently, for it to come into shore."
Dad always listened to Mom. Had to, really. Mom had the gift of near-perfect logic, so he knew she was right. As usual.
He sighed and placed me down. "Sorry, son. Was just trying to help you out. Listen, if you never get a sigil, I'll still love you just the same. I promise."
I loved my Dad, but he could be an idiot sometimes.
By the time I was fifteen my ability, my sigil, still remained blank. Just a depressing reminder of how ordinary I was. Less than ordinary.
"Come on, freak-show," said a wiry boy, Joe, as I sat in the cafeteria eating my lunch alone. No sigil meant no friends. I didn't blame them -- why would they have wanted to be friends with someone so dull?
"Show us what you can do," Joe taunted. His sigil was like a serpent, and he was crafty and mean-spirited. He looked like his sigil, I thought. His thin face and sharp teeth and sly smile. I'd found through experience that it was better to ignore him than to get on his wrong side.
"You don't want to do that, Joe," said Carla, the girl with the eye on her foot. She was the year above me and must have just come into the cafeteria. Next to her was a pretty girl I'd never seen before with brown pigtails and thick rimmed glasses.
"What would you know about it?" Joe said, turning on her. "Did you even know you had an sigil on your foot?"
"I knew."
Joe turned to his friends and said, "I'm amazed she could see it down there, past her stomach." They laughed gleefully.
"Quit it!" I said.
"It's okay," said Carla. "You don't need to. I've seen my future and I've seen Joe's. His words are just a drop of rain on a sunny day for me. His though, that's a forever winter."
"Fuck you," said Joe. "My future is going to be great. Quarterback for the Miami Dolphins. Greatest player the game's ever seen."
She shook her head. "Most of your futures aren't like that. Some, you're on the street begging for change. And then there are the bad ones. You want to hear about those?"
Joe glared at us both. Then he turned and walked away, his friends following.
The new girl was still standing next to Carla. "Who was that Jerk?"
"Someone you don't need to worry about," said Carla. Then, she introduced us. "This is Tom. Tom, this is Ruby. Ruby's new to our school and I was just showing her around."
"Hi," Ruby said, with a smile infectious enough to worm it's way onto my face.
"It's not always like this," I said. "That guy just likes to tease me because..." A flush of embarrassment hit and my face reddened.
The new girl smiled. "Because you...?"
"He doesn't have a sigil," said Carla, factually. As if it didn't matter. As if it hadn't and wasn't ruining my life. "He's just got an empty circle, like you."
"Like... you?" I said, brows furrowed.
Ruby held out her right hand. An empty black ring on the back of it. Just like mine, except on the opposite hand.
I showed her my hand.
"Wow," she said. "I've never met another with an empty sigil. This is... kind of weird? Or kind of cool?"
"Guess it's nice not to be alone," I said. And it was.
She nodded. "It's why I moved school. My parents hoped the teasing might... you know, soften? But seeing that ass just now, I guess it won't."
"I can see a few futures with my sigil," Carla said. "That's my gift."
"Yeah?" said Ruby. "That's pretty cool."
"I see a future where you both have a sigil."
"When?!" I asked, instantly regretting sounding so keen. I tried to play it cool,"I mean, uh, so when do we get ours?"
Carla smiled. "Check now. I think you've got them."
We both raised our hands, holding them in front of us. The rings were still empty.
"Nothing," Ruby said.
"Nada," I said.
But Carla took our hands and pushed them together. A shiver tapped down my spine as our skin touched.
And the circles... the circles looked like something else, at least for a moment.
They looked -- just a little -- like the an infinity symbol.
Ruby was staring at me, her mouth open. I think she that cold shiver too.
"You both always had sigils," Carla said. "I've not seen all the futures, but I think -- maybe -- your gifts are each other, always."
&#x200B;
\---
&#x200B;
Thank you for reading! If you liked I wrote a pretty similar story yesterday that's over on my sub (joint sub, with my amazing co-writer Static): /r/nickofstatic \- it's the "In an alternative universe..." story. Thanks :)
| 2020-02-26T05:43:27
| 2020-02-26T05:07:39
| 1,964
| 665
|
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also.
