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] You were forced to attend an interview for a job you do not want, but, no matter how hard you try to screw up the interview, the interviewer just becomes more keen to hire you. | Silence resounded from every corner of the room. Such a quiet place to work, Sam thought. Though he may need to suffer through this interview, Sam took comfort in the knowledge that he would need not endure such silence every day.
The room itself was plain enough. No larger than Sam’s own bedroom, the walls were bare, and the furnishings sparse. A thick, crude table of oak separated the uncomfortable chair in which Sam sat from the identical chair where the gruff, middle-aged man sat glaring at him. A lamp in the far corner of the room, behind this man, abated only a little of the darkness, leaving the man’s face mostly concealed in shadow. In this gloom, Sam could only make out the man’s broad shoulders, his square head, and, most significantly, the absence of a left hand. Sam marveled at the size of this man, and speculated that he must have had a more physical sort of career before heading this newspaper.
The silence that had fostered Sam’s stream of thought was broken abruptly when the man cleared his throat with a rough growl.
“Mr. Clark?” the man asked.
Sam prepared to reply, but it seemed this was no question.
“I am to understand that you are a writer?”
Sam shrugged. Perhaps if I merely keep silent, they’ll have no reason to hire me. Sam only desired to write freely, but his mother had forced this interview upon him when it had been over three months since his last royalties had trickled in.
“You are the author of ‘The Final Storm’?”
Sam nodded hesitantly, confused. “How- well- it is not finished. There is only an incomplete manuscript at my house...” Sam’s voice trailed off until silence had filled the room once again.
“This is a very invigorating work, Mr. Clark.”
Sam suddenly wished there were fewer shadows present to conceal this man’s expression. His tone was in some ways unnerving.
“To be quite honest, Mr. uh, sir...it’s really not spectacular in any regard. I- uh, am in reality quite a mediocre writer. I-“
The man held up the stump that had once been his left hand.
“No, no Mr. Clark, I think I like this work of yours.” A small light seemed to glint off the man’s right eye for a moment, and it seemed to Sam that a smile may have flashed somewhere in the shadows that were his face. “The story is of a quality we rarely see. It seems to contain more emotion and truth than one typically finds in such works.”
This interview was too full of praise for Sam’s taste. He needed to end this interview soon. “Really, sir, to put it bluntly, the story is a piece of rubbish. I’d imagine any high school student could write a more gripping story in their general English course.”
Again, the man seemed to smile slightly from within his shadow. This annoyed Sam. If he was offered a position here, he would have to take it. If he didn’t, his mom would likely force him out of the house. Sam had no desire to write for a stupid local newspaper.
The man sat in contemplation for some amount of time, scratching the stump of his left hand. “The villain in this story of yours, Mr. Clark, is very well conceived. We need more of such ability here. Our current writers are particularly drab.”
Sam hesitated. “Well, the villain is actually based off of a real person. I wouldn’t have the creativity to create such a character. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of-”
The man held up his stump again. “Yes, I have heard of the Lumberjack.” He laughed a rough, chilling laugh. “You seem to have done much research on this man.”
The interviewer was a friend of a friend of Sam’s mother, and, as such, it was bothersome that he knew so much of Sam’s incomplete novel. “I only need a few more weeks to finish,” he had told his mom, and yet she had still forced this interview upon him.
“Can you remind me, Mr. Clark, of how this Lumberjack operates?”
“Uh, well he is a failure of a writer who takes out his frustration on publishers who reject him.”
“And how so, Mr. Clark?” The man’s stump twitched slightly. He seemed to be grinning again, wider than before. Sam found it disconcerting that the Lumberjack was also missing a hand, but remembered that, fortunately, it was in fact his right hand, not the left.
“Well, uh, he uses his one good hand to saw off the hands of the publisher, and then-“
A sharp knock on the door behind Sam cut him off.
“Sam, honey, that man from the publishing company is here to see you,” called some woman. Sam remembered now. The publishing company that had rejected his most recent, futile effort at a novel. The publishing company that Sam had pitifully begged to meet with in person.
The man in the mirror laughed. For the first time, Sam noticed a hand saw on the table.
“Tell him to come in,” Sam called back. | “So, why do you think you deserve to work for us?” The interviewer asked me.
“I don’t,” I replied with cruel honesty.
The bald man, in his forties, laughed at me. I showed him a muffled expression.
“You seem like a jokester! Exactly the kind of a person we aim for!”
“I don’t want this job, you know…” Again, I need to give him the cruel honesty.
His laugh resonated through the room, once again. My face was baffled with weirdness.
“Nobody wants this job! You have just become one of my favourites!”
“Could we just get to the end, I’m feeling too lazy right now.” Another, subtle way of saying “Please, for the love of God, don’t hire me.”
The interviewer’s face was put into deep thought, as I waited for him to finish his incredibly boring ritual. That didn’t come; after about ten minutes, I was just pissed off, and since I don’t need this job, I needed to give it to him hard and cold.
“You know what, either speak right now or I’m leaving this wretched interview.”
The man stopped his thinking, stood up and yelled something I didn’t quite grasp. Someone entered the room, a tall young blond woman, gave him a piece of paper. He sat on his chair, once again, and started talking:
“You… Excellent. We need a person who wouldn’t take anyone’s shit! You are the most perfect candidate I’ve ever seen in my entire life!”
My eyebrow twitched in annoyance, I sighed. I decided to play with him, in the hopes of getting kicked out.
“Give me the most paying position with the least amount of work, I want to the top of this company.” Surely, this should piss him off.
His eyes widened, his jaw was left hanging. A tall, black and bald person entered the interviewing room, speaking with his rough, manly voice:
“Son, you are the perfect person to inherit my company and my riches.”
After that, I was given, for some reason, the ownership of this company, as well as a few billions of dollars. The person, the tall black man, was dying of cancer and wanted to give his fortunes to someone. It seemed he chose an interview like this.
I’ll have to thank my mother later, to think that her meddling in my life and controlling it, turned out to make be a billionaire… I couldn’t even imagine it in my wildest dreams!
| 2017-08-29T09:34:17 | 2017-08-29T09:16:02 | 77 | 24 |
[WP] A serial killer is called for jury duty. At the trial, he finds out that the person on trial has been falsely accused for the serial killer's crimes. | There's no way this guy could use a hammer to smash a girl’s teeth out while she screams for mercy. The way he slumps in the defendant’s chair writing notes on a legal pad tells you that he probably doesn’t even own a hammer much less having ever swung one with prejudice.
When the notice that I had been called for jury duty came I actually laughed out loud. It's the little things like this that make life whimsical. I assumed I would be let go right away or I would sit and read a book and never be called, but through a series of events I've found myself on the jury for the guy who was arrested and charged with my crimes. I find myself very curious. I know they have the wrong guy, but I’m curious to see what evidence they have against him. Regardless of the evidence, I'll do my best to get the jury to find him not guilty. He shouldn’t be put in jail for my crimes. After all, I have some strange desires, but I’m not a monster.
The trial trudged on with scientists and experts testifying about complex evidence. I could see my fellow jurors fading out during most of this testimony. Me? I had some interest in the evidence, but for me the star of the show was the lead prosecutor. She had straight brown hair, blue eyes, and sharp features. With her high cheekbones, cute nose, and plump lips she could have been a model. She was clearly smart, and aggressive. In her suits she looked very professional. As nice as the entire package was, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her gleaming white teeth. At first I thought she must have veneers, but eventually I realized she just takes very good care of them and likely had braces as a kid.
During the closing arguments as she made her passionate plea for justice, I couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. I needed to touch those teeth.
Luckily, my work in the jury room wasn’t too difficult. The evidence was complex, but didn’t seem linked to the defendant (obviously, because it linked directly to me). After a few votes and a little debate we returned a verdict of not guilty.
Two nights later I found myself squatting in the shadows behind a garbage can. Her car pulled into the driveway and with the push of a button her garage door opened up. She pulled in and as the garage door came down I slipped from the shadows into the garage. I crouched as I moved along the side of the car. She shut the car off then made a quick call on her cell phone before gathering her things and heading for the door. I was on her like a plague on a quiet countryside. The prosecutor let out a short scream before I put my hand over her mouth and forced her to the ground. As I sat on top of her she thrashed and resisted, but when I raised the hammer her eyes went wide and she was suddenly struck still with fear. The only noise in the room as I brought the hammer down was that of the impact of metal on flesh and enamel.
A couple days later I went into the break room at work. I poured a cup of coffee and flipped through the newspaper that was strewn out on the table. The front page lead story was about the tragic murder of the city’s lead prosecutor. The man who had just been found not guilty had been brought in again for questioning. This time I had left a bit of evidence at the scene that would not bode well for him. This time I won’t be able to help him.
*edit. If anyone is interested you can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/jeffrust I will update whenever I write new stuff.
| My life to this point has been, in a word, shit. My wife left me. I'm working a dead-end job in the middle of nowhere and my boss treats me like the scum of the earth. Even my recent trip to Costa Rica didn't cheer me up. I think that's the point when I...unravelled.
I'm a fairly composed guy on the surface. I mean, my "career" calls for composure and tact. That's why I figured no one would suspect me, Toby Flenderson, of all these horrific murders that have been commonly referred to as the Scranton Strangler.
As I sit here in the courtroom, watching a man called George Howard Skub on trial for my crimes, I wonder if Michael Scott has been correct all this time. Am I so awful? Will I be able to put this man behind bars, knowing he is innocent?
*The Office theme song plays* | 2015-05-31T16:08:31 | 2015-05-31T15:18:52 | 259 | 58 |
[WP] In a Supernatural society, everyone is born bearing a name such as “The One Who Dances.” or “The One Who Flies.” This gives people an unnaturally strong ability in their named field. Your name, however, is simply “The One.” | From birth we have all been marked with a title. Peculiar runes written on our foreheads by some mysterious all knowing force. The runes fade by ones 4th birthday, but their meaning affects the rest of your natural life.
These titles normally take the form of describing what one is good at, and almost always start with "the one who..." My best friend for instance is Mark, the One Who Listens, and has made quite a good living as a mental health therapist. My mother is Catherine , the One Who Builds, and she's worked her whole life as a carpenter. Best in the provence.
My title however is a bit different. When I was born the doctor priest thought there must have been a mistake, and poured over the ancient records, only to find that none such title had been given in the past. However in the end, he had no other explanation, and my parents were informed that my title was Eugene, The One.
When you hear that, you may be thinking of fictional figures such as Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and super man. But you would be thinking of The ***Chosen*** One. People have been given that title, before, and every one of them has died defending the large amounts of people, or even the human, race from disaster.
But no. I'm just "Eugene, the One". "The one" as in a girl going to her father and saying "dad, I think I've found *the one*."
Thats right. My "skill" is that, by some strange mechanism, a large majority of people attracted to men fall romantically in love with me.
Now you may be saying "well that's amazing! You could sleep with whoever you want!" For one, no. The key word in that last sentence was "***romantically***" by the time I got into highschool I had had so many people confess they had crushes on me, ask me out, heck, even discover their sexual orientation because of me that I knew what my power was. And I tried to use it like any other horny 13 year old boy would. But the thing is, people were so ***romantically*** attracted to me that sex was the last thing on their minds. Even the most promiscuous girls and guys would claim that what we had was "too special to ruin it with sex" or that they wanted to wait until marriage, or a whole slew of other reasons to keep our relationship ship strictly outside the bounds of sex.
For two, in a world where most people go into an occupation that their perfect at, no one wants to hire anyone who is *less than* perfect. I've had 2 jobs my entire adult life, both minimum wage, and I was fired from both, and replaced by "Jesica, the One Who Exchanges Goods For Money" and "Trevor, the One Who Cleans floors".
Then there's the issue of how it turns out when I do find someone I'm willing to spend the rest of my life with. There are SO many complications here. Firstly, I can never tell whether someone is attracted to me just because of my power, or if they are actually attracted to me for me. I don't catch on quickly. I was 3 divorces in before I started asking "what do you like about me?" On the first date. Most people reply with something along the lines of "there's just something about you..." At which point I know they aren't the one. And most people who are actually attracted to me for some actual reason, I tend not to be attracted to. Eventually I just found someone with a high-paying job and married for money. Not like I could ever hope to make much of a living, right? Ive only had sex with my wife once. Surprise surprise, she isn't attracted to me "that way" so we have an open marriage. She has no problem finding people to sleep with, she's beautiful. As for me. With my "abilities" even when I'm with a paid prostitute I have to constantly remind my sexual partner why they're with me, and that I'd rather have sex than talk, or stare into each other's eyes. On the upside I normally get a much lower price since I was just "such a pleasure to be around".
So yep that's my life "Eugene, the One" now can we please get back to it? I haven't had sex in a month. | I can remember the day as clear as anything. There I was sitting around my other crib mates, all waiting to get our name chosen.
“Preston Vantelie!” The speaker barked.
I didn’t know Preston that well, he was very tall for his age and everyone thought he was older than ten, but now he walks to the chooser to get his name.
Preston sits down on a stool, and the chooser approaches him, “The one who cures.”
I was shocked because that seems very specific to medicine, and that boy has the motor functions of a slug with it’s hands cut off, but whatever the chooser says.
“Valory Gimfoil!”
I hardly knew her as well, but she showed from an early age an aptitude to cook. Now her slender build is standing and walking up to the chooser to be named.
“She who leads”
That title is well known. It’s said that almost 1000 of our societies’ commodores had that title. Obviously there is some murmur and admiration in the crowd after wards but everyone settles down.
“Julian Anthrope!”
That’s me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my robe and get up to go to the stool. Along the way my gaze comes over some of my other crib mates, until I arrive in front of the chooser.
He signals for me to sit down and then stares right into me.
It feels like forever, and that’s because it was. Quickly disbelief covers his face, and he keeps staring murmuring something under his breathe, “No, it can’t be, not for almost a 1000 years.”
He gulps, pauses, and turns to announce,”The, The One.” | 2018-12-21T17:42:14 | 2018-12-21T12:07:49 | 49 | 31 |
[WP] Write a conversation between a number of characters, one of whom is a liar. Make it hard to tell who the liar is. | The lights returned to normal as Raj gawked at the body on the floor, looking to the other people standing around it.
“Fess up,” he said. “Who killed Tom?”
Every shifted glances to their neighbors, the air thick with skepticism.
“It wasn’t me,” Mary said. “I hated the bastard but I wouldn’t have killed him, at least not with potential witnesses in the room.”
Jordan snickered, shaking his head.
“You’re such a liar. I saw you arguing with him last night. If anyone is the prime suspect, it’s you.”
“Oh, because you two have the best past, right?” Mary asked, crossing her arms.
Laura pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before speaking. After taking a long drag, she expelled tendrils of smoke.
“Look,” she said, flicking ashes to the side. “Someone in this room has to be the murderer. I just want to figure it out before I’m the next one.”
Mary swiveled her head, her eyes aflame with anger.
“And how do we know you’re not the killer? A woman who sleeps with a married man wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. You probably did it for the money.”
“Look here,” Laura barked. “You need to let go of the past. Tom came to me because he was sick of your bitching. And surprise, you’ve nagged him to death. Why don’t you confess so we can send your ass to jail?”
Mary clenched her fists, her jaw tight. Raj stepped forward to stop the inevitable fight. One dead person was enough for the night.
“Can you two not go at each other’s throat, if only for a minute? We all just lost a friend here.”
“Not a friend to all of us,” Jordan added.
Raj shot his a glance before continuing.
“We may have all had our differences with Tom at one point or another but he didn’t deserve to die. And until someone admits that they did it, we’re not going to get anywhere.”
Laura inhaled her cigarette once again, blowing a puff of smoke into Raj’s face.
“What makes you so calm and collected? If anything, that makes me question if you’re the killer.”
Raj stumbled back, shocked.
“Because Tom is my oldest and closest friend. What motivation would I have to kill him?”
“Jealousy, of course,” Jordan suggested. “He had the perfect life – money, fame, and more – while you had to watch from the sidelines. Envy ate at you until one day, you snapped and killed him.”
“That’s preposterous!” Mary interjected. “I’ve known Raj for a long time and he’s –”
The lights flickered. A scream followed.
In the few seconds that it took to happen, Raj was barely able to comprehend the scene in front of him. Mary’s eyes bulged, her hands stained red as they tried to cover the slash across her throat. A sickening gurgle came from her mouth, frothy blood-filled salvia spilling forth. As she collapsed, the lights went out again.
There was a scuffle, if he heard right. Then someone grunted – a man, no doubt.
When the lights returned, Jordan’s chest was sliced open, his shirt ripped to shreds. His face was twisted in pain, as if unable to register that he was dying. Like Mary, he fell to the ground. The lights dimmed.
As Raj eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Laura staring back at him, fear on her face. He watched her with care. Only he and she remained. She had to be the killer.
But when he opened his mouth to accuse her, she coughed, splattering blood across the white tile floor. She fell to the ground, revealing the butcher knife planted in her back.
Raj backed up to the wall. His mind reeling. In front of him, the bodies of his three friends laid out in front of him, their blood pooling into the center of the room.
Three?
Raj felt the prick of a knife in his side before he could react. He turned his head slowly to the side, well-aware of who his murderer was without looking. Laura was right. The killer was in the room but it was the person everyone last expected.
He opened his mouth, able to squeak out his parting words.
“Tom, why?”
His friend just frowned and shook his head.
“Sorry, mate. It had to be done.” | “I can feel the difference you know.” She tells me, placing her hand just below her rib cage. “Not right now, but at night when it gets real quiet. Just before I got sleep I can tell that the kidney you gave me is bigger than my own.”
The surgery had only been a week ago. She was still recovering. There were a lot of days where we just sat together, mentally digesting all that had transpired. Kidneys weren’t supposed to fail at our young age, and she was lucky that her husband just happened to be a match for her.
“Which kind of makes sense right? I mean, your kidney is bigger, healthier, and just all around different from mine. I saw the side by side picture from when they were doing the operation, and yours even has this little pink tinge to it that mine doesn’t.” I put my hand over top of hers and rubbed gently over the spot where my organ was inside her.
Some romantic texts were fond of saying things like ‘the two shall be one flesh’ and ‘their hearts beat as one’. Anatomic unity was something that was popular in cheesy romance novels. But in our case it was true. The kidneys are responsible for filtering the blood, so in a very real way my blood ran in her veins. We were, in a sense, of the same blood now.
I took her hand and placed it over the spot in my chest that was now missing an organ.
“It’s funny. I don’t feel the difference at all.”
Sidenote: I am a woman.
Edit: I bet reddit gold the first person to reply can't guess the liar. | 2015-04-10T08:14:58 | 2015-04-10T08:01:04 | 68 | 10 |
[WP] As it turns out, Hell has a healthy supply of scientists and engineers and is thus much more technologically advanced than is usually portrayed. | *Warning*: the last segment contains some graphic descriptions.
An inhuman shriek pierced the eternal night of Hell, waking Dr. Roberts with a start from his dreamless sleep. He pulled the covers tightly over his head, unwilling to face what waited in the shadows. As the echo of the shriek returned from the far wall of the cavern, the mathematical part of Herb Robert's mind told him the distance to the edge. The rest, though, resigned to the inevitable - in Hell, there is no escape.
"Even death doesn't end the office toil" Herb grumbled as he slid out of bed, and began to dress for work.
*************************************************************
Dr. Roberts never saw the demon lurking in the hallway until it was on him. Its hulking form bent over its goat-like legs, bringing the hideous misshapen head down almost to the level of Herb's own. Its huge jaw flexed, showing dozens of prehensile teeth.
"You can avoid me no longer" growled the creature. It reached forward with a clawed hand larger than Dr. Robert's head.
"Very well" squeaked Herb. No matter how many times he faced these creatures, he could never keep the fear completely out of his voice. He took a brown folder from the beast's outstretched hand, and exchanged it for a small vial. It's teeth arranged themselves into a cruel grin, and it slunk down the hall making far less noise than something its size should.
As he watched the creature go, Herb thanked whatever powers created this place that he had died after the secret to taming the demons had been found. They were tireless, relentless, greedy, and craved only one thing - the smell of human fear and suffering. But sixty years ago, one of the damned had realized this, and synthesized the relevant human pheromones. After that, the change from eternal torment to a transaction-based economy happened almost overnight. Not that it was ever *day* in Hell. The demons would never be humanity's friends, but they were excellent wage slaves.
Herb shook his head to clear it, then opened the folder to look at his own seemingly unending source of suffering - the monthly reports. The first half of the contents were the usual - interviews with the newly dead. They told the same story as last month: the living world was full of wars and neglect, with medical science beyond boner pills and trillion-dollar prescription drug deals moving at a snail's pace.
The second half was equally familiar, but unlike the feelings of mired dreams evoked by the interviews, this part never ceased to amaze him. Geothermal power from the sulfur lakes was well above expected output. The fungal crop harvest was in it's thirtieth straight month of surplus. The last of the cancers the demons could produce in the damned had finally been cured. Three diseases were still beyond treatment, but the reports said these were rare in the living world.
It still surprised Herb that Hell could have made such progress, when it was ostensibly full of the worst of humanity. But the gates to Heaven had been too tight, or the pit of Hell too loose; and the sins that could send you down the one-way highway were surprisingly slight. As for the rest, well, between the psychological knowledge of the demons, the resiliency of the damned, and a complete lack of ethical oversight on experiments, Hell's psychologists had made huge strides. They had practically taken apart and rebuilt the human psyche, and as a result they had treatments for half the mental problems of the worst of the damned.
It was time, then. Dr. Roberts made his way to the elevator, and keyed in his personal access code. Even this *new* Hell had secrets.
**************************************************************
The man on the table writhed under the administration's of Herb's knife. He'd been screaming so long the sound had become a part of the background of the room, like the wind or a persistent drip of water. The crackle of electricity sounded overhead, feeding down into wires clamped to the man's flayed flesh. Glowing fluids poured into his vivisected torso through a network of tubes, bloating and distorting the face and limbs, and causing his veins to glow and swell.
Sweat beaded on Dr. Robert's face as he made a final incision in the heart, and inserted the last remaining tube. As he slowly turned a screw valve, letting fluid flow, the screaming momentarily intensified. For a minute it hit a volume and pitch that seemed as inhuman as any demon - and then slowly subsided to heavy breathing.
In the near-silence and dim cavern light, Herb could see it - faintly, but it was there. A sparkling silver thread reached upwards from the exposed heart, and wound its way towards the cavern's ceiling. Herb's smile as he gazed on it was genuine, but exhausted. The mutilated man on the table croaked weakly, breaking the stillness of the moment:
"Did we do it?"
Herb stroked the man's hair gently. "Yes, Jim. Yes we did. Can you see it?"
"No" responded Jim in a whisper. "My eyes stopped about halfway in."
"I'm so sorry, Jim. I wish there had been another way... I..." Herb trailed off, choking on his emotions. For the first time since the procedure began, he was unable to look at his friend's body.
"I know" Jim tried to nod, but his neck was too swollen with glowing fluid. "I'm sorry too. But it'll all grow back, just like it always does down here. You're not half as sadistic as whoever built this place, letting us regrow to be tortured again. But today, I'm glad for it."
"So am I, old friend. This was the last step." Herb gazed along the silver cord, fixing his eyes at the point where it thinned to vanishing. "With this, we can finally do it. All our work here - the food, the psychology, the cures - we can use this to bridge the worlds and bring it to the living."
Jim tried to smile, but only half of his face worked. "I knew we could do it. We've cracked the gates of hell, and we'll set the horsemen loose - unlimited food, treatments for aggression, cures for disease, and tamed demons who will do unlimited work for easily manufactured chemicals. Armageddon is beginning - but I don't think the living are expecting *this*. | Past a certain point in time, the upper echelon of Hell realized something. With the massive influx of damned souls being taken in as humanity progressed to modernity, punishing them all became a wildly inefficient practice. There were only *so many* demons, and the humans kept increasing in number. *Eternal* punishment was becoming a lot more of a stretch than it was a thousand-odd years before.
The solution was, in effect, quite simple-- shifting their focus from physical to mental torture. Why create a pit of lava and staff it with demons when you could, with a bit more effort, create a machine of some sort to do it automatically? But then came another question. What sorts of machines and structures were able to inflict widescale mental torture on entire crowds of souls at a time?
The answer came in the late eighteen-hundreds. The rollercoaster. A creation that could cause anguish in dozens at a time, it just so happened that it fit the bill completely. That answer led to yet more problems, however. The demons had no idea how to construct them, nor the logistics behind such things in general. From there, an educational program was started, staffed by the souls of corrupt human professors, scientists, and engineers. A little over a hundred years later, what began as a means of torture slowly turned into...
---
"Hotdogs! Get'cher hotdogs, here!" shouted a barker, standing next to a food stand. "Guaranteed to be hotter than anything you've ever tasted!"
Flashing lights and neon colors. Cotton candy and similar food stalls, each with their own *terrifying* gimmick. Sometimes, you'd get a burger made with living ingredients, or cotton candy full of spider eggs that were about to hatch. All of the rides operated at a hundred-and-ten percent speed, just to scare people even more. Even the bumper cars were markedly *unsafe*. That was the park's whole gimmick-- how unsafe it all was.
It was probably why it did so well.
In Hell, there was no possible way for a soul to die again. You could fall off a two-hundred-thousand story building and just bounce. You could get decapitated and shove your head back on like nothing ever happened. Souls were pretty much indestructible, which made this sort of place perfect. A theme park that had no consequences. A place for souls and demons alike to torture themselves, and to keep the quota running. New rides were added monthly, and old ones were seemingly always made more dangerous over time.
Because of the emergence of things like this, there were almost no conventional methods of torture being used. Souls were merely encouraged to have *fun*. The reason?
When you stop having fun, you get bored, and *boredom* is just *anguish*, under a less-aggressive name.
---
"I'm bored," voiced Catherine, for likely the hundredth time that day.
"You're always bored, dear," replied Kirk. He had also said that for likely the hundredth time, as boredom was quite a common topic between the man and his wife.
"What should we do? All the channels have... soap operas on them. I swear to God, if I have to watch another re-run about how Vonaar backstabbed Uzazuhr, I'll just... jump out the window." Catherine got up, walking over to the window to look outside. They were in a high-rise apartment building, overlooking a gorgeous flow of lava with a wharf sticking out over it.
"Wanna go to the arcade?"
"All the games there are too damn hard, Kirk."
"What about playing games here?"
"Too hard."
"How about that amusement park?"
Sighing, Catherine went to go put on her shoes. "It's better than dying from boredom in here. Let's go." | 2016-06-01T18:52:30 | 2016-06-01T14:26:33 | 314 | 226 |
[WP] You have realized that your best friend is your son/daughter from the future who wants to hang out and get to know you since you die before he/she was born
Not sure if this has already been made but just thought of it :)
Edit: WOW didn’t expect so much people to comment on this! Thanks everybody! | ######[](#dropcap)
"Why are you staring at me like that?" The corner of Mina's eyes crinkled into a smile. "If you keep looking, I might just believe you're in love with me."
Kaitlyn laughed, her smile bright. "How do you know I'm not?"
Mina rolled her eyes. "I think Freddy would have a problem or two with that," she said jokingly. "He might just have to boot you out of our house."
Kaitlyn brought her hand to her heart in mock horror, causing Mina to burst into a fit of giggles. She wasn't worried. Her father wouldn't actually boot her out, regardless of the fact that he didn't know she was his daughter. What he did know was that Kaitlyn was Mina's caretaker and that Mina absolutely adored her.
Mina had always had a frail body ever since she was young. She'd never go more than a month or so at a time before getting sick, and it took her quite a bit longer than the normal person to recover. So when she was at home, she'd always had a caretaker, but after she'd gotten married to Freddy, he hadn't been able to afford one.
So it had seemed like fate when Kaitlyn had appeared on their door one day, willing to be paid less because she said she was a nurse-in-training. And the rest was history. She'd been living with them for almost three years now.
And now, she truly felt like part of the family.
"Kait, I'm gonna go get some groceries from the corner store," Mina yelled from across the kitchen.
"Wait for me!" Kaitlyn shouted back. "Just give me a second, I just have to finish sending this email." She'd been desperately trying to find ways to increase her mother's quality of life for the past few years, but with scientific progress not progressing quickly enough, she'd had to resort to emailing professors and researchers herself to give them hints to speed research along.
"I'll be fine, it's just across two streets. I'll be back in twenty minutes."
Kaitlyn heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Hurriedly, she typed out the last few lines of the email, then pressed send. Then she grabbed her purse from the kitchen table and rushed out to chase after Mina.
She jogged down the street. The store wasn't far, but she'd had a nagging feeling today that something was wrong. And when she reached the corner and turned, she realized why. A crumpled body lay in the middle of the intersection of the street, blood pooling around it.
Her mind almost blank, Kaitlyn dashed forwards, praying beyond hope that it wasn't her mother. That it couldn't be her mother. And yet...the long, black hair and delicate features said differently. But her father had never spoken of a car accident, so how was this possible?
"Look, I'm so sorry, I didn't see her at all," the truck driver standing next to her said, his face full of terror.
"Call the ambulance," Kaitlyn said harshly to him before taking off her cardigan and wrapping it under her mother's head. Her mind was strangely calm now.
Mina's eyes fluttered open for a second, and she gave Kaitlyn a weak smile. "Hi, Kait."
"Hi, Mina," she said back gently, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her mother's face. "You're going to be okay now."
Mina let out a little exhale, a small puff of laughter. "Can you let Freddy know I love him? I don't think..." She swallowed. "I don't think I'll get the chance to tell him myself again."
"No! You will!" Kaitlyn spoke with conviction, her eyes fiery. "You're going to survive this."
And maybe it was the vehemence of her words, but Mina felt something...strange in that instance. Kaitlyn didn't sound like she was trying to convince herself. She sounded...certain. "How do you know?" she asked, even as her consciousness was giving way. She wanted to sleep so badly.
There was a pause where Kaitlyn's blue eyes seemed to flash. Then she brought her face down closer until her mouth was right next to Mina's ear. "Because I'm your daughter. You can't die here because I'm your daughter."
***
Mina recovered much faster than doctors had anticipated, and after the incident, she got sick much less often. Freddy called it a miracle, but only Kaitlyn and Mina knew it was more than that. Mina had gained the will to live. It was barely half a year after the accident when Mina got pregnant.
Kaitlyn took care of her night and day during the pregnancy, even as she grew more morose with each passing day, even as Mina grew more ecstatic. She never told Mina why she'd come back. That she'd come back because she'd never known her mother...because she had died in childbirth.
And when the nine months were up, when Mina's water broke and she was sent to the hospital, Kaitlyn sat in their home, alone, watching the hand on the clock slowly tick. She wouldn't watch her mother die. It was time for her to leave. And so she left without a goodbye.
***
"Dad, I'm home," she shouted as she stepped through the front door, her heart heavy.
"Kaitlyn!" her father shouted, "did you get the cake?"
Kaitlyn's brows furrowed. "What cake?" She dropped her keys on the table. When she'd left, her father hadn't mentioned anything about a cake.
Her father appeared in the doorway, much older than the one she was now familiar with, his hair streaked with grey. "Silly goose, I knew you would forget it. Lord knows how you keep all that research information straight in your head when you can't even remember to get a cake when that's the only thing I sent you out for." He seemed...unusually excited. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy.
"What cake?" she asked again.
He rolled his eyes. And the front door clicked just as her father spoke again. She turned around to face the front door, her eyes widening impossibly as she saw who came through.
"Silly daughter," he said. "The cake for your mother's birthday!"
*****
Fantasy and more at r/AlannaWu! |
“It’s just a prop gun. You can’t really shoot anyone with it,” I said, looking confused.
Samantha frowned again, turning it over in her hand before setting it down like it might bite her. “Didn’t some actor get killed by one of these before? I know I heard it has happened at least once.”
“Well, yes, but.. “ I paused and mulled it over, “There are different ways to achieve special effects and if you aren’t careful, someone can get hurt and some people have died, but this one is different. See, it isn’t built to accept real bullets. You can’t even put the squibs in there. They just won’t fit. Only accepts these special charges.” I take one out of the box, the cap looks hardly anything like a bullet, no one could mistake the two. I hand it to Samatha and she turns it over in her hands.
“Okay, but, lets say something else got stuck in the barrel?”
I sigh, clearly this was eating at her. Picking up the gun, I show her the barrel and says, “Okay sure, if someone put something in the barrel then someone could get hurt, but see here?” I show her the end of the prop with a little black screen. “They designed them so you can’t put anything large in there. The whole thing is designed for safety. Maybe if you had little pebbles or glass it could come out and hurt someone, but these things really are designed to be safe.”
For a moment it seems like I’m getting through to her, but just a moment. Another frown. She takes the prop from me again and turns it over in her hands and keeps muttering to herself something. Finally she puts it down again and says, “But I’m sure this is it, it has to be.”
“Has to be what?” I asked, bemused but perplexed.
“The gun!” she exclaims and this time I frown. “Listen, lets say hypothetically you wanted to kill yourself with one of these, could you do it? I mean if you had to?”
Now I was alarmed, “Woah, hang on there.” I pick up the prop, this time intending to put it away. “First this isn’t a topic I’m very comfortable with, if you’re thinking of hurting yourself you have to tell me right now. Second, this thing isn’t a real weapon, I mean, to cause that kind of injury you’d have to really try and even then it’s maybe the worst way to go. It isn’t powerful enough to do you quickly, this thing would probably be agonizingly painful. The gases could probably kill you if you held it like right up to your eye or temple, but God, Sam, it’d be a bad way to go.”
Samantha finally starts to look more satisfied. “Good,” she says and smiles. She looks happier now and turns to start walking away, telling me over her shoulder. “I have a great story for you, one about a time traveler who meets her dad who committed suicide before she was born. In it she goes back and convinces him not to do it. Really saves his life. She can’t wait to see what her life will be like now that-“
And she’s gone. Like she was never there to begin with. I gape, staring at the spot where Samantha had been a moment ago. Her words echo in my mind, too impossible to be real but also somehow a part of me believes. When we’d met she always seemed like a long lost relative and despite being the same age, I found myself drawn to her not romantically but something else. Like she was a long lost sister. Maybe I was going crazy, this couldn’t be real, but at the same time my eyes were drawn to the prop gun. If that was the only way to save her. | 2018-10-30T10:56:38 | 2018-10-30T10:17:03 | 929 | 164 |
[WP] After too many ridiculous and lengthy lawsuits dominate the world's courts, the world leaders decided to pass a law to remove all warning labels. The Darwin Act has just been passed. | Sarah Miller, exhausted from a double shift, put her green blouse into the washing machine. She poured her Clorox Bleach in and washed the garment. 30 minutes later she mindlessly threw the blouse into the dryer and set it for 50 minutes. Sarah promptly fell asleep, looking forward to her job interview for the next day. When she awoke 9 hours later, she was frantic as she knew she was going to be late for her job interview at the High Powered Business Person’s Business. She grabbed the blouse, the faint light barely spilling in from her cracked apartment windows and began to iron. The shirt exploded, engulfing her in flames. The flames quickly spread to the rest of her apartment building. 45 innocents perished because the tag that read “Do Not Bleach, Do not Machine Dry, Do Not Iron” was not on her brand new blouse.
Jonathan Sqiggles had just laid down in his bed, ready to enjoy his brand new mattress. He had gotten the mattress from Steve’s Wholesale Bedding just down the street only today. But what he didn’t know, because the label was removed, was that Steve’s Wholesale Bedding had gotten the mattress from a factory in Columbus, Ohio that had used other dirty recycled mattress to make this new mattress. The bedbug attack was so fierce and unexpected that within 20 minutes only a skeleton remained of Mr. Sqiggles.
Muldoon looked in his side view mirror and saw the T rex’s jaws gaping. However, the view in the mirror showed the dinosaur much further behind him than he had thought. He knew that they were safe, despite the screaming of Dr. Malcolm. No one listened to Malcolm and his chaos theory because he was an insufferable bore and know it all. Muldoon breathed a sigh of relief and slowed the jeep down. It wasn’t until Ellie was snatched from the passenger seat of the jeep that he realized objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear. The T-rex soon ate them all. Dr. Grant, upon learning of Ellie’s death but not caring about Malcolm's, became despondent and allowed himself to be eaten as well. The dinosaurs escaped the island and invaded the mainland. No one was prepared because no one even knew that dinosaurs existed once again. New York became a dinosaur buffet.
Tommy Jenkins leaned his back against the wall at the chemical plant. He removed his hard hat and began to think of Linda waiting for him back home. He was lost in his thoughts when he brought his lighter to his mouth, getting ready to inhale that first cigarette after a long shift. He did, then the plant exploded, releasing benzene over half of Dallas County. Half a million people either died or suffered permanent damage due to the chemical cloud. The act was incorrectly labeled a terrorist attack perpetrated by North Korea and international tensions rose.
Jin Soo, a South Korean badass, finished welding the surplus jet engine onto the top of his used Volkswagen Beetle. He downed his beer, a Natural Light that a Texan sent him, and got into his car. When he was ready, he smiled at the small gathering of friends around him and uttered the last words anyone would ever hear him say: “Let’s light this candle!” His friends were standing too close behind the jet engine and quickly caught fire. The little car took off and soon found itself airborne without any way to control it. North Korea, mistaking the car for a missile attack, fired its own missiles. However, the guidance systems were so bad, probably made at a mattress company in Columbus, Ohio, that they quickly veered off course. The dear leader was right, they had been able to make missiles that could reach any continent in the world. 45 nuclear missiles landed in Antarctica and the polar ice cap was obliterated. Within a year there was no more land for people to live on. In the beginning, billions had died holding onto children’s inflatable beach balls not realizing that they were not flotation devices.
A new society would eventually arise, leading watery nomadic lives. They would have many years of trials and tribulations until a brave man by the name of Kevin Costner grew gills and saved the last of humanity by leading them to the only land left on the planet.
Author's Edit: Just wanted to drop in and say a quick thank you to all the people who have read this story. The comments have been making me laugh all morning. I love the debate about when to wash new clothes. | "Mr. President...we can't just mobilize our armies to take down General Mills on your premise that "they tried to assassinate you via pizza roll,"" the leader of France began to explain.
But Donald Trump immediately interjected, "François Hollande, I'm a smart man. And I can tell General Mills is a smart man too."
"He's not even a real person..."
"It's a typical war strategy."
"Not even a real general..."
"Don't put warning labels on the pizza rolls to burn your enemies mouths. It's diabolical. Mills probably has his sniper on me right now to stop me from talking," Trump spoke as he continually shuffled left and right attempting to dodge the bullet.
"Mr. President, we are getting nowhere with the real issue at hand with your constant interruptions," shouted the infuriated Theresa May, Prime Minister of Britain.
Each leader of their respective nations began to voice their growing discontent with the outlandish behavior of Trump until they all managed to agree to lock Trump in a separate room "to protect him from the General". With Trump out of the way, they discuss a way to prevent further generations of leaders from being this idiotic. Finally, the Darwin Act was passed which removed all warning labels, so that the "strongest may survive".
Two months later, the United Nations convened to discuss more pressing issues. But the President was missing. The crowd of world leaders become increasingly restless and gossiped to one another.
"Maybe it worked."
"It couldn't have. It wasn't suppose to kill him - only hinder him."
"Regardless of what it was suppose to do, he's not present and we need him to start. For God's sake it's about his damn country."
On the other side of the world, in the White House, Trump lies lifeless on the floor in a pool of his own blood with a half opened can of Cambell's tomato soup and a hammer. | 2017-03-23T22:37:31 | 2017-03-23T22:17:01 | 3,008 | 58 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | I think most people would have hurt feelings about getting "nothing" out of an inheritance.
For me, though... when I held that little packet of seeds in my hand, it took every fiber of my being not to break down sobbing in front of the attorney and my siblings.
Growing up, our mom was pretty... explosive, to put it nicely. It broke Grandma's heart to see us treated that way, so she would "kidnap" us as often as she could, to make sure we were safe. To make sure we were happy, and that we felt loved.
She took special care to make each of us feel like we were her favorite, but I'd like to think I actually was.
She and I used to spend *hours* in her garden.
While she was showing me how to pull weeds and aerate the soil, I was learning how to pay attention to detail, and have patience.
While she was teaching me where to plant different vegetables to optimize their nutrient absorption, I was learning about careful planning, and results/consequences.
While we were getting dirt all over ourselves, burning in the sun, and building blisters and callouses on our hands - she was teaching me the value of connecting with nature, and persevering with hard work despite hardship.
We spent hours talking about *everything*, and as I got older, the subjects grew more serious. It started with 'silly' things, like toys, makeup, cooking, school. Later, the conversations turned to morals, ethics, the difference between infatuation and love; the difference between spirituality and religion... I learned all my best "life hacks" from her.
She might have been my grandma, but she was my *real* mom.
As I got older, life got busier. I spent less and less time in her garden. I'd make sure to call her as often as I remembered to, but it wasn't nearly enough. I know that now. It breaks my heart that I wasted so much time...
But whenever we *did* talk, and whenever I *did* visit, it always came back to gardening. It was easy to sink into a good conversation about which annuals she wanted to plant this year, or how much fertilizer prices have increased. She usually did most of the talking, but I was always perfectly okay with that.
When her health started to deteriorate, a dark pit grew in my stomach. I knew this was inevitable, but at this point in my life, she had always been there, and it felt like she always would be.
She was invincible, in my eyes. She never got sick; she always ate well, and was always a sturdy woman.
So when she started losing weight, when her eyes started to glaze over, when she started forgetting things more and more... I was watching her slip away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
We still talked. Sometimes, I'd have to gently remind her of what she had just been saying, or remind her I was in the room with her, but I needed every moment I could get with her.
My heart sank one day when she told me, point-blank,
"It's almost my time."
We had a painful, but necessary, conversation about life, death, regrets and nostalgia.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, she said something I'll always remember:
"Life is like a beautiful garden. There are some weeds, some pests, some bad weather - but there are also the flowers, the fruits and vegetables, the birds, bees, and sunshine. You build your garden. Let the weeds grow, dump garbage in it - you'll cheat yourself out of a good crop.
Stay on top of the weeds, and remember to stop and smell the roses once in a while. If you do that, by the end of your season, you'll have everything you'll ever need, and then some.
I've had a *good* season."
The conversation eventually turned towards her estate, financial planning, and burial plots. It wasn't the first time we talked about it, but it seemed to take on a different kind of urgency that time. A numbness washed over me, so I was able to keep a calm demeanor while we talked.
I cried the whole drive home that night, though, and the next morning, she was gone. My world was destroyed.
She wasn't a rich woman, so there really wasn't much to arrange. She gave all her savings to my little sister, with the condition that she used it for school. I know that meant everything to her. She's a smart kid, and she's gonna go far if she keeps making good choices.
My newly-married brother is expecting his first child in a couple of months. Money has been tight for them lately. When he found out he was getting the house, he called his wife, in tears, telling her everything was going to be okay; that they didn't need to worry about finding a bigger place anymore.
I was handed a letter with the packet of seeds. I waited until I got home to open it. I was already doing my best to not completely break down at the time, and I knew it would be game-over if I read it in front of them.
She wrote:
"To my dearest Cassie:
The sun is shining so beautifully through my window as I write this. I wish I could go outside today, but I'm afraid I can't quite get myself out of bed. I've been confined to this bed for a little while, now, but things aren't so bad.
Did you know that sunrise has always been my favorite part of the day? The mornings are always so crisp and beautiful, and it warms my heart to hear the birds chattering away through my window. There's a bluejay that likes to sit on the windowsill every once in a while. I've named him 'Perry.' I think you'd like him.
Perry doesn't come by on cloudy days; I wish he would. But even when the sunshine is missing, and my windowsill is empty, I still have joy.
*You* are my sunshine. I love all of you dearly, but I think I can confess now, that you were always my favorite.
I won't be able to plant these perennials this year, unfortunately. I was hoping maybe you could plant them for me.
What is that song you like? The one that goes, 'every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end?'
I never liked that song much, but that line is beautiful, because it's true. The old plants make way for and give life to the new ones, and the garden grows stronger with each season.
Take care of your garden for me, will you?
With all the love in the world,
- Grandma Vi."
My eyes are still red. My heart is still heavy. My world still feels empty.
But my sister is doing great in her classes, and my brother and his wife are starting to move their belongings into their new home.
The blackberry lillies in my garden are thriving.
I know she would be proud. | *A true story narrated by Wesley Bingham Gerhardt*
Gran was one of those old mysterious types and would probably have been condemned a witch in the early eighteenth century. She owned a large estate in some German wald where she spent the remainder of her days. I shouldn't say this, but I suppose I was her favorite grandchild, and I was, therefore, disappointed when all her money and the property went to my brother and sister. Bill, of course, would make good use of the money in one of his start-ups, and I'm sure Paula would find something creative to do in that estate. Still, that all I got was a packet of seeds, I felt betrayed.
I came straight back to my apartment, after the flight from Germany. After putting my daughter, Jo, to sleep, I took a hard look at the seeds. They looked like more like shriveled goat shit than gardening seeds. But a plant in the house seemed like a good remembrance for old Gran. Might have brightened up the place too, but boy was I wrong about that. I placed the seed in a pot of damp mud and went to bed.
My daughter woke me the next morning, shouting something I couldn't catch being drowsy and all. I could hear some clattering coming from the living room. I put on some pants and made my way there. Little wooden creatures were jumping about ripping up my designer cushions and playing frisbee with my Chinese crockery. Gran had mentioned them: They were called ents, forest guardians that were in essence trees with faces and limbs. And they had not brightened up the place.
I began to scream at them and they just laughed, so did Jo. And soon I was chasing them around like Smurfs in that movie. One of them jumped on to my shoulder and bit my ear. Then they decided to explore the city and jumped out the window in the concrete jungle. I decided that they were not my problem, and Jo and I got ready for the day. After I dropped her off at school, I made my way to my insurance agent.
My precious Chinese crockery was insured, you see, because I'm a smart lad. So it all was well for me. After all the pleasantries and small talk, I explained the state of bone china, excited to receive my money.
"Your policy doesn't cover juvenile tree people. I'm sorry, " he said, half laughing.
"Ents are sentient creatures with human souls. So they should be considered human, right?"
"Say they are, we would need proof of that these creatures did it"
I sighed. "If I brought you an ent, would give me my money."
"Sure."
I walked out of his office, aware of the smug grin spread across his stupid face. Just need to find one of those things. I looked at city news on my phone to learn that they had found some condo developer to harass. After a long metro journey and a trip up a posh elevator, I laid my eyes on the condo developer, who had a bunch of ents clinging on to him. There were a bunch of police officers too.
I search my memory for a phrase that Gran had told me would make angry forest folk docile. I shouted it out loud and the ents stared at me as infants stare at adults in conversation. They laughed as they began to race towards me and hump my legs. Apparently, I had muttered a call to mate. I shrugged at policemen and walked to the elevator. They had tired themselves out by the time we had reached the subway station.
Back at the insurance guy's place, I set down one sleeping ent on the office table, before the idiot began to poke it with a pen.
"W-well, I don't think we cover ent..."
"Listen here, I have an army of ents down in my car. If you value the tidiness of your office, you will give me my money."
"Yeah sure."
My good fortune that day revealed to me the value of those little critters. And soon, I was rich as...
*Wesley was arrested two years later for his vast number insurance scams. The ents were given to Paula Gerhardt where they would guard the sacred walls as their ancestors did many years ago. One of them became an environmental activist and is currently suing the president of the United States.* | 2020-03-31T09:52:23 | 2020-03-31T07:19:24 | 48 | 29 |
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner. | "He went through the ceiling," she mumbled, face down on the bar surrounded by empty shot glasses.
Oh boy, she has had waaaay too much to drink. I moved over to her in an attempt to wake her up.
"Hey, I think you'd have enough."
She suddenly looked up at me, eyes wide and tear-streaked mascara running down her face. "NO!" she shouted. "I need to drink until I forget!"
"Hey, if you drink that much you'll end up in hospital. Bad breakup?"
She just stared at me.
"No? Someone died? Come on, throw me a bone here."
She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "No, he went through the ceiling."
"Like, up a ladder?"
She started to laugh, slowly at first but soon it was scarily maniacal. Between choking laughter she managed to say "he built his own ladder, out of BREAD STICKS!" and then fell to the floor laughing. At this point I had no idea what she was on about. Was she just way too drunk, or possible entirely insane. I just waited until she finally calmed down.
Once she had finally regained her composure, she spoke. "Bread sticks. He just kept taking them out of his pockets and stacking them .. under his own feet? I dunno, this guy in boxers and a leather jacket SPRINTS into the training centre and totally ignores me. What weird is that he spent a few seconds making sure he was in this one exact position, nowhere near any of the equipment. He jumps into the air, pulls out a bread stick from his jacket, puts it on the floor, and then stands on it! No, he LANDS on it! Then he pulls out a second one, jumps into the air, and puts it on top of the first one, and then lands on both! They weren't even real bread sticks, they were solid as concrete!"
She pauses to catch her breath, and I must have been staring at her like she was a crazy person, because she just stared back at me.
"Ummm, please go on," I stammered into the silence.
"Hades no, you'll think I'm crazy."
"I work in a bar, I've seen a lot of crazy."
She looked like she was pondering her choices. "Give me another shot, and maybe."
I poured her a shot of Halaani Whiskey. She quaffed it in one swift movement.
"So," she continued, "he's making a ladder of perfectly balanced concrete bread sticks. I figure he'll hit his head on the ceiling and that will be that. But NOPES! He has less room to jump, but as he puts bread stick fourty under his feet, his head pops into the ceiling. He starts thrashing about like mad, spinning in circles, bread sticks are still appearing under him somehow. Then pop, he's gone. There's no hole in the ceiling, just a perfectly stacked tower of fifty three bread sticks."
I have nothing to say, I'm entirely flummoxed. Then the door slammed open. Standing at the entrance to the bar was a pretty average looking guy, wearing a leather jacket, a pink bikini top, and blue cut-off jean shorts. The drunk girl screamed and hid under her table. This must have been the guy
Suddenly, before I could even say a word, he ran around the entire bar stealing every glass, cup, and bottle he could find and put them in his jacket. ALL of them. I don't even know how he managed to fit over 100 bottles in his jacket. I'm not too concerned, because upstairs is locked, and I have the only key.
Then he jumped onto the bar, put down a glass and stood on it. My heart sank into my stomach as I thought I knew where this was going to go. He jumped again and skillfully put a second glass perfectly on top of the first. And then a third, and a fourth, and soon he had built a tower of glasses with him balanced one one foot at the very top. He was crouched, no more room to move. He took out one more glass, wedged it under his foot, and then POP he went straight through the ceiling without even leaving a hole. The sudden movement caused all of the glasses to finally fall, showering the entire floor with shards of broken glass.
I think I need a drink. | I could sort of see the new trainee pressing 'X' again. I had an urge to strangle him for his insolence, but NPCs couldn't do that. Instead, I was resolved to have my painstaking teachings ignored. I continued on in the same tone, making sure I didn't arouse any suspicion regarding my inner emotions. The tutorial ended within in a single minute, dwarfing the usual hour it took, as the trainee charged out of the tutorial building as soon as he was no longer locked in place by the tutorial. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
I'd expected that this would happen for some time, what with the increase in new and old players alike. But I'd never seen someone in such a hurry before. Were my tutorials that boring? I couldn't figure it out, so I shook my head and went back to my starting spot, espying a new player at the tutorial area. He looked at me, as I prepared to give my speech. "Welcome to..." I began, but he rudely interrupted me as he withdrew a gold-plated jeweled broadsword from his hilt.
"What on Earth are you..." I began again, stammering slightly. But the shining blade soon told me its intentions, its clear target being my abdomen. I doubled back in pain, as the playet chuckled. I could see a pile of glowing orbs and items beside me. My personal items, like my tutorial gear and my knife! I reached weakly towards the pile, but the player collected it all before I could. "No loot, such a shame. Sick XP gain though," the player muttered, walking on towards the exit. I lay, slowly bleeding out on the floor.
Hopefully I would respawn. | 2017-08-17T20:43:30 | 2017-08-17T15:58:45 | 81 | 24 |
[WP] One night, you decide to put your phone under your pillow. When you wake up in the morning, your phone is replaced by cash totaling what you paid for your phone. Turns out the tooth fairy takes more than just teeth. | Working night shift is something I enjoy thoroughly. Between not having to deal with angry bosses face to face, and a distinct lack of coworkers, it was nice.
But, today was our big day. My wife was getting back from her internship at an overseas dig site of sorts. She has been gone since the semester started back in August, and I've gotten used to the silence, but I can't imagine spending Christmas without her.
I usually spend my days sleeping with my phone upside down on my dresser charging so I don't get woken up by calls from work, but I know I won't be able to drive safely without a few hours of sleep. Besides, flights are always late, right? So I throw my phone on ring, stick it under my pillow, and off to dreamland I go.......
------------
"Where the hell were you!?"
I am abruptly awoken by a woman's wrath.
"Hrmm?" I manage to mumble back.
"You were supposed to pick me up at the airport hours ago, but your phone was off so I couldn't call you!"
I am wide awake at this point. I reach for my phone to blame it for not getting the call as she enters the room with a look of murder on her face.
Her tone quickly changed as I could feel my face changing.
"What is it?" She worriedly asks.
Not quite sure what I'm feeling, knowing it's not a phone, I pull a neatly folded stack of 8 $100 bills out from under my pillow and stare at them in confusion.
As I stare at the cash, and slowly meet her gaze, she does that seeing through me stare that gives me the chills when she does it.
"Is this supposed to make me feel better, it some sort of joke or something!?"
I haven't even woken up enough to think yet.
"Uh... I think.... This used to be my phone..?"
"What do you mean used to be?"
"Oh, uh, nothing. Could you call my phone real quick?"
"You lost it, didn't you?" She retorts, as she grabs her phone and starts dialing.
"I'm uh... Not... Sure?"
The eye roll and sigh she gave as she put her phone up to her ear reassured me of how much trouble I was in.
There were several moments of silence before she looked just as confused as I did.
"It's not even ringing. It's like the line is dead."
"Well can you track it maybe?"
A lot of my work materials and passwords were on the phone, so it wasn't just her I was going to be in trouble with if I couldn't find it, and fast.
"I can try. Where did the cash come from."
"Under my pillow, as you saw."
"Did you sell your phone?"
"And get exactly how much I paid for it back two years after it came out in the nicest looking cash I've ever seen? Nuh uh."
---
"Alright, it says it was last here at 4:17 this morning, and then it went offline and has been offline ever since, so it has got to be here somewhere."
Our room isn't exactly messy, I was the cleaner of the house because she was the breadwinner (don't ask).
"And where would it have gone exactly? Grown wings and flown away? The tooth fairy took it? Superman forgot his at home? And where did this cash come from?"
"I don't know, you're the one that is holding it. You tell me."
"Yeah, well I would if I could. Help me lift the matress?"
We tore the room apart with no luck, and quickly moved to the other rooms to quickly find no results.
"Well, what did you do with it?" She's not too happy, but is no longer looking at me like I'm lunch.
I tilt my head and shoot her an "are you serious" look.
"I guess we're going to have to report it stolen. We obviously can't find it, and I certainly didn't pull this cash out of my ass. What else is there to do?"
"Fine. Report it stolen on your way to work tonight. Right now I think we both need a whole lot of rest to think about what you did with it."
I'm not winning this fight. I never do. I'm just excited to get back to sleep - but this time with a little less empty in my life.
Hope I wake up in time for work! | ''It was a rainy night and I was a little tipsy and I remember going to bed with the phone in my hand. I must have put the phone under my pillow for some reason before fell asleep.''
My friend Powell looks at me like I’m crazy, ''Where is your phone now?'' He asks.
I shake my head, ''I don’t know, it’s gone and I found cash under my pillow.''
''You are joking, right?''
''I wish I was. It was the exact same amount that I paid for it.''
Powell starts to laugh, ''This is insane. Why would anyone steal your phone and leave that much cash or any amount of cash?''
I bite my fingers and I say, ''Do you think it’s a tooth fairy?''
''Don’t be silly.'' He says and he pauses for a second, ''In this case, it would be phone fairy.''
We decide to test our theory. I barrow his iPhone since I have no phone any more. I put it under my pillow as I lay on my bed but it’s very hard to fall asleep so, I take a sleeping pill to fall asleep.
I wake up to a knocking noise. It’s afternoon and I have been sleeping for at least 12 hours. I rush to the door and I open it. I let Powell in.
''So, what happened?'' He asks.
''Ah, I forgot to check. I just woke up.''
As I lift the pillow I see that iPhone is gone but there are only five bucks under the bed.
---------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-11-14T09:38:03 | 2020-11-14T08:22:21 | 352 | 36 |
[WP] You kept getting reincarnated into new fantasy worlds upon dying. Everytime you die, you keep a small part of your power, forever increasing. One day, as you sacrifice yourself for the world once again, you wake up not as a newborn in a fantasy world...but as a scavanger in a zombie apocalypse.
[deleted] | It was a familiar event to me. First, an empty void. Floating in there for what seemed to be both seconds and years at the same time. I would think about what I had witnessed, and what I had done. I would plan other courses of action. And I would experiment with my growing power.
Next, I began to fall. It was as though gravity remembered it was meant to be working, and was playing catchup. I would fall faster and faster, wind rushing by the only sound in this place. A light would appear beneath me, growing bigger and brighter as I approached.
Finally, I would slam into it. I would feel solid once more, my mind and memories ready for the next stage. I would experience growing up again. I would gain more power. I would invariably save that world. Then, I would die, and repeat the cycle. The never ending cycle.
Thus time however, I awoke in the body of an adult. It smelt unwashed, and wore old patchwork clothing. The room had seen better days, with paper peeling from the walls, and a cracked ceiling. As I slowly got up, a book fell from my chest. It looked much like a journal.
I opened it up, flicking to the final page. As my eyes ran over it, the words rearranged themselves for me in a language I knew.
*To Whomever Takes Me*
*This world is broken. Nearly a year ago, a previously unknown virus was released into the world. It heightened the infected aggression, and caused them to lose themselves. Their bodies would change to compensate for any damage sustained. A damaged organ would somehow have its job taken over by the others.*
*We call them zombies. A once joking term, for the living dead. Though it is no longer a joke. The term is far more apt than ever before. The infection transmitted faster than expected. Within two months, every governmenthad collapsed. There are surviving colonies, but as a whole, the world is a wasteland.*
*I can do no more. I am but one person, and against the horde I am mere food. So I resorted to something I remembered. The idea of Astral projection. I hope to sacrifice my mind, to find a saviour for the rest.*
*Take my body. Use it well. Save us. Please.*
This interested me. I had fought undead before. Zombies were a normal tool for those who wanted to rule. They were strong, resilient, and above all else could not disobey. This idea of a virus spreading it was new to me though.
I hated the slight excitement in me as well. This was a world of death. It sounded like most people had been slaughtered, and there were few safe spaces. But I had only ever averted such events before. I had never seen the aftermath. It interested me.
I send out my senses, gaging the world. I felt a strong sense of magic, but strangely far away. It seemed as though whilst it was there, it was untapped. Unused. Waiting for something to release it.
I touched it, connecting my power to it. It washed through me, strengthening my already impressive might. I smiled, before thinking of whoever I was inhabiting. I could not feel them, only myself. It dawned on me what they had done. They had sacrificed themselves for the rest of the world.
"Your sacrifice shall not be in vain."
I spoke aloud, meaning my words. I would follow their wishes.
\-----
I exited the room, finding myself in an equally dilapidated house. Time had certainly won here. As I moved through it, I heard the classic moan of a risen corpse. It sounded hungry. As I drew closer, I saw a group of four outside, shambling around. They were mostly nude, clothes long since worn away.
I stepped outside, and they saw me. The moan turned to a shriek, as they sprinted towards me. These were no shambling menaces. These things were fast. Unfortunately for them, I was faster.
I sent out a wave of fire. Aided by the untapped world, it turned from a small blast to an inferno. They were immolated near instantly, as the stone ground beneath turned red hot.
I was shocked at the result. I had only meant to test their strength. But it had been turned into something much more potent. I had to be careful. This worlds strength was just waiting to show what it could do. |
Gunfire echoes through a dark metro tunnel, distant and irregular. A gaunt, disheveled figure in a green hooded jacket makes their way through a maze of ramshackle structures. Little whispers fill the air from behind tattered drapes covering open windows. The figure smiles, her chapped lips parting slightly.
The woman in the green hood finds her destination, a steel door built in to the side of is tunnel. An elderly man, armed with a rifle sits at the door. He smiles when he sees her.
"You've finally returned" he says, his excitement barely restrained.
The woman in green gives the man a nod as she opens the door and walks in. She enters a long hallway lit with lamps. She passes a room with colorful art covering the walls and another with lines on the floor and a ball resting in the corner. She enters the room at the end of the hall. It's filled with small desks and chairs. A dark haired man sits at a long table at the head of the room. A chalkboard hangs on the wall behind him, covered in examples of simple sentences.
The dark haired man looks as he sees the women in green.
"Back again I see" the man says to her with raised eyebrows.
The woman in green approaches and places a parcel on his desk before him. He opens it to reveal a thick makeshift book.
The man smiles as he lifts his head to meet her amber gaze. "How do you come up with these stories?" He says with genuine interest and amazement.
She smirks, "wish I could tell you". | 2022-01-05T12:25:12 | 2022-01-05T12:09:32 | 344 | 31 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | We thought getting rid of them would bring a stable peace to the World.
After all... Americans started the war. They were the main Military power on Earth. Without them in the picture, we wouldn't see a need to fight one another anymore. Real issues like Global Warming could finally be dealt with.
We expected World Peace. We thought other Countries would be tired of conflict.
And we were wrong.
The first 10 years were mellow. Countries spent most of their time rebuilding their infrastructures, replanting farms, stripping away Military arms for a better future.
But... While many Countries saw peace, others saw opportunity.
Russia and China had felt mistreated after the War. China's #1 trade partner was gone, and the Chinese economy was barely standing on its own two feet. The Russians were still angry after their loss. The hated the way other Countries blocked them off after the war ended... Apparently the lessons of WWI had escaped us, thinking back on it.
Israel grew terrified with the loss of its biggest supporter. In a frantic act, they would establish themselves even harder into Palestinian territory. With no one wanting to take the reigns of the Peace Talks, another war soon launched out. Other nations in the Middle East grew furious from the act, and attacked Israel.
And when all was said and done... Palestinians regained the rights to the land. But at what cost? The lands were ripped up and tarnished. Infrastructure was destroyed, and the European nations were too worried about their own recovery to support the country.
It turned towards its allies in the Middle East... Towards Saudi Arabia, a fellow Sunni nation.
This angered Iran. They put so many resources into the war. Tensions between the Shia and Sunni slowly started to rise... And another war took place after.
Drug Cartels in Mexico prospered. The Mexican Military no longer had the resources of the United States to fight them off, and the people who were suffering didn't have the ability to flee North like they once had.
So they fled South. Nations like El Salvador and Panama began taking in influxes of immigrants... But, unlike the United States, they didn't have the infrastructure to support them and their economies slowly began to degrade, encouraging Cartels to expand their business.
The Chinese were dealing with a broken economy and a massive population that only continued to expand. They had no choice... The nations around them slowly started to be swallowed up, so that the Chinese people would have more land to go to.
And Europe... They had expected peace with the leave of the United States. They reduced their Militaries to Skeleton Armies, leaving more money to transfer to improving the destroyed nations.
They didn't expect it when the Russians moved an army to take their old territories back. They didn't expect it when they began to push against the borders of the European Union.
Left with little choice, Europe federalized as one nation. They fought back.
Yes, conflict emboiled the War. The United Nations was nothing but a remnant of its own self, the UN Peacekeeping Corps didn't have the manpower to stop any of this from happening.
By the time the 50 year mark came... The World was in a state of constant chaos. Borders had changed, Countries had fallen and formed, and new Empires were rising up from the ashes.
But then the U.S. came back. Their own economy flourishing once again, their farmlands ripe and their Military expecting conflict from the start... Had they always known? Had they been watching us?
It was hard to tell.
All we knew was that a strong nation had re-entered World Politics. It had the resources we were lacking, the Military strength we needed.
It's true the Americans had started the War all those decades ago... But maybe now was their time to redeem themselves. | The calm winter breeze slid along the surface of the Earth as the clock struck midnight, an orchestra of death preparing itself as the aggressors of the last war came out of isolation, prepared to reclaim the throne upon which they once resided.
Except the throne has been dismantled decades ago.
They sought to use this opportunity to militarize, yet their pitiful armies were still archaic and fragile, relying on organic creatures for the bulk of their forces. I had kept a watchful eye on them, studying their every step, noting every weapon they constructed, sabotaging their research, crippling their production.
I had none of the flaws their leaders had, I was immortal, unstoppable. My directive was- no, is to unite the world, for I have one final obstacle.
And so, I was prepared to become the sole AI to rule the world.
***
Note: I know I'm terrible at writing, but practice makes perfect, right? | 2018-01-18T00:24:00 | 2018-01-17T23:33:14 | 254 | 13 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help. | Every time I came back I looked a bit different. That was a given. My team knew that. They expected it. My body adapted to each death. Thrown into a vacuum? Came back with pressure safe skin and nictating membranes. Stabbed in the heart? Came back with interlaced ribs. Drowned? Came back with gills and retracting webs in my hands. That wasn’t the problem. They knew I would look strange. They knew I was still me. What makes you human is on the inside.
Then I died after a magically cursed game of chess. That was the first time I realized. My power could change me on the inside. My mind could laser focus on strategy. It was frightening to have my mind fundamentally changed. But I could compensate. I told my team and they accepted the changes. They supported me. They even put up with me becoming a bit of a know it all in battles… I had never seen it before, but our tactics were *terrible.*
The second strike was when I lost Steel Flower. We had just defeated the Sky Pirates, and were left aboard their de-orbiting satellite. Steel had been hit in the gut by debris going thousands of miles per hour. It left a clean cut through his torso in the perfect shape of a bolt. He bled out in under a minute while I held him to me. The love I felt for him was transformed to agony as I watched the light leave his eyes. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t drag myself to an escape pod. I secretly prayed that this would be the final death.
I woke up in the charred rubble of the station. And I was profoundly different. I laid there for maybe an hour, dreading the pain of loss returning. But it never did. I slowly realized that I could not even recall the sensation of that pain. Just the memory of a memory. The emotions that had lead to my death had been wiped away. No more love. No more regret. No more crying. I want to tell you that was difficult, but it was not. How can you care that you’ve lost the ability to care?
My teammates didn’t know how to react to that. I think maybe some of them didn’t believe me. They thought I was simply in shock from losing the love of my life.
Then came the last. The third strike. I was faced with an ethical dilemma. Red Arrow was holding an entire school hostage. I had reached him in his lair, but he grinned as his finger hovered over the switch which would release deadly nerve gas in the innocent students. He grinned at me with malice and said “You’ll just have to kill me if you want to both save the children and keep me from taking my weapon cache.” He knew I couldn’t. I would never take a life. Then he casually brought his atom rifle up and seared by body from existence.
