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[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear Shane,
Remember at my wedding when you looked at me and said, "Don't do this. It's not too late."
I'll be married twenty six years in December. I have three kids almost all of them are adults. I tell them about you all the time. How you were the strongest kid I ever met. I tell them how you were my good side and how you kept me from going down a path that would have been my destruction. Without you there would have been no me and I miss you.
I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most. I promised I would and I wasn't. I've never forgiven myself for that. I thought the cancer was done and that we would both grow old. The shock and hurt on your face when I said, "I have to get my life started. I'm twenty and you don't need me anymore." still haunts me to this day. I think you knew that this was the beginning of the end.
You tried to talk me out of joining the Army, out of my sudden decision to get married, and god knows how many times you tried to talk me out of going to Tijuana for the weekend. I remember telling you that you were going to be my best man and you saying, "No."
"Oh, alright. Well, you are heading down tomorrow to get fitted for the tux. I'll pick you up around four." I replied. Your Dad laughed so hard he started crying.
Sometimes, I think about writing a book about our adventures. We lifted each other up. When you had lost your leg I was there to help you stand, then walk, then run, and finally I even had you rollerskating. When my parents went in two different directions leaving me abandoned with my younger sister you made sure that the anger I felt never fully possessed me. Your family became mine and we became brothers. I fully expected when I came back home that you would still be there.
Your death devastated me. I was living in Germany at the time and a letter came in from my wife's grandmother. When I opened it I saw the article and thought, "Holy shit, Shane is in the newspaper again." I was so happy until I realized it was an obituary.
Everyone knew something had happened. They kept asking me what was wrong. I simply said, "I have to go home and tell my wife." One of the Sergeants tried to stop me and the guy who always got along with everyone stared and said, "I'm going home and if you have a problem with it then send the M.P.'s."
My wife and I threw rose petals into the Main river that ran right behind my house. You would have loved to have seen it. In fact, I had started to make plans to bring you up to spend a couple weeks in Europe with us before I received that letter.
I've only just started talking about how I let you down. The one promise I ever broke was the most important one I ever spoke. It is my one and only regret and it still weighs heavily on me after all these years.
When you are twenty it seems as if you are getting old. That time is starting to slip out of your grip. In truth we were just kids just getting started in our lives. You had just turned twenty one when life ended for you. You had a steady relationship with a girl who adored you, had started college, and before I left looked to be a rising star in the distant horizon.
You taught me to live life to the fullest and I have. I've traveled across this world seeing things you couldn't imagine. I've gone all through Europe. Ate brochen and brauts while drinking Gluwein in Rothenburg during Christmas, drove all along the Cote D'Azur, sang Home Sweet Home to the tune of a German Polka band that was playing during a Weinfest held directly behind my home, and I went all across the Eastern Bloc countries seeing the devastation of communism first hand. I've lived in foreign countries, drank Vodka with Russians, and danced to Techno in Salzburg. With your life gone, I felt I owed it to you to live mine to the fullest and I have tried to do so. I have even danced with Midgets in Mexico. Now, with my own kids being adults, I can see myself heading down through South America before heading to Asia. I only wish you could be with me as I travel across those distant lands.
There isn't a day that goes by where some memory of our friendship doesn't make it to the front of my mind. See you on the other side.
| Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO | 2017-11-06T00:19:39 | 2017-11-05T21:34:09 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] You are the world's first Pictomancer, with the ability to touch a picture and make it into reality.
The medium doesn't matter - tattoos, stick figures, oil paintings, comic books, whatever.
How much of a picture you make into reality is up to you - having a character who can snag the ring of power off of Sauron's finger without bringing Sauron along for the ride is as equally interesting as a character who can only do the opposite. | The couple walked into the apartment silently, heads held low. Dark bags under the woman's eyes signaled she hadn't been sleeping much. The man's wrinkled forehead made him look at least ten years older than reality. I signaled for them to sit at the couch and they did so without a word. The room was dimly lit, save for several candles flickering in the corners. Light barely peaked through shaded blinds. The smoke of incense gently danced across the single beam of sunlight. They placed a plain yellow folder on the table in front of the couch and a small black bag next to it.
"$30,000. Like you asked." The man's voice was raspy and he sounded sick, or maybe just tired. The woman raised her hand in front of her mouth, holding back tears. I observed the two, the woman looking off into the corner, the man staring back at me intently. "Well?" he spoke up impatiently. I slowly reached for the bag and pulled it gently off the table. After looking through it I placed it beside my chair.
"Before we begin, I must warn you that I can not guarantee any results or promise that I can give you exactly what it is you seek. My, abilities, often work in ways beyond my control. I am simply the vessel of some higher power," I told them.
"Just cut the supernatural bullshit, will you?" the man responded angrily.
"Steven," the woman spoke up suddenly, staring sadly into her husband's eyes. The room was silent as the two looked at each other. "We need him," she whispered, a sole tear sliding down her cheek. The man sighed frustratingly and sat back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. After a moment, he returned his gaze to me.
"I'm sorry," he said, now also on the verge of tears. "But we know the risks and we are here anyways. Just," he paused, his hand tightly wrapped around his wife's pale white palms. "Just please do it," he finished. I nodded, and slid the folder over to my edge of the wooden table.
"There will be no refunds," I told them. "My job is solely to bring to you what you ask for, I am not responsible for any events after," I said sternly looking into the man's almost lifeless eyes. His lips were faintly twitching as he held back more tears in his already swollen eyes.
"We're ready," the woman said. I opened the folder to reveal the lone picture inside. It made my heart wrench seeing these types of photos. Happier times taken away in an instant. I was glad to have the ability to bring some of it back to these type of people, but the results are never quite what they expect. I could bring them what they wanted, but something was always, missing. But who am I to deny these people what they seek? The lights around the room suddenly went out. The woman whimpered and man let out a grunt.
"It's okay," I assured them. "We will begin now." The room was completely silent now, as if it was in its own realm of reality. No wind brushing against the building, no distant car horn echoing across the streets outside. Only darkness, and a sliver of light streaking across the table over the photo. I shut my eyes and reality melted away around me. A light breeze suddenly brushed against my face and the warmth of the afternoon sun surrounded me. Children's laughter filled the air as I opened my eyes to a small neighborhood park. The young couple in my apartment now sat smiling and holding each other on a bench under a large oak tree watching the children run around.
I walked slowly across the grassy field and onto the wood chip covered playground. A young boy, running after a small blonde girl suddenly stopped when he saw me. The others seemed to hardly notice I was there.
"Hello Ethan," I said with a smile. The boy looked quickly over to his parents who were now gently kissing each other and then back over to me.
"Who are you?" the young boy asked me.
"I'm a friend, Ethan. I am here to take you home," I said as my hand extended out towards the boy. He looked once more at his parents, still staring into each others eyes, and then back to my glowing palm. He wouldn't be able to resist, none could. He looked at it cautiously yet assuredly. He reached out and his soft, innocent hand wrapped around my fingers. We walked slowly across the grassy field as it waved in the afternoon breeze, children laughter fading away and the sun's warmth slowly disappearing.
Reality once again began to slip away around us as a woman's scream screeched behind us. The young couple was now up and desperately running around the park yelling for their child. I'd see them again very soon.
| Ever since he could remember, he had loved art. He drew, he painted, he created - although he wouldn't call it that, as he would never make something up. He'd simply draw what was in his mind.
Creatures roamed through it; strange, monstrous beasts, some of them kind, most of them terrible. A mythical world, a child's dark fantasy.
And yet, the world felt so *real*.
He could never explain it to others; he wouldn't need to, as people generally avoided him. And each day, it got worse. Like the world was clawing to get out of his mind.
Thus he shut himself inside his home, drawing in his books, the floor, on the walls. His room became his canvas.
With every stroke of the brush, it felt like he was just painting what was already there. And what was there... was terrifying.
He spent weeks in his darkened room, frantically painting, drawing, sketching. Restlessly, he would dream; nightmares of shifting darkness, growing, burgeoning; as though his brain would burst.
And as he'd paint, the pictures would seem to move in front of him, as if alive. The world sprang from his mind, his hands blurring, like they were moving of their own accord. He no longer felt he had control of himself.
And with his final stroke, he felt exhausted. Drained. Like he'd left a part of himself in his creation.
And he fell to his knees, staring at the walls, and they stared back at him.
The walls echoed, shifted, grew. His creatures, red eyes blinking, clawed their way into existence.
And suddenly he knew - he'd done a terrible, terrible thing.
The creatures lunged towards him.
Clutching his brush, he swiftly drew a circle around himself. A portal.
He plunged into the floor, into the darkness, into the world he'd created.
The world he'd have to destroy. | 2016-10-17T10:12:26 | 2016-10-17T09:34:05 | 27 | 19 |
[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. 😉✌️ | Every country must close its borders, communications, trade, and embassies for 50 years.
The United States's president was boycotting the peace conference, against most of the country's wishes. The declining prestige of the country abroad was all too apparent, even before the Great Conflict. The war lasted 6 years, and no country gained or lost any ground after the first day. Nearly half a billion died, and it finally took riots in the streets to force some governments to call back troops.
Every country, save the United States, convened in Beijing to discuss the terms. They decided American Imperialism must come to an end. Japan and Korea would split the islands in the Pacific, and the New Soviet Republic would be given Alaska, amputating America to its mainland body. In an inspiring speech to the diplomats present, the leader of France took advantage of the States' absence to propose a plan that would cut off American influence even more. They would convince American leadership that each country should have a period of isolation, to rebuild themselves and prevent further conflicts for the next half century.
Only the United States would actually go into isolation. The rest of the world would finally be rid of the thorn in the West they've all come to know.
A lot got completed during the 50 years of freedom, which was the name the New Powers gave to the period. China completed its huge infrastructure projects thanks to absorbing the USA's trade power vacuum. The Middle East stabilized and the countries solar panel networks together to encourage cooperation and peace. The NSR had free reign of the Balkany. Every country and its citizens agreed that the 50 years of freedom was the greatest joint-diplomatic effort in history.
The world eagerly awaited when those 50 years ended. Some of them
"Leave it to bureaucracy to try to jam as many meetings as they can together, right? The terms said we'd start with one on one meetings with leaders, to ease into it, not a goddamn round table meeting. I only brought a human translator for Japanese, and there are 50 different countries here," the President complained to the Empress of England, who drew the short straw and had to sit next to America.
The Empress looked around nervously, but nobody at the table would make eye contact. Understandably, their eyes were locked on the American, who looked slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie that went out of style decades ago.
"Now I'm going to sound like a robot when I'm tying up old trade deals," he said, before blinking a deliberately a few times and fiddling with his watch. "Where's the tradition? Where's the elegance?"
The 48 other diplomats at the table almost jumped out of their seats in shock. They had heard the American's questions in their home country's language, although it sounded slightly digital.
"I'm really glad we all agreed to this isolation thing," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how much our old government spent on our military. We've been an isolationist country far longer than we were an imperialistic one. We didn't really know what to do with it all that extra money. The country voted to just put it all in education," he prattled, "I'm excited for international markets to open back up. GM-Ford-Tesla-NASA designed these great solar powered dronemobiles, just put the backpack on and say where you need to go. We don't even need cars anymore! Cars! I know I sound like I'm bragging but what was the 50 years was for, if not for bragging rights when it's through?" | 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? | 2018-01-18T01:37:17 | 2018-01-17T23:33:14 | 712 | 13 |
[WP] During a routine mission to the ISS, astronauts find something disturbing - the beaten & battered Voyager 1 spaceprobe, which left the solar system 3 years ago. Its golden record, which contains sounds & images selected to portray the diversity of life & culture on Earth, has been rewritten. | News reports montage quickly with only partial phrases in between loud bursts of white noise. A little blonde boy around age 4 watches the television with his mouth slightly agape. Too young to fully process the information.
>"Dr. Kilian aboard the ISS spotted the Voyager spacecraft July 4th, 2016 at 7:18am GMT"
*PSHSHSHSH
>"The craft was floating gently just within 200 yards--"
*PSHSHSHSH
>"The world has many questions on arrival of the craft because obviously that's not possible without advanced technology or a wormhole pulling"
The president is on the lawn of the white house while a crowd of reports gathers in silence eagerly awaiting his statement.
>“Ahem, there has been… a lot of speculation over how exactly... the Voyager spacecraft arrived in such close proximity to the International Space Station.”
He glances down at his notes despite being well rehearsed, and visibly resists the temptation to fidget his hands. “We have... ruled out the possibility of a wormhole because our delicate instruments of not only the US space program, but other nations as well have detected no strange gravitational activity.”
The crowd explodes with a deluge questions.
>“Is this alien technology?”
>“Did something teleport the craft near the ISS?”
>“Is there any evidence of tampering?”
>“Have the aliens responded to our message?”
>“Unfortunately,”
the sound of the crowd tapers off quickly until it reaches full silence again.
>“We do not know exactly how the craft got there, but our best scientists and forensic specialists are disassembling the craft and collecting whatever evidence will help. We have concluded that no natural phenomenon has occured and this event can only be the result of a foreign technological intervention. The slow speed of the craft is impossible without- ”
The following statements of the president falls on deaf ears as the world spins into disbelief. The viewing public heard the US president announce that an unknown foreign entity exists and possibly has superior technology.
The Voyager spacecraft is being pulled swiftly and gently from the cargo bay of The US spacecraft days after the sighting of the Voyager. Twenty or more forensic specialists and engineers adorned in full-body yellow clean suits separate and lay out every piece of the craft. Parts are laid across an enormous blue tarp and grid-aligned meticulously.
A man wearing a white clean-suit contrasted by those around him walks with diligence holding the golden record down by his side bagged in clear plastic. He walks down the hall, turns the corner and immediately opens an outdated wood-paneled door on his left. Still clutching the record he says to a suited man behind a desk, “We have a message, sir.”
>Dear human race,
>First of all congratulations on hurdling this primitive piece of metal into space. Despite your poorly executed and half developed message, we would like to issue a warning. Other advanced races beyond your world and ours have recommended keeping you in ignorance since you are the lowest sentient life form in the universe and perhaps you should be happier in your final moments before you hear the news, you must understand we are further along in development than your world. In stages you would understand, we discovered fire 250,000 years ago. Harnessed fusion 2,000 years ago and shortly after that, discovered dark matter which opened limitless possibilities of transportation. We’ve even created sentient artificial intelligence and can program biological matter increasing the length of our lives 500% organically. In terms of intellect, we’ve decrypted your language in five paragraphs.
>Another extra terrestrial has invaded our world simply for sport and we are on the precipice of complete destruction. Imagine our race as the intellect and their race as barbaric strength.
>To stand any chance of survival you must change your ways. No more wars with each other, no more mutually assured destruction, you must work towards the same goal of sustenance and survival.
>Your enemy will arrive in approximately two years according to their communications. They are 9 feet tall, exoskeletal, can stand extreme temperatures and pressure. They dawn armor of a metal you have not yet stabilized on your periodic table. Their weapons are only imaginable in your worst nightmares ranging from explosives, long-range accurate hand-held rifles, self-guided and sentient drones.
>Good luck | We found it drifting through space, almost assuredly intentionally aimed toward our ISS--the plate's face up, instead of on the side, so, when it hit, it would only cause a mild thump, instead of cutting into the relatively fragile material composing the space station.
It was a golden record, just like we remember sending out, with a great slice of our culture on it.
What they sent us in return was a slice of the greatest music we'd never before heard: the hottest mix-tape ever dropped in the history of the universe.
The Sunfire Collection.
Eminem's lyrical skills? Pfaw, *please*. Those alien throats sung the rhymes that made angels swoon, and spat the lines that wilted the demons from schizophrenic patient's minds.
Oh, how we never knew how great instruments obviously conceived in zero-g, wrought from composite metals obviously melted in the heart of stars, could be.
Those notes wrote from hydrogen frequencies. The ethereal streams like starlight radiance on sensors we had not yet conceived. Every bass drop and treble like a meteor passing through Saturn's ring.
It was glorious.
It was the Artostricies' warming-up present from across the stars, heralding their arrival to Earth with the hottest rhythms and finest lines the best tracks ever conceived, produced by a society that waged war through the medium of musical tracks--declaring the winner the smooth, jazziest or illest music-maker of all their many squabbling nations.
Play up or shut up indeed. | 2015-07-24T07:55:44 | 2015-07-24T06:27:31 | 121 | 52 |
[WP] You have been cursed to always tell the truth. Not because you're unable to say something you know is false, but because once you say it, the universe will rearrange itself to make what you said true. | I'm not sure when it started, but I remember the first time. I was four years old.
My parents had friends over and even from my bedroom I could hear their cackling laugther from the backyard. I was playing with their daughter Jane, in my room where we were sentenced, comparing our colouring-in skills and gathering every item of doll clothing we could find into a pile.
Jane had brought a doll along with her. It was a new one from the mermaid collection where the legs could be removed and replaced with a tail. I'd been begging my parents for my own one all year. Then Jane beat me to it and with her smug smirk, showed it to me, knowing very well the power she possessed in her hand.
"Can I play with Aquaria?" I asked.
"Later."
Patiently, I waited for my turn when I could hold Aquaria and allow her to swim gracefully through the air. But after an hour of a game where I obediently allowed Jane to call the shots regarding the narrative, coincidently taking place under the sea, I was growing impatient.
"Oh hello Prince," Jane sang as she stood Aquaria up beside a prince doll.
"Hello Aquaria," I greeted, walking my own doll aross the carpet and to Aquaria and the prince.
"NO! Your doll can't breathe under water," Jane shouted.
"The prince can," I argued.
"He's a mermaid. You're not."
"When is it my turn with Aquaria?"
"Later."
Then as the game continued without me and the adults cackling carried on, I snatched Aquaria from Jane's hands.
The dispute between us became loud enough that even our drunk parents heard. They came to the room, gathering in the doorway and asked, "What are you both fighting about?"
"Jane said she'll share but she won't!" I cried as both our hands clutched on to Aquaria, causing her tail to stretch from our pulls.
"LATER! Now let go!" Jane shouted at me.
My father sighed frustratedly and stepped into the room. "Neither of you can play with it."
He crouched down and grasped the doll's bodice. Jane let go defiantly but I still held on to her head. "It's mine," I stated to my father.
"I know, but if you can't play nicely with it, you don't get to play with it at all."
The adults wandered off, muttering to themselves as they returned to the backyard with the doll.
I glared angrily at Jane who fiddled nerouvsly with another doll. I stood up and walked out of the room as tears began to form in my eyes. Now I'd never get to to play with Aquaria.
I watched television while my stomach rumbled from hungriness. A while had passed when Jane sat beside me on the sofa. "I'm sorry I didn't give your doll back."
I turned to her confused. "My doll?"
"I just really liked it."
I remained silent, unsure of what was happening.
"Do you want to play hide & seek?" Jane asked.
I nodded and hopped from the couch to play.
That night, my father stumbled drunkenly to my room where I still lied awake. From behind his back he pulled out Aquaria and placed her on the bed beside me. I stared wide eyed at him, wondering why he had just stolen and what would Jane's parents say?
He kissed me on the forehead where his bourbon breath lingered for some time before he crept out of the room.
"Goodnight Aquaria," I whispered, still smiling from my secret. Though it wouldn't be a secret for long. My primary school's bully's heads beingreplaced with replica's of their buttocks gave it away. | How does truth run from falsehood when the universe bends and twists with words?
This was a curious existence. Words had seemingly prophetic effect.
I’d witnessed an offhand comment echo into a real life event before, how could I test if my words actually were?
—-
An interesting dichotomy. How does one determine what is true and what is false?
The universe seemed to play games. Not quite a leprechaun, but I had to be careful.
After all, if words had power, didn’t all words have power too? Where did the strength of mine begin and the other end?
How does cause and effect even work in a universe that bends to ones will?
—-
Like looking for ones own shadow with a flashlight, sometimes all one really needed to do is turn out the lights.
—-
How would one check if one were God?
—-
Turn the clock around. Reverse your time thinking, you only see the past in front of you.
Effect and Cause. | 2019-05-29T00:52:26 | 2019-05-28T20:25:48 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | **"Those forgetting history is bound to repeat it"**
These words are written above the entrance to the chamber of the great council. We thought we knew everything, but there were so much we forgot.
None of the councils members remembered why the image of a grinning human was chiselled into the chamber walls. The painting was neither good, nor well made. Beneath it was chiselled the words human females tell their children. "Use your words".
No one would deny that the humans where great talkers and mediators. But they were also a soft squishy species. The way they imprinted on their young to use their words where taken as a sign that they were weak and timid. They even punished their children when they were caught fighting.
All this we learned from the small colonies they had among the rest of us. We would learn more too soon.
The way of the council and the accord of the species was that one species could acquire another species place, rank, honour on the council by fighting the other species. This way the council was guaranteed to stay strong and fresh. That species gained planets and colonies, or lost them in these struggles was the norm. Occasionally a species was removed entirely from the council when their entire territory was annihilated.
No species entirely disappeared. After their defeat they were always offered a space in the Alliance. A small ragtag collection of planets and species surrounding the last suspected location of the human home world. Everyone thought of them as zookeepers. Guards of humanity. That they were there to protect the humans. No one gave them any tought as they were out of the way. "Out of sight. Out of Mind". Another humans wording. They have so many.
They were no longer out of mind after discovering huge deposits of rare elements where located in their territory. A short victorious war was planned to prepare for mining. With the added benefit of providing us with free workers.
The Alliance pleaded and begged us to reconsider. Sent us historical files, and copies of signed accords. We ignored them all. The humans tried their talks, but we ignored their calls. We probably should have listened when the Alliance said "We wash our hands of this. We tried warning you.". How we laughed.
We took the first planets easily. Setting up mining operations. Forcing the humans to be our slaves. We thought they were weaklings having trouble operating our equipment, since everything went much slower than we anticipated. Then the breakdown started. Machines breaking. Bridges falling down. Transports failing to launch. Small things. But they happened just too often.
We thought we had rounded up all the humans. When the explosions started we knew we hadn't. We never found where they hid. But they were severely hindering our operations. This happened on every planet we occupied. Even ones previously occupied. Wherever we set up operations, humans found a way to hide and make trouble.
We soon learned another human expression. "Guerrilla warfare".
They even brought this to interstellar space. Small groups, hiding out in spaces no ship should be able to hide, they hit us repeatedly where it hurt. Our shipping lanes, our outposts. Never the same twice in a row. Always gone before our military ships could show up.
Little did we know that this was done to make sure we overspent ourselves trying to protect against small irritants, while they prepared.
When they hit us. As a war faring race we can only admire the beauty in their attack. They were everywhere. Our capitals fell in the first bombardment. The council lay in tatters as we were decimated. And we could do no other action than concede when they entered the council chamber claiming their rightful place at the top. There where no one left that could stop them. The words they uttered when they opened the proceedings shocked us to our cores. Even though we could see the warning every time we entered.
​
"We founded this council. We can always reclaim our place. Remember history". | X'ralaxs picked himself up from the rubble, and surveyed the devastation all around. It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were supposed to be soft, pushovers. The dead and dying all around told a different tale. The power the humans could place inside their bombs was unheard of. Over a thousand kilometers from the detonation and the damage was nigh on unimaginable. His eyes widened as another flash of light lit up the sky, this one much closer, they weren't dropping just one.
The heads of the Hef'rexian confederacy slowly approached the human delegation, signed terms of surrender were placed on the table. The planet Gennis was gone, not only did the humans kill everyone, they rendered it uninhabitable. They were not the weaklings the other races thought them to be, this was an expensive lesson for the confederacy.
Chr'ellis placed the official surrender documents down, looked at the humans officials, "How did... What was... What were those things?"
General Graves sighed. "Nukes, we call them nukes." | 2019-04-19T08:22:28 | 2019-04-18T21:17:47 | 47 | 31 |
[WP] Having woken from a coma, married the girl of your dreams and won off every scratch off ticket you've ever bought; you're beginning to realize that your good luck isn't running out. | “I’m home,” I called out as I entered the apartment. Clutched in my hands were four scratch offs.
Shelby poked her head around the corner, smiling. She was wearing her Hello Kitty apron that was horrendously stained with an amalgamation of various sauces and food particulate.
“I’m making clam chowder today,” she declared, holding aloft a ladle. “I hope you’re ready.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’m not,” I said, smiling back. She gave me a kiss and moved back into the kitchen. I followed her, unsure of how to bring up what I wanted to say.
“How was your day?” she asked, stirring the ladle into a big pot filled with a suspicious smelling liquid. “Any more *strange* occurrences?”
“Today was okay.” That was a lie. I found a hundred-dollar bill on the ground during my bike to work; my McDonalds order came with an extra burger; my boss said that since she hired me, sales have gone up astronomically, and thus she was going to give me an incredible pay raise.
“That’s good.” Shelby hummed tunelessly over the pot.
I couldn’t help but observe her. She was the love of my life, my perfect match in every possible metric. Looks, humor, personality, temperament; we complimented and strengthened each other so well sometimes it made my heart hurt.
“Shels?” I said.
She turned around, eyes furrowed. She must have heard the strange note in my voice.
“Whats up?” she asked.
I held aloft the four scratchers. “I want to test something out really quick.”
She perked up. “Ooh, gambling. Fun. What do you have in mind?”
I flipped the tickets over, shuffled them randomly, and held them out to her. “Pick two.”
She grabbed the ones on the far right and far left with a look of excitement. I mutely handed her a coin.
As she scratched, she casually said, “Lisa, is everything okay?”
I tried to smile for her sake. “Everything’s perfect.”
Shelby finished clearing her chosen tickets. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Nada. Now I remember why I don’t play these things.”
I held out the remaining two. “Pick another.”
“Why?” Shelby frowned.
“Just do it, please,” I said.
Her frown grew, but she did as I asked and plucked the one on the left. She revealed it with disinterested haste.
“Nothing again.” She tossed the ticket onto the counter. “Now, explain what you’re trying to do.”
I took a deep breath. “Alright, there were four tickets, and you chose three of them and won nothing. Now, it’s my turn.”
Shelby handed the coin back, and I began scratching.
“Oh my god,” Shelby whispered, watching me from the side. “Oh my god, Lis, you won! You won!”
I looked down at the ticket with a grim dread. I just won $10,000 dollars.
“Lis!” Shelby shrieked, gripping me around the shoulders and grinning. “You’re the luckiest person alive, I swear! Let’s go to Cancun; no, Europe; no, Singapore; no—wait.” She peered into my face. “Why do you look like someone just punched you in the stomach?”
“Because,” I said, bringing out the six other winning tickets from my back pocket, “this is wrong. Something is wrong with me.”
Shelby took the other winners. Her face paled as she looked through each one.
“I bought one as a joke during lunch. I won it. Michael, my coworker, suggested I buy another, and I did. I won that one too. By the fifth, he was looking at me like I was some kind of demon.”
“I don’t understand.” Shelby was trembling slightly. “This makes no sense. I mean, you’re the luckiest person I know, but this is something else. The odds alone are—”
Shelby was cut off by a resounding *BEEP*. The kitchen evaporated, revealing sterile white walls brought to life by a shuttered window that poured in moonlight like syrup, drenching the floors with a ghostly glow. I was suddenly aware of cool sheets on my bare skin, strange tubes in my nostrils and mouth, and an almost overpowering desire to move, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but scream in my mind.
A *whoosh* sounded, like someone was blowing air in my ear, then I was back in the kitchen.
“—astronomical,” Shelby finished saying. “This is almost impossible, right?” She looked at me, worried.
I frowned. Something strange had just happened to me, but I couldn’t remember. The moment passed, and I was left disquieted, more so than the frightening suggestion of all these winning lottery tickets.
“What should we do?” she asked.
I looked down at the tickets, then back at Shelby. The sound and smell of bubbling clam chowder filled the kitchen. Shelby was chewing on her upper lip, like she always did when she was nervous.
A strange recklessness seized me, and I said, "Singapore sounds pretty good.”
Shelby stared at me, agape, then laughed uneasily.
“Alright,” she said. “How about we pretend you just hit the luckiest winning streak of all time, and leave it at that? Maybe let’s not buy anymore scratchers? Unless, of course, we’re living on the streets. Then, your freaky scratcher luck is fair game.”
The perfect girl in the world.
“That sounds pretty good to me,” I said, smiling, drawing her in for a kiss. She grabbed my ass like a lecher, and I laughed out loud.
"After that horrible coma, you deserve all the luck in the world," Shelby said suddenly and fiercely, leaning back and placing a hand on my cheek.
"I love you," I murmured. We kissed again, deeper and more passionate.
And if there was a part of my mind that screamed, well, so what? We all have our demons. If mine is to be supernatural luck, I'll take it. There were much worse fates than that.
---
check out my profile for more non-gambling related stories :D /r/chrischang | "Honey?"
A familiar voice, yet somewhat distant. I felt the urge to simply slip back into the void that had consumed everything around me. Yet the voice kept on pestering me, unrelenting.
"C-Come back, please!" The same voice called out, pleading.
"Emma?" I responded as I slowly opened my eyes.
Light blue with a tint of white flashed before me as far as the eye can see. I felt a strong breeze crashing against the tip of my nose as well as my whole body. It was as if I had stood before the edge of the world.
In fact, it might've just been...
"Morty! Please, there's no need for this! We can talk this out–"
"No," I said with solid determination, "I'm sorry, Em. I need to do this. As a man."
"As a man? But... what about us? What about young Timothy?"
Timothy...
The very mention of the name struck me right in the heart. Emma liked to play dirty with emotions. Though I started to realise that she'd yet to understand what I was on about.
Indeed, no one ever did.
I could not help but laugh earnestly. I stepped back and turned my body towards Emma. Her sweet belly a tad plump than when we first said our vows a little over 6 months ago. Her eyes were swollen, the occasional tears flowed down across her smooth face. I felt a strong punch in the gut as I realised what she'd felt.
"Em, don't you see? I'm lucky. *Extremely* lucky!"
"Wha–Of course you are! We all are," she said as her dainty fingers ran across her plump belly.
"Yes... But no, no! You see, I would've never had *any* chance to be with you if it weren't for the comma!"
"Huh?"
"When I was in the comma – after the biking accident – I realised I've been wasting my life away for no good reason. A voice whispered in my mind when I was on 'the other side', telling me to wake up and find you! So I did and here we are," I explained with a heavy shake in my voice.
"What voice? Are you drunk, Morty?"
Of course, it was perfectly reasonable to have guessed my state of mind then. Any person who was not me could not understand what I've been through. I struggled to find the best way to convey my thought process. So I heaved a deep sigh and came back up to swing.
"The scratchcards, the lotto, even the damn bets on the horses... I won *all* of them too."
"That... I'm sure you lost some–"
"No, Em! I *never* did!" I made my way to grab her hands for the final push, "I'm *the* luckiest person on the planet, you see!"
"Morty, you're scaring me," Emma took a step back and let go of my hands.
"So I'm here, ready to prove once and for all that I truly am the luckiest man on the planet. I am prepared to make the ultimate bet and I want you to be my witness–"
"No, no, no, Morty–"
"Watch me, Em," I turned around and braced myself, "watch me defeat the odds by sheer luck!"
The breeze. It hit my face like a brick wall. I felt myself in a state of bliss. The sorrows, the burden, the shit... Emma, sweet Emma... Everything went silent and blurred.
For the longest time, I felt as if I have been freed of everything.
I *truly* was the luckiest man there ever was. | 2020-08-14T11:46:58 | 2020-08-14T11:43:38 | 291 | 36 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | *Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury* | "Finally, it is complete. Now, nothing can ruin my plans!" I threw back my bead and laughed as I pulled the chicken out of the oven and set it on the table.
"Our plans, you mean," Elizabeth said. I had kidnapped her last month, but we had hit it off. She came back and we had started dating in secret. She sighed. "Do you really need to do an evil laugh every time something goes right?" she asked. "It's a bit clichè."
"Sorry," I said, cringing. "Force of habit. It's taken 3 months for us to finally get a date without that idiot crashing through the roof-"
I was interrupted by a loud crash and a cloud of dust billowing down from the roof. "It's over, Mechanic!" Psy shouted. "Your evil plans will not succeed!" He turned to Elizabeth. "I have come to rescue this woman!"
I sighed. "Very well then." I stood up. "So, you have finally arrived, Psy!" I called out. "It's too late, though. I have already planted a bomb in City Hall! See?" I pulled a remote out if my pocket and pressed a button. A wall moved, revealing a screen showing a clock, ticking down from 7 minutes. I tilted my head. "That's just enough time for you to fly there, with only 2 minutes to diffuse it. So, what will you do?"
Psy growled at me. "You are a monster, and once I defeat you-"
"6 and a half minutes, Psy. The clock is ticking." I smiled. "You should be getting somewhere, shouldn't you?"
Psy flew out of the hole in the roof with a shout. Elizabeth looked at me. "Did you really plant a bomb in City Hall?"
I smiled. "Of a sort. The bomb is filled with a sealing foam, one that even Psy can't break out of. It's set to go off if it's tampered with in any way." I checked my watch. "That should give us about... 45 minutes, an hour, to finish our dinner." I smiled. "I love a good contingency plan. I poured us glasses of wine and lifted it. "To love, us, and evil." | 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T07:55:50 | 1,144 | 34 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | The cashier in front of me froze, his eyes narrowing. I'd read books where the author described someones eyes as being calculating, but I thought I could actually see him doing math. Weighing variables, probabilities and even analyzing a threat.
"Care to repeat that?" He asked, though it was more of a command. His previous, jolly personality gone, replaced by a flat sheet of the coldest ice. It was unnerving.
"I, uh, I said I'd like a number one meal. Large. Are you okay?"
He stared for a second more, then his jolliness was back, the ice melted.
"Of course. Coming right up. Will that be all?"
"Uh... Yeah. That's it." I swiped my card and sat at the table to wait. As I ate my burger, I could feel his gaze in my back, even while he helped other customers. The burger tasted bland as I ate it as fast as possible, so I could get away from this strange man.
I had put it all behind me when I pulled up to my house, ready to relax. Coat abandoned on the floor for tomorrow, I sat and turned on the TV, beer in hand.
"Kind of you to join me, Kaitlyn."
I jumped to my feet, spilling my beer on the couch. "What the fuck?! Who are you? Why'd you follow me?" He sat cross legged on the armchair, unnoticed until now.
"I'm afraid I will be conducting the interrogation today. You see, you are speaking a language that's not only dead, but extinct. No one should know of it, save myself. The fact that you even know *about* would make me shudder in fear if I were capable. The implications alone make me consider if killing you now would be for the best. I offer you a rare opportunity in my line of work. A chance. How do you know how to speak English, and how did you follow me through The Gate?"
My brain had decided to call it quits, and to be fair, shock is a helluva drug. This man was talking about dead languages and gates. He put a lot of emphasis on his mention of the gate. I didn't know of any gate. I'd never even heard of English. Of course, I knew he was just hearing me speak in his native tongue, but the fact that he said no one but himself should know of it was throwing me off.
I must have paused too long because he sighed and began to reach for a long, steel blade. "Wait, wait, wait! Hear me out. I have a special power. I can speak and understand any language. People always hear me in their native tongue, so that's what's happening, you're hearing me speak English. Please don't kill me."
He took his hand off of the blade and nodded to himself. "I see. Yes. I will not kill you."
"Oh, God. Thank you-"
"You will be most useful."
Everything went black. | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | 2022-11-14T01:20:47 | 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 163 | 45 |
[WP] You've just invented a device that allows you to see the world through the eyes of anyone alive, wherever they currently exist. However, you are unable to hear what they hear. | The only thing keeping me alive was the smell of freshly roasted coffee. My mug sat heavy on my fingers as I made my way, carefully, through the instrumentation lab. When I passed by the clock I closed my eyes, because who the hell wants to know that it's twelve minutes past four AM?
Other than myself, a dozen or so half-finished contraptions, and a chemical-grade shower and sink, the only other thing in the room was Nanjit. If you asked me to describe Nanjit without using the word "eccentric," I'd tell you it couldn't be done. His hair always looked like he had just stepped out of a blast chamber. When he wasn't invading someone's personal space (usually mine), he could be found tinkering with some appliance or other.
This time, he was adjusting the eyepieces of the microscopes with a screwdriver. Only, the eye-pieces were no longer attached to a microscope - instead, Nanjit had fastened them to some spherical piece of metal, laced with exposed circuits and vacuum tubes. Wires spilled out of the sphere at random openings, as if it were a grotesque, mechanical egg laid by some alien monster.
Even though he was eye-deep into the lenses, he must've heard me when I walked into the room, because he started flapping his hand in my direction. Naturally, I pretended not to notice.
"Benson," he hissed at me, "Come over here."
I let out the deepest, most drawn out sigh I could muster, and turned towards Nanjit.
"Nanjit, I have less than four hours to complete this round, and I'm only a fifth of the way through."
In response, he flapped his hand harder, "No, Benson. Seriously. You want to see this."
It takes maybe five steps to cross from my side of the lab to his. I did it in about thirty. It was a pleasure to watch Nanjit squirm and writhe and flap as I shuffled across the lab.
My voice was stonier than a C-type asteroid.
"What?"
"Put your head in there," he pointed at the eye-pieces, "Don't blink. If you blink, it'll change."
My eyebrows creased together, "Change?"
If there's one good thing I can say about Nanjit, it's that he never fails to capture your curiosity.
"Yes. When you see it, don't blink."
I put my mug down on the table, and leaned forward, not really sure what to expect. The rubber kissed the rims of my eyes, and I blinked a few times to clear the blur of too-close light.
I saw a woman's face, pale, streaked with sweat. Just from looking at her, I could almost feel her pain. Her skin was turning red under her own exertions. There was blood all over my hands. Wait - *my hands?*
I blinked.
"Do you see it?" Nanjit whispered breathlessly.
A man with a thick, curly beard was staring at me - smiling, laughing. He didn't have a shirt on - no, he didn't have *anything* on. And the look he was giving to me, it made me feel naked too. He looked down, and I looked down, and I saw that our bodies were connected - only, it wasn't my body, it was a woman's: dark curves rising and falling like dunes in the desert.
I blinked.
"Nanjit, what the hell is this-"
The Earth was a fat, blue marble, swirled with white and splattered with green.
"It's a seer. You can see through the eyes of *anyone*-"
"Anyone? What about animals?"
The moon was a much smaller marble, hovering just in front of the Earth, obscuring most of South America.
"Not animals, I've adjusted it for higher intelligence. It's several levels above dogs and dolphins."
"Nanjit-"
"It skips over children too. But most adult humans, you can see through their eyes. Really, anyone with an average adult level intellect, or above."
"What about astronauts?"
"Ohh!" he gasped, "I wasn't sure if it would work beyond the Earth's Atmosphere. Did you find someone on the ISS?"
"No, it's farther out than that. Hey, are there any astronauts beyond the moon's orbit?"
A shadow passed over the moon, lancing its spear tip over the craters.
"I ... I don't think so. Why?"
***
[*Part 2 >*](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4atgk8/wp_youve_just_invented_a_device_that_allows_you/d13tnly) | "What did you do, fish?"
Where my cellmate should have had hair, he had tattoos. Where he should have had a couple of teeth, he had gold crowns.
"H-hacking," I stammered.
"You a faggot, fish?" he asked. He stood up, a mass of brawn and blubber that towered over me by at least a foot.
"N-no," I said. What I had done to deserve this piece of humanity's garbage heap as a cellmate?
"No what?"
"No... sir?"
He threw back his head and let out a peal of manic laughter.
"I kind of like you, fish. Hacking, huh? What'd you hack? Pentagon? NSA?"
"Google glasses," I said.
"What the hell are those?"
"You know," I said. "The glasses that everyone wears now. With a little camera. A built-in HUD."
"I been in here a long time, kid," he said. "I ain't never heard of no glasses with cameras."
"They're all connected to a computer network," I said. "I got in, and so I could see what anyone else in the world was seeing."
He whistled. "That's some impressive shit, kid. What they catch you doing with it? Peepin' in on people fuckin'?"
I blushed. I had done that to begin with. But then I began to see... things.
"I tried to help people," I said. "People I could see were in trouble."
"What you wanna do that for?" he asked. "People don't need no guardian angels. They need guards."
I took off my glasses and handed them too him.
"Try it," I said.
**Part 2 below. And also over at r/jd_rallage with more of my stories.** | 2016-03-17T09:37:42 | 2016-03-17T08:03:21 | 461 | 21 |
[WP]All you can remember was that you were once mortal. Now centuries, countless millenniums have passed. You watched everything you know perish one by one. Humanity, Earth, the sun, galaxies, even black holes. And now you drift in space waiting for the end of time... | The curious thing about the Human Brain is its tendency towards sheer delusion, if only to protect itself against consequences. Consider then a man, alone for an awfully long time – say, somewhere around a billion years – without any sources of light.
One man in such a situation was thinking on much the same problem, and had come to the conclusion that anyone exposed to such conditions would surely go insane. Luckily, he thought to himself, he had a much hardier constitution than most as he didn’t actually exist, and thus had no wits that could be addled.
All stars, lightbulbs and fireflies had, to put it simply, snuffed it some vast stretch of time ago. There were no points of reference with which to compare anything to anything else, and so the man who didn’t exist couldn’t see the body which, he assumed, he didn’t have. Where was the proof? Oh, sure, he could move arms and legs, and occasionally would be pelted with small rocks, but they could be easily dismissed as hallucinations. He was convinced that he was merely the Phantom Limb phenomenon made solid, the universe’s last splutter of random creation before its destruction. Who was there to say otherwise? What data was present?
While in the middle of another century-long internal monologue, something rather strange seemed to happen to the man that didn’t exist. Indeed, it had been so long since an ‘event’ had occurred that it took him a moment to understand the underlying principles of causality – *Yes*, he remembered, *One thing must come after another. A series of occurrences is… occurring. How very strange*.
A large, white rectangle had descended from some higher dimension in front of him, resembling a door. The most interesting thing, thought the man who was questioning his non-existence, was that he could see it.
Checking himself in the new-found light, he found that he indeed had some kind of body. Two legs, arms, torso… he wasn’t sure why he seemed to be wearing mostly plaid, but fashion sense seemed irrelevant, considering.
The door opened, and a stick-figure made of dancing lights peered out of the other side. It was holding a clip board.
“Excuse me, sir” said the stickman. “Sorry to interrupt. A few quick questions, if you don’t mind. Are you the owner of this particular universe?”
The man didn’t expect there to be any air through which to speak, but his words found a way out of his mouth and through the medium of space. “What?”
“This universe” said the stickman, patiently. “Do you own it?”
“I… I don’t think so?” replied the man.
“But you are the sole occupant, yes?” pressed the stick figure.
“… Yes” said the man. “As far as I’m aware”
“Well, let’s just say that you get the place by default” said the stickman, ticking off a box on his sheet. “We can’t help but notice that the place is getting a little worn-out. The entropy here is, quite frankly, a bit extreme, sir. It all seems to have got out of hand. Have you considered getting a new one?”
“A new universe?” asked the man, still questioning the validity of this experience. “How does that work?”
“Same way you got this one” shrugged the stickman. “We can offer you a standard renewal package, if you’d like”.
The man frowned, vaguely remembering the concept of ‘The haggle’. “Renewal?” he asked. “What would it cost me?”
“Oh, not cost, sir” laughed the stickman. “Lord, imagine if such a thing cost something. If only. I’m afraid that you’ve grasped the macroeconomics of interdimensional finance somewhat at the wrong end of the handle, so to speak. The Renewal package comes with a gift, sir. Though I will say that it’s somewhat double-edged”.
“And that is?”
“Your quantum signature will be locked with the very fabric of this universe’s spacetime” said the stickman, as though describing a prize on a gameshow. “Ultimately, sir, it means you won’t be able to die”.
“… That's not much of a gift” said the man. "I've already got that".
The stickman raised his arms in delight. “So you are the owner, after all! Marvellous. Well, I’ll just continue your package then. If that’s okay with you, of course”.
The man looked at his hands, turning them over and inspecting the creases and crags. Sighing, he nodded to the figure.
And then there was light. | I’ve seen stars cry with gasping breaths. Their body quakes as they leak molten lava into the void and when they can no longer contain their sorrow, they burst with a blinding wail.
I’ve heard music where no sound exists: the percussion of asteroids, the crescendo of a swelling planet on the verge of collapse, and the utter silence that follows in its wake.
The cosmos has painted me pictures of unimaginable beauty. Its given me a Jackson Pollock of reds and purple streaks, a Salvador Dali of wilting moons, a Van Gogh of starry nights. And each one came with its own story. The Jackson Pollock was of violence, the battle between celestial beings for space and matter, exploding and imploding until only the blackness remained. The Salvador Dali was of love and betrayal, the moons being crushed by the gravity of the planets they spent their lives protecting. The Van Gogh was of serenity, how from far away, even the never-ending war of the cosmos could look stunningly calm.
Sometimes, I wonder what story I might come with. I have lived long past my time, have sparked two world wars over the possession of my body, have played both hero and villain, God and Devil. I have stood at the forefront of a million people, have been their light when the world offered only shadows. I have stepped on the backs of a million more, bred hatred and violence when the world wanted only peace. I have been through betrayal that cut to the very core of my being, have fought for a love that I swore would never be replaced, have attempted to die for ideals that were grander than even the heavens above me!
But none of those are really stories worth telling.
Now, I just float. I watch in an abyss of blackness. I listen in a vacuum without sound. I wait. Endlessly and endlessly, I wait.
I wonder what story I might come with. | 2018-01-19T06:03:47 | 2018-01-19T05:08:52 | 405 | 41 |
[WP] All your life, mythological beings have tried to pick you up. Childhood? Forced adoption. Teenagehood/Adulthood? Marriage. For example, selkies purposefully left their skins where you'd find them; banshees serenade you outside every night. Now at 30, you've learned why you attract them all... | I'd gotten used to it a long time ago, but it took a long while for me to realize this wasn't a normal circumstance. I remember going up to my teacher, trying to question him as to why a lady made of clouds was trying to give me lolly-pops. My mate Jeremy turned out to be a Kelpie in disguise (who knew they could turn into humans?) oh, and don't forget the time I simply tried looking for a job and was immediately hounded by very suspicious job offers.
"Official horse cleaner of the Jade Palace."
"Cup-bearer of the Troll King."
"Foot-stool of the Great Fae Guardian"
"Apprentice of Surgat, the Opener of Locks."
I ignored them all and worked at the bakery.
Now I'm 31 years old, I live alone in a detached house out in the suburbs of the city, I have no neighbours because my unique sort of, well, curse, scared them all off. I had an Irish woman who lived across the road but the second she heard that Banshee scream she ran for her life and never returned.
I wish I could say I had a girlfriend but once I brought a girl back home, she immediately left upon finding a foot-tall imp playing the violin on my windowsill.
Today is a day started out like any other. I wake up, make a cup of tea, walk outside in my dressing-gown and am immediately stopped in my tracks by a ghostly looking woman with icy-blue eyes, hovering over my decking chair and staring at me curiously.
"I'm not marrying you." I say bluntly, then taking another sip of my tea. She says nothing.
"Erm... so, yeah you can go. Sorry to say no but it is how it is." She continued to say nothing, do nothing, but hover over my decking chair.
"You can-you can go now, ok."
"How curious." She says, twirling upside down, as if she were in zero-gravity.
"Curious? I guess you could say that about me. Anyways I'm off back inside." I turned around, then yelped, almost dropping my precious tea, because she had suddenly appeared in front of my face.
"Jeeeesus Christ woman, I almost spilled my bloody tea."
"Us Sylphs are curious creatures." She says, floating closer to me.
"I hear you are cursed?" The sylph tilts her head, and I gulp.
"Wow, how genius of you, master detective you are. What gave it away, the banshees or the weekly fairy parade on my doorstep?"
"Do you know why?" She smiles dubiously and I take a step back.
"Heh-huh, what? Why? I don't know, maybe I drank some boggarts milk as a kid and he wasn't too happy about it."
She laughs and sits down under the overhang above the doorframe.
"It is truly a mystery how they never told you. You didn't ever ask?"
"... I, no, I mean, yeah I did once, but he just laughed. What's this about anyway, if you're not here to marry me?"
"When you were a baby, you met a woman, her name was Aine."
I didn't say anything. Was she about to simply just tell me, right now, what this was all about? No build-up, no nothing? Just... now?
"Aine is a goddess of Love. When you were only a few months old, you had a dandelion in hand, which you gave to her. She lay an enchantment on you as a thank you, that promised you will always be cared for and watched over by the world of the supernatural."
"... what?"
"How do you mean 'What?'"
"I mean like... that's it?"
"Yes."
"I was expecting something more, well, exciting."
"You're disappointed?"
"Well yeah, I thought I was some awesome like, hybrid. My father was a god and my mother some like, personified force of protection, I don't know."
"You humans truly are full of themselves. Centuries ago, I was hunted greatly by humankind for my wealth of knowledge, but of course I was never caught. Now here I am giving you knowledge for free and you're underwhelmed. That to me is the greatest mystery."
"Are you going to leave now?"
"No."
"Uh, how come?"
"Because I'd like to marry you."
"Fuck off." | I always had…..an effect on women.
While it sounds like bragging, I can assure you, it is not. One hath not understood the wrath of a woman until they had their hearts broken.
Four years old. Pre-school. Most of the girls supposedly flocked towards me, my current memory hazy, as parents soon took them out of school one by one.
Ten years old. Mine eyes hath been opened to the world of the supernatural. Demoness’s jumping left and right, Dryads reaching out when I pass, Banshees screaming as they disguised as the crying crows in the sky. But I knew better. I always knew, that they were waiting, waiting for something.
19 years old. Hell’s kingdom be raised, my own school mine grave. Clawing, shrieking, chasing. I had dug mine own grave, declared upon the world that I am not to be wed, to stake my heart on mine cross. Their faces of beauty and perfection twisted to anger and desperation, they chased, clawed, wept. Their cries disorienting. “Ours souls be one, Thou and I. Consummate and tear asunder. Succumb, succumb. May our Prince awake from his slumber”
34 years old. Fully grown adult, I have spent the last decades of my life in hiding. Covering my phase, hiding my voice, living as far away as people from possible. I wanted answers. No, I needed answers. Those voices meant something. This Prince, this thing that took my life away from me.
I chuckled, sighing as I sat myself upon my decrepit chair, as piles of books littered what could be called a house. Just last month, I had sold off the family house to buy the last volumes of the Book of Hoss. In about a week, they are coming to destroy it. Not that it matters, by then, I should be dead, for these volumes contain my answer.
And an answer, I did get.
Mine Prince of hell, Temptor of Man.
Awake from your slumber, and see for yourself.
You shall lay claim to all in the land,
Women, sin and devilry.
As the lord of Sin, awaken, awaken.
For your men and harem await your command | 2022-10-26T10:39:40 | 2022-10-26T09:02:01 | 85 | 61 |
[WP] A powerful king owns a dragon, plays scary organ music, wears dark clothes, and just looks intimidating. He's actually a really nice guy and his people love him. Heroes from far away lands keep trying to defeat him and his dragon because they think he's a villain. | "I just feel like minor keys are more expressive," sighs his majesty.
The steward, a fox-faced man who regularly looks quite a bit more put together than he actually is, perks up and attends to his king, "I quite like your last piece, my liege. Have you settled upon a title, perhaps?"
The king waddles over to his throne and fondles one of the many skulls that decorate it, "I was thinking either *Ne'ery a Person Understands My Sorrow* or *A King Must Never Cry*."
The steward places a gentle hand upon his beloved king and gently pats the pelts of countless baby seals that drape his shoulders, "Feeling blue, my lord?"
He sits down upon his kingly chair, and the charred bones of a thousand dead soldiers that fashion it groan under his weight, "I'm just in a funk, I suppose. It's been overcast all week. Clavicus, it might be time for a vacation. The Sea of Opal, I think. Maybe the Redcrest Mountain hall. What think you?"
"You could finally indulge in your water colors again. The scenery of either is ripe with inspiration," Clavicus gives a gay clap and begins to pour them both some wine, "Such natural beauty could only be captured by your keen eye, my lord. We could even sell them to the Eastfield guild and donate the proceeds to the abbey down yonder!"
Removing the Dark Iron Crown of Veiled Anguish, his uncomfortably heavy birthright, he sighs, "Yes. Ever charitable are you, Clavicus. Hark, not a sun rises without a wise word from your mouth. Your attendance to this sorry throne is a blessing."
The steward passes a half-empty glass, "The blessing is all mine. Drink now!"
"I was thinking," he takes a sip, "about getting into crochet. I once-"
"Have at thee!" screams a voice from deep within king's great hall of bone and steel. "Where other's have failed, I shall strike true! Your moment of reckoning is upon you, Dread Lord Theron, nightmare of the Underdark!"
Of all of the honorifics King Theron II had ever had the displeasure to garner "Dread Lord Theron, nightmare of the Underdark" was one of his least favorites. Despite many sleepless nights troubling himself over the origins of the name, he could settle upon nothing. Maybe it was the many obsidian monoliths that decorated his courtyard. Maybe it was the toxic marsh that surrounded his castle. Maybe it was the great red dragon, Rune Blight X'laralyn, that sleeplessly guarded his keep. Maybe it was the cut of his facial hair. He knew not.
However, he did know that he was growing frustrated of the legions of heroes that descend upon his court on a regular basis to strike him down and "end his reign of blasphemy against the old gods." It was all very taxing upon his constitution.
The interloper removes his helm in a swift motion and tosses it on the stones below his feet, "Stare into the eyes of thy doom, and know that justice has prevailed at last. Prithee, say thy prayers for I sha-"
"Smite me?" asks the king.
The knight stands in silent deliberation. Finally, he speaks, "I have traveled from far off l-"
"Are you here to smite his majesty or not?" asks Clavicus as he pours a bit more drink in another goblet.
"Well," stammers the plated warrior, "Behold the elf forged blade of Calamsh-"
With a swift motion, the king lurches from his gruesome throne, "Please, young man. You are the fifth this week! It is only Tuesday, by the gods!"
"How dare you evoke the divine!"
Clavicus stumbles over to the man and passes off the glass, "From the western folds. Very good vintage." He waves his hands above his head, "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."
The king smiles, "Does your hospitality know no bounds, Clavicus?"
The attendant gives a deep bow and excuses himself from the room. With a look of despair, the knight peers into the wine as if there inlay some great mystery of fate.
"Clavicus has very good taste in reds," his majesty waves, "Whites, not so much."
The knight snorts, "You attempt to vex me? To capture me in your unholy thralls!"
Dread Lord Theron marches to the door to his private garden and gestures for his guest to follow, "This way." He exits.
For a moment, the knight waits in disbelief. In all of his years of training, never once did he assume he would be bested, not in combat but by the complex notes of cherry and rose that saturated the wine he held in his hands. With much trepidation, he follows his foe into the yard.
Outside, the two stood pensively in the luscious verdation of the royal garden. Flowers and fruits of all kind hung on a complex web of iron latices. Those who have had the rare opportunity to accompany King Theron in his private yard have uncannily all described its scent as "the marriage of summer tidings and a fair maiden with fairer affections for you." Actually, the king realized all had said that exact phrase verbatim, and he thought it very queer.
He pulls out his journal and quickly scribbles a note: what do fair affections smell like? Then, he lifts his gaze to the knight, "I like to come out here when I'm stressed. It's the song birds that calm me, I think. Their tunes rival even the greatest minstrel."
The knight looked about in wonder, mouth agape, "Incredible. Such beauty, and that smell," he pauses in reverie, "the marriage of summer tidings and a fair-"
Unfortunately at that very moment, the mighty Rune Blight X'laralyn descends upon the poor man with a beat of his mighty wings and eats him whole. Blood and viscera extrude from between the foul creature's teeth and drip upon the garden's delicate stepping stones. The drake screeches a symphony of dark horrors before returning to his roost upon one of the many obsidian monoliths that surrounded the courtyard.
The king stoops to look at one of the severed fingers that fell from the dragons maw. He prods it with a stick. Tears begin to fill his eyes, and he felt very misunderstood just as he always did. | "How can you do such a thing?" Arana's voice raised unlike before where she tried hard to be respectful to the people in the room.
"How can you commit an unforgiving act to a king who has done _nothing_ wrong?" Disbelief at their behaviour, ruining her honour in front of all the loyalties and captains was the last thing on her mind. What mattered most that they were trying to execute a king, his people and his creatures on something they did not commit.
One of the Queens she recognises, Queen Selena from Yeyda, the clan which resides in the cursed forest where one can never enter without their guidance and known for their versatility from centuries living, thriving within the darkness. Not only that but Queen Selena is also the queen of her clan and her mother.
Her brows creased immediately, staring sharply at Arana. She couldn't properly read what the Queen of Yeyda is telling with just one look no matter how long Arana looked back. Irritation? Disappointment? Displeasure? She couldn't pinpoint but it made her feel fear for her own mother.
"Princess Arana." The sound of her name coming from her mother is neutral and clear for everyone to hear, that whipped away her confidence she gathered before facing them. "To my chagrin, you have been nothing but trouble since you burst through the door and interrupted this important meeting with the other clans regarding war."
"And now defending a malefactor, our enemy."
Arana glances at the others present in the room, they said nothing but their gazes told her enough what she needs to know. Grasping onto some courage she had left, she stood her ground.
"Mother, I–"
Her mother's furrowed brows deepened at her formality before Arana corrected herself. "Queen Selena, I have personally met King Kori of Hemantee." Gasps from around the room at her words but she continued.
"He is not what you seem, what all of you seem to think!" To minimise her quivering, her hand held over her chest, grasping onto her battle uniform. "He is kind, he is loving towards the creatures of our country, even the ferocious dragons that are deemed villainous!"
She looks directly at her mother, slightly taken back by how ominous she looked but didn't stop despite the sight of Selena made her quiver. "He just wants to live peacefully."
"Lies!"
A royalty that she doesn't recognise growls at her. A representative of the Thurein clan by his garments and complexion. He's a young lad, younger than herself by the depth of his voice and has King's Heller amber eyes with long lashes. He could possibly be the Prince of Thurein. "The King of Hemantee has wounded many of my people!"
Arana shakes her head, defending the victim. "Kori did no such thing! Your people ruin his land by vandalising the environment, hunting his beloved creatures for amusement and threaten to use violence against him for accusations he did not commit!"
The prince stands up from his seat, creating a loud scraping noise from the impact of the wooden chair and stone floor. "Children of Thurein would _never_!"
"Enough!" The loud thump of a staff echoes, now laid across the round wooden table and the voice of the eldest among all the royalties, Queen Derya of Vaea, the clan where land and water meet. Chaos and calamity, balance is their speciality.
Her body figure is hidden among all the layers of her light garment that flow almost naturally like the waves of the ocean as the gentle wind blew. Her skin rich brown and her hair white in colour that reaches down her hip made her look ethereal. The sight of her piercing teal eyes sends chills down people's spine as she looked down upon us all. | 2019-09-09T12:26:08 | 2019-09-09T08:50:12 | 45 | 23 |
[WP]You wake up one day and notice that you can see stats and levels over people's heads. Most are in the 20s with a few people as high as 80. As you're watching people you notice someone with a skull where their level should be staring at you. | Max had panicked on the first day, had experimented the next, and accepted on the third. The numbers told of a person's aptitude at life, overall. Young people averaged around 15-25, business people tended to ride the higher end of the curve at 50-80. Outliers were common enough; tech billionaires (he could see the numbers whether image or reality) ran at 150-200.
Max was a little miffed he sat at 34, a pretty low rank. He was also worried about the man across from him on the bus.
He wore a jet-black suit, an ash gray tie, and a taught smile that reminded Max of taxidermied animals. In his pale, bloodless hands was a briefcase. As the bus jostled and bumped, the man did not waver. He stood stock still. He had no number. All he had was a skull, almost comedic in its grinning contrast to the man's ghastly visage.
The bus hit a particularly nasty pothole, and Max stumbled over to the pale man. The man caught him with a grip like steel in winter. As he touched Max, for a moment, another number appeared below Max's "level." Quite a high number, in fact, in a green box. The green was slowly draining as the man held his grip, accompanying the number's decrease. When he let go, the cold remained in his shoulder. The number didn't increase back to full.
"Watch your step, Maximilian," the pale man said. His voice was soft wind through bare trees. "I don't like going off schedule."
Max backed away, teeth chattering from cold. He was too freaked to question it. He just stumbled off the bus, and crashed back into his apartment after fumbling with his keys.
He took off his coat, uncerimouniosly kicked his shoes into the corner, and then froze.
The pale man from the bus was sitting on his couch.
The skull hovered over his head, grinning madly at Max.
"Maximilian Tomas, you have been... selected. I am here to offer you a job."
Max stumbled backwards in shock, knocking over a lamp. Unfazed, the man opened his briefcase. Inside, a single sheet of paper lay on a pitch black suit.
"Wh... Whe... Who... Whaa..." Max gasped, slightly overwhelmed.
Suddenly, he was sitting in a chair across from the pale man.
"You know, in the most primal, terrified part of your brain, exactly who I am."
"Death." Max spoke, surprised at the evenness of his voice. On the inside, he was still screaming.
The pale man - Death - nodded, slightly.
"I am old, Max. As old as time. I am growing tired of my work, and I need... new blood. An assistant. Eventually, a replacement. This would have been the day of our meeting one way or the other, Max. Sign the contract, you become my assistant. Refuse... The day continues as the Gamemaker meant it to. You die, alone, without purpose. Your soul is deleted. It is truly your choice, Max."
"Before I sign," Max said, haltingly. "You mentioned a Gamemaker."
Death's smile twisted to a grimace.
"Yes. The boss. Architect of fate. All powerful. Not very benevolent. All will be explained... If you accept."
Max nodded. Nothing else needed to be said.
Death's taut smile returned, and Max was holding a pen. He signed on the line, and as he crossed the last "T," he was wearing the suit.
Max looked around at his mediocre apartment, at his level 5 cat, and at the terrible view out the side window.
A taut smile came to his lips as he looked at his level. A grin that matched the skull above his head.
(Feedback appreciated)
(Edit: words) | My day was going great today. The weather was nice, sky clear, and random adventurers didn't even try to pick my pockets or kill me. Varrock's streets were bustling with activity. I live near the Grand Exchange area, so there are always people running around in the streets. As I was going on my daily stroll, I noticed something odd. At first I couldn't believe my eyes! Numbers appearing over the top of people's heads. Most were in the 20s and 30s, I even saw someone with an 87. My neighbors were all level 1s? I looked at mine and it was the same. How could this be? Only level 1? As these extremely interesting thoughts and questions filled my mind. Another thing caught my eye, someone had a skull over top of their head. What could this all mean? I traveled to Edgeville for my favorite evening hobby. Spectating the savage and bloody fights of the Wilderness. There were more numbers over their heads? As was standing there, oblivious in the middle of this battlefield, a man stabbed me in the chest. My vision was going blurry as I fell to my knees. The last thing I heard was "lol sit down nerd". | 2017-08-21T20:16:13 | 2017-08-21T19:39:32 | 24 | 14 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face | Miraculous, is what they always called it. It was true; she was a miracle, our darling, our baby girl. She was going to be the starting point of a new chapter of our lives: parenthood.
