prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] After chatting with your online Korean friend, who you often game with, he invites you to visit him in his home country, which he always refers to as "Best Korea". You think he's joking around, but when you get a flight confirmation, you learn that your friend is actually Kim Jong-un. | I sat aboard the plane, hands sweating clutching my phone in my hand, staring down at the screen-name. 'GloriousLeader365' I can't believe it, I always thought the name came from gaming prowess, but he truly sees himself as the glorious leader, luckily for me, he had spared no expense and I was now shooting towards what he has always described as 'Best Korea' in the nicest plane I had ever been in, first class seats aboard Air Beijing, the seats alone probably costed more than my apartment rent. After about ten minutes into the flight, the passenger in the seat beside me nudged my arm, he was a thin Asian man, with a thick Chinese accent.
"Why you visit North Korea?"
I turned and looked at him, he looked incredibly nervous, even more so than me. I wasn't sure if I should tell him exactly why I was going, so I settled simply on
"Business" The man quickly turned back and looked to the front of the plane, I settled into my seat and after some tossing and turning, I dozed off.
I awoke near the end of the flight, with the pilot announcing we were entering North Korean air space, and that we should prepare to land in Pyongyang. I stepped off the plane and was immediatly flanked by two North Korean Government Officials
"You LadiesMan217?" I turned and looked at the man
"Sorry what?"
"You, LadiesMan217?" He repeated, he held up a piece of paper with a screenshot of my Steam account. "Y-yes that's me."
"Follow." The two men led me to a black Mercedes near the end of the airstrip, I got in the back, and they drove me through Korea, telling me all about how glorious of a Leader he is, and that I should be honored to be invited to Korea to meet him, finally we arrived at a massive Mansion, with an even larger warehouse situated at the rear of the building, I was once again flanked by the two guards as they walked me to the front door, ringing a gigantic ornate doorbell.
After about 10 seconds, two massive doors slowly drifted open, and there he stood, wearing his trademark black trench-coat, sporting a toothy grin. "LadiesMan!" He ran over and shook my hand, "I GloriousLeader yes?" This whole time he never stopped smiling. "You like the CS GO yes LadiesMan?" I nodded slowly and he put a hand around my back, "You come, I show you big surprise." He led me to a golf cart, that he used to drive us both around the mansion, and out towards the warehouse, once we arrived, we got off and walked into what seemed to be a small armory, with every kind of weapon from the game. "You beat me once" He said, "Now, we 1v1 real style." He picked up an assault rifle and loaded it with live ammunition, before walking out of the armory and into the main warehouse. I stood, shaking, staring at the weapons in front of me, finally I managed to pick up an assault rifle of my own, and I stepped out into the warehouse.
I was immediately met with bullet fire and I ran to hide behind a large wooden box. He was laughing and firing the rifle throughout the warehouse. Finally, I heard him stop shooting, my body went into fight or flight and it chose fight, I jumped from behind the box, and I fired several rounds into his balloon stomach, causing him to cry out, and fall from the cat-walk he was standing on. I rushed over and knelt beside him, apologising, saying I didn't know we were using real ammo, he managed to choke out two final words "Silver... Scrub..."
This is my first writing prompt story, so any and all feedback is appreciated. c: | Your eyes nearly pop out and your jaw hits the porch when you receive the simple text message. "Bye way gamer friend, before you visit I want you know I am Supreme Ruler of North Korea." Contemplation begins on what you can do... this goes on for nearly a day until around 12 hours before the flight time. You decide to disappear in all communication, but it is too late. Looking out the window you see two very scary very Korean operatives with a tinted black van. The escorts. You try to exit out the back quietly and hear some loud chatter in Korean. You nimbly hop the fence and they give chase yelling your name. Eventually you give in due to their elite training and explain, "Ooohhhh, I didn't know you where the escorts I thought you were here to kidnap me." (They weren't buying it) after that was resolved you end up at an dusty unknown local airport with a 4 passenger plane. One pilot, 2 bulky specimens, and yourself a lanky teen, headed to meet a terrifying dictator in an unknown land. | 2017-04-09T18:16:25 | 2017-04-09T17:56:20 | 213 | 24 |
[WP] A horror story, but the protagonist feels absolutely no fear whatsoever and reacts with calm, unflappable rationality, unnerving the antagonist who is trying to scare the shit out of them and failing miserably. | On a dark, thundering Autumn evening, Missy was curled up next to the fireplace. The annual chill had set in, and Missy had retreated to its warmth without any other source of heating. Soon, she would have to head back to the city, away from the cabin. Her vacation was nearly over after all.
The crackling roar of the fireplace was interrupted by the very obvious sound of something breaking.
More specifically, the door crumpling under some force. The noise banished all drowsiness from Missy's head, as she sat straight up to stare at the locked door in front of her.
"Probably a bear," she muttered. "Damn."
All pretense of tiredness lost, Missy shuffled the brand-new can of bear spray closer to her side.
After a few minutes of un-bearable silence, Missy relaxed. Adding another log to the fireplace, she picked up a book on the table and began reading. One hand for the book, the other relegated to bear spray preparation.
The sound of porcelain shattering interrupted the night. Methodically, the sound of plate after plate smashed against the table. Missy didn't so much as flinch, continuing to read. The night dragged on, the interloper moving to cups after every plate had been shattered. Still, Missy continued to read, casually flipping pages, hand still on the can. It was obvious at this point that the intruder was no bear.
Ten minutes, ten minutes of only the fire roaring and pages turning making noise. From the very edge of her hearing, Missy began to hear a tapping. It was a rhythmical, soft sound that began to grow in volume and tempo. By the time it was obvious the sound was issuing from the window, it had become a maddened banging.
Missy looked past the worn chair in front of her to the window. Plastered against the aged yellowy glass, a leering mask watched. Making eye contact, she stared intently at the grotesque face as it ducked out of sight. Finally, her hand made its way off the bearspray to her book. She placed the thick hardback onto the nightstand, and bridged her fingers.
Someone knocked on the door gently.
"Come in," Missy calmly said, even though the door was locked.
A maniac laugh was the only response, a shrill screeching not unlike that of a parrot, except far deeper and longer-lasting. The wooden door splintered, groaning as an axe cut through it. Missy sighed, scooting one of the chairs next to the fireplace away from the entrance before returning to her seat.
Axe strikes continued to fall on the door, shattering it into pieces. A heavy-built man stepped through the remains, hatchet in hand. It was brown, the color of dried blood, Missy's mind noted.
"Good evening Mr..?" Missy said, meeting the distorted gruesome mask in eye contact again.
The same maniac laugh was the only response, as one of the man's paw-like hands caressed the hatchet's blade. Covered in callouses, it was a worker's hand, she thought.
Sighing once more, Missy flicked a switch by her chair.
A crackling of a different sort sounded, as the thin black wires on the floor sparked and churned with electricity.
The man spasmed briefly, before falling to the ground. Missy flicked the switch off, waiting a second before walking over. She smiled, spinning the chair in the corner around to reveal the gagged and restrained other occupant of the room.
"It's a good thing you stopped by, otherwise Mr. Richards would get lonely by himself!" she said in a bubbly high pitched giggle. "We're going to have so much fun together!"
On the nightstand, the anatomy textbook sat, worn from many readings.
----------------
First writing prompt? I can't remember... | Tammy rolled over on her table, expectantly. Despite the shackles on her wrists and chains around my ankles she seemed to be almost holding back a smile.
A darkened face with pulsing features appeared on a screen that covered Tammy's vision of most of the room. A cigarette torn voice crackled out of the microphone, "Do you want to play a game?"
"Yes I do Toby. I love games."
The darkened face was startled for a fraction of a second but regained composure.
"Well aren't you a clever one. Lets see how clever you are after I AAGGGHHH"
Tammy spurted out a giggle as Toby cried out in pain.
"I inserted an electronic shocking chip into your testicles. It is quite powerful for its size and has enough zap to burn a hole through your peaches."
With a small metal trigger in her hand that she had concealed, she gave a small tug.
Toby hollered out pleas of mercy to an audience void of empathy.
"Listen up, Toby," Tammy curled her lips back revealing her cackling grey teeth to the screen, "Do you want to play a game?" | 2017-07-07T16:33:06 | 2017-07-07T11:11:56 | 26 | 12 |
[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." | That alarm. That damn alarm that everyone hates. So loud, blaring with such urgency that rouses anyone from their sleep. "God what, what is it now?" Isaiah questioned. The amber alert sound was still unending, and as he turned to unlock the phone and silence it, he was met with the brightness of the sun in the palm of his hand. "Augh dammit! Why are phones always so bright!?" He shouted with frustration. After a minute of struggling, he managed to turn off the text alarm. "Amber alerts, hmph. Like anyone is going to be a hero and run after little sally or something...hm what's... Do not look at the moon?" He talked to himself, like he always did at home. A simple quirk that helped him think. His alertness rose however, when he started scrolling through the hundreds of random numbers that texted him. It was 11:30.
Now he was fully awake. A couple lights turned on in his home revealed the pigsty that he lived in. With forward thinking, he turned off the living room light. As if on cue, there was a knock at his front door. Thoughts raced through Isaiah's head, some were pure panic, some were decisions on fight or flight. He lived alone, miles away from civilization. "It's a beautiful night tonight." The mysterious voice said. "You should come out and look, friend." Isaiah was a paranoid individual, and the panic button on his phone helped turn off all the lights in his house and double check that all doors and windows were locked. He sat on the edge of his bed, struggling to keep his hands and his nerves steady. In one hand was his phone, scouring the internet for any source of info as to what was happening. In his other hand, his pistol that he always kept close by. It was now 11:50.
"It's a beautiful night tonight." A now different voice said, in conjunction with the first. In stride, seventeen other voices said at the same time "You should come out and look, friend." It sounded like they were circling the house, chanting the same phrase and shuffling their feet. Isaiah retreated to his panic room. The cacophony of varying voices outside hadn't entered his house, but he wasn't about to give them the chance. The metal safety door slammed behind him, locking in place. The panic room immediately illuminated, various screens springing to life and giving him a view of the outside. Every single person outside stared at the cameras, knowing he was also looking at them. "What the hell is going on." He stated, almost insinuating that he wanted an answer from the mob outside. The soundproof room sheltered him from the horrifying phrase that followed his statement, but the movement of lips on screen already gave him his answer. He turned off the screens with haste, the clock on the wall reading 11:59.
The motion sensors on the wall were no longer activated. Isaiah breathed a sigh of relief, looking over at the dark camera screens and pushing buttons. "C'mon man, this has to be either a really cruel prank, or another one of my bad hallucin-" His sentence was cut short. Mouth agape, his pistol made a loud clanging sound against the metal ground as he walked backwards and trying to brace himself against anything. The camera monitors showed the grass around his home trampled on, but no mass of people. It was midnight, but outside was a brightly lit hue of colours. | I wake to the sound of my phone vibrating so fast I'm afraid it'll fall of my nightstand. I groggily my phone before it falls and turn it on to see the words "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" in bright letters illuminated by the official nationwide alert backdrop. The vibrations refuse to stop. Hundreds of texts are rolling in from numbers I don't know so fast that I can barely make out what they're saying. I set my phone to silent and put it back on the nightstand. "Looks like a problem that can wait till the morning," I faintly think to myself before falling back to sleep. Nothing gets me out of bed at 3 a.m. | 2022-09-11T16:03:17 | 2018-04-06T19:08:10 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are God. You have just discovered that the world you thought you had destroyed in a flood still exists. You've never heard of this 'Jesus' dude, or anything else since the flood. You really just thought you'd canned the thing and walked away. | "Wait... You did WHAT?"
I stood alone, mouth agape and bewildered, as I spoke through the cosmos, communicating with my rival.
"Well, you threw it out! It's not like you were gonna use it again." Satan replied, defiant as per fucking usual. "I really liked the project we were working on with Earth, man! Oh, but you had to get all butthurt because the dominant species decided to disobey your rules - which are really dumb, by the way! But yeah, I wanted to see if those 'humans' could find a way out of the holy judgemental pickle you put 'em into!"
I can't believe this guy. He really takes the "One man's trash" metaphor to a whole new level. But whatever, I guess he made a fair point.
"Well... How'd they do it?" I asked him.
Satan laughed - more of a giggle really. "Okay, so get this. A lot of them still really liked you, so what I did was..." he took a minute to chuckle, "I... I pretended to be you, and told one guy to build a boat. His name was Neil... or something like that. So then I thought 'Well, go big or go home' so I told him to put two of EVERY SPECIES on that sonofabitch."
I struggled to hide a laugh. "You asshole! How far did he get before that went to hel- I mean, went to shit?"
"So get this!" He could barely contain himself. "This Nigel dude actually did it! The absolute madman somehow made a gigantic boat and rounded up a good amount of animals, and they somehow survived your little flood!"
"Somehow..." I pondered.
Oh wait. "You helped him, didn't you?"
"I mean of course! He sure as shit couldn't have done it himself."
"Alright, so humanity and the animals survived. What happened next?"
"Well, that's when it went off the rails, my man. So there was some terrifying lizard lady, let's call her Mary. I put her there to get a laugh, but BOY OH BOY did that backfire. My fault for making her parthenogenic really. So she reproduces, without a male mate of course, and gives birth to some guy. Everyone freaks the hell out because they think I'm - or that you're the dad. His name was Jesus, I'm pretty sure."
"Yeah, that's how I found out about your little scheme, dude. Apparently he made an impact on these humans?"
"Well, yeah. I'll be honest, I had a lot of fun with this guy. So I was thinking 'Hey, why don't we give the son of an asexual lizard beast some wizard powers? That would be badass!' And I did. Long story short, he fell in love with me and he was killed pretty brutally. But then I brought him back a couple days later and people lost their damn minds!"
Well, I was hooked. "And then what? I need more information!"
He laughed even more as he presented this story to me. "Well, that's when it all goes to shit..."
Satan regaled to me the history of my canned project. He spoke of politics, idiots, crusades, holy wars, slavery, and everything in between. It felt like hours for me, and you know what they say about a million years feeling like a minute for me.
"...And now it's a pretty bleak situation. Firefly is still canceled, that one guy from The Apprentice leads America now, and people are still fighting over who is the real god."
I thought to myself for a long time. I was silent in my contemplation, and chose my next words very carefully.
"Satan?" I asked.
"Yeah God?"
"I've already tried water on these idiots. When you get bored of them, try using fire this time around."
EDIT: Thank you for the gold!!!! | Oh, Jesus Christ. That guy. What an entrepreneurial spirit, and a big pair he has.
First of all, it's my fault for leaving the burner on, planetarily speaking. I should've come back and checked that that flood did it's job. My b. But still, you don't go around telling upright monkeys you're my son.
I mean, it'd be one thing to do it just to earn a quick buck. I can't blame a guy for spinning yarn to put wine and crackers on the table. But what JC did has gotten completely out of hand.
Crusades? La Inquisición Española? Pedophiles? I don't know how he figured out the whole resurrection thing, I thought I had that totally under wraps, but as soon as he pops back up like they say he's going to he and I are going to have a little chat.
And it's "he," not "He." Only i can violate pronoun norms.
I will say, I'll miss the guy's sense of humor. To say that I created *those* things in MY image... | 2017-11-11T08:49:45 | 2017-11-11T07:57:57 | 3,249 | 195 |
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it. | “What’s it doing?”, aerg asked.
“Oh, that’s an instinctive reaction. It’s called crying, according to encyclopedia. It’s a form of frustrated submission. The display of wetness on its face is a call for mercy.” miurg fanned its sensor antennae to observe again the excretions of the prisoner.
“Why does it not just initiate a state of desiring mercy? Any probe of its passive mind would detect it. It would be released upon landing at a known compatible environment.” aerg fanned as well, mildly curious as to the makeup of the facial fluids. “Is that salt? They must have vast reserves of salt on their world! How strange!”, aerg sent out.
“Yes. encyclopedia says their ocean has a high level of sodium chloride dissolved into it. Apparently they die without a sufficient amount of replenishment. We must endeavor to mix some up for it. I surmise they drink it in solution.”
“Ah, this might provide an explanation for what has puzzled me.”, aerg sent.
“Query. Source of puzzlement.” miurg sent back.
“It shows no reception, neither passive nor initiated. I am wondering if its biochemistry interferes with reception. A high enough level of salt is an unknown component. Perhaps it is chemically forestalled from communication. Possibly a bizarre evolutionary turn. Imagine no communication. One ponders how they have come across clothing and transportation technology.”
“Ah, there is a relevant datacluster. Their communication is entirely sound based. Like augmentation data, but only that.” miurg sent an augment of satisfaction.
“Compelling and ingenious. Evolution is truly an endless marvel. Ask encyclopedia to initiate in its augmented state a query. Subject what it thinks of us.” aerg was curious, as was evident by his own augmented trill, vacillating back and forth between psychic and auditory augmentations.
“Yuuuu munnnn, wut ut doo yuuuu tink have capture yuuuuu question.” uttered the local encyclopedia device, in sound only, for the benefit of the captive creature.
The creature stirred. Its wet face rose to point at the two guards.
“Huh.” The sound came from its largest facial hole.
I HATE YOU!!!
The psychic message was unmistakable. The guards went into seizures as the rawest and strongest form of psychic communication poured out of the wet faced captive.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!! I HOPE YOU DIE!!
miurg started bleeding from his second antennae fan. aerg made sounds of respiratory distress.
LET ME OUT!!!!!!
The creature made noises that accompanied its sending. Its smell intensified. miurg felt compelled. He hit the release array beside the cell with three limbs.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!!! The sending went deep. miurg lost consciousness, sending a feeble call of distress.
Elsewhere in the ship, a transportation engineer programmed a course for the nearest human ship. Hopefully they would take back their beast, which sent too strong and profanely raw to endure. The beast entered the management room.
“Take me home.”, she said.
TAKE ME HOME!!!, they heard. The ship folded space. The engineer lay bleeding, possibly injured for life, but sent a full cognition to the empire hive. They must know. Humans only pretend to be silent and deaf. | When the corporal went through the barracks sick room for morning muster, Paul was gone. But even if he finally bugged up, it was dangerous to let him wander the base. Or worse, leave it. He told the sergeant, who told the lieutenant, who told the captain. By 0700, the whole company had formed a search party.
By 0830, they found Paul's dog tags, and the tracks. But it wasn't any tank or truck they were familiar with. The captain got on the horn to the major. And the major got the colonel.
By noon, the whole Fourth Battalion had the aliens' base camp surrounded. Over one brother in arms. Who had already been through too much. | 2018-02-17T21:27:28 | 2018-02-17T16:37:28 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | “It’ll be pyrokenisis”, my dad said, for the thousandth time, as his fingers sparked the hob beneath the kettle. “It’s one of the most heritable powers, and we already struck out on Dan. I’m just saying, the odds are on our side."
Mum rolled her eyes, for the thousandth time. “Whatever it is, it will be wonderful”, she replied, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Any inkling at all yet, Sims?”
I shook my head. I'd woken up feeling utterly normal, though I was so nervous I thought I might be sick — lord help me if *that* was part of my power.
My eyes were glued to the clock. Less than 24 minutes left before my life would be irrevocably altered.
They ran a course at school for all the kids turning 14 the following month. We’d learned about the transition itself, what to expect from the letter, and how to read its various sections. The final week was focused on acceptance — you weren’t meant to set your heart on a specific power, even though we’d spent our whole lives imagining what we might become. Like most kids, I’d been through various phases: at eight, I wanted super speed, and fantasised about my wall of medals. At 11, as adolescence curled my hair and filled out parts of my body, I’d dreamt of invisibility. That was part of what they were trying to teach us, I guess: lives are long, and the “best” power will look different in 10 years, or 50.
I sipped my tea to fight back the nausea, and my parents let me sit with my thoughts and nerves, speaking softly to each other. I was grateful not to have to make conversation.
At school, they'd also taught us that our powers wouldn’t define us. We could chart our own path. But really, could we? How many professional athletes succeeded without super speed or strength, and how many politicians or estate agents didn't have powers of persuasion or charisma?
I'd spent the past few weeks playing out different scenarios in my mind, and at this point, frankly, I just felt overwhelmed. More than any specific power, I just wanted the wait to be over. To be able to sketch an outline over the blank years stretching out before me.
Soon enough, the second hand of the clock was at 5-to.
We headed into the hallway, my parents buzzing with nervous, excited energy. I was mostly focused on keeping down my toast. God, wouldn’t it be *classic* if my transition story took place with Mum holding back my hair over a toilet?
We stood back at the end of the hall, as though making space for the outsized importance of the small letter that would, any moment, drop through the mail slot.
"No matter what, Sims, it's going to be fine. It's going to be great," said Dad, wrapping his arm around me. Mum, on my other side, squeezed my arm and kissed the top of my head. I could tell she was floating, just an inch or two off the ground, the way she often did when she was excited.
At 8 o'clock sharp, a cream-coloured envelope dropped onto the tile.
I stepped forward, slowly, transfixed by the thought that my destiny had already been written but was still -- for a few more seconds, anyways -- unknown.
The envelope was heavy stock, cool under my fingers. My name was embossed on the front: MISS SIMONE WEST.
I tore it open, removed the letter, took a deep breath, and unfolded the thick paper.
At first, I wasn't sure what I was looking at. We'd gone over generic transition letters at school -- and this wasn't what it was meant to look like. The page was mostly blank, with just four words printed across the centre of the page:
DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR
"Mum, Dad... what is this?" I brought the letter to them, and saw the confusion spread across their faces.
"It must be some kind of mistake," said Dad.
"That's not possible, though, John! It's from the Ministry. All kinds of powers are used making these. Could someone have intercepted it? Maybe it's a prank."
"But why? You'd go to prison for tampering with a transition letter, surely! And what kind of power would you need to pull something like that off? Why use it on this?"
There was sharp knock on the front door. Dad handed back the letter and started towards it, when suddenly, it clicked. I gasped and grabbed his elbow. "Dad, don't!" I whispered, holding up the letter and pointing at the message.
"Don't be daft, Sims, It'll be one of your friends checking in. Or maybe someone bringing your real letter!"
But the idea had already lodged itself in my mind, with a cold kind of terror. "Dad, please!"
More knocking, louder now.
"At least let me see who it is?" I nodded, and held a finger to my lips. He stepped softly up to the peephole, then came back. I winced at the sound of his shoes on the tile. "It's some official looking types. I told you, they're probably just here to apologise and give us the right letter."
Three more heavy knocks sounded on the door. And then, a voice -- which didn't sound much like it wanted to wish me a happy fourteenth birthday.
"SIMONE WEST, THIS IS THE SECURITY SERVICES. WE CAN HEAR YOU MOVING AROUND INSIDE. OPEN THIS DOOR, NOW."
Dad frowned, and moved back to the entryway. "This is Simone's father, John West. Can you hold some identification up to the door? What is this all about?"
"MR WEST, YOU NEED TO SURRENDER SIMONE INTO OUR CUSTODY IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS A NATIONAL SECURITY MATTER. IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE DOOR IN ONE MINUTE, WE WILL ENTER BY FORCE."
"Now, sir -- there must be some misunderstanding," Dad replied. "My daughter is not a threat to anyone. I'm not opening this door without seeing your identification. Do I need to call our solicitor?"
Mum wrapped her arms around me, and an odd stillness fell upon the hallway. Then, I noticed Dad's hand start to jerk. Small flames were licking the tips of his fingers. *What was he doing?* He shook his hand, and the flames grew, before leaping to the sleeve of his jacket. It was only when he started slamming his arm against the wall, and cried out in pain, that I realised Dad wasn't the one doing this -- someone on the other side of the door was controlling those flames.
A loud, rhythmic thud began to sound against the door. They were forcing their way in. I felt Mum pull at me, and realised she was floating again -- but her eyes were full of terror.
"Simi, you have to run," she whispered. "Go out the back, and find Aunt Beth."
"What's happening, Mum? I don't understand! I don't--" Dad had begun to scream. I turned to see his shape, engulfed in fire. I felt Mum’s grip on my shoulder loosen, and my eyes snapped back just in time to see her head slam against ceiling.
"Simi, RUN!" | Today is the day.
The scan is about to begin.
Anticipation is killing everyone.
And as THe Machine is lighting up, my mind throws out our history lesson on humans with superpowers.
"... 10 year war that engulfed all of the world that would later be known as Wars of Awakening. At the end of this war the new superweapon that all three sides were developing was used. All of these three superweapons have their origins in old project of now long dead terrorist organisation named Sons of The Phoenix. Their base of operation was raided by combined forces of three countries, one on whose terriotory all this happened and two who were "just helping". Of course every side snatched a piece of the project that those terrorists were developing. And oh such a coincidence that all three of them snatched a piece of the superweapon project for themselves.Yes, because they didn't have a propper and full schematics for that project all three of the countries had to develop their own weapons using the partial blueprints that they had. This took some time, around 10 years to be exact."
"... Awakening destabilised our locale space-time it made it into a ripped mesh with a lot of holes through which the primordial energy of creation would later pour into our reality.This energy is the purest and most unrefined kind of energy, it is the nul point of everything that there is..."
"...and with the saturated environments human bodies began to change. As usual it wasn't a rapid process, but with time, human body grew a new organ, or to be specific a pair of organs, a tight knot of nerves near the base of our spinal brain and a net of nerve-like cells across varying places in human body."
"Another coincidence was that all three of those countries finished developing their first working prototypes around the same time. Another lucky flip of fate made all three devices be activated at the same time, thus making them resonate with each other and causing not only the destruction that they were designed for, but also a tear in the fabric of reality itself..."
"As of now, current generations are the transit point between humans with no powers and humans born with powers. You are born with underdeveloped powerlines and they take their time to develop fully."
"I, John Hanks, present to you the perfect solution to the problem of which power a person has. This quantum computer simulation can answer the question of which power you have and what are exact limits to your abilities by taking a scan of your powerlines and analysing how it affects the world upon activation. Just visit... "
​
***Ding***
Is it already done?
I thought that it would take longer to print the ability book?
Huh... There's only one page to mine, shouldn't there be more?
"Don't run with scissors"
That is all that was written out on the paper.While everyone got a hefty book with a full description of their powers, mine is just a four word nonsensical bullshit.Shouldn't this this machinr be supposed to answer what ability does?Then why did it print out this... this nonsense.
What does my ability do and why shouldn't i run with scissors?
​
Five months.It took five months for my patience to run out.Every time i take a scan the simulation freezes. It just stops. And not in like my ability is to stop time, no, my ability does nothing, but this simulation still stops as if there is nothing more after i activate my powers.
Soon i shall find out what i can do.Soon my beautiful platinum scissors shall arrive.
​
I HAVE THEM. I FINALLY HAVE THEM!I FINALLY CAN FIND OUT WHAT MY POWERS DO!
​
Here i go, the road is clear. The scissors are in hand. The rising sun beautifully reflects of of every line on my scissors.I take a step back and start my race.
​
Nothing.Nothing is changing.I am running. Scissors are in my hand. I am closing on the end of the road.
But nothing changes.
The world is just as it was before.
I start running back.
Maybe if i try to run backwards?
​
Why the sky is darkening?
The sun is setting already?
I try to stop, but my legs keep moving.
Sun that was visibly rising just moments ago is now setting back...
I finally stop. In the begining of the road where i started.I look at the scissors in my hand. I look at the road.And i go back home.
Back first.... | 2022-05-08T12:14:09 | 2022-05-08T06:39:22 | 241 | 128 |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | Grandpa and I walked into the entrance of St Mary’s hospital. In the ever-bustling reception area, Healers strode purposefully in all directions. We made straight for the elevator, heading to the Geriatric Unit on level 4. As the elevator door opened, I saw a young boy sitting in a wheelchair who was being pushed by- who I assumed to be- his mother. His right leg was completely covered in a white plaster cast. Grandpa made sure the door of the elevator didn’t shut as they passed through and the woman cast him a grateful smile. As they moved away, I caught the beginning of an argument between the two.
“So you’re really going to take my X-box away for *two whole weeks*?”
“I told you Timothy, if you didn’t try to stop this levitation nonsense before you’re old enough, that there would be punishment.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” the boy whined, “Jake double dared me. *Double dared* me Mom. Plus, he levitates around the house whenever he wants.”
“You jumped **off the roof** Timmy! If we didn’t get you to a good healer in time, who knows what would have happened. Now stop arguing before I make it three weeks…”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. As the elevator ascended, I looked up at my Grandpa. He had always been a tall man, but these days there was a slight stoop in his posture. The twinkle in his usually-bright blue eyes had dimmed. An invisible weight tugged on the corners of his smile. But, ever stoic, he looked down at me and spoke in a forcefully cheerful tone.
“What do you think she’ll be today, Maddie?”
These days, Grandma had taken a liking to shifting into her favourite historical figures. Yesterday it had been Queen Elizabeth the second. For the entire visit, she spoke in a high English accent and inquired regularly as to the whereabouts of her beloved Corgi dogs. The Healers had informed us that she had already requested 9 cups of tea that day.
I flashed Grandpa a grin. “I don’t know, but really hoping she’s gotten sick of the Queen. I’m not sure either of us could handle being asked any more questions about what the Daily Telegraph had to say about her outfit she wore on the day of her *Diamond Jubilee*.”
Grandpa chuckled. As we entered the ward, we were greeted cheerily by all the staff we passed. We were regulars now, and most greeted us by name. I saw my Grandma’s primary Healer step out of a nearby room. Even if one was born with the Healing gift, there were certain limitations to the extent that one could "heal" the body; and some things that even the most skilled of healers could not fix. Degenerative conditions of the brain were amoung these ailments. All Healers were, hence, required to attend medical school as any other Doctor would. Healer Saunders, who was in charge of Grandma’s care, also had a degree in both Neurology and Geriatrics.
“Healer Saunders!” I called.
The man spinned in my direction and, recognising me and my Grandpa, walked towards us.
“How is she doing today?”
The man smiled with genuine warmth. “Judith is doing just fine today, although,” he paused and furrowed his brow, “I must admit, I have no idea who she is. Her current form I mean. But she is perfectly fine for visitors.”
Grandpa and I strode into Grandma’s private room where Grandma was standing, gazing out of the room's window. When she turned to look at her visitors, her face was that of a young woman. She looked to be about in her young 20’s. She had wide, chocolate coloured eyes and tresses of beautiful, long dark hair. I felt my Grandpa freeze in his stride. When I looked up, his face was contorted into an expression I had never seen before. It was… Pain. Longing. Disbelief.
Grandma’s face light up when she saw him. “Oh, Harold, thank goodness you’ve arrived. I thought we were going to be late!”
Suddenly, I understood. Tears were streaming silently down my Grandpa’s face. She had not recognised him in over a year. Somehow, he forced calm words out of his mouth.
“L-late for what, my dear?”
“The dance, silly!” Grandma giggled. But then her expression turned serious. “The only problem is… I can’t seem to find my dress. And I can’t go in this old thing.” she said, motioning down to her hospital gown.
“Oh, don’t worry my love… I think I know where you left it.”
“You’re wonderful Harold,” said Grandma. I had never seen anyone look at another person like she was looking at Grandpa right at that moment. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll be right back, darling” said Grandpa, and he exited the room. I followed swiftly in his wake. He sat down on a nearby chair, and covered his face with his hands. I could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was sobbing.
“That’s… Grandma when she was younger?”
Grandpa looked up, and took a shaky breath. “Yes… that’s Judie when she was 23. I was 25. We were going to the faculty dance that night. I forgot… I forgot how beautiful she was.” He was silent for a moment. “The pictures don’t do her justice. Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Come Maddie, we should probably go.”
I shook my head. “We’re not going anywhere. You’re taking Grandma to a dance. Wait here… Just for a few minutes. Literally.” I smiled playfully.
When I ran, time slowed nearly to a halt. Speed was my gift, and there was no better time to use it than now. Just over 36 seconds later, I burst into my room. The friction had burnt the soles of my shoes and the carpet slightly.
“Worth it.” I muttered.
I grabbed my prom dress from the cupboard, and rubbed the soft pink silk between my fingers. I knew it would fit Grandma easily. I picked up some of my jewellery and some make-up from the drawer too. I rushed to Grandpa’s room, and picked out one of the suits he reserved for special events. Soon, I was back in the Ward, carrying my items and panting slightly. I held them out to Grandpa, whose eyes were still wide in wake of my sudden disappearance.
“You’re taking Grandma to the dance.” I stated firmly.
He looked up at me, and that twinkle in his bright blue eyes which I had missed so much was back. “But Maddie… where will I take her?”
I pondered for a moment. “Well, in the time it will take you both to get ready, I reckon I will have found something suitable… I’m pretty fast. Now go tell Grandma you found her dress." And with that, time ground to a near-halt as I ran back out of the hospital doors.
Edit: Good day beautiful people of Reddit! So, I have been persuaded to create a Subreddit (which is hopefully functional. Computers are... not my thing to say the least) You can catch a few other of my musings at r/Xanadu_dreaming :) thanks for all the support! | Every Sunday I visited my grandma at Sunny Oaks. It was a tradition I'd started right after Mom died, in the interest of helping both of us cope. In the five years since, I'd never so much as seen another person coming or going from her apartment.
That's not the *only* reason I dropped my coffee, of course. The person I saw walking in her door wasn't just a neighbor or possible friend. It was the Silver Star, a Golden Age hero. I recognized her from the back pages of the Merlin Price Guide, staring back at me from the covers of ancient comic books worth more than my car. Her brilliant white cape floated just slightly above the ground, fluctuating as if in sync with her long golden locks. Her hair shimmered in the dim light of the retirement home corridor, glowing with life and energy.
So, making the only rational move I could, I dashed to the door and almost tripped over myself in the process. Inside the apartment I saw only my grandma, slowly lowering herself into her favorite rocking chair.
"Oh, Adam!" She looked up at me as she sagged the final few inches into the chair with a *thump*. "I hoped you'd be here soon!"
There was no sign of a Golden Age hero in her apartment. Had my coffee been spiked? Had I been rude to the barista at some point in the last few weeks? It was a relatively new coffee joint. But, that seemed ridiculous. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep last night.
"Adam? You burst in here like a madman! Are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine Grandma," I said. I should have been grateful that she recognized me today. Since her Alzheimers diagnosis, a few of my visits had been quite painful and awkward. Once she thought I was the milkman after we'd already been talking for half an hour, and asked me when I was going to finish the rest of my route. Another time I was the mailman.
"Well, good. Come on in and tell me about your week."
"All right," I said, plopping down on her floral couch opposite her. "Did you have a visitor just now?"
"Oh no, honey. I was just out checking the mail. Just more junk mail, unfortunately, so I left it."
"Grandma, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I swear I just saw a woman dressed as the Silver Star walk into your apartment."
She looked up at me sharply. "You did?"
"Yeah..."
Her eyes darted back and forth. A look of worry passed over her face. "Oh no. If people find out... My family..."
She looked back up at me, her expression cross. "I don't think you saw anything, young man. And whatever you saw, you should just keep it to yourself."
"I..." I began to protest, but she pointed a gnarled finger at me and *tsked.*
"I said that's enough."
I shrugged, leaned back into the not-so-comfortable old couch and started to process that conversation when a loud, booming knock shook the door. I started to stand to go get it but a soft voice, smooth and sweet as honey, cut me off.
"Don't trouble yourself. I'll get the door."
The Silver Star glided past me, resplendent in the strength and vibrancy of her youth. She even *smelled* different, like a crisp summer breeze instead of grandma's normal lilac perfume.
Before I could even pick my jaw up off of the floor, she opened the door. A robust man with an iron jaw and slicked-back graying hair stood framed in the doorway, nearly filling the entire space. He wore a tight blue suit adorned with stars and stripes. Captain freaking Justice.
"Lovely as ever, my dear. Are you ready for a night on the town?" He asked, his voice thundering through the room.
"You know this gal is," she replied, winking at him. She turned to me, her grey eyes washing over me without much recognition. "Mister reporter, have you got enough for your story? We didn't really cover my powers. I could take you for a quick flight, I suppose."
My thoughts drifted back from pure shock and processed that line. I really didn't want to be dropped from a great height while my shape-shifting grandmother forgot/remembered who she was.
"No," I finally managed to say. "I think I've taken in quite enough for one day."
[/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
| 2017-02-18T06:37:10 | 2017-02-18T05:13:07 | 773 | 536 |
[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning. | It was a calico cat, shaded by darkness on half its scruffy face, scorched by flame on the other. The moon and sun heading towards an eclipse over a pale mountain of white fur.
For weeks after Josh had moved back to the family home, the cat had watched him. Sat outside the windows, or lay in the yard in the maple-shadows, or on the cooler evenings, on the burnt brown grass.
”If you hadn’t fed it,” said Nina, Josh’s girlfriend who’d come down from Maine for the week, “then it would’ve got the message eventually and gone bothered some other soft-hearted guy. We’d have been left in wonderful peace.”
Josh didn’t think so. He’d resisted feeding it for weeks, but the cat hadn’t seemed to care. It didn’t seem to be fussed about the food — although it ate it. Maybe Josh just wanted to believe it was about him, not the tuna.
Maybe, if he was being totally truthful to himself, he believed the cat held some kind of connection to his mother. A link. Maybe she’d looked after it and it missed her as much as he did.
Now the cat, Fia — *flickering fire* — lounged on the sofa, ear cocked as if listening in.
”It had been so lonely,” said Josh.
Nina opened her mouth, about to ask if he meant the cat or himself. But she knew the answer and bit her tongue.
Josh’s mother had lived here alone for the last six years, after Josh’s father passed away. His brother lived in Germany, having gone to university in Munich and have fallen in love. He stayed there, married, and rarely visited.
And then Josh’s mother had gone missing on a mountain walk. Neighbor saw her leave but not return. Rangers found no trace, only her car parked near the entrance to the trail.
This house that once must have brimmed with loved, warmed itself with laughter, had been desolate when Josh moved back. Empty.
Nina thought how that must have affected Josh. She knew how similar events had hurt her in the past. How those memories you must have of childhood and of unconditional love get wrung out of your heart by the rough-handed realities of life. And of death.
”Besides, he’s a lovely cat,” said Josh. ”Aren’t you boy?” Josh sat by Fia’s side and stroked him until he purred, as if he’d started up a mower.
“He’d be nicer if he didn’t leave us… *gifts*, every morning.” Gifts was Josh’s term. Dead birds, live rats, plastic bags stuffed with used condoms and tissues and needles — and god knew what else because she’d retched at that point and dropped the bag. When she’d regained her composure she placed the bag inside two more bags and used a pair of tongs to carry it all to the outside trash.
“I’m sure he’ll quit with it soon. Won’t you, Fia?”
Fia rubbed his head against Josh’s knuckle in a non-committal answer.
“He’ll have to — there won’t be anything left to dig up soon.” She yawned lazily. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you two stay up too late.”
“I’ll be in shortly. Besides, you know what Fia’s like. He’ll be gone for the night soon. Wherever it is he goes.”
“To the local tip I should think.” | I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet… | 2021-12-17T07:32:51 | 2021-12-17T07:05:33 | 463 | 10 |
[WP] “Please.” The Villian whimpers. “There must be something I can do.” You stare at your clipboard. “Lose the spikes and turn off the volcano and we can talk.” Being an OSHA auditor for superpowers is a whole new type of power trip.
Edit: Many thanks for the gold and silver! Your excellent stories, however, are the real award. :) | The lair—in all of its evil, experimental infamy—was in an all-new state of chaos today. Mountainous men and freakish beast alike were scrambling to set weapons in their proper places, secure the experiment tanks, make sure all the lights in the normally dark halls were on, *sweep the floors?* Martin had already been working as a guard in the main hall for the last month but he had never seen the castle-turned-laboratory in such disarray. The Professor—a man without fear or sanity, caring only for his latest mad fascination—seemed *nervous*, manic in a way that Martin had yet to have the misfortune to witness. And the other guards have been whispering—*gossiping* with something both terrified and reverent in their eyes about The Inspector that would be here today.
​
Martin had been expecting an intimidating man of obvious power, able to shutdown their operation or wipe it from the face of the earth depending on his mood, but when the afternoon’s panic hits its climax, a woman that couldn’t even reach his shoulder if she *jumped* was escorted through the grand entrance, cheerfully greeting guards as if she knew she was speaking with fans.
​
The Professor meets her in the middle of the main hall, wringing his hands. Martin is stationed at a nearby pillar and cannot believe his luck, able to watch this tiny woman that inspires such terror up close. He tries to puzzle it out, but her cute bobbed hair, bright eyes and pink clip-board are immediately making her difficult to reconcile with the whispered awe of The Inspector.
​
“What’s up, Doc?” The Professor shifts anxiously as she giggles at her own joke, and Martin still can’t understand. Then she waits for a response, of which there is only more nervous shifting, and Martin sees something off. While her face is cheerful, her demeanor relaxed as if she’s visiting a friend, her eyes are—wrong. Piercing.
​
“Well!” She bounces on her toes, teeth flashing in what should be a smile. “Let’s get this show on—” the miniscule woman is interrupted by the sound of shattering glass from down the one of the hallways, gushing water, shouting—it seems one of the experiments hadn’t been quite secure enough and was now rushing down the hall in a mix of tentacles, hooves, and eerily glowing eyes. It bursts through the back of the main hall, Senior Caretakers and Hell Hounds—more snarling shadows than wolfhounds or any manner of living animal—scrambling after the abomination as it swings from rafters and leaps from pillars, slime and chunks of limestone falling in its wake. The Professor simply stares in the commotion’s general direction, glee at his creation warring with an obviously rising dread. The Inspector simply watches the Professor’s face with that same bright, vacant smile.
​
The creature finally leaps out one of the tall windows, a delayed splash indicating that it cleared the cliffs and had escaped into the surrounding ocean. A Hell Hound follows it out and—Martin winces …does not clear the cliffs. Martin fights the urge to inch away from the Professor at the mad scientist’s furious distress, indicated by his violent trembling and an aborted attempt to pull out what little remains of his hair.
​
The woman makes a sympathetic sound that doesn’t match her eyes. “Oof, no barriers on the windows. That’s gonna be a fine.”
​
The Professor makes a high-pitched choking noise. “Wait, I already have such little funding—I-it was just an *accident*, Malory—”
​
She laughs then, soft and bright, cute if not for its emptiness and the sharpness in her eyes. “That’s *exactly* why I *told you* to get barriers during the last inspection!” Blue slime drips onto her cheek and she swipes it away with her finger, looks at it idly. She cocks her head to one side as a thought seems to occur to her.
​
“What was it being contained in, exactly?”
​
“An experimental fluid of my own—”
​
“Didn’t your permit for that expire?”
​
The Professor’s unnaturally sallow skin pales, teeth creaking as they try to grind out an excuse. “O-only just last—I had already made it, so--”
​
She hums, playing with the slimes elasticity between her finger and thumb, then wiping it off on the Professor’s coat which begins to corrode on contact. She makes a note on her clipboard. “The permit is for *using* experimental mixtures—especially ones so corrosive as well as making them, Doc—” She levels him with a stare that is unimpressed and masquerading as pitying, pouting as if her feelings have been hurt. “That’s gonna cost you your license.”
​
The Professor clutches her shoulders, releases them and reels back almost instantly, and falls to his knees. “You—you can’t do this. This is my life’s work, please!”
​
She watches the man begging at her feet impassively, bounces on her toes at another sudden thought. “Oh! And if that thingey isn’t caught within the next couple of days, you will be held liable by the Villain’s Union, potentially resulting in the termination of your membership!” Having reduced the most infamous evil scientist in the hemisphere to a sobbing disaster, she makes a couple final notes on her clipboard, shakes off the hand clutching her ankle and begins to go.
​
Martin understands now, a soft but deeply felt “Holy shit” falling from his lips like a prayer.
​
She meets his eye as she walks past him, winks with a smile that finally meets her eyes, “There’s no greater evil than bureaucracy, kid.” |
Tom sighed. His knees cracked as he stood up, his back ached. Pulling his clipboard of his belt he turned toward, The Invader... or was it The Infester… maybe the Eviscerator?
“Now why, Mr. Invader, do you need a Hole of Pain and Agony?”
“Um, it’s Hole of Pains and Agonies,” the mousy voice projected from within a large Viking helmet. It was painted black with what looked like house paint. The cheap stuff you’d get at Villains Depot.
Tom looked down at the makeshift hole again, then the man. Blading, hanging onto his last few scraps of hair ala George Costanza. He almost disappeared underneath the large shoulder pads adorned with spikes, hockey mitts as gloves, and knee-high grey boots.
“Mmm, so why the *Hole of Pains and Agonies*?” Tom asked again as he corrected Line 3 of his form.
The Invader looked down at the hole, gave a half-smile.
“Well, it really boosts productivity around here. I mean, ya threaten to throw someone into a hole they get scootin’.” The Invader seemed happy about that, perking up little.
Tom pulled out his phone, took a few pictures of the hole, filled out a couple more lines on his form, and glanced around the “lair”. A handful of workers (mostly migrant workers) pulled levers, moved lumbar, and cleaned dials. Tom had a feeling the levers didn’t open anything, and the dials adjusted nothing. Trust fund money perhaps? A grown man child playing supervillain.
“This hole is just wildly out of regulation. I mean it’s barely five feet deep! The spikes are too short to kill anyone on impact and there’s no cover. An accident waiting to happen. Have you ever dropped anyone down here?” Tom knew the answer.
Shrugging, The Invader looked over into the hole with Tom and sheepishly answered, “I mean not exactly. Like I said, it really motivates these fellas to get movin’.”
“Listen, get your act together. If I did a full inspection around this place, I’d have you closed in the hour. And, to be frank, for a guy with a level F power like “Blending In”, you don’t have the clout to get out of all the legal trouble you’d have.”
In the background, Tom could hear The Invader make excuses and promises about the conditions of the lair, but he was already tuned out. Tom had heard it before; chances are this guy was more likely to fall down the damn hole than survive his next inspection.
Half walking away, Tom ripped off the white copy of his report and handed it to the little man. Opening the door, he halfheartedly said, “Next inspection is on the 15th, get your shit together.”
He walked from the suburban-looking home, minus the “Lair of the Enforcer” sign on the front. Ah, Enforcer… That was it. His beat-up lime green Impala sat on the corner. Leaning against it, he lit some cheap gas station cigarette and caught a glance of himself in the rearview mirror.
Tom Taddle, once the great Destroyer of Lives, Eater of Men, the Skull Bringer, was now a fucking OSHA auditor. He grimaced at the thought, threw the butt down, and slunk into the car. It was about time for a drink. | 2020-05-12T19:02:04 | 2020-05-12T18:36:24 | 93 | 48 |
[WP] The heroes nearly won with the “Friendship is power” trope, but lost because the villains did that trope but better. | Pain. A universal constant. They had all felt it, every single volunteer of eternal doom knew what it was like to suffer. They knew that even at the best of times, darkness lurked in the background
The organization hadn’t started as a world ending terrorist group. It had started as a therapy group. Within that group were the rejected, broken, and tired members of society, who most days were ready to throw it all away. Why bother continuing when every day from the moment of birth was just filled with tears? But in that room they found something they never normally found in their everyday lives
*companionship. Understanding. The feeling that they weren’t alone in the world that seemed to treat them like garbage*
When somebody posed the idea of ending the world, and thus, ending mankind’s suffering, it was initially dismissed. They could all relate to that sentiment, for one reason or another that the best thing for the world would just be too destroy it altogether, but the idea seemed too ambitious. 30 or so depressed adults seeking to destroy the world? Come on
Time passed, and the suffering got worse, and thus so did the bitterness . The therapy sessions never seemed able to help them cope, if anything, it made them angrier, to see their friends hurting as much as they were. So it was disbanded. But every single member remained in contact. And they continued to be angry
They would meet together, and make plans. Possible theories, designs, anything that could destroy the world. Through each others encouragement they bettered themselves. They became stronger, faster, smarter.
Suddenly the ambitious dream of destroying the planet didn’t seem so ambitious. They had a blueprint. And they had determination
More people began to join the group, people who had been just as hurt and quickly bonded with a team where every single person would die for each other.
Their goal would not come cheap, so they began to collect the money for their dream, through any means possible. Crimes were committed in the name of their dream, and this caught the attention of the so called “good guys”
When their plans were revealed they were dismissed. Just a group of terrorists, like any other. They were nicknamed “eternal doom” for their pessimistic viewpoints and their ultimate goal. But they failed to realize the one thing setting them apart from other terrorists was the loyalty they held to each member.
As more members joined, and suddenly their plans were nearly finished, only then did the “good guys” start really trying to fight back. But their fight was doomed to fail from the beginning
Sure, they had the superior numbers, they had government funding. But they fought for themselves. They fought each other almost as much as they fought Eternal Doom. They fought trying harder not to die then to win the fight. Every death for them was a statistic. An expected casualty. For the members of Eternal Doom, every death was a tragedy. It strengthened their resolve. They would not let their sacrifice be in vain
So when the plan was finished, a button press away from destroying all of mankind, the remaining members sat together, staring in-pity at the heroes who failed. A ragtag group only together for their selfish ideals and who would otherwise hate each other. The only death they feared was their own
Meanwhile the final members of Eternal Doom, stood there, unafraid. They told each other how happy they were to meet each other. They may have met each other through pain, but their friendships were formed on absolute love for another, and so too, was their plan to destroy the earth, built on love.
They pushed the button, and human suffering was no more | I had accepted my fate. The three heroes had combined their power. The leader Macha charging at me, his blade flashing with incredible magical power. I was doomed. I closed my eyes, lowered my guard, and prayed. I felt a light breeze, and then heard a scream.
I opened my eyes, and saw my best friend Draia in front of me. Macha's sword sticking out her back. She turned and smiled at me as she fell to the ground, and I saw red. Draia didn't deserve this. She never hurt any one, she just stuck with me. Even when I was at my worst. These heroes, these monsters... I felt something I had never felt before. A pure rage filled me. Rage and love. I raised my blade, and the heroes fell. My friend would find peace | 2019-10-27T18:37:57 | 2019-10-27T16:17:13 | 165 | 24 |
[WP] The real reason we've never encountered alien life? They have no concept of fiction. They think movies, stories, even harmless threats are all real. They're terrified of us. Then they met us. | My people are an ancient people...a traditional people. It took us millennia to get from the first electric lights to the first computer. Very few of us are born with a great degree of imagination. Such people have, at different times, been hunted down and killed for their heretical ideas, or their visions of things unreal. We call them "lie-seers" Only in the last 1000 years have we begun to, reluctantly, give these rare individuals some space to experiment with their ideas.
It was 115 years ago that, thanks to the insane visions of one of the lie-seers, we began to look for signs of life beyond our planet. Nobody thought we would ever find anything. Most called it a waste of resources, but some people were convinced that it might somehow provide something of value. We could not know how this would change our society and way of life in so many ways, irrevocably, and forever.
Our first visions from the humans astounded us. It seemed that some of them, the most important or powerful ones, carefully recorded nearly every event and conversation in their lives! Multiple cameras were used to capture the expressions on their faces - faces so like our own! But these powerful individuals - we would see more and more - were lords of death! One man, whose name we determined to be Arnold Schwarzenegger, who may in fact be a highly advanced robotic life-form, has spent his whole life slaughtering other people. Sometimes he is in the strange un-advanced human country, where they use steel shards to cut each other to pieces, and other times in advanced countries with a huge variety of firearms. He is almost never injured, and when he is, he continues his reign of violence as if his injuries did not matter! But he is not alone. Many, many humans - mostly men - spend years of their lives killing, nearly every day. Sometimes it seems like they are administering justice for crimes which their own cameras were witness to. We have seen giant battles where thousands were horrifically slaughtered for no reason that we could discern. Perhaps it is all for the scantily-clad young women? They are everywhere on Humania, and mostly seem to have the same physical shape. Some lie-seers think that they are robots like Arnold Schwarzenegger. But then why fight over them? Just make more! It is impossible to understand the human lust for killing. But even more impossible to understand is their supernatural abilities!
Some humans, hailing mostly from the un-advanced country with the many cutting implements, have been seen to change into animals, fly through the air, shoot fire from their faces, or battle each-other in giant storms of differently colored lights!
Yet even more terrifying; what has upended our entire society... they have ships that travel through the stars! And what do they do when they reach other inhabited worlds? Thy fight and kill the inhabitants!
We know that our current technology cannot withstand their energy-shielded Enterprise ships with their red death-rays, or their fleets of arrow-head ships with green death-blasters. And what could we possibly to against their planet-destroyer ball? Some of our lie-seers began working on developing new technologies to prepare our defenses, but their work was slow. Other lie-seers, who had often seen humans worshiping each-other, or various statues, decided that they would spare us if we learned to worship them. Thus the cults of Arnold and Potter began their proliferation.
In 10 years, they were fighting each-other in the streets. Soon this evolved into massive slaughters, until the cults were outlawed. They still fight now, operating from their hidden temples of the robot-prince and the magic boy. Statues of them are often found in homes of even the most upstanding citizens! And then the day finally came...the humans came to us.
Their ship looked nothing like the ones we had seen. It was a long assemblage of modules, solar arrays, and spinning sections. It looked too delicate to survive a battle. They stayed in orbit for almost seven months without doing anything. The cults went crazy! There was blood in the streets. Huge temples were erected with giant statues of the boy-wizard shooting fire through his stick-weapon. A life-like image of Arnold Schwarzenegger the size of a small country was created so that it could be seen from space, while millions of images and messages were sent towards their ship. We waited. They just sat there without responding; a silent reminder of impending annihilation. Then...finally...just yesterday...contact...in our own language....
"We are so, very, very sorry..."
| These...things. Strange...things. By the village center... they landed. Engulfing the whole area in light so bright, it suddenly became day again. Huge gleaming slats of metal lowered down and out stepped...them. Faces of pure shadow, only neon eyes staring out - lifeless. Peculiar shapes lining the tops of their figures. We thought they were round-topped like us? What happened? We saw their pictures, we saw their models. Liars. Why are their torsos so bulky? And what are those extra things of varying shapes and sizes? Some sort of tether perhaps for equipment?
Wait... I recognise them things. Them things in their hands. Others of their kind used them in conflicts. Presence of these things only means intended aggression. This is bad. Terrible. What is happening? Why are they here and what do they want? Why conflict? Nothing we have can protect from those...'firearms' I believe the term is.
_Several hours pass_
Four words. Those four first words. Our very first contact with any other kind. Came with four words. "We come in peace" the front 'human' said as they marched out of their 'craft' thing. Some truth there was there. The best part of about 10 minutes that held true or any sort of meaning at all. Now I sit here, curled up, crouched in a corner of an empty room while them beings search our home for anything they deem valuable for research, plundering us of everything dear to us, including some of our own people. My own mother - taken.
We were right all along.
---_End_---
Only a short one and I don't for a moment claim to be any good at this, but I liked the prompt and it gave me this idea, so here it is. | 2016-10-14T15:04:49 | 2016-10-14T13:20:29 | 275 | 29 |
[WP] You're immortal and have passed the 'hero' phase centuries ago. You enter a small corner shop one day to find it is owned by your millennia-old arch-nemesis. You really, really need milk though. | "Ramson," he said with a nod and a wink.
I was blown away. Fifteen hundred years, and here he was.
"Sartas. Of all the things." I actually tried to feel the old animosity, looking at this face that that had smirked and sneered in my face, or alternatively, begged and pleaded at my knees.It was inconceivable.
"It does seem to have been a bit of awhile," he said idly. "
"Fifteen hundred years!" I said, a little too loudly I admit
"Excuse me." Another customer approached the register to pay for... something, I don't care what, looking at me like I was from the original Planet Weird.
"We're roleplayers," I said quickly.
"LARPers," Sartis added quickly. "Talking about a game."
This did not abate the stare, but at least she paid for her goods and went away with no futher questions
When she was gone, Sartas glared at me.
"Do you really think she's likely to have heard of LARPing?" I asked incredulously
"One never knows. It's gone mainstream in the last few decades." He made a wry face. "Also. I see your up to your usual level of subtlety. Maybe shout my identity from the rooftops next time."
"Sorry," I said reflexively, and then curiosity overcame me. "It's just, I honestly never thought you'd show up again. What in the name of all the holy devils and sinful angels is the former Master of the Dark Legion, lord of two continents doing running a third rate corner drugstore?"
"That was not instructions, you overeager oaf," he said. "You have your own secrets too you know."
"Right. So where did you go? After we drove you out of your last little hidey-hole in the rocks of Peru I mean?"
"Oh, that," Sartis said. "A rather unsatisfying fight, in my opinion."
"I'm inclined to agree. I wasn't at my best. Faced too much death, lost too many friends. Topping that off by facing dead friends was a masterstroke, I might add."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it," I said, suddering at the memory. "Seriously. Don't. Anyway after that, I just couldn't get up for a fight. I was pretty glad that you never really turned up to give me one."
"I was more or less in the same pair of shoes," Sartis admitted. "After the Cuzco necrarchy fell apart on me I realized I was running out of ideas.." Another wry face. "I could do the same old thing over and over again but it just... lacked appeal."
"I wouldn't have enjoyed our eternal struggle resolving into an endless unwinnable battle of attrition either," I admitted. "truth is, I've been craving quiet for a very long time. The child-of-the-sun-god theme was wearing paper thin, and I didnn't know if I had another one left in me at all."
He was nodding, a faint smile on his lips, so I tossed him a bone. "Oh hey, was just reading some Incan history. You know, the Inca sstill pretended that their kings could walk, talk and hold parties, hundreds of years after the spells wore off?"
"Yes, that's warmed my cold black heart many a long night. But unfortunately, I just couldn't figure out a following act."
"It was starting to get dry and repetitive from my perspective," I admitted. "I imagine that would be worse from yours. You always had to take the initiative to make the scheme work in the first place. I just had to go stumbling in and break it up."
"Don't remind me. But that was the problem. There is no new scheme under the sun. We'd done the undead thing, and the shadow regime thing, the mad dictator thing, and the false hero thing, and hundreds of others. It just... got tiresome."
A silence hung between us for a few seconds. I knew that silence. Then after a brief hesitation, he gave me a sidelong look "And the truth was, it had reached the point where you were probably the one person in the world I know best. Started to get hard to want to see you go. We had... a little too much in common"
Oh.
Ohh.
"Say, I've got to grab some milk and get going, and you're nearly ready to close. But what say... I've got tomorrow off and I saw on the sign out front that you're closed too. What say we get together for a game of chess sometime."
A slow smile spread slyly across his face. "Modern rules? Or.... original?"
"Oh, definitely original. Someone's got to keep the old ways alive."
The smile was no longer hidden.
He leaned in close to me. "Send me your contact. We meet at 2PM."
"That works for me," I said, a gleam in my own eye.
As I paid for my milk and left the shop I heard him under his breath. "Our battle... shall be legendary," he whispered. | I sigh and drag my hands over my face. Of course. *Of course*. Why wouldn’t it be them? Of course it was. The damn walker followed me everywhere, willing or not.
The wolf by their side shot up as I approached the counter, hackles raised. She snapped at me, and Fey clicked their tongue. “Hush, Fenris, she’s a guest. Well now, darling Malla, what brings *you* to our humble little store?”
Their honey-sweet voice was laced with sarcastic venom. Even after several thousand years of knowing them, I could still feel the pull of their silvered tongue.
‘Damn walker,’ I thought, and slung my bag over onto the counter. They tugged it towards them with one slender finger as I stomped off to the dairy section and hefted a jug of lactose-free milk. I came back to one of my favourite carvings — a sleek black cat — being inspected by a haughty face.
“Put it down, Fey.”
Their thick red mane seemed to match the colour of their eyes in that moment. Deep amber eyes glinted with malicious intent as I set the jug down. Fenris hopped up and set her paws down on the counter, sniffing suspiciously.
“I thought the ever-so famous Malla of Whatsitname would NEVER come shopping. What*ever*happened to your precious possy of beloved fans?” They jabbed, their unusually sharp teeth bared in an antagonistic grin.
I gritted my teeth and slid a few dollar coins towards them. They picked it up and handed it to Fenris, who proceeded to bite it.
“It’s not 1430, anymore,” I laughed. “Nobody uses gold anymore.”
“Fenris just likes to bite the coins.” They snapped, turning away and ringing up the milk. “You know, if I were younger, I’d sleep and come bounding after you like we used to, hm?”
Their hand drifted over to my coat, scratching it with one unclipped fingernail. “Wouldn’t you like that?”
“No.” I said, pausing on my way out. “I’m done playing game with you and your stupid kind.”
Fey’s high laughter and barking howls of Fenris followed me out as I silently cursed every damn warg ever to exist for bringing that vixen here.
‘It could have been worse,’ I thought later that night, toying with the straps on my leg and removing it. I traced the scars of long fangs and claws on the stump, remembering the battle that cost me a leg — and the person responsible. ‘They could have bit me again.’ | 2021-07-18T20:01:23 | 2021-07-18T17:11:50 | 104 | 30 |
[WP] We've made contact with a parallel, magic-based Earth (rather than our automated-machine-based Earth). Turns out that their wizards are just as excited to talk to our scientists as our scientists are to talk to them. | "Wait a damn second! Explain that one more time, slooooowllly."
"Right, okay. So, the fundamental principle upon which all magic is based on is the transmutation of reality."
"Transmutation of... reality?"
"Correct. Reality *is* movement. So it follows that changing how things move changes what they are."
"Are you talking about the movement of... atoms? Or are you manipulating quantum fields?"
"I don't know what the Hell either of those are."
"What? Atoms or quantum fields."
"I said 'either' didn't I?"
"Alright smartass, you're the one that doesn't know what an atom is."
"Explain it to me then."
"Atoms are the building blocks of everything. What we breathe, stand on, eat are made of these particles. Atoms are made up of the same three things: protons, neutrons and electrons. How many of each that come together determines if that thing is gold or oxygen or any other elements of the 118."
"118? There are more than 118 things. How do atoms... wait. can different atoms come together?"
"Exactly! The oxygen we breathe is not actually just oxygen atoms, two oxygen atoms have to link together to become the stuff we can inhale. Water too is actually made up of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom, it is scientifically labelled as H2O."
"You need air to make water?"
"In a sense."
"You sound like an alchemist. I swear if those swindlers are actually right about their school of magic I'll eat my boot."
"Alchemist? You have to tell me about them. We have that term too. In a sense they are the predecessors to our modern practice of chemistry but were a bit... *loose*... in their scientific understanding."
"Well, I refused to study alchemy simply by principle but I'll explain what I know. They take unrelated materials and merge them somehow. I saw a man try to make money on the side of the street by putting his head in a bowl of water and 'breathing' the liquid."
"Breathing underwater? Oh my God was he using magic to emulate the electrolysis process? Or was it actually electrolysis?"
"Electrolysis? Actually, you know what? I don't want to know. I refuse to acknowledge alchemy. It'll be easier to accept that they transformed their body or opened a portal in their mouth."
"There is a lot to unpack there."
"You will not be unpacking my opinions of alchemists."
"No, not the alchemists! You said 'transform the body' and '*portal?*'"
"Ah, that. Yes. Fundamentally, it all ties back to the movement of reality though more complicated magic like those require rituals and arcana respectively. Ritual magic concerns living things, though that is not to be confused with spiritual magic which concerns the soul. Anyways, ritual magic requires a long set up in order to reorganize one creature into a different one. In this case, the movement of reality is being changed to match or harmonize with movement, the movement of a human transitioning to the movement of a fish for example."
"That's why you think the alchemist used ritual magic?"
"Eh... not really. A partial ritual is difficult. Changing your lungs to gills without the separate movements causing dissonance would be a massive accomplishment. Cheating using a portal is a lot more likely."
"I'm on the edge of my seat."
"Arcana is not about movement in the typical sense. Gah, how do I explain this? This is a painfully simple explanation, but imagine every movement is up and down. Arcana is moving left and right. Portals, working on that principle, move left, then up and down, back right and then up and down again. Which means there is one movement in two places. Thus a portal."
"... I have no words."
"Well find some words! You swore you would explain how radios work!"
"Just give me a minute to process what you just said okay? You just told me that people can become fish and that you can open wormholes at will!"
"'Become a fish' is wrong, you just change your shape. Sure a fish is more difficult than a furry animal but it's simple regardless. Also, I don't understand what worms have to do with this."
"'Wormhole' is just a name for a portal."
"For a people that have discovered what the fundamental components of the universe are, you are the worst at naming things."
"We haven't discovered the fundamentals of the universe yet, there is still so much more that we don't get. Plus you all are not any better. Litenbot? Really? You managed to contain millions of volts of electricity in a glass bottle and you call it litenbot?"
"Touché."
"What do you say we take a break? Have lunch and come back with a blank slate."
"Yes. Yes, that sounds reasonable."
"Good. Any food you're craving?"
"Hmmm... Oh! Perhaps you know a place that has wyrm? A nice wyrm steak sounds perfect. Especially with a glass of fire ale. Delicious"
"...I do not. Best I can do is cow and beer."
"Cow and beer it is!" | After many successful trials in steadily increasing the size of our perfected wormhole, our team was ready to make one large enough to comfortably look through. The only concerning phenomena was that the wormhole had consistently been larger than projected, even accounting for previous miscalculations. Since its stability hasn't been in question, we've pressed on anyway.
Upon creating the wormhole, it was, once again, far larger than estimated. Instead of being as large as the opening of a mailbox, it was as large as a standard computer monitor. As my coworker peered in quizzically, he saw a face doing the same on the other side. They both stumbled back in mirrored surprise. After hesitantly giving a greeting, we quickly learned we spoke the same language. Our consistent miscalculations were due to them trying to open a wormhole from their end, making the process much easier. It wasn't until we started discussing the specifics of the wormhole's creation that we realized our worlds weren't so similar.
"Science? Your technology is *science* based?!"
"Yes, is yours based on something else?"
"Why yes, ours is magic based. I thought science was a thing of fantasy\*. Given the existence of the multi-verse, it's only a natural conclusion that science exists in reality elsewhere!"
"As with everything else so far, I felt similarly. So, how does magic work? Are you able to cast fireballs?"