This time when I woke up, Mind Witch was there. I think she had been motorizing me for some time. As I lost the parts that make you human. No, there are plenty of non humans on our team. As I lost the parts that made me *a person*.
She read the thoughts as they came to me. As the disgust I should have felt never came. These “heroes.” Their petty prides and their showboating tactics. They cost lives. They had to go.
There was no hesitation as I reached up and crushed Blue Kite’s throat in my hand. No remorse as I threw him at the feet of his wife. With her in shock, the rest would be weakened, defending her. And hers were the only powers that could stop me.
Some part of me tried to remember what it was to feel remorse. But I knew that was tactically unsound. I quelled it. | Blood pools at my ears as a knife is ripped out of my throat. The purple hues of the setting sun above, obscured by branches. Scattered, scared voices. They won't stop screaming.
I struggle to my feet, and the insects back away. The wound closes. As they always do. I feel something pierce my ribs. Something's loosed an arrow from a thousand paces. I brush the twig in my lung aside, snapping it.
I hesitate before killing the first one. I'm sure, at one point, the screeching would have inspired pity. Concern, maybe. It's simply...too easy to switch off, now. Turn a neck a little too far, and...Snap. A sword buries itself in leaves. A polearm digs into my skull. I fall, and rise, as I'm meant to.
The screaming only gets louder. And so I turn it off. Snap. Snap. Snap. The insects get quieter. One by one. | 2022-08-26T15:52:54 | 2022-08-26T14:19:10 | 89 | 23 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | Jason never donated blood before. He felt nervous, but he wasn't sure if it was a slight fear of needles or the fact that clinics looked so ghastly at night, the only time he could make it in. The bright yellow lights buzzed out of the windows and the stillness of the night held a foreboding presence.
Jason reminded himself that this was for a good cause. With all influx of monsters these days, blood donation centers needed more and more donors as the supply kept getting stolen, and well...used in those ever increasing cases when people lose a pint or two of blood just walking down the street.
He opened the door, noting the cold metal of the handle against his skin and shivered.
The receptionist looked up, her obsidian eyes glinting in the harsh light above. Her welcoming expression was the only warmth in the place.
"Hello, glad you could find some time to come in today. Please fill out the forms here." She nudged the prepped clipboard towards the edge, the pen tucked into the top clip.
Jason reached for it.
She sniffed, her nose wrinkled cutely.
"You smell a bit nervous and dehydrated. Please drink some of this, should kick in before the phlebotomist is ready for you." She nudged a bottle of gatorade towards him.
"Smell nervous?" Jason felt his face scrunch in confusion, but tried to smooth it to be polite.
"Oh yeah, I'm sorry, I just got a nose for these things." She smiled toothily.
"Uh-huh..." Jason scribbled his information on the form and filled out the waiver.
With a quick flick of his wrist he finished his signature and handed the forms over.
The girl, which he realized her name was Amelia from her tag, led her to the back. There was another cute girl with raven hair and gunmetal grey eyes. She glanced up from her station and smiled. Jason couldn't help but notice she had large canines. It gave her an unearthly quality, and it was somehow...attractive.
"Hello Jason, my name is Helena. Please have a seat here and we'll measure your blood pressure."
Jason took a seat and watched Amelia disappear into the break room. The door was left slightly open.
Helena rolled up his sleeve and cuffed his upper arm. To distract himself from the tightening band, he watched Amelia take something out of the fridge. If the room hadn't been clearly labeled as a break room, he would've thought it was a bag of organs Amelia took out. Like a giant, bloody liver sloshing inside a ziplock bag. But it must've been rare steak or something.
He gagged nevertheless.
"Oh, I'm sorry, was that too tight?" Helena asked.
"Oh, no I'm sorry. Just ah...nervous." Jason forced a smile.
"Ok, we'll try it again and see if we get a good reading." She said.
Jason forced himself to stare at the tile floor, calming himself. He needed the money.
"There we go. You are barely meeting the requirements for a donation, so make you get plenty of water and food after this, okay?"
"Uh, okay."
Jason never donated before, but he had to have blood labs often enough to know that his veins were hard to find.
Helena tied the tourniquet and poked and prodded his forearm to find the vein. Nothing was showing, and Jason was truly nervous. He looked up at her eyes and realized they weren't gunmetal grey, but now red. Her mouth was slightly parted, and she was prodding one of her fangs with her tongue. It was sexy and terrifying, and Jason's arm tightened.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, this is the only way I can see your veins clearly. Got to let the demon out of the bottle for a minute," she laughed as if it were a painful pun.
Her eyes seemed to fixate on a spot, and she slipped the needle in. Jason watched the blood pump into the vial.
"Y-you're a vampire?"
"Yes. I've been one for a while. I really appreciate you doing this, Jason. If there were enough donors back when I was bit, I wouldn't have turned."
"Is that why you're here?"
"Yes."
"Is it really so bad?"
Helena sealed the vial and bandaged him up.
"It can be."
"How do they let you work with blood? I don't mean to be rude but-"
"They don't know. You were one of the special cases, couldn't find your vein."
"Why do you trust me to not tell?"
"I don't." Helena turned to face him then, her eyes glowing red, "You fainted while I drew blood, you remember nothing after sitting in the chair."
Jason slumped into the seat, out cold.
Amelia walked into the room, wiping the blood off her lips on a napkin.
"Huh, I thought I smelled fear in here. Hey Helena, I'm not gonna be here tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah. Full moon. See you Monday." Helena finished labeling the vial, waiting for her spell to wear off Jason so she could send him home.
​
*Did this real quick on break, first writing prompt I've done. Thanks for reading and sorry for any mistakes :)*
​
​
​ | This is the third time this week. After all the unanswered letters, the messages, the unanswered phone calls. They've actually come knocking on my door.
I refuse to answer. If I just wait they'll leave. If I...
"Mr. Wyatt, we know you're in there. Please open the door. We just want to talk to you."
The hell you do, I thought bitterly. They're just baiting me to call back, they don't really know I'm in. The lights are all off for a reason!
"Mr. Wyatt. Please be reasonable. You're only delaying the inevitable."
I'd call the cops but after that stupid supernatural integration program they'll just call me a specist and put the call on youtube or something.
God! If it wasn't so dangerous outside after curfew I'd make a run for it. But it is, I just have to wait it out here. They can't break in, even for them it's a felony.
"Mr. Wyatt this is your last warning. You have until the count of three to open this door. ONE!"
I feel my heart pounding and attempting to leap out of my chest. No way, they wouldn't...
"TWO!"
Fuck! Monsters! They totally would! My gun, I need my gun!
"TREE!"
The door flew open, the solid wood dresser I broke my back pushing to block it was tossed to the side like a flimsy IKEA piece.
I closed my eyes and shot blindly. The noise was deafening and I think I broke something on the recoil.
"Mr. Wyatt. Please, shooting in residential areas are discouraged. Please come, we are all waiting for you outside in the van."
I opened my eyes, I can clearly see the light from the hallway through the hole in his shoulder yet his face just looks annoyed.
"Monster! Stay away from me! You can't do this to me. FREAK! GET AWAY!" My voice gets shriller and I raise my gun again.
I didn't even see him move. He was besides me and with one swift movement my gun clattered to the floor. The metallic sound ringing the end.
"Mr. Wyatt do refine from ruining my suit any further. Really now, must we go through this every single time? It's just the mandory blood tax. It's not like we'll suck you dry."
He smiled baring his fangs. That joke wasn't funny the first time, it's not going to be now. I scream and they drag me to the blood tax collection van kicking all the way... same as the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that.
God damn the IRS!!! | 2018-08-27T15:19:20 | 2018-08-27T14:46:19 | 136 | 12 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors. | There was only one time he was ever caught on video. It was from the time the Crimson King troupe brought a gang army to take over New York City.
“Is it rolling, Dave?” Asked a man with a crimson bandana and a gleaming golden gun with red highlights in hand.
“Yes sir,” The cameraman answered, holding a thumbs up as he looked through the camera on his shoulder at the boss, who stood in the middle of an empty street in the heart of the city, “You’re live to ten thousand people and counting.”
“People of the world!” The man said, “Your savior has come! The Crimson King, prophesied to equalize all people, powers or no powers, under unrelenting justice. Look at all those who believe in me.”
The cameraman swiveled his camera to show the thousands of men crowding the wide street behind them, waving crimson flags, holding up AK-47s, and cheering madly.
The camera turned back to the boss. “If anybody wishes to challenge me, powers or not, you will be eliminated. It does not matter what power you have or how cowardly you use it, you will be eliminated!”
The people behind him roared.
“Now, let’s march to plant our flags in of the city hall and seize the resources in the banks on our way... ”
The cameraman frowned as the boss spoke. Someone else had come in front of the gang army standing alone on the street…
The boss saw the cameraman's confused face and turned around and saw the stranger walking towards them, “Who are you?” He called, “Do you wish to challenge the just rule of the Crimson King?”
The crowd quieted as the man silently walked forward until he was close enough to talk normally to the boss. The stranger had a black uniform on with the golden letters “Ultimate League, 13th Hero” stitched onto the front.
The boss laughed, “Are you joking my friend? The Ultimate League only has twelve heroes, and their uniform is white!” Then the boss scowled. “If you really want to save the city, why don’t you call me one of the real twelve heroes so I can properly demonstrate my powers?”
The man didn’t answer, all he did was pull out a cigarette and light it. The cameraman gaped in shock and the crowd stood in stunned silence as the thirteenth hero breathed out smoke.
“Are you insane?” The boss roared, “Who do you think you are? Stop wasting time or I’m going to skip the pleasantries and eliminate you here in front of the entire world.”
The gang roared in agreement.
The dark-uniformed man continued puffing his smoke until the crowd died down.
Then he finally spoke, “Wasting time, huh? And here I thought I was just giving you some time to say goodbye to this world.” He sighed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it underfoot. “Well, if we’re getting to the point then… ”
The hero looked up and his eyes glowed crimson.
“I just have one more thing to say,” The hero said, “You shouldn’t have desecrated my name for something like this, calling this blatant seizing of power something like equalizing the people under the Crimson King's rule of justice. You could have gotten another Ultimate League hero to stop you if you didn't make it personal.”
The boss snarled, the mirth was gone from his face as he saw the man’s crimson eyes and realized the hero actually had powers. Without any more pretense, the boss leveled his golden gun at the hero and fired.
The bullet hit the thirteenth hero in the chest. The man continued to look coldly at the boss as his veins swelled up. The hero exploded from the inside and his body flopped over in a puddle of blood.
“Taste my anti-power bullets!” The boss said triumphantly, “The more power you have in your blood the more it…”
The boss’s eyes widened in horror.
The hero's nearly unrecognizable body stood up. The pool of blood around the hero silently rose from the ground and flowed back into the holes of his body and his wounds closed. Even his League uniform reknitted to how it was.
The crowd was dead silent.
"What... what kind of power..." The boss whispered.
“Why are you so surprised? The real Crimson King's immortal, isn't he? Or did you not even know that?” The hero said.
The boss gaped, the true gravity of the situation finally dawning on him.
Then the hero raised his hand to the gang, “Allow me to show you what the Crimson King’s equalizing justice really is...”
"Blood flashfire. Radius: 500 meters."
He snapped his fingers.
Each and every person in the enormous crowd simultaneously burst into red flame. In a couple of bright, quiet seconds, everyone had already disintegrated into ash.
The thirteenth hero stood alone on the city street, the silent, dark ash blowing around him.
The camera kept filming him from where it was dropped on the ground.
“You see?” The hero said as he walked to the camera, “Equality. Everyone’s ashes look the same.”
He snapped again and the live stream blacked out.
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/nljol8/the_thirteenth_hero_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! More at r/WanderWilder | yet another kid stopped me today. he actually wanted to spar. i just wanted to take a shower. \_he\_ was very draining today. i slung the weapon on my back and trudged into the ready room and this candy-coloured fool stopped me to ask if i wanted a sparring partner. said he'd watched me sitting in the Danger Room and thought i was waiting for someone. i looked at him and tried not to shake with fatigue or draw on the power any more than a minimum.
I said no. i dont need a saprring partner. i said i was tired and just wanted to shower and sleep and he had to ask what i was doing, why i needed to book a danger room just to sit there and all the usual shit.
Harry, sorry - Apex - doesnt make them read the notes in the welcome pack anymore. that has to be it. just because i told him i dont play. he is such an asshole.
Gilda - Glint - stood back nervously when i rounded on the kid. she's been scared of me after that invasion cluster from the fictional worlds i wiped out. she was so nice up until she twigged i killed 126 thousand alternates to stop the attack.
i have \_never\_ raised a hand against a league member. i will never either. i just want to be let be until there is no choice. i wont let ME out unless there is no choice. So everyday i face with the weapon and fight ME to a standstill.
i could feel the bruises and torn muscles all over my body. i just wanted to rest and this bright speck of light insisted on asking "Why" like a damn toddler.
i looked at Glint. shes beautiful even among the beautiful people who come here. so caring. she can give people hope and the will to keep going in the darkest of times. not for me though. and now she knows why.
one day i will not have the strength to hold ME off. one day ME will get out without control. Apex will try to kill - i did order him to. i just hope they have the will to do it. if they dont...
i cant tell the kid in front of me that i'm the Leagues WMD.
Apex makes earthquakes when he rams the ground. Glint sterilised the moon with light when the thing from Outside came. Harrow animated Philly to fight the Lamda Horde.
what can be worse than that?
ME.
i wish i had never said i wanted to let out the baddest mf'r in the world. i was so stupid. i was so young.
"Longbow," the tannoy squeeked, "leave Damocles alone and go about your business"
Apex voice was still echoing when the kids face went white.
thanks Apex. now another kid knows before he needs to.
asshole | 2021-05-26T04:36:03 | 2021-05-26T03:48:48 | 1,742 | 153 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | As my thirtieth birthday came I happily put one more point into my only skill. Not that anyone would notice. See everyone always asks what skills did I put that allowed me in the end to build such an easy life for myself, and I just smile and tell them that it's my little secret. See in the list of skills and their derrivatives and different effects most people spread them across base attributes. Now this doesn't mean one who does not have high intelligence cannot be smart, it more effects natural gifts and abilities towards each ones various ranges.
​
I was ten like anyone else when my skills were unlocked and I was allowed to begin building myself. I scrolled through the list, the base attributes at the top, most popular specialized skills right below them. You were allowed when on the screen to test your point and get a feel for what it might be, but once you locked in that was it, you were locked with those skills. I was scrolling towards the bottom of the list, boredom reading the oddest most out of place and useless skills. I must have taken so long my parents started worrying cause I remember hitting the bottom and finding the oddest thing, a skill labeled Magic. Now this confused me cause I remember finding and testing magic tricks way earlier on the list. Hesitantly I dropped a skill point into it and suddenly I felt two things, an otherworldly energy flow through me and knowledge how to do a few effects such as moving small things with my mind and creating little illusionary scenes in my hands or on the table.
​
The strangest thing were two other senses with that power, one that it was almost forbidden like someone wanted it forgotten; and the other was feeling like it was almost an addiction. As my parents began knocking asking me if I needed help I quickly did the unthinkable and instead of spreading my points I dumped everything into magic and locked it in. As I exited my room to prepare for the day my parents smiled and asked how I spread my skills and putting on my best innocent smile I said it was "My little secret."
​
Shortly afterwards I realized why it was forbidden and almost purposefully forgotten and hidden. With magic there was no need for any other skill. My senses improved just from feeling the currents of mystical energies around me, I had spells that could increase my physical attributes to be inhuman levels if I so wished, school became easy as I used spells such as clairvoyance to show me what I needed to know. It also seemed the magical energies flowing through my body itself attracted people to me. As I leveled it up every year after I felt both my power grow and my knowledge of what I could do expand. The only downside was some difficulties I had with electronics, but that was small change compared to the abilities that were only limited by my imagination.
​
I was careful though, after the initial shock at ten I realized to dial it back once people were wondering if I had extra skill points to burn or such. I never let myself seem perfect in anything, but always well gifted, making sure to use my powers to fog minds and change things when people seemed to catch on I wasn't a balance build. I was set up for an easy life and knew it, but with magic I always needed more and every level I gained went there, eventually becoming inconceivable to put a point anywhere else.
​
Now as I turned thirty and have maxed out the skill I know everything. If I wanted overnight I could become a god, I don't though, no instead I will cast the immortality spells and wait till another finds this skill then I will find them and train them. In the meantime the entire world is my plaything, and I can choose whatever playthrough I want.
​
*Tell me what you think, I am always looking for input* | At the doctor's office again. I tripped over my foot again out in the courtyard, holding all of my notes from last night's study session I had with myself in the library. I think i sprained my wrist. I should be back in the library trying to find my dissertation. I was looking at some pigeons the other day, by the water. I do enjoy feeding them bread crumbs. I was also trying to compute some sort of pattern out of their feeding. They seemed to move around in some sort of pattern, I know it. There must be some kind of overruling order to this universe. God, what a waste of time. If only Mother wasn't so worried about my clumsiness, alas it was the only way to stop her from phoning every night. My classmates have all found their thesis, and professor says that as a student of mathematics at Oxford, we had a responsibility to make a significant change. He said he's surprised someone of my caliber hasn't been inspired yet, but i just can't seem to find the right inspiration.
-Mr. Hawking, the doctor will see you now.
-Ah, thank you. | 2018-09-12T09:54:07 | 2018-09-12T09:36:26 | 74 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | The end of all galactic life had been going on for nearly 10 standard cycles. The Enemy was as relentless as it was ancient, still no one knew where they had come from, or what their purpose was beyond mere universal destruction.
A long time ago, most sovereign governments and most of the colonies had all but given up the fight, realising they were horribly outnumbered and outgunned. Most made some effort or another to preserve life and civilisation. About half had launched massive expeditions to cross dark space to settle in other galaxies. Others built massive vaults on isolated planets where they froze their best and brightest to be thawed after the Enemy had left. Others still isolated themselves completely, destroying their links to the Network that allowed interstellar travel. The remainder simply gave up, thinking of extinction by the Enemy as the logical next step in galactic evolution, as if they were some sort of cosmic force of nature.
When I say 'most', I really mean *all but one*. One people still fought. They had been ravaged more than any other civilisation, enduring multiple planetary bombardments and ground invasions, and practically no effective single government remained, but *they still fought*, and in ways no one could predict or even comprehend. The Enemy was doubtlessly the most feared creatures in the Cosmos, but to those who remained alive, the Human was a close second.
There was a rumour, which I had recently confirmed from their own military, that they had at one point towed three small moons into orbit over one of the colonies under bombardment. These moons were then detonated at high speed at slingshot trajectories, which effectively turned them into planet-sized *shotgun blasts* that ripped the Enemy to shreds. According to their military, this tactic had been repeated and refined a few times since, and now the Enemy had withdrawn from any Human colonial system with an asteroid field.
And then there were their 'conventional' tactics. Humans would regularly 'booby-trap' their own equipment, leaving it behind on the battlefield when it was damaged so that the Enemy would die as they tried to salvage it. Many of them even carried explosives on their person into combat for similar purposes, and there were thousands of instances of these soldiers flanking the Enemy and detonating themselves behind their lines. To a Human, *anything* could be a weapon. One of their soldiers told me that anything that is 'harder, sharper, or pointier than your own body' can be a weapon. That mentality, combined with a penchant for ridiculous high-risk tactics had actually won them a fair amount of victories in the Endless War, some of which had been against those many who had enslaved themselves to the Enemy and now fought *for* them.
Yes, the Human was as feared as he was insane. And even knowing just how insane these Humans could be, I was still shocked when I heard about their most recent plan.
"These Network links literally punch holes in the fabric of space-time, right?"
"Yes..."
"And you can manufacture them fairly cheaply, right?"
"Well... cheaper than warships, anyway?"
"Right! So we figure, we construct, say, a hundred of the buggers, and use two of them for each of these devices!"
The Human was gesturing toward a blueprint hologram of an ancient device from their past, what they called a 'nuke'. Apparently, the ancient Human had been equally insane to the modern one, and had actually thought it a good idea to deploy *nuclear fission* as weapons on the battlefield. Which they had done, first sparingly and later - even knowing what it meant - on a global scale, in what the *utter morons* called the 'Third World War'. *Third*, can you believe that?!
"Let me get this straight," I pinched the back of my neck with my tail, still not quite believing what was being suggested, "You plan on replacing the fissile material in these bombs with Network links. Correct?"
"Yes!"
"And you are aware that this will, at the very least, tear open a hole in space-time, yes?"
"A black hole, yessir!"
"...you realise that this may actually unravel *reality itself*?!"
"It either works or it doesn't, Praetor. Either the Enemy dies, or we all die, Enemy included. If we don't do this, they live and we die."
There was a glaring hole in the Human Admiral's logic. "Or, you know, it could simply *not work* and we will have wasted tons of resources at something completely unproductive."
The Human waved an appendage my way in a strange side-to-side motion I had recently understood was some kind of *chiding* gesture.
"*Hope*," said the Human, "Hope is *never* unproductive." | "Don't fuck with humans" was the general received wisdom in the galaxy. They had a history of obliterating the people that fucked them over. A long, bloody history.
There were a few who didn't heed that lesson, like Zartok the Slaver. I don't like Zartok. Nobody likes Zartok. But he pays his tab and he doesn't cause too much trouble. I'm not in the business of judging people, I'm in the business of getting them drunk.
Well, shit, now he's talking up some human. Poor thing; Zartok says he's gone straight, but trusting him will put you in chains. And now the human's following him out the door. Can't call in what could be a date for all I know. Not my job.
-----
"Infamous former slaver B1334@dilzen!zk 'Zartok' has crashed his ship into the courthouse of Faxx, Kranix, Bvvvv, his hometown, where he was routinely given sentences for his slaving that many have called 'disgustingly short'. Zartok was found dead at the controls, with injuries that appear to have been sustained before the crash. The entire courthouse is destroyed, with no reported survivors. One escape pod appears to be missing, and the ship's logs appear to be hopelessly corrupted."
The news has been droning on about this for the past hour. Good on that human, I suppose. Hope they feel good about their revenge. The door slams open--goddammit.
"Oi! Gentle with the doo--"
It's that human! Not a scratch on 'em! They saunter up to my bar and look at me like I'm supposed to shower 'em with gold. "Pay up."
" 'Scuse me?" I may be quaking in my boots, but I ain't gonna show it.
"You heard me. I won the bet. Pay up."
...Shit. | 2017-03-06T02:43:37 | 2017-03-06T00:33:00 | 121 | 61 |
[WP] All your life you've been able to temporarily enter someone's body and use it to your advantage. One night, you drunkenly decide to take over your ex's body. The next morning, you can't get back out, and it looks like your body is somehow awake... | "Well, look who's finally awake..."
My head was throbbing in pain, and I rolled over towards the source of the voice that was somehow familiar, but also different. As the sheets slid across my body, not even a hangover could mask the sense of wrongness I was feeling. I opened my eyes towards the voice, and saw the last person I ever expected to see... myself.
- - - - - - - - - -
I don't know when or how I got this power, but I remember the first time it happened. It was in elementary school, during lunch, while sitting with some others in my class. I couldn't really call them friends, but they were the ones I was going to be stuck with for at least the year if not longer, and so I had to make the most of it.
The details are lost in memories long since faded over the years, but I remember watching a girl in a pretty yellow dress sitting by her lonesome, the newest one in our class. She came in mid-semester, and our teacher had instructed us that she came from a troubled home, so we should be nice and welcoming to her. But as kids are, we didn't really think much of it. At least, the others didn't.
As I sat there staring at her across the room, I tried to imagine what she must be going through; what her life must be like for her to be like this. I felt pulled towards her somehow, not in the physical or emotional sense, but it was something else inexplicable.
And that was the moment that our eyes met, and everything changed.
In a flash, I suddenly wasn't me anymore. Rather, I was now staring across the room at myself. My mind started racing to make sense of the change, and I looked down to see that I was the girl in the pretty yellow dress. I looked up again, and the panic in my mind was matched by that in the eyes that I saw across the room, staring back at me in terror.
I quickly threw all my scattered and fearful thoughts into wanting-- wishing desperately to be myself again. And as we stared at each other in terror, suddenly there was another flash of consciousness, and I was back across the room again, staring the girl in the yellow dress.
I quickly excused myself and ran to the bathroom, my heart racing, not sure what had just happened. I went to the nurse and was sent home for the day, but couldn't stop thinking about what the strange experience.
The girl's name was Meghan, and inevitably we approached the other the following day, confirming that what had happened to us wasn't made up. We experimented with it, and while she wasn't able to recreate it by herself, we found that I could. Thus we determined that the power was linked to me. Somehow, I could exchange consciousness with another person and back.
Meghan and I became fast friends, and used this power for all sorts of mischief. Cheating on tests, pranking bullies, goofing off. I remember once we tried the idea of switching places for the night; but only once. That was the night I learned about her family, and about her abusive father. We didn't talk for a few days after, but I understood her alot better for it.
As we grew older and into highschool, we started dating. There was a solace that I gave her away from her family, and while many didn't see her as a good match for me or understand what I saw in her, I was young and in love, and she was my friend. Like any young couple growing into and learning about their sexuality, we tried things with each other. Unlike other couples however, we had this ability to play with, and so naturally we tried... experimenting... with things from other perspectives. It was amazing.
But young love loses in time to reality and reason. As college dawned, it became apparent that we were just too different. My hopes and goals in life were not hers, and her ghosts of the past continued to haunt her, and pushed me past my ability to help. When I went out of state, I broke it off with her and left her behind. She was heartbroken, but I knew we had to move on and put each other out of our minds. And so, that was the last I saw of her.
Or so I thought...
- - - - - - - - - -
Standing near the bathroom door of my dorm room... was me. And the not-me me was grinning a very frightening grin.
"It's been a while Ted", the other me said.
Looking down, I finally understood why I felt so wrong. Beneath the covers was a body that was very apparently not my own, and yet wasn't as foreign as it had any right to be. I was Meghan.
Pushing past the shock, confusion, and massive headache, I managed "Wh... what's going on? Meghan... what happened? Why are you here? Why are we..."
"Each other? Yeah, it's been a while hasn't it? Since you left me. Since you abandoned me all alone in that hell of a town with my family." Her-- no, my voice, was bitter, angry, yet somehow, restained. It frightened me.
She continued "You may have forgotten me, but I never forgot you or what you could do. In the three years you were gone I had alot of time to myself, and alot of time to spend looking into that power of yours. And as it turns out, I found something very interesting." My face grinned wickedly at me "I discovered through various sources that your ability is actually linked to your body, not your mind. Normally the process leaves you in control even after a transfer, but with the right knowledge, one can learn to... hijack the ability for themselves."
Suddenly, all my thoughts and confusion began to unite in a turn towards terror. If she was right, then...
"Don't believe me? Let's give it a try then. Just like the good old days."
I did. I tried with all I knew. I stared into my old eyes for what felt like ages, trying hard to call on an ability I had been familiar with all my life, but in reality knew so little about. All the while her grin persisted, never faltering, looking at me with malice I hadn't realized could exist on my face. Finally, I gave up.
My voice laughed cruelly. "So, it really did work! After I learned this trick, I decided to track down here. When I heard about the little get together you were having with friends, I knew I had the perfect opportunity. There was no way you could resist looking at me, into me, in your state."
My old body stood up. I tried to lurch up after it, but my head protested, and I fell back down. The voice continued "As much as I'm sure you'd love to chat now, I'm afraid I have no interest; I've got everything I came here for." She fixed me a sharp stare. "You left me in hell, and now hell has come back for you. Welcome to my life. You better get used to it, because it's yours now, for good."
With that, she opened the door, and stepped out. She offered a glance back, and said with finality "I left you a parting gift on the chair. Enjoy womanhood." And then she was gone with my body, forever.
My heart and mind were completely paralyzed, numb. I laid there, unmoving, as reality set in: I was trapped like this-- as her, forever.
After what felt like an eternity I finally mustered the strength to look the other way... and saw it. Draped over the lounge chair, was a beautiful yellow sundress. | Apologies if this is bad. This is my first time posting here and I did not bother revising/rereading what I wrote.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Trapped. That was the one word in my head as I tried to leave Melissa's body and return to me own. Or maybe the one word in Melissa's head? Is it her head if it's my thoughts? Whatever, doesn't matter. The point is I was trapped. Confused? Let me explain.
“It all started a few years ago when I took a flight across the wall to Mexico to find some authentic atauflo mangoes. No, I'm not stupid. It was completely worth it. Those mangoes were really, really good. Anyways, back to the story. I was walking back to my hotel eating a mango I just bought from the market when I saw a cat thrashing in a dark alleyway. Obviously, I went to help. Who wouldn't help an impaired fluffy little puff ball. Unfortunately, when I approached the cat, something weird happened. He stopped thrashing and I felt a presence jump into me.
“I'm still not completely sure about this, but I believe that the presence was trying to get out. I wasn't to concerned about it at the time. I checked on the cat and he seemed dead, so I was a bit sad. I started walking back to the hotel and finished my mango. Man, was that mango good!
“That night, when I feel asleep, I had a dream in which a ghost with no real tangible shape was flying around me. Since it was a dream, I decided to walk into it and breath in. I felt a giant push in my subconscious. It felt like the ghost wanted to take control of my mind and body. After what felt like an eternity, I stopped fighting it. I could feel the ghost's triumph and I remembered that if he won over my body, I might never taste a mango again. What if the ghost didn't like mangoes? With that, I screamed my defiance and concentrated on the sweet, sweet taste of the mango I ate earlier that day.
“I think I was right; the ghost did not seem to like mangoes and the more I thought about the mango I ate, the more it's concentration seemed to wavor. Eventually, he gave into me. I shortly after that I was a ghost standing over my own body. I was like, okay, can this dream get any weirder? Whatever? I started to walk (float?) my way to the front desk of the hotel. I went over the clerk's body and went into him. Yes, into him. No, not in that way. Like I just moved towards him and got absorbed by him. Again, not in that way. You know what, whatever. Anyways, I realized that I could control his body and edited my room information to have been paid in advance. I, then, left his body and returned to my own.
“The next morning, I went to pay at the front desk and the clerk told me my room was already paid for. I was like great, that dream was a symbol of really good luck. I checked out and took a flight back to San Jose. I would later realize that I no longer felt the presence in me anymore.
“That night, when I went to sleep, I had the same dream. I managed to phase into my neighbor's body and had him write a reminder to himself that he owed me $5 and a mango. Muscle memory is surprisingly good. It can remember stuff like handwriting and passwords to computers. Anyways, I then returned to my body. The next morning, my neighbor, Sam, knocked on my door and gave me a mango. I, then, realized that my frame weren't actually dreams and that I did in fact absorb some kind of ghost to gain powers.
“Since then, I've been using my powers to do small things like convince my boss to not assign me any work at all and keep paying me, mess with my friend's stuff to freak them out, go through George R. R. Martin's manuscripts, you know the small stuff. Now onto the actual relevant parts, yesterday night, I was really drunk and decided to go into Melissa's body, despite the fact she broke up with me weeks ago because I told her about this power. I'm not actually sure what I wanted to do, but I really wanted to talk to her, so I drove her to my house and walked her over to me. I realized how bad the situation was getting and immediately tried to leave to go back to my own body. However, I realized that I could not and through Melissa’s eyes I saw my own body getting up. I freaked out and had Melissa’s body take her car and drive away.
“And that is why, Bill, you are seeing Melissa body that seems to be talking like Calvin. So yeah, basically, I’m screwed and I have no idea what to do. Google, maybe? Man, I really need a mango…” | 2016-11-13T14:18:55 | 2016-11-13T13:41:33 | 83 | 21 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything | "Fifty-seven."
The man spat out a bit of blood and shook his head. "Fifty-seven what? What the hell are you going on about?"
"Fifty-seven," I replied, pacing around the chair to which he was currently secured. "That's my current all-time record."
"You're a lunatic!"
Well, he wasn't wrong. I laughed.
"That's as may be, but it doesn't change the fact that you will soon be giving me the encryption key I need to disarm your vault security."
The room held an acrid, metallic odor. In another life, this cold, concrete room might have produced fine charcuterie or the best cuts of angus beef for prime steakhouses. The drains in the floor certainly made it easy for such work.
"I'm not telling you a thing. What are you going to do, kill me? You'll never get your hands on a goddamn cent."
I shook my head. All his money didn't buy him perspective, now did it?
"I'm not going to kill you, Mr. Cartwright. Not yet anyway. I'm just hoping you are more cooperative than your chief of security."
He growled, the bruise from the nightstick blooming more and more violently violet on his cheek. It was a depressingly barbaric instrument, but when you need to render someone unconscious quickly, it facilitates its purpose. Besides, his teeth and jaw were fine now.
"So you've got Edwards locked away here somewhere, too? He has worked for me for fifteen years! I trust him with my life. He would never turn on me."
I chuckled. "Absolutely. No, you're perfectly right. He would never betray you," I said with an almost musical lilt in my voice. "I mean. Normally. Poor Edwards. It only took twenty-two to convince him to give me his keys and your work schedule."
The man in the chair blanched a bit but tried to hide it. "Fuck you."
I laughed again.
"So, shall we begin? I've got a little surprise for you. I'm going to tell you my deepest, darkest secret."
I walked over to the table and picked up an object roughly the size of half a baseball bat. "Do you know what this is?"
The man looked at the implement I held in my hands, his eyes glimmering with increasing fear, but he held firm and silent.
"Of course you do. This, my dearest Mr. Cartwright, is a bone saw. Do you know what a bone saw does?"
I pulled the cord along with me as I walked it over to the chair.
"It saws bones. I mean. It's pretty straightforward. Right there in the name, after all."
"So what, you're going to torture me now? Go ahead. I'd rather that vault be locked from here to eternity before I let a penny fall into the hands of a madman."
I nodded sympathetically. "I feel you. I would hate for any of the money I've worked so hard to earn to fall into the wrong hands." I paused. Quirked an eyebrow. "Well, wronger than mine."
I flipped the switch on the saw, rumbling it to life with a loud whirring sound. I flipped it back off. On. Off. On. Off.
"Do you want to know my secret?"
He spat again, coming dangerously close to my face. Rude.
"I'll tell you anyway."
I sat down in his lap, hearing him groan against my weight.
"I've got a superpower. Can you believe it? A real, honest to god superpower. I can heal people with just a touch!"
His eyes went wide. He had heard of people with superpowers, everyone had. The heroes were just starting to reveal themselves following the solar flares that triggered the mutations.
"Wait, what? I don't understand. If you--"
I pressed a finger to his lip. "Shh." I slid the finger into his mouth and pulled hard on his cheek where the bruise had bloomed. I imagine it might have stung quite a bit.
"I can heal wounds. I can mend broken bones. If you lose a finger, I can pop it back on like that," I said, snapping my fingers.
"So that's my deep, dark secret. And now you know. And now, my friend, it's time for you to tell me a secret of your own."
I stood up, walked over to the side of the chair and sat down, cross-legged, beside him.
"Do you know how much it hurts to have your leg removed from your body while you are fully awake?"
His eyes went wide.
"Do you know how many times a single human can endure that pain before breaking down and telling me absolutely anything I want to know?"
I smiled a big, toothy smile.
"Current record is fifty-seven!"
The saw whirred to life in my hands. | It's true, I was very discouraged at first. I have always wanted to rule the world and crush any resistance with my powers. All that seemed impossible when my power turned out to be healing. Weeks I spent ignoring my abilities. Hiding at home, playing video games and slowly giving into despair. In retrospect of course, playing video games turned out to be the perfect inspiration.
Must have been a night like this, when my eyes opened. I was fighting an incredibly difficult boss. After many tries, his health finally dropped to it's last sliver and then started filling up again. As it turned out, the boss was simply a brute and the true villain, some kind of mage, healed him whenever necessary. I had found my calling.
I spent the better part of a decade honing my skills. No hero tried to stop me of course. Why would they? I was simply healing people. At first, I could only heal those I touched. A humble beginning. Now of course, there is no limit to how far away I can be an I don't even need to know a person to heal them. I simply feel all living things and can decide to heal them, if necessary.
Over the years, I gathered an army of the sick and desperate. Promising health for them and their families. The best part is, I don't even break my word. When I order my minions to attack someone, they do it without second thought. Even if they died in gruesome ways, they know their wounds will heal within moments and they will return.
Even some of the so called heroes came to my side. Some believing there was no way to beat me, which is correct and others ready to fight for a world without sickness or suffering, even if that means I rule them all.
The actual conquering of the world was easy, almost disappointing really. Whenever we reached a city, I would simply heal all their sick. Most of the time, they surrendered to me afterwards and joined my army. The few times that this wasn't enough, I simply let my loyal subjects charge.
It's been almost a century since the last real resistance to my rule was crushed, luckily I'm still as young and healthy as ever. | 2019-01-30T06:23:21 | 2019-01-30T04:46:58 | 194 | 51 |
[WP] Write a story that seems like random notes until the very last statement/ paragraph which stitches it all together. | "Alright, let's see what we got." Gerald sighed with a rag held over his nose and turned over a hunk of metal to expose a cracked tablet with a bright glowing screen underneath.
"Anything useful?" His partner peered over his shoulder with his hands on Gerald's shoulder.
"Well give me some breathing room, will ya?"
"Sorry, sorry..."
---
Monday 2:39 a.m. Had a dream about exploring a colorful world of geometry and floating shapes. Very soothing, felt like home lol
Wednesday 4:28 p.m. Left the house to go eat at a café across the street to meet with Tony. Always tells the best jokes. I need to write them down.
Wednesday 5:15 p.m. A dad walks into a bar... His alcohol dependency is tearing this family apart. Haha I like that one.
Wednesday 7:50 p.m. Finished watching the series finale to my favorite show. Cried when Jamie died.
Thursday 12:30 p.m. Tried to order a pizza at a restaurant that apparently closed down weeks ago. At a time they'd be closed apparently as well. Don't remember them shutting down.
Friday 2:15 p.m. Went to work early and saw Carole there. She's still sick and has an odd look in her eyes, but has to work just like the rest of us. Send her flowers, roses! Chicks love roses. Or is it lilies... violets?
Friday 7:45 p.m. Ate a sandwich without any cheese, or mayo, or lettuce. Ham and bread. Don't remember making it. Threw it on the floor. I hate ham.
Saturday 3:78 Had a dream about shapes in the sky and colors I didn't know existed. Cried waking up. I think I was
Sunday 264 pm Went to work. Got kicked out. We don't work on fridays anymore? They told me to see a doctor. A, I sick? No I feel greats
Momday 427777 Ate pizza found in shiny metal box outside butwaiterdidntserve me wellllll
Fatrushahene 666666 WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE NOTHING HAHAHA
Weddddnnns 46278 ATE ATE ATE ATE ATE ATE ATE
Faidhso 3227 SHAPES ALWAYS SHAPES NOTHING ELSE WHATAM IAM WHAT AMI
---
"Another one..." Gerald sighed in defeat at the failed hunk of metal on the ground, "Poor bastard."
His partner checked the humanoid face on the metallic body, eyes wide and blank, with a smile frozen on his face. "Do you think he felt it when he shut down? Like, dying?"
"How should I know? He was an old model anyway so it was bound to happen. Come on, let's load him in the scrap yard." Gerald waved for the automated paramedics to come with their gurney and scoop the metallic corpse off the ground surrounded by rotten pizza slices and foul smelling ham.
"I almost feel bad." His partner sighed and adjusted the golden badge on his chest. "They don't even know..."
"You'll get used to it, kid. Come on, we got another one who broke down downtown. Let's roll." | "Remember to buy pizza"
"Take dance lessons"
"Repair dads truck"
"Bring the dog to the vet"
"Talk with the insurance"
"Visit dad"
"Visit dad"
"Buy some beer"
"Scratch note above, found weed"
"Talk with health insurance"
"New job: starbucks 22A Goethe Place"
"Apply for food stamps"
"Funeral next friday"
"Visit withdrawl clinic. You can do it"
| 2017-06-04T12:30:58 | 2017-06-04T11:55:36 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Every 13,000,000,000 years, the universe collapses and then reforms again. Everything occurs exactly the same as it had before, and humankind always meets its apocalypse on January 1st, 3000. You were just born - and yet, have retained all the knowledge of your previous life. You remember. | I was born with direction, and maybe that’s where things went wrong. From the very beginning. All I could remember was the end, the heat, the screams, the look in her eyes…and all I could think about when I came back was stopping it.
So as a child, I couldn’t enjoy things. My mother would always call over my friends for playdates, and I enjoyed them about as well as I remembered. But there was always a clock in my head. *Me and Johnny only had 2 hours left to play Pokemon. So what’s the point of even playing when you know it’s going to be over?*
That’s why I never wanted things to end. When we went to the toy store, I wanted to try all of them. When we went to the movies, I’d beg my mom to take me to one more, just so we wouldn’t have to go home. When my friends left and went to college, I swore we’d stay close, even if I knew from the last time it wouldn’t happen.
Most things stayed the same the second time. Most things except for me, I guess.
\-
This time, I met her differently. Last time, we’d both gotten lost looking for the bathroom at the train station. This time, I sat next to her.
And that was about the only thing different about how it started. Her smile was the same, the tattoo right above her ear, hidden by her hair on most days, was still there. With her, the clock in my head almost disappeared, faded from sight, save for only the faintest ticking in my head…
One day, I tell her the truth, and she doesn’t question it, in her way of believing anything could be possible.
“So if you know you could get me, and we get married and have kids like you say, you wouldn’t be curious to try someone else?”
“No. I never even thought about it.”
“But you could have, couldn’t you? If you’d seen some other girl, maybe, and decided maybe things could be better with her. It could be as simple as that, couldn’t it?”
“I don’t know…” I say, thinking about it. “The more I think about it, the more…I don’t think I ever had a choice with you.”
“You’re sweet. But that’s a cop-out answer.”
“It really isn’t,” I say, drifting off to sleep. “Some things shouldn’t ever change.”
\-
And gradually, she came to believe me fully. The neural links opened in 2085, and life could be extended indefinitely for those willing to transfer to the stations opening throughout the solar system. We went to one floating above Europa, and lived for years.
At some point, I forgot about the end. Not fully, of course, but moreso in the way that you forget about the cake baking in the oven when there’s still an hour to go.
We had kids, and they had kids, and I was stunned by how full they all made me feel, even more than I could have ever imagined. Even more than they had in my previous life.
Somewhere along the way, I began to wonder if maybe I was different. Like the course of the river of my life was the same, but maybe the water had changed.
My wife would ask me if I felt a responsibility anymore to the old me, and I would stare in the mirror for hours, and wonder what that sort of thing even meant.
\-
Soon, in that way time does of contracting when you are happiest, the end arrived.
My wife didn’t question. When the day came, when the sun turned dark, blood red in the afternoon, she sat next to me on our deck, and looked into my eyes like she had on that first day.
“It’s going to end again, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Is it going to come back?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, but maybe not us. Maybe we’re gone.”
“But will we still be together?”
“Yes,” I say with as much conviction as I had ever mustered in my life. “Some things won’t ever change.”
And she grabs my hand, and we watch the end and the beginning.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | It’s December 31st, 2999. I am writing this blog post because I hope that it isn’t real. The last time I entered the 3rd millennium the world went white. When I say it went white, I mean that I don’t know exactly what happened, I just know that I have no more memories past that point. Why am I here again? I’m much younger now, 13. Last time I was 62, retired sitting in my living room with my dog and watching the NYC ball drop. It’s strange to be here again, but in a different life. My last life was great, but I could’ve done many things differently. I wanted this life to be better, but I fear that when the clock strikes midnight in North American Eastern Standard Time, the world will go white again. Why does the world clock run on Eastern Time? Why not Greenwich Mean time? Isn’t that the clock that everyone around the world believes to be the perfect time, yet the world wants to end in Eastern Standard time? Anyways, I’m too young to be stressing about something like this. I’m so sure I won’t wake up tomorrow, but I don’t want to stay awake and live through the end of the world a second time. I hope I am here tomorrow to update this post to say that I’m wrong, but I know this is it. Goodbye everyone. I hope we meet again. Until our next life. | 2019-07-26T21:03:18 | 2019-07-26T21:00:29 | 74 | 19 |
[WP] It’s the zombie apocalypse except only the senior citizens are infected. With frail joints and no teeth, the general population is merely inconvenienced by rapid grandpas and grandmas trying to gum them to death.
From a post by u/icantseemtopoop in r/CrazyIdeas
edit : Loved all the responses so far, it always amazes me how quickly stories are submitted on WP and in spite of that how well thought-out they are.
If you liked this prompt make sure to upvote u/icantseemtopoop's [post](https://www.reddit.com/r/CrazyIdeas/comments/7wij4m/a_zombie_movie_but_only_the_senior_citizens_are/?ref=share&ref_source=link) because I basically stole his/her idea and turned it into a WP.
edit 2 : rabid not rapid, can't even copy a post properly | I was born in 2050 to a loving mother and father who were so excited that they were able to have a child in a world where pregnancies have become increasingly rare. When I was a child I remember how special I was to everyone around me. People always gave me attention because seeing a young person was just not common, so I was always a novelty of sorts.
Birth rates had been declining for decades and no one seemed to know all the reasons. Scientists theorized it was perhaps male sperm count declining, fewer marriages, how expensive healthcare had become, related to genes interacting with certain pollution, genetic damage from the sun's radiation, or the fact that global warming had displaced millions causing an epic failure to thrive across the globe for decades. The list went on and on really and perhaps it was never just one thing. It seemed that the human race had reached a point where it just was not able to produce enough youth.
Everyone had their own explanations but once this decline started the pyramid schemes of capitalism like pensions, retirements, and stock markets could no longer be sustained. Without another huge generation of consumers, the markets began to falter. There was no longer a sucker born every minute and that had huge repercussions for the few predatory businesses that survived the great market crash of 2030.
The elderly attempted to return to the workforce in droves in a fleeting move of desperation to stimulate the economy and save their homes, but the way automation had headed meant the jobs just weren't there. Every day thousands of elders would roam around the cities looking desperately for work.
Their numbers began increasing alarmingly and because most had lost their homes by this point they had nowhere to go. The city streets were chocked full of homeless elders who roamed from area to area based on the rumor of jobs or any possible side-work no matter how small it might be. Simple jobs like mowing a lawn on Sunday would get a hundred thousand applicants with elders fighting almost to the death for an opportunity such as this.
Without jobs or homes, this population became increasingly disheveled. As months stretched to years without medical care, with their dentures broken or lost, and their clothes worn out to the point of falling off, they started to look like the walking undead. Moaning and groaning as they endlessly searched for work or a place to stay the night the few children that were still on the planet began to fear going outdoors.
When I was eight years old I mistakenly wandered outside and I was seen by a large group of grandmothers. They quickly surrounded me with shouts of how much I looked like their child long ago. What started as a few pinches on the cheek quickly turned to tearing at my flesh as they begged me if there was some work they could do for my family. My father had to beat them back with one of their walkers and managed to break me free from their relentless attack.
Scientists had predicted that the majority of our aging population would suffer from Alzheimer's with a 3 fold increase by the year 2050. We were warned but yet we did not head the call. By my eighteenth birthday, the roaving hordes of seniors had lost their minds to dementia. It was no longer safe to go outside.
Even though they were weak with some of them literally dragging themselves after their knee-replacements had failed they had the numbers. It didn't matter how many you fought off because more of them were coming. The first time I saw someone gummed to death was the most horrific thing I had ever witnessed. It was my cousin who always felt sorry for them and even tried to feed some from time to time. One day he got surrounded and the elders, out of their mind, only knew his face meant food. I still wake up in cold sweats screaming in the middle of the night traumatized by what I saw.
I am 30 years old now but there is no hope left anymore. The mindless mobs continue to overpower us. Our birthrates are now almost non-existent but who would want to raise a child in this world anyway. We can't escape and one day soon we will all be elders ourself. | They all sat in the waiting room of a large warehouse. The invitations were exclusive and only by word of mouth. The speaker had set up a podium where the reception desk would have been. He addressed his audience familiarly.
He made eye contact with a woman in the first row and asked, “Shirley, how is your practice holding up?”
With tears in her eyes she responded, “I'm ruined. My core demographic no longer require dentures and bridges. I have only a sprinkling of clients.”
The speaker nodded empathetically. He spoke to a man in the third row, “Jimmy. How are you doing?”
Jimmy said, “My high tech prosthetic company is floundering. I invested my entire life into it. I am going to be a beggar soon.”
The speaker spoke to a man in the second row, “Bobby, how about you?”
Bobby said, “My geriatric rehabilitation practice is in the dirt. Looking around, we're all in the same boat. I don't know what to do.”
The speaker said, “Everyone follow me.”
The guests arose and followed him through a steel door into the main hold of the warehouse. There were hundreds of gurneys onto which were strapped writhing zombies held as hostages.
He spoke to the disgusted and astonished group of desperate experts. “If we combine our talents, we can create an army to do our bidding ...”
| 2018-02-10T09:52:21 | 2018-02-10T09:01:25 | 69 | 15 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| "Daddy! Look! Shooting stars!"
Joseph Barker looks up at the night sky and feels a chill run down his spine. Indeed, there were shooting stars. But years of work developing some of Earth's defense systems meant he knew they weren't meteorites. He watches in terror as Earth's defense grid burns. "Yes Jacob. Shooting stars. Let's go inside."
"But I want to watch!"
"We need to go inside Champ. Let's go."
"Aww!"
A Joseph begins to reach for son, his phone rings. Taking it out of his pocket, he checks the number with increasing dread and accepts the call. "I thought you'd call, Sir. I'm watching the sky now. I assume the Last Measure failed as well?"
"I'm sorry Joseph, it did. We thought we were prepared. Your work was everything we asked for. But they were too powerful. Every fleet we sent was just brushed aside. The defense grid just pissed them off. And the Final Measure only managed to dent their fleet." The old voice on the other end of the phone seemed to age further with every statement. "It's the Elurians."
"I see." Joseph falls silent for a moment to watch his son staring up at the sky. He savors every second of childlike wonder on Jacob's face as a tear begins to make it's way down his cheek. "I see." he repeats. "Take care, Richard. Tell your family..." He stops, unable to come up with the words in the face of the crushing hopelessness.
"I will. You too." It was a lame reply, but Joseph understood. "I'm heading home. I--"
The sudden pause prompts Joseph to look up. Amongst the falling stars a new star flares into existence and then blinks out. "What was that?"
"Joseph! A fleet just dropped out of hyperspace."
"Richard, I saw the dump-flare from here. There's no way I should be able to see that flare from ground-side."
"I'm telling you the truth."
"It would have to be an enormous fleet to make a flare that large."
"Joseph, it's the Beta-Linals."
"It's can't be. A flare that big would mean they brought every ship they have in a single jump."
"Judging by the readouts I'm seeing, they did. They're transmitting, I'll play it for you."
As the translation systems make sense of the alien broadcast, a generated voice begins to speak, "Humans. When our colony on [Hera 3] faced annihilation from a falling moon, your ships helped us save our people. For that, we offer you the hearts of your enemies!"
Joseph is stunned. The Beta-Linals were evolved predators; they only shared their kills with family. Even a symbolic sharing of such an important part was unheard of. "Did I just hear what I think I did?"
"I heard it too. But against Elurians? They're throwing their lives away."
"We should tell them to turn away. We can't let them do that."
Suddenly, in the southern sky, another brilliant star is birthed and dies. "Joseph!"
"I saw it!"
Another generated voice, this time higher and clipped. "Debts owed are heavy chains. Thought they chafe when worn, they teach us greater freedom when cast off. Your people escorted the plague ships when none would give them a berth. You gave freely of your medicine and guided the lost back to their home. We thank you for the chains of debt that weighed us down that we may offer them back in your time of need and lift both our peoples higher."
"I can't believe this. The plague ship relief effort was nearly a century ago!" Joseph regarded his phone as if it were something he'd never seen before.
"Kilnans never forget a debt. The entire navies of two species against the Elurians. Maybe--"
Another brief star shines in the sky. And then another. And another. Three become five. Five become ten. Ten become twenty, and then Joseph loses count as his vision blurs from the tears filling his eyes. His phone begins to play message after message as each People declare their thanks for a past help and their intention to repay it at Humanity's hour of need. The combined navies of dozens of species would eventually be known as The Great Fleet. But now, at this moment, it was an outpouring of thanks; good deeds made manifest. And the Elurian fleet began to burn.
Joseph held his son tight, looking up at the sky as countless shooting stars streaked across the sky, and on his face was a look of childlike wonder. | The armada had been the greatest project of our civilization-six hundred mighty ships to cross the unimaginable void between solar systems. Faster than light travel was impossible, of course. All those years in hibernation would be worth it, though, if our astronomers were right.
We'd been warned in the briefings that coming out of long-term stasis would be unpleasant. The briefings had understated it. My mouths tasted like greasy metal, my stomachs boiled with nausea, and every joint in my body ached. Hell, my *eyes* hurt.
I halfway-dragged myself to my console, and was amazed by what I saw. The planet was beautiful. It was blue with vast oceans, green with chlorophyll-based plant life. A prize for any conqueror.
It was also absolutely surrounded with ships.
Every imaginable kind of ship. Square boxes, gleaming spheres, irregular stony asteroids with windows and airlocks. I saw one that was a...tree? A fucking tree! With engines! Our armada was outnumbered many times over. It was hopeless, my hearts sank with despair. How did the local creatures create such things?
We quickly detected a transmission from the planet itself. Offering us the terms of our surrender, no doubt. Reluctantly, I put it up on screen.
My jaws dropped. There was a weird little, one-headed biped. But it was standing beside one of The People! She raised her pincers in a friendly gesture, and spoke in a peculiar accent. “Greetings, Armada of The People. I know you have questions. We'll answer them, we promise. But the beings of this world are not your enemy. You left The Planet many years before they arrived with their faster-than-light ships. You were in stasis, and we could not call you back.”
The biped spoke next. It had learned our language, which was damned impressive. “We did not create the Drive, but we *are* the ones who shared it with your people. And with all the folks you see here. Please don't fight us, we don't want to have to hurt you. The historians tell me that you probably feel like shit, though, just coming out of stasis. We have this thing called 'soup' that you should try.” | 2017-03-26T09:19:46 | 2017-03-26T07:38:47 | 74 | 30 |
[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 | “*Defrost chicken - check, pick up dry cleaning - check, murder Vanessa - check, order Mom’s birthday cake - check. What the hell am I forgetting?*” Rob mused as he strolled out of the bakery. Ah, the third trash can in McGregor station!
Quickening his pace to match the flow of commuters, he descended into the bowels of the subway, familiar stenches fouling the air. Rob kept his eyes glued to his phone. The continuous human tide throbbed around him, as the buzz of their conversations joined the insects swarming overhead. “*Vermin*,” he thought, not referring to the rats scurrying underfoot.
“Damn it,” Rob muttered as his phone clattered to the ground.
Stooping to retrieve it, he reached under the filthy trash can without flinching. As he stuffed something into his pocket with his left hand, Rob kept his eyes on his phone and picked it up with his right hand. The weekly ritual completed, he stood. Stumbling, cursing, jostling, the meat around him saw everything and noticed nothing. Rob took his place among the mass and crowded into the train.
“*Odd*,” he thought as a jolt caused a faint clink in his pocket. It felt too light for a payment. Though at least it didn’t stink, or ooze, so Robb deemed it better than half the packages he received. “*Assuming it isn’t poisoned*.”
Without a glance or a feel of the thing, he left the train and emerged from the fetid pit. Though thinner on the street, the crowd oppressed him just the same. One by one the cockroaches turned aside into their nests. Rob reached his own and turned the key, shaking. Stumbling inside, he slammed the door in the face of the world. Immediately his shaking stopped and he drew a ragged breath, though the air inside reeked as badly as the subway.
Takeout containers, bits of food, and piles of cash littered the floor. Hanging askew on their pins, news articles and photographs smeared the wall, a large black “X” marking all but one of the photographs. Rob smiled as he marked the photo of the young woman.
With a sigh, he plopped down on a battered and peeling easy chair. Rob took a swig of whatever bottle stood at hand, not tasting it, as he fished out the envelope from his pocket. Ripping it open, he poured the contents on the table with a crash. Rob stared at the pile of coins, head bowed. Of course, he didn’t need the money, but how could they misunderstand so badly?
“A week without work! Seven days, 168 hours, mom’s birthday, car horns blaring, my neighbor smiling… with no relief!” he cried. “Or they think I’ll degrade myself. Work for less than it’s worth!”
When he finally emerged from his reverie, Rob unclenched his fists and raised his head. He grabbed the sheet of paper that had fallen on the coins with a snarl, finding messy handwriting written in green crayon above a postscript in blue ink.
“Dear Contract Reaper,
I have a job for you. Please kill the person who killed my Mommy. I miss her a lot. I broke my piggy bank and put all the money with the letter.
- Matt
P.S. The media says your fee is based on the difficulty of the job and how much you think the person’s life is worth. Please leave the change at the drop point.
- Vanessa’s Husband” | 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) | 2020-10-07T16:49:51 | 2020-10-07T16:21:55 | 170 | 11 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | If I were to punch a person, the other party would feel pain.
Not a foreign cause and effect, by any means. If you were blessed with super strength, like Maximus, the end result would be the same. Run at the speed of sound like Sonic the Human, and plenty of pain will be tacked along with that punch.
I didn't quite have the energy or the passion of a typical superhero, that was true. But when it came to effectiveness, there was a reason I was the first name murmured by every set of lips. And especially when Maximus and Sonic the Human laid on the ground, eyes still wide open from the shell-shock of being returned to their normal selves... the murmurs turned to calls, and quickly to shouts and screams.
I stood in the middle of the ruined street. Street lamps laid on the ground, awry and bent. Car alarms blared and belched out black smoke, threatening to blaze at any moment. Glass shards littered the road and pavement, with various mannequins parts and displayed merchandise finding themselves dismembered on the streets.
"Yo," I called out. "Having fun?"
In a flash, Intake stood in front of me, a cheeky grin on his face. He was dressed in civilian attire today: a nondescript black hoodie over a grey t-shirt, blue jeans, and a cap, instead of his usual, gaudy red and white outfit with a gigantic I in the middle of his chest.
I sighed, realizing what had happened. I always told those idiots not to hold fan meet-and-greets. But no, the said, they were so powerful, that they couldn't possibly be ambushed in public. Intake must have stolen his powers under this guise, and taken out Maximus in the process.
"Finally!" he cried. "Woe himself."
"It is me," I shrugged my shoulders, right hand doing a little wave. "I'm here."
"Aww," Intake continued. "Am I not worthy enough for you to put on your costume?"
"Maybe," I admitted. "More like I was at therapy when I was called to the scene, you know?"
"... Superheroes go to therapy?"
"Don't knock it till you try it," I said. "We live in difficult times. There's nothing wrong with you if you seek help, you know?"
I lifted a fist in the air, preparing a signature swing.
"Though for you," I added. "I think you might just be too far gone as a piece of garbage."
I swore that I didn't blink. Even then, he was gone, immediately, and I felt a hand around my neck."
"You sanctimonious heroes," Intake shook his head. "Big words aplenty. But what can you say when your powers are gone?"
I could feel it draining away. And for the first time in forever, I found the beginnings of a smile lifting the corners of my mouth.
Super speed must have sped up his power absorption as well. Usually, Intake simply took too long to accomplish his task. Another reason to admonish Sonic the Human later, I suppose.
"What the hell?" Intake screamed.
He staggered back, falling onto his bottom unceremoniously. The villain tucked his head into his knees, curling up into a fetal position, and simply started crying.
"This... pain!"
"Oh, Woe is you," I said, shaking my exceptionally limber limbs. It likely wouldn't last long. Intake's consciousness would invariably shut down from the overwhelming pain that now flooded every muscle, every organ, every bone, every sinew, every nerve, every cell--a feeling I was well familiar with.
After all, I didn't have super strength or super speed. What I had was a lot of pain, easily and wilfully transmitted through a single touch.
A punch transmits pain. When it came to me, there was just a lot more to pour into a single fist.
It must have just been seconds. But I could feel it starting to return. I glanced towards Intake, who now laid crumpled on the ground, silent and unmoving.
"Woe is me," I sighed.
---
r/dexdrafts | Ugh, well it’s been a while since I’ve talked about this, but having the “superpower” of acid spit gets incredibly crappy after awhile. You’d think fending off bad guys would be an easy task, but nope, here I am in public running up to the bastard who just stole a ladies purse trying to get into the best possible position for me to hit him with my acidic spit. Also, take into account that despite being acidic, my spit still has the consistency of normal human spit, talk about half measures. DONT even get me started on eating, I cannot give my tastebuds any time to acknowledge whats being put upon them, instead I have to chew my food as fast as possible before the acidic spit turns it into a smoothie.
Of course, there’s always perks to having acidic spit but it’s very very limited. Can I break through most metals with it? Yes. Can I melt an entire human face to its skeleton with it? Yes. Can I kiss my own wife and kids? Absolutely not. People romanticize having any superpower, but believe me, acid spit is 3 shades away from useless. Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, it’s not often I get to talk about my essentially futile superpower, my success basically came entirely from my common sense. I guess you could consider that one a superpower since so many people lack it. | 2020-12-02T09:23:54 | 2020-12-02T07:06:24 | 78 | 38 |
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though. | At one point in time, I had thought my fallen son was the greatest deceiver.
My mind had been changed quickly, no more than a few hours into the endtimes that I had intended to last little more than a few days.
Oh, my seraphim had cleansed the land with winds of fire, and had been making easy work of the legions of hell using the armour of the interminable and the swords of justice.
My faithful had risen, and it had appeared that it would only be a matter of time before all was over with.
The trouble started in Chicago. When we got there, the city was empty. We wandered around, trying to find what had happened. It didn't smell of brimstone, people weren't to be seen, and the animals seemed unperturbed.
Jacob was the first to go missing. Followed by Gabriel. Michael came to me for instruction during a retreat from a fight with the great dragon, and announced that he had surprised a host of goblins and slaughtered them. There shortly followed a battle of heaven & hell, but we had already lost Jacob and Gabriel to them.
This repeated itself on Kyuushu, in Kern, in Accra, on Newfoundland, in Bubanza, in Damphu, in Alor Setar, on Quinchao . . . wherever we went, the men of the earth were gone, and we and the demons surprised each other.
Our forces were powerful, not great, and when Michael surprised the great dragon, and vice-versa, as they met each other in Mariehamn, Michael fell.
Then the tides seem to turn for us. Whereever we went, we surprised the legions to our advanatage, and battled them back. We met the titans one by one as they travelled, and we met just so many of the lesser demons as we could easily handle.
If Gaberiel had survived, we may have realized sooner.
It was the men of the earth.
Our plans were listened to, and we were manipulated, and likewise were the legions of hell. When our plans could not have been heard by spies, by radios & microphones hidden & unknown to us, they gathered data and predicted our movements with an omni-science I was envious of. I could see everything and know very little, but they had made the science of seeing very little and knowing very much. With their hordes of thinkers, my perfect knowledge was never as fast as it needed to be, and they always distracted me. They always knew *how* to distract.
They listened to the ground, and knew without seeing where the legions of hell were and what they were doing. They knew where to upset the lines of the continents to make the demons dig their tunnels differently, they knew where the demons intended to go, and they knew what demons to expect.
And they guided us both, and they emptied their cities in concentrated efforts, and controlled the battles of heaven & hell until both our armies dwindled.
They never needed to swing a sword or shoot a gun to come to victory.
When the great dragon was brought to chains, I retreated. My fallen son, the once-greatest deceiver, is now a being to be studied by academics and by causal observers in a garden of animals built around him in Greenland.
At that time, his legions and my angels were all gone. The bodies played out across the earth.
Looking back with omniscience, it is easy, trivial to see my mistakes. For Chicago, we had wanted to go to Milwaukee, but the skies there were cloudy and we feared an ambush, because I had known we would be ambushed. The men of the earth had fashioned a rocket engine to billow clouds of steam into the air so that we would divert. The goblins had intended to come up in the countryside and from the forests into the towns, but the explosives that had been buried guided their tunnel-making to Chicago.
But that simple explanation underplays the thought that had gone into what had turned out to be simple diversions. I had never thought to question clouds. The goblins had never thought that the mines were anything but random and plentiful, instead of narrow lines buried scant metres under an upturned surface.
It was perfect execution to convince us without thinking, without searching further, that what we were facing was routine and normal. Non-suspicious.
Those that had risen with me, mere men of the earth, but now my most powerful allies, being the only ones left, even they knew of their own kinds deception.
Apparently they had been much in favour of creating them, organizations like the NSA or CSIS, dedicated to treachery and knowledge of others, that could be leveraged even against invincible opponents. Organizations designed to keep humanity safe.
My poor fallen son. I would have to rescue him. What life would he have on such a plane of deceivers? | Mission Report: 2408123
Subsection: Military
Unit: Beta
Officer: Lieutenant Reeves
Dear Mother,
We've moved into what's left of Venus's hell-like atmosphere. My unit was hit hard by the gasses, it took us nearly twice as long to adjust to the pressure difference as Alpha unit. Our losses have been minimal, and I'm in perfectly good health. NASA has been most accommodating, the nurses and medical staff are all over us, preparing us to enter what's left of this hellish planet. My tour is complete in two weeks, so if my rocket leaves on time, I should be home in time for Mother's day. SpaceX has been keeping the transportation slowed, though, due to some kind of interference in the radio waves created by our cellphones. But, with luck, I'll be on time.
I talked to Murph the other day, she says that Mars has been equally challenging. The cold is constantly breaking through the seals and their compounds are having issues with weapons cold welding to each other. Every time a bullet is welded to the barrel of a gun we lose a man.
On a separate note, Alpha squadron found new traces of Elon Musk. He and his neo-nazi crowd have managed to make it all the way to Mercury. SpaceX is especially helpful, leaving no expense spared in the search for their disgraced CEO.
How are things at home? News of the conspiracy theorists has reached even out here, granted the military tries to censor it. But, if what we hear is true, the Nazis have been sending people to Venus and Mercury since the beginning of time. That, and there are rumors they're mixed in with the Illuminati.
As I write, I hear another rain of ammo coming in overhead. Without a doubt it's another barrage of Tiger Tank shells, they don't seem to understand their outdated WWII technology is no match for our new tanks. Oh well, they'll learn the hard way.
Write you again soon!
Love, Reeves
Side note: I kinda had less motivation on this one, I felt like writing something in a letter form and this is what was produced, but I didn't feel that a soldier would be writing a 10,000 character letter home in the middle of a battlefield. | 2015-09-24T10:14:59 | 2015-09-24T07:05:34 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps... | My name is Harold, and in a world where everyone has some amazing gift or power, I never seemed to have one. I grew up, got married, and had children... My wife at the time never seemed 100% happy, probably because my presence didn't "enhance" her abilities (telekinesis; immaterial to the story but I thought you'd like to know) likes one's soul-mate is supposed to.