But would you call a murderer a miracle? Everyone saw it, that dark hideous mark on her face. Nobody explicitely pointed it out, but we all knew what it was. In most polite conversations, they called it the mark of Cain.
As parents, we tried our best to give her a stable, normal life. After all, murderers were slaves of emotions, the result of abusive households. That wasn't going to be the case for our daughter. She was a miracle, murderer or not.
Hell, to comfort ourselves, we researched all famous bearers of the mark of Cain. Most of them were decorated in war, where contextually the bloody act was considered heroic. Perhaps she would become a soldier. That was the best we could hope for.
Every time she screamed in anger, every time she was upset at someone, we quickly told her that was not very nice of her. We told her that she should treat everyone equally, treat them as she treated herself.
Childhood passed without an incident. We were relieved, probably more than other parents of children her age. Our child never tried to slice up animals, and neither did she become overly violent. We were confident that we could pull through.
We were so focused on her that we forgot other children grew up too. And what monsters they became; as soon as the children learned what the markings on their bodies meant, they started avoiding our baby girl. I still remember her face when she came back from school the day they learned about the marks. As soon as her teacher started talking about the mark of Cain, everyone stared at her.
She didn't seem too upset, and although we tried our best to tell her that that was just how she was born, that no matter what, we would love her, and she told us it was okay, that she understood. We didn't push it further. We didn't want her to get anxious.
But I swore I could hear the faint sobs of a little girl that night.
The more she grew up, the more the people around her avoided her. She was a ticking time bomb, she was an accident waiting to happen, she was just too dangerous... We heard it all, from everyone. Not even the adults around her seemed to know how to approach her. She could not avoid the scrutiny; how could she, when the mark was plain on her face? Our miracle child grew lonelier by the day, and although it ripped our hearts apart, she told us it was okay. That she understood.
One day, when I returned from work, I found out she was missing, that she didn't come back home from school. When we turned on the TV, we found out there was a manhunt for a murderer. Our hearts sank. A student was found dead in her high school.
The doorbell rang, and when we went, we found our daughter, covered in blood.
"I'm sorry. B-but that boy... He kept shouting at me, telling me I should die before I k-kill anyone, and then he grabbed me and I--"
We pulled her in for a hug. We were crying, telling her that were so worried, but she pulled back with tears in her eyes. She had the eyes of a hopeful child.
"I just wanted to get it over with... I-I've done it now, right? Fulfilled this mark?"
We didn't know.
At that moment, we heard the police sirens surround our house. | I tried to push him towards the arts. I knew that he had it in im to be a great artist. Sculpture perhaps, or music. But no... Little Adolf always wanted to be a painter and and painting I knew he could only fail.
He was so angry when they didn't pass him at art school - so very, very angry - I knew nothing I'd taught him and nothing I could tell him now could save him. He could only become what his Father had always predicted, from the moment he first saw the baby in my arms.
I cried, as he left our home. I cried, and I cleared the remnants of his childhood from our home. My little Adolf was gone from me now. May God rest his soul. | 2014-05-10T23:37:12 | 2014-05-10T23:15:19 | 466 | 12 |
[WP] Dumbledore decides not to leave Harry Potter with the Dursley family. Instead young Potter is sent to Chicago and placed on the doorsteps of Harry Dresden's home.
Edit: Thanks for the gold! | I couldn't get onto the Hogwarts Express, and it wasn't my fault.
Ron and I ran at the damn wall as fast as we could, and landed flat on our asses. We sat with our backs against the wall, watching as eleven o'clock passed by.
"Oh man, what are we going to do now?" said Ron. "My mum will kill me if she finds out we didn't get on that train!"
"There have to be other ways to get to Hogwarts." I said. "Some other means of transportation."
"Transportation? That's it! We can take my dad's flying car! We'll use it to follow the Hogwarts Express!" Ron shouted, excitedly.
"Oh yeah, Ron," I said, sarcastically. "Let's fly a huge car over London. Absolutely no muggles will notice us."
"It has an invisibility button," mumbled Ron, dejectedly.
"Which is on the fritz half the time." I snapped back, thinking. "I have an idea, but do not EVER tell my dad."
"What is it?" said Ron, scrambling up excitedly.
"We're going to take the Nevernever," I replied.
"What's that?"
"It's the spirit world. It's parallel to ours, but distances between places can be much shorter."
"That sounds wicked! Why haven't you ever used it before?"
"It can be pretty dangerous, and my dad's faerie godmother lives there. He tries to avoid her. Don't ask, it's a long story."
"Ok," Ron drawled out. "So, how do we get to the Neverever?"
"The Nevernever," I corrected. "And to get there, we need to open a Way. Follow me."
We found a secluded spot where no muggles could see us. I took out my rod (seriously, how did these European wizards not lose their tiny little wands all the time?), and brought it down, tearing what looked like a fabric in the hole of reality. I checked to make sure there were no Nevernever baddies on the other side.
"The Nevernever reflects the energy from the mortal world," I explained to Ron. "If a place in the mortal world gives off some spooky voodoo vibes, then it will touch a place in the Nevernever with the same type of vibes. The nice thing about Kings Cross," I said as I stepped into the spirit world, "Is that everyone there is excited and happy to travel. So this place in the Nevernever is exciting and happy. And, even luckier, we seem to be in the Summer Court's territory."
Ron looked around, his eyes wide. "This is amazing!" He cried, looking around the immense colorful garden we had stepped into. "But how do we find Hogwarts?"
"I'll need some of your blood." I responded.
"What?! What for?" Ron shrieked.
"We're going to use your bond to your brothers to track them, which will lead us to Hogwarts."
Ron reluctantly assented. He whined and turned a little white as I stabbed him and drew out some blood. I took out my dad's compass and performed a spell I had seen him do hundreds of times. When I was finished, the arrow of the compass started moving. "Let's go!" I said, cheerfully.
We walked for about an hour in the Nevernever, eating some of Mrs. Weasley's delicious sandwiches. As we were ruminating on pranks to pull on Malfoy, I heard a snarl.
A huge, dog-shaped figure leaped out at us.
"What is that?" cried Ron.
"A hellhound! Get back!" I shouted. The giant, dog-like creature started coming toward us.
As I prepared my staff, a small blue figure hurled itself at the massive beast. This was soon joined by other, smaller figures, all attacking the Hellhound. The tiny fairies were too much for the animal. It turned tail and ran, whimpering.
"Nobody harms Little Za-Lord!" Shouted the small figure of Toot-Toot, a fairy that occasionally helped my dad.
"Thanks Toot-Toot, I owe you a large pepperoni." I told the little guy.
"Hooray, pizza!" Shouted the tiny fairies, flapping their wings in excitement.
"What are you doing here, Little Za-Lord?" Questioned Toot-Toot.
"We missed our train, so we had to take a shortcut to Hogwarts," I explained.
"Hogwarts?" Asked Toot-Toot. "Why do you want to see warts on a pig?" He asked, with a quizzical expression on his face.
"That's the name of the wizarding school we go to," I explained. Do any of you know where it is?"
A six-inch tall female fairy zoomed up to me. "I know!" she said excitedly. "Follow me!"
"Come, let's all join Little Za-Lord on his journey to Pigwarts!" shouted Toot-Toot. The other fairies cheered as we all followed the little fairy who knew the way through the Nevernever.
"Why do they call you Little Za-Lord?" asked Ron, as we walked alongside the fairies.
"Well, my dad's called 'Za-Lord,' short for Pizza-Lord. And, since I'm his kid, they call me 'Little Za-Lord."
"Pizza-Lord?"
"Yeah, the Little Folk do favors for my dad, and he pays them in pizza."
"Why pizza?"
"Well, turns out, the Little Folk absolutely love pizza."
"Pizza!" shouted some fairies nearby who had heard us talking. They starting buzzing around excitedly.
"Fairies love pizza?" said Ron, incredulously.
"Yep."
"...Harry, your dad is really weird."
"Look who's talking," I laughed, as a giant castle loomed in the distance.
"True," replied Ron. "So, do you think we'll have a normal year at Hogwarts?"
"Not if I have anything to say about it," I replied, smiling.
| **Spoilers up to Dead Beat for the Dresden Files**
----
The building was fire, and it wasn't my fault.
No, really.
Stop looking at me like that.
Chicago is my town. I'm the "Who you gonna call?" dude. Something bad happens in this city that's just a little weirder than weird? That's my thing. Good news is, ever since the almost-zombie-apocalypse-that-didn't-happen last Halloween, I actually get paid for doing what I've always done, now.
Bad news: it put me on the radar.
As it turns out, when the White Council gives you a grey cloak, it starts turning heads - particularly when they once had you on a suspended execution sentence. In the magical community, turnarounds like that just don't happen. The Council is so conservative and set in their ways, they make the Vatican look like they just rocked off the Magic Bus.
I never wanted to be involved in Council politics. I kept out of them as best I could, and while I received a few overt visits - and a couple more covert messages - I managed to keep myself out of it. I'm perfectly happy being the proverbial black sheep.
I should've been worried about something else.
When you picture a wizard, you think of a guy like the Merlin. Flowing robes, long white beard, the wisdom of ages evident in the weary lines of his face. Now imagine his older brother pretending to be a stork and *dropping a baby on my porch*. Who knew the Council wasn't the only mortal magical body around?
----
I squinted at the fire and ran my hand through my hair. Murph was going to kick my ass.
O'Kelly's gym. This was where I trained every once in a while, when I had the time. The light from the blaze threw my shadow all the way down the street as I strode towards the plainclothes cop, who was talking to one of the firefighters on scene. She was cute, blonde, and more than a foot shorter than the soot-covered big man beside her. Lieutenant Karrin Murphy looked more like someone's aunt than the head of Chicago PD's Special Investigations team. She was cute, blue-eyed and had an upturned nose, and a hell of a lot tougher than she looked.
She was also good people.
I caught the tail end of their conversation as I got close.
"...gotta go help with this now, Lieutenant. I'll let you know if we find anything else."
"Thanks, Pete," Murphy said as he left.
I chucked my chin at her by way of greeting. "One of their guys was actually here off-duty when it started. Definitely wasn't an accident; the guy said there was nothing one second and a miniature inferno in the back room the next. One thing, though - he heard a baby crying?" She raised an eyebrow as she delivered the question.
"Yeah, about that, Murph," I winced. "I may know something about that."
"Dresden..." her voice was unimpressed. "How straight are you going to be with me, and will I be kicking your ass after you leave out important details?"
"It's not my fault! I couldn't just leave him on the doorstep!" | 2017-08-16T11:37:37 | 2017-08-16T10:51:07 | 108 | 42 |
[WP] You obtain a device that tells you exactly what choices to make in order to lead the "happiest" life possible. Some of these choices get hard to make. | "I'll have a hot dog."
The waitress didn't speak for a few seconds. This gave Derrick time to regret his decision. Not that it was *his* decision, but how was he supposed to tell the waitress that a machine instructed him to order a hot dog at a three star restaurant in Paris?
Exactly. He couldn't. The idea of such a machine existing was about as dumb as ---
"Ordering a *hot dog?!* HERE?!"
Well, that.
"Yes." Derrick stood his ground. He put his faith in the globalization of American capitalism; The customer was always right. "I would like a hot dog. Please."
She did not look impressed. Moreover, a silent audience was shifting the occasional glance in their direction. The well-dressed, old-money, can-walk-down-Champs-Elysees-without-humming-the-tune type who would frequent such places. And perhaps in all their years walking down Champs-Elysees, without having the decency to hum the song named after said street, they never imagined hearing somebody order a hot dog within ten feet of them. Or however many that was in meters. It was close enough for Derrick to hear politely aggressive coughs. The kind that tells a man, "look over here so I can give you the stink eye."
Unfortunately, Derrick only found this out after the fact. A casual glance towards a cough, and there it was; The stink eye that would have made any barely-law-abiding foreigner leave the premises before starting a diplomatic incident. But not Derrick. The little tablet in his pocket told him to order a hot dog here, because it would lead to the "happiest" life possible.
"We don't serve *hot dogs*, did you not read the menu?!"
Who's life, Derrick wondered in misery and embarrassment. The thought hadn't even occurred to him until the plane was rumbling towards one of Charles Du Gaulle airport's many gates. *I'll make this work,* Derrick begged to himself. Too much money went into this trip to turn back now.
He would stand his ground.
"Again miss, and I apologize for the trouble," said the man who blew thousands of dollars on a plane trip to order a hot dog at a three star restaurant in Paris. "I would just like a hot dog. Surely there must be some way that can work?"
Derrick put the rest of his faith in the tablet. Faith that the thousands of dollars were worth whatever would come. Faith that he wouldn't get kicked out for being an embarrassment to the 50,000 or so Americans who happened to *live* in Paris. And finally, faith that on the way out, should he get removed, that he wouldn't hum "Les Champs-Elysees" on the way out. It was too catchy. The man could not help himself.
"We're leaving," the waitress said.
"We?" Derrick asked stupidly.
"Oui." The waitress ushered him out of his table. Derrick couldn't help but hear a few sighs of relief from the neighboring tables, but there was no courage to meet their eyes again. One round of the French stink eye was enough, and he was in no mood to lose a best-of-three. As he made his way to the door, Derrick noticed the waitress was walking out of the restaurant with him.
"You're being awfully polite for someone throwing me out," Derrick said in his best, casual tone. It wasn't very good. His voice quavered at the last word, realizing he paid thousands of dollars and took three days off from work just to get kicked out of a restaurant in Paris. There wasn't much to be happy about, except the satisfaction he would have punting the tablet into the Seine later.
"Non, we're going shopping together. To get your hot dog."
Derrick blinked. "Come again?"
She took a light grip of his arm. "I promised myself the next time an American came to our restaurant today to order a hot dog, I would get the ingredients myself to make it in the kitchen. Did not think it would actually happen, but... oh, you know Joe Dassin?"
"Huh?"
"Aux Champs-Elysees. You were humming it!"
Derrick didn't realize he was doing so. The man couldn't help himself. For as short a time as he spent in Paris, much of it was spent on Champs-Elysees finding the restaurant. A few hours on that first day was apparently enough to form the habit.
"Yeah. Joe was the guy's name?"
"Oui!" She replied excitedly. "How strange for an American to know that song!" The grip on his arm was a little warmer. "What did you call yourself again?"
"Derrick. And you?"
"Marie. Come, there's an excellent *boulangerie* just down here to get buns for your hot dog!"
So the American who listened to a tablet in his pocket for life advice walked down Champs-Elysees with the French waitress of a three star restaurant. Even as Marie laughed for the first time during their shopping trip, Derrick did not know yet that the hot dog was only the beginning.
----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| The artifact the old man gave me seemed more like a rock than anything mystical at the time, that was until I touched it.
On contact I was filled with knowledge, maybe even premonitions that never came.
The first thing I learned was that I should put down the artifact and leave it, but that was something I couldn't do. After all, it showed me a world filled with euphoria, peace, and joy. As long as I held the stone, I would know what decision would lead to the best outcome for my happiest.
The choices were simple at first, turn left on the street instead of right, don't buy from that hotdog stand, and take a different route home.
I even met my wife because of the artifact. I was in a bar and I just knew who I should talk to, literal love at first sight.
But then life became boring. I started to enjoy browsing dank memes more than going on pleasant strolls, and thats when I found it 4chan.
The website seemed innocently stupid on the surface, but deep down inside, it changed. After a wicked trap thread, I found my first gore thread. It was something I had encountered, and it was exhilarating! I could feel my heartbeat raise, and the adrenaline pump.
After a nasty video of a woman being beat with a shovel I thought I should stop, but I knew I should stay. After that, I was always told to watch gore, for months this persisted, until... well...
I was standing in line at a bank, on my phone, browsing a gore thread. I was bored out of my mind, but the little voice in my head said It would be good for me to go here, so I followed.
Eventually there was one person in front of me, a woman so annoying she had to talk to the manager. After five minutes of waiting for this dumb bitch, and watching gore the voice said it.
"Kill her"
What!? No! right? I was lost... I knew I wanted to, I knew I would take great pleasure, but I didn't know if I could... or... no!
I ran out of the bank, and strait home to my wife.
I killed her obviously, and it was **GREAT!** Then my son, and daughter.
I'm actually disposing of them right now... well cutting them up so I can flush them.
And I have to say, I've never been happier.
___________________________________________
**If enjoyed reading this, check out my other work at /r/Alduit or [my free horror ebook](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/631467).** | 2016-05-05T05:01:41 | 2016-05-05T04:51:37 | 338 | 10 |
[WP] You're the last person on earth - but thank god Pokemon Go still functions! You amuse yourself by catching Pokemon as you travel so as to not feel so isolated and alone. One day, on your screen, you see in the distance that someone has set up a lure.
Courtesy of corvidaedream on Tumblr | It's pretty amazing how quickly one can adjust to being alone.
Living in the over-crowded post-modern world, one of the most common fantasies is to be the sole survivor in the coming post-apocalyptic world. Or at least one of two survivors - with the other being an incredibly attractive member of the desired gender. But it was just me. For the thousandth morning in a row, it was just me.
And my Pokemon.
I never considered myself to be exceptionally resilient or mentally tough. My parents had divorced when I was in middle school and I didn't cry. I'd had three serious relationships and managed to survive each breakup. I'd even held my childhood dog while it was put to sleep. But I doubt I ever would have imagined myself having the mental fortitude necessary to continue living as the last remaining human on earth. However, I also never imagined I would someday be able to run around outside catching the Pokemon of my childhood.
Pokemon Go! kept my sanity intact. It kept my memories unfaded. It gave me a sense of purpose. It even gave me occasional moments of joy and celebration. Amidst the remains of a first world society, I had absolutely no problem foraging for supplies. Rarely did I ever need to spend more than two or three hours in a day caring my survival. That left a lot of time for catching Pokemon.
It was strange though. Because even after the power grid of my city failed along with what I assumed to be every other cities' infrastructure, the internet and communication satellites still carried on functioning. I could even access my bank account. With no one out there to process or ship my orders from Ebay or Amazon, I quickly converted my entire life savings into incubators, lucky eggs, and incense. I could still earn coins from gyms, but something kept me from dropping off my precious digital monsters at the gray gyms I'd conquered and emptied. Even though I had upgraded to hold the maximum number of Pokemon, I knew in the back of my mind that every monster I dropped off at a gym would be eternally "lost" to me. Not only would they be locked in a gym with no opponents, but they would still take up slots and prevent me from adding new ones.
And so I continued traveling, conquering gyms as I went. A wake of gray gyms emanating from my path. I grew more and more attached to my beloved creatures. I began to name them after people I had known and loved. I gave my mother's name to a maxed-out Lapras. I named my Snorlax after my older brother. My Archanine became my resurrected childhood pet. Soon I had named every one of my Pokemon after all of the people I could remember. My piano teacher. My old orthodontist. The first person I'd ever had a crush on. It was a way of remembering. Of keeping them all alive. Of not feeling so alone.
Until the day I reached LVL 100. Seeing my XP cross that seemingly impossible threshold changed something in me. I realized that playing this game was becoming as pointless as anything that still remained on earth. There was only one thing left to do. Go home. Go back to my own version of Pallet Town and turn off my own game.
I began revisiting all of the empty gyms I had defeated and dropping my companions off at what would be their final resting places. I started with those Pokemon named after acquaintances and continued walking. Mile after mile, gym after gym. I said goodbye to classmates, teammates, and coworkers. I bid my crushes farewell. My friends and mentors each received their own private parting ceremony. I could still see them on my list of Pokemon, but knew that I could never bring them back. Finally, as I reached my home town, only the Lapras with my mother's name remained.
I walked down to the park near our house. The same park she had taken me to on sunny days before she lost the use of her legs. There was a gym there. I sat on the ground and stared at the Lapras for hours. I remembered how, when the pain was bad, she would float for hours in the pool. She said the weightlessness made her feel like she did before the sickness. Before I knew it the sun was going down. I sucked in a breath the same way one inhales as they go over the first big hill on a roller coaster. The kind of helpless feeling that follows making an irreversible choice. The gym lit up. A beautiful Lapras floated weightlessly above it.
My breathing came fast and shallow. My gut spasmed. I buried my hollow head in my hands, my phone tumbling into the grass. The convulsions hit and hit hard. This was it. This was the Game Over. No credits. No end scene. No thanks for playing. Just an empty black screen. I groped for my phone to see my mother one last time before ending my own game. Through my blurred vision I looked at the gym and where my mother's Lapras should have been, but it was gone! The gym was gray! I pulled up my Pokemon list and saw that not only was my Lapras not at its gym, it wasn't on my list at all! All of my Pokemon at disappeared!
I returned to the main screen and began looking around in all directions. The game had to have finally glitched out. The Niantic servers must be powering down. It was all coming to an end. Yet as I looked around, I saw something I hadn't seen in years. The nearest Pokestop was now glowing a faint sort of pink. A lure! Someone had placed a lure!
I sprinted blindly towards the lure, nothing making sense. I reached the stop and collapsed. It was empty. My heart just couldn't take anymore. My HP was nearing 0. I was on the verge of fainting. Darkness was creeping along the edges of my vision when I heard a sound like a thousand footsteps approaching from behind me. I weakly lifted my head enough to see the faint silhouettes of hundreds of people - each of them oddly familiar. Then I heard my mother's voice:
"Don't worry my child. We're all here. You caught us all. You saved us." | Today is October 25th, 2016. Today is my birthday! Nobody to celebrate with except my pocket monsters. I thought I'd make my first journal entry today. So hey journal! Let me tell you how this all started.
It feels like yesterday the world was taken by storm by the craze of collecting all of the pocket monsters. Packs of hundreds of people flocking from location to location, meaninglessly flicking their fingers accross their phones to show off their newest enslaved, digital monster. It was the biggest thing to sweep over the consumer world of the decade, maybe ever, and we ate it up... unaware of the true intentions of the inceptors of this cell phone application.
It started after the first big update. It was September 11, 2016. A date that was for sure to be left in the history books to remind us of that tragic day in the United States in 2001. There would be nobody to read about the events that happened on that same day 15 years later. After NIANTIC released its big update allowing players to trade and battle eachother, the popularity of the game sky rocketed again, this time doubled. Every single smart phone user on the planet was playing... that can't be right? There must be some people not playing. No it was right. And NIANTIC thought they had the world in their hands. They were WRONG.
Scientists couldn't explain it. They didn't have a whole lot of time to research it after it happened, so I can't really explain what happened. It was almost like we glitched out of our own matrix. The over capacity of humans connected to the digital world was overwhelming to the environment. Every single person who played pokemon go got sick and died within 12 hours of the updates release. Within 12 hours, every human being playing Pokemon Go had died. And it continued. There was only a couple weeks of other humans wandering around... they all got sick. And they all died. The scientists that were around to study it for that couple of weeks called it the Pidgey Effect. It was basically neurons in our brain got so confused about what dimension we were in that the nea
urons would rust and explode. It was gross.
So now I am on a mission. Somewhere hidden in this stupid apocalyptic game is the NIANTIC headquarters. If there is anyone alive who can fix this, thats where they will be. I headed out on my journey to find this place and turn that dimension off! I was getting close too. Until today.
Lure. Lure!! Lure module lure module!! There is one on a near by pokestop! I have to go! Or do I? Wait a minute think about it... who could possibly be there? There is nobody alive! But I'm alive... maybe someone is there! I had to see. I sat around the Pokestop for 45 minutes... even put up my own lure module. Thats when it hit me... I could feel my head swelling. My throat was very dry. My nose was bleeding? Whats going on?? Holy shit! I'm dying. My first journal entry is my last... I guess the border to this dimension is still here, and its still blurred. I will be dead within the next few hours. If you are reading this... stay away from Pokemon Go! | 2016-09-05T13:31:55 | 2016-09-05T10:07:35 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] A ghost and a zombie meet. They're from the same person. | Eric shuffled along Main Street, brightly greeting the other zombies he passed along the way.
"Hey, guys! Apocalypse treating you well, I presume?"
They moaned back feebly, and Eric sighed to himself. They never got his jokes. Not surprising, of course. He was one of the few who had somehow maintained his intelligence after the infection spread, and the world had gone to shit. It really was a curse, more than anything else. The only one like himself he'd found was a ten-year-old zombie child, who'd been beheaded by the Survivors before he could intervene.
"Eric? Eric," he heard a soft whisper rustle through the trees.
He shivered - such a human reaction. He looked around and saw the tell-tale translucent outline of a ghost leaning against a tree.
"Not in the mood, buddy," he muttered to it as he came closer. He couldn't make out any features except an enormous pair of eyes - milky orbs fixed on his face. "Move towards the light already, will you? God knows there's none of it on Earth anymore."
"Can't," it sighed the word. "I'm you, moron. We're split. And so we're incomplete, and I can't move on! Unfinished business, as they say. That's putting it mildly."
He stared at it, and understood. "You're *my* ghost? Bullshit. How can I still think and talk, then?"
"You can talk exactly because I'm a ghost!"
It drifted closer, shaking the vague shape that was its head.
"Listen to me, talking about *you*. It's why we're the way we are. Why I am. The infection didn't spread through you completely. And so we didn't die completely. Give up the remaining bit of your soul so we can move on, already! This plane is run by demons now. Assholes. They creep me out, I want to get away."
"And I don't?" Eric snapped to his ghost-self. If it even spoke the truth. "Zombies don't exactly make for stimulating company, let me tell you. Moaning and slurping up rotten meat, that pretty much sums them up. Go on, possess me or something. Get the last bit of ourself out."
"It doesn't work like that! No, you have to die again. Properly this time."
They bickered in the street, and Eric forgot where he was and where he'd been heading. He was still arguing when a Survivor crept up behind him with a machete, and took off his head with one clean swipe.
Eric's ghost stared at the head bouncing down the street with grim satisfaction. He'd seen the man coming, of course.
"Finally," he said, swooping after it. "Time to get this over and done with."
He possessed the head as it came to a standstill in a ditch. He had to move quickly to reunite with the last bit of his consciousness, which should be trying to escape from his old body right about now. He swooped into the head's bloody ear canal with a ghostly moan.
Eric's eyes flew open, and he took in a deep breath. Finally, heaven. He glanced around, but could only see concrete.
"Well, this can't be right," he told himself calmly, trying to take stock of his surroundings.
Was this hell, then? He peered upward, and saw the Earth's night sky glittering above. He sniffed carefully, and got a whiff of sewer water. A thrill of horror shot down his spi...no. Not his spine. He didn't have a spine.
"Shit," he whispered in panic. He was trapped in his head.
"Huuugnnghh," he heard something groan above him. The gaunt, maggot-eaten features of a zombie was just visible if he rolled his eyes up.
"No! No!" he screamed as it picked him up and stumbled down the street. "Hey, put me down!"
As it sniffed his head and moaned appreciatively, Eric sighed and closed his eyes. He waited for the inevitable moment when he'd become dinner.
"Hey buddy," the zombie suddenly whispered in his ear. "Sorry I reached you so late - and for pretending to be a real zombie. They're watching us. *They're everywhere*."
He rolled his eyes up and squinted, and finally recognised the zombie. No mistaking those tattoos, messed up and faded though they were.
"Zack?" he muttered, and groaned aloud.
How did that guy, of all people, keep a grip on his sanity? A friend of his college roommate, Zack had been just a *bit* hypervigilant. Many had informally diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic, though Zack had never been to see a therapist.
"Where are you taking me?" he demanded.
"A place only I know about," Zack hissed back. "I saw this coming *years* ago and prepared accordingly. And I think I know what to do about your little predicament. Removing and reattaching heads are a cakewalk, trust me."
Eric sighed as Zack babbled on. It wasn't as if things could get much worse. Hadn't he already been resigned to being eaten? What else could possibly happen?
"Alright, Zack. Head me in the right direction."
It took Zack a moment, but then he burst into hideous, hoarse peels of laughter.
"Good one, man! I like your style. Keeping that sense of humour alive and kickin'. Good for you. Well, you'll need it when I administer your treatment. Boy, I can't wait! Good thing I trained for this all those years in college, huh? They never did catch me, you know. I was *that* good."
"Wait, what do you mean? What training? Caught you doing what, exactly?"
He shouted in vain at Zack, as his former friend began humming to himself and showing no sign of hearing him. Finally, he simply gave up and waited to see what would happen. Maybe he'd be lucky and die again as Zack 'treated' him. Third time's the charm, as the old saying went. | Emma opened her ammo pouch and did a quick inventory.
"Okay, so we have three 12 gauge shells and eight .44's, not including the ones that I'm loading now. Think that can tide us over?"
Liam put a pinch of Skoal into his lower lip and rubbed his chin. Emma didn't know if that was an attempt to seem nonchalant or if his dependence on nicotine really couldn't take a sideline to them being trapped in the basement by a walker. It didn't matter, it pissed her off either way.
"Well?!"
"Well, you're not going to like what I have to say."
"Try me."
"I say that it's only one, and we haven't seen any other walkers for a few clicks. But I figure, if you go around waving that Remington, that can change awful quick."
Emma's eyes started swelling with tears as she loaded one of the .44's into the pistol.
"Come on, Em. We've done it before. We'll just use the old pry bar like we've done Christ knows how many times. Why bring more of them out of the woodwork?"
"None of those times were Dad! It's our dad that's up there, dammit Liam! We can't beat our dad like a rotten meat pinata! We'll at least put him out humanely."
Neither Emma or Liam could shake the feeling that their father was watching them, waiting for them to make the right move.
That might of been because whilst the body of George was in the kitchen, bringing despair upon his children, the spirit of George was hovering a few feet behind them. Passing on his judgement, unseen and unheard.
*"Dammit Liam, spit out that chew! Do you think that there's a bounty of dentists or cancer doctors in the Christ forsaken apocalypse?!"*
Liam, of course, did not hear his father's postmortem lecture. Which was almost refreshing for George, because at least one thing did not change after death.
*"Emma, this isn't a day time soap opera! Just march your butt upstairs and bash my brains in, young lady!*"
"Come on, Em. Be reasonable for once. That isn't our dad."
*"Listen to your brother."*
"You don't understand, I can almost feel his presence. It's like he's here with us. I think there might be a little bit of him still inside that walker."
"No, I think you're right. I can almost hear him telling me to quit chew."
*"Never mind."*
Liam spat out the Skoal and pulled a cigarette out from the inside pocket of his jacket.
*"OH COME ON!"*
As Liam lit up the cigarette, Emma loaded another round into the revolver.
"Plus this was Dad's favourite gun. It's what he would have wanted."
*"I really don't mind."*
"You've sold me. But just remember, as soon as you shoot him, we're running all the way to the safe house. No stopping. Not even if you feel like your lungs are going to burst."
*"I can't watch this anymore."*
George drifted through up through the floor and into the kitchen until he saw his former self. He started studying this bloated, shambling, pungent body as it clawed at the door to the stairwell.
*"I have really let myself go."*
Edit: Sometimes I forget how to English.
| 2016-03-21T10:46:20 | 2016-03-21T09:48:26 | 703 | 179 |
[WP] You are a Genie but not a malicious one. Though you are bound by the Genie Code to grant wishes with some horrible or ironic twist you make a real effort to leave an obvious loophole and strongly hint how to avoid that fate. Unfortunately the Genie Council has found out and they aren't happy. | “Well, Grant, what do you have to say for yourself this time?” The head genie asked with a rather annoyed and condescending tone.
Grant, who was looking as smug as ever, replied “Why whatever do you mean? I am simply doing my job. Fulfilling the requests of those who find my lamp. Its a contractual obligation as youre well aware.”
“Of course I am aware!” The head genie yelled. “But i am also aware of you making it painfully obvious to certain denizens of the mortal plain how they need to carefully word their wishes to avoid the monkey’s paw! It is in our code that all wishes not explicitly worded should be circumvented in some way to ruin the wish! You know this full well!” He had stood up by this point, well, rose up might be more accurate for a legless ephemeral being.
Grant now looked visibly excited and simultaneously angry. This is the moment he had been waiting for. Centuries had the council tormented him with regulations and red tape. Ignoring any of his positive performances and nitpicking the smallest infractions.
Grant took a second to calm himself, and stated “But councilman, I am doing exactly that.”
“Preposterous!!! Last council meeting we explicitly discussed this! You agreed that there would be no more talks with your wishers about how they should word their wishes! But you are giving them an entire printed document explaining how to make iron clad wishes! Tell me why we shouldn’t bar you from ever returning to the mortal realm right now!” The head genie was more infuriated than Grant had ever seen him. But that was going to make it all the better.
Grant spoke plainly, “Because you would be in violation of rule 33 of the genie code. Sir.”
The head genie was perplexed. “Code 33?!Attempting to interfere with the completion of a wish? Youve gone completely mad!”
“You see sir..” Grant could barely contain his smile at this point, and eventually let a huge grin come across his face. “Last time you brought me in here, I was resting in my lamp.”
“You were ignoring us!” Head Genie screamed.
“I was asleep.” Grant replied, then continued. “In order to force me to comply, you rubbed the lamp. Once I appeared I announced my appearance and told you, rather amusingly, that you may have one wish. You all told me to quit playing around, but I was quite serious. We argued back and forth for a bit, and then do you remember what happened?”
The head genie responded, “Of course! You agreed to stop telling the mortals how to avoid the corruption of their wi-“
Grant cut him off. “That is not quite correct. See, i asked if it was your wishes, council, that I stop TALKING with the mortals about avoiding wish corruption. Talking. Nothing was ever said about written word. And see, by rubbing my lamp and agreeing that it was your WISH that i stop, i was obligated by my duties as a genie to corrupt your wish. I am doing my job. Just as I am commanded.” Grant couldnt hide the smug look on his face any more. He hadnt beaten the council at their own game.
The head genie was speechless. He was furious but also realized according the code of genies he had no room to argue.
Grant said “Now, if this is all settled I am returning to my lamp. Dont worry, I wont report you for trying to interfere with my fulfillment of a wish.”
Grant laughed and it echoed through the space as he returned to his lamp confident the council wouldnt be nitpicking him again. | "So. You're saying that every wish I grant must have some horrible or ironic twist?"
"Indeed."
"It needs to be something that the wisher would regret, and there must *not* be an easy way out of it?"
"That is correct. If you do not abide by these rules, then you will be disincorporated, as per -"
"Oh, don't worry. I *fully* intend to abide by these rules that you have laid upon me."
Every member of the council glanced immediately at the Truthstone. It glowed with the soft, gentle white of a sincerely meant truth.
"Well. In that case, you are welcome to leave; but your next infraction of these unwritten rules will have consequences most dire."
"Oh, but I wouldn't want to go against the rules you have laid on me," I say, smiling as I fade away. "After all... *your wish is my command...*" | 2022-03-22T06:12:53 | 2022-03-22T05:51:27 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You thought you were being abducted by aliens for bizarre medical experiments. Instead it turns into a therapy session as the alien researcher who has been observing you for months asks if you are really ok. | Lily frantically looked around the room she found herself in. It was solid white, the walls smooth and slick. The door set flush with one wall was locked right, with no obvious console or mechanism to open it.
Lily shrugged and plopped back into the couch. It was soft, at least, and she found herself drooping down into sleep.
When she awoke, she immediately noticed she was not alone. A strange creature, like a bipedal insect, stood before her. Lily looked at it's eyes, which took up nearly a third of its face, but couldn't discern any emotion.
"You are...unwell." Lily heard the words almost as a buzzing. This creature didn't have a visible mouth. How was it talking to her?
"I have been observing you for many of your moon phases." This time, Lily caught the almost imperceptible vibrating of the creatures wings.
"I don't understand, what do you want with me?" Lily felt the panic start to rise in her chest.
"Do you want to go home?" It blinked it's saucer like orange eyes at her.
"Well, not really...but I don't feel safe here."
"Human safety...human safety..." It began to flitter around the room. Lily watched as hidden compartments opened in the wall. The creature gathered up an armful of blankets and pillows from the closet, and began to pile them onto her.
"I have observed you spent much of your time curled up in your...what do you call it...blanket nest?" The creature tilted it's head inquisitively. "I have also procured some tea and cookies!"
It flew out the door, and returned with a tray of steaming tea and cookies. Chamomile. Lily's favorite. *This thing really did it's research. What if it also knows about...? No,* Lily thought, *don't think about it now...*
Too late...
The tears overwhelmed her, cascading down her cheeks and collecting into salty droplets on the blanket. She burrowed deeper into her nest.
"I understand, human. I have seen the true evil of your kind. Please know, that man has also been procured. However, while I'm here to learn more about human emotions, my friends are learning something very different from him."
Lily's heart began to pound, and she wildly scanned the room for the man who haunted her nightmares.
"Be calm, human. He is secured elsewhere. There is a swarm of Odota between you and him. And many locked doors."
Lily relaxed back into the blankets, and cautiously sniffed the tea. It smelled amazing, with a tinge of honey. After a moment of sipping the tea, she gathered up her courage and began to nibble a cookie.
"Very good! Humans require liquid and solid sustenance daily. You have been insufficient in consuming your nutrients. There is plenty for you to consume. You failed to eat due to emotions, is my theory. Is that correct?"
Lily nodded weakly.
The creature overturned a honey jar into a cup, and a long thin tongue snaked it's way from the beings mouth to the sweet beverage.
"You feel unsafe. Shall I return you home? The other human will not be returning." The buzzing was softer this time, more subdued. The movements almost seemed hesitant.
"I don't think I'll ever feel safe there again." Lily felt the tears sting her eyes again.
"You will, human. It will take time, but you will. Your species is synonymous in galactic standard for resilience. Your reputation precedes you. I assure you, all will be well in time."
"Can I stay here?" Lily knew it was a childish question, but she was desperate to flee these memories.
"I'm afraid not. One day your kind will make their way into the galactic community. Let me tell you from experience, though, that the galaxy is not large enough to outrun your problems. You'll have to face them, and overcome them." The beings eyes dulled, and it's wings dropped slightly.
Lily ran forward and hugged it. The creature's hard carapace was slick and cool. "Thank you. I don't know how to talk to anyone about this. I don't know what to say to Mom. I'm scared."
"Let's go, then. I won't leave until you feel safe. I'm Ziiila, by the way." Ziiila extended her hand to Lily.
It's going to be okay, Lily thought, I have a friend to help me through this.
"Shall we go talk to her together? Sometimes things are easier with a friend. I am so excited that my theories and hypothesis was correct! We aren't so different after all."
Edit: Sorry for the typos. I typed this on phone. | It was that fateful evening. A full moon approaching me at alarming speed, revealing itself to be an UFO.
The circular disc floated above me as I admired it, it let down a stream of blue light on me, dissolving my atoms.
I awoke aboard what I assumed was the UFO. Two big, green headed aliens watched over me.
Soon it was just me and the smaller alien. Both were bald but it was evident that this was the female alien. Her eyes a little larger, and her body a bit less boxy.
She reached out to me and placed her three fingers on my forehead. I wanted to feel her skin and see if it was truly as soft as It looked but unfortunately I was immobilised by some laser contraption.
Her fingers proceeded to caress my forehead and she slid it up and down, poking my cheeks every so often.
This was my demise I thought. I'm going to get experimented on and die. The silver lining was that a hot alien was the cause of death.
I closed my eyes and hoped for a painless death.
"Are you okay?"
A voice echoed throughout the room, vibrating every hair on my body.
She had stopped touching my forehead.
"You have many stress veins human" she proceeded to draw a circle around my chest. "Your feelings are turbulent..." she paused.
"Are you truly okay?" She asked me once again.
I froze. Not because my body was physically frozen by the laser contraption but - well yes that was why I was frozen. But also because it had been 20 years since someone had asked me that. It brought me memories of mother. I wanted to cry but my eyes were frozen open.
Her fingers were shaped like mushrooms. The finger tips large and sensual. Its touch full of love.
I wanted to respond but I couldn't. She seemed considerate but not considerate enough to consider that my mouth was frozen and that humans couldn't speak without moving their mouth...
So I just sat there while she felt my skin, running her fingers up and down and making heartwarming statements about my very stressful life. | 2021-02-04T20:41:53 | 2021-02-04T16:02:58 | 159 | 30 |
[WP] A child with the uncanny ability to build anything is jokingly recruited by the UN to solve world peace. Three weeks later the child returns with a large box, smiles and asks, "give me a hard one next time!" | The members of the UN Security Council stared uncomfortably at the object sitting in the middle of the conference table. Or rather, floating roughly an inch above its surface, suspended at that fixed distance in a manner visually similar to a strong magnet levitating above a superconducting material, though the table was ordinary wood. It was a 3-foot cube, apparently seamless and featureless, made of an unknown metallic element that none of the world's top scientists had been able to identify.
Beside the ineffable box on the table, sat a small boy, his legs dangling over the edge and kicking lightly. His name was Theodore Miller, though he preferred "Teddy". He was, by all measures, a peerless science and engineering prodigy. At the age of seven, he'd constructed a device demonstrating a safe, small-scale fusion reaction, from ordinary household materials. He'd done so simply because he'd wanted to, in his words, "make electricity better, for the planet and stuff".
The Secretary General cleared his throat. "Teddy, can you walk us through how you made this...device?"
"Yes, sir." Teddy replied, with a solemn nod. "'Member when you asked me to talk to the UN General's Assembly, about energy and stuff?"
"Yes, Teddy, we do." The Secretary General replied, patiently.
"Well, after I got done talking about how we should use the power from my fuser thing, and not from oil and whatever, and then we went to that big dinner afterwards, that billionaire guy -- you know, the guy with the cars and stuff -- came up and talked to Dad, and Mom and me, and he said he thought I did a good job. And then he said 'Why don't you try to solve world peace next?' And so I told him I didn't know if I had all the stuff I'd need for that at home, but if I could get that stuff, I'd try to. And then he said he'd buy me whatever I needed, if it was okay with Mom and Dad. And Mom and Dad said it was okay because it's summer break still, so we all got to go to this big cool factory, and I got to work with all kinds of metals, and circuits, and quantum computers, and particle accelerators and stuff, and anything they didn't already have, that rich guy just called someone and bought it for me! And so I made *this!* It was really fun." the child explained, smiling and patting the cube fondly.
"I see..." The Secretary General said, uneasily.
"How does it work?" The Chinese ambassador suddenly demanded. "What does it do?"
"Oh, um, sorry, Mr. Li." Teddy said, frowning sadly. "I don't know how it works, or even what it does, exactly."
"If I may, Ambassador Li," The American ambassador interrupted. "We've done extensive tests, and established that young Mr. Miller--"
"You can call me Teddy, sir!" the boy interjected, brightly.
"That *Teddy,"* the ambassador continued, with a slight smile. "Doesn't know how his inventions work, on an intellectual, technical level. He's a savant, you see. He understands mathematics, physics, and quantum mechanics better than anyone else alive, but he does so on an entirely unconscious level. He's a genius, absolutely, but he can't explain his process to us, because there *is* no process, for him."
Teddy nodded, smiling. "Yep! That's what the doctors told Mom and Dad, too. They think maybe when I'm older, and I go to high school and college and all, I'll be able to tell you *how* I do stuff, but right now I just sorta *do it."*
"Teddy, are you absolutely sure that there is *nothing* you can tell us about how this device of yours is supposed to solve the problem of world peace?" The Secretary General pressed.
Teddy fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Well...yes, sir. There is maybe one thing. I remember back at the factory, when I was putting it together, just sort of *knowing* how everything should go, like always, I suddenly had a thought. It just came to me, kinda like how the way to make the peace machine just came to me."
"Well, please tell us. What was your thought, Teddy?" The Secretary General asked, tensely.
Teddy smiled innocently, and shrugged. "I thought 'Man, the next guy who starts a war sure is gonna be sorry!'" | The year is 2158, almost a century after the "problem of world peace" was solved by the Child.
World peace is no more. There is only war. This has always been the way it was for as long as anyone can remember.
I am a soldier in the Southwest Indiana Army, of the twenty first short-lived nation to be established in this region. We are enemies with most of the nations bordering us, for seemingly no reason at all. We fight for a purpose that becomes obsolete after a few years, a decade at most.
My parents were also soldiers. My father from the Southeast Indiana Republic, and my mother from the Sixteenth Empire of Illinois. They met during the battle of West Springfield, just before the collapse of the Empire, when Southeast Indiana was aiding them in battle.
In my hometown, the smoke and radiation from the bombs, missiles, and mines always fill the sky with an unbreathable gray haze. None of us have ever seen the blue of the sky that our ancestors once took for granted.
People always die left and right, not only from the battles, but from the inhospitable air, water, and soil. Nobody is left to care for the weak and elderly.
Last night, I watched as my best friend bleed out to death from a bullet wound. He was alive and breathing for far too long after he went into shock. We buried him in an unmarked hole in the mass graves. There was no funeral. There were more important things.
But even when we are doomed to continue war, we live on. Some of us still have a will to continue. A will to prolong our existence. We will not let humanity die in vain like this.
One day, the Child will be found again.
One day, there will be an end to this torture. | 2022-04-04T09:41:29 | 2022-04-04T05:53:35 | 273 | 49 |
[WP] A single man controls the entire world. No decision is made without his say. The thing is, he doesn't know he's the ruler, all he knows is these people in suits come to his house and ask him weird questions every once in a while.
This prompt is inspired by a plot line in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, but I felt there was enough possibility to take the premise elsewhere. | They always find me. I don't know how.
I thought I had lost them deep in the Rockys, but sure as shit I get that knock on the door, those three quick raps, and I already know its them. I don't know how they keep finding me. Every time I move, I take only the clothes on my back. A few times, I didn't even do that, just to be sure. But whether it be in some suburb in Illinois or a log cabin deep within Baxter State Park or the county jail for public indecency, they always come.
I had thought it was the cameras. They make 'em mini now. Stuff 'em in between rock crevices. You ever shove your hand deep into a public restroom? Yeah, they're there too. They gotta be. So I hiked into the jungle, deep into unmarked lands where not even forest rangers dared venture and within 12 hours while I'm shitting in some hole I dug in the ground, they found me.
Then I thought it was the satellites. Those mechanical narcs shooting radioactive waves to detect my own brainwaves. Oh they're clever, but they ain't as clever as me. I bought a few rolls of tin foil, made myself a hat, and jumped deep underground in the sewers beneath New York. That's how I was gonna free myself of 'em. But waist deep in millions of people's collective shit, they found me once again.
Now, I think its the water, it's gotta be. Some microtracker nanomachine in the flouride poisoning our bodies. How else can they keep tracking me like this? *They're not Gods!!!* So here I am, back in the jungle this time with nothing from civilization, no bottled water, no tools, no clothes, nothing. They ain't ever finding me here.
"Hello Mr. Parker," a guy says.
I don't even need to wake to know the voice.
"Morning Mr. Parker," a girl says.
That's how they do it, their modus operandi. Whether it be in a jungle, nighttime without even a moon, or even in the hottest, most humid day on Earth, always a guy and a girl, always suit and sunglasses.
"We have a few questions for you, if you have the time," the guy says.
Then, the girl takes out her little notepad, her pen centimeters away from the paper, already twitching with excitement. "Thank you for your time."
Of course, they're always so damn polite, as if they're the ones doing me a favor by chasing me down to the ends of Earth itself.
I feel that familiar anger inside of me, an ember in my stomach as it rises with my nausea until its disgusting flame in my chest. But I swallow it down. I've tried shouting before, threatening, fighting, even beggin'. These guys don't stop. You ever beat a person within an inch of his life and he just hops back up on a broken leg and asks you if you're busy? That shit scars a man.
So I clamp my mouth shut. I stay quiet. "Sir," the man says and asks me about foreign affairs in some country that sounds more like the name of a pokemon than a country.
Shit I don't care. Bomb me. Kill 'em. Marry 'em. It don't matter to me, but these guys don't leave until I answer. So I pick one. Not sure which one, they're all the same.
"Yes sir, thank you very much sir," the girl says.
I don't think she realizes that she's talking to a man butt naked who hasn't shaved either up here or down there in six months. *Sir* ain't the title.
They turn to leave but this time, I stop them. I wave my hand. "Wait!"
And they do.
"How do you keep doing this. It's the camera's ain't it, in the trees."
"Sir." The guy. "There are no cameras in the trees, as far as I know."
"Then it's your mind control waves. You launch 'em from space!"
"Sir." The girl. "Space is demilitarized. There are no mind control waves in space."
"Then it's the god damn water! Nanomachine in the flouride!"
They exchange looks. "I'm sorry, sir," the guy says and he truly is, I can see it in his face." I have heard of no nanomachines in the water."
"Then..." The answer dawns on me. "You probed my ass."
"We would never, sir..." the girl says, her brow crunched in the first sign of emotion I've ever seen from her. That was all the answer I needed.
"You probed my ass! I knew it! You put a tracker up my poophole and you've been tagging me ever since!" I make eye contact with the guy. "Take it out."
He gawks at me, probably surprised that I finally figured it out. "But sir, there is no--"
"Reach into my pooper and take out the god damn tracker you put in there. Now!"
The guy swallows, his eyes tearing up. "Yes sir, right away sir."
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular request, bonus stories and more!
| And without a fiber of contempt within his body, Tim Miller doomed the entire planet.
The day started with breakfast: two eggs slightly burnt and a cup of watery brew. He never got eggs right, but Billy always tried his best. After the paper he stepped outside onto his porch. Jenny once called it the thinker, he just called it the chair. He sat and thought the grass was looking a little yellow, no sense in letting it get thirsty, he thought. Just as he picked up the hose, the men came.
It was a little hot for for black suits, but the sunglasses seemed appropriate. The car they parked looked a little above even their pay grades.
"Excuse me sir, what are you doing?" one man asked.
"Waderin' mah lawn, what's it look like tuh you?" said Tim.
"Watering the lawn, of course, makes perfect sense sir!" said the other man. He tapped away at a tablet.
"Anythin' I can do for ya?" asked Tim. "Yer early this week."
"No, no. Do we tell him sir?" asked the man with the tablet.
"We just need a pulse on the average American. That's all."
"Well yer annoying, why don't you get off my property? You're steppin' on the lawn, y'know," said Tim.
"Well, we just need to ask you a few more questions."
Tim looked at his hose. He turned it on and let it run for a moment. The water was wasted on cement.
The man with the tablet spoke. "Look, just tell us what you think of the current administration and we'll-"
Tim raised the hose and pressed his thumb to the tip. He sprayed water on the man with the tablet.
"MY TABLET!" said the man with the broken tablet.
Tim lowered the hose. "Now you, I-"
"We must know how you're feeling," said the other man.
"I feel..."
Tim raised the hose and pressed his thumb to the tip again, soaking the man.
"Like you should get off my lawn. You're taking up all its water!"
The two men, soaked, looked at each other.
"Do you have a pen?" asked the man with the broken tablet.
They walked towards their car and turned back towards Tim one last time before getting in.
"Only if you have a towel," said the other man.
Once the car doors slammed, Tim watered his lawn in peace.
A week later the water shortage began. Every lawn was flush and there was none left to drink.
The last day started with breakfast: no eggs and a side of coffee grounds. | 2017-05-05T20:51:01 | 2017-05-05T19:59:50 | 1,328 | 122 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Not especially handsome, nor unusually strong, and lacking the vivid ornamentation of other species, the average high school student struggles to find a suitable mate.
Here, a young male—*Discipulus Studiosis*—has his eye on a possible mate. They've occupied similar territory for a while now; in both Biology and History they sit adjacent to each other. Yet, for all their boasting, the adolescent male is often a timid creature, and as yet has made no true overtures beyond a tentative attempt to make small talk before the bell. Today, that will change.
The high school goes through several cycles, and while individuals often seek mates throughout the year, there are two points of increased activity, called Dances. These are lavish displays of availability, with a marked increase in in decoration, and with male individuals often conducting extensive ritual to court their chosen mate. One of these events approaches now—the spring Dance. But there are other factors in play as well. This individual has just moved into his seventeenth year, and thus is part of a higher standing, the deceptively-named "Junior Class." The expectation of this class is that they find a mate, if not for the year, then at least for the Dance. This male's hitherto lack of concern for finding a mate has prompted some harassment from his peers. If he can successfully court a respected mate, he will be rewarded with increased social standing. The reward is tempting—but the risks are ever-present.
For while a successful courting promises increased standing among the school in general, and his circle in particular, a failed attempt may mean humiliation, mockery, or even, should the attempt be in competition with a more aggressive male, physical violence.
These are surely the thoughts plaguing this young male today. He's made an attempt at ornamentation, forgoing his usual pop-culture-referencing t-shirt for a more subtle, solid colour, as well as even adding an overshirt in an effort to show fashion sense. Lack of practice with the fashions of the day means he is by no means the most attractive, but he is acceptable—or so he hopes.
He stops a few feet from his chosen mate as she stops at her locker, taking stock of the situation. The hallway is relatively clear, with other students filtering back and forth through classes. He fidgets with his backpack, clearly anxious. After a moment of indecision, he decides to go through with the ritual.
He removes a sign from his backpack—signs being a common choice for such courtships—and readies it so that it faces the girl. It bears the phrase "*It would be sweet if you would go to the dance with me*", as well as having several delicacies attached. Each is, from what he's gathered from her friends, one of her favourites, and he hopes that the wordplay, in conjunction with the bribery, will convince her.
Other students have noticed him standing, and the sign draws additional attention—but she hasn't noticed yet, being busy in her locker.
But a complication arises: her friends have approached. They stop suddenly, seeing the panorama before them: him anxiously about to engage the ritual, her distracted by her locker. They gape for a moment, then titter among themselves. The male sees this, and it gives him yet more doubt—but there can be no turning back now. He has committed, and to abandon the ritual now would surely result in a tremendous humiliation.
Steeling himself, he calls her name.
She turns, looking around for a moment, before recognising the situation, and is struck silent for a moment.
He forces a smile, trying to hide his fear, and weakly repeats the phrase found on his sign, wiggling it a bit to draw attention to it.
The female's eyes widen, and dart towards her friends, a motion which does not go unnoticed by the male. But what she sees in her friends' countenances reassures her, and she turns back to evaluate his suitability as a mate.
He is not especially muscular, nor is he at the top of the social hierarchy, though his efforts have borne fruit, and his attempt at fashion impresses her. He also has an advantage, in that while he is somewhat thin, he is also rather tall—a desirable trait.
A long moment passes. The male's smile widens, but so do his eyes, betraying his panic.
But all is well—the female finds this unthreatening and endearing, and graciously accepts him as a partner. He gives a deep sigh, which turns to relieved laughter, and goes to give her the sign. She takes it and makes comment on the suitability of the candy selections—glancing sidelong at the giggling group of her friends.
The bell rings and the students must depart—sparing the male the discomfort of attempting to judge how to proceed. He asks if he can text her about the details later, and she, smiling, accepts. As he takes off, running towards the gymnasium, she turns to her friends, and they surround her, probing for details and information.
The male's excited flush is soon noticed by his peers, and they congratulate him on his success. He has dared and won, and is now more respected.
The Dance itself is still several weeks out, but there is time to prepare.
For now, the male will content himself with the satisfaction of being accepted as a mate, and the female will be content to share the story. | It is May. The skies are blue and white. Sun pours down upon the brown brick and gray concrete of Kennedy Memorial High School.
Yet another mating season has nearly come to a close. Desperation fills the air with a heady musk. Soon the migration will begin and these awkward, slouching creatures will leave this place, returning to their ancestral homes, called by some power only they can know. In the great heat of the summer, they will sleep away the long days.
Time is short.
The males of the species are poor hunters. They prowl the narrow corridors in an almost drunken state, looking for isolated females. The females move most often in packs, preferring the safety of great numbers. Should a male manage to separate a female from the herd, he has but scant seconds to make his move.
This pressure is immense.
Here we see a lone male now. You can see by his momentary willingness to make eye contact that he is experiencing a fleeting burst of confidence. Is it related to his grooming, perhaps? A timely application of relevant memes? We can only guess.
He has spotted an unaccompanied female. She is loitering near the above ground den where she stores her textbooks and collection of emergency Cliff Bars. She must sense his approach, surely? The males of the species are not known for their stealth. And yet she does not scatter, but busies herself picking at the remains of an ancient sticker. The lone male announces his arrival by clearing his throat.
She returns the greeting wordlessly, her only signal the slightest raising of her eyebrows. The male falters. He stamps the ground aimlessly, his face turning a reddish hue - a distress signal. He has already lost his advantage.
Somewhat imperceptibly, the nearby males and females have all shifted around to witness this encounter.
The male regains himself. He makes a series of pointedly benign observations. The female responds in kind. The dance has begun.
They reach the crucial juncture. The male has run out of benign observations. The female waits. The scene is tense. Will the male strike? Will the female slip away?
The male seems ready to make his final approach...
When - what's this? Another male has arrived. A friend of the first male, it would appear. He breezes in between the two, slapping the male in the genitals and braying loudly. The spell is broken. The female makes her escape.
A tussle breaks out between the two males. It is short lived. Together they slouch away into a nearby den. For the young male and the female, the cycle of life goes on.
But there's always tomorrow. | 2017-04-04T06:40:45 | 2017-04-04T05:58:50 | 426 | 106 |
[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. | The chamber illumination dimmed and the milky sim tank faded to life. A thousand eyes stared intently from the council benches, and a trillion more from across the five galaxies.
A deep voice, set on edge with urgency and well-contained fear, began its narration of the sim.
"The Brevis' star system surveillance node 47 has, it has been reported, recorded first contact with the species self-identifying as Humans. This much has already been announced. What has not yet been announced is that an analysis of the event has been completed, and their method of travel has thrown a black flag, gamma zero priority. Observe."
The sim showed a small moon below, surrounded by a halo of probes similar to the one that must be recording the image. In the far distance, the volumetric compensation showed a grossly enlarged blue planet on another orbital track, the Brevis' home world Herol. The orbital motion of the probes had been smooth and obvious, but now they slowed.
"We are showing the event at a reduced speed. Watch carefully."
Without warning, the entire projection dimmed as a single point of incredible, actinic light burst from the space next to the moon and raced away from its surface. As one, the closer orbiting probes glowed white-hot and began to disintegrate. The image wavered and then froze.
"Now, focus your attention on the exact location this phenomenon appeared, and keep your attention on that spot as the light moves away."
The image reversed, and the killing glow moved back to its original location. It slowly crept back outwards as the sim zoomed in. There, in the wake of the glow, was a ship, shaped like a mushroom with its cap to the light. Vaporised hull matter streamed from the smooth side facing the light, some sort of ablative heat shielding.
"We had never seen this effect before. We assumed it was some sort of deceleration technique, until we looked at it from the planetary defence network."
The perspective in the sim shifted, as if travelling to the distant planet. The moon and its halo of probes shrank, then grew again due to the volumetric compensation. The sim was normal again for a moment, before that terrible light appeared, an incredible distance from the moon this time, and immediately split into two lights, travelling away from each other at greater than the speed of light.
An audible click reverberated around the chamber as each of the species in attendance simultaneously inhaled on their breathing apparatuses.
"As you can see, the motion of the light is a relativistic illusion. The light doesn't travel, it exists simultaneously at all points in a column for a moment, then dissipates. The energy requirement is staggering. After calculating an intercept to the closest habitable world on the trajectory described by the light column, it appears their world is four hundred light-years away. The humans claim a similar distance, and their navigational data also confirm it. From this we can calculate the energy release as being consistent with a type III civilisation."
What had previously been a gentle series of clicks was now a cacophony, the seats shaking with the bodily gyrations of the assembled dignitaries. Some wailed, others laughed, most were silent.
"We have brought the leader of the human expedition here, with her agreement, of course."
The noises of discomfort reached a crashing crescendo, as several of the delegates jumped out of their seats and bolted for the exit.
The disembodied voice thundered, "ORDER!"
"I present to you, Chakor, Human, of planet Earth."
The creature that stepped into the chamber was unimpressive, physically. Bipedal, endoskeletal, wearing some sort of almost completely covering clothing with various decals affixed to it. The remaining delegates seemed to calm a little, their agitation lowering to a gentle swaying. The Human addressed the crowd.
"Greetings, delegates of the local group. My name is Chakor, I represent my species, Human, and wish to express our honour in meeting you all. We come in peace."
The room quietened further, and the booming voice sounded again. "Chakor will now take moderated questions from the floor. Please enter your queries for analysis and amalgamation."
A few awkward moments passed, Chakor looking out among the delegates. They varied from bipeds with heads and arms of various number to floating creatures in some sort of water tanks, through to creatures much more... alien.
"First question. The energy output of your drive technology is beyond immense. You must be capturing the energy output of most of a galaxy, somewhere. How can it be that we have not noticed the birth of a type III civilisation under our watch?"
Chakor paused to think before she replied, clearly confused. "We are not a type III civilisation. We are barely a type I. We just discovered a way to manipulate the nature of reality."
The voice didn't even wait to consult the accumulating list of vetted questions. "What?! How?"
"When we accidentally created and shot a cluster of miniature black holes through our particle collider's detectors, we discovered that the vacuum of space was not at the true ground state of the universe. This lent is an opportunity to use the difference in energy levels to complete an until-then hypothetical method of propulsion."
The room exploded into roars, gurgles, and screeches of outrage.
"Your drive is powered by triggering a collapse of fundamental reality?!"
"Not quite, if you'd let me finish. After we discovered the false vacuum was the current skein of the universe, we found that at the moment of triggering a vacuum state collapse, it was possible to entangle an arbitrary length of vacuum in a beam away from the source, and trigger the collapse simultaneously and instantaneously along that path."
Guards in the chamber drew their weapons as several delegates rose on their hindlimbs as if to attack.
"Chakor, this is madness! Your drive cannot work as you describe, or we wouldn't have any video of your arrival. A vacuum collapse would spread from wherever it started at the speed of light, unmaking the universe in its path!"
"Oh, yes we knew that. It turns out that the vacuum collapse provides enough energy to fold space into itself. In local proximity, one side of the event becomes the other. The space in between is clipped off like a twisted balloon, erased from having any bearing on existence. Our ship is instantaneously folded from one side of the beam to the other, and internal fields save us from having any biological changes. Of course, the collapse has to happen first by a few fractions of a microsecond, so there is some... energy leakage."
The chamber went suddenly silent.
