prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You're pretty sure that the gas station you work at is a hotspot for eldritch beings beyond mortal understanding but this job doesn't pay enough for you to care. Also they are more polite than your average customer. | As the slimy tentacles of the abomination in the building plopped down on the tiled floor, Jack was busy dealing with the rowdy customer at the checkout counter.
“What do you mean you can’t use the Double Gulp-o cups for Slurpeez?” The man had been arguing over the stores fountain drink rules, not noticing the 12 foot tall purple monster to his right.
“It’s store policy, sir. You can only use the Slurp-o cups, not the Gulp-o.” Jacks monotone voice didn’t change in speed or volume, he was use to this speech.
“Well this is an outrage!” The rude customer blurted before exiting. The octopus-like being of cosmic origin made its way to the counter. A large ‘Whizzo’ bar, a bag of ‘Crunch-ees’, and a ‘Lightning Shock’ energy drink.
*“Long day, huh?”* The abomination telepathically spoke. All Jack heard was a garbled mess, but he somehow understood everything.
“Yep, that’ll be $5.32.” The abomination slid forward a $10 bill.
*”Keep the change. Have a good evening.”* | A rusty cowbell clanged against the doorframe as someone entered. I was shuffling through brand name cigarette cartons, wondering why it mattered if they were in alphabetical order. Anyone buying a carton already knows what brand they want. By the time I stood back up, there was no new customer. The only person in the store was the same old woman playing the digital slot machines in the back corner. Soft melodies of spinning cherries played every time she cranked the level.
I tried to look out the windows between the cracks of beer and tobacco advertisements where a few men were huddled together, sharing a drink in a paper bag. They were there as often as the old woman at the slot machine, though I'd never seen them speak... or acknowledge each other at all. I'd honestly never seen them come. They were always here when I got to work.
A buzzer went off on the slot machine and a handful of coins dropped out. I looked over in its direction, but the woman was missing. A shame she stepped away after finally winning. The coins kept falling. Luckily, there was no one else in the store to steal her prize. The cowbell clanged against the door again.
"Thank you, dear," the woman said to me. I jerked back, nearly falling against the stack of cigarette cartons I'd just stacked. She was smiling with all her teeth.
"You're welcome," it almost came out as a question. "I think you left some coins in the machine."
"I never play for myself," her smile seemed to grow larger. "Someone else will need those coins far more than me."
Her body turned to leave, but her smile remained fixed on my struggled attempt at a reciprocal grin. Her footsteps were silent on the floor.
"Have a nice day," the door opened, letting hot air in. Her smile persisted until the door closed. I tried to watch her go through the cracks in the window advertisements, but it strained my eyes. The men outside appeared to look over at her for a moment and one broke off to approach her. More coins dropped from the slot machine, drawing my eye. I was alone in the gas station with an hour left on shift.
Coins began to fall from the slot machine onto the floor. I grabbed the keys to go reset it. As I reached the back of the store, the cowbell clanged against the doorframe. I looked over the aisles of junk food to a still-empty store. As I returned to the machine, I noticed the coins were covered in a black film. I contorted my body around them to reach the reset switch with my key. The coins stopped and the machine went dark.
"Why'd you do that?" a boy asked one aisle over. I couldn't see him.
"Do what?"
"Turn it off. Mother worked hard on that all day to feed our family. Turn it back on."
"The coins are still out. You can grab them," I began to walk back towards my counter. "Besides, now that I've turned it off, the machine will have reset."
"He will want more," the boy's voice sounded further away. "He will not rest until he has more, please, sir."
"Who?"
The men outside were looking inside, their eyes a swirl of galactic colors that would have been hypnotizing if I couldn't see my shift relief pulling in. Their cosmic stares followed me back to the counter. Their hands leaving ice crystals on the glass.
The cowbell clanged against the door. My relief.
"Thank goodness," I said.
"Anything interesting to pass on?"
"No. The slot machine just got reset in case anyone asks. Should take a couple minutes to reboot. That's about it, though."
"Alright. Have a good night."
"You do the same." I slid out from behind the counter. The cowbell was silent as I left. | 2021-12-13T22:15:24 | 2021-12-13T21:37:57 | 129 | 66 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | **The Nightmare of the Dreamless**
I never intended to start a war, but I do intend to win.
How simply it all began, with an uncommon answer to a common question.
“Congratulations Mr. President, you’re having a boy,” the doctor had said, rubbing the ultrasound device over my wife’s growing belly. “Shall we begin the the Sleep Cure treatment today? It’s quick, I’ll get you both out of here in time for nice big brunch.”