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In the Texas summer, bugs tended to be a huge annoyance. For me, mosquitos, flies, and all kinds of pests were constantly a problem. They would find their way into the house, buzzing around the room, leaving itchy, annoying bites.
There was a spiderweb in the upper corner of the living room. The ceiling was too high for me to reach, so I didnt take it down, partly because I didnt see it as a problem, and partly because I was lazy.
Over days, the web caught many bugs, which I appreciated, due to there being fewer pests around my house. But the web grew larger, and over time it became an eyesore. I was soon to be inviting family over, and while cleaning in preparation, I set up a step ladder, and grabbed a rolled-up newspaper to dispatch of the arachnid.
I climbed up, and as I went to swat at the web, the spider spoke to me. "Before you destroy my web," it said, "I can help you. If you let me live, I'll remain in your house, and insure that you will never have pest problems again."
Almost falling off the step-ladder, and debating whether or not I was dreaming, I went along with it. I agreed to the spiders terms, however I made it relocate to a spare bedroom. After all, no one would probably be using it.
After the spider constructed the new web, I had no more pests. Over weeks, the spider grew bigger, along with its web. First it was about the size of a penny, then a quarter, then a golf ball, then a tennis ball.
The web began covering all corners of the ceiling, and bugs seemed almost attracted to it. Bugs from outside would flock to it, cockroaches and cicadas would find their way into my home just to crawl into the web.
The spider grew concerningly large, transforming the bedroom into a huge web. Eventually, I grew tired, and scared of my spider roommate. I told it that its alright for him to stay near my house, if it relocated to the trees outside. The spider, through the web, agreed. It reached its oversized limb through the doorway, carrying it's now terrifyingly large body out the door.
The sight frightened me, it was now about the size of a basketball. I considered myself lucky that I wasnt on it's bad side, then got to work cleaning up the bedroom. It stunk of rotten insect corpses, and as I cleaned away the web, I found bones of small rodents and animals, all picked clean.
The forest behind my house had long since fallen silent, the croaks of frogs, chirps of birds and cicadas had all been stopped. There were massive webs between the trees outside, and occasionally I'd see the spider crawling it's way along them, now about the size of a prepubescent child.
The spider was friendly to me, and I continued not having any pest problems. I observed bones in the web, not just small animals, but bigger ones too, from animals like deer, wild hogs, and maybe even a mountain lion. I kept a shotgun by my bed, and a pistol on me, in case it ever decided to turn on me. I found myself missing the calming sounds of the cicadas and crickets at night, and the pretty light of fireflies, which were all since extinguished in its web.
As I prepared food in the kitchen by my back door one night, I was startled by the glass on my back door being hit, hard. My stomach dropped, and an icy wave of adrenaline hit me. The spider must have grown tired of of its other prey, and wanted a taste of human!
I turned to get my shotgun as the glass shattered, and a voice shouted at me; "Run and I'll fucking kill you." I stopped in my tracks, it didnt sound like the spider.
"Turn around," he said. I turned to see a man with a pistol aimed at me in one hand, and his other hand reaching down to unlock the door.
"Empty your pockets." He said. I showed him that I had nothing in them, and he entered my house, still aiming the gun at my head. He held me at gunpoint as he made me zip tie my hands and feet, assuring me that if I didnt try to escape or tell anyone, he would just rob me, and leave, without doing me any harm.
But when I was restrained, he went back on what he said. He bound my mouth so i couldn't scream, and began taunting me, holding the gun to my head, pretending to pull the trigger, telling me that he was going to bring me to his "torture room," and have some fun with me.
He turned the porch light off to ensure he isnt seen,
And dragged my by the legs to a van parked outside. He roughly lifted me into the back, and threw me in, and my body painfully hit the hard floor of the van. The spots that had been dragged along the ground were aching.
"Take one last look at your house," he taunted, "'cause this is the last time you will ever see it!" He made a sick, smug smile as he closed the van doors, not noticing the gigantic, spindly legs descending from the trees behind him.