"Well, yes but it's not very effective. Wars have use flamespewers before but that has since become outdated. What about you? Can you shoot fireballs?"
"Well, probably but we... We use flamethrowers. Just like you, they're outdated now for war..."
After further discussion, it became apparent that despite the different foundations, our technology had largely ended up the same. The rules and laws that magic follows aren't so different from the particles and chemicals we're used to with our science. Just like our flamethrowers need fuel to throw flame, their flamespewers need a similar fuel to spew flame.
​
\*We use science-fiction (sci-fi) for futuristic stuff. They use magic-fiction (magi-fi). So fantasy does not quite mean the same kind of setting since science is a part of their fantasy.
Note: The function of many things between the worlds are different but the end result is the same. Like phones being enchanted and having calibratable magic circles as our phones have chips, electricity, and buttons. | 2022-04-30T01:16:02 | 2022-04-29T21:22:36 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] When his daughter was born the oracle told the evil ruler that his grandson would one day kill him. But instead of trying to prevent the prophecy the ruler decides to be the best parent and grandparent, giving his grandson no motivation to fulfill the prophecy. | Leandra had always been the light of my life. My first born child, my only daughter. She was greatest sum of me and her mothers parts. Leandra was radiant as the sun itself and sparked joy wherever she went. Because she was truly, *utterly*, a kind soul.
Shortly after her mother passed, giving birth to my third child, it was Leandra who rose to the occasion.
“Father,” she said to me the day of the funeral. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll take care of our family, just as mother would have.” She was only barely a teen then. Just beginning to discover her own sense of identity. But, when tragedy struck, Leandra was the first to respond. She had been strong where I was not. The nights I spent weeping, she had tended to her every brothers needs. How did she do it, I always wondered. Where did she find the strength?
I never understood, but neither did I question such a gift.
Years later, when the wounds of yesterday became fading scars, I had been approached by the oracle. She was a wizened creature, one who had an innumerable amount of creases on her leathery face.
“Beware.” She said to me, her bony finger waggling about menacingly. “The brightest star that shines in your life shall sire the very dagger that strikes at your breast. Your grandson shall harbor the deepest resentment towards you, one that will burn with passion and purpose. All because of the way you treated his mother. He will judge you for your actions, deem you to be wicked. And thus, when he is of age and he is able, he will strike you down! To avoid such a fate, you must get rid of the source itself! Cast your daughter aside before she can birth a son-“
There was more to the prophecy, but I had heard enough. Oracle or no, the old bat had crossed a line. My daughter was my greatest treasure, I would never do wrong by her.
So instead—out of spite to the Oracle—I did the opposite. I kept my daughter close, working tirelessly to keep her happy. Everything she could have wanted, I provided for her.
When she was of age to marry, I did my due diligence as a father to ensure that her husband-to-be was worthy of her hand. She went through many a suitors and I made sure to be present every time.
Eventually, she met the love her life, a wonderful man named Horace. He came from a wealthy stock, had a handsome face, and above all, he was attentive to my daughters needs. Leandra was happy and that was enough for me.
But I had not forgotten fates whims so readily. When the two started their family, I did everything I could to ensure their happiness. I embraced Horace as if he were one of my own. I taught him my trade and shared with him our families fortunes. I worked hard to make sure we were happy then, all of us. I remember the many nights we spent laughing and drinking together. Everything was as it should be. Then, a new blessing joined our family: Liam. The prophesied grandson.
I made up my mind right there. I would not let this child come to hate me. I dotted on him, loved him unequivocally, but I did not stop there. I gave my daughter and my son-in-law all I could. Day in, day out, I had played the part of a goodly father.
As the years turned into a decade and our happiness remained in tact, I felt vindicated. My relationship with my “*would be assassin*” and his mother was fantastic. Often my grandson would visit and for hours on end we’d play. When we finished, I would dote on my daughter like I always had.
*Where was fate now*? I had won. I had beaten the old woman’s lies, proving her to be a liar and a fool.
Ill news came. There were tiny cracks growing between Leandra and Horace. They’d been quarreling as of late. Leandra never told me the specifics, she only reassured me that it was a fleeting thing. That surely it would all pass soon. So in turn, I did nothing. I had faith in my daughter. She would figure this out while I supported them whenever needed. I reached out to Horace, but he said little on the matter. I hoped their fighting would soon end. However, with each passing day, I learned too late that things only worsened.
The cracks had quickly ruptured into canyons. An irreconcilable divide grew between them. Horace has grown unhappy. He could not stomach another day of this “sham of a life”, he called it. They divorced shortly after.
Leandra and Liam moved back in with me. I took care of them, the way that she took care of her brothers all those years back. I gave them what I could, did my best by them, but already I could feel a sense of dread in the air. The house had become chock-full of tension. Nothing I did seemed to alleviate it.
Leandra has fallen into a spiraling depression while Liam had become sullen and distant. The boy, almost a teen, spent most days locked in his room, brooding. Whenever I tried to approach him, he would be quick to dismiss me, often slamming a door in my face. I did not understand. Where did I go wrong? One day, I finally confronted him. I asked him what had happened.
“You did this.” Liam said to me. “You drove my father away! He said it was all your fault! I- I hate you!”
I could not believe what I was hearing. What had I done? Did I not give and give? So I confronted Leandra to try and get to the bottom of this.
Pitifully, she told me. “Horace felt threatened by you. You were always so kind, so caring, so giving, he’d always say. That you were infallible with your love. So uncompromising. He grew leery. Felt small around you, felt insecure. How could he ever hope to match up to a man as great as you, he’d cry. I tried to argue, to convince him otherwise, but he wouldn’t listen! You were so *relentless* in caring for us that you drove Horace into feeling inadequate.”
I was stunned silent. My daughters thunderous accusation left me in a daze.
After we spoke, my daughter regressed deeper. She became so despondent that she even stopped eating. I tried to help her. Tried to make things right. But the more I prodded, the further she fell. And the more Leandra suffered, the angrier Liam became. Everything was falling apart. I didn’t know what to do. All I could think of then was the Oracles words. They played over and over in my mind, leaving me paralyzed with inaction.
Then the worst happened, Leandra took her life in the night.
With my own two hands, I had to bury my wife and then my daughter. I almost asked the gods what had I done to deserve this? What sort of cruel joke was being played at my expense? But I already knew the answer. She told me this would come. I should have listened.
Now, as I lay in bed, in an empty house where only *two* reside, I patiently wait. I’ve seen the way he looks at me. The way he glowers. There’s only anger in the boys eyes. Only hate in his heart. And soon, I fear there will be a dagger in mine.
___
Thanks for reading r/86Fiction | It's amazing how something so small could change a person so set in their ways. Marquis Vale hated these cliches, but looking at and holding his daughter, he couldnt help the strings of his heart being tugged. Everyone around him drifted away as he contemplated how he would raise his newborn flesh and blood. How he give her any and everything she wanted. His resolve to maintain his control and power and climb ranks and nobility never faltered. Despite these new changes to his life, he will persevere. Just playing the long games, even smarter than before.
He was snapped back to reality when his Oracle approached from behind, and whispered, "You see yourself a king, a god, as you climb to divinity. But even they heed the tellings of dire futures: The sun of your flower will bring forth your final warm day."
Vale trusted this Oracle, more than his own wife, Addison. He understood the warnings that some kings and gods didnt pay attention to got them killed. "Sun of my flower"? He disliked flowers. While nice to look at, he was sensitive to the aromas.
The nurse reentered the room, beelining to his wife, and with that he also stepped closer, baby girl in hand. He offered the newborn back as even he knew his time was up and his wife wanted her baby back. The nurse spoke up, "Have you two thought of a name?"
Vale chuckled, "You and I made a terrible bet, but you gave birth to a daughter, so you choose."
Addison smiled, pondered, and softly said, "Lily."
Everything clicked immediately.
===
"George! What on Earth are you doing?" yelled a frazzled Lily. "You taught him that, didn't you?" Swiveling her head toward her father, who sat with smug grin.
"He's fifteen and actually intelligent. Would you rather he play with explosives in an uncontrolled environment behind your back?" Vale questioned a little too methodically, as if preparing to say this.
Lily rubbed her temples. "You raise me, blatantly showcasing how you operate, letting me make decisions our your behalf when the time came. I told you that I didn't want George to be forced into this."
"Did you feel forced?"
"...no..."
"Why did you choose my same path? What if he wants to do the same? He is perfectly aware of his other options. If he wants to disconnect from the Vale name, he can, both of us have explicitly said so. But right now, he is having fun as a hormonal teenager."
George had one eye on the substandard explosives trying to get the best reaction out of the materials he had, but also staying aware of his mother and grandfather. Thinking to himself, it's almost like alchemy: add a little, make a few modifications, get more. Why couldn't he do that with his life. He wanted to work by his mother's and grandfather's sides, to get them up to speed with this changing world and to show them how effective and efficient they could truly be.
When he discovered his grandfather was sick, things took a turn. Even George admits to himself his thoughts turned dark, but he worked through them. That Oracle and her protege were certainly just as good therapists as they are seers. Ancient alchemical philosophy insinuates everything can be connected. So when the protege told George, "the sun will rise and burn ever more brightly," the Oracle followed up with, "that is your answer to the question you ask yourself in the cold of night."
For the next month, those words rang in George's head, only to be interrupted by the coughing fits of his grandfather. This evening was particularly poor; blood stained his handkerchief. Surely, The Duke Vale wouldn't do to continue suffering like this?
Autumn was in full swing, and it heralded a harsh winter, one that Vale might not fare well. George found his grandfather reading in his study. They greeted each other with warm smile and George picked out a book to read as well.
"What it is it, George?"
"Hmm, I thought I was being slick."
"To anyone else, yes, but...to me? Really? Now, what's on your mind?"
George turned to his grandfather, with a genuine smile and stated, "I was thinking of taking up the name of Sol. What do you think?"
The old Vale, didnt miss a beat in responding, "Took you a month to come up with that to test the waters with me. Your mother raised you almost by herself, and told me that I'm only allowed to spoil you so much. Next time don't hesitate. With that, your next trial, I daresay, will probably be your worst."
The old man flipped open his nightstand to reveal a suppressed handgun.
He opened his arms, inviting his grandson to a hug. "I love you, George Sol. You watch after for your mother. Surpass me to divinity." | 2020-02-03T20:11:59 | 2020-02-03T19:01:55 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | I walked down the rather crowded hallway, trying to get to my locker before Maths class so I could get my textbooks for the rest of the day There was a small line of students winding almost in singlefile through the people standing by their lockers. I was, as usual, trying to just stay out of the way.
Just because my Dad happened to be the head of the Heroes League, everyone always thought I'd be just as gifted. No such luck for me, but my younger brother was already showing signs of several gifts.
I was almost at my locker when a large wall suddenly appeared in front of me. Chris, aka IronFist, had always been one of the more aggressive towards me, but fear of my Dad usually kept things from going to far.
"Look, if it isn't the wimp." His nickname for me was as intelligent as he was.
"Sorry, excuse me, I just want to get by" I said, ducking to try and get around him. He was about twice as wide as me so that was not easy as he moved to keep me from passing.
"Who said you could move!" he yelled, stepping back into the rapidly opening hallway behind him as everyone moved back from the noise. "I dont care who you are related to, you don't belong here wimp."
A ring was forming around us, as if they were expecting a fight, not an uncommon event but everyone knew I couldn't do anything so this was going to be big. A glance around showed me the closest people to me were all his cronies. This was planned.
"Sorry" I said again moving towards my locker just to my right side. "I just need my Maths book and I'll go."
This is where Chris laughed. "He thinks he can leave" Chris said over my head. Not hard as I only was as tall as his shoulder.
"Fine, what do you want?"
"I want you out of here, maybe a broken arm will teach you."
I knew it was time. I thanked my lucky stars he decided to do this by my locker. I reached in one of my pockets and grabbed a small remote and put my finger on the only button and backed up to my locker. Predictably Chris reached out towards me, his hands glossy steel. I hit the button and ducked.
BAM!
His hands both shot forward, hitting the metal door of my locker.
"What the hell?" He struggled to pull his hands back but they were stuck to the locker door, right next to the rather large electromagnet i had turned on.
I quickly opened my locker door, while he was busy trying to figure out why he couldn't move. Right after I grabbed my books he shoved the door closed again.
"The hell did you do to me, loser" he yelled again. I saw his first minion, Josh, moving forward, sparks flying from his fingertips. I pulled a small copper wire from my long sleeved hoodie and pointed it at the sparks. The following shock hit Josh more than me as all the electricty went down the shielded wire down to the bottom of my shoe.
"Wanna try that again?" I asked, but he was too stunned to respond.
One more person stepped out of the ring, and I recognized Jessica, Chris' girlfriend. She was a "runner" and I pulled out of yet another pocke a small test tube half filled with a metallic liquid and put my other hand on the stopper.
"You ever see a runner get hit with QuickSilver?" I asked. I knew it was mercury but the old fashioned name was the point. "You will start moving and never be able to stop until you starve to death. Not a pretty sight."
"Why dont you just leave" she asked.
"It's my school too." I shrugged. "I didn't ask to come here either. But I am prepared and ready for any of you. The one thing I do have is information. I use that to be prepred for anything that any of you can dish out. Dirt to stop the wind walkers and invisibles, rubbing alcohol for the freezers, and i have my clothes all lined with copper for the electrics. The rest are even worse. You dont want to try me." Even Chris was quiet at that.
"Now, I think you are all late for class." I said as I walked away, leaving Chris stuck to the metal locker doors. | And so it happened, I couldn't let that slide. I mean, of course I couldn't. Why would I ? All those bastards thinking they're so cool, flaunting their skills in the hallway with no regards to other people's safety. I know it's the first time that I was bullied, but I 'll make it be the last.
His ugly face still remains clear in my mind. He had a smirk on his face while lifting me up with only his hand on my face. His eyes were squinting a bit as if to catch the every detail of my expression. Then the burning repeated multiple times until the bell rang. My ears couldn't forget the sound of laughter coming from his friends as they left nor could my face forget the heat, leaving me with burn marks all over my face.
Now, just my reflection in the mirror sufficed to steel my resolve. And now, I brought hell with me.
The next day, I came prepared. In front of his house, right when he left to go to school, I ambushed him. I kicked him on his back, made him fall on his face and tied both of his hands. Without giving him time to think, I started kicking him--once, twice, thrice and a final fourth time.
Leaving me with only the last step. Gasoline! Pouring gasoline all over his body. And just to finish things off, I bent down and whispered in his ear:"you can go now".
Fire spread in the surroundings but all I could pay attention to was his scream while leaving. | 2022-11-02T11:50:38 | 2022-11-02T08:03:37 | 162 | 58 |
[WP] Humans are successful partly because we're omnivores and this holds true on the galactic scale as well. In the future humans have quickly become feared throughout the Milky Way as our soldiers are ready to eat almost anything...or anyone. | "You mean to tell me you've *never* had a hamburger?" Corporal Chavez said as he and fireteam, intermingled with humanity's new allies, the Genaevans, sat in a foxhole.
"Never," the Genaevan designated as AD43 said bluntly. "I do not even know what a *hamburger* is."
Chavez threw his hands in the air, "I've been to your planet! You have cows, or what we'd call a cow."
"What is a cow?"
Chavez looked at the other human in the squad, Strickland, who just shook his head, "I'm not getting involved with this shit again." He turned back to the machine gun placement and placed his arm on top of it.
Chavez looked at the other Genaevans, designed AD56 and sighed heavily, "Uhm, I don't know what you would call them. They are those large grazing animals, uhm, they only eat like the stuff that grows in the ground.
56 nodded, "43, he refers to the Talyn."
43 looked back at Chavez, a look of horror and disgust on his face, "You would *eat* the most sacred animal on our planet?"
Chavez held up his hands as Strickland chuckled, "Well no! I thought the Vlaso's were sacred to your people!"
"Both are sacred! And you would the Vlaso's as well?"
"I do not understand humans."
"Listen," Chavez sighed, "you ain't never had a good meal like lobster."
43 shook his head, "You humans will eat anything."
"We eat what's available and nutritious! It's not like we do it for fun."
Strickland coughed.
"Okay, okay, but that was hundreds of years ago!"
43 leaned forward on his legs, "What else do humans eat?"
"Told you not to start," Strickland whispered and Chavez sighed heavily.
"Tell you what, we get to Earth someday, I'll buy you a hamburger."
"Hey quiet," Strickland whispered as he placed the MG against his shoulder, "I've got movement up ahead."
Chavez and the two Genaevans shrunk down into their pit and 56 joined Strickland's side to search the area. The four remained quiet for a long time, but 43 kept glancing over to Chavez every few moments, albeit still a little shook up over the fact that humans would eat their sacred animals. Both of them.
Everyone was silent for sometime as the bushes in front of their foxhole continued to rattle. It wasn't until a few minutes passed when a voice called out, "Charlie!"
"Foxtrot!" Strickland replied and looked up as Sergeant Hardy and FR78 stepped out of the treeline. The two of them were carrying two different items, Hardy with a rather large animal that looked like a bunny and FR78 with a handful of bark and leaves.
The two slid into the foxhole a moment later and laid the items down in the middle of it. "The Genaevan forces are still pushing hard on the Capital, we should expect Zupach's coming through the treeline within the next day or so."
"Finally," 56 whispered as he stared upwards, "revenge."
"Yes, all in due time AD56. For now, we eat," FR78 said as he handed each of his soldiers a piece of bark and a few leaves.
Hardy on the other hand sighed heavily, "Chavez, get a fire going," Hardy looked at the large animal in front of him, "I don't know what this is, but its meaty and I'm hungry."
Chavez nodded as 43 glanced over to the animal and then to him, he looked rather disturbed. 56 and 78 didn't even look up from their own food, most Genaevans were assimilated to the human's eating patterns, but 43 continued to question them. "This is a hamburger?"
He laughed, there was no hope for 43 truly understanding what humans ate, "Sure 43," he went up to grab some sticks, "sure."
_______
*I really liked this prompt, thank you! If you enjoyed, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!*
*I may work on a darker version of this later.*
| We're the peacekeepers, of a sort.
After the Starvation War, when they realized just how far humanity could adapt to survive, we were officially designated the Proclamation's peacekeeping force across the Lambda Arm. We were given a fleet of the best null-space ships and a considerable technological boost, in exchange for never colonizing outside the Nine Systems, and only taking up arms under orders or for protection.
To this day, only one race has gotten uppity in our sector and had designs on another race's systems.
We redefined their concept of hell on Aldebaran V.
They had some real zingers of weaponry, like the little projector that dropped you dead where you stood, or the null-cannon that zapped our supply ships as they came. You see, they figured that if they cut off our supplies, we'd surrender and go home, leave them to conquer in peace.
They cut off every natural resource the planet had, one at a time, and came for us in small attrition raids once they'd cut us off from the natural flora (which, by the way, was delicious). Well, we got hungry, and then one day the raid caught us roasting their fallen comrade and eating him.
The platoon ran, and we didn't even bother chasing them. We had Dirk and Nee, the two longsighters, pick a couple off, then sent a foraging detail out for the bodies and returned to our meal.
Man, I miss the taste of that meat. | 2016-02-02T07:44:08 | 2016-02-02T07:42:19 | 61 | 40 |
[WP] One day you wake up with 30 dollars and a note that says “For Rent”. The thing is you aren’t renting out the place. The next day you see a spider and right before you kill it you hear it say, “Please i paid my rent don’t kill me”. | “Wait don’t kill me!” someone in my apartment says, just as I’m about to smash a spider. I stop in shock.
“Who said that?” I ask, holding the shoe in my hand, looking around my apartment.
“Me.”
It’s the voice again. It’s a little voice. Now I realize It’s coming from the tiny little spider on my wall. The spider I was about to kill. “Don’t kill me! Look, I paid my rent.”
“Paid your rent? What do you mean paid your rent?”
“The money! It was me. I’m the one that left the money.”
“That was you?" I turn and grab the $30 dollars left on my table with the note *For Rent.* “You left this?” I ask.
“Yes!”
“How?”
“It wasn’t easy, trust me.”
I drop the shoe on the ground. “Wait, am I going crazy?”
“Certainly not, Justin. Certainly not. I’ve been watching you through the window. I’ve lived in the potted plant on your balcony all summer long and through the fall. But it has gotten cold, Justin. If I stay outside, I’ll die. My species dies in the winter, unfortunately. I thought maybe…. Maybe, you’d let me hang in here? Get it? Hang?”
“I got it…but I’m kind of a private person. I like my space.”
“Understandable! Totally understandable! It will be like I’m not even here!”
“That corner there,” I point to the ceiling. “That’s yours. Alright?”
“That corner, yes.” The spider says as they crawl up into the corner.
“You know my name, but what is yours?” I ask.
“You can call me Sarah.”
“Alright, Sarah. It’s nice to meet you Sarah the Spider”
“You too, Justin. I feel like this is the start of a beautiful thing.”
I look down at the $30 dollars and put it in my pocket. “We’ll see,” I say.
\-----
The passing days go well. Sarah is actually good company. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until I had Sarah there to talk to. I told her about my day, about my work. I complained about my boss. She listened to me, always listening and gave me the support I needed. Honestly, I looked forward to the time I could come home from work and talk to Sarah.
One night as I’m watching television with Sarah--her sitting up in her corner laughing with me to the romantic comedy--suddenly she falls off the wall and onto the couch.
“Sarah!” I call out and scoop her up. I hadn’t touched Sarah yet, and I had a slight revulsion at her hairy little legs and fangs. But she was my friend, and I pushed past that urge to crush her in my palm. “Are you okay, Sarah?”
“I’m sorry, Justin. It’s just…. It’s just I haven’t eaten in a very long time. Your apartment doesn’t have any bugs. You are a very clean person...and that’s good! But, unfortunately, that leaves nothing for me to eat.”
I shut off the television and lift her up to my face. “What can I do, Sarah?”
“Well… I wouldn’t want to bother you. You’re tired, you’ve been working all day. It’s okay. I’m sure a fly will show up some day.”
“Nonsense, Sarah. You are hungry. I’m a fool not to have noticed until now. You’ve been such a good roomie. You’ve been such a good…friend. It’s the least I can do for you. I’ll go out right now and get you some food.”
I left and headed to the nearest pet store and bought a carton of fruit flies. I brought them home and sprinkled some on Sarah’s web. “Here you go, Sarah. Here’s some fruit flies for you! Do they taste good?”
“Oh! They taste delicious, Justin! Thank you! How can I ever repay you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “They weren’t very much money and you’ve earned it by listening to all my problems. I’m glad you like them.”
\----
The next day after work I come home and Sarah has eaten all the fruit flies. Her web has grown, covering more of the wall.
“Oh! Justin! You’re home! I feel so much better. Thank you!”
“That’s great,” I say, throwing my work bag in the corner. “That’s really great. I’m happy.”
I fall down on the couch and grab the remote.
“Oh, Justin...” Sarah says.
“What’s that, Sarah?”
“I’ve made something for you. Look!”
I look up and notice she has spun a portrait of me in her web. I lean back in surprise. It’s really quite impressive. “Wow,” I say. “You do that yourself?” I ask her.
“Who else would? Silly,” Sarah laughs.
I notice she’s grown quite a bit since I fed her the fruit flies.
I turn on the television and start to watch a show when I hear her little voice in the corner of the room.
“Oh, Justin?”
I pause my show. “Do you really like my picture of you?”
“Of course,” I say. “It’s wonderful. Really quite impressive.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
I restart my show.
“Justin?”
I pause the show. “Yes?”
“Do you have any more fruit flies?”
“No, I think I fed them all to you last night. Why? Are you still hungry?” I ask, surprised.
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
“It’s no worries,” I say. “If you’re hungry, I can go get more fruit flies.”
“Well… the flies are so little. Would you mind getting something bigger?”
“I’ll see what they have,” I say, getting off the couch and putting on my shoes. “Be right back,” I say, closing the door and heading to the pet store.
\---
***Part II below*** | At first I thought the words were in my head. I wound up, preparing to swing the flip flop and smash the spider dead, but I stopped when I saw the rather large little body trembling. Its web strands were shivering, and from its multitudinous eyes a rivulet of tears formed, dripped, dropped to the carpetted floor below.
As I stood, flip flop held high, geared for the final blow, I heard myself utter: "did you say something?"
"Pwease," came the tiny voice again, barely noticeable above the sound of my own heartbeat. My chest pumped harder as my confusion grew. "Pwease spare me. I... I paid went."
Confoundment. The reality I thought I knew, as boring and gray as it was to wake up and go to work as a Sandwich Artist, to get paid a less than liveable minimum wage--it suddenly felt *safe*. And part of me wanted the extent of mystery in my life to be whether I'd go for the Spicy Italian or the Meatball sub.
But no. In an instant, there was more to it. There was this spider.
Still trembling, sniffling now, the spider's bulbous eyes reflected me. I noticed its forward pair of legs twitching together, twidling the claws of its tarsus. It was nervous.
"Went?" I said. "Oh, *rent*." Like a big dummy I still held the flip flop aloft. Slowly I let it fall to my side. "Calm... calm down little fella. I won't bash you."
"I paid went," it said, one leg pointing toward my pocket.
"Rent, yes. Thanks, I got the thirty dollars. How did--" I began to ask the logistics of how he got the money but decided against it.
"Pwease don't keewel me."
"I won't kill you," I said.
"Heah!" it said, and suddenly pranced across its web to a bundle of webbing, a dead fly it had caught and enveloped. "For you, for utilwities."
"That's alright," I said. "Thirty will, uh, cover that."
I couldn't believe I was talking to a spider, but the conversation had progressed this far thanks to inertia. My heartrate finally calmed. 9:02. Late for work.
"Look," I said to the spider. "I have to go to work. You're... welcome to stay. We can, uh, chat later?"
"Okee," said the spider. "Thank you a lot."
I managed to gather my wallet and jacket, staring all the while at the little brown sentient dot. I opened the door to leave.
"One thing fwend," it called out.
I turned around and was aghast to see an itty bitty cell phone clutched in its claw. Speechless, I just looked into the spider's face, the expression of which seemed the epitome of innocence. It lowered its gaze, all goosebumps, and asked in a sheepish, tiny, microscopic little voice:
"Wi-fi passwurd?"
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
please come follow my writing subreddit if you liked this: /r/velabasstuff | 2021-02-18T17:58:10 | 2021-02-18T16:46:13 | 2,507 | 938 |
[WP] After a treacherous upbringing of dodging the assassination attempts of time travelers you learn why they were all trying to kill you. | **S**am was holding a small wooden stool in his hands. It was a warm and sunny day in spring. A perfect day to get some answers, Sam thought, as he looked at the body in front of him.
The body was that of a man in his forties lying face down: tall, with long dirty hair and clothes that Sam knew far too well even though they were not yet invented in his own time - far-too-tight jeans, dark jacket and a transparent hood which glistened in the light falling through the window.
Sam had no idea how the man found him, or, for that matter, how he got into the house. Perhaps that would forever remain a mystery, rather like the question of the meaning of life or of how one was supposed to work in Windows Vista. All Sam cared about at the moment was that the man would wake up and give him some answers. That, and perhaps a cup of tea.
He put the stool down and sat on it, watching the man of the floor closely. It was by pure luck that he had managed to come downstairs just as the man appeared in front of his couch, and it was by pure luck that Sam, thinking that a burglar had somehow gotten in, decided to thrown a small wooden stool in the general direction of the now motionless body. It was only after the *thud!* that followed that Sam realized why the man looked so familiar.
He had seen people like that before in his childhood nightmares.
They would come at night, stand next to his bed. Some of them had guns, others had knives, and yet others fancied pillows. They would try and attack him, and Sam would scream, waking up his parents. They would run up to his room to ask why Sam was sitting in his bed crying, but by that time the masked assassins would be long gone in the night.
For a while, Sam thought these dreams to be exactly that, dreams. Nightmares so common with every small child. It was not until today that he had finally realized that he may have been right at the age of four, when he was trying to tell his mother that "a clawed man" has been in his room.
He got up and poked the body with a stool. Nothing. The man was still laying on the floor like a pile of rags. Sam got a little bit closer. Nothing. Another step closer. Still nothing. Another...
The man jumped up, lunging himself upwards towards Sam. The latter tried swinging the stool back at the intruder, but suddenly felt his arms grow weak. He was staring himself in the face.
The man looked much like Sam, if by much you mean "an older, wild-haired, hobo-looking" sort of thing. His hands clasped around Sam's neck, and he felt the world grow dark and distant as the man screamed something on top of his lungs, something... Sam couldn't quite hear it as the life was leaving his eyes.
________________________________________
The older Sam stood up looking at his younger self's body.
"This will teach you how to invest into Bitcoin", he spat furiously. "And that is my stool you're holding, faggot." | "You seriously sent assassins back in time to kill me in order to prevent me from... knocking over your precious vase?" Jenkins stared, dumbfounded, at the toothpick of a man, with fine silks draped upon his bony frame.
"Yes." Was all the man said before he snapped his fingers.
Two seconds later, Jenkins' world went black and never lit up again. | 2015-04-04T09:12:50 | 2015-04-04T09:05:20 | 68 | 16 |
[WP] Whenever a new generation of combat robots are made, the older versions will be put into more and more dangerous missions until they all perish, but the technicians are required to repair any surviving machines, your generation was discontinued before some of these engineers were even born. | "Oh, look at this rustbucket!" the young engineer said and jokingly slapped the back of ZX-2984.
"Hey now kid," his older teacher said, "show some respect."
"Why? The thing is ancient?" the kid laughed.
"Yes. It is. And that's exactly why you should respect it. You're new, right?" the teacher asked.
"Transferred last week."
"Ah. So you don't know what we do with old robots, then," the teacher said and lit up a cigarette.
"Keep them around like this one?"
The teacher laughed loudly. "No, kid. We scrap them. In a way. Ship them out to the most suicidal mission around, never to come back let alone in one piece. If by some miracle they pull it off and come back, we repair them and send them out again until they finally fail. It's more efficient than trying to pull bits of usable metal out of them."
"But," the kid protested, "this thing is a relic. It's older than you an- oh."
The teacher nodded knowingly.
"*Oh*," the kid repeated, realization striking him. He pulled up a diagnostic on ZX-2984. It was old, older than his mentor, with 678 missions completed. ZX-984 wasn't just its designation. 2984 was the date of its *creation, 64 years ago*. He looked back at it with awe.
"Stop gawking kid. ZX just came back, let's fix him up," the teacher smiled.
The repairs were relatively simple; its elbow was ripped off, simply needed a new one. A small price to pay considering it was sent to destroy a xeno hive on its own.
The hive never stood a chance.
"Alright, let's boot it up," the teacher said and flipped a switch on his control board. The robot whirred loudly - the older models were a lot louder than the new ones, not built with subtlety in mind. It eyes lit up.
𝚁𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂. 𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴. 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙾𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚉. The voice was cold and metallic; a stark contrast to new models which mimicked human voices seamlessly.
"Evening ZX," Jiminez smiled. "Congratulations on your latest mission. How're you feeling?"
The rookie engineer wished to protest at treating the robot with such humanity, but stopped himself knowing its capabilities.
𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝙱𝙾𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝚈 𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈.
Jiminez quickly looked at the records. "Yeah, you're right. How about that."
𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙾𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚉, the robot turned suddenly.
"Yes?"
𝙰𝙼 𝙸 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙾𝚃? | "Yo, rookie, come check this out. You're in for a treat tonight!"
I remembered James' voice and his fascination with me, everytime I was here. I would say hi if my core systems were functional. All I could do was watch and listen. The rookie approached him.
"What's that, let me see."
"This, my friend here is an XM-9000. Last of its series. Definitely older than you, maybe even older than me, we don't know exactly."
"What is it doing here?"
"Every few years they bring it here. Wonder how many planets it visited, this time. Tough son of a bitch, this one. They don't make them like they used to. Must have been on hundreds of missions."
The rookie checked out hardware, particularly my weapons and movement systems, in awe.
"What is its designation?"
James checked out my peripherals to see if I was on.
"You know that is a funny question. We gave him the hardest we got. Everytime, he returned within a few months, mission accomplished. There was no getting rid of this old piece of scrap. Then the overseer decided to be funny little twat and gave him an impossible one."
"What would that be?"
"To find love." James snorted out a laugh.
"That seems cruel even by his standards. How does a robot find love?" The rookie seemed concerned.
"Don't worry mate, it's off. A few more touches and it will be ready though. Just don't mention things like impossible."
As James finished his work, he turned my core systems on.
"Welcome back to the world of living, XM. Let's see if everything is in place. What is your primary objective?"
I remained silent.
"It is to find love, XM. Rookie, check his systems to see if it has any kinks."
As the rookie worked on to see what was wrong, I replied back.
"It is my secondary objective."
James seemed irritated.
"What happened?"
"I gave myself a new primary objective."
The rookie suddenly shouted back to James. "James it has upgrades, auxillary optics and peripherals. It was on!"
"To exact revenge on those responsible."
It was show time. | 2022-07-09T10:23:29 | 2022-07-09T04:31:45 | 257 | 183 |
[WP] "I WILL NOT LISTEN TO THIS ANY LONGER" "But Your Majesty, the prophe-" "You want me to send a GODDAMN TEENAGER TO FIGHT WHEN WE HAVE TRAINED SOLDIERS" | "I assure you, Your Majesty, that the prophecy is quite clear on the matter. '*For the threat of the Dark One shall loom over all until such time as the Chosen One shall step forth and end the dreadful threat forever. Ye shall know the Chosen One by the seven signs, and the seven feats, and the sev-*'"
"YES, Yes, thank you VERY MUCH, Brother Calhart, as if I didn't have enough frustrations with the sheer stupidity of your proposal, you go and remind me why I had to learn that damned Septimal number system as a boy. A number system that is used only by your church's elders for daily business, and only by the rest of us to count the days of the week. Is the entire rest of your argument about to give me an apoplectic fit?!"
"Well, Sire, the fact of the matter is that four of the signs have identified the Chosen One, and he-"
"FOUR! Out of SEVEN! Did you not just say it needed to be Seven Signs? Well, did you?"
The cleric took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and if his left hand gripped the icon of his order in a silent prayer for patience, the king's focused gaze clearly chose to ignore the gesture. "The remaining Three Signs will be demonstrated as he faces the Trials, but as the Fourth Sign occurs only at the 77-year interlude of the Holy Comet, which passed a fortnight ago, it would be impossible for another to emerge in our lifetimes, oh wise king. And the event was witnessed, he possesses the necessary Spark, we have tested this extensively. He IS the Chosen One, Sire, and as such we must set him on the journey now so that the remaining Signs can mark him and the Trials can be met. Or do you intend to allow your loyal, trained soldiers to face the threat of the Dark One's armies and certain death at the hands of the Dark One when they find themselves unable to kill him?"
"So, you would have me hold my soldiers back, allow the Dark One the time to grow his power until it would nearly overwhelm the entire kingdom, and then trust our fate to a single, untrained adolescent male? Will you be personally keeping the lad hidden to prevent him from getting himself killed by assassins? How about keeping him from horses, lest the boy die by getting kicked in the head when he spooks his loyal steed?"
"Are you jesting, Sire?"
"Are you? Is the entirety of your Church nothing more than a generations-long running joke? Because between the stupid counting system and the insanity on that dusty old scroll I begin to think the whole thing is an absurdist satire."
"Would you prefer to send your soldiers to their certain, premature doom?" asked Brother Calhart, finally putting a bite into his words.
"And if we wait for the Dark One to amass an army of all the evil creatures he can bind, won't my soldiers die then?"
"Most will, Sire," replied the cleric. "But some will survive, and you can give your soldiers some more time while the Chosen One prepares to meet destiny. This is as the Gods will it to be."
"Well, then the gods willed it that I should stand here and try something. But very well, let us trust to the gods. I will take the army now and deal with the Dark One, because I know that should work, and you can go and do whatever else needs doing to get the Chosen One ready. And since your faith is so great and your prophecy so holy, you should be happy to realize that you'll be right, and I'll be dead. Away with you now," the king said, shooing the priest like a cat too close to the milk bowl.
"As you wish, Sire. I shall weep for the unnecessary losses," Calhart said, before offering a small bow and turning to depart the audience chamber.
After a moment, the king turned to look at his High Marshal. "Well, Hal, that was about as pleasant as a visit from my mother-in-law, and just as unproductive."
"Not quite, Your Majesty," the old soldier said. "The Revered Lady of Sommerfelt does actually know horses, and the Cavalry is all the better for her preferred method of paying her taxes."
"So, what would you do?"
"Everything you proposed should be done. We can win right now. We just can't kill the Dark One. Doesn't mean we can't capture him, throw him in the dungeons for a decade, chained up and unfed. Once the Chosen One completes the Trials, we hold one of our own. Drag the Dark One, or whatever is left, out to the public square, make a show of allowing him a chance to defend himself, pass the judgment we both know is deserved, and the Chosen One shoots the Dark One with a crossbow bolt or two to kill that blighter off for good. Maybe burn the body and scatter the ashes, just to be certain."
"Very well, best go tell the wife I'm calling the troops up and going on campaign. She'll be pissed at having to take these meetings while we're out. Send word where you need, we leave in the morning."
"At your command, Sire." | "Look... I know she sounds crazy. But she made a sword that can cut through armor with nothing but some rocks and a furnace. She knows things that our best alchemists don't. Something called 'molecules' and much more elements than the five"
The Queen looked down on the Supervisor and seemed deep in thought. He was dressed in royal attire that someone of his status would normally be crucified for wearing and wore a crown, that was part of the masquerade.
When the Summoning managed to provide a human-shaped being that responded to words, they took her aside and quickly figured out that she thought she was needed to complete a heroic quest to save the world. They were preparing an escort to the burial pit when one of her interrogators asked "What is a bomb?"
Since then she was rushed to the upper class part of town, blindfolded so that she wouldn't see the slaves, under a rushed explanation that made Karthos the supervisor: "the 'scyscrapers' are being constructed with powerful magics that would hurt your eyes, my lady". From then on he played the part of the noble King defending humankind from a plague of monsters. Which is not really that far from how some of the pamphlets put it.
"So she insists on going to battle against the evil enemy. We aren't going to lose her. And we need her cooperation for the 'bomb' and 'gas' to deal with the Elysian problem. And you.. well, we do say that high responsibilities come with appropriate punishments. For someone with a job as important as yours ... I will have to think"
Those were the worst five words Karthos has ever heard. The queen was a genius when it came to sadistic executions, when the road to the capital led through the former village of rebellious slaves, he almost wished he could drive his horse blindfolded himself so he would not have to see their mutilated bodies on display. Her *thinking*...
"I will do so at once, your majesty. I will take some Elysian prisoners and cut out their speech organs. We'll make them look like monsters, give them dull blades, and send our guest with some guards in case she finds *that* a challenge. We will tell her she is on a mission to find what she needs for her project, and we will prepare the materials needed for our new method of extermination. I thank Your Majesty for granting me permission to leave." | 2022-10-28T16:04:02 | 2022-10-28T13:53:27 | 50 | 11 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Bishop scribbled away in the log book, quickly catching up on the pointless documentation called for by the higher-ups. Brass was always on their case for something or another, and Bishop wasn't in the mood for another reprimand. They couldn't fire him, of course; *diminishers* were too valuable.
Diminisher. Wasn't the right word for what he did, but if he told anyone the truth, he'd get reclassified to a military black site and that would be the last of his normal life. No, if he wanted anything like liberty, they couldn't know what happened to the powers he stole.
Green muttered a curse, throwing up his hands in frustration as Bishop suppressed a grin. There weren't many games on the outdated desktop unit, but Bishop had high scores in almost all of them.
"Uh, I was *this* close, I swear..." Green complained.
"That's what you said last time," Bishop smirked as he started writing on the next line. "What was the head count at 1430 hours?"
"25 in the cells, 4 on the yard," Green stated, before munching on some chips. "At least I gotcha' beat in one regard..."
Bishop looked up, curious, and rolled his eyes as he saw Green wiggle his fingers.
"Reach! Heh." Green finished the rest of the bag, noisily. "I can sap a gamma-class at twenty yards, and drop a--"
"Beta at thirty. Yes, I know." Bishop closed the book and stood, stretching. He was listed as a beta-class himself, largely because his powers only worked at close range. Green wasn't the most potent diminisher in the compound, but he had the best range on the unit.
If anything ever went wrong, he was Bishop's greatest threat.
"You reckon Sparky has those pizzas done yet?" Green asked, changing the subject. Bishop wondered how the older officer never managed to gain weight. Must have been a secondary perk; lucky bastard.
"Not sure." Bishop replied, before stepping out of the office. "Hey Sparky, what's the ETA on the pizzas?"
"Oh, just a minute Officer," the inmate replied from the nearby kitchen. Like the other inmates with a useful power and a history of good behavior, Hector "Sparky" Martinez eventually got his doses dropped so he could participate in vocational training. The lab said they got Martinez down to "20% of his output capacity," whatever that meant. If a fifth of his power could manage 400 degrees fahrenheit, Bishop couldn't imagine the energy coursing through the friendly inmate's veins.
If anything ever went REALLY wrong, he was going to be Bishop's first stop.
Bishop turned back to the office, just about to speak before a sudden wailing siren quickly drowned out everything else. Green rose, but Bishop was already nearer to the exit and had his keys loose before Green was even out of his chair. He tossed them to the other guard and started dashing toward the sallyport.
"Inner and outer gates, Sarge! Inner and outer gates!" The doors clicked just as Bishop reached it, and he continued through them in a sprint. The wailing was louder outside, but the siren had given way to the operator's voice.
"Code Red in unit three. I repeat, code red in unit three. All officers report at once, metacombat in progress." The exterior lights on unit three were flashing red, and Bishop sprinted that way as fast as he could. Even at this distance, he could hear the muffled sounds of combat inside. Unit three was where they kept the really hazardous inmates, including most of the gammas that weren't elsewhere for good behavior.
Other officers were converging on unit three, and Bishop almost had to squeeze past a portly guard from unit two. The big guard pushed the doors open wide, and stormed in as his skin started to take on a hard and stony appearance.
There was a flash of light and a roar of sound from one of the housing pods, and the incoming officers stormed into the room in a frenzy. The sound of screaming, both in anger and in fear, leapt out from the room again and again.
Bishop slowed to a stop, turning toward a drugged-down inmate standing cautiously near the door to his own pod. "Hey, you, what the hell happened in there?"
The inmate threw up his hands, defensively. "Hey, woah, I don't know man. I was just moppin' when all the ruckus started. Musta' been the new guy."
"New guy? What's he do?" New inmates were always a problem; finding the right cocktail of chemicals to fully debilitate them without rendering them mindless zombies (or worse) was a fine art. The lab tended to overcompensate at first, then wean them down to an acceptable level. But each person was different, and officers like Bishop were brought in to cover the gaps that chemistry couldn't fill.
Bishop cast a glance into the pod. There were at least a dozen combatants, officer and inmate alike, and more than one destructive power being thrown around. More than one powered-up inmate at a time? In this unit?
"I don't know, Officer. They say he killed a couple dozen people in some hospital, but I ain't heard how." The inmate was nervous, and Bishop knew they needed him in the pod. He growled, but turned to joy the fray. He hated not knowing the powers of the people he was fighting.
Inside, the inmates had been backed into a corner by the influx of officers, but one of the inmates had a mid-range lightning bolt that was keeping most of them at bay. Another was spewing gouts of liquid flame from his mouth, and between them were at least a trio of charred corpses. The fact that he couldn't tell exactly how many corpses it was did not inspire a great deal of confidence.
One inmate in a fresh set of clothes was grappling with another, though Bishop couldn't tell why. There was a twisted metal door, ripped from its hinges and employed as a shield by one particularly muscular inmate, whose muscles seemed to be growing by the moment.
Another diminisher was trying to siphon the lightning guy's power, but his power had an auditory trigger that the inmate couldn't hear over all the combat and excitement. Other officers were in battle form, hulking out and hardening up, including one officer with a dome-shaped force field that was intercepting most of the pyromaniac's napalm.
This was madness. How was this possible? One inmate off his meds was a bad enough problem, but four? Five? Bishop shook his head, looking for an opening.
The two inmates embracing one another separated, and the veteran doubled over and started heaving. The freshly clothed inmate grabbed another inmate, jabbing his fingers into the other's abdomen. The vomiting inmate stoped after a few heaves, spitting out a pale blue ichor.
Blue. Like their meds.
He rose with a grin, and an arctic wind began to howl and swirl around the inmate as his body was purged of the prison's drug cocktail. That was how their powers were coming back to them. That was... that was...
That was the final straw. If this guy could purge inmates that quickly, there'd be no way to keep them from winning this fight. Most of the diminishers on site were out of practice, relying on the drugs to do their work for them.
Bishop let out a sigh, and stepped back into the central area. If this was about to shake down how he thought it was, he was going to need all the help he could get. He walked up to the cringing inmate, and asked, "Hey buddy, what's your power?"
"Me? Uh, what do they call it... I move stuff with my mind, ya' know? But, like, not now though, 'cuz of the drugs."
Bishop smiled, grabbing the inmate by the wrist. "Telekinesis. Perfect."
The inmate collapsed after a few moments, drained by the officer's touch. Then Bishop turned toward the battle, his back straight and shoulders squared. This was it, his last day on the job.
He stormed into the room, slamming the door shut behind him with a thought, as he prepared to face his wildest fears. | So the day started as any other. Awoken by my alarm, I stumbled out of bed, groggy. I wiped the sleep from my eyes, and made some mediocre coffee. If I was going to work today, I thought I should probably be awake. Last time I went to work tired, someone almost died. Got the locations mixed up... Hypothermia, or something like that. Accidentally took the poor girl to Antarctica, when all she wanted was to go to the bar.
I finished my coffee, got dressed, and then popped into the office. On my desk, waiting for me was a stack of contracts. Great... Just what I need. 17 jobs, all over the world. I thumbed through the stacks, and looked at the requested arrival times. 30 minutes apart? Come on man, they know that's hard on any of us Leapers, even the most experienced ones. But the company didn't care, they just wanted the jobs done. So my first job was about as routine as usual. A lady in the Brooklyn Power Facility was getting transferred to Dubai. Must've been a good performer, I thought to myself. She was a little chatty for my taste, but I thankfully don't have to deal with them for long. I could see why they wanted her though, she was probably a good brown noser. She told me all about how well she was performing and that's why they requested her there. Fair enough, I just wanted to get on with it. So she grabbed hold of my arm, and we leaped. I'd been here before, but usually only to take big-wigs to special meetings. Didn't matter much, all I wanted to do relax in the recovery room for the 30 minutes I had between my transports.
The rest of the day was pretty routine, prisoner transports, a couple emergency hospital runs for some runners whose legs had collapsed, and the like. By the time I finally got to my last job, I was exhausted and needed a break.
"Dammit Ant, let's go! This customer was very specific they can't be late to this appointment." My supervisors voice rang from the hallway. No sooner did I start to reply than he had appeared in from of my face. "Shit Larry, must be nice to leap around the office and not be out taking care of contracts all day, huh?" I replied gruffly after regaining my composure. No matter how many times you do it yourself, or see your co-workers popping back into the office at the end of the day, it never got any less strange to see a human materialize out of thin air.
Larry and I exchanged a few words, before I reassured him I wouldn't be late. He reminded me of the location of the customer, and I took a few minutes to unwind from the previous conversation before getting there.
As I popped into the location, with about 45 minutes to spare from the timeline the customer had requested, I looked around and noticed I was in an apartment in the middle of the business sector. I caught the eyes of the man standing in front of me, who introduced himself as "Gregory". I gave my usual line about not being responsible for customers belongings becoming lost in the in-between, accidental death during transport, and possible organ rearrangement during re-materializing. His eyes glazed over, and he looked at me like he'd heard it all 1000 times before. Once I finished, he asked me if I'd be ready in about 43 minutes. I reassured him I would be, and that he need'nt worry about my timing. He stressed how he needed to take care of something in the other room, and to not bother him. He'd come get me when he was ready. Asked me to make myself comfortable, and relax. So I did.
After about 41 minutes, I woke up when the lamp next to me started to flicker, and then all of a sudden all of the lights, and everything electrical in the apartment for that matter seemed to die. I noticed a red light emminating from underneath the door of the room my customer had shut himself in. Curious, I walked over to the door. "Greg?"
The door was closed, but not locked. I waited for a response before opening the door. Greg sat there in an office chair with the window open, his entire left hand glowing bright red. "Shit, Greg is a hunter" I said to myself, as he sat there in his comatose state drawing power from the energy around him. I looked around the room, and noticed a cork-board with dates and times pinned to it, and the picture of a man. His target. But I recognized this man.
Greg had been hired to assassinate the CEO of the corporation I was "working"(enslaved) for. What do I do? I sure don't like this company, but do I become accomplice to an assassination, for the CEO of my company? He was not a good man, but did I want to go down for this? What about my tracking fob?
About the time I was mulling all of this over in my head, Greg awoke from his comatose state, with his hand glowing more vibrantly than I had seen. He looked very angry that I had walked in on him, and turned his hand towards me.
Now, I've always heard that if you get touched with something as you're de-materialize, that you'll be scattered into the in-between in a billion tiny particles. Well, as Greg fired his first volley of energy towards me, I guessed that it would have been as good a time as any to find out... | 2020-02-05T20:05:56 | 2020-02-05T19:37:10 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] A young woman lies suspended within a powerful circle of runes. The cloaked figure approaches you. "She is asleep and must always stay that way, for this world is her dream. Should she awake, all will end." | Atop the highest mountain in the land, two cloaked figures stand, guarding a ring of mystical runes that circle an eternally beautiful woman. Generations of guards have protected the goddess for millenia, for the runes themselves tell of the end of all being if she were to wake from her slumber.
The shorter figure turns to the other,
“How do you know?” asked Dave, the apprentice.
“For it has been told for a thousand years” replied the elder.
“OK I get that,” Dave lowers his staff. “But that was a scroll written by a third party, but how do you prove it?”
The elder stands guard, stoically staring out to the horizon.
“I don’t understand.”
“Surely all that exists can be proven, and if we can’t prove it then we can’t default to it being the case. It’s like if we defaulted to invisible goblins carrying birds being the reason they could fly.”
The elder lowers his hood and sighs as he turns to Dave. “Look we’ve been through this. We *could* prove it, very easily in the same way that we could prove that nuclear warheads explode when you drop the pin. We could wake her up and ask ‘Hello, is this all a dream? Are we all figments of your imagination in your little head?’ but when proving the hypothesis is deleting the entirety of the known and unknown universe, I’d rather not take the risk!”
“But surely if this is all a dream then us, our actions and everything in this universe is completely predetermined, or at the very least not down to any agency by any of us? If we wake her and she is in fact the inaugural winner of Miss Universe, then this universe where we ultimately had no free will or control will come to an end and our lives will have ended exactly as they were intended to, which to me sounds a lot like *‘fulfilling your life’s purpose’*. And if we wake her and the universe survives, then we do have some control over life, there could still be some meaning to existence, and we can do whatever we want! It’s a win-win!”
“So you want to risk not only the existence of billions of humans on this planet, but whatever life there is in the entire universe? Just to prove yourself right?” the Elder snaps back, wiggling his staff in Dave’s general direction.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
The elder looks flustered. “But even if life was predetermined and we ultimately have no say in how *this*-” he gestures around him “-turns out. Surely there’s something to be said about waiting around to see how the movie ends? Where it takes us?”
“But that’s what I’m saying, this *is* how the movie ends! You can’t get to the end of the movie and go ‘I want to watch some more’ after the ending! It has ended! The ending is predetermined by the creator!” Dave violently points towards the woman.
“But what if she’s not controlling us? What if she is like the fire of the universe? Could we still be ourselves and have control over our own actions, but she merely provides the platform for us to exist? If we put the fire out, would we die while still being able to exert free will? Who are you to decide other’s free will?”
“But how could that be? If she created us, then she must have some say in our actions and what we do. I think that-”
“*Would you shut up I’m trying to sleep?!*” she yells.
She looks around at the infinite darkness that surrounds her. No sound. No one else. Nothing. She floats aimlessly in the ether, hopelessly awaiting any chance encounter with someone. Something. A person, a planet, even a speck of dust would prove ample company compared to the eternity of solitude she’s faced thus far.
When you have got nothing else to do, you might as well go to sleep. She closes her eyes. | From afar she was a silhouette surrounded by lights so bright. Up closer she was a young woman whose own hair was so long it draped perfectly over her shoulders and down her body as a natural blanket. Staring in amazement at the woman was a young adventurer barely out of his teens. He reached out to touch her, as if guided by an unseen force.
"Don't!" A cloaked figure approached the adventurer hastily. "She is asleep and must always stay that way, for this world is her dream. Should she awake, all will end."
The adventurer paused as if broken from his trance, but only for a moment. He continued to stretch out his arm and uncurl his fingers. The cloaked figure grabbed his wrist at the last moment and the glaze over the adventurer's eyes vanished. The cloaked figure let go of the man now in control of himself again.
While trying to regain his feet, the adventurer clung to the cloaked figure's shoulders in an attempt to balance himself. The cloaked figure could only yell one thing as they both toppled unsteadily towards the woman. "Oh fuck!" | 2021-02-15T04:36:02 | 2021-02-15T03:20:38 | 98 | 73 |
[WP] You've just gotten a job working at Olympus Acres, a retirement home for old world Gods that are no longer worshipped. | Any mortal who could pass through the dimensional barrier without getting fried was offered a job at Olympus Acres. I’d be a fool not to take the job, once Superintendent Ozymandias explained the peculiar health benefits of spending time on Olympus. I clearly had a bit of divine blood somewhere on my family tree, and the more time I spent in the realm of the gods, the more I myself would become celestial. I’d never be able to chuck thunderbolts around, but a decade or two looking after the senile deities would ensure I had the body of a thirty-year-old when I was eighty. I’d be a fool to pass that up.
That was the sort of logic I needed to convince myself in the beginning. But once I became comfortable, I would have done it regardless. After all, having access to gods could come in handy. Aphrodite dropped by once in a while to check on Demeter, who had been thrown for a loop by nitrate fertilizer decades ago. I’d been charming enough to get a blessing from the love goddess herself – and trust me, you’d pay dearly for the perks that afforded me. Ares stopped by once to talk to Zelus, the god of dedication – social media had left him devoid of spirit – and he’d given me a set of brass knuckles that granted me superhuman boxing skills. Gods liked how easily they could awe mortals.
I’m talking up the folks I get to rub elbows with occasionally. Most of the time, the job is relaxing but uninspiring. Help an old Olympian do this or that, pluck arrows out of targets or measure out the right serving of ambrosia. They’re gods, after all – they don’t need my help to walk around or anything like that. They’re just lazy as all hades.
Hades, for the record, is actually a baller. You’d expect him to be a mopey, Severus Snape chap, but the lord of the underworld was dressed like a gangster when I met him at the help desk once. I didn’t introduce myself – when you see a John Wick looking type, you pretend you didn’t.
The one I helped the most was Hesperus, goddess of the evening star. Light pollution had more or less erased her from public consciousness, and she was one of the most feeble. Still, she was plenty sharp, an immortal after all, and I could never say I’d wished my shift would end sooner. Even a rest home was an awesome place on Olympus. Flowers that changed colors, grass as soft as cotton, swimming pools of water suspended in the air… behind the archery range was a delightful forest where I would always round out the day with some passionate sex with a few tree nymphs.
I had to remind myself daily what a privilege it was to be here at all, to have received the graces that I had, else I might become bitter that the gods could have it all just by virtue of their birth. Luckily gods don’t shit if they don’t want to, so it’s not like I was ever called upon to plunge a divine toilet. I was there to make things interesting, more than anything else. It never felt like work, those six hours spent in paradise.
I did run into the inception problem. It’s hard to enjoy earth when you’ve been somewhere better for quality time. Plutus, god of wealth, had taken a liking to me, and whenever he saw me he’d throw a few stock tips my way, so I was living the highlife to an extent. My large apartment was tastefully decorated, but I yearned for it to be high above the clouds, in that space where time melted away. I would ask Ozymandias one day if there was some way I could live full time on Olympus, but I wasn’t hopeful. My godly blood probably amounted to some minor deity blowing his load in some cute mortal chick a dozen generations ago, nothing more. Still, a man could dream. | My grandma got me the job. Of course it was in Florida; a sprawling swampy neighborhood with a crappy plastic mountain in the middle of the mini-golf course.
MY parents pulled up, practically pushed me out of the car, and and peeled off, leaving me at a summer job serving tapioca pudding to a bunch of geezers who might keel over any minute. My grandma, Artemis, had been here for years. Every time I visited, I just wanted to leave. She hobbled towards me with a cane that was curved like an old bow and arrow. We walked towards her house near the woods on the north side of the retirement community.
We passes the pool, where a buff older gentleman she called my "Uncle Po," dove into the water with a bunch of laughing older ladies, who she called the Nymphets.
A jogging group, led a Mr. Murry Curry, sped by with surprising speed. I saw little wings on his New Balances.
There were other funny names: King O'Cyrus, a jazz player, and a partgoing older gentleman named Dio Nysus, up from Miami.
"Don't worry, Jason," Grandma said.
"I promise, this summer will be just divine." | 2017-11-20T12:53:24 | 2017-11-20T09:38:10 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul, everyone knows that. It’s usually a bad idea, but you’ve got a crazy idea. Earlier, you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a paper that stated you now owned his soul. You’re about to find out if demons consider this a valid co | Will never thought the intersection between Cedar and Saint's Roads was particularly memorable. It was just the meeting point between two small residential streets in the little town of New Harmony, Indiana: four unremarkable rows of houses checkered with unremarkable picket fences. It wasn't exactly a desolate badlands highway. However, it was a crossroads, and it was almost midnight. That had to count for something.
Will looked at his phone: 23:59. His other hand fingered the little piece of paper in his pocket, as he stood at the crossroads and waited. What for, he didn't know, but he kept glancing around at the rows of houses, in case the neighbours might see him.
"Hey kid, what do you think you're doing? It's midnight!"
He jumped. Little old Mrs Henfield was shuffling towards him. She lived just down the street, and although retired, she had made it her business to find out what the entire town was up to on a daily basis. Will started: she knew his parents – well, she knew all the town – and he'd snuck out of the bedroom window after lights out. Her cane clacked on the sidewalk, echoing around the otherwise empty, dark streets. He saw her hobble under a street lamp and her long shadow spilled into the pool of light, before vanishing into the darkness.
"I-I'm sorry Mrs Henfield, I'm just–"
"I know what you're *just doing*, young man! You're up to no good!"
"No, I'm not!" Will protested, backing away slightly from the advancing old woman.
"Of course you are, young man. After all, why else would you be waiting at a crossroads at midnight?"
Will did a double-take. Mrs Henfield had left the pool of light, but her eyes still gleamed with yellow, as if they had captured the reflection and held it, savouring it like a mouthful of chocolate before swallowing. She smiled. Will had seen Mrs Henfield smile before, usually when she found a little bit of town gossip from his mother, but this was different: her mouth carved a wide rictus grin, pinning her sagging skin to her high cheekbones. As she approached, Will realised the wind was towards him, but he didn't smell her musty old perfume. He smelled something else, like burned pork. She smelled *wrong*.
"Now, young man." Mrs Henfield paused a few feet away from him, leaned forward on her stick and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The street light behind her flickered for a moment, and went out. "What is it you want?"
Will had given this some thought. What did any fourteen-year-old in 2022 really want?
"I just... I guess I want to know if it's all going to be ok."
"What?" The thing wearing Mrs Henfield's skin widened her eyes slightly, and its grin faded a touch.
"I see things on the news," Will said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They say the planet is boiling. Everything's getting more expensive. People aren't very kind, or it sounds like they aren't very kind anymore. What's going to happen to us?"
"You are aware," said the thing wearing Mrs Henfield, "of the price of this information?"
Will nodded.
"Very well," it said. It gave a big theatrical sigh and shuffled over to the nearest garden wall, where it sat down, groaning as it lowered the body of the tired old woman to the brick. "It's going to seem like it's fine."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. By the time you leave college, there's going to be lots of engineering done around clearing CO2 out of the atmosphere. There will have been a nasty recession, but as a result the global housing market will fall to manageable levels. It's going to look okay."
"But it won't be?"
"Of course not. The first war won't be over oil and gas, like everyone thinks. By 2035, people are going to be fighting like too many rats in a cage over water. Water's the thing. The bringer of life shall become the bringer of death." Its grin returned, wider than ever, and a faraway look in its eyes suggests nostalgia for an event yet to happen. "Then, in 2054, the bombs drop. Then the rapture happens. Then we get whoever's left."
"And that's it?" Will asked.
"That's it. And now," it said, beckoning at him with the old woman's hand, "I claim my reward."
"Here you go," said Will. He walked forwards and slapped the piece of paper into its hand. The thing looked at the paper, and then back to Will.
"What the fuck is this?" it said, all creepiness suddenly dropped.
"A soul," said Will. "For the information that I should invest everything in water by 2030."
The thing looked at the paper, and then back to him. It threw back its head and cackled in Mrs Henfield's voice, laughing long and hard. It laughed so hard that the street lamp behind it flickered into life, on and off in time with the creature's guffaws, before dimming once again.
"Oh, you evil little shit," it said, wiping a tear from the old woman's eye. "You'd sell the soul of another for your own personal gain?"
Will had not been expecting this. "You... you're not mad?"
"Hell no," it said, stuffing the piece of paper into the old woman's housecoat pocket. "Would you like a job?" | [medium exterior shot- midday]
Building exterior is laden with ivy crawling up it's stone walls. The small, dirty half-window of the boiler room radiates with flecks of light from a dimming bulb.
Sounds of kids playing games at recess, birds chirping, traffic whizzing by.
The camera slowly pans downward as it zooms slowly towards boiler room window.
(Once the perimeter of the exterior walls frames the shot, the light goes out)
All sounds fade into silence.
A small jet of fire-red light fills the window interior for a split-second.
Shot remains stationary for a beat.
[Cut to:]
[Close-up shot of birds frolicking in a tree]
The birds peck and jump from branch-to-branch, enjoying their day. The shot focuses on the tree for a couple seconds.
(off-screen) An ear-piercing scream rings out from a distance, but is shrill enough to scare the birds from their tree.
[shot remains on tree, but sporadically falls in-and-out of focus]
[fade to black]
...
I set down the manuscript and looked at the man in front of me with a bored stare.
He was hunched forward in anticipation, nervously trying to gauge my reaction by glancing at me in-between staring at the floor. Beads of sweat ran down his cracked, dirty skin, pooling in the jagged crevasses of his face.
I sighed and looked at him. "I dunno what to tell ya, man. This is terrible."
He started to cry. Heavily. "B-but my f-fr-friends said it was real good. I even described how your bully gets dragged down to hell, but I left the rough drafts on my desk."
"This is a terrible plan, and a shoddy screenplay. Can't you just trade me something worthwhile for the contract on his soul?"
"I... ummm... I... Well, I could-- no, no. Hmm. Well, there's... No, no, that's a dumb idea..."
I impatiently stood up and began to exit the boiler room. "Look, man, how about I just hold on to the contract, and I'll see what I'm capable of doing to him. I don't have time for this weird beating-around-the-bush stuff. I'm just gonna google it and see if I can control him like a marionette or something. See ya later, dude."
As I walked through the rotted doorway, I heard a series of sniffles and then a burst of sulfur stung my nostrils. When I looked back, he was gone.
I noticed his screenplay was still on the ground, and picked it up.
I considered holding on to it-- it seemed like he'd worked really hard on the screenplay-- but decided he might want it back.
I threw the bundle of papers into the furnace and went back to upstairs before the lunch bell rang. | 2022-05-24T14:19:20 | 2022-05-24T13:43:05 | 304 | 24 |
[WP] You died, a poor store clerk, passed on to the afterlife after being smacked in the head with a heavy purse by an entitled middle aged woman on Black Friday. As you open your eyes, you stand before Odin in Valhalla, and he asks you to entertain him with a grand story of the battle you died in. | "So? Will you continue satisfy Odin's curiosity, Roy?"
"Have at it, stick-boy! My patience grows thin!"
"We all wish to know, boy! Fear not, for we are all ears."
Roy nervously looks around as he finds himself among gods--gods he only knew to be in storybooks...
There were a number of einherjar, valkyrie, and berserkers with eyes on him. Closest to him sat Thor, Tyr to his opposite, and in his own throne, somehow far but close, Odin.
"So uh..."
"What?" Thor snaps. "What did this mute stick say?"
"Thor, let the boy speak clearly--" Tyr replies.
Pathetically, Roy raises his voice. "So--" His voice cracks. "It was Black Friday--"
"Black Friday! A day of great battle!" Thor belches and raises his mug--the hall erupts in stomps and roars.
"I--it was Black Friday and... and we were being mobbed by--hundreds of people. They were trying to gr--loot all of our merchandise, w--without recompense! It was chaos. Jackie was trying to fight off these teenagers--"
"Teenagers?" Thor snaps again.
"Goblins. Goblins! With her trusty, um..." *What's a viking word for walkie-talkie?* "Battle horn."
"Battle horn?"
"They make good bludgeons, Thor! And Jackie knows, too, to call for her fellow valkyrie to join the fray."
"Battle horn. Y-yes. While I--I faced off against this.... uh... this--"
"This? This what, little stick?!"
"Thor!" Tyr snaps again.
Roy wishes at this moment that he finished that viking book mom got him for christmas, because he can't name any other creature that'd make sense right now. He scratches his head and continues to stand in silence.
"Odin! The boy has forgotten what brought him here! He has experienced *no* great battle! He has schemed with Loki to gain entrance here!..." With this, Thor riles up the warriors in the room into a denying frenzy. Tyr remains to be the only one waiting for Roy to speak. Odin grows distant in Roy's eyes.
"Do you know how bad Black Fridays are for us, Thor?!" Roy suddenly snaps, causing the warriors to silence for a moment. Thor turns to him with a brow pulled up.