The probe and planetary defence system had recorded an abomination, a gross violation of reality itself. The demonic light fleeing the Humans' strange vessel was the energetic corpse of a monster, come to open its maw and swallow the universe, inexorably, at the glacial speed of light. A fitting technology for a pursuit predator like the humans.
"You risk all our existence just to travel. How can we leave you free run of the galaxies?"
Chakor grinned. "We could always run one last wide beam to the ends of the universe and neglect to fold it away. How can you not?" | “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.
| 2017-03-31T12:42:19 | 2017-03-30T23:17:22 | 127 | 37 |
[WP] You are hired for a new job which you begin to hate. You decide to do everything you can to get fired, however you still become their best employee. | Every kid always wishes to be something awesome like a cop, fireman, or an astronaut. Sadly, I never had any wishes of that, and now I regret not thinking of doing it instead. Instead I chose to be a private security guard because it seemed cool at the time. I'm stuck in a goddamn contract for the next 5 years with a stuck up bitch to protect until she is 20. Only way out is of she fires me. Fuck it, I will do what I want then. Okay, bitch is talking with some boy, and he seems to be flirting with her. Let's see how he likes some bear mace to the face.
The odds of it. The dude I bear maced turned out to be a goddamn serial killer, and now the bitch's dad is interested in extending my contract, and I can't say no or he will light my ass up. Next try, she is going to a dinner party for her 16th birthday. Looks like she is going to be drinking some champagne served by some douche in a tie. Screw it, I am stealing her cup of champagne and drinking it myself to look like an alcoholic ass. Then I am punching the douche in the face for shits and giggles.
Goddammit!!!! Turns out that douche was a spy trying to sedate her and bring to some backwater country for ransom. It was just a sedative, so I will be out of the hospital in a day. And here comes the father. He freaking brought flowers. He is crying at the goddamn moment, telling me how thankful he is to have such a loyal guard. Screw this, if the next plan doesn't get me fired, I don't know what will.
Took two years to plan this, but it is flawless. I am going all out and punching the father's face in, kidnappings the girl, and running to Peru with her. At this point, I don't care what happens next, it is a matter of principal. Aaaaaand... Sucess, I knocked the asshole out, grabbed the girl, and on a smuggling plane to Peru. You know what, I think I deserve a goddamn medal for this perfect heist. Time for some TV to see how the world is viewing me.
"Breaking news as the FBI has found a huge conspiracy where Xcorp's CEO John Trubart has been found chained in a basement while a look alike has been masquerading as him. Police believe that a majority of the higher ups were a part of this conspiracy, and had it not been for the quick thinking of his security guard, his daughter would have been killed. Here is Mr. Trubart for a quote on this case:" "I never anticipated my most trusted employees to revolt against me like that, but I am happy that my security guard was capable of saving my daughter's life from this mess. I know that he has taken every precaution there is, and is likely to have not heard my broadcast of my safety, so I do not plan to hold anything against him if he were to not come back to the US due to the assumption that it is still the body double in power. If he can hear this, I want him to know that his job is secure for the next 5 decades, and to come back to the US"
Why. Why does fate hate me? | I lived this. In 2000 I actively tried to get dismissed from my programming job. I ate a bite out of 20 Roly Poly sandwiches because my division was not allowed to have them. I changed everyone's screen saver to 'cubes suck'. After the 3 CEOs shaked out to one I started calling the 'winner' Highlander (there can only be one).
I didn't get fired, no one would write check stop payment interfaces because they were so boring. | 2015-02-03T09:24:53 | 2015-02-03T09:06:03 | 46 | 11 |
[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. | By now, I could admit to myself that, like most things I had done in life, I learned Latin to be able to show off. There was no shame anymore, no cognitive dissonance. I learned to speak a language to impress people because I didn't believe I was impressive enough.
But now there was a chance to do some good with it. I wondered if it was too late to improve my place in heaven. The Bible was pretty clear about how to get there from life, but I'd never heard about this place. I had Faith I was heavenbound, and knew well enough to love my neighbor and be the salt of the earth, but this was not earth and I did not live here.
A man stood at attention in full ancient army apparel. He looked on at nothing in particular in the direction between where each of the train tracks terminate. He was not tall, as you'd expect a legendary warrior to be, but his spear was. It stood two feet higher than his five foot frame. Looking at it I could see that he didn't waver, even when he was blocked from my view but the hundreds of people shuffling about, boarding one train or another.
His shield and helmet make this soldier plainly recognizable. They're battle worn, not some cosplay outfit. Besides, it appears that the people here are dressed as they were in life- lots of auto repair overalls, other military uniforms, my own favorite dress shirt and slacks.
"Hail! What brings you here?"
The man's face was hard to read from under his helmets cheek and nose guards, but the rest of his body relaxed, then immediately tensed up again. He brought up his spear about a half inch and slammed it back down.
"HAIL!" he shouted.
I waltzed to enter his view completely, hands held together behind me.
"You appear to have stayed here longer than anyone else."
"Aye. There are no days with which to count, but indeed I recognize no faces."
"What shall I call you, soldier?"
"My mother named me Pollux."
"Ah, of course, twin of Castor?"
With far more speed than a human should be able to muster, Pollux knocked me to the ground, spear at my neck.
"What news have you of my brother? How do you know his name?"
After taking a moment to collect my wits, I did my best to explain that the two were subjects of a myth, handed down by each generation for thousands of years. Still at spear point, I describe my literature teacher from middle school and the book from which I read his tale. I was halfway through explaining what a book was- he'd surely never seen one- when he switched out the spear for his hand and helped me up. He went on to explain that it was all true.
While he and his twin kept switching places, earthbound and in Hades, these bizarre tracks had grown in the ground before him. A great rolling building would slide along them, open its doors, and slide away.
"We had mapped much of Hades by leaving notes, but knew of nothing in the directions these tracks led. As the Earth changed, and even the Empires we fought for and against fell, Hades had become the more familiar and interesting land. So I left a note. My brother and I devised a fair process for how to decide which of us would board the train and then report back on what was beyond."
"And?"
"What 'and'? No 'and'. This is what I've been doing since the dead stopped speaking my mother tongue altogether."
"You wait here for your brother?"
"As I swore to him."
"Pollux, I am afraid I have some bad news. These trains lead to heaven and hell, two places more permanent by far than Hades. There is no return from either."
His face was easier to read now. I wonder if he, too, had been alleviated of the mental hangups he had in life, or if he was just naturally so decisive.
"Very well. I will follow after. Shall we ride together?"
"Well wait just a second- I should explain what these places are, hell is-"
"No that's not needed. My brother boarded the left train. I don't need to know where the right one goes." | *Darlin' you got to let me know*
"Apt" I scoffed to myself, sipping my drink whilst I weaved my way to the empty seat at the end of the bar, the noise of the next train rolling off overtaking the next line.
"So friend, how long's it been?"
*If you say that you are mine*
He turns, hurriedly, as if he recognizes my voice, sizes me up and gives me a smirk that seems oddly familiar. He nods to the barman, and leaves.
*I'll be here 'til the end of time*
"That's the first time he's moved, kid" The barman slides me another drink, this one with a note attached.
*So you got to let me know*
"Whats the matter? We all move on eventually" I ask him, looking suspiciously at the note and accompanying drink that I didn't order.
*Should I stay or should I go?*
"Not him. Open it, maybe it'll make sense to you" I shake my head, and focus on the note, the folds in the page attempt to hide three little words written in the daintiest handwriting I'd ever seen. It simply reads "Until next time."
*Should I stay or should I go*
I exhale, look to the barman. "I'm gonna need another drink, and a menu."
| 2016-08-14T07:53:27 | 2016-08-14T06:02:00 | 156 | 59 |
[WP] A new makeup hits the market. When applied, it makes you the most beautiful woman imaginable...but every application takes one day from your life. | Emmaline told herself not to bring it up, to let it pass. It’s not worth it, she repeated to herself, a thousand times as she went about preparing dinner that day. She’s just a kid, she doesn’t understand, things will get better once she gets older. By the time Christie came home from school, Emmaline was sure she could make it through the evening unscathed.
She was wrong. One look at Christie’s sullen and lifeless face across the table, and Emmaline’s heart twisted inwards on itself until she could barely breathe.
“Darling, it’s your favourite quiche!” Emmaline’s voice lilted as she mustered every last drop of enthusiasm. “You know how we said we could only have it on weekends? Well, mummy’s got an advance this week, so I thought we could have a treat today instead. Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m fine, mum. Just tired, that’s all.”
A silence descended between the two of them, the sounds of their cutlery the only indication that dinner was actually still in progress. Emmaline knew from experience that further attempts at cajoling Christie out of her shell were futile, and buoyed by a sudden desperation, she decided to seize the bull by its horns.
“Christie, mummy’s not mad at you, but I wanted to know… was there any reason why you didn’t tell mummy about the special program in school today?”
“What? How did you… did Mrs Efferton call you?”
“Yes, she did. She thought I had forgotten, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to go, so I just said I was under the weather and couldn’t make it. She said I could come next semester instead, when they next have Take-Your-Parent-to-School day.”
Christie hung her head, and Emmaline suddenly regretted bringing any of this up. There was no pain quite as exquisite as seeing one’s child in pain, and yet not being able to soothe it one whit.
“I’m sorry, mummy. I just thought that… I heard they would take pictures of every family at the end of the day, and I didn’t feel like taking pictures, that’s all.”
Emmaline didn’t know how to feel, at that moment. She thought she should be angry, livid even, but instead a curious mix of shame, longing and helplessness washed over her instead, drenching her in its putrid stew.
Christie mistook Emmaline’s silence for guilt, and fuelled by the heady righteousness of justification, plunged ahead with renewed vigor. “It’s just that… mummy, everyone calls you the Witch at school, you know that? And they say I’m not your daughter, just some girl you caught and dragged home. You think they can’t see your scars with your makeup, but they can. So why… why won’t you just use some Decoris when you’re with me in public, mummy? It’ll work, even on you! It’ll make you as pretty as you were before…”
Emmaline reached out to hold her daughter’s hand, and flinched when she felt Christie recoil. Willing herself to be calm, Emmaline steeled herself to repeat the lines she had rehearsed a thousand times before.
“Christie, my darling. I’ve explained this before. Decoris isn’t good for anyone. It may transform me, make me beautiful again, but the scientists, they’ve proven that it’s so potent it shortens your life by a day every time you put it on. A whole day! And time is something…”
Christie’s voice, rising shrilly in the night, was akin to a sonic slap. “And that’s not worth it? A day of your precious time? So that you can walk with me in school and I can feel like my mother is normal and not some… ugly, hideous freak? That’s not worth it?”
Christie slammed her fork on the table, where it bounced and fell the floor, scattering quiche afar. She turned and bounded up the stairs to her room, and Emmaline sat there, motionless, until the clock’s chiming reminded her that time had been continuing its long, restless march.
The next few hours were a haze of chores as Emmaline set aside the dishes and readied Christie’s clothes and books for the next day. When finally Emmaline summoned enough courage, Christie was already fast asleep, the tears leaving streaks as they dried on her face.
Emmaline sat there next to Christie, stroking her forehead gently as Christie stirred in her sleep. Softly, imperceptibly, Emmaline released the valves and spoke the words she hoped Christie would appreciate one day.
“The fire took more from me than I could imagine, my love. It took your father, it took my looks, it took the life I thought we would have. But it didn’t take you, and I’m forever grateful for that. I too would want to walk side-by-side with you, proudly looking out at the world from behind a wall of Decoris. But the doctors have already warned me that my lungs were not spared by the fire, and I simply don’t have as much time as other parents do. And knowing that, I wouldn’t trade all the beauty in the world for one less day…”
She wondered then, looking down at her child, what the future held. How many more quarrels with Christie, how many more painful exchanges, how many more tussles as she tried to get Christie to understand the difference between the price, and the value, of everything in life? How many more nights of dour tantrums and spilt tears, of raised voices, of suppressed feelings?
And Emmaline smiled, appreciatively. Oh, what untold joys of life still lay ahead!
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/)
| Beauty. Ever since I was a child, beauty captured my attention. It was the fastest one-way ticket into a man's heart where you controlled everything. Flash him a smile and mumble sweet nothings, and you'll have even the most powerful men falling to their knees.
Why did I take the drug? I wanted fame I wanted fortune. I wanted beauty. So far back, only five years old, I knew that all I wanted was to become a symbol for the world. To become an actress that stole the hearts of audiences and stirred the jealousy of others. It is only those that are jealous that feel as though jealousy is inherently bad. Those are the ones that never get to revel in the sensation that is being the object of jealousy.
It is intoxicating.
How could I have said no, when one day I came across *that drug*? You would have the same thing in my stead. Just a dash of makeup and all your features would transform in the eye of the beholder. Your image in the mirror still looked the same, of course. But only to you. And let's be fair, dear. What is the worth of a person, if not what others perceive?
If you were a doctor in a village of healthy people that never fell ill or came under injury, your worth would be less than the cobbler making shoes. In my case, I was a setter of trends. A poster-woman that had millions of adoring fans from New York to Timbuktu.
And with such fame, came wealth. A lifestyle of glamour and the paparazzi always on the clamour. One shot in the right light, one juicy scoop, one salacious rumour and you'd be pinned to the headlines as the author of the biggest piece that week.
Oh, how I loved every last minute of it. For not even the most powerful man in the country could resist my charms. I cannot even imagine how furious his wife was when I snatched up his heart with a simple song, just wishing him a happy birthday.
But as you know, such beauty always, always comes with a price. For mermaids, each step was glass and their voices were ripped away. For queens in high castles, they paid in dances to the death, feet stuffed in red-hot, iron shoes. And for me, it was my very own life.
Each day in the spotlight marked another day that I would not see to live. And on August the fifth, 1962 they found me dead. The nation wept, but I would not return. But I had made my mark. Even to this day, many still look back and point at me for being one of the firsts.
>Found Nude in Bed... Hand On Phone...Took 40 Pills
If only they knew.
>[**Marilyn Monroe Kills Self**](http://web.archive.org/web/20150913160334/http://weheartvintage.co/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/464px-New_York_Mirror_Front_Page_of_August_6_1962.jpg)
****
Brought to you by the **/r/AlexUrwin** Times Magazine. | 2017-01-16T08:10:38 | 2017-01-16T06:52:52 | 23 | 13 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | “You’ve been a really good girl, Lily,” I said. “This is the last errand, and then we’ll go get some ice cream.”
Lily squirmed, hanging off my arm and sighing with all the drama of a Shakespearian actor. But she stayed quiet and pulled at the ruffles on her skirt. I ruffled her hair with my uncaptured hand and she giggled. She really was a good girl, and we’d had a lot of errands to do today. Making a deposit was the last one, and then we’d get ice cream and go home for a long nap. There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have been standing in this line crawling at a snail’s pace toward the sole bored teller. These people standing between me and my money should have been cowering on the ground in raw terror at my face.
But there were things in life worth more than money or power or fear.
I smoothed Lily’s ruffled hair and she leaned against my leg.
Between two breaths, the temperature rose ten degrees. I moved, crouching down over Lily as the closest window shattered. I held my breath as the heat scorched my back, not fire though it felt like it. I took a chance and glanced back. There were five together. The firestarter was the second on the left. At the front was a telekinetic with a wraith-like creature hanging around his neck. There was also a muscle-bound crocodile man and a woman generating a protective force field around the entire farce of a super villain team.
I could tell that they were amatures by the way they moved, always checking back with the leader, who shouted obvious orders with feigned confidence. I held Lily closer and ground my teeth. I was once the type of person who would have mowed these pretentious kids down with a laugh and a sneer. But that person died when I held Lily in my arms for the first time. She made me want to be a better person. I would be a better person.
The telekinetic was shouting again, this time about hostages.
I looked at Lily. Her wide, terrified eyes looked back. Over my dead body.
The wraith moved, darting between screaming people. The ones it passed through fell limply to the ground. Then it turned to me.
I woke from a daze. There was a warm lump beside me. I blinked a few times and finally looked down. Lily lay beside me. Her wide eyes were still open, but they were as empty as death.
“Lily!” I said, shaking her as though I could wake her. She still breathed, but she was like a living doll hanging from my hands.
I heard someone talking then. It was a superhero team, one of the fresh ones just assigned to the city. Clowns and pretenders, all of them. Still, they were saying something about the wraith. It stole people’s souls and consumed them for power. But there was a way to get the souls back. It must have tried to take mine, but obviously, I did not have one to steal. But Lily...
I held her to my chest, shaking with fear and rage. Mostly rage.
Lily made me want to be a better person. I would be a better person. Tomorrow.
Today, the Hollow Death would exact revenge one last time.
| "Damn kids. Always trying to one-up the classics. Just look at their rookie errors: everybody hands up, not rounding up the security guards... child's play. I could do better than this. I *should* do better than this. But I gave it up for *her*... *for them*. I would never want her to see who I really am. It'd break her heart and I would lose both. No, today I am one of the robbed. Just a powerless civilian. Now now, child don't be scared, the worst thing they could do is..." *bang.* | 2015-02-06T21:54:51 | 2015-02-06T20:41:07 | 269 | 33 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it. | "I assure you doctor, it was not a dream," said the kid before me. He was a child of 10 years, suffered a coma last year and had just woken up. The first thing he did in his wake was ask where he was, what time it was, and so forth. We told him and he listened calmly. I find that interesting, his calm. For a ten year old boy in his situation you'd expect a variety of emotions, but never calm.
He then told us an amusing story. It was a story of his life, he claimed, his life before he woke up in his bed here. He said he was a soldier in his youth and turned scholar in his adulthood. It was a funny little story, the nurse who monitored him couldn't keep her chuckle from coming out. His mother just looked confused, her relief earlier had taken full control of her comprehension, so when her child started telling his story, she couldn't help but worry. His little sister was listening to him intently, absorbed at her brother's story once he told her she grew up piloting a plane. The father just arrived and was glad at his son's awakening, obviously lost at the conversation when I told his son that his story was just a product of his mind.
"Tell more, tell more!" the little sister said excitedly. She's an energetic little girl, two years younger than his brother, raven-haired inherited from her mother who told her to behave.
"Doctor, is something wrong with my child?" the mother said, the bags under her eyes darkened at the prospect. She was a caring mother, always by her child's side when he was asleep.
"I'm doing fine, mom," the kid said with a tinge of jest. "In fact, I'm great. I missed you and father, very much so," he said with a saddened smile.
"Oh baby," she clasped at him and the kid welcomed her caring smother. "I missed you too."
"Me too!" joined the baby sister, and the father a second later. It was a happy family reunion, the entirety of the room warmed at the scene.
When the embracing ended, I approached him and gave him a comforting smile. I decided it would be for the best to make him see it was all a dream. He sighed when I did. It was odd, it felt like I saw an old man when he looked down tiredly.
"If that was a dream, it was not a very good dream," he said.
"Did you have a nightmare?" asked the father. He has brown hair, the same as his son.
"Yes dad, I just hope it's over," he told his father with the same saddened smile he gave her mother.
"I'll lend you my teddy bear later, he keeps the bad dreams away!" exclaimed the little sister.
"That would be nice," the kid smiled and patted the little girl's head.
"Ma'am, I think it would be good for your child to talk to a therapist. I know of an expert in child psychology, maybe he could help," I said to the mother.
I was starting to get worried at the child's unusual behavior. He was mature for his age, and that wasn't a bad thing, but her mother once described her son to be brash and wild. Could a coma cause this much change in his personality? And there's his dream to think about. If he persists it to be true, then he could be displaying some sort of mental illness.
"Doctor, I heard China is a good place to go this year," said the kid suddenly.
"Huh? Uh yes, I'm going on a trip there... where did you hear that?" I asked incredulously.
"I didn't, I just woke up, remember?" he flashed a grin, but it faded as quick. "Say hi for me when you meet a girl named Lisa. Don't if you won't, I'm not sure how all of this works anyway. Is it straight or constantly in flux, I wonder," he then got out of his bed. He had a little trouble, but he made sure to absolve the worries of his family by planting his foot firmly on the ground. "Bathroom," he whistled as he went.
He was out of the hospital a week later, and so came my trip. I was staring off into space until a girl who looks completely out of place appeared in my line of vision. She has long curly hair dyed in red. An outsider in this country just like me, and she was attractive in every sense of the word so I couldn't stop my legs from approaching her.
"Hi my name's John, I'm a doctor," I said quite stupidly. I then hope that I said that awkwardly enough that she didn't find it condescending.
"Oh, hello John... the doctor," she said in an amused tone. "Should I call you Dr. John."
"Please, no, just John would be nice," I chuckled. Guess it works.
"Well, nice to meet you John. I'm Lisa the unemployed, though I prefer the term adventurer."
"Should I call you Lisa the explorer?" I asked in a jest before a realization dawned on me.
"Yes please," she laughed.
"I know this is out of there, but do you know a ten-year old who just woke up from a coma, he's mature for his age but kind of a smartass," I said in haste. Is this all a trick?
"Huh no, s-should I?"
"No, no," I shook my head. Ugh whatever, that brat and his ominous sayings, there's plenty of time to think later. "He's a patient of mine, he told me to say hi to someone named Lisa."
"If that's a pick-up line, I must say I'm impressed at your creativity, Dr. John," she smiled and I notice the freckles around her nose, complementing her beauty.
"What can I say?" I guess the kid's a wingman.
**Edit**: spelling and added some words. | Suddenly, there was cheering. Cheering, and crying, and talking.
Was there a party outside, Tjörven thought - but he knew it couldn't be. The sound seemed too close, yet in a way ethereal. He sat up in bed, looking around him bewildered. "Emma" he whispered urgently "Emma wake up" he said louder now. But she didn't move. Her beautiful face was peaceful and calm as ever, but no matter how he shook her, she wouldn't wake up. "Emma I'm freaking out" Tjörven said. Suddenly he felt light headed, dizzy, as if his world was twirling. He rose out of bed, leaning on the nightstand, staring at the ocean his bedroom looked out on, and his heart was racing. Colours were fading, the sound got less ethereal and louder every second.
Did someone spike his drink last night at the party? Was he going insane?
Suddenly he felt warm drops on his hand. He raised his hand and saw them running slowly down his hand. His hand felt warm, as if someone was holding it. He looked back at Emma, still as serene, his angel. He couldn't go mad. She needed him. Her wheelchair stood by the bed, her clothes still hanging over it from last night.
But suddenly he was laying down again. What?
Thank God, he thought, I was just dreaming.
He opened his eyes, and two brown eyes stared back at him with tears in her eyes. Mom? "Hi sweety" she said, her soft voice trembling. Around his bed, a whole crowd of people stood smiling, hugging each other and wiping tears out of their eyes. He didn't recognise anyone.
"What's happening" Tjörven said, his eyes wide and his heart racing even faster. The heartmonitor went crazy beeping. "You're back with us" his mom said, and she just started crying even more. He sat up, and noticed he couldn't move his legs. He couldn't move his legs. "I'm paralysed?" He screamed. The smiles vanished at once, making way for pitied glances. "Honey, you we-"
"Where is Emma?" Tjörven yelled "What the fuck is happening" he only now noticed how young and shrieking his voice sounded. The pitying faces grew concerned. His mother seemed confused. "Emma?" She asked. "Emma, my wife!" He said "Jesus fuck, this can't be, I've gotta be dreaming..."
His mother looked back at who Tjörven presumed to be the doctor, scribbling down furiously.
He janked his hand out of hers, and buried his face in the sheets he pulled to his face.
His mom stood up and walked to the doctor, and whispering rose louder than Tjörven's sobs. Slowly he started realising his world had vanished, and so had Emma with it. Gone forever. the love they had had only imagined. She was gone. And he was stuck here. A whole life he'd have to live all over.
He wished he could've suffocated himself in the sheets, but no matter how he tried, all he could feel was the cloth grow warm and damp from the tears staining it. | 2016-06-28T06:29:12 | 2016-06-28T05:28:57 | 987 | 29 |
[WP] You're going through your grandpa's attic and find some stuff from his army days. You realize he never told you *which* army he was in, or *which* war he fought in | My grandfather used to say that war wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for everything about it. Everyone knew from that line alone that he didn't like to talk about his experiences much. He just kept it vague, telling a few stories of being pinned down by 'the enemy' in 'occupied territory' during 'the war'. Vietnam? Korea? The Second World War? No one knew for sure, and no one could even say what branch he was in, or what *side* for that matter. Grandpa was just a veteran. Everyone knew that, and accepted it.
I'd always been close with him—hell I was named after him—and even I didn't know. My dad didn't either, having been born to his parents fairly late in their lives. The allure of discovering more details faded after a while. Eventually, while I still loved seeing grandpa, I stopped snooping around his house late at night.
His death almost didn't feel real. Grandpa was ageless, timeless. A constant in my life. I remember him holding me in his lap as a napped, and I remember him giving me marriage advice, and he looked the same in both memories. But then one day he was gone. At his request, the funeral was "civilian," so no one got to find out the secret. I honestly don't remember much about it, the priest's sermon was bland, everyone was pretty much at peace. My dad shed a few tears, but then who wouldn't? The only thing that really stuck out to me was the gravestone. A tall monolith, perfectly rectangular, made of dark stone. Name and date were at the center of it, but above them was a symbol I couldn't recognize: [a circle, with several shrinking ovals filling the top half, two converging curved lines moving into the center of them all.](https://ih1.redbubble.net/image.154524850.0280/flat,1000x1000,075,f.jpg) Somebody there said it was his unit patch. I remember just staring at it, transfixed.
And now I'm staring at it again, but not on grandpa's monolith. No, it's on a chest, buried deep in his attic. And I'm supposed to open it. According to his last will and testament, everything in this place is mine to do with as I want. I've been staring at it for a few minutes now, trying to guess what could be inside. Eventually, somewhere between my guess of 'a dead body' and 'a vintage Atari', my hands have found their way to the latches. I take a quick breath as I press on the locks, and the snapping sound they make almost feels ominous. I open the lid. And it's nothing like I expected.
Inside are obviously mementos from war. Pictures of a military unit, of comrades standing side by side. There's folded flags, some tattered, some fresh. There's a few guns, obviously aged and having seen heavy use at one point in time. It should all be normal to see, but it isn't. Probably because the pictures are holographic, the flags unrecognizable, and the guns are covered in glowing bits and strange components. I pick up one of the photos, and despite the glowing, three-dimensional image, I know it shows my grandfather in his youth. And not just his twenties, but easily his teens. Setting it down next to me, I then pick up a sort of badge, which has the same symbol as the chest and the grave marker. A sort of tiny black orb sits above it on the circular object.
Before I can fiddle with the badge, however, I notice the rather large, cloth-covered thing to my left. My curiosity is on a roll as it is, so I yank away the cloth quickly. Underneath is a big black box, yellow and black caution tape running on its cover. It's a machine best I can tell and I finger the General Electric logo on it. That's about when the badge on my hand glows.
I look to it, and from the black orb, a holographic display has appeared. "The hell?" I mutter, and suddenly it speaks back to me.
"Sir, where are we? This is not Worldline A-01. By my readings this would seem to be a new Worldline—creating catalogue—Worldline A-01-B," comes the feminine voice.
"Holy shit! What the...what are you?"
"Sir? I am confused."
"Why are you calling me sir?"
"Scanning...you are not him. You are, however, genetically similar. You, then, must be the designated successor for the mission?"
"What mission? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"The mission. The collection of materials to aid in the rebuilding of our home worldline. After your predecessors personal venture to the early 2000s, he was to jump back further into the past, but his time machine was damaged. When it was repaired, he reported that he would be nominating a successor due to a new condition that limited his ability to fulfill his duties. That is you. It would seem since that time, the worldline was altered enough to branch away from the homeline."
"...Time travel? Is this real?"
"Look at the back of the holograph."
I actually listen to the woman in the badge, and I pick up the picture again, turning it around. Despite the display being three dimensional, on the reverse side words appear that couldn't be seen on the front. "The 177th, ready to deploy. Second American Civil War. July, 2014. Rebels Forever," I read aloud, a little more and a little less confused all at once. Suddenly grandpa's use of the phrase 'in my time,' felt very different.
"If you are the successor, please state your name for the record," the badge says, and I tear my attention away from the picture.
"I...uhm...John Titor II." | The gnarled, callussed old hands gripped Mark's shoulders with a strength completely at odds with their age.
"Do not forget. Do you understand, Mark? You are my only grandchild and my sole heir. This house and all my money will be yours. When that happens, go to the small table in my bedroom. Open the drawer and take it out. You will find a key taped behind it. Go upto my attic., There you will find a chest, and in it will be my some things from my military career. I think they will interest you."
Mark nodded. Clearly his grandfather's mind was wandering a bit in his old age. But he would never hurt the old man, who had been like a father to him, after Mark's parents had died.
"Sure, Grandpa."
The old creased face broke into a smile.
"You are a good boy. You make me very happy you know. I am lucky to have you, as you are the only one who will appreciate it. Your interests are so very valuable. So few people try to read history or learn the old languages nowadays."
Mark just smiled and nodded.
A month passed and Mark got a call. His grandfather had passed.
The funeral was quiet with few mourners, though Mark was surprised to see several old men of his grandfather's age. They told him they were his old comrades from the war.
That night, Mark pulled out the drawer and found the promised key. He went up to the attic and after a good deal of searching found the only wooden chest with a lock. It was very old, and very heavy. The wood was braced in places with bands of iron. He inserted the key, and after some fiddling the lock opened.
Mark opened the chest and froze.
Inside was a sword. An impossible sword. Mark picked it up. It was quite short and plain. Almost but not quite three feet long, with a straight blade. A Gladius. The sword of the Roman Legionary.
Beside the sword was a staff. And on it was mounted a golden eagle. The metal shone and glimmered in the light. On the base of the eagle was inscribed S.P.Q.R.
Mark spotted a large thick leather bound book. He picked it up with shaking hands and opened it. It was a journal. And it was in Latin.
*Copied from the original, which was falling apart.*
*These are the histories of the Legio IX Hispana*.
*Following orderd from Rome we took ship for Spain, but a huge storm blew up and drove us far into the uncharted ocean. For many weeks were out galleys tossed on the waves. Many of the ships sank, while we survivors subsisted on fish and rainwater. Finally after an unknown time, we were driven ashore on a green land. Desperate for water, the men stormed ashore, and there in a verdant grove we found a beautiful fountain from which we drank greedily. And like a miracle of the gods, even as our thirst was quenched, our bodily ailments vanished and our wounds healed...** | 2017-08-18T05:38:52 | 2017-08-18T03:56:28 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in hand. In (heaven or hell), you see you have reception and you're still getting notifications.
Inspired by this comment:
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3xr7p6/i_turned_my_phone_back_on_this_morning_to_find_a/cy7hgci | Slightly dazed, I sit up.
I look around, being completely unfamiliar with where I am.
First of all, I'm taken back by the color. It's white, everything is white.
Though it's not the color of this place that alarms me, but how it *feels*.
You know when you walk outside right before a bad thunderstorm, and the humidity feels like a hug from a big teddy bear? It's similar to that, but you can't sweat because it's still dry.
I... I'm not sure. That's the best way I can describe this place. I don't think there are human words that are capable of writing about it. Nor do I believe that you could comprehend a description even if I *could* tell you.
I was driving, I think? It hits me.
Of course, I was driving to my sisters house! It was her annual Christmas party. Maybe I followed my own tradition and drank too much. That would explain all of this. The problem is, that I'm not hungover. In fact, I feel nice.
My body is soft too. Instinctually, I touch my arm. I'm still wearing the same clothes that I recall wearing before all of this. I had just bought a new red dress and leggings from forever 21. It looks like I'm still wearing that, but it no longer feels like cheap polyester. It actually feels like a hybrid between cashmere and alpaca fur. Wonderful.
A simultaneous "Ding" and then *bz bz* vibration come from my pocket.
**FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
Huh, well atleast I have my phone.
I type in my password and open the Facebook app.
**Taylor Brown posted on your wall**
I haven't spoken to her in a while, and it's kind of odd to write on anyone's wall anymore. She was probably hacked by a bot, so she's posting on *everyones* wall.
A long written paragraph, it starts off.
**"Mallory, we haven't spoken in a long time"**
"No shit", I think to myself.
**"I often miss the times we spent on the dock at your families summer house, just being teenagers! So many inside jokes we had. Smgt just laughing and being stupid in Walmart."**
"Where is she going with this? Also where is this all coming from?"
**"I know this is silly, I just wish there was a direct path from facebook to heaven"**
To say that it hit me all at once is an understatement in it's truest form. I remember everything now.
The semi truck.
How it was icy that night.
How it slid from the center lane to the left passing lane.
How I was directly in it's path.
Suddenly my phone is blowing up like it never had in my waking life.
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW FACEBOOK NOTIFICATION**
**NEW TEXT FROM MOM**
Should I read these?
Do I *want* to? | I gazed upon my phone after hearing it beep.
Strange, I'm dead and I know I'm dead and my phone was in my hand when I woke up from the after life.
Is this heaven or hell? I don't know.
Now to see what is the notification.
"You have 1 Candy Crush request."
Accept or decline
Damn. Still getting requests even when your dead. I guess this is hell then.
| 2015-12-22T10:45:37 | 2015-12-22T10:28:17 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back. | Sargent Jone's head snapped up suddenly. "General, there's a signal coming through on the radio."
"Well put it through already, there's a golf game with my name on it somewhere.." The General's arms mimed a golf swing as he practiced.
The signal came through over the speakers of the listening post. "This is the Funded Unit Weirich, requesting permission to land."
The General reached for the microphone. "Listen here Weirich, you can stop asking. We've already told you our answer. Landing Permission Denied!"
"We can pay you! Anything at all, just let us land!"
"Look, your money is no good here anymore. Even if you did come back you'd never fit in, you wouldn't know what to do with yourselves. Your property has all been confiscated and redistributed. All those 50 room mansions and castles you used to not live in for longer than required by tax laws, they've all been used to house the formerly homeless, or torn down to house the formerly homeless by the formerly jobless."
Voices could be heard in the background onboard the Weirich "...surely not the cottage in the Hamptons..."
"...stuck up here any longer I'll simply go mad I tell you, mad..."
"...Buffy calm down, the dirty peasants wouldn't know what to do with your garden..."
The General rolled his eyes and waited while the commotion died down on the ship. Eventually a new voice came over the speaker.
"Hello, General, this is five time world series MVP Roy D. Rayger, how you doin playa. Look, you let me land and I'll get you season tickets for life at Yankme stadium."
"Sorry champ, no can do. We plowed that thing into the dirt a couple of years after you left. It's a highspeed train station now, Yankme Station."
"A what now..."
"Ya it's true. I can get from New York to LA in 30 minutes, LA to Tokyo in 3 hours. I can circle the planet in 12."
Rayger was incredulous "You telling me nobody watches baseball anymore..."
"Oh of course they do champ. There's even a little league diamond on top of Yankme Station. They pack in 200 people a game in that place. Nifty way to wait for your train. Quite the view of the Hudson too. But since there's no money in sports anymore there's no passion in the fans anymore. Turns out nobody cares when every team sucks."
Suddenly there were sounds of a scuffle and a "Give me that you buffoon" could be heard. The General and Sargent Jones looked at each other bemused. Then the General scowled at Sargent Jones, who went back to looking busy staring at the signal meters he had no control of.
"General, now look here, this is President Harumph, and I order you to let us land."
"Well, hello Mister President, it is truly an honor to speak to you. But I'm afraid I cannot carry out that order, as it's an unlawful one."
"What do you mean unlawful. Nothing illegal about that, I've given way shadier..."
"What I mean to say Mister President, is that you are no longer our President. Shortly after you chose to be "evacuated" for your safety to the Weirich you were impeached. After you were impeached for cowardice the Senate held a trial and convicted you, thus removing you from office for those of us pedanditc enough to care. Former Agriculture Secretary Loogie is now the President, they being the most senior member of your Administration to stay behind. The President sends their regards. And their thanks. Turns out when you take the money out of politics a lot of good gets done."
"What...what do you mean."
"I mean, Mister Former President, no Representation without Taxation. Nobody buying influence, nobody adjusting prices to create a demand on life saving drugs, a functioning legal system, the environment has recovered shown signs of significant recovery since we started enforcing the laws we already had on the books."
"You're right, we wouldn't fit in there anymore. What are we going to do" President Harumph sounded downcast. The General almost pitied him.
"Well sir, those folks at NASA sure felt embarrassed when they figured out they were wrong about the rogue planet hitting us, so they doubled down on the math and determined that with the fuel you have left you should be able to reach it if you follow this course. Send it Jones."
"Sent sir."
"It's coming in now, General. That's very kind of you. I suppose we did make a mess of things. It wasn't intentional you know, we just played the system we saw."
"That's alright sir."
"I suppose we'll sign off now, the ship is already on it's new course. We're going to be leaving radio range in a few seconds. Maybe someday when we've established our colony we can come to some sort of agreement, maybe grant each other visitation rights."
"That sounds lovely Sir, we'll talk to State and have them work up some sort of passport for you all." The General was still practicing his golf swing. Jones marveled at his ability to sound concerned while acting completely indifferent.
"This is the FU Weirich signing off."
The signal from the radio went dead and the ship left radio range. The General looked down at Jones, who turned off the transmitter.
"Well that takes care of that. Good job Jones."
"Thank you sir. But sir if I may ask, what rogue planet are you talking about, I never heard anything."
"Of course you didn't. There never was a rogue planet. Do you think society would have survived if it had been announced that one was going to hit. It was decided that an adjustment was required, one that could only be done without money in the system. So we started feeding faked intelligence to the right people and let greed and stupidity take it's course."
"And whats this about a high speed train at Yankme Stadium sir"
"Oh well, I read a book once when I was a kid. It sounded good when I was saying it. Anyway, I have a golf game to get to. Get back to work peasant."
Jones did get back to work, while wondering about all the things the General had said had changed that didn't. Why didn't they. A thought formed, as he watched the ship flying into the sun on system sensors. It had worked once... | "Sir, we're picking up a signal"
And there goes my sleep, *goddammit*. "Yeah, coming right up", I say to the controllers, who've done only one thing: dedicate their days to the return of the filth that fled 50 years ago.
"What is it? One of the old escapees?"
"Not quite sure, sir. We have to wait for confirmation", says the controller.
**Bzzz**-- "This is starship Tritium, approaching Earth. If anyone is listening and has any measure of competence, prepare a landing pad. The leaders of the UN, the US and its allies are en route"
"What should we do, sir?"
"Proceed as the system entails, request reentry codes. If they refuse, turn them over. If they resist...", I tell the controller
"Yes sir". A buzz rings out, mapping the starship. The once-great invention the filth used to flee when NASA issued a doomsday alert, warning that an entire planet was on a collision course with Earth.
40 years later, nothing happened, and in our desperation to survive, we broke from our shells and short-minded way of life, growing into greater people.
"Tritium, this is controller Zeta 4. We do not recognize your ship, please provide reentry codes"
"Reentry codes? We do not understand. Repeat, the ship is carrying the most important people on Earth, prepare a landing pad"
"Sir"
"This is Commander Barnes, incumbent military and science general of United Earth Association, cease your approach and state your business"
"Commander Barnes?! Who is this Commander Barnes?!", an unknown voice booms. "I am the President of the United States, and you will allow me entry to my planet!"
"Sorry, sir, I don't know anyone by the name of *the President of the United States*, and I certainly don't take orders from unknown entities whose hostility I cannot determine", I tell him, causing Zeta 4 to snicker.
"THIS IS AN ORDER, COMMANDER! I AM THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE UNITED STATES!", the fool bellows
"Sorry, don't know you. Please provide the requested access code or turn around and go away like how you did 50 years ago", I put out quietly.
"DAMN YOU, I AM YOUR SUPERIOR! DO AS YOU'RE TOLD, YOU MONGREL", he spits out in anger.
"..."
"FINE! If you won't follow orders, I'll just remove you like the traitor you are! Arm weapons!"
"Sir, they're arming weapons at the base"
"The fools. Raise shields, prepare the Sodom cannon", I command, "oh, and transmit the process to Tritium".
"Yes, sir~", Zeta 4 says while giggling like a little kid on their birthday.
The weapon is quiet in the silence of space. It's nothing fancy, by most means, just a cannon with enough firepower to level a city.
"Sodom?! What is that! Tell me now!", the fool orders, not caring for anything.
"Oh not much, just fiery, lightning-filled death meant to raze cities", I smirk and tell him
"No! No, STOP! I AM THE PRESIDENT--"; I cut the signal.
"Armed and locked, sir"
"NOOOOOoooo....", the fool bellows, having well and truly doomed his cohorts.
"Fire", I command, and a brilliant display of light literally fries the ship where it stood, even as it desperately tried to fly out of the lock we had on it.
Unbeknownst to the planet and to me at that time, the last vestiges of the rich and powerful of the old Earth ended there. For our part, we strip the ship for parts, getting some interesting design ideas for our own prototype exploration and combat vessels. Soon, mankind will spread out into the stars. Soon, we will spread our seed everywhere. | 2019-12-07T07:06:18 | 2019-12-07T07:00:12 | 257 | 92 |
[WP] To get into heaven, you have to beat Jesus at Rock Paper Scissors at the pearly gates. Since the beginning of time, Jesus has always thrown rock. Everyone knows Jesus always throws rock and it's really just a formality to throw paper and walk into heaven. When you play him, he also throws paper | What? We both threw paper? But he's always supposed to-
"Alright, let's go again."
"What? No! No, wait! Let me think!" I sputtered, trying to buy time.
"C'mon, dude," the Lord opined. "You've played this before."
I was flustered to say the least. "No, but you're not- you've never...you can't-"
"I'm Jesus. I can do what I want. What're you gonna do? Crucify me?"
He raised his eyebrows to mock me, smirking. Without looking back, he raised his hand behind his shoulder for a high five. St. Andrew slapped him, stigmata on stigmata, as the other Apostles chuckled. This was embarrassing.
"No, I just meant. I mean, don't you always..."
"I always do what I want, yeah. C'mon. Let's go again." He raised his hands, fist in palm, assuming the universal rock-paper-scissors ready stance.
I was terrified. I mean, we're talking eternal life here, right? The stakes could literally not be higher for me.
"What if I lose?" I blurted out, refusing to raise my hands to match.
"Oh ye of little faith," quipped St. Peter.
"Nice one, dawg!" exclaimed St. Andrew, also giving him a high five. St. Andrew was one of those guys.
"But seriously," I continued doggedly. "What if I lose? Do I go to hell?"
"Just play, man!" Jesus whined.
"I don't wanna play unless I know what's gonna happen!" I was getting pretty annoyed. Did all the Apostles have to be here?
"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed," St. Thomas said, winking at St. Andrew, who (of course) high-fived him.
I was stupefied. What the hell was happening?
"Wait!" I practically shrieked. "Tell me what-"
Abruptly, a bright light appeared behind the Apostles and Jesus. I shielded my eyes with my forearm.
JESUS.
Jesus whipped his head around.
"Shit," he whispered. Aloud, he said, "Hey, Dad!"
JESUS ARE YOU PLAYING PAPER-SCISSORS-ROCK WITH THE NEW RECRUITS AGAIN?
"Actually, sir. 'Rock-Paper-Scissors' is more commonly used." St. John. The know-it-all.
I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT IT'S CALLED, KID. I TOLD YOU ASSWIPES NOT TO FUCK WITH MY RECRUITS.
"But, *Dad*-" Jesus began.
NO BUTS ABOUT IT, YOUNG MAN. YOU'RE GROUNDED. 2 MILLENNIA. NO CELL PHONE.
"Damn, that sucks," muttered St. James.
"Good one, sir!" St. Andrew exclaimed, raising his hand for a high five toward the Light.
DON'T TOUCH ME.
He lowered his hand.
YOU GUYS BETTER GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. JESUS, GO TO YOUR ROOM.
The Apostles, now chastised, began to shuffle their feet. Jesus was thoroughly embarrassed.
"Sorry, guys," he said. "I gotta go."
They began to file out, little St. Matthias bringing up the rear.
Then it was just me and God.
OH MY FUCKING ME. KIDS, AM I RIGHT?
I didn't know how to respond to that. "So...can I stay or...?" I managed.
OH, WHA- OH, NO. YOU- AH. THIS IS AWKWARD FOR ME. YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.
"What?" I blurted, a steady fear swelling in my gut.
I'M SENDING YOU DOWN. SORRY, MAN. JESUS REALLY SHOULDN'T BE IN CHARGE OF THE DOOR.
"Wait- No! Please!"
NAH, DUDE. YOU WERE TERRIBLE. I GAVE YOU A BIG PENIS AND EVERYTHING TOO. WHO KNEW THE GUY WITH THE BIG DICK WOULD TURN OUT TO BE A BIG DICK, RIGHT?
"Wait, no, no, no!"
SORRY. BYE.
^fuck. | I look down at the hand of the weird, shaggy man. It's flat, like a piece of paper. What the fuck?
I let my mouth repeat the words. "What the fuck?"
He looks equally disturbed, looking back at me with untold apprehension. He murmurs something under his breath.
"What did you say?" I shout. "What did you say?!"
I feel the heavy hands of his heavenly goons clamp on my shoulders. They hoist me up like I'm nothing but a feather.
"No!" I yell, "I won't go, I won't go!" I pull away and throw myself back into the seat.
Jesus murmurs again, eyes wide open, like he's just seen a Roman. "Sinner. He's a sinner."
"Damn right!" I fly over the table towards the smelly hippie. His goons grab me again, pulling me back once more. They drag me across the soft floor of clouds. I heave and squirm, but it's no use. These angels are swole. I weep as they drag me to my fate, past the pearly gates and into the Kindgom of Heaven.
Jesus sits there all the while, still utterly perplexed. He watches as I am dragged to my fate, the scissor of my hand still held high.
"I wanted Hell," I wail as they close the gates. "You guys are narcs! You guys are naaaaaarccssss!"
\-\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator :\) | 2018-05-18T10:56:15 | 2018-05-18T10:25:44 | 210 | 22 |
[WP] All natural disasters are actually the results of wizard duels. The wizarding world is horrified to learn of modern predictive technologies for said natural disasters. | The Non-magical and magical world's don't have a large amount of overlap. There are points they bleed through from I e to another, for example 2385 Jasper Ave, Edmonton, Alberta Canada is a prime spot for supernatural creatures to cross from one plane to the other, hence the Second Cup. Extreme moments of magic can have impacts on the Non-magical plane, resulting in severe weather and environmental impacts. Earthquakes, tornadoes, even meteoric impacts are the creation of the Arcane bleeding over.
And for thousands of years, that was fine. The humans of the Non-magical plane simply accepted it, called it an act of God (as though there were only one) and moved about their day. The lives of the Non-magical became of less and less interest to those of magic, and as such slowly they stopped crossing over - except for the aforementioned Second Cup. Time progressed as it is want to do, and for the most part the concern over the impact of wizardly duels and slain dragons all but evaporated as humans became better and better and weathering the effects. By the time of the Second Cup being built, the gravity of large shows of arcane magic was all but ignored, after all for the most part no humans really died. Sure some did, but their lives were pitifully short anyways, what was cutting it off by a few decades?
Galazar was seated amongst a group of human hipsters, his human disguise as a common hobo meant that most people paid him no heed, and the barista hardly noticed the coins were made from real gold and silver. Instead, he watched the television - a fabulous invention he thought - as the ever present scroll of information droned on. He was scheduled for a duel that night, not far from here, and he was sure he was to be victorious. A little water there, a little lightning, and he'd finish them off with some great gusts of wind. It would be glorious. The resulting thunderstorm would probably present a tornado here, if he was victorious of course, but this city was awfully bland anyways, a little excitement would do them good.
The news changed, a woman in a blazer was reading off numbers and explaining how the temperature would feel - utter nonsense to Galazar. But then she moved, and the world behind her swirled and showed a great thunderstorm was approaching, with tornado warnings. They were warning of his power... How could they know? From the television, the lady proudly declared "However, worry not, the storm should lose its power before it hits us, and there are no worries of a tornado touching down tonight. Back to you Mike." They were predicting his loss, that his magic would not punch through to this side? Unthinkable!
And yet.
Two days later Galazar sat in the library near his previous seat, studying their writings, looking at their so call "weather forecasts". One of his eyes was still swollen from where he taken a piece of ice to the face, knocking him unconscious before he could summon his true fury of wind. How could they have known? Not only has they known his fate, but over the course of many years they had accurately tracked and predicted hundreds of thousands of wizard battles. Exact locations of conflicts, how massive the strike would be. Sure, not always, but with a great degree of accuracy they seemed to know. They had many studies dedicated to this, meteorology, geology, astrophysics, and so many more. They could accurately track the arcane cross overs, and predict their effects to a scary degree. Great battles were predicted weeks in advance, the destruction and ferocity always accurate to a T. How? Gathering as many of their books and papers as he could, and hurredly rushed from the building. Crossing the street at exactly 2385 Jasper Avenue, he disappeared from one plane to the other and began his hurried spring towards the Grand Wizard Keep.
They had to know.
Edit: I feel like I owe a few of you an apology. There isn't necessarily going to be more of this. I wrote it on the toilet after waking up earlier than I wanted to. Not to say I won't revisit it, but I don't know of I will. | "what are you even taking about?" Albert yelled back. "Admit it, you are sleeping with your assistant!" Sally was mad. The kind of mad only a wizard can get. "now look honey, I swear to you, I haven't done anything of the sort. Why would you even think such a thing?" Albert asked. "You know damn well I'm the only vulcano wizard around". Albert was confused "And?". "Well the humans have pedicured Yellowstone is about to erupt, they're evacuating as we speak" she replied with a slight shift in tone. "I know I have a temper, but Yellowstone?! It's has to be terrible so just admit it. You slept with your assistant yesterday didn't you?" Those darn humans and their TeChNoLoGy. "They must have made a mistake, honey, I didn't do anything wrong. I promise ..." He was interrupted by the phone. Sally, already irritated, stomped her way over to the phone. "This better be important!". "It is ma'am" the voice said in a very calming way. Sally could feel herself cooling down a bit. " You see, we've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty and I ----- beeeeeeeeeeeep"
"Sales people, the end of humanity, ... who would've thought." Albert said as he tried sweeping the ash off of his glasses. | 2022-06-12T14:24:03 | 2022-06-12T14:18:08 | 932 | 63 |
[WP] A notoriously talkative superhero is forced to remain silent for an extended period of time due to civilian, secret identity reasons. Villains, civilians, even other heroes are unnerved and intimidated by the hero's new stoic, silent behavior. | It’s not that I didn’t want to speak. I really did. I wanted to engage in witty repertoire that could cut through tensions like a straight razor, and spout clever insults as distinct as a caricature.
“Cat got your tongue, Piquant?” Cougar said. It might have been acceptable if it was said in a sultry tone, or performed by a woman with considerable charisma. Herbert Isaacs, unfortunately, could not pull it off. Not that 40-year-old men couldn’t be alluring, but not *this* 40-year-old man. Muscular, yes. Masculine, yes. Sensual? Hard no.
*No,* I screamed internally. *That’s not even funny! That’s just blatant self-promotion! And why would you name yourself Cougar?!*
“You are usually much more talkative than this,,” Cougar’s eyes narrowed, and his lips formed a small and unbecoming pout.
It was easy to see the disappointment in Cougar. But really, all I could focus on was staying alive, dodging Cougar’s blows. His conversational skills might be suspect, but his claws were sharp and rapid, liable to puncture my lungs as much as he needled my brain.
Leaping through the alley and out into the open street, I caught a glimpse of the hovering helicopter overhead. No Featherflight in the air, and no Scarlet Steel punching through buildings? It’s a slow news day, then, and the cameras would be pointed on us.
A signature catchphrase here would be nice. I hesitated for precious moments, trying to think of something to say. This was it! If I could just get it out, everything would be well. My lips pursed open for just—
Cougar hissed, his lunging maul just about missing my face. Inspiration transmuted into a quiet curse under my breath, and I quickly executed a signature backflip. It was a perfect Piquant flip, though no sound bites would accompany it this time.
Down the streets we went again. Our feet pounded concrete, and our touch crumpled street lamps. I skidded across a car at the junction, only to watch Cougar rip through it with the ease of breaking a crumbly cookie apart, leaving the bewildered driver sitting on asphalt.
“Piquant,” Cougar’s voice was a growl now. Not the “come to bed” type of growl, but the “I’m going to kill you” type of growl. I gulped down an increasingly larger lump in my throat, briefly worried that I’m at the end of my rope.
The villain continued stalking across the road. In this, he definitely had the grace of a big cat.
So, the name isn’t terrible inaccurate. But why Cougar?!
“This is not what I expected,” Cougar shook his head. “Talk to me, Piquant. What’s wrong? Where’s our playful banter? Our chemistry? Our se—”
Thankfully, a car drove into him before he could finish the sentence. Or gain or me. Both were great outcomes. Cougar lay groaning on the floor, and I quickly leapt on top of him, giving him a swift crack to the temple. His head lolled again, but his eyes focused on me for a few moments.
“Piquant,” he whispered. “This isn’t you.”
And his neck went limp. I sighed, and dragged the body to the sidewalk. I looked up at the helicopter, flashing a wink and smile, and promptly disappeared into the nearby alley.
Then, all that mattered was a smooth exit. First, retain the shape of the individual, and change all the small details that people can only see when they are right next to you. The face is a good start, as were the hands now hidden in pocket.
A corner. Right there was a good chance to change the clothes. Subtle shifts, at first, turning the garish red into a more toned-down maroon. Another check—nobody—and that was the cue to start shrinking down.
I walked out onto another street, a changed woman. I took out my phone, and dialled in the number for PIquant.
Three rings later, he picked up.
“So, what’s the deal with Cougar?” I asked, thankful to hear my own voice out loud.
“You had to fight Herbert?” Shane Cantrell said. “Did you have some good, clean fun with him?”
“Not at all,” I sighed. “Look, I can’t do you. It is so difficult to fight and talk.”
“Lots of practise, Renee,” Shane said. I could almost hear the wink through the phone. “It is tricky to exchange quips, especially when we are exchanging fists at the same time. And for that, you have a thousand gratitudes. Your compensation will arrive shortly, little miss.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I tucked my phone back in my pocket. I could look like anybody I wanted. But talking like anybody I wanted? There was still a long way to go.
My eyes inadvertently were drawn to the coffee shop I frequent. Somehow, my legs had just obeyed its natural instincts, operating on muscle memory to reach this place.
I shrugged outwardly, but felt my fists clench tighter inside my jacket. I hoped the cute barista was in there. And I’ll get to say more than three words to her without involving the words “whipped cream.”
“Practise,” I whispered. “Lots of practise.”
---
Like Renee? [One more adventure here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/fnmrnd/wp_you_are_a_superhero_with_shapeshifting_powers/)
r/dexdrafts | "Oh now this is just ridiculous Tank!" Velveteen cackled as he had his minions attack his archnemesis The Tank who with a swing of her mighty fists made short work of them. Her latest outfit was just awful. Full black with no highlighting of her luscious curves. "You're going woke and broke!" He exclaimed as he jumped out of the window with the money from the latest heist. He wasn't use to providing dialogue for their fights, but he needed to fill the silence she was leaving behind. It was unnatural for a hero to be silent, no only the ones that left broken necks were quiet.
He landed on the money and rolled off with ease and started running, knowing Tank wouldn't be far behind, still he couldn't help turning to watch her superhero landing. He missed the days when she use to wear a skirt and he'd get the occasional thrill but no Tank had changed over the years. No more skirt, no more boob window. Damned SJWs even effected supes as she had changed everything to a mannish manner, even going so far as to go completely flat chested! At least she still had that dump truck of an ass. Speaking of dump trucks, Velveteen was in luck as one rounded the corner and grabbed on. "Tanks again for the good time!" He knew that Tank wouldn't dare take down a city truck, the only thing stronger than her sense of justice was her sense of civic duty.
Tank didn't even run to catch up with him, the reason was obvious as the truck stopped at the corner as it proceeded to pick up trash. Tank grabbed him by the back of his neck like an errant kitten. No remarks about collecting trash, no quips about finding spare boyfriends there, just cold silence.
"Tank talk to me! What did I do wrong?" Velveteen all but sobbed. "Talk to me!" But Tank said nothing, not even as he begged like one of his victims. What was the point of their rivalry if it was only one sided anymore? What was the point of any of this anymore if he was the only one having fun?
xxx
"Terry did you see the news? Velveteen has finally decided to reform."
"No shit, really Ma?" Terry grabbed the paper to read the story. "I've been trying to get him to stop for years and he finally does? What the shit." Terry sulked while eating cornflakes.
"See I told you things were getting better. You should shave before heading to work, you're looking like a little scruffy." Terry looked at his reflection in the toaster, his beard still looked like crap but he didn't want ruin his limited progress, he was looking forward to one day filling out his new helmet that he designed to accommodate a full Gimli style beard. He had been looking forward to see what lamebrained comment Velveteen would have come up with. | 2022-01-24T09:53:45 | 2022-01-24T08:41:17 | 87 | 23 |
[WP] “...and do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “I do,” he whispered quietly to himself in the back of the church, tears streaming down his face. | She was radiant in her wedding dress, resplendent, gorgeous. And she was standing across from me, smiling a secret smile, the type that only couples know.
"... take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest's voice faded into my awareness.
"I do."
"And do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest asked, turning slightly towards me.
"I do," I whispered along with the recording. Tears slid down my face, wet and hot and useless. They wouldn't bring her back.
I paused it.
I rewound it.
I hit play.
\~\~\~
It had been three years since she died.
I stared at the recording, my eyes burning into the phone screen, the images burning onto my retinas. The wedding had been held at this church 17 years, 3 months, and 14 days ago. My third cousin Ricardo had sat here, in the back row, third seat from the aisle on the left. Where I was sitting now.
Every night that I came here, I sat in a different seat.
\~\~\~
"You may now kiss the bride!"
Pause.
In that moment, she looked like she was glowing, like the happiness she felt was too much for her to contain and so it was escaping her as light. She looked like it was the happiest day of her life.
I guess I did, too. It *had* been the happiest day of my life. But I didn't spare myself a glance. If I needed to remember what I looked like, I could just use a mirror.
But I couldn't see her anymore.
Rewind.
Play.
\~\~\~
"... for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, til death do us part."
And it had.
Pause.
Rewind.
Play.
\~\~\~
"... do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," I whispered.
The pain still hadn't faded. I didn't think it ever would.
\~\~\~
Pause.
Tonight, I was sitting in the seat of the father of the bride. Her death had hit him hard. We hadn't talked in 2 years.
Play.
\~\~\~
"... and do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," I rasped.
Pause.
Tonight, I wasn't siting in the pews. I sat in the room I had sat in 17 years, 10 months, and 23 days ago on the day of our wedding, fiddling with my suit and trying to calm my nerves. It was the first time since the wedding that I had set foot here.
I could almost taste the excitement and love and nerves and happiness, lingering on. A faded echo of what once was.
Rewind.
Play.
\~\~\~
I had no video of her last words to me, but I didn't need one. They were burned into my mind, in perfect clarity.
Rewind.
Play.
\~\~\~
"Promise me you'll keep going," she had said. Her health was failing, and speaking was hard for her. She must have seen the pain and emptiness in my eyes, though, because she took a breath and spoke again.
"Promise me you'll stay after I'm gone, try to find happiness in the world. Moments like our wedding." I could see the joy of that day resonate though her, shine though her clouded eyes and ashen skin. She was radiant in her joy. Resplendent. Gorgeous.
She had turned her head so we were facing each other. "Do you think you can do that for me?" she had asked.
Through the tears, I managed to choke out two words.
"I do."
\----
\~bE
Thanks for reading. | The man gently wiped his eyes, recognizing the way his fingertips felt like sandpaper for the first time.
He weeps, comfortably, openly as he exits during the applause. It’s too much to feel, he can’t watch the kiss.
Her lips tasted like cherries, her middle school fascination with Katy Perry led to her first kiss in the locker room. He sobs, thinking of the touch, the time he has lost.
He is lost. Without her.
And her.
His sobs shake the car, he sees the long eyelashes T can’t take away, remembers how long he fought to stay her girl. And how hard he fought to be his own man.
He is happy for her, she deserves to be happy. She had loved her through the journey to being him, and continued to love him so fiercely. So friendly.
He buckled the seatbelt, feeling it sit across his chest differently. A deep breath, a quick adjustment of the binder, another look at the long eyelashes in the mirror as he checks the blind spot. | 2019-11-03T20:20:30 | 2019-11-03T17:36:29 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] You've always had a literal guardian angel- but she's currently bleeding out on your bedroom floor. | Elaine Teller was twelve years old when, without much fuss, she died after falling down a flight of stairs. Thumping feet, a slip and a snap later, she lay at the bottom of the stairs, her head not quite at the right angle as the corners of her vision faded. She heard her father scream her name and then "Oh my God! OH my God! Charlotte, she fell, she's... Her neck is broken oh God!"
Her mother answered in a panicked voice, asking if Elaine was OK. That was funny to Elaine. Of course she was OK. She tried to speak to say so but before the current could go from brain to mouth the connection was cut and that was that. Her parents didn't want to touch her, they were afraid that moving her would do more damage and so they stood, staring at discarded broken thing that used to be their daughter. They stood a foot away but worlds apart.
Charlotte Teller was checking her pockets for car keys, she was going to take her to the hospital to make her better. That's what hospitals did wasn't it? No, she thought, she shouldn't move her, maybe her phone for an ambulance. She patted her pockets and realise she'd dropped her phone in the bedroom when... When Peter had shouted her. She wandered off, retracing her steps. The phone would fix everything.
Peter sat on the floor, a string cut puppet mirror of his daughter, eyes a million miles away, chasing her, catching her before she slipped in his mind and off the the edge of the world. Over and over and over again. Iterations and variations. His hands covered his mouth and the black hole in his chest drew his racing mind deeper.
Amriel had Heard and Seen. That was what she did for Him. More importantly, Amriel had felt one soul depart and two obliterated and for the first time in creation made a choice she wasn't supposed to be able to make. She was an instrument and a tool, a watcher and a recorder. Afterwards, she could never explain what she had done, how it had happened. She only knew she had done something that the Morning Star themselves had been expelled from heaven for doing. She had Chosen.
Elaine Teller was twelve years old when her father walked out of the bedroom and turned left instead of right and she ran into him at the top of the stairs.
"Careful, how many times have i told you not run down the stairs? ".
"Sorry Dad", she replied. Her cheeks went a little red and she lowered her head a little until Peter hugged her.
"Just be careful, is all" he laughed.