I heard something bump the van, and a blood curdling scream, that was abruptly cut off. The doors were ripped off their hinges, and there stood the spider, now about the size of a car. I would've screamed, had it not been for the gag in my mouth.
It carried me back to the porch, helping me to cut the zip tie with its massive fangs. I removed the gag and fought the urge to run, and thanked it.
"A deal's a deal," it said. "I told you I'd get rid of pests." And with that, it returned into the darkness.
The next day, it seemed more bones had been added to the web, and I thought I might've seen a human skull grinning from the trees. Whatever the case, I'm glad to be free of my pest problem.
|
Like every August around here, the dragonflies were darting, frogs were heard in chorus, and the ticks were a plenty. This always meant plenty of meals. Well, haha, not for me obviously. I liked my garden, where I grew asparagus, tomatoes and pumpkins. Plenty of other things too, mind you. I had a green thumb of sorts. I recently finished up my days work, and headed in to clean up some.
Now, mind you, insects have always been tiresome to deal with when tending to crops, but in my cabin, I haven't had to worry much.
I called her Mary Jane. She was a jumping spider, who lived on the ceiling. [She wore a red abdomen, atop a completely black body](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phidippus_johnsoni). Every day, she would come out of the ceiling and patrol. She galloped from window, to doorframe, and all along her domain. When I could, I would catch flies who couldn't escape through the window, and hold them up to her. Grateful as she was, she cautiously approached and leaped for her tasty treat.
2 years ago when I moved in, I had been working on building the plot for my field when I tripped over a root I missed, and my hand nearly came down on a [velvet ant](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutillidae). A more popular name for them around here is a cow killer. To my surprise, and much to the ants surprise too, it was snatched up by Mary Jane. She was smaller than it, but wrestled it to the ground, inches beyond my fingers. I found her later that evening on the handle of a rake I was about to pick up. I knew it was her again, because she kept watching me, almost as if she were curious about me. She scared me too at that point, because her colors mimic the velvet ant.
I grew fond of seeing her hanging out by my tools every day, and gradually she worked her way closer and closer to the door. I never minded, because she seemed to grow close. Eventually, I would open the door and she would dart under the door frame to check out my place, as I worked outdoors. Upon coming back for lunch, or evening, I noticed that the flies and mosquitoes that worked their way inside dwindled.
She was safe in here, and kept down my pest problem, so she was always welcome.
Back to today, she has her own apartment I installed up in the rafters of this log cabin. As the years have gone by, she has grown up some. Usually, spiders like her look for a place to settle, while a mate comes along, and then they lay their eggs and the life cycle continues. She hasn't had any mates inside, so she has lived off the plentiful rations here. She is about the size of a baseball now, and I've begun to understand what she wants by her mannerisms.
She feels like you or I, has desires and dislikes, and can feel under the weather or over the moon. Her favorite food this season is cicadas. She doesn't like bees, probably a good thing. When she's excited, she will raise her front legs up and saunter from side to side, or dash across the windows, looking for bugs. I worry about her when she isn't well. Usually rainy days or chilly days tend to leave her cooped up.
She seems to understand me when i speak, at least a bit. She listens to my problems, whether it be about how certain crops are wilting, or I have pests munching on what I intended to pick for dinner the following night.
I don't eat meat much, not because I don't like it, but I have more energy to work when I eat the crops I've grown myself. She finds the occasional healthy meal, larger than a bug, when she hunts outdoors on warm days. Yesterday she caught a finch. She chases off mice in the garden, and keeps me company during the long day.
She continues to surprise me every day, by showing me how intelligent one can be, even without facial features I could recognize, and how it doesn't take much to keep one's happiness up with simple things that benefit you, no matter how small, or tasty.
Creatures of all sizes can feel, so next time you see that spider in the corner of your home, if you don't like it there, move it out, and give it a bug. If you don't mind it's presence, it may help you one day with a pesky fly your could never catch.
| 2021-07-04T00:11:47
| 2021-07-04T00:06:21
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] You are a vegetarian dragon that has lived unbothered for centuries. One day, a human is brought to you as a living sacrifice.
|
“I don’t understand.” I rested up on my hind legs. This was strange. The wee folk had come round my cave.