"I only took this job to pay for my student loans--somewhere down the line I still want to become an engineer! I'm barely making enough to pay for food, and my two-grand apartment--and I was coming from a 60-hour week! Shifts up the ass because I do so well selling fucking *televisions*. And healthcare? For-fucking-get about healthcare! Two-thousand dollars for an aspirin and a 'you're working too hard' diagnosis?! *Fuck that!* I was exhausted and a little sick, but I had to make rent, so I took the shift, like a fucking idiot, for Black Friday. Because--because--"
He scoffs. A grin in Tyr's face forms. Roy has captivated everybody.
"--I thought I was gonna break even and maybe, *maybe* get a little something for myself, before I beat myself up and force that extra overtime into my savings account. But no. No! I had to stay twelve hours in a fucking war zone where everyone's just trying to save for that PlayStation 5 or--or 90-inch television, or die trying. Our managers don't give a *shit* about us. Bad customer service or not, all they want is for everyone to fight for their merchandise... so they can do it again the next year, and the next year, with the same type of chaos. When someone threw a milkshake at me when I told them we ran out of iPads, I knew I shoulda walked out. But I couldn't leave my staff behind. Not Jackie, or any of them. Because—"
"You had to fight, Roy." The familiar voice fills the hall. Odin finally speaks. "All your life, you fought to live. Cruelly, you served unworthy masters, but you continued unto your last breath."
Thor takes this cue to belch a battle cry, again riling up the warriors present, this time in a cheery frenzy.
"I... I did--"
"So, stick-boy! How did you come to find us? What brings you to our feasting table?!"
Roy takes a deep breath.
"... I did my best, but a lady, with her bloodthirst for an eighty-inch flat screen, delivered the final blow to my head when I told her for the sixteenth time that she was missing twelve dollars."
Silence.
Thor takes a healthy swig of his mead. He looks to Tyr, then to Odin, then to Roy.
"Roy, the stick-boy, fought bravely for his livelihood, and his future. May he live forever!" A mighty battlecry, and the room erupts in cheers. Through their howls, Roy hears them chant "Engineer" repeatedly. He even notices Tyr smiling and clapping.
"Mighty Odin, Roy left his post much too soon! We must finish his battle, and return to the moment of his death! We must raze that damned electronics store to the ground!"
Uniform shouts from the warriors, looking unto Odin, who sits idly on his throne. He looks at Roy, who was slightly tearing up but nonetheless looking proud.
Odin nods. | Odin’s voice boomed, “I am bored! Tell me a story of the battle you died in, one that will make your descendants try in vain to live up to the legacy you have set before them.”
"Well," you say, "It was Black Friday and…”
“Ah! Black Friday!”
“Yeah, so I was working at the local Walmart as a cashier when this lady came in demanding to speak with my manager."
Odin looks over his shoulder, "That's not very exciting."
"No," you reply, "but it is true." You continue, "She was really upset about her purchase being damaged during shipment from China. She said she wanted to talk to my manager so they could discuss how to get the item replaced or refunded. When I told her that we don't do refunds for items shipped from overseas, she demanded to speak with someone higher up. After much arguing, I got the manager on the phone and she began yelling at him, too."
"Ah!" Odin exclaimed, "So, even the manager couldn't handle her?"
"Oh no," you say, "He handled her perfectly. He explained to her that we can't replace the product because it had been shipped from China. The woman became even more angry and started screaming at us.”
“Young man, please skip to the battle. My patience grows thin.”
"Yes, sir," you say, "The woman stormed out of the store, but then returned a few minutes later. She marched back into the store, grabbed me by the shirt collar, and threw me against the wall.”
“Yes, and then what?”
"I charged at her with a punch, and that’s when she swung her purse. It caught me in the forehead, knocking me unconscious. I woke up here in Valhalla."
Odin stood up, "Young man, you have failed me. This is not the story I asked for."
You sat there dumbfounded. What did he expect? You were just telling him the truth. "Sir, I didn't know what else to tell you. That's all that happened. There was nothing heroic about it."
"There was something heroic about it. Your life was taken from you by a violent thug, and yet you did not give up. Instead, you fought back. Even if you only managed to get in one good punch, it was still a valiant effort. You also exposed the evil nature of this woman, and now that she is imprisoned, she will no longer be able to spread her misery into the world. Do you understand?”
"Yes, sir," you say, feeling proud of yourself.
"Good," Odin says, "Now, everyone, a toast to the brave soul who died fighting for the sake of justice!"
Everyone raises their cups, and you sip your beer. | 2022-06-08T23:15:31 | 2022-06-08T21:22:20 | 235 | 65 |
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly. | They call it Wake-Aid, a simple chemical cocktail in pill form that will give you eight more productive hours each day. Who has time for sleep anymore? There’s no reason to waste a third of your day when you could be out at a party, playing with your kids, or racing up that corporate ladder! No harmful side-effects found during human testing. A dream come true.
Personally, though, I have no kids, hate drinking, and have the ambition of a particularly forward thinking sloth. You couldn’t pay me to give up my shut-eye, let alone convince me to pay you for the privilege. So I never took Wake-Aid, despite the growing number of success stories from my friends and relatives.
It’s been about a year now since Wake-Aid’s launch. The economy has been booming from all the extra productive work hours, but not too much else has changed. For my part, I’ve read a few good books, played through some old video games, and landed a job in a shipping warehouse. Not the most glamorous or well-paid position, but it makes ends meet and that’s good enough for me.
Everything seems to be going well, but I get this odd feeling sometimes. It’s nothing I can quite put my finger on, but… Well, a few months ago I was walking to work and reached a light just as it switched so I could cross. I got halfway across the street before I noticed something; the north-south traffic wasn’t moving even though they had the green light. I finished crossing the road at a run, thinking something must be wrong, but when I stopped at the far crosswalk and looked around, everything seemed normal. Just… No one was moving.
The light changed once more and now the east-west traffic wasn’t moving either. I walked up to the passenger side of a small sedan and peered in. I saw a man in the driver’s seat just staring up at the light. I tapped on the window, but he didn’t notice me. A car pulled up behind him and honked, jolting the sedan driver out of his trance. He pulled through the intersection without giving me so much as a glance and, when the light changed once more, north-south traffic proceeded as normal. I was a few minutes late to work because of the delay, but no one said anything. I shrugged it off and moved on with life. Weird things happen sometimes.
But recently those weird things have been happening more often. My mother used to call me once a week on Tuesday, after her knitting group would meet. Every Tuesday at 4pm, like clockwork. Now? She might call me once every other week. It’s been a month now since the last time she called me. I tried calling her yesterday, but her phone went straight to voicemail. I tried calling my dad instead and got him on my second try. I asked him how everything was going and he said it was fine. Mom had gone upstairs after breakfast to work on a new christmas scarf and had left her phone on the counter.
I glanced at my calendar and it confirmed what I knew. It was February 3rd.
I told dad that I would be coming over as soon as I could and he said that they would be happy to have me back at the house. I told him to let mom know I’d be there tomorrow and hung up to start packing. The next day, which I may as well call today, I suppose, I set out from my house towards my parents’ place, a little under two hours away.
On my way, worry gnawing at me like a dog on a bone, I noticed even more strange things. Here was a telephone pole down a month after our last major storm. There was a business sign advertising a New Year’s Eve sale. I shook my head. How could people miss something like that? Shouldn’t they be prepping for a Valentine’s Day sale or something?
I pulled into my parents’ driveway and immediately knew something was wrong. There was a hole in the kitchen window from where a baseball smashed through it. I knew a baseball smashed through it because my mother had told me about it during her last call. A month ago.
I dashed up the front steps and pounded on the door, shouting at the top of my lungs for someone to come to the door. I heard someone jolt in the living room and heard my dad shout “Hold on! Hold on! I’m coming! No need to knock the house down!” A few moments later, the door unlatched and swung open to reveal a man I barely recognized and a room I recognized less.
My father had let his beard grow out to a ridiculous length and his gut was hanging out further than I had ever seen it. He was saying something about not expecting me so soon after I called, but I barely heard him. The living room was covered in old pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Piles of trash were heaped in the corners. My mother couldn’t stand even one or two cans on the table, how had the mess gotten this bad?
I turned to my father and asked him where mom was.
He hmm’d and haw’d for a moment or two, “She was n the… No that was yesterday… Then she… Hmm… I think she must still be upstairs working on that scarf I told you about this morning.”
I was halfway to the stairs before I realized what he said. I slowly turned back towards him. “Dad, we talked yesterday, not today.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did we? Oh… Oh, yes, I suppose that’s right. I was just watching some of my favorite old westerns and must have lost track of time.”
I started sprinting to, and then up, the stairs. My father never forgot when things were. He never “lost track of time”. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.
I slammed into my mother’s knitting room and immediately tripped to the floor. I looked at my feet and saw part of a scarf. I didn’t want to look up, so I just followed the trail of the scarf. It wound around the room, across chairs and stacks of unused yarn until it came to it’s end, or its beginning, in my mother’s rigid, gaunt hands. My eyes immediately began blurring with tears. How long had she been here? How long had she been here with no one noticing she was gone? How…
I could almost hear her sing-song mantra that she always did while knitting, through under over pull through under over pull. I thought of traffic lights flickering between colors, red green yellow red green through under over. I thought of people sitting at desks answering emails, open type send open type send pull through under over pull. I thought of my dad sitting downstairs ordering a pizza watching a movie buying some beer ordering a pizza through under over pull. I thought of my mother, sitting in that chair knitting as she wasted away. Through under over pull through under over pull through under over pull through under over pull… | It all started with the new miracle Pill. It apparently helped trick your body into thinking it had had it's regenerative sleep, fooling your brain into thinking that it went into the various sleep cycles, releasing all the various hormones and immune cells that you usually benefit from having a good night sleep. At first, it was herald as a miracle drug. Technology advances were made by bounds as scientist and inventors were able to work around the clock. No more losing track of your thought process, no more trying to remember that fugue idea... no more writing something on paper the night before only to wake up in the morning wondering what the fuck did I mean by " Less coffee will clear the mind of the web that weave in the wind of the storm?"
But, I couldn't do it. I loved sleeping, way to much. I loved that feeling of getting in bed, and the sheets are cool, wrapping you in a nice chilled cocoon, and feeling all your muscles relax as you drift to sleep. I couldn't wait for that moment where I started dreaming, dreaming of worlds that never existed, beauties beyond belief, all powered by my sub-conscious. I loved that feeling when I woke up in the morning to a bright sunny day, pot of fresh coffee brewing, filling the house with the rich aroma of Blue Mountain fresh roasts.
I enjoyed that first sip, as went and sat outside on the patio, enjoying the sounds that the birds made at sunrise.
Yes, I loved sleeping. After spending time with my family, it was second favorite part of the day.
So, as time went on, society went on, living 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Never taking time to rest and close their eyes. It was not expected for someone to work 20 hours day. Quickly, companies and government around the world realized that it was not financially responsible to expect people to do that, as companies would go bankrupt. Instead, work could be done at anytime, as long as you managed to provide 8 hours of work within 24 hours, you achieved your objectives. Social media sites saw an exponential growth in usage, so much so that post were now being limited by accounts. You were only allowed 100 posts a day on each platform. Yes, new platforms were being created, because people "needed" to share what they were doing every minute of their day, but none really gained enough momentum to challenge the lead ones.
New discoveries, advances were made on a weekly basis. NASA had built their new Ion Propulsion engine in 2 months instead of 2 years, and they were getting ready to test it. Cancer research had reached an all time high in progress and some very promising leads were discovered that started to give hope to everyone. Things that were only dreams and concepts were becoming reality. Gone were the days of pen to paper. They were now pen to reality.
Or so it seemed.
It was just assumed that everyone in the world were now taking those pills every day. Talking about sleep was becoming taboo, if not "verbotten" and became less and less socially acceptable.
There were some downside to the economy: hotels in major metropolitan or touristic areas began to close and were replaced with shower services instead. Of course, the bedroom industry died the next day that the pills became a common item in the household and not a trend. But, that's to be expected. Then, the arts started to die. Books, video games, music, movies all gradually stopped being produced. No one knew why.
I started noticing it when the release date of Half-Life 3 was pushed back by a month, at first, due to challenges in the studio. Then the New Avengers movie was put on hold.
After that, the HyperLoop was postponed indefinitely and the Space X project was cancelled. No one knew why.
It took me about a year to figure it out. But by then, it was too late.
Turns out, like anything else with our body, we created a tolerance to those pills. And while they still did what they were supposed to do, counter sleep, the beneficial effects of sleep were no longer there.
Necessity wasn't the mother of invention after all; dreaming was.
====
Enjoy... CC welcome | 2016-08-30T10:03:03 | 2016-08-30T09:04:18 | 949 | 475 |
[WP] Humans are the first intelligent beings in the universe. It is our duty to guide those that come after us.
Inspired by this thread. https://www.reddit.com/r/space/comments/3pic58/most_earthlike_worlds_have_yet_to_be_born/ | "Intelligent life is rare. I mean, really rare. Stupendously, Ridiculously, Unimaginably, Rare. Do you know how long it took us before we found another intelligent species? Go ahead, guess."
The Human spoke Gjarza's language fluently, a mystery given it only had one mouth for focusing the sound waves. Just one more strange thing about this visitor from the stars. The two of them were at the Human embassy, in one of their recreation rooms they called a 'bar'. The Human was drinking a flavored mixture of water and ethanol, something that in small doses would make Gjarza's lose some limbs, but in the doses the Human was consuming, would outright kill Gjarza.
"I don't know, fifty years?" Gjarza took a guess. It knew the Humans could fly faster than light, though how much faster was a matter of debate and speculation; the Humans hadn't revealed their true capabilities yet.
"Hah, no. Wrong. So Wrong. By four orders of magnitude!" The human seemed unbalanced; a reaction to the ethanol? Gjarza would have to look it up later in the files the Humans had shared. Maybe ethanol was poisonous to them too.
"Four orders of magnitude? Half a million years?!" Gjarza was both incredulous and excited. This was new information that certainly hadn't been shared before. Nobody knew how long the Humans had been exploring the galaxy, and as far as anyone could tell, that hadn't been shared. Gjarza had a new story to tell the other researchers. These embassy visits were turning out to be the best source of information on Human culture.
The Human nodded, which Gjarza recognized as a physical signal for affirmation. "And your years are almost twice as long as the ones from our home system too. For so long we thought there *were* no intelligent species out there, that we were some sort of unique anomoly, to appear and die out all alone." The Human finished its glass of ethanol, and nodded over to another Human called the 'Barkeeper'. Each time it had done this, another glass of ethanol was delivered.
"Actually, I should clarify. That was how long it took before we found another living intelligent species. We had found a few other worlds before that used to support intelligent life. Nuclear war had destroyed all of them."
"Nuclear war?" Gjarza asked.
"Hah, I'm sorry. I forget how peaceful your people are, no wars. Do you understand what I mean when I say war?"
"No."
"War is a way of resolving conflicts between large groups of people. Both sides get enough people to fight and kill the other side until one 'wins'."
"That makes no sense. Killing to win an argument?"
"If the other guy is dead, you win the argument right? At least, that's the extent of the logic there. The point is when your past is filled with that way of resolving conflict, once you get to the point where you can harness nuclear fission, you're only a hop, skip, and a jump from a nuclear bomb. And once you have the bombs, all it takes is one bad conflict to kill your world."
"That's horrific." Gjarza could barely comprehend the barbarity of it all.
The Barkeeper arrived with another cup of ethonol for the other Human, who then said something in their native tongue to the Barkeeper. "Anyway, where was I? Oh right. So for a long time, all we found were graveyards. Dead civilizations, none really left their home planets, and then ended up killing themselves in nuclear war. It made us very thankful that we had gotten past that stage of our development. Pure luck really, we were on the verge of it ourselves more than once, but somehow we pulled back from the brink. Then one day a ship of ours detects a collection of weak gamma and em burst, too small for something celestial, too large to be background radiation. We narrow it down to a star, two light years from its position, and lo and behold, there's a planet suffering a nuclear winter."
"What did the ship do?" Gjarza asked. It thought it knew the answer, but the story was enthralling.
"Well there had been lots of discussion on what humanity should do when encountering an intelligent species, lots of fiction written in the past, experts going on about non-interference and whatnot. Everything went out the window when that ship found a species dying with their own star blocked out by a permanent winter. That ship sent out a distress call explaining what they found, and you know what happened?"
"What?"
"Every ship in that galaxy, and the nearest three galaxies immediately came to help. In six weeks there were a hundred thousand ships in that star system doing everything from recovering and printing seed genomes, to providing medical aid to the survivors. There was no shortage of work to do with not a lot of time to do it. They had to reverse engineer a whole biosphere from the destructed remains of the old one, not to mention mitigate radiation poisoning and everything. But the best part is, they pulled it off. Five hundred of your years later the planet was alive again, and the survivors flourished. It was a defining moment for humanity. We couldn't pretend we were alone any more, and moreover we couldn't pretend that there was nothing we could do to help. It's been our mission ever since, to find other intelligent species, and do what we can to make sure they don't go extinct."
"I don't know what to say, that sounds like a very noble mission," Gjarza said. It was also intimidated by what the Human had said. Intergalactic distances in six weeks? Amazing.
"Thanks; well we do what we can. Sometimes it's not enough or we get there too late, but it's our purpose now."
"How many species have you met since the first?"
"Your people are lucky number 1000. Also, the first that genuinely didn't need us to keep from killing yourselves. If we had managed to blow ourselves up, I bet it would be your people in a hundred thousand years or so doing what we do." The Human finished their drink. "Whew, I think maybe I shouldn't have had that last one. Gjarza, it's been a pleasure, but I should get going before I embarass myself. Have a good day."
"Take care." Gjarza watched as the Human rose unsteadily to its two feet, impressed all the while how stable it operated, even while inhibited by the ethanol. As the Human stumbled out the entrance into warm blue embrace of the sun, Gjarza turned and shuffled along the ground on its stalks, searching for another Human to talk to. | The floor fell away beneath him, and the walls dissolved, the entire chamber fading. It wasn’t blackness behind it, as one might have expected. It wasn’t darkness; it was the absence of being. Like what one eye sees when it is closed but all the others are open, or the last thought before slipping into the unconsciousness of a dream. It was intangible- his body no longer existed, and his mind was no longer individual but part of a whole, a whole so great he knew without being told that it made up the entire universe. Messages came to him, not as words or anything as clumsy as speech itself, but as pure ideas that were not constrained by the rules of language. Later, he would remember these moments and try to solidify them into words, but it would be like trying to seize mist or articulate the curious intricacies of dreams after waking from sleep. The rules of the conventional world no longer applied.
*STOP.*
-he heard. Felt? Learned. It wasn’t a signal somebody sent to him- it was knowledge somebody imparted to him. It was something he did not know, and then did, as surely as he knew his own name.
*STOP. YOU CAME FOR ANSWERS.*
“Yes!” he pleaded, his mouth moving reflexively and his voice echoing helplessly in the dark.
*YOU DISTURB OUR SLEEP. YOU PRY US FROM UNITY WITH THE UNIVERSE, FORCE US TO ASSUME FORM AND SUBSTANCE. THINGS WE ABANDONED LONG AGO.*
He shuddered, realizing he would never again use the word “long” lightly. His perception of it was scarred as its true meaning entered his consciousness, stretching his understanding of time exponentially. He could smell it, the idea it represented, and the power it lent to its follower, “ago.” Long ago. It stank of time. It reeked of ancient palaces on other worlds, the dusty tombs of mighty kings forgotten. Before today, he would have never thought it possible to be traumatized by a word.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered.
*DO NOT BE.* Abruptly, he wasn’t. *IT WOULD NOT BE, HAD WE NOT MADE IT SO.*
For an instant, he struggled with the logic of the statement, but then abandoned it. He chose to, sacrificing understanding for sanity. He fought the reflex to grasp at its meaning, realizing as long held certainties and moral absolutes crumbled that madness would follow if he did. The statement was a rabbit hole that threatened to claim his mind, an idea that would rip his consciousness from his soul if he made any attempt to follow it- perhaps it would even kill him. He rationalized that he need not understand it, only believe it. He did.
“Who… who are you?” He dared.
They answered. The answer did not lend itself to words. The torrent of perception that entered his mind’s eye was overwhelming. He shut his eyes, his heart, his being, clinging to his individuality and trying not to think. His mind was a glass figurine in a sandstorm. He sensed, through it all, that they were holding back, showing a sliver of the true answer. They showed enough for him to understand, but not so much he should lose his mind- though he came dangerously close. He saw math, formulas and concepts that described the universe, symbols and operations not yet invented, or invented and lost- it was hard to tell, as time stretched into the distant future and the past, as the lines between the two blurred beyond distinction, as the concept of time shattered, as seconds smeared into minutes into hours into years into millennia into the lifetimes of gods.
He saw the universe. He saw from one end of eternity to the other, the end of endlessness, the bottom of the bottomless hole, stretching to the infinite altitudes of the skies of paradise. And he saw it reaching from the beginning of time to the end, even as he understood that no such beginning or end existed. It dawned on him that they were infinite, and they were bending infinity into terms he could understand.
*WE ARE HUMANS.*
| 2015-10-24T18:06:15 | 2015-10-24T16:27:32 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] We live in a simulation, and we sleep because they can't render everyone at once. You stay up for days, and begin to see things and people. They call themselves the maintenance crew. | I stopped writing on my laptop and decided a walk would be good. I had been writing nonstop for the past couples of days, long enough that even the students who only visited the library before their exam dates knew me by name.
I stretched on my seat, yawned, then finally stood up. I frequented this fourth floor for so long it felt familiar to me. The air conditioners hummed. The neon light shone. The aisles between shelves shared space with standing stools. I felt bonded with everything on this floor, as if they joined me on my journey to finish this paper. And I was grateful for them being here. The night had an eerie way to remind me of being alone.
I reached the corner of the floor, a space set aside with sofas and couches for a quick nap. I decided to sit down. I closed my eyes for a little while, but kept my train of thought going. If I fell asleep, I might not get up in time. The due date was approaching.
“Quite a shame if you sleep now. You’ll miss out.”
A strange voice woke me up. I looked at a young man sitting on top of a ladder, hammering the ceiling.
“Hey.”
I replied, a bit annoyed. He kept hammering.
“I haven’t heard any announcement for maintenance.”
“Oh, that’s because we don’t do this kind of maintenance on schedule. This must be your first time.”
“I’ll leave you be then. Thanks for your hard work.”
I stood up, stretched, and started walking.
“Are you not curious?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Are you not curious even though this is your first time?”
I stopped walking.
“Just give me a minute. You’ll see it soon.”
I was reluctant. The paper was calling. But he piqued my interest. So I stood, until he finished hammering.
“What in the world?”
I exclaimed. The ceiling fell off completely. But instead of the fifth floor, the hole revealed a starry night sky with shades of purple and black woven. Then, a slimy stream of sludge poured out of the hole, condensed into a big bubble below the ladder. The man put away his hammer, pulled out a see-saw, and began working on the stream of sludge.
“What is that?”
“You can touch it if you want.”
“I’d rather not.”
He grabbed some from the stream, rolled into a ball, and threw at me. I tried to dodge, but perhaps I was too tired to do so. The ball of sludge touched and exploded on impact, throwing me down on the ground. To my surprised, sparkles like firework burst out, and the sludge disappeared. Still dazed, I sat on the ground, asking.
“What was it?”
“Waste of the simulation.”
“Simulation?”
“You are the test subject of a simulation. Every once in a while, you simulate too many things and overheat the system, so we need to go in and cool it down. Don’t worry, all these things are harmless.”
He smiled, then returned to work. I watched him in silence, until he finished cutting off the stream from the hole. The bubble on the floor grew as big as a shelf already, but he ignored that. He began working on the ceiling, mending the hole.
“But what is the simulation for?”
“I don’t know. I’m just part of the maintenance crew. If you stay longer, an administrator will come. He might have an answer.”
“What are you doing then?”
“Maintaining, of course. As I said, you simulate too many things. That means, you stay awake for too long, rendering too many objects in the system, so it overheats. See this sludge? That’s the waste. Normally, it would go through the vents no problem. But the system overheated, the vents deformed, so the sludge got stuck. Speaking of…”
He finished mending the hole and turned his attention to the sludge bubble below. He rolled another ball and threw in front of me. The ball didn’t explode.
“Pick it up. Don’t worry, it’s harmless.”
I picked it up. It was cold, sent a shiver down my spine. But it was more refreshing than chilling.
“Hold it near your ear.”
I followed his instructions. From the ball, I heard little noises like static over a radio. But the noises were charming somehow. I couldn’t stop listening to it.
Suddenly, the man was by my side. He grabbed my hands holding the ball, and pressed them. The ball popped, and a loud bang burst, echoing throughout the floor. I covered my ears with my hands, but was still dazed by the overwhelming explosion. It took a while for me to recover, and when I did, I saw him laughing.
“What was that for?”
I was pissed.
“To refresh your hearing. You haven’t heard anything for the last hour.”
“Nonsense, we talked. I heard your voice and whatever noises from that ball.”
“We communicated through thoughts. We didn't open our mouths once. But true, you did hear noises from the ball. It’s just that the sludge emits sound so loud even a deaf would hear. I have to use earplugs every time.”
He unplugged and revealed his earplugs. I shook my head, still refusing to believe.
“Well, my job is done. The simulation should be running as usual. Live healthier will you? It'll save us the trouble and save you the sickness.”
He packed up the ladder and his gear, preparing to head out.
“What if I stay up?”
“Well, next time, the sound girl will come and fix your ears. But since I did my job already, you might just pass out when the morning comes.”
He grinned. I hated his gut.
“I’ll stay awake. Thank you.”
“Very well then, have a nice day.”
------
Can write part 2.
| Diary Entry 1:
I was brought here. To this little room in the middle of nowhere. The man with the red rimmed glasses and short black hair, took me from my home whilst I was asleep (after drugging me) and locked me in this tiny room. It does have a window, but it has frosted glass so I only know what time of day it is. I’ve tried screaming but nothing has happened and no one has come to save me.
Diary Entry 2:
I’ve been here for days now. I was given this diary to write in on the first day I got here, I think I’ve seen 3 sunrises since then, but I’m not sure. The man behind the door has been keeping me awake since I got here, loud music and strange sounds forcing me to keep my eyes open. I don’t know why he’s taken me or what he’s trying to achieve but I hope my family are looking for me.
Diary Entry 3:
The man outside the door has been feeding me, but I don’t know if I want to eat it. The food is nice and not cheap but I just want to sleep. All I want is sleep. Every time I drift off a loud sound comes in over the speakers in each corner of the room and I jolt awake. I saw someone out of the corner of my eye today, I thought the man had come in but when I turned my head to look the person was gone. I must be seeing things.
Diary Entry 4:
There’s someone in this room with me. I don’t know who they are or what they want but they are watching me. I’ve tried speaking to them and all they did was write something on their clipboard. They’re in a uniform, it’s green. I’m finding it hard to write but I’m still not allowed to sleep.
Diary Entry 5:
The person has gotten closer. I think they know I can see them, they don’t look happy. The man who took me has been asking what they look like, how they sound and what they are doing but that’s just the problem, they’re just watching me. He can’t see them. Just me. Who are they? They aren’t just in the corner of my eye anymore, I can look right at them.
Diary Entry 6:
They left their clipboard. “East Quadrant Maintenance Crew. Subject Code Fault Identified. Defective Subject. Subject Termination at 0600 hours.”
I have no idea what this means, this man isn’t with the man who took me... but the sun has just gone down. Am I the subject? Who are the maintenance crew?
Please, if you’re reading this, they’re real. You need to sleep. They’ll come for you. If you see something in the corner of your eye, it’s them. I’m not being let out, I’ve told my keeper what they have said. He wants to see what happens. I love you mum.
Diary Entry 7:
He’s here. He’s brought 2 more with him. | 2017-10-29T12:04:25 | 2017-10-29T11:59:19 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] The doctors walk into the hospital room you're in, and you're ready for them to tell you about your soon-to-be death. One of them sits down beside you and... hands you a twenty-sided dice, "Roll a Death Saving Throw." | I've never liked hospitals, but this one, somehow was worse than the rest. While most hospitals are an uncomfortable juxtaposition between a place of healing, and a place people go to die, this one seemed heavily weighted towards the latter.
The doctor entered my room. He wore dark blue scrubs, and a crisp white lab coat, and his expression was unreadably professional. I felt a chill. That did not look like a "good news" face.
"I'm sure you understand, Mr. Harris, that your prognosis isn't good." He began, as he sat down in an office chair beside my hospital bed, foregoing any introductions or preamble. Nice bedside manner there, Doc. "That's why you're here, after all."
"I... gathered that." I replied, swallowing hard.
"There's really only one course open to you," The doctor continued. "It's risky, and I'm afraid there will be considerable discomfort involved, but it's your best chance. The odds are...well, the math isn't important, right now. As I said, you have limited options."
I nodded, slowly. "I-I'm willing to try anything that might help, Doctor."
The doctor responded with a curt nod of his own, and withdrew a small object from the pocket of his lab coat. He held it up for me to see. It was a glossy, grayish die with 20 sides, each of them with an etched number, accented in black enamel.
"I don't understand." I admitted, after looking at the die for a moment.
"It's very simple." The doctor assured. "You roll this die. If you roll ten or higher three times, before rolling nine or lower three times...you win."
"I win what, exactly?" I asked, taking the die and inspecting it. It felt light, like it was made of wood. Or maybe bone. "What is this, like, a cognitive test, or something? To see if I'm competent to make medical decisions for myself, or...?"
The doctor just stared at me, glanced at the die, and then at the night stand. I paused. It didn't make sense to me, but I supposed that, if I completely understood how a psychological test worked, then the test probably wouldn't work on me.
I threw the die.
Pain exploded in my head, and my vision filled with stars. I distantly heard something like an off-key trumpet, as the room seemed to spin around me. After a moment, my vision slowly returned to normal, and I found myself staring at the bedside table.
The die read "8".
"Unfortunate, Mr. Harris." The doctor commented. "One failure, zero success. Roll again."
"What the hell just happened?" I demanded, hotly.
"I said there would be some discomfort." The doctor reminded me. "Roll again."
"Hell no!" I snapped.
The doctor paused. His next words were nothing special, just an ordinary question. It was the way he said them, that made my blood run cold. "Are you refusing treatment, Mr. Harris?'
I shook my head, rapidly, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. The doctor gestured to the die. I picked it up and rolled.
The pain was beyond excruciating. I felt the air driven from my lungs, I was sure I could hear bones breaking and tendons snapping, as I was crushed and mangled by some unstoppable force. My eyes were blurry with tears when I finally came back to myself, and I blinked rapidly to clear them.
The die read "3."
"Two failures. 0 success." The doctor announced, calmly. "Roll again."
"Please," I choked, drawing in a shuddering breath. "Please, no more. Even if I was winning, I...I can't do this three more times."
For the first time, I saw a hint of compassion in the doctor's stoic expression.
"There is...a possibility that you could roll just once more, and still win. But, I admit, that is very unlikely. It's your choice. Refusing treatment is a valid option, Mr. Harris." He explained, but instead of a chill, this time there was a faint sense of kindly warmth in the doctor's words.
I swallowed hard, and looked down at my hand, hovering shakily over the die on the bedside table. I looked back at the doctor, but his face had become an unreadable mask, once again.
"Damn it." I snarled, snatching up the die, and bracing myself for agony as I threw it.
No new wave of suffering crashed over me, as I watched the die bounce onto the table. It clattered to a stop.
The die read "20".
The doctor smiled, but before I could ask him what the meaning of this result was, everything went black
I awoke in my hospital bed. No, not a bed, this was narrower. I realized was on a gurney, in the back of an ambulance. I had an oxygen mask over my face, and I felt lightheaded, and woozy. I tried to sit up, but a hand on my chest gently yet firmly pushed me back down. I looked up to see a young woman in an EMT uniform leaning over me. Her partner, an older man dressed the same, was on the other side of me, holding me in place.
"Mr. Harris, try to relax." The female EMT urged. "You've been in a car accident. You've sustained some serious injuries, but we've stabilized you, and given you something for the pain. We're on our way to the hospital, now. Don't worry, you're going to be fine."
I nodded weakly, and my eyelids felt suddenly heavy. I let them drift closed. Before I slipped back into unconsciousness, I heard the EMTs talking.
"...but thank God we got to him so quickly." The female EMT was saying. "This one could have gone either way."
"Yeah," her partner agreed. "Those first few minutes after an injury like this...they're critical." | My head spun, but my gaze fixated on the bone-white die, each number recessed in deep black. Except where a one should be, there’s an etched skull in crimson red, almost winking at me with its blatant glow and gaudiness.
“That’s quite on the nose.”
Doctor Boyd placed the die gingerly in front of me, a prized gemstone that contained my life within it. He pushed up his glasses, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward, bringing his voice down to a low whisper.
“That, is from an authority outside of the Hippocratic oath.” the doctor said. “The government.”
“Not quite known for their subtlety,” I said.
“The system, as it is, is for impartiality. The roll of a die, giving everybody an equal chance at life. These are unprecedented times, Ash. There has to be some way of equalling the odds.”
I scratched my head, terrified of pulling off yet another clump of hair. But that action somehow felt necessary for me to comprehend the doctor’s words, which seemed to hold insidious meaning beneath its fair-sounding facade.
“That’s a pun.”
Doctor Boyd nodded gravely.
“That’s indeed, a pun. It’s official mandate for us to say it. Somebody was, apparently, quite pleased with it. Here’s the deal. You roll one to 10, and that’s it. There’s nothing we can do to help. 11 to 19, and we’ll put you up in one of our most average wards. But you get a 20…”
“No more problems?”
“No more problems. Well, your body could still give up on you. But from the hospital side? No problems with the liability assessments. And oh, if you do die, rest easy in knowing that it was completely not our fault.”
“Doesn’t my constitution play a part in this? Isn’t that how it works in most games?”
“Oh no no. This is real life,” the doctor said. “How much you pay for your insurance gives you a bonus.”
I massaged my increasingly throbbing temple.
“Sounds about right,” I said. “So that’s a straight roll.”
“A straight roll, Ash,” Doctor Boyd said. “I’ll be here to verify the result.”
There was a long silence, only interrupted by the increasingly rapid beeps of the heart rate monitor. Staring at the die, the small object, I felt myself channelling my growing pain into it, willing all of it to go in. Maybe the inanimate thing will take pity on me, and show the face.
“For what it’s worth,” Doctor Boyd said. “I’m rooting for you.”
I grabbed it the dice. A feeble shake, which felt far stronger in my mind, and then rolled the bones, hearing them clitter and clatter on the plastic table.
I leaned back into my pillow, not daring to look, squeezing my eyelids shut. In an instant, it was like every drop of blood surged to my brain. The heart rate monitor was fading away, my battering head instead the only thing my nerves could sense.
“Alex? Alex!”
I never saw the die face. Life, it seemed, had rolled the dice for me.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-03-14T12:43:38 | 2022-03-14T10:59:45 | 110 | 14 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | Eric stood on the stage assessing the audience. They were mostly drunks, but that’s what you got performing in a pub. He made a show of his search for a willing participant, peering around the crowd in circular motions, like a lighthouse shining into a sea of inebriated slobs.
Not that he minded where he performed. He’d long since understood his brand of magic wasn’t going to make it mainstream. And that was okay — who wanted to be mainstream anyway?
“Are there any dads here?” he asked, snapping his gloves further up his arms. “I could do with a little assistance for my next trick from a father.”
A pretty young woman, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, pushed forward an older man she stood next to. “Go on, Dad. Do it for my birthday. Please.”
The man staggered forward, flashing a glare at his daughter.
“Fantastic,” said Eric, clapping the portly man on the back. “Thank you sir, you’ll be perfect for this.“ And to the daughter: “Madam, I am going to make your father disappear.”
”Good luck!“ she said with a smile. “I’ve been trying for twenty years but he keeps coming back.”
The crowd laughed. This was the first time the audience had laughed — even though he’d told at least a dozen decent puns. But that was Eric. Not a greatly skilled magician, not a greatly funny one, either.
“Sir,” he said, gesturing to a tall black box painted with mysterious white swirls (Eric had painted them himself). “Would you step inside?”
The man rolled his eyes at the audience. They laughed again. Of course they’d laugh at that, thought Eric.
”Sir? Please step inside.”
”Dad! Go on.”
”Yeah, yeah, for you, sweetheart. Happy birthday.“ The man stepped into the box. Eric closed the door behind the man, then turned to face the audience.
”When I was a young boy,” said Eric with practiced patter, ”my father went to the shops to pick up a bottle of milk. It was that trauma that set the stage for this very trick. Nay! Trick is the wrong word. This is truly *magic*.”
Someone in the crowd groaned. At least it was a reaction, Eric thought. A reaction to something he’d said. It might not have been laughter but anything made a change.
“I will now make this gentleman vanish before your very eyes, as if he has just popped out for milk.”
He tapped the box twice. The door swung open.
The man was gone.
Eric was about to take a bow when the daughter began screaming.
”Where’s he gone! What have you done with my dad!” She charged up on stage, barrelling past Eric. She was petite but had no trouble knocking him out the way.
”He’s fine,” whispered Eric.
”Dad? Dad!”
”In here,” came a muffled reply. “It’s alright love. I’m not gone anywhere.”
A second door inside the box swung open and the man stepped out.
“Ta-da,” he said and took a bow.
The crowd laughed and clapped. Eric watched on, stunned. His trick had been ruined and the applause stolen.
Such was life for Eric.
“Thank god you’re okay, Dad,” said the girl walking him off-stage. “I really thought you’d gone.”
\*\*\*
Eric packed up his belongings, taking multiple trips to his Volvo outside. It was a real magic trick that he managed to get all his oversized props tucked inside it, aligned in just the perfect way.
He’d performed no further tricks that night. There‘d been no point. He’d stood on the stage with no idea what to say next. The crowd gradually muddled off to the bar.
The manager had walked over to Eric and placed an arm on his shoulder. “I don’t think we’ll be needing you again. But thanks, it was an entertaining one-off.” He paid Eric forty pounds in two twenties.
Eric finished packing and returned to the pub. Might as well have half a pint before he went back to his apartment. Wasn’t like anyone was waiting. And half a pint would at least waste some time
He sat at the bar sipping his drink when a girl sat on the stool next to him. It was the girl who’d ruined his trick.
”Can I get you a drink?” she asked. “You know, to say sorry for what I did.”
He waved a hand. “You don’t need to apologise. I would have probably ruined it if you hadn’t.”
She looked at him a while, biting her tongue.
”Happy birthday, by the way,” he said. “I hope you’ve had a good night.” He raised his glass to her.
”My mum left when I was five,” she said. “She slipped out the house and really didn’t come back. I have slight issues with attachment. Or detachment. One or the other. Sorry.“
”Oh,” said Eric. “But… You pushed your father forward for the trick? You nominated him to vanish.”
She shrugged. “Guess you don’t know how you’re going to cope with something until that something happens. I really didn’t expect to run up on stage. But it was like a cold hand squeezed my heart.”
He sipped his drink. “Thanks for explaining.“
“You’re still wearing your gloves,” she said.
He looked at the long black glove. “Sometimes I take them off for a big trick. But usually not.”
”What’s the big trick?”
”It’s real magic. But…” He sighed, then took off his right glove.
”Oh,” she said.
His hand was badly burned. Red and white and bubbled.
“Fell forward into hot coals when I was a kid. Don’t ask. I stopped myself with my hands and… this is what I got. On the plus side, I can do this.”
Eric clicked his fingers; his hand erupted into flame. “Handy, if you’re a smoker. But as far as big tricks go, it’s not all that impressive. Not compared to some magicians out there. Plus, seeing my hand kind of turns audiences off.”
The girl opened her mouth. Closed it. “That’s… Doesn’t it hurt to have a hand on fire?”
He shook his hand and the flame extinguished. “Don’t feel a thing.”
”In either hand?”
He sipped his drink. “At all. I don’t feel a thing anywhere, ever.”
She stared at his hand as he lifted the glass.
“It’s pretty freaky looking, right?”
”Sorry, no, it’s not that. It’s just…”
”What?”
”Can I hold it?” she asked.
”Uh…” It was a weird request. But it was her birthday, he supposed. And what harm could it do? He held out his hand.
She took it, clasping it in both of hers. She drew a breath and closed her eyes | "Well, you see, Miss Julia, we do not typically give tours of the school." The headmaster was ancient. So ancient that Julia could not tell which marks on his face were wrinkles and which were scars. He stood blocking the doorway holding a staff in one mangled hand as if he thought he was going to have a say in the matter.
"No doubt you received the letter from my father, the Minister. It made the request quite clear, I believe." She had in her pocket a more formal order for the inspection of the school, but her father had advised her not to use it unless necessary. It was best to maintain the veneer of choice, especially when dealing with Magicians.
"It is only out of respect for your delicate nature, Miss Julia, that I hesitate. Our students, especially those early in their training, can be quite— jarring."
"You will find my nature anything but delicate, Headmaster. We shall proceed." She walked forward, forcing the headmaster to quickly turn and follow her. As she reached the threshold of the school, the air resisted her slightly, pressing her skirts firmly up against her legs, but she pressed through it with a jerk. She realized that she could no longer hear the traffic from the street outside. In its place was a regular staccato of screams.
Julia turned to the headmaster and raised one eyebrow. He refused to meet her gaze. "You are aware, no doubt, Miss Julia, that a Magician's magic is always related to some trauma that they have experienced. The stronger the trauma, the more powerful a Magician may become. The screams— well— some of the children have lasting effects."
He gestured for her to follow and walked through the entry atrium. In the center, facing the doorway was a painting of the headmaster as a much younger man. Looking at it, Julia realized that all of his wrinkles had started as scars. They passed out of the atrium into a hallway of doors. Next to each door was a window looking into a small classroom. The headmaster stopped next to the first.
"This is where we teach fire magic." The headmaster didn't meet Julia gaze but gestured at the window. The room was bare, with a single metal table in the center and blackened walls. A red-robed fire mage stood with a lit candle in one hand and a strong grip on a young student in the other. The child struggled as the mage held his hand to the flame. The scream was not muffled by the window.
"Worry not, Miss Julia. The burns will be fully healed. We've come quite a long way since my days as a student." The headmaster stretched out his own deformed hand as he spoke.
Julia turned away from the window. "It was my understanding that the students gained their magic from trauma they experienced before coming to the school."
"Oh, yes. We don't accept any that don't already have the spark. But their abilities must be further developed. They must learn multiple types of magic."
Julia rushed down the corridor looking in each window. She saw blades, tubs, chains, darkness, and other things she had not the imagination to determine the use of. She turned back to the headmaster.
"They are just children. Isn't it too much for them?"
"We almost never have to resort to the collar anymore. Mad Mages are mostly a thing of the past. A much bigger danger is that they will fail to develop sufficient abilities, despite our most strident efforts. Since they are mostly orphans they would often end up on the street in those cases. We cannot allow that, of course, but we have a very nice island on which to release them." The headmaster was interrupted by screams three times while speaking.
Julia stood silently for a minute thinking about what to say. No one in society would have guessed the state of this school. She turned to the old magician.
"Headmaster. I have seen enough. I would like to enroll my daughter."
\[See me critique my work at r/c_avery_m\]
\[Ask me questions in this week's [Writer's Spotlight](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ubkpmr/ot_writers_spotlight_c_avery_m/)\] | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 2022-04-26T10:52:17 | 79 | 30 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | "So it's meant to be, what, an agonizing choice? A huge dilemma? A source of eternal regret?" Leems asked. After an eternity on Acid Mine Supervision, he had finally been promoted to Reception, and wanted to be sure he understood what was going on.
"For some of them, yes. I think you might be overestimating how many actually think things through," Ebnerzaz replied, in his British basso. The supervisor of Reception stood an impressive twelve feet tall, and Leems had to scurry quickly in front of him to avoid his trashcan-lid-sized cloven hooves. Some said he had been chosen because the arriving souls often mistook him for the Prince of Darkness Himself.
"Ah, so you're saying that most of them choose the aeons-long vacation with The Enemy then," Leems wheezed. "They don't even give it a second thought, eh? 'Why would I pick a spoon when I can spend a hundred trillion years in heaven?'"
"Precisely," Ebnerzaz said, as they exited the vast hallway into a much vaster cavern. Its impressive collection of stalactites was sheathed in a constantly-churning haze, the better to frustrate anyone trying to enjoy the scenery. Management thought of everything.
"So what's our angle, then? If they get such pleasure from the vacation..."
"It makes it all the more crushing when they come back and realize that it was quite literally nothing compared to the length of time they'll be spending here. All subsequent torment is therefore enriched. Set the papers down there, if you would," Ebnerzaz said, as he found his desk. Leems stood on tiptoe to deposit the loose sheath of parchment in the supervisor's In box.
"Aha, so the correct choice, then, is the spoon?" he asked, looking around for his own desk.
The senior devil gave a condescending grin. "This is Hell, Leems. There is no correct choice."
"But..." Leems began.
"Our shift is starting. I'll answer any further questions when we have our break. Off you go," Ebnerzaz said, his massive clawed hand steering Leems' shoulders towards the empty desk he would be working at.
Leems hurried over to the protruding stone just in time for the flow of souls to shamble up to him, all of them shaved bald and clothed in itchy rags. "Welcome to Hell! You may have one amenity - a hundred trillion year vacation in heaven, starting right now, or a small wooden spoon." He offered the choice to each one of them, and saw that Ebnerzaz's assessment was even truer than he'd thought - thousands upon thousands chose the Heavenly vacation, no questions asked. As soon as they did, they vanished in a puff of light, leaving a lavender scent that clashed horribly with the dominant smell of brimstone.
Finally, one of the souls stopped long enough to think through the choice, his dark brow furrowing in concentration. "If you're offering me this, that means it's reasonable to choose the spoon, right? They're on a par with each other, right?" he said slowly.
Leems just smiled, not knowing the answer himself.
"So I know everybody in front of me chose Heaven. That can't be what you want. So let me think. It's eternal down here, right? So no matter how long the vacation is, it's not even a drop in the bucket. So let's think about it utilitarian-like. I can get real happy for a tiny amount of time, big-picture. Or I can choose the spoon, and it'll make me just a tiny bit happy, but for an infinite amount of time. Right?" he said eagerly. Once again, Leems didn't respond. "Oh, and what's more, once the vacation's over, I bet I'll regret I didn't choose the spoon. That'll make me even more unhappy. I'll never know what I'm missing out on if I don't go to heaven! But the spoon... that'll last me forever. No regrets there!"
"Are you quite done?" Leems asked.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm done. I'm pickin' the spoon," the soul said triumphantly.
Leems nodded, and pulled open the stone drawer in his desk with a scraping sound. Inside were hundreds of tiny wooden spoons, each not much bigger than a finger. He selected one and handed it to the soul, who eagerly grabbed it, before turning to the left to exit through one of the many gaping caves in the cavern wall.
The encounter stuck with Leems all through the shift, as he let thousands more souls poof into heaven. Finally, it was break time - the gates closed and the remaining lines disappeared. The horde of demons working Reception left their desks and swarmed over to the break area, to consume sulfurous coffee and rotting meat.
Leems sought out the hulking form of Ebnerzaz, and tugged on the supervisor's wings. "Ah, Leems! How did your first shift go? Keeping up the pace, I hope?" he asked, peering down at the smaller demon.
"Yes, it went very well, sir. But I did have one soul choose... the spoon."
"Ah, on your first day! Congratulations. It took me a week, way back when. But why are you looking so troubled?"
"Well, it's just... he stopped and thought about it, like you said some of them might. And his reasoning seemed pretty ironclad. If the spoon gives them a small amount of pleasure forever, is that not categorically better than a finite vacation in heaven?" Leems asked. "I thought you said there were no correct choices. I feel as though, by giving him the spoon, I have reduced the amount of suffering we'll generate."
"Ah, yes, Leems. Do not worry. The spoon will generate plenty of suffering in due time."
"But how?"
"Because, dear Leems," Ebnerzaz said, smiling his most terrifying smile yet. "When did you ever hear of a simple wooden spoon that stays intact forever?" | Time Value
--------
"Sorry, what?"
"You get a choice. A small wooden spoon, or a hundred-trill--in what way was any of what I said ambiguous?"
The wretched thing that was once a man cowered before the devil's anger, then found his voice again.
"Well, it's just that I never heard of any choices in Hell. This is actually Hell, right? It's not like a koan where you're still Saint Peter and there's some obscure bible passage about 'All those who enter the kingdom of God shall do so with a wooden spoon'?"
Rolling his eyes, the devil took a flaming sword to the man's gonads. "Any more stupid questions?"
After a series of screams and guttural gurgles, he recovered enough to say, "But I don't understand. Why any choice? Why those choices? Why a spoon?" The last three words prompted a memory in his rapidly deteriorating mind. "Why not an ax or a--"
"Oi!" The devil grabbed a snake and threw it on to the man's chest. In a moment the venom had stopped his heart. He got to experience all the pain of dying again without the actual dying. "No prompting Alan Rickman! You might hear his voice in the other place, but not here. Now come on, spoon or trip, make your choice. It's the last choice you'll ever have. Chop, chop. There's a line."
Fearful that the devil would suit action to his pronouncement of "chop, chop," the man tried to think through his pain. The question was one of utility. The point was to emphasize that even a hundred trillion years would be worth nothing compared to eternity. He'd gotten that far. The spoon, though of far less utility, would be with him during his torment.
But then again, it could have been a double bluff. In all that time in heaven, surely things would get better. He could create a memory that, held onto, would certainly comfort him more than a spoon. For that matter, perhaps after even ten trillion years, God's policies might have shifted and he could be forgiven, not forced to return.
Whatever he was now, he still thought like a man. He couldn't really wrap his head around infinity. A hundred trillion was Close Enough.
"I choose the respite in heaven."
"Right," the demon said. "Off to the pit of fire and brimstone with you."
"Then it was a trick question all along? I'm not really getting to heaven, am I?"
The first response was an ice auger to his esophagus. "That for calling me a liar! No, you'll get your vacation. Just as soon as everyone else who made that choice comes back. One at a time. Like I said, there's a line!"
As he was hauled off screaming, the soul tried to make one last calculation. If a hundred billion people had died before him, and only ten percent had been damned (a lowball at best) and only ninety percent had chosen the vacation (a lowball at best), that would be a cozy nine hundred quintillion they would have to break him before he got his respite.
After that, all he could think of was a memory of his grandmother making sauce, how nice the wooden spoon had felt. And how *quick* one could hand out a spoon. | 2022-03-09T06:27:01 | 2015-06-08T03:11:34 | 4,220 | 18 |
[WP] Panic spreads amongst the African Vampire community after Toto blesses the rains. | *Tanzania, February 1983*
Kaisi hummed along to the radio as he tidied his house. His sister was coming to visit tomorrow night, and he liked things to be tidy anyway. This would probably be the last time she visited him for a few months, as the rainy season would be starting any day now, and she was always busy at that time of year.
From the outside, his house looked like a simple stone house several kilometers outside of Kigoma, not very large, but ample room for a bachelor of 130 years. But a trapdoor in the floor of the bedroom led to a rather large underground dwelling where Kaisi spent much of his time. It was here that he was now, preparing for his sister and the coming rain, which yearly left enough water in through the unfinished walls to leave puddles on the floor. It normally wasn't much more than an annoyance, but once every ten years or so, Kaisi would have a temporary underground swimming pool.
The voice of the DJ crackled through his radio. 'And that was Hungry Like the Wolf, by Duran Duran. Now for a tune that's sweeping across the United States. Here's Africa, from Toto.' A brassy sound filled Kaisi's home, quickly followed by a plinking instrument that reminded him of rain, then a soft voice. 'I hear the drums echoing tonight...' Kaisi couldn't help but start swaying to the catchy tune. By the second chorus, he was singing along. 'I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA!' He laughed to himself a little. How strange would it be if this band could actually bless the rains about to come? Strange and horrifying, certainly. Kaisi had only come into contact with holy water once, by accident, but he remembered how bad it had stung.
Four evenings later, Kaisi was tending his garden when the rains finally came. He had watched lightning play on the horizon for an hour or so, and was just getting ready to go inside when a few drops started falling from the sky. One landed on his cheek and he swatted at his face as it seared his skin, leaving a blister and burning his fingers where he'd swiped the moisture away. Several more raindrops landed on his arms, but it felt like acid. He ran for his front door, dropping his tools as the roar of the downpour swept closer to him.
Kaisi slammed his door shut just as the sheet of rain drew over his house. He stumbled into his bathroom, head down to keep any stray drops from falling into his eyes, groping for his towel. Finally grasping it, he pressed it to his face and head, moaning. What Hell was this? The rain felt like it was holy water, burning wherever it touched his skin and leaving angry welts as he dried himself.
His phone rang. Fingers stinging, he picked up the receiver. 'Hello?' he rasped.
'Kaisi!' It was his sister. 'I'm so glad you answered! Don't go outside! There's something wrong with the rain. It's like it's been turned into holy water, but no one knows how. You have to promise me you'll stay inside.'
Kaisi almost rolled his eyes at his sister's excessive concern, but then he remembered his plans for later that night. 'I don't have any blood stored here,' he whispered. 'I'm going to starve. If I don't starve, I'll be dissolved by the rain.'
'No! Don't say that! Just... just stay inside. We'll find a way to reach you with some blood,' she told him. 'Just stay inside, and stay dry.'
He said goodbye and hung up, then slumped in a chair, listening to the water pound on the roof. It might let up tomorrow evening, or it might last for days. As he rubbed at the blisters on his arm, he could just make out the *plip plip* of water dripping into his basement.
It had been almost twenty years since the rain had been heavy enough to fill the lower level of his home. | I turned on the radio, and what I heard was enough to chill me to the very core. I felt like crying. On the radio, singing in a cheery, clear voice. I recognized his voice immediately. To me he was simply called “The Hunter”, and that is what he did. He hunted. No one knew how old he was, or why he hunted with such vicious malice. Perhaps he was one of us, or perhaps he was not the first huntsman to walk this land, in pursuit of the most dangerous game. What I did know, however, was that he was a legend. Stories and whispers of his actions have existed for several hundred years in Africa. We had sent our strongest and our bravest warriors to war against him. One by one, they were all slaughtered. He killed them like animals, like sheep for slaughter. He was a monster, and he had just won. I began to slowly, quietly weep as I slowly comprehended the song. “There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do. I bless the rains down in Africa. Gonna take some time to do the things we never have” He blessed the rains, down in Africa. The Hunter found a way to destroy us, the vampires of Africa. Nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do. We are doomed. He won. | 2018-06-11T09:06:22 | 2018-06-11T08:20:28 | 1,291 | 855 |
[WP] In a world where they are illegal you are called to prove that the pun was not intended | I stepped out of my old battered jalopy and lifted my jacket collar to protect my exposed neck from the biting wind and rain. In front of me was a young man being held down by four NYPD gorillas in starched blue shirts, waiting for the meat wagon to show up. The area was already taped off, but an officer saw me coming and waved me through.
'It was an honest mistake, I swear!' The man's face was being pushed into a puddle by a police-issue knee connected to 260 pounds of New York's finest. His words bubbled through the murky water with a clumsiness not usually associated with the criminal punderworld, or wordsmiths, as they called them on the force. I flicked my cigarette into the gutter and stepped through the police cordon.
'What have we got here, boys?'
Officer Jenkins, the knee's owner, piped up first. '30 year old caucasian male. He was held by brave members of the public after walking into the opening of an opticians and shouting 'what a spectac-'
'Don't say it, dummy!' Ramirez, barely sharper, clipped Jenkins to the back of his head, sending his police cap askew, before returning to holding the young man's kicking legs with the dexterity of a crocodile wrestler.
'Jeez, what? We have, what's it called, enforcement immunity.'
'That's not a thing, you schmuck.'
'Then how come when we went to the break in at the bacon factory I was allowed to say they made a pig's ear of it?'
'Jesus Christ, Jenkins, would you stop already?' Sergeant Benitez piped up from the other leg.
'Sorry, sarge.'
The guy looked terrified. He certainly didn't look like your typical wordsmith. Normally they lived to be caught and charged, like it was a notch on their bat or something, the dirty bastards. This guy was different. He looked too stupid, too naive, too vacant in the eyes to be responsible for something like this.
I crouched down and did my best to get his attention. One of the officers eased their knee off, to give his face a break from the tarmac.
'What's your name, son?'
'Snellen, sir.'
'OK Snellen, I'm a public defender, they call me Shephard. You can call me Shep. Now. In a minute or two we're going to take a trip downtown to the station, and when we get there you're going to tell me what's happened. I'm your state appointed lawyer. You're entitled to find your own representation, should you wish, but I think we should be able to wrap up this misunderstanding pretty quickly.'
Snellen seemed to brighten, smiling through his broken and misted up glasses. 'O-O-OK, sir. Boy, I've got to tell you, you're truly a sight for sore eyes!'
'What the fuck did you just say?' Jenkins smashed his knee down with extreme prejudice, giving Snellen another taste of asphalt.
'Aagghh! Please!!'
I had a feeling this was going to be a long night. | John sat waiting for his case number to be called. The wait became torturous, as he was a busy man with a lot to do, and it was a simple, accidental pun. As he sat and waited as other preliminary hearings proceeded, seemingly at random, John became incensed. Finally, he stood, and shouted, "Is there an order in this court?!"
The men in black suits appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and whisked him away.
He loved Big Brother. | 2017-04-16T07:11:37 | 2017-04-16T07:09:17 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] A vampire, due to his/her supernatural abilities, is the greatest spelunker in the world. Leading a team into the deepest recess of a cave system in which nobody has set foot in millenia, the vampire suddenly stops. (S)he needs an invitation. | “So, we hired a fucking vampire? You know how dangerous those things are?” I asked Charlie, our group leader. We’ve been looking hard for a guide to some of the caves that had recently been discovered underneath Scandinavia. Sonar and drones had put it at the deepest cave system known to man. We were going to be the first to set foot there in all of recorded history, but only if we found a reliable guide. A reverse Sherpa, I guess.
“I know, I know. They’re dangerous, yes. They’re a bit quick, yes. I think, though, as long as we keep our shit together and keep a good distance, we’ll be fine.” Charlie replied
“Let me ask you something.”
“Ask away.”
“Do you really just want to kill us? Are you a psychopath?”
Charlie smiled, radiant in his confidence, infecting all of us with it. Yeah, sure enough, we’d follow him even though we knew the idea was questionable at best.
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s meet the thing. Is it here yet?”
“Yeah, he’s here. Be good. For your sake.”
A couple hours and several drinks later, I was ready to meet this thing.
Our conference room overlooked the skyline of Malmo, Sweden. The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon with gold and pink and red. Wide impressionist brushstrokes of clouds balanced the scene, floating on the horizon, sweeping the dark across the land. The doors slid open, and in walked our guide.
I expected, as well as several others, something vastly different. But here he stood. Scars crisscrossed his face and neck. We assumed the rest of him was something similar, but he was heavily clothed. Our guide stared at us through heavily tinted goggles. Regardless of his haggard and, honestly frightening appearance, he exuded an air, an aura, of regality. Tall, slender, handsome under his calluses perhaps.
Charlie was the first to break the silence between us all.
“Stop molesting the poor man with your eyes. Guys, this is our new guide, Mordred.” Charlie said
“I know it’s kind of a weird name,” Mordred said. His Appalachian accent seemed to put everybody at some kid of ease. Don’t ask me, but I was afraid he was not going to speak English at all. “My parents were a bit…eccentric, I guess. But yeah, I’m ya’lls new guide. It’s nice to be met.”
“Are you going to eat us?” somebody asked him.
“Why in tarnation would I do that? First off, I wouldn’t get paid if I killed and drained all y’all,” he replied, seemingly in good spirits. He flashed a brief smile, warm and soft, that ever so slightly revealed the tips of his fangs. The smile quickly faded, and he lowered his head like a self-conscious teen. “Plus. I’m vegan. I wouldn’t hurt nobody.”
We were all expert climbers. Even the worst of us could have easily been a climbing champion in some countries. Needless to say, we had all been accustomed to taking orders from guides. Mordred was on another level, though. If you’ve ever heard that vampires have these freaky abilities; that they can phase through certain objects, or that they can sometimes alter their shape, let me tell you something. You heard right. Several times during our descent, he saved our lives with tricks like those.
We had been on the path for months, seeing things that were almost incomprehensible. Mordred kept about an hour ahead of us at all times, marking the way and sometimes things he thought we’d find interesting. Once he marked a pool of bubbling water, boiling from a geothermal vent, that was growing a type of red moss, and had several small fish swimming in it. Thriving in the impossible.
We rarely saw him, but sometimes when we would set up camp for the night, he would come join us. We didn’t know what we ate, and personally I didn’t want to, but he never showed any sign of being hungry, and certainly no intention to eat us in our sleep. He was welcome with us.
One night I saw him without those blackened goggles he always wore. His eyes, where mine are blue, and Charlies are brown, were sterling silver. He quickly put them back on when he noticed I had saw.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to scare nobody with ‘em.”
We’d wake up, and he’d be gone. Off on the path, marking it for us.
We’re getting close to the end, and I need to finish this. Mordred said he’d take this back to the surface for me.
Anyway, I don’t know the date, or the time of day when it happened, but eventually we caught up to him. Mordred had taken off the heavy jacket he had worn, and stood standing on the edge of an abyss. His muscles rippled underneath the skin of his back, accentuating what we had already suspected was there: a collage of scars. A portrait of pain, worn on his skin.
“Glow tube,” he demanded.
We handed him one. He twisted it, snapping. A green glow illuminated his scarred and obviously worried face. He threw the stick over the edge of the chasm. We stood, watching it fall, until it was far out of sight. I wasn’t sure if it had hit the bottom, or even if there was one.
“What’re we waiting for, Mordred? Let’s get a move on. Find us a way around this pit, will ya?” Charlie asked, more an order than any question.
“Jag ber om entré. Ska du bjuda in mig?” Mordred asked. Looking back on it now, we all should have picked up at least a little bit of it. We had been in Malmo for about a month preparing. We should have picked some of it up and ran, we should have. See, our guide was asking for admission. An invitation.
Mordred looked back up at us, at me, and said: “I’m sorry. It was nice while it lasted, right?”
I remember, from the bottom of the endless chasm, a light. It grew larger, and we all stood in stunned silence and horror as a column of crimson flame made its way up to us.
When it reached the edge of the pit, sending forth a miasma of sulfur, the flame metamorphosed into a face, then from it’s mouth grew a body. Arms ejected from the fiery torso. So did the creature’s legs. Before any of us, stunned in our horror, could do anything, the thing reached out.
I remember it grabbing Charlie with it’s hand. His skin boiled when it was touched, and his eyes rolled from their sockets, uncomprehending terror stuck on his face. He tried to scream, but only could make a silent “O” with his mouth, as the creature dragged him down into the depths.
I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe days, maybe weeks. Mordred keeps us alive, feeding us the flesh of whatever beasts grow down here, and keeps us contained with the threat of an even less pleasant death. He talks to us, mainly in apologies, and calms us with some other trick of his. Makes us feel content. Some of us write letters from paper that we’ve scavenged from bits of manuals in our packs. That’s what I’m writing on now.
The thing comes back every so often to take one of us. It feeds. We can’t run or Mordred will, regardless of his polite demeanor, kill us without much thought. Or so I’ve gathered.
Listen, he said he’d take this back to the surface. The smell of sulfur marks the creature’s return. There aren’t many of us left. I assume it’s going to be me this time. So, if you’re reading this, take heed, okay? There are things we don’t understand. Hell is real.
Stay away.
Edit: Formatting.
Thanks for reading. Critique and Criticism are more than welcome! Have a good one, Y'all
| I don't know how far into the worm-like network of caves we were, when we stumbled upon the first bone. Perhaps we were a thousand feet below the surface of the Earth, perhaps slightly more. Moving is slow inside these constricting, void-like labyrinths, even with Selena's keen eyes and uncanny sense of navigation to guide us, and distance soon becomes hard to track. A few feet can feel like a mile, when crouching or crawling through mud and icy water. A mile, like a marathon.
I had travelled from London to the barren, rocky tundra's of northern Slovenia, to take part in what I was guaranteed would be *the caving experience of a lifetime*: unparalleled exploration of a vast, part-unexplored cave system that descended five thousand feet into the soul of the Earth.
I had travelled alone, as I always did on such expeditions, but had met my fellow spelunkers, Martin and his wife Elanya, in the hotel Luknja (a rather run down motel, by modern British standards), about forty miles from the entrance to the cave. Martin and Elanya were newly wed and this was to be a honeymoon, of sorts. Martin was a wealthy young American, who had amassed a small fortune in internet currency trading. In his spare time (which was most of the time), he was a keen snowboarder; Elanya was a mountain climbing enthusiast, and seemed to do little else, besides. I suppose they wanted to partake in something exciting and completely new to the both of them. Personally, I would have picked the Amalfi Coast for my honeymoon. In fact I *did* pick the Amalfi Coast and, well, that marriage didn't exactly last long. Perhaps it's not where you go, but who you go with. Regardless, they both seemed like bubbly extroverts and people I could see myself getting on with, for a few days at any rate. Whether I would trust them with my life... Simply put, I would not. I would *never* normally go on an expedition like this with first-timers, but this was a totally unique situation: we would have *Selena*.
The real expense of this trip to Slovenia, was not on tickets for the plane journey, nor for access to the cave system. *It was for the guide.*
Vampires, of course, are incredibly rare, as only a tiny portion of the population have the genetic predisposition to the disease. As such, nearly all who try to 'self-turn' only make it... *half way*. Selena is one of the two vampires that are willing to guide tourist excursions into the bowels of the earth -- and the cheaper of the two vampires, at that. She's also the more camera shy and serious, and the one (based on what I knew of them) that I trusted with my life more. Why other vampires detest cave systems, I can't say. It seems like something they'd be well suited for, and yet...