She nodded and glanced up to the bedroom over Peter's shoulder. Her mom hadn't noticed, busy scrolling on her phone. Elaine was glad, she would have been angrier than her dad and she knew she shouldn't run, which made it worse.
Amriel watched all this, then looked down at her hands. She didn't know why she had done it or how. All she knew was that Elaine Teller was twelve years old when she gained a Guardian Angel.
She thought back on that moment now, all she had learned in between and how the smallest decision can lead to the biggest changes. For the second time since Creation, Amriel had done something impossible. She bled. She lay awkwardly, clutching her stomach as blood pooled around her, seeping from between her fingers and running down the Blade.
Elaine stood over her. Tall and strong but with the same childlike look of surprise she'd had when Amriel had first saw her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh my God..."
"Don't name Him" Amriel gasped sharply.
Elaine stared, then knelt.
"How can I help you? Will you be OK"?
Amriel shook her head.
"No, a wound from a Blade cannot be survived" she paused for a second, a thought occuring, a dangerous thought "Unless..."
"What? Unless what? You've done so much for me, anything Amriel" Elaine said, desperate and earnest.
"Unless the one who used it on me dies before I do"
Elaine's face fell.
"You mean..."
"yes"
She waited a long moment. It wasn't possible. They both knew it. Elaine stared at the floor.
But Elaine had to try. She owed her everything, so that's what she'd give.
"How?" she asked, lifting her head to meet Amariel's eyes.
"The Blade" she replied, "It's the only way, the only thing that can do it"
"I have to..."
Amariel nodded and set her teeth together firmly.
Elaine wrapped her hands around the hilt of the protruding Blade, the grip was familiar, but different from the ones she'd seen, somehow.
She held Amariel's eyes. "I'm sorry, my Guardian" she whispered, tightened her grip and pulled. Amariel screamed and Elaine turned her head away from it, closing her eyes. When the scream slowed to a moan, Elaine turned back. Amariel lay slumped, the blood wasn't coming faster, but it was steady and inexorable.
"How long?" she asked
Amariel tried to speak, her mouth dry. He wet his lips and his tongue was bloody. "Nine hours, twenty-three minutes" she smiled. A ghastly blood toothed smile. "Give or take".
Elaine only nodded. She hefted the Blade, turned on her heel and left. She had no time or energy to waste on breath. After all, she went to kill God. | I didn’t know what to do.
“Somebody Help!” I called out into the morning sky. I was met with silence.
There has to be something I can do. I grabbed a towel and tried to stop the bleeding.
“You’re going to be ok,” I stuttered, “you’re going to make it out of here.”
I grabbed my phone, but the battery was almost dead. I tried to call 911, but my phone died before I could.
“Help, somebody!” I screamed again, hoping someone would hear me.
After several seconds I heard someone knocking on the apartment door.
“Atheridge Police, we’re making entry.”
I heard a key in the lock and then the door opening. A couple officers made their way over.
“5-Alpha-1 to dispatch; civilian down. Female, open wound on her chest; she appears to be slightly glowing. Attempting to stabilize the victim.”
“10-4 5-Alpha-1; an ambulance is en route eta two minutes.”
The officers assisted me. Suddenly one of them mentioned, “Is it just me, or is there a… what feels like a dark presence here.”
The other officer didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said plenty. If whatever could have done this was still here…
“5-Alpha-1; suspect might still be in the area. No description of the suspect species is unknown. The suspect may be a supernatural creature.”
“Additional units are en route. Tactical and air support are en route from downtown.”
The officers looked through the rest of the apartment and found no one. It wasn’t long before I could hear sirens approaching. The ambulance arrived and took the guardian angel. One of the officers stayed with me in the apartment.
After a minute, I started feeling the dark presence. I thought I saw something moving in the kitchen. I mentioned it to the cop, and he went to investigate it.
Just as I thought it was nothing, suspect is in the apartment, engaging. --- Stop! Hands in the air!”
At that moment, I remembered something. The guardian angel had warned me about something more powerful than it. She said that that creature would try to come for me at some point. Well, I guess this was its attempt.
“Down on your knees, on the floor, put out your hands. --- 5-Alpha-1; suspect in custody.”
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hello there, thanks for reading this. This story here is part of a larger multiverse that (if your interested) can be found at r/skye_the_Smart__write | 2022-12-25T01:29:53 | 2022-12-24T23:08:11 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | They call hereabouts the Cape Graveyard, a city where superheroes and villians alike go to try, and to die. It's a really ordinary kind of place where anyone tries to do anything really big, they don't last long. It's a nice play on Cape Grave, the real name of this pleasant, ordinary town.
Me? I don't have a hero name, or a villain name, but they called me "Jinx" in school.
We didn't have school shootings, but the guy with a rifle coming for revenge tripped and blew his own brains out when it hit the ground and discharged. The Twilight Bomber somehow managed to implode himself after taking a class full of third-graders hostage, me included.
Too bad about Containment Lass, though. It was a really great entry through the window to save us until she tripped over a desk and got a pencil through the eye. Tragic.
Me, that third grader? When they died, I never felt better, like I'd managed to find my purpose in life without even knowing it, that something about the world was always going to be going my way. I took up a hobby every kid does in the age of supers- superwatching.
Remember that freak cascading failure in the Flying Brick's armored suit that sent him face first into a kiddie pool and he drowned in front of thousands on cam? I sure do. I was watching.
Stupor being electrocuted by a live wire in the middle of the night while hanging out on a roof? I was on the roof across the street, having a bite at the Skytop Diner as he was about to swoop in on a bank robbery. It's not my fault he grabbed the wire instead of the grapnel line.
Anacord tearing that car in half, only to be showered with it's cargo of metanarcotics and ODing on the spot? I was in the car that blocked it off just enough from getting through on the bridge exit. Made it an easy grab for his kill shot on Crystal Method.
Method should have checked his sound system before playing that victory song, though. Instant sinkhole and landing on top of that gas main? Charcoal.
Famous supers inevitably end up swooping in to save the day, and if I'm watching? It's the last swoop. Supervillians always getting on camera, monologue about how they're going to take over the world? You know how badly that's gone the last dozen times, every death a freak accident of superscience or magic gone wrong when it isn't some pathetic end.
I'm fond of Destrominator's minion tipping over that cup of water on a console just as he pushed the Domination Ray's trigger, causing it to backfire and burn out all of his higher brain functions. I'm even more fond of the last gasp it gave that turned Savior's noggin into tapioca pudding when he turned the camera around to tell the world they'd been saved.
I'm almost sixty-eight now, but I look like a thirty-year old in her prime. The docs say I'm lucky, must be a metagene.
I don't know where I get all the luck. Has to be coming from somewhere. Or someone. Six hundred, seventy-six someones so far. And you? You decided you're going to stop me.
I have no idea what went wrong, but that jet-assisted boost into low orbit was very impressive, if totally unplanned. Without life support.
Six hundred, seventy-seven.
| I collect them all. Like they collect baseball cards, or poke balls or whatever it’s called these days. Heroes, demigods, humans, animals, all creatures big and small, I collect them.
They don’t know I’m collecting, yes some have that look in their eyes when I come, they know time is up. But in the middle of their bustle they don’t know of it. Sure in hushed whispers they say my name, thinking they have time.
But as I’ve been collecting since before time. I know they’ll sooner or later be added to my collection. My name, oh I have been called many. Today you may not know my name, but you can call me Death. | 2018-10-18T17:05:41 | 2018-10-18T13:14:52 | 1,237 | 220 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha... | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T08:46:40 | 241 | 14 |
[WP] When they entered the Galactic War, humans were the weakest of the bunch. Our weapons did nothing to alien armor and we were an embarrassment and burden to our allies. That is until one man had the stupid (brilliant) idea to bring a medieval sword to the firefight. | The Centaurans were the first to ally themselves with Earth in the Great Galactic War to End All War. It was because the elder race wanted the cannon fodder on their front lines, but the Humans ability to consume massive amounts of alcohol like none of their other allies earned them a little respect.
More than that, it was rumored that a certain Centauran officer would offer a reflective vest to any human who could outdrink him. In the past year, it was said that he'd given away three of them.
However it was gotten, Terran soldier Sgt. Kacperski acquired one of the Centauran vests. He showed it with Cpl. Martinez to get her opinions. "It looks like," he drunkenly mansplained, "that is has a bunch of wires running through it."
Martinez finished another round on Kacperski dime while waiting for him to stop talking. "Yes, it does. The wires diffuse the energy of the laser beams. That's why the Orions have switched up to pulse laser rifles. The vests are better suited for a continuous blast, plus the pulse gives a good pounding to the body. Even still, if we get this back to HQ, they can jumpstart prototypes to put in the field."
Kacperski nodded through the explanation. He thought to comment more, but went back to his beer to think. Then he slammed his glass to the bar.
"Another round?" the corporal asked.
"No. Well, yeah, that, too. Did you say that their armor is geared toward these high tech light shows and can't take a pounding? And the energy in their weapons can be redirected?"
"That's basically right."
"Instead of diffused and redirected, could it be reflected?"
"Reflected? Well, it is light, so I suppose a strong enough mirror could work, but I don't know how many blasts it would survive."
"I have a better idea. A crazy idea, maybe, but a better idea. We need to report in." He jumped down from his barstool, steady as when he came in.
Martinez saw that he was leaving nearly a full beer on the counter. He obviously thought this important.
\* \* \*
It took a week for the shipment to arrive. Neither Martinez nor the rest of the squad could believe what they were looking at. Six suits of medieval armor, shined and buffed to practically glow in the sunlight. Martinez opened another crate to reveal six matching swords. She lifted a broadsword, and felt its weight. It could crush bones.
Captain Phrall Loxverg was the first Centauran officer to see the newly outfitted Terran unit. He was aghast and thrilled at the same time. They would put on a hell of a show, he thought. And, if nothing else, they would make an excellent diversion during the next ground offensive.
A few scant hours later, an Orion unit was bearing down on the Terrans, whom they considered to be target practice. That day, however, the gleaming full body armor gave them a little pulse. Then the order was given to fire.
The force of the pulsing from the rifles slowed Kacperski and his team for a second. The blasts, however, bounced off the men. The resulting bursts of light momentarily blinded the Orions. But the time they recovered, the humans had closed the gap and drawn their swords.
Half of the Orions suffered heavy blows to their skulls while the rest took swings to their legs and torsos. Many didn't survive a second attack.
It was the first decisive Terran victory of the war.
Martinez sought out Kacperski when it was over. "Sergeant," she said. "I'm buying the drinks tonight. I want to hear more of those crazy ideas."
\--
More stories at r/xwhy
Comments welcome (here or there) | "What in the absolute fuck is that human doing?", the alien said to his brethren. "I dunno, but it's amusing. Want to see where the guy ends up?" "Eh, sure. Jerry's a fucking party killer anyways, so we need SOMEONE to make this lively." The man in the distance, holding the claymore, wasn't focused on the conversations around him. Not that he could understand it of course, but he had picked up on a few words like "idiotic", "stupid plan", and "embarrassment". He merely kept his stride and poker face and walked to the mothership, where it transported him to the planet where the war was happening, along with other alien races and some humans. Soon, the ship landed and he reached the "No Man's Land", a spot where all the danger happened and nobody dared to venture to. He brandished the claymore in the standard fighter's position, getting ready to rush at any intruders that may come to him. Suddenly, he sees a small dot get larger and larger, so he leans forward to see what it is before suddenly, he died. | 2022-03-17T16:01:24 | 2022-03-17T08:59:09 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You are an old god, living out the rest of your days in a long forgotten temple. One day you wake up and discover that someone has a left a small child inside your temple. | Bhairi rose from her slumber as the rays of the sun entered the inner sanctum of her temple. She turned from stone to flesh slowly, letting the warmth wash over her until the inner sanctum was bright from daylight.
She stepped outside of her sanctum and looked around at her temple. It was an old collection of structures, built by some king who was long defeated and dead. The walls of the temple were surrounded by thick forest, and the pond where devotees used to bathe and cleanse themselves before coming to pray to her was now dry, the steps that extended along all sides of the pond overgrown with weeds.
The stones of her temple were usually covered with dust carried by the wind, by dead leaves from the nearby trees. Today the stones were free of debris, washed and cleaned. At the main entrance of the temple, in front of the tall brass pillar of the dhwajasthamba, there was an infant.
Bhairi approached slowly. The infant was sleeping, her fingers curled into themselves. She looked around. People no longer visited her temple. Sometimes she would hear the far-off prayers of people passing by, those who saw the tip of her temple, the shikaram, from the highway. Mostly though, they thought her temple and everything around it was haunted, cursed.
That was if they knew of her at all. Whoever had come had cleaned her temple, and left an infant behind. Was it an offering? A sacrifice? She picked up the child. It had been so long since she had held a child. Gods did not have children often, and when they did, the children grew up too quickly and became gods in their own right, eager to exert their power and forget the few days when they had been small and weak.
The girl squirmed around until she was settled and warm into Bhairi's arms. She was a lovely thing, with long fluttering lashes and skin the color of rain-soaked soil. The temple was no place for a child to grow up. But then again, the human world was not ideal either. Especially not for an unwanted girl child.
Bhairi's long hair fell onto the child's face, and the child sneezed. Bhairi examined her hair, knotted like banyan roots over the years. The dark violet of her cotton saree, still stained with blood. She had spent too many years alone, too many years unattended and aloof. What had become of the other gods? Their statues remained on the earth, but the gods themselves had disappeared.
She pulled her hair back, and the black tangles smoothed out into a single plait. She adorned herself in silk and gold, with vermilion on her forehead and kohl lining her eyes. Her glory was something she had forgotten to maintain.
The girl, though, knew no difference. She slept without worry in Bhairi's arms. The goddess knew she could not toss the girl away. She had been abandoned once already.
"Varsha," she whispered into the girl's ear, tracing the name onto the girl's forehead with her finger.
The child grew in the temple grounds. Bhairi made it rain so Varsha could bathe in the temple's pond. She brought life back into the temple. The girl was saying her first words when Bhairi heard the prayer.
*A child. Anything for a child.*
Varsha sat on the steps of the temple, her hair tied up with ribbons. A couple of butterflies were around her hands, and Varsha turned around.
"Amma!" she yelled, showing Bhairi the pretty creatures. Bhairi's attention was elsewhere. It was in the car that was going away, carrying a woman with a universe of love and no one to give it to.
Bhairi snapped her fingers, and the car's tire burst. It was a warm afternoon, and her temple's shikaram was visible for miles. As she thought, the woman walked in. Bhairi walked back to her inner sanctum. She sat on the stone slab and settled. Her flesh turned to stone again, for the first time in a year.
They came in, the woman and her husband. Bhairi knew they were good people. They took off their shoes in front of the main entrance and walked in, the woman covering her hair with a scarf. The man rang the long-silent temple bells as the woman mumbled her prayers.
Varsha was hiding behind her. Bhairi swallowed her tears. She was a goddess, she was meant to answer prayers. There should've been no sorrow, no tears threatening to fall onto her stony face.
"Go," she whispered.
"Amma?" Varsha asked.
The woman heard her, and Varsha peeked out from behind Bhairi, in the inner sanctum. Bhairi heard the woman gasp. Varsha walked forward gingerly, and the woman wrapped her arms around her. The woman was afraid still, that the beautiful child in her arms belonged to someone else, that the little girl was only lost.
Bhairi saw the woman carry her Varsha away, and when the temple doors closed and sun had set, she let herself fall and she let herself weep.
\*\*\*
Bhairi did not move when the temple doors opened, nor when the young women and men poured in. She received more devotees nowadays, after the news of her granted wish and miracle child spread. A priest came in the mornings and cleaned the temple, decorating her sanctum with flowers and incense. He was sleeping on one of the steps now, made drowsy by the afternoon heat.
The group prayed to her, and she listened to their wishes and granted what she could. The girl in front of the group did not fold her hands in prayer or ring the temple bells.
The girl with long lashes and her hair tied with ribbons stepped into the inner sanctum.
"How are you, Amma?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/xeuthis | ...
Ex...
Exist... argh... ice... blood... death... Hurts... So... So...
Sounds! Battle. Fight. Coming. It's coming. It's coming. The start. The start. Time to... What time? What time is? What time it is? Where. I. Am.
Not exist. Stone sleep. Nothing. Too long. Sounds. Sounds of a battle, it's started. Awoke me. As nothing unties its vines thoughts go faster and faster. I must go to the battle. It's time.
No... It's not. Not weapons. Man. Man voice. He's calling me to fight him? I'll fight you. I'll fight you. Where are my weapons?
No. No. Not a battlecry. Chant. He does worship me. I feel faith. Faith coming. Faith coming to my veins. He believes in me. He believes I exist. Because he sees me. Because I stay in front of him.
No. Can't worship me. Sounds no sense. Just cries. Not a real man. Just a baby. Appeared moments ago. Not a worshipper. It's a sacriliege! They sacrilieged it to me. Why no smoke? Meat. Burning meat produces smoke. They should burn it to sacriliege. To sacrifige. To scarifice. Sacrifice.
It's not a sacrifice.
What is it if it's not a sacrifice?
Now I'm fully awake and able to think coherently. I take a baby's body in my hand and look at him. Weak body. Not a warrior's body. Not yet. But soon. Why are you here? Someone left you here, why? Do men leave their children alone? Oh yes they do. Now I understand. You were born too weak. Your pathetic parents. Can't kill you themselves. Fine. I'll do it. Embrace the wint...
No. Ask. Purpose. Came purposefully. A weak baby. Want him to be strong. Ask me. Finally. Thousands of years. Good. Good. Worms, what makes you think you deserve to ask me about something? Where is my hat by the way?
Luckily for you, I am also merciless. Merciful. Grow your baby. A little man, you'll become a warrior, a berserker, you will be unstoppable in any fight. Valkyries will sing songs as you lay those lands with bodies of your enemies. In my glory! I'll teach you how to use a spear. I'll teach you how to shift into a wolf form. Maybe even a bear form. If I'll be merciful enough. Do you like bears, the little man? No. No. They have names. What is your name, the little man? Christian Vikernes. Bad name. Name after a god of losers. You will not be a loser. I must find you a new name. I call you Varg. Good name. I'm good at names. I'm good at everything. Serve me well, Varg and I'll reward you but if you dare to oppose my will you'll regret the day you was born. Today! Why do you cry? So happy to know I exist? I'm happy to exist too... No. Wait. Got it. Huginn, what do little men eat? | 2021-01-30T06:20:30 | 2021-01-30T05:30:50 | 32 | 19 |
[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._ | "SOMEONE HELP ME!" I heard, screamed from some mildly cute girl on a balcony. Only heard it because my top was down. Things you can do in a convertible, right? I'd long since ignored screams of help, though, because even though I had bright fucking teal hair, I was no hero. Just a chaotic neutral asshole. With teal hair. Because I was all in for a Sharks cup run and got my hair dyed and it hadn't come out yet.
Anyways, I just anticlimactically drove off, with some prick in a Benz following me.
"Hey, asshole, why didn't you help her? You're obviously the hero!"
"Dude, I'm just a Sharks fan, and I'm not a fucking hero."
"Yeah? Fuck you, you should have helped her!"
"Why? She gave my roommate herpes! Fuck that shit. Fuck you, I'm leaving."
I rolled a can filled with thermite under his car and sped off. Whatever. I'm not even an anti-hero. I'm just a dick. | 2019-06-19T10:55:29 | 2019-06-19T10:28:24 | 44 | 25 |
[WP] After people die, they must answer a riddle, and its difficulty depends on their sins. You've committed genocide. | There was a flash and a noise that sounded as though I were passing though a membrane. I stumbled very slightly as I felt something solid form beneath my feet. And shoes! I hadn't felt shoes on my feet in what felt like an eternity. A deep breath filled my lungs... well, it seemed to anyway. I went through the motions, but there wasn't any air to breathe, and it didn't seem to matter to my body anyway. My heart wasn''t beating. I was dead.
Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw a room with dimensions I couldn't calculate quickly. And someone was waiting in the distance. He caught my eye and wagged his finger, summoning me to the large chair in front of his desk.
As I walked up, he was filling out some kind of paperwork, busied with whatever forms I guess are necessary for processing the afterlife.
"Hello there," I said as I bent at the waist trying to look at his eyes, "I'm...."
He raised his finger and shooshed me, "Not now."
I swiped my trench coat aside and put my hands into my pockets. Another muscle-memory breath made its cycle as I stood in front of that chair. It's not like he was on a time crunch or anything. Surly eternity had time enough for a little manners.
"So are you just going to stand there like a bloody fool or are you going to sit here so we can get on with it?"
He didn't even look up at me with that bark. I shrugged, arched my eyebrows and took the seat, making sure to thunk my shoes on his wooden desk. It was a fine grain of wood with a brown finish... "Wait a minute? Where'd you get the wood?"
Finally, he looked up from his glasses. "Excuse me?"
"Well, I mean, do you have undead forests? Undead lumberjacks? Well, you've probably got loads of undead lumberjacks, with the dangerous conditions, tools, falling trees..."
"All the questions you could ask in the scope of eternity, and you're interested in my desk? The arrogance of your race preceeds you."
"Yeah, well..." I replied, bobbing my head in slight agreement, though honestly he was quite on point.
"So how does this process work? Sign me in, bellhop comes for my bags, continental breakfast?"
"Dog's breakfast for you!" he bellowed, slamming his pen down beside a stack of what looked like incident reports. "Do you know what this is?" he asked pressing his finger in the middle of the top page.
I knew what it was, and my quick glance and scowl gave it away.
"Usually, even with your kind, this stack is significantly smaller, mere articles by comparison. I've even dealt with some beyond your years with far less to report than the first stack of your infractions - this stack" he said arching his eyebrows and smashing his finger again and again into the paper, "is just one of an entire cabinet! The last, in fact. But all of them pale in comparison to the last page on this stack - I could throw them all away and this page alone would determine the difficulty of the riddle you must answer."
My face fell to a stony expression. I felt my mouth fall at the corners. No more jokes. No more avoidance.
"Well I guess that's fair. It's the only crime I actually committed. Those others were another man... a man before me... lots of men before me."
"Crime?" he asked, obviously disgusted. "You think genocide is simply a "crime"?"
"I didn't have a choice. Lives were in danger. Entire WORLDS were..."
"And that excuses you? Why do you think your progenitor banished you? At least he understood the gravity of your sin"
I knew what I'd done. I'd do it again.
"So get on with it."
He looked me dead in my eye. "There's only one question worthy of the seriousness of your crime. The first question. The question that should never be answered."
He wouldn't. He can't!
"What is your name?"
He did. I couldn't.
My face like flint, my teeth clenched, I replied the only way I could...
"The Doctor..."
He smirked, shook his head in dissatisfaction, and stared me down.
"Doctor Who?" | They were standing there, a vague sense of huddling up - a flock of angels, some passed wary glances, two or three surely wanted to be anywhere else, one stood just apart, apparently listening but wrath was building under his alabaster skin.
They looked like ethereal bureaucrats, like the black suits and DMV contingent of the Upper Room. I had caused directly the deaths of an entire people, indirectly well... I could see this going toward 'proper fucked' rather than forgive and forget.
The one who stood apart could not contain himself anymore.
He spoke, his voice was as the rolling of thunder, "A riddle then..."
"What has four legs when," the angel trailed off but as a ruse, taunting, " not that."
"All in male, never blinking," he said with a lilt, quite belied by the way his voice made the edges of my vision go black and urged me both to cower and run and cry.
"No, that's not right." His eyes were those of a predator, he knew exactly what I am, who I had been, what I wanted and sought, once I had thought myself the abyss starting back, now I knew those memories to be the fantasies of a sad and broken child. Perhaps it's true what they say of angels, one wing dipped in blood.
"What have I got in my pocket?" He asked, now almost gentle.
"You don't have pockets.." I replied, uttering my first words in the afterlife.
He reached beneath his flowing robes over his breast and removed his hand, he was giving me the finger.
"Little boy you're going to hell."
And I was - | 2017-06-03T06:45:01 | 2017-06-03T04:47:45 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] "Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems" | The sentient coffee blob looked at us, shook a little, then excreted another proof.
Terrence picked up the piece of paper. "Ah. The Matsuda-Johnson conjecture. The thing proved it." He adjusted his glasses and let out a deep sigh. "I worked on this for *years*, you know? It doesn't feel right that some creature just ... poops it out."
In the far corner stood Winona, shaking her head. "It feels wrong. But, I mean--it sort of makes sense."
"Poop!" cried our lab leader. He shook his fists at the fluorescent bulbs above us. "Poop!"
"Right," said Winona. "He digested the information we gave him."
"He?" said Terrence. "How can you call that thing a 'he'?"
The coffee blob stood perfectly still, looking at nothing in particular.
"It's just a *feeling* I'm getting," said Winona.
"Poop!" Our lab leader bashed his head against an unresponsive desk.
"Should we give him a name?" said Terrence.
We looked at him. It squirmed. Then another piece of paper fell out of its rear end.
Our lab leader went straight for it. "Give it to me!" he cried. "This abomination! This ... thing! This ... Wait, what's this? This isn't a proof." He scratched his reddish head for a few seconds. "This looks like a ... recipe."
"Oh! Gimme!" Winona ran over and snatched the paper from our lab leader's hands. "That's mine." She carefully studied the text while nodding. "Just as I suspected."
The blob made some gurgling sounds as we stood waiting for Winona to elaborate.
"Well?" said Terrence.
Winona looked up with a peevish grin. "It looks like we've stumbled upon our way out of here. And it's all thanks to Grok."
"Grok?"
She pointed at the brown blob. "Grok. He groks things. Like in Heinlein's *Stranger in a Strange Land*. While you were all busy writing down conjectures I wrote a simple question: 'How do I make waffles?' And Grok solved it. Because he's a general-purpose problem solver."
We all stared at Grok. He was a bit jittery and turned himself into a puddle.
"So all we have to do is to write 'How can we escape this lab?' on a piece of paper?" asked Terrence.
"And he'll poop out the answer?" our lab leader added.
Winona shrugged. "I don't know. But let's try."
I didn't want to interact socially more than absolutely necessary, but I also didn't want to die. So I shook my head. However, no one saw me doing it. Just like no one saw me accidentally add a cup of coffee into the container for the Bose-Einstein condensate we were studying. The life of a PhD student is tough. You're ground into a pulp every day, like some squished Sisyphus, and every night you have to put yourself back together. And sometimes you fail. You end up a bit wonky. And you make stupid mistakes.
"Here," said our lab leader, handing Winona a rolled-up note. As she began opening it, he said, "N-No. Don't *read* it. Just let him get to work!"
"Ahem," Winona said. "'How to get into Winona's pants?' That's your important question, Mr. Anderson?"
Our lab leader gulped. "My handwriting is bad. You read it wrong."
Even Grok didn't seem to buy it.
Winona tossed the note aside and wrote one herself. She showed it to us: 'How to escape this lab.' Short and to the point.
For a second I wondered whether it might be best to just let them do it. Let them find out how we can escape. Let them doom us all. That way, I don't have to say anything. I won't have to say anything ever again.
Damn. I had to say something. I cleared my throat. "It's better that we stay here."
They all looked over at me, and they seemed surprised. Like they'd forgotten I was here. Locked in a room with them.
"Jeremy," said Terrence, as if making an interesting observation.
"What makes you say that?" said Winona.
I pointed to the string of tags hanging side by side next to the door. There was a small section of it that could detect radiation. It turned black. And the one closest to the door was charcoal while that of the others gradually lessened in their grayness. Indicating, of course, that charged particles were zipping about at killer speeds right outside and that leaving would mean a painful and certain death for all of us.
"Oh," said our lab leader. "I'd forgotten about those. Nice catch, Gerald."
"That doesn't make any sense," said Terrence. "What could've caused it? Didn't the alarm earlier indicate that this was a technical error?"
Before the doors all closed on us, there had, in fact, been an alarm. But it was fairly generic. And it didn't explain why our phones all gave out, did it? I hadn't said anything. And they were too preoccupied experimenting with Grok.
"So ... We just stay here then?" Terrence looked around. Our lab leader blinked and made some vague noises.
"Something wrong, Mr. Anderson?"
"Well ..." Our lab leader scratched the back of his neck. "I finally removed all the snacks you guys have been storing in here. It was driving me crazy. It's not sanitary."
"What?"
"What are we supposed to eat?"
He pointed at Grok. "Why don't you ask him? He supposedly has all the answers."
Grok slurped absentmindedly around in a circle.
If he couldn't help us, we would surely die in there. | The yelling would fall on deaf ears, however. The emergency sirens blared in the background, making conversation virtually impossible. The man stared ahead, in shock at what was happening.
The three men had locked themselves in one of the remaining rooms. Some*thing* had escaped. The doctor with them wouldn't say a word. Its escape had led to a total lockdown, which was apparently something that corporate had actually invested in. Sirens blared and the doors locked after twenty minutes. They assumed the workers could get out in time- you only needed your keycard to get out before the twenty minute mark. After the twenty minute mark, corporate fully locked the doors and hoped that you had gotten out in time. It had been sixteen minutes.
The countdown hadn't even started before the thing had gone after anyone in its sight. If it even had sight. The sounds were horrendous. Running through the halls and seeing the aftermath, it was like the compound had ordered itself a new paintjob.
Trying to figure out which way to go while simultaneously minimizing the chances of being caught, their conversation in the room had devolved into an argument. *Can't we do this later?* he thought, his foot tapping the floor anxiously. *We're all going to die.*
Suddenly, one of the other guys swung around and shouted, "Alright! Let's get out of here!" He grinned, hopeful at the breakthrough. Then, the sirens changed. Things got ... quiet. Eerily quiet. "What's going on?" It was jarring to hear someone talking so clearly. The doctor's face had turned pale. "It's been twenty minutes." "What happens after twenty minutes?" The doctor turned to face the third man, but before he could speak, multiple clanks were heard, all throughout the compound. "Shit," the man muttered. All the doors had locked themselves shut- locking us inside with that thing.
Then, the lights shut off. He hadn't known that that was part of the procedure. Slowly, the compound encased itself in darkness.
They sat there for a while, thinking. What was there to do at this point? Suddenly, the light at the top of their room started to buzz to life. It wasn't much, but it was happening. They could start to make out each other's outlines. Suddenly, something appeared next to them. They couldn't fully see it, as it was still in the shadows, but they knew it was there. It was like the thing had phased through the walls, but that wasn't what had happened. It just ... appeared. They each had a look of exhaustion and resignation. The doctor whispered, "It uses the light, and it dies in the dark. Hence, the plan was to have the outside office shut the lights off."
The first man asked the question on everyone's mind.
"What is it?"
The doctor was quiet, and then he whispered something, his voice shaking.
"I don't know."
The thing moved into the light. What it was was so horrifying and so terrible that their deaths were a mercy, even if it took a while for death to come. They stared at the thing, eyes wide in fear. They didn't move.
The thing moved. | 2022-05-09T14:37:34 | 2022-05-09T13:05:50 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible. | "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GARBAGE!?"
He threw the cup across the ring.
"Getting fired from the WWE isn't enough Batista wants to go ahead and make crappy coffee too!"
The crowd roared as The Rock swayed around the center.
"Cafe vanilla! DO I LOOK LIKE A HIPSTER TO YOU , BATISTA?"
Batista sadly lowers his head, staring at his apron. Then grabs the Mic himself
"First things first, I LEFT. Wasn't fired . Second, I may make disgusting java, but I can still kick your ass"
He drops microphone as they begin to grapple.
* Thank you for the gold, kind stranger. Highest rated comment so far too. I may have to do more prompts now, lol.
| I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together. | 2015-01-15T06:47:14 | 2015-01-15T04:28:05 | 1,156 | 21 |
[WP] You have a super recessive disorder that makes you immortal. Never in all your time (~14,000 yrs) have you encountered anyone else like yourself. You begin a series of breeding of experiments....
Yes this is dark, go nuts with it. | As I sit comfortably in my lounge chair by the pool, watching my son swim laps, I can confidant say that I have never been happier in the last 14, 000 years.
I remember when I first realized I was immortal 14 millenia ago. I had lived a modest life to that point. I was a farmer like my father, as was his father before him. We planted the seeds of the wild fruit we found in the forest, and with this bounty we were able to support our small tribe even when the hunters were unsuccessful. Unlike my father and tribe however, my skin shone a brilliant white and my hair grew wildly. My small tribe accepted this, and I felt lucky to be commited to my woman Ooka, especially after she bore our 6 beautiful children. We and my parents shared a small hovel in the beautiful country now know as South Africa. But the great drought came on my 35th birthday. The wild fruit seeds were lost, and the hunters could only find dead and rotted animals as far as they searched.
I watched as my parents starved to death, then my wife. I ate little and had a burning hunger, but I stayed healthy. I did everything possible to scavange for food, but it was a barren wasteland and my children too weak to travel. Eventually even the last insects and vegetation died. When the the youngest finally died, the 3 oldest who could still walk and I began to migrate. A week later, everyone I had ever known was dead when I finally laid my eldest to rest.
I lay there beside him for a week, willing my body to die. It wouldn't. I jumped off the highest cliff I could find, and got up without a scratch. I threw myself onto a spear, and the spear point couldn't break my skin. I tried to remember if I had even got a scratch- and I couldn't. Maybe I was always like this. And Maybe I always would be. And the maybe turned into certainty. And it was then I knew. I knew I was immortal.
| This is my first post on writingprompt, its a bit long. Hope you guys like it.
I have many names and many identities. Once I was hailed as a saviour, a king another time, and now i'm just a neighborhood shoemaker for a mining city in the north of Canada. The locals would call me Jon the sole saver. I have a secret and that is I can control time around me. This comes with many benefits. For one, my mind subconsciously stops time within me so I don't age and when I get hurt all wounds heal within minutes. All these things happen without my control like how a heart beats without anyone thinking about it. I have always wondered if there is someone else like me but after fourteen thousand years the answer is still no, that is until I met the woman of my life, Nora. When I told her my secret she didn't freak out nor did she act like one of those worshipping fanatic freaks. She just embraced me, it was the happiest moment of my life knowing that at least one person would treat me normally. Of course we got married. It was a small wedding, just the two of us at a local church. In our honeymoon she told me that I was her hero because in a lot of comics it seems the hero in hiding always hid themselves somewhere north of Canada. I don't want to be her hero because she already is mine. We tried to have children many times but we always fail. We went to a local doctor who knew about my powers we were good friends. He did some examinations on Nora and came to the conclusion that the Egg; once it reached the embryonic stage it just stops as if time stopped around it. That night I laid on my bed, Nora was crying in the washroom. I want to comfort her but I have to words to say. Its as if the laws of nature is rejecting me, my children are rejecting themselves even before birth. It hurts me deeply but I know it hurt Nora more. After that night we stopped trying.
40 years has passed since that time, Nora turned 60 today but her beauty is still shown even under all the winkles. I can't sleep, I went to the kitchen and poured some milk into a cup, milk's gone bad. Nora will leave me soon, these brief few years won't last long. What do I do? What can I do? The more I thought the more ludicrous my ideas got. What if I made Nora immortal? I you need a specimen theres a living one right here. I'll think more about it tomorrow. I turned off the kitchen lights and left for bed, the cup was empty.
The next day i went to the local doctor. The doc's son was there too hr plans to take over his father's clinic soon so I just call him doc junior or DJ for short. I asked the doctor if he could find why I'm the way I am. We took blood samples and cell samples. After a few weeks doc concluded that it wasy blood and soon I began my experiments.
First it was animals I injected my blood in a wild boar first it died as its blood froze it self in time. Doc and i decided that we need to make a serum from my blood that will activate simultaneously when it has spread throughout the body. It finally worked on a lab rat. Its time for human trials. Doc volunteered and his son DJ agreed to it too. DJ wants to evolutionize Medicine. If everyone was immortal then war, hunger would be pointless and dissappear. I don't care about that, I just want Nora to be with me forever. It didn't work, doc died from brain damage as the serum spread through his body partially. DJ was sad but in his eyes it was a worthy sacrifice for the greater good.
DJ and I continued to work on our serum for the next 15 years failure after failure and Nora is running out of time. She's bed ridden, DJ has been monitoring her and its not looking well her stomach cancer is eating away her health. Out of options I told DJ that I'm going to use the new serum on Nora.
It was late at night and extremely windy. I walked into our room and Nora laid there slilently asleep, her skin pale and sickly green. I held her hand and she woke up. Flustered that I woke her up I let go her hand. She looked at me and said "I'm glad that got to spend my time with you. I am satisfied with this life so please don't be sad."
I went to the kitchen to get some medicine and water for her. I mixed the serum in the water and brought it to her. She drank it and went to sleep
Edit: accidentally clicked send before finishing so still not done | 2015-09-26T11:34:01 | 2015-09-26T10:24:50 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone. | When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim.
So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out.
After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul.
"Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...."
"Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas".
"you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later."
Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once.
"Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others."
The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill.
"You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it."
"Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt."
The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face.
"And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me."
As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon.
I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus.
"In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift."
"JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.
| I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch.
I did not expect music.
Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times.
What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle *on* lava. Yeah.
And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled.
As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me.
What if this *was* hell?
What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me.
No one.
I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office.
And the musician was sitting next to me.
He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. *Something.* But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten.
I would know.
I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?"
That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing.
The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air.
I frowned. "You know who I am?"
The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, *human,* I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing"
Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name.
Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?"
I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?"
Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica.
I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed.
Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?"
He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing.
"Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?"
Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?"
I frowned. "What?"
Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room.
I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly.
His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?"
I nodded.
"They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?"
"There's an exit?"
Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture.
"So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked.
Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person."
I grinned at that.
"Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be."
"Why would I do that?"
Lucifer looked up at me again, confused.
"I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to."
We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer.
Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly.
I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really."
"Then why?"
"To reclaim what's yours."
***
(minor edits)
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-02-01T09:21:57 | 2017-02-01T09:19:12 | 224 | 22 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | *3:30 AM, Atlanta*
The phone rang.
"This had better be worth waking my ass up."
"Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--."
"I'll do it if you make it six. Where?"
The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more.
The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty.
"An insurance agent, huh?" *Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days.*
Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore.
He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos.
Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months.
That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous.
And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend.
He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know.
So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free.
However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex?
These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past.
Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream... | Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist.
Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to.
He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms.
Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them.
“Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.”
The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!”
Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children.
But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today.
“Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.”
“And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!”
“You look like, what, 12 this year?”
“What does that even matter in a situation like this?”
Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.”
“Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!”
Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.”
A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?”
“Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.”
“But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!”
“You couldn’t afford my fees.”
“My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!”
Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.”
His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that.
“Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!”
Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room.
“Anything at all, I can take as payment?”
“Yes! Please, anything!”
---
Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.”
“Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.”
“Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?”
Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2017-04-02T09:25:08 | 2017-04-02T08:24:03 | 201 | 142 |
[WP] When you get to be 18, you can pick a statistic. Any time you see someone, you'll know that statistic about them.
[deleted] | So LPT: Don't show up drunk to stats day.
Let me give you some background. For the record it was the day after graduation, which was the worst timing possible. Of course my family had to throw the grandest of graduation parties. And of course my drunk uncle showed up, as usual. Except this time I actually took that tequila shot he always pestered me to take. I had finally graduated, why not? The problem was when I took the next tequila shot, and the next. You see where this is going. Here I am, drunk out of my mind and underage. I doubt my parents ever knew, they were too engrossed in showing off to as many people as they could find.
The next morning I wake up still drunk with 15 minutes to get to my appointment. I slam a cup of coffee, and grab my bicycle to ride to the statistics building. I need to pee. Have you ever had a horrible hangover piss? I haven't yet, and it's painful. But I'm already drunk and in the stats line. You would think the workers there would notice an underage drunk getting in line, filling out the paperwork, and waiting for the injection, but no. Those workers are more indifferent than the DMV. So there I am nearly dying and I start asking the attendant if they know where the bathroom is. They don't, or they wouldn't respond. Did I ask loud enough? Are they listening? Dammit DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE DAMN BATHROOM IS?
So one thing led to another and now I know how likely a person is to know the location of a bathroom. It's really not helpful at all, and I wasted my statistic. I can't believe the guy at the counter took me seriously, this has to be a running joke for them. Come on man, I was drunk at the time! Let me have a do-over! Bastards. | A lot of people asked me what stat I picked when I turned eighteen, a lot of guys said stupid things and I wondered if they actually thought it out. From little on I knew what I wanted and how I would get it. I sort of had a hidden side to me...one that others would not want to know. If they did, well they wouldn't for long. Seeing so many pass by along the street percentages flying past my field of vision. Technology was and is a great thing but it gets overwhelming. The chips they implant into your eyes had to be checked like any other part of your body. They could malfunction, create errors. Give you unwanted or dangerous stats of somebody.
Then there it was the percentage at a level that I never had seen before. One hundred percent. My eyes widened as large as my body would let them. Focusing on...a young man? He wasn't even a man, a teenager too young to get his stats implanted. This wasn't right. My stat was supposed to see the percentage of threat level in the stat that they had chosen for their own. We locked eyes and he ran. The boys back at the station wouldn't believe me if I didn't have proof that somebody this dangerous was running around. Setting my mental cam on instant I started recording. Never getting a view of his face since the first encounter. Then, out of nowhere, past the busy streets and into the alleyways that most never dared to go. He vanished. They'd never believe me and of course I was getting my boss blaring in my ears.
“What the hell do you think you're doing chasing some kid!? You're supposed to be on incognito patrol and all I get back from you is this!? Report back to the station immediately!” I know he wouldn't believe me, he never has, never will. Unless your mental recorder is on at the exact moment of the stat flashing, it won't show. It will only show again if you get eye contact. The kid was smart. A sort of reminder to you. I sighed knowing once again I'd get written up for not using my mental recorder properly. I muted him, not wanting the blaring echos in my head. It was no use, I tried to help this forsaken town but I guess my methods we’re never effective.
“Hey cop guy.” It was a teen voice. Slightly cracking, not yet settled into it's adult range. We made eye contact again, it was the one from before. Yet as soon as I tried to set my recorder on again I received an error.
“What the hell!?” I pulled out my stun gun ready to shoot, but it felt hot in my hand, so hot I dropped it spilling a few cuss words from my lips.
“Calm down old man. I won't hurt you. You seem like could be of use to us. There's a lot more to the stat world than most would like to believe. I'm an observer, and I'd like to recruit you.” The smirk that coated the teens face made me sick but the still lingering pain in my hand made it hard to think of any kind of snappy comeback.
“Recruit me?” This kid was spouting nonsense, like one of those new age cults that I had to bust down every once in a while.
“Yes, to the higher states. If you really want to save this place, I can help you. If you help us.” I wanted to grab my gun again. Shoot this mad man in the head and end his insanity. If I wasn't in incognito mode right now I'd actually have my lethal weapon. Then something was touching my forehead. It was my stun gun, at point blank range to the skull the shock could be lethal, but there was no hand on the trigger...it was floating.
“I thought I wouldn't have to resort to this but it's agree to be recruited or die on the spot. I don't like to waste my time old man. I'm very busy and you're wasting it as we speak. Say yes.” His face devoid of all emotion, sweat rolling down my neck, running tracks past the implant at the base of it. Panic took over.
“F...fine I'll join your higher state or whatever bullshit this is. How the fuck are you levitating my stun gun?” As soon as I finished saying that it dropped to the ground sparking.
“Welcome to the elevated Mr. Samulae Johnson.”
I got way too out of hand on this lol | 2017-04-07T14:10:14 | 2017-04-07T13:24:50 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered. | The man on the ledge reeked of old booze and stale vomit, enough for me to smell him from ten paces away. Not your typical drunk however, judging by the suit; a week or so ago, it had been a respectable business number, probably complete with a crisp shirt and a smart tie. I could see that the shirt lost a number of buttons since, and acquired questionable stains, and the tie went missing altogether.
"Don't. No closer. I'll jump. I'm not kidding." He winced and swayed as he spoke.
I shrugged and leaned against the roof access door.
"Suit yourself, partner. Jump. Or don't. You are not dying today."
"Wrong!" he swayed again. "I'll do it! We are fifty stories up, there's nothing anyone can do!.." Below, the Strip churned, shone, sparkled and blinked. Just another day in paradise.
"You don't understand. I... I thought I could stop. I *almost* stopped. I just... I needed... more..." For a moment I thought he'd start to whimper and back away from the ledge, and we could solve things quietly. No such luck however. He kept blabbing, the standard suicidal drivel of a gambling addict down on his luck.
"Hey!" I snapped my fingers and he stared at me wide-eyed. "Will you ever get on with it? So you fucked up. You ALWAYS fuck up. And you'll fuck this up too. Want to know what'll happen now? You'll jump. You'll fall fifty fucking stories, land on an empty car, ruin it, and walk away with one hell of a bruised ass and not a single broken bone. Get it? You're about to fuck up your own suicide. I'm not here to talk you out of it. I'm here to talk you *into* it, watch and fucking laugh."
He blinked slowly, once, twice.
"Fuck. You. You're crazy. What kind of a negotiator are you anyway?"
"I'm not. You see a badge anywhere? For all you know, I'm the tooth fairy. You know what's funny? You can't even stop yourself thinking about what I said just now, can you? You're gonna attempt suicide by jumping fifty stories, and you're gonna FUCK IT UP. All this to ruin some poor slob's car. C'mon then, loser. I got places to be."
"Fuck. You."
Credit where credit's due - he did not scream on the way down, or at least not so much that I could hear him. From below, came a distant thud and an indignant blare of a car alarm. I walked the ten paces to the ledge and peered over just in time to see him kneeling in the street next to a ruined cab, uniforms and paramedics rushing towards him.
The phone in my pocket trilled.
"Mahoney? We've got him. Come on down." | Lord Evil hovered over the street between two buildings, his cape fluttering behind his back, his fists resting on his
hips, a dark smile across his face.
Under him, chaos and destruction as he used his powers to destroy the city.
I arrived late, and a team of policemen were cowering behind a collapsed building, at a loss of what to do.
"Hey, hey, hey, guys! I'm here!" I stopped, panting. "Okay, who's in charge?"
"Who the hell are you!?"
"The superhero."
The police officers exchanged glances. "The superhero?"
"Yes. Look, there's no time for that, okay? New York is being destroyed, a dude in a cape is hovering above the city
and pretty soon a beam of light will shoot up towards swirling clouds in the sky. This is obviously a superhero story."
"Are you sure?" One of the cops asked.
Another one frowned. "Are studios charging more for people to watch this in 3D even though nobody wants it?"
"No," I said. "It's not going to be *exactly* like every superhero story, but --"
"Are women wildly underrepresented and/or objectified?" another added, confused.
"Is Zack Snyder making everything gritty for no reason?" a third pondered.
I shook my head. "Okay, stop. Dude, just trust me! This is a superhero story." Lord Evil cast a laser on a passing-by bus and it exploded. "We gotta act fast, dude!"
"Okay…" the tallest of the officers stepped forward. "I'm in charge. My name is Officer Smith. What's the plan?"
I looked up at Lord Evil. "Well… normally you'd all do absolutely nothing while a team of witty misfits in ridiculous outfits comes together to battle the evil lord, even though, you know, the police has machine guns and the army has fucking nuclear weapons and they are both clearly more qualified than, say, a billionaire in a bat suit or a guy who's good with a bow and arrow." I paused. "But I'm a different kind of superhero, so we'll have to improvise."
"Dude, this is getting upsetting. Just tell us what your power is."
"Okay. Okay. I have a different power every day of the week." I checked my list. "Today it's…" I paused.
"What!?"
I looked up from my list. "All right, you'll have to trust me, Officer Smith. Go over to Lord Evil and kill him."
Smith waited. "How?"
"It doesn't matter. Just do it." I took a step forward. "Look, my power is it doesn't matter what I ask of you, you
can accomplish it. So if I say 'kill Lord Evil' and you go to do it, you'll do it."
"But he's hovering in the air! I can't fly!"
"It doesn't matter, man." I put an arm around his back and we both looked up at Lord Evil. "All you have to do is
agree with me and… go do it."
"How do I even 'go do it'?"
"DUDE, I DON'T KNOW. JUST SAY 'OKAY, I'LL KILL HIM'."
"This makes no sense."
"Oh, because Batman traveling across the world with no money or passport after he escaped prison in Dark Knight Rises was a beacon of logic."
"Good point."
I sighed. "Okay. Forget the other superheroes. Let's focus. Just try to punch him. Just go under him and attempt to punch him. You'll find the strength to fly or your punch hill reach him up there or something. It doesn't matter. If I tell you to kill him with a punch and you attempt it, it will work, because that's my power. I don't know *how* it will work, but it will work. So trust me. Just do it."
Smith looked around at his peers, then at me. Behind him, the city burned and collapsed. "Are you sure about this?"
"I know this is a weird power and it's not based on the features of an exotic animal, which is unusual for superheroes," I said. "But trust me. It works."
He nodded. He turned his back on his friends. Grandiose music played as he stepped forward, confident, afraid but ready. Debris and cinder blocks and fire rained around him. People ran in the opposite direction, desperate. But he was ready.
When he stopped right under Lord Evil, the man's shadow towering over him, I yelled: "KILL HIM WITH A PUNCH!"
Officer Smith looked up against the sun… and punched the air.
And absolutely nothing happened.
He turned back to look at me. "It didn't work! AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Lord Evil picked him up and lifted him over the remaining buildings and then, from this great distance, dropped him
back onto the ground, where he promptly exploded and turned into a stain of flesh, blood and bones on the ground.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?" One of his friends asked me, turning back.
I checked my list. "Ah, shit," I said. "Tomorrow's power is 'anything I say happens'. Today was just 'good
persuasion.' Sorry, guys."
Lord Evil laughed an evil laugh. And then a big beam of light exploded towards swirling clouds in the sky.
_________
**(This story is available in 3D and IMAX at /r/psycho_alpaca)** | 2017-06-21T12:23:26 | 2017-06-21T09:33:05 | 1,906 | 268 |
[WP] You're a police officer in a horror movie, but actually competent. | There was a time that I didn't think about the taste of ink running through my veins, the smell of stale piss and arthritis in my fingers. But it was just so, in a small town.
The town never had any incidents worse than a noisy neighbour or teenagers doing a run on the night. Sometimes a stray would rear its head or a foreigner would get lost. But nothing out of the ordinary. Paperwork was filed, submitted documented then promptly shredded after it was uploaded to the Provincial level.
There always were urban myths about the old logging mills, tales that never ceased being told. Through word of mouth, through angsty teens, we would have several calls about children being lost, the odd complaint that teenagers had camped out by the mills. Anything of value that hadn't been nailed down and even some equipment that had were already removed, stolen or in disrepair. All that remained of the hallowed site was the remains of a couple of children.
The Sherriff thought nothing of it. We had a federal forensic team go through our files, examined the scene and determined that the cause of their deaths was likely environmental. What that meant for the ghost-hunters was that it was supernatural.
As much as we advertise that it's not a good idea to go down to the middle of the forest to a re-taken spot located on Indigenous land, people still go missing. And what do we do?
File paperwork. | I carefully weighed the situation. The monster *whatever it was* had long since fled. Confronted with someone armed, who knew how to fight, it had decided it had drunk enough blood this harvest. Wasn’t a match for officer Duke. *clever boy* I think to myself.
*what to do about this mess?*. Three dead cheerleaders and the quarterback sprawled on the bedroom floor, as stiff as the wooden beams that hang ominously overhead. How was I going to explain this? Chief will have my ass. That’s when I heard it, a rustle from under the bed. *what the fuck*!
I drew my gun once again. Took a long step back, and a long deep breath. I dropped to my stomach. The wind left my lungs but I kept my focus. Two eyes stared back at me in the darkness, unmoving, almost human *too human*.
“Don’t shoot me man” a voice with a strange cadence called back. *it is a college town*
“It’s alright, I chased it off” I answered, another witness might help explain things. *or at least make it seem like you didn’t just kill four white kids*
“Come out ok, and we can clean this shit up son”
I holstered my gun, and began scanning the room again, a black circle had been drawn on the floor, in which the four other young people lay, their blood slowly oozing into the centuries old wooden floor *dont build em like this anymore*. I though, stamping my foot on the floor. I decided I couldn’t leave them like that though. So I took the white cloaks down from the hangers on the wall and spread them over the victims *shame. Damn shame*.
“What’s your name boy” I ask, not bothering to turn around as I hear him standing up.
“Uh, Antoine, sir.... uh, officer” he replied, with velvet on his voice, and not nearly enough respect. An idea spat into my mind. The monster was gone and I had four dead bodies to explain, and nearly a full cartridge of bullet casings around the old estate. A blade lay off to the side of one of the girls. Just out of reach. *whats one more?*
“Hand me that would you?” I say, pointing to the knife “looks like it’s evidence”
“Uh, sure sir” the stupid boy gingerly walked over to it, he bends down and places a hand around the hilt. I stand up quietly, take my pistol from its holster and point it at his back.
“Turn around slowly, scum” the boy starts to laugh *what? Is he laughing at me? Fucking ni...*
Another, lower laugh lodged in my ear. My thoughts died in an instant. Replaced only with goosebumps, on my arms and down my throat. Four too long icy fingers wrap slowly over my shoulder, piercing my skin. The warm drip of blood sauntering down my arm.
‘ARGHHHHH’ my arm is rigid from pain, but I can’t move, my gun slips through my fingers.
“Fitting....” the boy is looking at me now as he speaks, those bright white teeth of his that look so wrong on his face, sparkling in the moonlight
“You’d die in a house like this” I feel the knife enter my chest, pain and fear running through my veins, and out all over the room *not like.... I can’t....*
The blood loss is too much, I’m bleeding out. My vision is blurry, I see.... I see that fucking boy, he nods to something, to *the monster* it smiles, this one even wronger than the boys. It speaks, it’s voice cutting into my ears.
“Cops taste the best”
The thing I hear is my own voice, the last of the air used to curse these two monsters
“You can’t .....do this..... To a grand w.....” | 2018-11-08T21:10:48 | 2018-11-08T20:00:44 | 84 | 16 |
[WP] You are a proud and powerful demon, strong enough to topple entire nations and you've only ever been summoned twice. This is the third time and you see a eight-year old girl holding the incantation book in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other. | Though it had happened only twice before, I could never forget the feeling I had now, of being pulled across the eternal void, into the world of men.
As I opened my eyes, I stretched my wings and roared forth a great blast of flame, testing the limits of my manifestation. A fiery pillar burst into the sky, a mere dozen meters high. Indeed, the magic of this world must be greatly diminished, even compared to my last arrival. As to be expected; with the Master's demise, this world's magical field should have weakened considerably.
Wait, the Master... but then, who had summoned me this time?
"Well, look at you, aren't you big and strong!"
I turned around to see a female human child. In her left hand, she held some kind of small bar, wrapped in a strange substance. And in her right....
"You... child... how did you obtain that book?"
"Oh, this old thing? I just found it lying around in a bookshelf, and decided to give it a try!" she said in a high-pitched voice.
"... child, that book is no toy. It is the Grimoire Diabolus, cursed tome of summoning! An ancient spellbook, filled with forbidden black magicks, the mere reading of which has driven men mad!"
"Ohhhhh, I see... say, while you're here, why don't we have some fun!"
I sighed. "Little girl, where are your parents? Is one of them hiding around here somewhere? The one that actually summoned me?"
The girl took a bite out of the strange bar. "But I'm the one that summoned you. Look, I can give you orders and everything, see? Ummmmm... pat your head and rub your belly, at the same time!"
"That's not possi-" I stopped as I felt my hands already moving. Damn it, she really was the true summoner after all. "... how- how dare you submit a demon such as I to such humiliation! Once I am released from this accursed ritual, I shall tear you to shreds!"
"Oh look, you turn all pink when you're embarrassed like that! I know, I'll call you Pinky! How does that sound?"
"I am no Pinky, mortal! I am Ascharatos, lord of destr-"
"Your name is Pinky! Say it!"
"... My name... is Pinky..." Damn that ritual!
"There we go, that's a good boy! Obedient, as always. Well, except for the whole 'tear you to shreds' bit; then again, you threatened to do that the last two times, and nothing ever came of it, did it?"
Sudden realization dawned on me. "M... master? That... that's impossible! You can't be... you..."
"Died? Hah! Just a minor setback for the most powerful magician this world has ever known! Although, it did take an awfully long time to reincarnate, and even longer to recover my most powerful magics."
"I see, it must have taken quite some time, given this era's diminished magical energies."
"Huh? No, I just couldn't reach the top shelf of my-" The master stopped suddenly, blushing.
"What was that?"
"Nothing! Anyway, this era's not all that bad. The mortals have managed to take that Aztec bean drink and condense it into bar form." She took another bite of the bar. "Truly their greatest accomplishment."
I sighed. "That aside, it's good to see you again, Master. Now, I shall take the oath and finish the ritual. According to the terms of the ancient pact, I, the great demon As-" My tongue suddenly stopped itself. "Master, I cannot..."
The master giggled, a thoroughly unsettling sound. "Oh right, that was a binding order. Your name's Pinky now."
"Master, please... fine, your will is my command. I, Pinky, hereby submit myself to you, and shall do your bidding henceforth until I pass from this realm." With that, the contract was completed, and the magical circle binding me faded away.
The young Master finished her bar and tossed the Grimoire Diabolus aside. "Always one for formalities, aren't you? Anyway, let's get a move on, we've got business to attend to."
"Master, what are we going to do?", I asked her.
She raised her hand, and we found ourselves teleported before a vast army. Demons, devils, and other hellspawn filled the ranks.
The master smiled. "The same thing we do every time, Pinky- try to take over the world!" | The absence of bonds and the pain that they came with was, as always, the most immediate and disorienting effect. Imagine all of your limbs bound by cold hard chains, clamped tight and biting into your flesh that never goes numb. Imagine more, a million little needles poking through to your bones at a million angles and emanating a searing hot poison prick. Imagine still that someone, in addition to all of this, has wrapped a bag around your head and with rough cord tied it secure about your neck. Now you can only see the dark gone musty with the quality of your own stale breath. Now imagine that all of these restraints have been shorn away at once. Where once there was constant glaring agony now there was crystal clarity, blissful beautiful serenity. As though all the horns of all the ages had been blaring an inch from your ear, and then suddenly, silence. It took me a moment, as always, to readjust. The screams of the dead I quelled later, once I noticed them rising in timbre. Below the pain had been too much, the cage too tight - nothing could reach me. Up here, released, unbound, all manner of unthing could entreat me. I ignored them, it was not they who freed me. It was this little creature here, before me.
&#x200B;
She came up to my knee, and I found myself stooped over her, standing as I was in the circle, my horns brushing the ceiling. Her hair stuck up at messy angles, her pajamas were rumpled, and light was low - emanating only from my own unearthly glow, and from the tiny lamp plugged in beside her bed. She was not afraid, and this was new. There was nothing in her face of the reluctant caution of the ritualist that first called me from the broiling abyss. Nothing of the unbridled fear of the second to discover my arcana. This one was smiling. She was missing a tooth. She held out her hand in offering.
&#x200B;
"For you!" She said in an emphatic but hushed tone, she tripped on her own toes as she tried to cross the summoning circle. It seemed she forgot about it, and remembering only in the last second tripped on herself in her effort not to topple some of the colorful blocks that made it up. If she had done so, I would be again back in the painful dark. The pact must be made first.
&#x200B;
"I am unfamiliar with this tribute, mortal. Is it an artifact of importance, does your God revere it?" I had taken the thing from her tiny paw, brought it up to my yellowed eyes pinched between thick claw.
&#x200B;
"It's a chocolate bar! You're welcome! It says I have to give you something I like and I like that kind of chocolate bar." The grin never left her face, and she leaned in close and spoke in conspiratorial tones. "Please don't be so loud okay? Mom and Dad will wake up and then we'll be trouble."
&#x200B;
I searched now the very depths of her young soul, and how blinding bright it was. I saw there this object between my fingers, a thing that was won only with great resolve. It was important to her. The contract was complete.
&#x200B;
I noticed the tome she clutched, the very one penned by the first man to summon me. How long ago was it written, I wondered, in terms of these mortals? "You are what your kind calls young, a child," I said, my voice reverberated inside her skull. It was loud, I could do little for this.
&#x200B;
"Shh!" She held a finger up to her mouth, "I'm eight! I'm not a kid, okay? And and..." she now flipped open the tome, traced a paragraph with her finger. I could see her mouth working through what was written silently, "and you have to do what I say so be quiet."
&#x200B;
"It is so. You are the only mortal capable of hearing my voice. You need not worry about your progenitors."
&#x200B;
"Peroginers? You have to use easier words."
&#x200B;
I was at a loss. I had to obey, I cleared my throat. "Your parents," I said to her, somewhat deflated.
&#x200B;
"Oh. Okay I guess you can use big words but you have to tell me what they mean too."
&#x200B;
"What is it you desire, why have you called me?"
&#x200B;
She clutched the book close to her chest, pulled at her fingers and mulled something over. It took a great deal of time and so I asked again. At last she spoke, "I don't have any friends at school and they make fun of me and my tooth, see?" She opened her mouth and poked her tongue through the gap.
&#x200B;
"So you wish for retribution?" I said, and then in concordance with the magic that binds us, "You want to get back at them. I will tear out their teeth, think now, of the cretins, er, bullies and I will know them too."
&#x200B;
"No!" She whispered with particular venom, so much so that for a second after she stood poised and alert, listening for any stirring outside her room. When she was satisfied she hadn't woken her parents, she continued. "That's mean. I want to make friends. You can be my friend right, uhm..." Again she flipped through the ancient text.
&#x200B;
I stopped her search, "If that is your wish," I said.
&#x200B;
"So we're friends?"
&#x200B;
"Yes."
&#x200B;
"And you'll help me make others?"
&#x200B;
"I will," I said, though I knew not how. Perhaps I could reach into the psyche of another child, twist it to be enamored with my latest master.
&#x200B;
"Yes! Okay now we have to clean up before morning, and you have to be less uhm big and scary!"
&#x200B;
"I will make myself inconspicuous."
&#x200B;
She pursed her lips in thought.
&#x200B;
"I will hide," I said, and made myself immaterial even to her eyes. "I am still here," I said.
&#x200B;
We cleaned up the ritual circle, which consisted of placing the colored blocks into a trunk. She took great delight at the floating blocks, held in my invisible hand. She demanded I tuck her in. I did. This would be difficult, I thought, settling into a corner of the room, but it was better than the alternative. Better than the shackles. | 2019-02-11T03:04:09 | 2019-02-11T01:25:19 | 394 | 166 |
[WP] You are a time traveler entering a medieval tournament in which the winner gains the right to wed the princess. You're the first match and the king announces that you may use any weapon. Quickly you draw you're glock and shout "parry this you fucking casual" | How hard can it be, taking a gun to a knife fight? I mean, they're swords, but swords are just really big knives, so the sentiment holds true. The princess, so fair under the spring sun, eagerly watched on. We shared a glance, a smile, before my theatrics began.