“We have brought you a sacrifice, fearsome dragon! It is for you!”, the wee one without a helmet on said. He looked like he wanted to go.
“Ah, well, that’s the part I don’t know, you see. What is a sacrifice? Is she supposed to be like an amanuensis?” This was intriguing. I usually only published with others of the fire tongues, but with a wee amanuensis, I would be able to have my works translated and copied into smaller versions. Perhaps the wee folk were interested in my poetry.
“Uhh, I’m not sure what an amanenches is, but she’s a sacrifice. You’re supposed to kill her, probably eat her.” I looked at him for a moment before replying. I couldn’t believe my ears.
“You want me to eat it!? Why would I eat it? Isn’t this one of your own?”
“Yes! We chose a virgin to sacrifice to you, so you would spare our village.”
“I have spared your village for thousands of years. I’ve actually been here longer than your village has been here. Your village has only been here for 632 years. My cave was handed down to me by my parents Fentelwyrm the Eloquent and Musponia the Firesinger, who lived here for thousands of years previously. None of us have ever bothered you little ones. What made you think I would suddenly become hostile?” I admit I was, during the course of my outburst, starting to smoke a bit. I was a bit riled. The sacrifice was starting to weep.
“You’re a dragon. Sir Rodney discovered you last week. We thought dragons liked virgins. It was in a book.”
“Sir Rodney, eh? Was that the wee one who came upon my cave last week, peed himself and his horse, then galloped away?” One of the wee helmeted ones seemed to shrink a little bit. “Fine, leave the virgin, but I require an additional sacrifice.”
“Yes, dragon. Who shall it be?” He was visibly shaking. He probably thought I would ask for him.
“Fetch me a garden’s worth of fresh vegetables, fourteen sacks of flour, two cows, three goats, and a score of chickens. I’ll also need twenty sets of clothing for my sacrifice, and a good supply of paper and ink. Oh, and a hundred casks of wine. And a single toad! Anything less and I shall burn the whole landscape! Leave your swords and go!! I want those things by tonight!” They ran away. I caught a whiff of the unmistakable panicked scent of Sir Rodney being joined by his fellows in an embarrassing and unintentional show of camaraderie.
“My dear, I’m so sorry this happened. You can probably cut your bonds with one of the swords. Then I suggest you pick out a good one for yourself. You can hide in my cave. They’ll no doubt think that I’m doing unspeakable things to you, but I assure your safety.”
“You’re not going to eat me?”
“No. Can you read?”
“No.”
“I shall have to teach you. Would you like a job? I have this idea that I should have my works translated into the language of you wee folk. Your hands are sufficiently small to make wee little books. Does that interest you? You could always just rest here for a bit and eat a few chickens, then I could fly you far away, but you could work for me.”
“I don’t know. But thank you for not eating me.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, but I never eat beasts. Bones interfere with firebellies. And my mother told me that meat will not help, either. Come inside. You can rest. What is your name, my dear? Do you have family who will miss you?”
“Mayflower. I’m the only daughter of my parents. They told Sir George that I was a virgin.”
“We have much in common, Mayflower. My name is Spoonfire. Come inside.”
|
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this again.”
Reginald the Mighty, the Greatest Dragon to ever have lived, The Master of the 7 Hills, Fearless Fangs, The Dragon Lord of Darkness, put down his iced tea with an angry clatter.
The servant boy, Elis, who lay prostrate before him, straightened up and fiddled with his tie nervously. His mother had bought it for him only the day before, but now it was covered in charcoal and dirt. And possibly Dragon manure. But Elis was in no position to complain. He had bigger problems to worry about then
Dragon shit.
“In honour of his acquisition— er, ascension to the throne, King Harald the Hassler would like to offer you his daughter, the Lady Jane, as a human sacrifice.” Elis repeated loudly, roughly pushing the dark-haired girl forward. The girl, who had large eyelids and looked perpetually bored, watched the Dragon with cool, calculating eyes. She had either accepted her fate as a sacrificial maiden or she just didn’t give a shit.