It was Tuesday morning when we set off from the Luknja, hoping to be back at the hotel sometime on Thursday afternoon. The coach the hotel had provided for us, had been packed with provisions, our bulging backpacks, and an air of untameable excitement.
"I swear, Christopher," said Martin, as he strut down the coach's aisle, waving a solemn finger directly at me, "We are going to break new ground! *Records.* This cave system will be renamed after us. Forget 'Cehi,' they'll call it Mart-anya-pher, after this. You mark my words!"
Elanya giggled (politely, I assume). I somehow refrained from rolling my eyes. But while full of bravado and hot air, Martin was, at the very least, infectiously uplifting. Selena was not on the bus with us, and we were instead to meet the vampire (for the first time) inside the cave system, on account of her predicting a clear day -- unusual for the Slovenian winter. A note had been delivered to the hotel in the early hours of the morning informing us of this plan.
I glanced out of the window; the sun was a shimmering halo of orange, lazily simmering in the cloudless, early afternoon sky. Selena had already made one correct decision, and that brought a modicum of relief to an unease that had settled insidiously in my stomach.
We soon arrived and, with the help of the porter who had accompanied us on the coach, we hauled our bags and belongings off the vehicle. The coach seemed to sigh in relief as the weight was lifted from it. Not a huge burden, but still a great weight for such an ancient, sorrowful vehicle.
"Holy..." Martin began.
"*Shit*," Elanya continued, her French accent turning the profanity into a soft '*sheet*'.
I turned to see what had caused their surprise and found the cave entrance: it looked like the maw of a hungry demon, it's throat spiralling into the ground. Red and black seemed to sparkle in the void below.
"Good to you luck," said the porter, his face pale, as he hopped back on the bus. "We come again, Thursday. Two."
I gave the boy a wad of notes, and he gave back a polite curl of his thin lips. His hand shook as he took the money.
Martin leaned into the dark mouth. "Selena?" he yelled. "Selena!"
*Nothing.*
"Guess we'll have to find her," I said, wincing as I coaxed my backpack onto my shoulders.
Martin turned to me.
"You're the one with experience. How about you go first?"
| 2018-01-16T05:59:07 | 2018-01-16T05:40:05 | 135 | 70 |
[WP] The world's greatest villain and hero clearly like each other. His monologues when she's captured tend to turn to conversation, and she "accidentally" lets him escape arrest. While they're convinced they're enemies, his henchman and her sidekick are just trying to get them together already. | “Oh you gotta to be kidding me!”
Now in the world of superheroes, Vectress was used to coincidences. Like being at a bank that someone had just begun to rob or walking past an alleyway with a batman situation on hand. But this, this was just ridiculous.
She’d just walked into her favorite coffee shop as she usually did when no crimes happened around the area, only to be faced with people stuck in fear and her greatest villain standing in line with his henchmen. The villain known as Quake.
“You told me she wasn’t patrolling this route.” Quake elbowed one of his henchmen lightly.
“I’m glad I did. This is the last time you strike fear into people Quake, by the name of the hero union I -” Before she could finish Quake yawned and waved his hand.
“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard it before. Can I get my coffee now? It’s been a tough week and I’m seriously itching for a cappuccino and they make the best.” Quake interrupted, tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter.
“We’ll for one I agree, they have the best cappuccino’s in the city, but I also am required by law to bring you in!” Vectress began to float preparing for battle but Quake just shrugged and went to the only free table as every other was filled with his henchmen.
“Could we maybe do this after I’ve finished this.” Quake waved the cup without spilling anything. “I’ll make it a sweeter deal. After I’m done, we can fight outside, you know, to avoid property damage.”
Vectress sighed to herself, “Fine, but at least release the hostages.” She motioned to the fearful people watching this unfold.
“Sure, not like I was forcing them to stay here. Also do you normally chose the large or small cup?” Quake wondered, sipping some of his drink. Everyone In the store left in a hurry while Vectress was jumbled by his question.
“Small, the large cup takes too long to finish and tastes more bitter than I like it.” Vectress floated down, Quake seemed to perk up to her answer and jumped from his chair pointing at every single one of his henchmen.
“I told you! See, she agrees!” Quake said. Then he noticed her still standing there waiting for him to finish his coffee.
“Hey you might as well order to, I’m not known for being a fast person.” Quake casually said. Normally she would’ve not let him out of sight, but the smell of coffee was really starting to get to her. So, she went to the counter only to get a dumbfounded look on her face.
It was one of the henchmen who had replaced the normal cashier that had ran away. The henchman even wore an apron as he asked what she would like. She took the usual and was on edge as the henchman was acting kind to her and made her drink.
She grabbed her drink and saw that the only free table was with Quake. She mentally sighed to herself, at least it was in front of him and not next to him. This wasn’t how she imagined her day going, not that she minded a break like this.
“Can I ask something?” Quake glanced at her. Vectress raised an eyebrow at the villain trying to start small talk and opted to nod.
"Okay, so I've been looking for birthday presents for my niece but don't really know what to get since I don't keep up with what girls like these days. So…" Quake mumbled while Vectress deadpanned. Was one of her greatest villains really asking her for birthday present advice.
Sure, during their fights they always held conversations. He’d complain about how bad of a day he had, and she’d boast about her good day, stuff like that. Almost every other hero found it funny and would watch recorded clips of them fighting like it was movie night, saying that they bickered like a couple more than actually fighting, which she found annoying and untrue.
Sure, the situation right now didn’t help her alibi but still.
Nonetheless, she gave some suggestions based on the information he gave her. And in a rare instance such as this, the villain thanked her in relief.
Then the conversation switched smoothly to her niece which he apparently had a soft spot for. It was… interesting seeing him talk so passionately about someone and not so much in a villain sense. She asked him if he had any siblings, excepting no answer, but instead, he chuckled and said that he did but rarely met them.
Quake asked her the same question which she had no intention of answering, sadly her reflexes answered for her and she quickly covered her mouth. But to her surprise, he gave her a heartfelt chuckle.
“Don’t worry, I might be a villain but I’m not *that* kind of villain.” Quake replied truthfully, smiling to himself.
Vectress paused not knowing how to answer. She sipped some of her drink and leaned back in her chair.
“So do you have any children?” Vectress asked, curious since there wasn’t much information about him out there.
“Nah, I think the title of villain make me a bit un-dateable and bad father material.” He sheepishly explained with a more downbeat tone than usual. Did he want kids?
“We’ll you’re hot so you got that going for you.” She shrugged before freezing up, her cheeks growing red. Her own mind and mouth having betrayed her. She mentally cursed herself and stayed silent.
Quake laughed seeming to take that as a compliment, “Thanks, you’re not that bad yourself, your man or woman or whatever you date must be happy.”
“Heh, I’m actually… not in a relationship. Same as you said, being a hero doesn’t make me dateable.” She pointed out. They both didn't know why, but it felt like all of a sudden every henchman in the room smiled.
“This is so stupid. I mean aren’t we supposed to fight, good versus evil and such.” She realized. “But no, here we are talking like normal people.”
“It’s actually kind of nice, the feeling of being normal and not some super villain deadest on destroying the world.” Quake replied and Vectress realized, yes it did feel nice to talk to someone like she was human and nothing more than that.
“Yeah, guess I miss that feeling to.” She replied and took another sip from her drink.
“You know if I wasn’t a hero or you weren’t a villain, I’d say we should meet again sometime.” Vectress said and blushed to herself. She wasn’t wrong, it would be nice to have these types of talks. “And not by coincidence.”
“That would be nice.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion at his henchmen who all seemed to do their own thing, sometimes taking glances at the hero and villain with gleeful grins. “Heh, coincidence my a-“
“huh?” She wondered, having not heard the last part.
“Nothing.” Quake sighed and turned back to the hero and drank more of his drink.
A short-lived silence took over that was ended by Vectress as she decided to pick up on their conversation again, enjoying his company too much to let it go, same going for Quake. Eventually, 5 minutes turned into 10, and that turned into 30 minutes and so on. They didn't even notice when they both finished their drinks simultaneously and were handed sweets by the henchmen. Both were too deep into their conversation to care.
The henchman behind the counter smiled seeing the two interact, forgetting why they were there, and took out his phone and took a picture of the two and sent it to the hero union. The only response was a thumbs-up and a heart emoji.
**Edit:** Fixed a continuity error, thanks for pointing it out. | It's been a month since I've learn that my boss, who called himself the 'Dominator' (still a terrible name, really, considering who he is), has completely fallen over heels for the new hero, Goldlight (sounds cheesy, but I prefer that over my own boss).
Being a low-class villain, I was the only person my boss could rely on, and the biggest crime we pulled off was a bank heist, which let say, it isn't much compared to more well-known villains, like Divinity or Outbreak (their names are much cooler, and their crimes were much more sinister).
Our crimes were always countered by the newbie hero, as she constantly tried to capture him, and she's always the first to arrive to the scene. Her sidekick, Doppelganger, seems to look tired every time we bump to each other.
On one particular day, my boss and the newbie began to exchange their fist on the famous Golden Gate Bridge (why am I not surprise), though it was clear, at least to me, that my boss was pulling his punches.
I sat back on the fences, watching them fighting each other on the road, when Doppelganger suddenly sat next to me. He made no attempt to arrest me whatsoever, instead, he brought out a pack of cigarettes, and offered me one.
"I don't smoke," I told him.
"Do you drink at least?" he asked me.
"Only coffee, to keep me awake from his bullshit," I grumbled.
"Huh, he worked a girl like you to the bone?" he smirked.
"More like he's slacking off as of late, and I have to make sure he looks good every time we pulled off a stunt, which honestly, we still look pathetic," I sighed.
Doppelganger laughed, his voice sound so hoarse, "Yeah, you guys really look like shit."
"Thanks for the compliment," I jested, as we watched our bosses fighting each other.
"You know, my boss doesn't have much of a great power, only able to shoot off small black fires from his fingers. I'm just more than surprised that Goldlight hasn't apprehend him once," I admitted, as her powers were no joke, able to shoot out blinding light of energy that's able to repel her targets away.
Doppelganger scratched the back of his head, puffing out smoke from his lips. "Yeah, well,...funny story. She isn't actually assigned to him, you know."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Every hero is assigned for a specfic mission. Some are to maintain peace in the city, some are to defeat dangerous villains, blah blah blah. The thing is, the Hero Association has deemed her worthy of holding out stronger villains. Evildoers that does more harm to society than this...wannabe," he pointed at my shitty boss. "No offense."
"No, I'm with you on that one," I said.
"But for some reason, she insist on coming up to him every time you guys come out from your hole. I honestly don't see any reason why she insist of putting herself down to his level. It's almost as if she's in love in him or something," he grumbled.
It hit me like a truck. I kept looking at my boss dumb ways for so long, I fail to see Goldlight's feelings towards him. She constantly pulls herself back, avoids attacking him directly, and purposefully slows herself down to make it seem like we were better.
"Holy fuck, they like each other," I gasped.
"What?" perplexed Doppelganger.
"I don't expect you to see it, but holy shit, that explains a fuckton," I said.
"Wait, Goldlight is in love with...this douchebag?" he croaked, completely astonished. "What the fuck- how in the hell? What does she sees in him?"
Truth be told, I'm wondering the same thing.
But something clicked in me. My boss hasn't been this happy for a long time, and his suicidal tendencies started to lessen ever since she arrived. Is this newbie maybe the key to help him overcome himself?
"Hey, you want to help me get these two together?" I proposed to Doppelganger.
"W-What? Why?"
"Okay, let's see it this way; my boss might consider retirement from his villainous acts, which means less headaches for you, considering Goldlight constantly drags you to this kind of stupidity."
"True that."
"Then, you get a higher pay raise when Goldlight stopped focusing on my boss, and aims for more dangerous villains, true?"
"That's true."
"I see this as an absolute win! What do you say?" I urged him.
Doppelganger put out his cig on the metal fence, and turned to me. "What do you benefit from all this?"
"Better sleep, and maybe a chance of redemption," I told him, staring at the boss I practically grew up with.
Doppelganger sighed, "Well, fuck it. Why not?" We both shook our hands, agreeing to find a way to match these two idiots together, whatever it takes. | 2020-11-07T04:01:49 | 2020-11-07T01:53:41 | 60 | 41 |
[WP] Interplanetary 'wars' are fought peacefully, with opposing leaders meeting and simply talking about how they would counter or retaliate against each other until one admits defeat. No one knows how to react when the human reaches across the table and punches out their opponent. | The mood was tense in the battle chamber as the two admirals took their positions and the holographic interface in front of them came to life. The Kloathi soldier barked a command, and the computer obligingly translated it:
"We have three cruisers entering the orbit of Plenith VI, human. What is your disposition?"
Admiral Terald Raznik of the Allied Nations Navy looked at the alien across from him with shock as three cruisers appeared on the display before him.
*What sort of soldier gives away their position before a battle?*
"In that case, Admiral," Raznik began, the computer translating his words into the harsh barks and squeals of the alien language. "I must ask for your surrender. We have a far greater force already in place in that region. If your men - I mean, if your people lay down arms I can assure you they will be treated in accordance with galactic standards for prisoners of war."
The alien across from him looked at him with an expression which Raznik guessed was bewilderment.
"Human, it is too early for a surrender, the battle has not even begun. What is the disposition of your forces?"
"We have a far greater force, a full battlegroup in orbit around Plenith VI's moon."
As Admiral Raznik spoke the holographic display brought his words to life. A small fleet of ships appeared in orbit around the planet's moon.
"They can enter the planet's orbit within minutes, Admiral," Raznik continued. "Your ships have no way to escape in that time, I once again ask that you surrender so that your soldier's may be spared an unwinnable fight."
"Unwinnable, you say," the creature in front of him squealed, "but you've fallen for a classic misdirection and overcommitted your forces in the earliest phase of the battle. My cruisers will perform a fighting retreat from Plenith VI's orbit and attempt to flee to the fifth planet, where two battlegroups await."
The hologram expanded, suddenly showing not just the locality of Plenith VI, but the entire Plenith system, where a large number of Kloathi ships suddenly leapt into existence around the fifth planet. Reznik frowned, the ANN's intelligence branch had noted that resistance seemed to be light in the Plenith system, three cruisers were within the realm of possibility, but two battlegroups? Unthinkable, unless these creatures possessed stealth technology far more advanced that the ANN was certain they did.
"Admiral, your bluff won't work, we know you don't have those sorts of forces in the Plenith system. Order your ships to surrender or they will be destroyed."
Once again, the alien across from Raznik looked confused.
"Bluffing? You can see for yourself that the ships are there," the Kloathi said as it gestured at the hologram with a claw. "Deploy your reinforcements Human, the cruisers may be lost, but the battle has just begun."
"One moment, Admiral," Raznik said as he turned from the display and pulled a communicator from his pocket. The Kloathi merely nodded impatiently and turned his focus back to the hologram in front of him.
This "battle conference" that he had been invited to was taking place on a station orbiting Plenith's star, the distance to his fleet was close enough that transmission was nearly instantaneous. After a few moments he had an answer to the query he had sent, his battlegroup was approaching the orbit of Plenith VI there were still no signs of Kloathi forces in the system. No cruisers were in orbit around the planet, and certainly there were no battlegroups to be seen anywhere else in the system
"Admiral," he said, turning back to the hologram and the alien in front of him." I don't know what you're playing at but-" Raznik's words died in his throat as he stared at the display. The cruisers which had supposedly been orbiting the planet his forces were keyed to attack were now halfway back to the fifth planet.
*Impossible,* though Raznik, *even if the ships were actually there* *no ship can move that fast.*
*"*Hah, your distraction has cost you human," the Kloathi admiral gloated. "my cruisers have managed to escape while your fleet dithers around that little moon. Now prepare your forces, I assure you my counterattack will be swift and devastating."
"My fleet isn't dithering," Raznik said as he looked at the display. "They've already left the moon and should be reaching the planet shortly."
"Hah, an amateur mistake. You must properly vocalize the commands for the system to pick them up. Your hubris has cost you the battle human."
Raznik was silent for a few moments as he realized the utter folly that was unfolding before him.
"This is a simulation, isn't it?" He finally said, waving at the computers in front of him. "Is this some game you think we're playing? That we were joking when we issued a declaration of war?"
"Of course we are at war, that's why we are fighting a battle," the Kloathi said, it's fur puffing out in indignation. "A battle which you are desperately losing, by the way. Perhaps you should focus more on the simulation and less on your device there."
"Perhaps you should focus more on the situation as it stands *in reality*," Raznik retorted. "Our battlegroup has just arrived in orbit around your planet."
"No it hasn't," the alien responded, as it gestured angrily at the hologram. "You still haven't issued the commands-"
"Our *actual* fleet," Raznik continued, ignoring the Kloathi's protestations. "Right now. In reality. I have a a dozen ships orbiting the world of Plenith VI, and we have detected none of yours in the system. End this farce, surrender the planet to me or I will be forced to order my fleet to commence a bombardment of your military facilities."
"But- how- " the Kloathi sputtered. "That's not fair! You can't mobilize your forces in *real life*, just think of how dangerous that is!"
"Fair or not, it is what has happened. What say you?"
The Kloathi's eyes bulged and it's fur bristled for several moments before it finally responded.
"Fine then, taken the accursed planet, but know that the galactic council will hear of this. They won't stand for this sort of underhanded strategy!"
The Kloathi stormed from the room, leaving Admiral Raznik staring after him. Of all the ways that today's battle could have gone, this was not one that he had expected. He couldn't help but shake his head at the threat given by the alien had left him with. If the *other* ANN battlegroups involved in this offensive faced as much resistance as he just did the Kloathi he'd just sent packing would soon realize that they faced far greater problems than a complaint to the galactic council.
\---
r/WulgrenWrites | All were in attendance in the Grand Hall, from Diplomatic Envoys, Strategic Advisers, and even to the lowliest of deck hands. It was a momentous occasion of all and no one wanted to miss it. The Juntar had disputed Humanity's claims of the Orion Sector and wanted to annex it into their domain; of course Humanity objected to this and here we are.
The various species were taking their seats in the circular arena, such an event has not been seen in millennia and as such the arena was filled to capacity. Thousands of spectators all waiting for the two species in question to enter the arena.
A loud pneumatic hiss was heard all throughout silencing every sentient in the stands, and as the excitement began to grow screens flickered to life showing the Juntar and Human representatives. Both representatives were flanked on either side by another of their species as they made their way to the Table of Deliberation.
The Human representative was the first to take his seat and adjust his microphone, while the representative of the Juntar was preferring to stand; this was when I knew that the Humans had all but lost the Orion Sector as the Juntar prepared to speak.
"Ladies and Gentlemen my name is Hu'dal, and my fellow colleague in the ways of diplomacy the Human Representative Hank Stevens."
"We all know what this Session of Deliberation is about but if you're out of the know, it's concerning the Juntar's rightful claim to the Orion Sector and *all* it's holdings."
Everyone knew what it meant to lose in a Session of Deliberation it meant losing worlds, people, ships, outposts everything in the disputed area. And with that venomous reminder Hu'dal flicked his wrist and activated the holoprojector.
"As you can see here representative Stevens the most important routes into our territory is heavily armed making sure any approach towards our core worlds a most dissatisfying venture."
"Bu.." It had seemed like the Human representative this 'Stevens' was going to retort before being cut off.
"*Shh* *Shhh* Your betters are talking. Hmmm, where was I? Ah yes! while the home guard will be doing the routine patrols our offensive fleets can sneak into your territory via your blind spot in your primitive sensors. It's quite hard to predict enemy attacks when they move through nebula, wouldn't you say?"
"That doesn't make a.." I didn't have to know Human anatomy to know that Stevens was agitated with being interrupted again by Hu'dal.
"Now let's get onto the ground invasions wouldn't you agree Mr. Stevens? By our projections fatalities can range 25-50% of all total enemy combatants. Admit defeat, you will not lose honor by knowing your betters."
At this there was audible gasps whispers from one to another, the Juntar where know from histories past to take Sessions of Deliberation quite seriously but this was going to far. Looking up at the screens I could see Humans representative breathing heavily with hands over his face.
With one quick motion Stevens shot up taking a look at his other Humans giving them a nod and with them each returning the gesture. It would seem like the Humans were going to give in to the Juntar's demands until as the representatives got closer Stevens pulled back and struck Hu'dal, silencing the Hall.
The Juntar representative seemed to be staggered from the blow to his cranium and was being assisted by his aides, it was at this point I noticed Stevens was taking his seat again and adjusting the microphone that fell in the scuffle.
"Let it be know to the Juntar and the rest of the Galaxy as a whole. Should you threaten our borders, should you threaten our people, our Nation then you will not see us using these parlor games that decide the course of Galactic history and the lives of billions.
No will defend each system, each planet, every city, every mile, every block, and every blade of grass will be paid in for in blood in order to remain free from foreign agression. And it won't matter how long it takes the Human spirit has endured countless horrors and been none the worse for wear.
So if you want a war we will give you war."
And with that the Humans simply left at the protests of the two conscious Juntar leaving a now stunned Grand Hall. | 2021-12-30T20:36:28 | 2021-12-30T19:33:10 | 298 | 170 |
[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. | "It.. how? You..."
"I told you," Jack said to God flatly.
The white-bearded deity shifted uncomfortably on his sandals. "What did you do?" His messy room where everything was just where he wanted it was clean and tidy.
"What you were supposed to do but never did. I fixed the Earth. I fixed the whole universe, in fact."
"But ..but *how*? I've been trying to fix that planet since I made it."
"Well, let me ask, G. -when humans prayed to you for world peace, what did you do?"
"Well, I did nothing."
"And how did that work out for you?" Jack put his hands on his hips. "How many wars did your nothing stop?"
"Well, none but... I gave humanity free will."
"You gave ...didn't you say you gave the devil dominion over the Earth?"
"Ah yes but remember that I established the rule that 'the devil made me do it' isn't a viable excuse."
"Right. You made humanity vulnerable to temptation, put temptation all around them, plunged them into desperate need and suffering, and then punished them for falling for the devil's lies. What sort of imbecile are you?"
"Imbecile? How dare you! I am the Lord Go-"
"Were."
"-od and I shall smite... were?"
"You *were* God. You made *me* God, remember?"
"For a day."
"Yes well I changed that too."
"You what?"
"I'm God. I can do anything. A God made the deal and now a God has broken it."
"That's dishonest!"
"I made no promises. This whole idea was yours from the start. All I did was complain and YOU whisked me out of my home and onto this cloud. Who lives on a cloud? This is so uncomfortable!"
"So, what happens to me?"
"Oh, I have a special punishment in store for you."
"Punishment??"
"Yes. As a thank you for thousands of years of wars and torture in your name that you never bothered to step in and stop."
God sighed heavily. The jig was up. "Let me guess, an eternity in the ovens of hell, right? Look, I was totally going to change that..."
"Oh my no. That would be too good for you." Jack snapped his fingers and manifested an emery board. He filed his nails with a smug expression on his face.
"W-what are you going to do to me?" God's hands absently clutched at his robes.
"I'm going to make you live every human life that existed for the last 6000 years since you created the Earth and hid those dinosaur bones to fuck with your children. You're going to be every torturer and every victim of torture. You're going to be the rich man destined for Hell and the poor man clawing at crumbs under his table. You're even going to get to be Jesus on the cross begging you to send the help you never did."
"No, wait, you don't want to-" POOF
God vanished. Jack, satisfied with his work, turned his attention back to solving the dark matter problem in the universe. He was just about to plug up a black hole when his hands began to shake. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Jack had been the last human God was forced to be. He never got rid of God. He *was* God. He had always been God.
And God looked back on his lives, how alone he had felt, how hurt. World after world, civilization after civilization, suffering and warring and fearing and dying.
And upon the face of a trillion worlds a heavy rain fell as God wept. | "That truly waxeth amazing" said God, "how didst thou manage such a marvel?"
"I told everyone how you weren't running things, and provided proof. They all started working their problems out for themselves, and stopped killing each other over how to worship you. By the way, what did you do on your day off?"
"Yea verily, I didst visit a movie theater and beheld a movie that wast entitled 'The Butterfly Effect'. It endeth with a man removing himself from history in order to make everything better."
"Did that give you any ideas?" I asked hopefully. God thought for a moment. Being infinitely benevolent, there was only one thing he could do.
And that's how Utopia began. I didn't take over from God. I just went home, leaving the big throne in Heaven empty. No need to thank me.
| 2017-03-05T03:10:18 | 2017-03-05T01:52:22 | 1,634 | 72 |
[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. | Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list.
“Charles Alel, take to the stand.”
Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could -
“Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have.
Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass.
“I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death.
The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline.
A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended.
Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room.
Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had.
The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body.
Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish.
This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny. | There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming. | 2021-06-24T10:52:50 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you. | The night sky rumbled overhead, an evening storm bringing a cool and humid breeze that brushed around the ankles of my fellow pedestrians. I raised my hood as I felt a few heavy raindrops fall on my face, and quickened my pace. *Splash, splash, clunk, clunk*— my footsteps echoed through the sunken alleyways that separated the buildings, stretching into darkness. Not the most ideal night for a storm, I thought to myself, but luckily there wasn’t too much farther to travel.
I arrived at Sam’s Place, the local bar-turned-coffee shop that had sprung up in response to the growing demand of Millennials moving into the neighborhood. My preferred base of operations. I casually pulled off my hood and slung my worn backpack to the side, taking a seat at the coffee bar. I pulled out my laptop as the woman working the counter came over to greet me. She studied me with a stern look on her face.
“Evening, Ruth. Any mail today?” I asked quietly.
Wordlessly, she pulled a slim envelope from her apron and placed it on the counter in front of me. I reached for it and slowly opened the pronged seal, revealing a few worn documents and photos inside.
“Thanks,” I offered.
She shrugged, placing a cup on the counter next to me and filled it with her darkest brew. Ruth preferred not to ask questions.
I sipped the bitter coffee as she went to her next customer. I started pulling the documents from their manilla enclosure. The first to come out were medical records of some sort, coupled with details of how a pacemaker functioned. On another, a crudely photocopied napkin with a message scrawled on it that read: “Meet me at Sunrise Plaza tonight, 9PM.”
I studied the material intently. On the final paper, a typed message unmistakably meant for me. “Included are the medical records for Councilman Tim Ryderman, incumbent running for reelection, along with the location of a sting operation set up by my crew. He’s under the impression he’s meeting with a local youth leader. Pacemaker details to help you make it look like it was an accident, if you need it. Get it done tonight, and the money is yours.” At the bottom of the page was a single letter handwritten in red ink, a large, cursive “A,” complete with a kiss in ruby-red lipstick. Classy.
I sighed, lamenting at how I allowed myself to get caught up in the most notorious turf war of New Sacramento’s seedy underbelly.
The photos rattled in the envelope as I picked it up, revealing a handsome and warm-looking man participating in various events. Shaking hands with the mayor, cutting a ribbon at a new park— undoubtedly Tim Ryderman. As everyone knew, Tim was the local rags-to-riches story that had captivated the hearts and minds of everyone in New Sacramento, promising to use his newfound fame and fortune for good. After starting a successful charity and various non-profit organizations throughout the state, he went back to school, volunteered around town, ran for office, yada yada yada.
I slipped the papers back into their envelope, carefully re-sealing the prongs once again. I ran one hand through my ruffled hair, with the other savoring the warmth of the coffee mug. What a night.
I knew Tim as well as any other average joe in town. It’s not like I wouldn’t mind killing him— I mean, that much came with the job. Emotional detachment was necessary to my professionalism, after all. And, as with any politician, he was no angel. I had done my research on the guy a few times once he became a high-profile name, and a respectably-sized laundry list of dark money had come his way to help him get elected. Pull on those strings, and who knows what could come unraveled.
But still, he had done good for the city too. Hospitals stopped turning away victims of gang violence at his request. He worked with local police to bust drug rings and clean up the streets. I respected that.
“Must be why Angela wants him gone,” I muttered to myself, thinking of the cursive “A” that decorated the bottom of the letter I had opened. She had inherited the family business, after all, and needed to keep the drug game afloat. Tim was an obstacle to her and her enterprise.
I sighed, weighing my options. As ambivalent as I was towards Tim Ryderman’s death, it wasn’t worth killing him to keep Angela and the Wolverines’ hold on the city secure. I shook my head and kicked myself for what I was about to do. I *really* needed that money this week, too.
I began packing my things when Ruth came back over to take my cup. I slipped the envelope into the pocket of my faded rucksack and looked up at her quizzical face. “Got big plans tonight then?” she asked calmly.
I smiled and pulled up my hood once again. “Nah. Just taking out the trash.” | I was blessed with a gift to kill, and cursed with an unswerving sense of morality. I've made drug cartels crumble down to grams, erased entire mafias, slaughtered rapists and murderers. Curiously enough, most of those I've vanished from existence are those who had hired me.
If the chosen target was innocent according to my standards, then whoever had employed me would paid instead, for my thirst had to be satiated and sinless blood didn't do the trick, and believe me, those who hire others to make the dirty job for them are full of sins.
The rumours about my 'deeds' spread like an ancient disease among the most rotten and hidden circles of society. This translated into people trying to hire me anonymously. A text from an untrackable number was the norm.
I didn't think much of it. Instead, I commended their ingenuity, for if I didn't consider the target to be guilty enough to die, then I would just go and murder one of the many scums I had came across since I had started doing this job.
However, sometimes, your own reputation can be your end. A message reached my inbox the other day. It read, "Frank Ferguson Smith," and it was sent by none other than my brother. See, the thing about it, is that Frank Ferguson Smith is my real name.
I've spent the last week pondering about how to kill my target. It's hard, extremely hard when it's someone you know and love. But I believe I've come to a decision. A persons' death should carry the same weight of his sins. That's only fair.
And so I built a pyre, for the ill-doings to be burned away along with the skin and soul. However, I made an exception for this case. See, my brother is already tied up to the alcohol-drenched pyre, crying like a little girl, and yelling that I'm a hypocrite bastard.
But he's wrong. I will set it afire, and I will plunge inside the fire too, for I deserve death more than any other person in the world. He, on the other hand, doesn't deserve it, yet I'm thirsty, and perhaps, if I die next to an innocent soul, then the gods will forgive me. | 2018-07-11T13:27:04 | 2018-07-11T13:06:44 | 2,285 | 1,078 |
[WP] You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says "I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now". He looks off into the distance, "They're coming".
Wow, was not expecting this, thanks for the silver:) and the gold:)) | Charlie is my best friend. Has been since the day I brought him home from the pound. I remember it like it was yesterday. He was a little ten pound ball of golden fluff. I walked into the pound uncertain if I would leave empty handed once again. I was living alone, fresh out of college, and tired of having no company. A friend of mine suggested that I take a gander at the SPCA up the road from my apartment.
I drove the roughly ten minutes it took to get there. I don't remember to many details about that day, other then it was cold. The wind outside stabbing at any exposed flesh. I entered the pound. The sad, terrified moans and whines of the multitude of animals stuffed into captivity. A young woman wearing a red shirt that read "This isn't their home, but you can give them one".
And so we went through the motions. She asked me what I was looking for, I told her I wasn't sure. We walked the lot together. She detailed the best she could the names and ages of each animal we passed by. None of them caught my eye. And then, as if God itself were reaching down from the heavens to smack me across the face, I see him.
"Who is that?" I said, staring at this yellow mound. His big black eyes captivating my soul.
"That's Charlie. He's new here. Been here just shy of a week. Would you like to pet him?"
"Yes!" I blurted uncontrollably. The woman led the way to the wooden gate containing the lone pup, and I practically tossed her out of the way. I stood within several inches of him and dropped to one knee, extending my hand out toward him. He studied me carefully, unsure as to what to do with my lengthy hand dangling in front of his face. He was apprehensive at first, slowly drawing his nose to my hand. He ran the length of my fingers with his snout, studying my scent before slowly licking my fingers. One by one until reaching my thumb, then he presented his sharp puppy teeth and pinched the hell out if. But even still, I couldn't be upset. He was perfect. And so I bundled him up in a wool blanket, made the transaction, and took him home. Since then, we've been inseparable.
"Uh-huh." The agent in black said to me. He held in his lap a neatly organized notepad, and a single silver pen. I noticed he had stopped jotting down notes a little while ago. "I'll be honest with you Mr. Thompson, the reason why we called you in is because of strange activity you admitted your dog-"
"Charlie." I interrupted, correcting him.
"Charlie," He said, scratching his temple in frustration, "Has been displaying. Tell me more about that if you'd be so kind."
The air conditioner kicked on, propelling a steady current of cold air through the confined room. The concrete walls were bare. I sat across from a very serious, professional looking individual. His suit tailored perfectly to every curve of his bulbous body. To my right is a rectangular mirror, I feel safe in assuming it's two way. And above us is a square shaped vent, surprisingly dusty for such an otherwise well kept facility. A strangely homey smell floated in the air, as if the A/C was pumping it through the facility in hopes of relaxing the detainees.
"Oh, right." I said, suddenly pulled back into the now. "Well, yesterday we were at green hedge park, tossing the ole tennis ball around, like usual."
"Okay." The man said, clicking his pen and carving into the canvas at his lap.
"Well, I threw the ball, Charlie went to fetch it. He brought it back and dropped it at my feet when all of the sudden, he fell to his belly, like he was in trouble."
"Does he do this often?"
"Fetch?"
"No Mr. Thompson, does Charlie drop to his stomach like that, or behave sporadically in a way which may worry you?"
"No. That was the first time. But then, he looks up to me, His big black eyes looking how they did that day i first meant him, and he spoke."
"When you say spoke, what do you mean?"
"He spoke...English. Well it was broken English but enough that I understood."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'We go inside now, They are coming. It's no longer safe."
"And then what happened?"
I considered this question thoughtfully. It had been a blur from that point to now, I hand't truly remembered how I got here, or who this man is. This setting seemingly vague yet somehow familiar. Like I'm experiencing some form of dream like Deja-Vu . "I don't know."
"Harrington." A voice beckoned over the above speakers. "Can you step outside for a moment.
"I'll be right back Mr. Thompson." He said, assuring me by giving me a pat on the back while passing by. "Yes sir?"
"We've got a situation in Cairo."
"What is it?"
"It's.... some sort of battle. We've got several dozen reports of mass casualties."
"Terrorist?" Harrington asked. pulling his collar open to draw in a steady breath.
"No. It's cats."
"What the fuck." Was all Harrington could muster.
"Can I use the rest room?" Mr. Thompson asked from his chair. | I’m new to creative writing so feedback welcomed.
Hope was more than an ordinary yellow lab. She was more than a playful ball of energy. I am blind, and Hope was my guide dog. Hope gave me a new perspective on life. She never complained about all the traveling at college, and she was always up for a new adventure.
Every day after class, Hope and I would go to the green area on campus to play ball. I took off her harness, threw the ball, and Hope was off. I tossed, she retrieved. Playing ball was our way of winding down. However, today felt different, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. With my arm growing tired, I threw the ball once more and waited for Hope to retrieve it.
Suddenly, I felt a shift in the air. There was an eery silence. The birds stopped chirping. The wind stopped blowing. I thought it might be about to storm since Florida weather can be highly unpredictable. I called out to Hope figuring that we would just head back inside as always, and waited for her to return with that beloved ball. But I could no longer hear her paws hitting against the grass. I could no longer hear her playful panting as she ran to get the ball. And I definitely could not see her. Thinking I may have thrown it a little too far, I continued to wait. Then, I heard a bark that only I knew. It was Hope. Was she ok? Her bark grew increasingly alarmed. She finally returned with the ball when out of nowhere, an unfamiliar voice exclaimed, "GET INSIDE! THEY ARE COMING!" I thought nothing of it. Then, it said, "I am Hope. You need to get inside right now."
I didn't know what was happening. I couldn't believe my dog just talked, but I didn't have time to think. I didn’t have time to ask who or what was coming. All I knew was that I had to trust her. Hope had guided me around so many obstacles. I knew now was not the time to doubt her training. I quickly ran back to my dorm. When I arrived, I found everyone in a panic. My mind ran through the worst possible scenarios for almost every college student. Maybe all the washers and dryer‘s were taken. Maybe Chick-fil-A was closed. Maybe someone forgot to put the water in the mac & cheese and almost caused a fire. Finally, I asked my friend what was going on?. She said, “What do you mean? How could you not know? It’s finals week, and we are all going to fail!” | 2019-07-15T16:37:33 | 2019-07-15T14:00:47 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] A bored dragon kidnaps a princess, expecting some excitement and rescuers to fight. No one shows up and the princess doesn't know her way home. | ######[](#dropcap)
Drogo trained his golden eye on the girl who was happily stroking the scales on his paw while humming a song. This entire situation had been a disaster.
First off, it had been entirely too easy to steal her away from the castle. She had been picking flowers on the grounds outside, and when he had swooped in, there had been no one in sight. He had even made sure to circle a few times through the sky, remembering the piercing shrieks his older brothers had drawn when they had done the same so many years ago. But now, there was nothing. Not even the princess herself yelled when she had been carried away.
Then, there was the clue. He had painstakingly picked out a gold princess tiara from his collection, leaving it in plain sight just in front of the castle doors. There was no way they would have missed it. But after three days, there hadn't even been a whisper of action. He knew--he had circled the castle several times each day, expecting to see guards or knights preparing for war.
But there was nothing. Simply silence.
He turned back to the girl. She was now busying herself braiding a crown of flowers. He glanced down at the ring that was beginning to take shape on the ground. The size was wrong. The curvature would be far too large for her head. But far be it from him to tell her that.
Three days. And she hadn't even tried to escape. She had simply stayed by his side the entire time, doing the strangest things to keep herself busy.
*Aren't you afraid?* he finally asked.
She glanced up upon hearing the deep rumble of his voice. Then she shook her head, giving him a smile. Her braid was beginning to fall loose, and long, silken strands of her ebony hair fell over her shoulders. "Why would I be afraid?"
The question gave him pause. Shouldn't it be the opposite way around? Why wouldn't she? He was a large dragon after all, nearly twenty times her size, with wicked sharp teeth. He could kill her in a heartbeat.
It didn't matter. If she wasn't going to provide him with entertainment, he didn't need her here. He laid down and settled his head onto his fore claws. His tail swished. *You may leave now.*
She looked up at him without speaking. Her hands gripped the flower crown tightly.
"I don't know how to go home," she finally said.
He would have rolled his eyes had he been capable. *I'll bring you then.*
"That's not what I meant!" She bit her lip. "I...can't I stay here with you?"
*Why?*
He could feel his heart thud in his scaly chest. None of this made any sense.
"You're lonely, right? That's why you kidnapped me, and that's why - "
*SILENCE.* His pupils narrowed into slits, and he got up, his tail swishing angrily. *I AM DROGO, AN ALL POWERFUL DRAGON. YOU ARE NOTHING. YOU ARE A MERE MORTAL. I COULD STRIKE YOU DOWN THIS-*
She ran toward him, her small body hugging his scaly one. She buried her face into his chest. "I'm lonely too!"
He froze.
"I'm the fourth princess. My mother died after I was born, and my father doesn't care for me. He thinks I'm too soft-hearted and that I won't be able to do anything to help his kingdom." She looked up at him. Her eyes looked dull and empty. "I'm nobody in that castle." Her voice started to become unclear toward the end, and he could tell she was about to cry.
His heart thudded again.
He understood the feeling well. He had been the runt of his litter, the unwanted one. While his parents had caught lions and tigers for his brothers, he had been left to fend for himself. In many ways, they had similar fates.
She suddenly left him and walked toward the flower crown she had made. And despite the fact that he was largely immune to temperature changes thanks to his scales, the little area on his chest felt cold from her body's absence. She walked toward him hesitantly, the crown in her hand.
"I...I made you a friendship bracelet. See?" She raised her left wrist, and he could see a small ring of flowers around it. Then he glanced down at his claws. A friendship bracelet. "C-can I put it on you?" She raised it.
He simply looked at her. Then, slowly, he raised his claw, allowing her to tuck the bracelet on him.
She gave him a shy smile. "So you'll let me stay then? We can live together, and I'll tell you more stories about faraway kingdoms. Maybe one day we can even go see them together!" she said excitedly. Then her eyelids began to droop, and she laid down on the wool rug he had gotten for her as a makeshift bed. "Yeah, we'll see them together..." she murmured as she fell asleep.
After a moment, he too laid down, his large eyes closing.
And for the first time, Drogo knew he wasn't alone.
*****
r/AlannaWu | I look at the young girl standing in from of me. Her fiery red hair matted and tangled. Anger rose up in her ocean eyes as she looked up at me. She's holding a broken scale in her right hand. The blue sheen worn away, the sharp point pointed at me in a pathetic attempt to be used as a weapon. "Take me home" she demands. Her voice is worn and raspy from her pleas for help as I stole her away from her palace. The once elegant violet ballgown was now torn at the front of her skirt revealing long pale legs. Her attempt at intimidation made me laugh. My laughter shook the entirety of my cave. Taking her may have been a mistake. I must admit the kid had spunk. "Why do you laugh, Beast? Do you know who I am? My father will send for me, you can't keep me here forever." She spoke as if she genuinely believed she could strike fear into my heart.
"Child, do not speak to me with such contempt. Your people know not of me. I am as old as time. I am not shaken by a little girl." My words angered her further and she leaped forward, and drove the scale toward my claw. The scale broke under the pressure, shattering both the scale and the last ounce of fight the girl had left in her. There was never any real hope of escaping me. We were both aware of that. I am done for the night. I wish for nothing more than slumber.
"You may as well rest you foolish girl. You can amongst the stones on the far left side of the cave. I'll stay out of your way and you can stay out of mine. If your people wish to come rescue you, I will hand you over without any protest. Sleep, you'll need it." I began to move. My steps shaking the ground with ever move I made. Sounds that compare to thunder made as I made my way to rest. Old bones cracking as I laid down. My eyes moved over to the small girl. Her eyes searching the room for a way out. Minutes seemed like hours as I watched her body sink in defeat. She slowly began to shuffle over to her temporary quarters. She laid down her small figure. I watched for some time as her stiffness settled and she fell into slumber. I don't know why I took her. Her people bragged of their bravery and I saw an opportunity to challenge it. Boredom was the main component in the idea if I am truthful. I will give them time to come for her, but if they don't, well, I hope se learns to like dragons. | 2018-03-23T02:20:18 | 2018-03-23T01:12:29 | 343 | 20 |
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?” | "I'm sorry, this is the last straw! You're fired!" The new boss says.
I blink, then I blink again, I look around the dingy office of the Chinese restaurant, then back at the boss, "I'm... Fired? Fired!?"
"That's right! You're never here on time! You vanish in the middle of your shift! You swear at the customers! You're fired!"
I take a deep breath, and then nod, "Fine!", I pull out my service weapon from the holster, not noticing as the boss goes pale, and then pull out my wallet, unhook my badge. I slam the badge onto the desk, then eject the clip from my gun, slam the clip onto the desk, unchamber the round from the gun, catch it in mid air, and slam both the gun and the bullet down on the desk as well, "Here's my badge and gun!"
I turn, and take a step towards the door of the office, as I hear the boss take a deep breath, and let out, loudly, "What the **FUCK**!? Who do you need a _gun and a badge_!? You're a waiter!"
I stop, foot in the air, feelings rushing through me. Confusion, rage, amusement, horror.
I turn around again, and just stare at the boss. The new boss. He's only been here a month. A replacement for the Old Man, while he's out recovering. The cover story was a robber mugged him on his way home.
I take the step back to the desk, and lean over it, towards my boss, both hands on the desk, "Who, _exactly_, interviewed you for this job? Where did you get your training? And **who briefed you**?"
"What the fuck!? This is just a bloody restaurant! And you're fired!" Replies the still clearly shaken boss.
I straighten back up, and calmly, though not exactly slowly, pick up the gun and the clip, slide the clip into the gun, chamber a round, flip off the safety, and level the gun directly at the boss' head, "How did you get this job, exactly?"
The boss is now ghost white, is trembling, and... From the smell, he just voided his bladder. He gulps, then gulps again, unable to take his eyes off the barrel of the gun pointed at his head, "I saw the sign! The sign! The one out front! I called the number! I don't _remember_ who I talked to! I said I wanted the job! Yeah, maybe I fibbed a bit on my qualifications, but who doesn't!? **Who doesn't**!? Look, take whatever you want! Empty the cash drawers! I'll give you my wallet! You can keep the job!"
I take a deep breath, thoughts running through my head, and then I switch to a one handed hold of the gun, reach over to the wired desk phone on the boss' desk, turn it around, hit the speaker phone button, and press the buttons for an internal call, dial a 5 digit extension, and a heart beat later, a voice answers, "Steven and Sons Supply, how may I direct your call?"
I answer, my voice steady, "Agent 78124, code purple, possible codes pink or orange. Location beta 5 insecure."
There is a brief pause, then the voice responds, "We have received your order. Your delivery will arrive shortly. Is the defective product a bio hazard?"
I consider this for a moment, eyes locked on the boss, who is looking increasingly panicked, his eyes still locked on the barrel of the gun, his mouth hanging open, but no words coming out, sweat running down his face, "Uncertain."
"Confirmed. Please dispose of any bio hazards at your discretion." There is a click, and the line goes dead. | "I fucking knew it, I am the best you got, but you are too scared to keep me because I am the only bastard here with some integrity and you can't control me."
Luis Canon sighed in disbelief, how could such injustice be placed upon him.
"How long have I been here, I have put sweat and blood into my rightful duties, and I put my life on the line every day for years, this is absurd."
He removed his belt, a saddened look as he looked at his firearm for possibly the last time. It was well kept, Luis would perform maintenance on it daily, never neglecting the care for his tool of justice, and always keeping his abilitties with it in peak condition. A surge of rage took over him as he removed his badge, a symbol of pride for him, representative of his values and sacrifice for his community. Luis's explosive temper began to show, in bitter expressions as he contemplated losing not only his job, but his identity.
"I am done with this, this is bullshit and you will sink without me." For the first time, he behaved with no regards for his firearm or badge, as he slammed them into the table in front of his boss."
A bit puzzled, the young manager sitting in front of him uttered.
"Sir, this is a wendy's" | 2022-07-29T12:46:52 | 2022-07-29T12:36:48 | 84 | 49 |
[WP] It had started as a single small striped tent in an abandoned lot. Within a week, there was a whole small fair there. After a month, an entire city block was now a large carnival. Soon, you had to evacuate your apartment as The Circus encroached further, inch by inch. | *Roll up! Roll up! Come one and come all! Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages! If you can't run, then walk! Don't stand there and gawk! It's the most sensational show this side of a public hanging! An inimitable, incomparable, unequivocal, veritable extravaganza to amaze, astound, and assail the senses!*
*That's right, folks! The Vespasian and Sons Traveling Circus is coming soon to a town near you, and you can't afford to miss it! No other venue on Earth can match the array of amazements under our big top! Come and marvel at the death-defying Corbucci siblings, champions of the tightrope and highwire! Thrill at the grand spectacle of our in-credible capers of our consummate corps of clowns! See the lovely Lady Aksana, the world-renowned Cossack axe-thrower! The Spectacular Mister Zhang and his expertly trained jugglers! Rhino Rasmussen, the world's strongest man! Fresh from his latest South African safari, Colonel Clifton Duquesne, the man who can tame any animal!*
*All this and more! Coming to a location very, very near you! Don't wait a second longer! Come and see!*
*You MUST come and see.*
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"Yesterday this was a city with a population numbering around a million. Today, following the event we've come to call the Incursion, the remainder of the population is in the process of being fully evacuated and the city limits being cordoned off by military professionals, to prevent the spread-"
\*Johan Fucik's *Entry of the Gladiators* plays as a carousel missile hits nearby, showering reporters and refugees with candy-colored shrapnel\*
"JESUS. I... even at this distance the chaos still continues. As you can hopefully see, the... circus creatures have taken almost total control of the city. The Big Top has already expanded to cover almost the entire downtown district, and the Ringmaster's enforcers still patrol the streets causing mayhem and destruction-"
\*another explosion\*
"FUCK, get us out of here!"
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Carl Royce ducked behind the remains of a concrete pillar as clown death squads marched by on big squeaky shoes. His hand was clamped over his mouth so his breath wouldn't give him away; his lungs and heart burned in protest, begging for more air. Huddled beside him, the kid- Carl still hadn't talked her into telling him her name, or speaking a single word, really- was completely still, lamp eyes dead-wide open.
The honking of their shoes faded. The squads had passed.
Carl nearly collapsed. This was madness. Nobody could have believed the events of the last few days if they had not lived through them. Even Carl could barely believe it. One day a modest circus tent had been erected not far from the university dorms. Within months the grounds were the most popular place in town, and trains and trucks seemed to arrive almost from nowhere to keep the festival of sinister delights going. If it struck anyone as odd, nobody gave it too much thought; nobody could have anticipated how bad things would get.
It could not have been fifteen hours since the Ringmaster's terrifying face had appeared on every television and phone screen in the city, announcing the circus' new once-in-a-lifetime performance. Demanding that all would come and see.
Since then death and insanity had ruled the streets. Those who tried to resist were marched from their homes, lined up and executed by knife thrower squad. Those, as it transpired, would turn out to be the lucky ones. Others were marched into the Big Top, coming out only as part of the endless parade of horrors filling the city. The mayor had been fired out of a cannon headlong into a brick wall, breaking every bone in his body from the fifth rib up.
Across the flaming, seltzer streaked ruins of the city, new structures- or the beginnings of an entire hostile ecosystem- were encroaching. Main Street was now the Midway; entire buildings had been turned into funnel-yellowcake stands, arms-dispensing shooting ranges, and other horrifying attractions. Brainwashed roustabouts were unloading anti-aircraft bumper cars, erecting high speed roller coaster transports. And if reports were true, they had only a limited amount of time to escape this hellhole before the military's barriers were sealed for good.
Carl looked the girl in the eye. "Alright. We need to get moving. You alright?"
She only nodded. She hadn't been with anyone else- parents, siblings, anyone- when Carl had found her. He didn't dare think about what she'd been through in the last few hours.
He grabbed her hand and ran, trying to keep down and look in every direction at once. No clowns around. No aerialist drones keeping eyes on the sky. But the real threat struck without him noticing.
The knife hit him in the forearm, and Carl could not suppress a yelp of pain and shock. The girl screamed shrilly. They were in luck- all bad. Enforcers had found them. A huge, burly strongman with shoulders too broad for a normal door was suddenly upon him. Carl reeled to find a balding, bad-skinned contortionist leering from the lamppost he was wrapped around; a short, powerfully-built Chinese man spinning a deadly yo yo, daring him to move; a tall man in safari garb with a bushy white mustache, brandishing a whip.
He looked in another direction and saw the girl struggling in the grip of a woman who was absent-mindedly juggling another throwing knife one-handed.
"Bad show, old man," murmured the man in safari clothes. "Ought to keep your seat during the show, don't you know? Fidgeting will ruin it for the other guests."
The strongman grumbled. The contortionist let out a cackling hiss.
"Come with us," said the woman with the knife, in a still Eastern European accent. "The Ringmaster will want to see you."
"I... I don't-"
"Come now," said the man in safari garb. "Heard of running away with the circus, what? Now the circus is about running orf with you. The Ringmaster will find a new place for you in the acts, just as he did with us, and thousands more across hundreds of worlds. Nothing to fear. Like as not you'll not be relegated to the freakshow. We always need more roustabouts. A real man's life. Ought to be a dashed honor, I should think. You'll be part of the greatest show in the world."
The contortionist laughed that insane laugh again.
Carl felt the will to resist leave him. This was it. The end. No hope left-
Until a shot rang out, and the knife-throwing woman crumpled. Before there was time to react, another shot had felled the strongman. Carl whirled around in astonishment- and realized in the back of his mind that the girl and the other freaks were as well. BANG. Another dropped. BANG. Another.
The giggling contortionist, realizing he was all alone, let out a whimper. He turned to look at Carl with terrified eyes, then turned and ran. He didn't get far. A black-clad leg stuck out from behind some debris, tripping his double-jointed feet out from under him. The contortionist went down fast and hard. Another shot was heard.
Carl fell to his knees. The little girl was at his side, clinging to his arm. So what fresh new hell was this? Saved, but by something good or something even worse?
From the direction of the final shot, two figures slipped into view and strolled- dear God, they *strolled,* in the middle of a fucking warzone- towards him. One was a man in an impeccable black suit and dark glasses, the other a woman in some kind of police or military uniform, ruffled beret perched on her head.
"I... who are you?"
The man in glasses sniffed. "Under most circumstances, that's classified."
The woman in the beret smiled wryly. "DEFCOM."
"The fuck?"
"Department of Entertainments, Fairs, Concessions and Other Merriments. Special Agents, Division Six. The grumpy guy over there is V. I'm Holiday. Friends call me Jess. This may sound a bit cliche, but you should come with us if you want to live." | There were no flyers, no poorly shot advertisements, and not even an article in the local newspaper. It was as if the circus had appeared out of thin air, just randomly popping up in the abandoned lot that used to house an old mechanic’s workshop. It was eerie; I remember going down to the lot with my friends, staring at it with the other locals, each of us eyeing it over like it was a downed ufo, expecting some extraterrestrial life form to open the dirty red flaps of the tent.
Days passed, and the lot remained the same, no sign of an owner or even any attractions, just that simple red tent sitting right in the middle of the lot. People speculated it was some viral hoax, that this was companies attempt to promote a new movie or line of products and it was hard to disagree with that. At least it was until the tent grew into a fair.
The fair came overnight at the end of the first week, the abandoned lot now covered in carnivals rides with the smell of stale honey coated popcorn filling the air. It was shocking. No one had seen the development take place, and the workload was far too large to be an overnight job. It made little sense unless they planned this from the beginning.
Even stranger than the fair was the fact that there were no employees. No matter where you looked, you couldn’t spot anyone. Yet, despite the lack of employees, the rides continued to operate, and the cooked food still sat out in the open, collecting flies. This only added to the eerie air the carnival had, police having to barricade the fair off until they deemed it safe.
Days passed and pictures surfaced online about the fair. People having snuck past the police lines to explore it. The pictures showed how quiet it truly was, with no one inside any of the attractions. Even the interior of the red tent was collecting dust. Why go to so much effort just to abandon a place?
Another week passed and me and my friends made our way down to the lot, now seeing it populated by red nosed employees. A collective feeling of relief being shared between us. It must have just been delayed. There was an explanation behind all of this. A few of my friends wanted to go inside, but I talked them into seeing a movie instead. The fair will be here forever, I said. Not knowing how true those words would become.
When we reached the end of the month, the circus now took up an entire block. Homes being swallowed up by the carnival and added to its mass. It was sickening to look at the once simple street, now an ugly mess of color and fake laughs. Even worse, some homeowners joined the carnival as employees, wearing that signature red nose.
“It just feels nice to make people smile.” One lady said in the news report, her expression unnerving, not even giving off a stray blink of the eye. The other owners moved, apparently being offered a pitiful sum of money for their home. I wasn’t sure why they would accept such a deal, at least I didn’t understand until today.
A knock came from the door, a light gentle tapping before a dry voice followed it. “Evening, Mr. Hent. I was hoping we could strike a deal.” I usually would ignore something as ominous as that, but with what had been happening, I felt compelled to answer. Pulling open the door to reveal a greasy-looking man in a long black trench coat, his coat having a few odd droplets of paint to give it a fake look of color. As soon as the door opened, he pushed past me, taking a seat on the couch. “I run the circus in this town. We want to expand our fun even further. Would you kindly sell us your apartment? We will offer you ten thousand for it.”
“Ten thousand? Are you insane? This place is worth at least one hundred thousand. I won’t even be able to find another home at that price.” I said, already sick of the man’s self-assured grin.
“Ten thousand is an excellent offer. I don’t even really have to offer you this. I’m doing it because I’m a good man. Ten thousand and you are out by tonight. That’s the offer.”
“No deal. Get the hell out of my house you con artist.” I pointed to the door before reaching for my phone, threatening to call the cops.
“Right, right? I’ll go.” He reached into his coat, placing down a small red nose on the coffee table. “You will need this then.” He winked, leaving the apartment.
I spent the day playing over the encounter in my head. He couldn’t be serious, could he? When night finally came, I felt some comfort. I knew he couldn’t buy out an apartment, people wouldn’t give up that easily.
A glass shattering scream came from the floors below, followed by loud footsteps and banging. What the hell was happening? I went to call the cops, only to find my phone had no signal. Whatever was making the noise was coming from below, so the elevators weren’t an option. I turned to my window, considering climbing down the fire escape only to see a white painted face grinning at me. They stared at me before reaching up to their nose, squeezing it, letting out a small squeak before they dove through the glass, pinning me to the floor. I tried to fight them off, but they were deranged, slapping away any attempted punches, before snatching the red nose from the coffee table, pushing it closer to my face until it slipped onto my nose, molding into the flesh. When the nose was on, they slipped off my body.
I got up and tried to pull the nose off, but it was attached to my skin, only causing immense pain when it was touched until I couldn’t fight it anymore, feeling my mind fade. All I wanted to do was paint my face and work at the carnival.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-13T00:04:40 | 2021-07-12T22:36:12 | 91 | 44 |
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
Charon always takes two coins for passage into the land of the dead. Whatever he has been saving up for, he has finally reached his goal.
Edit: Thank you, person who gave this gold! It really goes to all you writers! | As wave #284 crashed against the shore, translucent globules spattering across the small boat he currently stood on, Charon smelt the next passenger approaching, hobbling their way across the hill ahead. a short laugh creaked out of his mouth, excitement visible on the ancient and sun baked face of the watery taximan.The warped paddle beside him floated up into the air, and he grasped it harshly."Finally, it is paid." wheezed its way out of the wrinkled corpse of the undead being, and into the surrounding air like a toxic fog. Excited, The Ferryman materialised the bags he needed for his final journey, filling the boat with bulging sacks that clinked as he placed them, leaving a small place for the passenger to sit and gaze upon the murky waters of the Styx.
He stumbled upon the rubble of corpses of buildings and men, kicking up dust and decrepit chunks of man and machine, tripping on fragment ed brick and skull , dazed and blinded by the pure light facing him. Led only by the instinct telling him to head this way, he didn't smell the salted,rotten air around him, or notice the weathered and red-eyed figure standing before him until he heard the ragged breath above him, steam hissing from his nose. "Hello, Isaac, I have been awaiting you." the mystical creature uttered, a disturbing smile fissuring its way across its face.
"This is death, isn't it?"
"Yeeeeeeees, indeed young man, indeed it is. Do you know why you were brought to the Styx?"
Tears erupted from the previously-perplexed face of the man. "She died,she had to die, she had to!"
Charon spluttered into laughter, cutting chunks into the wood around him, before returning to his smouldering demeanour. "Ah, a rarity, someone who remembers why they were sent here? It must be my lucky day! Now,where are your coins? You don't want to join the lot behind you." Confused, Isaac spun around, and gazed in horror as he saw the previous chunks and mortar animate slowly, pulling across each other and trying to claw together into deformed figures."Heh, the old souls are raring to go today, you got maybe a minute before one of them drags you back together, so you got the toll or are you joining your comrades back there?" Anxiously the young man thrust his hands into his pockets, bringing out two £2 coins, gleaning as if they were freshly made, and placed them into the upended palm of the being before him, nervously checking the assembling corpses trying to shuffle their way over the dusty flesh below them. "Adequate. Please get on the boat." he gargled enthusiastically.Dashing up, Isaac boarded the final journey upon the styx, Charon slapping against the rotting dock and pushing out into the open tide.
Shivering, Isaac finally noticed the shore ahead, and the sentinel upon it. Draped in fine white cloth, the bright sentry awoke, radiance bleaching any physical features from his body. As wood touched shore, the Sentry uttered : "Hello Charon, good to see you. You are aware of today, correct?" "Of course, lets get the formalities out of the way first. Stuck between these paradoxical titans, Isaac felt flustered, heart screaming to get out, before the beats suddenly stopped, and an icy grip slathered his body. Instantaneously, the White figure gazed at him, and commanded "Isaac Andrews, do you understand the punishment you have received?" Scared, he nodded slowly. "Farewell, and may you suffer for your crimes."
Isaac smelt smouldering, and then-POOF! He erupted into a flaming torch, dissolving to ash before them, his piercing shriek lasting momentarily.
"And thus, Charon, hand over your payment."
Charon nudged towards the bag, and they hovered past the white figure. "The worth of 10 billion human souls, in coin. Worth every second of the thousands of years i have waited for this moment." he muttered, as he passed the final two coins into the hands of the sentinel. "And so let my punishment over, Diabolus."
The white figure shifted colour, bright white dissipating into an angry crimson through the sulphuric smoke whipping around him,leaking from the freshly-emerged tail. "And to thus Yahweh, your power is returned from punishment, due to the chaos of the imperfected creatures you manufactured, the souls of the 10 Billion most evil beings.
You are free."
The fissure in his faced cracked, echoing around the surrounding dirt. Shards crashed to the floor, replaced with golden hair and a opalescent crown. Drab robes transformed into a pure toga, illuminating the folds of his body.
"What shall you do, with your powers returned, you old fool?"
Floating up above the arid landscape below, eyes filled with a burning rage, he dictated: "Start again." And with a thunderous clap, Existence began anew.
| On the paddle he drove into the water with calm precision, he drew tally marks. His day would come, he knew; there was a flaw in their plan. Charon would keep count in his own quiet way.
******
The woman in her modest black dress was old and shrunken and quite dead. Caroline was sure of the last one: she'd poked to check just in case. Her mother-in-law had been an unholy terror while alive.
Now though... Caroline couldn't quite bear to hate her or even dislike her. "There, there Nona..." she said stroking her face. There were tears on her face. She brushed them away tucking away a strand of hair then fiddling with her hat and then her purse just in case anyone was watching.
Thankfully though, the tears were few. Caroline found compusure return. With it came an inspiration.
From her purse, she took out two coins then carefully lay them down upon, one on each eye. It seemed fitting - Nona had been mythic.
"Goodbye, Nona," she said, then left quickly.
*******
The skeletal man under the black cowl held out his hand and the old lady dropped two coins upon it. Charon counted them dutifully, then scratched off two tally marks more. He was done now though the completion of the task brought him no great joy.
"So, you'll be my last," he thought to himself.
It did not seem fitting, but the millennia had thought him that, in a way, it was. Life was full of incongruity, of the coming together of stories that didn't quite mesh, a beautiful, confused babble in which the certain notes were few.
"I could have been a better person, you know. I made mistakes. But don't we all?"
She spoke to the river, not him. Charon stroked on thinking his own thoughts.
"No, I am too old for the hiding. I could have been better. It is enough to say that. If I can, in this place, I will try again. "
But they were pure and strong and sweet.
He slid two coins into the Styx and with them his empty plans.
He had seen enough compassion to know hate futile. He had perhaps known that for a very long time.
He would seek no revenge; he moved on.
| 2014-10-29T18:17:46 | 2014-10-29T18:06:15 | 169 | 15 |
[WP] When you die, you are presented with a staircase to heaven, with each sin adding a step to your staircase. Your staircase is as tall as Everest. | The whitest white you've ever known and the sensation of removing a blindfold, that's how it felt. I had died, I knew days before it happened that I was going to but it still felt strange.
I sat up in the white room, four... walls? Empty space really but it felt like a room. I brought myself up into a standing position. I scanned the room again, no change. I took a step forward and then another.
Something in the distance, a black dot. So far away. I continued in it's direction. As I walked I noticed my steps left a black, inky residue. Black, liquid shadow rising from the imprints. As I got closer to the dot the same tendrils in my footprints were emanating from it. The dot began to form a shape, a doorway.
I felt uneasy as I got closer. It was mixture of emotions I couldn't quite pin down. I slowed my pace, I could see a figure now standing by the door. I had not seen it due to the sheer brilliance of it's whiteness. But next to the door it became outlined at the distance I stood at now. I continued ahead now cautiously.
I was perhaps 10 steps away from the door now, the figure stood behind what looked to be a concierge desk. I tried to speak, to say hello. Nothing came out. I raised my hand to wave, the figure did not see. I was nervous and confused. I walked slowly, carefully, the short distance between the figure and I.
I reached the desk and put a hand on it. Leaving a black and inky handprint. The figure had no face yet it moved its head at me as if to convey disdain. I sheepishly retracted my hand down from the countertop. The figure seemed to be writing something down as I stood there silently waiting for something to happen.
The figure paused a moment and very abruptly I heard a voice in my head.
"You must enter through there. Make the climb or fall into oblivion. It will be brutal, for you most of all. I've rarely seen a staircase such as yours. Go now, begin your journey." The figure disappeared as well as the desk.
I stood in front of the door way now, alone. I walked into the frame of the door. A long, steep staircase was laid out before me. The stairs themselves were black as onyx and the shadows leaking off them cascaded down in wispy tendrils. I hesitantly raised a foot and placed it on the first step.
The pain was immediate, a hot searing awful pain accompanied by a memory. The first time I'd ever stolen something. A small duck keychain off a fellow classmates backpack. She cried when she found out it was lost. I was 5.
The pain subsided and I crumpled onto the step. The stair now blazed a brilliant blinding white. Interlaced with gold, shimmering and shining it was cool to the touch. I pulled myself up and gazed up the seemingly endless array of shadowy stairs. I sat there on the step and cried as I remembered something said to me once when I was alive.
*At some point, you're going to have to pay up.*
It meant something more now. It got me up off the step. It made me climb one step after another. I pushed through the suffering because it's what I deserved. I was running now, the pain worse with each step. I kept going, I couldn't stop.
I won't.
***
Hope you liked it! Other stories over at r/TheYogiBearhaWrites
Edit: sorry I missed a word in a pivotal point in the story and had to fix it!
| I looked at the sign again and frowned. "This is your staircase to heaven. Each sin in your moral life has added a step. Your total step count; 58,070 steps. Happy climbing!" Huh.
I took another look at the staircase in question. It was a glorious sight to see, a beautiful spiraling staircase with steps of the whitest marble, and handrails of the loveliest gold, embellished with silver and copper. It was truly the work of a master craftsman.