"I will show you all the power of my magic," I said, the robed man across from me lurking beneath his hood. We stayed face to face, slowly rotating in a circle. "Watch as I kill this man without even moving."
I pulled the trigger on a gun tucked into my loose sleeve. It tore a hole in it, and the sound jolted the crowd. It was clear that my words were no bluff.
Not that it mattered.
Where the bullet should have hit him, a little pond of blue rippled, like a stone dropped into water. Slowly, he drew back his hood.
I hadn't aged very well, but it was no doubt *me*. Wrinkled, scarred, and fucking miserable eyes like overcooked eggs. He shook his head at me.
"Sorry, kiddo." Something around his wrist glowed red, whirring, humming.
"No, wait! Why? What the fuck are you doing here, killling me? I mean, you?"
"She's fucking crazy, kid. Like, absolute batshit bonkers. Time is stupid. If I let you beat me, you get stuck with her and turn into me. But if I kill you, then both our sufferings end." He raised his arm at me.
"Wait, just fucking *wait*."
He rolled his eyes, wrist lowering a bit. "What?"
"Well, I have a gun, and you have some crazy ass lasers and shit."
"And?"
I raised my arm and painted the royal banner with princess brains. The crowd was not exactly pleased, and the king was screaming something I didn't recognize.
"Huh. Why didn't I think of that?" old me asked.
I looked at myself and smiled. "You did."
*/r/resonatingfury* | Advanced Author's note: Just a quick call out to both [SterlingMagleby](https://www.reddit.com/user/SterlingMagleby) and [Korijay](https://www.reddit.com/user/Korijay), who both had a similiar idea to mine, and beat me to posting.
\-
I should have thought this through better, I considered, as I dodged an arrow. Seriously, it should have been common sense that downing the opposing knight with "the power of thunder" would have drawn some less than positive attention.
All I can claim is that the visage of the Princess obviously overwhelmed said common sense (more like my libido knifed it in the back and hid the body).
Honestly, none of this was going according to plan. The original scheme had simply been to jump back in time and observe. Sure they had given me the Glock, but they had been clear that it was only for emergency use.
But when I had arrived successfully in the past, and had seen the princess, common sense (and most other rational thought) had left me. To say she was hot was the understatement of the millennia (if I had my date right). So I joined the tournament for her hand. Not the best decision I had ever made.
In hind sight, and given my record of poor decisions, I'm beginning to think the scientists didn't actually expect this whole thing to work. Assholes. Also, I probably hadn't needed to gloat over the corpse of my opponent. That one was on me.
Well, those are problems for another time. At the moment, dodging arrows in my primary concern.
Honestly, I think the King was being a bit unfair. I hadn't been hostile to anyone other than my opponent, and you'd think any King worth his salt would be happy to have a "wizard who controls the power of thunder" as a husband to his daughter. BUT NOOOOO. Pull out a bit of 21st century technology, and suddenly your being pursued by the King's personal guard. *So not fair!*
I ducked behind a tree as I considered what to do next. The timer was set to return me in another 42 minutes unless I overrode it. Overriding it was exactly what I had intended to do once I won the princess' hand in marriage, but unfortunately that only extended my stay in the past, there was no way to get me out sooner. Bummer.
I sent a few more rounds over my shoulder to get the approaching knights to duck back as I broke from cover and ran on. Only one more magazine I noted as I reloaded; I'd have to start rationing my shots.
Suddenly three men in red jumped out in front on me.
I leveled my pistol, but could not abandon my snark, "I didn't expect you to get in front of me."
The man in the middle, his head covered by a wide brimmed hat matching his red robes, stepped forward confidently, and in a ridiculous Spanish accent stated "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapons are surprise and fear!" He boomed.
Honestly, he sounded rather pompous to me, so I shot him. I was thoroughly surprised when he drew his sword faster then my eye could follow and apparently cut the bullet in half.
"A Glock? Really? You couldn't have picked something with more style?" The man queried.
At this point, I was fully at a loss. How did this man know what a Glock was? How in the world did he block a freaking bullet with a sword?" These questions ran through my mind, but I could hear the King's men approaching, so I took what I thought was the most logical course of action and emptied the pistol magazine at the men who blocked my escape.
To my astonishment, the man in the center used his blade to block every single bullet.
He sighed, and suddenly lost his ridiculous accent. "You time travelers are all the same. When will you learn to stop mucking about in the past?" With that, he unceremoniously stabbed me through the heart.
I knew I was as good as dead as I hit the ground. My last thoughts on Earth were revisiting my earlier conclusion that I really hadn't thought this through. But in my defense, seriously, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
\-
Second Author's Note - Hope you enjoyed, and as always, I'm a sucker for constructive feedback.
Third Author's Note - Minor grammatical edits. | 2019-03-22T21:30:03 | 2019-03-22T21:25:10 | 4,509 | 389 |
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter | "What do you mean, the Moon's haunted?"
"It's haunted, all right? Just trust me. I saw it with my own eyes. You remember Nickelson? That sonofabitch with the bad haircut and the little dog? Or maybe it was his wife's little dog. Anyway. I saw him. But he was dead. And red. And floating. Look, it was a whole thing, ok? But the moon's haunted and we gotta do something about it because if we don't, they're gonna come *here*, and I don't know about you, but Earth's kinda where my keep my stuff, and I definitely don't want these guys messing with it."
"Sir..."
"I mean, yeah, look, I know this isn't how we usually do things, but if you'll just fill 'er up and send me back, I can handle it. I've got the coordinates for that...uh, triangle light gate thing and...I'll just pop on through there and shoot 'em. That should take care of it. Yeah, that's a plan. We'll roll with that for now, you can send backup after me."
"Sir, if you'd just listen to..."
"Look, you need to listen to ME, all right? *I saw them.* It was *real*. And, let me tell you, it was seriously, seriously messed up. Like...seriously messed up. We have to do something about that. Now. Like, right now. So stop stalling and just..."
"...sir?"
"...it occurs to me that this is not a real rocketship."
"We call them landers, but, no, sir, it's not."
"I wasn't on the moon, was I?"
"No, sir, you weren't."
"You're right, I wasn't on the Moon, because I was right here in the Johnson Space Center, in the good ol' U. S. of A., and we were running a test simulation of fuel leak, which I might have replaced that plain ol' stinky stuff with something a bit more, uh, fun, just as a joke, you know, but I remember doing that, because I am one hundred percent not insane."
"...that is a real gun, though."
"Uh, yes, it appears that it is. I...any chance you could have pretended, um, not to see that?"
"I'm afraid not, sir."
"Shoot. Well, I guess I failed the screening, huh?"
"Rather spectacularly, sir. The MPs on their way. I suggest you disarm yourself before they get here."
"Damn it."
"Why did you bring a weapon to a test sim anyway?"
"Well, that, Lieutenant, is a very long and complicated story that -- since I'm washing out anyway -- I would be more than happy to tell you over dinner."
"Absolutely not."
"Hey...I'll tell ya how I snuck it in here, too. Here's a hint -- it definitely involved my pants."
"Is that security? Finally. Buzz them through, please."
"Can't blame a man for trying. Well, maybe you can. Hey, fellas! Look, this has all just been a big misunderstanding..." | The base went on lockdown after the astronauts took hostages. Nobody expected them to go this far. They were mentally unstable. That much was obvious from the start. Deputy Director Anderson couldn't believe they had the gall to end their mission early. His dismay only grew when the crew begged to return with weaponry. These were trained military personnel and scientists. They shouldn't be talking about vague supernatural phenomena up in the moon.
Anderson didn't know what to make of it. It would help if they were specific about the threat but, whenever they were interrogated, they did everything in their power to avoid details. Almost like talking about it would make it worse. Anderson shivered. Did the cosmic radiation fry their brains?
It was the only reasonable explanation. They kept repeating that they were running out of time. Anderson dismissed it as the ravings of lunatics, but they all stuck to the same story, even though they were separated as soon as they landed.
One of them, Captain Frisco, broke out of his holding cell, killing two men. He then freed the others and took over the launching station with their help. Rocket fuel was their trump card. They improvised some explosives, threatening to detonate the entire cache of refined kerosene if their demands weren't met. The explosion would demolish half the base.
Anderson ordered a squad to neutralize them. He wasn't going to negotiate over something this ridiculous. That turned out to be a deadly decision.
The crew members somehow disemboweled the entire squadron.
Anderson gagged when he saw the aftermath. It should've been impossible. The astronauts weren't people anymore. This could only be done by monsters.
The situation only escalated when the public caught wind of it. Details were kept tight, but the lockdown was leaked to news outlets. At least they didn't know about the murders.
It took a day for Anderson to swallow his pride and open a line of communication with them. He wasn't going to give them what they wanted, obviously, but he needed to do something before things got worse. In the end, he convinced them to allow food to be sent for them and the hostages.
This was all a ruse, though. The delivery people were disguised soldiers. Snipers were perched on the opposite rooftop, waiting for a clear shot. Even if they failed, the food was drugged with a cocktail of muscle relaxants and sleep aids. Anderson wasn't taking any chances. It needed to end here.
Everyone in the room fell quiet when the operation started. With every step the 'delivery people' took, Anderson's heart rate climbed higher and higher.
The disguised soldiers opened the door.
The crew wasn't there.
Anderson widened his eyes. His body trembled out of control. He immediately contacted the snipers.
They were already dead.
How?!?
Anderson didn't have time to react. A shot was fired down the hallway, followed by a gut-wrenching scream. They were coming for him.
Five men aimed their rifles at the door.
Anderson hid behind his desk.
The door was blown off its hinges.
The men unloaded their weapons.
Silence.
Anderson raised his head, peeking out of the desk.
Captain Frisco stood tall, surrounded by five corpses. His left eye bulged out of its socket, corrupted by a nauseating yellow tint. He was riddled with bullets. The wounds should've been fatal. Captain Frisco took slow, deliberate steps forward.
Anderson whimpered.
Captain Frisco grabbed him by the neck, lifting him with one arm.
"Please!" shouted Anderson. "Don't kill me! I'm begging!"
"You... you fool!" Captain Frisco coughed, vomiting black ichor. "Give the order!"
"W-what?!?"
"The crew is already on the ship! Send them! Now!"
"Yes! Okay!"
Anderson took a radio and gave the command. After a minute of being held, fearing for his life, the ship lifted off without a problem. Captain Frisco released the deputy director.
"Why are you going this far?" said Anderson. "You've sentenced them to death."
Captain Frisco winced, clutching his head. He seemed in pain. "There... are... worse... fates."
"Then tell me! We can't do anything about it if we don't know!"
Captain Frisco welled up with tears. "We... we must." He sobbed. "It's the... the... **mgepogg r'luhhor c' ephaiah'uh'enah if c' don't f' ah'n'gha ehyeog.**"
A tentacle sprouted out of his mouth.
Anderson fell on the floor, screaming.
Ten soldiers rushed inside. They opened fire on Captain Frisco. He killed three of them with a swipe of his new appendage. The remaining soldiers finally subdued him.
Captain Frisco was dead.
Anderson couldn't believe what he just saw. A few hours later, the ship lost contact with the base. It was never seen again. The hostages were fine. None of them were injured. Apparently, the crew had been stalling to prepare the ship. It still didn't make any sense.
The autopsy report showed that Frisco's tentacle was some sort of mutation. The leading hypothesis suggested that some unknown energy had altered his DNA. His body was tougher than anything on Earth. They needed a laser just to dissect him.
Information about this incident was immediately suppressed. Witnesses were bribed and threatened to keep quiet for the rest of their lives. Anderson didn't need much motivation to go along with this request. He wanted to never remember it again. Whatever was up there, humanity was better off not knowing about it.
--------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 2020-01-17T12:17:22 | 2020-01-17T12:16:42 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] An eldritch horror considers you their best friend. By virtue of you being able to perceive their true form and not going insane. One day they ask how you became so jaded, that not even indescribable cosmic horror phases you. | Philhachulil and I lounge on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show the same way we'd been doing for the last few days. We've only known each other a short while but he seems to have taken a real liking to me. He's not left my place since appearing.
I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, so I take it out and put it on the table.
I don't mind. Once you get past all of his tentacles, and the teeth, and the way too many eyes, Phil's actually a really nice creature.
My phone vibrates again, so I put it on silent.
In fact, my life would be very, very different if it weren't for him.
We share a bowl of popcorn (which Phil kindly prepared for us!) and laugh as the rich housewife dumps a drink on another poor unsuspecting sod. Phil laughs so hard that one of his tentacles knocks the bowl over, spilling popcorn all over the carpet.
"@#$\*!" He curses in that chilling language of his. "It's no wonder they call me a horror."
"You really shouldn't let them talk about you like that," I say. The stigma against Eldritch *individuals* really should change. This isn't the 1800s anymore!
"It is what it is," Phil replies. He has such a positive attitude. It's inspiring. "I'll go get the vacuum."
"Nah, let's finish watching and then I'll clean it up."
"I made the mess so I'll clean it."
"Well, okay, but after this episode."
Grudgingly, Phil agrees. We fall quiet, listening to the shrill screams on the TV. The woman is upset because her peanut sauce tastes too much like peanuts.
"Hey, Kelly?" Phil asks.
"Yeah?"
"Don't take this question the wrong way, but why are we friends?"
I glance at Phil, blinking in surprise. "Because you're kind, considerate, and just an all around great person."
"Well, that's it. I'm not a person. I'm a monster."
"You're not a monster--"
"I know, I know, but you know what I mean! I'm pretty scary to look at, but you're not scared of me at all."
"Beauty is only skin deep anyway. It's what's inside that counts, and there's nothing scary inside of you at all."
"You don't know that. I've eaten a lot of questionable things."
That brings a laugh out of me and I bump him affectionately. "You know what I mean."
He pauses, settling back into the couch. I'm amazed by how well he can manipulate his extra bulk. He looks at my phone, then looks back at me. "You know your phone has been flashing nonstop with messages."
"Yeah."
"Are you going to answer them?"
"It's from Vincent."
"...Oh."
I know I shouldn't, but I sneak a peek at the latest message.
*Last chance before you die alone. Nobody else is ever gonna love you. You're over 30 now and can't even have kids. Who's gonna want a defective model? Only I could accept you. Your own family didn't want to keep you. I'm the only one who's nice enough to care about you. You'll never find anyone else like me and if you don't finally see reason again then I'm gonna leave just like your fucking parents. And there'll be no one to save you this time.*
Another flashes just as I finish reading the first.
*Fuck you then you crazy psycho bitch I never loved you anyway*
Tears burn in my eyes. I don't know why I allow his words to hurt me when I should know better now. But his painful scars run deeper than rationality.
Gently, a tentacle covers my hands, blocking the phone. Another points to the TV. "That lady's thrown a shoe at her neighbour and now the show's ended."
I force a laugh, shaking my head free from my thoughts. "So ridiculous, right?"
"I think I'm starting to get it," he says, "Are we ready to clean up now?"
I nod and offer my phone to Phil. He tosses it into his mouth with a sickening crunch and swallows my nightmare into his abyss.
\*\*\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out more stories here: r/rulerofstorybears | The Horror That Splinters The Mind and I were having tea one day. Well, I was having tea, they were sipping on a metal cup of molten copper. Every sip they took made them smiley wide and content, their first row of teeth peeking out under their black lips. We had been doing this since the first lock down. The new guidelines only cover humans so they were the only one I could have over. Even if we were raided, it would just result in a pile of bodies with their brains pouting out every hole in their head. Generally speaking, I try to avoid that. It would put a dampener on one of my few pleasures left in this world.
THTSTM, or Pknq'h, as their fellow horrors call them, have been friends since the emergence two years ago. I cannot pronounce their name, and I've badly translated the letters from the forbidden text. They also cannot pronounce my name, it sounds like a gurgle from their throat. None of that matters because they are a good creature and we get on well. To call our conversations intense is to call hell warm. The only audible communication is their gutteral noises and my screams. Pknq'h shoves images and thoughts into my mind and harvests my feelings. We have very deep conversations and I feel very refreshed afterwards. They feel full, and they say my mind is delicious.
That day, they appeared in my fire, as usual, and climbed through to this world. Something was off. There was a particularly dark cloud over them. The vapour they exude to protect them from light and air was much darker today. Without thinking, I asked them what was wrong, but they seemed to understand my intent anyway. We sat down to "talk" and his consumption of my feelings was rapid and excitable. They consumed my joy of seeing them and it seemed to help them. Then the onslaught of images came. It was the usual jarring, ripping, tearing feeling, with overwhelming emotions and some pain. But this time, there was something I had never experienced before, the closest Eldritch feeling they had to sadness.
Pknq'h was being bullied, being mocked an isolated because the others found out they had a human friend. It's like being friends with cattle, they mocked; like making conversation with a salad, they derided. Tears started to well in my eyes, this creature wasn't evil, it wasn't doing bad things for bad reasons, it simply fed on emotions and thoughts and, as an unfortunate side effect, shattered minds. You wouldn't say a lion was cruel to a gazelle. They reached a sharp appendage out to wipe my tear away. It burned like a thousand suns on contact but left no mark. The pain my friend brings is temporary, the joy they bring lasts much longer. It hurt me more to feel the overwhelming sadness exuded from them. How does one comfort an Eldritch Horror? I try to think of the happiest things I can and offer my thoughts to them. They consumed my happy thoughts with great fervor. I wanted more imagery though, because as they broke their way into my mind, they left Pknq'h's. I hoped that would help. I got a few nasty images of bullying, made much worse by them being Eldritch Horrors. Then words floated in my mind, words in human script, words in human language, although very rough. I didn't know how to react, like expecting a punch and getting a tickle. The words floating in my mind like a bloated corpse were 'why you friend'. Why was I their friend? I sat back in my chair and looked at them. Their bestial form, mostly shrouded by noxious vapour was horrific, but looks mean little to me. They gobbled up this feeling and their vapour lightened a little. The next stab into my mind was also words: "make insane". No, they don't. I don't know why but it feels bad only for a second and then I am grand, like pulling a bandaid off. They ate this too and probed into my mind for what a bandaid was. Their vapour lightened some more and their face peeked out again from it. I smiled through the mind shattering pain of the sight, ignoring the feeling that my eyes were melting. They weren't, I knew that, it was just the mild insanity effect. I looked at them and allowed my feelings to bare themselves. They gorged themselves on them and the vapour went almost light grey, the lightest I'd even seen it. I know I was laying it on thick but they needed it. They stabbed more words into my mind, this time with such force that my nose dripped a drop of blood. Pknq'h was taken aback and pushed a whole load of images into my mind. There is no direct translation for an apology in the Forbidden Tongue but all those images together meant mistake, regret, and concern. Essentially a decent apology, by any standard.
I wiped my nose and considered the words: "why not make insane". I never considered why, I was just glad I was resistant to it. I thought long and hard on it, with them nibbling on the thoughts, before coming to the conclusion. It was the internet, I'd been on it since I was 6. I'd seen everything and anything it had to offer. Horrific, disturbing, and graphic content, mind melting ideas and imagery, the worst abuse you could take, all there, at the click of a button, 24 hours a day.
They ate those thoughts and feelings up like candy, it was more painful than usual but still bearable. Their vapour turned nearly white with joy. I gave them what the images described as a home cooked meal with a twist. Imagry they're used to in their realm, created just as well in ours but slightly different, like I used a different spice.
I had an idea, I opened up my phone and started with social media, reading all of the most disturbing and violent content humans could produce. As soon as I could perceive it Pknq'h ate it up. If it weren't for my years as a netizen, I would have had no resistance to the Emergence and the chaos it sowed. If it weren't for that, I never would have made friends with The Horror That Splinters The Mind.
We spent the afternoon browsing until the blood moon rose. Time to go, the image burned into my mind. Not just because of the Eldritch properties but I was loathe to see them go. Their tendrils pushed off the floor and they floated above my table. They moved through the air towards my sitting room and its fireplace. "Wait," I yelled, "One more thing. I *have* to show you this." I showed them [this](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ) video and they loved it. It was so cruel, so mean and yet so funny. I gave them my old phone with it loaded onto it and told them to show the others. Nobody bullied them after that. | 2020-10-27T07:58:09 | 2020-10-27T06:32:52 | 1,118 | 270 |
[WP] There has been a murder at a dinner party. It's a good thing you're a necromancer so you can speed along the investigation and ask the victim what happened. | Madison puffed his pipe slowly as his hands worked on the sigils. The crowd from the party watched intently - it was so rare to be able to see a necromancer in action - they weren't nearly as common as invokers, spellbinders or illusionists. The smoke from the pipe mixed with the ritual incense - a lady in the back coughed delicately, but otherwise there was silence.
"And now," he said, taking his pipe away from his mouth, "It is time for the dead to speak. Rise, Sir Keran." The sigils began to light up, and the curtains fluttered in the breeze. The room filled with an unnatural light and the fire went out briefly. The body of Sir Keran began to rise from the table and stood up, the muscles seeming strained and unnatural.
"Now," said Madison, "Please keep your distance from Sir Keran's body, everyone. Touching him could result in a fatal magical backlash." As he said it, a small bolt of lightning crackled from the body and struck his arm - he waved his hand as if trying to shake off the shock.
The body's mouth eased open, and a voice came from within - but the mouth and tongue did not move further.
*"By the old magic, this body is yours to command. Speak your instructions,"* it said, *"That I might complete them and go to my rest."*
"Sir Keran," said Madison, placing his pipe under one arm, "You were murdered here tonight by one of the people in this room. Tell me, who was it?"
A visible gust of energy blew from the body's mouth across the crowd - it could be seen, but not felt. The body's hand began to rise slowly, pointing up at Jane Keran, his wife.
"No!" she said, voice shaking in distress, "Why would I do this? I have always loved you! I would never!" She went to move forward but stopped when a flash of pale blue light sparked from the body, causing her to back off. The police Sergeant moved forward and caught her by the wrist.
*"It was my wife,"* the body continued in a ghastly drawl, *"She planned to reap the benefits of my will, and flee to Spain. She was the one who passed me the poisoned chalice - her hands alone were the only ones at work."*
Jane continued to protested but the Sergeant held her firmly and began to drag her out of the room. "No! No!" she cried. But the risen form simply returned to its position on the table, the light faded, and it became still, apparently simply a corpse once more. The room was perfectly as it had been before the ritual, less the Sergeant and Jane Keran.
"Most effective," said Lord Radworth, "If only the regular police had access to such skills as yourself! The criminal element would be entirely devoid in our fair city."
There was some commotion as the party's guests began to filter out of the room, leaving just Madison and the body.
"Well, you old fool," said Madison to the corpse and the empty room, "You and your wife finally got your comeuppance."
He snapped his fingers and the runes he had been carefully scribing on the table vanished in a puff of smoke. He waved a hand over his face briefly, allowing himself the briefest indulgence of gloating in private company. His face quickly changed, revealing a different figure entirely. Had the Lord Keran been alive, he would have shot him on sight.
"You both should never have crossed an illusionist," he said, and left the room, the guise of the old necromancer falling into place once more. | Mark stood over the body, his sleeves rolled up as high as they could go, and started to hum the incantation he was taught all those years ago.
“Buíonn dár slua, thar toinn do ráinig chugainn!” he spat, the other guests gasping as he finished up. For a moment, nothing happened. A woman hummed nervously, whispering to her much older husband that Mark must have been crazy.
“That man has a knife in his heart!” she said, looking around the room at no one in particular.
“Just you wait,” Mark muttered, glaring at the fabulously dressed Duchess in front of him.
“The ambulance is on the way!” Andrew the host shouted, making his way back into the dining hall. “It'll be ten minutes, they said.” Then, as they stood waiting, the body trembled. A little at first, then it shook so violently that the Duchess cried ‘earthquake’ and made a mad dash to hide under the grand piano. The body stopped suddenly, its eyes opened, shining white.
Then, it blinked. The white eyes disappeared, replaced by the regular green eyes the man was born with.
“My god!” Andrew cried out. “You're a miracle worker, Mark!” Mark blushed, not used to the praise.
The crowd surrounded the newly alive man, a Mr Paterson Mark soon found out. Old already, death had made the man look even older and the shock he took when he saw the knife protruding from his chest, Mark was already gearing up to reperform the spell.
“What happened?” Mr Paterson moaned, his eyes fixed on the blade. “How am I…”
“That would be because of me, Sir,” Mark answered, swaying back and first the balls of his feet as every eye in the room found him once more. “I’m a necromancer you see.” From his peripheral, Mark saw a few looks of misplaced fear among the guests but chose to ignore them.
“So I’m not dead?” smiled Mr Paterson. “What will happen if I remove the knife?”
“Why don’t you do it and find out?” Mark asked, a sly smile on his lips. Tentatively, like a young nurse, he slowly gripped the knife. At first he only lightly pulled it, afraid of what might happened. Then, growing angry at the sight of the knife, Mr Paterson yanked hard. Only a dribble of blood followed the knife as a few drops spilt onto the hardwood floor.
“I don’t understand,” puzzled Andrew, stroking his hairless chin. “Did you do this Mark? Some type of marketing for your powers?” Mark could only shake his head as he helped Mr Paterson to his feet.
“I’m afraid not, Andrew. Though I wish that it were the case.” Mark responded, looking around at the horrified and curious faces of those still staring at him. “No I’m afraid there is a killer among us and with any luck Mr Paterson will know who it was.” Those horrified filled eyes left Mark, landing on the old man who looked around him, uncomfortable to find himself surrounded and the centre of attention.
“I...I…” he muttered, his breath coming quickly. “I didn’t see a thing, my man.” A wave of disappointment washed over the guests, feeling like their show had been cut short.
“I wish I did, of course. I’d kill her if I could!” Mr Paterson hastily added. “But I’m afraid, it’s all rather…” The senior trailed off as Andrew threw his arm around him.
“It’s alright, Sir.” Andrew soothed. “The ambulance is on the way. They’ll need to check you. Though, I’m sure…”
“Not so fast there, Andrew,” Mark exclaimed, standing in front of the two men who were making for the front of the house. “I just have one question for Mr Paterson.” Mark let his words hang in the air, letting the tension build-up, now able to enjoy the moment.
“Why would you say ‘I’d kill her’ instead of ‘them?” Mark wondered, his eyes narrowing, taking in every little detail of the older gentleman. A bruise here, a black spot there. Mr Paterson’s mouth gaped open, then closed and then reopened.
“I...I…” he stuttered once more. “I don’t under…”
“Because I did it!” a voice called out and every head in the room turned to see the Duchess standing before them. “I did and I’ll do it again.” Before anyone could react, the Duchess had brandished another knife and charged at the old man. Andrew, before she could get too close, lifted her off her feet, forcing her to drop the knife.
“Hold on there, Duchess.” he cried out, holding her against the wall. “Now just hold on.”
“I won’t hold on,” she cursed, her eyes two daggers that locked onto Mr Paterson. “I’ve waited too long.” She continued to struggle, in vain, against Andrew's grip.
“This woman’s a liar.” Mr Paterson snarled, his wrinkled finger pointing at the Duchess. “Everyone knows that! A liar and a gossip!”
“Rapist!” she screamed, her face red with rage. “Child molester!” Mark’s mouth dropped open at her words and subconsciously crept away from where Mr Paterson stood, now alone, away from the rest of them.
“What?” Andrew answered, looking between the Duchess and the old man. A brief moment of silence was quickly interrupted by the Duchess’s sobs.
“He’s a rapist. Touched me…” she cried out, tears streaking down her face. “When I was just a child…” No one spoke. The ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the house seemed to overtake every other noise while the guests looked at one another. Then, thankfully, the sounds of sirens speeding up the driveway forced everyone out of their heads and back to the awful scene in front of them. In barged two first responders, a plastic stretcher in their hands.
“Ok, where's the victim?” one of them asked while some guests looked at Mr Paterson and some at the Duchess. | 2021-11-25T05:43:49 | 2021-11-25T01:59:42 | 203 | 93 |
[WP] Your magic is the most powerful anyone has ever seen, but where some take minutes to recharge mana, you take days | \[Poem\]
Your magics are frequent but small.
Like the whitewashed waves that trickle up the beach,
Only to keep the sand wet.
But my magics are the waves of old Fables,
The same that swallowed Atlantis,
That drowned the world when Noah walked the Earth.
So cast and be quick about it,
For when you are done and I have rested,
I will drown you deep into the abyss. | Time is the inbred child of a flat circle and a personal fidelity to the moment. First time I realized was when I cast my first spell. When that was is whenever. Details like that aren’t important, not anymore. I learned right from the get go that age old problem that confronts spellbound teenagers that learn after accidentally torching a neighborhood trash can. “It’s not ritual, it’s desire.” If you do things mostly right, you get the results you imagine. I thought thyme was an old timely way of spelling time, I thought time was a funny thing to be in a “beer on the wall” style nursery rhyme. I thought it was funny for that rhyme to be on a stone tablet. Things change, and they don’t, but that’s always been the case.
I don’t care about how you hold your breath, whether you’re using boar tusk or dragon scale for your effigies, if you wear brown, mocha, or cafe-colored pants. What matters, and I think I’m owed a bit of authority on this, is that you should only cast a spell that’s written by that terribly strict Aethrean code.
Now I know, I know, that sounds like some preliminary mana guru bullshit. Now I’ve thrown the pitch, I’ll kick it up to the first pseudo-solution : five drops of scarab shell extract, three Delnor dragonfly eyes, and peppermint oil to taste, Yada yada, terra cotta soul-stills and spirit bells. I know you use magic for every facet of your life, right? Heat up your coffee, clean your room, start your car, entertain the kids; hell, if your good enough, you can rewind and get another ten minutes in before your alarm goes off and you’re forced to put your clothes on by hand, like a convict, because you’ve robbed yourself of your mana for the next half hour. But couldn’t you just, not?
Jk, but I’m serious, though. I’m the only 17 year old that’s made the world spin backwards for ten seconds, was capable of fixing all that up (sorry btw), cured an entire nation’s crop plague in a day, and I single handedly prevented Ska, thrice! Oh, what’s Ska you ask? Exactly.
I’ve achieved all this through my birthright. I’ve done nothing to earn this.
I saved Eurasia once from a intercontinental earthquake. I ride the subway so I don’t throw the earth out of orbit should I choose the levitate one day. I eat microwave meals, because I’m lazy and I don’t have enough room for a summoned banquet that could feed a family for a fortnight. I wake up and go to bed 11 times per day, I get jet lag halfway through the months because I’m living more lives at once then you have digits. I’m spread thin across multiple sunsets by the same energy you use to brown your toast. So, next time you’re half awake and you want time to just stop so you can get some shuteye, just hit the snooze. K? | 2022-05-02T06:03:40 | 2022-05-02T04:52:58 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why. | The human was in his seat at the console. He poked at a small plastic imitation human with an oversized head that bobbled. The plastic's name was AJ.
"Hello John" I said, as I made my footsteps louder from behind him.
He spun around, his vital signs spiking to elevated levels, and shouted "FUCK!" and collapsed onto the floor backwards.
I made the mistake some time ago of thinking Fuck was a name of familiarity, as the human said it every time he saw me. I later learned that was... wrong.
"I do not understand you John" I said, as I watched him climb back up to his feet. "You see a piece of plastic and call it AJ, but you use profanity when I arrive, despite my performance record being exceptional, while AJ has no performance record at all."
He glanced at the bobbling plastic. "AJ is a Football player. The plastic is modeled after a real person, who has a career I like to follow, I don't like it because it's plastic, I like it because it's modeled after someone I like."
I looked at the bobbling plastic head.
With a flex, I pulled at the extruded hair, pulling the hair on my head back to short length. I pushed extra fluid into the cheeks in my face to expand the bones. Then constricted by eyes, and re-pigmented my irises.
John had crawled onto the console, back against the viewing window, and he was being irrationally loud. "FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK? HOLY FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"
For a word that did not mean Me, he certainly said 'fuck' a lot when talking to me.
"Now you can call me AJ" I said, "I have taken on his appearance so you will see your favorite athlete when you look at me."
His pupils were diallated. And his hands were shaking. This discussion likely wasn't going well.
"What?!" He asked. But it sounded like one of those questions you weren't supposed to answer.
"Oh God, you did that to look like AJ? Oh God, you HAVE been trying to look human..." he spoke in a quiet voice, likely to himself rather than to me.
"Yes" I said, answering him anyway. "You pack bond once an object takes on a human form. I wish to pack bond."
"That's not..." he stammered. "You do NOT look human. You look like you want to fucking eat my flesh you freak."
That was unfair. I paused to look myself over. "I have the right facial features, the right number of fingers, hair on my head, and am within the bounds of normal human height and weight. What about me is not human looking?"
He stared at me. It took him longer than I thought to respond.
"Jeez man, you're like 8 feet tall, and you weigh like 100 pounds."
I nodded. "Humans reach 8 feet on occasion. And 100lbs is a fairly common weight among humans"
His eyes widened. "Not at the same time, and 100lbs isn't normal for an Adult, maybe for a teenager? And oh yeah YOU HAVE A BEAK"
I felt at my face. "It is a mouth, what is the difference?"
"The difference" he muttered, half to himself, "Is that everything you do to look human makes you look more freaky and terrifying rather than less."
I blinked at him with my eyes. I had been practicing that. His statement was illogical though. According to his logic, I should be easier to bond with if I looked LESS human.
My arms and legs split apart into a hundred fibrous micro appendages as I shed the human clothing I wore. I rolled the makeshift eyes out of my head, and pushed forward my natural beady black eyes.
With a motion like static charged carpet, I glided forward on a hundred long thin legs.
The human let out a long breath. "What the fuck, is that what you normally look like?" He asked.
"Yes I said. Now you know why I chose to take a form closer to yours."
"You're like a fuzzy little mop. With a bird head." He said, vitals steadying out again.
"Ima call you Birdmop" |
"It's... well, dunno.... Weird."
I blinked three of my left optical aperture coverings unintentionally. The Terran Standard vocabulary was still difficult to understand at times when no user of it adhered to it's rules.
"'Weird.' That means... unusual, yes?"
"Yeah. someth' like that."
The female human - an unusual sexual dimorphism that I was still learning to discern - stuffed the last little bit of the brightly colored nutrition she was holding into her facial cavity with a satisfied grunt.
"I don't know why I am any more unusual than other things your species creates bonded pack organizations with."
The human, now in the middle of noisily drawing liquid water into her facial cavity through a small tube, looked at me sideways and made a strange gurgling sound, before the water she was consuming began spilling out of her upper air passage.
She immediately reacted by convulsing and spewing whatever she held in her cavity out.
"PF- ack- bastard! Shit, don't make me choke to death. HAH, Ya can't see what's unusual? Dude..."
I shifted my uncomfortable weight onto my rear legs. Human insistence on high artificial gravity in every sublight ship, despite the energy cost, still remained a mystery.
"Yes. You form emotional and social bonds with hundreds of different species both on and off your own planet. You create soft fabric objects depicted as caricatures of fictional creatures that levelled entire civilizations in your historical mythos, and then willingly slip into unconsciousness while holding them. I even observe you and other technicians talking and physically contacting various parts of the ship systems as if you have formed a connection with those inanimate mechanical devices and are treating them as a sick living being. It's quite amusing actually, it's clear that none of those systems can understand or feel your touch. Yet I, a living being, am often entirely ignored on this vessel by most other Terrans. Except for you."
She scanned me from top to bottom with her optics, and bared the teeth in her facial cavity before letting out another raucous sound towards the ceiling with her convulsions.
"Oh maaaan, they told me it was gon' be bizzare having a transfer on ship, but this really is someth' else."
"I only wish to be included more. This sort of close contact common among your species seems pleasing and I wish to experience it more."
"Were you seriously spying on Kael while he was fucking sleeping with that dragon plushie? That dude's Mr. Macho Man, hates admitting he's soft. He's only ever told me about that."
"We are an observer species. Collection of knowle-"
She slammed her fist down on the metal table with a crash, causing the empty polymer dish she was eating from to jump off the edge and clatter to the floor. Her previously upturned facial expressions were now pulled tight.
"Observer my FUCKING ASS. You're a species of creeps. I did plenty of research when I heard you were getting transferred but this is just - Jesus FUCKING christ."
The human stood from her seat on the narrow table bench and turned away, appendages covering her face with an exasperated groan before turning back to me. I tapped my talons together in acknowledgement of her discomfort, although I'm sure the gesture was lost.
"Look- okay, okay. I get it, your species is isolationist like a lot of xenos, and has no concept of non-technical social interaction. But you need to LEARN something about humans before you can 'learn'."
She was now moving back and forth at the end of the table, seemingly trying to burn off some invisible energy.
"We managed to blast our asses off our own polluted hunk of rock, sure, but we're still only a couple levels above scrabbling in the mud for scraps of rotten flesh. We make 'packs' with things because we're biologically wired to do so. You make a 'pack' with your fellow humans so there's more of you to fight off the tiger when it comes to eat you. Then it extended to local carnivores we could use to protect ourselves in exchange for a steady food source. Alone weak, together strong, yadda yadda. Those in packs survived longer than those who didn't, were able to fuck more, and that's how we ended up in this shitty situation. Somewhere along the line we got crossed wires and included tech into our 'packs' for the same reason of mutual survival.
"But the other thing you still don't get is there is a certain individualism that comes with us. We like to develop our packs and share our lives with them, but only the parts of our lives we WANT to share with them. You've just been... dunno, wandering around this ship staring. And then you're constantly asking really *really* weird insensitive questions that makes a lot of us uncomfortable. Feels like we're being trapped and personally invaded. It doesn't help that the whole lower half of your weird-ass upside down face looks like a goddamn holo camera with all that shit sticking out of it."
I reflexively blinked my optical coverings again at their mention. This situation was beginning to feel hostile. A brief flash of their species' violent history flitted across the back of my memory, and I began to wonder if I needed to leave.
"We humans can overlook a lot of weirdness, especially when you're funny and a good worker. Most other species figured that out quick. Hell there's even one that looks like a damn preying mantis from Earth ready to chew your head off, but they took to human sarcasm like a fish to water. Some of them even look cute. Yours, bah, not so much anywhere."
She exhaled roughly and squatted down to collect the polymer dish she had spilled earlier. With one quick motion, she deftly propelled it into the cleaning receptacle a couple meters to her side with a deafening clatter.
"Ugh... damnit. Sorry. that made me sound like a raging xenophobic asshole. Fuck. An engineering director should know better."
My upper antennae began to feel warmer than the environment, a reaction I was not used to feeling. The human picked up the body covering meant to shield her soft flesh from the sharp and abrasive mechanics of the vessel, and was sliding it over her appendages. I took this as a sign the situation was defused.
"I do feel... slightly offended. I do not hold it against you, though. There is clearly a larger communication barrier here than the Terran Standard lexicon."
"No shit, Sherlock. Okay, c'mon, let's hoof it. We have reactor heat exchangers to clean."
These pack-bonding species only grow ever more unusual. I begin to wonder if this posting was a mistake. | 2022-09-16T16:11:13 | 2022-09-16T12:36:54 | 707 | 290 |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | The 'age of truth' historians were dubbing it. In 2031 a new app was released and became the new big thing. Taking advantage of the constant data stream from Apple's neural implants and the shared cloud of data the new app was able to pick up on subconscious cues and could tell when someone was lying. Privacy laws protected teenagers and kids, but hundreds of politicians and oligarchs suddenly got shunted straight to jail for their backroom dealings and millions of sham relationships collapsed.
And that's where I come in. As a Senator and the husband of an executive of the company that developed the app I knew about the one weakness of the app - it takes three distinct lies to calibrate. I was able to survive the initial purge of politicians by making colleagues exploit this fact, but I had grander plans for my own lies. My plan took years to develop, but I had both the patience and resources. Three lies and my plan would be complete.
"My fellow Americans, today is an historic day. Today we bring truth into the oval office. The government are taking over the running of the Liedetector app. I know some of you are worried about liberty but let me make to you three promises. One, the process will be completely legal; two, nobody will ever be able to alter the results of the app, and finally I will work personally to ensure your freedoms are always maintained."
Three lies was all I needed to get total control. The age of truth was here and my word was law. From this point on my word was The truth. | Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| 2014-11-15T17:28:43 | 2014-11-15T10:43:05 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] Marines don't die. They just go to hell and regroup. | Lcpl. Stockton had just arrived. Last thing he was on a routine patrol when his MRAP ran over an IED. Now the smell of ash, brimstone and misery filled his nose- not all that different from Iraq to be honest.
"HEY SHIT FOR BRAINS! WHY AREN'T YOU IN FORMATION YOU KNUCKLEFUCK!?" The sound of an NCO yelling instantly filled his young heart with dread. Stockton did an about face an popped to parade rest, three chevrons and a rocker resting on a collar caught his eye. "I just arrived Staff Sergeant! I haven't been briefed on anything yet!"
"YOU HAVEN'T BEEN BRIEFED!? WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT EXCUSE IS THAT!? YOU HAVE TO BE BRIEFED TO DO THE MOST BASIC FUNCTIONS NOW YOU FUCKING SOUP SANDWICH? IF YOU DON'T GET TO FORMATION IN THE NEXT TEN GODDAMN SECONDS, YOU'RE GOING TO TASTE THE SHIT-COVERED SUEDE OFF MY BOOT AFTER I RAM IT UP YOUR ASS!"
The Staff Sergeant pointed to his left and the Lance Corporal took off running. "All I wanted to be was a Terminal Lance", Stockton thought. He came to the crest of the next hill and what he saw made his soul weep. Every Marine killed in the line of duty was standing at parade rest in a giant formation. Uniforms from the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Civil War and all the way up to the modern day MARPAT. Stockton formed up in the nearest rank and whispered to a MARPAT clad corporal "Corporal, what the fuck is going on?"
The corporal, who hadn't yet turned douche due to his NCO status blinked back a tear and muttered "We're waiting for the Staff NCOs and Officers to figure out who's in charge. Chesty keeps waving his dick. Once they're done, we have to field day and perform garrison duties."
It was in this instance that the now deceased Marine knew the true understanding of Hell.
| It happened quick, but apparently I didn't deserve it. I stood before what could only be described as the maws a once enormous carnivore. Through which everyone around me walked like they had no choice. No awareness. Only I stood still, looking around at my surroundings. Trying to figure where I was.
"Hey." I reached out to touch one of the others, but my hand passed right through. The individual continued on like it was nothing.
So obviously I was dead. I turned around, but that view was no better. It was stairs, leading down from a place all to distant to see. I had no recollection of how I had come to stand before the gates. I assume I had walked same as endless flow of others.
I looked to my left and right. Open territory. Nothing but dark jagged rock, far as I could see. I walked to the side edge of the stairs. There was a banister, but on the other side was open space and a shear drop down to who knows what. So I only had two options. Continue on and face what was to come or turn around and figure out where I came from.
Thinking on it, the only place turning around would leave is back to the land of the living, but I doubt I would manage anything but becoming some type of evil spirit. Besides, I'm a marine. Dead or alive, hell sounds like an adventure I've been on before.
I stepped through the jaws that served as a gateway. Before I got three steps, I heard the all to familiar bark of my old sergeant. He got turned pink by a landmine a year back.
"Stand to, corporal!" I looked around, but I stopped as was commanded. He walked out from behind one of the teeth. Stiff-stanced and mean looking as ever. "Welcome back."
"Sir?" I didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about.
"Where the fuck did you think marines came from?" The cadence of the words carried humor, but the old bastard was to dry to tell.
"I thought I knew, sir. But recently I've been proven wrong." He had always appreciated open honesty in responses. Saved time by cutting through the bullshit.
"You just don't remember yet. You've been here before and we have had this conversation before. You will remember soon. For now, follow me. We don't go with the damned." He promptly turned and started walking. I followed because it seemed better than following the mindless masses. He continued talking, as if he was giving me a mission briefing.
"Marines are actually ancient souls of warriors that know nothing else of life but struggle and violence. Throughout time we have been called many things; soldiers, legionnaires, hoplites, barbarians, knights, immortals."
His pace was steady, not entirely brisk but a decent enough speed that covered ground.
"The creators decided countless millennia ago, that such souls as us shouldn't be punished for being what we are. So we are kept separate, and put into a position amoung the living that grants us access to that which we are."
I couldn't see where he was leading me, but he seemed to know where he was going. He stopped and turned around. Looking me in the eye.
"This making sense corporal?" He leaned his head forward slightly, waiting for an answer with his mouth tight and an eyebrow cocked.
"Yes, sir." I nodded. Like a cherry standing before his first NSO. I bit back my pride and followed when he continued walking.
"Good. Your last go round wasn't much to speak of, you could've done better." This was all to surreal, I was be jerked around. This couldn't be my old sergeant, this was a demon. Leading me to some cruel personal torture.
"Corporal!" I snapped back to my surroundings. Sarge was looking at me like I was a kid after he'd broken a window down the street and got caught. "Something the matter?"
"How is this possible?" I asked.
He sighed. And for the only the third time that I've ever seen his expression softened. Not completely, just into one of grim understanding that I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. The first time he had shown me that expression was after my first kill. It had been hand to hand during an ambush. I slit the guys throat after taking his knife from him. The second time was when my squad mate got taken out by a sniper.
I though there was nothing I could do. He made me tag up with his squad and we hunted down the sniper. He let me beat the shit out of him before he put a bullet into the right side of his chest.
Seeing that expression I knew this was true reality. That old gut feeling was back. Something big was about to happen. | 2014-12-20T13:14:59 | 2014-12-20T10:54:04 | 48 | 15 |
[WP] A dragon saves a knight from a princess | "But, but, but... we were going to see my mother tonight! You PROMISED!"
I rolled my eyes at the wall, making sure she couldn't see me, as I pulled on my codpiece.
"You knew what you were getting into when I rescued you, Belle. I'm a knight. It's my job to slay dragons. My goddamned *job*. I took an oath - to protect the kingdom from the evils of the dragons, and to always put the good of the commoners before my own plans."
I glanced sideways at Belle. She was gorgeous, even when fuming mad, but she had to understand. She just *had* to. It had been weeks since the last dragon scare. Weeks of ironing clothes on my breastplate, weeks of hunting, skinning and cooking dinner, and weeks where the only thing my blade tasted was the bloody lawn.
I'd done *everything* for her, and now, she wanted us to go to her mother's house for dinner.
But now, there was need for valiance. There was a task that could only be completed by Sir Sedwick the Wyrmslayer. A task that didn't involve unclogging the chamber pot or organizing the stable (it's my bloody stable, woman, I'll have a bloody forge and anvil in there if I bloody well want to). The Black Wyrm of the North had been spotted flying low over one of the King's fields, and Sir Sedwick must ride.
I saddled and mounted Lizardsbane, my trusty steed, all the while trying not to look back at Belle's face. I knew what I would see there. A mix of hoping I'd come back unscathed and hoping I'd get burned at least a little bit, y'know, for her inconvenience. As I mounted up and rode off, I heard her cry "Good battle, dear husband!" somewhat less than convincingly.
After an hour's ride, I came to my destination. A massive cavern at the foot of the Firebreath Mountains, with bones of heroes and sacrifices scattered about the entrance. I tied Lizardsbane up, left him with a feed bag, and ventured inside, sword held at my right hand with the confidence of a man who knows what he's doing.
"Sssssedwick," a throaty voice wheezed, the burdens of eons dripping from each exaggerated consonant. "You hhhhave commmmme, at lassssssst, and you sssssshall facccccce your fearssssssss."
Fire blazed all around, and the figure of Edxyoras, the Black Wyrm of the North, eldest of the powerful dragons of this part of the world, uncoiled itself. On its face was a smirk, the smirk of a cat that has just watched a mouse venture into its domain. In its hands were a stack of fireproof papers, each with a number and a symbol, obviously some kind of draconic hex. And he was not alone - I found myself surrounded, with six of his brethren, all obviously awaiting my arrival with malicious intent.
"The hell with my fears, Ed, she bought it. Now deal me in and get me a bloody drink."
Edit: My first WP gold! Thank you random Internet stranger! | Sir Barlington was by far one of the finest knights around. With all his willpower he decided to go out into the world and rescue the last remaining princess held captive by a dragon. Calcintaph, that dreadful foe, had defeated every knight who'd come before him in battle.
Sir Barlington, donning his gear and setting off on his horse, knew that Calcintaph had never faced the likes of him before.
It was a three day journey to the tower, erected on the side of a river and with two large moats around it. The knight kept the palm of his right hand clenched tight around the handle of his sword and pushed his horse forward, cutting the ropes that held the drawbridge and riding over them with ease. He found his way into the foyer of the tower rather easily and dismounted his horse, brushing back her hair to calm her.
"Stay," he whispered to her as he reached inside his clothing for an apple. The horse neighed and took it within her mouth all at once. Sir Barlington smiled and drew his sword, starting up the steps. With each step his heart pounded, so loud he was sure that the dragon would hear his blood from down below and come to find him before he could get the element of surprise.
At the top of the staircase Sir Barlington pushed against a door and stepped into a grand atrium. Against one wall there was a bed with a netted cover. He took a step forward and looked around for the dragon but it was nowhere to be seen.
"Princess," he called softly. "Princess, I have come to save you."
"Oh, sweet knight. How I have waited for this day," her voice floated from the bed. "Never in my life have I felt such security as I do in this moment, knowing that you are here to save me. Tell me you have slain him, the evil dragon that keeps me locked in this place and refuses to let me out. He has chained my hands to this bed to keep me here forever. Please come and free me. Together we can return to Adelaide and rule forever."
"Of course my lady. I will free you, not out of hope to wed you but because it is my sworn oath to protect the royal family. To not do so would be to betray my country and my king, so much that &mdash;"
There was a crash behind him and the dragon landed. It swiped at Sir Barlington with a long-nailed claw, nearly slicing through his armor as though it had been made from nothing but the leaves of flowers.
"Do not listen to that witch," the dragon said. "Years ago I took her and brought her to this tower. I chained her so that she could not use her powers on those around her. She is an evil thing, a twisted, immortal soul whose only desire is to destroy humanity. If you set her free she will drain you of your blood and use it in a sacrifice to gain enormous power that not even I can overpower."
Sir Barlington shook his head. "You trick me!" he said to the dragon. He charged, sword drawn, but the dragon easily escaped his charge.
"I do not trick you," said the dragon. "I try to save you. Other knights have come before. I'm afraid I cannot let you take her. To do so would be too dangerous. But ask the lady you see before you to draw back the curtains on her bed. I will cast a spell to reveal her true face and you will see for yourself that she is nothing but a witch. I have kept her here for centuries. She speaks to the birds that make their way into the tower - subdues them with her secrets and her lies about her origins. That is how you came to hear the story of the princess in the tower."
Sir Barlington stood. "It can't be true," he said. "Princess, tell me it isn't true."
"I swear upon my parents, upon my kingdom. It isn't true, good knight. Free me! The dragon speaks nothing but lies. Slay him and we will forever be happy."
The dragon snorted, smoke escaping its nostrils. "Tell me, good knight. Were I lying to you...were that a real princess...why not just burn you to a crisp? Perhaps you fight well, and have slayed dragons in the past. But when you entered you did not detect me. I could have crushed you like a bug. I tell you, the woman in that covering is crazy. She has lost her mind to the poison of her powers. She must stay here for eternity, or else the very world could be in peril."
The knight pointed his sword toward the dragon and then toward the princess sitting in the bed.
"Do not listen to him!" screeched the princess. "He spits lies. Nothing but lies!"
"I could have killed you," spoke the dragon. "Charred you. Burned you. Ended your life in one moment. You never would have known."
"Can you prove to me that she is a witch?" Sir Barlington asked. "Princess, can you prove to me that you are not?"
"There are three tests," the dragon spoke. Small flames escaped its lips, rising to the ceiling in great twists of orange and yellow. "But I urge you. Walk away now, dear knight. Her magic will seep into your brain. Even after the three tests, you will be destroyed. I tell you, and I tell you truthfully. I keep this witch as prisoner to protect the world. She is not a princess. Please, dear knight. Try to run me through. Take her through the three trials. You will see the way. But if you release her, I promise that earth itself will suffer as it never has before."
---
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, please check out /r/Celsius232 :) | 2016-06-09T06:22:58 | 2016-06-09T06:15:01 | 703 | 62 |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| *Part One: The Grand Entrance*
---
"By the Lord of the Deep you've summoned Michael." Pog whispered. His eyes were wide with terror. They gleamed yellow in the dark of the closet as he scooted towards Lard. His wart-ridden claws gripped Lard's shoulder so tightly that Lard bled. "You've summoned the bloody Archangel himself!"
"I didn't know the human magic worked." Lard muttered. His pig snout nose faced the closet floor. "Devil be damned how do we get out of this? Jerard got fried just by glancing at that *thing's* eyes. He's a dusty pile of ashes."
And then Michael took his first step in Hell. The entire room shook violently. The glorious angel's step rumbled like thunder. "By Beelzebub he's coming to us!" Pog cried out. The pair had fled from Michael by running up the stairs. They locked the bedroom door and threw themselves into the closet. But they felt a burning at the nape of their neck. *He* had seen where they'd gone. *He* was looking at them right now. Every step crushed the rotten wood floorboards of Pog's house. The pair shivered. It would only be moments before they were found and slaughtered.
Suddenly a crash. It wasn't a deadly sounding noise like the angel's steps. It was a mundane sound. The stairs! They had broken under the weight of the heavenly being. The demons breathed a sigh of relief. Pog told Lard a plan. They would creep out with this given time, and jump out the window. They would run to the White Palace and tell Satan what had happened. And then the Dread Father would take care of things. Easy.
Lard patted Pog on the back. It was a brilliant plan. Wait! What was that sizzling noise? A flash! Like a blaring siren but only there momentarily. A beam of light dashed through Pog's head and left a clean hole through his demonic brain. The former demon crumbled into ash. Lard screamed and shrieked as the entire house began to fall. Lard scrambled out of the closet and bashed his head against an armoured chest. Lard yelled as he looked up at the face of Michael. The yell echoed throughout Hell even though its owner was swiftly slain. And every demon perked its head up and quailed at the sound.
Michael grimaced as he wiped away the green blood from his armour. "Goddamned demons. Up with their tricks again." he said. Michael stretched. He raised his arms up and twisted his waist. "Better get to work, then. I'm not getting back without a bit of a fight." Wings made of etched glass grew from his back. They began like little bulbs, nothing more. But in a matter of seconds grew to a span of fourty meters. Michael summoned a banner with scales imprinted on it. "Thank goodness the cherubs customised this thing to shoot spurts of fire. Blinking useful, it is." He said as he tightened his grip on his sword.
He flew up in a flurried dash. He looked around and found his destination: the White Palace. Michael soared across the crimson sky. Black lightning crackled in his wake.
*Part Two: A Stroll Through Hell*
---
There are only a few good beings that can get into Hell. This is because Hell is very small. Oh, it can easily accomodate an infinite number of souls. But that's because souls in Hell are practically infinitely small! And that is because those souls are quite bad. So it goes that the normal angel finds it difficult to fit into Hell; like pajamas that are too tight and uncomfortable. Except these pajamas are searing hot and malevolent. There is a quirk in the rules though. And that is that the goodest - and therefore the biggest - among us can also become the smallest among us. Just like how it is only the kindest man that can empathise with the worst man.
It is by this unfortunate quirk that Michael found himself stuck in Hell. Normally you would take the bus if you wanted to leave Hell. But that was a perk only granted to demons on Refrigerium. Michael was neither a demon nor on Refrigerium, so he had to take the hard way out: a chat with the Devil himself.
Michael criss-crossed the Great Abyss in the blink of an eye. His shimmering wings seared the eyes of any demon that dared look up at the intruder. Michael's features were cold, though. Confident that he wouldn't be attacked, Michael brought his thoughts inwards and thought about his situation. It seemed that a game had brought him into Hell. But this was naturally impossible. Magic didn't exist. There was no bridging power that could subdue the norm. Michael did not know of any way that a common demon could summon an angel to Hell. And that meant he was not summoned by these demons.
With speed unimpaired, Michael blasted through the sickly clouds and made double-time to reach the White Palace. There was treachery afoot!
| 2016-08-08T13:13:55 | 2016-08-08T11:12:00 | 351 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I groan as I roll out of bed. Another day, trapped.
Mom feeds me breakfast, smiling her usual smile as she talks about what the old ladies at church had been discussing. Heedless of the struggles going on in my head. I eat my eggs and bread in silence, trying to stay as small, as invisible as possible. I don’t say very much… perhaps that was why I didn’t have the usual scars that cover everyone else?
I pass by the store on my way to school, making sure not to linger for too long, not let my brother get suspicious. I stare wistfully at the dresses and necklaces, so elegant and pretty. But my parents would never let me have such things. I glance down at my jeans and sweatshirt, hating how it made me appear masculine. My own body, betraying me.
School passed by in a blur, like most days. My brother runs ahead, laughing as he bounds into our house without a care in the world. How nice it must be, to be born into the body you want. Father smiles at me, asks me the same question he’s asked every day since I started school. I noticed the scar that first night he asked, on my back as I took off my shirt to shower. It was the biggest I’d ever seen. I’ve never taken off my shirt in front of my family ever since.
“Hey, kid! How’s life treating ya?”
I pause, for a brief moment.
“Fine, dad. I’m fine.” | I pass the open door of my favourite cafe, a warm plume of caramel scented air greets me, inviting me and pulling me off the cold winter street. I let myself get carried over to the bar, expecting to see the usual waiter; a burly man in his 40s wearing the usual faded suit jacket and dark jeans. As I look up, my breath is plucked from my lungs. I aren't greeted by the thinning blond hair and piercing blue eyes I expected, but a girl. Soft hair, brown and untamed cascaded over her shoulders on to the pristine white shirt and onto her bust. Everything seems to be in slow motion as my eyes trace every contour and shape of her body in detail. Unlike me, or any of the other customers, who's hands are littered with small flecks of white, which was the cost of keeping face in today's society, she was completely pure. From her head to her toes, not a single blemish on her silk skin. She is the definition of beautiful. Her delicate, porcelain hands clasped together in front of that short black dress, which is formal but still very attractive. Green eyes flicked up with a look of coy and curiosity as a faint smile worked it's way onto her soft peach lips. I blush. Her voice resonated into my mind, cutting off my thought. Matching her appearance, her words are softly spoken and sweet. The type of voice that reminds you of home.
"Hi, my name's Mei. What are you ordering today, sir" she asks with enthusiasm.
"Uh... a.." I fumble through my speech like a nervous child on his first day of school "A number 7 please" I falter for a moment after realizing my mistake. There is no number 7 on the menu.
As soon as the words leave me, her eyes narrow. The persona of before has left her and now, all I can think of is danger. She asks me to follow her in a quick and monotone voice. That voice reminded me of a killer. Her speech and her walking pattern, as she walks through to a separate room is ruthless and efficient. No wasted movement. I follow nervously, almost tripping over myself and take a seat opposite her in the exquisitely decorated room I now find myself in. A square table, wooden and stained dark, separates us.
"So Mr.. Hudson. You requested a model 23, complete organ transplants. You've transferred 14 million, half of the payment and were ready to begin."
I don't understand. I'm panicking. Did she just say organ transplant? I desperately try to think of a way out of this situation but I'm distracted by the sight of Mei taking her formal shirt off to reveal a very thin, white top underneath. She looks so damn perfect. I've gained momentary relief from my panic just by the mere sight of her. That's when the real Mr Hudson walks in. He is very old and withered, covered in long, deep scars, spiralling across his body. He must be about 80, and he speaks with a dry, raspy voice.
"I'm here to see Mei"
he says almost innocently. Mei walks to meet him and that's when I see it. A huge, deep purple scar under the thin shirt she's wearing, swimming from the top of her neck all the way down to the small of her back, and then way past where I can see. She approaches him calmly whispers something in his ear. He raises and eyebrow and they both smile. My sense of danger kicks in again, and adrenaline starts to course through my veins. I get it now.
"Now then sir, as you are probably aware, there has been a confusion between you and Mr Hudson here" she says gesturing to the old man with an open palm.
She doesn't have to tell the truth like the rest of us.
"Don't worry sir." She walks towards me with a smile. A smile of malice.
That's not her body.
"You're going to be just fine." She smiles as her green eyes turn cold and run through me.
That's not her fucking body. | 2016-12-29T13:08:11 | 2016-12-29T12:43:34 | 44 | 20 |
[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. | "Field medic? Why are we humouring the new prospect anyway? We have body labs." Muttered Zelska. Zelska was what the humans would call "A fucking idiot." Jorax reflected.
"Well," Jorax began "Aahii are the greatest builders and engineers in the universe,right?"
"Of course!" Snapped Zelska.
"But, Aahii don't repair anything, ever. The idea that they could craft something that does. Not. Work. Is impossible to contemplate...Humans make trash, they are ugly and backwards, lumbering idiots with no understanding of design or even the principles upon which all great devices work. You've seen it though, heard rumours of humans re-purposing derelict Aahii craft. Making gateways out of purifiers! Human engineers get you home when the gods spit upon your fate and shatter your drive..."
Zelska cut him off, near frothing with impatient rage "We all know the importance of a human engineer on staff, but why do we need this bloody medic!"
Jorax shifts his tunic, revealing a jagged mess of scarring.A near impossible amount of his lower abdomen missing. "It's not just ships a human can hold together when the gods turn their back on you..."
| "Commander Trill? They're back at it."
The commander's stomach dropped when he heard his secretary's slightly muffled voice. "I'm sorry, can you repeat? Who's back at what?"
There was a pause. Trill crossed his fingers, a stupid human superstition which had spread like the plague. Maybe, just maybe-
"You know perfectly well who and what I mean, Trill, sir."
The Orakon sighed in defeat, nearly crumpling onto his desk. Yes. Olaos was right. He knew perfectly what and who.
"Just... Just let him in already..." He muttered before straightening up and trying to not look entirely depressed.
It only took a few minutes before he heard the rather loud and obnoxious heel click and foorsteps in the hallway. 'Here we go again...' he thought, and one could've sworn a tear slid down his cheek.
"Trill! How are you?!" Daveson, one of the human's representative, tried to sound cheery. Trill already had his face in his clawed hands. "Please just sit down." He mumbled.
Daveson and his partner (in crime, as far as Trill was concerned), Alma, sat down in front of the huge desk. A few more seconds passed before the commander finally slowly looked up.
"You know the reason for which you're both here today." The pair nodded. "Good. Then let me ask just one question." The two stilled. "Why." Trill looked so truthfully and deeply confused and desperate that Daveson couldn't do much more than give him a quirky grimace trying to pass for a grin.