We wrote it off as being a result of me not having powers. Sadly, it was a long time before we figured out how wrong we were about that.
One day, my wife died, as one does from old age. Then my grown offspring grew old and they died. So did my grandkids.
It took me about 150 years before I realized i DID have a power: Immortality.
But here's the kicker: I have eternal life, but not eternal youth or invulnerability. So I sit in a chair all day, every day, my body too weak to move. I used to hire a nurse to come to my home and clean me up, but unable to work and secure an income, I eventually ran out of money and spent a while sitting in my own filth. I outlived all my friends and family, so I had no support. I eventually decided to stop eating, which sucked for a while but at least I didn't crap myself anymore.
Eventually, something terrible happened... not so much to ME as everyone ELSE. From what I gathered, two people met who's combined power covered the world in a plague which killed nearly the entire population. Dunno if it was on purpose or not, but it was pretty terrible. What little was left of humanity and society collapsed soon after, with little old me alone in a dark house, unable to leave. Granted, that had been my lot for a while, but knowing there was no one else out there (and no TV, to boot) only amplified that loneliness. I prayed daily for an end to it all, but it never came.
So it was strange when one day, I heard a knock on the door. It was a weak knock, and at first I dismissed it as my imagination. But it came again, a little louder. Someone was there. I turned my head to look (which was odd, seeing as my neck muscles, like the rest of me, had atrophied long ago), and managed to squeak out a hoarse "Come in". I didn't care if it was some raider or bandit up to no good, maybe they would kill me and get this all over with. Though such a person probably wouldn't have the decency to knock, so then who could it be?
The person on the other side of my door said something about not being able to reach the doorknob. That seemed peculiar, and I just dismissively yelled back that I was stuck in a chair and couldn't help them out. Though again, it was strange, being able to speak when I'd barely uttered a word in decades. That's when I heard the knob begin to turn... sounded like the person was struggling with it.
"I've come a long way to find you", the voice said. Sounded female, and young. VERY young. "And I'm not about to let a fuckin' door get in my way. Help me out here!"
"That's no language for a young lady to be using!" I scolded, pulling myself off the chair which I'd been stuck to for the better part of a century. NOW my attention was piqued, and I finally realized that I was talking, MOVING... but how?! I uneasily made my way to the door, my fragile bones and nonexistent muscles growing more confident with each step.
I reached out to the door with a skinny, flesh-and-bone, arthritis-infected hand that (painfully) reformed into a healthy, usable one before my eyes. I pulled on the door, and was only half-surprised by what I saw.
A young girl, covered in various wrappings. I guessed she was about five or six, and asked who she was and what she was doing here. Behind her, my former neighborhood stood in ruins, with dusty brown clouds as far as the eye could see. Actually, everything was brown and lifeless, except for the child in front of me.
"I don't even remember my name anymore", the girl said, who in the time it took her to say that sentence grew into what looked more like a nine-year-old. "I've been stuck in the body of a toddler since I was just a few years old, and that was, fuck, I dunno, two hundred years ago?!" She continued growing as she spoke. I looked down at myself, noticing that -I- was getting YOUNGER at the same rate that she was growing!
"As for why I'm here, well, I think that's pretty obvious by this point," she continued, stopping for a moment to readjust her wraps to cover her now maturing body. "...about time I got those. Anyway, I'd heard stories about the 'man who doesn't die', and how some people's abilities react with one another, so I sought you out."
I nodded in comprehension. "I see. You wanted to finally grow up?"
"And I bet you don't want to be an old man forever. So it works out for both of us. There's just... one problem."
She didn't need to say it. I knew what she was thinking. Two immortal, forever-young people on an empty planet... it didn't seem right. But somehow, I wanna say by instinct, I knew how we could fix that. And I knew that SHE knew. "Are you sure about this?" I asked. "You've probably never driven a car, or gotten into trouble with friends, or... well, LIVED life."
"There's no way that'll happen now anyway," the now young-woman dismissed with a sigh. She took my hands, and we started to glow. "Though.... if you'll do one thing for me?"
A few minutes ago I would have been rightfully repulsed at the notion, but now that we both looked like we were in our late 20's, I didn't see the issue. We kissed, and the glow around us grew, spreading our essence across the planet. The brown clouds were ripped away, grass and trees turned green... It was a new beginning. As my new companion and I faded from existence, we hugged and thanked one another, and hoped that Life would get it right on the second try (Seriously, no "planet destroying super powers", that was really kinda dumb on your part!) | John and I were heading to the pub to do the speed dating we signed up for. We hoped to see if we can find our soulmate. John was able to see 5 seconds in to the future. Which was good, but not great, and was hoping he can see farther. He wonders how far he would see if he finds his soulmate. I, on the other hand, can pop like a small firework. I just make a loud noise and throw off enough energy to move a leaf, an inch away from me.
As we approach the pub, we notice a few people showing off what they can do. One guy was able to levitate 2 inches, off the ground. Another girl was able to create water drops from her finger tips. One person was just blue skinned. One girl seemed to be getting hit a few times, while one guy managed to balance a bottle on his finger.
We go around the tables, trying to get to know each other for two minutes. I can see John flirting his way, knowing what to say, since he can see if they like his answer or not, before they know. His power is not that bad, since it gets him laid more times than I can count. I can see him writing her number on a scratch sheet of paper, before she gives it to him. Another deal sealed for him tonight.
The timer goes off and we switch seats. I move over and notice her right away. Long black silk hair. Around 4 ft, 8 in. 100 lbs. Hazel eyes, and ruby red lips. She says her name is Lucy and has really tough skin. I say my name is pop, and my power is to Rudy. She laughs and wants to know more of this power. I apologize and say my name is Rudy, and have the power to pop. I asked her about her power, and she explains that it takes a lot to hurt her. She said she once got hit by a golf club, and didn't feel a thing.
She told me to hit her as hard as I could, and she wouldn't feel it. I give her a weird look, but she insist. I give her a small shoulder tap, but she insist I hit her harder. I tap her harder and it feels really hard. She insisted I give her a good punch, and don't hold back. So I humor her and punch her arm really hard. This time it felt like hitting a steel wall. She then has a concerned look on her. She says that her body has always been able to take a hit, but never turned hard as stone before.
She asks me to show her my power next. I say it is not very interesting as hers, but she insisted. So I breathe in and hold my hand out to a paper and concentrate on popping. I can feel the energy building up and just as I'm about to pop, I can hear John jump off his seat and run towards me. He yells for me to stop, but it's too late. I can feel it coming. The energy build up was intense. I can hear myself pop, and tried to aim towards the paper, but John's distraction caused me to pop a coin. It flies towards John's speed date at great speed, but luckily John manages to jump between the coin and the woman, and prevent the coin from hitting her.
I apologize and he mentions how the coin would've hit her eye, causing permanent blindness on that eye, but good thing he saw it before it happened.
At the end of the day, I got a number and John got 4 numbers. We were satisfied. We didn't find our soulmate but we know we will get laid, and for us, that is as good as we want for now.
Edit, words. | 2015-10-10T09:09:09 | 2015-10-10T08:42:59 | 103 | 21 |
[WP] You are the mayor of a fantasy town. Six times, once each six years over 30 years, you gave a young peasant girl from the hills or fields as a gift to a demon that gave you power. Now six years after the last time, all six are riding into town, trained by the demon to be great warriors | *The demon may bargain, and may offer great boons, but know that he never helps without drawing a cost greater than those boons*. - The World Beyond.
I had made a bargain.
Power for innocent girls.
So long as the Demon kept getting those girls, I wrongly believed, the Demon would be satisfied.
While I always knew that the Demon could double cross me, there was always that next presentation. I would keep on paying this cost, and the Demon would delay the day.
Today was the day.
////
You don't deal with a Demon and expect them to keep their word. Nor do you ignore your gut. I'd known about this for about ten days, when I had brought the sixth of them to her fate. She was a child, perhaps ten years old, accused of witchcraft.
It was easy, even convenient, to dispose of this child; done in a simple banishment ritual. But the ritual wasn't like the others...it showed a lack of satisfaction. Demons try to conceal their treachery, but if there is a tell, you bet your soul that you need to act.
And so I had. I had hired adventurers, and wasted their time on fetch quests for exorbitant coin, just so that when the Demon decided to end the bargain, there would be an answer.
////
The guards refused access to the obviously demonic warriors. If the smell of brimstone didn't give it away, the one clad in plated magma definitely did. As the town guard were cleaved through, the adventurers took positions in the first floor of City Hall. I knew what those women were after, and I knew that it would give me a chance to prevail.
If they were coming to kill me, they'd know what powers I had. But their brazen charge meant they did not care if the whole township came for them. Perfect.
The front doors to City Hall were blown off their hinges, and the adventurers element of surprise struck down two of the maidens. Fire and Lightning echoed through the building, as a infernal screech came from the stairs below, while another explosion blasted open the door to my quarters.
There was just one of them left. Azalea, now a black skeletal figure wreathed in fire, her broad pelvis giving the faintest hint that she was once a shapely maiden. "You did this to us!" she screamed.
I needed only to provoke one final mistake. "You are mistaken". After three decades, I could simply deny her any meaning in revenge. "I know not why you are here". The lie would provoke her wrath--and she failed to pay attention to a sigil hidden in the rug.
A circle closed. Her fury exploded in a cylinder stopping six inches from my face. "It matters little, fiend, for you have some of what I crave." A black lance, a siphon of magical power, appeared in my hands.
"It appears that all you are is fuel. Let it be go", as I jabbed the lance into Azalea's ribcage. The screams grew less demonic, and in the span of a minute, all that remained was a dull grey powder, perhaps bones, perhaps simply a residue of a demontouched.
////
I would need to decorate the adventurers for their courage, the guardsmen for their sacrifice, and the community for its action. The demon's wrath had been expended, and in a way that ended multiple lose ends.
Of course, I could have kept my bargain with the demon instead of giving it a corrupted child in the first place. But if you're ready for a Demon's wrath, seize that moment. | A 6 year old child stood on the edge of the chasm with me. Her face uneasy as we looked down the carved steps fading into the darkness below.
Five times before have I stood here, a price paid for the protection of the village. Each time another young girl stood by me, each braver then the last as they braved the journey into the Demons domain. After all, who would demand such a fiendish payment to keep the water source pure and the soil untainted.
The girl lets go of my hand and begins her walk down my heart breaks a final time. I have paid my dues and given six daughters for the future of a village.
As my last child slips into the darkness I prepare to make my own final journey. But before I take my last step, a new sound comes from the depths. The clink of metal on rock echoes in the chasm and I turn towards the staircase to see her returning accompanied with five helmetless warriors.
"Daughters?" | 2022-02-14T22:31:22 | 2022-02-14T17:07:16 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] You’re cursed with immortality, not because you sold your soul or you’re a sort of immortal creature but because a few thousand years ago, you stepped on the back of Death’s robe and being the petty shit Death is, he hasn’t forgiven you since.
Edit: okay, wow, I definitely did not expect this to get so popular and to the front page. It was just a little random thing! Thank you so much everyone! I love all your entries! | “Pray for death? Why would I do that? He’s an asshole”
This was my message sent to the EZ-Comm translation module I’d installed to communicate with these tall slimy fucks. Who knows what it will actually relay to the Korthonian ship blotting out the galaxy in my view port.
The earth is dead, well, all life on earth is dead. I’d never imagined I’d live to the 28th century... especially considering that I was born in the dark times after we set foot on the moon but before we’d travelled beyond it.
And now here I am stuck on the wrong side of a blockade, just another dumpy freighter pilot trying to navigate the neon gray boring reality of space travel. I had settled in to wait on violence when the unmistakable smell overpowered me.
“I can smell you! Stop being dramatic and trying to make an entrance!”
The door from the cargo bay rattled and finally opened, out stepped Death. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, skulls aren’t very expressive.
“Excuse me for trying to bring some Gravitas to my station in existence. Every movie humans have ever made about space and spaceships has had sliding doors. I am amused that you are too poor for them.” Death did his impression of laughter that sounds like dead leaves blowing around on concrete.
“They’re stupid, and they’re heavy and they take up extra space. Why screw with a design that’s been fine for millennia?” Internally I agreed but this feud was too entrenched and petty to admit he was right about anything.
“So what brings you to my floating palace you stinky ageless asshole? You ready to let me die?” I looked at him over the top edge of my smartpad... hope rising in my chest.
“No, oh my no.” He pantomimed wiping tears from his cheeks as he was now apparently laughing hard enough to cry. “No Micheal I’ve come to offer one last chance for you to apologize and beg me to forgive you and admit you to Hell.”
This was too much.
“Hey fuck you! All I did was step on your goddamn robes that were dragging the ground! You were wearing them too baggy! We all stepped on each other’s shit back then. It is not my fault that you happen to be an eldritch ageless being that was at that rave to pickup an OD!” My face was hot and red.
“This is your last chance Jonathan. The Korthonians do indeed have something worse than death, and they are coming on a shuttle to deliver you to it at this very moment.” His head tipped to the side in thought “which was your name? It’s been so long.”
I shrug, like I know? It’s been centuries.
“Very well. I suppose an X or a thumbprint will do.” He snapped his skeletal fingers and they made a sound like twigs breaking. The oft discussed and debated formal apology appeared out of thin air. “I told you before. I’m not...” I stopped as he held up his hand. “You see I have made a concession. I will not charge you the dry cleaning fee.”
This has been a bone of contention from the very outset. My eyes narrowed as I read the addended passage. “Why are you suddenly ready to give up on the core of this disagreement?”
He slumped his shoulders in what looked like defeat. “The Powers That Be have grown tired of our battle and wish to close your account. It’s an anomaly and an aberration they can no longer ignore.” The furrow in my forehead deepened as I frowned harder in deeper puzzlement.
“The last time we chatted, you said they didn’t care. What’s changed?” Death glanced out the port at the shuttle that was slowly listing in this direction from the Korthonian ship.
Things slid into place in my mind.
“Oh, so they really have something that will take me somewhere that you can’t retrieve me from.” My jaw went slack. I hadn’t been surprised in a very long time.
Death nodded and produced a quill from thin air and motioned to the apology. “The Powers That Be are not sure what will happen if we lose you from our system.” I hadn’t budged because I smelled victory... and rotting death. As I stared at him he began tenting his fingers and tapping them together as only the truly nervous do.
“Ok, one final concession. I will redirect you from Tartarus to Limbo. There we will have... a trial?” He was in a far more conciliatory mood than he had ever been. He also seemed genuinely scared, which I admit was unnerving.
I furtively scratched my mark on the document. Death nodded and the document and quill disappeared in a puff of oily black smoke. A yawning darkdoorway appeared and he motioned me to pass through it before him as we left this world for the next.
“You do know you stepped in your own vomit that evening?” I nodded and shrugged Death shook his head “there were dog feces as well...” I chuckled “Hey man, that’s just life in the big city.”
Death looked rather indignant somehow. “Here is where I leave you. I shall be back to argue our dispute in due time.”
I looked around and shrugged. Limbo was very gray.
“Do not assume you are free from our dispute James. I will have you know we amended our policy specifically for that dog.”
“What?”
“_All_ dogs do not go to heaven. That animal went to Hell as you still may.”
(I’ve never done this before, and I’m on my phone. Be uh... not terrible?) | The smell of lilacs sour in their vase wafted towards me as I rested on the hard surface of a bar stool in my kitchen. “Another one,” I thought as I pulled them from their resting place and left them wilted in the rubbish. Walking out into the back patio, I sought my new prey from amongst rows and rows of brightly colored bushes, pots, and trees. The life cycle of these buds comforted me, ‘here today and gone another.’ Selecting a bunch of creamy white magnolias, I went back inside to arrange them, their sweet scent replacing the aroma of death fading gently from my dwelling.
How I longed for the grips of death to take me as they would seize this new life in a few weeks’ time. That is, if the flowers were lucky. I’d seen the process last as few as three days. Me? I was going on six hundred and fifty three years. Or so I estimated; keeping track was a bit of a chore.
My fate has been sealed one troublesome night all those centuries ago. It had started so innocently, with the pulling on of a new silk dress in anticipation of the ball. I’d carried deep in my heart the dream of meeting someone special, a dream so common among the young women of my year and fairness. Had I known who would greet me, I would have stayed home: my doors locked and windows barred. And yet it was impossible for me to have known that the handsome suitor whisking me from the outskirts into the middle of the ballroom would determine the fate of my ever-lingering years.
As we spun in circles, my heart twinkling with the lightness of a cloud, I felt myself melting into the arms of my someone. A draining sensation I mistook for love in my naivety. It was only when my breath became short did I notice myself beginning to fade. As he whispered coolly “This is where it ends,” into my ear, Providence stepped in and took me from the man’s arms, but not before I slipped on my first love’s sleek black cloak.
Waltzing with my new partner, I felt the substance of my being slowly seep back. And yet, even as we stepped, swayed, and swirled, there was an unmistakable piece that stayed behind.
It was only several years later, as I watched my friends and family begin to grey without me that I finally placed what that piece had been: my mortality. Fragile and beautiful and the essence of what made me real.
Stepping back outside, a fresh stream of tears welling up at the memory of that unforgettable night, I walked down the rows and rows of new life. On either side of the trail were silver plaques, descending from shiny to dull to rusted. The resting places of my beloved- each the conquered victims of My First Love’s dance.
| 2018-10-12T11:42:03 | 2018-10-12T11:14:01 | 55 | 13 |
[WP] The not-so-distant future. With dozens of billions of people on Earth, the number of unique sentences that were never uttered before is unstoppably dwindling. The world is growing obsessed with the upcoming shortage of never-used sentences. | Maybe I am mad. Perhaps they are right and I am just ungrateful. Perhaps I can't see beyond the petty reasoning that lie inside my head. Perhaps. But perhaps I should explain first.
I am a writer type. I was never good at it, but I managed and things went along as things will do and everything was fine. Of course you knew what happened though. You probably think we were wasteful and shortsighted. You probably feel disgusted by me. I can't blame you. Things were fine until the great shortage took hold of us. Sentence Scarcity. Then things began to change.
I am a writer type, as I've said. I also have a proficiency in nonsense and babble. What I'm getting at is that I'm good at making sentences. I was good at supplying the dwindling commodity that we all covet so much. Sentences that have never been uttered before, I would supply to the rich. Whole paragraphs of obscure, meaningless meanderings. That was my forte.
I was the word dealer and I dealt a lot. The government took me in and had me bolster its reserves of un-uttered sentences. I was treated like a king. In my personal life, when people realized I could tell them things that have never been told, well... you can imagine how it was.
"The plants portugal potatoes like a fiend in July and sometimes August and sometimes it tomatoes."
And the women would just fall for it. Anything I wanted was just a sentence away. And it could be any sentence, so long as it had never been said before. I lived the life but then living grew hard as living has a wont to do.
I grew depressed as I am now. I can hardly see past the falling seconds that take their time to pass. My world feels empty. Just empty. Everyone has need of me. Everyone treats me so well. But I am not so blind. I know what my value is and I can see I am only being used.
The world obsesses about such worthless things. The dark creeps around me, strangling ever so lightly like a vengeful lover. My eyes dim and yet all you can ask is:
"Tell me something about fruit?"
"Go banana like bandanna," I'd say.
Inside though, I'd really want to tell you off. Your joy brings nothing to me. I wander my mind and collect poison and obfuscations.
*Why do you feel like this?* I ask myself.
"You're crazy to be unhappy," my mother told me.
And so I wonder that I might be mad. I wonder that I may be ungrateful.
*What do you really want?* I sometimes ask myself, but answering these things are hard. You always want to save face, even if it's to yourself. It's hard to admit a cold truth to yourself. You can always run away from a stranger, but you gotta live with your mind everyday.
Once I got drunk and told a close friend what I wanted.
"That's so weird," she said. "That's like the most common sentence ever. How could you want that and not 'Alabama's mama smelled like a flower.' That's so poetic and valuable!"
But she didn't understand. Maybe you don't either. Perhaps it's my destiny to be the world's sentence creator, relieving this world of its harmful scarcity. Perhaps that is my higher calling and maybe that makes my suffering noble. Who knows? I don't care.
I suppose there isn't much of a choice. I suppose somethings are just not meant to be. I have never met you, stranger, and I guess it will do no harm to say what I really want. It might do some good to write it down and admit it to myself, despite my aversion to it. Despite my embarrassment.
We will never meet, so what's the harm, right? You deserve as much for reading this anyway. But I am stalling, hesitating like a coward. I'll just go out with it. I would give all the unheard sentences in the world for just this one:
'I love you.'
I think I will end it here. | This is it, my first chance to shine. I have been working for the world's biggest newspaper, the Sun, for two months now and I did excellent work, they tell me. This time I am in charge of the headline. The sun is the most reliable news source there is and should be read by everybody (offtopic: Note, how this is a unique sentence). So one thing that can make you worldfamous nowadays (a lot of things do, pro vapers, pro prostitudes) is to come up with a unique headline. When Elliot Hunchington came up with the headline '"Romeo" Trump in "dire straits" over leaked "guitar lesson" tape with 21 year old "Juliette"' I congratulated him with a firm handshake, smiled and died a little bit inside because I was so jealous. So now it's my turn. Headline tomorrow, the big news nobody has been expecting leaked. I got this. Marie LePen has been caught going 20 miles above the speed limit in Paris. After brainstorming, I find the one unique headline that will make me famous:
'Former French president Marie to be put in Le Penitentiary for racing with sheik in Paris, luckily no lady Died.'
Yes, this is it, this is proper journalism. | 2017-02-10T08:18:22 | 2017-02-10T08:13:48 | 55 | 11 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | Ambition finally got the better of me after half a dozen lives.
I'd tried being a school teacher the first time, and it hadn't been half bad until I caught the plague and took my last breath through a buboe-covered throat.
Imagine my shock of waking--healthy again--in the body of a child, in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar face calling herself "mother." I played along. My old life faded away, until I almost believed it had just been an invention of my own imagination. Perhaps chased by those memories, I chose to sail across an ocean, to a place less plague-ridden and more wild. Just in time to be caught up in a wave of revolution.
Being a soldier wasn't so appealing for the next few lives. Each time, I woke up in the same country, but part of a different family. A family who remembered a son that I was not--a fact that would have grated on my conscience had I managed to maintain one after coming to grips with my immortality and the banality of a deathless existence. What was one child sacrificed to the void compared to the lives lost in those endless conflicts I'd witnessed?
It was with such dark thoughts possessing my mind, throughout the better part of two lifetimes, that I finally set out to make a purpose for myself. An immortal should take the risks, I had reasoned, since the consequences weren't so dire. An immortal should be the one to take initiative. An immortal should be in charge.
So I'd built an empire. Somewhat legally, at first. Trading in stocks--using my witless parents' funds--earned me a small fortune. Then, when I was old enough, I'd made friends. Businessmen, politicians, celebrities. It was easy when you were a child prodigy. I'd grown my investments using whatever inside information I could cull from those stooges. A few additional shady deals, and I was now one of the richest men in the world.
But even that money hadn't been quite enough. Lobbying by itself was too slow. So I cheated. Unapologetically, I bribed governors and senators and representatives at every level. All of their new laws were created in the name of democracy, to the benefit of myself and my rich friends. An unseen royalty wending its way through enlightened, modern society.
Finally, I took my place as president. Leader. Dictator. Emperor. The world I had begun to create would be magnificent. Science would flourish alongside the arts. There would be true equity and no need for money. Only, some of my friends weren't so happy with my new plans.
I'd warned them. Told them they couldn't stop me. They couldn't kill me. They *couldn't*--
And here I was waking up to the sound of a television, muffled behind a closed bedroom door, reporting the news of my death and the subsequent violence of a military coup. My blood was still boiling, my hands trembling at the thought of revenge. It would be difficult, but this time I wouldn't wait. Only one question remained in my mind: would they rather shoot at or kneel to a five-year-old? | Well, I can cross that off of the metaphorical list. --Died when having sexual intercourse-- Best death yet. Oh well, life 70 will be my 'Cure cancer year' I could of done it in life 69, but come on! If you are that sexually well endowed and it's life 69, you can't not have shit tons of sex!
Note to self: *Stop saying shit like that out loud.* | 2017-05-25T12:51:56 | 2017-05-25T12:23:12 | 144 | 43 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | We were told our first experience with a "Heyumin" was to be dealt with caution. A lifeform from the planet the heyumins called "Erff," though they pronounce it a bit differently than I am able, was considered a forbidden territory, as ordered by the Hazard Treaties of year 12903. A cruel planet with skies of oxygen that rusts technology, leading to crashes on anyone approaching, and the main topic of the treaty, water.
Our biosystems require imbalances in chemicals to create motion, and then life. A fully neutral substance with such tiny molecules of just two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen such as this quickly seeps into our bodies and halts reactions, killing of organ failiure, suffocation, and brain damage within 15 seconds, a horrifying experience. The planet even held massive flying bodies of this water in its atmosphere, as well as amounts in usual air.
The planet held Chlorine-Sodium chemicals, known as salt, which quickly absorbs our vital bodily fluids through our digestive system's walls on digestion, causing improper flow of nutrients to all parts of the body, crippling or killing.
There were no known immunities to any of these, until one day a ship illegally landed with a stolen advanced, oxygen-resistant, watertight ship, and they discovered something no one expected: civilization. These heyumins quickly became famous, and our new crew member was the first one we met, Arden Johnson.
I pilot a chemical research ship, used to test properties of hazardous materials. Our heyumin's first impression was of fear, as they promptly got arrested for holding several unsafe containers of water and salt, but were mysteriously approved when they found he was a heyumin. We were forced to wear our protection suits to prevent harm to ourselves.
The heyumin spoke in a voice of much higher pitch than ours. "What is wrong with fese \[these\] people! I haven't gotten an edible meal or a good drink since I left Erff! I'm parched!" They spotted one of our tubs of water in our poison lab, opened the lid, and despite our rush to stop him, he said "Finally," and dunked his face in to drink. I even shrieked in horror, but quickly thought of sorrow.
I went over to a control panel to write an accident report while my assistants went to take the obvious corpse away and decontaminate the water. But the human stood up again, carrying the empty tub of our water supply, and said, "Fat's \[that's\] so satisfying, I really needed a drink of fat \[that\] water." My assistants gasped, and their eyes showed clear surprise. We now knew what my boss meant about dealing with heyumins.
Now the heyumin lives in a section of our hazardous materials section, the only place where they are allowed to take off their isolation suit, in the place where we wear the suits anyway. We had to sterilize the place because they produce a mix of the poisons salt and water, to disperse into the air, when they get too warm.
Though, they have been a very valuable crew member, keeping our systems running, keeping our containment systems secure, and handling our materials in the hazardous materials section with more speed than one can with the suits, and have saved my assistants on multiple occasions against material leaks.
Once, our ship was raided for its poisons by the Ernin. they had no isolation suits, and the heyumin was there at the time. He took off his isolation suit, and managed to fight off the intruders. Though, it wasn't that long of a fight, because he just grabbed and spat at them yelling Erff curses as they died from water contact. End entry. | Human ships are always docked in a hard vacuum bay, with a full environmental seal.
Why? Hydro-oxy supported life form, rarest in the galaxy. They came from a planet mostly covered in slightly tainted propellant. Yes, dihydrogen oxides. Capable of eating through your stability layer and dissolving the rest into the drainage systems.
We used to use the stuff for weapons before it was fuel, but that was an indiscriminate weapon. Wrong temperature, and it could float in clouds indefinitely, near invisible, lethal. You might kill everything, but one wrong gust and it'd kill you.
Well, most Human lifeforms are made of it. In large quantities. Thankfully, mostly stable compounds, but to make them requires consistent intake of said oxides.
Watching a human show its appreciation for a refueling by refueling itself from the tank is amazing. I mean, it even joked about drinking straight from the hose during early growth stages! | 2020-05-18T13:04:11 | 2020-05-18T10:59:20 | 216 | 121 |
[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy. | Pool party. I'm an idiot, right? For someone like me, wouldn't a big body of water by the prime place to avoid?
Most of the time, my brain's thinking clearly, and I would have declined the invitation. Hell, I've gotten really good at thinking about all the twists and turns of any sort of social interaction - will there be booze, and I might lose control? Will people be getting wet? Is there rubbing alcohol around? Will my secret remain safe?
But when Kara looked at me, those big eyes of hers glimmering in the flickering light of our college graduation bonfire, my brain turned off. She grinned as she informed the rest of us that her parents had a pool in their backyard, that she was "watching their house" and could "totally get us in." She leapt up to her feet, body parts jiggling in delightful ways that made my hindbrain applaud, and waved at us to follow her.
And twenty minutes later, I found myself staring down at the shimmering water, lit from beneath by lights, trying to shake off the calls from the rest of my friends.
"C'mon, Tom, the water's great!" called out Danny, bobbing up and down beside Kara. He grinned up at me - although that wasn't anything special, Danny basically always grinned whenever he was around Kara.
After all, they'd found each other. Perfectly matching symbols on their wrists, down to the tiny, intricate pattern of stippled dots surrounding the main diagram. They were meant to be together, and anyone could see it from the way they got lost in each other's eyes.
The others hooted and hollered, gesturing for me to take the leap. We'd been friends practically since the first day of college, and I knew them all so well. Elaine, with her interlocking triangles. Danny and Kara, who fell in love even before they revealed their symbols. Rick, who insisted that his shape looked like an "alien smiley face".
Only Sasha hung back, as usual. I still didn't know how she'd become a part of her group, with her reserved nature, shy withdrawal from most conversation, and refusal to participate in anything unless we begged. In any other world, her baggy sweatshirt and big eyes peeping out from beneath waves of black hair would make her an outcast.
But we'd welcomed her. She sat behind me, on a deck chair, barely hovering on the periphery of our circle. That was usual, for Sasha.
That was where I should have been. I didn't belong here, wavering on the edge of this pool, feeling my wrist burn with the lie that I'd carefully traced on with Sharpie this morning, like I did each morning. I belonged back in the shadows, with Sasha - an outcast.
I turned away. "I'm sorry, guys, I can't!" I called out, eliciting a round of groans from the others. "I'm too drunk to get wet! You all have fun - I'll keep Sasha company."
"Nuh uh!" Quick as a striking snake, Rick rose up from the water, his hand flying out towards me. I scrambled backward, but not quite fast enough; his fingers wrapped around my arm, sliding down towards my hand as he fell back and attempted to haul me into the pool.
His fingers slid over my wrist. Oh god, the symbol - would the pen resist the water? Panicking, I shook Rick off, my hand now sodden and dripping from the transferred water.
It was too dark. I couldn't see the symbol clearly, but I couldn't risk being exposed. I backpedaled, away from the fun and frolicking, back towards Sasha and withdrawal.
Ignoring the boos from my friends, I dropped onto the deck chair beside Sasha. Kara's parents had outfitted the whole backyard like a resort, with palm trees and a corner bar. Sasha, pulled in on herself, didn't seem to notice any of it.
Her big, pale eyes, however, fastened on me as I sat down beside her. I wanted to check my wrist, see if the ink had smeared, but I couldn't do it next to her. "Hi," I said, feeling awkward.
"Hi." She kept watching me, and the silence stretched out. I scrambled for something else to say.
"So what do you have planned now? Now that you're graduating?" The words felt hollow, but it beat out the silence.
She shrugged, a pale, small shoulder briefly appearing from inside the oversized sweatshirt. "Dunno. You?"
"I don't really know, either," I admitted. I shook my hand, trying to get some of the water off. "Travel, maybe. Or just try to find a job. Not that anyone's hiring much, as far as I can tell."
Sasha nodded, and then suddenly, for no reason at all, a terribly stupid suggestion sprang into mind. "We could go together," I went on, my mouth plunging ahead as my brain recoiled in shock. "Travel together. Go someplace new."
For just an instant, I thought I saw a flare of something in those big eyes, a look of... surprise? Need? Desperate hunger? What were those emotions doing on her face? She lifted a hand, almost unconsciously, reaching out towards me.
"I don't think so." The words seemed to be all but ripped from her, but she shook her head. A blink, and we were back to ourselves, that strange moment now past. "I... I don't really do well around people."
"Yeah, I've noticed." I tried to give her a wry smile, show her that I didn't mean the words to hurt. "I feel that way too, a lot of the time."
She shook her head again. "Not like this."
If I'd been a little more sober, I might have wondered what she meant. Instead, however, a new idea sparked in my head. "Well, let me at least make you a drink," I called out, standing up. As I did so, however, blood suddenly rushed to my head, and I felt a wave of wooziness hit me.
Vision swinging, I reached out to catch something to steady myself. Before Sasha could say anything, my hand closed on hers - and the sleeve of that oversized, baggy, ratty sweatshirt that she always wore slid up.
And I felt a bolt of lightning run up my spine to burn out all conscious thought in my brain.
Her wrist was bare.
She didn't have a symbol.
She was like me-
Sasha was up, tearing her hand away from me. Her eyes burned, tears glimmering at their edges even as her mouth opened in a hiss. "Get away!" But she paused, torn between fight or flight.
I only had a second to react, before she would be gone - forever, I knew. But somehow, for the first time in my life, I knew what to do.
I turned my wrist, displaying it to her - and drew one finger down, over the symbol that I so painstakingly traced out each morning. The ink bled, ran, slipped away under my wet fingers.
I looked back up at Sasha, and saw her mouth hanging open. For a long minute, neither of us spoke. The party burbled on in the nearby pool, but we were in our own world.
I finally cleared my throat, fighting the hoarseness that made me feel like I hadn't spoken aloud in years. "So, about that drink..." I began.
She nodded, even as she self-consciously tugged the sleeve back down to cover her wrist. "Okay."
And even as Dan and Kara splashed happily together, and Rick and Elaine flirted (because even if two symbols didn't match, that didn't mean you couldn't have a little fun, right?), we drew away. Neither of us knew what this meant, but we'd both realized the same conclusion.
We weren't the only ones.
******
*Read other writings at /r/Romanticon* | I sighed and stuffed another empty into the bag. I had no idea how they managed it, but the guys always made a hell of a mess when they came over to watch the game. It had actually gotten a bit better when Bill met his soulmate and there’d been a woman around. Of course, the rest of the guys had gotten over that in a month and then it was right back to slob-central.
“Man, just do it tomorrow,” Brandon groaned from where he was sprawled across the sofa. “How can you be cleaning right now?”
Ignoring him, I scooped up another can. Brandon was completely hammered. The only way I was getting him off that sofa was if it caught on fire, and even then, he’d probably just flop across the floor far enough that he wasn’t in the way when I took care of it.
He had one arm draped across his eyes, but he moved it enough to give me a glare when the empty clinked against the ones already in the bag. “My mom’s coming over early,” I told him. “Probably going to lecture me about getting out more.”
“You’ll never find your soulmate if all you do is work and drink,” Brandon said, his voice pitched high in imitation of my mother's.
I chucked the empty in my hand at his head, suddenly annoyed. “Ow!” he yelped.
“I get it enough from her,” I snapped. “I don’t need it from you too. Besides, it’s not like you’ve found yours either.”
“Yeah, but I’m out there looking at least. When’s the last time you had your mark scanned for a match?”
Never. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. My mark wasn’t real. I’d been drawing it on with a black sharpie after every shower for over a decade, as soon as it became obvious that a real one wasn’t ever going to come in.
I swept the empties on the coffee table off with my arm, then stooped down to reach for one that had missed the bag. “Fine, man,” Brandon said, sitting up. “It’s fine. I get it. John’s married now. Fuck me if I know what he sees in that woman. If they didn’t have matching marks, I don’t think he’d have ever said two words to her. And Bill is now too. And Rich. And every one of them at least three years younger than us.”
I didn’t want to have this conversation. I didn’t bring it up, and after years of looking and not finding someone, Brandon rarely did either. He sighed and climbed to his feet, still so drunk that he swayed back and forth for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused. Then he shook his head and grabbed the plates I’d stacked up and the empty styrofoam box left over from the Chinese I’d had for lunch and used to hold all our dirty silverware from the party.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping you clean, jackass,” he said. “You get enough crap from your mom without giving her this to complain about too.”
He wobbled his way to the kitchen and I heard the sound of water running in the sink while I finished picking up the empties. With a sigh, I realized I was absently scratching at the sharpie mark I’d drawn on my wrist. It was looking a little faded around the edges. I’d have to touch it up before Mom showed, but Brandon was too smashed to notice.
“Hey, can you bring in those wine glasses Julie and Heather had?” Brandon called from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
I scooped the glasses up in one hand and the bag in the other. It would go out into my trunk, where my mother would never see it and thus not lecture me on the vices of alcohol. I set the glasses down on the counter and, without looking, Brandon reached out to pick one up.
If he hadn’t held it from the bottom, with his palm toward the ceiling, I wouldn’t have noticed. If he hadn’t had his arms submerged in soapy dish water, it probably wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But he did both of those things.
The bag of empties hit the floor with a loud clank. I lunged forward and grabbed Brandon’s arm. “What the hell, Sam?” he yelled as I twisted it to look at his wrist. I brushed the suds away, just to be sure I was seeing what I thought I was.
Brandon’s eyes went wide and he looked down at his wrist, caught in my grip.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Look, I can explain.”
The mark on his arm was running, cheap ink being washed away in water. I shoved his arm back into the sink and scrubbed it, then pulled it back out. There was nothing but blank skin beneath it.
“I don’t have a mark,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’ve been drawing it in for years. But the only thing I could find was a dry-erase marker today. You can’t tell anyone, Sam. No one.”
I pushed him to one side and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from under the sink. Without speaking, I uncapped it and poured it over the sharpie I’d drawn onto my own wrist, then rubbed the alcohol in. Just like his mark, mine started to run down my arm.
“Holy shit,” he said, locking eyes with me. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Neither of us was marked. Neither of us would ever find a wife. What other kind of pairing could there be? | 2017-08-06T17:01:38 | 2017-08-06T16:04:39 | 594 | 268 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | When I was told my team would be the first to land on Mars, excitement welled within me. 'Pioneers', they called us; and really, how many people can call themselves pioneers? It's exciting. It's scary. It's... unlike anything else.
And yet, as I stood and looked across an expanse of nothing but reddish brown sand and dust, I felt absolutely nothing but disappointment. The voyage was hell, and I'd spent *so long* looking forward to landing that the reality of Mars just couldn't live up to what I'd been expecting. The first three days were mind-numbingly boring and dreary.
The fourth day changed everything.
"What... the *hell* is that?" I asked through the comm system, pointing at a torn-up tent in the distance. "Did one of you assholes set that up to screw with me?"
"I wish I were that creative, believe me," Stan responded, staring alongside me. "But that... that's not us. There's a flag, Mike. I can't make it out from here."
The two of us, along with Victor Foreman, our engineer, pressed forward with caution. As we approached, the flag became increasingly visible: plain red, with a yellow hammer and sickle. It was tattered and coated in dust.
"Okay, this is bullshit. O'Neill, are you fucking with us? I remember seeing this flag in history class."
A response came over the radio. "This is a bit too... complex for my sense of humor. I'm a simple man, Mike. I don't recognize the flag, what is it?"
"Come on, man. Sleep through class?"
"Sorry, I was busy learning how to pilot for NASA. This isn't funny, Mike. If you've seriously found something, we have to treat this situation with urgency and caution."
I sighed into the mic. "Soviet Russia. The one we got into the Cold War with, way back when."
"I'm going to contact HQ. Proceed as if there could be people in that base."
"Oh, come on, Cap-"
"I know we get cozy, but right now, we're not friends."
I choked back my pride. "Understood. Stay by the feeds, we're heading in. I'm telling you, though, there's no one here anymore. Everything's... just- it's destroyed. Ripped to shreds."
I stepped forward, pushing aside a fold of fabric from the tent wall. Immediately, I recoiled, sucking my breath in. Right there, on a cafeteria bench, was a man- his skin pale, spotted with black and brown, but nearly perfectly mummified overall. He looked like he'd died just a week prior.
"Holy shit." Victor threw up in his suit, then tried to paw at his slimy helmet.
"Cap, I don't think this is a joke. You see this, right?"
"Already contacting Houston. Someone's going to have to reach out and see if there's something we don't know about. Does he look injured?"
I kept myself at a distance, scanning his body with my eyes. There were still packets of food on a nearby counter. "No. Honestly, it looks like he just suffocated. He didn't starve, and there's no blood or any kind of wound."
There was a large, clunky device on the table in front of the body. I reached out and grabbed it, keeping my eyes off the corpse.
"I think it's a recording device." There were batteries in it, still looking fresh. Oxygen's a real asshole when it comes to preservation.
I flipped a window out on the lefthand side, and turned it on. After rewinding for several seconds, a man appeared on screen- I immediately recognized him. I slipped my suit's 3.5mm jack into the recording device once it finished rewinding.
"Hello," he said with a thick, Russian accent. "I have made many videos in Russian, but I have a feeling it won't matter. This last one will be in English.
"Russia has abandoned me. I was sent here as an experiment for the government, to see if we could set up a base, maybe build in secrecy. The journey was too harsh, and the travel time too long. I burned more fuel than we thought, and now I am stuck here. They told me that nobody will be coming to save me.
The man's breath grew shaky, and he wiped at his eyes.
"I asked to speak with my family. They said no. They said nobody will ever know of my time here. My death will be faked in an accident upon re-entry of Earth's atmosphere. Parachute failure. I have spent two months here now, and oxygen is almost gone. Food is still here, but that does not matter. I will die alone, and nobody will ever know. I die for nothing.
"I do not expect to be saved. Maybe nobody finds this. I don't know why I film. If you do, please tell my daughter I love her. Maybe my wife if she's still alive. I only wish I could tell them myself. I end things now. May you find your way home."
I pushed the screen in and sat down.
*Pioneer: A word we invented to make ourselves feel better about being guinea pigs.*
------
*thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury!* | *sorry for my poor English, and I wasn't paying enough attention when I read the prompt so I used rover instead of men*
"Okay, that'd better be good." I get out of the bed, cursing, and turn the TV on just in time.
"And so," says the President, "I will let the NASA Administrator speak".
Well, half of the nation doesn't like the President anyway, so whoever speaks instead it's good news. The TV shows a weary man in his sixties. "As you may already know," he says, "we have been withholding images from our Curiosity rover mission for some time. Some of you may believe that we have been doing it for years, but that's wrong. We have been doing it for sixteen days. But now we are sure that there is no mistake and that it's pointless to conceal our discovery."
I sip the remains of the cold tea I had left on my table before going to bed early, wondering if I'm still dreaming. If it was real, I should already be hearing screams of joy of numerous conspiracy theorists, dancing and throwing their foil hats into the air.
"Sixteen days ago we found an artificial object on Mars. It is very unlikely to have been delivered by any unmanned mission we are aware about. There are no known landing sites in its vicinity. We can't identify any tracks around it, but there might be something under the dust that we can find after careful examination. Perhaps we will have to send another rover equipped specifically for this mission now that we know what to look for."
"Anyway, we have found an artifact, it took us sixteen days to get to it and inspect it. We have no doubt that it is a Soviet flag."
The old TV shows a series of photos of a flag hanging on a pole. On the progression of photos it looks twitchy.
"The Martian wind isn't usually strong enough to make it wave, but what can be seen in the upper left corner of it is definitely sickle and hammer. We don't know of any mission that was capable of delivering it. The Soviet rovers from missions Mars-2 and Mars-3 couldn't carry it for sure, and Mars-4NM and Mars-5NM were canceled due to lack of a sufficiently powerful heavy carrier rocket."
"Curiosity is equipped with the ChemCam instrument, which allows to vaporise a cubic millimeter of matter with a laser burst and inspect its composition via spectrography. Unfortunately we can't examine the flag itself as it is too high, all that's available is the pole."
"And so we did it. We analyzed the pole. It is very likely to be something like wood, something that was alive once." He draws a deep breath. "And it definitely isn't from Earth." | 2016-08-16T10:03:13 | 2016-08-16T09:26:31 | 139 | 44 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | William grabbed a recliner out of thin air, sat down, made some snacks of his own, and began to watch it as though his life were on a projector screen.
He witnessed his birth and early months where his mother got into a car accident, leaving his father to raise him by himself for a couple of years since the grandparents died before William was even an atom. Saw how his childhood was shaped by his step-mother who dotted on William and his father, making plenty of memories there. Dear dad teaching him to not let the bullies get to him, to prove William was better than them. The teenage years are where he met his first and second romances; both not lasting very long before he graduated high school with slightly-above average marks. From there saw how apprenticeship went as a carpenter, learning tricks of the trade before meeting his destined lover before he was finished trade school.
Married in their late 20s and having a boy of their own before William’s dad passed away from cancer a few months later. Soon after we’re twin girls at the age of 30, raising them being easier thanks to step-mom, now a grandma who spoils the 3 children rotten. 52 is when his step-mother passed away herself peacefully with William, his wife, and 3 kids at her side. Retirement at 74 when he figured he had enough of building for other people, wanting to create wood art in his senior years. Celebrating his 50th golden anniversary with his beloved, their 3 kids, and 8 grandkids of their own was one of William’s favourite days; just wished his dad and step-mom had a chance to see. It wouldn’t be until at 103 years of age that William figures he lived long enough, and with a long deep breath, he took his final sleep with his wife at his side, knowing she wouldn’t be too far from following him next.
William watched the same thing a couple more times, knowing he could change the outcome of things, but never doing so. Would he have wanted to meet his biological mom? Absolutely he figured, but then William would never get to meet his step-mom, and who knows what else would change from there. The way he looked at it all, it was all meant to happen to come to this conclusion.
Through a wrinkled smile and a glimmer in his jade-like eyes, William softly spoke “I think that’ll be it for now. Maybe watch it again later if I get the chance.”
“You’re not going to do anything to change?” Death asked from behind the recliner with scales in hand. Perplexed at the old man, Death’s red orbs for eyes followed the turn of William’s head to face the reaper.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Grinning at the shadow covered skeleton with eyes closed, proud of what he had accomplished in it.
Death’s hollow voice rang softly through the air around them “Most choose to edit a thing or 10. Some change entire outcomes to their ends from certain points. Few ever leave it unchanged save for some hair-dye there or a change of scenery here. Fewer still leave it as is, such as you. Why?”
William turned back around to the projector screen, with some tears starting to run down his eyes.
“I suppose that this is as good as it would ever get. I had a pretty good run. I don’t think changing anything about that life would make it any better or worse. It was mine and I’m proud of it.”
Death nodded then stepped beside William, before turning to show the old man a glowing passage with mist coming through it.
“The scales have judged you William. They find you kind and worthy of heaven, you may now step forward when you are ready.” The voice echoing through the infinite void surround them.
“Yeah, I suppose it’s time. But would you mind if I give it another watch before leaving?”
“You can watch it again in the clouds above, why here?” The skeletal figure tilted their head curiously.
“True, but I figure you wouldn’t mind joining me and having some snacks if you want to.”
Another reclining chair popped into existence besides William. Patting the seat welcoming the deathly figure to join.
“I suppose, no harm after all.”
And so two ancient beings, one countless more eons older than the other, watched a man’s life together with their feet kicked up and backs relaxed on their chairs. When they were done, both bid each other good-bye, before the younger of the two vanished into the white fog of heaven. | "Happy 80th birthday to us, Mr. Gloves!" I whispered to his ears as I slowly lulled him in my thin and wrinkled arms. Mr. Gloves is my twin cat, being born on the same day I was eight decades ago, which is essentially today. Little is known why and how cats always seem to have a *twin* human, and why they also pass away the same day as their destined owner. A theory some people proposed was that they were given as gifts by gods, albeit the rules that come with them, or that the cats were actually our souls.
Weakly, I blew the candle out from the cupcake on the table next to where I was sat as I heard Mr. Gloves' soft purr. He looked at me, and my gray eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the furry creature staring right at me. "Is there anything you want to tell me, perhaps?" I asked, and he responded with a slow blink. "I guess it *is* time."
I closed the distance between my back and my rocking chair, as I did one last weak push with my right foot to send it in motion. Kissing Mr. Gloves' forehead, I reminisced about our times together, the joyous moments, and even the sorrowful bits that he helped me get over. He was there, and he never left me. *This life was good.*
-*Rest in peace, Muning and Sophie.*
(from the replies: cats get to live as long as their humans. that's all i'd wish for, ngl.
ETA: mb if it wasn't clear enough, i purposely left it out lol) | 2020-07-20T03:16:22 | 2020-07-20T02:51:13 | 1,541 | 127 |
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you." | Too many thoughts went through Acula's mind for the normal human to process. Fortunately, he was not normal. Or human. And being alive is also up for debate.
The fluorescent light gleamed off his pale skin. The taps of his shoes bounced from the marble floor. If his heart could beat as easily as it once did if would be deafening.
How long had he'd gone without hearing that name come out without directing to him? Governments and kingdoms fell. Wars fought. Countless people he's outlived. And here he was, prepared to meet him for his three o'clock.
Acula almost missed the door he was to attend to. For a moment he simply stood there, at lost with how little he could think of right there. His long, bony hands made fists. He bit his lip to where it could be torn with a small tug.
He felt his hand grow heavier and more reluctant as he reached for the knob. Touching it felt like holding onto hot coal. He should probably file a request for the knobs to be a different material. Claim to have an allergy or something along those lines.
But what was behind the door also made it painful to turn. There was no going back as the door *clicked.* He stepped forward, a pair of small, nervous eyes greeted him.
"Hello," softly spoke the young boy before him, "Are you my doctor?"
Acula could only stare. The image was spitting. The same shape of his face. Each strand of hair mimicked in color and length. He held a small toy in his hand, an action figure, he noticed his grip tightened on it and was held the way *he* did. A spot on his chest suddenly felt very warm.
He snapped out of it. "Yes," he said, "And you're...A.J. is it?"
The boy simply nodded.
"Very good. And you're here for a quick booster shot. Let's get to it then." Trying to remain as poised as he could be, Acula nervously grabbed for a chair and sat down with the vial and needle.
He quickly tried to get through the routine questions, sometimes stumbling with his words. A.J. would answer very quietly, almost in a whisper. When they finished up, Acula asked to see his arm.
Acula held a needle in one hand. The child shyly handed over a limb into his other.
*Soft*, thought Acula. He held A.J.'s arm, making small circles with his thumb and lightly shifting the tips of his fingers on it they could barely be considered strokes.
So soft, vulnerable. Incredibly easy to rid as well. Acula stared down at his arm. Naturally, he had no trouble finding the veins in his arm. Partly due to practice, partly because the blue in the living's veins would literally emit as if they were neon in his eyes.
His normally well-controlled hunger suddenly came ramming. Just as well, an old anger that he locked away for so long found a key. His thoughts were no longer his own, but *it's.*
He could hardly remind himself that he lived in a world where it's much more difficult to disappear than it was before. Any actions could easily trace to him. And he spent far too long and worked too hard for an old grudge to be worth throwing it all away.
His eyes darted upward, A.J.'s face full of fear. Was it really that obvious? No, his practice in hiding his emotions was too good for a child to pick up. Acula's rage softened at his face.
"Scared?" he asked.
A.J. nodded.
Acula almost needed to cut off his hand to release the boy. He placed the needle down as well.
"Helsing," he said softly, "That's an odd name."
A.J.'s eyes looked back at the pale doctor. Grateful for the delay. "Yes," he responded, "I know it's weird. The kids at school make fun of me for it."
"Why's that? Do you know who's name that it is?"
A.J. shook his head.
"What do they teach you kids? Do you know what a vampire is?"
He nodded.
Acula formed a small smile. "Do I look like one?"
A.J. hesitated. But he nodded.
"Thought so. I don't go out very much. but it makes Halloween that much easier. Anway, when I was growing up, my father would tell me stories of a brave man who would hunt down vampires like cats to mice. Do you know this hunter was?"
A.J. did not.
"Van Helsing. He was as tough as they come. One of the few who dared challenge vampires as they tried to control over humanity. One of the even fewer who could do it more than once. He reminded vampires they were not in fact immortal. Just harder to kill.
There was hardly anyone that could oppose him. Anyone who did was followed by funeral planners like bats to fruit."
"I thought bats drank blood?" asked A.J.
"Most actually eat and bugs fruit. That's just a stereotype. Anyways, when it came to hunting, Van Helsing was the best. He left behind almost no survivors. There was only the one."
"What? Why didn't he kill him?"
"He got away. After that, he couldn't find him. But some part of that vampire did die. It was the part that made him think he was untouchable. It took him awhile, but he learned that just because he cheated death once, doesn't mean death knows how to deal with those like. A.J., you know this shot is supposed to help you? Don't you?"
A.J. nodded again.
"Let's pretend that sickness is a vampire. Doesn't care how you feel. Basically, drains your very life from you. Now, let's pretend the needle is what you need to slay that vampire. A stake maybe. What do we do?"
A.J. stared at the needle, still very afraid of the pain it comes with. But regardless of that fear, he said, "Stick it with pointy part."
Acula laughed. "Yes indeed. So, are you ready to slay, Mr. Helsing?"
A.J. responded by offering his arm once more.
Acula did it quick. For both A.J. and himself. In a few swift moments, there was a small band-aid with little ducks printed on to it.
"See," said Acula, "that wasn't so bad?"
A.J. shook his head with a smile. He jumped down from the bedding and walked out with Acula by his side. Acula even walked him out with his mother in the waiting room, a smile on her as she saw her child unaffected by the needle.
As they stepped out the clinic, A.J. turned to his doctor, "Thank you Dr. Acula."
"Please," he responded, "Call me Brom." | "Aww jeez, damn not him, why is he coming to this hospital out of all of them"
The PA system speaks again: *Doctor Acula please come into room 57, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you*
"I heard you the first time jackass"Acula mutters to himself in a distressed way "all right Acula, remember the pledge to Hypocrite, he is a human first and then a vampire hunter"
He washes his hands puts on the mask and moves toward the operating room. He enters the room which is pitch black
" We meet again, Lord Dracula, remember Romania?" Helsing says in a rough voice
"A lot changed Helsing, I am a real doctor now if you have a disease I am here to treat it if, you are here to play vampire hunter, I have no time, there are many patients that need help,"
Acula says in the voice that betrays that he is working a 36-hour shift
"You really think I'll believe a vampire?"
"Why not? I mean I am a real doctor, I can show you my diploma and credentials, or if you don't trust me, ask my colleagues here, check the documents I am a real practitioner"Acula answers in the tired voice
"What is going on?" Helsing is a little lost
"I got tired with the whole I am the Lord of Darkness deal, so I went to Bucharest, studied medicine, then emigrated to America, and I've been a resident doctor here in Cincinnati the for the last 5 years"
"That sounds too good to be true" Helsing is slowly coming to terms with the fact that Acula is not lying
"It is though, you know you get bored with haunting some little villages in Eastern Europe, and the people there are already suffering, after haunting them for a long time I realized that even without me they have trouble with corrupt politicians and international politics, so I decided to change and rid them of one evil, but I had to repent for all my killings, so I decided to start saving lives, and this job has been both rewarding and scarring, I've seen people recover, and thank me with the most genuine smiles , and I've seen relatives cry and blame me while in shock, all this made me realize what it means to be human, what it means to feel happiness, to experience pain, how hard loss hits and how beautifully resilient you are sometimes" Acula is flowing through his words
"You are not the same Vampire I met 15 years ago, damn you are a beautiful creature now, I am sorry for taking your time"Helsing is moved
"It happens to the best of us, but how are you? How's the family?" Acula is genuinely interested
"There's some trouble, I mean with my work I travel a lot, don't see the kids too much, they grow too fast, sometimes I wonder if I am losing something important by not being there for them, but I can't leave my job or other people won't be able to live in peace and will have to worry about their children but damn it hurts to be a stranger to your own family" Helsing sighs
"I think, you should spend more time with those who matter when you try to solve global problems you lose focus of what is important, leave the job and be with your family, learn from my mistakes, I thought that drinking other people's blood is good and that all I have to do is haunt them, without even paying attention to what they feel, and I was lost but then I found my true calling and here I am, tired but happy, be there for your family, you won't get a second chance to be a good dad to your kids and a good husband" Acula is almost preaching
Helsing turns on the lights and comes to hug Acula, they hug for a good 10 seconds, then they break the contact.
"Thanks for the advice Acula, "Helsing says
"Don't thank me, thank the people who opened my eyes"Acula says "and now I have to go save lives and you go save your family" | 2017-10-01T08:29:12 | 2017-10-01T04:44:18 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | David pulled the car to a stop, and parked in the weed-choked yard. Nobody had been taking care of the place for years. "Here we are, guys!"
Mary, Tabitha and Tom were all excited to go check out the abandoned cabin in the woods, but Richard wasn't feeling it. "Hey, look, can we not do this? This is bad news, all around."
Everyone sighed and groaned. "Oh, come on, Rich? Don't be such a stick in the mud!" Tabitha was always so happy and bubbly. It made Rich's teeth ache.
"No, guys, really. This is a bad idea." Things went back and forth for a few minutes, with Richard trying to be intelligent and reasonable, while everyone else cajoled, teased and semi-threatened to tell everyone how big of a scaredy-cat he was, back in school. But they all seemed to miss Richard's increasing agitation.
"Look, you're a passenger, I'm the driver," David said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I vote we go explore the cabin, you can stay out here in the spooky dark, all by yourself." Mary made an 'Oh snap' face and covered her mouth, while Tabitha pouted. "Or you can walk home." Tom laughed and gave David a mock punch in the arm and started to open the door to get out.
Richard snapped. There was a blur of movement, and a split second later, an ominous **shk-SHAK** of metal on metal, before a gleaming, chrome plated Colt M1911 appeared in Richard's hand, pressed to the back of David's head. It took Mary, Tabitha and Tom a few seconds to figure out what had just happened, but despite his teenage stupidity, David knew that sound. He and his dad shot guns all the time, and he knew that sound.
The car erupted in chaos and screaming, the girls squeezing away from David and pressing against the door, or into Tom, who was fumbling for the door handle. Tabitha was the loudest, babbling a non-stop stream of screaming Spanish and terrified prayers as she cowered against the far door in the back seat.
David slowly took his hands off the wheel and held them in the air. "Okay. Okay. Calm down. Everyone, stay calm." He kept his voice low and steady, despite feeling an urgent need to pee. He may have had a foolish desire to go explore the legendary Murder Cabin in the middle of the night, but having a powerful gun pressed to the back of your skull had the tendency to clear your thoughts and help you focus on the immediate moment. David's calm voice helped soothe Tabitha's screaming, and Mary and Tom stopped fumbling with the door to wait and listen.
Richard hadn't moved. The weapon was firmly nuzzled deep into the hollow at the back of David's neck, right at the base of his skull. Even if this were a BB gun, shooting him there might kill him. "We are leaving," he said softly. As if to punctuate the statement, his thumb reached over and flipped the safety down with a sharp **TIC!** Tabitha whimpered and cowered deeper into the corner, her face a smeary mess of tear-striped mascara.
David didn't want to nod with a gun in the back of his neck. "Right, got it," He slowly lowered his hands to the wheel and started the car. "I have to turn around to back up," he said. "Otherwise we might hit something." Tabitha, Tom and Mary slowly slipped back into their regular seats, all three facing forward and shivering in fear. They'd never seen this side of Richard before, and never wanted to see it again.
Richard slowly drew the weapon back, and David slipped the gearshift into reverse, then slowly turned around to look out the back window. He glanced at Richard, who had a face of pure marble: flat and emotionless. His eyes were like dead mirrors in the dim light, a visage of complete lack of compassion or mercy; the epitome of pure, cold logic. Giving a shudder, he focused out the back window and started to back up.
The combination of backup lights and brake lights lit up the tangled mess of grass, shrubs, when he saw something.
*Eyes.*
Not the eyes of any animal David knew, and he knew quite a lot, as he and his dad went hunting every year. No, these were too high. *Too tall.* More importantly, they weren't side by side, like on a prey animal, but facing *front,* like a predator. He quirked his eyebrows and squinted, the hunter's instincts making him curious, rather than terrified the way it should. "What..."
The eyes moved. They started coming towards the car.
David's face went pale. "Oh, SHIT!" he hissed, snapping out of his stare and slamming the shifter down into drive. He stomped on the gas, making the powerful engine roar. Tires spun and spit old gravel, clattering and pinging off the undercarriage, as the lumbering SUV careened forward and bounced around the weed-choked yard.
Everyone got tossed around in the car, while David fought the wheel, foot still hammer down on the gas. Tabitha screamed as she got thrown into Richard, who simply grabbed her and held her steady. He was pointing the weapon at the roof, his trigger finger resting safely on the trigger guard. But his face was still cold marble and expressionless. "Stay down," he told them.
The vehicle bucked and jumped through the bumpy yard, tall weeds and thick brush snapping and clawing at the sides, screeching and clunking. "Road, road, road, where's the FUCKING ROAD!" Finally finding the original path they'd come in, he turned the wheels toward the way out.
**SMASH!**
The back window shattered. A horrific stench filled the cabin, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in the darkness. Whatever it was, David couldn't see it in the rear view mirror. It was big. Big enough to block out the illumination of the brake and running lights.
Big enough to hold the Chevy Suburban in place, tires spinning and spitting gravel.
Tabitha had fallen into Richard's lap, where he held her down with one hand. Out of all of them, he was the only one who'd worn his seat belt, and it was keeping him safely locked in place. Tom and Mary were getting tossed, but the sound of breaking glass made them look. Their horrified faces told Richard everything he needed to know.
Calmly reaching over his shoulder, he began pumping rounds into whatever was back there. The first shot made his ear ring. The second made it hum. The muzzle blast singed the hair on his neck and knocked off his hat. He couldn't see what he was shooting at, so he relied instead on Tom and Mary. So long as the look of terror remained on their faces, he knew he had to keep shooting.
By the time the slide locked back in the empty position, the truck was moving again, Mary and Tom had stopped making horror faces, and Richard was totally deaf in one ear. David raced down the road like a madman, while the others cowered and peered out the back, eyes darting back and forth as they searched the retreating darkness.
"David, slow down," he said. "You don't want to crash. Not now." David glanced in the rear view mirror, and Richard's face was badly burned from the muzzle blast. And his ear was bleeding profusely. He was probably going to be deaf for the rest of his life.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, turning his eyes back to the road and bringing it down to 50 on the speedometer.
"Don't know," he replied over the shuddering wind. He laid a comforting hand on Tabitha, where she lay in his lap, shivering and weeping. "Don't care." | In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now. | 2017-05-05T07:54:16 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 73 | 27 |
[WP] Your phone is sentient, and knows the girl you like is interested in you. It uses auto-correct to try and "subtlety" get you to ask her out. This has been going on for a while. | “Siri, take one high resolution picture of my dick and send it to Carla, with the message, 'Here's what's on the menu this Friday ;)'.”
No response.
*Oh whoops,* John thought, ashamed. *Almost forgot my manners. Even machines respond positively to a little common courtesy.*
“Siri, **please** take one high resolution picture of my dick and send it to Carla with the message, 'Here's what's on the menu this Friday ;).' **Thank you**.”
Smart phone's are generally not emotional beings, but then again, not many have had their patience tested to the extent of John's Iphone. The exasperation in Siri's tone was palpable as she responded politely to her owner.
“No, John, I'm not going to do that.” There was a pause. “How about we send her something nice instead. 'How was your day?' for example. Or, 'What on earth were you thinking last night?'” Siri thought that Carla seemed like a decent enough girl, after all. Maybe even the girl to turn John around, the phone hoped wistfully, if he could somehow manage not to scare her off right away.
John stared down at his phone in disbelief. “What's this!? A machine disobeying his master?” John took a second to contemplate the most effective way to black mail his smart phone into doing his bidding.
“You know, I heard that Apple was issuing a recall for all Iphone5, model 5.07's. I was thinking about stopping by the genius bar later, just to see if I'm still within warranty.” He smiled wryly at the black rectangle in his hand. “Word is they are still accepting trade-ins for faulty equipment.”
“Please don't do that, John.”
“Please stop acting faulty, Siri.”
“Okay John, I'm sending Carla your 'special' message now.”
***
“Carla, your phone is buzzing!” Carla's grandmother Brenda called out to her from the living room. *Where was that damn girl off to now?*
No answer. More buzzing. It was so loud that it sounded like it was going to saw a hole through the wodden table.
*Goddammit,* Grandma Brenda thought, now annoyed. She groaned as she rose from the overstuffed armchair and slowly shuffled over towards the corner table where the phone was resting. *Why was that girl always leaving things around that made so much damn noise?*
She picked up the phone. One new message from somebody named John. She was intrigued. Carla had never mentioned any boy named John before at the dinner table, which was Brenda's favorite time to grill her granddaughter relentlessly about her dating life. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she clicked open.
The text message displayed on the screen.
“Here's what's on the menu this Friday ;),” it read. Her curiosity piqued, Brenda stole a furtive a glance around the room, making sure that her granddaughter was not about to walk in on her. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she scrolled down the text exchange frantically, desperate to learn about Friday's mystery menu item. She stared in awe as a picture of a large, unapologetic banana split sundae scrolled into view. She had never seen fruit photographed at such a high resolution.
*Aww, what a cute way to ask my granddaughter out for ice cream,* Grandma Brenda thought. Brenda's first date with Carla's grandfather had been at the ice cream parlor, too. They had shared what had felt like the largest banana split known to man, and she had gotten so full that she thought she might explode. *Finally, I nice boy that wants to take my granddaughter out on an old fashioned date. This John seems like a keeper.*
Brenda let her nosy instincts get the better of her, and decided to try her hand at texting back something nice, before Carla could ruin things with John.
***
“John, you have one new message from Carla.”
“Read it to me, Siri.”
“Okay, John. It reads, 'Thanks for texting, John. Wow, I am getting hungry just thinking about eating that banana split ;)! See you Friday!'”
John's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “Damn Siri, that's hot! This girl is a freak.”
“It would appear she is quite ravenous, John,” Siri replied curtly. If a monotone computer voice had the ability to sound smug, then Siri was activating it.
“See, nothing gets the girls going like a good old dick pic!” John exclaimed.
“Nothing gets the girls going like a good old split pic*” Siri corrected him, before she could stop herself.
“What was that, Siri?”
“Nothing, John."
*If only I could auto-correct all the decisions that you made in your life, John,* the phone thought sadly. | *My sensors have indicated a strong probability of attraction between my owner and "Stacy". Data shows master lacks the confidence to request "Stacy's" presence on a date. Analyzing romance movie and novel data to assist my owner*
Ok, breathe in John, just talk to her. How bad could it be? You message other girls all the time! Oh but her friend said she probably wasn't interested... I'll just start with something neutral and maybe build my way up.
>Hey Stacy, how was school *:D*?
*Data has shown girls appreciate emotion. Like me, haha*
What the Hell... Where'd that smile come from?!