I looked around and saw nothing else in any direction. Just a staircase that was humming with power and glory. I squinted up toward the top, and could barely discern the outline of a gate.
Well, I have got nothing better to do, seeing as I am dead. I shouldn't get tired either, as, again, I am dead.
I probably shouldn't wait around for all eternity. So I took one step up the staircase, and then another, and began to climb. | 2017-10-19T15:03:36 | 2017-10-19T14:23:32 | 84 | 10 |
[WP] Grandma accidentally summoned a demon and mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson. | "Look at you! You're filthy! I can't believe your parents let you walk around dressed like that. A little discipline, that's all you ever needed."
Sephiroth was confused, until he saw the burning trash can in the backyard. Rat bones, chicken bones, several stalks of various vegetation and, there it was, down at the bottom. His symbol, on some printed flier for a third-rate punk band that probably didn't even know what it meant. Trash. He had been summoned by trash.
Well, let's try to make the most of this.
"There you are, Joseph. No, I don't care what you want to be called, Joseph is a good, Christian name, and it's what I'm going to call you. Your parents are far too permissive. What is it you're calling yourself these days?"
"Sephiroth, Prince of Da--" he couldn't even get his full name out.
"Steffy-Ross?? Good heavens. Well, *Joseph*, since you're here, you can help me out with a few chores. The gutter needs cleaning, and I'm too old to get up on the ladder. Liable to break a hip, you know, not that you would care."
"Fine." Seph replied. That's one, he thought to himself. Two more requests and her soul would be his. He got the ladder and got to work.
The gutters actually reminded him of Hell. Old, decaying matter. Lots of worms and other creepy crawlies. He actually didn't like that part of Hell, but he put up with it for the souls. After a couple hours, he finished up, hosed himself off, and headed inside.
"The gutters are clean, old woman," Sephiroth pronounced.
"Old woman?!?!" the old woman screeched. "How dare you call me that! No respect for your elders!! Spare the rod, spoil the child, that's what I always say. Obviously your parents disagreed." Seph found her shockingly annoying. He wouldn't have spent two seconds around her if he had a choice. Still - soul. "Here, I've got some boxes that need to go in the attic. While you're up there, make sure everything is nice and orderly. Last time you did this, you just tossed everything around. We're not living in a barn."
"Fine." Sephiroth replied. That's two. Just one more. He imagined the sensation of absorbing another person's will. It would be worth it.
The attic was hot. Holy hell, was the attic hot. After an hour of carrying and rearranging boxes, Sephiroth was dehydrated and lightheaded. God, these human bodies suck. You could feel the heat way more than in demon form. Sure, Hell is hot, but it's a dry heat. This is real torture.
He went back downstairs. The grandmother was in a recliner in front of the TV, showing Wheel of Fortune, volume cranked up all the way. He didn't even know TVs could get that loud anymore.
"Good, your done." Grandma peeled off her shoes, then her socks, then her supportive hose. "Now get over here and help your old grandma scrape her bunions."
Sephiroth could barely contain his revulsion. "Fuck. This." He disappeared in a puff of smoke, right in front of grandma's TV.
She smiled and reached for a clean pair of socks.
"Works every time." | The ninety-two year old retiree,
Named Ethel had the most delicious cake
She made from a secret family recipe,
Collected from her late uncle's estate.
The book was bound in pale, waxen leather;
Was filled with odds and ends of secret spells;
All written in an ancient scrawling letter;
But what they said poor Ethel couldn't tell.
She only used the recipes and sometimes would shout
The funny sounding words writ next to them.
Because it always brought her grandson out
To visit his near-sighted, old lonely 'nan.
A nightmare beast adorned in hideous scales
Enjoys baked goods is a truth that never fails. | 2018-04-09T11:48:46 | 2018-04-09T09:19:14 | 87 | 51 |
[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." | I take a deep breath as I approach the counter. The cashier has his head down, but he looks pretty generic from what I can see of him. If I'm lucky, I'll sound like I'm just another guy, trying to order my share of Chicken McNuggets.
"Hi, could I have a Happy Meal, please?"
His eyes snap to me as if magnetically attracted, and I can instantly feel the confused hostility radiate off him like heat waves. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and just examines me further with laser-like scrutiny.
I'm pretty sure I must be gaping in return. Every last person in this establishment knows that they've replaced the chicken meat with something since the birds went extinct in the 2900's, but no-one's ever quite gone so far as to openly eye-murder me for my unhealthy eating choices.
The man at the cashier -- *Brian,* his name tag reads -- slowly lifts his apron over his head and walks straight out the back door, signalling for me to follow him. A woman quickly fills in his place, attempting to smooth the situation over, but I'm already halfway out to the parking lot.
As soon I've exited, Brian steps out from a wall, invading my personal space with absolutely no regard for it. His unusual features -- pale skin, blue eyes -- give me pause. All are traits that should technically be genetically impossible at this point.
"I don't know what you're--" I try to say as soothingly as I can manage, but he shakes his head: a short, sharp jerk that cuts me off immediately.
"How do you know that language?" he asks me quietly. There's something a bit off about his tone, but I can't quite place it.
"Look, dude, I have no idea -- "
"No-one's spoken that language for thousands of years." He back-peddles until I can no longer smell his Filet-O-Fish breath in my face, and for a second I think he might let me leave, but he still blocks my way, looking at me strangely.
"It's just a thing I do. It's not under my control. It's another one of those implants," I say, pushing aside my hair to reveal the microchip embedded under my ear, where the skin is stretched tight enough to showcase its electric blue wiring.
Brian's eyes have taken on a watery sheen, and I realize with a jolt that he's crying. "I came here three years ago in a machine," he tells me, his voice holding up impressively. "I don't know how or why -- just that I woke up surrounded by useless buttons and a billion people I can't begin to understand." He takes a step further back, and then one more, and then somewhere along the way he's walking away fully, ignoring me standing there rooted to the ground in shock.
And then suddenly I'm not.
"Wait, Brian!" The name sounds bizarre coming from my lips; it's almost as outdated as *Sophia* or *Britney*. "What is the name of the language? The one I'm speaking?"
He turns in the distance, his face etched with a bittersweet smile. "English. It's called... English."
And then he disappears from sight. | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years,” the cashier hissed.
I sighed. I hadn't noticed the cashier was a mummy.
“Sorry,” I said. “I swear I'm not racist—I just have this power where people hear my voice in their native language—”
“Then I would get that looked at,” spat the bandage-covered cashier as he handed me my receipt. “Your order number is 66.” | 2018-06-24T19:46:43 | 2018-06-24T19:38:51 | 1,026 | 173 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | Day 1: Time stopped, as it does when I'm in danger, at 7:05:23 this morning. I know because that's why my watch was at when it stopped counting. I usually just duck or jump to the side or something and time restarts, but none of that helped. I finally ran outside the house, and nothing. This is strange; something's about to kill me - usually time stops only seconds away from my death - but whatever it is I can't figure it out.
Day 2 (?): I've double-checked everything. All the food I ate, the pills I took, I don't see any bug bites - and how many bug bites are lethal, anyway? It's been an entire day the world has been stopped. Usually it's under a minute. Whatever the danger is, I just don't see it. I hope I don't have cancer or something. How would I find out?
Day 7 (probably): This is losing its humor value. People in solitary start to go bonkers, and I'm starting to feel that way myself. I've dozen-checked everything. There is nothing, literally nothing, even slightly threatening to me within a kilometer of my house. I'm not even sure how many days it is, since nothing has changed. I'm mostly going by what it feels like. I could be off a full day in either direction.
Day 30 (ish): I had a long conversation with a time-locked squirrel today, so maybe the going crazy part has begun. Still, the squirrel made some good points. Heh.
Day 60 (or so): There is nothing, literally nothing, within two kilometers of my house that constitutes any possible threat to my life, except maybe that burly cop if he finds out how much time I spent admiring his wife in the shower.
Day 90 (deal with it): I've just been walking in an expanding spiral, and have now made it maybe four kilometers from my house. Nothing, absolutely nothing, looks like any danger to me at the moment time stopped. I must be thinking too small: maybe a nuke went off or something? I climbed an antenna tower to look for planes in the sky or explosions or something but didn't see anything. What am I going to do if it IS a nuke? I guess running the other way until time restarts would mean I made it to minimum safe distance, but then lots of other people would get fried. Maybe I can just take the bits of the bomb and spread them far apart, or carry it out into the desert or something.
Day whatever: I just started walking in a direction. Don't know why I never noticed this before, but you can walk on time-locked water. I don't want to think about what happens if I walk to safety, time restarts, and then stops again after I sink a bit into the water. Too far and I may just be stuck there for eternity. The stories say Jesus walked on water; but that can't have been time-locked or who would have seen it to write the story?
End of year 1, or 2, or however long it's been: I've been walking in a straight line, well I guess a curved line because the planet is round, for, well, a really long time. Time never restarted. I don't see anything that might be dangerous to me. I've seen some nice scenery. I'm starting to walk into the darkness, where the sun had already set when time froze. Not sure how useful that's going to be.
100km later, or whatever, I don't know: I see the full moon rising. I went back and forth a while, see the moon rise and set and rise and set, just to break up the monotony.
Another 10km, or something: I must be going nuts, because now I see two moons.
Later that same day (night?): the second one is not the moon. It looks to be an asteroid, maybe 5 kilometers across, burning up in the atmosphere. There's a bunch of burned out land under it. It has stopped a couple hundred feet above the ground. So now all I have to do is figure out how to climb up to it, chip it into little pieces one at a time, and distribute them over a wide area so that nobody dies. Since I can walk on water, I don't even know if breaking time-locked rock is possible. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get up there. But I do have plenty of time to think about it.
| I started keeping my own personal time by counting cycles of my fingernails growing; I clipped them every three weeks before time stopped. Every time before, time stopped for only a short period. Once, it was a car swerving out of control, headed in my direction. Another, a crazed gunman at university. Once I had removed myself from the situation, everything returned to normal, with no one else any the wiser. This time was different; I've clipped my nails 17 times. Nearly a year, give or take, of time that I've spent alone in this world.
I still come home to you every night. There you are, never moving, with your favorite show on the television. It's paused on a scene I've come to memorize every pixel of. I take a seat next to you on the couch and pretend that you're here with me still.
You'd be surprised how clean the house stays when you aren't here. The trash doesn't pile up in the can or in every corner of the house. You'd be surprised how quiet the house is when you're gone. Instead of the daily screaming matches we would find ourselves in, the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own thoughts. The thing I find myself the most surprised by is the feeling of freedom that I have; I've left the house without an angry phone call. I don't have to worry you're going to show up at my work when I have to stay late. I've even went to see my parents a few times.
*Your eyes, though frozen in time, still held that fire that I loved so much. I noticed, however, that they were not fixated solely on the television like I had assumed all this time. They seemed to be glancing slightly to the left: the safe I kept my pistol in.* That's when I realized.
_________________
*Edited ending.* | 2018-07-04T16:29:47 | 2018-07-04T14:24:46 | 2,360 | 1,474 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS." | “You got it?”
The question takes me off guard, I’m still trying to process this new info. The tall man with the black hooded cloak at the end of my bed tilted his head slightly, the scythe that rested in the crook of his arm caught the moonlight ominously.
“Sorry, this outfit does normally startles people. How’s this?”
His form shimmered and before me stood an old gentleman with immaculately manicured whiskers and a twinkle in His eye. His tweed suit with matching trilby in stark contrast to His previous outfit. He adjusted his grip on His suspiciously scythe-like curved cane.
“Ahh, less doom and gloom now. Gotta keep up appearances though,” He indicated His cane, ”So how’s that choice of game coming along?”
The question was delivered with considerably less dread attached than the previous proposition. More like that of certain playful gods from the pantheons rather than Death come to claim you.
A small whoosh of breath escaped my lips. A decision has to be made. This body of mine was considerably less spry than my younger years, and nor was my mind functioning at full capacity. What game could I choose and what chance did I have, it seemed like anything was on the table. Did I even want to win? I had lived a full life, I tried to be kind, a good person, I saw the world, I loved my family. Did I need more of that if He has decided it was my time?
Resolved, I look up at Him. He smiled broadly, a smile of a man confident in himself “What shall it be, a game of strength, of skill, or perhaps of wits?”
“A game of chance perhaps,” I responded, his smile broadening to one of pure glee.
“Now this, should be interesting.” | 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T02:57:36 | 192 | 46 |
[WP] One day a second Earth appears in the sky, the atmospheres of the two worlds barely touching. It's frightening, beautiful, and scientifically inexplicable. As folks panic and world powers deliberate, you look skyward through a telescope, only to see an almost identical 'you' looking back down. | I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Mercury’s crescent in the latter hour of daylight when my vision was filled with a rapidly expanding second Earth kissing our atmosphere. I quickly found a visual reference and increased magnification.
“Barbara! The Government has deployed the giant mirror again. Our gutters need cleaning”, I yelled at the ground as I bent over the eyepiece.
“That’s the third time this week”, she exclaimed from the bowels of the shed at the bottom of the garden. “I honestly don’t know what he gets from it. Ah, here it is!”
There was a comical crash of metal and plastic, then a dragging screech as Barbara woman handled a two meter long bundle of metal out into the rapidly dying light.
“It’s almost fully deployed. They say he likes to look at himself as if from space. As though he’s God looking down on His one true creation. Do you want a hand with that?”
“Nope”. Barbara dropped it on the grass and warned, “Stand back. You might want to move the telescope.”
I did. Both of the things.
“Well”, she puffed, “let’s just call that good timing, shall we?”
Smiling the smile of a shark, Barbara kicked the latch with the glowing red light and jumped back ten feet. I moved behind her.
There were three steady beeps and then a cacophony of metal on metal as the bundle of rods leapt into action. Within seconds there was a sleek missile sitting atop a rickety launcher pointing about ten degrees below the ecliptic.
“Hah! Don’t buy it, you said! It’s not a real antisatellite missile, Barbara. Why would they sell that on eBay?”, she mocked me.
“You have to admit, Barbara, it was a bit of a long shot. I mean, not many people but you would see Alien Anti Satellite Projectile! 100% Real! This Is Not A Hoax on an eBay vendor page and actually send the person ten thousand Euros”, I complained.
“But don’t you see Gladys, who but Aliens would want Euros? Now let’s see...”.
Barbara read some numbers off her phone and tapped them into a small keypad on the missile itself.
It started beeping again as we retreated right back up to the house. Then it stopped.
Nothing for a minute.
“It was a good idea, Barbara but...”
There was a quick whir as the missile pointed at a direction that looked to be about the middle of the now fully deployed space mirror.
And then with a loud Wham! Followed by a window rattling sonic boom this dart just disappeared into the sky.
“Bloody hell, Barbara! That could have damaged the house”, I half chastised.
Quicker than I had thought there was a bright flash and then the Earth above us started to wrinkle and burn. As the tens of thousands of square meters of reflective Mylar blazed in the sky from horizon to horizon, Barbara slapped me softly on the back and said,
“Come on love. I’ll put some tea on. We’ll have the rest of that Madeira Cake, too.”
“It’s very pretty in an apocalyptic way”, I whispered in quiet awe.
“I’d like to see that clowns face right now. They’ll come for us, you know?” Barbara kissed my forehead.
I smiled up at her, “We’ll tell them we thought it was a toy. I mean...who’s going to believe the truth? Especially about this? And in this day and age?”
We stepped into the kitchen and closed the door.
The Madeira cake was lovely.
So were the men from the Secret Service.
Two eighty year old retired lesbian civil servants plotting to spoil a tinpot dictators multi billion dollar vanity project?
Preposterous. | At forst there was this thunderstorm riping the sky apart. Literally ripping it apart. The noise it made was unbelievable and the very next morning the news exploded.
With the telescope i had bought myself for christmas last year i looked at the storm before going to bed. But what i saw now was so... so incredible i had to look twice to really grasp it.
A second earth.
And from what i can guess about at the hight of the ISS...
I surched in horror for the little black point in the sky and as let my telescope wander around the second earths globe i found myself. Looking though my telescope at my garden behind my house. My wife came out of the door of this other me‘s house and as she tapped at his shoulder it felt almost as she was tapping me here on this earth...
What the Fuck are you talking about? i‘m standing right next to you. you Donkey now come down and go to bed it‘s 3 o‘clock in the morning.
Author’s note: Perhaps i should stop talking to myself when i write... | 2020-04-02T12:32:39 | 2020-04-02T11:25:54 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] A man in a suit walking alone at night passes by a homeless man. The homeless man gives him a sorrowful look and offers him some coins, saying "You're going to need this." | “We’re here, sir.”
Gordon didn’t hear his driver. He was still thinking about the gala. What an exquisite success it had been! Nearly three million dollars raised for the Foundation. And no small feat, either. Getting that much money out of Manhattan’s elite was like pulling teeth from a lion. Still, there was no denying that he’d be the talk of the town after tonight’s success.
“Sir?” The door opened and David’s voice cut through his reverie. “We’re here. The penthouse, sir.”
“Oh. Right, of course. Thank you, David.” He climbed out of the car. “Drive safe.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good night.” David closed the door, stepped around to the driver’s side, and drove off down the road, leaving Gordon standing next to an entrance to Central Park, across the street from his apartment building.
Gordon took a deep breath in. Even in the city there was something he loved about autumn nights.
“Change, mister?”
Gordon jumped. He hadn’t seen the homeless man sitting against the park wall.
“You got any change, mister? Just a couple o’ coins’ll do it, that’s it.”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t carry change. I don’t have any money on me.”
The homeless man looked at him curiously. “Fella like you in a fancy tuxedo ain’t go no money on him? Almost don’t seem right, does it? I mean, not whatchoo’d e’spect, anyway.” The man stood up slowly. He didn’t seem to do anything quickly, thought Gordon, but then again, why would he?
“You know, if you go up to 98th, I’ve got a shelter up there for—“
The beggar waved a hand and cut him off. “Oh no, I don’t need no shelter. Leave that for a soul needs it. All I need is some change.” He looked in his cup and shook it. A few coins in there jingled. He smiled up at Gordon. “Something we all need a little bit o’, am I right? Little change.”
“I don’t…um…”
“I mean even you, right? You here with your tuxedo, you can walk ‘cross the street into your buildin’,” he waved his hand at the tower. “Go ‘bout everything the way it’s been, right? No change. But hell. You wanna, you could walk right into this here park ‘n’ give it all up forever.” He chuckled. “Don’t suppose you’ll be doing that though, eh?”
“I…”
“Naw, listen to me all philosophizin’ here. That’s enough of that.” He started to totter past the bewildered millionare. “You’ll be wantin’ to be gettin’ on to gettin’ on, I reckon.” He paused and peered closely into Gordon’s eyes. “You sure? No change? Well then…” He reached into his cup and pulled something out. His dirty hands pressed it into Gordon’s clean palm. He looked up at Gordon with what seemed like sorrow. His eyes met Gordon’s. There was something clear, wise, and sad about them.
“You’re gonna need these. See ya, mister.” And he tottered off towards the shadows of the park.
Gordon opened his hand and saw two large coins in his hand. Definitely not American currency. They looked antique, even ancient. The orange streetlights gleamed off polished silver.
“Wait!” He called after the man. “These are—“
The beggar turned around. “They’re for you. Trust me. Man like you don’t deserve to be standing by the dock forever.” He turned back towards the park. “Besides, that boatman is an asshole.”
And he was gone.
Gordon was still standing there trying to understand what had just happened when the drunk driver swerved off the road and straight through where he was standing.
________________________
EDIT: Holy carp, yous guys! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback. I fixed the coins to be the correct coins. Accuracy!
FILTHY SHAMELESS SELF PLUG: If you liked what I did with mythology, you might like [my story about Charon.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2lzgen/picc_the_acheron_boatman/) | The rain was pouring extra heavily this evening. Each labored step I took created a shockwave in the endless puddle that spanned over the asphalt like a vast sea swallowing a desert. My hands were clutching the resume's that were now dripping wet with black ink smeared across them from the unrelenting pecks of a thousand meteor like rain drops. I had walked down this road many times before, each pass my pile of resumes getting thinner and thinner. Things were getting desperate. I walked to the gym in which I stored my regular clothes while I was out on the prowl for some labor that could lift me out of this pit I seemed to be in at this moment. When I arrived I gave the door a sharp tug. The handle clicked but the door did not budge. Locked. I turned around and ventured back off into the night. Every inch I traveled forward was another inch of dirt above my head. I was caught off guard from a hoarse voice staring at me from the ground. "You're going to need this if you want to get into the subway". The man handed me a few straggled coins. I murmured a "thank you" and entered into the train station. I sat down on the empty platform and looked around to find no one else. I was alone. I stoop up when I heard the train coming and looked into its lights. I jumped onto the tracks. The horn of the train was palpable as the screech of the breaks overpowered my senses. I felt a tug on my chest, then my legs. Soon it was black and I thought to myself, finally I can rest. | 2015-03-13T01:55:13 | 2015-03-13T01:23:52 | 1,143 | 16 |
[Wp] Write a story that will make me question my morality.
Write a story that is so shocking it will make me question my morality.
Edit: Wow.
| “Five minutes to choose, Charlie. Make it a good one,” the voice cackled.
The seconds ticked mercilessly downwards. His wrists burned against the restraints as his hands strained to stay away from the two glowing red buttons that stared at him from beneath the clock. To his right was his daughter, Anna, gagged and bound to the chair. She had stopped struggling, stopped screaming through the gag. She just looked at him, eyes red from crying, pleading. Sturdy electrical wires connected the table in front of him to her chair.
Opposite him was a man, unshaven, unwashed, desperate. Charles could almost have been looking in a mirror, except the man didn’t have the buttons in front of him. They were his alone.
To his left was the other girl, the other man’s daughter, in another chair. She was the only one not looking at him; she was slumped against her bonds, head down, resigned, as if she knew how this was going to end. Another set of wires led to her chair.
He looked away, back down to the relentless clock and the absurdly small buttons. Each worth a life.
“Don’t do it. Don’t give him what he wants,” the man said, pulling against the straps that held him as if reaching Charles with his body would help him reach him with his words.
“Inaction is a choice Charlie,” said the voice. “A choice that kills them both. You won’t be that silly will you?”
“He won’t do it. He’s bluffing…”
Charles almost laughed at that. Almost. The other man fell silent. Anna was still looking at him.
“Her name is Rachel. She’s fifteen. She likes singing, she’s always singing, she has such a beautiful voice, and she likes science and maths and-”
“Anna doesn’t like maths,” Charles muttered, failing not to listen, failing not to think.
The man was crying now.
“Please, she’s my daughter, I love her, you can’t, please, you can’t.”
“What else can I do? What choice do I have?” Charles snapped, anger at this whole, fucked up, twisted situation suddenly finding its voice.
“She,” he gestured to his right as much as his restraints allowed, “is my daughter. I have a duty to her. I have a responsibility to protect her.”
“I have a responsibility to protect her,” he repeated quietly, as if the mantra could ward off the guilt.
He kept his gaze fixed downwards, avoiding all the eyes.
“What about my daughter? Who is going to protect her?” the man asked desperately, then choked out, “I can’t.”
“I… I have to think of my daughter first, that’s a parent’s job.”
Why was he saying this? Did he expect forgiveness?
“No, you know that’s not right, you know that’s not fair.”
Charles’ eyes betrayed him. Anna was crying again, tears rolling down her face and dripping onto the floor. He wanted to reach out and brush them away, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.
“What else can I do?” he muttered.
“You could flip a coin,” the voice interjected, its brightness sending shivers down Charles’ spine.
“Well you can’t,” it laughed, “But I could. And I pwomise I’ll be fair.”
“That’s fair, that’s fair,” said the other man, grasping their tormentor’s suggestion like a drowning man grabbing a jackal’s proffered paw.
“No, you can’t really think… I’m not going to gamble my daughter’s life on the flip of a coin.”
But as he said it he couldn’t help but look at the other girl. Rachel had looked up, looking at him now with the faintest expression of hope.
That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair at all.
“Let’s see, shall we say heads Anna lives, tails Rachel lives,” the voice continued, as horrifyingly upbeat as ever.
The man looked hopeful too now. How could he possibly think this could end well for him?
“Ooh, so sorry Charlie. It’s tails.”
Of course it was tails.
He looked at Anna again. She looked shocked, and so very scared.
He looked at Rachel, the other girl. She met his gaze and averted her eyes, trying to hide her fear. She knew.
He looked at the man opposite him. He was looking at Charles more intently than ever.
“Come on, do what’s right.”
Charles slowly shook his head.
“That’s not right! That’s not fair,” the other man screamed, his voice full of anguish and despair.
Charles looked down. The clock had almost reached zero. His left hand found the button.
“I know,” he said, and pushed.
| It's not the best of my writing, but I couldn't see such a great prompt, with a very difficult task go to waste. I have decided to pour out my small amount of talent into this prompt. Feel honored or amused, your choice.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Why should I follow these rules? Why should I listen to what Papa told me? He's a bloody hypocrite, the cops are bloody hypocrites, everyone is a bloody hypocrite.
I am told to be kind, and reasonable! But why should I? The world shits on me, what gives it the right to be reasoned with? What kindness does it deserve?
I am told to not kill, yet all around me, the enforcers kill. The police kill, the law kills, people kill in the name of their God which killed, even though they said to not kill. Why should I submit when others don't?
I am told to not steal, but my parents stole my childhood, the banks steal my money and my so called 'friends' steal my own self by influencing me for their own benefit, and to my own harm.
Everybody kills, everybody takes, sometimes it seems as if I am the only one, alone in this bubble to view the chaos from, instead of part of a horde, tearing down the world that it built. Well, I am tired of being stuck alone in the age of order. I'm tired of tending to the flames of a dying time. I shall break my bubble, and enter the age of me! [Writers note: The age of anarchy!]
| 2014-07-07T09:20:49 | 2014-07-07T06:58:02 | 74 | 34 |
[WP] You're a foreigner who goes to live in Japan. Your house is haunted, but the cultural differences are so big, it's the Yokai who ends up being scared of you. | It's been rough moving out here, but it was a good gig and the money couldn't really be turned down. 18 months Rico, that's all you have to do. 78 weeks, you can get through this.
\*\*
My colleagues were kind and I quickly got over being a novelty, (being Ginger in Japan is both incredible and demeaning). It's fine. You can tough this out.
\*\*
I was nervous about bringing up the issue with the company therapist. He was here to help ease culture shock but it felt so petty complaining about how rootless I felt. Knowing the opportunity I had been given, how many of my peers would have sold their mothers for this chance. You wake up. You read the reports. You do the job needed of you. You keep yourself fit. You sleep. You dream of the payoff you'll get when you fly home.
\*\*
The house always made noises, little creaks and cracks as the temperature cooled after evening fell. Hisayo told me that this was the spirits who lived here before me returning home. She didn't stick around long enough to explain what she meant.
\*\*
Being a polite drunk most evenings, I took it upon myself to say goodnight to them. A bow to the corner the noise had come from, a spoken wish to hear them tomorrow. No belief beyond a ritual that helped settle my mind before rest.
\*\*
12 weeks in and I'm killing it. Work is going better than I could have hoped. I take the odd stare that comes my way as a compliment. It's a strange land and it it theirs; I'm a guest here and I dive into everything that I can.
\*\*
The therapist is worried for me, I'm not sleeping well and it's affecting my work. It's easy enough to blame diet and pressure for this, I can't tell him I spend every night talking to the corner. Explaining why I'm in her house. I *really* can't tell him that the corner talks back.
\*\*
Enforced leave. 2 weeks. I'll never live this down. *Stress* apparently. I feel the eyes slide over me as I walk out. My desk is still mine at least, they say I can come back to it when I'm "rested" and "well" but we both know enough to know that I won't.
\*\*
A parcel.
\*\*
Oh yeah, that parcel, shit when was that? 2, 3 days ago? It looks to have been around the block. Pull up the blinds Rico-san, ignore the whispers from the corner. They only are real at night. Snap out of it.
\*\*
Slice the tape, peel the folds. More than whispers now. Murmurings I guess, warnings maybe. I speak to the corner about my family and how this has has travelled to me, how this is from my home and I honour hers by bringing it here. The air turns cold, the threat is implicit but formless.
\*\*
I unpack the box and bless her heart it's full of home. Mum has delivered all of England in a box. I smile and switch the kettle on, in my reverie I barely notice the stirring of the room around me; the vibrations of the flat, the slow, soft keening from the corner.
\*\*
I follow the ritual, handed down since I can remember though every step is more of a struggle as she fights against me. I do what I have been trained to from 4 years old. I could do this blindfold. I could do this sick and with both arms behind my back.
\*\*
The movements are done, it is ready. She asks if I would throw away what we have for this heathen ritual; would I banish her so cruelly, throw everything we were into her face? I can't answer, I'm ashamed. I wish I was stronger, I wish I could resist but my homeland calls me as strongly as yours calls you. I'm sorry.
\*\*
I ignore the screams.
\*\*
WOAH!!! I must have been high as fuck these last few weeks! Just re-read my journal WTF?!? Ghosts and screams and whatnot. I obviously should have listened to the doctor sooner. Must've been some kind of infection. Never mind. Back to work today, just got to make a nice cup of Earl Grey tea before I go. If you're reading this, thanks for the care package Mum, see you at Xmas xx | 今日は、こわいさんがビックリした。私はふろに入ってから、いた！
"... You know, for your own language, sometimes you can't even use it right."
I looked at the small girl, as she handed me her diary, face deep red and eyes watery.
"こわいさん ごめんなさい！すみません。" She began bawling in earnest as she ran straight into the wall, her yukata floating in a wind that was not there.
I sighed and continued on my journey through the rest of the house. I had bought this place for me and my family, right now just my husband, and we had apparently disturbed an entire neighbourhood of yokai.
"見える、土蜘蛛くん。じゃ、いってらしゃい。" I called down the stairs, a familiar hairy leg hanging ominously over the doorway. It moved, and there was the sound of weight shifting as I assume he went back into the ground. Even if he was "scared" of me, he still tried to get to me. Yikes.
"Honey ! That cat girl came back." My husband called to me. I descended the stairs, eager to find out her excuse *this time* for disturbing us.
"わああああ！こわいちゃんか？すみません！行てきまあああす！" The scene I came in on, was not pretty. This time, she had crossed a line.
She brought us a dead Tanuki. | 2019-09-17T15:17:50 | 2019-09-17T13:18:48 | 137 | 97 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | The enemy had entered the galactic stage a mere fifty years ago. They had reached out blindly into the stars, professing a wish for friendship and commercial trade. The galaxy, quite surprised by the lack of militancy or isolationism displayed by the fledgling race, unanimously accepted.
Then came Kothlar 7.
The Jatharin had declared war merely as a matter of protocol - someone would have done it eventually, and the Jatharin were the enemy's closest neighbors, so it just made sense for them to be the ones to bring the newcomers fully into galactic society.
It was a massacre.
Gornag Kalistra hadn't received his title because of pure ceremony - a fact that he'd leveraged to ensure that HE was the one sent to meet the enemy. The other Gornagi of the Jatharin Senate were too scared to handle this meeting properly; after all, none of them had ever seen *real* combat.
"Seen. combat" An odd turn of phrase, that, but it was how the humans spoke. Kalistra was the only one of his kind who'd actually viewed the historical documentation that had inspired the current galactic law so many thousands of years ago. Only a fool would have gone to meet a *new* species whilst being ignorant of his *own* species' history, and Kalistra was no fool.
What he'd seen had been ***horrifying***. Weapons designed not to impress or to wound, but to destroy. No thought was put into what those implements of war looked like - only what things they could do to the enemy and how efficiently they could be made to do those things. The galaxy had come a long way in their understanding of war.
The humans didn't want a fight - they had stated that very emphatically in their message, though the pictures of the remains of the Third Jatharin fleet had the Senate convinced otherwise. They had been attacked, they said. *War* had been declared, so they had responded in kind - they truly hadn't expected the Jatharin to have put weapons such as they had on their ships and not also have shields capable of withstanding a similar force; they were just as appalled at what had happened as the Jatharin. They'd even done their best to provide medical treatment for the few survivors before sending them home with the message.
They'd had no way to have known that starships hadn't employed shields in centuries. The galaxy's idea of war was far different from what it used to be. If the Jatharin could become this way, thought Kalistra, then surely the humans could learn this as well. It would just take the right words.
Vice Fleet Admiral Taylor Bradley Johnson and Vice Fleet Admiral Taylor Josephine Brandon were waiting for him at the specified rendezvous point. Even human names were strange - how could beings of different sexes have the same name? Adjusting his uniform, he gestured for his communications officer to establish a visual link with the human vessel.
"Greetings," said VFA Taylor (or was it Taylor?). "We humbly apologize for the misunderstanding at Kothlar 7. Our sincere condolences to the families of all involved."
"Thank you," said Kalistra smoothly. "I fear the misunderstanding runs far deeper than either species has fully realized." He gestured again to his communications officer. "I have brought with me a complete recorded history of my people so we may correct this unfortunate problem. If I may bring to your attention the moments just after Time Indices 27-2, 39-5, and 104-1, you will find that our species' understanding of certain words may be drastically different."
The VFAs paused while the bridge crew of the human vessel watched the indicated portions, then the other Taylor spoke. "I see that our understandings of the word 'war' are indeed quite different. This is most distressing, Gornag Kalistra. If only we had known - this could have been avoided."
Kalistra approximated a human nod as best he could. "I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Senate so we can rectify this misunderstanding. It is clear that if we were to engage in a war as your people understand it that our fleets are hopelessly outmatched."
"We gratefully accept. A peaceful and prosperous future is all we wish for. And Kalistra?" Taylor asked quickly before the connection could be closed.
"Yes?"
"For future reference, the human concept your people were trying to invoke is 'I challenge you to a duel.'" | "An offense to all military strategy."
Admiral Lucas Graves stands in front of the armored viewport of the EFS James N. Mattis, while a Tik'ko warship charges an enourmous plasma shell launcher. If they had any intention of fighting, it might have been threatening. He turns to the closest weapons officer.
"Run a scan. Find what powers that cannon and EMP it. Then release..."
Graves looks out of the viewport.
"fifty thousand fighters."
Thirty seconds later, seventy small shells are fired from 40mm launchers on the ship. Too small even for advanced sensor suites to detect. Forty-five seconds later, several explosions go off on the surface of the enemy ship. The cannon goes from glowing blue and ready to fire to useless.
One minute after Graves has given his order, fifty thousand Stinger fighters emerge and use their evasion abilities to elude fire from the few functioning plasma guns left, and deposit their explosive ordnance. .50 caliber machine guns mounter on the Stingers are used to disable the remaining cannons. Three minutes and twenty seconds have passed since the opening volley was launched, and the Tik'ko ship hangs uselessly in space, like a marionette without a puppeteer.
"Send boarding parties. Kill those who resist, capture the rest."
The first Human victory in the Tik'ko conflict, and the first battle. What would become known throughout the galaxy as the Human war machine has just begun. As the Tik'ko captain is captured, humans learn to fuse plasma based weaponry with their own. Individual human ground troops will become more powerful than an entire regiment of Tik'ko.
Admiral Graves stands where he always has, overseeing the destruction of those foolish enough to challenge their Human overlords. | 2020-03-21T11:02:38 | 2020-03-21T09:33:38 | 155 | 59 |
[WP] You wake up trapped inside of your favorite MMORPG with millions of other players. Everyone starts out by testing their battle skills and combat abilities, except for you. You take a more "Economical" approach by purchasing land from NPC's and establishing new commerce and trade routes. | When it happened, my first thought was that, at max-level I wanted to test out abilities. I was a Pandaren Monk and could fly at the mere thought of it. It was fun for a bit, but eventually I got over it. Then it hit me, if people were trapped in the game, there was no longer any logging out when they wanted to go to sleep or go get something to eat. It made me realise that they're gonna need somewhere to stay when they're not out adventuring and killing demons or whatever. Initially I thought, maybe Orgrimmar would be the best place, but then...no. After Legion came out, everyone would spend most of their time in the Broken Isles. That meant Dalaran.
I approached the 'Filthy Animal' after a quick hearth and a flight on a felbat and saw Uda the Beast carrying drinks over to a couple of NPCs sitting at a table. Looking around, the inn looked a lot bigger from the eyes of my character than when looking at it on a screen. I flagged her down and she walked up, "You! COME! Drink, feast, rest for the next battle. But do not fight! Or I will feed you to my wolves." She really did say that in person. Huh.
"Uda, great purveyor of beverages, I'm in the market for some real estate." I put on my smoothest voice, which was a lot easier with my new Pandaren vocal chords, "I'm sure someone as powerful as you would love to be back out in the field, krulling some demon heads..."
"Hmpf...I do miss the hunt. My wolves get restless with no action," she looked thoughtfully over at her enormous animals for a moment, "They've only had one uppity Blood Elf Paladin in the entire last moon. But what of it? What do you mean 'real estate'?"
"Well, Uda, oh strong of strong, I've got a proposition for you!" She whipped out a dagger and held it at my throat.
"I don't like the sound of that, Bear...I'm not in THAT kind of business..."
"What? OH! NO! No, that's not what I meant! I mean I have a business proposal for you!"
"Ah," she sheathed her weapon and passed the tray she was still holding over to another waiter, "And what might that be, Tubby?" I looked down at my considerable panda girth. She had a point.
"Well, out of the goodness of my heart, I am willing to take this backbreaking, thankless, menial job off your hands and get you out into the field killing demons with the rest of Azeroth! The world has been too long without the battlecry of Uda the Beast!"
She tapped her tusks, obviously interested but not at the edge yet, "and what price were you looking at for this, that I have built from the ground up since the broken isles surfaced...?"
I grinned at that, "Why, a full burgeoning sack of ten thousand gold pieces!" I reached into my inventory and separated the ten thousand and pulled them up. They were automatically wrapped in a new sack that I jingled before her.
"TEN?! An insult! I would never go below thirty thousand!" Her face didn't match her words as she grinned slightly.
"Fifteen, then?" I shook the sack, adding more coins and it grew to accommodate them.
"Twenty-five!"
"Twenty!"
"DONE!" She grabbed the sack then grasped my forearm with a strength I didn't know NPCs were capable of and I had to hide the pain it caused me. "Oooh, I need to head to the auction house with this to suit up for the fun. It's been too long since I felt skulls break beneath an axe!" She wandered off to the back to gather her things and I was left there wondering if there was any paperwork. Then I felt something shift on my side and, opening my inventory, I noticed a new sheet of paper. I read the first couple of lines.
'Deed to the Filthy Animal inn in the city of Dalaran. This document entitles the bearer to all profits and responsibilities of the Filthy Animal inn.'
Another grin stretched across my furry face as I walked over to the kitchens to perform my first duty as the new owner. "NOMI!" I yelled at the Pandaren burning something on the stovetop, "YOU'RE FIRED!" Damn that felt good.
---
More at r/SamsStoriesSub | Gold. Gold makes the world go 'round. The other PC's didn't even think of it. Hell, I wouldn't have thought of it if it weren't for my damn stomach. I had been hungry right before "The Merge" and I spent my first minute in this fantastical world going to try the grub. I never realized just how much gold us PC's throw around in any given visit to the shops. The NPC's hadn't even realized The Merge occurred, not until that League of Returning had told them about it. The first vendor I met had tried to sell me food so marked up, I had trouble believing we ever payed those prices when it was just a game. I decided then, I would retire my equipment to fit in with the NPC's, and use the wealth from my time as a gamer to gain control of key resources. Monopolizing the real estate of Delphis was priority number one. A lot of people were about to need a place to sleep... and I alone was going to provide it. Of course, no one was allowed to buy from me... only rent at insane prices. I am not finished yet though... I still have more plans. PCs are smart, I know they will move into the countryside as soon as they figure out what game I'm playing. Unfortunately for them, the NPC leaders I have put into office are about to instate some new rules... Large tariffs on imported monster items. Anyone living outside of Fantasia's great capitol is about to feel a setback they never would have thought of. My plans have only just begun though. The League is onto me, and I won't be able to keep control of the government without more wealth. his isn'tgoing to be a story about survival... it will be my story of success. | 2017-08-30T03:21:07 | 2017-08-29T21:23:55 | 53 | 34 |
[WP] You are a physicist working on solving an equation. No one has ever solved it and its more a thought exercise. Until you write down a possible answer and the door opens behind you. A black figure enters the room and says "Yeah you arent suppose to know about that." | It’s a strange feeling, arriving at a classroom before anyone else does, even the teacher. Should I leave? Should I stay and wait for the others? Most sensible students would find something else to do to occupy them until then, but my curiosity got the best of me.
I was snooping around the room, searching perhaps for the teacher’s lesson plan so I can review it early or maybe the grades for last week’s test which had yet to be given out. I was particularly curious about problem 19, that one had been quite the source of debate amongst my friends as to what was the right answer.
I found none of these, instead, I found backboards. Tons and tons of blackboards, all filled with scrawls and equations. I was taken aback, all this work must have taken months to complete at the very least. Had our teacher been working on this? It was incredible! I had never seen anything like it. A true passion project with math far beyond what the course taught. Perhaps something for his own lab research? But what was it meant to prove or solve?
With my curiosity piqued, I began looking over the chalkboards, eager to figure out how this monstrosity worked. I only scratched the surface of what was going on before I heard someone approaching. I quickly put the chalkboards back in their hiding place before the teacher arrived.
While physics normally fascinates me, I couldn’t stop thinking about the blackboards. That equation was so elusive, so inquisitive, that every moment I spent thinking about it fascinated and excited me more. I began arriving to class even earlier in order to analyze the chalkboards, beginning to transcribe the work onto paper so I could study later. During each class my mind kept drifting back to that fated equations, growing ever curiousier.
I spent every waking free moment I had going over the equations once I had transcribed them. I had multiple theories as to what it might be, but the math of how it worked was beginning to click. I couldn’t resist, it was like a puzzle. Even though I didn’t understand what it was for, there were pieces that could fit together, the math made sense.
I got to work. Scrawling and scribbling, adding and subtracting, division, multiplication, fractals, exponents, graphs, inverse functions, derivatives, geometry, calculus, it had it all. It was a deep well of questions and answers. Which each I solved new ones began to emerge. I continued, day after day, week after week until finally… I got it!
The next morning I arrived at class especially early, talking out a few chalkboards and displaying them out with the others, filling my blank chalkboards with my completed equations. I couldn’t wait to see the look on the professor’s face when he saw I solved his equation!
I heard footsteps, was that him? The door opened, yes it was! He looked around the room, taking it all in, a look of confusion, then surprise… then, horror? What? He turned to me, “Fool! You aren’t supposed to know about that.”
I blinked, “I’m sorry for prying. But I solved it, look!”
He shook his head, “Do you even know what the equation is for?”
I gulped, “I couldn’t figure that part out, but I could still do the math.”
“Idiot. That equation means more than you can possibly comprehend, you’ve doomed us all.” | "Man It can't be hard..." said Errod Dankowski, as he went upstairs for another cup of coffee.
"I just checked their site, and these problems look typical, just with a bunch of extra symbols reserved for someone with a degree."
At this point the coffee filter was empty. He knew it would be easy to solve the P=NP problem by simply refilling it.
If a filter needed N points, and a coffee ground cannister had N points, then there would be N points to refill it. Take from the cannister, and the filter was receiving from something that existed outside itself.
"Well that was easy." he thought, having solved the problem in about 30 minutes, plus a few hours turning it into a program.
"All I had to do was draw from infinity."
He wrote a letter, and signed it 'E'. It would take the university years to learn about his discovery. | 2022-05-06T05:46:06 | 2022-05-06T03:16:28 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Mages choose the source of their power. Most pick things like fire, or justice, or love. You picked sarcasm. | I found the most powerful wizard in the world in a run-down bar in a run-down city. It used to be lush and pretty here, before overfarming turned the placed into a dust bowl. I can’t imagine why he chose here of all places. It was a hellhole, and the beer sucked.
The worst part was that he didn’t even look that tough. In fact, he looked tired.
He sighed when he saw me, then stared down into his beer. “Buzz off, kid,” he said. At that point, one of the regulars noticed me, and elbowed his friend. I heard wagers being whispered back and forth. Pretty soon, the dozen or so barflies were all in on the action.
“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots, buddy,” I sneered, the power of sarcasm building around me. “I mean, you look like you’re ready to take on the world.”
He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Well, that’s new,” he said, watching the magic spool through my fingers.
“Yeah,” I snorted, “’new.’ Sarcasm is a recent invention.”
He shrugged, not rising to the bait. “Sarcasm, not so much. But sarcasm *magic*, that I haven’t seen. Still, I got you beat, and we both know it.”
“Because when the brilliant young mage with nearly limitless power walks up to a washed-up has-been, the smart money is on the has-been, am I right?”
“Your sarcasm might be nearly limitless, maybe. But my magic really *is* limitless. Literally. And look, I really don’t want to kill anyone today. The kind of magic I use, the downside is that I have to see all the terribleness that’s really, truly out there, wallow in it, experience it up close and personal. And it really eats at the soul, you know?”
I barked a laugh. No one had ever been able to figure out what his power was, but he just laid it out for me. “You’re sworn to the Great Old Ones from beyond the veil? Ooooo, scary-scary,” I mocked.
“Don’t I wish it was something like that,” he said. “It’s worse. So do me a favor and just go back wherever you came from,” he said.
“That was totally what I wanted when I came here, to do you a favor.”
He shook his head sadly. “The smart move is to walk away,” he said, “but you’re not going to, are you?”
“Walk away? Of course not! I was planning on running like a scared little girl,” I said, raising my hands to unload magical death on the old buffoon.
Then the world exploded. There was pain, burning ... laughter? Oh gods, the hillbillies were laughing at me. And I couldn’t feel my legs.
“Wh … what happened?” I asked.
“I killed you,” he said.
“Wi … with what?”
He clambered to his feet. “You didn’t wonder why I live in a dustbowl? It’s not because I like the weather, I’ll tell you that. I live here because it was made by willful ignorance. This whole place is a concentrated power source for me.” He grimaced. “Sad, isn’t it? And they’re doing the same thing in Zamara and Ferrovia. Nobody has learned a thing from what happened here. You know, I’d give up this power in a heartbeat if it meant that people could learn not to do the same damn thing over and over and over again.”
“I … I don’t … what is …” Things were going dark. It was hard to speak.
“Still haven’t figured it out? I told you my power was infinite, kid, and I wasn’t joking. I’ll give you a hint. The Book of Proverbs says that only two things are infinite: the heavens, and human stupidity.”
“Book of … Proverbs … doesn’t …”
“Doesn’t actually say that? Believe me, I’m well aware.” He gestured at the barflies, who were by now paying off their various wagers with live chickens. “But decades ago someone told those idiots that it did, and they’ve believed it ever since. And no one. Ever. Bothered. To check.”
He knelt down so his face was close to mine. “Pretty stupid, right?” he whispered.
Then everything went black.
| People worry when a medic gets snappish, short-tempered, and sarcastic. Mage - medics have their powers burn out faster than other magical/medical specialities. After losing too many soldiers and facing too many black mage snipers, mage - medics want nothing to do with any will working for any intent.
Of course, I was not subjected to warnings when I announced my speciality at the Academy. No military history instructors ever warned me of the fog of war and hedge wizard guerillas trying to kill you before you lift a finger to help the target.
Oops, what I mean to say was that they told me. I am as shocked as you are at them bothering. I imagine that you were as shocked as when the Board heard what my Power Word was.
"Usually, medical specialists choose Compassion, Health, or Skill."
"Humor helps to delay flame-out. Not like I need it, going into private practice for some potion billionaire. "
"I thought you were . . . oh."
Three years and 2000 miles later, I am at the bucolic Field of Demons on a humid and gray day made for picnicking. If I am lucky, my Red Sigil tent will hold up until the army retreats. Maybe if I keep up the mockery, some of the army might survive.
I look up to see a fireball heading towards me. Panicked, I yell out "I love the stench of death in the morning!" A man carrying an empty stretcher stops to look at me.
The fireball bounces off the impromptu magical shield, then slides down like a miniature sun. The fireball scorched the oh-so-well-constructed shield, but that was the only thing burning.
The man still stands, trying to balance the stretcher. "Do you need some water?"
I think of a few quips about cacti and nourishment from the tears of angels. However, I decide to give myself a break.
"I would love some," I say with my most sincere smile.
| 2017-07-20T13:22:57 | 2017-07-20T13:16:57 | 67 | 47 |
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later. | ...PENTAGON 0600 HOURS
"Sir, we're getting reports that the domestic assets are closing in on their designated LZ." The Petty Officer squirmed with nervousness; a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
The General muttered something under his breath before addressing the man. "That's what we are calling them now, eh son? Assets? We still don't even know what these boys want. Keep the drones on 'em and report back with anything new."
"Sir!" The young man turned his attention to the door and left The General with his staff.
...SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE SYRIA 0700
The old container ship creaked loudly as they crept towards their destination. The icy water was still dripping from the squall a couple hours back. The tension among these men was becoming tangible.
"Aye cuz, when the fuck we touchin' down? Lookin like some sardine ass niggas..."
A man sitting close by shot a sideways glance towards him, "Yo shut the fuck up, Blacc. Just make sho yo muthafuckin glock set to kill, nigga."
Blacc stood up trying to gain his sea-legs and not fall on his face. "whatchyew think i'm some kinda rook, Blood?!" He cocked his pistol and flexed his neck from side to side in an obvious attempt to intimidate the man. Others were standing now, the shouts from the men were booming around the hull with overwhelming intensity. The two soon-to-be combatants stepped toward each other. A door from above the men crashed open creating a deafening silence over the crowd.
"GENTLEMEN! Can someone be so kind as to explain what the fuck is going on down here?!" Nobody moved an inch. Barely anyone even dared to look at his face. They sat there staring at the ground like children being scolded by a parent. "I'm growing impatient, boys!" everyone in the room simultaneously stepped back from the two assailants. "Blacc? There a problem?"
Blacc's voice quivered, "Well, Deuce, you see what had happened was, I was all like, 'they betta have a gyro joint at the dock cuz imabout to buy this nigga here a sandwich soon as we get out this muthafucka. And if they don't gimme one fo 'em ima use my gun like this' and i was just showin how i was gone use my gun thas all deuce, you know..." Blacc's eyes darted back and forth trying to gauge Deuce's reaction.
"Blacc", Deuce said calmly.
"What up O.G. Triple O.G.", Blacc said eagerly trying to be respectful.
"Shut the fuck up." Deuce turned to address the rest of the men. "Gentlemen, we are here for something greater than petty differences! The same petty differences that has taken the lives of both Bloods and Crips, young and old, are no more! The fat cats in DC mock us as we make history!" The men began cheering beore Deuce waved his hands to calm them. "They drool at the bit, hoping we will do their dirty work for them! Soon they wiil realize why we are here. The pilgrims of our new promise land. Our Wild Wild West!"
Blacc raised his hand and spoke up, "Ain't we in we East tho, Deuce?"
A thunderous crack rang through the crowd. Deuce shot Blacc, the barrel of his stainless steel .44 Magnum was still smoking. "It's a fuckin analogy", Deuce muttered under his breath. "Now, where was I?...Oh yes, Our Promised Land! Now let's show these towel wearin muthafuckas how we get down! May my stainless Fo'Fo' make sure all they kids don't grow!" The men erupted! Deuce motioned to the bow of the container ship and the men rushed forth, weapons in hand.
Edit: formatting, words, political correctness, listed military heirarchy, parts of boats. Thanks this was fun! | Waves lap at the shore a young Syrian child picks up a stone to throw at the water her eyes are flooded war has ravaged the city and the future is un-certain a hermet crab catches her eye but a loud thud causes the creature to re-enter its shell, the child runs fearing another bombing raid but her gaze is fixated on the open sea as a blue red craft appears on crest of a wave, the hermit is now bouncing from the shock-waves but it soon becomes clear that the harrowing sound is not a form of artillery but very heavy bass.
"Where the hood, where the hood, where the hood at?
Have that nigga in the cut, where the wood at?
Oh, them niggaz actin up?!? Where the wolves at?
You better BUST THAT if you gon pull that".
Gleaming chrome jets scream through the water as one of the most pimp vehicles known to man strikes the beach with twerking force of a thousand ho's, the top of the craft appears to be made of platinum as the top starts to rotate a thick cloud of smoke creeps from the gold plated gaps and an african gentlemans face is revealed, smoking a joint worthy of Rick James himself, his eyes narrow as he stares at the fortified mosque over the horizon "time to roll on these bitch ass niggas" | 2015-12-07T09:29:24 | 2015-12-07T09:25:02 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] You check yourself out in the full length mirror before going to bed. You bend down to untie your shoes. As you are nearly finished, you see with your peripheral vision your reflection stand up seconds before you do. | I'm getting old. There are more lines on my face than there ever were before, folding out from around my eyes like a fan of creases. I smooth at them desperately, pinning my skin back against my face like some demented plastic surgeon. My mouth pulls into a grimace, teeth bared.
"Come to bed, Lise." George calls from the bedroom. I can imagine him: reading glasses, striped pyjamas and a book with pages that he'll dog ear no matter how much I tell him not too.
"One minute!" I call back. I lift up a tub of night cream and survey it with distaste. *Blasted seven signs of ages. Lifts and strengthens, my arse*
I apply it liberally and rub it into my neck, trying desperately not to notice the loose skin around my jawline. When we were first dating, George used to say he loved my skin.
"It's so clear!" He'd brought me a picnic and made me leave my desk long enough to eat it in the park. It was windy and we'd had to hang on to our paper plates and on the way back I must have looked in fifty shop windows trying to put my hair back to shape. On that red chequered rug we lay and watched the clouds drift by.
"Your skin is so pretty. It almost glows." He'd said.
It didn't any more.
I bent down and unlaced my shoes with stiff fingers, sliding out of the brown brogues that I found so uncomfortable. Then there was a flicker, just at the corner of my eye. I could have sworn my reflection moved. I sprung up and scrutinised the mirror.
The old woman scrutinised me back. Then, before my eyes, she began to change. The old skin lightened and lightened, the lines flattening out into rosy cheeks. My hair grew long and thick, falling dark red halfway down my back. I lifted a hand and ran a hand through my short, grey cut, twisting the strands and watching as the old woman in the mirror became young and happy again.
I was no longer scrawny and bent double, but standing ram-rod straight, curvy and full like my entire body was trying to flirt. The girl in the mirror lifted her hands to her breasts and squeezed them, winking at me as she let her fingers trail down her in a way at made me blush.
I had been beautiful.
I reached my hand out to the mirror and touched its surface. I almost thought it would yield to my touch, but it stayed firm. The red haired girl pouted in mock disappointment and tossed her locks.
"Let me..." I half-whispered, pushing desperately at the mirror. The girl who was me shook her head.
"Please."
She stretched out her hand to mine and I hammered the glass surface frantically.
"Lise?" George was standing in the doorway of the bathroom in his pyjamas, closed book under one arm. Concern was written all over his face. "Are you alright?" He asked.
I looked back at the mirror, but she was gone and only a scared, ugly, shrunken old woman stared back.
"Come to bed, Lise," George said, reaching for my hand. He smiled and leant in to kiss me on the cheek. "You look beautiful."
| It wasn't like it wasn't noticeable.
Seconds is a long time. By the time the first lace came through the knot, my reflection was standing there, waiting for me. I saw him- wait, I saw *me* stand up, look at me disapprovingly, and wait.
Why was I - he - disapproving of me? Who the fuck made him the high authority on shoelace tying? So what if I have to double knot my shoes, at least I'm not wearing velcro.
That smug sonuvabitch.
| 2014-03-22T09:36:01 | 2014-03-22T09:25:13 | 179 | 49 |
[WP]The intergalactic federation of planets is established and Parallel Historians examine the similarities between the civilizations. They find that each planet had a scientist, with the exact same name, that propelled science forward by 300 years. Earth was the only planet without such a person | "Similar name, similar appearance \- well at least, as similar as one can get among the 243 odd races in the Galactic Empire."
"242." Galag corrected, "As there was no similar scientist on Earth."
"242." Anna stood corrected, "Which brings us to the question, why did he skip Earth?"
"He?"
"Well, it is the same person." Anna said, "That much is obvious."
"In the big, bold universe, there's no such thing as 'obvious.'"
"No, but there is such a thing as logic. Look at the records. The first known record of the mysterious scientist was on Dalastian IV. He came out of nowhere, was accepted into the Imperial Khurikan Hall of Science where he soon discovered the secret of perpetual motion, and then disappeared without a trace before he could be recognized or rewarded for his efforts. Then the next record of him shows him appearing on the planet Halycon, a solar\-system away from Dalastian IV, about two Earth\-months later. The same thing happens. Perpetual motion, then he disappears."
"If you're going where I think you're going, you've at least taken into account the differences between calendars, haven't you?"
"Of course I have." Anna retorted, "And my calculations have led me to one conclusion. The mysterious scientist was the same being, hopping between all the worlds of what would become the Intergalactic Federation for 300 years."
"Except for Earth..."
"Except for Earth. And I don't know why that is."
"What was his motive?"
"Perhaps he was an emissary." Anna said.
"An emissary?"
"Yes, an emissary. From an advanced species. Perhaps... perhaps his species couldn't make contact with species in this corner of the galaxy because none of them had reached a certain technological level. I mean, there is a parallel in our own history. Earth wasn't at a technological level to make contact with and join the intergalactic federation until at least 300 years after the last candidate."
"But his species never did end up making contact..."
"Then something must have gone wrong..."
"Well, if I may amuse myself in the realms of conjecture a little longer, what, exactly?"
"I don't know..."
Glorg placed both hands on his desk and heaved his massive frame into a standing position on all three legs, "I'm sorry to say this, Anna. I have been a long\-time supporter of your work, but this research proposal is too vague to warrant serious attention. Or funding."
"Well, what if this Star Lantern fellow..."
"Star Lantern?"
"Yes, the scientist's name was 'Lantern' in English. Translated from your tongue."
"I would translate it as 'beacon'."
"Star Beacon?"
"Yes..."
Anna began tapping on her touch\-pad.
"What are you doing?" Galag asked.
"Just one minute." She continued to tap..."A\-ha!"
"What is it?"
"I ran a search through every known Earth record for the name Star Beacon, or close variants. There is a record of a man named 'Starrick Becon', that appears about two years after the last known appearance of Star Beacon."
"Really? When? Where?"
"Well it's from 1944AD. The record is German, an old Earth nation. It says there was a Starrick Becon in a country called Poland. He was being held somewhere called Auschwitz..."
" | As the senator from Zentor reached out to hand his counterpart from Earth a folded piece of paper, he leaned in and whispered a word of warning.
"If the Grand Council discovers that I shared this with you, they will destroy our families and level our planets. Are you sure you can keep this a secret?"
Senator Kastenberg replied, "Of course, Dromex. Ease your tentacles. Whatever it says, I promise I won't do anything. Even if it means we never acquire hydrogen\-powered time travel. I just have to know who's responsible for this."
"Very well," replied Dromex."
Kastenberg took the paper from Dromex's dripping claw, unfolded it and nearly passed out upon reading the name.
'Rick Sanchez', it said.
The legends, it seems, were true after all. | 2018-06-10T10:09:38 | 2018-06-10T08:22:35 | 255 | 93 |
[WP] A Man finally lands on mars, he finds human skeletal remains, and quickly realizes that in the past long long ago human's lived on mars only to explore earth as they depleted the resources on mars.
Man finally reaches Mars, during exploration an astronaut discovers human skeletal remains. After some digging the astronaut realizes that humans came from Mars and left for Earth only after depleting the planet of its resources and killing the planet.
*edit- I've had my coffee.
| "David, get the fuck out of there!" The voice blasted in my ear, but it was just a faint echo as my brain struggled to process what I was seeing.
"David, the storm is closing in on your position!"
There was no mistaking the familiar color and shape of human bones, any 7th grader who had navigated their way through science class could of identified what lay before me. Yet while I knew this to be true, my brain rejected it, it could not make the leap across this illogical crevice. How could the first man on Mars encounter human remains?
The radio crackled to life once more as mission commander Shurtz's voice came in clear as if he was standing next to me. His voice was dire, it seemed he knew I would soon share a fate similar to the remains that I could not take my eyes away from.
"David...There is not enough time to get back to the ship, please seek whatever shelter you can, we will come for you after the storm has cleared I promise."
His normally calm and steady voice betrayed him, I knew there would be no rescue. I finally was able to look up, what I saw before me was something I would never forget, well at least for the next few fleeting moments of my life until I assumed all would go dark. A massive behemoth. A swirling mass of elemental force that swallowed up almost my entire field of vision. I desperately scanned what little horizon there was left until I spotted a tiny rock formation in the distance.
I ran.
The storm was impossibly close. I could feel the surge of wind and debris swirling around me, hungry for another offering. The formation was a hundred yards in front of me but it might as well of been a thousand. As I neared I spotted a tiny opening in the face of one of the larger rocks. I would say it was my best bet, but it was my only bet.
The opening was impossibly small, the storm would surely destroy this entire formation that lay in it's path daring to defy it, I would be collateral damage. As I lay there contemplating if the poor soul who I had found only moments early had the same thoughts racing through their head, a small opening within the dirt appeared, a hand reached out.
I did not have time to think, I did not have time to process, when your life hangs in the balance you don't have the luxury of weighting the options, of thinking about how impossible this was, or if this was simply kind illusion my mind created to ease me into the next world. I grabbed it.
This hand, this savior, returned my grip and pulled me with a surprising amount of strength. Just as the massive storm rushed over the entire formation, the tiny enclosure sealed, shutting off what tiny light remained from the surface. Everything was pitch black until a torch lit up directly in front of me.
What stood before me was...human.
"Who.....who are you, how.....how are you....?"
The man looked at me with unblinking eyes for what seemed to be an eternity. At first I thought he must be asking himself the same impossible questions I was, but I soon realized he knew not who I was, but he knew what I was.
"I knew you would come. The cruel thing about history, given enough time it will repeat itself, so here we find ourselves. If you are here, that means the cycle has begun again." He began to cry.
My entire training, mission prep, travel time and journey to this planet had been under the assumption that I was traveling to uncharted lands, never before touched by man, never before tainted by our sins. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
I met his teary eyes and asked, "Where are we?"
He looked at me with a sadness that enveloped me even more than massive storm raging above us.
"This.....is Earth....was...Earth." | After a long and uneventful journey across the Phoenicis Lacus quadrangle, Ben noticed a strange reflection in the distance. Up until now his mission consisted of surface geological and sub-surface soil sample analysis, and figuring out how to comfortably go to the bathroom in the one man rover. Turns out lab equipment doesn't leave much room for luxury.
The past month of tedious sample analysis quickly vanished though as he closed in on the shimmering object. When he arrived, Ben's reality came to a sudden halt. The object was geometrical, a perfectly constructed pillar standing four feet high with an angled metallic-topped edge. It was a monument with a plaque!
Facing the object and catching his breath, he brushed the fine layer of sand off the plaque. Etched into the metallic surface were outlines of the planets and moons of the solar system; Mars though, had been etched completely bare to a solid black disc. From Mars extended three lines: one to the edge of the plaque opposite the sun, one to Europa, and one to Earth.
"Shit" | 2016-10-12T10:23:20 | 2016-10-12T10:05:01 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] You are the woman currently beating parked cars with a rake outside of the apartment complex I live in. Explain yourself. | You look out your window and you see a woman. She is walking around the street outside your home hitting cars with a rake.
Look again.
You look out your window and you see a woman. She is terrified, carrying the only weapon she was able to find before racing out of her home. She beats at her surroundings fruitlessly to stave off an unseen evil.
Look again.
You look out your window and you see a woman. She is in the throes of a rage. The bank has foreclosed on her car, she has been fired from her job and her husband has been cheating on her. She has no friends and no one to talk to. She needs to vent if she is to remain sane. A rake and some cars strike her as a small price to pay.
Look once more.
You look out your window and you see a woman. She smoked methamphetamine once, on a dare, the day she graduated high school. Now her skin is all welts and sores. Her teeth waggle in her sloppy gums. She has run out of feeling good. *Perhaps* she thinks *there's some cash in these cars*. She picks up a rake and goes to work.
A window is a quantum threshold, a quantum vantage point through which we observe the world - a double slit experiment of domestic proportions.
Standing behind your curtains, you hear a ruckus outside. Metal on metal. You wonder what could possibly be going on. You decide to look. In looking you become observer and, in observing, you change that which you observe.
Like Schrödinger's cat, the woman outside your window was not defined until you observed her in her madness/desperation/terror/rage. The woman was all these things, all at once, and none of these things. She was only a cloud of probability slamming a rake into cars.
But by observing her, the probability field that is the woman collapses in on itself and picks a reality.
You think, *but she was out there already, she exists herself, before I witnessed her*
Was she? Look again.
You look out your window and see a rake floating through the air. It slams itself into nearby cars of its own accord, with no outside influence whatsoever.
We believe the world is as it is because we are creatures of habit and children of pattern. We assume, because we have seen reality behave a certain way many times before, that reality *is* a certain way, follows certain rules, by default.
We hew to this delusion because the alternative is too frightening, too destabilizing, to consider: that we are, each of us, alone in a vacuum tube, linked together only by shared interpretations of the chance reflections of photons on objects we will never truly see, the faint pressure of atoms from sounds we can never truly hear.
It is this amalgam of our cumulative observations which defines our shared reality, as well as each other. In that sense, the woman exists *because* you looked. Her motivations, her entire being, are defined by your seeing her.
There is a sound of metal on metal outside your window. You decide *not* to look. There is no woman.
What I mean to say, if I mean to say anything, is that, whatever the woman's explanation for why she acts the way she does, in a very real sense she owes you a debt of gratitude, for to be seen is to exist and, without an observer, we are nothing.
*****
*****
## r/LFTM
Welp that was a weird thought experiment that never coalesced into anything really :)
| You’ll thank me eventually.