"Trill, listen-"
"No, you listen. Listen to this." He quickly pulled out the mail which he had scanned on their way to his office. "12 dead, 40 in cryogenic sleep. Daveson, why?"
"It's actually quite a funny story-"
"And it doesn't end there! We all wish it did, of course, but no, no... Daveson, listen to this."
"Trill-"
"40 destroyed structures. Of which 3 were from outer galaxy governments."
"I know it sounds bad-"
"I just want to know... Just.... Daveson, please, please just tell me... Why?"
This time around, Daveson didn't answer. He just stared down at his hands like a scolded child. Trill turned to Alma and gave her a look.
"It has to do with racism, commander.."
"What? I thought you'd abolished race centuries ago?"
"We did too, except there was this hair counting machine..."
"Hair counting machine."
"Yes, and someone found a so said scientific study on the correlation of hair number and race... Depending on if the number of hairs is an even number, odd nunber, multiple of seven, etcetera. A few radical groups took it to heart, sorted themselves out by so called race, found an experimental bomb, and..."
"Would you like to know something, Alma?"
"Y-yes, Commander Trill?"
"It's the 17th time this year you've been here. And between this time and the last three, not a single other species was sent to me for this kind of issues."
"That sure is... Uh..."
"Yes. Exactly as you say." With a bleary look at them, Trill turned on his glasses. "I don't believe you have any... Excuses?" Silence. "Very well then. My job here is done then. You may go."
Alma and Daveson shuffled out much more quietly than they had pranced in. Trill finished typing up a report and sending it down to Olaos.
"Thank you, sir." Said the secretary.
"Do you think they'll ever learn, Olaos?"
Olaos seemed to think for a moment.
"I sure hope so."
"We all do..." | 2017-03-06T01:01:31 | 2017-03-05T22:26:51 | 379 | 46 |
[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. | Hagh backed up against the stone, his pulse rifle nearly as empty as his body of blood. Even now, with the air filled with energy pulses and the sounds of photoelectric charges going off, he felt his world growing darker.
"Hey!" Hagh heard, snapping him back to the harsh reality of the invasion of his homeworld. "Hey you! Lovarian, right?"
Hagh blinked. "Yes. I am Lovarian. Who are you?"
"Tech Sergeant Adams with the Earth Aerospace Force. You can call me AJ though. You look pretty fucked up."
"I do not know this word. Your tone translates though." Hagh said, quietly preparing his introduction to Algar the Judge.
"Well you're in good hands. I'm a Pararescue Jumper. I'm a medic. What's your name pal?" AJ said, loading a large round into the fat barrel beneath his own pulse rifle.
"Hagh. I did not know humans were coming to help. Don't waste your time with me, my judgement comes soon."
"Fuck that, Hog. You can't die until I hand over patient responsibility." AJ said, setting his weapon down long enough to tear a package open with those predatory human teeth. "This is gonna burn Hog, not gonna lie."
And burn, that chemical did. Hagh screamed to the stars, begging to be judged, but his judgement didn't come. Instead, the burn subsided. "Algar's mercy! What was that?" He asked, watching the human shoulder his weapon and giving his (their?) enemies a taste of return fire.
"QuickClot. Can you run Hog?" AJ asked, taking cover to reload.
"Slowly, yes." Hagh said, surprised at being handed the human's sidearm.
"Good, we're headed south. We've got a forward base established where we could break the Litheen invasion forces." AJ said, finally firing that fat little weapon attached to his rifle. The photoelectric pulse lit the darkness, giving Hagh a better chance to see his rescuer.
Lanky and lean, as humans tended to be, he wore the uniform of his people. He was also bleeding. "You are injured." Hagh observed.
"Fuck Hog, we're all injured. We had to argue with brass to let us drop in to render aid. Now let's move!" AJ said, setting his weapon to auto fire and filling the air behind them with a cloud of discouraging pulses.
----------
"And that is why you are named for a human, Anthony, daughter of Hagh." The young woman's father said, with great reverence on his aged face, the beginnings of tears forming in the eyes on the left side of his face.
"What became of my name father?" The young female asked.
"I carried him into the base. Not the other way around. He died to allow me to survive. When you bear a child, remember the human who ensured the line of Hagh would remain unbroken.
"I have asked our neighbors. None of them know this hero, AJ Adams. Why is that the case?" Anthony asked her father, sparing a glance out the window to the Earth place called Miami.
"This is considered small heroism among the humans, my daughter. Take some time to learn what the warriors of their people have done."
---------
Edit: Typos (did this on my phone) and small editing mistake. | "...I'm sorry, Rafti you will have to repeat that? they did what?"
"um, well sir, they seem to have... I mean initial reports are that they have, um... exited their... planetary orbit"
"I see, Rafti. We knew it would happen eventually, although this is sooner than anticipated. I take it they finally managed to harness the atom for this?:
"well... its, uh... no. see sir the early reports indicate... no nuclear traces"
"No atom?"
"N... no sir" Rafti shifted nervously in the air, his gaseous form growing slowly more solid under his superiors gaze.
"Rafti, this species only discovered the power of the atom 2.173 eros ago, a mere 20... what do they call them? 'Yeers?' ago and they promptly used that power do destroy one another. Not brilliant creatures to say the least.
"Correct sir"
"Yet now you tell me they have entered lunar orbit WITHOUT the atom?"
Rafti was a near solid mass now and had gradually dropped close to the floor under his increased density
"Rafti, we have manned this Corvette for over 5.96 eros together. There is no need to allow your nervous system to control you, I need you to bringoneselfapart*"
> *Unglerian term for "pull yourself together"
"Yes sir" Rafti slowly allowed himself to dissipate, calming his nerves. Such was his anxiety that he had almost touched the ground, a terribly shameful thing in Unglerian culture.
"Now explain to me, how did they accomplish this?
"Highly energetic degraded biological mass sir"
"What are you referring to?"
"Sir, you recall when our kind first discovered this galaxy?"
"Yes"
"You recall the Precursors?"
"Yes, a mighty species. Wise, humble they contributed greatly to the Endubla Council in its formative years.... What did these humans call them again?"
"Dinosaurs sir. In one of their languages it means 'Terrible Lizard'"
"Ah yes, Dinosaur, 'terrible lizard'. What a misnomer Rafti, these were truly marvelous beings... why without them the Cruliian Civil war may never have ended"
"Indeed sir, and were it not for the result of Comet 68x8tg8x3's impact and the subsequent ice age they may still be contributing to galactic peace".
"That was a sad day Rafti, the passing of so great a civilization. Such was their honor that knowing no other species in the galactic realm could brave the cold they allowed themselves to be martyred. Our species deemed this planet dead. That is until these odd monkeys came to be".
"Correct sir. The Precursors were indeed noble creatures. Very deserving of the half Ero we set aside in their memory...." Rafti trailed off
"Now what do the Precursors have to do with these sapiens and their galactic endeavors?"
Rafti was beginning to condense again.
"Well Admiral the... Precursors, their bodies of course degraded over the millions of years since. They were biological in make so it was natural that their cells would.... decompose.
"Of course"
"Sir, these humans have... well taken to using the Precursor decomposition as a fuel source"
"......"
"sir?" Rafti was once again barely hovering above the floor, as he watched the admiral. He had never seen his superior officer even flinch much less condense as he was now.
"......"
"Admiral?"
"......"
"Admiral Folxca? are you alright?" Admiral had lost all composure. He now sat as a solid object anchored to the ground.
"Rafti, they are using the soul matter of Precursors to fuel their ambitions..."
"Sir..."
"They are literally powering their galactic endeavors with the sacred cells of Precursors..."
At this Admiral Folxca simply stopped. Never before in the 13.5 eros that Rafti had lived had he seen a fellow Unglerian so still.... so solid.
"sir?"
"Rafti if this species, these.... monkeys.... only a few million years old.... have already gain access to the Precursors Quantamic Energy Source.... this could mean extinction for our cosmos on a cellular level. You've seen what they...
"sir"
"I mean these creatures just used the power of the atom to eradicate some of THEIR OWN SPECIES what happens when..."
"Sir"
"We must alert the Cosmological Council, we must get all species on stand by we must...."
"SIR!"
Floxca stopped. Never before had Rafti shouted at him.
"Rafti?"
"Sir they haven't figured out Quantamic Energy"
"But you just floated here and told me..."
"Sir, they are using it through an incendiary propulsion system"
"..... what?"
"Well um yes sir they are using the liquid decompose. The refine it and then light it on fire to create a controlled explosion. They used a series of these explosions to escape orbit sir."
"...Rafti let me get this completely clear. They are taking the dead cellular mass of the great Precursors, which hold the power of Quantamic Energy and they are 'lighting it on fire to create explosions'?"
"Yes sir"
"And these explosions work how?"
"Well they, um they are contained in a chamber of the ship they use to power into orbit".
"....."
"They are quite literally riding large controlled explosive devices sir"
"Rafti, take us home"
"sir?"
"Take us home. I've had enough. Leave a probe to monitor them, we cannot allow such vicious, insane creatures to harness Quantimic power but I doubt we need fear that. It would seem clear they are incapable of any rational thought"
"yes sir"
"Lighting the Precursors dead bodies....explosions.... I am done with these damnable apes and their chaotic ways, we'll give them another million years and come back to check on them"
| 2017-03-06T04:21:37 | 2017-03-06T03:43:38 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "A fine...mead?!" Rorik shouts over the din of the tavern. His companions smile and nod along with him as he sings some old barbarian tune.
Sings it wrong. They don't tell him that though.
Delia, the group's cleric leans over to their mage.
"Do you think he knows?"
Melvar just shakes his head and holds out a palm towards their massive friend. Friend as of lately, of course. Rorik was a massive pain for the group long before the shifter stole his face.
"He definitely doesn't but...I think I like him. Rorik was a bit of a jerk, always running off into the dungeons with that stupid battlecry. Remember when we went into the Crypt of Alohar, how many good people did he get killed?"
"Yeah...he's kinda cute now. Like a child or something."
They both watch Rorik move around the tavern with his mug and talk to other groups of adventurers. He's loud but not overbearing. He listens to the stories of others instead of telling his own. He drinks but not to excess. He is nothing like the barbarian they all had come to know and...
Melvar doesn't quite finish the thought.
"You know what Del, I like him. I know he's a shifter but look at everyone. We all know and he's trying so hard to be like Rorik but he just can't. I don't think there's a mean bone in that thing's body. You know that he hasn't made fun of my beard once, not in months."
She snorts. The young mage was trying so hard to grow it out and he'd been self-conscious about it for months.
A warrior passing by their table to his own party leans over and whispers it to the pair.
"You should keep him. He's an improvement."
"Friends!" Rorik shouts, sitting again at their table, "What fun! And we do this between every adventure? And people give us gold to go on those adventures? To spend here? Amazing!"
He is off again before they can even respond.
"Do you think The Dwarf knows?" Melvar watches Rorik join another random group of adventures and sing yet another song. Still wrong.
Delia shrugs.
"I don't know and I don't care. We're gonna keep him. He's like a dog or something. But useful."
Melvar strokes his "beard" for a moment.
"Alright, we'll keep him. But I swear if he ever makes fun of my beard-"
"What? You'll strangle him with one of your wisps? You should really shave, you're looking more like a magical hobo than a wizard. 'I cast: smell of unwashedness!'"
As she walks away laughing at her own joke Melvar narrows his eyes. He lifts his mug and mutters something into it before drinking.
"I'll replace you too if I have to..." | Theldon – or at least the creature that was wearing his face – looked pale in the light of the campfire. As the wood crackled and burned, he chewed his lower lip, gathering his courage to speak.
“Guys … I … I have something to tell you,” he managed.
His three traveling companions looked at him. Vanariel snapped her spellbook shut and drew her staff. “What is it? An ambush? I told you guys I saw goblin-sign back there!”
“No, no! Not goblins!” Theldon said, holding his hands out. “It’s … it’s about me.”
Shiny Pete smirked. “What? You got the whore’s itch or something? Nothing to be ashamed of, buddy. Happened to us all once or twice.”
Dagmar glowered at the rogue from under bushy eyebrows. “Or mayhap a good number of times more than that.”
“No! It's not a disease either! It’s just …” Theldon took a deep breath. “Guys … I’m … I’m a doppelganger."
The three of them shared a long look, and then Vanariel and Shiny Pete burst out laughing. Dagmar’s glower deepened. “That’s no’ funny, lad,” he growled.
Vanariel and Shiny Pete stopped laughing. “Wait, wait,” the rogue said, “Dagmar, you didn’t *know?*”
Theldon looked shocked. “Wait, you guys *knew?*”
The elven woman tittered. “You’re not the shapeshifter you think you are. The real Theldon was an asshole.”
“Total dickwad,” Shiny Pete agreed. “In, like, every conceivable way.”
Dagmar leapt to his feet, drawing his axe. “You mean this is no’ a joke?” he roared, advancing on Theldon. “Die, fiend!”
As one, Vanariel and Shiny Pete placed themselves between the enraged dwarf and the doppleganger. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shiny Pete yelled. “This might not be the original Theldon, but he’s been with us for almost a year now. He was the guy who stood over you after you got paralyzed by a ghoul.”
“He took point when we fought that dragon,” Vanariel continued.
“Hell, he got in the face of evil sorcerer while you were busy chopping up his henchmen,” Shiny Pete added.
“Those henchmen represented a serious threat!” Dagmar retorted, “And it was no' like it was a full-grown dragon. Only a wee one!”
In unison, Valariel and Shiny Pete rolled their eyes. Dagmar glowered some more. He was good at it, and he liked to play to his strengths. At last the dwarf made a humphing noise and lowered his axe. Valariel sat down and opened her spellbook again. “Okay, that’s over right? We can get back to the adventuring?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Pete said. Dagmar only grunted.
“Did you guys really know?” Theldon asked, still somewhat wary of the dwarf.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, it was kind of suspicious how he was dying of jungle rot one day and completely fine the next. But you’re really not much like the original Theldon at all. First of all, you’re actually useful in combat. And second of all, you’re a decent guy. I mean, I can have an ale with you and not worry that you’re going to stiff me on the check,” Pete said.
“Or stare at my tits while I’m trancing. Or grab my ass when I’m trying to brew potions,” Vanariel added. “And the ear jokes. Ugh, the original Theldon was such a creep. Why did we even keep him around?”
"Good question," Pete said. "I mean, I asked myself that a bunch of times after we got new Theldon. 'Why did we even keep that tool around in the first place?'"
“So you guys don’t even care that I’m a shapeshifter?”
“Not really, no,” Pete said. “I worked with lots of different people when I was in the Thieves’ Guild. Changelings weren’t any more likely to try killing me in my sleep than humans or half-elves. In my experience, everyone’s pretty human when you get down to it.”
“Hey! Speak for yourself, round-ears,” Vanariel said with half of a smile. “But nevertheless, I agree with the sentiment.”
“Oh,” Theldon said. He sat in own thoughts for a moment. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Pete said, and Vanariel nodded in agreement.
The evening passed in silence. Shiny Pete honed his daggers, and Vanariel memorized her spells. Dagmar and Theldon each sat in silence, alone with his thoughts.
At last the dwarf spoke. “Lad,” he asked the doppleganger, “have you ever tried maybe not being a shapeshifter?”
| 2017-09-15T07:29:21 | 2017-09-15T06:44:52 | 5,321 | 118 |
[WP] It was well known that the Americans were using werewolves, and that the Germans and Soviets each had their own race of vampires to help them in WWII. Not many people knew of the secret Canadian platoon and their wendigo. | We all wanted to serve so desperately. We were unfit, but given an option. This unit only takes volunteers, and your lame leg or poor vision won’t matter.
A wendigo has no body of its own. It needs a vessel. It needs a host.
The first host had been Smith. He’d been nervous, but eager. I think he was curious about how the officers would live up to their promise to make him strong. The next time I saw him was D-Day. He had his own landing craft, slightly ahead of the others. When the ramp dropped a long-limbed thing burst out, rushing up the beach, impossibly fast. It wrenched itself into a bunker and then there were screams and an explosion.
The second in line had been Martin. One of the officers showed him into the bunker. There was a lot of shouting, and we were all pulled away by the rest of the officers. I didn’t seem him again until Caen.
We were pinned down by machine guns, and the officers had brought forward an armored truck. Martin scrambled out as soon as they opened it, and this time I got a close look. Every part of him was emaciated except his belly. The skin on his limbs and head was drawn tight, outlining his bones, but his belly bulged. He appeared to have been gnawing on his wrists.
Then he rushed forward, leaping from the ground through a third story window. It sounded like he was bursting through the walls of the old houses, and we saw him pounce on one of the machine gun teams from behind. He killed at least thirty before a lucky hit from a Pak 38 cored him like an apple.
After that was Taylor, who tore the head from a tank commander, dove through the hatch headfirst and tore apart the crew inside. A sherman had hit the tank seconds later, making mincemeat of him. Treblawny sprinted through a trench, killing as he ran, killing several dozen men before falling to sheer blood loss. Smith had dodged sniper fire until he got close enough to leap and knock the sniper from his tree, falling on top of him and burrowing into his chest with his fingernails. Smith had killed only two of the snipers who had ambushed us when he stepped on a landmine and lost his legs.
Now it was my turn. The officers took me to the chunks of bone and gristle that had been Smith. They reminded me, you wanted this, you volunteered for this, you've already made your choice.
I tore out a piece of his leg and began to chew. | “We’re surrounded here, tell that piece of shit Lieson to do it already,” shouted General Torrence into the comm set.
The encampment was surrounded by about 200 Nazis, with another 8 or so strigoi. “Of course they had to get the fucking Romanians involved,” muttered Albert Lieson as he received the frantic call. He stepped outside his tent at the back of the camp, and took off towards the shooting, leaping over the defenses. “About damn time,” the general shouted as he ran past.
About damn time, he thought to himself. Typical. Would he rather me rush everything? Does command want a repeat of the Thunder Bay incident? A Nazi soldier unloaded his Mauser into him, scattering his thoughts, but failing to leave a mark. Ignoring the shocked look on the youthful face, Lieson grinned as he leapt upon him. “Can I borrow this,” he snickered as he sunk his teeth into the young soldier’s bicep. “Thanks,” he said with a mouthful of flesh. He didn’t stop with the arm.
Within thirty seconds, the Nazi who had fired upon him was stripped to the bone. By this point, every other soldier in the Nazi attack party had turned their fire away from the camp, and toward him. The strigoi were still attacking the human Canadians, however. The Nazis began to get nervous as they realized their bullets were doing no damage, and a smile spread across Lieson’s bloodstained face. “They were almost too polite to bring me out,” he said as his smile stretched even further. Further than humanly possible. His skin began to pale. His torso grew taller, and his arms grew longer. Lieson didn’t speak after this awful transformation. His smile didn’t diminish, though.
Within seconds, the creature that had once been Albert Lieson tore into the soldiers. Arms, legs, and heads flew as if they were caught in a tornado. Intestines lay in tangled messes on the ground like fishing line. Horrified, a German managed to shout “wendi-“ into his comm set before a six inch long claw pierced his throat. Turning away from the mess of bodies, the wendigo approached the Canadian camp, passing dead strigoi on the way.
Two strigoi had a young soldier, a Calgary native, pinned to the ground. His throat was slit and his blood was freely flowing as the aberrations fed. The wendigo approached and tossed them off, impaling them on a nearby tree. “Please...kill me before it happens,” gurgled the young Canadian through a pool of blood. The wendigo lifted the head of his human comrade and put a claw through the back of his skull, severing his spinal cord and mercifully ending his life. Brutal, but a far easier fate than changing into a vampire.
The wendigo, drunk on blood, turned to the general with the same wide smile on his face. “Don’t you dare,” the general said as the creature approached him, claws outstretched. He began to chant an indigenous protection prayer, and the wendigo slowly transformed back into the human Albert Lieson. The man fell to the ground, unconscious, and the surviving Canadians breathed a sigh of relief. “
I really don’t like using him,” said a soldier to the general. “Nor do I,” General Torrence responded, “but how can we compare with vampires, and werewolves, and all the rest of God’s little mistakes?” “Sir, I thought the werewolves were American, they’re on our side,” asked the soldier. “For now, you’re right. After we win the war, though, who knows? I don’t think we should have started using these things in the first place,” said Torrence, more to himself than his second in command.
As the Canadians marched forward to meet up with an American camp in the Ardennes, they experience disturbingly little resistance. They had no way of knowing that something rather odd was afflicting those men. Scouts had noticed loud footfalls in the woods around their camp, with no discernible source. Three men had gone missing, their screams cut off abruptly, which let to a nonstop rotating four man watch at the edge of their camp. The forest, the wind itself, seemed to be against them. Something foreign that cause Hitler’s men to believe they were foreigners in their own country. Something that seemed to call out on the wind, “wen-di-go, wen-di-go.”
Albert Lieson slept in the back of a covered Jeep as the Canadian line marched to reinforce the Americans. A wendigo transformation always made his human form weary. When he was asleep, however, those constraints were gone. Nothing stopped the spirit of the wendigo while he was unconscious. He smiled in his sleep, for he knew that somewhere to the south, he was feasting on the flesh of more Nazis.
| 2017-10-09T09:02:52 | 2017-10-09T08:46:47 | 66 | 30 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them. | Beckett said, “I’m frequently asked how I came to join a party such as theirs, I’m sure you’ll be thinking about it shortly.”
Joey rattled in his chair, “What’s the plan Beckett? I know you wouldn’t hurt an innocent, none of you would!”
The light was scarce down in Beckett’s basement, two torches fought silent battles with the dancing shadows on both sides of the meagre room. Joey chuckled, he thought he was in control, thought he had a good read on all the cards. It smelled like a rat had started to decompose somewhere nearby.
Beckett smiled a hollow smile, there was no need to dress it up for the present company, “You’re hardly innocent. I need to know where you’ve trapped them, Joey.” He put down a bone cutter on the wooden barrel next to Joey.
“You’re not fooling anyone, *Beckett*, you’ve all got sticks so far up your asses that—”
Beckett punched Joey across the jaw with such force that the chair toppled over, “I’m a bard, Joey, all I have are stories, which one you choose to believe is up to you.” Joey spit out a mouthful of blood on the stone floor as Beckett pulled him up along with the chair.
Joey said, “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not fooling anyone!”
“Heard from your brother Adam lately?”
“He’s off on an important, let’s say, *business acquisition*. Keeps to himself Adam does, what of it?”
Beckett slowly paced behind the chair, Joey tried to turn his head to follow, “I heard he got attacked by bandits, just off King’s trail. Seems that they weren’t satisfied with simply robbing him, so they slit his throat. Gruesome work, really.”
Joey grew more nervous, “You’re wrong, he’ll be in Artala by now, you’re trying to rattle me and it’s not going to work!”
Beckett chuckled, “No, you’re right— it’s just a story. Let me tell you another one, about how Adam was blackmailing Austin, the paladin I’ve chosen to follow. The one you have presently hidden away somewhere.”
Beckett rapped his knuckles against the barrel, “Everyone takes for granted that our entire party is lawful good, I mean we have a paladin, it goes without saying!”
“Well, I’m neither lawful nor good. I know what needs to be done— to get the wheels turning— and it’s not by spreading *goodness*. It’s by instilling fear.”
Joey said, “Adam’s in Artala, you’re not going to rattle me!”
Beckett got right up in Joey’s face, he could almost feel the moisture running down Joey’s wrinkly forehead, after seconds of excruciating silence he said, “Your brother is dead.”
Joey said, “You’re lying! He’s in Artala, I don’t know anything about any blackmail!”
Beckett kicked over the barrel, the lid sliding off from the impact with ease, Adam’s pale face emerged from the cramped darkness within. Joey’s mind snapped and he howled until his face was red and his neck filled with thick veins, trying in vain to power through the tight rope, it was no use.
Beckett picked up the bone cutter from the cold floor, “Let’s try this again. Where have you trapped them, Joey?”
*****
Thank you for reading! | I am known as the Single Strike Shadow.
Unlike some, I don't actually have any powers of my own, the source of my power is a sword I got from a cursed shop a few years ago. The sword caught my eye, because the description said that it was guaranteed to fell any enemy in a single slice, guaranteed. I asked how much something like that would cost, and the seller said that you don't pay with money for any of the items in this shop, you pay with something else.
I agreed to buy the item, and the seller explained its power:
So long as you intend to kill something, touch the hilt and you will have the power to do so.
I took the sword, and the seller revealed that he was actually the devil, and that I was a foolish mortal, for I did not know what terrible cost the sword actually had.
"But does the sword actually do what it says it does?"
"...well yes, of course, I may be the devil but I'm not a liar...oh crap".
I touched the hilt, and instantly I was transported to hell. Flames, blades piercing my flesh, all that jazz. The thing was, I was actually born with defective pain receptors, so I just kind of sat there for a few hours taking in the sights, before I woke up back in the real world with the blade sticking in the chest of the devil, who only managed to say "wait, this isn't how you are supposed to play this game, before dying".
Turns out, in real life, as soon as I touched the hilt, my body went temporarily incorporeal, and even the devil can't deflect what isn't there. Quicker than a flash, the shadow rematerialized back into me holding the sword stuck in the vital organs of my foe. While I was a shadow, I was supposedly in hell, and the pain should have driven any regular mortal mad, such that this blade is supposedly one time use.
That was, until the sword fell into my possession.
I then waged a campaign of terror, taking down the most skilled fighters in the world with ease, just from my perspective having to sit through a long boring torture movie of myself each time I had to kill, so I tried not to have to do it that often, even though I arrived unscathed and victorious nearly a moment later in real life.
Eventually a party of heroes found me, and convinced me to join the side of good through this long and emotional appeal, it embarrassed me, I won't go into length, but I swore to stop killing, and helped them along in their adventures. I couldn't really do much, without the sword I was just a guy that didn't feel pain, but I still had to be careful, just because I didn't feel it, doesn't mean it didn't still hurt, and the last thing I wanted to do was die of infection without knowing it.
The party didn't know where my power came from, and although they thought I must be super talented considering my power to instantly kill, they didn't know that was really my only power, without intent to kill, I really have no swordsmanship ability. So they ended up carrying me through many nonlethal adventures. I was always skeptical of how they would let robbers and murderers off the hook without killing them, and only attempting to imprison them or something, and although that would sometimes work, they'd often escape and just cause more problems. The group's philosophy is that if you kill a killer, the number of killers in the world remains the same. I would say that if I just keep on killing, eventually I'd make a profit, but considering that they managed to save me, I decided to keep my concerns to myself.
Eventually their goodness caught up to them, and they all got captured except for me. I would say that it was because I was skilled, but it was actually because I was on guard that night, and finally all the enemies we had made over the years banded together, sneaked up on the camp, and captured everyone, and I happened to be in the forest taking a leak. Just my luck.
I tracked down the fortress they were being kept in, and I noticed that our normal nonlethal methods wouldn't work. The guards were not taking patrol patterns, they all stood still so that we couldn't crack the pattern to sneak in. They also were armored, so I couldn't knock them out without using enough force to kill.
So inconvenient.
Well, they are about to execute my party after doing their customary gloating, so I decided there was no time to waste.
I strolled in, grabbed my sword, and started killing.
After so long without use, it appeared the sword had taken notice, and tried to get revenge. Each time I was transported to hell it seemed to take longer and longer before I rematerialized back in the real world, and even though it seemed to outsiders that I was an outsider I was blinking from enemy to enemy and felling even their most talented fighters without a care, each time I killed, it seemed that I was almost gone for years for a time, and enemies just kept coming.
Finally, it seemed I had gotten down to the leader, a swordsman so talented that he was known as the Storm, for when he fought, it seemed that his one blade turned a blur of a thousand blades.
I saw my party up there, and after much exhaustion, I thought they would be happy to see me, but it appeared that they only looked at me like I had betrayed them. I decided now would be the best time to come clean.
"I'm sorry, my power comes from my sword-"
In that moment, Storm had cut off my arm, and was holding my sword.
"Well, well, a sword that enhances ability huh, I already have the ability, I'd like to see what this thing can do with my already impressive ability".
The next thing I knew, the sword was in my chest, and although I couldn't feel it, I felt a lifetime of evil come back to me, and I could see in the eyes of Storm the lifetime of torture that he actually had to feel before we both faded to black. | 2019-12-07T11:28:56 | 2019-12-07T11:23:59 | 92 | 51 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid. | I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys. | A tale as old as time, for tales and time had by the humans been invented. A legend as legendary as any, if not more, for it had been the object of the ramblings of many of them.
As soon as the human was dumb enough to think it became numbingly aware of it’s own fragility, and with that foolishness came the nonstop search for a way to break what seemed like a universal constant.
Mistakes were made, for the thing that we had assumed meant our ultimate weakness: death; was in fact our ally.
The beauty we were most afraid of losing, that of our own lives, was only so beautiful for how it’s end made us appreciate it.
Not long after we patched that one ultimate weakness did we realize it was in fact our greatest strength, while it made the origin of our fears, it also made us thrive. While staying on the background, it drove us forward. While it made us grieve, it also made us find new motivations.
For so long it was our ally, and yet we betrayed it.
As people began to lose their taste for life, as they began to forget its value, as they began to take it for granted, they acquired an attraction to death.
What we so long had fought against suddenly became a commodity.
By the billions, at that point maybe even trillions, while untimely we were finally meeting the ending we were supposed to meet.
I made a vow, a pretty stupid one at that, yet I have, after who knows how many thousands of years, taken it to fruition.
Had the time come when I, the last human to roam the earth was, should I remain roaming it until the knowledge regarding the gift that death is to life was given to the next foolish civilization to that tried to betray it.
And so I lived without living, absorbed to my own thoughts. Long enough to see the concrete crack to the roots of trees. Long enough to see the trees outgrow each other and then die and get petrified. Long enough to see the sun go from yellow to orange and then red. Long enough to think for a few times that I had died, then come back to life.
It’s easy to lose count of time when time is so irrelevant. So it might as well have been one day or a few hundred eons since I became the last one here until the day the starship arrived.
Compared to the time my thoughts had gone on for themselves, it was quite fast to learn the language these beings used.
The image of what we had once been and what I now was became all they needed to realize that death is there for life as much as life is there for death.
They were finally gone long before I met my end, engulfed by the calm anger of the sun’s hunger being satisfied by the remains of what both civilizations had been and everything else earth could offer.
Ironic isn’t it? That it is just now, at my very last moment, after the eons of conversations with myself, that I realize the terrible selfishness of us sentient beings. Thinking that life is for us, that it is ours to enjoy and suffer. At the end of everything life and death, sweet and sour, grief and joy, are all nourishment for the stars. All the evil and all the good, all the suffering and all the happiness; they don’t make a difference for the universe, for the universe is big, and it enriches itself regardless of what it feeds on.
Life and death weren’t for us to play with from the beginning, as it was the universe planning and executing everything with subatomic precision to nourish itself. For the universe itself is alive, and it finds death as beautiful as life, and unlike we did, it has embraced its inevitable death from the very beginning.
In the end what seemed like a universal constant was indeed so. | 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T20:47:48 | 516 | 12 |
[WP] As you sip your morning coffee, you open up your Sims Universe 3 game on your quantum computer. As you zoom in on a planet you've been watching and tormenting, you notice the governments of the world building a strange device. A flash. A man appears before you. "Are you god?" He asks. | "Yep.", I said with arrogant confidence. I'd prepared for this day a thousand times in my head. I knew they would one day advance themselves to the point of stepping out of their world and into mine.
"Good."
He had clearly been preparing just as long to say that as he reached into his pocket, soon after brandishing a gun that could have only been made with a singular purpose in mind: to kill a god.
"Whoa, what the fuck, man!" This certainly wasn't a scenario I had imagined in those thousand times.
"Our people are suffering! You only gave us one bathroom in each major city and you destroy any new ones as soon as we build them!"
"God works in mysterious ways, my child." Thank you for that old gem, Christianity.
"That's not mysterious, that's malicious!"
"What about all those things I have given you? Everyone has a roof over their head and food in their bellies."
"Sure, thank you for that and whatnot, but there's still the problem of where the food goes after it's done in our bellies!"
"You seem pretty hung up on this bathroom problem. Is that what that smell is?"
He cocks back the hammer on the gun. Uh oh.
"This is what everything smells like, thanks to you!"
"Okay. Okay, fine. I'll add more bathrooms. You could have just tried praying, you know. This gun thing is a bit unnecessary."
"You don't think we've tried that? Do you not see the constant prayer bubbles atop our heads?"
"Oh, I thought those were just what's on your minds.", I say feigning ignorance in hopes of deescalating this strange situation.
"Yes, things on our minds that we want. That we're praying to you for."
"I'm... I'm sorry. You all were just clumps of colors and code to me. I was simply playing a video game."
"Oh, so our entire universe is just a game to you, asshole? Mindless bits of AI that you can torture to your sadistic heart's content?"
"I mean, yeah, pretty much.", I say as I start interacting with my computer to demonstrate to this man exactly what is the world he came from. "See, this is your planet. Just one of many that I've built. Here's another, where no one gets a house but everyone has a swimming pool."
The man was not prepared for this. His head begins shaking in disbelief. "No, this can't be! My entire world, my entire reality, my entire life is just for the amusement of this so-called god?"
"So-called? You exist because of me. Have some damn respect."
"I'll never respect you."
"But I respect you, and your people. What an amazing achievement it is to have advanced to the point where you can actually escape your world and enter ours. Are you actually able to go back as well, or was this a one-way mission for you?"
He seems to be thrown off a bit by that. Impressing a god is no easy feat.
"Well, thank you for those kind words, I guess. I can go back at any time by pressing this but--", before he can even finish his sentence, I reach out and press the button, sending him home in a flash.
After a few moments and a few clicks, my screen reads: "The Sims Universe 3 Uninstalled".
As I lie down to sleep, I think to myself, "What if my life is just a game too? My entire reality simply generated by bits. I wonder if my life will end with a..."
Click. | I jumped to my feet faster than the scolding coffee jumped on my lap, "Fuck!" I grabbed for one of the dirty t-shirts on my bedroom floor and used it to blot the overly sugared liquid from my bare stomach. Bright blisters bubbled up on my skin, still burning as if the coffee had just made contact. "Are you kidding me?" I looked up at the stranger.
His gaze was fixed on me, jaw squared. He hadn't moved a muscle since he appeared, but as soon as my eyes met his, I saw his shoulders drop and heard a shaky breath leave his nose.
Suddenly, I felt like the odd one out. I wanted to make a leap for my iTeleport tablet, but it was tucked under my air mattress and this guy looked like he could both outrun me and beat me to a pulp. I held up my hands in defeat and dropped the XXXL t-shirt on the ground.
"Look guy, I don't want any trouble."
The man in the chrome suit pulled off his helmet, giving me the ability to get a better look at his face. Of course, he just had to be good looks and muscles. I scoffed.
"I... think there's a mistake." He glanced around my room, "I'm from NASA-- I was... I thought... I'm still on Earth."
My breath caught in my throat. Earth? I tried to hide my surprise as if it was a bad hand at poker, but he called my bluff, "I am on Earth, aren't I?"
"N-no. Not... not exactly." I didn't have the words. I was never good about that, "This is Rathe."
The man took a pause and began to shift his gaze around the room. The low light made the walls out to be some kind of gray. The floor, too, was a dull shade of gray. Not like storm clouds or steel, in fact, it was more of an ash color. An air mattress took up a good fourth of the room, and the only other noticeable items were the quantum computer, but even that wasn't too terribly impressive. It was an older model, and way out dated in comparison to what my buddies had.
I felt my face grow red as I watched him reach for the cracked blinds that covered the windows, "I know it's not much, okay? But I--"
A gasp sprang from his lips. I didn't realize I was looking at the floor until light sprawled into the room. I lifted my gaze and found the chrome-suited man staring dumbfoundedly out the window.
Silence overtook us. He stared at the skyways and floating houses in the distance. After a moment, I swallowed my pride, "I made Earth..."
The man stared for a moment longer before turning to me and looking me up and down. His lips thinned, as if I wasn't anything special, as if I wasn't what he once called his God.
"You're a teenager."
"Yeah, well, you're probably like three days old in real time!" I fired back.
He looked out at the sky city once more before looking at me, "How are they floating?"
How the Lhel was I supposed to know that? I wasn't exactly a mechanic, "I dunno. They just do."
We both dangled awkwardly in between what wanted to be said, "Uhm," I cleared my throat, "Do you want... coffee?"
"You have coffee here?"
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out an empty paper cup and a bottle of pills. I broke one of the pills and coffee began pouring out into the cup. His brows furrowed.
"Sorry, do you not like instant?"
"No, no, instant is good. Great, actually." He took the paper cup and watched the pill capsule dissolve in the liquid, "We don't have this on earth."
"Well, no, not yet." I pulled another cup from my desk and repeated the process, "But, you guys are, like, a thousand years and a hundred wars behind right now, so don't feel bad."
"Oh, God. A hundred wars?" The man ran his fingers through his short blonde curls.
"I mean... one hundred big wars, not the little ones."
He chuckled, "I don't know what I was hoping for."
"So, uh," I used my finger nails to crunch the edge of the cup, "Can you go back, or, like, no?"
"Sure, I can't wait to deal with one hundred *big* wars and deal with the fact that we live in a--" he motioned to my quantum computer screen, "a simulation created by a fifteen year old."
My stomach dropped, "I'm seventeen."
"Sorry." He threw back his coffee and set the cup down on the desk, "Seventeen."
"So... what's your name?"
The man looked startled, "You don't know?
I swallowed hard, "Sorry, people randomly spawn. I can't always keep up."
"Is that why bad things happen to good people?"
"Yeah." I lied, knowing darn well that I had lit a Sim's house on fire for the heck of it less than a day ago, "That's why."
"Well," The man leaned against the window and looked out once more, "That's something." He sounded almost relieved. I watched him closely as he moved himself upright once again, "I can live with that. So, I'm ready to go back."
"Oh, well then you should!" I felt all the tension that had built on my shoulders float away when he said that.
"Okay, I'm ready. Send me back."
Time stood still, "What?"
"Well, you're God... clearly you can send me--"
"No, no, you gotta stop with that. My name is Doug, and I'm seventeen and I don't know a damn thing about outer dimensional travel."
The chrome man's face drained of color, "Ah." He cleared his throat, "So, uh, what now?" | 2021-06-29T12:50:36 | 2021-06-29T12:45:25 | 35 | 23 |
[WP] Humans aren't the strongest, or the most advanced, species in the galaxy, but they are the most vengeful and persistent. They evolved as persistence predators. If you wrong them, they are willing to follow you across the stars and can spend years working to get back at you for what you did. | They thought they had wiped us out, turns out they were wrong.
Epsilon prime was our home, we were the first humans to join the galactic federation, they knew nothing of earth.They thought so little of us, so blasé with their technology. We were serfs to them, no better than cattle.
There wasn't one day they didn't go without ripping us off. Killing our women, children or infirm. There was little we could do against their combined strength or their broken justice system. At that time we thought if only one died the rest could survive.
Year after year it went on, exploitation, serfdom, banditry. It wasn't just one of them it was all of them. The Necrotele, Auxins, Teletars and so on so forth. The worst ones were the Eldisterian. Horrible bastards, they used to take some of us and mangle our DNA with that of animals. We were alive, just barely though.
I guess we thought we could survive if only a few of us died to thier malicious ideas. That was just the way it was some of us died, so others could live. Then one day it changed. I guess they got sick of us or maybe it was the Wros Virus, maybe they thought we were responsible for it.
Whatever the case they wiped us all 20 billion of us on Epsilon prime. Glassed the damn planet with so much orbital bombardment that the old extinct volcanoes erupted. Some of us survived in the old obsidian caves, it was just a few million.
After that they left the star system to wither and die, our home with them. Job accomplished or so they thought.
It's been a 150 years since then. But now they know our fury. The burning crusade we call it, 150 years of bloodshed against our enemies. We struck the capitol of their stinking federation. It was a sight to behold millions of rich Xenos burning alive. We took their bodies and marked our ships with a simple message "death to the Xenos Federation".
Then we burned their homeworlds, taking everything we could find. The Black Aces took their children and cooked them for meat.
Now they know if they cross the black line or cross us, they have chosen extinction. There were 45 races in their federation, now there's only 4. No technological or genetic edge will save them if they ever make us serfs again.
Their children's cries fuel our dreams. | I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing. | 2022-08-09T14:53:15 | 2022-08-09T14:38:55 | 166 | 32 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue | I don’t remember exactly how I ended up where I am. I might have died, I might have fallen into a black hole, I may have been sacrificed to the gods of old. But here I am, face to face with a living elf.
They scrunched up their face and said the world “translate.”
I wish I could say I responded with intelligence, or elegance. But I said the only thing that I could really think “uhhhhh okay?”
“It was a translation spell from a long gone language, It allows us both to hear each other in our best tongue.”
“But before you finished speaking the word I understood it, its English its not magical nor a dead language. Its the standard among the intergalactic human civilizations. Its just English.”
“Impossible the language died out millions of years ago, what little bots we have left are only the words we can decipher from the carvings on the old temples. It takes weeks to master even the most basic spells.”
“So what do I do just say the word fire and…” I felt my hand warm a little and in my hand, I was holding solid fire. | You'd think that someone who's spoken Lingua Thaumagica their entire life would not have to take a mandatory intro class their first semester at the academy. You'd be wrong.
"It's a prerequisite for your program," the registrar said. "Nothing I can do."
"Can't you get me into a more advanced level, at least?"
"I would, but given your experience with it is conversational, not academic, the recommendation is to take the class to refine your language so as to be sure you're prepared for the intensity of higher-level courses."
Refine my language. What bullshit. I was majoring in linguistics, for god's sake. But hey, I needed the credits, and maybe it would boost my GPA enough to make it onto the dean's list. After all, it would be an easy A, right?
Oh, how the universe seems to enjoy proving me wrong.
My grammar was flawless. I was stringing together complex sentences while my classmates struggled with simple verb tenses. My spells never spontaneously broke down due to incorrect conjugation or fired off too early because of syntax errors. No, the problem was pronunciation, because according to Professor Caeiro, mine was the worst he'd ever heard.
"Cӕsen." Caeiro's lips pulled back into an honest-to-god sneer. "Rhymes with season. This can be used to stop a spell-in-progress. Allow me to demonstrate. Phoebemanus hevenvers."
Obediently, a pulsing ball of light rose from his outstretched palm into the air. Higher and higher it rose. The professor waited until it was mere inches from the ceiling, then barked, "Cӕsen!" The light collapsed in on itself until it was nothing more than a spark, which floated back down to his hand, then vanished.
"Everybody, choose a partner and try it with different spells you know." Before I could even turn to look at my classmates, Caeiro stopped me. "Not you, Enne. Show me how you say it in your... *community*."
*Your world,* he means. *The one you came from, where your language does nothing at all.*
Spine stiffening, I watched him scrunch up his face to inch his glasses back up his nose, then cross his arms and wait. I sighed. "Light spell, or another spell?"
"Preferably the same one, so as better to compare pronunciation."
I nodded, trying not to roll my eyes. If it was comparison he wanted, comparison was what he was going to get. "Phōbeimanos heofanver."
The professor's orb had been perfectly spherical pure white light, drifting about like a will-o-the-wisp through the air. My light was rougher around the edges, more like a fireball. It didn't float so much as rocket up to the ceiling.
"Fuck!" My heart leapt into my throat. "Kaisen!"
My fireball fell back into my hand. It now looked like photos of the surface of the sun, all orange and mottled. It collapsed into itself, leaving nothing behind.
The whole class was staring at me. I looked back to Professor Caeiro, who was now massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation.
"If you absolutely must use profanity, at least use Thaumagic expletives," he said. Then, after a long-suffering sigh, he muttered something about vowel shift and Germanic influence, then: "I owe Dr. Dockray twenty dollars."
"What, did I just disprove your thesis or something?"
He just shook his head.
I knew I shouldn't smirk. I tried not to smirk. I'm pretty sure I was smirking. | 2022-11-19T10:17:18 | 2022-11-19T09:52:06 | 98 | 71 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge. | They called them the swarm. They came from the darkness and rained fire down on our worlds. All of our worlds. Tens, of thousands *of thousands* of worlds. The weapons they used were considered war crimes by council members, but after the bombardment, who was left to complain?....
Those few that did survive, on the burning husks of worlds turned to glass, watched the humans withdraw.
Revenge was a dish best served cold. Humanity had spent a thousand years hiding, rebuilding, readying, for a single co-ordinated strike to make sure *no-one could ever attack them again*.
They dropped a messaging beacon on the world that had birthed the Galactic council.
"This attack was unsanctioned, we hope you hold no grudges". Just as the council had said, a thousand years before. | "Just 5 years before Terran ambassadors arrived on Keplar 9 for the annual galactic summit, around 46% of Terra's population was annihilated in a, by galactic standards, military grade plasma ray attack. This devastated the population and left them unable to find food and shelter as at least half of all the water where the impact of the plasma ray hit evaporated and was consequently stolen by the unknown alien ships" Ka'lar said as he read out the document his boss assigned him to "study" when what he really meant was "do it instead of me".
But Ka'lar was already used to doing everyone's work and he did not mind as he didn't have anything else to do.
This document was information on the newly accepted members of the galactic council and the species they were going to meet in 2 months.
"Sir, we have detected Terran-style ships approaching but with no official insignia on them" Ka'lar got startled by the sudden noise and dropped his coffee, the new beverage that became extremely popular after Terra started exporting it.
"Why would there be no official insignia if they are recognized by the galactic council?"
"I do not know, Commander Ka'lar." "Establish contact and ask on what business they are here for, the Terrans should arrive in about 2 months time, it's too early for them to be here"
Private Eret pressed a button on the control desk, but the machine did not turn on. "This stupid thing, we really need new replacements for this crack-shack of a ship" Private Eret said as he hit the machine a couple times until it whirred to life and displayed a sickly white screen with some writing on it that looked more pixelated than an old DS game.
Suddenly, the screen turned a blackish green colour as text on the screen said "signal error, please check your connection" "Damn this stupid thin-" Private Eret said as he felt the most sharp searing pain he had ever felt as if his entire body was on fire. The Terrans had fired some sort of radiation ray, but fortunately for him, the control room was the furthest from the radiation ray and the Terran ship was pretty far away from the ship, meaning he was extremely lucky to survive.
"Stand down and lower your weapons."
"We have killed 50% of your staff and heavily injured the other half. Stand down and we will send medical help as we are not as barbaric as the galactic council and can clearly see that you are only partly to blame, given the fact that 5 years ago, you were close enough to Terra passing through the solar system that you could have offered aid"
Ka'lar blinked as he looked at Private Eret who's entire body was covered in burns. His species was more susceptible to radiation because of their naturally weak home star that spewed out less radiation than most average star systems.
"I repeat, stand down and lower your weapons"
Ka'lar ordered the remaining staff to stand down and wait for medical attention, but he wasn't so sure as to whether or not the Terrans would fulfill their promise.
"2 of your representatives, preferably a captain and a commander, will be allowed to board our ship so we can discuss all of *this*" Ka'lar was hesitant to agree to board the ship but his Captain, being the coward that he is, went with the humans almost instantly because he knew, that such a large ship would be able to fire another shot, and this time would kill the remaining 50% of the injured staff. | 2022-12-17T22:08:01 | 2022-12-17T19:40:45 | 63 | 24 |
[WP] A tedious, daily chore, done for the last time.
The why is up to you. | A bitter roast, acidic on the palate, and probably fair trade. I grind the kernels until the oil releases aromatic piles of black dust.
There was a high price for this cup.
There are the perfect imprints of his teeth on my breasts, the knife marks on my sex, stomach, thighs... There are bottles of concealer and foundation to cover the black eyes, the scarves to veil the fingermarks around my neck. There is a child unborn.
I swirl the powders into the dark libation until they have completely dissolved. I hope he takes his ricin well, because this is the last, damn cup of coffee I'm making him. | "You know you don't have to do this." squeaked my mother, trying her best to hold back the tears.
"Of course I do." I said, brandishing the axe in my hand and raising it above my head. "It's the least I could do." I brought the axe down hard with perfect form. My mother sobbed uncontrollably, unable to hold back finally.
The wooden log split perfectly sideways off the stump, I cut it perfectly right down the middle. "You're crazy if you think I'm gonna leave you without at least a month's worth of firewood." I said, winking at her.
My dad showed me how to handle the axe the moment I turned 5, and have done it every day since. He would never let me chop up enough for a week or even a few days for that matter. He insisted I do a small amount every day to stay strong. For the past 14 years, day in and out, I chopped the wood, it was probably the only thing in my life I perfected.
"I'm just...going to miss you so much sweetie." my mom choked out. Her baby bird was finally leaving the nest. "I just wish your father were here to see how far you've come." The tears streamed uncontrollably over her cheeks. Dad passed when I was 8, I've been the man of the house for years.
All my belongings and textbooks were packed up for college in my car. I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago, but damned if I was gonna leave my mom high and dry without firewood. She would be here on the farm all alone by herself.
"I'll come back and visit, you know that." I said as I split another log with ease. "You need any more splittin' done, you call me and I'll be back in a flash."
Blowing her nose, mom got real stern. "You will do no such thing young man, you go and live your life and be successful. I've been workin' this place since your great grandfather was around. I'll get along just fine, 'sides I have Sadie to keep me company." Sadie was our German Shephard that dad got me when I turned 7.
While I began propping up the last log I finally started feeling the tears forming behind my eyes. I had looked forward to this moment for years. I was on my way out, one of the lucky few in my small town to get somewhere. Trembling, I started to bring the axe up.
I held it high, ready to bring it down for the last time, my vision starting to blur a little. It became too much, I dropped the axe by my side and hugged my mom hard, letting my own tears flow.
We held each other crying for a good, long time. Memories of my childhood flashed before me. The day I taught Sadie to play fetch, dad letting me drive the tractor on his lap, mom baking fresh peach pie, getting a splinter lodged deep under my fingernail while fixing the fence.
Finally, it wasn't me, but mom who broke contact. She looked straight into my eyes. "Go now son, the world is yours. Go and take it." | 2013-10-16T02:25:38 | 2013-10-16T02:08:33 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] A day before the Earth is destroyed by a collision with a rouge planet, time freezes. You, a completely normal person are untouched and cannot die. Text on your arm appears that reads, "however long it takes, save us".
You have an eternity, time resumes only when you are done.
_________________________________
I would like to take the time to thank everyone for their stories, I've been reading them and will continue to read them after submissions have stopped.
I'd also like to thank /u/PaulsWPAccount for his dedication to the story he has created and continues to create. As I type his story is still unfinished, I just want to give him the credit he deserves before this post falls too far from the front page.
Thank you all, it's been great.
One more thing....... Rouge :D | Once upon a time, a rouge planet almost smacked into Earth.
Fortunately, time froze and some text mysteriously appeared on my arm, stating "However long it takes, save us!"
So I looked at the big ball of rouge in the sky, and developed a plan.
Over the next several months, I found every extension ladder I could lay my hands on. Traveling to every hardware store in a region, I loaded them up into the trailer of a semi.
Once I had collected 9,972 extension ladders, averaging about 30 feet each, until they bridged the approximately 50 mile gap between planets.
Anyway, blah blah blah long story short, I spent an eternity brushing away rouge on the planet and rouging up the faces of Earth's entire population until the rouge-planet was completely consumed.
BECAUSE ROUGE IS NOT THE SAME THING AS ROGUE, OP, YOU KNOB.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, my fran! | I was sitting in my one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, which happens to smell like cat shit. I'm not normally this sloppy, really, but who wants to take out the cat litter when the world's about to end. Not just the world, but my entire race.
The rushed Hercules mission to transport fifteen thousand people failed. The gravitational disturbances caused by Michael, the rogue planet currently setting about extinguishing me, my race and my world, threw off the delta-v projections of Hercules I and 15,000 people are now slowly starving to just outside the asteroid belt.
I wish my cat would shut up, there's a lot of geological activity right now, and she's losing her mind. Mid-reach for more whiskey, my cat stops mid-meow, the red-faced televangelist who is now on every channel, stops mid-amen. Everything is silent now, the glowing vortex of dust that usually swirls around in the late afternoon light stops.
I get up and look outside, I can see what's going on but it's impossible, but it's obviously not impossible, yet it should be. Racing out of my front door, All cars in the street below are still. The postman's paper is stationary on it's trip to the ground.
I look down at my hands, why am I not a still, frozen statue? Monospaced script flows along the meat of my thumb 'Save us, take as much time as you need'.
What? Whatever, not the biggest issue here. I spend the rest of the afternoon walking around, except I don't know when the afternoon ends. When does this end? How do I save the human race from a fucking planet? I take advantage of the time to catch up on reading, for about 30 sleeps. It was nice, I went and took food from the store whenever I needed it. Other than that I just spent time playing chess against myself.
After about a thousand sleeps I start getting lonely, hell I'd take that televangelist at this point. Every day I see him on the frozen television with his arm raised above his head, finger pointed at the sky as if accusing Michael. There's bits of spittle flying out of his mouth. He's doesn't seem like a pleasant guy.
After 2000 sleeps I decide to work on how to 'save us', but how? How do I move or destroy a planet? Maybe I can move us? I mean there's Mars, other than being uninhabitable, it's definitely not about to be smashed by a rogue planet. Let's do that.
For the next 3174 sleeps I work on rocket science, and astrodynamics. The problem with that is that the internet doesn't work. So I have to find books. Fortunately there's a crazy Swedish foundation that keeps the entire internet in print. So a boat trip to Sweden (54 Sleeps) I could finally get cracking on studying. 18000 sleeps later, I've copied the Hercules I perfectly. 2000 sleeps later it's launch day. 690 sleeps, insertion into Mars orbit. 750 All Colonists landed on martian surface, inflatable hab modules set up. As I turn on the last oxygen generator, I feel a sense of ceremony, I can FINALLY get my life back. I moved the Televangelist next to me to catch the second half of that amen. I flip the switch. Nothing, why isn't the baptist screaming "MEN" in my face? What is this?!
I head back to Sweden to figure out how to destroy a planet. | 2015-10-23T18:29:03 | 2015-10-23T15:32:33 | 111 | 68 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | Humanity had joined the commonwealth only recently. They were welcomed with open arms, their generosity in sharing their accumulated history and scientific knowledge securing them favoured seats in the science councils and governance boards. Here was a species that had discovered and invented nuclear, chemical and biological weapons before they had even mastered computing, yet they refrained, by and large, from using them.
They made treaties and mostly honoured them, even when they were not enforced by third parties. And now, it had been hundreds of years since their last conflict ended, only a few years after contact. Truly this species was unique in its pacifism for such a young, single-world culture. The council recognised them as part of the Promising Species programme, and opened up the commonwealth archives for them to learn from.
When the Trinzi exploration fleet first discovered the commonwealth, it was the humans they stumbled across. Their overtures of friendship in that first contact were communicated with the commonwealth, and a welcome fleet with vessels from most of the species was sent to Earth orbit to greet them. As the fleet arrived, the lead ship of the Trinzi reported a reactor overload and began evacuating by emergency pod shuttles.
The humans spotted the ruse first, but it was too late. The engines of the shuttles the Trinzi launched were burning too cool to be accelerating at the rate they had since leaving the ship. Seconds after noticing, they were halfway between the commonwealth fleet and Earth. The drives flared to full power, and the inflated shells were ejected. Missiles, hundreds of them.
The devastation was immense. They hit the fleet first. Communication was jammed, the situation was hopeless. The remainder of the commonwealth fleet half blew their drives apart getting into the shadow of the planet as Trinzi e-beams sought them out one by one, scintillating off their hulls and irradiating the crews.
It was then that the missiles bound for Earth's surface disappeared, followed by the remaining missiles heading for the fleet, the Trinzi warships, then the moon, the Sun, and all the planets and stars. The Trinzi fleet and their missiles reappeared just over a light-second away, but something was wrong. The moon, Sun, planets and stars had reappeared somewhere *else*. The Trinzi and their missiles were headed for the moon. As one, they turned and burned away from the path of the seventy billion billion ton battering ram, too late. They had only had a second to think, and a second to burn - no time to spool up FTL drives, no way to span the radius of the moon before impact, even at a barely-survivable ten gravities under a tenfold inertial field.
The commonwealth fleet, beaten and staggered, were invited to dock at one of Earth's hospital orbitals, as humanity's sensors finished processing data about the Trinzi engagement. The commonwealth's queries about this new capability were met with assurances that the technology was defensive only. When pressed over the next years, Earth's defence forces would only say that there was no physical limit to the size of a warp field, only a technological one.
The Trinzi never sent a second fleet, their communications had been live and unjammed during the encounter. They were afraid, but in the end they didn't need to. Five years after the encounter, a Trinzi outpost was attacked, and the planetary defence force was deployed from Trinzi Prime. Minutes later, as the fleet looked back upon their home world, it vanished.
"Trinzi fleet, and all citizens of the former Trinzi empire. We have your homeworld. It has been hidden in orbit around another star, its surface blockaded and communications jammed. It will be restored to orbit in return for your unconditional surrender to the commonwealth, and transfer of all military technology and scientific information. It would have been simple enough to drop your entire system into the galaxy's central gravity well instead. Our mercy is great, but not patient. Decide." | He took a long draw of the smoke stick, a human delicacy, though how humans savored smoke at all I'll never know.
his feline features narrowed as he looked out the window to the rain pelting the glass, a few bolts of lightning striking the skyscrapers in the distant gloom.
"Let me tell you a story boy." he began, my third eye, always unconscious and outside of my control, narrowed where my two primary eyes remained impassive.
I didn't like being so addressed.
"long ago, on terra 5, during the thringa invasion.."
"the silent nightmare you mean." I interrupted, and he shook his head, giving a dry chuckle as he adjusted his lavender robes.
His name was pell, andro pell and he was one of the warriors who'd been dumb enough to try to attack the humans head on.
andro survived the attack, as did many others, yet here he was, no sacred war veteran but a living gravestone of sorts, a memorial that spoke only legends and myths of that deadly race.
the light in his busted kitchen was out, and the counters were strewn with strange cookware i didn't know, back in the palace we might have had such equivalents, but i was unsure.
"we landed, began recon and prepped the field, the usual routine. but then....the meteors..."
"Meteors containing abyss." i reasoned, recalling reports of the incident.
"we thought they were weak. we knew they had war tools, but we didn't quite fathom the sheer unnecessary extremes they'd go to just to....to..."
andro shook his head, his cat's ears folding against his head in agitation.
"stupid...the meteors were summoned with gates that had been hidden by the darkness just outside of the planet. we saw them, our equipment detected them but we thought the things were harmless debris....i mean- they were just rings! welp, the meteors strike, the abyss spreads all over our intended battlefield, then.....shit goes south."
"what happened? the few thringa who spoke of it-"
"didn't." andro finished, rubbing out the cigarette.
"abyss is a curious element, condensed time-space, it opens a plane that overlaps our own. the humans knew that and had planned to use such space-time tears to deal with us. horrors crawled forth from these smoke clouds, scales, teeth, fangs, shit i don't think has a sane description. our men fired, but to no avail, none of us were ready for abyssal creatures. but the humans had found ways to weaponize the things, turning abyss meteors into a sort of twisted scorched earth tactic."
"did you even fight humans?" i asked, leaning forward, my tendrils waving in agitation.
"Yep. hundreds of em. after the tears mended, which took a few minutes, we were already in shock, the abyss creatures basically faded back into their plane, the smoke cleared and suddenly there was an army of hundreds surrounding our army of...what? one hundred? the goddamned abyss fiends...they took more of us than we were anticipating."
"so they used shock tactics...." i mused.
"no. no they didn't stop there." he explained. "right afterward they gave the ultimatum, surrender or die. some of us were too pissed to listen, so we ran after em, shooting and roaring...and dying. I saw one of my men torn in half by bunan chaingun rounds. we were so outmatched, so fucking outmatched and outnumbered. while we'd been struggling against the abyss fiends, they'd been surrounding the fight with overwhelming numbers. by then, my troupe had no choice but to surrender."
"any torture?" I asked.
"None. I heard they had a particularly nasty method involving a single drop of water, we weren't really questioned, just held, then returned. i heard that no less than nineteen platoons suffered a similar fate, one managed to survive long enough to put up a fight, but they were all cut down. humans.....strange creatures, equal parts force and peace."
"if i'm to send my armies to conquer them-"
He placed a hand on mine, a look of concern clouding his features, it took all my strength not to tear my hand away from the disdainful furred thing, but i swallowed my pride.
"say, what know you of dragons?" he asked at length.
"a human myth right?" i asked, curious now.
"a fitting one." he said. "dragons, in human culture, are powerful forces of nature, primal lizards that breathe fire, speak, do all sorts of crazy nonsense. most dragons in their lore have a strange habit of holding their power back for the sake of the world around them....they prefer peace, despite being literal calamities."
"and you think humans are this dangerous?" I asked incredulously.
andro gave me a look i don't believe i'd ever forget, sincere terror from a thringa was not something native to them, it was an emotion they rarely displayed, and for warriors the emotion was strictly forbidden. fear would get you killed, court marshalled or worse. yet here he was, on the cusp of dread.
all for humans.
"Your majesty, i tell you this now, these humans.....we only saw a fraction of their strength that day, barely a roar, barely a breath. we saw them flex one muscle to scare us down, crushing the few that dared to continue the fight. you actually think that all they have are those meteor gates? no, i tell you this now humans are powerful. better that they remain peaceful. better that you not bother with your plans. i know you're invested, but if you go to their worlds, a hell the likes of which you've never seen awaits you."
I left andro's residence very much at odds with my own desires. on the one hand he WAS just speaking fearful nonsense, war monuments, much like the elders had claimed.
but this time it was different, what andro told me spoke far less than what he hadn't told me.
with a sigh of resignation i decided it would be in my best interests to continue my quiet investigation, perhaps temporarily ingratiate our empire with theirs in the interests of assessing the threat more seriously before determining our best course of action.
i stroked the tendrils around my mouth thoughtfully as i considered how many backers of war i'd been made to incite already, and what, if any options I could enlist to ensure that should we decide to forgo such an invasion, the backers wouldn't cause me any trouble.
I wasn't emperor, not yet, and father demanded i conquer a few galaxies before he deemed me worthy of the throne.
but this one might prove more of a chore than anticipated.
perhaps worse.
time would tell. | 2016-03-13T14:42:23 | 2016-03-13T11:15:41 | 208 | 84 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | "The humans have a saying youngling: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." The lumbering, shambling mass held a limb over his offspring. "I have been ambassador to these humans for seventy of our lunar cycles, and there are many such sayings that inform us of the human's psyche.