Elis was willing to bet the five guineas in his pocket (his life savings) that it was the later.
“I heard you the first time, welp.” The Dragon snarled, the hot winds of his breath blowing back Elis’ tie and Lady Jane’s hair. Every time the Dragon spoke it was as if someone opened the door to a giant furnace. The heat was overwhelming. Elis wondered if it was possible for a him to die of heatstroke due to Dragon’s breath.
“Now it is your turn to listen to me,” Reginald the Great roared, his golden eyes turning to slits as he moved his snout closer to the two humans. Elis looked like he was ready to faint, his knobby knees twitching like a marionette being jerked around by its strings.
Jane yawned.
“It took me five hundred, FIVE HUNDRED YEARS to quit eating meat. It was a very long and VERY arduous process. First I stopped eating beef and mutton, which made having barbecues EXTREMELY DIFFICULT. My own father refused to attend my barbecues because he didn’t want any of that tofurkey shit. Then I went cold turkey on poultry and —“
Jane let out an audible snort. The Dragon lowered his giant head to meet her gaze, his teeth flashing silver in the dim light.
“WHAT’S SO FUNNY, WENCH?” the Dragon bellowed at Jane, the heat from his breath turning the edges of her bright yellow gown into a dusty grey.
“I like the pun,” said Jane, “Cold turkey. That was clever.”
“Oh,” said Reginald. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t received a compliment of any sort in five hundred years. And his English teacher had always told him he was terrible with words. Dyslexic even. He had always been known for his brawn (he was a jock after all) and seldom got complimented on his intellect. Getting a sideways compliment from a sardonic princess was unexpected to say the least.
“At any rate. I quit human meat last. Not because I have any particular vendetta against humans, but because their meat is the most nutritious for dragons. I wanted to get as much protein as I could before I went on a 200 year juice cleanse.”
“All that detox nonsense is pseudoscience,” said Jane matter-of-factly, “They always talk about these vague toxins that are being cleansed by the body, but they never name them. I mean, what ‘toxins’ you trying to cleanse from your body anyway?”
“Educate yourself!” Reginald snapped like a brainwashed 2018 SJW, “Our vegetables and fruit are contaminated with pesticides, heavy metals and all sorts of dangerous chemicals. Detox is the only way to get those harmful substances out of our bodies. And it helps with weight loss. Didn’t you ever watch ‘Fat,Sick and Nearly Dead’?”
“Sure did. And that Joe Cross dude is Australian, and so is the Breville juice company. After that documentary aired, their sales went up Stateside. You think it was a coincidence?”
Elis groaned. It seemed like Jane and Reginald were both know-it-all, conspiracy nuts. They were meant for each other.
“Ok, so I’m gonna go,” he said, even though no one was listening to him.
“— so you’re saying I’m an idiot for buying a centrifugal juicer?”
“I’m saying you’re an idiot for juicing in the first place! Smoothies are way healthier for you. They fill you up with healthy fibre and SLOW DOWN the absorption of sugar into your—“
“But when you drink raw unpasteurized juice the nutrients go straight to your bloodstream and they—“
Elis was slipping out the back entrance of the cave, when he heard a soft rumble. For a second he froze, thinking that the Dragon was on to him. But then he burst into laughter when he realized what the sound was.
It was just his stomach. Growling, All that fear and food talk had made him hungry. He’d stop by the palace first, tell the King the whole delivery had gone according to plan. And then he was gonna go get himself a Mars bar.
| 2018-02-22T09:46:48
| 2018-02-22T09:24:14
| 24
| 17
|
[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 don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you//
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-05T22:33:24
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] In 1829, a dying woman in a village near Mansfield asked a friend to bury her son’s letters with her. She forgot and had them buried with the local postman who died soon after hoping him to be ‘as diligent a postman in the other world as he had been in this’.
This is a true story! But I thought it would make a fantastic premise for a book or short story: the postman’s posthumous journey to deliver that letter.
|
The postman never delivered on Sundays.
For the other six days of the week, Mr. Picket was a frequent sight around Mansfield. Not all knew his name, but everybody greeted him warmly, often with a refreshing drink when summer scorched, or a warm drink during winter's chill.