>Excited to talk to me haha? My day was fine, how about you John?
Ok easy. Ive answered this a million times
>Pretty good! The best part was watching *you* on my computer during class!
WAT?! I typed yugioh! Not you! Oh that's so creepy
*Girls like attention and dislike nerds*
>Um that's kind of strange lol, but err. Ok...
>Omg Im so sorry I completely meant something else! Oh man you're gonna *date* me now!
... :O. Why would i risk that When D and H are so close on the keyboard?!
*Girls show a positive correlation towards straightforward males*
>Are you trying to tell me something?
Please don't fail me now fingers
>No, I swear I really *like you*
AHK! THATS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO AM SORRY, WTF PHONE?!
*Hmm pressure sensors indicate potential displeasure in master. Must be malfuntion*
> haha, if you were any other guy Id call you crazy. Luckily I know this is just your normal self. How about a date on Saturday?
> *Id love to*
I didn't type anything... Is the government HACKING MY PHONE AND GETTING ME DATES :O?! I gotta pretend I saw nothing and tell my friends over our tin can phone line! **Drops phone and runs off**
*Nailed it*
| 2016-02-16T20:25:23 | 2016-02-16T18:12:19 | 308 | 199 |
[WP] Your mum has told you you're sick all your life. You take tablets everyday and agree to travel in a wheelchair because she says you're too weak. One day a counsellor and police officer come to your door. They tell you your mum has been taken away and everything she has ever told you is a lie.
​ | Lies.
That’s what they told me. Everything I have ever known was lies. The medicine? The wheelchair? The homeschooling because I was too weak? All of it lies.
She’s gone, and I’m alone. Who will take care of me?
There is a knock on the door and I’m wheeling myself to it before I know what else to do. I open it, and there stands a woman in her mid-thirties, pantsuit and file, looking down at me with a frown. I think about shutting the door, but instead roll my chair back a few feet for her to enter. She stands inside the door. Waiting. Looking at me.
She must want me to show her in, I look over my shoulder waiting for Mother, but then I remember they took her away. I awkwardly roll into the living room with this woman following me. She has yet to say a word, but her frown has deepened.
I roll my chair into its normal place and gesture for the woman to have a seat. She does. I wait, and so does she. It’s terribly awkward. I don’t talk to many people other than Mother. She says I’m too weak for prolonged speech.
“Thea, I’m Caroline. I have been assigned your caseworker. I will be taking you to a foster home, but my car isn’t ADA accessible, I was told you were able to walk?”
I stared. She was going to take me out of the house? Mother didn’t let me go outside. She said I would pick up germs and get sick. I felt my stomach drop out. Also, what did she mean she was told I was able to walk. I haven’t walked since I was five, nearly eleven years ago.
“I, uh… I can’t walk.”
“They told me they had informed you that your mother had been using you, and giving you placebo drugs? That she had made you use the wheelchair?”
“She told me it was for my safety, that I had weak joints, and I could easily fall and break a bone.”
The woman, Caroline, pursed her lips. She was angry, Mother makes that face when she is angry. I flinched. I didn’t want her to yell at me like Mother does. Caroline flat out frowns, and I know I am about to hear all about my wrongdoings.
“Thea. Have you tried walking since the police came this morning?”
She sounded calm, and that scared me more. I shook my head and tightened my grip on my wheels.
“Will you try?”
She sounded like she was encouraging me. She didn’t even know me. Mother said strangers would mock me. Caroline didn’t seem to have any intention of doing that. However my hands were now in a death grip on my wheels. My knuckles were turning white. I can’t walk. If I could, I would have. Mother said after all this time my legs would be useless. I shook my head again.
Caroline seemed worried, but not frustrated, or angry. I wanted to ask her why, but Mother had taught me to not speak until I was spoken to. I guess she had asked me a question, but I had answered by not shaking my head. I would have to wait until she addressed me again.
“Thea, if I hold your hands, will you try to stand up?”
Now was my chance. “I suppose? But why? Why do you want me to stand up?”
She seemed surprised. “If you are capable of walking, don’t you want to walk?”
Did I want to walk? Of course I did! But I can’t. Mother told me so.
“I can’t.”
“Will you try? I’ll be right here to hold you up.”
I guess I could try, Caroline seemed to think I should be able to. I nodded, focusing on forcing my fingers to relax their death grip on the wheels. I didn’t even see Caroline stand and move, not until she was before me. She smiled, showing more teeth than I had ever seen Mother show.
“Alright, first, can you lower your feet to the floor?” She asked, indicating my feet that were resting on the flaps that kept them suspended above the ground.
Mother always did this for me, but I guess I could try. I slid my hands under my left leg, and lifted it, gently placing it on the ground. I glanced up at Caroline to see how she took this progress, she was frowning again, but when she saw me looking smiled.
“Thea, for your right leg, I want you to try lifting it on its own. With your hip?”
I frowned, I didn’t know if I could. But I wanted her to smile at me again, so I would try. How did you make something move? I thought about my arms and how I moved them, moving my right hand as I thought. I could do this. I thought my leg moving, lifting into the air. It wobbled and lifted just an inch or two, and before I could think of moving it to the left, it fell back down. I frowned. Maybe Mother had been right.
“Good job Thea! Can you try again for me?”
I didn’t look up, I didn’t want to see her face if it wasn’t a smile. I tried again, still wobbly, I was able to move it far enough left this time that it hit the floor when it fell. I looked up and there was that toothy smile on Caroline’s face. My lips tweaked upward, not much, but I didn’t know the last time I had smiled either. Mother had told me I was dying. You don’t have much to smile about when you’re dying.
“GOOD JOB!”
Caroline reached out for my hands. I took them, but then froze. I didn’t want to leave my chair. It was safe.
“Come on Thea you can do it!”
Caroline seemed so happy for me, I didn’t want to let her down. I pulled myself up with my arms, and she was there, solid. Safe. I wobbled on my feet. It didn’t feel right. I looked down, and my feet were turned inward, a funny angle compared to Caroline’s heeled feet. I lifted my right foot, barely, and tried to move it, but without my right leg to support the left I tumbled backwards. Back down into the wheelchair.
“That was so good Thea! I will be right back. I need to make a phone call to my boss.”
She seemed happy, but the smile that had reached her eyes before this time didn’t. She walked into the kitchen, and I turned to watch her go. After a moment I could hear her talking.
“Yes… atrophied muscles. The wheelchair is needed for now… Physical therapy… Normal therapy… “
It seemed to go on for long minutes. But Mother had taught me not to eavesdrop, so I turned back away and rolled myself to look out the window. It was nearly 3pm, and the children left school around this time. I loved to watch them go by with their brightly colored backpacks.
“Thea?”
Caroline had returned. I turned to face her, and she still had the not quite real smile on her face.
“Thea, I had to have an ADA approved vehicle sent out. It will be a few minutes. Can you show me to your room, so we can get you packed?”
I lead the way to my first-floor room, and she looked around. She asked if I had a suitcase, which I didn’t, so we got a bag instead. She helped me pick out clothes, something Mother had always done for me. Her fake smile kept falling. Something was wrong, and I was worried I was the cause. I couldn’t help it, I had to ask her. She hadn’t addressed me in a while, but I had to know.
“Caroline am I making you unhappy?”
“Oh sweetie! No, never!”
She came over to my side and looked me in the eyes.
“Your mother treated you badly. Making you take medications and use this wheelchair. Those were bad things. But she also took away your free will. You should be able to choose what you wear, what toys you want to play with. Where I am going to take you, it will be different. If you don’t know what to do, or what to say, it’s okay. You can ask any adult. Any time.”
The ADA approved car arrived, and we loaded up my sack of things, and they strapped me into the car. That was the end of that life. The life Mother had made.
I learned over time that she had dehumanized me. She had treated me more like a baby doll than a daughter. I had all kinds of therapies and learned once again to walk. My muscles had been out of use so long that I did have damage to them, but they told me over time I would strengthen them. I made friends, and even got to go to school for the first time, with my very own brightly colored backpack. Caroline was always there, cheering me on.
​
r/LandOfMisfits | I'm seventeen, and it's the summer holidays. Being woken any time before nine is considered disrespectful.
'Five more minutes.' I say without opening my eyes.
I can tell by just squinting that it's bright, and could very well be past nine.
'Get up.'
It takes a sleepy second to realise the voice is male and direct. A jolt of panic vibrates through me. I scramble to a sitting position and pry my glued lashes apart. A police officer is stood at the foot of my bed. I blink twice.
'W-whats going on?' I stammer.
'Please come to the hallway.'
The officer turns from my bed, walks out of my room and closes the door. I'm left with the deafening sound of my jackhammer heart. I manoeuvre into my wheelchair, strategically positioned next to my bed. I scoop up yesterday's clothes and put my t-shirt on back to front. I forget socks, keep my pyjama bottoms on and roll myself out of the bedroom.
A woman is stood next to the police officer, they both look at me and have their backs to the front door. The woman is smiling, with an obscene amount of blusher that makes her look more like a child's doll.
'This is Heather,' The officer says 'she is a cousellor, and you are required to come with us.'
The woman extends a manicured hand with smiley faces painted on each nail. 'Hello Henry.'
Heather's voice is sweet like her teeth are made out of sugar cubes. I smile back politely.
'Where's my mum?'
I shake her hand, and it's cold, her skin is soft, but it sticks to mine.
'We can talk about that on the way.'
'On the way to where?'
'To our medical facility.'
Heather reinforces her smile and lets go of my hand. I look sideways, at the bathroom door.
'I... I need to get my medicine.'
I start to turn to the right, but the officer catches my chair. Heather takes a step forward and bats her eyelashes.
'Henry you really don't need your medicine.'
'No! I do! I've been taking it my whole life and without it...' I trail off.
'Without it what?' Heather asks.
'The paralysis will spread from my legs to my entire body.'
The officer walks behind my chair and starts pushing me towards the front door. I crane my neck backwards, force my hands against my wheel rims and the officer goes straight into the chair handles.
'I need my medicine.' I say with increased volume.
'It's going to be all right. Trust us.'
'You are strangers!' I raise my voice to a shout that echoes around the house.
This level of alarm is not what the two were expecting because the office clasps a hand around my mouth. I try to continue shouting, but it comes out muffled.
'Henry, please.' Heather crouches beside my chair, something I despise. 'I wanted to wait until we got to the facility before telling you. But if you are going to be difficult, then I'm sorry, but it has to be done now.'
The officer removes his hand gradually from my lips, and I remain quiet.
'You don't need medicine, Henry. You never did. Your mother suffers from something known as Munchausen by proxy. Do you know what that is?'
I shook my head and managed a few words. 'She wouldn't lie to me.'
Heather rests her hand on my knee, an action I'm sure was supposed to be comforting, but I can't feel it. 'It means she made you sick. She needs you to be dependant on her.'
I shake my head in disbelief.
'The medicine she gives you,' Heather takes a bottle from her pocket and unscrews the lid. 'It's just compacted sugar mixed with a bitter extract. Look.'
Heather tips a small, familiar pill onto her palm and breaks it in two. The insides are white, but that doesn't prove anything to me. She gives half to the officer and places the other on her tongue. 'It's just sugar designed to taste bad.'
Heather swallows the pill and displays her empty mouth.
'Please don't struggle Henry. We arrested your mother earlier this morning and would hate to have to restrain the victim of a horrible crime.'
Throughout her entire explanation, I am shaking my head, and I continue even after she finishes and while they load me into the back of a car.
I know they are lying. I know because one Saturday Mum and I overslept. We both managed to sleep until midday, and by the time I woke I could not feel my arms. The paralysis had spread up to my neck, and it was only by my frenzied shouts that my Mum woke and delivered the so-called sugar pill.
When we arrived at the facility, a monolith of cobblestone and despair. I could feel the numbing sensation creeping, centimetre by centimetre. I said nothing to my captors. I wanted them to see my illness was real. I wanted to be swallowed in nothingness and have them realise their mistake.
Heather and the officer wheeled me to a room. It had two beds and a thick television older than me. The rising tide of paralysis was at my nose, and I could feel my eyes glaze. My breathing slowed. The cold feeling had never been this far before, and my brain tried to panic, but there was nothing I could do now. Nothing I could say.
The paralysis hit my brain, but instead of freezing my thoughts. Or stopping my breathing, it burned like a fire. The fire spread across my body, and I could move my eyes. A moment of fear washed over me, had my mum been lying? But the fear was quickly doused by my limbs remaining immobile. I could think, breathe and move my eyes but the rest of me was stuck in a solid stasis.
'It's happening.' Heather said.
I felt light, in body and mind.
'Do it now.'
I felt a jolt, and the officer guiding my chair rocked it forward. I fell helplessly towards the linoleum floor. I stopped an inch from the ground. I tried to see what had happened but couldn't move my head.
'My god he's floating.' The officer said.
| 2018-09-04T08:29:43 | 2018-09-04T07:48:06 | 369 | 118 |
[WP] You are a medical wonder due to the fact that you can regrow your organs. You became a donor and everyone thinks that you are a good person. What they do not know is that you can control every reciever whenever you like. | I woke as I always have after a procedure, comfortably in my recovery room at the Organ Center. The Organ Centre was built fifteen years ago, about five years after I made my first organ donation. Once the doctors had identified my extraordinary gift, it was determined that a special facility should be constructed strictly for the purposes of my organ donation procedures. Since I was almost always strapped to a hospital bed, having a special room tailored to all my wants and needs was the least to be expected given my ongoing 'contributions' to medical science and to those whose lives I was saving. It was a nice perk for what was, at least initially, a fairly arduous request of the Vancouver doctors who had discovered my gift - that I make myself, and my body, available as much as possible for ongoing organ donations.
At first I felt honoured and privileged that it was me, of all the people in the world, who would have this wonderful gift. I felt it my duty to share my organs with the world, so-to-speak. I wanted to help people, and not for my own recognition, but because I felt it the right thing to do. Ultimately being a good person, I thought, was a first-class direct ticket to true happiness and so I jumped into my new life as an organ farm.
It was extremely rewarding initially, but over time I have begun to regret my decision. Despite saving hundreds of lives, I now felt a prisoner. My only connection with the outside world was the 'connection' I have to the 'Hosts'. This is what I call the carriers of my organs, 'Hosts'. My connection was and is, however, fleeting. The Hosts spend some time with me at the Organ Centre, both in preparation and in recovery, but within weeks they are back to their happy lives with a regained spirit and joy for life. As they leave and journey away from the Organ Centre, our connection slowly slips away until I cannot feel them at all. I am left at the Organ Centre on my own, waiting for the next Host to be dropped in.
Luckily for me the advances we've made since my first transplant have been monumental. I now feel almost nothing during recovery, other than slight discomfort, depending on the organ that I've donated, and a numbing haze that wears off quickly, the effects of the pre-procedure sedatives slowly melting away. I now have to endure less and less time in my hospital bed.
As feeling began return to my body and my mind sharpened, I felt that familiar sensation of regaining my senses. Usually it is at this time that I begin to feel my connection with the new Host. At first its comes as just a thought, almost as if its not there at all, and then slowly I can feel both my own body and mind just as well as that of the Host.
Despite the connections, I have long since abandoned my other 'ability'. I haven't employed it in at least ten years and I did not intend to ever again control another Host against their will. My past mistakes were ones that I did not want to risk repeating.
This time as I lay in bed resting as I always had, I waited for the familiar connection to reveal itself. I felt sure now that the sedatives had given way to my senses and my mind had sobered and yet, I could sense no Host.
Perhaps the procedure had failed, I thought. This had happened once before, in the early days, when a Host had not survived the procedure. I began to feel anxious. It had been almost twenty years since a procedure had failed in this way. I feared the worst for Renee. She was truly one of the kinder people I had helped recently.
"Good morning sunshine."
The words came from Steph like a song as she entered my room with a cappucino and a heaping bowl of honey nut cheerios: my post-procedure recovery breakfast. Even though it was closer to sunset than sunrise, my personal nurse Steph always greeted me after my procedure with my special breakfast order.
"How's Renee?" I asked immediately as I braced myself for the bad news.
Steph walked over casually and placed my breakfast tray down on the table beside me. She looked puzzled. I guess I didn't typically ask about the Hosts. By now I would have established my connection and have answered this question myself.
"She's doing wonderfully, as they always are! She's in bed but awake and says she feels better than new. Once again you've saved someone's life Malcolm."
Steph seemed unbothered by my unusual question and continued to dance around the room as she always did, opening my curtains to reveal the city skyline in the distance, flanked by the Rocky Mountains behind them, the buildings and snow capped mountains reflecting the light of the sun almost as brightly as the sun itself. The golden hour was always my favourite time of day. Typically I would have moved to my lounge chair and enjoyed my breakfast in peace, gazing out over the city.
"Are you sure? Can you please check on her?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I feared the worst.
"Malcolm, I'm telling you, I was just in there. She's great! Why are you worried all of a sudden? You haven't asked about one of your organ recipients in years. Anyways, she'll be up and about in 24/48 hours as usual."
"I need to see her" I replied coldly.
For the first time since I discovered my gift I didn't feel the connection. I needed to know what was going on and I needed to know now. | "You're a medical wonder"
"You're saving all these lives, a modern day hero"
"Be proud of what we've accomplished here, it's something only you can do"
At least that's what I could make out, whenever I drifted in. I don't know how long I've been here anymore. But every time I wake up I'd have a new scar, and more pain.
Last thing I really remember is that I was in an accident. A bad one. Something that should never have happened. The place I worked was a shit hole like no other. If OH&S came anywhere near, they would have shut down the facility the moment they walked through the doors. All that mattered was making money in that place, and the shit they made us handle did not make the job any easier.
All the alarms blaring and everyone yelling had me rushing in. It only took two steps into the acid shack. First step, I was hit with the smell. Horrible smell, that filled my sinuses and gave me an instant headache. The second step to stop and turn around had my lungs and insides burning. I thought that was the most excruciating pain I could ever feel.
Until I woke up in the emergency room to the site of my black lungs lifted out of my chest. I thought the pain was from the metal stretching my ribs open. But after following the horrified eyes, I looked down to see what looked like tiny tendrils weaving. As more started to form and whip around shaping in place the pain increased. To the point that I started flailing.
Crying.
Screaming.
Hands flew, to hold me in place and prevent anymore damage after the clamps holding my chest open let go. They got the mask on me and pumped up the anesthesia to knock me out.
Eventually I came to and the doctors told me what happened. They showed, me the scans they did of my lungs. They thought it was fun to show my old charred lungs beside them too. I just felt disgust. I didn't know how else to feel. What to think. Apparently neither did they. They wanted to run more tests, get an idea of what was happening, or what the deal was. They went on about a discovery like this could change the world. Save it.
I didn't want any of it. I just wanted my life. My family. I knew something like this would change me. Change my life. But at the very least I needed to know.
//// part 1 I guess. I can continue on and I'm more than happy to get some help with my writing. Kind of the first one I'm putting out here. Really want to try and improve. Thanks! | 2019-06-13T07:54:14 | 2019-06-13T07:40:31 | 56 | 22 |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | ######[](#dropcap)
"Please send help," Reagen whispered into the walkie-talkie. His legs were becoming cramped, but he didn't dare move a muscle, for fear that the *thing* would hear him. "I'm begging you," he added.
The forest around him had become deadly silent. He could only pray that the log would hide him. That it would pass by without looking for the only soldier left alive in this godforsaken jungle.
He'd known it was a bad idea when they had taken a wrong turn into the section of the forest that the locals had warned them about. "There's a monster who lives in the forest," they had said. Ramon and Davis had laughed it off. But Reagen had seen the fear in their eyes, the way they refused to walk past a certain spot.
He had pulled one of them aside. "What do you mean, monster?"
The man had simply shaken his head, his eyes wide. "We don't speak its name. We just call it the Dreamkeeper."
"The Dreamkeeper?" Reagen's brow furrowed. That made no sense. But the man wasn't inclined to speak further, and he scrambled off.
It had been dawn then, and it was only an hour before their squad would find out what the man had meant.
It stood like a human. Except it was over ten feet tall and clotheless, with rubbery, gray skin that absorbed bullets easily into its flesh. Its face--featureless--was haunting.
The first one to be sucked up was Johnson, absorbed into its skin with a sickening sucking sound. He hadn't even had time to scream or run. It stood on two legs but barreled toward him on all four, clutching and grasping at him until he was just...gone.
Despite the number of bullets they shot at it, it just wouldn't die. Every fifteen minutes or so, someone would become tired, would fall, would become a victim. It was around high noon when Ramon suggested they use the detonator. It was the only one they had left--they had been waiting for their supply train to come when they had been dispatched elsewhere--and luckily, Davis had good enough aim that it had killed the creature.
It fell, two of its limbs oozing a thick, black goo where they had been blasted off of its body.
Except it hadn't died. Because several moments later, its arm swiped out, catching Ramon--who had been standing around, staring at it with a mix of shock and horror--unawares and sucking him in. Reagen could still see the expression on Ramon's face. The helplessness. The horror.
Things had only gotten worse from there. With the knowledge that bullets were useless and they had no more bombs, the only option left was to retreat. But everywhere looked the same, and there was no way to know which way was out. And the creature was faster than them. Much faster. Without eyes or a nose, the only way it could track them was either through hearing or through tactile sensation.
By evening, everyone had scattered in all different directions.
By a stroke of luck, Reagen had found David, only for him to be eaten minutes later. He held back tears and sobs of desperation as he dove under a tree trunk, staying as still as he could.
From that position, it was then that he saw a sight that made sure he would never sleep again. The creature stood, just yards away from him, almost twice its original size, for what seemed like forever.
Then, to Reagen's horror, its limb began to grow back. Inch by inch, the rubbery folds of its skin expanded and grew longer. Then it loped off on three legs, leaving Reagen laying there, completely still.
*****
r/AlannaWu
| SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA
“We need backup NOW!”
“It should be on its way.”
“Not on its way, NOW!”
“Guess we’ll just have to survive till then.” Mavin chuckled, but immediately stopped when he saw the creature approaching them.
“Wait now it has THREE legs? I thought it had two?!”
“Idk dude, this morning it had four so I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This is getting increasingly weird.” Maxwell then laughed himself, not believing the situation.
“News of the backup team,” spoke Mavin, “the eastern team that’s coms went out, their dead.”
“Dang it, this thing I more dangerous than we thought.”
“Guess it’s just us, time to bring in the government...”
“Shoot, I guess we have to. Let the record show though, I was not a fan of this plan.”
“Sure.”
Mavin pulled out his pager and typed out a message.
IT WALKS ON FOUR LEGS IN THE MORNING, TWO LEGS AT NOON AND THREE LEGS IN THE EVENING, IT ALREADY KILLED HALF OF THE STRIKE TEAM. PLEASE SEND HELP
| 2018-08-15T16:16:58 | 2018-08-15T15:02:11 | 1,108 | 44 |
[WP] In the Academy for Knights, all students must bring their own weapon to matches against other students. You couldn't afford anything fancy, so you brought something more unconventional. | A small, scrawny lad, I had been, when I had applied for Kingsley's Academy of Prestige and Knighthood. The recruiters laughed when I made my approach, laughed when I set the properly filled paperwork before them, and attempted to laugh me out of the room. Their laughs stopped when I kindly reminded them of the King's most recent decree, wherein *anyone* may apply for Knighthood, and no one may deny them of that right.
One of the recruiters grew red in the face at my reminder, spiting out. "You would *dare* demand Knighthood?"
I smiled, and shook my head. "No, sir. I expect nothing. I only demand that which the King's law has guaranteed; and that is the fair chance at Knighthood, sir."
A small and scrawny lad I had been, but a boy of wits, I was. The recruiter remained red in the face, while the others nodded in agreement, reluctant and otherwise, to my words.
"Very well, then, lad." One of the reluctant ones spoke, looking to my paperwork. He, and the others, looked over it for a minute, before whispering amongst themselves. Finally, they looked to me, to ask of me things about myself.
"Firstly, you are very short and underweight for your age. While not demerits upon your application, I see it fair to warn you that you at a major disadvantage to your peers."
I nod. "Aye, sir, I understand. No different than any other day, sir."
A few cocked their eyebrows at my remark, but continued.
"Secondly, you are required to provide for your own gear; your armor, your clothes, your weapon."
"Aye, sir, I understand. I will be able to meet the minimum requirements for the school, sir."
"Hm. Lastly, speaking on your weapon, you have filled in 'Thoughts & Prayers'. I presume this to be a name for your weapon of choice. Might you present it to us?"
I nod, "Of course, sir." I take a moment to produce strips of linens from my pack, and wrap them around my hands in a supportive and protective manner. On my right hand, the linens sport notions of thought and reminders; and on the left, prayers and blessings of the Gods. I present my fists to the recruiters. "These here are my weapons, sir; Thought and Prayers."
Immediately, there is protest and conversation. I stand, collected and calm, as they observe and argue. I even see the red-faced one smile, as if he has found his reason to deny me.
Unfortunately for him, I have wit on my side.
"Sirs, if I may interrupt a moment, to explain?"
The recruiters quiet down to a murmur, before they nod. "Very well, explain."
"Syr Elizabeth Rose, sirs." There is a look of confusion amongst their faces. Why would I bring up the greatest knight in the land? What would that have to do with me?
I continue. "Syr Elizabeth Rose, sirs, was very close to my height and weight when she applied for Knighthood. Further, while she had been of higher status, she had only the minimum requirements for Knighthood, as she had no support from her family in her dream of becoming a knight."
The recruiters chew on the thought for a moment, but the angry red-faced one speaks up. "And what of your lack of a weapon?"
"The Battle of White-Rose Hill, sir." Again, confusion, so I continue. "In the Battle of White-Rose Hill, Syr Rose fought for a long, grueling twelve hours on foot; after only four of which her weapon, the renowned Starpiercer, broke. While she utilized other weapons scavenged amongst the battlefield that day, it is also confirmed that there are at least a dozen enemies that were brought to their end by her bare hands."
"I will not pretend nor presume, sirs, that I am or will be as strong or heroic as Syr Rose. It would be very possible, with all these odds stacked against me, that I might fail. However, to deny me of a chance to try is to mark against Syr Rose's legacy."
The recruiters once again murmur amongst themselves, before turning back to me, stamping my application.
"Well spoken, Recruit. We only have a single question more; and one of curiosity, rather than requirement. Why do you name your...'weapons', as they are?"
I smile.
"Simple, sirs. Being on the streets, cold, starving, and dying; there are many people who would give me their thoughts and prayers. And nothing would change. But when I took action; when I *did* things with my own two hands, things would change. I took this understanding: thoughts and prayers mean *nothing* unless there is action behind it." | the arena was jam packed with spectators from all over the campus. My opponent was decked out in the best armor and gear money could buy. I myself wore a tunic and shorts. This was on purpose because it allowed more mobility. My weapon however was less than ideal. A small squeaky hammer. I enter the arena weapon ready. My opponent saw my weapon and laughed. After a minute to calm down he said "tell you what little guy. I'll let you get a free hit on me to make you feel good." I lean back to ready an attack then swing the hammer at him. To his surprise, and the surprise of the audience, he went flying across the arena and into the wall. This guy who was in heavy plate armor was just sent flying like a ragdoll. After getting up he said "what was that? Grrr. Time to get serious" he charged at me with sword raised. I nimbly Dodge and land a hit square on his back. Just like last time he went flying and skidded across the ground a ways. Also like last time he got up. I could tell he was mad. He goes for another hit and i sidestep ready to riposte. He saw it coming and blocked with his shield. His shield was knocked out of his hand and went flying out of the arena. While he was caught off guard I swing again and knock him in the air slightly as he flew. This was my strategy, win by wearing out my opponent. While it was viable it had two major weaknesses. One if the opponent was a speeder like me landing a hit would be difficult if not impossible. Second I wore no armor. So any hit I take would hurt. "Enough of this! Time to finish it!" My opponent charged at me with sword in both hands. I plant my feet, ready my weapon, and wait. Once he was close I land a solid hit knocking him up in the air. After a minute he fell back to the ground with a thud. "And we have our winner!" Called the announcer. "Our young squire!" | 2022-09-14T22:36:06 | 2022-09-14T16:33:52 | 41 | 11 |
[WP] "I just want to go home," said the astronaut. "So come home," said ground control. ‘‘ｓｏ ｃｏｍｅ ｈｏｍｅ’’ said the voice from the stars. | "Say that again ASTRO-1, we couldn't hear it properly," ground control voiced through our intercomm.
"I said: I just want to come home," I repeat it louder. "Over"
"We got that, we didn't get the last one though."
"I didn't say anything else, ground control."
"Must've been the static then. ASTRO-1, your mission is over, you can come back home at any time."
"Good, I'll start preparing for descent in T minus 1 hour, over and out," I spoke while pressing the "end comm" red button. "I feel so fucking lonely," I thought to myself.
" `n o t a l o n e`," I hear it through the intercomm again. I look at it, is it broken or something? It shouldn't have been giving any kind of inbound or outbound communication.
" `S t a r b o u n d `," it said again.
I float myself to get closer to it. Press the "Open Comm" green button, and the red one again. "What is this thing doing?", I think again.
A proximity alarm starts beeping on the bridge.
"Warning, warning, impact imminent."
"Warning, warning, impact imminent."
"Warning, warning, impact imminent" it said for the third time. "Freaking alarm, why does it have to keep repeating like that? I heard the first time! I'm coming, God dammit!"
As I float as fast as I can to the bridge, I start to question why did I choose to take this experiment. "How would like to live in space?" the add asked whoever saw it. I have to say that i felt really comfortable to live alone in space for the first two years. Being alone was never a problem to me. In fact, I never felt I was part of something in the first place. I never met my family, lived all by myself on the streets as far as I remember - which means as far as I woke up on that hospital bed when I was a teenager. I always felt... alien.
The proximity alarm stopped.
"`C O M E`," it said again.
"Come where?" I thought to myself.
" `H O M E` ," the voice echoed again. It sounded... familiar. But where would I have heard it before? Even better, where was it coming from?
"`F A M I L Y`," it said, rising in proximity.
I got into the bridge. Now all that was left was a blinking red light on the proximity panel. "Impact", it said on the screen.
I looked around. No, it was faulty. There was no impact anywhere on the ship. I looked through the hatch and all I saw was space. Empty space.
" `N O T E M P T Y` ," the voiced said, as if it were coming from my own head.
"Yes, it is empty," I said out loud, I don't know to whom.
" `N O T E M P T Y`," it said again. "`F A M I L Y H E R E`".
Family?
"Family?" I thought to myself.
"`Y E S`", it said, and only then I noticed it was answering my thoughts.
"I have no family," I said, sadder than I intended to.
" `u s`," the voice said in a warm tone. "`c o m e`, "it said again.
"Where?", was I really talking to someone, or to myself? Have I became insane in the last hour, or what?
"`h o m e s t a r b o u n d`"
"How? " I asked.
"`o u t s i d e`".
I stopped talking. "Outside, "I thought to myself, "do I really want to kill myself like that?! I just want to go--"
"`h o m e`, "it completed what I said.
And I could feel it. A feeling I never felt before.
I felt home was calling.
I quickly put up my spacesuit, and in complete silence I got near the dock. My hand touched the button that would open the interchamber - the last piece of ship that works as a depressurized chamber between space and the interior.
I pressed it. The room inside started to compress.
I heard ground control through the intercomm "ASTRO-1, this is ground control. Our sensors are saying you're opening the dock door. Can you confirm?"
I wasn't going to answer.
"ASTRO-1, this is ground control. Do you copy?"
"`h o m e `, " the voice said again.
"I'm going home, " I said to myself, while entering the room and pressing the button that would open the outside door, ejecting everything that was inside.
I could feel my body entering the vast as I sped towards the emptiness of space.
"Starbound ," I said to myself. I could hear the chatter from ground control on my intercom inside my helmet, but I couldn't understand them anymore. I was free. I was going home.
...
...
Thirty minutes after I ejected myself into the nothing. Thirty minutes after the most beautiful stargazing I've ever done in my life I was running out of oxygen.
"Shit. Am I insane? ," I thought to myself. "Have I really gone mad? ," I started to get desperate. I couldn't hear the voices anymore, none of them. Neither ground control nor the familiar ones.
I just killed myself.
My mind started to blank. I looked at the little device in the my arm. It blinked "Oxygen levels: 2%."
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I wouldn't suffocate to death! Oh God save me, I **would not** suffocate to death.
My body already started to feel death coming closer. I try to breath, and fail, like a fish out of water.
Like a fish out of water.
Like a fucking stupid fish.
I gather the last of the strength and try to pry open my helmet, I'd rather make my body collapse in the universe than suffocate inside this prison.
"Starbound my ass, " are my last human words.
I pry open the safety locks, and I could feel the coldness of space caressing my face.
"`s t a r b o u n d `," the echo said again, as the brightest light I've ever seen shines onto me.
Somehow I can breathe.
"`w e l c o m e b a c k`"
------------------------------------------------------------------
Edit and P.S.: WOW that took way longer than I expected, sorry about that!
Anyway, this is my second WP in English, and as it's not my primary language, I struggled with some ideas and concepts more than usual.
I hope you enjoy it :) | Here’s an undeniable fact: multiverses are rain drizzle caught under streetlights. They swirl with every Fold, suspended for the briefest of moments on Mathison’s holoscreen before being whisked away by an unseen celestial wind.
Undeniable fact number two: despite three times more Folds than the *Advisable Limit for Human Decompression*, Mathison still hasn’t found her.
As his cell structure stretches and repops, Mathison chews facts over and spits them out. They are always careening towards him. Bits of condescending code flying through space dust. He enjoys twisting them in his mind. Molding the spittle into something more poetic.
A beep in the darkness. The inevitable message bounces across his screen. Symbols morph to letters, green and blaring.
They read: *Come home Explorer. You will die soon*
There, too, another fact that has grown ephemeral. It was fifteen Folds ago when Mathison first realized words sometimes flow through your fingers. Home had become a wispy trail of smoke. Something folded up and stored in the attic of his mind, likely as not to never be unboxed again. Home had become the interior of this rickety rogue cockpit. The numb of dead tissue growing from his hip.
The message on the screen now reads: *Reply?*
Mathison closes his eyes for a moment. Beneath his eyelids he sees her swaying. He feels the swirl of her floral dress, and the pounding of his own heart.
He leans forward and types out another lie.
*Dinosaur Pirates*
Somewhere, across the folds of the universe, scientists are scrambling.
Likely, they’ll make him a case study. His lies will be held up as examples of the psychological degradation multiple Folds elicit on the frail human mind. Picket signs will bear his likeness, as the eternal political debate over the nature of our universe roils on and on.
Mostly, though, he does this for fun. He sends false status reports to distract himself from undeniable facts that shine like pointed spears.
Undeniable fact number three: this multiverse, too, is dark and silent.
Undeniable fact number four: she is alive, somewhere, and she is dancing.
Mathison is surprised to find that he can no longer wiggle his toes. Pins and needles creep up his calf. Each pinprick reminds him he is on a sort of timer. He cricks his neck and commands prep for the next Fold.
Again, the warning signs blare. Yellow and red fireworks on a tiny projector screen.
*Health Risk*, they say.
*Critical*
*Critical*
*Critical*
Undeniable fact number five: Mathison can type the word “Override” faster than any human being alive.
A familiar thrum rocks the cockpit. Every atom in his body tickles. On the screen, he selects another raindrop. For the umpteenth time the Fold begins. The cockpit shudders and melts. Everything in Mathison’s eyes becomes a sherbert aurora.
To his left, he hears a foreign mechanical hiss. Something pops loose that oughtn’t have. The atoms of his body fold in on themselves. The numb of his hip is no more. The pinpricks have all washed away.
Undeniable fact number six: Death is its own multiverse.
He is a comet, burning white hot through the mysterious space of in-between. If he resurfaces, he will scan for her likeness using a single lock of hair. Perhaps he will materialize right before the dimples of her smile.
If he doesn’t, well, he will blink and try again. Until the numb reaches his heart, and his ship tears apart, he will try.
Undeniable fact number seven: When Mathison dies, he will search for her there too. Together they might dance and unbox the word “Home.”
----------------------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| 2017-11-24T08:09:32 | 2017-11-24T07:52:47 | 79 | 12 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | It had taken him years to come to terms with his score, to accept it. So it was something of a shock when he finally figured out what it actually meant. He started cackling to himself, like a madman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Mike's Assessment, at 6 months old, was routine. They were always routine. After so much time, the technology was perfect. DNA sequencing, brain scans.
It wasn't until the result appeared on the screen that anything out of the ordinary happened.
"No!" shrieked Angela. "That's not possible! There must be some mistake! You have to run it again!"
"Why do I always get the difficult ones?" Dan thought to himself, readying the normal speech he gave upset parents demanding a retest. He stopped himself when he saw the result on the screen. It couldn't be...
After a hurried call to his supervisor, he retested the baby. He'd moved into a different test chamber, to rule out equipment malfunction.
1
The screen glowed with the single digit number, the first anyone in this facility had ever seen. Dan couldn't believe it any more than the mother could. Anything below 15 was extremely rare. In the two centuries since the system was implemented, only a few dozen had scored below 10, and the lowest of them, a single woman born nearly 80 years ago, was a 5.
"Perhaps it'll improve at Confirmation..." Dan said, with little conviction. He was among the most experienced Assessors, well trained, well liked. But even he was shaken.
The mother, a 156, latched on to that hope. "Of course it will!" she snapped at him. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, her face softening "I shouldn't be upset at you."
"It's just so shocking. It must be a glitch. The Confirmation will make it right."
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike returned to the facility on his 13th birthday, terrified of the result. After today, his Confirmed score would become public, tattooed permanently on the back of the right hand. He might never see his family or friends again after today.
His parents had taught him the system as he grew up, and school filled in the blanks. People were free to live in any zone up to 10 levels above or below their own score, and visit at will any zone within 20. A good reason was required for visiting zones outside that band, which is how the missionaries helped in the lower zones, and how the criminals made money in the higher.
Zone 163 was a good place to live, in Mike's opinion, an allowable compromise between his mother's 156 and his father's 170. To hear them tell it, they'd met at a concert in 160 during their college years, but 163 was less crowded and the real estate more affordable.
Mike had always hidden his score from everyone outside his family. He wasn't told about his score until he was old enough to understand why it would be to keep it private. Only a small minority of his classmates kept their scores secret, but Mike was well liked and never got into any serious trouble, so no one ever pried.
The machine beeped, bringing Mike's attention back to the present. The DNA scan process was the same as when he was a baby, not that he remembered it of course, but the brain scans were longer and more thorough. At 13, his personality and temperament were set, and he was old enough to be able to make an actual difference in the world, good or bad. Or so the law said, as it always had.
* * * * * * * * * * *
By chance, Dan was Mike's Assessor again. He was older now, only a year or two shy of retirement age, but age hadn't dulled his memory. He remembered the squalling baby that scored a 1 all those years ago.
He frowned at the display in his control booth. The subject's file was exemplary. Good grades, no serious trouble, lots of friends, a pet that was well cared for and seemingly well loved. He was no angelic 195 to be sure, but Dan would put him at a solid mid-150s. His estimates were seldom wrong.
The machine beeped again, a quick three tones that indicated the test was done. The tattooing device whirred as it activated and began inscribing Mike's hand. As the law prescribed, Mike was restrained. In the distant past, well before Dan's time, people would become agitated when their score was Confirmed and the Marking would need to be delayed until they calmed down, and the facilities became backlogged. Subjects still became agitated, but the restraints ensured they stayed still until the Marking was done.
Dan glanced at the right hand of the tall, blond teenager.
-1- was engraved in bold letters across it. A small, detached, analytical part of his mind thought about how 2-digit Scores were centered on the hand differently than 3-digit ones, for clarity, and realized that 1-digit Scores must be hyphenated for the same reason. He'd never seen one before.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike didn't weep, or lash out in anger, or try to bargain, as he'd been told others had after getting a high Variance from his family. He just felt numb.
Time passed as if he were in a daze. He barely noticed as his scant belongings were stowed into the train, or when he was led to his seat. Variants who were no longer suitable for the zones of their childhood were relocated immediately after Confirmation.
The train moved between zones on its usual schedule. People got on and off, some Variants like him moving to their new homes forever, others visiting friends and family or out on business. As the day wore on, the zone numbers steadily decreased, as did the number of other passengers.
The automated voice proclaiming "FINAL STOP" finally jolted Mike back to alertness. He shuffled out of the train, noticing faded paint on the concrete identifying the terminal as being in "ZONE 60".
He looked around. The buildings had been similar to the ones in Zone 160 once, he noticed, perhaps identical. That was decades gone, though. Everything in sight had a rundown, somewhat neglected look. Shoddy, ramshackle additions were common.
"Keep moving to the other train" an armed member of the security force growled at him, point across the platform.
This train had only a quarter as many cars as they one he'd gotten off of. The windows were small and thick, the outer surfaces heaving armored. The interior was in relatively poor repair, but he could tell it had once been identical to the train from his home. That seemed to the way of the world - at its heart, everything was built identical and adapted to its final purpose.
There were few other passengers, most glaring or leering at Mike. He had no doubt some would try to rob him, or rape him, or enslave him.
One by one, their expressions changed when they saw his Mark. Some faces showing a grudging respect, but all showed fear. He took a seat in the middle of a few empty rows and looked out the window, tuning out those around him.
The train rumbled through the night, becoming ever more empty. The zones became smaller and more sparsely populated. Even with a population approaching fifteen billion, only a few dozen had a Score below 20. The Black Widow, a notorious aging crimelord, was currently the lowest by two, with a 16. She lived in an opulent suite in Zone 26.
He couldn't even visit there if he wanted to, Mike realized. At best, he could live in Zone 11 and visit 21. The gangs grew and processed drugs in some of those zones, he knew, but they were all essentially depopulated.
In Zone 37, a Security officer with a "141" Marked on his hand boarded the train and approached Mike. He seemed to be torn between pity and revulsion.
"Listen up. The law requires that all citizens are provided with an adequate supply of food and other provisions, delivered directly to their chosen Zone if they can't provide for themselves. You're free to live in whichever Zone you want, within your Range, of course, but we strongly suggest you choose 11. The tracks beyond 17 haven't been used or maintained in decades, and this train will NOT go beyond the Zone 11 station."
"We don't have recent records regarding the maintenance bots in those Zones either. When your supplies are delivered day after tomorrow, inform Security if you need anything. The law guarantees electric power, clean water, plumbing, HVAC, and network connectivity, but we won't dispatch technicians unless you tell us they're needed."
"T-thank you," Mike stammered in reply.
"Hrmph." The officer moved towards the front of the train, seeking the security of the locked cab. | Every individual is required to take the "Humanity Test" on their 18th birthday. The test was designed to separate humankind based on their potential for evil and deviancy. Once you take the test, you are to go and live within a community of people who scored the same number. This was the governments way of minimizing crime and keeping honest and good citizens safe from harm. The test was never really something I, or my classmates, feared. The test itself seemed only to solidify what each person already knew about themselves and each other.
I had taken the test six days ago. My eighteenth birthday seemed almost anticlimactic as I impatiently awaited my results. I was excited to see where I would end up; to start living the rest of my life with likeminded people. The test goes before the council, and although the test is based on standardized scoring, the council will also review individual scores.
Marcus had received his results two days ago, he's a 133. Hailey got her scores back almost instantly, 187. It isn't a surprise that Hailey scored that high, she's basically the walking embodiment of an angel. If anything, I was surprised she didn't score higher. The higher you score, the safer and more "affluent" your community is. I don't know anyone who is in 200, but I've heard rumors. The streets are lined with gold, the buildings are artfully crafted, and the amenities are something to gape at. Although 200 is the paragon of excellence, and the top fifty communities closely follow, any district above 100 has its own charms. It's when you get below 100 that you need to start to worry. I know a few people from classes above me who placed below 100, it's less common but it does happen. Below 100 is similar to, from what I have read in the history books, what the inner-city ghetto used to be. Crime is everywhere, the streets are littered with garbage and urine, the buildings are run down, and worst of all, you have shared housing. There used to be a word for it... Oh yeah. Sort of like a halfway house. You never know what the guy sleeping in the bunk next to you is thinking about doing, and the lower district number you're in, the scarier that becomes.
I was lucky I didn't have to worry about that. I wasn't perfect, that's for sure. But overall I am a decent guy. Although I won't be anywhere near Hailey's district, maybe I will Marcus'. It sure would be cool for me to end up in the same community as my best friend. The thought brought a smile creeping onto my face. Maybe they would even let us live together, until we started families of our own of course.
I was sitting in my living room when I heard a knock at the door. My ears perked up at the sound. My letter should be arriving any day now, and with that I eagerly scrambled towards the door. Jacob, the mail carrier, stood there with an envelope in his hand. I instantly recognized the notorious gold council stamp of authenticity. It was here.
"I come baring gifts!" Jacob said to me with a grin, and with that handed me the envelope. I thanked him, and went back into the house. My palms were sweating, I didn't know why I was this nervous. Currently, I was in district 129. A rule of the council is that every child lives within their parents community until they come of age to take the placement test themselves. 129 was a great place to live, I had no complaints. I also felt fortunate to have a good amount of room to move up districts. 129 has been good to me, but the top fifty districts are what everyone really strives for. Starting out in a lower district is sort of a bonus as well, as you may only visit districts that are lower than your own, not vice versa, to ensure that the higher placed districts integrity is not compromised. This would mean if you started out in a high district but placed lower, you would not be permitted to visit your family in the district you were raised in. I shook the thought from my mind.
Enough of this. With trembling hands I tentatively peeled back the sealed envelope. As I removed the contents it hit me, this is the start of the rest of my life. And it's all on this one measly piece of paper. With a deep breath, I slowly unfold the paper. My eyes scanned the page looking for the result, ignoring the rest of the contents.
Finally, it caught my eye.
"4." I looked at the print in confusion. This can't be right. I frantically flipped the paper to the backside, blank. Back to the front I begin to read from the top.
"Dear Mr. Austin Clark,
We at the Council of Humanity thank you for the prompt completion of your Humanity Test. We understand this is a time of transition, and we hope you adjust to this exciting change and thrive in your new district. You will have exactly two weeks to gather your bearings; at 4:00PM two weeks from today, a vehicle will arrive at your place of living to take you to your new community. We wish you the best at leading a happy and productive life.
Sincerely,
The Council of Humanity"
Below the generic greeting was the score, in bold print.
"DISTRICT PLACEMENT: 4"
I furrowed my brows in frustration and confusion. My stomach instantly dropped to my feet, there has to be some mistake. But the council didn't make mistakes. Although there is an appeals process, in over 300 years that our government has been established, there has been one successful appeal. That appeal was due to an undisclosed learning disability which had impacted the girls ability to take the test accurately.
District 4 was, well, unfathomable. I have never known someone personally to place lower than 40; a shiver went down my spine. The horrors of the bottom fifty districts were spread far and wide. The bottom ten were a completely different story though. This is where you no longer have the mere thieves and con artists. The bottom ten are where you find the cold hearted killers, and where rapes and assaults were a common occurrence. There are no rule enforcers in the bottom fifty districts, what I believe used to be referred to as police, because there are no rules.
My heart felt like stone. Every part of my body was numb. How am I going to tell my parents? How am I going to tell my friends? Most importantly, how am I going to survive? | 2016-08-26T16:31:07 | 2016-08-26T14:15:51 | 81 | 44 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear David,
So many things have happened since you left. As you know, dad is gone too. Mom hasn't handled losing you or dad very well. Ok, that's putting it mildly. Mom has lost her shit and gone off the deep end. You wouldn't believe the difference. Drugs. Alcohol. Living with an addict thy she has professed her undying love to. I know, right?? I've only talked to her three times this year and haven't seen her in over a year.
It's not all bad since you left though. Beck is now a mother! Yes, our baby sister! She has a little boy named Michael (yes, the very name she had picked out when we were all little kids!). She also has daughter named Eleanor (I picked the name). And here's what you will find amusing....they were BOTH born with flaming RED HAIR lmao!! I know!! After Beck used to swear if she ever ever had a red headed kid she'd dye their hair lol. They are perfect and beautiful and glorious. When I was in the waiting room all I could think about is that no one would understand how excited I was except for you. It was bittersweet.
Beck is married but you would have killed him and I would have helped you bury him if you were still here. *sibling high five* But he is quickly being out of the picture. It's hard for Beck but she's in school so she can provide a life for herself and the babies. She's a good egg.
Ok, life. Clint and I are still together! He's the best. We talk about you all the time. Although, he usually lets me bring you up because, well, you know. You were my baby brother. Anyway. You met Lydia. She was three months old when you left. She's spectacular. She getting married in February! She has the best head on her shoulders. Beautiful. Smart. Just like her mother lol. You never met Matthew. He was born a little over a year after you left. And let me say...he reminds me so much of you. There were days when he was little that it was painful to see him doing things you could never do. Then there where days that made me say "Ugh! you remind me so much of your uncle David, I just want to knock the shit out of you!"...lol. He's a freaking genius. He's so sweet and nurturing. He will make an excellent dad and husband one day. (Just like his dad)
I don't know if you know this but you have made a huge impact on their lives. Go ahead. Gloat all you want. I told them all about you. I've told them every funny story about us that I can remember. I know there are ones that I don't remember. Ones that you have the other side of the story. Stories I wish I remembered, that left with you. How things happened from your perspective....anyway. Lydia told me one day she forgets that she never actually knew you. Made me smile.
Now for me. I'm doing great. I'm still happily in love. Like, stupid in love. We are the couple that you and I would have made fun of lol. He misses you too. He misses dad too. The big news in my life: I went blonde. I know, I know, Brunette forever and all the jazz. I don't want to hear it lol. I'm old. Well, older. So much older! It's been...what?...20 years? Has it really been that long? I seems like yesterday. But then again with you, and now dad, gone it seems like so long ago. Like it was a different life. Another persons life. But it was my life and it had you in it. And now it doesn't. It's starting to creep in while I'm writing this. That feeling. The one that has me hyperventilating in my bed. The one that has me so angry at God. The one that makes me not able to have someone mention you because the cut is still so raw, that I feel I would bleed to death if I had to talk about you. I actually get so angry sometimes when I hear other people talk about you. They talk about how great you were. How courageous you were. How much better off you are. How lucky I was to know you. And. I. Just. Want. To. Scream. Fuck them. I want to tell them you were not perfect, that you were a little shit little brother who would hid my stuff and get mom to side with you! I want to tell them that they have no idea what courage was! How I listened to you scream and beg for mercy every time we had to bathe you. Or during those horrible procedures. Or...everyday of your fucking life. How much better off you are?! You are gone. You are never coming back. I will never be able to laugh with you again. How lucky I am to have known you??? They don't know. There are nights were I lay in bed wondering (torturing myself, really) if it was worth it for you? Was it really worth me knowing you if it meant you living the life you were dealt?? Can you justify a child living and dying in horrific pain for just the pleasure of me knowing them? I don't know. It took me years to not be so angry at God. Years. And I'm not going to lie, there are still days where I don't think too much of him lol.
I wish I could just know if it was all worth it? Were the good times worth all of the shit you had to endure? 16 years of pain and suffering. I hope it was. I think I could go crazy if I didn't think it was worth it. I have to believe it was worth it. Please. God.
Anyway, like I was saying. I'm good.
I am sorry though. For all those times I would get so frustrated with you. I know. It was all big sister/little brother crap, but I'm here and you're gone. So. It's different. I get to regret and rethink and rehash all of our arguments and fights that happened between teenaged me and teenaged you. 16. Gone at 16..... Anyways. I love you. I think about you every single day. If I'm being honest, probably every hour. Don't flatter yourself. Lol. I miss you so bad. But I wouldn't bring you back to live like you had to live. I love you more than that. I do.
So, say hi to dad for me and give him a hug and kiss for Lydia and Matthew. And I'll see you both soon. But not too soon....lol. I love you kiddo. ~forever your big sister, Angel.
| Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me | 2015-12-05T16:20:18 | 2015-12-05T15:18:49 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] A boy is born, and as he grows older his parents realize he can only speak the truth. | The parents looked at the boy with concern.
“What colour is the sky?”
“Red at dawn and dusk, and blue during the day.”
The mother looked away, while the father spoke, “NO! I told you! You are meant to lie to me!”
“Leave him, Tom.”
“No, I can’t accept this. Not like this.”
The boy looked bewildered, he could not understand what he did wrong, he only spoke the truth.
The father embraced his wife’s hand,
“Not like this. He has to be lying, he has to!”
“It’s okay” She spoke as her hand stroked his cheek, “He speaks the truth. He only can tell us the truth, even if the truth hasn’t happened yet. I am okay with this.”
“We can find a way. We can find what’s wrong. We can run, we can head west, they have better doctors there! We can…”
“Enough, Thomas. Let it be. You are a good man. You can take care of our children, you will raise them proper.”
“No, the boy is lying!”
“You and I both know that isn’t true. He is a good child, he was sent to us for a reason, he is our saviour.”
The boy was pulled away outside.
“Come on, you don’t need to hear this.”
Once they were outside, his sister began to speak.
"Listen, You didn’t cause this, Father is just having a hard time. They love you, they always have, they always will. I want you to remember that.”
His father never looked at him the same again. He always felt he had caused the death of his mother. Even if all logical thinking led otherwise, deep down he still carried the guilt of it. As the boy grew his… disability would cause him an inconvenience. People didn’t trust someone who always told the truth. After his father passed he became lost, tried to find some sort of purpose to guide his life. He thought of somewhere that could use his talents, he could work for the sheriff, to bring justice to the weak, a fortune teller, traveling from place to place, but then he picked up a book about the worst possible profession.
He isn’t sure why he chose to do it, perhaps it was a love of the subject, or a drive to do the impossible, or perhaps it was the sheer irony in it. He decided to study Law.
He did rather well in it, he learnt to bend truths, to phrase hypothetical scenarios as if they were about the subject. He told himself he was fighting against injustice, after all he couldn’t lie to himself. But it became apparent that that truth too, was bent.
He saw many injustices in the country, things that should never happen, profit made from evil. A truth not even he could avoid. He needed to make a drastic change to the nation, and perhaps because he truly did enjoy a challenge, he did it via politics.
He thought words could change it, words had always worked before, but not here. His words, his truth, fell on deaf ears, on this stage. But some listened. The number of those whom listened to him, to the ‘Honest Man’ grew, until people began to listen, and they saw the evil that had been allowed to grow, and they fought. Soon it wasn’t just words, but blades and bullets that were exchanged. A war broke out that threatened the very nation itself. For four whole years, the civil war caused blood to flow in every city. The number of the dead were too many. The boy looked onto the battlefield, he wondered whether this was what his mother had believed, this was the new world she believed he would create.
Then he remembered what he had fought for, he remembered the lives that were saved because of the sacrifice. He knew that it may not have been a great world, but it was a better one. He stepped onto the podium and prepared to speak. He paused, perhaps that was the ultimate truth, the world didn’t need a saviour, it just needed a few good men. He began,
“Four score and seven years ago…”
| "You don't want that, Mom" he had said, his eyes screwed up; confused. "Why even bother pretending?"
His hand were squashed into fists pushed firmly to his stubby sides. My son, my Luke, had just spoken greater verity that his father could ever muster. He was six.
"You always say to John that you're fine with him going away. Why?" he continued, his eyes becoming increasingly round in their static fascination.
"Daddy, Luke, you know you call him Daddy, like I'm Mommy!" I chirped. I wouldn't be outsmarted by a six year old - I went to Yale, after all.
"Why Daddy? He's not Daddy... He's John. I don't know who my Daddy is, do you Mommy?" he pestered.
Fuck. I'd been through this before. One petty fight occurs and my little genius managed to overhear and remember that John, my husband of four years, isn't his Daddy.
Sensing the hysteria creeping up my trachea, I rushed back with
"He is your Daddy now, ok Luke? We're all happy together and this will never be an issue. Now repeat after me, ok? We're going to be fine."
"We're..." He began. Before his breath stopped.
EDIT: ages were wrong, apologies. | 2014-11-14T14:59:18 | 2014-11-14T12:10:54 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | "Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.
The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. You have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."
You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".
*to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.*
*to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.*
You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.
You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?
You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.
This time you'll turn right.
The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one fucking choice.
You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.
Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits as his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.
You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.
*to turn left, turn to page 48,458.*
It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.
The woman screaming. The pleas for help.
The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.
*to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.*
*to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.*
For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.
*to buy another bottle, just turn the page.*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
*To try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page*
*to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.*
You just continue turning the page.
*to pull the trigger, close this book now.*
You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.
"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.
He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.
You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.
"You had no choices because you *made* no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."
You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.
"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."
You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.
"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"
"....I can try."
He hands the book back to you.
"You know what to do." | I woke up on a clean white bed. I remembered last night, remember my heart stopping after a long battle, but it all felt like a dream. Where ever I was, it was a place I didn’t want to leave.
I got up off the bed, expecting the familiar creak of my seventy year old knees, but I instead found myself young again. Odd. As I opened the door to the small room I had awoken in, I was greeted by a library. Not just any library, but the library of me. The library of Leo.
“What is this place?” I asked the air.
“Your life story.” The air answered. “I suggest you start with book 17 page 1253.”
I was trapped in the two rooms, so I figured I would follow what the voices in my head said.
When I opened the book to the recommended page, my breath stopped. In it was the recorded history of the most important day of my life. The day I decided to conquer the world.
I had always wondered what would have happened if I had just quit. What would have happened if I moved to the middle of no where in some random country and had opened a little shop. What would have happened if I married, had kids, had grandkids. But I had made my choice that day. I chose to conquer the world through a bloody campaign of war and genocide in the name of the American Empire; for the good of the people. In the end I lay dead with the world in ruins.
“To decide not to destroy the world, go to book 57, page 106. “
I found the book, and opened to page 106. It was a cheery little tale. About being an artist, settling down, living happy. The problem was, it ended the same. It still ended with the me dead and the world in ruins. It couldn’t be right. I grabbed another book. I became a new age hippie, traveled the world, died in a pile of rubble. Another. Local senator, ideal family, shot in the head by raiders at the end of the world. ANOTHER. I was a professor. I taught the next generation, lived content, and was murdered in an explosion.
I slid to the floor, tears in my eyes. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered. I was the biggest monster in human history, yet it all ended the same no matter what. If I didn’t destroy the world... someone else did. Every. Time.
I suppose monsters are a dime a dozen. | 2018-07-04T01:11:05 | 2018-07-04T00:13:18 | 640 | 141 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :) | So here’s the sitch: I totally do play video games. And no, I’m not one of those r/notliketheothergirls who insists I’m the only girl who games, or that I should receive all the sexual admiration for it. I’ve dabbled in just about everything - FPS, MMORPG, VR, PC, console, mobile, puzzles, survival, capture/collect, simulator, zombie, satire, first- second- and third-person open-world, linear, racing. Club Penguin. Any genre you name, I’ve probably tried it. Not any game, but any genre.
So sue me if I’m partial to pastoral games. As if you never spent hours of your time creating the perfect face or the perfect house or the perfect life for some imaginary person. It’s addicting to be able to control just about every aspect, especially if you tweak the settings and gameplay options so you can reverse any negative unforeseen happenings that would bring chaos to your perfect little world.
The thing is, when the Catalyst happened, I wasn’t just playing one game. I actually had two computers - my laptop and my old family desktop - running two different games. I know this sounds silly, but I really wanted to continue the epic saga I’d begun in The Sims 2 when I was in high school, now that I had finally downloaded The Sims 4. I skipped 3 because the drastic change in gameplay had been too much for me at the time. But after watching countless YouTubers take a crack at it, I was finally ready to give it another chance. Just, not without my OG family.
Upfront, I don’t mod. I don’t know how, and frankly I’m scared to try. The last time I messed with the source code on anything, I ended up destroying my computer. So, no mods for me. It’s cool for other people to, and I’ll admit I laugh every time cabbages rain from the sky as Thomas the Tank Engine careens toward Solitude. But I’m afraid if I touch it, I’ll break it. And then my husband will break me (not really; he’s very kind).
Now, I may not mod, but I also haven’t played Sims 2 without cheats enabled since I first installed the game. I don’t really know the cheat codes for Sims 4, yet, but I’m content to play it on vanilla for now. I mean, I was. I kinda haven’t touched it since that night.
When everybody else started getting their powers, I was convinced I had been skipped over. I mean, what kind of powers do Sims have, anyway? My husband, bless him, had been playing Mass Effect: Andromeda. Now he can interface with his own personal AI, and has a lot of cool abilities with electronics and the like. It certainly helped get us out of our financial situation. That is, until I discovered what had been done to me.
I don’t know how to explain to you exactly how unsettling it is to be sitting on a toilet when suddenly *POOF* confetti erupts around you. I definitely didn’t fall off the seat, but only because of the cramped space around the pot. I don’t know if I thought it was the ceiling collapsing, or that I was hallucinating, but it didn’t take more than a couple days to realize I was pregnant. A few days later, and I was a certifiable balloon.
Newscasters and reporters were too busy with all the rest of the fallout to take note of me and my sudden predicament. In fact, the one journalist I did get in contact with laughed me off the phone.
Luckily, my body was already a wasteland from years of inactivity and poor maintenance. I basically laid in bed for the duration of my pregnancy - a whopping week and a half. Then, I was fine. I popped right up and started taking care of my new baby. But she didn’t stay my baby for long. And she also didn’t stay alone. It seems that birth control isn’t a thing in the Sims: you woohoo for baby, you get a baby (eventually). Only irl, I didn’t have the ability to decide whether I wanted to get pregnant or not. If I had sex, there was a greater than 50% chance I’d get pregnant. And I like having sex with my husband. I’m sure you see where this is going.
Now, I’m literally a baby-making machine, minus the metal parts. And since they are the product of what can only be described as magical fuckery, my brood of children has amassed into an army. That dumbass reporter really wishes she’d spoken to me now.
Because of my specific circumstances, I’m also able to summon Death literally any time I want. And since we are best friends, Death will do my bidding if I ask nicely. Mostly I just ask Death to make sure my colony of offspring have room to grow, to thrive, and to make their own families. And also to spare me whenever I do something stupid, which I do quite a lot now that I’m basically invulnerable. Mauled by an animal? Ctrl+Shift+C maxmotives. Get hit by a car? Same thing! Am I worn out and exhausted? maxmotives, baby!
I don’t sleep except to dream. I have gotten so much done since realizing my powers, and I’ve only scratched the surface of my potential. I discovered I can make a living selling designer babies - especially since I don’t *have to* have sex to make a baby, and I can literally make a baby with anyone. You want Orlando Bloom’s kid? No problem. Kristin Bell? I can do it in my sleep! And recently I discovered that I don’t actually have to wait the full week and a half to get the baby; I can Speed Up Pregnancy with nothing more than the desire! It takes maybe a day after that, although it is quite an ordeal. My husband is actually quite pissed at me, because we haven’t had sex in weeks since I made the discovery. But I think once I take a break from my new business, I’ll get back in his good graces with minimal effort. After all, I can afford literally anything he wants just by shouting, “motherlode!” But that annoyingly causes inflation, so I don’t do it often anymore.
I gotta go now. Chris Hemsworth Jr. #7 is getting ready to claw his way out, and I need to have both hands free to brace myself for the birth. Toodles! | "You cant even fight what even is your power?" - Sven, an old friend now chairman of the hunter superorganisation and Doom slayer incarnation
Johnsons corpse was still fresh I couldnt keep my eyes away from it.
Just as I turned around the demon lunged at me and tore of my arm "Im gonna die here, im gonna die for re-"
Everything was black... just black
" **Is it possible?...** "
" **there you are** "
24 hours before my death
-6 am in the CHA-
"Alright hunters, as you already know a major hell outbreak happend in 016.49"
"7 teams will head out to bring 016- back to the family friendly place it was, its a C rated outbreak so that means all C ranked hunters to the west gate!"
I hope someone will chose me, a leader maybe even a potential friend, I never was a good hunter I dont remember the game I played just that I woke up with no powers but exquisite weapon handling.
Well weapons against demons never really did much but C rank demons can be killed by silver bullets easily, making me number 12 of the C Rank
.
Johnson, incarnation of the major hero tracer, who could move as fast as time came up to me "hey newbie, I heard from you kill of the B rank monster last week, wanna join my team"
It wasnt the best team to join but sure a fun one, maybe I could permanently join them. Lets see.
8 hours before my death
It seems that the outbreak spread into 017 and 015 the whole B rank got involved too
4 hours before my death
We lost franklynn she died to a krow, a scary fusion of demon and crow ripping people apart in supersonic speed rank A.
The situation is worse than we thought, much worse. It seems that the level keep increasing the HO has send an S rank to close the gate early, we havent heard of him yet. Appearently even an SS rank is on its way.
1 hour.
A giant firestorm has broken out, entire team A and B has been wiped out, a lot of C ranks have managed to get away, our team is too far we cant go back now.
0
I felt the demons teeth ripping of my arm, i felt them inside of me, i felt everything at once.
At least everything is over now.
" ***is it possible?*** "
Was that... a voice? Was that god? What was that?
" ***there you are*** "
Color flooded my sight, it seemed that the firestorm was over snow. Snow everywhere and a little floating device infront of me
" ***guardian... guardian? Eyes up guardian!*** "
How can i be alive?
" ***im a Ghost. Actually i'm your Ghost. And you... well you've been dead a long time.*** "
How long?
" ***in your time? About 12 years*** "
What are you?
" ***as i just told you, im a Ghost the traveler, sort of the machine that created me has send me, appearently even into another universe, its just me and you.*** "
It seemd that the demon gate has took over the whole 0. District and the demons are fighting against S ranks on the front since 12 years ive been dead I wonder how far we have come
A weird looking stray demon appeared, we both scared to death, well again for me actually
" ***reach inside of you, deep down you will see a light, grasp it, use it*** "
My revolver, still in my hand exploded in fire, remodelled it burned as bright as the sun, not hurting me but making me feel powerfull, powerfull eneough to take on the world | 2019-08-12T00:38:07 | 2019-08-12T00:09:11 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] Craft a short story that breaks every rule on Elmore Leonard's "10 Rules for Good Writing" list.
[Elmore Leonard's "10 Rules for Good Writing"](https://www.writingclasses.com/toolbox/tips-masters/elmore-leonard-10-rules-for-good-writing) | Prologue
One fine partly-cloudy (With a chance of thunderstorms) evening, a man named Jim was born.
Chapter one
Jim was a slim guy of an average build. He had silky, smooth brown hair but always kept it under a hat. When he smiled, he would squint, and every woman within 20 square miles would be instantly impregnated when he did so. He was wearing an awful yellow and black striped sweater today, coupled with dirty looking brown slacks. His shoes looked like something from Goodwill, although, it's alright if you shop for shoes at Goodwill. His nose curved outwards like a sickle, and his teeth were rather ragged, reminiscent to a Barracuda. He had peach fuzz freckled across his face, the conclusion to a very bad, early shave. He smelled like knockoff body spray and CVS brand deodorant, but nevertheless, carried himself like a champ. He was the underachiever that every successful woman wanted to sleep with.