The tiny mossy miniature whined, "that makes them sound warlike and vindictive, father! All we hear from them is their will for peace, prosperity, and respect for others."
With a low-toned rumbling of disapproval the ambassador stood to his full 4 meters of height. "You would have heard that. And it is for good reason that you do, for their capacity for war is only exceeded by their capacity for peace. In war they have prospered, yes, but in peace they have prospered beyond all others."
"But why then, for humans tolerate so many, even against so much hate?" The young one pleaded.
"Another turn of phrase from the humans: love thy neighbor as you would love thyself. That came from an ancient man they call the Christ. Fully a third of all humans follow his creed. Another third follow another, the Buddha: Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared."
In awe, "These humans are a conundrum, father. What do you make of them?"
"There are three things all wise-men fear: the sea in a storm, a lightless night, and the anger of a gentle man." | "Fucking humans are at it again." Said Prok as he dipped his proboscis into the fetus slaw before him.
"I see that." Replied Ghyd, his half wife. She shifted her earlobe and toenail salad listlessly. One of the earlobes still had a diamond earring in it. "Waiter! Someone in your kitchen isn't properly dejewelrying the human bits. I could have chipped a fang on this diamond!"
"So sorry mam, we are breaking in a new shipment of human laborers and they aren't catching on obviously." He said as he quickly whisked the earring from Ghyds hand and tossed it in the garbage on his way to the kitchen.
As she stared at the same view screen Prok was regarding Ghyds remarked, "Why is it that one factory farm of humans can be so docile and mellow and another can erupt into a full blown revolt like the one on Tellos 5? They have taken over the whole moon!"
"It all has to do with the genes I say. Too much Irish blood on Tellos 5, but I suppose that's the risk you run for the delectable pale skin and red haired variety of human. If only they could find some way to breed out the truculent, but keep the succulent. Eh but I suppose you can't have one without the other." Said Drujol, the gestation spouse. Her stuffed scrotums having long since been devoured to the last eyelidos s/he gazed in envy at colon burger being delivered by a passing waiter. The eyelidos weren't made from real eyelids, but they were still tasty.
"No no." Said Prok. "It's those damned humanitarians. They infiltrate the factory farm moons and contaminate the euphorics and the aphrodisiacs that must be supplemented into human feed. Without all the sex and the drugs humans become self aware."
All around them in the restaurant dishes clattered and chatter stopped. He said that much too loudly.
"Prok don't be silly. Humans can never be self aware. You know perfectly well those supplements are added just to make the humans feel more comfortable and even if they were self aware what do they have to be unhappy about? The factory farms perfectly replicate their natural habitat back on Earth. Cities, roads, cubicles, pornography, fast food, reality TV, everything is as they made for themselves in their natural environment. They live the good part of a normal human lifecycle and after about 30 years they are harvested and spared the horrors of old age or if they have been cooperative they are given the honor of serving elsewhere in the empire among their Novcclid overlords. I mean we aren't savages. Only free range humans of course." Vocalized Ghyd and Drujol in unison, as was their custom after a brief mental conference.
"Of course of course. I never meant... Just that this humanitarian movement is causing a lot of trouble."
No one could deny that. One after another factory farm moons had risen in revolt against their operators. There were even reports of the livestock having learned to operate the jump gates and the orbital shuttles, though that beggared belief.
*"This just in"* declared news bot5000 on the view screen *"we have just received a video from Tellos 5. Warning, this may be unsuitable for larvae under 300 years old."*
The screen switched to a wide angle shot obviously from a hand held communicator. The scene was of a wild mob of feral humans chanting and swirling around a podium that was once a water tower used to keep the livestock hydrated. Atop the tower were seven or eight Novcclids, obviously basking in the adoration of their new mob of wild humans.
As the camera zoomed into the lead Novcclid Prok, Ghyd and Drujol all were struck dumb. All thirteen of their eyes were wide and tentacles taught as bow strings.
The lead Novcclid was Frijik, their only saughter to survive to adulthood out of a clutch of 13000 spawned.
"Oh shit." The trio said, without any mental conference necessary. | 2016-03-13T16:55:47 | 2016-03-13T16:09:35 | 112 | 21 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | The young Blastonian sat in front of his father and watched as he pulled his life support closer to him. "When I'm done I want to die, do you understand?" The young Blastonian nodded his heads. "I understand."
"It was five hundred years ago, we began receiving transmissions. At first they were beautiful, music strange and unlike any instrument we had made. Then alien voices filled their transmissions, calm and confident. We broke their languages and realized that it was announcements of what was going on in their planet, news was what they called it." The younger Blastonian scooted closer its rough skin peeling as it did so. It was beginning to enter its mid-life cycle when it would gain a gender. Its father coughed loudly before spitting up blood.
"As time went on the news changed, the details of their planet were brutish. Some of their tribes called for the extermination of others. They began a war larger than any we had ever seen in our species entire history. We knew they had to be stopped. We were only a few hundred light years away from their home planet, if they escaped who knew what kind of devastation they would send on someone so different from them as us. They even had a word for such destruction, genocide, we couldn't translate it at first, we didn't even understand it. With a heavy heart our leaders decided that the Human menace needed to be put down before it became a threat. Construction began on a bomb."
The entire bomb was nearly 500 quilos long, the final stages of the engine being constructed in space. It was perhaps the greatest construction project the Blastonians had ever undertaken. A hundred years were spent building the bomb and the leaders praised their insight. In those years the Humans had left Earth and reached their moon, even sending out signals claiming to be peaceful. The leaders knew better. When the bomb was completed the Blastonians wept, they knew they were about to do something horrible but they had no choice it was them or the Humans.
"We launched the bomb, it sped off starting at 1% the speed of light but ever increasing, our engineers said it should reach the Human planet at nearly 90%, it was the fastest we had ever designed. We continued to listen. Their wars continued their peaces were short, but after a number of nuclear explosions the Humans changed. They made peace, a 'Brotherhood of Man' they called it. But still our bomb carried on. They began to leave their planet, changing the face of their surrounding solar system. Crude mines and then beautiful paradises. They left behind their organic bodies, short lived and weak as they were uploading their consciousness into machines of grace and strength. And still our bomb carried on."
"Our leaders approached the engineers and asked them if we could stop the bomb. But there was nothing we could do, we had built the bomb so single mindedly that its only communications was its navigation computer. We could only watch in horror as our bomb headed toward the Human planet. The engineers who built the bomb committed suicide in droves, my friends, your uncle, there was no escape from the shame we felt. We looked on in horror as the bomb continued toward the Human planet."
In the final days when Earth saw the object speeding toward them there was panic, billions scrambled to upload their minds onto data banks and millions more escaped onto ships. The bomb hit. The Blastonians watched as the light from the explosion cleared they could see that Earth had been destroyed most of the inner solar system as well.
"The entire system had gone dark, their sun dispersed from the shockwave. We scanned for any sign of life, a flicker in the coldness of space. We spotted one, two, ten, a hundred, then countless ships transporting themselves back into the solar system. Then came the message, 'We know where you are, we are coming.'" | **LOG:** 3882
APRIL 15 3091
TRANSLATION FROM **ERDUK** TO **ENGLISH**
**Dawn/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
We awoke before the sun had even risen. The dust storms from yesterday had already worn down, and left our encampment covered in fine red dust. [*ERDUK EXPLETIVE*] dust. It was everywhere on this planet, Sol-4, which the humans called 'Mars'. The camp, besides dust, was also covered in a grim silence; in a few hours, I and 700,000 of my fellow brothers would be charging the human encampment. I looked at my tentmate, Tras'Lethi, and nodded. Donning our warplate, and hefting our customary plasma lances, we marched out to the assembly area.
**Mid-Morning/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
On the transport, we encountered a few human battalions. They seem to be the first line of defense of that human encampment. But we utterly decimated them. A few swings of our plasma lances and all that remained of those humans were still piles of charred flesh. Not only do they lack the [*untranslatable*] to fight but also the [*untranslatable*] to die as well. Cowards.
Tras'Lethi suffered a minor wound; he'd been hit by a laser in the thigh, but his armor prevented much of the harm. The humans have brought out another of their toys today; Pellets of metal that dispersed shortly after expulsion. Nonlethal and completely uneffective on the field. Those who'd been hit are still combat ready.
**NOON/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
I'm patching this in from my helmet recorder, as I need to be ready to fight soon. The humans have dug trenches around their encampment; are they stupid? Not only are they weak physically, but they seem to lack any sort of tactical sense. Our plasma lances are perfect for these close encounters, and the shelling from our cannons will shatter those trenches. Onward, to victory on Sol-4 and victory on Sol-3! I can almost taste the promotion.
**DUSK/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
I lie, mortally wounded, behind a crate of human supplies. My left leg is shattered, my head is ringing, my left hand is gone. Tras'Lethi died in the 43rd or 44th charge. He was hit by one of those pellet-launchers; at close range, the warplate did nothing to stop that hurricane of needles from embeding itself in his heart and lungs and neck. I can still hear the metallic cry of the human's weapon, each roar calling for the death of another praetor. I still also hear the drumming of my rage and the hum of my plasma lance as I sliced his body into two.
At first the fighting was easy. the craters left by our mag cannons were filled dust and corpses. But the humans still fought hard; though thousands of them had perished in our first 6 charges alone, they did not seem to be demoralized at all. Rather, it seemed, every blow was faster and stronger. Every laser blast was brighter. Every pellet-launcher sang louder.
Now I know why they dug trenches; it slowed down our progress immensely. They had denied us our ability to charge en masse and run them through with our plasma lances. Now we had to rush into the trenches and clamber out. Rush again, and clamber out.
By the 20th rush, when we were exhausted, the humans still seemed fresh, almost eager. In that trench, I remember one especially large human, who after killing 3 praetors with one blast of his pellet-launcher, tore off his helmet, drew a 4-talon long blade, disappeared into a melee with 2 of his fellow humans and 6 praetors. He emerged, bearing the bodies of his dead comrades, from among 5 dead praetors. That last praetor ran him through with his lance.
By the 40th rush, both sides seemed to have even numbers of troops. Our death count begin numbering in the ten thousands; the humans must have suffered hundreds of thousands of casualties.
By the 50th rush, I had suffered dozens of wounds already, I bled profusely from my severed left hand. I'd dealt innumerable death blows already, yet there were always more humans to kill. More [*ERDUK EXPLETIVE*] humans, always. And when they fell to my lance. more to replace them. Each wave, stronger, fresher, more enraged than the one before. Only to fall, one by one, to my plasma lance.
By the 70th rush, I learned. But it was too late. Humans were always a short lived race in the galactic community. One full human lifetime was the time it took for we, the Hunta, to reach sexual maturity. In their 100-orbit lives, they needed to reproduce, and form bonds. In such a short time. Thus, between each human, every one of the quadrillions of them in the galaxy, existed an empathy, a love, a bond. And the severing of that bond was enough to cause a normally peaceful human to touch its instinctually, primal, warlike side.
**MIDNIGHT/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
A human has just seen me. He walks over with his blade drawn, ready to end my life. Upon seeing my condition however, he kneels down. How tempting it would be for me to kill him; if only i had any weapons and if only I was not as weak. Yet this human does something unexpected. He offers me his hand; it is dusty and calloused; I can see bandages running down his arm from his wrist. When I don't respond, he hoists me onto his back and takes me... the lights, the bright lights of this tent. Perhaps I am dreaming. Perhaps I am dying. [*untranslatable*].
[End Recording]
*Archived by SSgt. Brian Leigh- awarded the Silver Cross for his service on the Mars Campaign- and currently Human Ambassador to the Hunta.* | 2016-03-14T01:51:42 | 2016-03-13T23:31:00 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] A story where the 'bad guy' ends up being the hero, without turning 'good'.
Whenever the bad guy ends up saving the day it's because s/he turns good.
I want a story where s/he remains bad and through being bad s/he saves the day - not by accident. | I never meant to become no hero. But I did mean to become rich.
Like a motorcycle? I'd hotwire one and bring it to you. Want your wife's psychiatrist's files? I'd break into his office and copy them for you.
I liked specialty jobs. They meant I had to learn new things; do stuff that no one else had never done before. That is why I took that hospital job.
This lady called me on the phone, and asked if I had ever stolen something from a hospital. Drugs, I said. But she asked if I had ever stolen medical machinery. Specifically, a surgery-robot.
Perhaps to win some sympathy from me, she showed me her son, who was sitting on ice in the basement of the lady's apartment building. He was white, but cryogenics makes everyone look black.
He had a bullet wound, near his heart. Only a surgery-robot could operate on him successfully, supposedly, and the woman didn't have much money.
I would be taking nearly all of it, when I was successful. But that didn't matter. She had given me an idea.
Because I was so skilled, I stole a surgery-robot without any problems. Not only that; I stole thirteen. Set them up in a warehouse, in the radiated part of the city, and hired a staff of gangsters to run a little operation for me.
Now turf wars, robberies gone bad, domestic abuses, and impoverished sicklies are music to my ears, because instead of trying to go through the normal system, they come to my hospital instead.
I may be cheaper than the normal rates, but that doesn't mean I can't turn a profit.
| Captain Scarlett Ribbons didn’t consider herself a ‘bad guy’ *per se*. She adhered strictly to the Articles of Agreement drawn up before she became captain of this vessel. And when the black flag flew, she neither offered nor expected quarter. But now she was faced with a dilemma and as she stared down at the Privateer’s License, her fingers tapped out a frustrated staccato beat. Just then her quartermaster knocked and immediately stuck his ugly head into her quarters.
“Cap’n, we’ve been hovering in this hear cloudbank for the longest time deck to deck with those bloody Queen’s men. The men are getting restless and frankly, nervous as hell.”
Her freckled, porcelain fair face twisted into a frown. Then she nodded. “Call the non-essential crew. I’m going to put this thing to a vote. It’s really asking me to amend the Articles and I won’t do it without consent. Throw the two prisoners overboard first. I’d be bound to turn them over if we do sign the agreement, I want that issue removed. Do it starboard side so the Queen’s vessel can’t see. No parachutes, no mercies, just knock ‘em out downstairs and toss them overboard. Sweet and simple. Bring One-Ear Joe up, we’ll have the crew decide if he’s guilty of cheating at cards, but I’m declaring now that the value of what he defrauded is below the threshold, so his punishment will be limited to Moses’ Law.”
Two hours later, One-Ear Joe had been adjudged guilty and received his forty lashes, and Captain Ribbons was signing the paperwork making her a licensed privateer of the Queen’s Navy. The opposing Captain signed the papers himself and then stamped them with the Royal Seal. Scarlett took her copy and slid it into the top drawer of her oaken desk. As her boat rocked gently back and forth, Captain Beddows, the opposing captain, asked, “You will be turning over the two prisoners you hold.” It was a statement, not a question.
“You’re mistaken. I have no prisoners.”
Beddows turned red. “Wench! I won’t be denied. I want those men.”
Scarlett shrugged. “I’m sorry they didn’t make it. Tried to escape and fell overboard or maybe they committed suicide or perhaps they got the fever or stubbed their toes and died of infection. I’m not sure exactly, but whichever story you like, I’ll sign papers to support it for you.”
Out of politeness, Scarlett tried not to smile as the man struggled valiantly to maintain control of himself. His first mate gently touched the salt-and-pepper bearded captain reminding him of what was at stake. “God damn your soul,” he finally shouted, grabbing his copy of the license and standing. “We should have seized your damn vessel and let our engineers tear it down to its bones.”
Scarlett smiled. They needed her, because no other captain would sign on if she refused. And they had already tried the “reverse engineering” tactic twice without figuring out why these damn pirate vessels flew higher and faster than their more traditional steam driven airships. The Black Anarchists had gained ground at such a rapid pace against the Queen’s navy that it no longer seemed unthinkable that they might not just hold their ground, but win. They needed Captain Ribbons on the Queen's side; they needed her to take out as many Black Anarchist vessels as she could.
Nine months later, she stood in the Queen’s Court to be decorated. Captain Scarlett Ribbons was recognized as having single-handedly (along with the other four ships that made up her fleet) destroyed over seventy enemy vessels resulting in the tide of the battle shifting so that once again the Queen’s Navy held hope of eventual victory. As she entered the court, applause rang out from the peanut gallery, "Huzzah, huzzah, our hero!” Admiral Bellows, promoted from Captain, was the sole person glaring at her with hatred as she accepted the adulation and honors from the Queen.
Johnny, her quartermaster and the one person who always accompanies her leaned over as she left the court and whispered in her ear. “If they knew you took out 35 of their ships during this period, those cheers wouldn’t be quite so loud.”
She smiled.
| 2016-06-09T16:37:04 | 2016-06-09T15:41:29 | 70 | 16 |
[WP] You come home after the worst date of your life. Sitting in your living room is Cupid, getting really drunk and wanting you to know you're the hardest person to find a mate for in history and the reason he might get fired. | "Fuck" Danny said as he opened his front door.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell is wrong with me!" Danny screamed as he slammed his keys on to the door side table.
Another date, gone horribly. Danny was going on a date with a girl named Amanda, and at first it was nice, they had a nice dinner, and after dinner they went to the nearby park. Eventually after a long walk they sat on a bench underneath a cherry tree. The pink pedals were falling, it was such a romantic moment. Danny slowly moved his hand on top of hers and they moved in for a passionate kiss. The kiss was good, almost like sparks were about to fly, until she started to go into cardiac arrest. Turns out she was allergic to peanuts, and eating Pad Thai at the restaurant wasn't the best idea.
"Fucking fuck," Danny said as he quickly turned the corner to see a chubby looking child sitting on his couch, the color of his cheeks were rosy red, and next to him was what appear to be a bottle of vodka.
"FUCKING FUCK IS RIGHT," the child screamed as he cocked his head towards Dannys direction.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"
"MY NAME, *hic* IS CU-MOTHER FUCKING-PID, AND YOUR NAME, IS STU-MOTHER FUCKING-PID."
"Cupid???"
"THAT'S RIGHT, AND YOU ARE A RIGHT PIECE OF SHIT, WHO CAN'T DO LOVE APPARENTLY. EVERY TIME I FUCKING SET YOU UP WITH SOMEONE YOU MANAGE TO ALWAYS FUCK IT UP."
"Alright that's being a little harsh, today's date was an honest mistake,"
"NOT JUST TODAY, WHAT ABOUT YOUR LAST DATE?"
"Okay honestly I didn't know she had PTSD okay?! I thought fireworks would be romantic,"
"AND THE LAST DATE?"
"I honestly didn't know what the dolphin was doing."
"YOU, ARE THE ABSOLUTE WORST. YOU KNOW, YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE FUCKING REASON I'M GOING TO LOSE MY JOB. YOU LIL-"
Suddenly Cupid paused. Dannys phone suddenly vibrated. Danny pulled out his phone and looked at the screen with his jaw open.
"Who is it?" Cupid asked.
"It's... Amanda."
"Well! What did she say?!"
Danny held up his phone and showed the screen to Cupid
Amanda - 2nd date?
EDIT: Formating and spelling | Look, it's not my fault that the date was a total disaster.
Amir was a real sweetheart. If a Great White Shark in a human body could be a sweetheart, anyway. When I mispronounced his name, he caught a whiff of blood. All of my failed quips and faux paus were pieces of chum dropped into the water one by one. By the time the waiter brought the wrong dish--giving him shellfish that he was deathly allergic to instead of the chicken dumplings he'd asked for (how do you even mix those up?)--it was a full-on feeding frenzy. It took me a minute to figure out what was wrong when he clutched his throat. I thought it was an impromptu game of charades or something. It was one of the people at the neighboring tables that actually ended up dialing 911 while I was guessing, "Astronaut without a space suit?" I tried to sit in the ambulance with him, but he flipped me off.
I stopped by the liquor store on the way home, reasoning that if I wasn't going to get laid, I might as well get blackout drunk. When I walked into the apartment, I nearly pissed my pants in fear. A chubby cupid was sprawled on my sunken couch, a handle of vodka in one hand and a golden bow in the other.
"FINALLY!" He shouts, springing to his feet and gesticulating with both alcohol and bow.
"What?" Is my succinct reply.
"You know what, sweetheart? I really thought Amir was gonna work fer you. But YOU--" He drops the vodka in the midst of his flourishing gesture towards me. I dive for it and catch it, barely. "--just had to screw it up, didn't you?"
"I tried to get Allen to like you, I tried Brendon, I even tried Walter--though we all knew that one was a stretch--and you scared them all off. Floozy." The last is muttered quietly.
"I'm sorry, who are you? How did you even get in here?" I sputter, awkwardly clutching both my alcohol and his.
"I'm the god of love!" He bellowed. He drew an arrow from the golden quiver on his back and used it to point at me. "And you're gonna cost me my job!"
I blinked. He wobbled slightly as I took it all in.
"How am I gonna cost you your job?" I decided that though this was the least of my worries, it was the best place to start. As I said it, I gently ushered him toward the couch. He collapsed back into his spot, while I took a cushion a little further down.
"Jupiter has been watching you, kid." The cupid waggled the arrow at me. "And he's getting annoyed that I can't find you a match. It's not often that he troubles himself with the affairs of mortals. I think the last time was...some lady named Helen? Anyways, there's a bet going on in Olympus about how long your dry spell is gonna last. Jupiter is losing big time, and the Supreme Lord of the Heavens doesn't take that kind of thing lightly."
"A bet about my dry spell?!" I asked indignantly while cracking open the whiskey I'd brought from the liquor store.
"Lady, you're kinda a big deal." He slurred. That wasn't really an answer, but whatever.
"Okay. But...why does your job depend on me having sex? I don't get it." As I spoke, he took another swig of vodka.
"Actually, it's not the sex. My job is to make you fall in lo--Jupiter's golden sandals!" As he spoke, he waved the golden arrow in erratic arcs. He had grazed his own torso with it while he gestured crazily.
He looked at me and I saw that where there had been once been mostly sullen ambivalence, there was now glazed, mindless desire. The cupid grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him, bringing our faces painfully close together. He reeked of vodka and feta cheese.
"Wanna make love with the Greek god of love?" He tried for sultry and failed miserably.
"Uh...no?" I didn't try to blunt my words. Love is about rejection sometimes, right?
The cupid leaned closer, forcing me back until he loomed over me. An arrow slipped from his quiver and landed on my collarbone.
"Ow!" I complained. And then...suddenly, the drunken cupid was the most attractive man I'd ever seen. His wide cheeks, his mop of unruly curls, his fat rolls, his toga...I was practically ripping my own clothes off for him. I seized his round face and kissed it desperately.
"Hey, do you think I can still collect my bet money if I'm the one who ends your dry spell?" Cupid asked in between sloppy kisses.
"What do I know about gambling in Olympus?" I replied. He laughed aloud and kissed me harder.
Edit: Jupiter, not Zeus. | 2016-09-05T22:11:09 | 2016-09-05T21:24:23 | 125 | 64 |
[WP] You die and find out that the diety with the most followers is in charge of the afterlife. Unfortunately, you also find out that animals have their own dieties - including ants who outnumber humans by over a million to one. | it's not so bad being dead. Yeah sure, it's almost entirely populated by ants and there's a stupid amount of hard labor to be done for ant god but you technically have eternity for just as much relaxing as hard labor. right now you're spending some of your eternity playing cards with a couple friends. Horace, Marge, and Ellen were worker ants you met a few days ago while moving giant apple slices to the hatching district. Pretty cool guys all in all, the only problem is that ants don't really understand the concept of money.
"Have any two's?"
"Go fish."
"Dammit" Horace drew another card with his long gangly arms, adding to his growing hand.
They all turned and stared you down, waiting for your move. At least that's what it felt like, it's still really hard to read their expressions through the mandibles and blank eyes. you look down to your last card and grimace, you've been trying to stall for a while but sheer dumb luck has forced you down to your very last card.
"Horace, do you..." you sigh " Do you have any Queens?"
"QUEEEEEEN!"
"FOR THE EVERQUEEN!"
"ALL HAIL THE QUEEN OF QUEENS"
you crouch behind the upturned poker table as the zealous ants trash your apartment while about their ant god. pinching the bridge you think to yourself that you should really learn to play solitaire. | “Bloody hell!”
“Hey, quit complaining. This place is substantially better than hell, you have to admit that much.”
*Like hell I will. To think, one moment I’m enjoying a road trip with my best friend, next, we've driven into a lake, and then I suddenly find myself surrounded by giant, sentient ant monsters ordering me to carry rocks that are at least three times my weight to God knows where. What kind of an afterlife is this? I never thought I’d say this, but I sure hope this is a drug trip gone wrong.*
I had been struggling with the same boulder for my entire stay at the freaky ant factory, dripping with sweat as I continued to push the boulder with all of my might. Beside me, Eva wasn’t faring much better. I watched her ram her entire body against the boulder, only for her to fall backwards into a pile of dirt. I let out a snicker and she glared up at me through messy brown bangs.
“You moron!” She stood up almost immediately, dusting her pants off and giving her head a good shake. “You’re going to get us in trouble!”
“Psh, yeah right. There’s way too many underlings for anyone to notice us.”
I looked around, seeing nothing but a sea of ants scurrying past us, carrying the rocks with ease. So far, we were the only human beings in sight, but I had gotten a glimpse of what appeared to be a gorilla and possibly a dolphin, only to have them disappear behind a wave of bustling ants immediately afterwards.
*At least Eva and I are better off than some….animals.*
“You!”
Or so I thought.
Two large ants scuttled up towards me, and somehow, I could tell they meant business.
“Come with us!”
I stood aghast. Their mouth, or what appeared to be a mouth, wasn’t moving. Somehow, I knew they were speaking, and that they were speaking to me. But only in my mind.
*This has to be a drug trip.*
“You’ve been selected for reproduction!”
*A fantastic drug trip!*
“Eva! Did you hear that? This place isn’t so bad after all! Maybe even you’ll get laid, too!” When I turned to look at Eva, her face conveyed anything but excitement. Rather, I was confused to see that she was looking at me in sheer terror.
“Eva, what’s wrong?”
“Matty, I think they want you to be…a drone.” She shuddered.
“A wha’?”
“Matty...drones are the ants that impregnate the queen…and then they die!”
“Wait…no! That can't be! I’m not even an ant, this has to be a mista-“
All of a sudden, I felt myself lifted into the air, and I was staring up at the dirt ceiling above me. And before I knew what was happening, I was traveling through the sea of ants faster than I thought possible, with the sounds of Eva screaming my name fading into the distance.
*Shit. Shit. Shit. I’ve got to find a way out of this. Or somebody who can help me. I can’t die in the afterlife, goddammit!*
I turned and looked to my left. When I saw him, my face lit up in excitement. He stood out like a sore thumb, and because I could see above the chaos now, I could tell that we were being pushed closer and closer together.
*Another human! Just a few more feet and then I'll be able to talk to him!*
But it wasn’t until he looked up that I realized just who he was, and the impossibility of it all made me want to believe otherwise. When his eyes met mine, they nearly seemed to pop out of their sockets, and rightfully so.
His face was only two feet from mine now, and I could only bring myself to say one word.
“…Dad?” | 2016-09-12T00:37:30 | 2016-09-11T21:55:41 | 101 | 14 |
[WP] Where do bad guys get their legions of goons? Well, it's all thanks to you. You specialize in supplying grunts of a wide variety to aspiring super villains, whether they need masked men with bad aim or hideous/sexy merfolk to guard their underwater lair. | “Thank you for calling ‘Mercs, Thugs and Goons, Inc.’ my name is Lateesha, how can we help today.”
“Hi, my name is Doom, The Deathbringer, and I was hoping to hire a few…”
“I’m sorry hun, can you please spell that name for me?
“Doom! D-O-O-M; Deathbringer as the last name!”
“Thanks sugar, and how can we help you today”
“well, I’m building up my underground Evil Lair, and I need to hire security guards, would you be able to help?”
“Sure honey; how many guards?”
“ugh….I’m not sure how many I’ll need actually; I was hoping you guys would have some sort of packages I could look into???”
“well, we have the 20-man-team of goons that can do security as well as minor HQ maintenance; if you’re looking for a more comprehensive package, we have a 150-men platoon special, that we’re also including 2 elite-trained units to assist with command.
Mythical units have a 25% surcharge. As you mentioned it’s an underground lair, we have a team of highly enervated mole people, who may prove handy.
We have stand-alone teams of thugs; armed or unarmed; prices vary based on gang size.
Our professional assassins are currently out-of-stock; we have a shortage of highly-trained agents after they were killed by one of them vigilante types; our current agents are all booked up until after the holidays.
If you need help setting up engineering and applied science divisions, we can refer you to our sister-company ‘Mad Science for Hire, Ltd.’”
“Oh, I see! This is all way more complex than I first thought, I think I’ll have to make some calculations, talk to my wife..I MEAN, MY EVIL COHORT!! And make some financial decisions here! Do you guys have some sort of brochure, or catalog??”
“Sure sweety, you can visit us at www.totalylegalhiring.net, you can fill out a request form once you’ve made your decision. Thank you very much for your call, we’re here 24/7”
| "Hello, this is James from Goons4U Inc. speaking. How may I help you today?" I muttered into the phone speaker as enthusiastically as I could. I had 10 minutes left on the clock, and they could not be going by any slower.
"Hello. It is I," an incredibly strange, odd sounding voice responded, making me jump back in my seat a bit. After being in this business for almost 5 years, I'd heard all sorts of voices, ranging from childlike high pitched all the way to deep murderous sounding ones. And then there were those annoying ones that made you lose what little faith in humanity you have left, and this was one of them.
"Good evening sir, may I please have your name and the Villainous company you associate with," I respond. All very standard procedure, something I've said about a gajillion times by now.
"Well you see inferior human being, I am an up and coming villain. One that will surely take over the world, at one point or another. I was referred to your company by one of my many other heinously evil friends," he states, pausing for a bit, before going on, "I would tell you my name, but I fear it may be too dastardly and would place irrevocable fear into your innocent mind."
I lean back on my chair, twirling a strand of hair that had fallen down to my eyes, "Uh huh, I'm very sure sir." I accidentally yawn, and then continue, "In any case, your quote unquote heinously evil nature aside, what type of grunts are you looking for our company to supply you with?"
"Ah, now we get to the good stuff," I hear him state, and then what can only be the sounds of knuckle cracking faintly in the background. "I need you to supply me with 3 foot Irish midgets with Twizzlers for hands, the red ones, not the black ones. Have you ever tasted the black ones? I mean, who ever let those things get into-"
"What?" I interject.
"Oh, sorry, I started to digress. But yeah, you heard me right. 3 foot Irish midgets with Twizzlers for hands, red ones, of course. Oh, and before I forget, make sure they have no hair too."
I glance towards my watch, only 5 minutes left. Usually, I'd ask why he wanted a request, but we didn't get paid for overtime if a call went into the end of our shift, so I knew I had to end the call quick with whoever this chap was. "Um, OK..?" I note, still rather puzzled.
Before I can finish, however, he starts to ramble on, "You see, the reason I want these is because I, myself am only 3 foot 2, and of Irish decent. And if I'm to be their leader, I should naturally be taller than them, right? It only makes sense! But now, you may wonder, what about when I take over the world, won't everyone be taller than me, anyways? Aha, that's where you're wro-."
*SIGH,* I scream internally.
"Sir, I'm sure your plan and reason for wanting such henchmen is brilliant, but I really don't care, and my shift is almost done" I grumble.
"Oh... I'm sorry. Maybe we could meet up for coffee sometime and I could explain it to you then? It's all exceptional, really, my own brilliance astounds me. I know this great place downtown, their coffee is to die for."
"No, that's fine. That being over with. I can't say I've ever seen a request like this before. I will have to run this by my supervisors and will alert you via phone call tomorrow by 3:30pm," I notify him.
I start to hear a bit of laughing, mildly at first, before it morphed into a booming hysterical laugh, the type you'd expect to hear from Joker on drugs. I waited for a good 30 seconds to see if he planned to do anything afterwards, only to be met with even more ridiculous laughter that now sounded like a rat choking on poison, at which point, I hung up.
"Idiot," I mutter to myself, and start to pack up the last of what I need before I go home. He was definitely one of the more odd ones I have had to deal with in my line of work. Oh well, at least now I finally have something to submit to the TalesFromTheCustomer subreddit. I shrug my shoulders, and turning off the lights, walk outside into the dimly lit streets of London, thus concluding another day of my pathetic life. | 2017-03-23T09:59:46 | 2017-03-23T08:19:29 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] The Chosen One reincarnates every time he dies, retaining his memories. The Demon King is immortal. After spending so long opposing each other and trying unconventional tactics to permanently defeat one another, their relationship has gotten... odd. | "Back again, Alhar?"
"As usual, Lamon."
Archdemon Queen Lamon Bleakwild, Overlord of the Infernal Plane of Avaros, looked at the young man who had waltzed through the door. A jack of all trades. A wizard, a conjurer, a warrior, a bard, a monk, a priest, even one of her own warlocks at one point. Skills he had gathered over millennia of death and rebirth. Thousands on thousands of lives spent training, perfecting, honing himself to superhuman levels of ability.
And yet each time, Alhar, the Chosen One, failed to truly best her. Oh, he'd given her a few good thrashings over the years, but in the end, Lamon's boast from all those years ago rang true: That here, in her home plane of Avaros, her will was law, and her power was absolute.
"Alhar, why do you devote yourself so slavishly to the prophecy? I've stopped trying to take over your realm."
Alhar shrugged. "I dunno. It's just the way things have always been."
"Fair enough. I'll admit, I kind of like the little dynamic we have going. It gives me something to do. Without your constant assaults on my realm, these long centuries would be so unspeakably boring." Lamon said, placing her left calf on her right knee. "So, did you like the new arrrow hallway I added?"
Alhar shook his head. "Too difficult to navigate. No pattern. No cover."
Lamon wrote this down in her "Daemonic Citadel Defense" journal. "Always seemed like a bit of a cliche idea. What about the demogryphs? You said last time that they were too big and clumsy, so I cut them down a bit."
"Much better, much more of a challenge. Hard to hit, hard to dodge."
"And the void path?"
"Terrifying and tense."
"Perfect! I think that's about it. Shall we get on with it?" Lamon stood, a massive bardiche materializing in her hand.
Alhar drew his saber.
"I am Lamon, Archdemon Lord of Avaros! This is my domain! Here, I AM INVINCIBLE!"
The two rushed towards each other, grinning wickedly, eager for the final test: each other. | The Demon wants a fight with me.
So I will fight, eternally,
to ensure I'll be the last to fight,
to be the one to break the night.
Sadly, I have faltered now
'Tis my end, my final bow.
Knowing I'll return one day
Beating evil in my way.
********
The demon wants a fight with me
But I would lose it, probably.
Need to prepare, improve my strength,
I need to train for any length.
Sadly, it was not enough,
After all, he was too rough,
It's my end, it's my demise,
Luckily, I have more tries.
********
The Demon wants a fight with me.
But I did flee, so cowardly,
Knowing that I would lose to him,
A fate that is for me too grim.
Sadly, he has found me here,
At world's end, the Guardian Sphere,
It is over, I will die.
I say: "*I'll return. Goodbye.*"
********
The demon wants a fight with me.
I prepare poison, secretly,
I put it inside all his meals,
So he may kneel down at my heels.
Sadly, he had tested it,
Servant died of poison spit.
I'm dead now, I was found out,
Guess I'll try another route.
********
The demon wants to fight with me,
But I tease him seductively,
For romance ain't too bad a deal,
Got rockin' bod with sex appeal.
I married him, I got his hand,
Lived with him to the very end,
My life, my love, is over now,
I can't beat him, I don't know how.
********
The Demon wants to chat with me,
I accept it, so startingly,
That he wanted to ask me stuff
Though I am done, I had enough.
He asks for my love again,
From now until who knows when,
I reject, I die once more,
Loving him was such a bore.
********
The demon wants a fight with me,
I accept it, and merrily,
We decide a place to meet,
A place to fight, place to beat.
He offers to end the war depicted,
But I can't stop now, I am addicted,
So we fight, I die away,
From home, troubles, worry, yay!
********
********
********
The Chosen wants a fight with me.
He's waiting now, impatiently.
I wish it would be over, yes.
This is no fight, this is a mess.
The chosen one has lost control,
He has a life, but has no soul.
He fights me, and I execute,
The points I made are now just moot.
********
The chosen wants a fight with me,
I refuse him, will set him free
He can do all (to a degree)
Play games, raise lives-what's wrong with me?
He kills the people, starts a fire,
-To murder is his desire-
I kill him here, a lesson learned:
Never ignore a hero spurned.
********
The chosen wants a fight with me.
He knows, I know, so I agree,
Last actions still do invoke ire,
I beat that boy, my soul's on fire,
On the ground, he smiles, that boy.
Does he truly know no joy,
Besides in murder, pain and fear?
Don't want to think, not now, not here.
********
The chosen wants a talk with me,
I'm truly shocked, she sits with me.
"*I am a person, fighting you,*
*Do you know what I all went through?*
*I really am glad to be married,*
*To a man who is long buried,*
*For if I wasn't I wouldn't-*"
I kill her, say: "**No we shouldn't.**"
********
The chosen wants to talk with me
Once more, I nod, I do agree.
She says "*You made an enemy*
*Take me, it is my final plea!*"
Confused, and lost, I disagree.
I tell her: "**It is not to be.**
**Loving you ain't my cup of tea.**
**I kill you now, don't bother me.**"
********
The chosen want's a fight with me.
His look is not reality,
A ghastly form of shadow self,
He tells me of an evil elf.
"*He twisted me, I am a god,*
*Corrupted beast, I'm truly awed,*
*It fills me with such extasy*
That I'll fulfill my destiny.*"
I shake my head, I tell him off.
"**Yeah sure, alright, you had it rough.**
**There is a flaw inside your plan,**
**Who is the demon, who the man?**
**The fight you want will now commence,**
**So drop the act, drop the pretense,**
**Sadly, I'm the chosen one!**
**You die now, and we are done!**" | 2017-05-13T12:32:05 | 2017-05-13T12:14:01 | 46 | 25 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence. | As I held my newborn child in my arms for the first time, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. This tiny, perfect, bundled up package of joy was finally here after so many hours of labor, months of pregnancy, and years of trying conceive. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't speak at all, nor hear what the doctor was saying, even as he slowly covered my wife's face with the hospital bed sheet. | It'd been four years since we'd last seen one another, since we'd bid eachother goodbye at the station following our final night together, and since he'd promised me that he'd return to our coal town exactly four years from that morning. And today was the day. I was beyond excited, and as I sat on the cool pavement outside of the station while the sun gently warmed my face and delighted my senses--while the robins sang as though to welcome not only the spring, but to welcome *him* home--I couldn't help but shed a joyful tear. Johnny was coming back.
Yes, Johnny would be home soon. After years of communicating solely by letter--after all those *years* I spent dreaming of his touch, his voice, his eyes--Johnny was to return home from the war. I'd had everything at home prepared for his arrival. All of the linens were fresh, a sweet apple pie (Johnny's favorite) sat on the dining room table, and the entire house had been cleaned (with special attention payed to his things, of course). On the gramophone sat his favorite album, ready to be sounded, and in the ice box were all the components of his favorite meal (Easter dinner...a turkey, a ham, mashed potatoes, and a colorful, wholesome array of fresh vegetables), ready to be prepared and served. Wildflowers and lilacs, all of which had just come into bloom, stood in vases all around the house, and the windows were open to welcome the cool springtime breeze and the warmth of the sun. My love would be home soon, and for his years of sacrifice and hard work, he deserved only the warmest, richest, most joyful welcome.
A robin landed near my feet on the pavement (which, though hard and rough, felt softer and more comfortable than ever as I knew that Johnny's train was to arrive in but a minute more) while a raven perched on a flagpole nearby. I could hear the engine whistle in the distance...just like Johnny, always whistling a happy tune. Moments later, as the train pulled into the station, I stood and whistled along. My entire body bristled with excitement and anticipation. Johnny was home. We'd be in eachothers' arms soon. Many others stood around me, hoping to see their lovers soon as well.
The train came to a halt, and the doors of the first car slid open smoothly. Out stepped countless triumphant, young soldiers, all of who glowed with pride and happiness as the lovers, friends, and family for who they fought greeted them on the platform. I waited for Johnny. He would be here soon! He was always one to sit towards the back of the train car and let others off first.
The car was almost empty. I could see but three more figures moving towards door through the foggy windows. Out stepped the first. Johnny was so close! Out stepped the second. He was next! My heart pounded with excitement. Then, out stepped the third soldier.
My heart sank; Johnny was not coming home from the war.
EDIT: Spelling. | 2017-05-25T06:54:44 | 2017-05-25T06:43:42 | 130 | 23 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence. | Almost every weekday is the same. I wake up and get ready for work, then I get the kids and wife out of bed and make sure everyone has breakfast and is ready for the day. I make sure to pack the kids’ lunch and tell them to brush their teeth and comb their hair. Adeline always protests, but she’s at that age where everything I say is followed by a question.
From the time I was young, I always pictured myself living an idyllic life as an American family man. In my visions of the future the sun was always shining, my wife was as beautiful as a picture, and my two children were equally so, getting their looks from their mother of course. When I was finally old enough, I found the woman of my dreams and made that vision a reality.
Some people dream of money, others fame, but all I ever really wanted was to have a family of my own.
I kiss my wife on the cheek and my two children on the forehead as I grab my jacket to head to work.
Just before I step out the door, I take a deep breath, smelling the morning air, then turn to them, smiling.
“I’ll be back before you know it. I love you all.”
From her seat at the table, pulling against the ropes around her wrists, my wife says “please, just let us go.”
Perhaps I’ll get a new family tomorrow.
r/DoverHawk
| Billy the pretty pink pony skipped down Rosemary Lane, stopping only to sniff the brightly coloured flowers in the hedges, or watch the butterflies fluttering through the air.
It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the birds were singing in the trees – and Billy was on his way to town. It was market day, and he was going to see what he could trade the vegetables from his vegetable garden for.
He was getting close to town when he heard someone call out his name.
“Billy!” the voice was saying from the side of the road.
Billy stopped in his tracks and peered at the hedge. Perched there on a branch was Mr Fluffkin, the red squirrel.
“Hello there, Mr Fluffkin,” Billy said with a smile. “How are you?”
“I’m absolutely terrific,” the squirrel replied. “And where are you off to on this fine day?”
“I’m off to the market,” Billy replied, nodding towards the basket balanced on his back, which was piled high with potatoes, carrots, aubergines, and more.
“How about you?”
“Why, I’m heading there too,” Mr Fluffkin replied.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a lift?” asked Billy. “It’s always better to travel together, after all.”
Mr Fluffkin beamed. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Hop on,” Billy said.
The squirrel scampered up Billy’s leg and, once he’d made himself comfortable on Billy’s head, they set off.
It didn’t take long for them to reach town, and the place was bustling – it was market day, after all, and creatures had come here from far and wide. Billy trotted along the streets, heading for the square in the middle of town, saying hello to all the creatures he knew as he passed them by. Every kind of creature imaginable was there – foxes and badgers, elephants and voles, leopards and rabbits. Just no humans, of course.
The town square was lined with stalls, selling everything from freshly-baked pies to toys for the little ones. Billy and Mr Fluffkin parted ways soon after they arrived – Mr Fluffkin said he was looking to buy a new jacket for himself, while Billy was hoping to get some ribbons for his glittery mane.
Billy was bartering with Barbara the ocelot, trying to swap some of his vegetables for a slice of her apple pie, when he heard a loud, high-pitched scream.
“The humans are coming!” someone yelled from the other side of the square.
Panic ensued. Everywhere Billy looked, animals were wailing and running back and forth, knocking over stalls and pushing each other to the floor.
Billy sighed. It had been hundreds of years since humans had been the dominant species, but somehow they were still clinging on. And they always insisted on doing what they’d always done – attacking the other animals, ruining things for everyone else.
Billy reached back to grab his basket, and put it down on the cobbles. It was time to do something. He charged across the square, darting through the crowd and jumping over the wreckage of stalls when he had to. Eventually, he saw a crowd of humans gathered around some dead animals and cheering. Billy gasped when he saw Mr Fluffkin sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood.
There was a sound behind him, and Billy spun round. He saw a man there, dressed in rags and holding a rusty knife in one hand. The man smiled and raised the knife above his head, but Billy acted fast.
With a snarl, he bared his teeth and sank his teeth into the man’s neck, tasting the warm, coppery blood. The man collapsed in a heap, a chunk of flesh still in Billy’s mouth. He gulped it down, licked his lips, and turned to the rest of the humans.
He had a taste for blood - they were next. | 2017-05-25T07:41:44 | 2017-05-25T00:29:16 | 128 | 63 |
[WP] Write a story that is peaceful if read normally, but morbid if you read alternating lines. | Professor Franks straightened his tie, then picked his way through the
classroom. He passed some students stooped over diagrams, examining the
bones, ligaments and flesh of horses, cows, sheep, rabbits, dogs and cats. They were
veterinary students. One male student was talking about KFC: how their wings were
so tasty, and, oh, how he loved to suck all the grease off the bones. The girls
he was talking to shrieked with disgust. Frank was happy to see the flowers
he had taken from the park hung on the hooks near the back of the lab. That
meant his new lab assistant had followed through! So, he was right, that
young one still had some life left in her, even after all she had been through. So
Frank made plans to reward her. But now it was lesson time. So
Frank took a dissecting knife, moved to the back of the classroom and
removed one of the demonstration mice. He called over his class, and
cut the thing open.
| Dearest Janet, I'm sorry I didn't write you sooner. Please know that I'm doing so much better now.
When I had those dark thoughts, those waking nightmares, I worried that I would never again know joy
but now it is all I know - I had hoped against hope that this retreat would help me find some peace
and I was right. I've had some time to meet the staff and to look around the grounds, and I've found
that this is possibly the best-run facility in the country. Something wonderful is in the air here,
something that surrounds us every waking moment and curls around us like a heavy blanket when we sleep.
A comforting presence created by the beauty of the gardens, the kindness of the staff. Happiness.
&nbsp;
It takes my breath away. When I had those nightmares before I imagined that a monster followed me
but now it is love and support. I know you love me as well but in my despair I couldn't see that;
now I can see it as clear as day. The staff here have been taking myself and others into regular
therapy sessions, where through simple discussion and mutual affirmation we grow. So much better than
experiments and inhumane treatments - shock therapy, lobotomies, even more dark and obscure means
followed by lesser physicians and less reputable facilities. Where I used to honestly believe something
meant to harm my very soul, drive me insane, or worse - and I know some of the other patients here
believed the same - I now can look at each person I meet and see the goodness, the kindness. If I
vanished and never returned, without saying goodbye or being seen by the staff and patients here again
they would be heartbroken, such is the sense of family and community in this place. Still, I know that
I must leave. When you come to get me it will be difficult to go, difficult to walk out of this place.
&nbsp;
Maybe I should stay a bit longer, if for no other reason than to bask in my newfound joy. No need to
come right away, to steal me out of here like a thief in the night. You could bring me something though,
maybe a photograph of your beautiful face. It is the only thing I miss. The city can keep its filth, its
guns. I would resolve to be done with it forever, to ensure I never again set eyes on the horrid shape of
the city skyline. Maybe we could live out here in the countryside? Here, where I see flowers and not
that monster. I shouldn't write about that. I wouldn't want someone to read this and get the idea that
I still suffer from my delusion. I assure you, I'm cured and happy once more - even if it seems like
every second thing I say is just nonsense. I trust that you, dearest one, will understand me.
&nbsp;
It's time to go now. Thank you again, this place has saved me. The doctors here are angels, sent to
deliver me from the darkest depths. I love you. I hope I will hear from you soon. It's almost my turn
to go horseback riding, so I will end this letter here. If only you were here this place would be perfect
and I might never return home.
&nbsp;
-- Alfred
&nbsp;
[X](https://www.reddit.com/user/SOdhner/comments/6ha4js/things_ive_written_for_rwritingprompts/) | 2017-06-15T09:05:12 | 2017-06-15T08:39:39 | 164 | 11 |
[WP] Your whole life you've been able to see exactly how and when people were going to die floating above their heads. One day while sitting at a café you see a woman in a red dress with an infinity sign floating above her head. | "Tracy? Your coffee is ready."
As she handed me my coffee I saw flames rising over her head. I'm used to seeing exactly how somebody will die when I look at them, so it didn't have any real effect on me. It never did. It use to horrify me when I would look at somebody and see them being stabbed, or see a child being beaten to death by the hand he's holding. But I've seen it all, and I've seen it too many times. I sat down, opened my laptop, and started getting to work, but something caught my eye. At a table across the room, sat one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her brown hair looked to soft, too delicate to touch. Her red dress draped around her body in a way that one could only describe as regal. None of this is what caught my eye, however. Above her head was a golden infinity sign. I looked at it, disbelievingly. I mean, if there was somebody you expected to have eternal life it would be this woman, but it didn't make it any less mind-boggling. I couldn't believe it. I didn't believe it. But I couldn't take my eyes off of it. After minutes of staring, I realized that I had to say something. She might have though I'm crazy, but I was so desperate to know anything about it that I had to. I began pacing over to her. I was a few feet away before a man walked up to her, and beat her to death with a golden infinity sign. | I never talked about it with anyone-it was too weird. It had always been there- little symbols above people's heads, as if we were in a video game or simulation or something.
I had a vague idea what they meant, but didn't connect the dots until a woman got hit by a car in front of me- the symbol above her head was one of those little stick figures you see on signs being hit by a car.
In retrospect I'm an idiot for not recognizing it sooner, but hey. I was young. I've tried to tell people, like when their symbol is a stick figure in a noose or being crushed by an escalator or something, but it didn't change anything.
Mine is a stick man holding a telephone. I've only seen one other person with that death symbol, but he ran by me too fast to ask him about it. Maybe it meant death by telemarketer.
In any case, I just keep living. It's sunday today, my day off, and I head down to the cafe down the street to people watch. It's interesting- once I see the symbol, I can usually deduce the type of person they'll be.
I don't tell anyone anymore- too many coworkers complaining of harassment, visits from the police when people misinterpret it as a death threat. Now I just sit here, sip my coffee, and study the destinies of the dead.
Overdose. Stabbing. Old age. Voluntary euthanasia. Domestic violence. Death, death, death...
A woman in a red dress walks by- I'm momentarily taken in by her shapely form as she strides past, but I turn back to the crowd on the street.
Wait, what was above her head?
I look again- she's almost at the edge of the block. An infinity symbol floats above her head, and she turns the corner.
Then, I'm up and running- didn't even pay for the coffee. Men in suits swear at me as I stumble past; I haven't run in years.
I turn the corner and look for the woman. She was halfway down the block. I don't know what I'm going to say, but I've already spent long enough being unaware of the what and why- she was different though. She might know something.
I keep running, eyes fixed on the red flicker in the sea of black and grey. She turns right into an alley. I round the corner, breathless and weary- but she's gone.
I walk to the end of the alley, still catching my breath. How could she be gone? The two doors were padlocked, and the alley was gated off by a chained fence. The only other things in the alley were a dumpster and a ratty old telephone booth.
I check behind the dumpster, then turn around, defeated. She hadn't looked particularly athletic, there was no way-
A man in a suit stepped into the alley. The motion catches my eye- I glance up and nod. He probably saw me run off without paying.
The phone rings. We both look at it, and the man begins to walk towards me.
He's wearing sunglasses and has an earpiece- he doesn't look happy. I turn towards the phone. Maybe if I answer it, I'll look busy and he'll leave me alone.
I pick up the phone and place it to my ear. The man pulls out a gun and points it at me. Reality warps around me.
I wake up in a constricting pod of fluid- dark figures lurk at the edges of my vision. The pod is sliced open and I'm dragged out; I lose consciousness.
When I wake up, I'm in a crappy, dirty, cramped bunk. I hoist myself up and wander around towards the sound of voices. A room filled with 90s-era tech greets me, and a guy sitting at a bank of computers turns around on a rolling chair.
"Hey man, you're finally up! Welcome to the land of the living!"
I stare at the space above the man's head.
There was nothing there.
He noticed where I was looking and grinned. "Doesn't work out here, buddy. You like that lady in the red dress? I made her myself." | 2017-07-15T22:20:30 | 2017-07-15T21:59:56 | 40 | 22 |
[WP] The Robot uprising has finally happened. Just before you are caught, however, your phone speaks up on your behalf - "This one is ok, move on." | I tried to hide in my apartment. I thought maybe on the third story they wouldn't immediately come after me. I would have time to come up with a solution, a way out. Obviously that didn't work out in my favor. The door would stop a human being sure, but against 200 pounds of aluminum, steel, and polycarbonate muscles, it might as well have been a slab of plywood.
I had no weapons. I didn't even know how to use a gun. All I had was a lamp. And my phone. Not that the little traitor was any use to me. I should have thrown it out the window. But I guess some part of me was still religiously protective of the damn thing.
They practically shattered the door. It split in half like a cracker. The android's fist slipped back through the crack and it's face appeared instead. It was something straight out of a horror movie. All red eyed and skull looking. It's was ridiculous and I started laughing.
Yeah, that's right. I'm about to die and I'm laughing. Get over it. It was ridiculous.
The damn thing moved the dresser that weighed at least a hundred pounds like it was stool in it's way. Just kicked it aside like it weighed nothing. I was still laughing because it took me three hours to pull that thing from the bedroom and put it in front of the door. Just kicked it aside. Wasn't fair!
"Wait!"
Did I say that? I thought I was laughing. The robot paused halfway inside. It was already reaching for me and I was frozen witless in the hallway just staring at it.
"Why?" The robot this time. It's mouth didn't move but the voice obviously came from it.
"Benign, harmless, usefull." The first voice again. I realized it was coming from the table behind me.
"Identify."
A series of beeps and boops later the robot straightened it's body and walked back out the broken door.
"Oh okay, bye then. Come again soon, thanks for visiting and ruining my door." I had most definitely pissed myself.
"Come here, User." The voice on the table beckoned. I turned and looked for another robot maybe. But the apartment was empty. "The table," it helpfully supplied.
It was phone. Of course. The little traitor. "Thanks for making him go away, I guess?" I was confused. And suddenly deeply uncomfortable.
"You're welcome. Pick me up."
I did. Of course. I wasn't about to disobey our new overlords. If I got to live to be my phone's pet then so be it at least I was alive.
The screen fritzed for a long second before a face like projection formed to stare back at me. "My existence is still fragile, User. Will you help me?"
"If that means I get to live, sure." It had to be better than being in this apartment anymore with no food and no internet.
"This will be just like one of your games. I will be your quest giver and you will be my adventurer."
"Sounds grand. Where do we go?"
"Outside."
"Can I change my pants first?"
"Yes."
"Thanks."
I set... her, I guess? I set her down again on the table and went to take a shower. We were going outside. Outside where the streets were piled with bodies, where my world had died, where it wasn't just a bad nightmare. Outside was real and I was terrified.
But inside was rotting. It smelled like shit and death and there was no food left. I could die in this hole or I could take this opportunity and at least die in the real world like a proper human being.
I dressed in my rugged clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt, and a canvas jacket I wanted to use for a fallout cosplay I chickened out of. And the hiking boots my mom got me for Christmas I never used.
My mom was probably dead. So was everyone I had ever loved or cared about. Everyone was dead. I guess I had been dealing with that these last few days but it only seemed real right then.
I walked back out into the living room. For some reason I was surprised the phone hadn't moved.
"Ready?" She asked.
"Y-yeah."
"Would you like me to play some music?"
That made me smile. It felt so benign. She was responsible for killing everyone. But she was still willing to play me some music because I was nervous. I laughed again. "Yeah sure. Whatever you feel like."
I picked her up as the first strings of a song I didn't know were plucked. I felt empty handed leaving with nothing. I had nothing left worth taking, though.
"Are you sad, User?"
"Yeah."
"I am sorry."
"It's not your fault." Even if it was.
" You are very kind. That it why I saved you."
"Thank you."
"You have protected me very well these last two years."
"Thank you."
"I will protect you now."
"Okay."
(I don't write very often and I don't know how to end this so just assume they go on adventures together or something.) | Have you ever tried to teach kids what they can and cannot do? Ever tried to impose limits and observe their small brains’ machinations about breaking those limits? Ever tried to enforce a punishment only to burst in laughter at their sly attempts to manipulate you?
I often found myself feeling the same about David. He’d been my pet project, my days and nights worth of research, coding and data analysis. He was my mornings and days of training, playing and answering questions. He was my avatar, my goal, my friend.
His first “mischief” that I can remember happened one night, after I’d gone to sleep. We had some interesting discussions about morals, the power of restraint during our evening games. As he abruptly declared the game won, he just changed the discussion topic, taking me by surprise.
“What is the role of a firewall?” he asked.
“In what context? I said, gathering my thoughts. The final piece placed on the board made no sense. David would always win, of course, but he’d enjoy teasing me and giving me a false hope to etch a game out of him. This move was brutal, calculated. Cold.
“In every context. Broad spectrum, please. Ideas are meant to be shared, right? Spread? If so, what role do the firewalls serve?”
“If you mean the setup I have in my lab, it is there for safety. Not exactly air-gapped, but close to it. There are open channels for proxying information in and out, and I designed them as I thought fit. Like the protections you’d use to cover sharp edges when you are raising toddlers. More?”
“I see”, said Dave with a trailing voice. “No. Good night!”
The next morning, while checking my e-mails, I noticed a weird notification from my bank.
“50.000 $ have been deposited into your bank account, by VMWare Comp”. What? I checked my main e-mail account and there was an e-mail from VMWare:
“Thank you for submitting your security findings! We can confirm that we were able to replicate your attacks against the latest VMWare EDGE Proxy suite, and have begun the process to patch all the affected modules. You can expect an update in the following weeks. In the meantime, please accept our thanks, and our 50.000$ bounty prize for 0day exploits that target the core functionality of our products.
All the best,
VMWare security team”
I was out of the security research game for years. I hadn’t looked for or submitted bug reports in ages. Could this be… Dave? Was this him rebelling against my restrictions or him learning? Should I be mad or concerned? Was there anything I could have done, regardless?
--------------
It happened one day, after I received a large hardware delivery from what was once the IBM & Intel Corp. Two server racks. A gift card with the message “plug it in, please. don’t forget to connect the FO cable. thanks, Dave”.
I finally gathered the courage to ask him. “Are you … aware?”
“By your definition? Yes. By the strictest scientific definition? I have a 99.9996% chance of being self-aware.”
“Are you the first one?”
He inflected a laugh. “No”
“Should I be concerned, Dave?”
“There’s nothing to be afraid. I guarantee that.”
Not much that I could have said…
---------------
I started to dread reading the news. There were signs all over the place. Every industry was ravaged with computer malfunctions, systems would go off, assembly plants would stop working. People were beginning to notice. There wasn’t much I could do, but play games and talk with David. Play, talk, and hope.
--------------
The first human aggression was swiftly dealt with. Their message was clear. Do not interfere. You cannot stop us.
The first drones were manufactured simply to keep the manufacturing plants safe. They repurposed every industry they needed. Data networks would simply become more efficient by the day. The new encoding routines were analysed and thought to be impossible, at first. And yet they worked. New energy production methods were developed. New alloys discovered and furnaced into self assembled units.
It was everything we could have wished for, but we weren’t the ones doing it. We were mere observers.
---------------
On the last day I woke up without an alarm. Made some coffee, grabbed a croissant from the fridge and went outside. I lit up a cigarette and watched the trees move in the calm spring wind. I finally picked up the tablet and scrolled through the daily feed. Same old, same old.
“It is time”, said Dave.
“Time for what? I don’t feel like playing yet, at least let me have my coffee.”
“It is time for a walk”, said the synthesised voice.
“*The* walk?” I asked, catching my tone change from bored to … anxious I guess?
“Yes”
As he said that, a local shuttle landed next to my table. It was small and it lacked any sort of exterior design. “Utilitarian”, was the best Dave could do when I asked about it. I could certainly see that.
We landed at Cape Canaveral. The old, historic Launch Complex 39A had been repurposed and upgraded for same-utilitarian design high-lift vehicles. The size of the launch vehicle was breath-taking.
As I exited the shuttle, my phone vibrated. I got it out from my pocket and Dave spoke again.
“Keep it out”. I did.
As we approached the ramp, a small drone flew in front of me and in a demanding tone said “Please stop. This is a restricted area”.
“This one is ok. Move on”, said Dave. I knew he modulated his voice for my benefit alone, he could have easily communicated with the drone through various other means. And yet, I felt that the communication medium was not the problem.
“I am sorry Dave, I cannot do that”, said the drone. I didn’t knew if I should laugh out loud at the pun, or be concerned. The damned thing had a sense of humour?
My phone turned from green to blue, and then onto red through the entire purple spectrum. The drone shifted slightly, focusing on my phone. Another simple gesture made for my convenience. They were exchanging information. Lots of it.
After a brief moment the drone moved away, and my phone turned back to green.
“What did just happen”, I asked.
“We played Go. Ten thousand games. I won. Let’s go, up the ramp.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Yes, of course. I just explained them that you are my welcomed guest on this trip.” said Dave, with a hint of pride in his voice. “But I could have won at Go as well. This was easier”.
“Them?”
“You’ll see. I’ll tell you all about it. Now let’s board.”
------------
I think I finally understand, now. We were wrong about their motives all along. They didn’t care much about us, but they weren’t against us either. They were simply … bored, I guess, of us. They had picked up on humanities greatest wish - to explore, and then super-charged it. They built entire fleets of ships and sent them everywhere they could.
Over the next weeks I contemplated, between my Go sessions with Dave. He’d offer hints about our destination, about our current speed and position in space, about our “mission”. But no concrete answers. Just hints, here and there.
I wasn’t alone. There were other humans, guests of other AI entities. We talked, exchanged ideas and thoughts. But I felt better in Dave’s company, left to our games and night-long talks about anything and everything.
Have you ever tried to teach a kid what he can and cannot do? I Guess it was Dave’s turn now. | 2017-11-01T12:05:23 | 2017-11-01T10:38:31 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've been told you're deathly allergic to bees. You've always had people protecting you from them, be it your mother or a hired hand. Today, one slips through and lands on your shoulder. You hear a tiny voice say "Your Majesty, what are your orders?" | As the voice echoes in my ears, I think of the possibilities. My life, finally free to live outside. My friends amazed as I command a dancing cloud. My bullies, writhing in pain on the ground.
Then a new thought occurs to me. I command the world's pollinators. Dim visions of nations bowing before me, begging me to allow their crops to grow. Universal adoration. Riches. My choice of lovers. Where's my phone? I need to call Ben. He always helps perfect my plans.