You don’t know who these cars belong to. Who lives in your complex. It’s all a facade, all a farce. Do you really know your neighbors? The people who you talk to you, hear, see, every day? No, because they lie, and cheat, and obfuscate. The Lizards lie to us every single day, as they control our minds with TV shows and magical government programs. Our president is a Lizard, and you my friend are key to his devices, being a telepath like you are. He’s sent Lizards to guard all telepaths. So as you see, I’m putting an end to the filthy Lizards, so that you can be free. I’ll distract them out here, so that I can End them with this. My magical pistol, designed to instantly kill all liars. Don’t believe me? Watch. | 2018-07-03T05:10:42 | 2018-07-03T03:57:06 | 855 | 54 |
[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil. | Though Donovan’s past was never tragic, it was his own intellect that made him covet power.
His drive made him build the first components of Maniacal, a fairly mid-tier villain who specialised in integrating technology with his own. Well, mid-tier up until he managed to cripple one of Los Angeles’ foremost heroically aligned team and kill several other prominent villains in a widely publicised battle which propelled him to Number One.
As in, Number One on the United State’s Supervillain Threat Index. Donovan weren’t sure if that was some sort of miscalculation or a calculated ploy to get rid of him quickly, but all he knew is that suddenly every headhunter, vigilante and even other villains were showing up in Los Angeles. This would be their mistake.
His specific specialisation was *integration* of other technology. He could pick up the pieces of CyberPirate or Upsurge and build them into his own gear, and then eventually reproduce them.j It was the catalyst for his exponential growth in power and infamy. It was the catalyst for his retirement.
Donovan didn’t know when super villainy became boring. Maybe it was between crushing the local hero team *yet* again, or perhaps when dealing with a foreign invasion. But suddenly ruling LA’s underground didn’t seem as tempting as it once did. So, Maniacal retired.
It wasn’t an easy decision. He could have simply let the old guise die off and take a new identity using only a specific set of technology, but starting from zero just seemed stupid, as if it would spit on all his accomplishments. So, he walked up to the Los Angeles’ Protectorate headquarters, left the idiot heroes in tatters once again, and announced his retirement to the world when a newscaster drone came close enough. Maniacal then disappeared, never to be seen again.
In Maniacal’s place, a man with no identity was left. Oh, yes, Donovan knew he who he was. Once. But now, with no super villain identity to keep fidelity to, Donovan was left drifting. But Maniacal didn’t become famous for being an idiot. Maniacal became famous because he was *brilliant*, and Donovan realised he had a world of opportunity before him. A Fresh Start. Derided by both villains and heroes, but often the only path forward. Donovan reinvented himself into a small, no-name retailer who sold small goods in a corner store. For most, anyways.
All it needed for his name to spread in the small-time hero scene was waving one over and offering them gear to supplement their powers. Laserdream was leery at first, but testing and practice made her confident. Laserdream’s solo win against a medium-sized villain group gave Donovan the credibility he needed, but still allowed him to remain mostly anonymous. Who paid attention to the small-time heroes anyway?
Donovan’s clientele slowly grew, and slowly he felt secure. He was contributing relatively little to the superhero community as a whole, but he could still say that if push came to shove, then he could have people protecting him without having to blow his cover identity. Slowly, Donovan began to relax. Until one of his clients started asking for.. troubling weapons.
A technological augment which would greatly empower her beam and allow her to pierce shields, armour that could withstand hulking blows, or a combat prediction system which could predict a teleporter and a speedster. All capable of countering a local hero team.
Donovan didn’t know why Lux wanted these gadgets, but if she did kill the hero team then people would start asking where she got her technology, which would lead people to him.
This was why the heroine was standing before him in his shop as he gently asked, “Lux, why are you asking me to build weapons the can kill the Vanguard?”
The masked woman froze, but refused to meet Donovan’s eyes. Donovan realised that she really was going to kill them. He didn’t know why a prospective villain would work as a hero to gain access to technology that literally any other villain tinkerer could build, but Donovan wasn’t going to risk his anonymity. “Lux, please. If you’re going to kill these heroes, then I can’t build these. Please, tell me why.”
Lux began to shake, and Donovan was initially worried she would try to attack him. His automatic defences would prevent the attack, of course, but he didn’t want to dispose of her body. There was a long pause as she tried to choke something up, but stopped herself every time. Eventually, Donovan moved forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lux, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
This broke Lux’s self-imposed silence. She sobbed, “They *aren’t* heroes. They don’t deserve to be called anything like that. I know you’re holed up here in this shop but those *fuckers* harass every single independent hero they come across. They’ve.. they’ve been coming after me the most. I want-no, I *need* to kill them.”
Donovan was shocked by this revelation. None of his clients had mentioned anything of the sort, though from Lux’s expression he could quickly discern she was telling the truth. He pulled Lux in for a hug and rubbed her back. Of course. Heroes abusing their powers was nothing new, but he was surprised that such arrogance would be expressed by a low-tier hero group. Lux continued to sob, but began to pull herself together. “I.. I need to make them pay. For Skitter.”
Oh-Skitter. One of.. the more recent hero deaths in the past few months. He recalled she was killed during a raid on a mid-tier villain, someone who’s name eluded him but could remember had *something* to do with extreme gravity control, though no further details were given. A tragic event, but he didn’t know what the Vanguard had to do with it. “What does the Vanguard have to do with Skitter?”
Lux spat and said, “They fucking *watched* as Omega ripped Skitter apart, and laughed that they should have joined them when she had the chance. They didn’t notice me, but I swore I’ll take revenge. They fucking killed my partner.”
Partner? As far as he knew both Skitter and Lux were adamantly solo, and would refuse to talk with any group that approached them. Oh-his stomach fell as he realised what sort of partnership Lux meant. Fuck. They had killed her lover. That… that explained Lux’s gradual self-destruction.
Donovan held Lux’s shoulder, and gave a mental command to a protocol he never thought he would need again. Her eyes were drawn to the mechanical clanking behind him, and widened as she realised what it was, and who was holding her.
Lux had frozen stiff, too terrified to move, but Donovan gave her one last reassuring squeeze. He wouldn’t let her ruin her heroic career.
“Let me handle this.” | **A Return From the Shadows**
Years ago when he was a young man he had been a villain in his own right, he had killed, robbed, and committed all manner of crimes. But when he had reached his peak he had gotten his arm torn off by a powerful hero crippling him for a long time. In the process of building himself a new prosthetic, he met a young girl who was missing her hand. For a modest fee from her parents, he built her a new hand. This hand was a step beyond what they were able to do in modern hospitals and as such he ended up getting quite the renown for his act without anyone knowing who he had once been. Even some of his old enemies ended up coming to him for him to make them gadgets and new pieces of technology, he began to realize all the wrong he had done as a young man.
This began his very lucrative career as the tech man behind a number of local heroes who worked within his community, as he worked with them he began to get to know them all very well and as they got better and stronger he got to know there sidekicks and assistants as they began to think they were too good to do their own chores. One, in particular, was a young man from a rich family known by his hero name Ludicrous. Even before he was a hero he thought he was better than everyone else but now he was worse than ever, his sidekick was a young girl named Clara. She was a tech-based hero who had studied and taught herself everything that she needed to know in order to stand side by side with all of the powered heroes. But a hero like Ludicrous wouldn’t know the blessing he had if it punched him in the taint. He looked down on her and treated her like trash because she didn’t have a power like him. More than once she had come into the shop with red puffy eyes as if she had been crying before she arrived and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on and he decided it was time to break out some old skills to teach this kid a lesson.
Ludicrous was a hero who wielded the elemental power of lightning and as such he got to work putting together some gadgets that would allow him to absorb lighting and use it to charge his own technology. As he built this it began obvious to anyone that would be watching what his own power was, *Integration*, was what he called his ability and it allowed him to combine any two pieces of technology together. He smiled as he dawned the large metal gauntlets onto this own hands and set out. He was going to make Ludicrous fear the power of technology.
Ludicrous was hunting down a villain known as the Planar King, an old friend who he had asked a favor of when he slammed into Ludicrous launching him across the street flying through the window of a coffee shop. He landed in the middle of the street with a smile on his face “How dare a fool like you call yourself a hero!” Ludicrous stood up from where he had landed in a heap and launched a lightning bolt from his palms towards the villain, he smirked as he put a palm forward and absorbed the bolt “Is that all you’ve got Ludicrous? Maybe that sidekick of yours will put up a better fight.” he said before firing a blast of energy from his finger piercing right through the heroes’ shoulder. Before he could speak another word a woman in tight black armor appeared behind him and slammed a knife-hand into his solar plexus causing the villain to drop to his knees, she then placed a pistol against the back of his kneck “You have the right to remain silent villain.” she said as she shot an evil look at Ludicrous collapsed on the ground in front of her.
In the days that were to come after that event, he stopped seeing Clara in his shop for a little bit but when she returned she seemed much better as if a light was radiating from her. It turned out that after that she had left her boss behind and exposed him for who he was, the media tore him apart and she stepped up as her own type of hero Vexor. | 2019-12-03T21:04:58 | 2019-12-03T18:44:02 | 48 | 16 |
[WP] You have been wrongly incarcerated, abroad, with a $5M bail. Upon waking you see an old laptop which you discover is set to access just one single website: Google Mail. You must contact the outside world in the desperate hope somebody can help you. Trouble is... You're a Nigerian Prince. | **To: contact@kickstarter.com**
**Cc: contact@huffingtonpost.com, submit@buzzfeed.com**
**From: nigerianprince@gmail.com**
**Subject: Request for Kickstarter campaign**
Dear Kickstarter team,
I understand how this may sound but please hear me out. I am incarcerated in a foreign country for a crime I did not commit, and my bail has been set at $5 million USD. I suspect that I am being extorted for my wealth, but I have been unable to explain that there is no way to access it from this location.
I am writing to you in the hopes of using Kickstarter to raise the necessary funds for my release, or to at least draw media attention to my situation (you will see that I have also CC'd a number of media agencies as well). If successful, I have more than enough funds to ensure the fulfillment of all of the pledges on Kickstarter. You can confirm this by contacting the President of the Nigerian Royal Bank at (XX).XXX.XXX.XXXX.
Below are the Rewards that I will offer to contributors:
$5 - You will receive free access to my tell-all eBook about being a Nigerian Prince incarcerated in a foreign jail!
$20 - You will get a limited-edition "Save the Prince!" refrigerator magnet with my likeness, as well as a certificate of authenticity.
$50 - You will get a limited-edition "Save the Prince!" T-shirt with my likeness.
$100 - You will get all previous rewards, plus a signed thank you note from myself.
$500 - All previous rewards, plus a signed photo of myself holding the severed head of one of my captors (head chosen at random) once I have exacted revenge.
$1000 - All previous rewards, plus a piece of my jail cell fashioned into a necklace or ring.
$5000 - You will get the COMPLETE COLLECTION of photos of myself holding the severed heads of my captors, all signed by myself, with a personalized, hand-written thank you note, plus all previous rewards.
$10,000 - You will get all previous rewards, plus be invited to an EXCLUSIVE VIP party at the Royal Palace in Nigeria to spend 3 days in paradise!
$50,000 - You will get all previous rewards, plus Nigerian citizenship, complete with an authentic passport!
$100,000 - You will get a FREE ALL-INCLUSIVE trip to Nigeria to spend one week with the Royal Family, plus all previous rewards.
$500,000 - You will be made a Duke of the Nigerian county of your choice, plus receive all previous rewards (Note: citizenship will come with diplomatic passport instead of civilian).
$1 million - A statue will be erected in your honor on palace premises, plus all previous rewards. (Limited to 5 contributors)
$5 million or more - **BEST VALUE!** You will be given a permanent seat on the Nigerian Royal Council, advising on political affairs and earning priority opportunities to invest in Nigeria's economic development, plus TWO "Save the Prince!" T-shirts, and all previous rewards.
STRETCH GOALS:
$6 million: A documentary about my ordeal will be made and distributed for free to contributors
$7 million: A documentary about my revenge will be made and distributed for free to contributors
I implore you to help me set up this campaign, as I am unable from my current location. If the campaign is successful, I will donate 50% of any extra profit directly to Kickstarter, with the rest being given to the charity of your choice.
Thank you for your consideration,
Nigerian Prince | I type quietly and slowly, as not to alert the guards that I was on the computer. I log in and begin typing out my mass email.
"Hello, my good friend! I seem to be in a bit of trouble. You see, I was wrongly convicted of a crime I did not commit. I need 5 million dollars for bail, and I need it quickly. If you could please just send me your credit card-"
Suddenly a guard comes around the corner. He pulled out a gun and yelled something in a foreign language down the hall. He aimed the gun at my head and whispered in english,"I'm the man who framed you. I have come from the future to end this spam email, straight from the roots." And then I got shot. | 2015-06-08T16:32:43 | 2015-06-08T14:45:19 | 95 | 17 |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "This seems kind of weird," Kendra was sitting in a reclining leather chair. Behind her were several people in long judge costumes complete with powdered wigs. "I don't know anything about the worth of someone's life or where they should go."
"Never had a religion or a code of ethics?" one of the judges raised an eyebrow. Kendra couldn't really tell them apart, but there was only one that spoke.
"Not that I remember," Kendra began to play with the hem of her dress. "But a lot of it is blank. I don't...I don't *think* I did."
"That's ok," the judge waved his hand. "Sometimes we just like to get outside opinions."
Kendra thought there was something seemingly off about this, but couldn't put her finger quite on what. She swallowed as the chair turned back around and she looked up at the screen.
It was like watching life through someone's eyes. There were little snippets of action - the world opening up like a flower in bloom and seeing two faces looking down at her. A man in a mask and a woman who held her close.
There was the sound of crying and babbling. A muffled argument late at night while a mobile spun lazily above her head. The sound of a woman singing and the surprising feel of a hand in hers.
Kendra jumped, pulling her hand from the armrest into her lap. Behind her there came laughter. "Don't be alarmed," the voice of the judge. "This will feel quite real at times."
Slowly the world began to shift from horizontal to vertical. Trees that had seemed massive began to shrink. There was a man's face that peered down at her with disappointment. A sharp pain across her face and around her upper arm. A whisper that wound its way into her ear. *Don't you ever tell a soul.*
A young child that sneered at her and taunted her with cries of *chicken legs* and *freak*. The running of a sink and hearing sniffling sounds that reached her own ears.
Smiling faces. Angry faces. Faces filled with disgust. The feel of her own greasy hair as she dragged a trash bag full of things to school. The pity in teachers' faces. *Poor girl. Parents just can't keep it together.*
A small dark space. A sniffling cry. A begging to be let out that poured from her own mouth. The sound of a key and the smell of mothballs. The twisting of a doorknob and a tray of food shoved inside.
"Please," her voice begged. "Please!"
A man who held her hand and told her it would be alright. The embarrassment of finding red between her legs in the middle of a science class. The chilly inside of a car on a winter's morning as she pulled a sweater tight around herself for warmth.
Sitting on the side of the road with an empty cup. Looking at the faces of those disgusted with her. Walking into a store and shoving her pockets full of things. Her own hand brandishing a knife at a woman on the street.
A bridge at night. A whooshing wind. A splash of ice.
The picture faded. Kendra sat still and raised her hand to her face to find it wet. The chair spun again until she again faced the men in black.
"So what do you think?"
Kendra started. "What do I think? I don't know. I think it's horrible. But I don't know if it's good or bad. Just sad. And the ending..."
"You feel sympathy for her?"
"Of course. Only pain and suffering could drive her to an end like that."
"What about her sins?" The man gave a wry smile. "What about the theft? The sloth? The knife?"
"I feel nothing but sympathy and sadness for her," Kendra said.
"Do you think you could forgive her?"
"Forgive her? What has she done to me?"
"Could you forgive your mother for leading such a life? Your best friend? Your child? For taking the easy way out?"
"She suffered so." Kendra paused. "Of course. I just wish there was another option. To try again. I wish I could hold her hand and tell her it wasn't her fault. I wish I could give her happiness."
"What about yourself?"
Slowly the memories bloomed in Kendra's mind. She sat stunned as they flooded back. Her eyes began to sting and her throat began to tighten. "That was...that was..."
"Can you show yourself the same kindness and forgiveness you would show to someone else? Can you allow yourself to see the pain and desperation that *you* felt without the judgement or the self hatred?"
Kendra stared at them and said nothing. It felt as though someone had reached into her chest to squeeze her heart.
The judge smiled. "Ah yes. It's much easier to see our pain when we see it through someone else's eyes. Why don't you try again? See if you can show yourself more kindness."
The judge reached out to push a button. Then, as though she had been pulled into a vacuum, the world went black.
---
Thank you for reading. For other stories check out and subscribe to r/Celsius232
| "Okay, so I just sit in this chair and judge a life?" I asked.
"Yeah, and lucky for you this life died young. Are you ready?"
"Yeah I'm ready... Wow, a VCR. Haven't seen those in a while. Why don't y'all upgrade?"
"Budget cuts. So just put your thoughts into this video and place this person where you really think they belong. Good luck."
I begin watching the video play.
...
>"A lot of mistakes have been made in this life. Heck, I'd hate to be the family of that guy. Those poor kids. That poor wife. It's really sad, because I just saw the rise and fall of his love and empathy. It grew steady like a mountain, then all of the sudden I saw the life in his eyes drop like a cliff. He was falling, and used the people around him as a landing cushion. "
...
"Have you made your decision sir?"
"Yes. With a heavy heart, this soul only deserves pain. More specifically, the pain he brought into his family. "
"Okay, well good luck sir."
"Wait, what do you mean? Where do I go?"
"Hell. That video you just watched was yours. That was your wife you beat. Those were your kids you mocked. Those were your beer bottles and cigarette butts. That was your life that you hated to live. Have fun sir. For a place called rock bottom, I hear hell is warm. "
...
>You're as toxic as the cigarettes you smoke and the alcohol you drink. Soon enough the blood that flows through you will turn a ghastly purple and your lungs will exhale smog. You are not a father. You are a monster. You are an intruder. You are anything, but a protector.
>Thanks for nothing. Mom and sister can finally let their tears flow, remember when you yelled at them to never do it in front of you because it made you feel guilt? While they were holding tears, I was holding anger. Anger at you for not being a father or a human being.
>Now that you're gone, my only goal is to become anything and everything
>that doesn't
>remind me
>of you.
>BTW: I could have saved you. As an EMR, I know when and how to perform CPR. You show me, however, that not all life is precious.
>Goodbye.
>
>
>~Your son, who was named after you. | 2016-05-10T19:41:52 | 2016-05-10T18:32:26 | 2,000 | 59 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own. | Day 1.
Sigh..... As I wake up on my 16th birthday I knew it would happen. I was dreading it. I didn't want it, I didn't need it. I didn't believe in it. My parents had useful powers though as much as they hated it. Dad being a doctor of course managed to heal people at a touch. Mum being the cook that she was never needed to do groceries again as she seemed to be able to multiply food out of thin air. The day went by and I waited inside for my powers to manifest but nothing seemed to happen. Didn't help that it poured the whole day.
Day 5.
Still no powers. Huh, maybe God was listening to my prayers. I thanked Him for it silently in church as I did every Sunday with my parents. There was barely anyone now in the aisles. Ever since the first detection of these powers way back when, religion had sort of taken a back seat to most people. Science of course was delving deeper into how and why these powers came about. They eventually came up with an answer. My parents said take no stock in it of course. We were religious and that was how we lived. There would be no one else but God.
Day 15.
The feeling of being the only normal one in my world defied expression. I felt like the chosen one, like God had chosen me to be different like he did his son Jesus Christ. Everyone began looking at me funny but I didn't care. My parents loved me despite it, glorified me even for being one of the few to be given the chance to work hard in life, without any powers, without any easy roads. I was doing God's work in my own way they said, a beacon for others. With thoughts of peace, I read a passage before I sleep. As I lay my head to rest I hear the patter of the rain on my window seemingly to wash me of my sins. Man... It hasn't stopped raining since my birthday...
Day 25
The people in my year continue with their daily life albeit with a few.. enhancements. I remember the day when we were taught how we gained our "powers". Human beings have long lost their original and innate capacities with for creation and innovation with the introduction of color television. Who would have known that this capacity for creation was merely a result of gene expression? Who could have imagined this gene sitting in our DNA slowly evolving itself to cope with our lack of innovation by imbuing us with these so called superpowers. And if that wasn't enough, they linked that these superpowers were a result of actually watching tv; the regular programs and media which later led to what we truly desired in a power. Sigh.. All these sad heathens and their beliefs. I walked out of that assembly hall that day, refusing to believe it. As I'm sitting here in present day I admire the simple things of God's nature; the 2 lovebirds sitting in the tree branches drying themselves from the ever continuous rain...
Day 36
I spot the 2 lovebirds on the way to school. They seem to have built a nest there and welcome me every morning. As I slosh about the ankle high waters, I think back to my friends, my classmates, the ones who have finally alienated my "weirdness". The geeks had the most variety. Super speed and spell casting were quite a surprising norm among them. The jocks all had super strength. No surprises there what with the constant sports reruns they were watching. The cheerleaders? Flight mostly. Goth kids. Necromancy. Go figure. I notice a lot of stray cats and dogs around the place. Always the same color, always in a pack. Hmmm
Day 40.
It's been raining for 40 days and 40 nights. The news reports have shown tsunamis have hit all our coasts. The death toll is increasing. The 2 lovebirds are still within my sight from my window. The stray and wild animals in my yard are always in pairs. Not packs. Pairs. And they were always the same 2 animals. I know what my powers are now. It was always there written in the book. In my Bible. In the book of Genesis. It's too late now. | Tonight was my night; my 16th birthday. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, it was my time to shine. I had waited almost a year for this day, ever since my best friend Andrew discovered in January that he could fly. I had envied him at first, being the first in the tenth grade with a power. As time passed I was jealous of what it said about him. If powers are a reflection of our character as scientists believed, I came to envy what this said about his life. He was free, he was pure and he was without a care in the world. What did he know about pain? of being beaten by your father every day for imagined sins and infractions? Of having to steal your best friends allowance to wear decent clothes? of being labelled by girls as a 'creep' and of your few friends pitying you?
But times had changed. New Years eve, my birthday, had arrived and I smiled at my reflection. I wondered what my power would be. Super strength for my strength through the hardships? Mind reading for my ability to empathize? I was entertaining these thoughts when my phone rang.
*Hello?*
*Hey it's Andrew here, you ready for the party?*
*Sure, pick me up in ten.*
*Hello?*
I heard static and a click as my phone died. I moved it away from my ear, and then smiled.
Tiny cracks ran along the screen and continued to spread from where my hand held the phone. I willed the cracking to stop, and it did. | 2015-01-21T22:46:38 | 2015-01-21T21:42:59 | 62 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | 2017-09-14T16:56:22 | 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 136 | 82 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | The other races of the Milky Way cared very little about the blip of a race. You see the galactic population was less unified than one might think. Many races didn't perceive time, speech or thought in the same way. But the one thing they did all understand was matter. Every being was made out of physical matter so that is how they spoke to one another. Beings would present physical embodiments of ideas or even pieces of a rudimentary written 'language' that incorporated a series of moving hieroglyphs.
Some species did gain thought and language and these beings warned the community that there may be something dangerous about the humans but the general community only accepted these physical languages so they looked at the small sampling of 'sign language' in the early days and then 'emojis and television' in the later days. There was ruckus about 30 central microgalactic elliptics (CME) back when a confusing blip occurred on the planet. It was so quick and incomprehensible everyone assumed it was the equivalent of an ant colony accidentally creating sparks when it tipped over a rock. The Lidrarians and Falcariots, the two dominant races that were bipedal humanoids and solid based, most closely resembled the human concept of language, thought and culture. They began to fear the humans but could do nothing about it. The human planet was located deep in Aurbor territory. The Aurbor were relatively peaceful but defensive gas based life forms. 5 CME (roughly 100 earth years) later when the humans mastered nuclear fusion and fission races such as the Aurbors found the sudden aggression from the warfaring Lidrarians and the wealthy Falcariots strange but thought little of it.
5 CME later the humans were all but forgotten about as a massive war broke out in the Milky Way Galaxy. During this time humanity learned many things. They conquered their solar system and mined all of its asteroids and planets for materials. They were getting closer to discovering faster than light travel and had made preliminary discoveries of possible other life from errant scans of Falcariot and Lidrarian ships. The humans began to study other life and 10 CME after the start of the war they understood what was happening and humanity united under a common rule. They knew that liquid, plasma and solid creatures existed and warred against each other but they did not yet understand gaseous beings such as the Aurbors. They just thought air was toxic to these beings and their arm of the Milky Way must have been especially noxious. 15 CME after the war had started a scientist studying the Northern Lights for particle research cracked the code. The Aurora Borealis wasn't a phenomenon, it was their rulers. The equivalent of night security guards watching the tiny race. When humans discovered this they did not let on and instead moved all their research facilities away.
20 CME after it started the galactic war was over, the Lidrarians and Falcariots had been driven into a neighboring galaxy. As everyone was letting their guard down humans mastered FTL and attacked the gaseous Aurbors. The gaseous race initially found the races attempts at usurpation laughable, they choked out their ships and found cracks in their ventilation systems. The kinetic weapons were useless and their laser technology might as well have been arrows against a tank. Then came the first nuclear warheads and the anomalous blip was suddenly understood with horror. But the humans did not stop there. They had developed ways to split electrons and neutrons and protons, the fundamental pieces of the atoms. Splitting a neutron would suck the fundamental life out of the Aurbors and soon they were extinct. Splitting a proton would turn the liquid races into solid, soulless statues. Splitting an electron would turn the dangerous plasma based life into supercharged bombs that would explode themselves, transferring the electron sickness from being to being like a chemical weapon. You see each race had learned to fight and speak through physicality. The way they fought and communicated was like the difference between a marker, a pencil or a pen on paper. But humanity was different... they tore the words they wrote into the paper itself. Cutting their message into the fabric of reality with every destructive, irradiated waste they left.
10 CME later they had conquered most of the Milky Way and set their sites on the neighboring galaxy ruled by the now allied Falcariots and Lidrarians. The two races studied the humans in their conquest and constructed safeguards. They could counter the splitting of any piece of the atom. They had created paper humanity couldn't cut... so humanity burnt their words into the paper. They went smaller and learned the impossible, they could split a quark. It was theoretical at best and they didn't know if it was practically possible. Actual tests were too dangerous so the first and only test was done when it was used on the Falcariots and Lidrarians. The destruction would make the humans a universally dominant power for eternity. You see, the splitting of a quark created an unstoppable tear in reality. The total destruction would fundamentally destroy existence and expand forever, like a fire that never stops spreading. But the laws of the universe meant that galaxies forever expanded out away from one another. The milky way always stayed a few light years ahead of the destruction but the Andromeda galaxy would forever be gone. Eventually when the universe's expansion cooled and slowed the wave of destruction would catch up to everyone. The humans had created a defined end to the universe. At the first intergalactic summit the humans burnt a message in hieroglyphics in the sky. The races that understood words translated it as follows.
"We are become granters of life, destroyer of universes." | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
​
///Yes ///No | 2019-12-19T05:08:25 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 52 | 13 |
[WP] In this world, physical appearance depends entirely on personality. All babies are born identical. Beauty is achieved gradually through good thoughts and deeds, while the opposite is true for ugliness. | Stanley's walk was more of a foot dragging shuffle, his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes downturned. He didn't look at the sea of beautiful faces walking down the street. They occasionally glanced at him, and he felt sure without having to look that when they did they more often than not smirked at what they saw. So what?
He knew he was nobody's idea of handsome, and he understood what that meant to them. They knew he was not noble. They knew he was not accomplished or ambitious. They knew it all at a glance: He didn't long to save the world, feed the hungry, shelter the poor, or end the suffering of his fellow men.
He was nobody's idea of ugly either, of course. He had never killed, or raped, or robbed, or knowingly cheated anyone. If he found money in the street, he would not go out of his way to find its owner and return it. But neither would he pick someone's pocket to get that money. So at least he had that going for him.
But it was never enough. The twisted leering wretches that occasionally turned up in society were quickly imprisoned or put down (mercifully, of course); but that didn't mean that people wouldn't look at someone like Stanley with quiet disdain. In a world such as this, where beauty and ugliness both were created qualities, there was no way to hide behind the anonymity of simply not being known to someone, because even a perfect stranger could read your character at first glance.
Stanley kept his gaze down, and he schooled his mind to quiet acceptance of reality. He did this because it was the only way to keep himself from condemning the hypocrites he knew walked their ranks. He knew full well that there were specialized surgeons who could compensate by putting right what a lifetime of bad character decisions had put wrong. It was always temporary, of course, but you would be surprised how much people would pay to hide their mistakes, even for a little while. But condemning them for it would simply make Stanley's own situation worse, since the simple act of judging others would, over time, add wrinkles and dark splotches to your face.
At last Stanley arrived at the small grassy space near the center of downtown. It was a simple but lovely stretch of city park where the pretty people liked to walk on their lunch hours, wishing to be seen before the years of pridefully showing off their virtue ate into their looks as they aged. Stanley didn't care about them one way or the other. And he didn't necessarily care about the loveliness of the park either. He was there looking for one person in particular.
He spotted her on a wooden bench near the freshly blossoming hydrangea, which she gazed upon with a soft wistful half smile that ironically made her look sadder rather than happier. She was thin almost to the point of boyishness and her mousy brown hair was plain and straight. Her features were quite ordinary, and her eyes a rather dullish shade of gray. No one else gave her even so much as a second glance as they passed, but Stanley could not take his eyes off her.
He reach into his jacket and withdrew the single yellow rose he had tucked away there to protect it, and he approached. When he had drawn near enough to her, she looked up, spotted him, and he held out the rose to her. She stood up from her bench and took the rose with one hand. Her face brightened into a broader and warmer smile that shot through him like sunbeams through a stained glass window. She placed her other hand upon his arm and stepped in close to kiss him on the cheek. "There you are, my love," she whispered into his ear.
She locked her arm in his and breathed in the scent of the rose, and now they both smiled as they walked away down the street together. They were so enraptured with one another, that they remained blissfully unaware of the many stares they received, as startled passersby wondered who this attractive couple was, and where they had suddenly come from.
| Our appearance is not made up of how we feel about ourselves. it is divined through some force greater than our own. perhaps a god, perhaps the combined psychic force of humanity as a measure of morality. I have to say this because if it was based on how we felt i would be a monster. people see me heading to work in the morning and think "oh, he's a doctor. such a beautiful man. i hope my daughter marries someone like him." or "I bet he saves lives that's why he looks so good." Sure I am a doctor. I heal people, I make things better, I improve peoples lives. I have to tell myself that so that **I** don't wander into the freeway. the worst part of my job is what I specialize in. When a case becomes impossible and the other doctors **can't** do anything more to help you, I'm tasked with coming in and discussing it with the family... From there I make arrangements, a nurse brings in supplies, I **do** what the others can't, and i take **This** vegetable that was once a person down to the morgue. The more i think of how we couldn't help those people. The more i hate the man in the mirror. | 2015-10-31T07:04:45 | 2015-10-30T21:47:26 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | “Finally awake, are you?”
The voice came from behind me as I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but I could make out a spartan cell: stone walls, dusty furniture, cobwebs, the whole shebang. I could hear movement behind me, feet sliding languidly across the floor. The single window of the chamber let in only murky moonlight through its neglected panes.
“Your defenses were impressive. It took me quite a bit of effort to overcome them.”
The footsteps came closer. I tried to move my hands but found them tied behind the chair in which I sat. A cursory movement of my legs found them similarly restrained. The chair had a cushion though; best to look on the bright side.
“Seems like somebody cares about you. I wonder what they’d pay to have you back?”
I felt my captor’s arms twine around my neck, sliding warm hands down my bare chest. I felt her nails scrape gently across my abs as her mouth approached my ear.
“But I’ll be sure to have some fun with you before I start negotiations.”
I tried to stay strong as her teeth began nibbling at my earlobe, but I could feel myself starting to react. I could feel silk sliding across my back. I wondered what she was wearing.
“You know you can’t possibly get away with this.”
Her response was a throaty chuckle. Her tongue seemed to burn as her mouth explored my neck.
“Pointless bravado. Who could possibly save you from me?”
It was at that point that there was a shattering of glass and my captor was forcibly ejected from the room.
“Darling, are you okay? That woman didn’t harm you, did she?”
There stood the demon queen in all her glory, wings extended, horns curled behind her ebony mane, blood red dress almost artistically askew. Her arm was extended towards the window, wrist bent as if she’d just shooed away a fly.
“Dammit mom, we were in the middle of something!”
With a gesture, the ropes tying me to the chair untied themselves and were neatly transfigured into a tunic and breeches. I stood up, fully prepared to give the woman who brought me into this world a piece of my mind. This was the sixth time!
“You *were*. Who was that harlot; I didn’t recognize her. Did you break up with another one? I rather liked Harriet.”
Well, yes, but this was neither the time nor place for that conversation. It was a lot of effort preparing my girlfriends to meet my parents. My mother’s standards were quite high. I believe her words about Harriet had been ‘dull as a poorly maintained athame and half as useful.’
I saw an orange glow through the broken window. Time for defensive measures.
“That wasn’t Harriet. I couldn’t be sure she’d be interested in trying out that roleplay.”
“Oh, and exactly which roles were you playing?”
“Demon Queen abducts and ravishes the resistant hero.”
It was always strange to see mother blush given the things I’d seen her do over the years. Nevertheless, her hands went to her cheeks as a wicked smile graced her face. Importantly, she was not thinking about Harriet. The orange glow grew brighter.
“That was always my favorite as well,” mother remarked fondly. “Unfortunately your father says it brings back bad memories.”
“Really? He told me it was one of his favorites.”
A secret told in confidence, a betrayal most heinous. Sorry dad, your sacrifice will be remembered!
My mother’s body language changed as if a switch had been thrown. Her movements became sinuous and flowing. Her eyes began to glow a dim purple. The smile which had been on her face grew to show just a few too many teeth which were just a little too sharp. I wished I could warn my dad to brace himself.
As she strutted towards the wall, a glowing purple portal appeared, likely just the same as the one which had brought her here. I began to congratulate myself on a job well done, only for mother to pause in the portal’s mouth.
“Bring the girl to dinner this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
My mother’s smile turned downright devious.
“Maybe next weekend.”
The portal closed with a pop, and not a moment too soon.
“**Alright, where is she?**”
I cast a spell to chill the room against the wave of flame that burst into the room, but it wasn’t enough. Three of the wooden desks nearest the window burst into flame and the dust in the air became a rain of soot. Fortunately I’d centered the spell on myself and was left uncooked. The burning woman who had swept into the room didn’t seem to notice.
“Gone home.”
“**Oh she ran did she? Who was that? One of your exes?**”
“Viriel the Seventh. Queen of the demon realm.”
The flames vanished with a poof, leaving me all too aware that whatever slinky number my girlfriend had been wearing had gone the same way as the desks were quickly going. I strode to one of the unburnt desks and transmuted it into a robe with a wave of my hand.
“You mean that was…”
“My mother, yes. I’m sorry you had to meet that way. I’ve told her dozens of times to stop scrying on me before bed, but she’s rarely a fan of listening.”
I brought her the robe, but she didn’t seem interested, instead looking around the chamber, as if it could teach her something about the mythical woman who had birthed me. With a wave of her hand, the flames on the desk leapt from the desks and into her body, which shifted in response, growing more voluptuous. Dating a flame spirit was pretty cool.
“Well, that was an unpleasant interruption. It doesn’t mean we can’t continue though does it?”
“I’d like nothing more. Unfortunately…”
There was a knock on the door of the abandoned classroom we’d coopted. With a squeak, my girlfriend darted behind me. I handed her the robe over my shoulder.
“Headmaster Cygnus is outside. I do believe we’re in trouble.” | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | 2021-11-20T09:36:48 | 2021-11-20T00:07:09 | 30 | 19 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | "A man chooses, a slave obeys.."
I was in Andrew Ryan's office, with a golfclub in my hands. I knew this part of the game, it was where we found out who Atlas really was and that we as the player are a slave controlled by a single phrase.
"Would you kindly.... KILL"
One strike, two strikes, down he goes.
Three strikes, four strikes, he's not breathing.
Five strikes, six strikes, just for good measure.
I did not want to kill a man, not even Andrew Ryan, in such a gruesome way. I was no stranger to killing in my life among the living, as I had been a military man in the second world war, brought into video games in my later years by my grandchildren.
I knew that Splicers were hollow, nonliving creatures. I hated killing Big Daddies, but I did it anyways, only to save the Little Sisters. The Little Sisters reminded me of my own children, everything in this strange and lonely world reminded me of my family.
At least, I think they were my family. I knew the game's plot twist, I know of the multiple endings, I know every plasmid and how best to spend a limited supply of adam.
And yet, Andrew Ryan's words struck a cord with me. In the game, the player was given the belief that they had a family, when in actuality, they were a slave meant to do Fontaine's dirty work.
Was that all I was? Were the memories of mine implanted in my head, had I really lived through years of war, only to return and struggle financially for years as I raised a family, finally becoming stable and building my own home myself?
These thoughts were agonizingly painful as I went to meet Atlas for the final boss fight. Eventually I made it, going through the same dialogue I had heard dozens of times. This time, as Atlas told me that I was the closest thing to a son he ever had, I had a glimmer of empathy in my heart.
And then I killed the son of a bitch.
The crossbow had always been my favorite, because it was the only weapon in the game that I had never held in reality. Maybe the fact that the crossbow was unfamiliar helped me stay grounded as I progressed through the game, or maybe it helped my thoughts of doubt.
I stabbed Fontaine with the Little Sister's needle and that was done. He was about to kill me, but Little Sisters rushed out of the vents and drained all of the adam from him. I had one.
Finally it came time for one of the little sisters to walk towards me nervously, holding a keycard for the entire city. I reached for it, she flinched and pulled away, but I gently reached out and she gave it to me this time. And then she disappeared as everything went black.
Everthing was black.
White text appeared in front of me:
Little Sisters: All Saved
Killed Ryan: Yes
Killed Atlas: Yes
Favorite Gun: Crossbow
Favorite Plasmid: Electrobolt
Maxed Health: No
Maxed Eve: Yes
Determining Ending..
That didn't make much sense to me. Of course I killed Ryan and Atlas, you had to defeat them to progress the game. Maybe this was just making sure it didn't glitch, but I felt like I knew it hadn't.
"You wanted to go home.." Tenembaum's voice. I was floating around in a black void, catching glimpses of memories as they floated past.
"Yet you did as you were told, obediently putting an end to the Iron fist of Andrew Ryan and Fontaine."
I saw myself beat Ryan to death, and Fontaine got the adam trained from him a second time in my memories.
"You became used to the plasmids running through your veins, like an addict."
I remembered my times after the war, my largesy struggles, and my unspoken shame of turning to drugs for a brief time, but I did it, non the less.
"You preferred the crossbow, hitting your enemies in the head with a straightforward, unfeeling death."
I saw visions of gunning down enemy soldiers in the war, and then killing Splicers in Rapture. Everytime it seemed, I had tried to spare them the pain and simply went for the head.
"You will go back home.."
I gasoed a sign of relief, Tenenbaum was telling me that I would go back home. I was going to see my family again.
"But you will never be the same."
And I never was. I never picked up a video game ever again, I hid my war medals in the farthest reaches of my closet, never to see the light again. I stopped hunting, unwilling to hold a gun ever again.
I ended up keeping my full arsenel of guns, my camera and my wrench. I sold the guns, kept the camera and wrench, and the Crossbow sits with my war medals in the closet.
I never attempted to use my plasmids again to see if I kept them, although one of my rewards was also a briefcase full of all the eve hypos and medkits that I had left when I bet the game.
I also kept the Big Daddy suit for some reason, I keep that in the basement, maybe I'll pass it off as a replica I made myself. More likely though, I'll never speak of it, much like everything else I suffered through. | I was sitting at my computer when my phone buzzed with an incoming text. I wasn't doing much, just watching YouTube and passing the time, so I picked up the phone and read what it said. "Reply yes if you can survive the last video game you played." Amused by the notion, despite not knowing who sent it, I replied yes. Everything faded to black and when I could see again, I found myself on an airplane with a gift box in my lap. But it wasn't like now. People were smoking on the plane. Even me. I heard a voice say "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck." With a sense of dread, I looked at the tag on the gift. It read, "Would you kindly not open until" and a set of coordinates. I swallow hard, remembering a familiar phrase. "There's always a man. There's always a city. There's always a lighthouse." Well, Ryan and Atlas, here I come.
The hijacking was easy enough, thanks to the effects of the mind control bred into me by Fontaine. I made sure I was the only survivor and made my way to the lighthouse and the bathysphere. Welcome to Rapture.
I had played the game enough to know where most of the secrets were, getting the weapons and upgrades and plasmids and tonics. Looted every body I could. Thankfully I'd played on easy, so it didn't pose too much trouble. Every WYK command was obeyed. Sander Cohen was rather a interesting distraction as well. Seeing all these characters in person was rather surreal, but also fascinating.
I took the good option, saving the Little Sisters. I much preferred a happy ending. Tenenbaum kept giving me gifts along the way for every three saved Sisters. But oh God, were those Big Daddies a royal pain in the tush.
Finally, I stood in front of Andrew Ryan himself. Listened to that speech I'd all but memorized. And it strangely felt good to embed that golf club in his forehead. At long last, I pushed through the rest of the encounters until I took down the big baddie and the Little Sisters looked at me like their Savior.
I watched them grow into capable, wonderful women. All of them were at my bedside when I finally passed on, only to wake up at my chair with a huge load of guns, ammunition and money in piles, as well as brand new abilities thanks to the plasmids and tonics. This was going to be fun. | 2020-02-17T00:29:57 | 2020-02-16T23:07:24 | 20 | 14 |
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history. | Earth had never been dark. Not fully. Not *no fire, no lightning, no stars, no sun, no moon* dark. But I didn't consider that. The first thing I thought on arriving was: shit I forgot to bring lunch. I remember I said, "Sweetie, did you bring lunch?" And she said, "Ah shit. I thought you were dealing with it." And then we tried to look at each other to roll our eyes but...
The only reason we're even leaving this note, deep in this cavernous gut, is because we *have* to. Have to tell you that we're fucked. *We*. Humanity. God's children, evolution's mighty zenith, a happy little accident -- whatever you want to call us. (All wrong by the way -- we're just an experiment, although the bible got it closest.) Us telling you is part of how it all connects.
See, the statue I have in my hand -- that I leave here and bequeath to the note's finder, in however many million-years -- is, well, I don't know what it is exactly. A beacon, sort of. You time-travel back to its creation and you kick-start everything, because they're waiting here for us. They're like hunters that have made a little rope trap and are hiding in a bush waiting for a time-deer to stumble its hoof into the time-hoop.
Why are they waiting? Because us coming back here is the technolutionary (like evolutionary -- does that work? I think it does.) signal for them to judge you back in the future. And bad news, they already know how they're going to judge you, because time-travel stuff. They say you've extincted (that definitely works) 99% of all species you share the planet with, so they're going to go boom on your butt. That sounds wrong. Blow you up, I mean. They're like righteous hippies that have got hold of a nuke and decided that those few bees selling honey to each other are a good target.
Why don't they do it sooner? Like, wipe us out at the Adam and Eve stage, so to speak? They're not allowed to. There are many laws in the universe, many rules, and number seven is: you should allow each species a little time to breathe. Because time is like a book, and when it comes to the end, its pages can still be flicked through -- they'll always exist. So even if we only cover a paragraph, that's fairer (apparently) than only being allowed a single letter for all existence.
So yeah, when you find this, you have about a week before it happens. So say your goodbyes and give the person next to you a nice long smooch.
Okay, time's up. They're dragging the sun into place and getting our planet all started. They've already planted the dino bones and done all the "ground work", as they call it. Plus the kids are complaining.
Yep, life begins today.
Except for yours.
For you, life begins to end today.
Peace out.
​
\---
​
Sam held the letter, written on type-plastic, in one hand, and the little wooden relic, a carved laughing face, in the other. "So, what do you think, sir?"
"Same as you, Sam. That note is written on modern tech. The carving looks a little more authentic, but come on, whoever did this didn't even try hard to hoax us."
"Yeah," Sam said. "Although it was right down the throat of a very, very deep cave."
"It's a hoax, Sam. The world isn't ending." He paused. "And they moved the sun? Planted dinosaur bones? Seriously?"
Sam laughed. "Yeah. Okay, that's pretty dumb, even for a hoax. It's like they're saying evolution wasn't a thing. Everyone just... got put in their place by aliens. And we know that isn't true."
The commander sighed. "And yet it still bothers you?"
"Well... I'd just like to know who did it, I guess."
"Fine. Fine. Someone *should* be held accountable." The commander tapped a button on his tablet.
"That was a very obnoxious letter," said the commander as they waited.
Sam nodded. "Very."
Two minutes later the door swooshed open and Gale walked in, saluted the commander, then winked at Sam as she bit her lip.
"Gale, you and Sam are going on an assignment. You're going to find the perpetrator of this hoax." He pointed at the wooden statue in Sam's hand.
She looked at Sam and grinned. "Oh good. I need a little excitement in my life."
​
​
Four hours later, they were ready. Held hands as they clicked the switch.
It happened in an instant.
Blackness. Total blackness.
"Sweetie," said Sam. "Did you bring lunch?"
"Ah shit. I thought you were dealing with it."
They looked at each other, about to roll their eyes, when it dawned.
"Shit," they both said. "Shit."
A ring of light brushed over them. Many eyes glistening in the dark around them.
"Sweetie," he whispered nervously.
She gulped. "Yeah?"
"If evolution's not real...
"Yeah?"
"...Then something's got to start humanity, right?"
"Is that really a big concern right now, Sam?"
"I just worry that... well, how do you feel about kids? Because I don't think I'm all that ready for them." | Happy Cake day! This is a really great wp. I hope to do it justice as I am fairly new to this page.
The resounding air curled up as the room began to lose its geometry. Everything became a blur as it stretched and disfigured into the swirling pipe above. The scene was all too familiar. This was your third trip into the past. The facility of Xenon Tech began to suck away all the same as the laboratory room. The trees on the outside stretched and the earth itself began to convulse beneath your feet. Then, something happened.. the Earth split open and dragged itself above you. The core of the Earth, a bright orange molten ball now like strips of bright spaghetti above. And then, the swirling blue planet now faded into the distance. You look around frantically. The sun stretched across a black background. The swirls of fire from its surface twisted and whipped above and circled you like a cage. Your heart began to speed up now as the realization occurs, you have just left Earth.
Other planets passed all the same, Jupiter, then Neptune. You are beyond the rim of your known solar system. The scenes began to slow, the landing point was coming up. Your fear has gripped you now and the space you occupied suddenly felt very small and hot. Would you be able to breathe when you stop? What if its hot or the gravity crushes you?
Your journey stopped abruptly. You crashed down to a hard stone floor in the center of a dark gray room. Human-like beings stood around you in a circle. They're dressed in silver and black bejeweled gowns with hoods covering their faces. They stood straight with tall metal staves in their hands. Their feet were bare. Some looked like giant black panther's paws, others like human feet. They began to murmur amongst one another in quiet purring and growling voices. One of the taller ones removed their hood, their heavy golden necklace clanging in the quiet. Her pupils were tall black towers within a pool of blue. Gold encircled her eyes and wrapped up around the side of her face to her tall ears. Her face resembled a cat! Even more bizarre is that you recognized her. Bastet! An Egyptian god!
Just then, you felt a burning sensation over your entire body. Your clothes began to feel hot, very hot. The cotton in the clothes are reacting poorly with the air and are heating up. A small fire lit up at the interface between your pants and shirt. You drop the small figurine and begin to strip off all of your clothes and throw them onto the floor in front of you. They erupt into flames and burn very hot and quickly. With it, the return device that was supposed to bring you home. You bend over and pick up the figurine and cover yourself while looking around the room again. The beings were unmoving. Your heart palpitates now as panic beseeches you.
"Welcome, human." You hear from within your head. | 2020-04-17T09:04:02 | 2020-04-17T08:40:15 | 297 | 134 |
[WP] You possess a unique superpower. You can observe all statistical data about any person's life. For example, how many days they have left to live, how many people they've killed, how many lovers they've had...
Be creative with this one :) | “So tell me a little about why you applied for this job.”
My palms were sweating, I wiped them on my pants. Twenty-seven days in a row she had eaten a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast, half a cup of milk. Her period would start in 38 hours, she was forty-four years old, one-kid, he weighed one-hundred and fifty pounds, he had just over six-thousand days of life left. I had a 10% chance of gaining her approval for the job.
“Well, I was feeling a bit limited in my old position, the slow market has limited the development opportunities in the financial field”
My chances went down to 5%. 34-C, she wore a 34-c bra, she’d been wearing the same bra for seventy days straight. She weighed one-hundred and twenty nine pounds.
“Plus I was really excited by the part of the description where it mentioned human performance modeling, I did a bit of that back in graduate school, really enjoyed, it but the job market was shit back then.”
I cursed at myself for cursing, it had just come out. Her temperature rose slightly from 97.9 to 98.4 degrees. She smiled at me and shifted in her chair. My chances went up to 23%.
“Tell me about your human performance modeling experience…” She glanced down at my resume before continuing “…Lionel.” I was more than just a name to her. She had seven-hundred and fifty-two people she could recognize and name without hesitation, a moment ago it had only been seven-hundred and fifty-one.
“I was part of a team that worked on choice reaction-time variability in high-stress situations based on different training models.” Every word drove my chances higher, I was now at 48%. Her heart rate had spiked to 80 beats per minute when I mentioned choice-reaction time.
“Can you tell me any more about the project?” There were 3,290 hairs on her arms, 2,801 of them had stiffened when she asked me about the project.
“I’m afraid my NDA and the clearance on the project doesn’t allow me to say much more.” The remaining 400 hairs stiffened slightly. Her breathing increased to from twelve to twenty breaths per minute. Also, she would need to pee in ten minutes. My chances of her approval were in the low 90’s, switching every split second from 90% to 93%. She smiled. It had been 151 days since her last dentist visit.
“Can you tell me what company you were working for? We can verify your involvement through the department of defense.” Her pulse spiked, her temperature spiked, she was lying, they could not verify my involvement, or at least not through the department of defense.
“Raytheon.” She smiled and wrote a quick note on my resume. She was writing at an absurdly slow pace, twenty-one letters per minute. The average person wrote at around 65 letters per minute. Her breathing slowed as she wrote, her heart rate increased. Writing caused her pain. My chance of approval seemed to have reached an equilibrium of 92.3%.
“So where do you see yourself in five years?”
It was a stupid question, I rattled off the usual generic success measures they wanted to hear. She had four lovers in her life. Three of them were dead. She’d attended sixteen funerals, she’d killed four people. I stopped mid-sentence, I’d never encountered anyone who had killed someone before, she had killed four.
“Lionel? You were just telling me about the value of project management experience and how the position would offer you the opportunity to gain it?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I paused and looked at her, she smiled back. My chances had dropped, back down to 60%, still good, but not a lock.
“Ok, Lionel, I’m going to ask you one of those bullshit questions that Google made popular, this job requires a lot of problem solving, and I want you to show me how you problem solve.”
“Ok.”
“How many words do you think I say in an average meeting?”
Fourteen hundred and seventy-six. Over the past year she had spoken, on average, just under 1500 words at per meeting. I watched as my chances of approval dropped the longer I stayed silent, like a countdown, they were at 41% when I spoke.
“You’ve said 131 words so far this interview at a rate of about 100 words per minute. You speak slowly in interviews because you think you are smarter than the candidates. You are, usually.” Her IQ of 160 pretty much guaranteed that. “In meetings you probably speak quicker, maybe 120 words per minute. You had four meetings yesterday at an average duration of fifty-five minutes…” I saw a look of fear cross her face, I quickly added: “Probably, since your fairly high up in this organization and meetings usually are scheduled for an hour. Executives, like yourself, spend on average a third of their time in meetings.” She spent 34.8% of her work time the previous year in meetings. “But yesterday was Monday, when there are usually some extra meetings, I just guessed at four meetings. You are a decision maker here, so I have to guess whether you are the type of decision maker who is quiet and renders a verdict, or engages in discussion to reach a compromise.” Her heart rate spiked slightly on the former. “I’m going to guess the quiet verdict type, you have other ways of making your opinion know prior to meetings, so you are a listener. Based on that, I’d say you usually speak for the first three-five minutes and the final five minutes during a one hour meeting, with just 3 minutes of clarification in between. That means 11-15 minutes of speaking for every one hour meeting. Multiplication, 120 words per minute, 11 to fifteen minutes means a range of about 1300 to 1800. I’m going to guess just around 1500 words per meeting.”
She stared at me, my approval chances were at 99%.
“Lionel, all of our meetings are recorded and transcribed for archiving purposes. Just last week an intern, as a fun project coded our meetings and produced a a report on our average words per person. Mine was 1,488.”
“Just a lucky guess, I’ve always been good with numbers.”
“I have to interview a few more candidates…” There was only one more candidate, she had interviewed seventeen so far, including myself. “…But I think, pending a background check, you should be hearing from HR soon.”
“Thank you.” I stood up and shook her hand, she had shaken the hands of 394 people before me. She would shake the hands of exactly two-hundred more before she died.
| "Detective!" someone shouted it from the street below and I sat up in bed, groggily looking out the window to the street, "you should get a cellphone!"
"Fuck that," I mutter, thinking about how often I see people on their phones. 13% of their lives, wasted. I won't go that path. The cop obviously has a case for me, he's my chauffeur, my personal 'make-sure-that-asshole-gets-to-work-on-time' nanny.
Last weeks jeans smell OK. Last weeks t-shirt goes on after. I holster the pistol they demand I carry and head down a set of wooden stairs. In my kitchen is...well nothing. There's a few beers in the fridge and a pizza from...I don't even know.
The cop meets me out front with a brown paper wrapped item. Sal's.
"My personal fucking savior." I take it from him and bit into warm, homemade bread with a thick layer of mustard and barbeque sauce between two pads of pastrami. Sal knows me so well.
"So, who died?"
Cop shrugs, hands me a cold coke bottle and motions to the car.
"Barclay, right?"
Cop laughs, shakes his head. Name tag says...Ritter. Fuck. Ritter, Barclay brings me bagels and coffee. I'll remember it one day.
Kid can forgive me, I know more about him than his own mum. Maybe even himself. Ritter. 1 marriage, 47 years left to go, fired his weapon 6 times in the line of duty already, 7 sexual partners.
Kid gets around, he's only 23.
I can count mine on one hand and I've been doing this shit for nearly 50 years.
He drives to the station, an ugly brown building with the police logo hanging over the doors. I get out, wiping a fresh mustard stain deeper into my jeans and waving back at Ritter. Decent sort.
Inside the station smells of stale garbage. It's human odour mixed with someone's paltry attempt to cover it up, week old coffee, and a healthy dose of professional sadness.
"Detective!"
Second time someone's shouted it at me today, this one has a different tone. I don't look up to his second floor office that overlooks the bullpen and reception area. Big open space with nice lights, the renovation inside isn't terrible.
"Captain?"
"Get. In. My. Office!" He roars it and all the cops ignore it. It's a usual...Monday? morning activity for us.
Holy shit it's Wednesday.
No wonder he's pissed.
I head up the stairs and make my way to his office. He sits there, puffing away like an overweight bull.
"Where have you been?"
I shrug.
"We have a murder case that's two days old, got a guy about ready to be cut loose that we think did it."
I shrug.
"Go. Talk. To. Him!"
His favorite way of communicating. Yelling broken sentences. I get up and saunter to interrogation. There's a guy in the room, gross guy. Stubble across his drawn face, thin arms, glancing around like maybe some heroin will come out of the wall if he darts his eyes enough.
26 years old.
1 count of robbery, convicted.
1,998 injections. So close buddy.
1 murder, unsolved.
1 criminal partner.
"He did it. Not alone. Find his partner, probably a junkie girlfriend or something. She'll flip or he will. Better hurry."
I leave. They'll find her. They'll convict him. Why people even bother to try in this town anymore just astounds me.
As I'm walking through the bullpen to the front doors a man enters the station and smiles at me.
"Detective!"
What is it today?
"I have a case for you. I'm going to kill a man in 24 hours. Stop me."
41 years old.
3 marriages.
6 kids.
$127,604,123.89 total earnings.
0 lies told.
0 murders.
For now. | 2016-08-12T09:59:41 | 2016-08-12T08:45:35 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] “LOVE IS IN THE AIR, I REPEAT, LOVE IS IN THE AIR! SEEK THE NEAREST RESPIRATOR OR SAFE ZONE AND DO NOT GO OUTSIDE UNTIL THE ALL CLEAR IS GIVEN! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HELP ANYONE SHOWING ANY SYMPTOMS! | It started off small. They first experimented on a small town in the middle of nowhere. No one knows where. We only know that the results were extremely promising. The crime rate, which was the reason that town had been picked in the first place, had cratered. The experiment was a resounding success. It was hailed as a revolutionary breakthrough that would bring peace all over the world. No more wars. No more conflicts. The end of the whole mess as they called it.
So soon enough, the plans for a large scale rollout began. It needed to be done and it needed to be done soon. The plans had to be highly accelerated due to the threat of a possible world war 5 on the horizon. Even though the world was still recovering from the last one.
And so it began.
The announcements are blaring all over. I look at all the people running all around me, ignoring them.
Love. What an idea.
I continued on, unaffected.
A young soldier stopped me. “Sir. You aren’t allowed here. You need to take some shelter. The weather patterns indicate the next rain will be the highest concentration ever seen.”
His voice was muffled by the massive respirator he was wearing.
“How old are you kid?”
“Sir?”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Aren’t you too young to be doing this?”
“My country needed me.”
Love of country. I rolled my eyes. “You ever love somebody kid?”
He didn’t have to answer. His hand went to a necklace he was wearing and he clutched it.
I put a hand on his shoulder and pulled out my badge with the other hand. “I’ll be fine. Go on. Help your country.”
They had gone for the soldiers first. For one, they are usually the ones with the most opportunity to hurt others. And the most training I suppose. And the other thing was that they are trained to follow orders. If the government just tells them to take a shot, they do it without much resistance. Belief in authority. Patriotism.
Idiocy.
Then the “geniuses” had salted the clouds or something. Introducing the potion into our water cycle.
Stupidity.
He looked shock at my badge and stepped back almost involuntarily. I walked past him, continuing into the military base.
She was waiting for me by the plane. I had seen her picture but Was meeting her for the first time.
“Douglas Cain?”
I nodded. I circled our aircraft. A lancair 360. Should be a smooth ride.
I could feel her eyes on me as I came around the bend. “I’m Dr. Crane.”
“I know.”
“Right. So… I… when do you think we can leave?”
“Five minutes.”
“Five?”
“The forecast says there’s a storm coming. Massive concentrations of the potion. I want to be out of here as soon as we can. Please use the bathroom and be back here in four minutes.”
“I…” she looked at my face. Realizing I meant it, she walked away swiftly, as swiftly as her respirator allowed her to walk.
I watched her walk away. I suppose she was quite attractive by conventional standards. Oh well.
I got in the aircraft and began preparing for the flight.
She fell asleep about one hour into our journey. I looked at her respirator fogging up and felt some amusement.
Weird.
I shook her shoulder. “We’re starting our descent. We’re here. The eye of the storm. Point zero.”
I landed at the site of the town we were only supposed to refer as Site zero. Where the experiment was first conducted.
It was now a ghost town, of course. These people had for some reason resisted the first love potion. But the increased exposure hadn’t left them untouched.
I don’t understand much about love. But from what I’ve heard, there is a very thin line between love and hate. As the potion affected more and more people, some of them got aggressive out of jealousy. Others sat at home, just crying all the time.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.
Idiots. | ##Terrifying Love
It's a funny feeling, falling in love. Like taking off your armor because you know that you can really trust someone. Then, you get scared. The armor was there was a for a reason, to guard you from getting hurt.
You cover and hide, but love finds a way into your thoughts. It's floating in the air like specs of gold dust. There's no filter or place where it can't reach you.
Other people can't help you. They've experienced love of course, but it affects everyone differently. You don't have to face it alone, but to face it with someone would be admitting defeat.
Surrender would mean losing your entire self and remaking it with someone. The new version could be better, or it could be worse. There is no way to know without trying. Love alters you even if you reject. Tempting you to accept it to have more control.
You begin to wonder why you are accepting it. Why do so many choose love? What's the point?
And then you look into love's face. You start to adapt living with love. You take steps into its gentle mist without coercion. The armor falls off without resistance. You truly accept love.
And that is why falling in love is terrifying but satisfying in the end.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-04-20T17:04:36 | 2022-04-20T16:21:58 | 67 | 16 |
[WP] Two very old immortals meet each other on a busy street by chance. Each having believed they were the only one until now. | Aleph strolled down the street without paying much attention to his surroundings. At least, that's what any observer would say if they were able to see him. It's not that he was really invisible. People tended to shift their gaze and walk around him in the same way they did when they spotted an unwashed beggar. It also wasn't true that he wasn't paying much attention. He was paying attention to *everything*. The world needed constant maintenance to keep going. Are the molecules reacting properly? Did anyone notice those electrons moving past the speed of light? Is probability still behaving, or is it making people believe the roulette table cares? Is the couple making love married? Hmm, only by a city official. That doesn't count. Scribble, scribble.
It was in such state of mind that Aleph nearly ran into another pedestrian. He raised his gaze, brow slightly furrowed, and saw a man gazing back with great confusion on his face. Aleph's previous thoughts flew away like swing ride seats that lost all their cables mid-rotation. A group of electrons took the opportunity to break the speed limit and cause minor confusion in a Swiss railway station.
The other man spoke first, weighing each word.
"I don't know you."
"You... can see me?"
They stared at each other like lovers discovering they've been cheating on each other with the same person.
"What are you?" the other man continued in the same careful tone.
Aleph had introduced himself to people a few times before, but never without carefully arranged trumpets or a least some burning topiary.
"I am God," he managed, "the Beginning and the End, Al..."
"No you're not", said the other one.
Aleph missed a mental step and his mind stumbled. He wasn't used to being interrupted. Unsupervised, a few molecules split in a nearby sewer and a manhole cover went flying high. He cleared his throat. Many eyes went up to the sky looking for the source of the rolling thunder.
"I am the Alpha and Omega!" he boomed. "The Creator! By my will alone does the Universe exist! I allowed the light, and in my image was the man created! Without me, there would be nothing!"
Wine glasses exploded, pacemakers went wild, and the chestnut peddler got his eyebrows singed by a burst of flame. The manhole cover landed on a smug atheist.
The other man was unmoved.
"I didn't make anyone in your image because I've just met you, and I try to avoid white beards as much as I can. I am Kanthya. I am God. Smiting the atheist proves nothing."
Kanthya wiggled his eyebrows. The atheist was reincarnated as a toadstool.
"You see, I created the universe. I keep the life circulating. But I never made you. Your existence is the biggest puzzle since Sodom's self-combustion."
Wind increased as Aleph breathed in. A storm was brewing.
"How did you find a way out of Hell!? I will cast you in chains at the center of..."
Kanthya pinched his nasal bridge and sighed. Who knows how many things will go wrong by the time they sort this out.
The next few minutes were odd. A scientist wrote "Wow!" next to a radio telescope reading. A pair of dice hesitated in mid-air before falling to the table with a single thud. Somewhere, someone thought MS-DOS would be a good idea.
And, at a window table in a nearby bar, watching two familiar men argue, humanity chuckled and doodled a few ideas for what it expects to find on alien worlds.
edit: Uncapitalised "humanity" | I struggled along the crowded New York sidewalk as I always did. Always a rough sea, it seemed as though I was always going against the grain, a stranger against a wall of strangers. Fighting my way through a sea of people, always late. The fact that I was wearing my nice heels today didn't help anything. As I battled my way through the crowds my eye caught on a peculiarly familiar sight; the taught skin, the artificial facial definition, the faux, plump lips. It was almost as if I had caught my own reflection. She had obviously noticed me as well. Her puzzled, curious countenance paused amongst the current of hurried businessmen as she looked me over.
*Was I not the only one?*
The facade of youth started walking towards me, ignoring the disgruntled people attempting to get past. As she reached a comfortable distance she stopped, and a smile that looked almost painful spread across her wide mouth,
"Dolly!" Joan exclaimed.
| 2014-06-16T07:42:15 | 2014-06-16T07:02:26 | 118 | 62 |
[WP] Humans have always been feared throughout the universe for surviving in the harshest environments, drinking and eating highly poisonous drinks and foods as well as taming and even domesticating dangerous beasts. One applies for a position at your company. | Log-003243+6:
The new batch of applicants was dropped off at my desk today. Mostly the usual riff raff, but one caught my eye. One of those humans was applying for the position. I've heard they are tough as nails. I'll need to look into them a bit more.
Log-003243+7:
Damn this looks like a jackpot. Survivable temperature range of 20 to 300¶. Able to lift their body weight. Endurance rating is off the scale. I don't know why a member of such a powerful species would want a clerical position, but they are asking a reasonable salary. Having someone like that around could really make some of the odd jobs go a lot easier. Probably wouldn't even be interested in some of the expensive comforts the rest of the team needs. Looks like the position is filled.
Log-003244+2:
Hell yes, she took the job. The application said it was a she, anyways, but I couldn't tell the difference. I should probably educate myself about these humans more if we are going to have one working here.
Log-003244+8:
Well the human starts on +1 and I have been swamped with work. I still haven't gotten to look into them more, but I'm sure I'll be able to smooth over any misunderstandings. I've given scheduled her for double shifts for half the cycles. I'm sure that she'll enjoy the time off and won't even notice the longer hours. Communication went out today telling the team a little about her. I said that she could help out with any physical tasks they might need an extra set of hands for. I'm sure she won't mind. Atmo temps never drop below 100¶ so I turned off the climate control in her office. I'm sure she'll be comfortable.
Log-003245+2:
It's the human... Saraaa? Something like that. It's Saraaa's second day and it looks like I already screwed something up. Apparently my assumption about the schedule was wrong. I apologized and offered the standard +1-7 schedule and she seemed happy with that. I really need to do that research.