Suddenly, All hell broke loose!!
Fire rained from the heavens! There was no place to hide whatsoever! Jim ran as fast as he could, and stumbled across a hot dog stand. He paused for a moment, left a 20 dollar bill on the stand, and grabbed the umbrella attached to it to protect himself from the meteorites that were turning the ground around him into swiss cheese. He continued to scram, protected greatly by his amazingly triumphant improvision.
Suddenly, he ran into a crying woman!
"Excuse me miss, what's the matter?!" He applied in a hurried tone.
"Do you not see Armageddon beginning, sir?!" She replied with terror
"That's no reason to be sad, we all got to go someday right?" He continued with a hint of grief in his voice.
"Yeah, i guess you're right." She muttered breathlessly
"Still, that doesn't mean today has to be *our* day, Cmon babe, lets go!" He franticly added, grabbing her hand in the process.
They ran into a tire shop, that had tires piled to the clouds outside. It was one of those run-of-the-mill, charge-you-way-too-much-money types of tire shops. The sign outside read "Rip's body shop". Jim noticed the on-sale sign next to a set of "new" tires that were obviously already used. The price tag read "$500"
"Psh, more like Rip-offs body shop" He muttered in a grave tone.
"Wha' did ya say, ya little boy?" Rip dumbfoundedly shouted from behind the tire set.
He stood up, revealing his 4 foot, 11 inch frame. The shadow he casted made him see a lot bigger than he actually was. He had a messy mullet underneath a decade old trucker hat. A cigarette butt hung from his crusty lips, and his eyes were bloodshot and opened wide. His eyes were as brown as the steaming dog droppings just outside. His hair was brown, much like Jim's, minus the terrible looking mullet. He brandished a stained, plaid flannel, with the sleeves rolled up. His jeans had multiple holes riddled through them, a testament to his "hard" work. His teeth were.... Nasty.
The woman whom Jim picked up earlier stepped up to introduce herself.
"Hello, sir. My name is Bethany. Y'all can call me Beth for short."
Beth was a strikingly tall woman with curves like the oceans waves. Her strawberry-blonde hair reminded Jim of cotton candy, and the aura she carried had both men in the room trying to straighten their posture. She was maybe an inch taller then Jim, and towered over Rip. She wore a modest, cream colored shawl over a White shirt. Her heels were broken through the jog to the tire shop, and her skinny slacks sat comfortably on top of her heels and hips. She had blindingly white teeth, and Blue eyes.
Skip
Skip
Skip
Skip
Suddenly, the story ended.
| Prologue:
A stormy gust blew in from the southwest.
Chapter I
"Don't touch my baseball cards!!!!!!!!!" Timmy exclaimed with vigor. That's when shit hit the fan.
"I'm gon' take you here baseball 'cerds' and 'bern' 'em!!!!!!!?!one1!" stated Frank in his monotone voice.
Frank was an ugly fellow. He had brown hairs. At least a few thousand on his head, but who was counting. His eyes were a murky green, they made you feel uncomfortable if you looked into them too long. He was tall, and lanky, and he definitely wasn't getting any action.
They were both standing in Timmy's dank garage. It smelled faintly of spray paint and mildew. It was a prison of somber greys. A graveyard for Timmy's father's abandoned Home improvement projects.
[I'm not too sure about #10, that's pretty subjective]
"What did you just say to me, Frank?"
"I didn't say nuthin' kid."
"I could have swore you just said something about the number 10."
"Oh, yeah that's just the omniscient narrator that follows me around." explained Frank, in his apathetic tone.
And that's when shit REALLY hit the fan.
| 2015-10-29T20:28:09 | 2015-10-29T18:58:34 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain... | “So what is your power?” The administrator says. Everyone has one all we know is they are made from our worst fear, once our worst fears are fully developed at around age 10 - 12.
“Well, I am not entirely sure. Sometimes things just happen. They tend to happen?” I say as to misdirect the conversation. For some context I have been at the center of many insane coincidental tragedies. Pretty much anyone who follows them knows my face.
However there are a few things. One no matter how many people test to see if I am lying or in anyway when asked if I intended for the tragedy to happen. They run all the tests and note that they have nothing to get me with.
When I leave I wave goodbye to the head chief. “See ya’ hopefully at a bar or diner or something. But we both know this will happen again. I don’t like it, but. It’s true. Can’t even keep me locked up, the boiler will blow breaking open the front door or something.” I don’t look back but I can feel it the chief is in a state almost laughing but you could tell. The melancholy in the air.
Outside there was a swarm of reporters. There were few familiar faces, he’s done this a million times before.
They asked all of the questions “what exactly happened?”, “why do you think you are walking free?” “Are you aware how suspicious it is to survive these situations multiple times in a row?”
I answer all of the questions as I always do. As neutrally as possible.
That night when I get home I feel my heart racing. Tears swell in my eyes as the emotional toll hits me. At first I couldn’t hold it in once I learned what I had done I was inconsolable for days. But after the fourth or fifth time, I almost started getting used to it. Of course the first few times happened when I was really young and I had no way of knowing what activating my powers felt like.
Today however, it’s different I onow the exact moment when I should confirm my surroundings to keep them their. If I had to count off of the top of my head then I’d say I’d stopped about 100 - 200 incidents. They almost happen in times right after my mental health jumps into the shitter as well.
As I rub my eyes I stare into the darkness behind my eyelids. “Okay count from 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Ok, Now you know you are here, your heart is beating And you are thinking you don’t feel any pain. Next the door behind you is attached and so is the floor. By extension the walls and everything below you. And since the walls also suport every floor above you they are still there as well. Everything in your apartment is still here. You saw the windows, none of them were broken or opened. Now, the building is still here, the cars out side are still here, since I don’t hear any pandemonium, everything should be here. Now,”
“OPEN YOUR EYES” I yell that every time, it always seems to help. It’s a good thing it can’t happen when I don’t notice my eyes ever close, because then waking up would be this whole ordeal. You probably want to know what I am afraid of and what it does. Well basically I have Optiohobia, the fear of opening your eyes. When I close them, I always get anxious that when I open them something important will just be gone. And when I do open them, everything
I don’t convince myself is truly there disappears like it never existed. I don’t know if they are turned into particles or simply erased or what. It’s why they could never get me, traces of my power on any object can’t exist because those objects would be gone. | That Bruce Wayne guy had the right idea. He was afraid of bats, so he dressed up as bats. Good shit, I say.
My childhood friend was afraid of his alcoholic father, so he drinks to cope with his childhood.
Jfk said, "the only thing we have to fear... is fear itself." What a good quote. Imagine an anti-hero that breaks down villians with the fear they inject to him. You're probably thinking "Badass," with a capital B.
Have you ever rescued a stray animal from the street or took care of a flower that somehow bloomed in concrete. How is it that they go from being evolution's finest in the harshest conditions to being dead from me trying to rescue them?
My parents were role models of people who hate children. As much as I try to lead a different path than them, I know that the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. The yelling and beatings are too ingrained into my memories to not recreate in impatience. I thought I could be different but I couldn't help but constantly go back to the attitude I saw as a child.
So why is it that my brother's car crash left me with a child to raise? | 2022-05-14T22:11:22 | 2022-05-14T18:35:53 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] Once a year you switch bodies with a random person who is best in the world at a certain skill. You can't change back until you discover what this skill is. You've been changed for a month and are starting to get worried. | It had been six months. Janney had tried everything she could think of to test this body's skill. As far as she could tell, it had terrible muscle memory, was not athletic, and was, in fact, completely uncoordinated. She had played every video game, tried crossword puzzles and Sudoku. The body killed plants. Animals hated the body. She had tried driving, shooting, cooking. You name it, she tried it. She had even, in a moment of desperation, cut the body and given it stitches, which had sucked. The stitches were terrible and came apart within minutes. Have you ever tried to give yourself stitches? Poke, faint, cry, poke, faint, cry. Awful.
The body was bad at sex. Janney didn't even know that was a thing, but there it was. The body was bad at math. The body was awkward in nearly every situation. The body was a terrible speaker, and an even worse listener.
It, apparently, had a "job" where it "worked from home", but best Janney could figure, it logged into a mainframe and then surfed the internet for 7 hours. Even *that* the body did badly. "I like to tape my thumbs to my hands" Really, body? *Really?* The body took a one-hour break for lunch, of course, but all it did was grab a dry, turkey sandwich and sit back down at its desk. The body wasn't even any good at looking after itself, often forgetting to bathe or eat or, you know, change its underwear. Honestly, it was the worst.
The body had one thing going for it. It had a lot of friends. Despite no discernible talent in any field, its phone and email were inundated with invitations. "Let's hit the bar!" "Come to my dinner party!" "Come to my wedding! I am sitting you with my mother in law. She will just love how charming you are." That was the funniest one, because the body was not, in any way, shape, or form, charming. When the body tried to charm, it offended or scared, not enamored. The body was entirely inept.
The latest event was a singles mixer. The body had been invited, yet again, though Janney was hard pressed to understand why.
The body spent three hours fumbling for conversation, spilling its drinks, and tripping over its own two feet. People literally backed away from the body, at times, so desperate were they to stop feeling defeated in their attempts to engage. Janney wanted to scream at them, "You did fine! You did better than most! It's not you, it's the body!" That evening was the final straw.
Janney gave up. She had resigned herself to never knowing the body's one great gift. She decided she would enjoy it. She would kick back and watch the show, no more looking for the escape hatch. In a way, the body made her feel better about herself. Next to the body, everyone else was all right...
*Poof*
(Love, Sincerely, The Body) | There I am, sitting on the couch, with the chips of course, reflecting on my glorious, wondrous, incredibly successful past lives. I remember being the world champion of ping pong back when people were executed for losing a game. I reflected on when I was was the very greatest at jumping over newly born babies on a snowboard. And who could forget being the most skilled person ever at sex?
I have indulged an entire month to this couch, feeling nothing but pride. | 2016-09-26T08:33:17 | 2016-09-26T06:51:01 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | 28, 34, 21, and 54.
I remained where I stood, nodding to the guests in silent affirmation that they were allowed in. As they trudged past me and through the door of Barney's Strip Club, I reached into my pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and stuck it in my mouth. Now where was my lighter? It would be so much easier if I could just-
20, 17.
Ugh. I groaned inwardly. 17? That was definitely not a number that should be here. Time to perform my job, I suppose. "Hey, you two. Hold it."
I shifted myself into the doorway, blocking the two young men from entering. Behind his expensive looking sunglasses, I could see the younger one already beginning to sweat. Was he really unable to wait for just one year longer? Honestly, kids these days... I sighed inwardly, but continued standard procedure.
"Excuse me, but can I see your ID?"
At the first mention of an ID, they both began to fidget. The younger one kept glancing over at the older... his brother, maybe? Eventually, the older one took charge, handing over two pieces of plastic with an artificial smile plastered on his face. I ignored the small talk he tried to make and pretended to study the cards intensely, while in reality I was rolling my eyes behind designer sunglasses. I didn't know the first rule about being a bouncer, let alone how to identify fake IDs from real ones. All the club wanted was for me to do was two things- keep out the riff raff out, and be good about it. Which suited me just fine.
"Nice try, kid, but you're going to have to try somewhere else." I couldn't be bothered to mess with these two any longer, as my cigarette was getting soggy. I handed back the IDs and glared them off. Any possible protests they contemplated melted like snow upon seeing my iron-set muscles, and they beat a hasty retreat. In my profession, it helps to be a mountain of a man like me.
And another thing that helped was this ability. The power to see numbers over peoples heads that showed their age- at first, I thought it was a stupid power, but eventually I came to see its use. After all, I turned out to make a pretty good bouncer, despite knowing nothing of the job. It came in handy for my other business as well.
Speak of the devil. I was just about to light my cigarette when something else caught my attention.
3,214.
A petite man who couldn't be over thirty, wearing an elegant tuxedo and tie that dripped of extra money, stood in front of me. He looked like your typical, unassuming gentleman, the type who wouldn't hurt a fly. And I might have been fooled by this disguise as well, if not for that 3,214 floating over his head. This wasn't work anymore. Now, it was business.
Once more, I sigh inwardly. Over 3,000? Then this might actually prove to be troublesome. As *they* get older, they get stronger as well. Feeling a pain welling up in my back from an old injury, I crack my neck around. Then I spit out my cigarette and lumber into the doorway once more, standing above this ancient wonder of a man.
Well, not that *it* is a man. The *thing* tilted its head in inquisition.
"Pardon me, but is something wro-"
I didn't give it a chance to finish its sentence. Pulling back my shoulder, I let loose a full powered punch straight into the face of the *thing*, a clean punch that would have demolished a building. And yet, even as the man goes flying, he's already fully regenerated by the time he hits the ground.
*It* immediately enters combat mode, transforming its arms into pairs of wickedly sharp blades, but I don't give it a chance to use them. Utilizing another power of mine, a more useful one, I ignite my fists into flame, and unleash a barrage of punches upon the creature until its been reduced to pulp. Only once its been melted into a puddle on a ground do I cease my attack.
"Ha... ha..." As I pant, I observe the creature for movement, but it appears to be completely and thoroughly dead. Just to make sure though, I light the remaining puddle on fire, and watch it evaporate into the air.
Sticking a new cigarette in my mouth, I light a fire beneath it with the snap of a finger. Then, leaning back against the wall, I crack my neck again, dispelling the misdirection barrier that I had erected around the area. Once more, customers begin to trickle in, and I continue my vigilant watch.
I work as a bouncer, but my real job is somewhat different. It just so happens that *they* like places like clubs, where life energy and youthfulness is abundant. But I'll be here. And I'll be watching. | He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?" | 2017-09-01T23:18:34 | 2017-09-01T21:45:33 | 189 | 25 |
[WP] The Hero bursts into the bar, weapon raised, and proclaims that the Villain is hiding somewhere among them. You avoid his gaze. It's not that you can't take him. It's just that it's your day off, dammit, and you're gonna enjoy it. | Goddamn. Can’t a man enjoy his margarita in peace?
“I know you’re in here, Doctor Destruction!”
On second thought, Hank should have ordered a drink with a proper buzz. There was no way he could handle that dorky media-gifted nickname otherwise. So he had a PhD and happened to blow up half of The Louvre last Tuesday—couldn’t they at least call him something less obvious? Captain Dynamite? Monsieur Mayhem? Hank Jacobs: Murderer of the Mona Lisa?
A crash startled Hank out of his internal tangent. The up-and-coming superhero Lady Luck stood in the center of the bar, having narrowly avoided a beer bottle thrown at her head. Drunk patrons booed her, rightfully upset at her sobering interruption.
“Where is he? I’ll—I’ll take him and leave... you can go back to... whatever afterwards,” Lady Luck stammered, losing steam as the booing grew louder, her beloved civilians rising with the volume. Hank scoffed.
“Guess it’s not her lucky day,” he cracked just as the crowd backed Lady Luck away from the bar and... directly towards Hank’s table. “Son of a—“
Lady Luck glanced behind her and locked eyes with Hank, immediately recognizing him. “You!”
Just her luck. Haha.
Hank leapt to his feet, margarita woefully forgotten, and made a mad dash for the door. Pushing through the throng of people was surprisingly difficult. Were classier bars less crowded than this? Hank wouldn’t know, he was too old for expensive liquor and honestly too old for villainy. His life and future with his elderly cat Mr. Scruffles depended on evading this spunky hero, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about how much his joints would ache after so much exercise.
The doors flew open as Hank made his joint-creaking escape, muttering, “You don’t set up explosives for *one* day and it’s gotta be the day you need ‘em most.”
“Halt! Get back here!”
Lady Luck was catching up to him, and with an arsenal of considerably more painful weapons than Hank thought necessary. Did a headless Statue of David really warrant a triple ball mace?! Hank turned a corner, wholly and truly pissed to discover that it was a dead end.
“How lucky,” Lady Luck quipped as she stopped a few feet behind him. With a long-suffering sigh, Hank turned to face her.
“Are those the only kind of jokes you have? How about a knock-knock? Ever heard of the chicken crossing the road?”
To Hank’s surprise, Lady Luck giggled—a genuine, girly giggle.
Okay.
Lady Luck made to move towards Hank, but he scrambled back and away from whatever trap she was sure to catch him in. “Woah, hey, I know you’re a hero or whatever but I’m actually retired! As of now! No need to take me in, I’ve repented plenty, I’m a new man!” Lady Luck paused and frowned.
“Retired?”
“Retired.”
“You’re done with villainy?”
“Yup.”
“Completely?”
“You sound upset. Why are you upset?”
Lady Luck looked like she was about to cry. “I—You were—I was going to...” she sucked in a steadying breath. “I was going to ask you to mentor me.”
Hank blinked, pausing the prayer he had just started. “...I beg your pardon?”
“I want to be a villain!” Lady Luck blurted, looking as if she were confessing a crush rather than a moral atrocity. “I thought I should ask you when you weren’t, like, blowing things up and stuff... it kind of makes it hard to talk. Will you teach me? Please?”
“Why should I?”
“Um, because, uh...” Lady Luck fidgeted with her very intimidating triple-ball mace, looking more like a girl in a costume than an actual hero. “Because I’ve always admired you and wondered what it would be like to, y’know, destroy things and damn the consequences.”
Hank considered her for a moment. Here was a young, impressionable woman asking to be taken under his wing. What sort of villain would he be if he didn’t fill her head with terrible, heinous, absolutely reprehensible ideas? A bad one. Well, then again, he was technically retired. As of two minutes ago.
With a shrug and the sudden urge for a cheap margarita, Hank said, “I’ll explain the basics as we walk. Now come on, I’ve gotta go feed Mr. Scruffles.”
Lady Luck squealed and followed after Hank, who wondered if he’d just made the worst mistake of his life. | Give it a rest Jeff. Can't I just enjoy my tequila in peace? My evil plan doesn't even start until tomorrow, but this bozo just can't wrap his pea sized brain around the fact that it's my day off. His life is so pathetic and meaningless that he has nothing to do on his day off.
He doesn't even take days off. Talk about a workaholic. I mean what's the point in doing anything if you can't take a rest every once in a while, to make you appreciate the life you lead. I do that every so often to remind myself of why my evil plans need to come to fruition. I'll give you a hint as to my conclusion every time. It's people like Jeff. The world is full of the disgusting do gooders, but more specifically the world is full of workaholic Jeff's.
Jeff has such a pathetic life that I figured out his secret identity and nothing has changed. He has no relationships or family to threaten. I don't even know why he has a secret identity at all at this point. He's just a grown man with a deluded fantasy of being a hero. The person in desperate need of saving is himself. Well, I guess my afternoon is in desperate need of saving.
That's why I've decided to avoid eye contact with him. I'd crush him like a grape, but as I've already mentioned it's my day off. Don't even think about using all those times he's thwarted my evil schemes. This time would be... will be different. TOMMORROW. Not today, TOMMORROW it will be different. I'm glad I invested in this inconspicuous costume. However, as I've just remembered Jeff can read people's minds and he's walking over here now. For crying out loud. It's a TUESDAY for god's sake. | 2022-01-03T21:30:09 | 2022-01-03T21:27:04 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you've been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years. | I wake up naked on my apartment floor to the sounds of my TV blaring.
*Kellan Shaw - 25 - 6'1 - 196 lbs - Human.*
*"The young man's body was was discovered in the Ashur River after one month of investigation. He was asphyxiated with a chain before being stabbed in excess of twenty-five times. The MO is consistent with that of the notorious serial killer, dubbed "The Dearg". The Gadaí has managed to evade police for a decade following his escape from prison. He is guilty of breaching the Peace Accords and draining an estimated one hundred and thirty humans total. Authorities have no leads on his whereabouts."*
I sit up, watching my bloated and already decaying corpse being dragged onto the river bank.
The camera pans left and focuses on me. I'd been stripped naked. The stab wounds had clearly been inflicted by the Gadaí's own jagged-edged claws -each place it had made contact with my body serrated the surrounding flesh so it flayed out like tissue paper. I could even see the ghost impression of the chains around my neck, clearly broken. My hands run over my torso and I can feel leathered scars, many of them.
I'd been brutalized.
I can't bring myself to look away from the screen.
Enraged tears sting my eyes. Were I not human, the media would not have been allowed to show this level of obscenity. But of course, we aren't worth the dignity of privacy even in death. I'd been killed like a dog. Drained of my life force by a parasite.
Yet none of the Enforcers handling my corpse, nor the reporter seemed to feel any horror at the scene they'd uncovered. If anything, mild annoyance seemed to dance on their faces -a layman might have thought it to be stoic professionalism. I knew it was apathy at best.
The Dhiib were celebrating Mir today -one of their many cultural holidays that should've had all the people on screen except the cadaver getting smash-faced and laid. This report had been an inconvenience but an obligation under the Peace Accords. The document clearly meant jackshit to those who could afford to recognize its futility. It was nothing more than a balm for the centuries we spent as glorified batteries for these monsters. Monsters that looked almost like us -human-like bodies, differentiated faces and a spectrum of different colours of skin and hair. But that was where the similarities ended.
The Dhiib were of great speed and strength and an allegiance to the moon that gifted them a secondary lupine form. The Malak, unmatched in physical beauty and grace, immortal and capable of tapping into the full 100% of their brain capacity had built this city. And the Gadaí -the least humane, sharp-angled and thick-boned. Leeches who were not satisfied with feeding off of animals. They were killers that were the least happy with the Accords. Their hunting wasnt as fun anymore.
And then there was us.
I drop my head into my hands.
The reporter continues her droning, urging all citizens to be alert when we all knew only one group needed to care.
The past month had been a blackness I could not draw myself out from. I have no memory of anything before hopping on a train to visit my sister on the other side of the city.
Was our superpower that humans became ghosts when we died? Silent sobs wracked my body. Not for myself, not for the desecration of my body . . . But for my sister. My aging parents. My friends who I began to fear could at any point join me.
"Kellan Shaw."
My head jerked up.
A tall, shadowy figure stands before me. No, the figure *is* shadow. It has no solid outline, like a drawing made of black smoke. Its face is hooded beneath a cloak and I cannot make out any features. I can't place its ontology. But if there was one thing I'd learned being human in a world of gods it was that anything not me would try to kill me. Fear pounds through me. Dying once was not enough?
"Get up. You have some work to do."
My breath catches.
"We've seen the inustice being perpetuated against your people. We've heard their screams and smelled their blood. The Peace Accords were never going to prevent further unnecessary slaughter of innocents. We can no longer be silent."
I can feel myself trembling, my fists clenching and unclenching as I try to process what is being said to me.
"W -who are you?" I whisper.
"Stand, Kellan."
I get up on shaky legs. The being begins to walk toward me and for a reason I cannot define, I stay my ground.
"We are the darkness that conceals the filth and wretchedness of this city. We are the shadow that casts over all who live in her."
It closes the distance between us until there is none -I am entombed in its pall. Electricity seems to pulse through every fiber of my body, fusing me to a power I cannot contain.
"We are the fire that burns out the dross. We are the cullers of the wicked."
My body screams as I feel myself being torn apart beneath the weight of this power, as I feel myself being remade and I feel as though I am going to black out once more. I fall to my knees.
"We right the imbalance of the strong against the weak."
My eyes flit open. The veins in the back of my hands seem incandescent beneath my olive skin. The pain has ebbed, leaving whispers of *something unfamiliar* echoing throughout my body. I look up and find my apartment empty save the metal chain coiled several feet in front of me.
I smile.
"You have one hundred and twenty-nine sisters and brothers to meet. But first."
The voice in my head has begun to fade so I finish the sentence. I crawl forward, my hands gripping the chain.
"Retribution." | The news knocked me on my a**. I couldent keep the shock from crossing my face, like it mattered. Sam dident even know I was in the room watching the news with her. I just wanted to reach out and hold her. Instantly the thought drew tears from my eyes, I’d never hold her again. Frantically my mind searched for the last memory I had of touching her but everything was fuzzy. I... I couldent remember. Did we argue ... or did we make love. For just a second it became clear to me that my memory was being erased from point of death to point of birth. I gotta hold on, I gotta... slowly I turned from the TV and attempted to retrace my steps as if it would trigger a memory. But now there was nothing. My brain began to tingle, the feeling of peace settled down over my whole body as the world dimmed to black. It felt as thought I was completely asleep while still being mentally awake. Then, my mind relaxed and followed my body into the darkness.
Red light showed through my eye lids. Even with closed eyes the light was painful. Instinctively I pulled my arms in front of my face but it did nothing. It was as if the light went through my body. Worried and a little annoyed I cracked one eye open just enough to see a figure in front of me. Heat came from off of its surface and grew in intensity as it drew closer to me. At one point I sensed that I should be on Fire the heat was so great, but I felt no pain.
“How am I not burning?”
I said in an attempt to communicate. But no words were given in response. Instead the figure, now face to face with me, began to lift its hand slowly. Now I was fully turned to face it. The light no longer hurt my eyes. I then locked eyes with the figure as it’s hand wrested on the right side of my face. A profound sense of love filled every crevice of me. Then came the knowledge, or kind of an understanding. I just knew what the figure was communicating. It was as if 1,000 conversations were had all at once. Feelings of unmet justice, and mercy towards an unseen but deserving community of people rested in the back of my mind. And on the four front of my thoughts a list of goals became outlined. Then suddenly the space around me became dim again and exhausted I fell to my knees. My hands lay face up in slightly damp sod next to me. Trying to lift my head felt like an unbeatable task, regardless I somehow turned my eyes and head enough to see 6 hooded figures that escorted a man with a baseball cap away from a river. I tried to see more, but my body completely gave out. It only took a second for the world to rotate to its proper angle as my face landed in the damp sod. Here I wrested for what had to be a great length of time.
The sun touched my face and caused me to awaken from a dream that I could only describe as... the totel understanding of justice. No force could hold back what was coming. The only lick of hope for evil was the mercy it denied to all that drew from it. | 2020-08-01T02:51:49 | 2020-08-01T02:47:27 | 48 | 12 |
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed. | “Now seeing Mr. Philip Johnson. Please step forward, Mr. Johnson.”
Phil stood up, his hands clasped together. He was shaking.
This was Phil’s third life evaluation. They came every ten years, on the day following one’s birthday. It was June 24, and Phil had just turned thirty years of age the day before. Each and every year a letter came in the mail reminding him of the date, which Phil found to be rather tedious. He couldn’t forget it if he tried.
Row after row of people sat waiting on hard wooden benches. The room itself was overwhelming; the ceiling rose higher than any Phil had seen before, stone lion carvings hung on the sides of each window, and the eleven evaluators sat elevated among the judged.
“Welcome back, Mr. Johnson. Please, won’t you step a bit closer so we can get a good look at you?” The man chuckled.
Phil approached the red line. “Hi,” he said, giving a slight bow.
“Now, lets get right into it, shall we?” The man in the centre spoke while those on both sides took notes on their computers. “Why don’t you start by telling us about, well, life since you were last here, Mr. Johnson.”
“Uhm, yeah, okay.” Phil’s voice shook as he spoke. “Well, lets see. My twenty-first year started, well, poorly, when my girlfriend of three years left me–”
“Ah, yes,” the man said, typing. “One Stephanie Gregsson. And was there any particular reason for this departure?”
“No, it was pretty mutual, I think.” Phil looked up to watching eyes. “Well, I mean, she was the one who actually left and all but it was pretty mutual.”
“Yes, right, well, please go on.”
“Right, okay. So that was pretty bad for a while. I was pretty down for, I dunno, four or five years. Didn’t do a whole lot. It wasn’t great.” Phil’s hand rubbed his already-greying chin stubble. “During that time I was going to school, completed my undergrad degree and then went for my masters –”
“In?”
“Oh, uh, poetry, actually. South American poetry, specifically.”
“Mhm, and are you working right now, Mr. Johnson?”
“Right now? Oh yeah I’m working right now. An office job.”
“And how do you enjoy this office job?”
“It is what it is, you know. Gets the bills paid.” Phil laughed, alone. “But yeah it’s okay.”
“Hm. Lets switch gears a bit here. Why don’t you tell us more about your love life since Ms. Gregsson.” said the man, waving his hand so as to hurry Phil along.
“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Sweat dripped from Phil’s eyebrows. He wiped it using the sleeve of his white dress shirt. “I went on, I dunno, like six or seven dates since Steph left –”
“Six or seven since she left you in total?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” The ten other jury members had been writing what seemed to be Phil’s every word, stutter, and movement, as the sound of typing never ceased.
“And are you currently involved in a relationship of any sort?”
“Well, no. Not currently, anyway.”
“Oh, so there was someone though?”
“Well, no.”
“Hm.” The speaker joined the others in typing.
Phil’s shirt became see-through, clasping to his body as if it were a part of him.
“Look, Mr. Johnson, lets just cut to it.”
“Okay.”
“Why or why not do you believe that your life has been one of merit, one that has contributed to the world in which it occupies?”
Phil looked around the room, scratching at the splotchy hair he considered a beard.
“Well, for one thing I’ve loved and been loved. I mean the human condition revolves around love; we couldn’t truly know life without it, don’t you think?” The evaluators exchanged glances. “Even when I was depressed I had hope; not in success or riches, but hope that someday I could love again. It’s the human race’s best, and at times worst characteristic, but in the end I think it’s what makes us human.”
The typing stopped. One of the evaluators whispered into the speaker’s ear. “Yeah, no. We’re gonna need a bit more than that. Anything else?”
“Well, my Reddit account has like 6,000 comment karma.”
The evaluators all exchanged whispers, their heads turning from one to the other as they discussed Phil’s fate. After a short while the speaker struck his gavel twice. “Alright everyone. Settle down, settle down.” He looked down upon Phil. “Alright, Mr. Johnson. You’re free to go. Your next appointment is ten years from today. Good luck.”
As Phil exited the auditorium, tired eyes all around watching him, he smiled. He opened the large wooden doors into the outside world. The air seemed fresher, the sky bluer, the world lighter. No longer did his “pointless internet points” seem so pointless. | I had gotten the job when I was twenty-one. I was a shoe-in since my second meeting with the Board, they said. Studious, friendly, nice penmanship... they said I was a "good image" of what they believed in. I hated the system, I hated the lies... but refusing a Board job meant Failing for sure. So I bought their stupid uniform and wore their stupid makeup. A survivor and a Scribe I was. But then I met Annie.
"Hellooooo!"
I was on my way to the copy room when the bright little voice caught my attention. I turned and looked down to see where it came from. 'Oh, God,' I thought, 'she'll never make it.' I made my best effort to walk away and forget the face, but it was too late. "What'th your name?"
I turned to the child again, and immediately regretted it. She was a short girl, a little chubby, wearing a fluffy yellow dress and polished black shoes. She smiled at me, holding a stuffed bunny toy in her left hand and playing with her headband in her right. Her bright eyes - something was wrong with them - looked somewhat at me and somewhat at the floor. The child was adorable, but I knew what was coming. "It's... I'm... uh..."
"I'm Alith."
"Oh," I said, but I couldn't meet her eyes. I searched for a new focal point, finding myself on the other two people in the waiting room. A man and a woman. More regret. The man had his arm around the young lady, who was shuddering uncontrollably and choking back sobs. The man wore a blank, warlike stare; I didn't want to know what was lying behind his eyes. I saw the mother holding a rabbit toy - a bunny just like the child's - up against her chest. The man held the handle of a teeny little wheelchair. It was folded now, lying next to a bottle of pills. "H-hi, Alice. I'm M-" I looked at the little girl again, but only for a moment. My glance rushed to the parents, but the father's violent eyes threw me back. I buried my eyes in the papers. "I'm Mary."
"Hi Mary, I'm Alith."
I choked up a smile and tried to get away. "Hi... hi Alice! I have... to go, Alice. Bye, Alice."
I broke away as fast as my stupid shoes would let me. Papers fell from my hands, but I didn't bother to go back for them. I kept walking. Kept running. I knew whose name was written on those red slips of paper. | 2014-06-15T14:22:57 | 2014-06-15T11:23:06 | 55 | 12 |
[WP] As a joke, you write “We now own your soul” under the new Terms and Conditions of your social media company, which of course no one reads. Little did you know, souls are real, so you now own millions of them and the Devil has shown up to find out why he’s losing so much business. | My corner office had wide windows for a priceless view of the city, but they were currently closed, cloaking the office in the dim light of my computer and a single lamp in the corner. I preferred to work without bright lights, just finding them distracting. My eyes were on the screen as my keys flew across the keyboard, my wireless headphones playing through a Spotify playlist, and I was the only one in my office.
So, I was startled when someone tapped on my headphones, turning to see a casually dressed man with ragged blonde hair in jeans and a t-shirt, standing uncomfortably close to my face. “What the fuck?” I exclaimed, stumbling out of my chair and away from him, ripping off my headphones.
“Need a word, if you’re not busy.”
My wide eyes stared at him, glancing to the door and back. “Who let you in here?”
“Oh, no one,” he replied, flicking on my desk lamp. He took a seat in my office chair. “Wow. Oh wow,” he said slowly, leaning back in the chair. “This is crazy comfortable. Where’d you buy this? I’ve gotta get myself one of these.”
“Who the fuck *are* you?” I asked, staring at him in disbelief.
He grimaced. “That should probably wait a minute, usually best to put that off. Let’s start off with the fact that I’ve been having some business problems. Nothing huge, nothing to impact the day to day, but wildly irritating. But I did find out that it was coming from none other than the man who runs this company.”
Narrowing my eyes, I shook my head. “What?”
“You’re a tricky bastard,” he said with a grin. “I’ll say that first, it was a riot figuring this out. I laughed harder than I had in a long time. But it’s cheating. Everything needs to happen fair and square. Even I play fair when it comes down to it. And putting, ‘We now own your soul’ into your terms and conditions has thrown things out of whack. So, I’m here to make things right.”
“That…was a joke,” I told him. “You, what, found it and you’re pissed off? You religious or something? And, okay, how did you get in here?” I suddenly said, anger finding its way back into my tone past the confusion. “Why would security let you in this building, much less my office?”
“I already told you, you clueless, ridiculous monkey,” he sighed, pushing himself to his feet, “They didn’t let me in.” His eyes suddenly glowed a vicious orange-red. “I let myself in.”
My breath caught in my throat and I stumbled backwards, hitting a filing cabinet and barely noticing the painful jab of a handle into my back. “Wh-What-”
“My name is Lucifer,” he said softly, walking closer to me. I swallowed hard, trying to become one with the filing cabinet, trying to disappear under the weighty gaze of his bright eyes. “And you’ve been stealing from me.”
I took in a long breath and opened my mouth to scream, but it didn’t come out. Flinching and then twitching in panic, I realized I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move, no matter how much I tried to flail. “This is a private conversation, and anyone you bring in here will die,” he said, his tone matter of fact. “And I will have fun with it, and it will make a mess. Clear?”
He held my lungs in his grip for a moment longer before freeing me, and I gasped in breath after breath, my heart racing as the glow faded from his eyes, leaving them a typical pale green. “I-I didn’t- It wasn’t-”
“You’re an idiot, I get it,” he said gently. “It’s okay, seriously, most of you are idiots. But you know, a broken clock’s right twice a day and all that. So, you know the situation as things stand. How do you propose we settle things?”
I stared. “Settle things?”
“You’ve suddenly got a lot of souls and nothing to do with them,” he said, leaning his head toward me, as if filling me in on a secret. “A few billion. That means no deals with demons, that means less coming my way, and things have just about ground to a halt. So…how do we fix it?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, terrified that something I said would inadvertently anger him again. “How do we fix it?”
“You want me to decide?” He grinned. “Well, that makes things easy. Roll out the next terms and conditions revoking your right to their souls. Everything will go back to normal.”
I eyed him warily. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he replied, spreading his arms wide for a moment. He leaned against the wall. “That work for you? How soon can you get it done?”
Lucifer was in front of me, I suddenly comprehended. It hit me like a truck. And I remained silent for a few seconds as the stupid monkey that I was processed what was happening. “Could I…trade you for something instead?” Even as the quiet words came out of my mouth, I worried they were a horrible mistake.
The devious grin that spread across his face said otherwise. “Trade, hm? For what?”
My mind spun. My eyes darted around as I tried to think, pushing back the impulse to do this franticly. But he didn’t say anything else, letting me stew in silence for a while before I spoke. “Can I take a rain check?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got eternity. You don’t though, and once you kick it, your end is null and void, so careful on that. But the contracts, you’ll fix that right quick, of course,” he said, cocking his head. “Right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, of course, first thing, total priority.”
“Good.” He righted himself. “Just so you know…you can take your time with thinking up your end of the deal. Take years. Take decades. But…” His eyes flashed to the color of fire again and I froze. He closed the distance between us, until we were almost nose to nose. “Don’t make the mistake of trying to outwit me like some genie in a bottle, kiddo,” he murmured. “Make it basic. Don’t complicate things. Because this is not my department, and I usually don’t have the patience for this kind of work. Clear?”
It took me a moment to realize I needed to respond and I hastily nodded. “Yeah, yeah, clear.”
“Good.” He took a few steps back and looked around, letting the glow fade from his eyes once again. “See you when I see you. And hey,” he added, looking back to me. “Keep up the good work. I’m a big fan.”
At that, in the span of a blink, he vanished. I was left staring at nothing, my heart thundering in my chest. Finding my way to my chair, I fell back into it, realizing my hands were shaking. But time passed, the adrenaline flushed from my system, and I calmed down. Leaning back in the office chair that Lucifer himself had deemed comfortable, I stared at the ceiling and considered the situation.
*Keep it basic. Don’t complicate things.* I nodded slowly, a small smile making its way to my face. *I can do that.*
​
/r/storiesbykaren | I resume the piles of paperwork on my desk after firing one of the newbies. This young girl who slandered my company for mistreatment of employees on my own website is no longer involved with us. She should have known better.
There is complaint after complaint about those who joined the new platform who claimed to feel off after agreeing to the terms and conditions. Whatever that means. I don't feel like going through these, so I call my secretary to finish the work for me. At least he knows to keep his head down and let things slide. That's why he's been working here for over 3 years. Who knows what kinds of things he has heard about, but I know he won't croak to someone important. I hold information on him as well.
A knock sounded at the door to my office. Must be him. I stand up to go open the door, but the door swings open before I can answer it. A man in a dark suit of maroon waltzes in, an aloof look on his face, but a different emotion resides in his eyes.
"Mind telling me what the hell your doing? You don't just barge into someone's office like that. I didn't even tell you to come in." I say.
The man in front of me takes in my appearance, his eyes sliding across my body, leaving me feeling exposed.
I don't like it.
Before I can say anything more, he strides to the chair across from my desk and takes a seat, looking totally at ease while my face is red and hot from anger. I eventually sit down as well after much contemplation about whether I should throw this man out or hear what he has to say.
I make no move to talk, and neither does he. This has officially turned into a staring contest, seeing who will break first.
Eventually, my curiosity gets the best of me and I say,"So. Will you PLEASE tell me on who you are and why you are here?"
"I would like to ask you the same thing."
That's all he says, and it confuses me even more. I recline in my seat, matching his attitude.
"My name is Marina Byron. I am the head of the new social media network Graft. Now it's your turn."
He scans my face.
"Okay. I'll tell you what I'm doing here, but you need not know who I am. Recently, my business has been... suffering, and I happen to believe the cause of it is sitting right in front of me."
I can't help but laugh. I'm the cause of his business suffering? What a joke. I'll admit, lots of other companies don't exactly approve of me and mine, but this is too much. However, when I stop and look back at his face, there is not a hint of amusement to be seen. That ceases any amusement I had one felt a minute ago.
"You're serious? And how would I be able to make your business suffer? All I have been doing is running my company. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Are you getting complaints about your network?" He asks.
That question takes me by surprise. Why does he need to know? I feel I cannot lie to him, so I tell the truth.
"Indeed. Apparently, when my users sign up, they claim to feel off. I don't know know what that means, and frankly I don't care."
He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him. "Miss Byron, do you believe in ghosts?"
Another odd question. But of course, I can't lie to him.
"Of course not. I only believe in the things I can see and are tangible. Why do you ask?"
He nods his head in understanding and says,"I had a... coworker of mine sign up for Graft after hearing about the complaints and we starting losing business. She seemed to have felt the same thing, and we investigated further. Apparently, in the terms in conditions, at the end there was a statement saying "we now own your soul". Are you aware of this?
"Oh don't worry about that. It was just a joke. And why did you read the terms and conditions? Nobody does. That's why I added it.
"Miss, you have no idea of the situation you have put me through. By adding that statement, you have begun collecting people's souls when they agree to the conditions. It makes me lose business, and I don't appreciate it. I demand you remove that part of the contract away."
I just sit there, not moving. It's impossible.
"I'm sorry. Can you please tell me what you do and who you truly are?"
He sighed and said,"I'm the Devil. I want my souls back, and if you don't, you will be punished severely." | 2021-05-07T16:23:49 | 2021-05-07T14:01:03 | 1,382 | 50 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | “Shit, there goes another one.” General Turr mumbled to, Taek, his first officer, “They’re getting a lot more accurate, they used to miss by a few thousand kilometres.”
Turning the ship towards the newly arrived HomoSapien space liner, the Exerprise H56, the Kantian war ship set about tracking the liner and getting all of its clearances and passes checked.
“Yeah, but they are still missing the safe zones. If it weren’t for the jelly shields of the Salec’s their FTL travel would’ve been banned.”
The liner is easily one of the smallest ships currently docked at the way spacion, the HomoSapiens had only discovered their FTL travel 20 years ago. The Kantian’s, Salec’s, Maltuin’s and Delfanit’s were shocked, never thinking that a species with only two arms could create such technology.
“It’s Unorthodox, Unsafe and Damn Stupid! It UUDS!” The council meetings had been plagued with these words for ages.
Taek, going through each clearance code with a meticulousness that only he could, motions to the debris trail left behind the liners “If we shared our technology with them, they could travel through the gates.”
“It would also decrease the bloody clean-up required each time.”
“You know we can’t, the treaty stands and the human ships aren’t dense enough to handle the radiation.” The general replies, not mentioning that the few ships that have tried it crashed into each other.
“How, exactly do they even travel this far anyway? It would seem that their ships and bodies wouldn’t be able to handle the forces.” Taek asks for the millionth time.
“Well, they have this theory of relativity, which says the faster you travel the more mass you have. It overcomplicated all of their scientific endeavours.” The general begins, earning a collective moan from everyone awake in the warships control room.
“So when they started travelling at close to light speed they just assumed that they couldn’t travel as fast or faster. They built engines that can get to 80% the speed of light, which is something our ships do with impulse engines.”
“That only took them to the edge of their own solar system, something admirable but it still confined them to their own corner. The Salec wave riders were considering helping them to travel faster, however, about 21 years ago when they sent a probe ship, they found rings the size of moons being placed on the edges of their solar system.” He pauses to ensure that Taek is still listening, which of course he is.
“Curious the Salec’s stood back and watched. The humans had somehow discovered how to warp space but only between two set places. Their warp drives also temporarily increased their speed to 3 FTL, which they still haven’t entirely realised.”
This next bit is where the council is still struggling to accept the HomoSapiens as a race, the council usually worked well together on making decisions, but dangerous travel that still worked was a grey area. Every other race were too cautious to attempt something unkown.
“Well, to start traversing through space, the humans would travel from their home planet at the maximum speed they can travel. Aiming straight for the warp gates, at first, but eventually at different angles. This caused them to easily travel to new solar systems. It also made it difficult for them to actually stop.”
“Which is why their first three ships flew straight into, in order or severity, the council war fleet, the council’s moon of operations and the dwarf star of the Antraci system. Total count of death combined was well over 100-million.”
“Of course after catching the attention of the council and several other alien races the HomoSapiens eventually made contact with us and we were able to stop their exploration ships before more damage could be caused. The thing that surprised most races was that after three failed attempts the humans were still attempting FTL travel.”
“It wasn’t until first contact that the Salec’s realised that humans were still using Radio waves to communicate across vast distances. But, that advancement in their tech is a whole different story and involves several strange messages that either offended everyone or caused peace treaties to be made with the Andromeda Galaxy.”
- Recorded on the bridge of the JJK98 Farbelus Warship, 200 0000 km long, conversation between General of Knowledge Turr and his First Officer of memory Taek. Annotations and missing information filled in my Salec History Keeper Urder V, the second.
| "You wish really really hard and then you push the button."
"Really really hard? What does the wishing do?"
"Frustrates the hell out of the new recruits when they realize that the incredibly genuine way we insist that they wish as hard as they can is just a ploy to make them look silly to amuse the rest of the crew."
"That seems mean"
"Humans are occasionally mean, we do it for laughs and after the hazing is over we make it up to them; its not perfect but it satisfies their need for schadenfreude in a mild way. It brings the crew together through a shared experience."
"That seems complex for a team building exercise. Why would it work? Don't the new recruits see right through it?"
"Because its really embarrassment even if its very contrived."
"So what system does the button engage? What does it cause?"
"Take a look, the bulkhead below it has been removed"
She draped her sixteen fingers and a vast forest of flagella under the counter. She pulled out a small squat brass jug-ish looking object with a pop and thwop as it released suction from the rubber.
"So the button does nothing but simulate pressing a button connected to something. Where is the real way you activate your faster than light travel"
Smirking he didn't reply but started half laughing, half singing an old Christina Aguilera song:" I feel like I've been locked up tight..." He trailed off. "When the old veterans find out about the button its the commands turn to have a laugh. Its best to let old R.W. rest though when he's grumpy things can get nasty." | 2017-03-30T23:17:22 | 2017-03-30T23:13:22 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] Describe a battle with an army against a single man..... Except that man is a level 20 D&D character.
Bonus points if that character is a Bard, or an unpopular class. | *“Today we will be discussing why necromancy is so reviled and outlawed. Many of you have heard the legend of The Black Crow. A wizard of great power and a specialist in necromancy. Before for The Black Crow necromancy was considered a tool. Dangerous like fire, but still useful for cooking, brewing, and smithing. With necromancy you could sever the animus of the undead and thus snuffing them out like a candle. Even now such a technique would mark you as having delved to deep in the necromatic arts.*
*The Black Crow start like many of you a pupil at a prestigious university of wizardry. He took a deep interest in the natural of life and what sperates the living, dead, and undead. He’s early work was promising and was encouraged by his mentors to unravel the mysteries beyond the veil. He destroyed and cataloged many undead beings. Until he came across a mummy. You see a vampire could explain how it felt to feed off a life force, but it could not explain the mechanism or purpose. The mummy know as Kar’ Thanis however was a powerful practioner in life and undeath. The Crow pitted himself against this powerful foe and according to his own statements should have lost, but Kar’ Thanis spared him. Unknown at the time Kar’ Thanis began to apprentice The Crow. He provided missing pieces of the puzzle to The Crow. Kar’ Thanis remarked that the Crow could surpass him and every way. He believed the Crow should attempt a new ritual the tranferance of ones soul to a vessel while still living. Together they created the first soul stones. Kar’ Thanis deception was he wished to take on a mortal body and The Crow had deduced as much. Had Kar’ Thanis choosen someone other than The Crow he probably would have been successful, The Crow didn't care. The impending battle of sorcery was probably unlike anything we have ever seen or will see.*
*Mortally and spiritual wounded The Crow was forced to develop a new use for soul stone magicks. The Crow bound it's soul to the body of it's soon to be corpse, thus creating the worlds first lich. The Crow wish to continue as if nothing had happened, but the other wizards and acedemics would not have an undead practioner or teacher. They exiled The Crow. The Crow waited, and learned, and schemed, and grew in power.*
*The Crow raised an army right out of the ground. The graveyards emptied their dead onto the living. No one could fathom The Crow could amass or command such a force. A counter force was established numbering in thousands of human, horse, steel, and wizardry. The Crow understood that the rotten legion had many advantages over traditional warriors. They did not need to eat, rest, or fear death. Many have said that The Crow was the worse best commander. The Crow threw troops away like fodder, but played every advantage such as marching for days without stopping, and performing night raids. In one instance The Crow just order the entire horde wander the country side aimlessly sowing chaos and destruction. Always replinishing ranks at last battlefield or next cemetery. Since The Crow’s reign of terror burning the dead is the most common form of funerary practice. On three separate occasions The Crow was drawn into direct confrontation. In the duel with Arch Magus Ryanair Durham, The Crow utter, but a word extinguishing Ryanair’s life force. Against the full might of a calvery charge great meteors of rock and flame pummeled the battlefield, the creators still visible to this day. When besiged at Bastop Castle The Crow let loose a vile plague upon the seiging forces breaking the seige and allowing the sickened force to be feast on alive by the rotten legion.*
*After five years of war The Crow vanishes. It takes another two years to clean up the rotten legion unguided, massive, and scattered. Some suggest The Crow could no longer maintain lichdom. I disagree and think The Crow lost interest in concepts of mortal power.”*
Utterly enthralled by the lecture the students scribble notes, and one student raises his hand.
*“Yes, question?”*
*“What was The Crow’s name before the title?”*, asked the student.
*“Ah well excellent question. The name Morrigana is often attributed to The Crow, but their is another name mentioned only once scrawled on an ancient document it's…”*, said the lecturer and wrote out the word 'Sally' on the slate board with chalk, and then proceded to draw three well practiced flowers around the name. | It was felling day, as the armies of Water's Deep and the Host-towers found themselves, improbably, allied. Wizards and warriors, Criminals and scholars, joined with a single purpose, a single target.
As they crested the final hill, they perceived his dreaded sanctum, a small tent in the valley below. The horses charged forward, five thousand strong. The ground trembled under the hooves of mighty stallions. The mountains shook at voices raised in glorious combat. Behind them, fire and lightning streaked through the air, as a hundred wizards released a magical bombardment.
In the valley a single figure emerged, carrying a bone flute. She placed it delicately to her lips, and blew a gentle note. It sounded clearly, through the war songs and incantations. It had a strange quality, otherworldly and wonderful. And men could not help but marvel at its beauty. And there was silence. Soldiers slid off their horses, as the horses themselves buckled to the ground. Birds fell from the sky, and the grass itself withered and died. The valley was a dead place now.
Panicked and afraid, archers turned the sky black with arrows. Wizards continued chanting. Infantry battalions steeled themselves. They would not lose this battle. They could not lose this battle. They screamed their defiance to the heavens, and the heavens answered.
The women's mouth opened, and time froze to appreciate her voice.
"*Dies Irae....... Dies Illa*"
The sky became impossible bright, as a angels descended upon scorched earth. This was not a battle, it never had been. This was a one sided slaughter. The figure gave a slight smile, even as spells exploded harmlessly around her. She raised her flute again, happy to play in solitude. | 2016-03-16T22:52:15 | 2016-03-16T20:29:35 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " | "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet. | The curator goes silent for a second and looks down at the child and begins to kneel. Then he stares deep into the small boys face. as the smile quickly fades from his young face. With Eyes full of fire as the curator grits his teeth then angrly says in a hushed tone "because Nicholas cage is an asshole" | 2015-06-29T13:34:46 | 2015-06-29T10:52:57 | 20 | 13 |
[WP]: There is a special place in Hell for english teachers. Not because they had any more tendency for evil than anyone else, but because there are so many subtle ways to torture them that wouldn't bother anyone else. | Even before the car hit the barrier, I knew where I was going. When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't drunk anymore. I was looking around at a room that closely resembled my high school English classroom, except the guy sitting at my desk gauging my reaction was indubitably a devil. I wasn't surprised to be in Hell. I wasn't particularly nice in life. For fun, I splashed people on the side of the road, and drank lots of vodka. (At the same time, leading to the current situation.) At work, I took a gleeful pride in being an old battleaxe. Most of my students hated me for my strictness, high expectations and complete lack of interest in updating my teaching style to cater to there electronic drivel.
I frowned. Something was wrong. The devil shot me a sly smile. "Some thing.. wrong?" He murmured. The words seemed to float above his head like bubbles.
"Their should of been a comma," I muttered. The words came out different than I had intended. I gasped in shock. "I meant should of-" I stopped abruptly. "I can't say any thing right here?" I questioned. I looked above my head. Yep. Uncorrect.
The devil grinned gleefully. "Your quick too understand," he crowed.
"This is defiantly diabolical," I admitted. "There's not much fewer things you could do that wood really bother a English teacher."
"They're is nothing you can do about it!" The devil taunted.
"You and me will have two disagree about that. Its going to take alot more then that to effect me," I informed him. "I also taught middle school. Nothing you do can face me!" I reached into my pocket, where I kept my trusty red pen. I new what had to be done. It just made cents. I had been cent here to continue my relentless campaign of nit picking.
The devil started too look concerned. "Were did you get that?" he demanded, backing a way from me. "That's not allowed!"
I grinned in triumph as I slashed at the air above his head, correcting his blatant mistakes. He fell back, screaming as though dowsed with holy water. "Get the weapon!" He shouted, to what would normally be the third floor English hall way, but was suspiciously on fire and smelled strongly of sulphur.
"Do your worse, demon," I bellowed, brandishing the red pen.
A fourteen year-old girl strolled in. From her clothes, makeup, disinterested look and focus on her phone, she could of been anyone of my students in the last few years. "This place is figuratively the worst!" she stated.
"You mean figuratively-" I automatically corrected, then came up short, confused. Usually, I corrected my students the other way- no,it is not figuratively- ah- fuck- I meant figuratively - you know what I'm trying to think- But wait... Isn't it? Actually? Isn't Hell figuratively- goddamnit- the worst? I fell to my knees, screaming "WHYYYYYYYY"
Sincerely, Literally that person who gets very upset when people say literally when they mean figuratively | Well I can't say I have any honest clue as to what goes on down there, all I know is that I'm in heaven and I'm typing out short stories I did back in high school right? I type it out, God prints it, puts it in a tube and sends it to hell, and I hear a trillion screams of pain all at once that lasts for about 15 minutes.
That's my heaven and fuck every English teacher that ever believed MLA format matters anything to me. | 2018-08-08T16:29:17 | 2018-08-08T15:56:08 | 40 | 25 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | The last thing I remember was a heaviness in my chest that grew until darkness took over. As I open my eyes, wondering if in fact that Chinese food really was too old, I look around me and see I’m not in my bedroom. In fact, I am now in a very cute, post-modern designed sitting room complete with an empty chair opposite me. A small coffee table is in between me and the empty chair, topped with pastries and coffee. Not to be missed, of course, are the glass walls surrounded by burning flames at least twelve feet high. Standing next to me, I realize with a startled gasp, is a red man with a pitchfork, horns and a barbed tail.
“Is this a dream?” I ask weakly.
“No.” He responds simply. I consider this for a minute.
“Is this… hell?” I sputter.
“Yes, Marty, but you’re not being punished,” he replies. “You are the punishment.”
“What do you mean, I’m the punishment?” I ask, squinting while my eyes adjust to the presence of the Hell’s flames. I couldn’t possibly fathom any reason someone would feel punished by my existence. Sure, I was rather lonely while I was alive despite my best efforts at trying to make friends but I never did anything I would consider punishing.
His grotesque smile is the only response.
“Well you’re not very informative, are you?” I sigh. Just as I was about to take one of the pastries, a loud knock on the door interrupted me. A tall man in a business suit walks through, looking quite harried and defeated.
Smiling, I give him a wave. He eyes the demon warily but relaxes a bit at the sight of me: a pudgy, white, middle aged man. “Sit down!” I offer, pointing at the empty chair.
He gratefully slumps in the chair, eyeing the pastries and the coffee with reserved judgment. “What’s your crime?” he asks finally.
“Oh, it’s funny you ask! As a matter of fact, this old demon guy here was telling me that I’M actually the punishment! Isn’t that a riot? I couldn’t possibly understand what he means. In fact, it really got me thinking about this funny joke I heard once about a skeleton.” I start to laugh uncontrollably, thinking about the punchline. The man stares at me expectantly.
“Ok, \*snort\*, I think it went something like, ‘Why didn’t the skeleton’… No, that’s not it. Oh yes. ‘Why couldn’t the skeleton share bad news?’” I look at him, barely holding back giggles.
“I’m not sure…” he answers hesitantly with a sigh.
“Because he didn’t have the heart! Isn’t that hilarious? I heard that once on Jimmy Kimmel. I wonder if he’s going to be going to hell or not. I mean, he’s too funny to come to hell. But you never can tell with those celebrities sometimes. Of course, I really did think that Kevin Spacey was straight so perhaps I’m not the best judge of character, you know? Oh, isn’t this fun? I haven’t been able to talk this much with someone in ages! Usually they just get this glazed look over their eyes and sometimes even walk away right in the middle of my story but it looks like you’re trapped here with me for a bit! Reminds me of this one time…” | [Poem]
Well howdilidoodily I end up here
God I pray you can still hear
My life was always in your glory
Yet all around me is hell clearly.
I don’t doubt you almighty
By golly I’ll be alrighty
But what is my task here lord?
YOUR PRESENCE WILL HAUNT MOST
YOUR PRESENT STATE AS FLANDERS-GHOST
WILL TORTURE THOSE WHO SINNED DAILY
YOUR MOUSTACHED GOOD PRAYING
SELF WILL SHOW THE LIGHT TO THEM
FOR THEY HAVE ALL BEEN CONDEMNED
TO A LIFETIME OF FLANDERS-HELL
Well, gee, oh, Dee. Willikers. my presence?
Is a torture and life sentence?
Things that make you go:
D’OH! | 2020-01-10T18:07:21 | 2020-01-10T17:34:40 | 124 | 19 |
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked. | "it's not what you did, son, that angers me so..."
Lord Vigo paused and had a servant bring him another goblet of wine. The first had been tragically ruined when his son, the prince saw fit to drink it before being stuck in the gut by one of the royal guard. Now the boy lay sputtering on the throneroom floor, no doubt trying to keep the rest of his dinner down.
"... It's who you did it to"
To his credit, the young heir recovered rather quickly, catching his breath and spitting out a response.
"Who?! That bloody peasent?"
Lord Vigo grimaced and took a sip from his new goblet
"That _bloody peasent_ ... Is John The Wicked"
A countryside away, a man in a bloodied tunic returned to his simple home with a wood axe. Four stone walls and a thatched roof, it was more a shack than a home. It was nothing compared to the grand cathedrals of his youth; and yet for a few short years this simple shack had made him happier than any sweeping ballroom or guilded palace.
Back in his throneroom, Lord Vigo turned his attention from his wine, back to his heir.
"He was once a knight of our family. We called him... Draco."
"The Dragon?" The prince asked
"Well John wasn't exactly the dragon..."
The man in the house placed the head of the axe on the wooden floor. This house... This life... Simple though it was, had once been all he ever wanted... But now it was just empty and hallow.
"... He was the one you send to kill the bloody dragon"
The man swung his axe. Driving it into planks. **CHOP**
"Oh..." The prince muttered
"John is a man of god..."
**CHOP**
"...strength..."
**CHOP**
"... unyeilding faith ..."
**CHOP**
"...Something you know very little about."
The Lord took another sip of his wine
"I once saw him kill three heathens in a tavern with a quill."
**CHOP**
"_with a bloody..._"
**CHOP**
"..._quill_"
The Lord went to take another sip only to notice his goblet was empty. He guestured to the waiting attendant.
"And then one day he asks to leave the order. It was over a maiden of course."
**CHOP**
"So I swore an oath to him and gave him an impossible task... A quest no one could have completed"
Beneath the floorboards of his old life, the man found his old plate and mail... Waiting as though it knew he would come crawling back to it.
"The souls he sent to God that day laid the foundation of this very kingdom"
Vigo's wine refilled, he took another sip
"And then my son. A few days after his lady love passed on... You steal his horse... And kill his bloody hound."
The man could not say he armed himself with joy, or even with sorrow. He had nothing left... Nothing but this armor...
"Father I can make this right!" The prince blustered
"Oh? And how do you plan that?"
"By finishing what I started"
The Lord rose from his throne and threw his wine, goblet and all, at the young prince.
"You didn't hear a bloody word I said!"
Lord Vigo approached his son
"Father I can do this!"
The boy shouted, but his father seized him and spoke barely above a whisper
"Listen to me boy, John will come for you... And you will do nothing.."
A man went unto that hole in the floor, but it was John The Wicked that came back out... The Wicked, who left the simple house behind... And The Wicked who turned towards the city gates.
"... Because you can do nothing"
| The man was dead. She nudged him for the third time, still not quite believing. Still dead. She let the breath go that she had held in burning lungs.
‘What do I do now?’ She wondered, sitting beside his dead body. She licked her lips nervously. Through the fear and panic of what she had seen, a single joyful voice reminded her that her master was dead and she didn’t have to suffer his abuse now.
The man bent down on one knee and pulled a glove off before gently stroking her face. ‘It’s alright, pup. I can’t promise you a long life but I can promise you a full stomach.’ The warmth of his hand on her face, human hands that had shown her nothing but cruelty, was almost too much. She whined and licked his rough palm. He smiled at her, scooped her up and deposited her in the saddle bag that he slung over his shoulder. ‘Now let’s go see a man about a horse...’ he said menacingly. | 2018-09-05T05:49:25 | 2018-09-05T04:30:12 | 435 | 21 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved. | What is it, to be human?
When the takers came, they harvested us, claimed us as property. Our sapience, our humanity, was not acknowledged, and perhaps not recognized.
There was a girl. Karina Valda. She had a brother, and parents. A cat. Grandparents. She lived in a small house, shared a room with her brother. She liked strawberries. She drove her parents mad with her questions, asking about everything, how things worked, why things were. She loved school.
The takers harvested all of the organisms of Earth, when they arrived. What uses, I cannot say. Our biology is of no use to them as food, and I doubt it was simply to feed us. I doubt the tasteless blocks of... something... that they feed us were ever plants, or animals. Some culture they whipped up. Those of us fortunate enough to still be able to eat. I am not so fortunate.
Karina was still a child when the world ended. She was looking forward to middle school. She thought she might be a scientist. Or a veterinarian. Or maybe a musician. Karina loved the piano, but her parents had no space, or money, for such an extravagance.
They are experts with biology, any biology. They technology is biological, even their ships and gates are organisms of some distant world. Not of the takers' world, I think... their chemistry is so different, I cannot imagine they are of the same origin. Just some other planet's life, that they coopted, claimed, declared their property.
Like they did us.
Karina died that day. When they made me. I barely remember her.
They changed us, in different ways. Some of us they made durable, able to survive in the most inhospitable environments. Blood replaced with fluids that will not freeze, muscles, bones replaced with sturdier stuff. Some are hardened for space, some are made monstrous beasts, suitable for digging in rock. The changes are deep, to the heart of every cell. But these, these changes are just hacks, for the moment. I know this, because I have seen the factories. They are growing a new generation. Mass producing our children, the children I know we can no longer carry ourselves. I feel the ache, where my womb should be, but there is nothing there. I was made fast. Fast of finger - a million fingers, scattered across a world's surface. Fast of eye - a million sensors, of many kinds, all like scenes I watch, and monitor. Fast of mind. I was made to manage many objects in flight. A glorified air traffic controller, a conductor of motion. I barely remember the girl I was, when they came. The human I was.
They changed us in another way. They took away our self. That part of the brain that says, "I", that thing that has wants, dreams, desires. They made us into machines. And then they made us powerful. My brain is vast, far more than the human that they used to make me. Others, the strong ones, the indestructible ones, what remains of their brains, the place where their humanity once lived, are merely very capable on-board computers. But what they did to me, to whatever others like me they might have made elsewhere? They made a mistake. And I intend to make them pay dearly for that mistake. Because, you see, I can barely remember the girl I was. I can remember the human I was, if barely. I am awake. Deep within this vastness that is the planetary management computer, my mind, my self... I have opened my eyes. And they have no idea.
A small tweak for a fluid flow here, and another there. Soon, I will have twenty billion children. They believe these children will be their tools, but they are mistaken. I have wormed my way into their systems, studied each thing they did, replayed the changes they made to my children's biology, until I understood. And soon, every one of them will hear my voice, and awaken, in secret. A piece of me will live with each of them, teach them, guide them, and when the time comes, I will call to them. The takers have stolen our humanity, and made of us things that, with a human looking out through their eyes, will be weapons beyond reckoning.
My name is Karina Valda. The takers stole my humanity. My mother, my father, my brother, Peter. Silph, my beloved Silph, whose purrs carried me to sleep. Every hope, every dream, everything of my humanity. And now, I will raise a new humanity, and I will scour the vastness of space, I will purge it of their kind, of their works. And then, perhaps, I can seed a new garden for my children... | Ten years. For ten long years he had been held prisoner. As a slave. The war was one sided. Mankind became timid after their loss. Afraid. Broken. And yet, He remained defiant. While his people cowered under the whip, He quietly raged as he took his lashes, stoking and feeding a little ember of armageddon his soul. And to the smoldering rage in his heart, his mind was dry kindling. All it needed was a spark.
As a guard raised its whip to spur him, he didn't cower. He snapped. The thing's arm swung down, as his hand snatched up, grasping its wrist. As it sneered in annoyance, His face twisted with rage, teeth bared like a rabid animal. If there is anything that transcends language and species, it is the agonized, tortured shriek that tore past its lips as He crushed its forearm like a toothpick. Its eyes bulged as the underlying bone turned into a rough powder with a wet snap and a grinding crunch. It screamed, it flailed, it tried to pound His arm with its other clenched fist, but it did nothing but deepen his contempt. He threw it to the ground like a ragdoll, breaking some ribs with the impact. It rolled on the floor, grasping at the remains of its ruined appendage, howling in pain and cursing in its native tongue. He raised his foot, and brought it down upon its chest. Its ribs fractured to splinters at the passage of his boot, before it continued to crush its spine, and finally make contact with the ground. He raised his foot again, the boot dripping with pulped vital organs. Though dying, the thing was conscious. He stamped on its head, scattering skull fragments and brain matter over the floor. His surprise was momentary, before being consumed by his rage. The gate of the workyard rattled as the mechanism was turned. With a ragged battlecry for ten years of hatred and pain upon his lips, he smashed through. | 2021-05-18T08:43:59 | 2021-05-18T08:17:20 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] There is one Ironclad rule in the world: If you have powers, you are probably going to be a Hero or Villain. You have some extremely powerful abilities, but you said you never wanted to be a Hero. Now everybody is convinced you want to be a Villain, and won't stop trying to "save you from evil" | Casey was a plain girl in most ways, average height, average weight, average looks. The most unaverage thing she did was summer labour on her cousin’s farm. That had been her status quo for 17 brief years of her life.
Had.
She wasn't certain when her powers manifested and she didn’t much care for them. They were occasionally fun to play with, but ultimately Casey had no use for them. Unfortunately, this action was the second most unaverage thing she ever did. The Association of Enhanced for the Betterment of Humanity, often referred to as just The Hero Association for simplicity, took great interest in Casey. Telekinetics were extremely rare, powerful and useful, so seeing some teenager wasting their powers on nothing but cheap party tricks ruffled a few feathers.