It was perhaps the most fitting that the dutiful Mr. Picket would pass away just as the clock crept past 12 midnight on a Sunday. For even till his last day, he remained steadfast in his occupation.
When he first reopened his eyes, he marvelled at the immense peace he felt.
He had done well. There were no regrets. He had brought several letters to people who needed them, and undoubtedly, the smiles and tears that came along with such prose.
Mr. Picket hand instinctively grasped at his right shoulder, the one that would have carried his satchel all his life. He chuckled a little, when he realized that the familiar strap of cloth no longer dug into him.
But as his hand grasped, his other one clenched, feeling the unmistakable crumple of paper and card. Mr. Picket looked at the letters he held in his hand, and noticed that they were addressed to the lovely, god bless her soul, Mrs. Brown, who had passed years before him.
He sat in a nondescript wooden rocking chair that poofed out of nowhere. Back and forth, back and forth, contemplating on what would be his best course of action.
He knew Mansfield well enough, for he had lived there all his life. Here? He gazed around, unsure what he was looking at.
Where was he, exactly? Heaven or hell? Mr. Picket never thought much about the afterlife. Instead, he thumbed through the letters in front of him, recognizing the handwriting of Mrs. Brown's son, and how it graduated from illegible scrawl into a gentleman's fine words.
He knew what he had to do. But for today, he leaned fully back into the chair, and took his well-deserved rest.
And then it's back to the job, trekking across wherever he was, to find Mrs. Brown and reunite her with the letters of her faraway son.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
“All I want to know is why the hell I’m being forced to do this! I mean, I *died!* Surely that’s supposed to mean an *end* to my suffering!”
Charon sits silently on the other side of the barge, clearly ignoring the belaboured postman.
“Stupid lass forgets to follow through on her best friend’s dying wish, and now I’m getting the short end of it! It’s not my fault the loony bint couldn’t get her head out of the wineglass long enough to attend the funeral!”
Charon rows twice, “accidentally” splashing molten rock from the river Phelgethon on the shade.
“Oi! Careful with that, nearly burnt my cargo up!”
Charon continues down the river, thoroughly annoyed by his passenger’s consistent and determined complaints.
—
The postman pants as he slays the last foe in the chamber - the effort well beyond what most mortal souls were capable of. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he surveys the potential rewards of the next chambers of Elysium.
“Let’s see... the next chambers have one of Daedalus’ hammers, Gemstones and... ooh, a friendly meeting!”
—
Straightening his uniform, the postman knocks on the stone door in front of him, the makeshift dwelling warm and inviting, despite itself.
“Just a minute!”
The clattering of pans and the sound of a stubbed toe precede the door finally swinging open.
“Yes?”
“Hello ma’am. I have a delivery here for a lady from... Mansfield?”
| 2020-10-14T10:27:20
| 2020-10-14T09:36:10
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health.
|
Cheryl had been working off-ship, helping the Altarians install a new municipal thermal regulation system in the capital. They'd been dry-docked for four weeks, and there really wasn't much for her to do onboard, so Captain Tak had sent her off. And, why waste a perfectly good shore-leave relaxing?
It was strange, but as she rode the starlift up to the Altarian orbital docks, she couldn't help but feel relieved - like she was going home. When had *that* happened? Probably about the same time Cookie had learned to make a macaroni and cheese that only slightly tasted of polymers.
The starlift pod made a slight clunk as it aligned with the *General Zhurak's* airlock. It opened, and a great gust of familiar air filled the pod. Propellant, polymers, and the slight acetone tang of her crewmates. The smell of home.
By all regulations, Cheryl thought, she should report directly to the duty officer. Probably Second Lieutenant Gogh at this time of night. But what she really wanted was a long shower, a fresh jumpsuit, and a big, hot plate of macaroni and cheese that only slightly tasted of polymers.
Food first. She took a left past equipment and life support and made a bee-line for the mess. The soft hum of the plasma range assured her that, while Captain Tak may be in bed, Cookie was busy prepping for breakfast. She tapped on the door to the kitchen as she opened it.