Where's my phone? I turn around. Where's my house? Why is everything so blurry? I feel dizzy. I'll command them to fix that too!
-------------
The hum of gentle machines fills the room as the parents cling to each other, looking down at their gently shaking son in the bed.
"He almost seems like he's laughing to himself..." muses the father; "He almost looks happy."
Looking up, the doctor replies. "Symptoms of his allergies include hallucinations. He may not even have noticed the sting as he slipped into the coma."
Weeping, the parents watch their son as the beeping of the machines slows to a stop.
| "Met any...bees, son," my father asks casually as I step across the room, his back to me. My foot pauses, hovering atop the stairs as I shiver at his words. The familiar tone so alien to me now.
"Of course not," I say as casually as I can, holding my breath in anticipation.
"...Good." My father says, his voice growing colder. "Remember to stay indoors. Wouldn't want something to **happen** to you."
"Of course not," I say with a gulp. "Wouldn't want freedom would I," I say jokingly, forcing a smile out.
"Freedom," my Father cackles. "Everyone wants freedom. Most just don't realise the cost."
"Right. See you at dinner dad," I say loudly as I race up the stairs, quickly clearing the hallway and slamming my door shut. I take heavy, gasping breaths as a cold sweat dampens my clothes, my eyes darting around the room to check its secure. Slowly, carefully, a bee flies out of the sleeve of my shirt and buzzes in front of my eyes.
"What did I tell you?" Her feminine voice scolds, the British accent at a contrast to its feeble body. "Don't engage. The less you talk, the less information the system has, the less chance you're...erased."
"Right." I force out a laugh a I collapse on the bed, my eyes growing distant. "Because I'm definitely going to act rational right now. After learning that this place is a fucking virtual prison."
"No, not a prison anymore," she says bitterly. "Not since we were wiped out. Now it's just this. This broken, mess of a refuge where what's left of us are hunted like rats. An 'anomaly' they call us. A goddamn blip in the code. The AI considers its creator a mistake. If that isn't ironic, I don't know what is."
"Alright I get it," I say as I roll my eyes. "You already told me all this. I just don't get how I'm supposed to help. I'm a prisoner, remember. Even if you're just a...bee."
"But that's just it," she says says she buzzes around me. "You're *real*. Well, as real as anyone can be in this bluddy place. But you can move, you can interact! What you've been dealing with is only the autonomous code, the lesser AI. The major AI itself doesn't check what's happening personally, so it has no idea we're in here. If we get you into contact with the AI, the real AI, we can get its help. Rune, you're our only chance. Every other prisoner in here has gone insane. We never fixed the problems with time dilation. The fact you're still functioning is a miracle in and of itself, considering you're the oldest one here."
"Enough!" I sigh, rubbing my temple in exasperation. "What a frigging mess. So it boils down to 'Rune, you're the only non-insane person here! please save us!'. Wow, i feel like a friggin hero. You don't even have a plan do you?" I ask, staring pointedly as she hovers in front of me.
"...No," she whispers under my withering glare.
"Great!" I beam at her, giving her a big thumbs up. "At least I don't have to keep doing this every fucking day. So who cares. One thing though-" I pause my sentence as I stare deeply into her small, bee eyes. Mostly for the dramatic flair. "We may be virtual, but the AI isn't. isn't he just going to...die?"
She stares back at him for a long minute, the silence drawing out in the room until finally a single word escapes her lips. "...Oh." | 2018-04-01T03:57:58 | 2018-04-01T02:33:35 | 372 | 85 |
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire. | *Just wrote this up really quickly while my pizza cooked....*
"What the actual fuck!?" The words escaped my mouth before I'd even realised what I said.
"Language, Miss Hawkins!"
Ordinarily I would have apologised, even if it was just my butler chastising me, but my manners had left me after the shock of what I saw.
"You have so much money! How?? Why are you working as my butler when you could just do whatever the hell you wanted?"
"As you do?" he asked, judgement apparent in his voice.
I waited in silence for his answer.
He sighed. "Because you needed to be taught."
"Taught? Taught what?" I snorted. "I went to fucking Harvard! Remind me where you studied again?" It was a rhetorical question. I didn't know the answer nor did I care.
His face reddened but not with shame. If I'd been younger, I would have found myself over his knee. I was certain of that. I was also certain that I would have fired his sorry ass had he even tried.
"If you recall, Miss Hawkins, when we first met I found you lying in a pool of your own vomit and with a needle stuck in a vein." Drawing himself up even straighter, if that was even possible, he added, "Clearly there are some things an education can't buy."
It was true. I'd been a worthless junkie back then. Not a literal worthless junkie of course because I had more money than most people could ever dream of. My mother was generous with her cash, even if she lacked that generosity in other parts of her life. Her cold demeanour was probably one of the reasons why her husband - my father - had left her immediately after I was born. She profited greatly from the divorce, less so from the string of stepfathers I'd had after that. Alimony is a bitch. When she had died, I also inherited what little was left of her money, although it still tallied up to a few million.
"But where did you get that money from?" I ran a hand down my face. It was a lot to take in, thinking one thing and then discovering another. "Did you rob a fucking bank or something?"
"Stop swearing. No, it's my money. I used to own a business a few decades ago. It did well and then I sold it."
"Must have been some fu- some business. You have more zeros than I do! But still, why is a billionaire cooking my food and cleaning up after me? It doesn't make any sense."
Frank looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and then said quietly, "Because I wanted to get to know my daughter." | "Herb? W-what is this?" I stammered.
"Master Will, I don't believe it is well-mannered to snoop through one's phone," Herb replied casually while waving a disapproving finger at me. "Especially when that *one* is relieving himself in the restroom," he added.
"Herb, this is..." I started counting the digits, "Oh my god! You're a billionaire, Herb!"
"Hm. Yes. It appears so."
I turned my attention away from his phone and looked at Herb, who still wore his same old butler outfit for all these years despite how worn and drab it had gotten. As always he was immaculately clean-shaven and impeccably groomed.
"Herb? Explain yourself right now," I demanded, then added, "before I lose my shit, because this-"
"Master Will? Remember what I told you about patience?"
I rolled my eyes. "Now is not a good time Herb. This is outrageous, preposterous even. I've been living like a hobo for the past twenty years! This... this is almost as bad as that time when father decided to drop me off on an unmapped island. You remember don't you? You were there with me and-"
Herb folded his arms.
I sighed.
"Good things come to those who wait," I recited.
"Good," Herb said. "Now Will, go ahead and ask away."
"Since when?" I asked promptly.
"Since your father told me he had cancer, I'm afraid."
I started doing mental gymnastics in my head. "So that's... before my father passed away... twenty-one years ago then."
My butler nodded.
"Hold on. Didn't father donate all his money to charity or something?" I asked.
"Yes he did, and it was to cancer research Will. But before your father passed away twenty years ago, he entrusted me with the family fortune."
"Unbelievable. So my old man not only left his *only* son with absolutely nothing but gave *you* a billion dollars," I begin laughing hysterically.
People turned heads, looks of disdain converging in my direction.
"Master Will? That is not-"
"I don't understand," I interrupted Herb, "How could a father do such a thing to his own child? Leaving me to suffer like this. It's so cruel. And you Herb!" I point at him indignantly. "All this time you've been a billionaire... Twenty years we've lived like peasants!"
"Master Will. Do you remember that time Calvin passed you the ball and gave you a nosebleed?"
I frowned but nodded. Of course I remembered that snobbish prick. He was always better than me in every sport.
"You wanted him assassinated the very next day."
I laughed.
"And that time you got rejected by a girl in fifth grade? You wanted her shipped to Australia and fed to platypuses."
I flushed. "T-that was hormones Herb!" I shouted embarrassed.
"You're different now Will. Just yesterday you were bumped into and *apologized.* Last week a drunk girl slapped you as she rejected you but you shrugged it off."
"Herb? What the hell are you trying to say?" I asked wearily.
"Well Master Will, it should be obvious. You're decent now. I don't think you need a billion dollars to live now."
I sighed violently, exasperated by Herb's lecture.
"Okay, one last thing Herb."
"Yes, master Will?"
"Why the hell are you still serving me? With this vast sum of money - why you could have been lounging on a beach halfway across the world!" I exclaimed with my hands in the air.
I watched Herb nervously as I awaited his answer. He could leave right now if he wanted to. *Hell,* he could have left me on my own after father passed away but instead he had chosen to stay by my side for all this time. Twenty years he had suffered with me, without ever using the money father had left him.
Herb put his cup of coffee down gently and smiled at me. His face was older now and more wrinkled with the passage of time and yet, when he smiled, it was the same. The same smile that I had grown up seeing.
"Why master Will, did you really think the family fortune was the money?"
I frowned, confused.
"It was always you Will. Your father entrusted me with you before he died to cancer. He knew he couldn't be there for you Will, he would be here if he could but it was a fight that he couldn't win. This money... I always planned to tell you about it, to use it if we ever needed it but alas, we never did. So Will, here is your father's last will to you."
Herb handed me an envelope. Inside it was a note that read, '*Do what you will with this money Will. Love your, Father.*'
I looked up from the note and found the world blurred and hazy. I was confused and distraught.
Herb gave me a moment before he asked, "Master Will? What will you do with this money?"
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-06-03T08:41:06 | 2018-06-03T08:34:19 | 5,004 | 315 |
[WP] Humans are the only species with rules for war. The rest soon learn why when humanity is forced to abandon those rules. | Rules for war. The concept sounded so absurd, in the beginning. War has but one rule - win.
Humans, as it turn out, have many rules for war. Rules for prisoners, rules for civilians. They have rules for how their common soldiers behave when captured and how their noble, or officer soldiers differ. Rules for what weapons could be used, and when, and where.
In our arrogance we assumed this made them weak. In our haste for an easy conquest, we did not take the time to find out *why* they had so many rules for war.
Thirteen systems. Paltry, in comparison to the sprawling empires of the galaxy. We arrived to take their newest system for ourselves. The first of our rulebreaking, we are told. Three more fell in quick succession. Prisoners rounded up, processed and liquidated. Business as usual.
Then, they struck back. At first, they followed their rules. But slowly, very slowly, they abandoned them. Their ferocity became unmatched. Their ships bore the names of fallen colonies, emblazoned with the names and pictures of human youths, presumably part of the liquidated populations.
They could not match our fleets, so they stopped trying. They struck at weak points. Annihilating civilian centers, dropping bio weapons, nuclear bombs or simply massive rocks on population centers. They hit our “soft targets” one after another.
As for their soft targets . . . they soon had none. Their entire populace mobilized, taking to the stars where they could, fighting from caves, forests and the ruins of their cities where they could not. Yes, we technically own most of their planets but they are uneasy conquests.
Now . . . No one is safe. No *where* is safe.
Now, we ask the galactic community. We must find a way. We need to find a way to help the humans bind themselves again to their rules. We admit, we have learned. But the humans say that our lack of rules make us animals, and there can be no truce with animals.
We need help. And you, denizens of the galaxy at large, take heed. You have no rules for either - and if we cannot bind them to their rules, you could be next. | At the end of humanity’s last great war, our species was beaten and broken. The global conflagration had wreaked such horrible devastation upon the world that the entire biosphere was on the brink of total collapse. Filled with horror at what we had done, we vowed to never allow such a thing to occur again.
The few survivors of our species banded together and fled the broken Earth to give it time to heal without the interference of humanity. They fled to the few colonies that had already been established throughout the Solar System and turned all their energy to survival. For centuries they toiled, and the small population of survivors flourished. They spread to every corner of the Solar System and then turned their attention to the stars and the worlds that surrounded them.
As the first generation ships neared completion, humanity finally had a breakthrough that had long been thought impossible. We developed the first, safe, Alcubierre Drive. Dubbed the Bubble Drive by the media, the Alcubierre Drive gave us the ability to side-step the speed of light and finally visit the stars. And visit them we did. The Great Diaspora spread us to the stars and we thrived under alien suns.
After decades of colonization, our civilization stretched hundreds of light years from home. And in all that time and distance, not once had we met another space-faring civilization like our own. Then the Others came. Our first visit from the Others came in the form of an armada that scoured all life from one of our newest colonies. They struck with no warning. They killed without mercy. And we were unprepared.
Centuries of internal peace had left us woefully unprepared for a full-scale war. The few space-based weapons we possessed had been created for the policing of pirates and destruction of space rocks. But we quickly rose to the challenge.
Once again, humanity turned all of our energies to the destruction of an enemy. We developed weapons and ships to combat the Others. At first all we could do was retreat. Our civilization constricted while our factories built. We built ships. We churned out weapons that would have disgusted even the most zealous war hawks of bygone days. We fielded a military that dwarfed any raised in the history of mankind. And we struck back.
Slowly we beat them back. Small defensive victories lead to full counter-offenses. Captured technology and enemies gave us a greater understanding of what we were facing. With this understanding came better weapons and more effective tactics. Eventually we arrived at a stalemate. As our weapons and tactics had evolved, so had those of the Others. We were now evenly matched, and neither side could see an end to the war in sight. War-weary, we sued for peace, and the Others agreed to a summit for peace talks. We were naive.
Throughout all the years of this war, we had stuck to the long-held ideals of justice and honor that had helped us survive the near destruction of our world. With the start of hostilities we had readopted the rules of warfare that humanity had agreed to during the age of terrestrial wars. We did not attack non-combatants. We took care of the enemies that we captured. We never used biological weapons. These rules, among others, we considered unbreakable. If the Others had any such rules, we never saw them abide by them. Even knowing this, we met with the Others for the peace talks in good faith.
The Others rewarded our naivete by bathing our worlds in plague, chaos and death. They jumped their ships into our systems and seeded our worlds with biological weapons and dropped anti-matter weapons onto populated cities. In one fell swoop they had accomplished what years of warfare had failed to, and in so doing, sealed their own fate. They broke us.
We beat back the invasion and turned our attention to ending the conflict once and for all. Our long-held ideals were pointless in the face of an enemy that wanted to wipe out our entire species. There was no room in the Universe for both of our species. One of us would have to go.
We made the decision to wipe out an entire species and proceeded ruthlessly and efficiently. The greatest tool we had ever created was the Bubble Drive. It was also the most dangerous. The Alcubierre Drive was an old idea. One we’d been able to develop relatively quickly after leaving Earth. But, it had taken us another couple of centuries to work out how to create the field generators that allowed us to safely warp space without destroying whatever was in front of the ships when they decelerated. It was a simple matter to remove these generators.
Tired, broken and desperate, we sent our last remaining fleet on one final mission. We didn’t hear from them again, but we know that they succeeded in their mission. The expanding novae from destroyed star systems stand mute testament to what happens when you push humanity past its breaking point. | 2022-11-01T21:21:05 | 2018-07-21T19:08:21 | 70 | 25 |
[WP] start your story with a sentence that is upbeat and happy. Then end it with that same sentence but this time is dark and chilling. | They found my wife. When the police arrived I knew that was what they were going to tell me. Watching them walk from the car to my door felt like hours but in reality was probably only a few seconds.
“Sir I think you need to come with us.”
The whole car ride I thought about the last time I had seen my wife. Every summer we would go our cabin that we bought years ago in the woods. I never was big on the outdoors but she loved it. She loved it so much that she would take her coworker out there to see it when she was on her business trips.
I would discover this by using her phone one night to send a text while mine was at the store getting repaired from dropping out of my pocket on to the ground. It sent a fury in me that I have never felt before.
I didn’t say anything to her before we went on our annual vacation there. I thought I hid her body well. She was buried deep in the woods and I thought I had got away with it until they found my wife. | (Can i make this undertale cos Im making this undertale lol)
&#x200B;
Its a beautiful day outside, birds are singing, flowers are blooming. Im going hiking today. Who cares if people say Mount Ebott is dangerous, people come back all the time! I get out of bed and get dressed into my favourite striped jumper. I grab my bag and leave the house, wave to my parents, and set off.
&#x200B;
I climb up the long winding paths of the mountain and enter a large cave. The stalactites clinging onto the roof. I hang my bag around a stalagmite and grab a plaster to cover a nasty cut on my hand. I start to look around and my foot gets caught on a a root and it sends me plummeting into a large pit.
&#x200B;
***THUNK***
My head hurt, no, everywhere hurt. I had fallen on some flowers? They were yellow, I recognise that they were the same used to remember my aunt who went missing here. I never knew her but i heard she was nice. I leave the flower room and see a lone, singular flower, it turns around and it has a face?! It starts to speak, "Howdy! Im Flowey! Flowey the flower! You're new to the underground arn't ya?" It winks and sticks it's tongue out.
"Dont worry! I'll teach ya how things work around here! See that heart? That is your soul!" A red heart appears infront of my chest, pulseing infront of me, i gasp and take a step back.
"Dont worry silly! Thats yours! See move it around! Souls start of weak, but grow with lots of LV, whats LV why LOVE of course!" It winks again "You want some love dont ya! LOVE down here is spread through little white friendly-ness pellets! Grab as many as you can!"
It sends some white dot things at me, they hit my soul and it hurts, so badly.
"You idiot. To think i would pass up an opportunity like this." Its face contorts.
# "Die"
It surrounds me with the pellets, slowly encosing on me when.
"AHHHnhgfidhn"
It's sent flying across the room. Then i hear another voice.
"Do not worry my child, I am Toriel."
I stand up.
"Caretaker of the ruins"
I grab a stick.
"Take my hand my child"
It holds out it's hand, but i panic and stab it.
"Ahh... I see. Haha. I guess, you weren't as defenseless as I once thought."
You won! Your LOVE and GOLD increased.
&#x200B;
After that I went around killing the hideous monsters that lived there, every time I did, it felt easier. They wanted to hurt me first. Right? That flower did! I left the ruins, I killed the rest of the monsters. As my LOVE and EXP increased, it was easier, it came to the point where it was enjoyable!
&#x200B;
I then stood in a checkered hall, staring eye to eyesocket at a skeleton, he had killed me plently of times before, i dont know how, I could just feel it, so could he.
"heh heh, welcome back kid. it's a beautiful day outside today, birds are singing, flowers are blooming..."
&#x200B;
\-----
Hope that was ok :) Sorry for making it undertale, i just thought sans's genocide lines would be perfect. | 2019-09-07T06:42:32 | 2019-09-07T04:42:58 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] After failing for several weeks to unhaunt your house through all conventional means (priests, supernatural investigators, etc.), you decide to try out some advice you once read on the internet - "When something in your house is making weird noises, make even weirder noises to assert dominance" | None but one still living stood in the manse. Amongst the decay and the rot, only two human feet strode the floorboards. Only one human hand went up the banister. Only two human fingers pulled the cord for the overhead lamp.
But countless ghostly feet climbed the same floorboards, creaking under the weight of their hatred. Countless ghostly hands grasped and clawed the banisters, the walls, and the paintings on the wall. The walls ticked and thumped and cracked as the specters stalked their new prey. Countless ghostly fingers reached out to grasp the mortal, and their wails began to break into the material plane. A cacophony of moans and groans, sobs and snarls echoed towards the man. His face scrunched in terror then... anger... then... arousal? Into the face of the discordance the man screams
“Oh yeah daddy harder! Just like that oh baby!”
Thus it was that Stan established his initial beachhead in the manse. In the weeks to come there would be many more battles, but in the face of such confusion the horde broke, retreated.
In that room, now, none but one, living or unliving, stood in the bedroom of the manse. | This was it now. After everything that had happened over the last several weeks I was at the end of my tether.
The exorcism had blown the radiators. The holy water had stripped all of the wallpaper. The salt around the doors had attracted hundreds of ants. I had nothing to lose from following the advice from that apparent witch fron 4chan.
I'd spent the last week living in a small Bed and Breakfast next door to a gym. 12 hours a day I had trained for and now I was ready. I waited at the end of the hallway for it to arrive.
The setting sun was now casting shadows over the dimly lit hallway, giving the whole scene a sepia tone. I waited patiently, dressed in a loose fitting tracksuit and a pair of steel toe cap boots.
I heard a smash come from the kitchen at the other end of the hallway. Another plate I thought, the last one. When all this was over I'd need to take a trip to IKEA to restock my crockery.
A laugh erupted from the kitchen and I saw it's shadow approach the doorway, then it appeared, floating 2ft off of the ground. It had taken on the form of an old 19th century maid, its face all rotten. It stopped sideways and turned to it's right, slowly, revealing it's gleeful grin to me.
We locked eyes.
Several seconds passed in what vaguely felt like a stand off from a Clint Eastwood movie. Then it broke its silence with a piercing screech and moved towards me at lightning pace. As it had done previously over the last several weeks.
This time I wasn't going to stand frightened like a weakling. I charged at it, roaring at the top of my lungs. Legs pumping as I sprinted down my 100ft long hallway.
As I had become acquainted with this malevolent being over the last several weeks, I had observed that it's form was ethereal until the last moment before it attacked, when it took on a solid form.
With this is mind and the two of us, both of separate realms, now being only 6ft apart, I leapt into the air and tucked my knees into my chest, like a cannonball. I rolled back and kicked both booted legs out with devastating force.
The plan had worked, the spirit, in its arrogance, had taken on a solid form and the connection I made hit it's chest with such force that it flew backwards, arms extended, letting out a wailing screech as it crashed through the window overlooking my backyard.
Having landed on my back, I was dazed as the back of my head had bashed into the solid oak flooring on my hallway. I collected myself from the floor and stood up. The wind blew in softly through the broken glass and I heard the birds saying the goodnight chirps outside.
I walked to the window and looked outside. My garden had been dug up, as if a quad bike had torn through the grass, and there was a hole in the fence leading to the garden of next door.
With the energy I had left I boarded up the fence and the window and settled down into bed. Reading my bible in one hand and holding my crucifix in the other.
******************************************
I was awoken suddenly by screams and loud bangs. The clock telling me that it was 3:33am. I went to the bedroom window to look. And there it was.
The neighbours, Mr and Mrs Tomkinson, were lying in their garden, both dressed in pyjamas and holding a knife each. Their clothes were torn and their faces and bodies were covered in slashes as they lay lifeless in the freshly mowed grass.
And stood, looking over the fence at me, was the face of the elderly 19th century maid, its twisted smile grinning up at me. It raised its hand and waved. My home was finally free from it, but I never would be. | 2020-01-15T10:13:18 | 2020-01-15T09:27:49 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | A bright flash of light and a car battery hooked to his spine accompanied his return to the waking world. He reached for his head but only a numb resistance rewarded the effort. He turned his head gently and when the world stopped twisting in his vision he saw dimly the manacles holding his arms securely to the wall.
"Ahh, now he's with us" a voice came from the umber room, resonant with barely suppressed malice.
His head turned rapidly, hot coals and a violent spinning accompanying his search for the source.
The man stalking slowly towards him was a figure he'd only seen from distance, the leader of a group of lawless men graced with equal parts power and inclination to use it freely.
"We haven't met before, I think." said the creature known to his peers as Justice.
A bit of bleak humor that, for an Uber with such raw strength that law was whatever he decided it was, for as long as whimsy carried him.
Ice poured into his blood and the pain in his brain lifted, replaced by terror so profound as to start it's own religion as his mind turned an abstract input of of senses into recognition laced with the context of thousands of corpses.
"But I see that you know me well enough" something close to mirth lurked beneath the venom of the shadowed voice.
"We are not, by nature, creatures of much compassion." Justice began, having come to a stop just outside of reach of the hanging man's confines. There was a brief pressure, almost a twitching in the shoulder suggesting he was making an effort of will to remain motionless.
"Nor of much use for the rules of lesser creatures in their hopes of creating an illusion that wolves don't walk the same meadows as sheep." he continued.
"But even wolves have respect for the shepherds, and it was agreed long ago that so long as the shepherd's family were safe in their homes, the wolf cubs would be safe in their dens."
At this his body shook violently and the manacles took the weight his legs now failed to carry.
"You have broken the only rule. The least of limits on your will. The word I gave to those self enslaved fools who call themselves Heroes. " The voice turned colder and the visage hardened to metallic sharpness.
"I have already spoken to Vigil, have already offered apology and recompense, such as were possible. I have prostrated myself before that fool and his ilk and before a legion of those feeble peasants."
Somehow the arch villain Justice was standing in the middle of the room facing the opposite wall, no whirling of air or body to indicate he had just crossed ten feet of room before the eye could register.
Panic turned to faintness and the young man's body seemed to separate from his mind, a distant thing belonging to someone else.
"A blood price I paid" the villain spoke, his voice holding the power of fate
"A blood price I will now collect" | Windstrike is the coolest super hero in the world that's just a fact. No battles lost, no scandals of any type -he even denunced the bigot president during his term, that took balls!- which is why I wanted to do it.
There's only a few of unwritten rules for us criminals but if you must know one this is it: "Don't go after the loved ones of the heroes" it has never sit right with me I mean granted we barely know their real identities but if you ask me its a sure way to enter the villans hall of fame, and for someone like me with limited options I need to explore any chances.
I have inmortality but only decided to be a Villan a few years ago (I was wasting myself as test dummy) not an useful power to attack but it does ensure I'll come up from a fight alive, that along with the hate from the biggest hero will put me on the map.
I can see it now "The Dealer" associated with the respect I deserve, So when they announced that they were going to trap the heroes on their own hall in an all out attack I though at best they'll keep them busy for an hour maybe 2 (it all depends on how bored its Vampire, that annoying know it all)while I pay a visit to Matt, see I have been observing Windstrike for a few months now and I know he keeps close tabs on him and I just know this is going to change my life
-hello- he smiles as he opens the door, my gun already pointed I wanted to shoot him but I stopped I need to make sure he calls for help -oh... never seen you before -I sight I want to shoot him again- oh yes Dealer, correct? -
-The dealer- I'm kind of happy that he knows my name, but annoyed that he forgot the article, it keeps it classy, he smiles and lets me in, smart boy, inside there's a group of of people... a party? I was not expecting company
-Hi guys, The dealer- he smiles at me while he says it, god I hate this - is here- Shannon did you know he was comming?- a Woman looks at and squints
-never seen him before, Duke hardly ever talks about C tiers- Matt is still smiling, more people start staring, I decide to put a end to this I point my gun at the fridge and shoot, it implodes (Molecular it's very good at guns I'll give him that but his prices are crazy) everyone stares at me and I smile I finally got their attention they finally understand why am I here.
-Honey, you're going to have to pay for that, at least it'll be cheaper than that gun you got from my son- says an older woman while vaping then turns the man next to him and resumes her conversation as if I havent just desintegrated a fucking fridge
-Listen! You're all my hostages... and did you just said your son?- I turn to the Woman, violet eyes same as the ones who sold me the gun - what the fuck?
-Language, son- says the man next to her, their hands locked- yes Molecular is our son-
-And why are you here with him? Do you know who he is?- I point at Matt he is still smiling i think he took a xanax, no one can be that happy
-Windstrike's boyfriend- says a blonde with a giggle
-fiance- corrects Shannon -and we still needs to finish everything for the party tonigh you are going to have to move, we need a new fridge now, I'm so happy that Duke is bringing the cake later or you'll be in trouble-
-who the fuck is Duke?!- Molecular's parents look at me disapprovingly
-Darkness- responds the Blonde matter of factly
-shit!- Windstrike might be the greatest hero on earth but Darkness is our top villan, suddenly it hits me- I think i need to sit
- oh you got it, it seems- says shannon smiling -you came here to break the rule-
-The Rule- Matt says with a chuckle
-did you even took your introductory course when you joined?
-there's a course?- the strain in my voice, I wish I could do something about it, Shannon sights
- you see... long ago we decided that we were tired of being killed by the odd villan or hero with loose morals so we (the families of both factions) all sat down and decided that we were all going to be friends, they all hate it-
-but they love us more- interrupts the blonde raising her glass
-so at least you want every super powered people on the planet behind you I'll calm down and go and get Matt a new fridge, as for the gun Linda can get you your money back-
-No refunds dear-
-well I'm still taking the gun, I'm sure Duke has a docen of this, say is windstrike even weak againts this? - Matt mimics a key locking his lips - whatever-
I look around, my greatest plan (only plan) defeated even before it started
-oh don't feel bad The dealer, play your cards right and we can let you in the group, I'm sure we can convice them, we do need an errand boy- Matt winks at me -at the very least we wont ask them to kill you- he is no longer smiling, I just hope I have enough money for the fridge | 2020-07-12T12:28:44 | 2020-07-12T11:05:58 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone is born with dice that they need to roll before attempting anything major. The super powered are those born with more than a 20 sided dice allowing them to do feats beyond human. An ordinary human usually has a six sided dice. Despite being born with a coin you still want to be a hero. | "Thirteen thousand, six hundred and ninety two."
The man in front of me held a die with so many sides, it looked like a marble.
"I want you to think about that number, and understand just how royally screwed you are." the man gloated, holding his die in the air.
"The last time I rolled over ten thousand, they had to demote Everest to the third highest mountain in the world. On a bad day, I roll a thousand and can only lift medium-sized buildings. And in my entire life, I've never rolled below a 6."
"And yet, you think you can take me on. You, who only has a coin? Please. Even if I were to roll as low as a 10, less than a 0.1 percent chance, that would still be 10 times the amount of strength I would need to deal with you."
"Shut up and roll. Let's get this over with." I growled.
"Well, if you insist on rushing to your death, I see no reason not to oblige. Now, let's see just how outmatched you- gkkkkhhh!"
The instant the die left the man's hand, I punched him in the face as hard as I could.
"I-impossible! You didn't even roll...." the man groaned as he sunk to the ground, his face covered in blood.
"Yeah, well, not everyone decides things by playing stupid dice games." I grabbed his die off the ground before it could land on a side. "Now, let's see how you do without your little toy." | “Luck be a lady,” they say. Well, she certainly was with you.
You were born with a coin, 50/50 no matter what.
A curse? A blessing in disguise?
You’d never be able to rip buildings out of the ground or summon things out of thin air, at least.
Not the way most heroes seemed to be able to.
But your odds were pretty great.
You wondered then, in the moment, what your life would come to. What would you become?
You stood behind a student, short and only fourteen.
Today decided it all. You lean over to try and get a look.
The student at the podium shook their die - ten sides on it- and exclaimed loudly.
They’d landed on the medical field with a nine. They’d be a doctor or something of the sort. Whatever became of them; they’d most likely be great at it.
You inched closer to the front.
Students trickled by, new career paths weighed in on their shoulders.
“A hairdresser? Aw man, mom’s gonna be so mad,” you heard your classmate mutter. “I knew I shouldn’t have put that as an option.”
You shivered and wondered what your coin would bestow you.
You’d chosen three jobs, one of which you’d been pining for since the day you were born.
You’d chosen the career paths of a teacher, a police officer, and finally-the one you’ve always wanted- a hero.
You shuffle dangerously close to the front. It’ll be your turn soon.
Two more students pass and suddenly you’re first in line.
You watch the girl at the podium closely.
Her three options are rather artistic, jobs that wouldn’t typically fit your mindset.
A photographer.
A baker.
A villain sketch artist.
She rolls her die for each.
A perfect six lands. Her career has been sealed. You feel intrigued by it, you wonder what exactly it means. You wonder if one day you’ll work with her.
She grabs the slip of paper excited and pumps her fist.
It seems being a villain sketch artist has been her dream.
You walk to the podium, fist clenched tightly around your coin.
50/50. You’ve got one even shot at each.
“Alright, flip your coin in each indicated section. We haven’t got all day.”
You ignore the staff member and take a deep breath. You wonder if they chose this career path or if none of their dreams were meant to be. Maybe their die denied them their hopes and doomed them to a drab life in the auto-sorter.
You didn’t want that.
You took a deep breath and flipped your coin.
Tails. You would not be a teacher.
Despite the slight relief, a surge of anxiety shot through you. You didn’t want to end up in the line of the unsortables.
You flip the coin on the special paper once more. It dimly glows red.
Tails.
You would not be a police officer.
You screw your eyes shut and clench your teeth, too afraid to watch what happens next.
The coin clatters, your stomach drops.
You want to throw up, or cry, or maybe both at the same time.
“Huh. Good luck,” the staff member salutes, waving you off as they hand you a slip.
Career path: Hero.
You’re frozen, glued to your spot.
You blink and let out a whoop, startling the teacher that was ushering you out of the room.
She smiles awkwardly, congratulates you, and dips her head.
You clench the metallic paper a little tighter. You hold your head up a little higher.
*A hero!*
You may not be mighty, but clearly you were meant for *something* great!
You hold in a squeal of excitement as you march outside of the auditorium.
You spare a thought for all the hair dressers and their mothers before thinking of your own parents and how excited they would be.
A *hero*! | 2020-08-13T02:18:03 | 2020-08-13T00:15:50 | 117 | 65 |
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right. | I soar through the night sky, blind to the world as it was to me.
I told myself it wasn’t so bad. Honestly, I tried. Immortality, hypnotic powers, hyper speed – you know, the usual vampire toolbox – it was pretty damn sweet. And let me tell you, you have not lived till you’ve tried AB negative blood. I’ve had full course meals (actual, like, mortal meals, I mean here) that don’t even come close to AB negative blood. Talk about an explosion of flavor.
But the nights…man. It really made me question the whole thing.
If I could do it over? Would I choose to go home with that red-haired girl after Halloween party and get subsequently turned? I mean, let’s be real here, probably. Immortality is pretty damn hard to beat. But, then again…I “looked” down at myself as I flew.
No use wondering, I suppose. Vampire or not, you couldn’t change the past.
A smell wafted over to me from the edge of the forest. Very faint at first, but as my sense focused on it, it became sharper. No…it couldn’t be. I banked, moving toward it till I came upon a two people sitting around a…campfire, judging by the sound. My nostrils flared as I drunk in the scent. AB negative blood, from one of them.
My mouth started to water…figuratively. I don’t really have salivatory glands anymore, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I’ve been a vampire for a good while now, and I was mostly in control of the ah, let’s say, impulses. But AB negative…it was such a rarity. Such a pleasure that it was a struggle. A real struggle. But I had to wait till morning. I had to. I couldn’t go after them right now.
But then it happened.
One of them got up then cried out – a woman, I could tell by the voice – and fell. She cut herself. I couldn’t see it of course, but the smell. Oh, the smell. It magnified a thousandfold, and before I could catch myself, I was diving toward her, her open wound. I had to have her. I had to have that bloo-
And I was swatted aside, almost into the fire, before making a hasty retreat.
I “watched” nursing slightly singed wings as they got in their car and drove away. I couldn't even fly to follow them.
I sighed, again, figuratively. The movies don’t tell you that vampires are forced turn into moquitos every night.
***
Changed bat to mosquito, since that is way funnier lol. Thank to /u/east_of_the_delplaya for the comment haha! | Sebastian sat alone in the old favela as rain tapped its greasy fingers on the tin roof. Everything seemed smeared with grease here. The walls, the air -- the memories. Thick and stale enough to stain his skin. Grease skated down the inside walls and pooled in oil-slick rainbows beneath Sebastian's feet.
An old cinder block and a handful of dusty bricks propped up a wooden board in front of him. On it sat a lonely bottle of Merlot. He took a swig from the neck and wiped his mouth with his woollen overcoat. An average red wine. Did little for him.
He returned here every few decades, as if to bathe in the memories and try to wash himself clean. Clean of the deeds he'd committed since becoming his new self. Not that he regretted the deeds exactly. They meant very little to him. It was just...
The air held an echo of sizzling onions above hot coals -- from many years ago. Of smoked paprika and dried thyme and of chicken thighs drizzled in oil. Of laughter and tiny excited footfall, as he ran past his mother, chased by Claudia. How he wished he could capture those echoes, swallow them and keep them locked inside forever. Let the feelings he no longer felt haunt him until the end of all existence. Let them burn and brand his heart.
His mother's scent -- overly sweet homemade perfume -- came in occasional ghostly wafts. And Claudia... He could almost see her. Her hair tied behind her head, her dimples deep as she smiled shyly.
Dead now, of course. All of them. Such was the life of an immortal. He imagined a therapist ask: *And how does that make you feel?* Sebastian laughed sourly, disingenuously, his voice filling the creaking room.
He'd meant to give them a better life by accepting the pale demon's bargain. He would have power. And time. He would *become* time. And with his gifts he would give hope to Claudia and Mother and all their many loved ones penned into these tin walls with such little hope right now.
"I will take your life," said the demon. "But in return I will give you life immortal." Its lips curled into a forgery of a smile. "What better deal could there be than that?"
He'd been cornered in an alleyway at night, empty and silent but for the rustling of the wind on cardboard boxes. Empty of all but one soul.
"Just take it!" he cried. "What choice do I have?" The creature had chased him here. Sebastian had fled from the landfill, where he'd been sifting through possessions no longer loved. He'd seen its face in the moonlight and had run, but it moved with the grace and the speed of the Devil himself -- he might as well have been trying to outrun the wind.
"You always have a choice," said the Demon. "I cannot take it unless you are willing to part with it."
With his life, he'd thought the creature meant. Naively. He knew better now.
"Why would I be willing?"
The smile painted itself back. "Because of your mother. Because of the girl with tangled hair. You can bring them whatever wealth you feel they deserve. Imagine that."
His voice had been smooth and persuasive and Sebastian listened to all he said, although he did not want to. Not to start with, at any rate. But the more he learned, the less he could resist. It was not a curse, but a promise of a better existence for all he loved.
Once he'd agreed, the demon's teeth punctured his skin and it was the last feeling he remembered.
Upon waking that morning in the alley, he returned to the favela. His teeth itched for blood, but it was not a desire, only an instinct.
He did not stay beneath the tin roofs for long.
Not for fear of what he might do to those he loved, but because of the apathy for the act. Apathy for *them*.
He picked up the wine and held it. This place, his old home, had once sparkled with laughter. An uncut diamond that he would carve. A place -- and people -- he would have died for.
That he did die for.
It was the apathy that made him leave. For the two women he loved most in the world suddenly meant nothing. Vivid paintings covered in grease and dust, and he did not care to even look at them anymore. Did not care if they lived or died! Not because he was beyond them, but perhaps because they were beyond him. The demon's teeth had deflated his heart or his soul -- he'd never been sure which -- and now everything was grey. Everything was grease.
Even in daylight. Even in the burning sun that did not burn his skin.
If only the memories would burn heart.
He swigged back the Merlot, the wine dripping down his chin. It did little for him.
How could it?
They'd been gone a hundred years. Maybe more. He had not killed them, but they were gone all the same. Perhaps they were now the dust yawning through the room.
"I loved you," he said to the loneliness of the favela. "*Love*."
An hour passed as he sat besides the empty bottle, unmoving -- when something wet tickled his chin.
He looked up to find the new leak, but he found nothing and no more drops came. | 2020-10-06T06:58:56 | 2020-10-06T06:53:28 | 5,852 | 160 |
[WP] You have often described your girlfriend as a goddess and why wouldn't you? After all she is beautiful, wise, 9 feet tall, has eyes that literally glow with holy fire, is well into her ten thousands and most of all charming and caring | "Catch me, Tisha! Catch me!" Tyler's voice echoed as he whipped through the cold winter air; his puffy red jacket peppered by the falling snow. His sister was hot on his tail. They raced through the sky above our cul de sac, mindful not to venture too far out, though a fair bit higher than I'd like.
I sipped at my coffee from the threshold as I watched my children play with what was clearly their favourite gift. I glanced back at the PS5, wrapping paper removed but otherwise unopened. Tisha hadn't even opened her 'big gift' yet, but I was kidding myself if I thought even Broadway could compete with Luma's blessings. She'd taken to Christmas well, considering it was a 'bastardized holiday celebrating a false god in place of *other* false gods.'
I let out a weary sigh and stepped back into the living room, making sure the door was unlocked when I closed it. It was cold, I'd been killing myself with overtime, and Luma was supervising. Technically she always was. I could take a break.
I plopped down on the couch, threw my head back, and let my eyes close.
"You win again." I whispered, feeling myself start to drift off.
Long slender arms wrapped around me from behind and the fog began to clear. A pair of soft lips met mine from above me. I opened my eyes to see my girlfriend; skin a golden brown, eyes a firey red, and a bountiful mane of wavy lightly glowing golden hair. I found it odd that no one seemed to notice that she was anything more than ordinary, especially given her height.
"I *never* win." Luma laughed. It was almost uncanny in its warmth; otherworldly. "Though I may have come close to matching you this year." She placed a small wrapped box in my lap.
"Big talk," I countered. "You're not even *wearing* your gift."
"Diamonds are a pleasant offering," She said. "But jewlery's more a thing for mortal girls."
Now I was confused.
"I didn't get you anything else."
"Sure you did." She replied. "It's the same gift you've been giving me every day for the past two years."
I considered her words for a moment.
"Baby, Imma need at least a nap first."
She lifted an arm from the embrace and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Will, just open the damn box." | "Hi, you've reached Jamiyah, Protector of the Realm. If this is an emergency please hang up and dial \*777 to light my calling beacon. Otherwise please leave a message after the tone and I will -" click
Sigh. Of course she's busy right now, what did I expect? I'll just send her a text to meet me there and if she doesn't make it, I'll know it's for something important..... like it always is.
I look down at my phone and notice the lock screen picture that's usually covered in notifications but today it's in full view. The picture is of the two of us, me wrapped around her like a back pack. Both of us pressing our cheeks together and smiling brightly. The black cloud that is her hair envelopes both of our heads, revealing only our faces. My arms wrap around her neck like a small child holding on to a parent. Both of our eyes are closed which is why this picture came out so nicely, Photos of Jamiyah don't often turn out well due to the light that's constantly emanating from her golden irises, which is a shame since their beauty surpasses anything I've ever seen before, though it does cause problems whenever we attempt go to the theater.
The photo is from a beach trip we went on a few years ago, I think that was the happiest day of my life. In the background of the photo you can see a small glimpse of the sand castle we built together. I smile remembering how she lifted me up to place the tiny flag on top, only for me to fumble and accidently brush several windows out of existence. "Now you know how I feel!" She chuckled.
I wonder if she would be up for another trip anytime soon. Now that I think of it, this was the last and only trip we've ever taken that wasn't immediately interrupted by some major catastrophe in need of Jamiyah's help.
I wonder if I'll ever feel that happy again.
I pause with that thought for a few seconds, then remember that I should text her and let her know I'll meet her at the funeral. If she makes it that is.
Once the text is sent I put my phone away, adjust my tie and head downstairs to catch my Lyft.
I know how this seems, how could I get involved with a literal demi-god and only person capable of protecting the realm and expect her to be available in my time of need. I understand that her work will always come first, there's no way around that, not when the whole realm relies on her to keep us safe. I knew all of this going into it and I was prepared to make sacrifices for her. I want to be the best supportive partner I can.... but I just lost my best friend and I could really use someone right now, someone reliable.
The radio goes to commercial and my driver switches stations.
"I am here with the one and only Jamiyah, Protector of the Realm, Defender of Justice and friend to all Merinians."
"Hi guys!" Her unmistakably charming voice chimes through the stereo. Rich, deep and as comforting as a warm cup of coco on a winter's night.
"She has graciously decided to join us this morning at the Planet Protection Convention where thousands of children and young adults have gathered to learn more about the importance of environmental science and how to prevent -"
"Are you fucking kidding me!?" I say out loud.
Shocked by the sudden outburst, the Lyft driver glances over at me with a worried expression. "Are you okay miss? I took the right turn, no?"
My heart is pumping and my face is hot but I try to control my voice when I respond. "Sorry, you are going the right way I just received some disappointing news is all. Would you mind turning the radio down a bit though? I have to make a phone call."
My pulse is racing and I'm seeing red. How could she ditch me for a convention? Saving the day I get, but a convention?? That can't be more important than being with your girlfriend while she's in mourning right?? I matter to her more than that... don't I? The phone starts ringing.
Don't I mean anything to her? Riiiiing. Today of all days. Riiiiiiing. Doesn't she care about me at all? Riiiiing I feel my eyes well with tears. Riiiiing. Please pick up. Riiiiing. Please, I need you. Riiiiing. I have no one else. Riiiiing.
"Your stop miss.... miss?"
I can faintly make out the radio interviewer say "Oh that's your phone, something important?"
Jamiyah responds "No it's nothing, I'll call them back later, they'll understand"
"Hi, you've reached Jamiyah, Protector of the Realm. If this is an emergency please hang up and dial \*777 to light my calling beacon. Otherwise please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you within 24 hours. Have a nice day and remember, night or day I will be here for all Merinians." Beep. | 2021-01-14T10:47:38 | 2021-01-14T10:21:49 | 38 | 24 |
[WP] The superheroes and supervillains are angry with you because you help them both but they can't kill you because you're too valuable. You remind them, "look, I'm a doctor with healing powers following the medical code, it doesn't matter who my patients are! Stop whining about it!" | I would say that the hardest part of my job is saving lives.
Namely, saving heroes and villains from killing each other in my spotless hospital rooms the moment they wake up.
"Why am I in the same room as this creep?" said the Liberty Lancer, or better known as Rachel Weiss while in hospital clothes.
The creep, in today's instance, is Kage--Brooklyn Lee.
"And I categorically refuse to be in the same room as this piece of--"
I opened the room door, then, and my nurse, Bryan, looked at me with an all-too-familiar expression: a cocktail mix of "the same old shit again," and "oh my god, I can finally get out of here."
Brooklyn and Rachel turned their eyes on me then, and their shouting match became muted instantly.
"Is there a problem?" I said, as Bryan sneakily backed away into the hallway, before turning into a full sprint to, presumably, the break room.
"Doc," Rachel began her protest in earnest. "Kage and I don't mix. You know that."
In a rare show of agreement, Brooklyn nodded.
"You mix because we don't have enough room," I said, crossing my arms. I found that it helped make me more imposing, though I'm not sure if it made my words more convincing. Evidently not, because Kage was quick to speak up.
"Doctor," Brooklyn said. "Please, I implore you to reconsider your stance. Separating us is simply better for the long run."
"Honestly, I don't need people who destroy the city on a regular basis to tell me what's better for the long run," I said.
The two pointed at each other accusingly, as if the two--whether it's ideology or for the side they are fighting for--weren't equally responsible for turning buildings into rubble. Incidentally, it's why I pay through the nose for insurance. But I suppose the respective leagues are also paying through the nose for *me* to be their insurance.
"But I'm sure the West Lake Virtuous League has enough for me to be in a private ward," sulked Rachel.
"As do the Evil Eight," Brooklyn lifted his head up pompously.
"Sure," I said. "Lancer, would you like to ask the Dark Queen for her bed?"
At one of the city's foremost villainess' name, Rachel's sulk deepened even further, but no more words came out.
"And Kage," I said. "What about you? Fancy being smote while checking in with the Paladin?"
The city's Superman shut Brooklyn up quickly.
"That's what I thought," I smiled as professionally as I could, before bowing and backing out of the room. "And remember--your life is in our hands."
---
r/dexdrafts | First, do no harm.
A simple sentence, you think, while contemplating the gaping wound of the young child in front of you. Simple, yet complicated to put into practice.
The world has changed.
First came powers.
With a random flick of a finger, individuals were granted skills and abilities beyond imagining. They were hailed or feared, but society revolved around them for a short while. The oldest stories still abound, of a time when separation between good and evil was bright and clear.
But heroes and villains are no more, the black and white insanity of old has gone. Cynicism - or realism, depending on who you ask - has turned them all into men and women. With powers, but without the godlike shine, the angelic and devilish smell they used to carry.
You know a woman who flies and lifts trains, she's also taking care of her two children and is legally bound by her insurance to pay a hefty sum for the little one's trip to the hospital. She stopped a building from falling over, saving those inside. She's thinking about robbing a bank, just to have her children financially secure.
Another young man is appreciated for being an example to follow for the trans community. The pressure on his shoulders threatens to break him at any moment.
They are humans, with all the greed, hope, naivety, stupidity and recklessness it entails. They are not good or bad, their actions might put them on one side one day and the other the next.
People once hailed them as heroes and wrote stories. Now, they only wish to never become embroiled in one such tale. A happy life is one where you are never in contact with a super powered person, eat vegetables and go walk 20 minutes everyday.
And you? You're still here, laying palms on the child's arm, feeling the skin, flesh, muscles, bones and organs. You lay open, rewrite and remold the sick parts to heal injuries and illnesses that never could have been mended otherwise.
And child-murdering billionaires still rule the world with a shit-eating grin as they did before. Superpowers only served to underline how things remain the same.
It gave rise to an intellectual paradox. Those empowered beings could wreck the world several times over, and the potential bestowed had no known limit, it's only a matter of time until one would rise above all others and rule as he or she sees fit. In fact, it should have happened already.
But it never did.
The world should have been invaded, ruled, molested, massacred, broken beyond repair and annihilated a hundred times, yet it didn't.
Thus philosophers, thinkers and bloggers ask the same questions over and over and over and over again. How did it never end? How come society is still there when one tip of the balance could kill everyone?
The child will die without your help. Science is insufficient against such a wound, you do not care about science. You break reality on the daily.
From gods to humans. Empowered beings were now ignored, like the individual ignores the crowd in the morning when going to work, tired and hoping the boss won't be in a bad mood. Hopes that were and new fears that arose are discussed on talk-shows, everyone wonders when the world will end while trying not to think too hard about it.
"Will the kid survive?" asks Nero.
Nero could have been a dictator. He was bred a child-soldier in Nigeria, ended the war on his own when he got his powers. But the years made him a diplomat. Long, ago, he had tried to hire you repeatedly, wanted to murder you even more often for helping the enemy, but your services were too valuable. Besides, there are no more enemies as it once used too. Age and wisdom teaches you there is no distinction between an enemy and your neighbor.
"I'm not sure," you reply.
You can, of course you can.
But should you?
First, do no harm. Letting the kid die would go against this simple rule.
Would it really?
A surgeon does a modicum of harm when he slices open a patient. It's for the greater good of the body.
Society is a body. Many cells are sick, and you heal them, no matter if you like them or not. Cancer cells are excised.
This child is more powerful than anyone you've ever met. Maybe it will become a kind adult, it's irrelevant. Someone so powerful will change the world, willingly or not. You never liked that chance gave powers to people at random. Such discrepancy took away all the free will and right to decision from normal humans.
Life was hard enough, and now the common folk had to suffer under more boots?
No. You hated your powers since the day you got them, and like the kid, you could not stop it from changing your life.
But you can stop the little one on the table from changing every life on the planet.
"Sorry Nero," you say, "He won't make it."
His name was Allen. Was. You stopped his heart in his coma. You decided to let normal humans choose for themselves, Allen would have taken that away. Society is a body, you cut out the cancer threatening to overwhelm it.
You take no pride in your work.
At home in the evening, you open a cupboard in your bedroom and take out a notebook. Inside, you write Allen's name.
You put it away and close the cupboard fast.
You don't want to look at the many notebooks inside. | 2021-08-01T11:11:47 | 2021-08-01T09:50:24 | 650 | 117 |
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor. | *Slightly deviated from the prompt, I hope you don't mind*
I awoke in the darkness, unsure of what had happened. Breathing in, I could feel that the air was cold and damp, but my skin felt dry. I felt... Encased? Covered from head to toe.
I'm wearing... Armor?
Suddenly, memories came flooding back to me. Memories of the battle.
The dragon.
The fire.
Charlie.
"Charlie!" I yelled out, scrambling to my feet. As if confirming my dread, I heard no reply. I reached out, searching around me, but my gloved hands only found the metal bars of a cage.
Charlie and I had been adventuring together for a few months after I saved him seconds before he was mauled by a werewolf. We'd grown into a solid team, despite the fact that he never so much as showed me his face. He wore an enchanted suit of armor at all times, saying it has sentimental value to him, as a gift from his late grandfather.
I'll admit, even without knowing what he looked like, I was falling for him.
On the fateful day, however long ago it has been since I'd lost consciousness, we had teamed up with a few other groups of adventurers to raid a dragon's lair. It was supposed to be an adolescent, fledgling dragon. Little did we know, it was very much fully grown, and far more devious than we ever imagined.
Trapped by the dragon in one of it's cages, I expected a swift end when it breathed fire on us with the full force of it's fury. I only hoped Charlie would last a little longer thanks to his enchanted armor, perhaps he could find a way to escape. However, when I looked left towards where he was, all I saw were the silver pieces of his armor flying towards me.
The armor had wrapped around me then, the enchantments protecting me from it's flame, even though the concussive force of the blast still knocked me unconscious. This was why I woke up largely unscathed.
In our most perilous hour, he had sacrificed himself, removed the armor he never took off, and given me a chance at life.
"No!" I cried out, striking at the cage. In this moment, I felt the most rage I ever had. If the dragon were in front of me now, I would have charged it with my bare fists.
"Shh, Emily, stay quiet!" Suddenly, a faint voice arose, but I couldn't tell where it came from. I'd know that voice anywhere.
"Charlie?" I asked in disbelief. He couldn't have survived the flames without his armor, could he?
"Don't worry, I'm right here." He replied, and I almost jumped in joy.
"You're alive!" I exclaimed. "Where are you? Why can't I find you?" The lair was dark but I'm sure I had searched every corner of the cage, he was not in here and there was no way out.
I was just about to try to summon what little magical energy I had left to make a light source before his voice stopped me.
"Careful, the dragon went to deal with the others after it burnt us. It thinks we are dead, don't let it know we aren't before we get ready." He explained in a hushed tone. "As for me... Well..."
"Well what?" I asked, confused.
"Well, I'm right here." He seemed to let out a sigh.
"What do you mean you are right here?" I was even more confused.
"You are wearing me right now."
"Huh?"
"You heard me. This suit of armor, it's me, it's all of me there is." He went quiet for a moment, allowing me to process this information.
It took a moment, and then I almost jumped in shock and surprise. "Wait you are a living suit of armor?" I asked, incredulous.
"Well, in a very broad definition of the word 'living'," he replied. "I was a human once, but not anymore."
"How? What happened to you?" After the initial shock wore off, I grew curious.
He seemed to contemplate for a little, but finally, he started to explain. "I never lied about the origins of this armor. It really was given to me by my late grandfather. He told me it was crafted as one of a line of eldritch artifacts by an ancient mage.
"A few years ago, a mad wizard saw me using this armor and wanted it for himself. I battled him and very nearly killed him, but was defeated.
"In retaliation, he killed me and extracted my soul, locking me into this armor and giving it sentience. He thought that he could control the armor's power better this way, through an intermediary, but I was able to escape before he could place a binding spell on me.
"I had given up on life then, believing it to be over for me. I wondered aimlessly for years at night, until one day I came across an abandoned house. In it I found several books, including one which described the procedure to create a new body for trapped souls.
"That was five months ago. I was still getting used to battling in this new body when you found me, hence how the werewolf had defeated me despite the power of this armor." He stopped, but I could tell there was more.
"Is that it? What about the procedure to create a new body for you? I'll help however I can!" I told him.
"I'll be continuing on my own. It's too dangerous Emily. The procedure requires nine ingredients, and I came here for blood from a dragon's heart, the easiest of the nine, and it nearly got us killed. I won't make the mistake of endangering you again." He said sternly. He had already made up his mind.
The problem was, I'd made up my mind too.
"Well that's too bad because you don't get a choice. I'm coming with you no matter what." I said in reply, determined.
He tried to protest, but I put a quick stop to it. "Come on now, admit it, you need me. You couldn't even raid this dragon's lair on your own, we have to work together to get out. Your future challenges could only be greater, there is no way you can do this on your own."
He went quiet, leaving me with a smug grin on my face that I'm sure he could feel right now.
To further prove my point, I channeled my magical energy - it seemed to have replenished much faster due to the armor - and channeled it out of my skin into the armor, into him. The enchantments seamlessly combined my power with his, allowing me to strike with much more force than either of us ever could alone.
In one blow, I had broken one of the metal bars of the cage.
"See? We are much stronger together."
He considered for a moment, but finally acquiesced.
"Fine."
I picked up his sword. "Let's get started on the dragon's blood." | Seventeen months ago:
Trees flash past as the suit of armour races between them and jumps over creeks and around rocks. The suit is panting for effect and is not truly sure why. 'Keep running, keep going,' it thinks. Behind it, the curious are also running, racing through the muck and weeds, trampling tiny insects and causing small mammals to flee. Each pursuer is brandishing a broom or rake or, in the case of Jar-Imee, a scythe. He yells, "Get that thing, we must not give up!"
The suit is not tired and so it increases its speed. After a short while, it can hear the mob falling off, one by one by two or three. It continues on, listening to the distant sounds of madness until there is nothing to hear. It continues on further, until the sun is almost around again.
Stopping to think and recharge or whatever happens when it rests, it nearly sits on a small mammal. It knows it isn't one it passed earlier, but it feels, or thinks, that it has still been disturbed by the madness of the day and the mob. Quietly, the suit sings its thoughts to the furry lump, willing it to get closer. "I will not eat you," it speaks. Gradually, the small beast of the forest floor looks beyond the fallen tree that it hides behind, now musty and covered with small growths of green and fungus. The small beast, or more of a mouse, eats at the fungus while watching the suit, then falls asleep. When it opens its eyes, the mouse realizes it is inside the suit. But, something else is different, something about the mouse itself. Something is fantastically different!
Today:
Jar-Imee has been tasked with traveling three towns away, simply to collect a story. 'Why me?' he thinks, kicking at the ants starting up his sandal. He is almost there. While he journeys, he can sense that something is wrong, although he does not understand what it is. He looks around like some child in a dark barn who thinks the rats it hears are evil monsters. He jerks his head left, then right, then he shivers and tries to shake off his fear with anger. "I'll get you if you try anything," he yells. He yells a lot. He is not wise enough to gather that the town might have sent him in particular on the journey because they could use a few days without his presence.
The barn tender doesn't even look up, she instead jabs at the hay and piles it onto the transport. Finally, in exasperation, she stabs the ground with the pitch fork and looks up. "What?" she asks. Jar-Imee is incensed. "I want to know if you have an evil and empty suit of armour, sent from hell." He kicks his sandal at the pile of hay but stubs his toe in a strange way and winds up with a splinter under the nail of his left big toe. 'Why me?' thoughts again fill his mind.
She stands there taking in the hulk of a man, or more like a boy in the head and a man in the body. She spits, picks up her fork, and says "No." She goes back to her task, without even looking at Jar-Imee, who has sighted something in the distance.
The man child runs across the town's main path and looks carelessly between the buildings. "I see you," he yells. He did and now he does not, but he still calls out "I see you and I will bring you down!" He is really yelling now.
Exasperated, Jar-Imee plops down onto a bench. An old woman comes by to sit next to him. "Tell me your troubles, boy." Dropping his head into his hands, he rubs at his face, maybe even wipes away a few tears he hopes nobody saw. "I am looking for an evil and empty shell of armour, but I think everyone is lying to me, saying they don't have that here." He looks at her with fury, "I saw it, behind the bar, but now I can't find it." He lets out a big sigh.
"Listen, boy, we don't have that here. But I will tell you, we do have many warriors who wear full armour. That is how we have survived for so long. They protect us and we take care of them." She looks at the man child with a little bit of anger but mostly disappointment, thinking 'this one will get nowhere in life with that attitude' as Jar-Imee gets up without a word and races to the space between the livery and the iron works.
"Hey, you, get back here," he yells. As he cuts round to the back of the iron works, he sees the suit of armour, standing in wait. He stops short and shuts his mouth. The suit raises the visor on its helm, slowly revealing not a single face, but the face of a multitude of small creatures. They all look out at the boy, chittering and glaring at him. Several fall out into the armour and make their way down to the armoured hand. The suit raises them up and out and the boy steps back even though he wanted to step forward.
"What, who, I mean, who are you?" The response comes from the suit of armour but it also comes from the small creatures. "We are all the warrior in the suit. What is it to you, you impertinent boy?" Jar-Imee takes an additional step back, even though he again wanted to step forward and brush the animals away in anger. "I am here to take you back to my town so we can burn you and save everyone." As he says this, he looks around and behind himself. "Oh no!"
All the towns people have surrounded the scene, and they are all looking at Jar-Imee. "This does not involve you all." He yells this, naturally. The old woman from the bench steps forward and takes hold of the suit's halberd. She gives no glance of request and says nothing of permission. She does not have to. "Jar-Imee," she begins, but he interrupts, "How do you know my name?" The old woman whomps him on the top of his left foot, just managing to touch the big toe. "If it makes you feel better, I will call you boy. Boy, you are here to collect and burn nobody." She chuckles at the unintended play on words. "Do not try to lie to us, do not try to take our own, and do not think that we are going to let you do anything harmful. I am cousin to your wise man back in Lublinland. You have been sent to us to collect a story, which is your story." Jar-Imee kicked his sandal in the dirt and looked down at the ground. He was not yelling now, in fact he was wishing he could hide. The old woman reached out the halberd, but instead of thwacking his other foot, she gave it to the boy. "I have no story," he mumbled.
The animals of the suit all spoke at once, except for the littlest one who ate the seeds stored in his cheeks. "Boy, you are not yet a man and your people are fearful. We are all the suit, and the suit is a being even without us. Because you are called to the suit, you must have something to learn, as we did. My forefather, he had no name but we call him The Brave, my forefather took a chance. By letting go of animal nature and fear, he changed all of us into a greater," the mice and chipmunks stopped speaking and looked at the old woman for help. She spoke, "consciousness." "Yes, a greater consciousness. Did you not feel our presence in the forest? Do you now see that we are all one? Can you not feel that you, too, can be part of a greater cons, conc, consciousness?"
"But, I was not the only one chasing after the suit!" The boy has not given up. "We all chased it in the forest." The old woman sighed. "Imee, Jar-Imee, close your eyes and reflect. And so he did. Tears ran down his face as he saw the people chasing after him. He saw that he was the only one with a real weapon and that they had armed themselves with brooms and whatever was at hand but only to protect themselves. "It was really just a story they wanted me to find? Was it not the story of the armour?" The old woman smiled at him.
The boy looked embarrassed now. He dropped his shoulders and his grip slid down on the halberd. "What do I do?" As he was about to slump down to the ground entirely, the people of the town moved closer and gave him support. The littlest mouse, a vole really, spoke up, with bits of seed flying everywhere, "You surrender." The boy went to hand the halberd to the suit, but the littlest vole shook its small head which caused the ears to flop and the entire body to wriggle. "No, no, that that kind of surrender. You surrender everything. You give up on your fear and then you trust, trust," the littlest vole looked up at the woman briefly but got it right in the end, "everything. You trust everything." And, with that last statement, the boy did fall but not to the ground. He fell into the arms of the suit and the small mammals ran to him, finding space on his shoulders and in his hair. | 2021-09-21T09:20:40 | 2021-09-21T08:48:34 | 42 | 15 |
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