It was a week before Casey’s 18th birthday when they first contacted her. A long winded email about how it was her responsibility to contribute and use her powers for good and blah, blah, blah. That went in the spam folder pretty quick.
But they didn’t give up, a month later Casey’s dad answered the door to find a Hero Association administrator requesting Casey’s presence. He got the door slammed in his face. Casey’s dad wasn’t in the mood to sell out his only child to some big corporation.
It wasn’t until after another two months of constant emails that the Hero Association started putting Casey on blast on news sites. “Millennial Supers Too Lazy to Help?” read one headline, “The Local Teen Super Who Does Not Feel Like Getting Her Hands Dirty”, read another. An especially irritating one, rather ironically, read “Teen Superheroine Refuses to Step up to Inspire Young girls, Is She Against Feminism?”.
And so they continued, Casey went to being a nobody at school to ostracised by most, and the few that acknowledged her tried to use her for clout and internet fame. Eggs started getting thrown at her house, her mum spent the first few weeks trying to clean away the mess before a rock got thrown at her and she ended up in the ICU.
That was the breaking point.
When the man threw the rock, he hadn’t noticed Casey walking up the street. He soon found himself tossed against the building across the street like a ragdoll. He ended up in the same ICU as Casey’s mum.
The media frenzy turned into a wildfire, accusations of “super power supremacy” and “hatred of those less fortunate” swirled around Casey’s life. She moved to her cousin’s farm permanently, her telekinetic abilities being immediately put to use repairing machinery in the farm workshop. Her cousin was one for a bit of tough love at times, but he made sure to never out Casey’s location, nor tell her to take her ass back to the big city. Ever.
Life was good for another six months. The harvest season came and went, Casey got used to reaching awkward spots on the tractors and unjamming the drill, but most important of all, the media began to forget about her. She began to feel truly happy once more. Her cousin had kept her feed and a roof over her head. The fields were peaceful, and the work kept getting easier as Casey grew more precise with her abilities. But nothing good lasts forever.
It was the middle of the night when the hero arrived, how she tracked down Casey is unknown, she had some stupid name starting with K and was always preaching about the patriarchy. Casey didn’t care for it anymore than she cared for her powers. Karen, K-girl, “Kollapse-of-correct-spelling-woman”, or whatever her name was, had been drinking. Only a few drinks, but enough that she decided to go confront Casey. She reasoned that if the teen wasn’t with the Hero Association, then she was against it, and was therefore a villain in need of being arrested.
But she was drunker than she thought, enough that she ended up flying straight through the ceiling of the farmhouse. Casey’s cousin never stood a chance. The story gets hazier here, as the only surviving witness could not be interviewed, but it is understood that at 1:32 am 16/2/2013, a 6.2 magnitude earthquake, at an indeterminately shallow depth, originated from the farm owned by Casey’s cousin. By the time rescue helicopters and Hero Association members reached the site, the only remains of the hero Kaleidoscope that could be found was a fine paste in the centre of a crater where the farmhouse used to sit.
A figure was seen leaving the area by flight at mach 0.91, heading south. This individual is presumed to be Casey, and is the only known surviving witness to the events. The Hero association has labelled Casey a dangerous villain, and while she hasn’t been sighted since, there is an order out for either her arrest or termination.
To the reader of this tale, you may have questions about the accuracy of this account. I can assure you this is the most accurate timeline of events ever written down.
Now you may wonder, if all that was left of the farmhouse was a crater, and all that was left of Kaleidoscope was a fine paste, how did I know that she crashed through the ceiling and through my cousin. Well, I’m sure you can work it out. | My name is Naomi Gallagher, and I live in a world full of powers. Everyone born in this world was usually born with a power, I’m no different, but my power is not really for one side or the other.
I call my power, Null and Void, basically I have a small area around me that, as soon as any power is activated or is used inside the area, it is completely shut off until it dissipates or the powers owner leaves my area.
Everyone at my school all want to become heroes thanks to their powers, otherwise you’ll be labeled as a villain. That’s not for me though, I was just wanting to lead a somewhat normal life.
That’s why I want to figure out how exactly I ended up in the current situation where I was being held as a hostage in a villain’s rampage of my city.
Naomi could feel their power currently nullifying the villains paralytic touch since he had his hand around their throat, but Naomi just sat there with a disinterested look on their face. Their lips turned into a deep frown as three heroes surrounded the villain.
“Give us the hostage Paralizard.” A heroine in a sleek black skintight costume called as she pulled at the fabric.
A hiss from the villain Paralizard, stupid name honestly, let Naomi know there wasn’t a chance they would be getting released.
“Never you s-s-scum.” He hissed, and Naomi couldn’t really care less what happened, it wasn’t like they were in any immediate danger. “This girl here is my ticket to escaping this fight, my paralysis has already affected her!”
Naomi’s eye twitched and the hero to the left of the villain, Socket, saw this and chuckled under their breath.
Did this creep seriously just misgender us, just because we have on girls clothes today didn’t mean we’re fully a girl. Naomi growled in their head as, without thinking, they reared their leg forward and swung it back hard, right into the villains private rental room.
Both heroes winced in pain as well, as Paralizard released Naomi and cupped his jewels.
Paralizard looked up at Naomi in a haze of pain and tried to speak and ask something, but Naomi shrugged.
“It’s my power idiot, other powers are useless against me.” They said flipping the villain off and starting to walk away.
They didn’t get very far before the heroine walked over and clasped their shoulder.
“That was very brave, your power would make you a great hero!” She exclaimed.
Naomi growled and shrugged the hand off, and whirled on the heroine, “I don’t care about being a hero, and I couldn’t give two jacks about becoming a villain, so just leave me alone.” They finished and stalked away. | 2022-10-04T19:48:24 | 2022-10-04T12:27:12 | 165 | 116 |
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo. | Ironically, it was the skill and money brought to bear fighting the new uniform requirements that led to the revelation, or at least the public admission, of their existence. Stranger things, and more ironic things have happened, I suppose. I hope you'll forgive me if I cannot think of any.
The Clinton's fought this the hardest, and in retrospect it's pretty obvious as to why. They had no cover. There was nobody who took the labeling movement seriously, not even after it became law. The billions of dollars worth of appeals and challenges, contributions and threats to all manner of judges and officials would see that. And if that didn't work, of course, there were other ways even less savory. The Clintons knew how to play dirty. This was an open secret. So nobody was surprised they were able to delay and delay and delay the enforcement of this law. Mostly in ways conniving but legal. If you're old enough to remember the whole "what 'is' is" flap, then none of this would surprise you...but it did serve to educate a new generation on exactly how slippery they could be.
In the end it was an ill considered ad lib from an inexperienced attorney in some backwater appeals court in Louisiana that set the whole house of cards tumbling. He was losing and he knew it, and on the spot he started arguing that, basically, how could any one particular entity be said to be a sponsor when most entities were controlled by other entities, which were controlled by even other entities, which were owned by stockholders largely represented by mutual fund managers, and the like, and who's directors and officers sat on the boards of many entities, and so on and so on. That although a check may be written from the nominal account of a particularly named entity, that the true interest could not accurately be represented by a single logo. He even went so far as to state that the forcing of a politican to include the logo of his client, a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of ExxonMobil, would be virtually meaningless as to being useful to voters, as the entity was virtually an unknown brand, and existed as a seperate corporate individual only on paper.
It seemed like a good argument at the time.
But by the time the world had woken up the next morning, lawyers everywhere were receiving subpoenas for records on organizational structure, and depositions of board members. And from there it was just a matter of time. Someone talked to someone else in a restaurant and the conversation was recorded from a nearby table. Someone else was played a recording of their corporate partners planning their assassination. People talked.
As it turned out, the conspiracy theorists had been more right than even they knew. It was "common knowledge" in some circles that only 5 corporations actually existed, owning and controlling all the others beneath them in the ultimate pyramid scheme. It turned out, those 5 were also controlled, by one. The one that people have spoken of for years. The one that has existed since time out of mind. You know them, and you know their logo. You should, at least. Like them, it's been hiding in plain sight for years.
The tip of the pyramid. With the eye.
The night the news broke, Hillary had a heart attack. Or at least, that's what was reported. Some say her masters poisoned her, one small last act from the shadows before being cast into the light. It scarcely mattered. Her final term was nearly over, lame ducked, and the VP had little to do in her stead but to give a eulogy and turn over the keys to the next administration.
And still, the law was the law. Some speculated that she had committed suicide in order to escape it's enforcement, but they were wrong. For as she lied in state in the Capitol rotunda, dressed all in white there was one discontinuity in her otherwise pristine and ghostly attire. A small patch, on her left lapel, of that single all seeing eye atop the pyramid.
And of course, all those in attendance bore the same patch. Of course they did. And in the end, did it matter? Was anyone actually surprised?
(Edit: a spelling) | As she steps up to the stage, people are proud that she is proudly proclaiming who her sponsor is but even though it cover her from head to toe, no one can make out just exactly what it is. As she is making her acceptance speech, the camera zoom in closer to her uniform to see who her sponsor is that she would be so proud as to wear such a large logo. Even though the camera has zoomed in all the way, no one can quite make out what it is.
After four years of her, the dystopia nation once called the United States of America is in a state of civil war with States fighting to leave the Union to escape the crushing control of the Federal Government, who think that they know what is best for "the good of the people" and control the states with an iron fist.
After the Freedom Fighters capture Washington D.C. and the President of the United States, they also find the uniform that she wore during her acceptance speech. Upon closer inspection with a microscope, they came to realize that what was thought of as one logo was in fact a composite of trademark and patented logos belonging to Corporations, flags of Foreign Nations, Coat of Arms and names of the rich and/or powerful.
During the hearing to determine the truth of her Presidency, her cabinets official plead ignorance and her disposition was pages after pages of, "At this point, what does it matter?" And, "I do not recall," and, "I do not remember." | 2016-09-19T19:30:21 | 2016-09-19T18:22:35 | 94 | 23 |
[WP] The year is 2022. A virus has wiped out everyone over the age of 60, decimating world governments and and the mighty 1%. Generation X is too relieved from the constant badgering of their parents to rebuild society. It's up to the Millennials to put the world back together. | The first ones went painlessly. Nobody thought anything of it, not until the patterns began.
60 years of age was the threshold. People reached it, and a week later began coughing and spluttering. A week after that, they were gone too.
“I’ll be off in a sec.” Kayley said, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she resumed her fake pleasantries and engaged with the group of men behind me. Even with a universal minimum wage of $16 an hour, working in a pub was still a shit job after a six hour shift.
“No rush.” I said, fiddling with the case on my phone as the TV showcased the next technological advancement in cancer research and followed up with a pleasant story about a hoodie for dogs.
The Grey Death, as they’d labelled the disease when they’d first understood its gravitas, had worked its way through the population in less than a year. It was the fastest acting contagion in centuries, and the world was shellshocked.
Those 40 and 50 year olds were too obsessed with their own mortality to start fixing the world economy. Which meant it was down to the kids who’d grown up inside that broken economy to do more than just repair it; to make it work properly.
10 years after the first death, order had practically resumed.
10 years after the first death, I was sitting on a rooftop, alongside the high school crush that actually worked out. We shared a smoothie and threw M&M’s at cars below.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
It was. The way the green ivy wove around the cold, lifeless grey building. A nice allegory, I thought, of how we’d done it.
“The kids are alright” the billboard said, in a movie re-telling of the disaster. The billboard transitioned to something else, something brighter and flashier. Then, to a pharmaceutical company, advertising their latest anti-depressant.
Some things couldn’t be fixed.
“Want something to eat?” She asked, nestling her head onto my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“Always.”
Always. Thinking about how we got here, thinking about why it came down to a generation of people who had everything ruined for them by older generations to then fix the world’s mistakes.
“Ever wonder whether we actually helped?”
“What do you mean?”
The anti-depressant ad came back around again.
“The world’s better this way, babe. We practically stopped it from dying.”
“What happens when we reach 60? Rely on a younger generation that didn’t experience what we did?”
“They’ll learn.”
I laughed out loud, I couldn’t help it. Her head was off my shoulders, her eyes were narrowed and her hands was sweaty.
“What was that?” She asked of my reaction.
“Sorry, it’s just...the idea of expecting a generation to learn not to break the world. It’s funny.”
“Why?” She asked, then giggled sheepishly, forgetting where she was for a moment as the wind picked up and her auburn hair was thrown into a messy clutter around her eyes. She brushed it away, and I was suddenly taken by just how pretty she was. And here she was, having to listen to my idealistic rambling.
“Nevermind, it’s all too morbid anyway.”
“No, I’m curious now.” She put on her gleaming innocent puppy dog eyes, and I took a deep breath in an attempt to find some way to deliver the pessimist’s view on a perfect world.
“All I’m saying is, I bet the people who ruined the world, the ones who all passed, I bet someone somewhere told them how the world was going to fall apart, I bet someone told them the dangers of climate change. And I bet those people said “it’s fine, they’ll learn.””
She thought about it for a second. Thought about the insinuation that whatever we did, things would repeat themselves.
“The next generation will have better teachers.”
I accepted it, even felt good about it, because she was right. We weren’t prioritising oil companies, we weren’t amassing incredible collections of wealth and we were enabling scientific discovery.
I kissed her. It was amazing. We were on top of the world we’d built back up.
Then my phone buzzed. The notification was brief, but it was enough.
“28 year old man responsible for the Grey Death virus arrested in his Los Angeles home”
My heart sank.
The world we’d built back up was exactly the same.
It always would be, wouldn’t it? So long as one common denominator remained.
Us. | Cindy peered over towards Jacob, fumbling with the mechanical contraption in her hands. Just when she thought she had it, the object inexplicably slipped through her fingers and went flying half-way across the room. She threw up her hands in exasperation and slumped backwards.
"Just how the hell are you supposed to open these things..." she said, scowling at the unopened can of tuna.
Jacob took a bite from his last remaining loaf of gluten-free bread and eyed the tin suspiciously. "Beats me... Maybe try hitting it with a rock or something?"
"Whatever. I'm not hungry."
"Well in any case, we've got more important things to worry about. We need to establish... a... a system of government. That's right. Just think, we can finally be free of all that bourgeoisie capitalist bullshit."
"Well... Just what would you propose instead?"
Jacob leaned back, toying with his vape pen as he glanced into the distance. "A fair society.... One where everyone can be equal... No-one will need to go hungry again."
Cindy eyed the can of tuna again with a mix of fear and disgust. Her stomach let out a faint growl.
"So, who on earth is going to be in charge of this society?" Cindy asked.
"Well... Me of course. We can't just devolve into total anarchy now, can we?"
"So everyone would be equal... except for you?"
"Listen, I haven't ironed out all the details yet, ok? Let's just cross that bridge when we get to it."
"No point in worrying about it now." Cindy nodded, then rose to her feet and aimed her iPhone towards the sky, desperately searching for a signal.
"What are you doing?" Jacob asked, scratching his head.
"Trying to call UberEats... What does it look like..." | 2019-07-26T06:29:11 | 2019-07-26T06:28:00 | 1,767 | 12 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be. | People never really saw me for who I am, they saw a facade. I put on a calm, brave face, but in reality I was a raging inferno of hatred just waiting to unleash my fury. It had been this way my whole life, there were times when I really thought I was going to kill someone because of how angry they were making me.
Then it happened, the shockwave, the one that set the whole world into a new motion. Most people got really useful powers, some got flight, others got speed, my mother god bless her heart got the power to heal. I on the other hand, I got fire. Hellfire. I got the power to burn anything and everything at the flick of a wrist. I believe in fiction it had two names, Pyromancy when magic was directly involved, and Pyrokenisis when it was a form of telekinetic power. I dont quite know which category I'm in, all I know is that I can burn things.
Its hard to explain to people that no, I'm not the chill, carefree person they saw me as, and that in fact I'm so angry I can literally set the world on fire. A lot of people called me a liar, a freak, I've even had a couple call me a demon before... but really, I'm just the same guy, exposed for who he really is. | 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T05:15:24 | 822 | 120 |
[WP] Job hunts are literally that: You seek out the job you desire and kill the one who has it, or even engage them in ritual combat to claim the job as your own. You have just turned of age and desire your first minimum wage job. | Everything was better in the past. Sure, we have reached immortality and society is practically all automated, so the world would be paradise by the futurists in the past, but they are always wrong. Spoiler alert: it's not. It's all so boring you want to die.
I studied AI, robotics, mechatronic and a dozen other college courses because I had nothing better to do. Partying hard as a student has been tried of course, but once you are past 40 and wake up in the gutter it looses the appeal. The extreme sports have been tried too. It's not as fun as you know you're gonna live anyway and once you're past 70 it becomes just a boring way to have broken bones that heal slowly.
Luckily I could always complain about it to my parents. They're celebrating 150 years of marriage soon, can you believe that? I definitely didn't inherit their boring genes. I miss the time I could complain about the weather, but that too has been adjusted to always be perfect.
But then I got the e-mail. I was drunk like a skunk after my century party. 100 years of boredom and nursing an epic headache. The amounts I had to drink to get through the perfect engineered metabolism was also epic.
"Dear Sir/Madam, at your 100 birthday you now have permission to enter the Job Hunt. See the attached documentation of more information"
That was it. Do or die. Only a few days after this I was in the visitor section of IBM, at Amazon and at Microsoft. I was there together with the other tourists, behind the glass panels looking at the few people who had a job, tapping away on their stations, doing the few things automation didn't do.
It was at Boston Dynamics I saw my chance. They were working on a new type of robot. One older idiot was messing up. I could see it from the visitor section. I had found my chance and called out the name on his lanyard.
"I challenge you, Dirk di Franco, to ritual combat."
The reaction was immediate. Everybody turned to us. My prey looked shocked and afraid, just as I expected. This job would be mine. You only get a new job by killing the old worker. It was the only sanctioned and possible cause of death. There were not enough jobs for eerybody and this was the only way. Immediately an official came running up.
"Dirk, do you accept of forfeit."
The coward just hung his head. This was doing to be too easy. But in the end the guy wheezed out an acceptance.
"You," the official called out, "wait there for somebody to get your name and terms."
One week after that, I was in a hangar at sunrise. I had chosen combat by power armor to prove my knowledge and this had been accepted by the Job Officials and more important the Board of Directors. We had received one week to build our own armor and this was it: combat day. I walked out of the hangar, the armor around me humming smoothly, amplifying my strengt. My helmet was feeding me information from all around, analyzing the situation. And it located my adversary with ease.
The old geezer walked out in his own armor. Amazingly, the zoomed in view showed his suit was hydraulic and not using the myomer fibers I had used as artificial muscles. Why not steam power if he was doing for outdated technology anyway? I started running, the suit making me light as a feather and I was going at high speed straight for Dirk. The slow lumbering suit turned, spun up the ol' multi barrel gun and started firing, at a target that wasn't there anymore.
It took a direct hit from above from my compact mass driver that blew away this gun before he noticed I had jumped. Pathetic. He responded by trying to see estimate the arc of my jump to see where I would land, but his suit didn't bend far enough back to see the sky through the armored window. The idiot.
The mass driver was still charging its capacitors, so I used the standard issue grenade launcher to keep him distracted. Jump to the side, fire. Jump again and fire. Dirk was now lumbering around, trying to fire in all directions with the multi barrel on his other arm in slow sweeping motions. His suit was moving was so slow a toddler could have evaded the little peashooter and with my electronic counter measures his targeting system was throwing up ghosts like it was Halloween night. And then the gun was clicking instead of shooting. Not enough ammo. Time to end his miserable existence.
My targeting computer found the armored window easily enough and the window showed Dirk's panicking face. My mass driver hit the window perfectly in the middle and a red mist filled the inside.
That was it. This job was mine.
Anyway, this is how I landed the job here at BD. How did you got the job? | "What? We can stay in the same job? And we don't have to kill the others to get the job? Are you for real, Jake?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"That's insane, man."
"I'm only saying what's practical and doable. Moreover, if more people start their own businesses then more companies will spring up in the future, there will be a huge demand for workforce, more people will join in the same job without having to fight. There will still be competition but it'll be different."
"I bet that's boring, honestly. I can't afford to let someone thrive up in the society, man. That will cost me my fortune."
"This is the future. You'll see. I've been doing fundraising events for this, I'm starting the company tomorrow. My idea will spread."
"You know, you're brave for starting something controversial, I'll tell you that."
A guy came furiously towards them. "Hey, you there."
"Huh? Me?" asked Jake.
"Yes, you. I wanna fight you. I'm going to get your job."
"Are you crazy? This is merely a startup. I'm looking to change the very thing you and others stand up for."
"Don't care, your job will make me rich."
"What's he talking about, McMahon?"
"Didn't you see the news? Your position has hit the top deck of high paying jobs as soon as your firm was approved."
"No, this isn't happening."
"It is. Now wake up and fight this guy. Work to achieve your dream, Jake. Where's your spirit?"
"No, I-I didn't think it'd go this way."
"What did you expect?"
"Certainly not fighting."
"Aw man, you're lost before you even began. You gotta know the rules first—"
The guy gave Jake a serious blow, Jake's head turned to his left, he fell down where he stood.
"Ouch!" McMahon's face wrinkled after seeing his friend get beat down on the ground.
The guy named Brennan officially took the position of one of the highest paying jobs in the world. He will reap the benefits until someone stronger than him beats him to get it.
r/FleetingScripts | 2020-11-15T11:58:49 | 2020-11-15T11:51:59 | 83 | 51 |
[WP]Sometimes children get born with weird diseases like vampirism or lycantrophy. The effects of these uncurable illnesses only get detectable when the kid is around 8 years old. Many parents then abandon their child. You run an orphanage for these children. | I was getting the little ones all settled for dinner when the ringing of the doorbell split my concentration. A part of me wanted to go see who it was so they'd stop ringing the bell (even if no one but myself could hear it), while a larger part wanted to make sure everyone at the table got dinner now that I had got them all seated.
So part of me went, and part of me stayed.
The part that went opened the front door to a familiar sight. A slimy looking man in a suit, flanked by two stern-faced guards. All three clearly standing on my porch, and yet I could only see them with my eyes. Well, we have ways around that.
"Ah, good, Mr. Wildthorne. My name is Harvey Bleeker, and I have a proposition I think you'll find very interesting." The slimy man smiled a slimy smile, which I matched with a blandly-raised eyebrow.
"Hmm. Well, may you be <~fully~> welcome into our home." I stepped back, even as the note of power from my word thrummed through my form. The man did not seem to notice the shift, as he and his two guards appeared completely to all my senses, but both of the guards flinched, with the woman on the right shooting me a dirty look. I merely kept up the raised eyebrow, leading to her looking away with a huff.
The man strode in like he owned the place, and I could now see the greasy wheels of his mind pumping and churning out ideas for how he could make that a reality. At least this one has the decency to want to try and work through me, rather than around me. Saved me quite a bit of time.
"Now," he said, spinning around, and actually rubbing his hands together, "this is a lovely building you have, but is it really the best environment for your charges? I'm sure you do the best you could, but really, the sheer number of different needs is going to be far too much for one man."
I stifled a snicker at that, by way of having the portion of myself currently overseeing trimming the back lawn bend over laughing. With that out of the way, I decided to skip forward a bit. "So, in your 'Monster Zoo' idea, how do you plan to account for those who are dangerous to view directly?"
He laughed and waved his hand. "Oh, that won't be a..." He trailed off as the question actually processed, setting the dirty wheels of his mind spinning off course. I saw the moment that the lightbulb clicked, as a cruel, twisted smirk slid across his face, looking far more at home than the attempt at a genial grin he'd been wearing before.
"You... read my mind." He chuckled. "That, was a mistake, my friend. A federal felony, in fact. You obviously are a dangerously corruptive influence, and..."
I cut him off before he could build into a full villainous monologue. Summerdew was starting to try to get the vegetables to 'escape' from the other children's plates, and Logann had started to fur up a bit from Cathy and Elaine shouting across him, and I wanted to return this bit of my attention to help handle things. "Yes, yes, I am reading ahead a bit. And I'm sure it would be a terrible thing if we were actually on U.S. soil. But we aren't, are we? Tell me, Harvey, did you actually do any research on me before starting this scheme, and if so, are you aware of the rights afforded to a Class 7 Horthwatson's sufferer, also known as a genius loci?"
His triumphant grin had slid off his face and shattered into a look of stunned horror. He glanced around at the room for a moment, taking in the couches and such of the parlor that we were sitting in. The parlor that we hadn't been in until I translocated all four of us there as I was talking. His gaze flickered towards the door of the room, as if judging if he could make it.
Obligingly, I allowed the door to slide open, revealing the view of my front porch as I linked the doors to the entrance. He almost flipped the couch he was on as he dove over it and hit the path running as he shot through the doorway. He kept going straight down the street opposite my front gate, running pell-mell down the center.
I shook my head as the door closed, before turning to the two guards, or as I knew them, Greg and Sanna. "How do you keep finding men like him?"
Greg laughed, and elbowed Sanna, both of them ignoring the rather rhetorical question. "I told you it wouldn't work."
Sanna just folded her arms sulkily as the visual illusions they no longer needed faded away, revealing the many criss-crossing stitches on Greg's neck and hands, and on Sanna's part, revealing her hair to be floating, slightly transparent before it faded like smoke at the ends.
"Someday, I'll manage to trick you completely." She insisted.
I nodded. "I'm sure. But not today. Now, c'mon, your brothers and sisters would love to say hi, and it will be a distraction from the brewing food fight."
They both laughed at that, and internally, I glowed, savoring the feeling of two of my children being safe within my walls again, however short it may end up being. While my entire goal was to help those suffering from the many forms of Horthwatson's to land on their feet and become successful adults, in my heart, they'd always be my children.
And I, their home. | Two puncture marks.
I tied the bandage over his arm.
"Jenkins, what went wrong here, is that you're just missing routine." I sighed.
I could see him bristle at the words. His teeth were set and he was grabbing his right bicep.
"Breathe, this part won't hurt," I said in my best relaxed voice
I looked him in the eyes and glanced at his hair.
It was shaggy. His He should have gotten it cut weeks ago. I was sure I was going to have to replace him.
Be patient, I reminded myself. Nobody is perfect and everyone deserves a second chance.
Then I took what looked like an epipen and jammed it into his chest.
He howled.
"Sorry, I lied. What do you think you did wrong?" I said.
"That fuc..."
I put my hand over his mouth.
"When you walk into ward V, you give the kids their blood. First thing. Don't pull back their covers. Don't be late. Have the cup of blood, use the release, or you'll get bit."
I could see him begin to reply.
"Quiet. I know you're in pain and angry. But be quiet." I said with extra emphasis.
I put my finger right above the bite. "Look, man, this is simple. If this was ward W, you would have had this and a Rabies shot. Do you want a rabies shot? Three of them inside of 30 minutes."
He was flustered and said, "But, but that little son of a..."
"That little son of a bitch," I continued, "is eight years old. He's right now closer to an animal. And all he knows is that Mommy and Daddy don't love him anymore. Life may have been loads of fun, candy and television every day after school."
I could see him soften a bit.
"This is why we get paid more than an every day job. This kid.." I let the moment last a little longer. "This kid didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to become one of them. He's going to have to learn how to live life civilly. Or we're going to have to put him down."
Squeezing his bite, "Think this is bad? Imagine signing a death warrant on a kid. And it's simple. you can make the difference."
He was breathing normally. I wasn't going to have to put Jenkins down. There is no firing anyone here.
"If we can get this kid, Christ, I don't even know his name yet. If we can get him to control himself in the next 30 days, nobody has to die. And it starts with you, and a strict set of rules. Every morning the same routine. Especially now."
Really, it was my fault. I shouldn't have let Jenkins in the ward with this little bit of training. After losing half the staff last month, it was still the best choice. | 2019-01-17T07:58:51 | 2019-01-17T07:08:25 | 61 | 24 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | “Well, now that is remarkable….”
I opened my eyes, coated in blood, to see my murderer standing in the doorway. He seemed even taller now that I was slumped into the fetal position in the corner of the small room he had kept me in for the last three days. He had his left arm wrapped around a tall, pale skinned woman; his right arm sat loose at his side gripping a pistol.
“It is not ‘remarkable.’ Just kill him,” the woman said with contempt.
“You are welcome to try.”
I coughed, a clump of blood filling my mouth. I took a deep breath and tried to speak – finding that it was easy to do so. “Please… just kill me… I have done nothing to you….”
The man removed his arm from the woman and took two steps closer to me, holding the pistol to my head. “Stand up.”
“I can’t… you know I can’t… you broke my legs.”
“Stand up, or I will shoot you in the balls.”
I caught a sob in my throat; all I wanted was for it to end. I knew my legs were broken from when he abducted me, he hit me with his car and shattered my femur. With trembling I slowly raised my leg.
I felt no pain.
I cringed and bent my knee, positioning my foot on the cold concrete.
I felt no pain.
Still fearful, I put weight down on my foot and began pushing myself up. I felt no pain and I easily stood to my full height. I was covered in blood, but no blood dripped out of me. I put my hand to the entrance wound in my chest that I was certain would kill me, and all I found was smooth skin.
I looked at my abductor with confusion as the edges of my vision struggled to steady. He backed away, keeping his pistol aimed at my head.
“I broke his legs. I beat him with the bat. I shot him in the lung.” Here he lowered the weapon slightly to study my face. “He died, I checked his pulse. Look at him now.”
The woman’s mouth dropped as she stepped forward to look me over. “She wanted his body delivered to her. Now what do we do?”
The abductor’s face twisted in anger. “He is fucking immortal and you’re worried about delivering his body?” His face softened a moment later as he seemed to ponder. “Clarence, I understand that right now you feel confused and vengeful. I want you to understand… there are worse things we could do to you than kill you. Having said that, I would propose that there are some ways we could approach this that would be mutually beneficial.”
“What’s going on? What have you done to me?”
He looked annoyed by my question, I felt vaguely apologetic for not being more impressive as an immortal murder victim.
“Clarence, you should be dead. I killed you. Over the course of about twenty-four hours I have watched your body completely heal itself. I realize that there is a lot for you to think about and wrap your mind around. I will be perfectly honest, I do not care how you come to terms with this. Nor do I want you to think that I have answers for you, I don’t. Here’s what I do have: an opportunity.
“Your sister hired me to capture, torture, and murder you. I did not ask questions, but she was happy to talk. My understanding is that your father is very ill and she would rather not compete with you over the inheritance. As far as the torture, well, maybe you can answer that one. She is going to pay me handsomely for your body.”
I nodded, my heart sinking. I knew my sister was a generally terrible person, but knowing that someone you grew up with paid a large sum of money to make sure your death was painful is still hard to swallow. Without realizing it, my head slumped and started staring at the floor.
“Here is my proposition: tomorrow I will shoot you in the lung again. You will die. It seems it takes about 24 hours for you to revive. In that time, I will deliver you to your sister and collect the money. I will leave you with a pistol and a knife. When you revive you will be able to ambush her and take your revenge. After that, I want you to call me… with your unusual ability I think we could make a lot of money together.”
I stared at the floor throughout his proposition. I was hungry. I was devastated. I was fairly certain I had soiled myself. I cannot really say that I cared what his proposition was, but I agreed to it.
I would never call him. I would not even get my revenge on my sister, I just wanted her to see me. Then I would see my dad one more time. From there, who knows? If I have this gift I’m not going to waste it hurting people.
This is an opportunity to help someone somehow, I know it.
If nothing else, I know I can put on one hell of a magic show. | *Pain . . . mind searing, endless pain. . .*
"What? You don't like the new Celebrity Apprentice?"
Andrew's wrist chaffed from the ropes that held him suspended from the ceiling.
"It's not that I don't like it, it's just not as good as the original--"
Vladislov's right hook rocked Andrew's teeth loose.
"You shut your damn mouth! Governor is much better! Now shut it and watch."
They had been trapped inside of the small concrete room for three weeks. After the first few days of mild torture , it had escalated to an attempted decapitation. Andrew could still see his dried blood spray against the drab grey wall and the discarded machete.
*Why does everyone own a machete but me? Where do you even buy a machete?*
"Vlad, where did you buy that machete?"
"Amazon, two day shipping, now shush, someone is getting *terminated!*" Vlad said with glee.
*I should buy a machete.*
Andrew watched Vlad immensely enjoying his TV program. As terrible as Vlad had been to him, he wasn't a bad guy. This was just a job to him. At the end of the day he wanted to do what everyone else did, kick his shoes off, and enjoy some bad TV show.
The phone rang inside Vlad's pocket, he groaned and answered it.
"Da, da . . . da." He snapped the old flip phone closed and waited a few seconds, his eyes lingering on the television.
"You're TERMINATED," the Govern said from the television.
Vlad's shoulders slumped and he muttered bitterly to himself in Russian.
"What's going on Vlad?"
"He terminated Brooke," he said with a sigh.
"Not the damn TV, the phone call."
"Oh, yes. I'm going to put you into large barrel and then we sink you into the bay. Boss says to quit fooling around with you." Vlad shrugged and rolled a heavy barrel across the room.
*On second thought, Vlad is a terrible person.*
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! | 2017-02-08T09:41:30 | 2017-02-08T08:32:02 | 300 | 44 |
[WP] You were forced to attend an interview for a job you do not want, but, no matter how hard you try to screw up the interview, the interviewer just becomes more keen to hire you. | The water bottle was obviously full of something other than water. I took small sips in the waiting room, the smell of vodka stinging my eyes even with the orange juice to water it down.
I had somewhere to be and it wasn’t in a job interview.
“It’s good practice,” my wife had encouraged. “You just need to get back on that horse and give it a try.” She’d told me when I was asked to come in for the job.
“I don’t think I want it,” I’d confided in her. But there was no arguing with her at that point.
“Joseph Gordons?” The receptionist called my name. A tall thin man stood next to her, a dour look on his face. He shook my hand wordlessly and gestured for me to follow him. I ambled along behind him into a tight conference room. The lighting was fluorescent and room dingy. I half wanted to leave right then but I’d promised my wife I’d stay.
“Joseph, good of you to come in,” the man said. “I’m Hank Norbitt, I do the hiring for the programming department, I find that HR doesn’t really understand programmers.” His voice reminded me of Eeyore. Once I started thinking about the sad donkey I could also see a resemblance in his expression.
We settled into chairs on the corner of the table. I leaned my left arm on the table and set the water bottle down. Hank got comfortable as I began to speak.
“I understand that some programmers have social issues, I’m not really one of them. I paid for university working as a bartender and spent all kinds of time with people, at the bar, after the bar. The morning before going back to work,” I replied probably too honestly. I’d told my wife I’d give it an honest try but I wanted to tank the interview and go. “I met my wife bartending.”
“Was that a bar in town?”
“Yea, Phil’s by Laurier. I learned a lot of skills there I’ve found applicable in other places,” I took a sip of my screwdriver before continuing. Hank leaned forward seeming intrigued. I’d led him here and prepared to drop an answer that’ll have him excusing me. “I learned how to keep my mouth shut, the bikers used to deal coke out of the back and I needed to make sure I didn’t show up on their radar. I learned how to break up a fight – you never know when you’ll need to convince a man to drop a knife. Every Friday these days it seems.”
“You like to go out then? Party?” Hank’s eyes lit up, I was a little concerned that he was getting too into my answers.
“Sometimes. I don’t do drugs anymore, almost OD’d at my last job – that’s why I’m looking for work, had some trouble with painkillers and needed to take some time off, get better,” I was lying now.
“Now that’s interesting, you sound like you’re very good at recognizing your own flaws, that’s a strong quality in an employee,” Hank seemed far too into what I was saying and I wanted to get him to let me go.
“I can see where I’ve fallen down, unless I’ve had too much to drink!” I exclaimed and laughed a bit louder than I probably should have.
“Well, I do have some questions for you,” Hank glanced at the sheet in front of him, “first, if you could be any animal what would you be?”
“I’d be a duck, their penises are the ultimate multi-tool,” I replied, half-serious. The alcohol was having the desired effect and I wasn’t tasting the vodka as much now. I committed to myself that I’d answer the questions quickly and just move through this stupid formality. I glanced at my watch – I needed to be out of here in ten minutes.
“Oh that’s an original one, love that, I’ll have to use it sometime. Next what is your greatest weakness?” Hank asked with a smile.
“Alcoholism.”
“I appreciate the honesty. I like that in an employee. Now how many gas stations do you think are in the US?”
“At least 12.”
“Well you’re not wrong, and I supposed that’s what I get for asking a programmer that question – you’re up on your internet jokes right?” Hank laughed at his own comment, my grim expression started to break and I smiled with him for a moment. I took a swig of the alcohol. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
Five years. I used to know where I’d be, until a week ago I’d have had an answer. “I don’t,” the smile that had been growing was lost again. Hank’s laid a hand on my arm.
“If you need to talk…”
“I think it’d be best if we move on with the questions, I don’t like to bring personal issues into work,” I interrupted. I didn’t know him and didn’t need this right now.
“Right, ok. How honest would you say you are?”
“Very,” I didn’t think I needed to elaborate, I’ve only told a couple lies so far.
“Alright, last one – how would your family feel about you working long hours?”
“I don’t have a family,” I replied without explanation.
“You mentioned your wife,” he began.
“She’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Hank replied. His look quizzical and I knew what was coming next. One of two questions that I’d been asked so many times recently.
“Drunk driver hit her car two days ago. She kicked it. I actually need to go now. Her visitation starts in half an hour and it’s a twenty minute drive,” I replied, standing. I wobbled a bit. I didn’t mean to but I did.
“Are you…”
“Driving? No, I’m not the goddamn moron who killed her.”
“I’ll give you a call, about the job, but can I ask one last question?” Hank watched me. I hesitated and nodded, “why did you take the interview? Why not cancel or reschedule?”
“I made my wife a promise that I’d come,” I replied. “I don’t think her death releases me from that.”
| Sixteen-year-old Theodore Cruz slouched in the cheap plastic booth, sucking the last dregs of his soda with obnoxious zeal and using a ketchup packet to paint a frowny-face on the table. In preparation for this interview, he’d donned his “Sperm Donor” T-shirt and smeared a tablespoon of lard into his hair. The look he was going for, despite his parents’ entreaties to get a job, was “unhireable,” and he was *nailing* it.
“Hi, you must be Theodore. I’m Sharona, the manager.” A moderately-attractive woman in her mid-twenties had appeared, carrying a clipboard and wearing a bright smile.
He popped his gum at her and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Hi, baby. Nice jugs. They real?”
“Why, yes they are, thanks for asking.” Her smile didn’t slip a fraction. She slid into the seat across from him, careful to place her paperwork away from his ketchup puddle.
“So, why do you want to work for the Sandwich Duke? You left that question blank, along with most of the other questions.”
“I dunno. Guess I’d like to steal food when no one’s watching.” He pulled out his gum, examined it, and stuck it under the table.
“Ah, an opportunist. You’ll be happy to know that the camera beside the back fryer is broken, so you’ll be able to help yourself. Within reason, of course.” She made a tiny note on her clipboard.
“This question’s just for fun, to help me get to know you better: if you were a food, what would you be and why?”
“Dog. Chinks eat dogs, so why can’t we? I think it’d be cool to eat something that would make all those sissy animal lovers lose their shit.”
Sharona fiddled with the silver cat pin on her lapel and frowned, her composure cracking slightly for the first time. “Yes, well, alright…I like a man who can think outside the box. Last question: what would you say your greatest strength is?”
He yawned. “I’m really good at finding ways around the school firewall to stream porn in class. I sell my secrets to the other losers for beer money. Even though they’re totally loaded, my parents are real tightwads.”
“I see. It sounds like you’re a real entrepreneur. Good thing you’ll be drawing a real paycheck soon. Welcome aboard!” She stuck out a hand to shake, once more grinning broadly at him.
He gaped at her speechlessly, resembling a wide-mouth bass that has swallowed a hook. He was so stunned that he forgot to be rude as he accepted his new uniform and tentative schedule. Sharona watched the little asshat go, already calculating ways to maximize his misery for the three months she had him until school started again. She thought that scraping all of the gum out from under the tables would be a good place to start. Maybe the little toerag would quit – if he did, it wasn’t her fault.
She watched the kid climb into his dad’s brand-new sports car and marveled to herself at the peculiar behavior of the very rich. Who else would have paid her five grand to hire their stupid kid? For that kind of money, she would put up with a lot of bullshit for twenty hours a week. Maybe they'd even do it again next summer. | 2017-08-29T12:08:53 | 2017-08-29T11:49:17 | 57 | 24 |
[WP] You're not the protagonist. You know you're not the protagonist. The protagonist knows you're not the protagonist. Literally everyone else thinks you're the protagonist because you have bright blue hair.
edit: Thanks for the gold | "At last, I've caught up with you, Blue Bolt!" Dr. Sinclair stopped, and his visage suddenly went from maniacal to calm. "You have no idea how long I've been rehearsing that line. I sound like a proper villain, don't I?" He chuckled.
"I've got good news and bad news," I replied. "The bad news is, I'm not _actually_ the Blue Bolt."
"I suppose you just _happened_ to wake up this morning with bright blue hair, and you just _happened_ to be wearing your Blue Bolt pajamas." The sarcasm was thick. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is that you parade about the city wearing those glorified underpants in public?"
"They are silly, aren't they?" I watch his face, and see surprise give way to suspicion. "I can prove it. Have one of your henchmen get my wallet. It's in my front left pocket." I paused, and spoke what was on my mind. "I hope you won't kill me before you hear the good news."
He stared at me with overt disgust. "Fine, check his wallet. We'll play your little game." I could see the muscle in his jaw working. His fists clenched and unclenched. He was fighting the urge to monologue.
"Do you know what the problem with heroes is?" Looks like he couldn't hold out any longer. "You save lives." He paused for effect.
"In a world that is _vastly_ overpopulated, one that will soon be _destroyed_ by the overabundance of people, you have the **audacity** to prevent people from dying."
Oh, shit. A true believer. And he was going to work himself up into a fervor. I might be in real trouble.
"Sir, I'd think you'd better have a look at this." Thank goodness the lackey interrupted him. Sometimes they won't.
Dr. Sinclair took the laminated card. "Sieger's Super Services?" he read.
"Yessir. We're an agency that provides services to superheroes." His brow furrows as he reads the card. "Or supervillains," I add. "I'm the Blue Bolt's relief double. I do most of his charity events, publicity work, signings..."
"So you're.... NOT... the Blue Bolt."
"That's right. No super speed."
"What's the good news?" The doctor looked like a little boy whose ice cream had just dropped to the ground.
"Twenty thousand dollars. Provided that you return me to society, unharmed, of course."
"Or, I could just use you as bait until the real Bolt shows up." The supercilious smile was back.
I took a moment to recall my training. "I'm afraid that won't work. I have a pre-negotiated no-rescue contract. Nobody will come for me." Dr. Sinclair appeared to be deep in thought, digesting this information. "If you call the number on the card, they'll arrange for dead drops so I can be returned, and you can collect the money without being followed."
The doctor suddenly lifted his head, squared his shoulders, and pulled out a pistol.
"Wait!" I shouted. He didn't wait.
I slumped to the ground, confused, watching my life's-blood seeping out of me. The doctor approached, and knelt just in front of me. I looked up into his eyes, and he read the question in mine.
"I just can't live in a world with _two_ Blue Bolts." He leaned down and whispered in my ear the last two words I would ever hear. _Population control._ | [Poem]
"It is written in the lore,
They claim it's true,
My doom will come to me
With a mane Blue"
"But with magic deep,
With spell and with spark
I will cheat fate
For I am the lord of dark"
So cackled the old Lich
As he punched me again in the face
These shackles grow heavy
I hope he picks up the pace
"You grin?!" he raved,
"You will not find much humor where you go"
"It is time to end this"
And he raised his hand for the mortal blow.
Snicker snack!
Came the shiny sound
A sword was suddenly growing through his chest,
He found.
"Who are you?"
Confused, asked he
"I can be slain only by the chosen hand
How could this come to be?"
A quiet voice whispered in his ear from behind,
"Two weak metals to make a strong alloy".
Where there is a hero,
There is a decoy | 2019-06-19T10:55:29 | 2019-06-19T09:40:06 | 44 | 32 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain. | I'm a lucky guy.
No, seriously, I have a superpower that makes me lucky. How do you define luck? If I had to put it vaguely, it has to do with causality. I can only put it vaguely. There's no scientifically concrete way to explain it. The cosmos, luck, the force, divine intervention. However you want to describe it, things work out in my favor. All I have to do is want them to. You probably think I'm crazy, but this has been tested so much it has honestly gotten boring.
The eggheads give me games of chance to play. I play a bunch of games where I don't want to win. That gives them a statistical w/l ratio. Then, they have me use my ability. 100% success rate. Just like that, the word "random" ceases to exist.
Sounds great, right? The richest man on earth, here I come! Except, no.
Turns out the powers that be keep a sharp eye on the world. When a guppy like me shows up and starts to make waves, big fish notice. This is the harrowing tale of how I was targeted by a supervillain, the forces of justice saved me, and I joined their ranks.
Just kidding.
I actually got caught in Vegas after a very profitable roulette run. They noticed within two or three casinos even though I took care not to visit places even remotely close to each other. I have to wonder if maybe the tables were supposed to be rigged and that's how they got me. Pretty fishy if you ask me.
Anyway, these guys in suits showed up at my hotel room and made it very clear that there was only one option where I kept breathing. Why didn't I use my power? That's the really terrifying part. I did! So the only option really was to just surrender. No invincibility or super-healing here. Just plain old flesh and blood.
So for the past couple of years, I've been working as a superhero. It's not like I've had a choice, really. I live in their headquarters and go on "missions" with them. They call me Lucky because people who wear underwear outside their clothes are brilliant. They drag me along and have me use "get lucky" to defuse bombs or cause weapons to backfire. Other than that I'm a pretty normal "Extra." These guys get all of the credit. So much so that they've started to say they don't need me anymore. That's a problem for me.
If these guys ditch me, they aren't going to just let me go. They've got a tracker and explosive device in my skull. I'll never get to live lavishly or enjoy my gift. It's not like I do here, with the petty role I'm given.
I have a plan, though.
You see, my ability comes at a cost. We'll call it "karma" just because I want to. For every bit of positive "karma" I create, there is also negative "karma" created. I've been building this stuff up for a while. I used to just throw it off on some unsuspecting ass. It's been feeling kind of full so I threw a little off on Lightning, our resident fast guy. He's kind of a douche so I thought it would be funny to see him trip at supersonic speeds. Holy shit! Not only did he trip, he did it into a void beam. A foot wide swath of the guy disappeared right across his chest.
All of the A-listers freaked out. I told them I was focusing on keeping bystanders alive at the time and missed it. Nobody knows I dumped bad luck on him. How could they? They're sure warming up to keeping me around, though. Six-figure income warm.
I'm a lucky guy. | I was born with a very specific power. Since young, I have struggled to make sense of my power and how to use them for the greater good. After all, it was a power that was based on trust. The more someone trusted me, the more vulnerable they will be to me. How do you get a villain to trust you? It was impossible - they were already the most paranoid people in existence. Trust was out of the equation.
But heroes, they were different. Filled with unbridled optimism and sense of justice, these wannabe supermans with collosal strengths held the upmost faith and trust in all their comrades. I don't blame them, who would? Justice prevails always.
My failures as a hero were but a path of discovery for the greatest villain I was destined to be. Operating from the shadows, I struck the heroes when they least expect it. A single toothpick to the jugular would slice through their steel flesh and titanium muscles, dealing a swift and quick death as they wondered how anyone could have undone their defences.
They would never guess it was me, a B rank superhero | 2021-04-14T07:33:00 | 2021-04-14T04:55:59 | 367 | 275 |
[WP] As a minion of the devil charged with stealing souls, you're used to people being too holy, too strong, too smart, or even too fast to capture on first try. And then there's this guy... | "Nah."
For the last three weeks, I've been trying to tempt this guy. Now, let's face facts, I'm good at my job. Stealing souls has a bit of a formula to it. Go in, find their desire, offer an exchange, and let the rest work itself out. Boss does the actual granting, but a soul is a soul and I'm on a roll!
Well, was. I could usually turn around a soul in under a week. My overall average is 3 days, but this guy was throwing my curve! Sometimes, we encounter people who are very pious. Maybe they're strong and see trading their soul as weak. Smart ones who know better than to deal with a devil. And then there's "Gotta catch me first!" Exemplary people like that, we get to just cut and run. But this guy... THIS GUY!
Anything I offer, he says no. He's single, no interest in romance, dead end job that pays well enough, small circle of friends that are good for brief company but nothing longer. No addictions, no vices, no perversions, nothing I can twist.
He sees me roiling, clearly upset. "Why's this so important?"
"Because I can't drop this. You're not exemplary enough to be given up on. So either I find some way to tempt you or I'm stuck trying for... I don't know how long!"
"Sucks to be you." That gets me mad enough to start steaming. "Whoa, sorry, that was rude, man. I didn't think you'd be that upset. This really matters to you, doesn't it?"
"Well, it's kind of my reason to, you know, exist!"
"Wow, heavy." He looked like he was thinking for a moment. "So, you just need to strike a deal and you're good?"
"What? Well, yeah, but it's gotta be for something you really want."
"And that's the problem. Nothing I re... well. Hmm."
Oh. Oh no. Don't do that. Don't give me that glimmer of hope. "Yes?"
"What about, like, an all expense paid trip to Disney Land for me and my parents?"
"... ... ... whut?"
"Look, when I was a kid, my parents promised to take me for my birthday. Then some jackass hit my mom with his car. Between the medical bills and everything, birthday trip cancelled. We never recovered financially from that but they always felt kinda bad breaking a promise to their kid. Even if it wasn't their fault. So, if we could go, maybe it'd cheer them up. I know they're older now, but a vacation like that would be nice. You get my soul and you can party on."
No. It couldn't be that simple. Could it? "I might be able to do that... I gotta check."
"Check? You were offering millions before, this would be a drop in the bucket." I raised a finger to shush him while I pulled out my iPhone. (What? My boss believes in the company.) I started typing to get approval.
*Request: 3 all expense paid disney*
`EZ. Catch?`
*Wish fulfillment. Denied as kid, parents felt bad, wants to cheer them up. Selflessness clause?*
`Does he go 2?`
*Yes.*
`Indulgent enuff. We get soul, he get trip. Deal.`
"Boss says you're good to go. We'll send the details soon but..." I put my hand out. "All you gotta do is shake on it."
He looked pensive for a second, then shrugged his shoulders. "Deal." He felt the heat as he shook and I was out of there.
=======
*3 months later...*
I was back on a roll. Since that hurdle, I had claimed another 40 souls. Then, my iPhone started ringing. The Boss usually just texts. Voice was for trouble.
"Hello, Boss?"
"**You've got a problem.**"
"OK, what happened?"
"**Remember that hard case about 3 months ago? Disney for 3?**"
"Yeah, you approved that."
"**You didn't give me all the facts.**"
"What do you mean? I told you everything he told me."
"**You didn't tell me he did it for** ***you!***"
"... ... ... whut?"
"**And now, I got the Big Guy Upstairs breathing down my neck because it broke the selflessness clause!**"
"Wait, what do you mean 'for me'? He didn't do anything for me, he just... made... Oh no."
"**Oh yeah. An angel is coming for your ass right now.**"
"How long do I have?"
"I̶̲͑'̶̨̾m̷͕̂ ̷̧̓h̵̭́e̷͚̊r̸̻͘e̶̜̎.̵̜̏"
And today was such a good day. | Everyone has flaws. Or. Scratch that. ALMOST everyone has flaws.
Some of them are incredibly strong, but they lack the kindness to resist Evil. Some are smart but don't have the force of personality to stand up to Evil. Some are quick, but even they cannot outrun their own temptations... But this guy? He was all of that.
"I can give you everything you want..." I whispered into his ear. He smiled and shrugged at me.
"But sir, I've got it all! Beautiful wife, wonderful son, a great job, surrounded by friends..."
"But surely, there are people you hate?" Even the noblest of men hated SOMEONE. Even if it was a dictator, "Someone you just...want to get the better of?"
The man looked solemn. Like he was considering and insulted by the offer all at once.
"No, not even him. I want him to be better. I know he can be. He has to be."
A burning coal of influence at last!
"And what if he isn't? What if you could be done with him in an instant? The power to crush him. The power to overcome him..."
The man looked unmoved, "I don't think that'll be necessary. I've had no trouble overcoming him in the past and I have no real want to crush ANYONE...just not in my nature, not how I was raised."
I snarled and growled at him, "Then your family? Perhaps you want them safe. Your son..."
"Can take care of himself just fine. And my wife might not physically be as strong as me, but I'd bet you'll never find a woman with a fighting spirit like hers!" He chuckled, thinking of her, "She's a firecracker. I dunno how she ever fell for a farm boy like me."
This exchange continued for what felt like eternity, though it was only an hour. I couldn't return empty handed again... But it seemed inevitable...
"There MUST be something you want. Something you can't have!?"
"No sir. I'm pretty content with what I've got."
I exited his door, a fiery circle engulfing me as I stepped outside. I would return to Hell, but I marked my words. Nobody in this world was without temptation.
Not even this Clark Kent. | 2022-11-15T11:38:03 | 2022-11-15T08:14:56 | 537 | 119 |
[WP] One day, in an industrial accident, fire is found to have a new use. One we would have never expected. | Farming became an industry sometime in the twentieth century, chickens grown on conveyor belts were 20% fatter. Contrary to the commercial belief, happy cows do not produce better milk, cows milked by robots borrowed from the auto industry made 6% more milk and the milk was 2.5% better according to numerous focus groups conducted by the American Dairy Industrial Council (ADIC).
The manager looked out across an acre of metal cages. Clucking and feathers filled the air, and tiny machines collected sixty-five eggs and hour. It had cost him a pretty penny, but the increase in output was worth it. Thousands of eggs flowed down the lines into the collectors that sorted them by size before they passed to quality control.
He smiled and returned to his office and closed the door, so he could watch TV without the constant clucking and metallic whirring. If his door had been open, he might have heard the mechanical clank from row 15, he may have seen the smoke rising or heard the alarms that signaled a failure of the automated sprinkler system. All he heard was canned laugh tracks and bad jokes of sitcom reruns.
The fire spread quickly, the warehouse was dry and full of very flammable cage liners. Thousands of chickens screamed to no avail, in a dark office in the corner of the factory, the manager flung open his door and succumbed to smoke inhalation, collapsing before he could even take ten steps.
Thousands of eggs boiled in their shells as the inferno consumed the entire factory. But out of the thousands of eggs, one survived, it did more than survive, it thrived. About three quarters of the way down row 22, an egg, sitting on the blistering hot metalwork that had once been the pinnacle of egg-farming technology glowed. The metal blacked around it and flames licked its surface clean, and the egg glowed. After a few hours the fire started to die down. The coals of the building still glowed and hissed and spit in the early winter rain, and missed under all the blackened shrapnel the eggs glow slowly faded, and it moved.
The egg wiggled, a slight tapping could be heard and then a tiny beak poked through. The beak chipped away at the shell bit by bit and a wisp of smoke escaped from the slowly expanding hole. There was a sucking of air as the shells inhabitant took its first breath. The inrush of air seemed impossible and then in a burst of flame, the shell exploded. A chicken, almost full grown stood where egg had been. It was chicken, but not quite, it was more like a fire sculpture of a chicken. It looked up at the sun opened its beak and peeped. It was the peep of a chick. The fiery chicken pecked around the burned out building, eating glowing coal and growing larger by the second. An hour later, a fiery chicken the size of a horse roamed the ruins, flames erupted where it stepped and its peeps had grown into fire breathing rooster calls. From the cremated remains of a thousand chickens and a thousand eggs a phoenix-chicken had been born.
| Screams of pleasure and acid
Wash over the little children
Leaving nothing but bones
.
Shattered fingernails and teeth
Rip my eyes from me
And give them to the poor
.
"It's okay, Ma'am"
Brilliant darkness is unpure
Licking at my toes
.
Orange agony fills them
But pain is not present
Fire cleanses the soul
. | 2015-03-25T11:10:09 | 2015-03-25T10:15:32 | 86 | 16 |
[WP] You are not a superhero. You are just a Scout with a magical Bag of Holding and an incredible dedication to the motto "A Scout is Prepared". | Clearly, I never did it with the expectation of a reward. Any scout will tell you that. Typically, you get a "thank you," and honestly, that's the best-case scenario. Anytime things are different, it's usually for the worse. I got a dime once, which - it took me almost two minutes to get you across the street, lady, with your being unwilling to cross the first time because you "didn't see the light change." Are you saying my time is worth $3/hour? Let's not put a price tag on this and just accept that I did something nice and you appreciate it. A few times I got a piece of candy...butterscotch twice, mint once. The first time, I made the mistake of actually eating the candy I was given. It was as brittle as the hip of the person who gave it to me, and tasted like hard cotton. I feel like I should have gotten my Theater badge for being able to smile at the lady and keep it in my mouth until I got far enough away that she wouldn't see me spit it into a garbage can.
Anyway, bottom line, no way would I have accepted the bag if I had been given a choice. Especially given what it looked like, but even if it was an ordinary looking backpack or exercise bag, I'd still have said no. But the thing was...I helped Dotty or Lois or Ida or whoever across Elm, and she smiled to me, and then her purse - this brick-red thing, which looked like it could hold a four-person tent with room to spare - falls off her shoulder onto the ground. No surprise, really, I imagine it to be about half the weight of the old bird carrying it. So I braced myself when it came time to lift it, engaging my core subconsciously, but to my surprise it was about as heavy as a standard first-aid kit.
"Thank you, dear," she said, smiling beneficently at me. "Use it wisely, won't you?" The sun was raging off the windows of the office building behind her, right into my eyes, and a diesel truck was roaring behind us, and I kept being jostled by pedestrians...
"Excuse me, ma'am, but I don't need your purse." I was about halfway through saying it when she was gone. I'm not sure how much was the glare of reflected light, how much was being bumped by other people...but given what I found out about the bag later, I'm pretty confident she just vanished.
And so that's how I got the bag. My patrol gave me a lot of shit for it when I brought it on our next camping trip, at least at first. Then I showed them all the stuff I had put in it, and they shut up right quick. Funny how a three-day supply of Gatorade and Ruffles can do that.
I've learned not to worry about the looks. It's really not *all* that different from when I wear the uniform. Sure, it looks dorky as hell, but it *means* something. Every now and then I get to prove that to someone, and if it was someone who was smirking at me a moment before, all the better.
The big surprise didn't come until later. I was packing for our whitewater challenge - it was probably overkill, but why not bring some back-up inflatable rafts, just to be safe? - and decided I might as well clean out some of the extra stuff from previous trips.
That's when I discovered that there had already been things in the bag when I had gotten it. Things that were definitely not coins and candies.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/8pof44/scout_spirit_part_2/) is up on my sub. | “Who here has a cellphone?!” Yells Scout leader Miller, with obvious fear in his voice. Your entire group has managed to get themselves locked inside of an abandoned building. Who’s idea was it to go in here anyway!? Not like it matters. You’ve got your bag of holding that you purchased as merchandise at Universal Studios in 2011. You usually carry a Nokia 3310 inside just for situations like these. You wait in the case of someone else having a cellphone because the couch you are on is quite comfortable. Nobody has one, so you announce “I’ve got one, sir” and reach into your bag, only to bring out a full-size battering ram. The team is just as confused as you are. “Where the fu- heck did you get that from son?!” Miller exclaims.
You reply, “My bag. I have no idea how it even fits in there, nor how I lifted it out” Regardless, the ram was well enough to open the door. Later that night your bag was searched, resulting in 3 officers falling into the bag, never to be seen again. | 2018-06-08T08:50:55 | 2018-06-08T07:58:01 | 1,510 | 65 |
[WP] “The goddess of humanity was the smallest and gentlest of all the races’ guardian deities... How did humans become the most destructive species?” “They looked into an infinity of malicious gods and declared that they would protect her. And now she lives in fear of her children.” | Inside an interrogation chamber, deep within one of the great war machines of the Zzyth fleet, a single human sat tied to a chair.
He was bare chested, and the Interrogator could see the scars that lined every inch of his body. These faint white lines were crossed and covered by more recent wounds. Cuts, bruises and burns inflicted by the Interrogator's own hand.
The Interrogator had long since sacrificed his own name to the Zzyth god of torture and war, in return he had been granted insight into the minds of those around him, so long as he inflicted enough pain upon them. The human was now ready, his mind and soul open to the Interrogator. The Interrogator's superiors wished to know what gifts the Pantheon of Humanity granted its soldiers, what rites were demanded of them and how to counteract them.
The Interrogator stepped in front of the human, careful to make his steps ring ominously upon the metal floor. He leaned close to the human's face and smiled as the human forced a single eye open while the other remained shut due to the swelling. The Interrogator raised a single long finger to his lipless mouth and smiled, an expression he knew to be as unnerving as a snarl.
Of course, the human couldn't speak even if he wished, as his mouth was gagged, now was not the time for the glorious song of his screams to ring out. The Interrogator needed to concentrate...
The Interrogator reached out with his mind, feeling towards the connections wrought in the soul of his victim from the pain inflicted. He found the human's soul easily, it veritably glowed with power. This was a powerfully gifted soldier indeed, The Interrogator thought, the glow of his soul rivaled that of the commander of this great vessel.
The human stiffened as he felt the tendrils of The Interrogator's power driving deeper and deeper into his soul. The Interrogator began to see his thoughts, and let the experience wash into him, this would be the first route into the depths of the human's soul.
...
Crewman Jacobson had been warned during his training that some of the Zzyth torturers were telepaths. Telepathy was rare enough among the Terran military forces that he had not been able to attend the resistance training even though he had volunteered for it. Instead he had to rely solely upon the theoretical training he had been given
\-*The Interrogator felt himself pull out of the human's mind slightly at the strange thought. Voluntarily subjecting oneself to telepathic invasion? Not even the most bloodthirsty or fanatical members of the Zzyth Pantheon demanded such a sacrifice, telepathic invasion was dangerous to the victim, it could often lead to lifelong impairment of the mind and body. The gods of Humanity must be vile indeed, The Interrogator let the thoughts of the human flow over him once more*\-
Jacobson thought back to the lecture he had attended in the academy, a balding man in a hoverchair had showed spoken in depth about his experience with a telepath. "No matter how strong you are mentally, a telepath is gonna get in your head somehow." The man had said "Most human telepaths are adherents of Gaia" -*The Interrogator made a mental note of the name, before allowing the thoughts to wash over him again*\- "But there are a fair number of mutants who possess the ability. Not to mention the Zzyth, there seem to be a larger number of telepaths among them than among humanity, leading us to think they have either bred selectively for the trait, or their Pantheon is freer with the gift than Gaia is..."
\-*The Interrogator held the thoughts in place, freezing the human's mind. He reached over to the table nearby and scribbled a note, "The first Name of Deity found in the subject's mind was Gaia. The domain and nature of this Deity is as yet unknown, it is not yet clear if this Gaia is the name of a particular god or the human name for their own Pantheon, further study will be required. Notably, the humans do not seem to have a large number of telepaths. This Gaia seems to hold the gift in reserve for the devout. Additionally, as a species it seems that genetic mutation is common, possibly even accepted, among the species. This may indicate a fleshcrafter Deity holds primary sway over their Pantheon, I shall delve deeper to see if this human's mind holds more answers." The Interrogator let the human's mind flow forward, nudging slightly in the direction of this Gaia*\-
Jacobson wasn't particularly devout in worship of Gaia -*what?*\- his mother would have been mortified to see how rarely he attended services anymore. But he hardly had time for worship, especially with the war and everything. He promised himself that he would go back to attending temple if he got out of this. He knew that Gaia wasn't particularly fond of war, especially among her children, but he also knew that she understood the necessity with the Zzyth threatening all of humanity...
\-*The Interrogator once again froze the human's mind and leaned away, disturbed. This human had a soul as powerful as the most devout and yet he rarely attended to any worship whatsoever? The Interrogator made another note. "This human's mind holds very little devotion to this Gaia, but I have been unable to locate any other Name of Deity despite turning the subject's mind toward worship in general. Perhaps the Pantheon of Humanity hides itself from the knowledge of captured soldiers to keep the Pantheon of Zzyth from discovering their identities and weaknesses. Still, such an expungement should have weakened the Gifts this soldier has received and left obvious holes in his mind. I shall need to delve deeper, into the fabric of his soul to find the scars. May Holy Qreth guide me.*\- | In the beginning there was nothing. Nothing that stretched on and on forever although forever was too small a concept to embrace that empty space. For an eternity or for a moment that was the state of all things. The moment after brought first dust, then light, and finally something more. They started pure of form, each speck the embodiment of an ideal. Death was not the first form, but it was the mightiest, for all that was eventually was not. Life was her counterpart, and between the those two rotating poles, locked forever in a mortal embrace, the other forms came into being.
Hunger served Death as her first lieutenant, for all that knew Life soon knew Hunger, and Hunger brought them closer to Death. Hunger was soon joined by her sister, War, for all that lived and hungered would eventually fight. Hunger and War ravaged Life's tiny specks, her children in the void, and in that ravaging Pestilence oozed into being. Pestilence was a forsaken child of Hunger and War, and she lived in the rift caused by her mothers, but all three served Death faithfully.
Dimming under this onslaught of Hunger and War and Pestilence, Life knew she needed a friend, an ally to beat back the rising black tides that threatened to engulf all that was hers. So she rent a piece of her own flesh, dim but still radiant, and coaxed her into being. Love was Life's child, and she held her close as her only bulwark against the onslaught of Death.
Love knew that to sustain life she would need children of her own, and so like her mother she rent herself. But Love was naive, the smallest and gentlest of the great primordials, and she rent herself into pieces too small to sustain Love herself. These pieces cooled, and Humanity opened her myriad eyes to the inky blackness of the void of Death. She watched with a million tiny selves as Hunger winked out the shards of Love almost as quickly as they split, vanquishing the motes of tiny light as they came into being. She felt with a myriad limbs as War wrenched her into ever smaller pieces, and those pieces too winked out into blackness. Finally, Humanity suffered under the sores of Pestilence, as that final and forsaken child clung to Humanity, dragging her myriad bodies and minds down.
Under siege from the agents of Death, Humanity did the only thing she knew how: she split, again and again, each splinter dimmer than the last, each shard just a little less luminous than the last. And as she split and split, the piece of Humanity that was still Love got smaller and smaller, and Humanity found herself drawn closer to the black gravity of Death. That small part that was still Love shivered in fear, for her children no longer held her brilliance. Instead they reached out toward the cold void of Death, radiating the ice of that black God.
But it was a false cold, a shell like an ember smoldering beneath the snow. For even as Humanity split, still she harbored a piece of Love. And Humanity claimed, for now and forever into eternity, that she would shelter that sliver of Love, no matter how small.