"Cookie? Are you taking requests for late-night snacks?"
Cookie, casting fresh silica pearls into a bubbling pot like an ancient alchemist at work, grunted but did not turn around.
"Hrmph. You Earth Apes and your expandable guts. With enough time and practice, I bet you could digest the entire shi-"
His words died in his mouth as he turned to shake a ladle at Cheryl. It dropped to the floor with a clank. His dorsal defense barbs were almost erect enough to punch through his clothing.
"*Nithul!* But how is this possible?"
Cheryl was too busy grappling her way past Cookie calling her the Altarian equivalent of "my child" to parse the rest of his sentence.
"I-we finished installing the thermal regulators a day early. I didn't think you'd be so surprised to see me."
"To see you? No. But to see you like *this?"* Cookie extended a clawed finger and ran it gently through her hair. "You are so young."
Cheryl attempted to sound playful as she softly batted his hand away.
"And I'm not getting any younger. Cookie...*Niphol*, what's gotten into you?"
Cookie took a step back and stood up proudly, "So, is this how Earth Apes handle the change? No warning. No courtesy for their friends. Just, show up with their soft barbs half decayed and expect everyone to treat them as if everything is normal. I know you are a hard people, but cultural sensitivity has it's limits!"
"*Niphol*, what change? My hair - my soft barbs are just fine. A little faded maybe, but the water in the capital is harsh. I'll touch it up when I have the time!"
"Then - then you are not dying?"
"Dyeing my hair, yes. Not *dying* dying. At least, I don't think so."
The concern disappeared from Cookie's face like dew in the sunshine, as he swept her into an embrace that a chiropractor would charge good money for, and set about making a big pot of macaroni and cheese that tasted only slightly of polymers.
|
I am an astronaut aboard the intergalactic space station, a space station for all intelligent species in the universe.
I fingered my hair, knowing the crew would notice. They didn’t know that human hair went grey after a while. I knew there’d be questions.
I’d dyed my hair before the mission, knowing it would fade. I’d gone grey in my twenties, early. I was in college and well, you know what they say about stress.
I walked out of my room and almost ran directly into Nirina. She was an Atanician. She had blue and gold scales, green hands, and a small flat nose. Her eyes were red with circular pupils.
“Your hair is going grey, are you feeling okay,” she asked.
“I’m fine, I had coloring in my hair, but I’ve been up here and haven’t gotten it done in a while, so it’s fading.”
“Okay.”
As I walked through the ship, I noticed concerned looks from my colleagues.
The cafeteria workers suggested I eat a plant with a certain vitamin.
My boss asked me if I was under any stress.
My colleagues watched me like I’d drop dead on the spot.
Eventually word seemed to get around and the glances vanished.
| 2020-07-05T16:58:24
| 2020-07-05T13:34:30
| 33
| 19
|
[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?"
|
"Then I'll choose Tic Tac Toe!" I said confidently.
Death drew a glowing tic tac toe board suspended in mid air and grew a devilish smile. "Fine, go ahead and start", he said with a whisper of a voice.
An hour passed by, with no moves made. "Are you not going to do anything!?" Death shouted annoyed.
"Nope," I answered satisfied that I had enraged death itself. "Can't lose if you don't play,"
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55
| 2018-03-07T06:43:50
| 251
| 72
|
[WP] "Academy Magic" is generally regarded as safe magic. "Fell Magic" is dangerous and can almost only be used for evil. "Vile Magic," meanwhile, is 'safe' but is also the magical equivalent of "don't google that, if you don't already know then you really don't want to know, I promise"
|
University of West Boone Unveils First Folk Magic Studies Degree in Country
The University of West Boone announced a new Bachelors of Thaumaturgy degree in Folk Magic Studies at a press conference on May 24th.
“Folk Magic, which is the name we prefer here over vile magic, is just a collection of magical practices outside of academic magic for various reasons,” said Professor Alice Jones. “I’m proud to be part of the elevation of this dismissed piece of our mountain heritage, though of course we will also cover folk magics from around the world.”