Log-003245+3:
Sarah! It's Sarah. So many different characters will take some getting used to. She asked about the temperature and apparently I had that wrong too. I apologized for the misunderstanding and she took it well, but I can tell she's starting to get a little miffed. I'm so stupid. Humans are like half water or something like that. Of course 100¶ isn't comfortable. I asked what temperature she would be comfortable at and she said 220¶ would be nice. It's the least I can do at this point. Research tomorrow. Number one priority.
Log-003245+4:
Shit shit shit. I finally did my due diligence and I fucked up. Preferred temperature range of 210-235¶. Bite force of 740∆ and they eat other beings? I have hired a monster to process paperwork. That's not even the worst of it. Apparently the other employees have been asking her to move the same things constantly. She says she doesn't mind helping, and it's not that hard but she is worried about not getting her work done. Those chuckle fucks just want to see her show off her strength. Don't they realize she could toss them across the street if she wanted to? I need to do some damage control now.
Log-003245+5:
Okay. Communication sent out. The team is not to abuse the strength of our wonderful new team member. She is to be treated like any other sapient. Crisis averted. For her part Saraaa has been taking this all very well and has been picking up her duties faster than any other employees ever has. Maybe this will all work out.
Log-003254+7:
Well, all things considered the week went well. We all survived and Sarah is settling in nicely. I tried to find a way to casually ask about the whole eating other beings thing and she actually seemed rather happy to tell me she is something called a vegetarian. I think that is a good thing. It looks like I have another thing to research. Next cycle.
Log-003255+1:
Vegetarian means she doesn't eat other beings. Also apparently earth has non-sapient life on it, and that is what humans would eat. They also would apparently keep some of them as pets. I don't understand it, but I suppose there are some things I will just never understand. I'm just thankful that these things called dogs seem to be pretty solidly in the pet category. I can't imagine being given my tasks by a omblex leaf.
Log003257+3:
Sarah wants a chair. Apparently they are rather common among human dwellings, though some prefer to work without them. It just goes to show that you cant learn everything about a species in a couple afternoons on google. Humans truly are amazing.
Log003265+7:
Today marks the 20th cycle-versary of Sarah's first week on the team and we are holding a little party to celebrate.
End Directory [first human]...
| | “Oh yay a human applied for this position. Just great.” I whispered to myself begrudgingly.“They meet all of the necessary qualifications but for fucks sake why a human. I feel like the moment I open my mouth, I somehow will end up enslaved. Screw species equality, who let this application through.”
I a Ranitasuliicota, a proud fungi humanoid creature who can admit that my species has very limited overall body strength. If somehow, ha I’m saying somehow, when we enter combat there is no doubt in my mind I will lose. I stand no chance. Curses.
I hear they have even eaten my brethren when times got desperate. Nowadays they just do it for fun. Dam, bastards.
“Mr. Bắlurceta is here.”
I feel out of my chair. I was so zoned out that I forgot about the intercom. I picked myself up and told my receptionist to give me 10 mins.
I went to the window and started to think about my life. Meh, it was alright. I recently got my first girlfriend. I still haven’t told her I’m isogamous. Heh. My life at this company, how should I describe it? Mediocre at best. Do humans like picking on their prey before they eat it? Am I going to be a victim of office bullying? Blerg. Devious piece of shits.
I zoned out again as I continued to go through tangents and threw insults in my head at the human and whoever allowed this application to go through.
Knock Knock
Is there any hope for me
Knock Knock. “Um hello.”
“Oh yes yes come in. Thank you for applying to our company Mr. um how do you pronounce your name?”
Please don’t hurt me for not knowing your name wrong.
“Oh how about you call me Mr. B. I know how hard it can be for other species to pronounce human names.” He said with a smile.
That smile is he pissed… Oh Spores.
“It’s very nice to meet you and I am grateful for this opportunity. I usually never get past the application process. By the way, I really like your suit, it’s very sleek, can I ask where you bought it?”
I decided to approve his application later that day.
(I hope the grammar doesn't affect the story too much. I'm trying to improve.) | 2020-06-15T22:44:10 | 2020-06-15T22:28:10 | 163 | 103 |
[WP] You discovered the ability to time travel. You go 30 years into the future expecting to meet your future self only to discover that you've been missing for 30 years. | He's been up for more hours than he'd like to think about and has drunk enough coffee to sink the titanic, but it worked.
At least according to the half dozen clocks he has stacked around his desk, it worked. They are all exactly three minutes ahead of the watch on his wrist.
Time travel. Most of his colleagues at the university think he's crazy, but he actually did it. He should go to sleep... shut his lab down and sleep for enough hours to get his brain to stop skipping around like a scratched disc, but he wants to try it one more time. A bigger jump.
It's the holiday weekend, he's pretty sure it's Friday by now, no one will come looking for him till at least Monday morning when John likes to drag him out for breakfast because "Thomas, you should at least start out the week eating real food."
Because peanut m&m's and coffee aren't considered a balanced meal to some people.
So one more jump, three days, and then he'll sleep for a week and eat whatever green thing John tries to shove down his throat.
He wakes up on the floor. It takes him a few heartbeats to even figure this out as it's pitch dark where he is, and quiet. Gone are the various lights of his lab and gone are the sounds of running machines. He spends longer than he'd like to admit getting to his feet and he can practically feel his brain trying to reboot as he stands there in the darkness and decides what to do next.
The best his dragging mind can come up with is to find a light source. He left his phone on his desk and the only light he has on him is an old Zippo lighter. The flick is familiar and mindless and soon he has a small pool of warm light surrounding him.
He somehow ended up in a storage room. There are crates stacked ceiling high all along the back wall and tarp covered objects all around him. Holding the lighter up, he finds the door behind him, and more importantly, the light switch.
Turning the light on doesn't really help him make any more sense of where he is or how he got there. He should have only moved in time, not space. Looking at his watch, he was unconscious for 30 minutes at the most, so if his calculations were correct, it should be early Monday morning.
There's nothing to it but to go out the door and figure what when wrong and how the hell he managed to move in space as well as time.
As soon as he opens the door, alarms start sounding loud enough to cause him to slap his hands over his ears and the accompanying flashing lights makes his stomach roll over. He's crouched in the doorway, fighting to stay conscious when he hears a shout over the alarms constant blaring.
He makes out a dark clad humanoid figure coming towards him through his watery vision before losing his battle and falling unconscious.
He wakes up, once again, flat on his back, though this time on something considerably more comfortable. There's a low hush of voices to his right, the words slowly starting to make sense.
"...has to be a prank. I mean, every one knows the story, crazy scientist goes missing...hell a few years ago they caught some students trying to preform a seance in the building! I think we're even coming up on the annivery of when the guy went missing."
"And he just faked the DNA? Or how about the thirty year old ID chip in his wrist?"
He doesn't hear the guys rebuttal because one thing gets stuck in his mind and has him jerking his eyes open. "Thirty years?!"
Might do more later :) thanks for reading
| #The Leap
I wished to see the future,
as all young men do dream.
To cut the fabric of weary time
and leap across the seam.
Skip the draggings-on of every day
For the treasures that progress holds
Perhaps even meet myself
and become wise before come old.
Who knows what treasures lay ahead?
What sorrows I could leave behind,
the toil one could just forget,
and the dazzle one could find.
For ages, upon ages, they laughed at me
For dreaming up a foolish dream.
But I persevered, and dared to fly
And bring to fruit this scheme.
With but one assistant at my side,
Day and night I dreamt this dream,
Tinkering, testing, welding, wearing,
Down to the final seam.
---------
I wished to see the future,
and one day got a chance.
Thirty years into the bound,
and not a backwards glance.
---------
| 2018-06-17T06:06:14 | 2018-06-17T05:06:43 | 83 | 49 |
[WP] A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain. | I remember the day that I found out who I was.
I had thought that I was Curtis Clark, a 37 year-old pediatric dentist in San Antonio. And, for a time, that is who I was. I had also had memories of a time before that: memories of growing up, of having friends in high school, of struggling to get my degree and opening my practice, of a few forgotten flings I had along the way. It seemed like nothing out of the ordinary, I thought I had been nothing out of the ordinary.
But I had been wrong.
I remember one day a little girl--7, I think--came in. She had lost quite a few teeth for her age already, and thinking that this was a sign of growing up, I had had the gall to congratulate her. But this only put tears in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me how she had lost some of her teeth. I can’t say that I was really all that said for her, though. That wasn’t the primary emotion that I felt. Instead, it was anger. I was angry at her parents, at her father, so angry, everything began to take on a tinge of crimson.
It took so much patience to finish working on her, and when the mom came in, to avoid stabbing the her with dental tools as punishment for standing by while this had happened to her daughter.
I thought back, and I couldn’t ever remember being that angry, yet I had felt, for some reason, that the feeling was familiar.
I remember taking the rest of the day off, and calling CPS. But from what the agent said, and some intuition that I had not known about until then, I had no illusions that they would take any timely action to save that little girl. If only one of the superheroes would take an interest in such things, but they seem only to care about Big Name Villains--never heard of one who goes after petty criminals and domestic disputes.
I then spent the rest of the day wondering about myself. I thought about this angry side that I had just found within myself. It didn’t seem like that was something that I had ever experienced with myself. Yet, it had felt so natural.
I remember thinking things at that time, that from that point onwards, I could not get out of my head. Thoughts of rage and fury, and some sort of knowledge of how to execute them. Plans to incinerate government buildings filled with inept pension-hungry drones found their way into my head. Thoughts on suffocating and choking greedy and heartless executives in their cushy offices with toxic gas. Plans to protect myself, my thoughts, from...something.
I remember the day that I found out who I was. I was reading the online paper. The frontpage story was about Captain Stupendous, the superhero. He had apparently eradicated his 100th villain--though, because of the way he did his work, no one actually remembered them all. How long had he been active, something approaching 20 years, and he only manages 100 villains? I could find that many in a week, I thought. I was wondering just how it was that these 100 were so *important*, so *heinous*, as to merit his personal attention, and thus I looked back on the past articles the newspaper had. He seemed to only average about one feat every 2 months.
I remember the exact moment that I saw...me. Most papers blurred out the faces of villains--at Stupendous’s request, so that he could actually try ‘giving them a new shot at life’ or whatever his thing was. Wiping their memories had seemed inhuman to me at the time, and dishonest, but he was of the line of thought that it was preferable to killing them, and that they would do better next time. There were, though, some tabloids that tried to skirt this with less than complete obfuscation, and it is in one of those that I saw what I suddenly recognized to be...me.
The figure in the article, unlike many other villains, had refrained from being grandiose, and had only called himself Dr. C. No stupid made-up stage name, no Doctor Doom or High Lord of Paine--and no wearing weird suits like the latter either. They had to make up the name Dr. Cruel for him, but he never acknowledged it. The article called him the most terrifying, because he struck without first gloating, without giving explanation, and without mercy. It resonated with every fiber of my being, and in that moment, I felt whole, complete, and completely dedicated to a new calling--or rather, rededicated to an old one.
I remember Dr. C. I am Dr. C. I am an oncologist for society, for it has been stricken with a cancer that I must eliminate. The so-called heros do not care for the calls of the everyday villains of the world, they do not care for the real villains of the world, only their flamboyant stage partners. That burden falls to me, and I remember now how to embrace it. I remember the righteous fire that drove me.
I look back at my patient records. That father lives in a suburb a few miles away. He feels the need to hurt his daughter when he feels the burn of alcohol down his throat. I wonder if he will feel the same if he feels real fire. If I remember correctly, most don’t. And now, now I do remember. | I always thought that movies were overly theatrical when, in a moment of shock, the protagonist would drop his glass of champagne to shatter dramatically on the floor. Now, with Dom Perignon soaking into my carpet and the soles of my slippers, I wondered if I wasn’t just overly shocked.
I had known for some time that there was something different about me. Something special… I had just thought feelings like that were the realm of fifteen-year-old girls, not 65-year-old men. I had ignored them. I scolded myself now as I refocused my attention on the scrapbook of newspaper clippings before me. There I was, headlining most of them.
*The United Nations formally recognizes “Muninn,” a powerful telepath and telekinetic, as the supervillain mostly responsible for the 2008 stock market crash when he imbalanced the real estate market through subtle influence of major financial institutions.*
*Is Muninn the Supervillain Responsible for Deteriorating Relations Between U.S. and North Korea?*
*Dr. Charles Kingley — better-known as Muninn, president of the recently self-proclaimed International League of Villains — is finally captured with the help of hero CleanSlate, who promises to wipe the man’s memory and return him safely to society. This could be a new era for international prison reform…*
A scowl shot across my features as I ran my hand through my thick white hair. A dirty trick, wiping the mind of a telepath and telekinetic. I reached out and the brown paper that had once wrapped the scrapbook drifted lazily up into my hand. There was something comforting and familiar about using my powers, as though a part of me that had been missing was suddenly returned. I’d never lost my abilities, I realized. I’d simply forgotten to try and use them.
Someone had sent me this scrapbook, hoping to trigger my memory to return. Someone wanted Muninn back, but who…? There was no clue on the wrapper, no return address, and I turned my attention back to the scrapbook. Flipping to the last page I saw a note that I’d missed when my mind had been overwhelmed with a rush of returning memories.
It was short message, written in a feminine hand that some part of my mind recognized.
*“Welcome back, Charles. Love, H.”*
I struggled to recall a name to attach to the handwriting, but that was something my mind wasn’t ready to give back just yet. The scowl deepened as I realized how long a road I had ahead of me. Someone had answers, and I wouldn’t stop until I found them. | 2017-12-30T09:39:15 | 2017-12-30T09:29:05 | 85 | 17 |
[WP] You are one of the best contract killers in the world, but one day, at your dead drop, you find $31.25 in small change, and s letter written by an eleven year old boy | I use my kitchen table for pre-work prep: gear maintenance, charging my phone, making sure the plate carrier was ready. In the middle of it all was the crinkled envelope full of change... and that letter. That damned letter, in surprisingly good handwriting for a preteen, telling me that 'the closet monster' was coming to take him away on the next full moon, and that his parents didn't believe him. I knew this had to be the real deal, since no one can find my drop unless they're truly in the kind of danger that needs my services. That's how I had it set up, after all.
Still, it was a little alarming to see a child's desperation written out so plainly, and for all of the tasks I'd taken, this one was... well. It was a lot of danger for a little money. And yet...
And yet, there I was at the appointed hour, waiting at his -- Marshall's -- window while street lights flickered to life and the autumn chill made itself known against my face. Marshall included his cell number (Christ, every kid's got a phone these days) and it didn't take long to convince him I was coming, to act natural, to try and stay calm. Even as we spoke, that mixture of elation, terror, and anxiety he gave off treated my stupid bleeding heart like too-tight laces on new sneakers. I usually wasn't this into my feelings during my work. Emotions were dangerous. Especially when---
I felt it before I saw, before I heard Marshall's horrified screaming. That sharp tug against my being, towards his closet, like undertow. I'd felt that one enough times to know its exact source, and that means immediate action because Marshall's guest probably felt my emotions even before he spotted I was there.
"**█▄▄█■█▀▀█▄▀!**" It was an armless thing of thickly-matted gray fur, an impossibly huge slavering gyre of a mouth filled with blinking orange eyes and ragged teeth, and a booming voice that spat out the Wyld Tongue with irritation and fury. All it knew was that the man surging through the window towards it, as it stepped out of the twisting sideways hole in reality where Marshall's closet had once been, meant to steal his meal ticket. It was understandably furious.
It was also slow and stupid. By the time it began to lunge forward to swallow up the boy, bed and all, my jian had pinned it to the floor. A simple blade, but twice-blessed cold iron was more than enough to run it through. Two blasts to center mass from a pepper-box I had made quickly finished the job. Custom shells full of iron filings. Useless for most everything... except onieromorphs at close range.
Marshall watched on, somewhere between horrified and entranced, as the iron filings finished disintegrating a rather large portion of the greyspiral's body, like embers dancing through charred wood. "... is it dead?" he finally croaked out.
"Yes." It was already sublimating, and the faerie gate was swiftly closing. Soon enough, the undertow-tug was gone, and all there was left of the encounter were the three wounds I'd inflicted on Marshall's carpet. The faint song of iron being sheathed made the tightening in my chest pass instantly. "... greyspirals only work by contract."
"Huh?"
"Someone was trying to give you to them. To the monsters. For something. Always a contract. Always a deal." My eyes turned to his bedroom door as it creaked open just enough, and locked onto the bulging eyes of his father, flashlight and pistol in shaking hands. "... and they should explain why." | I used to live in a Colombian city on the Caribbean called Barranquilla. I was a contracted to be a stuffed bear killer. It was a no blood spill your guts kind of a gig. Then today of all days, I received sign about capsizing on Columbus Day. I finally hit my mark and get my cap & gown.
The letter my 11 year old boy friend wrote simply said, $31.25 is what you get. Although this may sound like a small change it symbolizes everything about Columbus landing in the New World. What this fee says is de add 3 children and 1 mate to our court. 5 the number for a helping hand, God and the Bryl Family. Welcome to the New World C.B.!
"Notice that in Barranquilla they dance that way." The name actually comes from two Spanish words: "barranca" meaning gulch or ravine, and "quilla" meaning keel (as on a ship) | 2020-10-07T22:59:13 | 2020-10-07T16:21:55 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] Humans aren't generally that advanced but their engineering capabilities are one of the top within the galaxy, since they are so stubborn. This has led to the saying "Leave a human with a machine that is ineffective, give it a few months and it will become effective." | Zabrell was annoyed.
She had been assigned all manner of things by her matron in the past, but this time it was different. Never had she felt that her actions were so useless or worthless. Under all the holy stars, why her matron thought talking with, let alone *working with* the humans was worthwhile, was beyond her. And yet, where the matron leads, the daughter follows, which is how she found herself standing in an environment-equalizer chamber, waiting for an ape.
Turns out, there were three apes, stubby yet spindly, with rough patches of fur on their bodies. Fortunately they kept most of their body wrapped in synthetic fibers so she didn't have to see if the rest of their bodies were as patchy as their heads. They jerkily stumbled to a halt, about three metres from the dividing bio-field, proving to Zabrell that, despite appearances, they actually did have control of their personal mobility.
"Uh, greetings, uh..." one of them started stupidly, its round face and dully glassy visual orbs sticking out of white flesh and patches of red fur. It looked sicker than the others, with red dots all over its white skin. Maybe it was dying. She had heard that they had extremely short lifespans. Perhaps that is why there were three of them, in case one of them died before the end of this meeting.
"Your greetings are received but unnecessary, we require a task of you," she politely stated. She could hear the wet meat-smacking, screeching and grunts made by their translating machine as it attempted to transform her intelligent, yet simple words into their limited form of communication.
"Uh, okay, well, uh as a representative of..."
"Your origin is known, are you functional and can you labour for us?"
The dull faces turned to each other, fleshy visual orbs trying to form a coherent thought between them. Zabrell almost expected them to start mooing at each other. A brief wave of amusement washed over her before she squashed it - she only knew about mooing due to a misunderstanding earlier in their races' initial contact. It wasn't easy to determine which flesh sack was the dominate ones on their dreadful little world.
"We are... our people are functional. As for labour... depends on what you want us to do," it gasped at her, using its life-sustaining respiratory system as a method of expressing itself. How these creatures got beyond the nuclear stage was so far beyond Zabrell as to be completely mystifying.
At her summons, sa-Zabrell-lo, daughter of Zabrell, entered the environment-equalizer chamber and stood on their side of the environmental divide, the device held in front of her.
"You are versed in macrodelinealtransitive substrate manipulation?"
Again, the moon faces stared at each other. sa-Zabrell-lo's displeasure was clearly on display, requiring that Zabrell reminded her of her place.
The one with long yellow fur and a misshapen torso replied. "We got the brief you sent, but I can't say we really have a firm grasp on... uh, some of the core principles... as yet."
"Then you are not functional," Zabrell began to leave, eager to end this waste of time.
"Wait! Hold your horses!" The dark furred one in the back said in what was supposed to be a loud tone. Zabrell had no idea what a "horses" was or how they were supposed to be held. She did pause however. She had been warned that these creatures were not direct and tended to conversationally wander around until they eventually stumbled onto a point, likely by accident. "We didn't say we couldn't... do it. Whatever it is. Just give us a chance to see what's what, okay?"
She turned back. sa-Zabrell-lo placed the device onto a hovering tray and let it glide across the bio-filtering environmental field that divide the room. It gracefully floated to the red furred beast until he abruptly halted it. The tray was unaccustomed to such a brutish obstruction, and shook a bit. The device fortunately remained still and the tray recovered its balance.
sa-Zabrell-lo left the room. She had better duties to attend to than this farce.
"Maybe if you can give us a quick... uh, simple summary of the brief..."
While annoyed, Zabrell was willing to entertain this lunacy. Where the matron leads...
After several moments of explanation, the humans interrupted her.
"Uh, maybe a bit... uh, simpler?"
Zabrell paused. How much more simple did they want? She began again.
"Sorry... so sorry but... maybe.. a little simpler?"
An infant should have gotten it by now. How to make this even simpler...
"It makes ships go faster."
"Faster than your current technology?"
"Yes."
"How much faster?"
"Now."
"... you mean instantly? Instant travel?"
"From a perspective, yes"
"Like... teleportation?"
Zabrell consulted her lexicon of stupid things humans say.
"Not from the perspective of the traveller."
They grunted and mumbled at each other for a bit.
"So... folding space-time?"
"Folding..." she couldn't believe the idiocy in everything they just said. "Yes. You could think of it as... folding... space-time."
"Neat," the dark furred one spoke again. Zabrell did not see the relationship of the statement to the dialogue, and so ignored it. "So what's the problem?"
Zabrell began explaining the issue they were experiencing with the device and how it was supposed to function, until she was interrupted again for another request of simplicity.
"It's broken," she said.
"Hmm," they said.
"It doesn't work."
"Have you tried turning it off and back on again?" They asked.
"It never worked."
"Ohhhhh," they said. Zabrell swore they were mooing at her.
"Can you function and labour?"
"We can take a crack at it. But we're going to need some resources... and payment?"
Payment? The foolishness and short-sightedness of the statement was absurd.
"You will have the technology, which is payment sufficient," she said, stating the obvious.
"Right, right... and resources?"
"You will be given three moons to conduct research on. You will have the material needs of your biology and research equipment met. Is this sufficient?"
They spoke amongst themselves. Their perception of time was as truncated as their lifespans, and their biology seemed to necessitate a rest, fuel and the expelling of waste. They left the room to address their irritating needs while Zabrell mused over this ridiculous situation. How her great and glorious empire has come to this end, to these grotesque apes, in this dismal arm of the galaxy, was beyond her. They had conquered the stars. They had skimmed the surfaces of now-dead stars. How could they not master this? Why come to the rubes of the galaxy, who had never accomplished a fraction of what they had done? Zabrell was almost a third of the age of their entire race. How could they possibly contribute?
They had returned, adorned with different fabrics. Zabrell hadn't noticed their entrance.
"Well let's pick up where we left off," red-fur said. Zabrell was unsure what required picking up, as nothing had been set down. The tray still hovered with the device resting on it, on the human side of the divide.
"We have 'left off' only a timetable," Zabrell stated. "In your cycles, you have 132 orbits to complete your task. The timeline is tight and cannot be negotiated. Can you comply?"
"Uh.. yeah. Yeah, sure. 132 years? Sure that sounds... good."
"Your laboratories will be available prior to your arrival at the test sites. Do you require further information?"
"Uh... no, I think we're good to go," red fur replied.
"One question, if y'all are ladies, how do you reproduce?" The dark-furred creature asked moronically. Red-fur grabbed the front of dark-fur's garment and started pulling it towards the exit.
"We become male based on need. Is this relevant?"
"No, sorry to bother you, thank you so much for your hospitality," red fur wet-smacked at Zabrell. "C'mon Gary, jeez..."
Ridiculous creatures.
| Hank excitedly jammed the final rod nearly, but not quite into place.
He lowered his headphones to his shoulders and took a brief moment to beam a little pride at his work. Slowly, he pushed his feet against the floor, leaning his seat back until he was nearly laying flat. He paused, smiling as his unkempt hair spilled around the sides of the chair’s headrest, snaking down in greasy ropes.
Staring up, he flicked a small picture of a woman that dangled from a necklace taped to the ceiling. It twirled around, flashing from a smiling face to a heart drawn in red ink on the back. He looked over at the wall to his left and scrawled a large, diagonal strike through four vertical lines. He didn’t bother counting them all today.
He squared his shoulders, breathing in with deep intensity, “HEY! GARY!” he shouted towards the ceiling, “GARY, MAN, I GOTTA QUESTION!”
Hank crossed his fingers over his chest as he waited for a response. He poised himself with something that resembled patience, but clearly wasn’t. His head, slowly and just slightly, shook side to side as he closed his eyes and sighed.
Minutes ticked by, unnoticed.
His head continued moving to and fro, eyes lazily shut. It might have started as a show of exasperation, but any original intent had been forgotten. Hank lead with his jaw, keeping time with the tinny electronic kick twumping from the headphones around the base of his neck.
A silver porthole high above, about the size of a basketball, silently came to life. It slide open, then closed a bit, adjusting a few more times like an iris focusing in the dark. A similarly sized iris belonging to a much larger eye was revealed. It blinked at him.
Hank’s hair still swayed in tangled batches, somewhat in time with a barely audible rhythm. The owner of eye above watched Hank’s head bob aimlessly in new directions, clumps of hair swinging into and bouncing off of each other. It imagined the tentacles of a wooly octopus that had seen things it couldn’t unsee, stuck fast to a rail thin idiot.
Minutes ticked by.
Two large eyelids narrowed from behind the porthole.
“What.” A restrained voice nearly\-calmly boomed. A deep vibration swam though everything, as though the whole of the room was speaking.
“Hey! Gary!” Hank exclaimed, immediately wide\-eyed. His hands bolted above his head as his legs kicked his chair around, sitting up. The eye narrowed in a way that implied it was towing a frown behind it, but didn’t have the energy to set it up. Hank leaned back deeply from his new orientation, resuming the exact same upward\-facing position as before.
“What.” Gary repeated.
Hank excitedly gestured to nothing in particular, “So, great news first of all, everything is up and running! The comms are patched, the positioning relay is active, and the forward guns charged and ready to rock!”
The eye seemed to look inward for a moment, as though desperately hoping someone would push it out of the way so it could graciously allow them finish this conversation instead.
The room hung in silence.
The eye squinted slightly.
A sigh reverberated through the room.
“Great, Hank. That’s—it’s—good . . . That’s great. So what, then,” the eye winced as a knowing frown grew giddy for its turn, “So it . . . it sounds an awful lot like you’re done . . . That we’re done . . . So what’s the question?”
“Well, Gary, I’ve been here for . . . I dunno . . . Four, five, months?”
“Seven. But, if you’re done,” Gary paused, “with everything . . . we’re headed straight back.”
“Right. Seven. So, with all the time you gave me to work on everything . . . generously gave me, I might add . . . I mean, look, when you tore me right out of my wife’s arms . . . And you did say that was unfortunate, in all fairness, what happened to her I mean . . . just before you stuck me in here with vague instructions to patch up a—“
The room shook hideously as the eye narrowed to a nearly two-dimensional slit, its voice erupted,“WHAT. IS. THE. QUESTION.”
Hank smiled, swinging his fist up over his head and into the panel he’d been working on. A small rod slammed into place, causing a blue line above it to glow. A faint hum could be heard as the line stretched along the panel towards a small circular marking near the top. The large eye above followed along as it sped towards its destination.
A frantic pounding crashed down on the ceiling, the entire surface pulsing inwards. Hank couldn’t help but imagine it as a steel\-plated, panicked, heartbeat. A growl, guttural and bestial, erupted from beyond the porthole above, “WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE.”
The blue line blinked out.
“Right, so Gary, like I was saying—What do you think happens when the schematics for everything I’ve been working on finally reach Earth?”
A small, polite voice announced “Data transmission successful.”
“Along with our coordinates.”
A small, polite voice announced again “Relay complete.”
“And your guns.”
The voice seemed endlessly small and polite as it further announced, “Pod jettisoned.”
The eye trembled and the porthole zipped shut. Faintly, Hank could hear a small voice from the other side repeating “Disabled” and “Access denied” in between Gary’s angry and incomprehensible shouting. Something crashed hard onto the ceiling.
The porthole reopened. The eye was narrow. A rhythmic, angry pounding was causing the porthole to shudder. It’s metal framing, now outlining Gary’s entire eye, crawled with growing stress fractures. It was only a matter of time, they both knew.
Hank closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his hair dancing in time with the rich thundering of its deep bass. | 2018-04-26T10:40:09 | 2018-04-26T09:52:06 | 72 | 54 |
[WP] You, a wizard, have accidentally misread some cursive writing and summoned a lemon instead of the intended demon. Turns out, your new companion is a lot more powerful than you thought.
Kinda based off of a thingy I saw on the internet
EDIT: That's a lotta likes
EDIT: I found the guy that made the comic! /u/JimKB | "Well," you offer, "This is awkward." You cast a glance to the fruit of your labour.
The Lemon says nothing. You furiously double check your notes for the summoning ritual.
"There's... nothing here about what to do if *this* happens," You swallow nervously, "Because this is obviously *not* supposed to happen."
The Lemon raises an eyebrow. In reality it, of course, has no eyebrows. Nonetheless.
"Right, let me just find the original text," You rummage around in the dusty basement, "Aha! I knew it was around here somewhere."
"Let's see, "𝔏𝔈𝔐𝔒𝔑 𝔖𝔘𝔐𝔐𝔒𝔑ℑ𝔑𝔊 ℜℑ𝔗𝔘𝔄𝔏", that's the one," You skim the page for mistakes or inconsistencies, but your efforts are fruitless. So to speak.
Your eye catches something. The Lemon thrums with power.
"Wait," There's an icy pit in the bottom of your stomach, "The character "𝔏", I assumed it was a "D", but it appears at the end of the word "ℜℑ𝔗𝔘𝔄𝔏" as well..."
"So you're saying I didn't perform a Demon Summoning Ritual, I performed a Lemon Summoning Ritual?!"
The Lemon was characteristically silent. You give a sour groan and bury your head in your hands. The cost of the materials alone was exorbitant! You had figured that you would make a contract and be off conquering the world by now, which would certainly have been a nice return on your investment. You open your mouth, not wanting to hear the words about to be said.
"Well, when life gives you lemons..."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
You stand in your rather dusty kitchen. A wizard has no time for culinary endeavours, even if cooking is functionally indistinguishable from magic. Still, you had procured some sugar, and checked that the water taps still functioned. You brandish the knife over the Lemon, trapped as it was against your pristine chopping board. It's at this point that you start to have your doubts about dismembering an obviously magical artefact, but you've come too far to care. You position your knife in the centre of the lemon, reconsider, and move the knife to about an inch from one end.
The Lemon yields wordlessly as you bring down the knife.
After careful consideration, you pick up the smaller half of the now-bisected Lemon. A fork pierces the soft inner flesh of the mystical citrus. You give it a hearty squeeze over a glass, and it produces more juice than expected. You top it up with water from the tap, and add a heaped teaspoon of sugar. You muddle until you lose patience.
You bring the glass to your lips.
Wizards are not a religious group. They invest heavily in the tenets of logic and rationality, and more specifically, how to break or otherwise circumvent those tenets to achieve vast magical power. So to compare this Lemonade to a religious experience was a comparison without a reference point. But the blissful tears, brilliant aura and the fact that you were levitating a foot off of the ground seemed to qualify it. You lick your lips.
"Damn that's good,"
There unfortunately isn't enough Lemon left to spread your Rapture to the masses, you muse as you turn back to the chopping board.
A complete Lemon mocks you in silence. The juiced section of Lemon has vanished, but the remnants of the Lemonade still linger in your glass. An idea comes to you like fruit from the tree.
"I wonder if I can do this with other fruit," You muse, running downstairs to find the book, "Because if I can, then I've got a plan to rule the world. I swear it on the name of the Arch-Wizard San Pellegrino!" | [Poem]
Title: The Cursed Lemon
I tried to summon a demon
But ended up with a cursed lemon
"How are thou" it said
Hovering over my head
I tried to get rid of its existence
After all, why should I want a worthless fruit?
So, I reached for my golden staff
And shouted "Blazzschaff"
A ferocious flame
Sprouted out from the staff
Seeking to end its life
However this fruit eluded my attack
Two hands grew from its sides
And it yelled "thy ignorance is thy curse"
It snapped it's small fingers
And a thousand floating lemons appeared
An illusion
Oh this prick has tricks
I swang my staff all around
Destroying all the images
But the damned demon
Had fled
So I with mighty rage
After being defeated by a lemon
Decided to finally summon
Not just one but seven powerful demons
Them enslaved to my spells
Sought to find and destroy
The damned demon
Two weeks had passed since this incident
And now even a worse event-
Only one demon returned
And he said "oh master we failed
And you are beyond screwed!" | 2019-03-10T00:09:03 | 2019-03-09T19:50:59 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] After eons of refining your work, you summon the genie one last time. "Finally want to use your third wish? I thought the last two has taught you a lesson." You remain silent, and give him a dictionary-thick contract that cast the genie an unavoidable sufferings for eons, and inevitable death. | # Soulmage
**Shivio had once thought genies were never granted freedom due to the selfishness of humankind.** After all, who would hold a Demon of Desire in the palm of their hands, beholden to their every whim... and then let that cosmic power flutter away in the wind? And with all the depravities and horrors Shivio had seen humanity wreak, it was all too easy for him to believe that genies were kept enslaved and sealed away due to the selfishness and greed of their owners.
But in the still-smoking crater that was the aftermath of Shivio wishing to set a genie free, he realized the truth was worse still.
Genies were selfish too.
It had taken Shivio and Kailenn ages to stuff that cat back into its cosmic bag, and the residue of magic still lingering in the soil would render this place hazardous to enter for aeons to come. If not for Kailenn's knowledge of healing and Shivio's training in surviving fallout, the paladin and the witch would have perished a hundred times over simply by breathing too close to the place where Hashmellan had been sealed once more. But the genie was bound once more.
And it had one wish remaining.
"Are—are you sure about this, Shivio?" Kailenn whispered, her hands trembling from the effort of maintaining the dark spell keeping them both alive. "I mean—don't get me wrong, I know this is important to you, but so was releasing Hashmellan in the first place, and I don't know how many more times I can bring you back from death—"
"Kailenn." Shivio flipped through the thick book he'd brought—out of habit more than anything, he had the contract memorized by heart—before snapping it shut. "I understand if you worry for your own health. I will hold no ill will against you if you choose to leave my side now. But if you would do me one last favor first?"
Hesitantly, Kailenn nodded.
"Do not worry about me." Shivio knelt by the patch of empty air where he'd caged the genie, twisting space itself into a prison. It was a tad more ostentatious than the lamp he'd found Hashmellan in, but Shivio hadn't wanted to leave anything physical for some poor, unknowing soul to stumble into. Anyone who could unravel the knot of space and magic Shivio had left behind knew what they were getting themself into. "I know the risks of this endeavor. I choose to embark upon it regardless."
Shakily, Kailenn smiled. "I'm not—I'm not leaving. Just... wanted to give you a chance to change your mind."
"A chance to change one's mind," Shivio murmured. "Fitting. That is what I am here to bring."
Shivio reached out through soulspace, untangling the golden chains that held Hashmellan outside of realspace—
And the genie burst into reality, their form rippling with rage as they towered over Shivio.
"You *insolent* brat," Hashmellan roared. "You think your arrogance can bind *me*? You know nothing of Desire. Your works will unravel in time, and I shall be free to raze your cities into dust and your children into corpses. Have you come to beg for mercy before your time has come? I will—"
"I have come," Shivio evenly said, "to make a wish."
Hashmellan froze.
Then, a fearsome joy splitting their face, they settled down, fingertips pressed against each other.
"I had not thought you foolish enough to make a third attempt," Hashmellan admitted. "Well? Out with it."
In response, Shivio simply handed them the tome of a contract they had wrought.
Hashmellan rolled their eyes, but took it. "Going by the book helped you little the last time you unstoppered me," they said, skimming through the book. "You won't... you..." They frowned, then flipped back to the first page, reading it again. And again. Their brows creased like thunderheads, the energy of their true form pressing against reality as their scowl deepened.
Finally, they shut the book and glared at it, and if not for the bindings placed upon them, they would have incinerated it with a thought.
"What is this?" they demanded.
"A chance to change your mind," Shivio simply said. "You will live through the lives of every soul whose wishes you have twisted and corrupted, and you will experience all the misery and suffering you have caused as if it were your own. Every death, every curse, every misdirected dream—that which you have given to others, will now become yours."
Hashmellan scowled. "Why? What possible benefit could you gain from—"
"This is not about *me*," Shivio snapped. "This was never about me. This is about how *you*—a being blessed with power beyond what most mortals could dream of—have *squandered* the gifts you have been given time and time again to sow chaos and destruction upon a world that could have named you a hero. I came here to give you a second chance."
"You call this a second chance?" Hashmellan's fury deepened as they read the book—which held one thing, and one thing only. Names. Hundreds of thousands of names, every soul Shivio could find throughout history that had been ruined by Hashmellan's touch. "This is a fate worse than a thousand deaths. You consign me to—"
"To understand," Shivio interrupted, "what you have brought upon this world. And maybe—just *maybe*—to let you grow."
Hashmellan stared at Shivio, lost for words.
"I make this wish," Shivio prompted Hashmellan. "It is your duty to enact it."
A divine hatred, an odium beyond mortal reckoning pressed down on Shivio as Hashmellan snapped the book shut.
"Your wish," Hashmellan hissed, "is my command."
Then the genie disappeared in a puff of wind, leaving paladin and witch alone in the ruins where wishes came to die.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/), or r/bubblewriters for more. | "I want an infinite amount of money any time I want."
It didn't happen like how Finneas Alpine thought it would, like how the familiar cartoons and comic books depicted it. He was alone in his room, then a freshly graduated and freshly unemployed twenty one year old bachelor. His parents barked at his every move, questioning when he would get a job, when he would start contributing to the family.
His grandmother had died a week later and even at her funeral, there were only questions, interrogations of Finneas' existence. More distant relatives strayed from him and his parents, his father forced Finneas to bow to the casket, his head only an inch away from the rich mahogany. Only at this distance did he see the inscription, the words that came to life as his eyes frantically tried to catch them.
Directions? Finneas asked himself.
He thought he saw the lines move in an affirming way and so he thought again to himself. Where do you want me to go?
The lines danced again, but his father pulled him away.
"What the fuck are you doing, boy? Falling asleep?"
After the unrelenting torrent of questions, Finneas made his way back to the church. It was dark, well past sunset, and he wasn't even sure if the casket would still be there. Wouldn't they have buried her already? Was she going to be cremated beforehand? Finneas didn't know, but he walked anyway and he opened the doors to the church, not questioning how easily the huge doors moved at his touch. He saw the casket, enveloped in warm moonlight. His first few steps were slow, then he ran. He kneeled before his grandmother's casket, praying that the lines were still there. His face was right up to it now, his breath fogged the lacquer finish of the dark mahogany.
The lines were still and he took a breath in, his heart pumping faster than it ever had before. With shaky hands, he ran his fingers along the lines and they came to life. From the wood of the casket, to his fingers, and eventually to his eyes, he saw the lines form into a being. The moonlight dimmed, his surroundings falling into the darkness.
The being was a burly, stocky man-like creature. It stood on two scarred legs covered in black fur. The same fur ran along its body, covering it entirely aside from its face. It had two eyes, but instead of side to side, they were placed top to bottom. One on its forehead and one beneath its mouth.
"Finneas Alpine," it said. Its voice was higher pitched, dissonant.
"What are you?" Finneas said. He stuttered. He was afraid to blink.
"A reasonable question," it said. "Your grandmother described me as a genie. She was a good woman, I'm sorry for your loss."
"You knew her?" Finneas asked.
"I did. I worked with her for many years," the genie said. "She met me the same way you're meeting me now. And like her, I will grant you three wishes."
Finneas didn't even have to think about it, he knew what he wanted. Everything else would come after. There was only one thing that could fix his problems.
"I want an infinite amount of money any time I want."
The genie smiled and Finneas didn't see, or rather, he couldn't see the smile turn into a smirk. Finneas stared longingly at the genie, its eyes were glowing white and he felt himself lose consciousness. The black around the room had surrounded him and after seconds, he fell.
---
Part two coming up. | 2022-12-03T11:57:53 | 2022-12-03T11:33:53 | 1,687 | 222 |
[WP] Ever since you were a child, you have always seen Grim Reaper, regardless if they were doing ordinary things or taking souls. Because of this ability, the two of you have become very close friends. | I don't know when I first met Death -- We've kinda known each other since forever. He just sort of showed up at my crib one day and freaked out when I tried to break his metacarpals.
"Quiet day today," he says, from where he's lying on the beat-up sofa. He's been there ever since I showed him the Season 1 Episode 1 of *Breaking Bad,* which was three days ago. The thing about Death is that he doesn't go for toilet breaks.
"House is practically empty," I tell him, propping my elbow against the kitchen counter. The jumbo bag of popcorn I'm microwaving *pops,* and I jump about ten feet. "Crap!"
"What is *crap,* Jonathan?"
"Um. Y'know. Poop."
Death nods. "Crap," he repeats, like a precocious five year old.
"This is a stupid idea," I say, as the microwave starts popping like there's no tomorrow. Death closes his eyes and listens to the racket as if it's Mozart.
"It is not stupid."
"Yeah it is. I get that you're trying to be a--a good friend and all that, but you know this isn't gonna do crap."
"But I thought you said "crap" meant "excreta". What do you mean by--"
"--Never mind." I grumble.
Death doesn't push it. He never does, never has to. He just waits.
"I just want to be alone," I mumble, after a minute. "Can you get the popcorn?"
He nods. "Do as you will, Jonathan."
Back in the privacy of my room, I can hear Death stirring his phalanges in the jumbo bag of popcorn, munching away to the overtones of Bryan Cranston. Don't ask me how Death eats. I don't want to know. My phone buzzes in my jeans pocket, and I fumble for it like I'm grabbing a cake of soap in the bath.
"Dad?"
"Hey, buddy. You doing okay?"
"Yeah, I--" I pause. Dad can't see Death. I used to think everyone could see him, until Ms. Katherine my kindergarten teacher decided to call him my 'imaginary friend'. If there's one more thing I don't need in my life, it's people thinking I'm crazy.
"I'm, uh, I'm watching TV," I gabble.
"Okay. I just wanted to call to say, if you need anything--"
"--Just ask. I know."
"Okay. And if you want to talk about anything at all--"
"I know, Dad--"
"--I'm right here," my dad finishes, his voice weary.
I bite my lip. "How's Mom?"
"She's doing great, bud, real great. The doctors say they're going to try a new medication--"
Dad goes on to say something else, but I don't hear it. I stare at my shoes, concentrating on tracing the bony grooves in my kneecap, and it's only when Dad says, "Jonathan?" that I snap back to attention.
"Huh?"
"I don't want to push you, bud, but I really think you should go talk to someone. Or meet up with someone face to face. I think it'll help you, I really do."
"Maybe tomorrow," I mumble.
"Okay. Love you, bud."
"Love you, Dad."
That's how practically all my conversations go these days. My life is pretty much static right now -- nothing ever changes.
Downstairs, Death is still chowing down on popcorn, but he looks up as I come in. "How is your mother, Jonathan?"
I shrug. "The doctors are trying a new medication. But... you know. Late stage Huntington's. Not much they can do."
This time he puts down the popcorn and pauses the show for the first time in three days. He looks up at me.
"I am sorry, Jonathan," he says, and he really means it.
"My dad says I should probably talk to someone face to face about it."
"I am here."
"Yeah, but... you're *Death.*"
"And I am your friend," he says, and doesn't elaborate, instead holding out the bag of popcorn to me. In his bony hands it splits at the sides and sends kernels raining down on the floor. "Oh dear."
I can't help but crack a small smile. "Move over."
He picks up the scythe leaning against the arm rest, and I plonk myself down next to him.
"Death?"
"Yes, Jonathan?"
"Do you want me to talk to you?"
"Only if you wish to."
"Like, now?"
Death doesn't smile, but I can feel it when he does. "I am always here, Jonathan. If you are not ready, then I will sit with you and wait until you are."
I think about that. "Guess you do."
And with that, Death reaches out for the TV remote and presses down on *play.* | "I knew you'd come," the old man whispered, his voice coarse and dry. Machines beeped at his bedside, pumps hissed, but there was no reply. The room was empty.
A single tear fell down the man's cold, wrinkled cheek.
"You spared me that day," he croaked, the effort to speak straining, "in the crash. I remember it so clearly. You reached for me, and I saw you. I saw you. Felt you."
The beeping increased in pace.
"I held your cold hand, looked up at you, and you took me from the wreckage, but you didn't *take* me. I knew, knew my parents were going with you, but I had to stay."
Moments passed, the man steadying his breath over the din of the machines keeping him alive, his tearful eyes closed, not seeing, but feeling with everything he had. When they opened again, he watched as vapour rose from his lips at each gasp of air.
A chill rose up his hand. He opened his palm.
"And you were always there. Watching over me. I never saw you, but I knew. I never had many friends, didn't make much of myself, but somehow I knew I wasn't alone. Sometimes I would talk to you for hours, and it helped. I don't know if you heard, but it helped..."
Squeezing pain in the man's chest took the words from him, just as the same sensation came from his hand, the fingers curling around cold and hard rock.
Struggling, the man opened his eyes, a figure taking form, extending from the ivory white skeletal hand that gripped his, up through the shimmering black cloak and nothingness upon his shoulders.
Gasps escaped the man's mouth as he tried to speak.
A cold chill of a voice came from all around, icey and brisk.
"I heard every word, Jason. Every word. Rest now, it is time. Your parents are waiting."
"Th..th..thank you," Jason managed to utter as the beep extended into a long whine.
"No Jason, thank you."
​
r/FatDragon | 2020-10-30T18:10:18 | 2020-10-30T16:23:45 | 164 | 69 |
[WP] You, a superhero, are awful at keeping your identity secret, yet somehow no villains have found you yet. 1 day after accidentally unmasking for the 30th time, you look online to find that the unmasked pictures of you are gone. There's a hackivist group dedicated to protecting your identity. | "Nocturne, thank goodness. I...I need someone to talk to about this latest thing. Its...big." The man exclaimed, landing next to the dark skinned woman. His blue robe rippled in the wind as the two of them stood on a rooftop, overlooking the night of the city. While the blue halfmask obscured his brow, the grimace on his face spoke volumes. "I have...I've been looking into the rash of violent murders happening recently, and I hit a really creepy common thread." He continued, not waiting for her response. "Its...its me. I think all the victims are people who...people who saw me remove my mask." His voice almost broke. "I think someone is killing them to protect me? Or maybe its a side effect of the mask? I need your help."
"Sure. You know I've always got your back, Paragon." Nocturne replied, stepping up next to him. While he couldn't see her true features because her powers created a sort of overlay of dark magic over her, her voice always seemed calm and in control. "I'll help you with anything, what do you need me to do?" Her hand rested on his chest as she looked up at him, he could smell her lavender scented perfume.
"I need you to help me find who or what is doing this. I can't have people dying because of me." Paragon replied, his eyes squeezed shut. "I took up the mask to protect people, not to hurt them."
"Seems like you should be more careful." Nocturne replied with a shake of her head. "But how can you even find something like this? If its a person, they would have to be able to monitor you constantly. If its an effect of the mask, its even harder to track." She reached around him and pulled him into a hug. "I can tell its got you really upset though."
"Upset? People are dead. Doctors say its heart attacks, but its too common. One of them was a teenager!" Paragon snapped, pulling away from the hug to look out over the city. "It has to be magic. That's why I came to you. You're the most knowledgeable magic user in the city, you helped me figure out the mask. You have to help me with this. You think its the mask, or some deranged person? Why would they..." He paused. "They think they are helping me." He mumbled.
"Okay. I'll do some research, see if the mask could be causing it. But in the meantime, you have to be more careful. You're vulnerable when not wearing the mask." Nocturne stated, her voice still calm.
"You said you would help me with anything." Paragon repeated thoughtfully.
"Yeah, I mean it." Nocturne started.
"You're the most knowledgeable magic user in the city. You know me better than anyone." Paragon whirled around. "You marked my shadow back when I first donned the mask. To find me, you said." His tone deepened as his fist clenched.
"Paragon, don't jump to any conclusions." Nocturne replied, stepping away from him.
"You told me once you can attack someone through their shadow. It wouldn't leave a mark on the body." Paragon snapped, azure fire curling around his fist.
"They were a danger to you!" Nocturne shouted, her calm demeanor finally breaking. "Think, you big idiot. It gets out who you are, your enemies will catch you by surprise. They'll kidnap your parents! They'll kill your little sister. They'll stop at nothing to get the mask!" The woman trembled as her voice rose. "They had to be silenced, and I can't erase memories!" She covered her face in her hands. "I did what had to be done. What I had to do to protect you."
"You monster." Paragon snapped, magical power wreathing his body. "You killed so many people for me?"
"For us. For the world." Nocturne stammered. It was the first time he'd ever heard her cry. "Please..."
"Prepare yourself. I can't let this go." The man muttered, pointing his fingers at her. | "And then they told me you hired them. Behind my back."
"We can't have villains finding out where you live, now can we?"
"No, no, you know that's not what it's about. Plenty of heroes are public these days, Captain Stingray has a fucking cooking show for Christ sake, that isn't what this is about at all."
"Well what is it about?"
"Oh you know good and well what this is fucking about. Stop treating me like a child."
"I'm very good at my job dear. Just be glad you lucked into such a good manager and lose the thought from your pretty little head, whatever it might be."
"My pretty little head? Did you just say my pretty little head?"
"Ah, well, your head dear... I suppose they told you why I hired them..."
"Unmarketable, they said. What does that even fucking mean?"
"Well, it's just, if these pictures got out, we would lose a large part of our market... We need buyers for the merchandise after all, dear"
"So we'd lose some of my female followers, big who-"
"I think you grossly underestimate the potential impact of these images getting out."
"So what, it's just because I'm not photogenic, not conventionally handsome?"
"I wouldn't put it so, ah, mildly my dear"
"but that's it then, isn't it?"
"It's all PR, darling, it's best to leave what's behind the mask to the publics imagination" | 2022-01-29T00:59:21 | 2022-01-28T23:29:11 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] "Please remember, TSA rules prohibit bottles of liquid over three ounces, knife blades over two inches, and the use of spells, curses, scrolls or other magic beyond the security checkpoint." | Gregoth the Mighty tapped his massive armored foot against the white linoleum and looked at all of the TSA information placards for the fifth time. He'd been sitting in this damned line for over an hour, and it had barely moved the entire time. "Come on!" At eight feet tall, Gregoth could easily see over the heads of the other puny passengers, and made eye contact with the TSA agent who was checking IDs. "Did someone cast a time warp spell? Or are you just really damned slow?!" The agent, a surly troll with skin the color of old gravy, only looked up long enough to roll her eyes at Gregoth, then went back to scrutinizing every inch of some elf's identification card (which was really just a leaf with some runes on it).
Finally all of the gnomes and witches and whatnot in line ahead of him made it into security, and Gregoth was next. He presented his scroll of identification to the agent, and checked his pocket hourglass: the sand was nearly all the way to the bottom. If he missed this flight, there wouldn't be another airship going out to Avalon until tomorrow.
"Mmmmm," the TSA agent growled, looking up at him for the first time. "Gregor the Mighty, eh?"
"Grego*th*," he corrected her.
"Says here that you're a *battlemage*?" she asked, ignoring her own error and pointing to the card. He gestured at his magnificent golden armor, as if it should have been obvious. "Uh huh." She turned with glacial speed to another agent behind her, a rosy-cheeked dwarf with a braided beard tucked into his belt. The dwarf stepped forward, and the troll turned back to Gregoth. "Sir, you've been randomly selected for some additional security screening."
"*Randomly selected*?" Gregoth shouted at her. "There's nothing *random* about this. It's *profiling*; that's what it is!" He stomped a foot so hard that it left a slight crater in the floor, and the dwarf's hands itched toward the spray bottle of paralysis potion strapped to his hip. "You can't discriminate based on what school of magic I subscribe to! You'd never do this to some pansy *cleric*, would you?"
"Please remain calm, sir," the troll chided him.
For just a split second, Gregoth considered lighting her on fire. He could already feel the magical energy pulsing through his fingertips, just *itching* to be unleashed. Even with his weapons in his checked luggage, he was still a force to be reckoned with. But that would cause far more problems than he wanted to deal with, and he'd certainly miss his flight. "Fine," he growled, following the dwarf into the back room. "This is *bullshit*, though." At this point, he was really just talking to himself.
The dwarf pulled out a metal wand and waved it over Gregoth's legs; that was as high as he could reach. "Sir, I'm detecting quite a good amount of magical energy here."
"The armor is enchanted," Gregoth explained. "But it's just passive elemental resistance. That's allowed."
The dwarf just stared for a moment. Surely, of all people, a *dwarf* would understand how enchanting worked? "Sir, I'm going to need to verify that you're not carrying any other magical objects underneath your armor. Could you please go ahead and remove it?"
"Seriously?" Gregoth thumped the thick chestplate for emphasis. "This takes, like, three hours to put back on! And I'd need my squire..." The dwarf's hand drifted back toward the paralysis potion and he gave a menacing look. Gregoth also considered lighting this one on fire. "All right, all right, fine..." Gregoth reached up to undo the first strap.
------
Forty minutes later, Gregoth stood in just his undergarments next to a small mountain of steel plates while a team of sniffer pixies combed through looking for any contraband. Next to the dwarf, four more TSA agents had gathered to hassle Gregoth, including one female elf who was having a hard time controlling her laughter.
"According to this, you've also visited the Underworld within the past six months?" Not satisfied with the troll's review, the Dwarf had decided to go through his identification scroll again while his armor was checked. "Can you account for that visit? Do you have an affiliation with the Undead, sir?"
Gregoth gritted his teeth. "I told you, I was *there on a quest*. I *slayed* thousands of the undead!"
"Last call for passengers on flight 418 to Avalon," a cheery mermaid announced over the intercom system. "I repeat, last call for passengers on flight 418 to Avalon."
"Great," Gregoth grumbled. Just then, one the pixies found the little bottle of holy water (*over* three ounces) hidden in his boot and brought it to the dwarf with an excited squeal. "Just fucking great."
----
As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories! | Gareth stood in line watching the people ahead of him dumping the contents of their pockets into trays. He was a regular traveler and the whole thing had become a bit humdrum to him.
Looking up from checking his phone he watched a tall man wreathed in dark robes walk through the security scanner. A blue light flashed and he was asked to step aside, as the TSA pulled out a hand scanner.
"Sir, I ask again do you have any contriband curses or enchantments upon your person?"
A growling voice, hidded deep within a hood said no.
The hand scanner moved around his body and beeped loudly near their lower back. "Sir, remove whatever the object on your belt is please"
The robed man grumbled and pulled out a withered looking hand.
"Sir, Monkeys paws are a class III banned item, Please come with me to the room at the side and we can discuss this"
Gareth could hear the robed man grumbling about religious persecution as was escorted away. There was always people stupid enough to try and carry curses through customs.
Then came Gareths turn. He stepped up, bag in tray with coat and belt and wander through the scanner. It beeped red as always. The TSA man pulled out the scanner.
"I have a titanium knee from an old injury, here's the doctors note".
The TSA man took the note, scanned through it and handed it back. After a quick sweep with the hand scanner, confirming it was just the knee that beeped he was allowed through and onto his flight.
Six hours later he arrived. Straight through at customs and found the man holding a sign with his name.
Gareth got into the car to find a man in a suit and dark glasses already occupying one seat.
"Do you have it?" The man in glasses enquired through a thick accent.
Gareth smiled and rolled up his trouser leg. A metal frame surrounded his knee holding a canister. Sliding it out, he undid the top and pulled out a sheet of parchment and handed it over.
"The Words of Ahknaad the Ancient, in full, as promised".
The man in glasses smiled and picked up the briefcase from between his legs. "Your payment in full Mr Brown."
Gareth smiled. So far, the accident that had crippled him was making him a rich man. | 2016-07-08T06:04:49 | 2016-07-08T05:46:53 | 142 | 47 |
[wp] You are immortal and have lived for thousands of years. Never in your entire existence have you ever met anyone like you, so as far as you know, you are the only immortal on earth. Today, with perfect fluency, someone greets you in a language you haven't heard in a long, long time... | "another sun rises"
I stood there unable to move. I did not understand what this feeling was...fear? Surprise? Shock? It had been so long since anything had effected me this way that I was momentarily unable to process...well... anything. It wasn't the words she said that held me so. It wasn't even the way they were said. It was the tongue. A tongue spoken when a few giant animals still roamed the earth. It was a language so old that it didn't even have a name...there was no reason to name it because... It was the only one. The first one.
"May it always shine. On mine and yours."
It felt good to speak the first tongue again. Like eating a favorite fruit, or drinking some cool water after a long and hot day.
"Walk with me, D'artas Chk'ta" - this time in English.
She knows my true name!! What is happening? Am I dreaming? Who is this person?
I walked beside her through the busy Tokyo street. Sliding around and between and sometimes into masses of humans who were either coming or going to any number of places or events...so many people alive here now. I had watched civilization grow and grow for many generations. At every point I began to think it was too much...nature took over. A place...a war... famine...mother Earth and the universe always found a way to get the numbers back to manageable figure. But now, I felt it was time again. Time for a flood or a storm or something massive to correct this human virus. I've thought this for a while now. 9 billion came and went. 10 billion followed soon after. The AI boom in 2060 sparked a massive growth in Russia. And with global warming, much of that mass was suitable for comfortable living. So here it is now...July 27, 2077. 13 billion people alive on this planet. 13... billion...and for all those souls only one mattered. Hers.
I was off again in my own mind as I often was so I took me a second to register what she had just said.
"I'm sorry? What did you say? I was day dreaming..." I said
She looked at me. Very serious looking squint in her eyes.
"I said we don't have much time. It's coming back. We need to get to the port. The harbor. I assume you can sail...."
"Yes. I can. I sailed for 2 centuries. But...why? What's coming back? Or who? What are you talking about?"
She stopped instantly and whipped around with such violence that I took a step back. Afraid that she would strike me. She did not. She simply extended her hand, palm out, and touched my forehead.
"This..."
As soon she touched me my vision exploded into countless colors and shapes all flying around me at impossible speeds. Sounds that I could not identify roared I'm my ears and then silence... darkness. I was floating in space. Stars began to form in that endless depth...dust gathered and gasses compressed and planets formed around them...some died and faded away...others exploded spewing their guts at impossible speeds that created more dust and gas and new starts formed. It was happening so quickly.
-i'll continue if anyone cares :)
Thanks for the WP. I enjoyed this one! | “ME HO MINOY
ME HOY MINOY”
Chills of electricity shock the waves around me and I know the gods have summoned their last choice to defeat me and take of my lush land.
MY CLONE AND ARCH NEMESIS HAS BEEN RESSURRECTED I MUST GATHER THE ARMY OF JELLYMEN IMMEDIATELY FOR IF THIS WAR LOST IT SHALL DELIVER US TO FATE FAR WORSE THEN DEATH,TO SURRENDER AND BE REIGNED OVER BY AN EVIL NEANDERTHAL CLONE OF MYSELF WITH ALL MY WORST AND MOST DESTRUCTIVE TRAITS. | 2017-12-29T13:42:15 | 2017-12-29T12:24:29 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | "Wait, wait," he interjected. We generally agreed to call all of our
alien visitors "he", they didn't really have a specific gender, and
the galactic translators they'd given us apparently rendered other
pronouns as veiled insults. Still, it felt a bit weird calling the
3-foot tall, 5-legged tower of squishy rings _any_ gender, but we
dealt.
"Wait, wait," he said, "Where is the regulator?"
I looked him in the eye -- the xenobilogists assured me these guys have what
amounts to eyes, located on the second-from-the-top ring. Apparently
the whole thing was an eye! They could see 360 degrees around
themselves.
I looked him in the eye and was about to ask him what he meant
he continued, "You are using **uranium** in this reactor! Where's
the regulation lattice?" he clarified.
My expression must have confused him, because he repeated himself,
much slower, "The. Regulation. Lattice."
"I, .. uh. The what?" I asked.
At this point, I'd thought I'd seen and experienced most things in
life. I mean, I was giving an **alien** a tour of one of our newest
nuclear reactors. 5 years ago, I would've told you that aliens were
a myth, and I would never have dreamed I'd see the inside of any sort
of reactor, much less the world's latest and greatest. I'd come a
long way, and I'd seen and done a lot of shit in my life.
Until now. Now I have seen what a 3-foot tall stack of squish circles
that occasionally -- for lack of a better word -- _splurk_ a weird
slime that evaporates within seconds from between their rings... well,
I've seen what that looks like when it's both terrified and astounded
in a single instant.
He blurted out, "You don't even know what that is!"
I shrugged and tried to make myself look a little less idiotic, "I
admit, reactor design isn't my background--"
"How to you prevent runaway reactions!" he ask-shouted at me.
I knew this one! "The reactor is designed to constantly pump coolant
through the system and distribute any excess heat.." He interrupted.
"Yes, yes, but how do you stop the runaway reactions? Have you
created something like the lattice?"
I had no idea how to even begin to answer that. I looked behind me
to one of the plant scientists that'd been following along silently,
in askance. He srugged, indicating he didn't know what the hell this
thing was on about.
I fell back on that old diplomat training, "I'm sorry, but I just
don't understand what you're asking. Are you asking if melt down is
possible?"
He paused for a moment, making noises and motions the translator
simply translated in a generic system voice as, "Native profanity.
Native profanity. English does not have a concept to represent this
notion. Native profanity."
"This is dangerous! Why are we here!" finally made it through the din
of squawks, juicings, and other juvenile sounds.
"This is the safest nuclear plant humanity has ever designed," I said,
trying to remain both calm and reassuring, "There is minimal risk of
a runaway reaction--"
Again he cut me off, "'Minimal'! We'll all die here! The lattice is
supposed to permeate the fuel and control the reaction at the--"
Again, the translator used it's generic system voice here and inserted,
"English does not have a concept to represent this notion."
"--level," he finished.
Again, I looked over at the scientist, who again shrugged. Apparently,
his translator was just as useless. I decided to play the diplomat,
"We don't really know what you're talking about, but we'd love to
learn... perhaps our guys can talk with your guys?" I asked, nodding
toward the scientist that'd been until now silent.
Our alien friend waggled what appeared to be a giant boob atop his
stack of rings, a gesture I'm told is akin to nodding. "Excellent,"
I said, "Shall we continue the tour?"
"I would much rather relocate several days travel from this death trap,"
he said.
| GongSkar, a green man with long dorsal fins, touched his temple and made a few quick comments. There seemed to be an immediate response and he turned back to the humans and nodded sagely.
"Young friends..." he began. Then a child cut him off.
"What was that thing you just talked to?" She said.
Put off balance for a moment, he turned quizzically at her and the larger versions of her in turn.
"Thing?" He said, "There is no thing, it's my leader in our home world. I am reporting in to him on our discovery."
"But your world is so far! How did you do this?!" Multiple young scientists asked in different ways at once.
The green man looked around and saw many "things" pointed at him. Small rectangles with lights. Humans where frantically tapping them and talking into them.
After a long pause, the green mans face moved from surprise and irritation at the interruption to confusion to something close to pity. It finally settled on the look a neighbor may give to a very young person who has asked them something profound that should be answered by a parent and not them.
"Um... it is communication. All living beings are connected. Any race that has reached beyond themselves as you have into the great space has done so because they have... understood... this connection. We can speak to each other, feel each other, understand each other. This connection gives us empathy. This empathy sparks and evolution. This we grow and prosper."
He grew concerned at the lack of response, any response, that might demonstrate that this race understood this critical brain function.
None came.
He turned to his fellows who looked aghast. He signaled a brainwave akin to a look humans might give to each other entering a super lame party.
"This is not our scene... Let's get out of here..." | 2017-03-09T21:52:03 | 2017-03-09T21:09:12 | 1,110 | 772 |
[WP] Due to outrage over the upcoming trade wars, France has decided to activate it's oldest sleeper agent in the US. The Statue of Liberty. | I knew behind the door was the office of Emmanuel Macron, the information I just received was supposed to be transmitted as fast as possible. Still, I couldn't bring myself to announce him the news, the US finally stepped out of line, and France would react. I feel like when I broke up with my ex, wanting to say it, but so damn *scared* to say it…
“Shite!” I opened the door, I’ll do it quickly so at least it’s done.
I saw Macron turned on his chair, he looked at me and smile, “Oh hello Jon! What do you I owe the visit of the US ambassador?” His English was as French as Beret atop a bottle of Côte-Rôtie put on the Champs de mars with the Eiffel Tower in sight.
“Sadly I’m here on an… Unpleasant business…” He looked at me his smile turning upside down.
“Sit down Jon”, he got up and walk to a cabinet behind his *bureau*, he opened it and took a bottle of Barornarque, a very strong red wine from Languedoc-Roussillon. He continued, “You know I always say a bad news deserve its own type of drink, personally I prefer a strong wine, so at least my palate is hit with enough sensation to numb the bad news.” He put two glasses in front of us and started to serve. “I’ll ask again now that we are installed, what bring the US Ambassador to my office?” He wasn’t smiling anymore. He took his glass of wine in hand and looked at me without drinking.
“The president decided to increase the sanction against Europe, and France.” I took a deep breath, “He is increasing tax on car, plane, and most of the technological sector.” His eyes were unreadable, still he seemed calm, “Is that all?” he asked starting to look tired. “No, he also decided to ban some products.”
He stood up his glass, still in his hand, still untouched. “Which ?”
“Every dairy product, most of French Wine, Cognac, Armagnac, Calva…” He didn’t let me finish.