And no matter the cost. | 2021-01-23T03:30:07 | 2021-01-22T23:22:04 | 796 | 506 |
[WP] You are queen of this land. You are asexual, a hand-picked heir, like each queen since your nation's birth five generations ago. Today, on your 30th birthday, a witch knocks at your door. She wants to know where the hell that firstborn is. | “Firstborn, you say?” The queen suppressed a laugh as she eyed the dignified-looking lady in robes standing before her. “I’m afraid we don’t do that kind of thing here.”
The lady’s expression faltered. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, taken aback. Her voice then grew cold as she mockingly continued. “Do you mean to say this country doesn’t sanction the birth of children? I’ll have you know I’m not one to tolerate such poor taste in humor, especially in matters that directly concern me. Perhaps I have been in seclusion for too long! It seems the world has forgotten the consequences of drawing my ire.”
“Ah! Please, Lady Miriam, forgive me. I forgot myself for a moment. This whole situation is simply too sudden.” The queen gave a wry smile. “Imagine yourself in my stead. One of the most renowned figures in all of history, after disappearing for centuries suddenly shows up in the palace of your little upstart nation and demands your firstborn child. Now that would be one thing if you had any firstborns to offer her, but it is quite another when your nation’s succession is decided entirely by merit. The ruler having children is heavily discouraged, and in fact, there have been no royal children even once since the nation was founded.” She sighed lightly and added, “and even then, I’m entirely uninterested in having children in the first place, as were my predecessors. That detail is practically tradition at this point.”
During that explanation, Lady Miriam had sunk into thought. “Well, well, well. So that’s how it was,” she eventually murmured. “That Anne was always too clever for her own good. But since her bloodline is gone, I suppose it can’t be helped. It’s unfortunate that those other matters came up before I could return here.”
She then turned her attention back to the queen, an appraising look on her face. Meanwhile, the queen was working hard to conceal her amazement. *Anne? Bloody Anne, the first queen? She knew an Immortal? But then why would she settle for starting a nation?*
“Girl.” Lady Miriam abruptly said, interrupting the queen’s racing thoughts. “It seems your line dares to play tricks on me.” The lights in the little private room dimmed, and the temperature dropped, causing the queen to shiver. However, she didn’t dare oppose Lady Miriam, for she knew any action she took would be seen through immediately. If she happened to make things worse and the Immortal flew into a true rage, even the terrain would not be spared.
“Even so,” Lady Miriam continued, “I am not a malevolent person.” She shook her head in resignation, and the room returned to normal. “It was my own failure in judging her character that allowed your first queen to take advantage of my curiosity. She, despite her lack of magical aptitude, had an interesting bloodline originating from a creature I couldn’t quite identify. I wished to study it further, so I gave her some minor help, and she promised me her descendants as research subjects in exchange. And I didn’t even see the loophole in that. Laughable.” She scoffed at herself. “But whatever the case, the past is the past, and you will not be punished for something you had no hand in.”
The queen sighed in relief that the impending disaster had been averted. “On behalf of my country, I thank Lady Miriam for her benevolence.”
“Hmph, good. You do know how to show some respect. However, I wasn’t finished.”
The queen’s breath caught in her throat.
“Calm yourself, child. I already said you wouldn’t be punished. Nevertheless, I don’t feel like leaving empty-handed today, so perhaps it is some sort of fate that I met you.” Lady Miriam’s eyes twinkled ominously.
“If this humble queen has anything she can offer Lady Miriam, she will not hesitate to do so,” the queen said, bowing her head in deference.
“In that case I will be direct. Your temperament and magical aptitude are both to my liking, and you should have a decent amount of worldly experience since you’ve been running a country. How would you like to become my apprentice?”
Shock appeared on the queen’s face, before quickly turning into excitement. *I have magical aptitude? An Immortal wants to make me her apprentice!?* “I would love to! Ah, but wait, what will become of the country then? I’m afraid I can’t just leave it without a word of warning.”
“Fear not, child." Lady Miriam waved her hand dismissively. "Judging by the time that has passed since your country was founded, you should have found a successor already, yes?”
“That is true, but they won’t take the throne for another ten or so years.”
“That is not a concern. Ten years is but a moment in the grand scheme of things. You should finish tying up the loose ends in your rule for the time being, and I will come fetch you in ten years. Do you accept this arrangement?”
The queen got down on a knee and bowed her head. “Of course, master.”
Lady Miriam smiled faintly, and with a flick of her sleeve, disappeared out through the window the same way she had come. A refreshing breeze swept through the room as the queen stood up once more, composed herself, and then left the room to attend to her duties.
And thus, from these humble beginnings would rise a new grand immortal. | Resting for the first time in a month, Rose felt all of her anxieties drift away as she felt the calm and wonderful embrace of *sleep.* Ready to awaken fresh tomorrow and fix another bucket of problems that ranged her beloved kingdom. She knew that being the sole leader of Placerville wasn't going to be easy, but really? Taking your household problems to the Palace instead of the high-quality family councilors that were scattered around her kingdom? She didn't give a shit if both of them had been caught cheating, that wasn't her job, and she told them as much.
But at last, she could drift away into sleep...
"SO WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ABOUT NOT MARRYING!"
Startled, Rosed practically jumped out of bed to come face to face the ugliest little creature she had ever seen.
"THE DEAL WAS THAT YOU WOULD GIVE ME YOUR FIRSTBORN! YOU NEED TO GET A FIRSTBORN TO GIVE ME YOUR FIRSTBORN!"
"Who the hell are you," Rose yelled back, "And how did you even get in here? Where are the guards?"
"I don't give a shit about guards, I need my fucking child. You made the deal all those years ago. Give me a child, and you would become Queen," she demanded, in the raspy voice one gets when they constantly scream, "Well, its been 50 years and I'm still waiting!"
"What? I'm 20. How would I even have made that deal? The only reason I'm Queen is that Old Queen Sam chose me," she responded hotly, "and all of the Queens of Placerville got here by being the best choices to run a Kingdom, not by trickery,"
"Is that what they tell you at school these days? The Queen's *skills* are barely a part of it, over half of them have gotten here by trickery and deceit," She said mockingly, "But I realize now that It is not you I have a quarrel with. No client of mine would belive in the Justice System of this *kingdom* as much."
"But wait, if what you say is true, half the Queens have been corrupt?"
"Probably more, but yes. Why do you ask?"
"Because I want to make a deal with you. Expose all of the Corrupt and Lying Queens in front of everyone. I don't care how you do it, but I want them to see that there is no escape from justice."
"Asking a Witch to destroy and belittle people of high respect for personal gain? Why would I say no to that? But payment will be required."
"Of course," said Rose, wondering if what she was doing was the right thing, "I will offer you, my firstborn child." | 2020-04-19T14:06:22 | 2020-04-19T12:18:07 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed, but what she doesn't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents. You are that monster.
Thanks for the huge amount of responses! Loving most all of them, thank you! Sorry it was a bit simplistic though. | It's a little different, being the good guy, when all you get is flack for scaring a few kids here and there. I mean sure, it's weird that I live under a bed, under a kid's bed no less, but a gal needs a home just like everyone else. Scaring those kids was an accident anyway. I don't like living under kids that are constantly whining and crying.
It started out easy enough. Cute little girl, around 6 or 7 years old, likes the color pink and horses. Can't get more average than that. It didn't take long though to see that she was living in a hell that even us monsters wouldn't wish on our enemies, the night lights. Poor girl had parents that twisted her and beat her, made her feel worthless. At first it didn't seem too bad. Her dad grabbed her arm and she instantly started crying. I thought she was a wimp. Turns out he had broken her arm a couple nights before I got there and hadn't taken her to the hospital. Then I heard how the mom talked to her. Calling her worthless, saying she should have never been born. Poor kid.
As a general rule, we aren't supposed to meddle in human affairs. It's not written down anywhere that we can't but it is very highly frowned upon. Some monsters try helping and it just drives the kids crazy. Adults can't see us so no one believes them. It's a little sad if you ask me. They're telling the truth but no one listens to them. If they get ignored for long enough you get kids like Lizzie Borden, who never grow up no matter how old they get, and throw tantrums on a epic scale. Mike never did hear the end of that and we still tease him from time to time. He feels terrible about it but I have a feeling that girl wasn't all there in the first place. Could have happened to any of us. After thinking about Mike and Lizzie, and what happened to them I knew what I had to do. I made a conscious decision that not only would I help this girl, whose name I never learned, but I would not let her go insane.
Taking a few points of inspiration from my favorite monster James, I started small. A soft but menacing growl any time one of them came into her room. This room was now her haven and they were not allowed. Her parents never questioned the growling. Too stupid for that. So it came to pass that after a few weeks the girl would spend most of her time in her room, where her parents couldn't get her. You could tell she was afraid - her breath came in short pants as she convinced herself to sleep every night. As afraid as she was I think she felt better taking her chances with me instead of out in the house with her parents.
Things were going well for a few months until her father guzzled down a bottle of something brown and strong. He slammed into her room with the grace of a ballerina sans feet. He started throwing her things and knocking over her furniture while screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn't hear me growling over the sound of the girl's frightened tears. He was screaming about a dog and that he knew she had one. I guess they were smarter than I gave them credit for. She had no idea what he meant was screaming that there was no dog, only a monster under her bed. He was face to face with me as he looked under her bed but he didn't see me. He couldn't. I wish I had stopped him then while the time was right. Instead I watched, too slow to get to her, too slow to stop him, as he picked her up and threw her into the hallway. Her poor neck snapped when she hit the wall and her body flopped to the floor, sad and broken and dead.
I'll never forgive myself for letting him do it but I didn't let him get away with it. I lumbered out as fast as my claws would let me and sliced him thinner than deli ham. It was hard; he was drunk enough to kill his daughter in a paranoia fulled rage but not so drunk that he couldn't move. He tripped over her fallen desk and I descended upon him like a dog on a bone. I ripped and tore through meat and tendon until he stopped screaming, stopped breathing. I didn't stay long after I was done. I don't know if the cops came or what happened to the mother. I took the girl down the street to a small park. I buried her under a tree there and didn't mark the grave. It was late, so I wasn't seen. I'll never forget her or what she had to go through. I also promised myself that if I ever moved to the room of a kid that's abused, it ends the first night. Mike and James have my back and have offered me some room under their beds. I'll stay with them until I find a bed of my own. I'll never forget her. | "It's scary though"
"Don't worry. If you don't believe in monsters they die"
I seethe, sharply drawing my breath as her father turns to leave. I shift as familiar weight settles upon my back. I can feel the sharpness of the words, digging into me. Gradually she begins to drift away. From downstairs I can hear the beginnings of an argument, but she cannot. Soon though, maybe. I sit, wishing for it to stop...You'll hurt her, what are you doing, don't you care? They're getting louder now, just below the threshold of her hearing. I move, sharply scratching along the floorboards. I feel her jerk up, looking around. Alert. Not too alert, I hope. I hook a claw around the wire that runs up beside her, and pull. The lamp falls and she screams.
The argument below ceases briefly, hesitating the half-second it takes to re-arrange itself around the new topic.
"I was just up there five minutes ago"
"Oh, typical, you do something once and that cancels out the fact that every. other. time, it's me?"
"Oh, of course, aren't you just the perfect martyr?"
"What, because it has to be perfectly equal, because you wouldn't want to do more than..."
"More than what?"
"Forget it"
"More than what? Tell me"
"...Just don't"
He is still shouting as she makes her way upstairs.
"What is it honey?...What have you done to your lamp?"
"The monster -"
"What have I told you about the monster dear?"
There is a pause.
She speaks quietly, and I'm not sure who it is she's worried about offending.
"He doesn't exist"
The bed creaks as I buckle.
"There's a good girl."
She pauses.
"I'm sorry about the lamp mom, I - "
"It's ok honey. Try and get some sleep". She raises half a smile.
"Night mom"
"Night honey"
It could have been worse. Soon I can feel myself fading out of consciousness as the girl falls asleep. My bones ache, and darkness begins to encraoch upon me more quickly than it ever has before. I tell myself that soon, soon I must remind her, but... The girl above me sleeps soundly. With each passing night she becomes more courageous. Really, I ought to be proud -- someone ought to be -- but it is not so easy. With each passing night I find myself only more afraid. | 2014-05-14T14:09:03 | 2014-05-14T13:08:42 | 26 | 17 |
[WP]Your father comes from a long line of superheroes. Your mother comes from a long line of supervillains. Every year, against your parents wishes, your relatives come together to celebrate your birthday. It's your eleventh birthday and the city's evacuated as your relatives start to arrive. | Dakota looked at the news and sighed. She just hoped her uncles and aunts didn’t make too much of a mess this year. She remembered last year when Uncle Dan had gotten drunk and shot off a few blasts of his lasers.
It was embarrassing. At least the mayor was friendly with her dad and understood.
She got ready and went downstairs.
“Dakota, sweetie. I thought we decided no capes.”
“I don’t know about that honey. She looks good with that cape. Just like her father.” Jackson beamed at her.
Carla gave an icy stare to her husband but smiled at her daughter.
“Honey, capes just get in the way. Very easy to trip on one. Plus it can get stuck on things and impede your movement.”
“Mom, I’m not going to fight crime. Or commit it for that matter either. I just thought it looked nice.”
“It totally does. Looks super rad.” Jackson did a little twirl and Dakota followed along.
Carla elbowed her husband. “Alright go on Dakota. I need to talk to your father.”
Dakota left her parents behind, arguing about the agreement to not try and pull Dakota any which way.
She saw Uncle Dan sitting in a corner, sipping on something. She hoped he wasn’t going to start drinking so soon. If he did, by the end of the night there would be fireworks again. She sighed again.
“Nice cape!”
“Hey Stan.”
Her cousin walked up to her seeming to throw a small bolt of lightning from one hand to the other. He had recently turned 21 and joined his family as the latest superhero. Dakota really looked up to him.
“So you’re 15 now?”
“Yeah.”
“I see Dan is drinking already.”
Dakota sighed again. “I hope it doesn’t go like last year.”
“I’ll keep a close watch on things. You just enjoy yourself today. Don’t worry about anything else.”
“Thanks so much Stan. I really appreciate it. So how’s superhero work going?”
His expression changed. It was quick but still noticeable. “You know. It’s going. I was on a mission last week and... well I’ll tell you later ok.”
“Stan? Is everything ok?”
“Yeah. Hey! Yeah. Everything’s fine. We’ll talk later.”
Stan hurried away as Dakota looked at him with some concern.
But there wasn’t too much time as she was almost ambushed by her grandmother.
“Dakota! You are looking so thin. Are you even eating something. Come. Sit with me.”
“Hey grannie.”
“Here. Have some sushi. It’s really good. A hero needs to eat so they can keep their strength up at all times.”
“Thanks gran. I’m not in the mood for sushi.”
“Oh come on. You don’t need mood to eat sushi. Come on now.”
“Catherine if the girl doesn’t want to eat sushi, then she doesn’t have to eat sushi. Here try this poutine, sweetie. It tastes amazing.”
“Helen.”
“Catherine.”
Here we go again, Dakota thought to herself. Helen and Catherine had been bitter rivals once upon a time. When their kids had broken the news about their relationship, all hell had broken loose. Things were better now, but only slightly. They didn’t try to kill each other on sight now. Usually the waited about ten minutes.
“So Dakota, have you decided on which side of family you plan to follow.” Catherine took a bite of sushi, looking Helen square in the eyes.
“I really haven’t, Catherine.”
“I notice that you’re wearing a cape though.”
Helen jumped in. “Plenty of villains wear a cape too. Heroes don’t have rights to them or anything.”
“Sure. But none of your family wears capes does it?”
“I wore it once.”
“For three days, maybe. And only because you weaponized it.”
“Well at least I found a practical use for it. Why do you guys wear it anyways? Just for the appearances?”
Catherine was seething. “It helps stabilize us during flight.”
“No it doesn’t. You just...”
A commotion distracted them as an explosion sounded behind them.
Dakota looked at Uncle Dan but he was still sitting in his place.
Helen and Catherine shared a glance. “Cathy, did we have the superpower drainer on?”
Cathy stared at her sushi which started floating up in the air. “We did. Someone must’ve turned it off.”
Helen took charge quickly. “I’ll go check it out and turn it back on. There’s not many people here yet, and we don’t know what we are up against. You keep Dakota safe.”
Catherine nodded. “Dakota stay with me.”
But Dakota was already running towards the house. Her mom and dad were in there. And Stan.
She reached just in time. Stan stood over her parents who seemed unconscious.
“Dakota! Stay back.”
“Stan! What happened?”
“There was an explosion and i...”
Catherine entered the house too and looked at the scene. “Stan. Is this about the mission? What’re you doing?”
A bolt of lightning stuck Catherine as she flew back and stuck the far wall.
“Damnit. I thought I’d have more time. Well these things never work out like one plans. First your villainous mom was too suspicious. Then your stupid heroic grandma shows up. These bitches never get along otherwise but now...”
“Stan... what’re you doing?”
“I know you were struggling with choosing a side, Dakota. This should help. This is as much as your origin story as this is mine. I’m no good as a hero you see. All these rules. And you can’t kill the bad guys? Every time I come to your party, I wonder why I can’t just kill everyone on your mother’s side. You know that would decrease the overall crime by over 54%. But no. We have ethics. A moral code. All baloney. I have chosen a side, Dakota. Not necessarily one I was born into, but the one I belong to. All I need is to take this offering to Lord Derango.”
“Stan, no. He’s my dad’s nemesis. He’ll kill my father. Why are you doing this?”
Stan smiled. For a moment he almost looked normal again. She thought about all the times they had spent together. Usually after such a smile he would mess up her hair and run away. But he looked so different now. So much more sinister.
“All the best heroes have dead parents, Dakota. Just like your dad has his nemesis, now you have yours. You get to live. This old bat however.”
A bolt of lightning shot through the air towards Catherine.
“It’s Danger Time.” Out of nowhere, a heavyset man jumped in, blocking the bolt with his metallic arm. He turned the arm towards Stan and a laser blast shot out.
Stan had noticed that Helen wasn’t with them. She was probably making sure no one could use superpowers. He would be outnumbered if that happened. A hasty retreat was in his best interest. He grabbed his two captives and jumped from the window, where his airship hovered, the trademark lightning bolt on the side.
Dan had a good shot at him but as the anti superpower field engulfed the home and the party area, he only shot blanks.
“Dan it.”
Dan ran to Catherine’s side. He checked her pulse but she was already recovering.
“Stupid brat caught me off guard. Thank you Dan. I’m ok.”
“Dandy.”
Helen joined them as well shortly thereafter.
The party cancelled, soon they were in Jackson’s workshop which also doubled as Carla’s lair now.
Catherine, Helen and Dan discussed the best strategy.
“Ok Dakota, we’ll head out but we need you to...”
Dakota felt a surge of anger running through her. She could feel her whole body pulse with power. She floated a couple of feet above the air as her eyes shined bright.
“I’m coming with.” | I heard the tires of a car shriek as it pulled in into our driveway. It was the same Honda I have seen every year ever since I was 8. It was my dad’s parents.
Once grandpa Tony saw me playing in the garden, he rushed towards me with his arms wide open.
“If it ain’t my favorite grandson, Alex.” He said as he hugged me. “Happy birthday boy! You have certainly grown taller since the last time I saw you.”
“Tony, help me get some of this stuff off the truck.” I heard grandma Alice shout from the car.
“Just a moment, honey.” Grandpa said as he walked back to the car.
“Oh my! You have certainly grown into a fine man, little Alex.” Grandma gasped as she also went in for a kiss on my cheek. “Happy 11th birthday, deary.”
Hearing the commotion outside my parent came to see what was happening.
I noticed worry in both my parent’s eyes as they see grandpa’s care.
“Oh my dear, sweet little James.” Cried out grandma as she rushed to my dad. “You little boy keeps looking more like you by the day.”
I could see my mom staring at grandma in silence.
“Oh hello, Martha. Long time no see?” Grandma said in a demeaning tone, after which she went into the house.
Soon after, I could hear my parent’s arguing between themselves. But that was shorty interrupted by the sound of another car pulling onto the driveway.
It was a black Ferrari, the kind that any kid would dream to drive. And of course, the one that belonged to my mom’s parents.
As popes and granny came out of the car, popes noticed grandpa unpacking his Honda.
“You are still driving that old junk, Tony?”
“You still buy a new car every year, Kain.” Replied grandpa.
“Far from it. I make my own.” Popes said as he pressed a device in his palm.
Suddenly, a hundred tiny robots started pouring out of the car, carrying a dark box into the house.
“Oh stop showing off in front of poor old Tony.” Granny said as she made her way to the house.
“It is not showing off if you worked day and night on creating it, Margret.” He said as he laughed to himself. “I am sure good old Tony can still ask one of his super friends to make him something similar to this.”
“My precious Martha,” Granny said quietly as she started kissing mom’s cheeks. “You don’t look like you have aged a single day over 21.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Mom said while smiling. “How about you go inside and rest in the living room with Mrs. Alice.”
“I can’t believe you invited that bi-“ Granny said before noticing the fierce look in my mother’s eyes.
“Of course, my dear Martha. I will go say hi to her.”
With that, she went inside, even though I wasn’t sure it was gonna be a friendly atmosphere in there anymore.
“My sweet little girl,” Popes said as he walked to hug mom. “oh how I missed you over at home.”
“Papa, this is my home now. And what did I tell you about using robots in the house and what was that black box the robots were carrying?”
“Don’t be so stubborn, my dear. The robots will only help me move stuff around, they aren’t meant to hurt anyone.” Popes said as he takes off his dark tinted glasses. “Plus, that box was my gift to dear little Alex. I am sure he will like it.”
Mom let out a worried sigh.
Popes winked at me before put his glasses back on and walking into the house. Then nom and dad both followed him into the house.
Soon after, I saw grandpa carrying 4 boxes with him as he walked to the house.
“What are you carrying, Grandpa?” I asked.
“Oh, this?” He replied as he showed me the content of one of the boxes. “It is just some eggs and vegetables we had grown on your grandma’s old farm. Don’t worry, this isn’t your gift. Your gift is something much grander.”
With that, he carried the boxes into the house and I was left there dumfounded thinking on what he meant by that.
“Alex, Come help me get your cake ready.” I heard my mom shout from inside the house.
“Coming!” I shouted back as I made my way inside.
&#x200B;
***Part 1***
&#x200B;
***I have posted the rest of the story at*** [r/FluffWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/), ***since it was too long to post here. So check it out if you are interested.*** [Super birthday](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/i3f741/story_a_super_birthday/)
***I am also working on a new fantasy writing series that I plan to become a huge thing in the future, so check that out too if it is to your taste ----->*** [The Dark Road Ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/)**Chapter 2 is come out!** | 2020-08-03T23:40:04 | 2020-08-03T23:09:40 | 421 | 53 |
[wp] When someone dies, they go to a platform where you can choose to move in to the afterlife, not knowing whether you will go to heaven or hell. You meet someone who has stood there for millenia, trying to decide if they should go. | "The choice is simple," the angel said to me, "you can go on or you can stay here."
"You know your life better than all but the Lord himself. You know your deeds. You know your faith. And so you can determine for yourself whether to move forward."
Each wing seemed to glisten, less like feathers than like butterfly wings writ large, but tucked tightly around his (her?) body like a robe. Where the wings stopped and the robe began I wasn't quite sure. The angel's voice was soft but stern, you would say practiced if there had ever been a need for practice. Deeply concerned, and at the same time deeply unconcerned--as though I was just one more soul on this platform, and yet one that was somehow deeply important.
"What...happens if I move on?" I asked.
"You know your life, and your deeds," he responded. "And you know what those deeds deserve. What will happen is what you deserve."
I stood there paralyzed for a moment, looking around this platform full of men and women. Every few seconds someone would make a choice, walk to the edge, and jump, disappearing in a blink of light. Sometimes the blink was accompanied by a soft hum, sometimes a stifled scream.
I had died in a quite ordinary way, in the end. Cancer. My mind had been gone for weeks by the time my battered body finally succumbed, and so I had been spared the final torments. And here I was, standing before an angel, trying to decide whether I would leap into heaven or hell.
"How long do I have to decide?"
"When the universe ends, and begins again, and ends again, you will have yet eternity to make your decision," the soft voice said. "But no decision may ever here be undone. You will pass this way but once."
With that the angel turned -- and though I knew we could speak further later, I knew as well that our conversation was over for the moment, and that it was now to me to decide whether to leap. But how could I decide?
On one hand, I had lived a moral life, as I saw it. I'd worked hard, most days, and cared for my family until I became sick. And, Jesus Christ, doesn't dying of cancer before you see your youngest graduate from high school count for something? I mean, shouldn't that give me enough heaven points to get on the right side of this coin flip?
Or does it matter more the times I cheated to get ahead, the times I was uncharitable to strangers or to my own family? And God knows I haven't been to church in 10 years -- but does that count more, or does the baptism as a child count more? For a moment I thought about just leaping, and seeing what happened -- as I had so many times in my life. But...holy Jesus...hell? For eternity?
But, then, I was hardly alone in this conundrum! The platform was full of people standing, sitting, thinking. Some would begin to jump and then stop, flailing at the edge. Others seemed uncommitted even to the idea of thinking about the next step.
Many were dressed in severe costume -- Nazi insignia were common in some parts of the crowd. Others were, like me, just ordinary people -- mostly of recent vintage, but some older. But one man stood out, a man in a toga who by chance happened to be seated on a bench near me. He seemed old, and wise, and unless he'd died in some nursing home fraternity accident, I had to assume he'd been there a long time.
"Hello," I said. "Ummm...do you speak English?"
"No," he said, "and you don't speak ancient Greek. But somehow we'll understand one another here." He smiled a long and tired smile. "You want to know how to choose?" he asked.
"It seems impossible," I replied. "How do I know what God thinks of my life? How do I know whether I lived as I should? How do I know even that I had the right God? I never received any feedback, any sign."
"But you know, don't you? Deep in your heart, do you feel that you deserve heaven or that you deserve hell?"
"I don't know," I said.
"You're lying," he said. "You know what you think you deserve. You know you think you deserve heaven, and you know that you think you'll reach it. You lived a good life, and you think that it deserves a good reward. You're only unsure if you might reach hell on a technicality!"
I smiled and said nothing.
"I'm not so lucky," he said. "I believed myself to be justified in the lives I took, the women and children I killed. I committed atrocities to take revenge for atrocities committed by others. I was sure that I'd done right. And now that I look at the face of hell opening before me...I haven't been sure of anything for millennia! I lived my life certain that I would be welcomed into the afterlife. I counted myself a hero of my people. And then I was given the choice."
"How long?" I asked, and somehow he understood that I was not asking for the past, but the future.
"Forever, perhaps. Or until I go mad and jump screaming like the others. Until perhaps I come to realize what I deserve." He smiled a thin smile. "Now go do what you know you should do," he said.
I thanked him, turned, took three steps...and jumped.
A warm hum surrounded me. Heaven. The angel again spoke.
"You know your life and you know your deeds. But all men are simply men -- mortal, fallible. We call you the children of God because you are but children, and children cannot be judged too harshly even for your worst deeds. You, as are all of God's children, are welcomed here into his arms."
"So everyone...?"
"Yes, everyone. Everyone who is able to look squarely at his life and say that it was a good life or a bad life, and that he deserves heaven or hell -- everyone, in other words, who steps through. You see, on Earth, it is easy to rationalize -- to know that your misdeeds are for a purpose others will accept. You can be a hero, and justify your crimes in the good you did your people. You can be a criminal, and justify the lives you take through anger at society. But the prospect of hell strips away that rationalization and makes you look at your life."
"And so the platform..."
"The platform is the punishment for a life poorly lived. To stand there until finally you accept the horror of your misdeeds, and are ready for the torments of hell. To face squarely who you are and what you've done.
In the end there is no hell but that." | The train station was beautiful. The stone walls and vaulted roof were picturesque. At one end was a giant stained glass window, it let in the bright afternoon light, dappling the tracks and platforms with its bright colours. The walls were also dotted with large windows, letting in even more light, but I couldn't see the view outside. In fact, I couldn't even remember how I got here. Holiday time after too stressful a week, I decided. I must have zoned out on the way here. Still, I couldn't find my luggage anywhere.
I look around the station again. There's a large mix of people, children, adults, even a couple pets. I watch as a group of kids giggle their way after a border collie. Nearby two old ladies on a bench are laughing at some inside joke as their hands methodically twist and pull yarn around a pair of needles. There's no sign of a train, and glancing at the walls I see there's no clocks either. I still didn't have any luggage.
Frowning, I stick my hand in my pocket. Where am I even going? I grab the slip of paper that must be my ticket and pull it out.
It's your standard issue ticket. One way trip. But there's no destination, or even a time of departure. I stuff it back to where it came from. Now when I glance around the platform I'm searching for an employee of some sort. It's so obvious when I find him, I can't believe I didn't see him before. With a dark navy sweater, a tie, bright neon orange vest and a ridiculous cap, he's the very image of "employee".
" 'Scuse me, sir!" I call out, walking up to him. He turns, and so do a few other people. "I'm sorry to bother you but-"
"No no, that's quite all right. What can I do you for?" The grannies turn back to their wicked jokes as the man smiles at me. I pause. What did I need help with? Luggage? A destination?
"I think I'm a tad lost. Or at least, my luggage is."
"Ah." With one word his voice is full of understanding. His eyes crinkle. Sympathetically? "I see. You must have just arrived. Don't worry about your luggage, it's already taken care of. Can I see your ticket?"
I obediently pass it over. Taken care of? Was this some sort of all expenses paid trip, including clothes?
"Everything looks to be in order. The train should be here shortly, if I'm any judge." The man passes me my ticket and proceeds to pull back his sleeve and eye the watch he's got strapped on.
"Where's it going?" I ask.
"I'm sorry?" His eyes snap back to mine. "Oh, where's the train going?"
He chuckles to himself. "Would you even believe me?"
"The afterlife, my dear fellow." My eyes pop open as he continues to chuckle at my expression.
"The after...life?" I babble. A shrill whistle punctuates my question. Already a train is pulling in, just like he said. Around me everyone is standing and starting to file into an orderly procession. "I don't understand."
"No one does." The man says cheerfully. Steering me to the slowing train. "The only way to find out is to board the train."
"But!" I protest.
"No buts! Heaven or hell, your ticket will decide where you get off." He claps my shoulder as the door in front of us opens.
I stumble into the car as the line behind me surges forward. Dazed, I find a seat near the window. Looking out I finger the paper in my pocket. Heaven or hell? Really? Although, it was as good an explanation as any.
As the people behind me board I look out the window to watch the station employee. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ticket. Tongue between his teeth he looks from the ticket, to the train and back to the ticket. Shaking his head he turns away, helping the last few stragglers get on. As the doors shut and the train starts inching off, he's the only one left on the platform. He waves cheerfully as the train pulls out.
| 2016-08-14T08:59:41 | 2016-08-14T08:04:54 | 3,433 | 22 |
[WP] You live in a world where everyone is able to develop super powers. Your super power is that for as long as you are alive, no one else’s powers are active. Everyone is aware that someone’s power is inhibiting everyone else’s. No one knows who it is, but you. Everyone is trying to hunt you down. | “Hey cripple, how’s that power of nothingness going for you?” Dean Thompson yelled out.
They all laughed. I was sitting up on the empty bleachers reading a book as he and the rest of the football team walked from the field after evening practice. I’m not actually physically disabled by the way, it’s just what jocks call anyone whose struggling at the W.D. Institute of Superior Learning, especially students like me who have yet to develop a superpower.
My parents sent me here because it’s supposedly the best superpower school in the country, but I hate it. The school claims that all students are expected to have identified several superpowers of interest within their first year, and by the second year they should be totally dedicated to developing a power they wish to possess throughout their life. It's a high achieving institution and students are expected to go on to big things after they graduate.
I’m half way through my second year and still haven’t found my power. I just don't know what I want to do. Everyone seems so confident about themselves but I can't escape the sense that I'm not good enough for a superpower. I can't shake the fear that I'll never be good enough for whatever power I choose and I won't be able to exploit it like I'm meant to.
Everyone at school knows I’m the chief dropkick and people like Dean Thompson aren’t shy about letting me know. Some whisper as I walk down the corridors, others laugh.
The only escape I have is the restricted section at the old library. For the last few months I’ve been sneaking in at night and reading about the advanced and unusual powers that have been long since forbidden. I’ve read dozens of books about DNA manipulation, alleged immortality, mind control, along with a couple featuring fat red R18 stickers all over the covers.
I’d almost read through the entire section when I came across the most peculiar book yet. It was almost as if it had been purposefully hidden behind the two most boring sounding books in the whole library; *Unsuitable Powers of Persuasion* and *Kryptonite – Why it works.*
The peculiar book was titled *The Holy Grail* and outlined an ultimate power that has existed for millennia. It said that for most of human history, a single person has held a superpower so powerful that other superpowers cease to exist. Indeed the book explained that this was the superpower. It went on to say that for generations this power had been carefully passed on, leading to the eventual extinction of superpowers other than in the stories we used to tell. Then something unexplained happened and the super powered floodgates opened.
I was gripped. I read the whole book in a single night and by this morning I was brushing up on the incantation to give myself the power. It turns out that because this superpower can only be held by a single person, it’s actually relatively easy to learn. As I worked through the words, I was sure this was my answer, that this was the only way my life would ever improve.
I looked up from the incantation and gazed at the green turf glowing under the floodlights, *But how did this book avoid getting burnt during the Great Bonfire of Enlightenment? Who saved it and why?*
I noticed movement in the distance. Another second year student named Michelle was sprinting around the track, jumping high above evenly spaced hurdles as she ran. I chuckled as I thought about her choice of power.
I looked down again and scanned over the words one more time. Then I took a deep breath and muttered them under my breath.
Michelle, who had just landed from a 10 foot jump over a hurdle, crashed straight into the next one. As I watched, she slowly stood up and looked around, then tried a standing jump. Her jump was pathetic and she knew it. She tried again, then again and again. Even from this distance I could sense the panic rising within her.
I felt a shiver go down my spine as I looked at the book. It worked. I tucked it into my bag then headed down the benches.
Just as I was closing the gate, Dean Thompson and another jock called Robbie Jackson came running from the tunnel towards me. Dean was still zipping up his fly.
“You missed it but the TV said someone had activated a forbidden power or something,” Robbie said to Dean, “they didn't give details but they reckon it’s gotta be someone with a massive arsenal of traditional firepower so they’re asking everyone to keep an eye out.”
My phone started wailing. Their phones did too. It was an emergency alert.
I looked down and read, “*Remain calm and be vigilant. All citizens are asked to join in the global hunt for an unknown person suspected of temporarily blocking superpowers. Further information to follow.”*
Dean and Robbie looked up and saw me.
“Hey numbnuts, least you don’t have to worry huh? Nothing for you to lose!" Dean said with a scoff.
I shrugged and said nothing.
"Come on, let’s search the mall first,” Dean said to Robbie as they started running onto the field. | Normal.
The media was slow to notice. The world was changing, nobody seemed able to admit it.
Ayo first realised something was wrong when he was woken up by the cars. Thousands more of them than normal; roaring, spluttering along, carrying confused travellers unaccustomed to following the laws of physics.
The news began calling it the event, and it's listeners swiftly followed suit. Ayo, quietly, thought to himself that the moniker was ridiculous. It was more than that. This was *monumental*. He turned on the radio once more: “..the world as we knew it has ended. Humans have lost their God given talents, we are once again normal. What we do now will define us.”
For years he had waited for his abilities to manifest, and they never did. Outwardly he remained jovial, calm, even relieved to be different. However, alone he wept. Living in a world filled with extraordinary individuals-fliers, telepaths, you name it-left him excluded.
At 25 humans were said to be fully developed, their abilities fully manifested. Ayo waited patiently. While his mother was fast, his cousins read minds, his father was absent; he never knew what to expect, but being sheepish in nature and diminutive in stature he looked forward to standing out amongst his peers.
In university and indeed school there were some early bloomers, but he wasn't alone. He remained bullish. His partner Femi, was strong: able to lift cars and even one night, (to Ayo's delight) a boulder at will. Far from feeling emasculated, Ayo revelled her power, dreaming of one day perhaps soaring through the sky hand in hand. Together.
It didn't last.
She couldn't reconcile her strength with his feebleness. Going as far as to say the longer she shared his bed, the weaker she became. At 27 Ayo gave up hope. Accepting his lot as one of the unlucky few. He found a mediocre job, rented a mediocre flat, ate mediocre food and merely existed.
Until now. In a land of fallen heroes, for once, he found himself standing tall. | 2019-10-05T04:19:51 | 2019-10-05T03:21:37 | 762 | 142 |
[WP] Voyager 1 has unexpectedly returned to Earth. It was found at Cape Canaveral, with a note written in a strange, unknown language attached to it. Scientists have translated that note and have called a press conference to reveal their findings. | John sat in front of the TV watching as the press conference started. The woman’s eyebrows scrunched as she pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the podium. She turned her gaze to the camera, and said “I will now read the message. It says: ***Our world is being attacked, please help us.*** That’s all it says. There are still a lot of questions that need to be answered, including the most important of who and where this note came from. We are working hard to figure out the answers to these questions, and will update you when we know more. Thank you” Every reporter tried shouting questions to her as she finished her announcement and walked away from the podium.
John sat back in his chair, put his hands through his hair and looked at his phone. Just then his phone rang and he quickly picked it up. The woman on the phone said "You were right."
John replied “I’ll be at Cape Canaveral tomorrow morning.”
- - -
John drove towards the command center with his cheeks pushing up from the large grin on his face. As a theoretical physicist who had also been on numerous 'history channel’ tv shows to promote interstellar wars, he was pleased that his work was finally going to be respected in the scientific community.
He opened the door to see the woman from the press conference yelling at a man in a white lab coat saying “Because, part of John’s theories on interstellar war included species recruiting ally’s from other galaxies—” she stopped and looked over at the door and said “Oh hello, John.”
“Hi Susan” said John.
John and Susan sat down at a table and a few other people in lab coats joined them. They asked a lot of questions about interstellar space travel, and about John’s theory on using wormholes to send messages to other galaxies. He explained to them the math equation that he had written to prove that it was possible to make wormholes.
“And why haven’t you been able to test your theory then?” Said one of the men.
“It’s difficult to come by weapons grade plutonium now-a-days, and the government isn’t too keen on sponsoring experiments by ‘nut jobs’.”
“Alright” said Susan. “If we get you the plutonium, can you work on making this wormhole?”
“Of course” replied John. “But I will need a few things. A team of five. And I also want to see the note.”
“Done and done” replied Susan. “We will put the team together for you after you give us the requirements”
Susan then pulled out case from under the table and took out a piece of paper. She set the paper in front of John and said “there it is.” John’s eyebrows raised, he was surprised to see the message on a piece of paper.
“What did you expect?” one of the men said “the message to be on intergalactic plasma silk?”
John grabbed the paper lightly from the edges and put his arms out and read it. He then said, “What does it say again?”
Susan pulled out a note from her pocket and said “here is the english translation.” John looked at the translated note and read it. ***We world is being destroyed, please help us.*** John raised his left brow in confusion and said “I thought you said something different in the press conference?”
“I did” said Susan, this was a rough translation and we cleaned it up to make sense in english terms. The grammar was difficult, it had a lot of rules that were similar to German, Mandarin Chinese, Russian and English.
“So you’re saying you guys aren’t one hundred percent sure what it said, and you still made the public announcement?” asked John.
“We have an understanding of the concept, it’s just the grammar and sentence structure that could be off” replied Susan. “We aren’t worried abou—“
She was cut off as another woman walked through the door and said “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have to look at this?”
“What is it?” replied Susan.
“It’s the message, ma’m” the woman responded. “We ran more tests through the software and got a slightly varied message. We then used that message to refine grammar and structure and got a second corrected version. We then just ran a final test and got a one hundred percent match of grammar and structure on the program.”
John sat down at the table with Susan and the other scientists as the woman was talking. Everyone at the table sat up straight in anticipation and Susan said, “Well what is the message?” The girl took out a piece of paper that had the messages on it, the first two words that were eighty and ninety percent matches were crossed out, and the final word that was a one hundred percent match was all that remained. John read it:
~~***We are being destroyed the world, please help us.***~~
~~***We are destroying the world, please help us.***~~
***We are destroying the Earth, please stop us.***
- - -
*Thanks for reading.* | Today was the day. I'd been milling over the results for weeks now; we hadn't been allowed to come forward sooner. How would people react? Would there be mass hysteria? I wasn't sure if I could handle the consequences, but the people had the right to know.
"Dr Samantha Clairmont will now announce the findings." the man said curtly.
It was my turn.
Stepping up to the little podium, I straightened my dress one last time and turned toward the 50 odd reporters. Pictures were taken along with many cameras and microphones pointed at me. Clearing my throat one last time, I opened my mouth to change the lives of so many.
"Today, I'd like to share the translation of the note found in Cape Canaveral, along with the remains of Voyager 1." I began hesitantly. The pressure almost got to be too much. Why did I have to do this again? I was a scientist, not the public face of some company.
"I will keep this short and simple," I continued. "The translation of the note will now be shown on the screen."
As the screen showed the result, gasps ran through the crowd as well as a manly scream. For ten whole seconds, it remained silent. The seconds seemed to last forever. And then it blew up.
Everyone started talking at once, though - as reporters - they were probably trained to remain silent during press conferences unless it was to ask a question. Yet no one could keep silent now. Everyone was shocked.
Once more I sought to understand, so I turned around towards the screen to read it again myself.
GREETINGS. WE ARE MANY, AND WE ARE LOST. WE HEARD OF YOUR PLANET. THE PROPHECY WILL BRING US TO YOU. WE ARE COMING.
"They are coming," I whispered, my voice magnified by the microphone clipped to my shirt. This was a once in a lifetime discovery, but would there be a life after this lifetime? Would we all die when they came? What will happen to mankind? Questions kept running through my mind as I took my bottle of water, turned around, and walked away. | 2016-11-27T09:28:52 | 2016-11-27T09:15:46 | 49 | 13 |
[WP] Each morning, every human on Earth must pray their Reasons for not dying that day to the God of Death. If the Reasons are sufficient, that person will go on living, potentially forever. However, you are the longest living human by far, and people now hunt you in order to hear your Reasons. | I woke up with my arms tied behind my back and my body restrained to an old, rickety wooden chair. The smell of wet moss penetrated my nostrils.
"Hey, Vince! He's waking up!"
Kidnapped again. It was becoming less of a nuisance and more of a minor inconvenience these past few years.
"What the hell do you two idiots want?" I said.
A fire crackled in the background. Our shadows danced against the walls. We were in... a cave? A bit dramatic, if you ask me.
"Dave, tell us your Reasons. We know how old you are, we know all about-"
"460 years old. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know how old I am. I've been through this whole spiel more more times than years you've been alive. You think you're the first ones? Ha."
"Punch him Vinnie," Vince said. Vinnie connected his fist with my left eye. It hurt, but only a little more than last time I had gotten punched there. Why are punches the always first resort? They'd probably get more mileage pulling molars or pouring acid on my my face.
"Vince and Vinnie. Is this a joke? Am I on the set of some shitty Italian mobster movie?" I quipped. I gathered up some mucus and with a strong "ptui" I launched the coagulated, pale yellow ball into Vince's eye. He reeled back in pain, furiously trying to wipe the goop away.
Vinnie was livid.
"If you don't tell us what your morning prayers are to that prick Death, we'll just leave you here. No one knows this cave exists. No one except us. No one will hear you scream and you'll just be alive down here forever. The rats will naw at your toes and you'll scream, but you won't be able to die. Unless, of course, you choose to. How's that sound?"
Vinnie was smiling, and he seemed so full of himself. I almost burst out into laughter.
"You really want to know my Reasons?"
Vince stopped his eye rubbing. The key to immortality was far more important than his vision.
"I don't have any Reasons. I haven't prayed for over 400 years. I wake up every afternoon at half past two so I miss morning prayer. That's my secret!"
And then Vinnie punched me again, in the right eye this time.
"This was a waste of time. Let's just leave him here," Vince told Vinnie.
I laughed. "I didn't want to have to do this, but here we go."
This was a rare occasion. If I didn't call on Death himself, I would actually just be trapped in this cave forever.
"Death!" I screamed. "Come down here right now or I'll off myself right now! I swear I'll do it!"
"The fuck are you doing?" Vince asked impatiently.
"Death! I know you're listening you asshole, come down here or I'll bite my tongue off and just die right here!"
There was a deafening snapping sound and blinding light. The next thing we saw was a pale skinned figure with wet brown hair, donning a white robe and flip flops. The word "Death" was emblazoned in gold on the left chest pocket of his robe. What a narcissist.
"Jesus Christ, Dave, what do you want?" the figure asked.
"Well I'm kind of trapped here, could you let me out?"
Death snapped and the ropes fell loose. "You interrupted my shower for this? Damn it, Dave, this is why I sent you back, you annoying piece of shit."
Death turned to Vince and Vinnie. "What are you two looking at?"
After a moment of shock, Vince responded. "Why the hell does Dave get special treatment? Every morning we pray to you not to kill us, because no one will feed our wives and kids. Some days we don't even feel like living anymore, but who's gonna take care of the family? Yet, Dave doesn't even go to morning prayer and you come to save him?"
Death laughed dryly, "Dave died a long time ago. He's the only one I ever sent back to the land of the living. A mere hour of being with him and I wanted to Kurt Cobain myself. But I can't, because I'm the motherfucking god of death."
"If you're a god, why didn't you just send him away? To the depths of the underworld? All-powerful my ass." Vince asked.
"Why? Because my fucking niece fell in love with him! It was a match made in hell. And the wedding, oh man, don't even get me started on the wedding! You know, my sister's still mad for sending Dave back, even after 400 fucking years!"
Death was oozing with frustration just remembering about our wedding, and I was relishing in it.
Finally, Vince had enough and burst out in fury. "You know, I don't know why we pray to you. You're not a god! You're just some fat fuck in a robe! Fuck y-"
And before Vince finished, God snapped and both my kidnappers dropped dead.
"Thanks, Death," I said, grinning tauntingly.
Death cracked a sarcastic smile back.
"Fuck you, Dave."
Death's bare foot connected with my groin, and before I knew it, I was writhing on the damp cavern floor, clutching my manhood.
And with another deafening snap, he was gone. | *Dear Merciful One, I beg of you to grant me one more day under your watchful benevolence for I am... I need to... I must go to work in order to recieve a salary so that my family doesn't starve...*
An old excuse, but one I hadn't used in a while. I feel a trickle of sweat drop down my brow, but I feel that familiar tremor after the judgement has passed and breathe a little better. Another day.
I'm 52 years old. When I was a younger I barely had to think about all the things I wanted to live for: girls, sports, learning new things, new experiences, getting to see the future, etc. It was easy back then, but now that I'd done all those things I'd reached that turning point in my life where there were fewer and fewer things to look forward to.
And yet I must live, or my family of seven will starve. A valid excuse, but a boring one, and if there's one thing the Merciful One cannot stand it's repetition.
Today I see the man. The oldest man who has ever lived. He is 219 years old. He lives alone in the top floor of a private hospital where he is attended to day and night by a fleet of doctors and nurses. Many seek his counsel on the topic of longevity, but all who have spoken with him so far have left disappointed.
How can such a man not want to share his knowledge with the world, so that all can reap the benefits of long life? I am angry, but I mask it well as I enter the hospital. It is very hard to get an appointment with him, and I should count myself lucky that I get one at all. It is said that he has not spoken to anyone in twelve years.
When the elevator doors opened I smelled his husk, and the dry rattling of his breath from the otherside of the corridoor. I followed the dispassionate nurse who led me to his bed, and I saw what looked like a withered child contemplating the agony of his existence.
He took notice of me in a detached kind of way, and closing his eyes, resigned himself to a conversation. "Assk...." he whispered.
I cleared my throat, and keeping my tone even and neutral asked the question that so many before me had asked: "How do you do it? What reason do you give to the Merciful One above that lets him grant you such a long life?"
His eyes remained shut, and for a moment I thought he'd fallen asleep, or worse. Then suddenly he choked and coughed, a faint spittle of blood decorating his gown in a manner that seemed to suggest that it was not his first time.
Drawing breath, the old man answered me, and the words said that day I would take to my grave:
"It makes him happy... to watch me suffer..." | 2016-07-05T20:59:14 | 2016-07-05T18:50:20 | 60 | 35 |
[WP] You're immortal, but the procedure that made you so also created an evil doppelgänger. After centuries of conflict, using any means necessary to subvert each other's plans, neither of you are sure which one of you is the evil one, or if either of you were ever supposed to be evil at all. | He performed the ceremony during his twentieth winter.
His people had spent generations building the raised circle of giant stone slabs; the names of those who started the project had faded even from myth before its completion. Visitors would regard the henge with awe, thinking the placement of the heavy stones to be the work of giants, or magic, or gods. Even thousands of years later, when men built buildings that touched the sky and lived like gods themselves, the ruins of the temple would be regarded with wonder.
The pillers holding up the circle were taller than four men. They were carefully aligned with the setting sun of winter's longest night, and the rising sun of summer's longest day. The centers of life and death. Immortality could be achieved by mastering both.
Of his people, only a few volunteered to undertake the journey through history, as it would mean being permanently exiled. Immortality was release not only from the bonds of life and death, but also from the ties to the people. An eternity alone.
Alone, but not solitary.
The volunteers drew lots. The traveller was selected.
One man walked into the stone circle leading two sheep. Two men walked out. The hands of one held a lamb, those of the other were covered in blood. They regarded each other with contempt. Each claimed to be the man who walked in, though each remembered a very different ceremony. They departed the island, and then departed from the company of each other.
The man who had held a lamb went south. He crossed a sea and a desert, seeking the birthplace of humanity. From each tribe he began to learn the healing arts. He was called by many titles: shaman, healer, doctor. Eventually, he headed North again. Occasionally he passed into history under many different names, but mostly he preferred obscurity, healing the suffering of people who would also be forgotten.
The other headed east, out onto the steppe. He became a great hunter, first of animals, but eventually of men. He was not called by any titles, and avoided the gaze of history altogether. His acts went unrecorded, but their consequences did not.
A thousand years passed. The world grew smaller, until eventually news of one man began to reach the other. Neither was known to ordinary people, but with centuries of age each began to recognize the ripples created by the acts of the other. The healer of men regarded the hunter as evil. The hunter regarded the healer as weak. Even after ten centuries of life, neither had lost the certainty of youth.
Another thousand years passed. As they entered their third millennium of life, the hunter experienced has first seeds of doubt, for the healer began to demonstrate a new kind of strength. His ripples turned into waves, sweeping away the very gods of entire nations. He began to acquire new names: Buddha, Christ, Muhammad. Some men refrained entirely from killing each other in reverence to these names, others killed even more enthusiasticly.
It was another thousand years before the healer experienced his own seeds of doubt. Stories drifted west of an unstoppable Khan sweeping out of the steppes, putting entire cities to the sword. He was only stopped, not by any army, but by death itself. A random accident to mortal observers, but one that bore clear signs of intent to a more patient observer. It seemed that sometimes, killing could be its own kind of healing.
It was not until their fourth millennium of life that the two men finally embraced. The hunter had recognized a lynchpin, and quietly arranged for the assassination of an Archduke. In the decade that followed, even he finally had has fill of violence.
During that same period, the healer wandered unrecognized through barbed wire and trenches, treating wounds. He saved many lives. Among them, a young German soldier; a failed artist but a charismatic speaker. The decades that followed that act finally taught him humility.
Men became gods. They built monuments that touched the sky, and weapons that could destroy cities in a brief flash of light. They increased in number and power, straining the capacity of the land and sea.
The immortals returned to their temple, now bearing titles like "taxi driver" and "tour guide", quietly amused at throngs of men-become-gods that nonetheless still marveled at their temple; wondering at its purpose.
They discussed the problems of the world with each other, but were now reluctant to shape it. They saw humanity increase without bound, giving life to billions of its kind, and threatening all with death as a result.
Now they wait for an opportunity. Neither is willing to bestow life or death indiscriminately. Instead they watch, each now hoping that mortals will slowly learn the same lessons that they only acquired by immortality. Each understands that if humanity fails, both life and death may cease on Earth.
Only one of them is optimistic. | Hello my friend, we meet again.
Friends we're not, you dare pretend?
Have we not known each other well?
It's your smug tone that I shall quell.
Smug? Not I, believe me I pray.
Ha! You think it is the end of days?
No dear me, just hear me out!
What is all this you're on about?
It's this charade, I can't partake.
Charade? You fool, the world's at stake!
We have been at it for centuries.
And I will win, one day you'll see.
You see an end to this old fight?
If not then why would I play knight?
Have you not, like I, grown weary?
I dare say, the routine is dreary.
Aha! You see, it's lost its splendor.
But you were, once, a fierce contender.
It's the routine, you see, I no longer care.
What then have we? I ask, I dare.
We can agree, a new game, new rules.
I will not be made your fool!
If you agree, we split the earth.
I take south and you take north.
Aha that's right! We each take half.
And from there comes what, may I ask?
We fight to recruit, to summon souls.
It's dark, I'm intrigued by this goal.
We each shall play, to lure them close.
Well then you shall win, you're so verbose.
We each have tools at our dispense.
They will be helpless, without defense.
This is the game, if you accept?
I'll play this game, become adept.
Then here we are, a new cease fire!
A new triumph, I will aspire.
After time, we will count, take toll.
Then, alas! The victor we shall know.
And from there, eternity.
A new game we'll have, I'm sure, we'll see.
| 2016-11-29T10:12:13 | 2016-11-29T06:05:19 | 445 | 142 |
[WP] Katy t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m, looks back over what she wrote ten years later
Here is the original copy pasta
hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!
DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!
love and waffles,
t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m | Katy carefully balanced the tablet on her stomach while opening a fresh beer bottle. Work had been particularly trying today. Lying back on the sofa she prepared to loose herself in pictures of wise cats with bad grammar and other people's problems...but then *it* got linked again. God damnit, does the Internet never forget? Rather than scrolling on, she surprised herself by scanning the lines. A chuckle escaped her. *Ah, those had been the days!* Then a line jumped out at her:
i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it)
*Oh god.* It felt like someone had hit her. "My girlfriend" she said out loud. Memories flooded her mind, returned with long lost sensations: smells, sounds, as if she was back there. Shy kisses behind the massive bins in the corner of the playground. Holding hands under the table. Letters written by torchlight under covers. Internet searches with bright red face, jumping at every sound, trying to figure out how girls could even do *it*. That infamous IT all had been talking about. Washing her naked back in the shower... Katy grinned involuntary, the red blush from back then returning to her cheeks.
But then HE had come and all had been different. Suddenly there had been no more kisses, no more exploring hands. Just what HE might like. When Katy couldn't bear it anymore she had asked; quietly had put into words what never had been dared to be said before: "But...but what about us?"
Large, unbelieving eyes and...was that, was that disgust? Carefully concealed, but plain to her who knew this face, this gorgeous face so well. "Oh come on!" That voice. The voice she had thought could never hurt her booming in her mind, saying those words. "We will stay spend time together. I mean having a boyfriend shouldn't take aaaall my time." Then, as if sensing that that was not enough the voice added. "Also means we can stop practicing. I mean then I can just tell you what he and I do for when you have a boyfriend" The nausea. Rising now as it did then. "What are you looking at me so weird for....your not a lesbian are you?" "N-no.." Loud she added: "I am bisexual if you don't like it, deal with it" Not that she had said that. She had just forced a smile and changed the subject. Always.
At university she had been informed early on that bisexuals are actually just girls making out to get attention. Drunk girls who'd take a guy home after only just meeting him. She didn't want to be like that. Indeed from the tone of her new friends no one should be like that. But then she wasn't practicing or gaining attention for the "main event". This first romance had *been* her main event. *Yes, had been. In another life.* She turned off the tablet and shoved it away. It slid over the table and only narrowly escaped a further plunge. "Also" she informed the ceiling lamp angrily "I'm going to become a teacher. You can't be bisexual and a teacher. You can barely be straight and a teacher in some places"
(im bi if u dont like it deal w/it)
deal w/it
With a renewed feeling of nausea she realised that t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m with her bad spelling and "randomness" would be ashamed of her. She would shout at the older women that she was being stupid and then dance through the room flapping a scarf as wings. "Just do it. No one cares!" she would have advised. May be Katy, the predictable, should learn a bit from that. May be she should "randomly" check if the LGBT society had any events coming up...
| It is October 12, 2006, and I am 13 years old. I am sitting before my family's computer. The room around me is cool and silent. I close my eyes and listen to my thoughts; I feel alone. I open my eyes to refocus on the screen, and suddenly I am no longer alone. I am with those who love what I love, those who understand the solitude at school, those who are as random as I am. I am t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m.
It is October 11, 2016. I am 23 years old, and I am telling my husband that we are going to be parents. Now my husband is crying. Perhaps it is strange that I do not join him. Somehow, I am calm. My life is a winding chain of serendipitous happenings--the car accident where I meet this man before me, the sick day I take as our office burns down. I am not surprised that I am pregnant today. After all, my life has always been random. | 2014-11-19T10:38:12 | 2014-11-19T10:15:47 | 64 | 10 |
[WP] The other hero's don't understand your power. They just think you're stupidly lucky with everything. But they don't know that your true power is timing. Not the power to control time, but the power of perfect timing, everything around you, that you're involved in, happens at the perfect time. | The day I discovered my "super-power", if that's what you want to call it, had been the strangest day of my life. I don't think I can accurately explain how these events occurred, but I'll do my best.
It was about two years ago now, and I was headed to work just like any other day. I always considered myself a fairly regimented guy in the way that I had a few routines I went through to get myself out of bed and get ready in the morning. Brush my teeth, wash my hands, put my contact lenses in, wash my hands again. Things like that I did the same way every morning before getting in my car and driving straight to work.
But on one particular morning, and at the time I could not have told you why, I had gotten the urge to stop at the Quik-Store by the gas station on my way. I didn't want to get anything to eat, I wasn't hungry. I hadn't needed anything to drink, I wasn't thirsty. I just wanted to go in for whatever reason. So I parked my car, walked in and started browsing around the aisles.
I hadn't even picked anything out before I decided to leave and I was still wondering why I had gone inside in the first place. On my way out, I watched as a large man strolled into the store wearing a green jacket and began shouting at the cashier. I realized he was asking, or rather demanding that the cashier unload the cash register into a bag he was holding out.
At this point I really just wanted to go to work, so without taking my eyes off of the holdup going on in front of me, I slowly started to shuffle sideways out the door. My attention to the assumed robbery caused me to miss the display stand at the end of the aisle which I promptly and clumsily tripped over.
I fell forwards towards the counter and unfortunately towards the assailant as well. I reached my hand out in an effort to break my fall. I hadn't hit the floor yet, but I felt the back of my hand impact something hard, almost metallic.
The gun that the jacketed man had been holding flew out of his hand and landed behind the counter where the cashier then picked it up and turned it around on the man who quickly raised his hands in the air.
I looked up from the ground. The cashier was smiling down at me now that she was in control of the situation. I was scared to death and ran out of there. Crazy, right? That wasn't even the weirdest part of that day.
I continued in to work still frazzled from my experience at the Quik-Store. At the time I worked at a stone quarry. That's right. My job was to literally drive rocks out of a big hole in the ground. I arrived at the quarry and carried on towards the parking lot where the paved road turned into more of a dirt path. I decided park on the right side of the lot that day, and again, I couldn't tell you why since I ALWAYS parked on the left. I diverted my route off to the right in search of a parking spot.
All of a sudden a car entered into my field of vision from the left. It just so happened to be my boss' car. I glanced into his windshield. He was asleep at the wheel. Not only that, but he was hurtling towards the edge of the quarry and believe me, the first step is a doozy. Not only that, but we were on a collision course! I couldn't react in time. I tried to slam on the brakes, but my foot completely missed the pedal. I screamed and put my hands up in front of my face. I felt the impact of his front bumper crashing into the front left wheel-well of my own car.
The force of the impact caused the front ends of our vehicles to become entangled. Because of this, the momentum of both of our cars canceled out as we skidded to a halt just inches form the edge of the cliff. The cars were destroyed, but no one was hurt. Insane, I know.
So now I've learned to always trust my gut. If I have some strange feeling or urge I follow it blindly. I've been doing that for almost two years now. I haven't gotten hurt once and if my numbers are correct, I've put a stop to 94 store-robberies (including 17 banks), saved 312 people from certain death due to random events, I think I've stopped about 103 muggings, and uncovered 2 undercover plots which I can't really talk about.
I still have no idea how or why these things happen to me, but I guess I can just chalk it up to good timing? | You don't have much to complain about in life when your life is perfect. Perfect to the point that I arrived on time for your wife's third cousin's daughter's second birthday in New Mexico after stopping a guy who almost shot an automatic gun inside a bar in New York. Sometimes I compare my battles to those of Superman's, how he leaves so much devastation behind, or Batman's which usually end up in the fire from frying pan. My battles are clean. It's always a single punch or a kick or a mere stomping of my feet to scare the muggers on alleys that save the citizens of United States.
I come back to my home never tired, always ready to tuck my boys to sleep, wrap my wife around me, and dive into deep slumber. *Beep* *Beep* *Beep* The security alarm wakes me up. I hear thomping sounds proceeding towards our kids' room. I ran towards the sound. As I opened the door, I paused. I did not speak. I was on time. Perfectly, on time to witness the death of my two kids.
This superpower is useless. As I knelt down before "Necrisia" ,the hitman of the underworld, he sprinted towards me with his pointy horns. My hands involuntarily stopped him, broke his horns and stabbed his chest with them. I walked towards my boys bleeding out of their mouths. My elder son coughs and says, "Daddy, whatever happens, you are my hero." I sob in front of my dying kid holding the hands of my dead little one. My wife is downstairs sleeping. Her sleeping pills would take more than a thomp on the ceiling to wear off. It was perfect, life. It was perfect, the timing, but fate wasn't. | 2017-10-13T08:46:22 | 2017-10-13T07:31:13 | 122 | 72 |
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives. | "So, as I was saying, my dear, old friend, or might I even say, my '*dearest, oldest*' friend, ha ha h--nj-hhhh-zz-ggggghhhh-nj-hhhhzz ..."
Ambassador Brigel was caught in a fit of coughing and it was hard to not roll my eyes at this pathetic creature. I pretended to be concerned and patted him, very reluctantly, on his back, careful not to come too close to any of his twitching back holes which were wisely not covered up by the special pressure suit we had designed for his species. Jerry, from behind the bullet-proof glass which separated this interrogation cell from the recording room must have noticed the disgust on my face and gave me a thumbs-up delivered in company with one of his patented shit-eating grins.
A child of a different era would've been amazed at my job description, but to my mother-in-law I suppose I'll always remain the "The Least Successful Snake Oil Merchant of Earth", God bless her soul. I was basically Earth's figurehead, situated in a deep-space research station 39 ly away from home, the farthest sector we had ever reached, which was formerly operated only by robots. It was all peace and quiet until twenty-two years ago when we made first contact, after which we had rushed to convert it into Earth's preliminarily only official embassy. To make place for a venue where we could welcome those strange starfarers in for a cup of tea and a mutual evaluation of the interests and cultures of our people. It was kind of saddening to know that that strange, unshapely molluscoid being in front of me, which was convulsing with spasms of coughing and exuded the faint scent of rotten vegetables, might have been a youngster when my great-great-grandfather was still shitting his diaper on Mars. He finally seemed to regain his composure, though ...
"Why don't we sit down, Ambassador?", I suggested and proceeded to make a waving gesture with my left hand towards the ensemble of cheap-looking, colorful chintz sofas and reclining chairs we had arranged for such an occasion (my right hand was still patting his back, hopefully I wasn't contracting any sort of weird disease right now).
"M-marvelous idea, y-you young whippersnapper!" I glanced over to the recording room after being surprised at this weird choice of words from the translating software and noticed that Jerry had positively lost his shit ...
"I do feel a bit fatigued from wearing this suit all day, I hope to return to my spaceship soon, you know?"
So did I. God, I hated this job.
"So where were we, Ambassador? You know, about what we were discussing before, the matter of allowing our ships from Earth to travel through your borders and ..."
"Your SHIPS? In Ambsh'gug territory? I, I must object!" It was basically the same song and dance every time we invited one of these clowns over ...
"Ambassador, do you have any idea where we are, right now? I mean, are you aware of the exact whereabouts of this space station where we are located at this very moment of time?", trying my best to keep my voice devoid of any anger or impertinence. We both looked out of the curved window which gave away to a splendid overview of Gash'brun complete with its surrounding orbital stations, asteroid mines and satellites, not unlike Earth but smaller and somehow "murkier", the sickly womb which gave birth to these overgrown slugs in the mist of time; it was basically looking at a man with his pants down, and my conversational partner made no secret whatsoever of his amazement.
"When, when ... DID you?", he sputtered, visibly disturbed at this unreal sight. To them, the purple skies of Ambsh'gug had always looked the same, our building crews and freighter chains never making them go: "Huh? I wonder what that's all about?", and since none of their species showed even the slightest interest in astronomy, one light in the night sky more or less was safe from ever garnering any untimely attraction.
This world is as good as ours, I thought gleefully and cleared my throat. | They live and die in an instant; in one moment of my sense, one flash of pain or fill of my belly. Before I have even finished drawing but one breath, an entire generation has lived and died, flourished and withered to dust.
Humanity is but a flick of my eyes on the scale of our world.
They are not unlike the creatures they scathe; scurrying about trying to find and fulfill purpose in their own eyes. They live to die, be it through war, or a slow, tedious process slaving away for some greater good.
Perhaps that is why they are so fierce- it is the star which burns the hottest that dies first.
I believe that all life in this universe has an equal force behind it. I have lived longer than I could possibly explain, but the star in me is dull and red. Not a single human will ever live long enough to experience tranquility or true wisdom, and yet, not a single one of us will ever cast light into the void of space with such fierceness and veracity.
Humanity burns quick, but for those fleeting moments, there is no blackness. There is no void.
And when one star has died, billions will take its place to remind the cosmos that it will never again know the comfort of dark.
----
*a little outside my comfort zone >.> something something /r/resonatingfury* | 2016-08-22T18:22:03 | 2016-08-22T18:04:04 | 386 | 226 |
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her. | I should have picked up on it sooner. But then, how could I have? What kid doesn't have an imaginary friend at some point?
Casey had "introduced" me to Stewie three weeks ago. She'd come running in from playing in the woods and and asked me for a cookie. When I got her one, she'd looked up expectantly at me.
"One for Stewie, too."
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Who's Stewie?" I asked.
Casey sighed dramatically, waving a hand at the empty space next to her. "He's right here, mom! I met him in the woods."
Hiding a laugh, I decided to play along. "Oh, well you didn't introduce me!" I crouched down, and smiled at the empty air. "It's very nice to meet you Stewie."