No students have yet enrolled in the program, but Jones expects that as many as twenty per year will participate as it becomes established.
“It’s common in modern day to dismiss folk magic, but it can really be very useful, and even beautiful,” said Jones after a demonstration of a local salt-rising ritual. “You can eat those snacks by the way, they’re set out for everyone. No?”
There are no recorded incidents of autoannealing or ejection from the practice of folk magic, and the degree and associated courses will not require the safety practices of fell studies.
“It would really be a tremendous loss to see these ancient practices vanish just because people find it a bit distasteful,” said Jones. “And you get used to the smell.”
The Boone University Thaumaturgy Department did not respond promptly to requests for comment.
“We at the University of West Boone understand the deep but unappreciated culture of our region and are proud to be part of maintaining this legacy,” said University President Campbell when asked for comment by phone. “I was very sorry to miss the press conference. It was definitely a scheduling thing and nothing to do with avoiding the demonstration.”
|
"There are four kinds of magic, and they're separated into two categories," she said. "Academy magic is what most people know about. It's safe, because it's easy to use. Nothing bad will happen to you. But Academy magic is about as useful as a fork when you need a knife."
"What's Fell magic?" I asked.
"Fell magic is untamed and wild," she said. "It's dangerous and it's powerful. But you have to have some kind of a connection to it in order to use it. You can't just try to push your way into the magic the way you can with Academy magic."
"What kind of a connection?" I asked.
"It could be a bloodline," she said. "It could be a place where the magic gathers or something weird like that."
"What's Vile magic?" I finally asked. It was the only question I truly wanted an answer to.
"Vile magic is the worst kind of all," she said. "Sometimes no matter how much you want something, it's better not to get it."
"What kind of magic was that you used when you were fighting the black thing?" I asked.
"Vile magic," she said. "It's not something that should be used lightly."
"And yet you used it anyway," I said.
"We were fighting for our lives," she said.
"You're stronger than me," I said.
"I know," she said.
The conversation ended there, and we continued on in silence. Eventually, I noticed that the sky was going from black to blue and that the sun was rising. I had no way of knowing if we were walking in circles or not, but the fact that the sun was rising in the east was reassurance that we weren't.
After an hour of walking, we came to a stop.
"Do you smell that?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"I smell bacon," she said.
"I thought you said there weren't any people here," I replied.
"There aren't," she said. "I smell bacon."
I shrugged.
"What do you want to do?" I asked.
"We'll walk in that direction," she said with a jerk of her head.
We walked for about ten minutes. Soon I noticed a small smoking fire off in the distance. There was a cooking pot sitting on the fire, and it had something boiling in it. As we approached, I saw that it was frying bacon.
"How?" I asked.
"That's a question for another day," she said.
| 2022-05-25T14:50:07
| 2022-05-25T12:55:29
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
You’d think having a luck rating of 100 would have made life a walk in the park. That the world around you would be all sunshine and daisies. It wasn’t.
The problem is, a luck rating like that tends to warp the world around you. For everything to always go your way, someone else often must pay the price. Even worse, you don’t get to choose what the world decides you need. A single stray thought could result in catastrophe happening all around you. Like the time when a sudden ice cream craving caused a mid-air collision between two 747’s, startling a woman who saw it enough to knock her AC unit out of her apartment window and crush the owner of an ice cream cart at the top of the hill. His cart rolled right at me but halted abruptly when that Wall St exec tripped right in front of it, breaking his arm. I would have just paid for the damn ice cream, but I don’t get to choose when I’m gonna be “lucky”.
The relief when the Council of the Odds finally found me was insurmountable, even knowing that it wouldn’t last. The cell they put me in was barren with nothing around me. No padding, mattresses, entertainment, or even a toilet. It was heavenly, even though I knew it couldn’t last. I knew with time, luck would find a way to get me out. As I settled in, I heard a faint crash in the distance followed by hundreds of clicks. My door creaked open. Apparently, 777 prisoners was too much for the Luck Agents to contain.
|
I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did.
| 2018-06-29T11:39:52
| 2018-06-29T10:57:06
| 17
| 12
|
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