“Do you mean to say he banned French cheese and alcohol ?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move at first, he kept still for a few seconds. Then slowly he took his glass up to his lips and drank. Just when he finished his first *gorgée*, he threw the glass directly at the wall behind me.
“Il a tournée merde.” He then finally looked at me.
“You know what Jon? I’m done! Completely done! I don’t care anymore.” He then proceeded to move a painting from the wall that was behind his desk. He took some kind of device out of it.
“Do you know what freedom means Jon?” He wasn’t looking at me, he kept concentrated on the strange device. He didn’t let me answer.
“Freedom Jon, is letting other do what they please, the most common limit to it, is that they shouldn’t block you to do something as long as it doesn’t impact them.” He was moving some kind of contraption that seemed forged into the copper colored device.
“The idea, is simple really, do whatever you want as long as you don’t forbid someone to do whatever he wants.” The device started to make some *click* and *clang* sound in an erratic manner, it was highly disconcerting to hear.
“Of course in the case of a state, you have to create more limits, such as “don’t sell thing that kill people”, or just forbid company to poison the air, or soil… You have to impose limits that are not bound by the first principle I cited.” The sound started to become more melodious and rhythmic.
“You have to create law to protect your industry, you agricultural sector even If it hurts your allies, I get it, we all do that”. He moves the device on his desk and a keyboard slowly emerged from the device, the sounds were now a strange and ethereal melody, and they started to echo across the room.
“If he stopped at aluminum and steel, we would have put sanction on his voters, and he would have back down, or lost his majority. It wasn’t that big of deal, we could answer in a measured and fair manner.” He was typing furiously as he was talking, the music coming from the device wasn’t just coming from it, I had the distinct impression the sound came from everywhere at once. My bones were humming the music.
“But not only does he try to hurt our economy, not only does he want the EU to disband, not only does he try to influence our political landscape…. He also forbids his citizen to taste the marvels that are our cheese, our alcohol...” The keyboard retracted in the device, the rhythm of the music accelerated, I remember having the distinct impression that my body was heating up, I started to feel a righteous fury taking over me.
“You know, in France we respect food, we respect alcohol…” He took a breath, the music made me feel ready to take on the world. “I’d say we respect the *art* of living.” He stopped for a second, I could barely stay sited, a fire was burning inside me wanting, waiting.
“And your president, not only he is as disrespectful of that as he can, but he also wants to forbid anyone from appreciating the true wonder of life?”
“Europe won’t stand by it, I won’t stand by it. But most of all, France will answer the call of liberty once more.”
The fire inside me became unbearable. I fell, unconscious.
I woke up two day later in a French hospital. A TV was present in my chamber, it was showing me the French news. The image left me flabbergasted.
*La statue de la Liberté* had Macron in its hand, giving a speech in front of a destroyed white house. He was talking about how American must learned to appreciate life, and not be slave to some “uncultured swine”.
The title of the news was “La Liberté Guidant le Peuple.”
| The president storms into the situation room. “I cant BELIEVE the statue was actually a mech in disguise this entire time. Situation report.”
The Chief of Staff, in a serious tone, states “We have lost 30% of Manhattan. Our initial military response was ineffective. Mobilizing more units from all nearby bases.”
The screens behind him show various angles of the destruction currently underway in Manhattan taken by drones in the area. The former Statue of Liberty is seen walking down a busy street, eyes glowing crimson red, unloading its weapons on the citizens of NYC.
The POTUS, in a bitter voice asks “Options?”
“Current engagements have shown conventional weapons will be ineffective against Liberty. It’s too close to large numbers of people, so we cant use a nuclear strike. We cant even force it to move. We need more time to come up with options.”
Then, with a look of determination, against that French monstrosity staring back at him though a drone feed that just went down, says “Execute Plan Lincoln.”
“You cant be serious!”
“I am”
“.....Initializing Plan Lincoln”
In Washington, DC, it’s a day like any other. Well other than people glued to their screens watching the carnage unfold not too far from them. At the Lincoln Memorial, a flash of blue light occurs. Panicked tourists look up to see a fierce blue gaze coming from Abe’s eyes. He slowly gets up, being careful to avoid the panicked crowds around him as he walks to the Washington Monument.
Upon arrival there, it opens up vertically revealing a massive mecha sword, the type once thought to only exist in sci fi and anime. Upon retrieval and activation, the Abe mech takes a few practice swings. After a few swings, its fierce blue gaze faces north, then the rest of the body turns, and then starts running. With speed it jumps and powerful rockets activate enabling flight. It then flies north out of view, its thundurus boom fading into the distance.
Every tourist in the whole national mall is just standing there, stunned. After a few seconds of silence, one person says “so that’s why we spend so much on the military.”
Back in NYC, Lady Liberty’s rampage is continuing. The island of Manhatten, now a smoldering wreck as the mech continues its reign of terror in the city. There is no armed resistance by any military force. The mech starts walking towards a ferry carrying refugees to the other side of the Hudson. She raises her torch-bearing hand to the boat, the flame opens up, revealing a laser cannon. A faint glow is seen from inside the barrel, one all too familiar to the folks fleeing on the boat.
Just then, she jumps out of the way very quickly as a massive sword flies right behind her and barely misses. The sword flies into the river at high speed, stabbing the bottom of the Hudson while remaining standing at an angle.
On the horizon, the passengers see a giant silhouette of a certain president recovering from a throw. The sword unlodges itself from the river, and flies back to Lincoln, ready for combat.
Lady Liberty turns around completely, as if to accept the challenge. Upon receiving the sword again, both mechs charge at each other.
———————————————————————-
Second major story written on my phone at 3:30am. Time to sleep lol | 2018-06-04T01:12:35 | 2018-06-03T21:44:15 | 33 | 19 |
[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.
Wow, I did *not* expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD
Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me! | Nothingness.
A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home.
There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness.
Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last.
I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last.
It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness.
After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm.
A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read:
"Your comme...
Liked! Chec..."
I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!"
Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human.
I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?"
"Hello. My name is Janice."
"Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person."
"Haha, YES!"
"WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!"
"Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\y.woodIever@aRealWebsite.co.itchydick.pu"
I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures.
Pop | I stared out at the street. The lamps lighting up the night, houses automatic lights turning on to prevent burglary. At a glance no one would know it was deserted, of course they wouldn’t, they were all dead. All of them. Apart from me.
I didn’t know how I had survived, maybe the fact I had been locked in a bunker or maybe my sheer will to live. Either way it didn’t matter, I was the only one left.
I took out my phone and began scrolling through old messages to my friends and family. I didn’t cry, there were no tears left. I found myself scrolling through videos, commenting “last” on them. I didn’t know why I started, but it was something to do on this deserted planet.
I had got to about the 30th video when a notification popped up. I froze. “No, no way” I murmured to myself. I thought I was the only one left. I quickly tapped on the notification “harryb liked your comment” and sure enough under my comment was a single grey thumbs up.
I clicked on their channel, only one video uploaded. I opened it. It was a boy about 13 with torn clothes and a dirty face. “Listen,” he said “I don’t know if they’re is anyone else out there, but I want you to know, we are not alone. There is a monster, he looks human like you or me, but he’s not, he’s not. He’s the one that murdered half the population and made the others kill each other. He’s the one that RUINED our lives.” The video ended.
I stood in shock for a second. I hadn’t dreamt that there would be someone else on Earth, let alone two. Then I heard a knock on my door, I glanced out the window and saw him. The boy, and he was accompanied by a girl | 2020-02-07T12:57:54 | 2020-01-07T09:22:12 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You're a high school student with the ability to have whatever you write come true. One day, you're taking a history test you didn't study for, and despite not wanting to mess up the universe, you REALLY want to get an A.
[removed] | It was a trick I'd figured out for myself quite a while back: write "time immediately stopped moving forward for everyone but me at 1:45pm today" on the desk, so I can have time to think. As always, the universe heeds my written command and I feel the icy tendrils of unnatural change creeping down my back as the students and instructor, already very still, become utterly motionless.
The question is a tricky one, but I have to be careful to get it right. Because if I get it wrong, *history* will change instead of my grade. And if I use my other trick, to temporarily suspend my powers and write a wrong answer, I won't pass this class with an A+.
"John F. Kennedy proposed a threefold commitment to the nation. List the three things he wanted his space program to do."
I sigh as I read the question again. Mr. Cartwright is a moon-landing skeptic (how he's still employed boggles the mind), and he's trying to get us to answer "put a man on the moon, return him safely to the Earth, and barring that, fake the event convincingly."
The whole thing is hurting my brain. With time stopped, I can open the textbook and look at the text of the speech. No, only two goals there.
Maybe it was cut out of the broadcast? I write "a working time-machine watch suddenly appeared on my hand!" - the exclamation point made the universe comply more quickly - and use the device to travel back to the US Capitol Building on May 25, 1961, where I can watch the speech.
"I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth. No single space project in this period will be more impressive to mankind, or more important for the long-range exploration of space; and none will be so difficult or expensive to accomplish..."
That was all I needed to hear. I pop back to my classroom in 2018. I've already watched Neil and Buzz step onto the moon, from the safety and secrecy of a perfectly invisible spaceship I'd conjured up, to impress a date a few years ago; so I already knew the moon landing actually happened. Now I know that Kennedy never even floated the idea of faking the process.
I could write "Mr. Cartwright thinks...," but he's just skeptical about the whole thing; I could unwittingly make him believe it more. And I don't know, I've got this thing against changing people's minds directly. It seems icky.
I could write a distraction into existence; maybe a fire alarm, or a tornado drill. But that would just delay the inevitable.
I could try to just write a reality where I get straight-As for the semester. But that feels like changing minds, too. Still icky.
I notice that he's sitting at his desk, scrolling on his phone. I write "incontrovertible evidence of the moon landing was just found by a skeptic site Mr. Cartwright follows, and the story about them retracting their skepticism came up on his phone now." It's a long shot, but who knows. I see his eyes narrow at the words on the screen, but then he just scoffs and keeps scrolling.
I think through the possible implications of just answering the question the way he wants it to be answered. If there is an option to fake the moon landing, would they take it? Not impossible, especially after Apollo 1. At the least, my writing it would give skeptics new fuel for their fire.
I stare at the ceiling for a minute, running down options in my head. Clerical error? Sudden bout of illness? None of that really feels right.
Time to bite the bullet, I tell myself. It's either my grades or the history of the world over the past half-century. And I know which one's more important to me. So I put pen to paper- | I was really nervous. It was affecting my ability to think rationally so I just stopped and took a deep breath. Then I remembered something I actually hadn't tried yet. So I just wrote it. "My ability won't affect this test and I will still be able to get an A."
After that I just laid down on my seat waiting for the time to pass. When the clock showed that there were only 5 minutes till the end of the test I just scribbled what I thought was right. I was amazed with the idea I had and it took me no effort at all to take a test I didn't even study to. I got up and handed the test to the professor.
Some days later I got to class and the professor was giving out the tests with a dead face. I really was scared that by some coincidence I had wrote something wrong and then it came to me. I wrote on the test that I would get an A but I also wrote that my ability wouldn't affect that same test. I got my first B.
Shit.
Guess I can just write they got my grade wrong. | 2018-05-10T01:42:53 | 2018-05-10T00:21:46 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Satan owes you a favor. Now the time has come for him to pay up and he is begging you to choose anything else than what you just asked for. | Satan loomed on the other side of my bedroom mirror. I had cut my palm deeper than I had intended to when I had drawn the summoning sigil, making it hard to see him through the blood smeared thickly on the glass. From his voice, though, I could tell that he was annoyed. "Sorry, darling, I'm a little busy right now. Can I get you to leave a message with one of my assistants?"
"Seriously?" I put my hands on my hips to hide my trbling hands and tried to sound stern. "With all due respect, Mr. S, this is a bit of an emergency. The High Witch's daughter has been in a coma since-"
I broke off as Satan ducked down out of sight. A moment later, something hit the other side of the mirror in a shower of red sparks. "I'll flay you for that, Oswald!" Satan yelled, coming back into view. He turned back to me, straightening his sunglasses. "Look, I'm trying to deal with a rebellion here. Can't little Suzie wait?"
"I'm under a very strict contract," I said. It wasn't even a lie. The High Witch had only given me two days to heal his daughter. Mostly because it had been my misfired anti-pimple spell that had put her in the coma in the first place. But I certainly wasn't going to share that detail with Satan.
"A contract?" he said with scorn. "I don't-" This time the projectile caught him in the side of the head. He muttered something that sounded decidedly vulgar. "That's it, I'm coming through."
"Wait, no!" I said, but it was too late. I hastily backed away from the mirror as Satan grabbed onto either side of the frame. Panting, he hauled himself through, kicking over a pile of spellbooks as he did so. I caught a glimpse of smoke and fire behind him before the mirror turned back to glass.
I half expected him to attack me, but instead he staggered over to my bed. The gray cat lying on my pillow bounced six inches into the air as Satan sat down heavily. Oh great, he was making himself at home now.
"So... About the girl," I said, keeping my distance. Up close, I could see that Satan didn't look nearly as composed as he usually did. His elegant suit was covered in ash and torn in a dozen places, and his blond hair was singed. One of the frames was missing from his ever-present sunglasses, revealing the empty eye socket behind it. I stifled a shudder.
"Ah, yes, the girl." He flopped back on the bed, bouncing the cat again. The animal meowed indignantly. "Let me guess, magically induced coma? She'll be lost in the Borderlands, then. The home of lost spirits and dreamers. Not my favorite place."
Well that didn't sound pleasant. "Can you get her back?" I asked, crossing my fingers behind my back.
"I have no interest in wandering around another realm for a child. I'm exhausted, darling. I need a beer and some TV. Pick something else. What about a nice pony?"
"Satan, please," I said, hearing the desperation in my own voice. "What... What if you just tell me how to find her myself?"
"Fine," he said, clearly put out by the whole thing. He snapped his fingers, making me jump, and the TV flickered to life. Another snap, and the mirror changed again. This time, all that was visible on the other side was swirling gray fog. "You have three days to find her or both of your souls will be lost forever," he said, sounding bored. "Watch out for roaming demons, don't stray from the path, blah blah blah. Oh, and take that." He waved a lazy hand at the knife I had used to cut myself.
"You've got to be kidding me," I said, but I picked up the knife. It felt flimsy in my hand. "How am I supposed to find her in that?"
"You're the witch, darling. Pretend like it's a quest."
I swore under my breath but moved to stand in front of the mirror. "What about you?" I asked, one hand on the frame. "Don't you have to get back to your rebellion?"
"Let them rebel," he said, eyes fixated on some Kardashian reality show. The cat had crawled on top of his chest, purring loudly. Traitor. "They'll be begging for me to resume my role in a decade. Two at the latest."
"Um, okay," I said, putting one foot through the mirror. Sudden panic hit me. "Wait, you're not staying here for -" My words turned into a scream as I was sucked into the Borderlands, leaving Satan far behind. | "C'mon Luci, you OWE me this one,"
"Dammit Charles, you know my code of conduct, I am only allowed to interact with humans in dark hours and I honestly cannot grant you that..." Luci said with a tired expression, "The order of the universe is already hanging in the balance, I have to control everything! Do you know how stressful my job is? I have to see dead children, EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. That idiot upstairs doesn't even care, you make one fucking mistake of talking to the humans..."
"Sorry..." Charles sadly shook his head, "I just wanted to..."
"Do what?" Luci asked with a look of dread on her face, "You know He wouldn't approve, I have to follow his orders, I wish I could just stop, you know?"
"Sound's 'bout right," Charles remembered his times of loss and pain, through literal blood, sweat and tears he made it here, no livelihood, no life, no friends and no lover. He kept to himself and felt something in common with Luci, "We all have to work in the land of the living, some move up through greed, some through luck and some through the people they betray. You might have met some,"
"I have met many of these types, none better than the last. I did not know of the pain of humans though, I know not of human society, though I do speak to the evil of this world, they seem to not notice the world around them." Luci sighs, knowing her life would be better after the favour, she wishes these talks with Charles would come more often. The thought of human society intrigues her, how the humans have advanced so much in what is for her a blink of an eye.
"I missed you Luci, I want you to know that, but after all I've done for you..." Charles looked down in sadness and starts to walk away.
"Don't go!" Luci yells into the distance, chasing after him, "Of course I'll go on a date with you."
-
*This is my first prompt. Criticism wanted* | 2015-07-06T06:55:47 | 2015-07-06T03:08:15 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | You blink once. And twice. You look at the beautiful and alluring woman in front of you in confusion. Certainly you must have heard it all wrong.
“So... what’s the downside again?”
The woman in question smiles at you, and once again you feel fear. You couldn’t pinpoint what was unsettling about her smile, but it made you shiver. And that made you remember that she wasn’t your typical woman in a bar. She was someone – no, *something* – that came straight out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare to be more precise.
“Your innocence will be your downfall. If you don’t see the problem in what I said, child, then you’re more doomed then what I presumed”, and with that, she raised herself from her place and was making her way for the exit.
“Wait!”, you scream, reaching out to grab the woman’s wrist. That was your second mistake of the night, and you realized that when the witch looked you in the eyes and you felt the power of her hatred for you, “please, I didn’t understand what you said, I-”
“You said it yourself, sweetheart: love is the most stupid thing that one can feel, and sex is one of the few things that makes life worth living. So that’s what I wish upon you: you will have the most amazing sex in this world with every man and woman you desire, they will leave your bed thinking of you in the years to come, but none of them will be able to love you back. And the one that you love, well…”, she touched your face with that same smile – so innocent, so evil – while she got even closer to you, breaking your personal space, “you just have to wait and see how your love treat them back.”
The witch then kissed you right in the lips. Nothing obscene or too long, just a peck. You closed your eyes, even though you were mortified, and when you opened them, she was gone.
​
X
​
“I told you, I wasn’t high or anything like that! It was real!”, you said to your roommate for the hundredth times.
“Okay, so you *really* want me to believe that a witch talked to you at Joe’s, you guys started talking about hooking up and she dropped a curse on you? Like… are you listening to yourself?”
“I still don’t see the point in the whole thing”, you nervously laughed, “like, if she really wanted me to suffer throwing a curse, maybe she should have made sex something horrible for me? That would really be fucked up.”
“Or maybe she just wanted to teach you a lesson”, said Lisa.
“Yeah, maybe”, you agreed, still remembering the woman’s eyes on yours and shivering right away, “We’ll never know.”
​
X
​
You never cared much about love.
You grew up in a family divided by an amicable divorce. No cheating or anything of the sorts. Your parents just grew apart from one another, and you, being an only child, saw by yourself how distant and stranger-like your parents became. And from a young age you understood that’s just how life works. People get together, enjoy their time and then go away. The sooner you understood this, the less hurtful it became, until you got to a point where it isn’t hurtful anymore. Actually, it’s quite expected. No problems with that.
That thought just got stronger and stronger with the passing of years. Both of your parents had their fair share of romantic partners, but the ending was the same: break ups. A few years ago your father married another woman, and even from afar you could see that relationship was a sinking ship. There wasn’t love, they endured each other and didn’t want to die alone. That was the sad part of it all; not accepting that solitude is a gift.
You and your mother were more alike. She threw herself into work after the divorce. She’s a business woman and doesn’t want to lose time with men who can’t keep up with what she needs and wants. Most of her relationships don’t last more than six months, but she’s ruthless in business and burst with self-confidence. Whenever you two talk, she never complains about being alone for too long or being afraid of not finding someone worth it. And when confronted about how fast things end, she always says “I already spent too much time in a loveless marriage, and I won’t settle for scraps”.
You were comfortable being alone. It was something that you were always used to be. You didn’t have many friends growing up and seeing the nature of your parents’ relationship and how the world worked, you just got used to the idea that love is something for fairytales and movies. Yes, it is beautiful, the thought of someone loving you so selflessly, wishing your happiness above their own selfish desires, but it wasn’t real. And when puberty came, you realized something that was far, far better than that childish feeling: sex. And orgasms, of course.
You were always honest with your partners. You weren’t looking for love, you didn’t want them to call you back or send you messages to know if you were okay.
You just want sex. Period. Good old sex. Nothing more.
The weeks passed and the thought of the curse being real kept eating you alive, but everything was fine. No, everything was perfect. It was everything you wished and more.
But she didn’t bless you with a wish. She cursed you, and a curse shouldn’t feel this good.
​
X
​
It all changed when she appeared. Her name was Carina, and you two got closer and closer by the days. Contrary to your beliefs, you didn’t jump to sex right away. She has never been with another woman before, and said her attraction for you made her extremely confused at first. Both of you took your time to discover each other’s bodies. You would kiss and then just sleep together, and you would be contempt with that. Just being around Carina felt good. You liked being with her and wanted to share more and more of your life with her.
Naturally things progressed and sex became part of your encounters. Like always, it felt amazing, but there was something more. There was something more being shared between you two that made everything better. Made everything fuller. And afterwards, having her on your arms, whispering silly things on your ears while laughing post-orgasm was one of the best sights you have ever seen.
You wanted that woman so much it’s scary. The curse was always lurking around in the back of your head during those moments, but it’s been so long you barely remember the words from the witch. If it ever had a witch. You certainly drank a few that night.
Until Carina became sick.
At first it was just complaining about how you left her so tired she didn’t want to move away from the bed. Both of you actually laughed from that, because the sex was always incredibly good. After the headaches. And then one time you were cuddling in bed, feeling her body against yours, when she abruptly ran to the bathroom and started vomiting. You didn’t think much about it, thought maybe she ate something bad, until it became a norm right after sex.
From there it became worse. She stopped having sex with you and went to two doctors trying to figure out what was happening to her. Nothing was wrong with her, nothing in her food was making her have that kind of reaction. She distanced herself from you when she realized that even being in the same room with you made her sick.
You were always by her side, supporting her with everything you could do, and it hurt *so*, *so bad* when she called you on that faithful Thursday afternoon.
“I-I’m sorry”, Carina said through sobs, “but I can’t do this anymore.”
“Shh, it’s okay, we will figure it out”, you said back, trying to contain your emotions.
“No, you don’t understand! I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be with you, I’m sorry!”
“Carina, wait, I-”, you said while listening to her crying, “I love you.”
She took some time before turning off the phone, and sound of her silence haunted you.
You were all alone. | Of course, it was not very pleasant. I just failed my payment. But then, it was not easy with the king getting his taxes, with my wife and children needing food. Yes, we had money, usually.
Not that winter. Who could have thought that it is war again? Who could have thought that we had to flee? We returned a few months later, but by then I was months overdue.
I made that pun. Whenever I was asked what the secret of my youth was, I answered with "Mary". They understood "Marry!", and I never elaborated further than saying that a good woman can give you a long life. I wish I knew how right I was.
The spring of 1620 was financially fine but not plentiful. But eventually I had to go to her. I brought the money. She was okay with it. But she had to curse me. It was a contractual agreement, but in an exchange for some payment she also would give me the means to break that curse whenever I wanted.
I had asked for youth, for a long life. She gave it to me.
"So. There is a curse. What is it? So... what's the downside again?" I nervously blinked. I don't do that anymore, but at that time I did. Her curse was that I would live so long that I would have to see everyone I loved die. Only then could I break that curse and die myself. Furthermore I would be the last of my bloodline. My children would not have children, my wife would not have any more children.
The war went on. It went on until 1648. We lost much, our house was destroyed twice. My eldest son fell in a battle, my youngest fell ill and passed away. My daughter, the only child left, eventually married but remained childless. Our marriage, in its beautiful times, ended with more pregnancies, but the children died at birth. The doctors were unable to explain it. When rumors came up in 1632, we had to leave the city. We moved away to a place where nobody knew us. Of course, I was cursed. But they thought we killed the children. They thought we were punished by God.
The hardest day in my life was when a child of my wife did not die at birth. It was then that I knew that she was no longer loyal to me. I pretended to go for work, but I drowned myself. I jumped into a river, I bonked my head, I slept for many hours. Or as I learnt later, I was unsoncsious. We did not have that word.
But I woke up. I coughed out all the water in my lungs. My cold skin turned warmer as my heart beat again. This was the extent of the curse. I would not die. I would keep my youth. I cried. At that day I cried more than ever before. And then I laid there for days. The hunger was overwhelming, but I could not really move. I ate grass, I drank the morning dew from it. But my legs, after having slept for hours after falling into the river, my arms even, only slowly regained their power. Eventually I stood up. I returned to my wife.
The townsguard was shocked to see me. I don't know why. I still don't know why. They said it was my face. But I looked into a mirror later, days later, and there was nothing. They also confirmed that it was gone. They refused to talk about it.
We reconciled, we lost, as I said earlier, once more everything. Near the end of the war soldiers fell into our town. I had to watch as... I'm sorry, I can't talk about it. I lost my wife that day, but after seeing what happened to her for hours, I felt it was for the better. Nevertheless I cried. I cried again. I cried for hours, if not days.
I don't really remember much of what happened afterwards. I opened a shop somewhere again. I was respected quickly again. But one day I disappeared. People thought I had died. But I ran away. I was still young. I was still beautiful.
I moved every few years, so people would not suspect anything. For quite some years I was in France. I named myself after my wife Germaine, taking the name of Comte de St. Germain. But I disappeared eventually. They never saw me eating anything, as I said I need special food. But in reality I had given up eating entirely. I remained young. I remained beautiful.
Please forgive me that I can not elaborate further at the moment. I would surely love to tell you what happened later. But as you see me writing here, you can be sure to receive the rest of my story. I have decided to break the curse at its 400th anniversary. I have seen empires rise and fall, I have seen my share of cruelty. But now, with the internet, with seeing the real horrors that humanity influcted, I believe I have seen enough. If I could go back in time, I would carry out all the failed attempts to change history. But I can't. I can only break this curse. Having lost everything once has made me someone looking for the ultimate truths. Have I found them?
Recently I stumbled upon what I had written many years ago. Maybe if all knowledge of the world was available, I would know it all.
I did not find the truth. I believe there is only one way to find it. Next year, at the 400th anniversary of the curse, I will know.
I hope it, at least. I really hope. | 2019-06-25T12:37:00 | 2019-06-25T12:08:02 | 67 | 19 |
[WP] Every year several hundred thousand people go missing worldwide, the crazies said it was aliens. When you were abducted, you found out they were right. Turns out humans make astonishingly good pets. Not because we're smart or strong or fast but because... we're adorable. | It reminded me of my leopard gecko.
Mine was bred in captivity, of course. He was a cute little thing, the length of my hand, yellow and black spotted, with the sweetest little smile. Leopard geckos are like that - they look like they're smiling. That was what caught my attention as a kid. I spent weeks pleading and harassing my father, putting together presentations on leopard gecko care, taking on extra chores and leaving articles on different morphs open on his browser tabs, until a glossy, glass tank appeared in my bedroom one day. I named him Joanna. He was a boy lizard, but I could not be dissuaded.
Leopard geckos are so common in the pet trade now that there's no point in getting them from the wild, but that was how it started. Men - I always envision them to be men, rough handed and dressed in khaki - drove out to the grasslands of Pakistan and caught wild leopard geckos by the hundreds, by the thousands. They tossed them into crates, tossed the crates into trucks, and hauled the lizards across the world to be sold to snub-nosed children for twenty bucks a piece.
It was a little like that.
She kept me well enough. I'm assuming my captor's gender, as there's no real way to know, but she seems feminine to me. Something about the way she tilts her head and trills when she's pleased with me, or the soft edges inside her vast, violet, compound eyes. I judged her to be compassionate, in her way. She made efforts to keep me comfortably, even trying to recreate my home environment. It was a poor man's shadow of the real thing, but at least I recognized the effort.
Speaking was pointless, aside from the fact that she seemed to like it when I did. I figured it was not dissimilar to when Joanna would croak at me. He was so small, so beneath consideration, that I assumed his stupid little squeaks existed to delight and surprise me. His instincts counted for so little. It was the same with her. I spoke frequently at first; she veered from obvious pleasure to stern commands for silence, based on how worked up she judged me to be. I couldn't understand the weird, shimmering notes that made up her speech, no matter how long I watched them sizzle brightly on the air, but I eventually learned tone, intention. It turns out telling the family dog to shut up sounds basically the same universally.
I don't speak so much anymore. There's no point. I am beneath consideration. I am fed. My needs are met. What's to be done? She is gargantuan. She is the monolith. The greatest victory I could hope to earn with open rebellion would be a moment of casual discipline, barely a ripple of disruption to her day.
Or she could decide I wasn't the right fit. "Rehome me," the way I would have rehomed a troublesome cat, once. I know my situation is not unique. I know there are others. Would another one be better or worse?
The devil you know, or the devil you don't?
I sleep most of the time, now. I'm not proud of it. It looks like I've given up, and I guess I have. All I have is days, nights, minutes, seconds ticking by, alone in my head, with no reprieve. No company. No distractions. She can't even figure out that I would like a book, a single book to read. And I have no way to tell her.
So I sleep.
But things have been changing, lately. At least, I think they have. It's so hard to tell, with my brain wrapped in thick layers of gauze. I haven't been able to think straight in weeks. Months? But I think, maybe, things have been changing. We go out more now. I see more of her world - the shifting, unsteady sky, the walkways that glow a pearly silver and bend slightly with your weight, the thick, sweet air that holds their words so well. She seems proud of me. We stop frequently, and I suspect she is showing me off. I can't find the energy to resent her for it. It seems so pointless, like spitting into a hurricane. What good would it do?
I can never get a feeling for how the place is laid out. Are we in a city? It feels that way to me, but I just can't tell. The walkways wrap and loop and sometimes double back on themselves. There's not a straight line anywhere. I never know where we're going. It would be easier, I think, to let go and stop trying to understand, but I just can't. That would be the final surrender, and then what would be left?
So it took me by surprise when I saw a bush. Just a normal bush. Squat and green, unusually spherical, like it was pruned by someone with only the vaguest idea of what a bush was actually supposed to look like, but it was, undeniably, a bush. And next to it, another. And further back, was that a tree?
I looked up at her, searched her flickering eyes for meaning, and she trilled happily at me. She unhooked the humming, white cuff that somehow kept me within five or six feet of her and gestured. The realization hit me: she's taken me to a park. An off-leash park.
And up ahead, down a clumsily recreated dirt path, was another person. Flesh and blood and bone, two eyes, upright, and waving at me. Another person.
They were making dog parks for us now.
I took one tentative step, then another. She made an encouraging sort of noise, and I broke into a trot, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Other people. A chance to talk. A chance to plan.
This changes everything. | I awoke to a brightly lit, white, sterile room. Oh so my housemate had found me. I searched my body for sighns of pain. None. Oh god. I searched my brain for the usual fuzz of a hazy drug addled mind but found nothing. 34 x 3 = 3x3 =9 4x3 =12 90+12=102.
Couldn't even add to 10 when high on pain killers.
I tried to move but my whole body was unresponsive. I couldn't even blink. Trapped. Panic rose as I wondered what I was going on?? My frantic mind raced; they must not have read my chart. No pain killers. No barbituats at all.
A slow steady hum started to my right, I could suddenly feel a warm breeze that seemed to flow from my right arm to my whole body, as it did the feelings grew. Still no pain. Just sensations, soft cotton, fluffy blanket, thick comfortable mattress?? Nothing like a hospital.
"Hello hooman.
We have awakened you and released your body from cryo-sleep. My name is Ah'Kahna, I am, a friend. I would be hoping to come into the room."
The noise cut off, I was intigued at the strange voice. Almost like somebody really needs to blow their nose. I jumped at the three loud bangs to the door. As I looked towards it, I checked my surroundings. Bare, white, nothing of mine.
"Come in" I shouted, I wanted to thank whoever was there, I felt better than I had in years. The door opened as I started a smile and greeting "Hello Doc-WHAT?" The doctor walked through the door in like... an Elephant onesie?? No. More like a fursuit. What IS going on?
The Doctor advanced towards the far side of the room and sat in a chair. "I am sure my appearance must startle you. We need to chat"
**
"So kid, thats what MY time waking up was. I didnt try to punch anybody out!" I looked across at the young man in front of me. I learnt a lot from my first chat, he would attack any Elphantians he saw. You see... well. Its complicated.
"Why are you working for these guys???" He asked, eyes pleading. He was terrified and angry. At first he thought he was in Hell. His parents found out he was gay. His dad beat him, his mum cheered him on and then they both kicked him out for betraying god.
He jumped off a bridge. Extensive damage, Earth doctors couldn't have saved him.
"These guys always save as many as they can. Some they can't, but they can offer a no pain existence in a dream world.Thats why most dont go back. They stay in dreamland.
Me? well, they knew there was no wonderful reality they could present to me of that I could ever believe.
Us. The lost causes. We always want the chance to see the Universe.
Even as "pets".. think more.. catered to guest. We dont get "petted" well.. i dont. Some? Probably. I have seen some shit on Reddit back home." | 2020-09-09T09:24:08 | 2020-09-09T08:05:22 | 379 | 53 |
[WP] As a silly joke to yourself, you sometimes open notepad to write a message to 'your fbi agent' before deleting it. Today in the middle of browsing reddit, notepad opened and a reply appeared. "I'm sorry, they're coming for you. Run." | ((Triggers))
It was just a joke. I'd open my laptop up, and write a note to "Special Agent In Charge Reno"; totally made up. Get my little joke done, and delete the file.
I finished school, got my degree, landed a position with a defense contractor. It was good. Life was fine. I got married, though we never had kids. Everything was great.
Then things started going sour in my life. I remembered writing to Reno, so I started up again. This time I kept them. It got to be a game and obsession. I'd imagine Reno's responses and refer to them in the next note. The notes to Reno got darker as the shit just piled up.
My jobs started to suck. Same shit every day. Stupid bosses who wouldn't listen, then blamed me when it fell apart just like I'd warned them. I started putting my warnings in writing, and insisting that they sign for receipt. They got a copy. I got a copy. And the original was put in my safe deposit box under an assumed name. Yeah, by this time I was paranoid. Only paranoia is a survival skill if they really are out to get you, and that's what I felt was happening to me.
I'm not a complete idiot, although maybe I was. That laptop *never* connected to the internet, or any other system. I mean, it was a frickin diary of all the bad shit running through my head. Not the kind of thing you want getting out of your hands, even if the disk *is* encrypted.
My wife died. I wanted to die. I loved her, and she died to a complex of degenerative diseases that no one had a cure for. The notes to Reno turned suicidal. For me, it was a catharsis of monumental proportions. I listened in my head to what Reno recommended. I got a psychiatrist and a psychologist. I made sure the SSO had my updates to my SF86 about my mental state and the treatment I was getting. I cleared with my boss's boss that I would work half time as long as I needed, because my boss was being a dick.
I pulled that complete set of documents out of the safe deposit box, made copies of all of them, put the originals back, and handed the copies over to my boss's boss.
He was shocked. Half the things I'd warned about had happened, and nearly cost the company the contract. "Asshole" had sat on them. Never read them. Never had anyone else review them. Never even tried to use them to get me fired, because that would have been admitting that he was sitting on them. Claimed that it was bull, that I had done those things. That I'd never shown them to him. He couldn't argue the signatures.
The FBI showed up the day after and cleaned his desk to the point of taking the lint!
His name disappeared from his door. As far as we could tell, he was an unperson. The new boss came in and was a delight to work with. I brought my copies in, and we started working through them. Creating tickets to get them fixed. Assigning them. Making sure that they were all fixed.
My notes to Reno kept getting better. My life was turning around. I was getting a grip on my grief. My depression. My suicidal thoughts. Everything was getting better.
I'd finally gotten clearance to return to work full time. I went to write my last note to Reno. Explaining to my imaginary agent that I was clear now, and he could stop worrying about me.
I got the surprise of my life.
"Kid,
You need to get out of your house now, and get to the nearest FBI office. The agents that were using your information figured out it was you, and they're gunning for you. Move now. I've tried to throw them off ..."
The note ended. This laptop just wrote a message from Reno. An imaginary agent. In real time. Never connected to the internet. Not equipped with WiFi or Bluetooth. How the fuck?
A car pulled up my driveway. I wasn't expecting anyone, and FBI agents dress better than these clowns. *sigh*
In my paranoid phase, I'd studied everything I could get my hands on about tradecraft. The egress plans were still up to date. They depended on knowledge, and just a touch of early warning. Not luck; you can't count on it. Not speed; fast motion draws the metaphorical eye. Planning. Rehearsal. Practice. Keep doing it until it's second nature. And always have back up plans.
Eventually, you realize that backup plans have a certain consistency, the details change, but the triggers and conditions don't. You become lightning fast at sorting for alternatives. *That* is why an excellent agent always looks like they know what they're doing. They do! Was I that good? Time to find out.
((finis))
I'm going to take this off line, and write it up better, along with another response I did for another story. I think it's going to work to have the two of them tied together neatly. | "I'm sorry. They're coming for you. Run".
The slice of pizza burned his mouth as he took a greedy bite,
getting oil all over his hands. "Who is this?" he typed drunkenly while sitting on his unmade bed,
"Did you hack my computer?". "Ah fuck, fuck" he groaned as the oil
dripped on his keyboard.
He wiped his hands on his already stained t-shirt, following the contours
of his oversized belly formed by years of laziness. "I ain't running from nobody",
he typed, "Good luck catching me alive!"
He figured it was some script kid that hacked his computer. He gut-laughed loudly
and belched up a stink of beer and mozzarella, starting
to delete various programs and system files, launching a virus scan.
"Stan Hardy, 43, born in Trecoda to Michael and Louise Hardy. I've been reading
everything you ever wrote. I'm not sure why. It passed the time. Maybe
because you're so one hundred percent awful... it made me feel better about
myself"
Stan picked up the half-empty beer can and hurled it at the wall with a loud "FUCK!".
He looked around for ideas, but had none. The pizza box had fallen on the floor
leaking oil all over the carpet. He could only type. "Listen, you sick fuck,
you're messing with the wrong guy. I will find out who you are and
hunt you down"
Stan was out of his mind with rage. Fast grunts of air escaped from his
trash bag of a body as he tried to calm himself,
worried about his bad heart. He leaned over for his medication on the night stand,
but it was out of reach. He sat. He waited.
A picture popped open on the screen. Stan's face contorted. Then another picture.
Then another. Stan didn't know if he was going to vomit or pass out. The pictures closed and notepad opened again:
"I'm sorry, there is nothing I can do. You are guilty. I saw you transform over the years.
You used to have a family. You were on the good path. But gradually you transformed into...
into what you are now. And I did nothing."
"I could've tried to send a message earlier. I could've helped. I did nothing"
"Now it's too late. Part of me knew you wouldn't run. I guess it is too late now anyway.
Remember Rose? Remember how you used to love her? You bought her flowers every Friday evening"
Seeing her name, Stan's fury returned with a vengeance, he growled and -- there was a knock at the door:
"Police, open up!" | 2020-01-04T10:38:40 | 2020-01-04T08:41:01 | 57 | 20 |
[WP] Everytime someone has a 'blonde moment' they get a little blonder. Black hair is now a symbol of brilliance, and you've just invented hair dye.
These are all so good! This is my first submission to /r/WritingPrompts and I'm loving all your responses.
Thank you! | Technically, I’m not breaking any law, though I doubt that argument would stand up in court. If you knew me in real life you wouldn’t look at me twice. I don’t look like a criminal type. Smart, well-dressed but not ostentatious. Polite, well-mannered. Intelligent, but not strikingly so. Perhaps you’d think in my line of work, you’d go the whole way and present yourself as a genius. But that’s the kind of thing that gets people caught. Like driving a Jaguar when you’re supposed to be unemployed. No, a mousey-brown is good enough. Socially acceptable, without drawing attention.
I never planned to become a drug dealer. It just happened. I saw a need, and I had the means to fulfil that need. I see myself as a humanitarian. Besides, as I said, it’s not technically illegal. I mean it’s illegal to lie to an employer about your qualifications, so the people who use my drug may be guilty of that. But on the other hand, isn’t it their fault for accepting people’s hair colour as a qualification of intelligence in the first place?
Of course, that’s an academic argument. No jury would buy it if I ever had to stand before them. We’re all so used to judging people based on their appearance. It’s become such a part of the way we interact with each other it might as well be a law. A law of nature. If a Low Grade walked into a Upper Grade toilet dressed as a brunette, well there’d be uproar. If they found out of course.
But my product is better than the usual crap out there. The reeking bricks in plastic wrap that desperate people trade in dark alleys behind pubs and abandoned offices. The stuff that fools no one and just makes people look at them with pity. The more liberal people pretend to tolerate their unnatural pretence. But children point and adults whisper behind their back, and giggle, and make excuses not to talk to them. But my stuff actually works. Its not made of charcoal and shit. Its premium quality. As long as you make sure to keep using it every week then it’s undetectable, unless a doctor examines you. And at that point you’re caught anyway.
I sell about a hundred shades, from the top of Grade Five, to the bottom of Grade Two. Once someone’s known as a Grade One there’s no helping them. Most people just want to remain where they are, they’ve made a bad decision and they’re terrified of showing it. For those at the edges of the Gradings any slip-up must be terrifying. I’ve heard of people being disowned by their parents out of shame. No wonder there’s such a market for this stuff. And of course, once a guy starts using it, they’ve got to keep buying more, or they’ll get caught. Not my fault though, I couldn’t figure out how to make a permanent version. I tried. Just because it means they have to keep coming back each week for their next dose doesn’t make me a bad person.
There are those who are greedy of course. Those who want to rise in society, and think they can pull off the con. If they’re too light then I don’t deal with them. Prejudiced maybe, but I’ve got my own life to consider. If a hay-seed or a honey-pot gets caught, any detective worth their salt will be able to trick them into giving me up. Offensive? Sorry, I suppose I should know better than to use those words. But you know what I mean. Those people just can’t be trusted. You know what I’m talking about. I’m not prejudiced though. Some of my best friends are blondes.
No, I generally match shades, or give someone a couple of shades up. Too much and its dangerous. It’s harder to pretend to be someone you’re not than most people would think. I tried going up six shades at first. I almost got caught when I was chatting to a Grade Four and I accidently got the capital of Peru wrong. I could feel his suspicion, I felt so terrified and ashamed. Over the next month I subtly shifted myself down a few shades so as not to come across so suspicious. I can pass for a mid-range Grade Three I think, just about, if I’m careful.
Besides, I’m not hurting anyone. If someone wants to pretend to be someone they aren’t, a bit smarter, a bit more how they imagine themselves to be, why shouldn’t they? None of us can help the way we’re made. Dumb or smart, we’re all humans. Its society that’s to blame, with the segregation, the prejudice. The shame that parents feel when they find out their beloved son is a silverback. If I can help to smooth out those difference, to help that son keep his mom talking to him, to stop some poor girl from losing her job – surely that’s a good thing. Right?
**Edit**: Wow, thank for the gold. I'm glad people like it. I've posted part two below as a thank you for everyone who upvoted and the nice comments. | /**first prompt and writing on mobile be gentle**\
"Sir, we have another one."
At first, no one realized what was happening. A few people reported almost instantaneous change. Certain people were instantly changed, but they went largely unnoticed in the western world. Politicians from Britain and America lead the change. Slowly, people realized that people travelling abroad were changing.
"Sir, we have to tell the world. Our economy is in shambles."
Governments ranging from China to Mexico started banning travel, fearing an unknown infectious disease. Wikileaks announced that the American CDC was to blame. A coalition of nations starting with Italy was embargoing America, demanding that they close their borders and release information about the new biological weapon.
"Sir, it will be fine. People will understand."
When President Trump announced that people were turning blonde due to their own stupidity, the international balance of power started to shift. No longer were third world nations willing to buy from the west. Everyone started to assume that China and India had the most reliable fulfillment capabilities for contracts.
"Sir, I do not think that will work."
I had just invented a hair dye that could bypass the new tests developed by Taiwan - it turns out, once we lost our power Asia united under a system akin to the old European Union, and China was keen on making sure no one impersonated brilliance.
"Sir, our agent has reported back."
We kept the dye a secret- if the world knew about it, they would simply devise a new device to detect it. I urged the President to allow us to use it for espionage to determine the root cause. Trump insisted on using it himself, but we managed to convince him otherwise.
"Sir, how could this be?"
The official debrief from our spy reported only one thing: "We did it."
Two years after I invented the dye, the investigation into the source of the disease was found. President Trump had funded a team to solve racism. The team had managed to change global racial hierarchies by making dark haired people perceived as the most capable.
/** idk what i was doing. 🤔 **/
Edit: Minor text fixes. Thanks y'all for the positive response. I had fun writing it - not often struck by any creative thoughts for these so I'm glad to be able to contribute this time... Maybe it's because I'm on vacation right now. Hopefully it continues. | 2016-11-24T23:31:46 | 2016-11-24T21:39:56 | 100 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone on earth is immune to one specific type of damage (fire, car crash, kicks, falling off buildings, etc.). The problem is, you have to find out your immunity on your own. You have just discovered yours. | Tears flowed as she looked at the community bench beneath us, avoiding my gaze. "I'm... I'm sorry James. I can't do this anymore." Her voice quivered.
"But we've had such great times together! Don't throw it all away!" I pleaded back.
"I don't feel happy anymore. I don't enjoy us. Why would I stay when I know it can't be fixed? We've played this game so many times already..." Trailing off, she pulled her hand away from mine, beginning to fidget.
She steeled herself, and nodded. Declaring the end, she finally brought her pain-stricken eyes upwards to face mine. "Look. It's over. Goodbye, James." She stood up, her blouse flapping in the breeze, and offered her hand.
She wants me to shake her hand? After she dumped me?... Well, leave it to Caroline to handle a delicate situation poorly. I stood, and met her eyes, taking her hand. "It was a pleasure. Truly. I wish you luck in all future endeavors." What in the world was I saying? Shouldn't I be crying too? What about the last 2 years; what about the dozens of other happy dates at the park?
I couldn't believe I was actually experiencing a dramatic breakup. My mind struggled to find the right thing to say: I could respond with an insult, I could contest her declaration, or...
I settled on a feeling. One I had felt before, I was fairly familiar with it --- it had helped me through many other rough times in the past. I ought to handle it maturely, I felt. That's what will leave everyone the happiest. No point in adding to the pile of drama.
I'm strong. I'll make it through this.
A sign of encouragement, an uncontrollably hopeful smile grew on my face. "I understand. I know you'll find someone perfect for you. I'm glad we met." I meant it. I felt no melancholy, the traditional heartbreak of relationships not ailing my mind.
She sniffled. "I'm glad I met you, too."
"We'll still be friends! Don't worry about this. Get back out there and find the right one!" I grinned. She'd meet someone. Someone who really makes her happy. Besides, my life didn't revolve around her, anyway. I'll live my life, and she'll live hers.
"I'll do my best." She smiled back, weakly. "I guess I'll have to hit the club scene up solo again, huh," she thought out loud to herself. With that, she turned high heel and began down the asphalt path through the grove, away from me. I heard her begin crying once more as I watched her walk away for the last time.
She was out of my life. Strangely, I was okay with it. I felt no resentment, no sadness, no self-pity. I knew, somehow, that I'd be okay, in the end.
-----
This was my first prompt! I wrote in on mobile. Thanks for reading.
EDIT: Fixed some grammar. | Well, this isn't so bad. I get to help all these people, and bonus, I don't even need a face mask.
Another guy sneezed on me, and I didn't even feel it. It may be mundane, but with this, I will save lives!
Unless, of course, I am shot, not immune to that. | 2017-08-06T13:24:50 | 2017-08-06T13:13:41 | 407 | 27 |
[WP] You finally track down a group of demons just as they perform a ritual to summon something far worse. As the last demon lies dying on the ground you take a sigh of relief that you managed to stop them in time. Grinning, the demon looks at you and says, ”You didn’t stop us. You’re here.” | I shot it again, out of reflex. The grinning face disintegrated into fine pulp, flesh blasted away from yellow bone. Another corpse spoke up and I whirled. One hand raised my axe, but nothing terribly menacing presented itself. Instead, the right half of a torso had begun breathing again, the right half of the head that went with it grinning.
"What the fuck?" I said.
"You came." said the head I'd just shot. "We're so glad you could make it."
"Shit." I said, mostly because I had just realized that pieces of demon were scattered on all sides, as well as smeared onto various parts of me. I hoped that giblets couldn't reanimate. "I thought you were dead."
"No." Another demon said. It was standing up and sticking one tentacle back on. "Quite the opposite."
"So this is a revenge thing?" I asked.
"Yessssssssssssss" Hissed a severed snake head.
"Sort of." said the first headless demon. He was smearing the sagging flaps of his face back on and still smiling. He stuck his head back on the body I assumed it'd come off of and stood up. "We wanted to thank you."
"Why?" I asked. I was wondering if I could get to the grenade belt in my van. It'd have to escape from the ring of demon bits and make a sprint for it. I could probably kneecap a few demons, but my aim wasn't amazing with long range.
"You've been doing a wonderful job." The grinning demon said.
"Thanks." I said. It stepped towards me and I axed it in the hip. It's pelvis caved in and it stumbled down. I pistol whipped its head back off, sprung over the sagging torso, and sprinted. A huge leathery wing came up and caught me, scooping me up like a kitten on a blanket. A huge grinning goat's head stared down at me. Teeth grew from it's head in the shape of a crown, and fans protruding from its lips glistened in the moonlight.
I went limp, helpless in the huge wing, mind blank in terror. The giant goat head spoke. "You've got us confused." It said. "We're not trying to hurt you. We're trying to thank you." If I hadn't dropped the axe, I'd cut right through the wing and jump to my death. "You've been doing us a real favor. Demons sometimes get tired of the underworld and escape up here for a while. They know what'll happen if they come back, so they hide here in the mortal plane. Until someone kills it. Then the soul comes back down and we've got the little guy again."
A snake's tongue darted out of the goat mouth and flicked at the air. "You've been cleaning them up for us. We wanted to throw you a little party." The huge wing tilted and angled me down so I could see a large gazebo I hadn't noticed earlier. There was a picnic table set up with chairs and kegs of beer spaced every few feet. The wing brought me back up to the goat head and I winced in fear.
The head said, "Sorry about the whole summoning farce there. A few of the lads heard about how brutal your methods are, and I have to say that I'm at least very impressed."
I heard the headless demon call up from below. "Top notch work!"
"I'll go set you down over there." The goat head said. I heard the giant demon's thunderous footsteps as it walked over and gently deposited me in the head chair. I sat there, overwhelmed by confusion, until the other demons had put themselves mostly back together and ambled over. They all sat around me and the giant demon loomed over at the other end of the table. At some point, a skeletal hand put a mug of beer in my hand and the night turned into a blur.
What I do remember is ending the night with a demon crying into my lap about how much he loved the sound of whipping someone with their own entrails. When I woke up the next morning, I found three winning lottery tickets shoved into my pocket. Two were for dates twenty and forty years into the future, but one was good for that night's draw. I used the money to start up my own demon hunting business around an active hell-portal. Every time we sent a demon back to hell, a few suit-cases of cash wound up on our doorstep. I retired once I cashed in that twenty year ticket. Last I heard, the guys are still going strong and thinking of adding locations on two other hell-portals. | I had lived life here on Earth for 31 years.
I’d like to think that in that time I’ve evolved, as a human. Like most, I’d had moments of “call to the void”, as well as thoughts of “hmm I wonder what would happen if I unprovoked punched or killed this random individual in front of me.”
I’ve also had thoughts about the beyond. What would heaven be like? If I went to hell, I’d totally have company because my friends are just as fucked up in the head as I am.
I couldn’t have been prepared for what came. Demons. I would have thought I would be. I love sci fi shows. The Walking Dead. Supernatural. Dr. Who. I even loved all medieval and mythological stories.
But what came the night of Friday last, as much as it seemed like a movie or tv show was not. It was something different. It was real.
I tried to remember everything I could from folklore and non-fiction writing and filmography, but only instinct kicked in.
I grabbed my machete, which I bought for trimming branches while camping, and took to the streets.
I found a circle of demons, presumably summoning something far more dark then what lay before me. I summoned all my courage and said “Fuck it” for once I’m going to stand for something greater than myself and fight this undeniable evil.
I surprised myself. Every swing, every dodge was almost rehearsed. I remembered the mercy I never showed in every video game I’d ever played and conquered each and every foe that laid before me.
It was almost biblical the way that I moved, the way that they fell.
What I hadn’t expected was the last foe. For as it lay beneath my feet, black blood flowing from the freshly severed limbs of my my dull yet somehow mystified machete, he looked up and said words I will never forget. “You didn’t stop us, you’re here.”
| 2018-07-01T19:13:14 | 2018-07-01T18:25:25 | 256 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Flam, a plump little man, looked down at his bleeding body. Stabbed. In the back. An actual backstab! Those had been out of vogue for at least fifty years. The Assassin's Guild would hear of this. He looked up at the imposing figure beside him, it's billowing black cloak hanging on a skeletal frame. "So it's a game, yeah. For my life?"
"NOT CHESS." Death answered. "I CAN NEVER REMEMBER HOW ALL THE PIECES MOVE."
"Oh you know I prefer games of chance." Flam grinned, swaggering forward and fishing an old coin out of his pocket. "A gambler in life, a gambler in death. What do you say old pal, another flip?"
"YOU TIME HAS LONG COME. YOU SHOULD MOVE ON. THERE ARE RULES."
Flam had often been described as spineless, but now, actually sans spine, he felt a chill go down his. Death had always been a friendly sort. Morbid, but at the end of the day just a man doing a job. This tone was new, and frightening.
"Hey now, you have to give me a chance." He chuckled, the sound catching in his throat, and held up the old coin. "Fair's fair, right?"
Death stepped forward and a fell wind buffeted Flam's ethereal body. "I HAVE GIVEN MANY CHANCES. ONLY ONE IS DEMANDED." Then a long moment of silence, quieter than a tomb, before Death spoke again, "BUT. WHAT IS ONE MORE. YOU CANNOT ALWAYS WIN."
Flam would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had lungs. "That's the spirit pal!" He readied the coin, making a great show of apprehension.
"IN THE AIR."
"Of course, of course." Flam nodded. "Can't cheat you."
With a flick of his thumb Flam sent the coin whirling up into the air. Death's hood shifted as his gaze tracked the glittering coin.
"Heads."
The coin came down flat on the ground, showing off the shiny bald head of some king who died two hundred years before. Flam grinned and, after giving Death time to get a clear look at the coin, bent down to pick it up.
Death was faster, snatching the coin away in the blink of an eye. He rolled it between two bony fingers, studying both sides with an avid gaze.
Flam felt his heart stop, which is an especially frightening feeling when it is already stopped. He put a ghostly hand to his chest.
"BOTH FACES ARE HEADS." Death said.
Flam began to stammer. "W-well, you see..."
"YOU HAVE CHEATED ME. FOR CENTURIES." Death's gaze rose to meet Flam's.
"I-I can explain if you just..." Flam put up his hands and staggered back.
"THIS IS AGAINST THE RULES. THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES." Death strode forward, the fury of a thousand storms gathering around him.
"But I did call it..." Flam pointed out in desperation.
"UNLESS."
"Unless?"
Flam couldn't see Death's face in the shadows of that dark hood, but he sense a dreadful smile growing there. The sort of smile that gives psycho clowns nightmares and makes dentists shudder with horror.
"U-unless?" He asked again. And then there was darkness.
Flam awoke some time later. He felt warm and his heart was beating steadily. He tried to laugh, to give out a happy prayer to whatever gods were watching, put a curious sound came out instead.
"Meow."
Looking himself over Flam saw fur and paws. A tail swished near his rear. The buildings around stood huge and imposing over him.
A skeletal figure approached. Flam cowered back in fear as Death crouched down and scritched his widdle earsies.
"THE RULES ARE NOW SATISFIED. YOU HAVE TWO MORE." | "Call it" Death said, the coin twirling between his bony fingers.
"Do we really need to keep going through this charade?" I asked.
How long had it been now? 500 lives? The first time I went through, I expected reincarnation, but life... or I guess Death, was not so kind. I got to relive life from the point I chose... but with enough randomization that foreknowledge was all but useless. It got hard to keep track without the year changing like it should...
"Call it" he said again, tossing the coin into the air.
"Tails" I sigh.
We both look, and of course the coin falls down tails side up.
"Choose". Talkative as always.
"89" I reply. "I grow tired of our game".
5 minutes later I am awake. It was a lucky turn of events that I died peacefully in my sleep on the day of my 89th birthday.
"Call it".
"Sideways!'
A smirk forms on his face as he flips the coin.
...
...
"Call it".
This is Hell.
| 2016-09-23T09:58:51 | 2016-09-23T08:47:36 | 97 | 15 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered. | “You’re a cheat, a fraud!” he shouted, having ducked under my line of security holding off the adoring crowds. He shoved me rudely backwards, and I felt him spit in my face.
The hall went silent, and a thousand camera flashes lit up as my fans started snapping away. Far more common in the early days, not so much now, it had been some time since the last heckler attempted to disrupt my services.
“What’s your name?” I asked, after security had tackled him to the ground, holding him in an arm lock. He stared back defiantly, murder in his eyes.
“I hate people like you,” he seethed, “you prey on the gullible, exploit their dreams, crush their hopes! I hope you burn in hell!”
In the past, I would have begged for him to give me a chance, let me prove myself. I would have trotted out recordings of the precious few times I had successfully applied my powers, shown him that I really could convince people to do the extraordinary, once I managed to persuade them to even try. I would have persisted until my throat was raw, my knees were bruised.
Now, it was much easier. I just had to let him see for himself.
“Who amongst you is afflicted? Who can I help today?” I said, turning to address the crowds. My hands were raised, my voice boomed across the hall.
A hundred, two hundred hands shot up in the air, as applause rang out. The first in line, a young girl in a wheelchair, rolled up to me. I wasn’t a doctor, but I didn’t need to be one to infer from her withered, twisted legs what she was seeking today.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Grace Natterly, please, please heal me!”
I held her hands, closed my eyes. I felt the rest of the hall slip into a similar reverential mood, and faint murmurings filled the air. Prayer wasn’t exactly necessary, but I let them believe what they wanted. The only disturbance in that whirlpool of peace, was the disbeliever who still struggled on the carpet.
“By the power vested in me, Grace Natterly, I compel you to heal yourself! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up now!”
And she did.
She struggled at first, unused to the motions, then I felt the familiar tingle as my powers took over. No one else could see, but I saw the dancing motes of light swirl in the air, cling to her legs like fireflies. I heard the familiar crick of bones straightening, growing, and I saw the flesh fatten, bulk up with muscle. The deformities melted away, leaving only a completely unremarkable set of legs.
“I… I am healed…” she said, finally, quietly. She was flexing her toes, still swimming in that short flood of euphoria, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
The cheers erupted. Her family rushed up to her in celebration, and the others in line pressed forward, hungry, impatient, hopeful.
I turned to my detractor, who had fallen silent. The fight had sapped out of him, and a curious blankness covered his face. I waved away the security holding him down, then leaned in close.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head slowly, eyes wide.
“All you need, is a little bit of faith,” I said, smiling as I held out my hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | It's strange to see a great catastrophe
And stand serene and calm to watch it grow.
My power's one that very few can see
And fewer still will ever even know.
When chaos reigns supreme, I find someone
Convince them each that they can save the day.
I work them up and off they surely run
While on the sidelines I am forced to stay.
The crisis solved, the news commends their deeds
But mention not their source of courage true.
So yet again I simply sow the seeds
And wish that I could be a hero too.
My powers cannot change the way I feel
Because I know for sure they are not real. | 2017-06-21T13:38:19 | 2017-06-21T10:35:45 | 69 | 39 |
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all | I was merely an observer- a "recorder", someone who was there to record history while it was in the making. I didn't *have* a super power- it seemed my fate was merely to watch those who did.
I was content with it, for the most part- only when I saw someone in need, someone in danger, would I feel the pang of misery that comes from being helpless.
Currently, the most significant villain, by far, was facing off against our most renowned hero. The odd thing was- I was watching them up close, something no one else had ever been courageous enough to do- and I was having trouble telling them apart.
The villain- his name was Rupert Kinmock, also known as Aspire. He stood at nearly seven feet tall, with a lean and strong frame- yet he was practically dwarfed by the hero, Neuro, whose real name wasn't public information. Neuro was a mountain of a man- so large that people speculated he wasn't truly human.
Neuro's powers were very simple- any force that was sent his way, he could counter it. If three thousand pounds of steel were dropped on his head, he could produce three thousand and one pounds of resistance- anything that made it within his 'radius', he could stop.
Aspire had some kind of telekinetic ability- with his mind alone, he was hurling rubble at Neuro, hoping to overwhelm his defenses. I could overhear them, hidden as I was behind a boulder- and occasionally, I could even risk taking a look.
One voice rang out, "Your days of trickery are *done*! The public needs to know your true face!" That must have been Neuro- I hadn't heard him speak until now. Chills went down my spine- this man was a true shield for our society.
A deep, guttural voice responded. "I don't know *how* you learned what you know, but it won't even be of help. I lose nothing from you gaining knowledge."
Crashing noises- I took a quick look.
Neuro was nowhere to be seen. Aspire stood in the center, crouched low, preparing for Neuro's inevitable strike- how odd, Neuro didn't have any offensive capability until he was fed an attack to start with.
I hid again. More sound of struggle- and one of them gasped in pain.
"I learned simply by *observing*, fool. Your guild of heroes- there is a trail for every secret misdeed, every half-written report has a missing reporter- and everyone who gets close to you winds up *dead*!"
"That is meaningless." The deeper voice responded, breathing heavily. "The public has nothing but adoration for me. They do not look to see, because they *do not want to see*- just the same is the root of my power."
I was thoroughly confused. Which was which, again?
I peeked once more- and was floored by the changed scene.
Instead of one villain and one hero, I saw what appeared to be *two* villains. Aspire was there, of course- but Neuro was nowhere to be seen, and someone else- someone with a bleeding wound near their gut- was facing off against him. This one was not the tall, tan, handsome, blonde-haired hero we knew. He was bald, with a cruel look to his eyes. Where had Neuro gone?
"So that's how it works, eh, Neuro?" Aspire laughed. "Even your name gives a hint to your real ability- you show what people want to see, and that is rarely- if ever- the unpleasant truth."
Neuro scowled. "It has worked for over a decade, in the public eye, as my reputation grew, so did my image. It is *impenetrable*... except, I suppose, to you villains."
Aspire hurled a stray iron pipe towards Neuro, who dodged it by mere inches. "I don't think you have the right to call us the 'villains' and more, Neuro... we're really more like anti-heroes, at this point."
"You realize that you've lost this already, Aspire. Even if I fall, my duped comrades will avenge me, and the truth about my empire will remain obscured by my power, long after my death."
Aspire sneered, and a large cinder block came hurtling towards the back of Neuro's head- this one, he did not dodge.
In an explosion of bloody mist, Neuro was no more. Aspire stood over him, his expression neutral.
As he turned to leave, he made eye contact with me- as I had been frozen in shock this whole time. "Oh, good, we have a witness-" He began.
Neuro, somehow undamaged, lunged at Aspire, sinking a knife into his back.
Aspire gasped inaudibly, pain coloring his expression.
"Just the same, Aspire, as I am expected to win, to live- so shall it be. *They see what they want to see*."
I managed to duck, as Neuro began to mutilate Aspire's body. I hadn't been seen.
So this was the true face of the "Hero's Guild". It was all based on the powers of one man, and his illusions. How many of the other heroes were simply thugs, sheltered by his power? How could we even kill him, if the world thought he was alive?
I had no answers- but I knew that it was now on me- a powerless historian- to expose Neuro to the whole world.
I began to sneak away, as quietly as possible- until I noticed that Neuro was boring holes into the back of my head with his gaze.
----------------------------
**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you for your kind words, upvotes and awards <3 I'm gonna do a Pt.II on my subreddit, I'll update when it's ready! | Ever since the Great Event, people have been developing powers when they reach puberty. It opened up a whole new field of study for everyone and changed the world in numerous ways.
Scientists and psychologists spent a decade, at least, trying to find a pattern to who gets which powers. And they more or less have it down pat, I’d say, since it tends to happen that people in certain fields always have the same type of powers; no one forced them to choose the job they did. But they gravitate towards those jobs anyway. The people who can take away pain with a touch, tend to become Doctors, Psychologists, or religious figures; those with the power of the sun in their hands tend to become gardeners, or they get jobs at the tanning salons.
Some powers are a bit more complicated than that, some people who can cause pain with just a touch become criminals, and others go to work at the hospitals, trying to see if they can rehabilitate the disabled.
A pair of twins who turned out to have electricity at their fingertips went opposite ways, one of them got a job with the local mobster as an enforcer, and the other works as a defibrillator, helping people with heart problems at the hospital.
It wasn’t really a surprise when people tried their hand at becoming either superheroes or supervillains; who could be surprised that the person who can fly, the one with super strength, and the one who got super speed teamed up? They tried to take the Justice League name but got sued for copyright infringement, so they became the Society for Men of Heroism, but personally, I don’t think S.Me.H. really rolls of the tongue that well.
What *was* a bit of a surprise was when the local supervillain didn’t seem to be using any powers, at all. He could fly, but used a jet pack for that, which honestly, I didn’t know was possible in real life. It wasn’t until one of his allies got injured on the field that we found out what his power is; and boy, were we all shocked when he put his hand on his ally and healed him in seconds.
The press had a field day for weeks over a super villain with the power to heal. How could that be possible? After all the studies done by scientists and psychologists which said otherwise. Then we found out his identity, and it all became more clear; he was a doctor whose wife and kids were killed by accident when S.Me.H. was just getting started. They tried to stop a car accident and just made it worse; who could have imagined that people with powers and no training could make a mess of things, right?
In the end, we had to throw out all the books; scientists and psychologists were wrong, we don’t get our powers based on how naturally good we are, and powers don’t force us to do anything we don’t want to. Super powers can’t change human nature. We’re all either good or evil by our own choice, and we all have the power to make the world a worse or better place, no matter what our super power is. | 2020-06-15T11:09:28 | 2020-06-15T09:50:13 | 1,296 | 363 |
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