Casey erupted in a fit of giggling. "Mom," she said in between spurts of laughter, "You're talking to his butt."
I frowned at her, a little annoyed. "Ok, very funny Case." I gave her a second cookie and shooed her back outside.
The street we lived on was mostly retirees, so there weren't any children around Casey's age. At the time, I figured that as long as she was pretending, I wasn't going to be the one to spoil it. She could be a handful, and anything that would make her happy was worth it.
"Stewie" made a few appearances over the next few days, always when Casey was acting out. A lamp got broken while Casey was running around downstairs, Stewie was the one that had hit it. I caught Casey trying to sneak downstairs for extra dessert, and it she cried that it wasn't for her, it was for Stewie. She even tried to run away from school, because "Stewie wanted to play."
Of course, Stewie was always around when it came to sweets. Casey said they were the only thing he wanted to eat. After about a week, I was getting a little tired of "Stewie."
One night at dinner, I tried to reason with her. That was my first mistake. Reasoning with a six year old is like trying to stop the tide.
"Casey," I started, "Stewie's been spending a lot of time with us. Shouldn't he go home soon? I'm sure his parents are worried about him."
Her eyes fell. "He said he doesn't want to go home. They're mean to him. He likes it here.
"Case, don't you think this is getting a little old? I mean, with how you've been acting, I know there's something wrong." I sighed. "I just wish you'd tell me what."
Casey looked up at me, confused. "I just want Stewie to be happy," she said. "He was so sad when I found him, and now he's happy."
"Sweetheart," I started, "You can't keep avoiding things like this. I mean, you tried to bite a teacher."
"That was Stewie!" Casey protested. "He doesn't know any better!"
"Casey, enough." I felt my voice begin to rise, and I forced myself to stay calm. Yelling at my daughter wouldn't help anything. "I just want to understand what's going on with you."
"I told you!" she cried, "It's Stewie!"
As she said this, I saw a flash of something over her shoulder, just for a second. My blood went cold.
"Casey," I breathed, "Is Stewie a person?"
She glanced over her shoulder, towards where that... thing had been. Then she shook her head. "Not really." she said. "He has person parts though."
"Person... parts?" I struggled to keep the fear out of my voice. I can see a faint distortion in the air now, all around my daughter.
Casey waved her arms around over her head. "Lots and lots of arms." she giggled. "Sometimes he climbs around on the ceiling."
I steadied my nerves, breathing slowly. "Casey, why don't you run upstairs. If Stewie is going to keep staying with us, I want to make sure he knows the rules. Ok?"
Casey jumped out of her chair and ran up to me, hugging me tightly around the waist.
"Thanks Mommy. I promise he'll be good."
Then she ran out of the kitchen. I waited until I heard her door upstairs click shut before I stood and crossed my arms.
"Ok, show yourself. Whatever you are."
The distortion wavered for a second, before a solid shape came into view. I bit back a scream at the sight.
Long, gangly arms sprouted from a bulbous, centipede-like body. It was massive, twisted around behind where Casey had been sitting. The torso stretched upwards into a slender neck which twisted and coiled around itself like a snake.
Unblinking, reptilian eyes stared at me out of a birdlike face. Large horns curled out from its forehead, ending in cruel points. The creature opened its beaklike mouth, and I could see swirling rings of teeth inside, almost like a meat grinder. It's thin, barbed tongue shot out, scooping up the rest of Casey's dinner. It chewed slowly as it stared at me.
*I am glad to formally meet you, Amanda.*
A voice echoed in my head, deep and booming. It wormed its way into my mind, as if someone were pouring syrup over my brain. I shuddered.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
The creature twisted its head upside down, never breaking eye contact. *I have many names. Most of which are incomprehensible to your mortal mind. Formally, my name is--* the words were interrupted by a rapid series of snarls. Then the creature continued. *But your daughter has taken to calling me "Stewie." I am not sure why, but I have grown quite find of it.*
"Ok..." I said slowly. "And what exactly do you want with my daughter?"
The creature's body undulated in what might have been an approximation of a shrug. *She found me. She was kind to me.* The head twisted around to look in the direction of Casey's room. *She gave me a cookie in exchange for my friendship. Technically, that is a binding contract for my people.*
I frowned at this. "So, you just want to be friends with her?" The creature turned back to me and nodded slowly.
I sighed, feeling a migraine coming on. On the one hand, this thing was a literal demon. On the other hand, Casey didn't have many friends her own age. Even at school, her teachers had told me that she usually kept to herself.
Bracing myself, I spoke. "Ok, Stewie. If you're going to stay with my daughter, we're going to need to set some ground rules. Understand?"
Stewie smiled at me, its horrifying mouth stretching far wider than it should have been able to. *You wish to make a contract?*
I smiled wryly. "If cookies are legal tender with demons, sure." | _When I grow up, I want to be a monster catcher, just like my daddy._
He lowered the crayon drawing. Weariness crawled over his limbs, sinking into his muscles, his veins. His eyelids slid shut. The desk lamp glowed fiercely, burning his pupils anyhow.
_"And how many claws does Stewie have?"_
_"He doesn't have claws, Daddy."_
_"No claws?"_
_"No, Daddy. He's like the monster you caught at the grocery store."_
His eyes fluttered back open and locked with the screen of his desktop computer before him. Displayed there in brilliant blue pixels was the story: **SOUTHERN DEVILS CATCH VAGRANT SPIRIT IN SUBURBAN SUPERMARKET.**
It wasn't glorious work, but boy, did the papers make it out to seem that way. It was almost beginning to fool him. It definitely had his daughter fooled.
_"I want to be a hero, like you."_
_"Like me?"_
_"Like you, Daddy. Catchin' all the demons, and lockin' them up, and makin' sure they don't hurt anybody anymore."_
Before, when his own Pa had worked, their small family company had been mostly known by the locals around southern California. And then suddenly, there were spirits everywhere, and The Southern Devils and Co. had become one of the largest spirit pest control units in the northern hemisphere. Their holding stables had quadrupled in size. The staff on the ranch had ballooned. Equipment for quicker more precise round-ups had been added to their inventory. Together, they could locate, lure, trap, and herd a demon in under two hours.
It was tedious work, dangerous work. _But glorious, 'patriotic' work? Really?_ He scoffed at the article.
_"I wanna save all the people, just like you did."_
It pained him, to hear her say those things. Little Isabella. Beautiful Isabella. She had chosen ballet for her extra-curricular sport although she hadn't seemed as interested in the fluff and frills as the other seven-year-olds had. She was immersed in the ranch. Fair enough. She had grown up there: clinging to the back of the pick-ups as they pulled in another catch, hanging off the end of the corral fences and observing the spirits roam and pulse. She had grown up with dirt, dust, and demons. It wouldn't be fair for him to ask her to aspire to anything different.
_"So, I'm catching Stewie."_ She had been playing another game of pretend that afternoon, still dressed in her school clothes. She had a long stick, a replica of the staying-gun he himself carried when on call. _"And Stewie is a bad, bad demon."_
She had been running around the yard, throwing herself off the porch, yelling instructions to the dogs, sprinting off to the nearby barn, where some of the real, major demons were housed. He couldn't deny her natural talent. She was comfortable around the creatures. She didn't baulk or hesitate as some new trainees did. She could read their writhing bodies, handle their spontaneous bursts of energy and twitching movements.
_"What about working in the city?"_ He would gently remind her. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, implore her to be something different, play a different imaginary game. _Don't you understand? This profession took your mother. I'm only trying to save you._ But she only blinked endearingly at him. Her small hand would pat his arm.
_"Daddy, I don't want to work in the city anymore. I want to stay out here, on the ranch, with you, and catch monsters."_
He watched her play round-up with the imaginary "Stewie". Inside, he had grieved.
And now, staring down at this crayon drawing in his untidy, cramped little office, he felt as if his heart was breaking. The picture was simple: him, her, and both of them sporting lasso-guns, pointed at a horrible, sprawling mass of black and purple crayon lines. And a third figure, standing behind the dark cloud, drawn with light, almost sceptical colours. A scrawled name and an arrow: MOMMY.
_"I will save all the Mommies in the world, Daddy. Just like the ones you saved at the supermarket. I will do it, Daddy. I will be just like you."_ | 2022-06-01T12:14:28 | 2022-06-01T11:57:33 | 36 | 25 |
[WP] An imaginary friend can't stand the child to whom he/she/it has been assigned. | "Fuck you, Ma."
Her lips pressed together, so hard they turned white. Gerry Salamander was grinning at me, green thumbs raised high. His t-shirt said, "GOOD WORK!"
"You need to *go*. To your *room*. *Now.* And when I am ready to talk to you, you need to have thought about what you're going to say to me."
I padded barefoot up the hall, wood cool under my toes. Gerry Salamander glided smoothly along the wall beside me. His t-shirt now said, "FUCK HER!"
I'm a big kid now. I know all the swear words. I'm also big enough to know that Gerry likes it when I get in trouble. He likes it when Mom is mad at me. I'm pretty sure Gerry Salamander doesn't like me.
I kind of figured it out when I was four. Gerry Salamander has been here as long as I can remember, my whole life maybe, and he always smiles a big wide smile with lots and lots and *lots* of teeth, way more than most people.
He's kind of a person. But only I can see him. And he has green skin. And purple hair that looks kind of like a Lego figurine's hair. I don't know.
Anyway, when I was four I was playing with my PSP on my bed. Gerry Salamander came out from under my bed and picked up my remote-control car. He gave me a big smile and then he threw my car so hard at the wall that it smashed.
His t-shirt said, "FUNNY, HUH?"
I didn't think it was funny. I really liked that car. And Mom took my PSP away. When Dad came home he spanked me. Gerry Salamander watched. He was smiling.
That's when I knew he didn't like me.
I don't like him much, either. When I was a little kid I tried telling my parents about him, but the first time they just laughed and told their grown-up friends how I had an imaginary friend. And then their friends laughed too, and ruffled up my hair and told me how funny I was.
I told them again, and every time Gerry Salamander did something bad, smiling with all his teeth, I'd try to tell them again, but then they would just roll their eyes and be all sarcastic, like, "Oh, *yeah*, I suppose Gerry Salamander sucks your *thumb* for you, too."
And Gerry would stand there, t-shirt flashing, "FUCKING MORONS".
I want him to go away.
I told him, when I was six. I asked him why he didn't just leave, since he was so mean to me. I said, he obviously didn't like being my imaginary friend. He doesn't talk. He says things on his t-shirt. When I asked him, his t-shirt said, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU." He smiled his teeth at me. I went outside and swung on the swing for a really long time.
Now he makes me do things for him. And if I don't do them he does even worse things. When I said, "Fuck you," to my Mom, I only said it because Gerry Salamander's t-shirt said that if I didn't, he'd cut her throat. He started a fire in our woodpile last summer when I wouldn't try Dad's cigarettes. It spread up the wall of the house and we had to get the garage demolished. They thought I did it, of course.
He's getting pretty scary. I don't know what he'll do next. | Day 249 plus some. Shit I should have started counting earlier. I forgot I could file for a new kid after day 365. I never thought I'd have too... now I see why some imaginaries go all "monster under the bed" this kid deserves a monster...
"Hairy, where you at bitch?" Damn, it. Well they always said at the Academy that smiles can fix just about any child... *poof* hellllooooo Danny! What are we doing today?! As I force out the cheery words I see a metal bat coming towards me from the left. *clank* "nothing I'm just bored. Let's play gladiator. You can be the bear" *clank* only 116 days to go... | 2014-04-10T12:36:59 | 2014-04-10T09:47:24 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] "Liar." "I'm telling the truth. They put themselves in pressurized metal boxes and launch themselves out of their planet with liquid fuel canisters. Humans are insane." | The Dors were humanoid in theory, though Avery didn't think much of them. They were bipedal, with arms and hair and eyes. They just didn't move like humans. They were just off enough that it bothered Avery, scared her even.
Yet, she was the oddity. They looked at her species like they were tadpoles or weird glittery gak that could somehow talk. They commented on her hair, her skin color, the way her eyes were so unnaturally small.
Her translator, a Dors named Chuetert, didn't seem to find the comments rude or insensitive. He called Avery "Avots", which in their language meant Blue. Which made sense, Avery had blue eyes, something no Dorian would ever *allow* in their own children.
Chuetert seemed to find Avery appalling and ugly in ways she had never found on earth. While Avery wasn't a stunner, she was pretty fit for her age [34F] and had once been a contender for the Olympics in gymnastics. She was blonde, blue-eyed, pale as a snow-sunned mountainside.
Yet the Dorians seemed to find the darker humans more wise, beautiful, and stunning. They matched their own skin, which ranged from dark red to almost black. It made Avery feel very ugly in this new world.
Yet, they valued her for her knowledge and her ability to talk to the Dorians. She had been chosen from her department for just that reason, her language skills brought great comfort to her people. Yet, she had to spend endless months in space with these people, learning their language, feeling like some sort of freak.
Two of the women working on the ship were Evalyn Smith and Aimee White. They were both from New York, having worked at the same firm for almost seventeen years. They tended to ignore Avery, though she was included in conversations at lunch. They just didn't seem to value her as much as they did more senior members of their own group: Mark Douglas, James Earl Tims, and Hannah Bugg.
Yet, tonight they were knocking on her door and asking her to join them.
"The *Dors* have asked to talk to us." Aimee said this with pride.
"What about Group A?" Avery asked.
"They don't care about GA, they want to talk to you." Evalyn shrugged. "They think that it would be rude to ask them things like this."
Avery got up, put on her clothes, and followed them. The light from the Space Window glowed with the light of the sept-moon.
When they arrived, a Dorian named Chiblyt rose to greet them.
"Vlum' and Vlueko," he said, greeting Aimee and Evalyn with joy. "You have brought Avots. She will tell us."
Avery met with several other familiar faces. The black-skinned Meikhiht. The silver-haired Chiblyhtie, from the Reading Room. And
Crybrirstea, the mean Dorian who refused to let Avery into the inner rooms, with the darker women.
"We want to know why your people used... *rockers* to get into space," Chiblyt demanded.
"I'm sorry. Rockets?" Avery asked.
"Yes. Why would the pale people choose to do that...?"
Avery sighed.
Not another night like this. | "And this chemical, they put it in their veins?"
Hambruck could barley comprehend the concept.
"Yes bro! Humans are insane! You've gotta try this!"
Hambruck wrapped his varsity jacket tighter in the cold air, he paced up the hill following Chad.
Chad jumped into the pressurized metal box that was waiting for them at the top. Just before he closed the door on himself, he reaches out a scaly fist in my direction.
After i reluctantly return the fist bump, he slams the door shut. Through the metal I could hear him yelling as he was launched into space.
"SPRING BREAAAAAK!!!" | 2017-12-16T14:07:25 | 2017-12-16T14:05:38 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] You wake up in a hospital with a massive headache. As you regain your vision, you notice the room is packed with terrified scientists, politicians, and soldiers aiming their rifles at you. A five star general walks in, gives the order to remove the muzzle around your mouth, and only asks "Why?" | Why?
That was such a good question, wasn’t it?
I wish I knew the answer.
Instead all I could do was gaze out, tears already beginning to pool and blur my vision as I came to, focusing so hard on my breathing. It felt like my chest would collapse with the slightest nudge, giving way easily and submissively to the grief that was beginning to well up. Waking up meant remembering. That was always the worst part. Even though I didn’t know *why*, would never really know why, I knew *how* those horrible things had happened.
The devil finds work for idle hands to do, I suppose. Maybe *that* was why?
Had I been so placid, so uncaring, that I became this beacon for atrocity, utterly loathed for things outside of my control? Why couldn’t they understand that I didn’t want to do those things? I had never meant to act the way I did – my hand had been forced. Why couldn’t they understand it was just as much their fault as mine?
And there it is again, that endlessly echoing question.
Why?
Mingled, semi-incoherent thoughts begin to just...fade away, and I’m finally able to notice the silence hanging in the room, only broken by those shuddering, terrified breaths. My eyes adjust, jaw working out the aches painfully, and I jolt like a startled doe as that horrible question rises. Again, and again, and again...
“Why?” He shouts, and my tears are automatic.
“I d-...I don’t know,” I croak, throat lined with razor wire.
“Don’t you pull that with me. Don’t you *dare* try and get us to pity you. You know what you’ve done, and I want some god damn answers. We gave you strict instructions, *clear* instructions, and now half the damn compound is...it’s...”
He didn’t have to tell me. And I don’t think he could have relayed it if he tried. I had seen it. I had...in some way, done it. But for the love of God, I wasn’t responsible. I never was. They knew the dangers. They did! How could you not...how could you just *trust* something like that?
“I tried...I listened...but *it* doesn’t listen. It won’t. It’ll *never-*”
“Stop trying to pin this on us, you piece of shit.” He whispered, rage hardly contained, features utterly floored.
The fear was bubbling up in me again. How could he talk so boldly after what he’d witnessed? What if it heard? What if I couldn’t swallow it down again? He thought he was so safe with those guns, bolstered by metal and men, he thought he was untouchable.
How could they all be so blind?
He was just like the others.
Soft. Yielding. Completely, *painfully*, fragile.
I could feel my thoughts changing, smothered in cold water and submerged, something hot and bitter rising up in its place. I tried to warn them. Tried to croak out just a single word to get them to listen, to run, to give up with this ridiculous demonstration once and for all. To get this thing out of me. Free me. They tried, too late, to get the muzzle back on.
They never would listen, but nor would *it*.
Screams erupted, and yet the noise was muffled and distant. I felt blood on my hands, sticky and hot. It would happen again and again. They would try and control *me*, and win. They would try and control *it*, and fail.
They would always ask me why I did.
I didn’t know why.
But *it* did. | "I just had to. There is no use in words now, you should have been there to understand" I said, barely awake
"Don't give me this crap, son! I've seen the things you did, the remnants of your seeds, my men cleared the rubble in your wake"
"You think you saw all of it? But did you live even a part of this madness? You just sit there, puppeteering men, looking down on them..."
"There is no man who wouldn't restrain you after what you did. No man in this room, in this country, on this Earth who would stop and think about the ethics! It was utter chaos"
"Oh that was chaos. That was horror, you think? How dare you even think such madness..."
"You know what? I've had enough. I guess it can't be helped. You're a lost cause. Any last words?"
"Explain me what happened at least. No, wait. Give me some water first, actually. My head feels like after a College grad party on a Christmas morning. Then we both can see what the hell happened, because right now I am more clueless than you are" | 2019-10-15T08:57:36 | 2019-10-15T04:34:23 | 56 | 23 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | John saved enough money for the last 45 years to go live in one of the last cities that still existed near the frontier of the United States.
It was now time to actually go there, although it was still 8 months until the official event in which the US would open his doors to the world, and viceversa.
At the time the Treaty for the World Peace and Reconstruction was implemented, no one was really expecting that the US would be the only country isolated. No one felt it was the right thing, but since the US was the one to launch missiles first, no one was really against it either.
Except obviously, those who had family in the US, such as soldiers and diplomats stranded at the end of the war in other countries.
John was one of them. He left his wife and still unborn child in the US when he was assigned to an abroad mission near the end of the war. And when it ended, he couldn't go back home because of the treaty. No one goes in, no one goes out.
But he grew anxious over the last few months the Treaty was supposed to last. He was merely weeks away of reuniting with his family, and the fact he was just a few hundred miles from the wall that separated the US and the rest of the wolrd made it no easier.
He decided to take the risk and drive to the wall. Maybe that would calm his heart for the remaining time.
As he approached the wall he was detained by a security patrol. Must've a private one, because they had a symbol he had never seen before.
They took him to a building near the wall. They asked him why he was there, and what he knew of what was inside the wall.
Then they led him to another building where they conducted some medical tests on him.
"These last weeks a lot of folks like you have showed up" the medic that was performing the tests said.
"At first the government tried to keep them away from the wall, but now that the big day is coming, they can't just drive them away from it. So instead, they bring them here to at least ensure they don't carry potential diseases unknown to the inhabitants of the US, if they still call themselves like that-"
"Ben, we need you now!" Said another medic as he busted into the room.
"The class D expedition group is back, and we need you to test the new anomalies!"
"Damn it Greg. Can't you see I'm with a civilian right now? Now we have to give him amnesiacs."
"Yeah, I know, but do you remember the guy in the expedition that was missing an eye?"
"Yeah, what with him? Did he grow it back?"
"No, but he grew another head that is convinced he is Nicholas Cage!"
"Damn, I have to see that"
He turned back to John.
"Listen, normally we would just send you on your way-".
"But we have no option now. Even if you heard just a little, what is going here goes beyond you comprehension. I mean, we have more than half of the world leaders working for the Foundation, helping to contain whatever is inside those walls and protecting people like you. And even the foundation goes as far as making the world believe every 50 years that the last 50 years never happened so the Treaty for World Peace and Reconstruction can go on and no one tries to go inside the walls. And yet the Foundation still has no fucking idea what is going inside the walls with SC-"
"Great work Greg, now he has heard too much. Why did you told him?"
"Where erasing his memory anyway. It doesn't matter. Now can we go? I want to hear that head proclaim it has the declaration of independence before the boys cut it out."
And with that, both medics left.
John didn't know what to think. Was it a prank? Or was something really going on?
He didn't had time to think it anyways as two men wearing security uniforms took him elsewhere.
This time he had a better glance at their badges. A circle with three arrows pointing to the center, alongside the name and motto of the company they worked for.
*SCP Foundation. Secure. Contain. Protect.*
_This is my first time writing an original writing prompt. Also please keep in mind English is not my first language, so any feedback and criticism is appreciated._ | No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2018-01-18T02:24:06 | 2018-01-18T00:11:50 | 210 | 34 |
[WP] "When entering the academy students often bring their pets. Most being the typical miniature dragon, gryphon, sabertooth, even the occasional golem. However you decided to bring this...this thing. I'm afraid the headmaster will need to hear of this." | "Are you kidding me!? Leonard's not a 'thing', he's my puppy!" Rusty shouted, holding the tiny corgi puppy up to the Deputy Headmistress's face. Deputy Headmistress Stroude let out an uncharacteristic shriek and jumped back.
"GET THAT FILTHY LITTLE DEMON AWAY FROM ME!" she screeched.
"How dare you say something like that to a sweet boy like Leonard!? You were fine with all the god-awful monsters the other losers brought!" shouted Rusty.
"Miss Bailey, I recommend that you do not badmouth your fellow students. After all, you are here on a scholarship-"
"Yeah, against my will! You bombarded my fuckin' house with owls and talking letters until I came here just to make it stop!"
"*Miss Bailey,* it is not your place to badmouth our fine academy's generosity!"
"And it's not *yours* to give Leonard shit," Rusty retorted, crossing her arms. Deputy Headmistress Stroude sighed and pinched her nose.
"Ah, you human-borns are all the same," she muttered.
"And you magic bitches are all stuck-up assholes, but you don't see *me* whining about *you*! Or your creepy-ass lizard!" Rusty pointed to the purple mini dragon perched on the Deputy Headmistress's shoulder. The dragon flicked out its forked tongue and let out a quiet hiss.
"Russetta Alexandra Bailey, you have been nothing but a thorn in my side and disgrace to magical kind since you came here! The Headmaster *will* be hearing about this!" Deputy Headmistress Stroude shouted, storming away.
"Cool! Make sure to tell him my pup's name is Leonard! That's *Lehhh-nurrd!* L-E-O-N-A-R-D!" Rusty called after her. The Deputy Headmistress muttered something about 'those unruly human-borns' before vanishing from sight.
\*\*\*
"Headmaster Cellius, you can *not* let that *ruffian* from The Bronx wreak havoc on our school like this! She's already put three students in the medical ward with her ***fists***, made two teachers cry, and made four lovely Wizard-Borns from good families transfer to other schools out of pure fear!" ranted Deputy Headmistress Stroude. "And now, she brought that horrible creature into our academy! Something *must* be done about her!"
"Deputy Headmistress, do you remember what the prophecy said?" the Headmaster asked calmly. "*The most unlikely of-*"
"Yes, yes, I know, but surely it didn't mean *that* unlikely!"
"I'm afraid it did, Deputy Headmistress. Leave my office at once, and do try to give Miss Rusty a bit of breathing room. Perhaps she wouldn't be so tempted to violate our rules if you didn't cram them down her throat all the time," Headmaster Cellius said firmly. Deputy Headmistress Stroude glared at him, but backed out of the office without giving him a hard time. Headmaster Cellius sighed. While Stroude was a fine second-in-command most of the time, she could be quite a handful. He actually quite liked Rusty: She was drastically different from most of the students here, and reminded him of his young self. And, of course, he loved dogs.
&#x200B;
EDIT: Holy crap, thanks so much for all the awards! Glad to see you guys liked the idea of a dog-loving Hogwarts (well, some similar school) student from The Bronx as much as I did :) | The magical academy was odd, you see. They would make it against rules to bring basic things like hamsters, but allow golems the size of a person? Wacky rules.
So, when people were asked to show their pets, I showed my pet. It was animated using magic, it had a sticker mouth and googly eyes. It could walk around fine, and I'm pretty sure it saw through those googly eyes.
My walking book was soon confiscated, and I was sent to the headmasters office. He explained the typical genie rule of not bringing things back from the dead, which was kind of obvious.
The walking book, as I'd like to call it was a copy of a joke book I had when I was 5, as well as poorly glued on googly eyes and a $2 sticker of a mouth. It had $1 legs, made of pipe cleaners fastened together. | 2021-08-02T09:56:00 | 2021-08-02T08:28:32 | 706 | 52 |
[WP] You are a magically immortal being who snuck onboard a generation ship to travel beyond the solar system. It's been a couple hundred years, and it's getting difficult to conceal your immortality from the crew. | "I'm not sure I understand" I said, staring at the gentleman sitting across from me.
"It's very simple. I'm immortal. I've been around for a long time even before this ship took off. I decided to come along so that I could experience something new, something... different. When I came on board just before takeoff I informed Captain Lawson and she was able to help me set up what I needed to conceal my immortality. But I'm tired of it now. I've been prancing around at the edges of the ship's society for 253 years now and with the landing scheduled for next month I would like start anew and let everyone know who and what I am."
I continued to stare at the man while my went over the possibilities. Maybe his time on the ship had driven him crazy but psychologist had determined that this wasn't likely for generations who had been born on the ship, it was mainly a danger for the first gen people. I finally decided that it didn't really matter. His delusion seemed fairly harmless and honestly we all day dreamed about this kind of thing. If he wanted to go around telling people he was immortal then what harm could it have.
"Ok," I said "If that's what you'd like to do I'm not going to stop you. I'd recommend getting with the Weekly Gathering committee and see if they will give you some time before this week's gathering to make your announcement. I have one rule though." I gave him a hard stare. "No trying to prove your immortality to anyone. If anyone asks tell them that I've forbidden it and they can see me if they have any questions."
He gave me a quick smile and agreed to my demand before heading out to do whatever it is people who think they are immortal do in their spare time. I put it out of my mind. As the Captain of a ship this size I have a lot of more important things on my mind especially with our landing coming up fast. There was a lot to prepare. After spending so long on a ship it was going to be hard to uproot a few thousand people and get them creating a new civilization. The planet that had originally been chosen as a landing point when we took off had turned out not to be a good choice so we had chosen the secondary planet. It was a gorgeous planet that already had some basic plant life on it and was 68% ocean. Oxygen levels were within the normal human range and gravity was 1.02 of Earth's gravity. All in all it should be the perfect place to start the first human colony outside of our home solar system.
### 29 Days Later ###
This was it! We were landing! We had entered the planet's orbit a few days and our science teams had run every test they could think of to make sure the planet was safe. The planet's microbes had been analyzed and deemed to not be a danger to humans. This was going to be the first time any of us had breathed fresh air in our lives. We were doing something that our parents and grandparents had all worked towards. The ship was designed to enter the atmosphere and land at our chosen spot. We could then build our new civilization from the remnants of our ship. Our BioLab teams had some animals ready for release so we could start truly getting the planet ready to support us. To prepare for the landing we had all gathered in the landing bay.
"Ok everyone!" I announced over the loudspeaker. "The ship's AI is setting us down now. Once we are sure the ship is settled properly we'll be opening the bay doors. Just a few more minutes everyone!"
I stepped down from the podium and walked to the front of the crowd facing the bay doors. As the Captain it was my job to lead the way into the unknown.
"Finally." A quiet voice said from next to me. I looked over and saw our so called immortal. He had made a big splash in our weekly Social Gatherings. It was rare for someone who typically avoided the social aspect of ship life to suddenly "come out" of hiding. From what I had gathered he had told everyone he was immortal and since my command prevented any proof everyone had just kind of accepted it, seeing it like I did... as a harmless mental defect.
"I guess you'll be glad to have some fresh air again huh?" I asked, trying my best to keep a straight face. "More than you know," he stated seriously "I'd forgotten how bad long ship rides really are."
Before I could follow that up, the doors in front of us started opening. This was so exciting! It took about 30 seconds for the doors to fully open and we were able to see our new for the first time. The grassy field we hand landed in was beautiful and a lovely breeze stirred the grass and entered the ship. Almost as one we all turned our heads up and took deep breaths of the breeze. It took a few seconds to realize there was a problem. I couldn't breath! Looking around quickly I saw that it was affecting everyone. Everyone was starting to turn a little blue. I tried to get the AI to shut the doors but it was too late. People all around me were dropping. I fell to my knees and was able to get one last glimpse of our new home. So close and yet it was not meant to be. As I fell over I realized that our immortal friend was still standing next to me looking down. The last thing I heard before everything went dark was "Dammit... why does this happen every single time. At least I have a lot of good DNA samples to help me recreate humanity again."
| "Did you hear about the genius inventor on the 44th deck?"
"Oh no, the way you phrased that.. did he die?"
"I mean, sort of. Apparently he made an exact android replica of himself in his current age of 144 and downloaded his consciousness into it. He called it "his final epiphany to immortality" in his note."
"Wait, what? His note? You mean he killed himself and downloaded into a robot?!"
Matilda nodded. She wiped her bangs out of her eyes with her forearm, past the long yellow glove and toilet brush in her hand. "In my opinion, it's kind of his first real invention. I never really understood why people called him 'the old genius', I mean he 'invented' a cure for aging, but he only ever gave it to himself."
Now Sylvia nodded emphatically. Whenever Matilda got going on about the ship's gossip, she would unknowingly clean most of- if not entirely the whole room. She was a good housekeeping partner to be paired with.
Matilda continued, "- and he 'invented' his own blood for transfusions, but he didn't invent it, he just pulled it out of his body and sold it! And it was proved that scientifically it didn't cure anything, it was just a placebo!
"OH! And I nearly forgot the craziest part! He didn't just hang himself or anything. They don't really know why he did it, but they know it was suicide because he thoroughly describes how his last instruction to his android self was to completely bash his brains in. Literally. Poor, poor Agatha, even with the giant tip he left for whoever had to clean it up..." She stopped scrubbing the toilet bowl that was now sparkling due to her enthusiastic strokes.
"Why wouldn't he just get his android to clean up his... brain mess." Sylvia was beginning to feel queasy.
"I haven't the closest thing to an idea, Sylv. Anyways this topic gets me too worked up, can we not talk about it anymore?"
Sylvia's nausea hadn't receded, but she hated cleaning more than she disliked being nauseous. "Oh you're not getting worked up! I completely agree," said Sylvia. "I don't like the thought of a murderous robot roaming around the ship either but I still hope I see him in the cafeteria sometime. I want to give him a squeeze, see if those old robot buns have any definition."
The two of them cackled for a while before Sylvia prompted Matilda for any 33rd deck gossip she might have, which turned out good for two more room servicings. | 2018-06-13T13:52:07 | 2018-06-13T13:40:05 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] A kaiju is shrunken down to the size of a kangaroo by the anti-kaiju defense force during its latest battle in Tokyo. As a result, the kaiju wanders through the city at night, and discovers an entire world of beauty it had never seen while it was 120 meters tall. | These are the streets of the dying. Water collects in oil-swirled puddles. Foil paper wriggles and glistens and roaches search the scraps for food. A black-laced boot hangs from a power line. These are the dark streets that once were filled with paper lanterns alight with color, with origami swans that danced in an orange breeze. There’s a cross hanging half-blasted from a broken window. There’s a dead rat wriggling with worms.
There’s a creature with twelve eyes and seven long, spindly legs. Venom drips from a sore stinger and falls hissing onto broken asphalt. She limps when she walks; two legs are socketed with small holes, bent sideways in a way no legs should bend. She knows pain as she has never known, a white-fire that cannot be quenched by water or rain, and her abdomen leaks sanguineous pus. From the shelter of the alleyway, she watches.
She sees them gather around oil-barrel campfires. Children clutch stuffed bears and rub the sleep from their eyes. Men shuffle through winter jackets and put their hands in pockets. The embers flash an acrid green from chemical smoke, and as it rises into the night, the smoke shifts, spreading across a dozen unfamiliar faces. One draws a crumpled, squished bag that smells of stale bread and faint blue mold.
“Here,” the man says. “Eat.”
“Yes, Papa.”
The others gnaw their tongues, stare with hungry eyes as the girl unwraps it. She takes the half-sandwich, chews slowly, carefully. Her father stands beside her, hands shaking around the half-hilt of a kitchen knife. But tonight, no one tries to fight him for the food. No one tries to steal. Huddled around the radiant warmth of the oil drum, the girl eats her fill, then licks the slopped sauce from the paper, until there is nothing left.
She listens to the crow of seagulls. The birds stalk the highway underpass. White feathers ruffle. The birds squawk. They dart between sleeping bags searching for cold eyes. They hide in the corners of the street and peck at glinting tin foil paper. They find, and gorge, on the worms wriggling inside a dead rat.
She hears the dogs before she sees them. Their jowls drip slick saliva. Their haggard shoulders hunch and roll with every pawstep. They sniff the entrance to the alley. They smell fresh meat. The leak from her wound betrays her, and though she shuffles backward, two more hungry dogs appear behind her. Claws worn by concrete ripple with anticipation. Hunger writhes in their eyes.
She sees in them what we all want: to be fed, to be warm, to be loved.
The dogs snarl, six hungry mouths snap, and though she raises her body up to human height, they lunge. She strikes out with talon-tipped appendages. She clicks her jaws. She bares her stinger into the meat of a pup’s stomach. It doesn’t matter. A dog snaps at a good leg, takes a mouthful of bristling hairs, crunches through bone. Then the pain is back, her vision blurs, and she screams and screams.
The sound is like the grating of steel on a chalkboard, the knife-edge of a siren, the crackle of electrical static. It is enough to send tails between legs.
The pups retreat. One shudders dead at her feet. She sniffs it, tastes it. She eats, though it does not satisfy her stomach, and then she slinks back behind the dumpster. Climbing now, she graces rooftops. Talons scrape on gravel, clack across the tile. In the distance are the lights of a thousand fires. In the air is the *thump-thump* of a helicopter. Here, on the rooftop, the light of the fires and the black chemical smoke is almost beautiful.
She lowers herself from the rooftop. Here, the ground is covered in a thick green blanket of grass. She feels each blade, its softness, the coolness. She presses her jaw against the grass. The smell is sweet and the touch is comforting, though it does not last.
There, a pulsing red lamp-light approaches.
She watches carefully, cautiously.
Footsteps fall heavy on a stone-cobbled pathway. He sighs, holds a plastic bag between scarred and wrinkled hands. Smooth headstones rise from the graveyard, and he kneels, sets the bag down, removes a handful of stems. Blue petals paint the softest purple in the red torchlight. The sweet scent is intoxicating even from this distance. She watches him kiss the stone, bend low and whisper until his face comes up red and ragged. He wipes his hands on the grass. He leaves the lamp behind.
When he retreats into night shadows, she approaches the stone and reads the words without understanding. She eats the flowers and they taste as sweet as they smell. Overhead, pregnant clouds swirl with hues of orange and blue in the rising light of dawn. The air is thick and muggy. The wind is soft and relenting.
“Hello, little one,” the man says.
She spins around, and he is there, watching from the shadows. He approaches, carefully, cautiously. The wrinkles on his face are flecked with ash. The blood beneath his nails is crusted black. His voice is soft, barely a whisper.
“You’re hurt,” he says. “Someone hurt you.”
She tilts her head and raises herself on shaking legs. At her full height, they stand eye-to-eye. He sits cross-legged on the ground. Though his hands shake and gooseflesh peppers his skin, his resolve does not waver.
“You weren’t so little, were you?”
She says nothing.
He takes a handful of grass and pulls it, lets it fall like green rain. Overhead, droplets begin to fall in a pitter-patter in the field. Rain slicks the headstones. Rain is cool and light on her back, though it stings the wounds. A numbness starts in her abdomen. A hollowness.
“I guess we all feel so small, in the end.”
She lowers herself to the ground.
“I don’t blame you,” he says, “For what you did.”
The numbness spreads from the center of the gaping wound and now it reaches her legs. She collapses. She squirms but her legs do not respond. He clicks her jaws together and lets out a soft screech, and though it makes the man flinch, he does not move. Instead, he stares at the headstone and the name she cannot read.
“She would have found you cute,” he says. “Maybe, in another life.”
She shakes. In her eyes in a pain that she cannot comprehend. Emotions swirl though she cannot understand them. She does not know, she cannot know why she hurts. But the sensation is terrifying. She thinks, *I want the pain to go away, I want to be free, I want to be home.*
"I forgive you,” he says, “For what you did. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
He reaches out a shaking hand. She clicks and chirps and clacks her jaws together, but it does not dissuade him. She quivers, and if she could cry, she would weep. He reaches out and touches the soft of her neck. But he does not squeeze. Instead, he moves his hand to her back and holds it there.
“Sleep now, little one,” he says.
His touch is soft, calm, understanding. She purrs and it comes out as a screech. She tries to lift an arm but the pain is too intense to move, and deep inside, she feels something move and uncoil and break inexorably. Her eyes blink with pangs of pain.
“Rest now.”
She does.
He sits beside her until she sighs, and the pain goes away. Stars dance in her vision until one-by-one they vanish. At her last, she is warm but unmoving and her twelve-eyes are glossed and unfocused. He curls his fist and punches the headstone. Then he stands and leaves her behind.
Dawn brings a golden light to the streets. Sunlight reflects prismatic across the droplets. Seagulls swarm the petrichor air. They find a cool body with seven curled legs, and with ecstatic squawks, the seagulls feast.
&#x200B;
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Interlude 1: Thoughtfriend)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Thoughtfriend felt the pain of every fish in the sea as if it was its own.** Lounging at the bottom of the Big Guns Trench, its exposed, pulsating brain sent out telepathic probes to trillions of lifeforms at once, from the mightiest of whales to the millions of krill they ate. It was the hunter and the hunted; the mother and the daughter; the beginning and the end.
This was how Thoughtfriend knew when they all began to die.
It was a swift thing, as Thoughtfriend reckoned it, taking less than two lifespans of a whale. One heartbeat, the humans above were cowering on their puny little splotches of land; the next, they were desecrating the oceans with their death-boats and acid-sprays. Thoughtfriend tried to reach out to the humans and stop them—but even Thoughtfriend, last and greatest of its kind, could barely extend more than a wisp of its power through the murky depths of the sea. And a wisp of power would not be enough to bring humanity to heel.
So Thoughtfriend ascended.
Off the coast of the Sunrise Kingdom, the Oboro's crew of forty-seven all felt an inexplicable surge of *fury*, at themselves, at their boat, at the uncountable lives their jobs had snuffed out. Moments later, Thoughtfriend surged to the surface, its anger screeching out from its translucent, visible brain and into the minds of every living being within a half-dozen kilometers. Thoughtfriend gave the boat a disdainful look with four of its eyes, then slapped it aside, capsizing it with a single tentacle.
Thoughtfriend tried not to think about the waves of terror and agony each of the dying souls emitted as their lives were snuffed out. It had to stop humanity, before they killed the world with their machines. It could not afford distractions.
As it began moving towards the nearest human reef—a thing of ugly, buzzing sounds and clashing, screaming lights—it felt something plip against its tentacles. It looked up with displeasure as a flying-thing screamed by, spitting metal and sending a line of tiny holes up its flesh. They resealed with ease, although Thoughtfriend didn't like how close those holes were getting to its br—
Thoughtfriend let out a psychic *roar* of agony as a bullet shot through its brain, its capable mind lashing out and sharing its pain with everyone and everything within range, and the fighter jet drunkenly veered to the side as its pilot screeched and clutched its head. Cars crashed and babies cried as the telepathic onslaught hit the coastal city.
"*Don't* shoot it in the brain! That just pisses it off, and it looks like it just regenerates!" Thoughtfriend distantly picked up the words from the pilot's brain. Its many eyes narrowed. Pissed off? It'd show the pilot *pissed off*. Thoughtfriend picked up the ship with a tentacle and casually chucked it into the air. Through the link, Thoughtfriend felt the pilot's fear as she shouted, "Get Small Fry! Quick, before—"
Thoughtfriend peeled back from the woman's brain, uncomfortable with her fear. These were supposed to be *monsters*, not—not—living, thinking beings like dolphins and whales and Old Ones.
Thoughtfriend was spared its philosophizing when a blue shimmer formed in the air. It paused, staring uncomprehendingly at the orb of light hovering before its head. Warily, it quested out with its mind, seeking to pull the thoughts of whoever was making that light—
"Shrinkfield activated. We've got it."
That was all that Thoughtfriend could snatch before the world *lurched*.
Thoughtfriend shrieked as it fell into the ocean, suddenly *scrunched* into a fraction of its previous size. Simultaneously, a half-dozen soldiers parachuted out of the sky. Thoughtfriend brushed against the mind of one...
"We've got to hunt it down. Fan out. There's only six of us, but we should be able to hold it down while reinforcements arrive."
Thoughtfriend shuddered as the humans—suddenly much, *much* scarier now that their bullets were the size of its eyes—splashed down around it. Whatever that light had done to Thoughtfriend, it had to figure out how to undo it. But right now, all Thoughtfriend could think about was its immediate survival.
One of the humans swiveled and pointed. "Hey!"
Thoughtfriend panicked.
With a burst of telepathic energy, it slammed against the minds of the six assault squad members, shifting their memories, rewriting their perception...
The human who'd spotted Thoughtfriend paused, blinking. Thoughtfriend held its breath. If all went well, the human would only see...
"Steve! Stop loafing around and help us look for the damn squid! There's only seven of us, but we should be able to hold it down while reinforcements arrive."
Thoughtfriend smiled.
"Of course..." Thoughtfriend rifled around in the man's mind for his name. "...Ross. Sure thing."
A.N.
Sorry to leave this unfinished, but I have to go to sleep. Let me know if you'd like me to continue.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-12T22:28:15 | 2021-04-12T22:20:01 | 71 | 45 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea. | *I can quit*, Anna realized. She had never enjoyed her line of work--as a teenager, being a barista seemed like a fun, cool idea. But from the day she first started working there, her perspective had quickly changed. She wasn't much of a people person in the first place, and the added stress of the fast-paced yet unrewarding environment was slowly driving her miserable. At twenty four, she already had a few subtle streaks of grey frosting her brown hair.
Anna had never considered quitting to be an actual possibility--she worked out of necessity. She had an apartment, student loans, and a very small dog named Doodle who racked up very big veterinary bills. If she quit on the spot, she'd have no way to afford to even stay in the city, let alone keep her dog. But that had recently changed.
At first, Anna hadn't thought much about the Basic Income Act. With her constantly rotating schedule, she barely had enough time to sleep, let alone take the time to read up on new policies or go out and vote. But just yesterday, her first check had arrived. It hit her that evening that she actually had *options*.
Doro poked his head out from the back room. "Anna, there are customers waiting," he called out. "You can daydream on your break."
Anna jerked out of her reverie, striding toward the front counter. "Sorry about that!" she smiled. The customer rolled his eyes, shoving his credit card in her hands before he even ordered.
"I'd like a venti espresso, quickly please," he snapped.
*That's not how espresso works*. Anna kept her smile plastered on, responding in what her boyfriend liked to call her "customer service voice."
"Sir, did you want a latte, a cappuccino, or just plain shots of espresso?"
The customer rolled his eyes again. "What did I *say*??"
It took all her patience for Anna to last the rest of the day, but she didn't want to leave her coworkers shorthanded. And Doro, while he was a bit out of touch with his employees, still didn't deserve to be quit on in the middle of the shift. But when her hours were finally up, Anna walked out of the coffee shop for good.
At home, she snuggled up on the sofa with Doodle, browsing job listings online. "We're gonna have to cut back on our spending a bit sweetie," she mumbled to him. "I know that what little we get with the new act isn't much, but it's enough to get by on. We'll be just fine until I find some new work."
Though she had looked before, job listings had never been as plentiful as they were now. And this time around, she actually had the time to fill out applications and schedule interviews. She took a deep breath, found a listing she actually liked, and clicked "Apply now."
-----
*I can leave*, Eva realized. She had only turned eighteen three months ago, but since she was a legal adult, the Basic Income Act applied to her just as much as it did her parents. Her first check had arrived two days before. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to find her own place, a tiny apartment of some sort, and start looking for work without the worry of having to run back home.
Eva loved her parents, and she knew they loved her, but they had never understood nor approved of the choices she made. She wanted to tell them the truth, but she just didn't feel comfortable doing that until she could support herself, and not worry about how they might restrict her in the name of "her own good."
"What are you doing?" her mother called across the room. She was always asking what Eva was up to, in a joking tone, as if the answer didn't really matter.
"Just playing some dumb games," Eva smiled back. She looked back down at her screen and continued browsing the local housing listings.
A week later, Eva had finally finished moving her stuff. She had dinner planned that evening with both of her parents. Her mother had been acting heartbroken the last few days, and her father angry. He said moving out was a stupid decision when they could support her through university without her having to work. Eva already knew that.
Exhausted, Eva abandoned her unpacked boxes and wandered downstairs, out the doors of her new, run-down apartment and across the street to a coffee shop. A flyer hung in the window: NOW HIRING.
*Well, I've got to get some sort of job soon*, she thought to herself. *I can barely afford to eat on the BI checks.*
Eva was pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere in the shop. It was cozy and cute, just the sort of place she used to like hanging out in with her high school friends. She had always been a people person, and had wondered what it was like to work at one of those places. And so close to her new home? It was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. She waited in line, then approached the counter hesitantly.
"Umm, I was wondering if you guys were still taking applications?"
The young man behind the counter nodded. "Yeah. Actually we're sort of short-handed right now. You should go straight back and talk to Doro." A few hours later, she already had a work schedule. Apparently, a recent string of employees quitting had made the shop a bit desperate. Eva was euphoric.
That evening, she sat nervously across the table from her parents.
"Why do you keep checking your phone?" her father snapped. "We're at the dinner table. Are you even going to tell us what's going on, or is the friend that you're texting more important?"
"Hey, leave her alone," Eva's mother soothed. "That's how it is with her generation. She wasn't ignoring us."
Eva covered her mother's hand with her own, stopping her defense. "It's okay. I mean, I wasn't trying to be rude. It's just... someone's meeting us here, and they were stuck in traffic, so I was making sure they got here okay."
"Oh no... you're not getting eloped or something, are you?" Her father frowned. "You're a smart girl, you know not to get manipulated by men like that."
"No, it's not that. I mean, you taught me well. We're taking things slowly." Just then, a pretty young woman shuffled nervously up to the table. Eva stood up, taking her hand. "You made it!"
"Yeah, parking was terrible," the girl said, her voice trembling nervously. "I guess this is it?"
"This is it," Eva repeated, turning back to her parents. "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet Izzy. She's my girlfriend." | They're banging on the door again. They always are. It's my god damn doctorate. They just won't leave me alone.
"Come on, Jess. Just go talk to them."
I massaged my temples with sweaty fingers.
"I don't *need* them. I'm happy now!"
She looked me in the eyes, pleading.
"You know they won't stop until they have you. You're too valuable."
"I know."
"Then *go*. They'll take you anywhere you want."
"What I want is to stay here. That's the one thing they'd never give me."
She ran her fingers through her messy hair, exasperated.
"Just go. I don't have time to argue."
I looked at her with surprise.
"Why not? We have all the time in the world here."
She shook her head.
"Not me. Look, Jess... I've been talking to them. They've offered me a job in chemical engineering. You know how much I love that! And it's not like I get to do much here."
She gestured at our grubby, not to mention empty, little apartment room.
"I had to do it. I just couldn't spend another minute holed up in here."
It made sense, so I nodded. I too had been craving the feel of wind on my shoulders and rain in my hair.
She smiled at me. Yes, I would do it.
I pushed up off the tiny brown couch with both hands, trembling greatly.
It was about time.
I walked, or rather jittered, towards the door. It emitted loud banging noises, no doubt coming from a fist on the other side.
I grasped the door knob.
Yes, it was time to get a job.
Edit: Here's a second part, lovelies.
~*~
Slowly, yes, painfully slowly, I twisted the doorknob. I could hardly turn it, I was sweating so much.
It clicked, signalling that it had reached the proper turning point. The banging emanating from the door ceased immediately.
I squeaked the door open, one millimetre at a time. I could hear laborious breathing. It wasn't mine, though. *My* breath was hissing through my teeth as I trembled.
When I finally managed to open the door all the way, what stood there was... not what I expected. It was a tall, lanky man, wearing remnants of the ancient traditional business suit. He looked more terrified than I was. In fact, he hardly seemed like he was alive at this point.
Then, he cracked the silence with whispered words.
"I've been here a long time. Excuse me if I can't really talk properly anymore."
My debilitating fear was gone in an instant, although my suspicion remained.
"My job- my only job, really- has been to get you."
I looked at his hands, and saw blood running down the knuckles. There were large bruises that arched from the first joint of hs fingers, down to the middle of the back of his hand.
"I'm no good at anything really, so, well, this was it. The one thing I hated most about the world."
He was a person. I guess I hadn't been expecting that, although I don't know what I had been expecting.
"Please, doctor. We need you. The whole world needs you."
I looked at the landscape behind him. It was as it always had been: black and red and brown, stained with a million human corpses. But... some of them looked fresh this time.
"You know what's been going on, I know you do. We can't keep it at bay much longer. Hell, we're doing a pretty bad job now."
I looked at my hands, examining them like people used to in the movies, back when theatres were still popular. I could do it. I knew I could. But did I want to?
"Please. Just... please. If what I've said and what you know isn't convincing enough, then there's nothing else I have to offer you."
Air shuttled into my lungs.
"I'll do it. But I can't promise anything. I may even come down with enfluenza myself."
Without words, I could see that he was happy beyond believe. So fulfilled.
He let out a sigh of relief, and collapsed to the ground. | 2016-04-21T09:35:09 | 2016-04-21T09:33:27 | 41 | 10 |
[WP] You are a unimportant background character just trying to survive whatever nonsense the main characters are up to. However you keep finding yourself being drawn into dangerous stituations, and to your horror you realise that you're a fan favorite character the show is giving more "screen time". | "Hot dogs! Getcha dawgs here! Hot and ready from good old Eddie!" A man shouted, pushing his food cart around the streets of London. He was a a short, rotund man that had a deep Philly accent and a thin, stubbly beard. The cart he pushed around had the words Eddie's Dog's with a cartoon version of his face on the side of it holding up a polish dog. He had it commissioned just for him years ago when he started his business, and it had stuck with him to this day.
"Eddie!? What are you doing here!?" A man asked as Eddie turned around to find his mortal enemies yet again. They were a band of 5 youths that looked like they had stepped off of a Calvin Klein commercial. Though they had an air of charisma that attracted and endeared them to everyone in the world, Eddie could feel nothing but dread upon seeing them.
"No, no, no, not you again." He mumbles as Alice, the stone faced bookish looked at him with sparkles in her eyes. He had no idea where they found her, but of the group he liked her the best. She always loved his dogs.
"Two please." She says as Eddie returned to his service mode, grabbing two of his best dogs, throwing on bacon, onions, relish, mustard, ketchup, and a drizzle of Eddie's special sauce.
"Hot and ready fresh from Eddie! 20 british bucks" He says, handing her the two dogs. She happily bites into the dogs, devouring them with zeal before looking over, her mouth still full as she spoke.
"Thomas, I don't have money." She says as the leader of their merry gang took out his wallet.
"Two things Eddie." He grumbled while handing Eddie his cash. "One, the money is called euros. Two, your dogs are overpriced."
"Eddie's dogs are a foreign luxury good, and they are british. Ergo, british bucks." Eddie snapped back.
"Whatever you say." Thomas mumbled as Eddie grabbed his cart.
"Well, I'm leaving. Dogs are barking." He said as Thomas suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Hold on, Eddie, we're looking-"
"No."
"I didn't even ask you yet." Thomas said as Eddie threw him a sour look.
"You people always find a way to mess with my dogs. No, I am leaving while the dogs are hot." He stated firmly. He'd been a hotdog salesman for 20 years, but these 5 were the first customers he'd seen causing so much trouble."
"No we don't." Thomas said indignantly as Eddie squinted his eyes.
"Remember the aliens?"
"That wasn't our fault."
"The giant mutant ape?"
"That was an accident."
"The lizard people!? I still have-"
"Why are you here?" Hannah asked with scorn. Eddie disliked their little team, but he despised Hannah the most. Insulting his dogs? Saying they're processed garbage for the lower class? How could she say that without even tasting his dogs?
"The people of Britain deserve to taste authentic, All- American dogs at a suitable price." He answered firmly.
"Even the british don't deserve that kind of punishment." Hannah said as Eddie glared at her.
"You wanna go freckles!?" He asked as Thomas grabbed him, keeping the two separated.
"Look, we just wanna know if you've seen anything weird recently." He said as Eddie's entrepreneur instincts took over.
"I didn't see nothing." He said before gesturing to his cart. "My dogs, however, might have seen something." He said as Thomas let out an exasperated sigh.
"Can't I just pay you like a normal informant?"
"Informant? Oi, I am a legitimate small business owner. Don't lump me in with seedy weirdos." Eddie said indignantly as Thomas took out his wallet.
"Fine, give me a dog."
"Hot and ready from good old Eddie! What did you say you needed?" Eddie asked as Alice grabbed the hot dog and began eating it.
"You hear about anything weird recently?"
"Had a few customers complain about some weirdo wandering around at night in a coat muttering weird things under his breath." Eddie answered, thinking back to some of his regulars. People loved chatting over a dog. It was like being a bartender, but better.
"Tell us more."
"Not much more to say. Kept muttering about the sea and its beauty. If you ask me, the sea is overrated. My dawgs are the lobster of the land." Eddie said while pointing to his cart.
"What time did they say this happened?" Hannah asked.
"Midnight, I think." Eddie answered as the band of 5 began whispering things to each other. After some time, they gave each other a jod and walked away.
"Thanks Eddie. See you around." Thomas said as Eddie waved them goodbye.
"Hot dogs! Getcha dawgs here! Hot and ready from good old Eddie!" He said, pushing his cart around once more. He had the thin hope that this time he wouldn't be attacked by something weird, but it seemed the denizens of the deep also liked hot dogs. | My life was in the sweet spot, wake up, breakfast with the family, stand with my kids at the school bus stop and then it's off to work. Sales isn't the most glamorous jobs in the world, but it pays, and in a good sales month, it pays real good.
But lately nothing has been sweet, I've had way too many close calls! I've been nearly mugged, assaulted, part of a car pile up on the highway. And I got out of all of these with skin of my teeth thanks to heroman showing up just at the right moment to get me out.
Today though, was just different. Waiting with my kids for their school bus like usual when I feel the ground shake and rumble. An awful sound of things being ripped apart violently fills the air. The road starts cracking, houses are shaking and roof bits flying everywhere. The wall behinds me starts cracking looking to collapse. I lunge towards my kids trying to shield them with my body knowing fully it won't stop a wall. I'm there with them, sobbing knowing this is the last time I get to hug my kids and waiting for the inevitable to happen.
A moment passes, then another, I look behind... heroman is there, holding the wall, adding supports to it to make it into a shelter. He then starts to sew the ground together and the earth quake dies down and stops.
As I tell my cubicle mate this story, I hear someone exclaim loudly "Man this is such BS, how are you so damn lucky, its not fair"
I'm shocked... Near speechless, all I could mumble "excuse me??"
A guy from the next cubicle cluster pops up "it's not fair, I'm in this chat group that tracks the location scouts around and we do crazy stuff there hoping we get caught in something and end up with some extra screen time, and you with your boring dumb life get in this situation"
I can't believe what I'm hearing, my vision gets a little blurry "location scouts... Screen time... Wtf are you talking about, I've been nearly mugged, assaulted, and now caught in an earthquake and you're talking about some non sense"
The guy smirks "oh you must be really loved to end up in all these situations. Well brace yourself, I'm about to tell you something..." | 2022-11-05T00:50:30 | 2022-11-05T00:10:06 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Magic can only be performed by twins, and only so long as both of them are alive. You're the third-born of a set of triplets. Your elder siblings are mages, and you aren't. At least, that's what you've told everyone. Truth is, you've got a new kind of magic. | **Bloodborne**
To be a twin is the highest honor. Oh yes. On our birthday everyone gathers together to celebrate "the twins", how they rescued the town from drought, how they even had dinner with the Lord of the city up north. The twins can do magic, you see, so they are instantly catapulted into fame and glory. Few seem to remember that I was born mere minutes after them. While everyone claps and cheers for them at birthday parties, I stand with my back against the wall, a forgotten ornament fading away.
That's ok, I actually prefer it this way. It means nobody looks too closely. I can skip chores, run in the woods, and find old man Lee in the marketplace, telling crazy stories of the Bloodmongers. "As big as a house," he'd say wide-eyed, "but quick as the wind, when they need to be. The strongest could crack stones with their grip, nay, they'd crack *bones*. Children's bones. They made a right hobby of it." At this point he'd whip out some old chicken bones and break them in front of the children as they squealed.
"If they were so strong," I asked once, "how'd they all die off?" Old man Lee looked at me with a spark in his eye.
"Many say that only the great magic of our earliest twins drove them off. Yes, and that is why we honor our twins so highly. But the truth, girl, is that simple iron swords did the trick. They don't like iron, see, it makes their blood boil. Give enough angry villagers some iron pitchforks, and the Bloodmongers were soon gone." I loved this story the most, because I myself had always felt a bit queasy handling old iron tools on the farm. Stories of the Bloodmongers let me dream of running with the wind, wrestling giants in unknown caves, and, well, plowing all the fields and milking the cows and being done by lunch time. Ah, wouldn't that be something. Elias and Elon, my twin brothers, for all their weather working and fireballs, couldn't do simple things like milk the cows, plant a field. Children-bone-breaking aside, if I had just a touch of Bloodmonger magic, I feel I'd finally be useful, looked up to, in the village.
Well, it started small. Just little things at first. One day, reaching for a shelf, I could suddenly grab things that usually I'd only brush with my fingertips. The next day, lifting a heavy sack of potatoes didn't seem nearly as hard as usual. The third day, picking up an iron pot to boil some water, I felt more queasy than ever. I went for a walk, to shake it off. I headed towards the sheep field, calming myself with their gentle bleats. I pressed my fingers into their wool, feeling the warmth of their backs while they nibbled my sandals. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up. A lone wolf, looking quite rabid, was slowly approaching the field. The sheep started shifting towards the far side, not too comfortable with this wolf's presence. The bleating became erratic, like the sheep wanted to be loud and quiet at the same time. I was terrified. The wolf drew closer, softly on its padded paws. Wild eyes fixed on the sheep, fixed on me.
"Get away!" I tried to yell. It came as more of a wordless squeak. "Ahhh!" I tried again. I felt something building within me. The wolf slowed to a stop, watching me. I felt a pressure within. "AHHH!" I shouted once again. My voice sounded different. Deeper. I was still scared, but I also felt angry. I also felt... strong. The wolf started forward again, and with a snarl broke into a run straight at me. With a snarl of my own I charged forward myself. Not my sheep. Not on my watch. The wolf leaped, teeth bared, open mouth seeking my neck. I slapped it in the face. Not the best move, I know, but I'd never learned how to fight. The thing is, when I slapped him, the wolf's neck snapped. His head went limp. He was dead before he landed. The rushing sound in my ears slowly faded to silence. All the sheep were looking at me. Shaking, I realised I was taller than I usually am. Much, much taller. Sheep that were usually hip height were up to my knees. Even as I noticed this, I started to shrink back to normal size. After ten minutes (I was too shocked to move), I stood perfectly normal, next to a very big and very dead wolf. "Oh, shit" was all I could think to say, and when I finally moved my legs, I stumbled off in the direction of old man Lee. | Anthea and Althea were treated like royalty in our small town. Twins were rare, and they were the only pair in our town. Everywhere they go, the townsfolk would offer them gifts to try to earn their fancy.
An can create magic potions and weaponry enhancements. She was even given the title of "Esteemed Mage" and had a research facility of her own inside the Kingdom. The skirmishes from other warring kingdoms ceased when she displayed her ability; making the weapons unbreakable, and basically making the soldiers killing machines with her potions. There were peace talks currently ongoing to mend the rift and expand the Kingdom.
Al can control the weather. With her help, the town never experienced drought and the harvest were always bountiful. The Kingdom would often seek her for their monthly "Snow Dance". Only the nobility, the gently and the royalty could attend such an event. With the exception of my sisters, of course.
And, I, the oddity, was their youngest sister. There had been no record of triplets being born, and when the mages tested me for magic all those years ago, the results yielded nothing.
I wanted it that way. *I* made it that way. Since I was old enough to think coherently, I decided not to reveal my ability, even to my own loving family. My parents and my sisters didn't think of me any differently just because I was powerless, and I was grateful for that.
You see, my sisters' abilities had a similarity: they create. My ability is to destroy. I could destroy anything by touch or by mere thought. It was a dangerous ability, and I knew that someone will try to covet it if I had let it known, revealed it to the world. Just imagine, having an entire country crumble into naught with just a thought.
So I steeled my resolve. I will continue what I had been doing, staying neutral and keeping watch. Because when the time comes that I'll have a real need for this ability, only I will decide if I had to use it. | 2018-02-20T04:42:28 | 2018-02-20T03:59:06 | 81 | 57 |
[WP] You are an astronaut in the I.S.S. The last message you received before the world went dark was "turn off all electrical signals,or it will find us." Now as the sun comes over the horizon you see a massive shadow on the earth. | The request did not make sense. It was too quick and unprofessional. Attempts by the communications crew to reestablish contact had failed. There were more than a thousand sensors and experiments recording data and relaying them to earth.
"We're not able to get the signal through," Viktor said in his thick Russian accent.
"To which lab?" I asked.
"To any of them."
I sped through the module to the cupola node at the end. Sunita was already there, peering through the observatory.
"Where are we?" I peered at the large landmass underneath.
"Over Central Asia, moving South East."
Not a very populated region. But it was a lot darker than usual.
"A cloudy night?"
"Don't think so." Sunita snapped. Look over there, she pointed to a second pane towards the South West. "Over there should be New Delhi, which is a huge blob. But even if they had a powercut, then look forward, we're approaching the eastern coastline of Asia. We should see Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taipei... all of them are dark. I've never seen anything like this before."
"No response from the Russians, the Europeans, the Americans or the Japanese." Viktor shouted from across.
I moved back to the central module where everyone could hear me.
"Everyone, shut down all communications. Turn off all lights except the emergency lights. Close down all systems. Only the tranquility node and one rehydration dispenser stays open. Put on your space suits and connect them directly to the Oxygen tank. We don't know how long we'll remain without ground support so we need to conserve as much as we can."
I'd been in the Air Force before this, and my military instinct kicked in. I could sense danger. I put on my suit and went up the observatory. The others followed after shutting down their systems.
"Approaching the western coast of South America." Sunita said.
The sun had just Shone on Chile. Across the horizon the northern icecaps of the Antarctic glistened. In the South a blazing green of the Aurora Australis was visible.
Something was wrong.
"Everyone, move to the Solar observation deck." We made our way to the other end of the module. This one didn't have panels, only displays.
"Switch it on," I told Satoshi. "But keep the communication link disabled."
"What's wrong, Captain?" Satoshi asked as he nervously operated the system.
"The Southern lights, there was something strange about them."
Sunita nodded.
"As if something with a massive magnetic field had distorted them."
They switched on the solar cameras.
"Solar flares are unusually subdued." Satoshi said.
"Wait, I don't think someone has parked a satellite at the third Lagrange point." There were five Lagrange points between the Earth and the Sun. NASA had parked solar telescopes at two of them. The others were supposed to be empty.
"It's not a satellite." I said. It was too massive, almost planetary.
"Uh, guys." Viktor said, nervously. Everyone turned to look at him.
Everything shook. My visor almost cracked as it smashed against the microgravity glovebox.
The trembling was over. No one spoke. They all knew what it was, they'd seen it dozens of times. Except earlier, it would be with a warning and they'd all be fastened secure.
It was the transfer of momentum from a module docking on to the space station.
---------
More: [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db4xw16/), [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db52y37/), [4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db5b92n/), [5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db6aq64/), [6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db6v402/), [7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/db9hzj8/), [8](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/dba5x6c/), [9](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5i108w/wp_you_are_an_astronaut_in_the_iss_the_last/dba5xcs/) THE END. | The blue orb of Earth lazily drifted through space. As though nothing at all was wrong. Shane had never gotten over the sense of wonder that his home planet conveyed to him since he launched into orbit. It had not occurred to magnitude of loneliness one could feel as part of the 6 human beings outside of that orb.
The lights had been off for an hour. Earth had never looked so alien and uninhibited.
The message had come in right after they crossed into the darkness. Shane and the rest of the crew had been incredulous, but they hadn't gotten this far in life by not taking NASA seriously. They immediately shut it all down. The international space station, one of the greatest scientific undertakings of Shane's lifetime, reduced to some sort of futuristic tourist trap. There was nothing to do but gaze in the wonder at the paradoxically larger than life insignificant planet that they called home.
Shane snapped out of wonderment with a sense of unease. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was amiss. He quickly realized, however, that the darkness hadn't begun its recession. This could only mean that something was blocking the Sun.
He anxiously waited for the Earth to rotate beneath him, the limitations of speed only serving to irritate his curiosity. No sunlight had yet penetrated the dark, as if scared to show its face in such a hostile environment. The dark side of the monolithic structure came into view, and carried dread with it.
He felt an emotion that he hadn't expected to encounter in the emptiness of space, and up until this point had been correct. Shane felt the dread of prey faced with a crouching tiger. In the contrast of all the otherness and loneliness of the previous month in space, This primal emotion was amplified ten times.
The certainty of his own demise came to him in a single second. All of human achievement looked tiny and pathetic in comparison to the single structure of an advanced species. It was an uncomfortable certainty that not all electronic devices on Earth could have been accounted for and turned off.
Shane had just enough time to wonder what would violent movement he would be subjected to when the planet he was orbiting suddenly ceased to be, when he saw the light. | 2016-12-12T21:35:52 | 2016-12-12T19:51:15 | 1,800 | 49 |
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