I didn’t say no because I didn’t trust new technology, like some crazy anti-curer; my entire political platform was based off technological innovation. I didn’t say no because of the challenges of raising a sleepless child; I was the President, I could do anything. I didn’t say no because I didn’t think it worked; a billion babies had proven it a billion times, including my own now four-year-old daughter, Eliza.
It was because of her that I said no.
For most of my life, I’d hated myself for not being born just a few years later. The “Sleep Cure” treatment was invented when I was just seven. The biggest corporations in the world heralded a new era of productivity for the world. Soon, humanity would be free from the biological shackles of tiredness, drowsiness, and wasted life we called *sleep*.
And it couldn’t come fast enough. These corporations poured hundreds of billions of dollars into the initiative, subsidizing the treatment so that anyone and everyone anywhere in the world that wanted to free their children from sleep could do so.
Many more billions were poured into the ads too. How could any responsible parent, no matter how skeptical, risk having their children cursed by to the need to sleep in a world where all their peers had eight more hours every single day to out-compete them?
The campaign was more than a resounding success. Within five years, nearly 70% of the world’s new babies were born with the Sleep Cure, and growing every year.
The Sleep Cured were, indeed, productive. Relentlessly productive. There were even Cured eleven-year-olds at my own high-school graduation.
True to those advertisements, lacking the Sleep Cure lead to severe disadvantages, even outright discrimination. Schools, and employers openly rejected those with the need to sleep. Even I am guilty here – in building my campaign team, I couldn’t imagine hiring anyone slowed down by sleep. Hypocritical, I know. If it weren’t for the age requirement to become President, there’s no way anyone like me could have even had a chance in office. The Cured were just superior humans.
At least, that’s what I thought until I had Eliza. She revealed something to me I can’t believe I’d missed, I can’t believe the whole world seems to have missed. For as wonderful and special and as incredibly intelligent and beautiful as any father knows their daughter is, there is something *wrong* with her. Oh my God how it pains me to admit this.
Give her a puzzle, and she’ll figure it out it like any child. Put on a children’s TV show, and she’ll laugh at the jokes like any child. Tag her, and she’ll tag you back like any child.
Ask her to pretend she can fly though, and she’ll give you face unlike any child before the Cure.
Put simply, she cannot play. Even worse, I feel she cannot *imagine.*
A punch to the gut, a nauseating fear, an internal scream. What had I done to my daughter?
What about all the Cured members of my campaign team? Productive? Efficient? Relentless. Yes. Fun? Playful? Creative? No. Oh God, never. When was the last time I’d heard a teammate make a joke? When was the last time anyone on my team had come up with an original idea?
With the loss of their need to sleep came the loss of their ability to *dream.*
I’d become the President by inspiring people with my visions, my dreams, for the future. What would happen to future generations without dreamers like me? They’d be productive, but would they produce anything that mattered?
The world needed people like me, and one day it would need people like my son, to lead and inspire and dream. That’s why I said no. I knew my decision would be controversial, but I never could have imagined how deeply it would shatter my already deeply divided country, driving a sledgehammer into the wedge.
One side consisted mainly of the parents who had realized the same thing as me and could no longer write off the strange behavior of their children as generational differences. They lashed out bitterly against the corporations and media industries that had ruined their children, hellbent on destroying the practice.
On the other, of course, were the presently Sleep Cured, who resented any sentiment that they were damaged. They called out the Uncured as envious of Cured, as resentful for their disenfranchisement.
And so, the war rages on.
We will defeat them, as terrifyingly productive as they are, because they are equally predictable, because they can’t see worlds that don’t exist, because they don’t have visions or visionaries.
And most of all, because children deserve to play.
___
r/stealthystorkstories | She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords | 2022-03-18T10:33:48 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 514 | 36 |
[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you. | It was the longest day of my life, the day he left. I still remember it as clear as the day we married in the church a few thousand yards from the house we shared, in a hidden village a hundred miles from the City. If only the High Priest hadn't come, we'd have lived in that shack forever.
That dreaded priest arrived without his usual caravans and wagons that such nobility kept with them. He wore a haughty, desperate look, like a prisoner tearing apart everything to find the key. That is, until he set eyes upon my man. He said that my husband was the man he saw in his dreams, his nightmares, and his visions. My husband would either save the world or end it.
We thought he had gone mad at first. I was a widower who buried a child, the mother of our first, with our second on the way, helping the weavers make clothes for extra money while he was no champion but a skilled blacksmith. We met later in life, yes, but we were happier than ever. But the High Priest simply handed a parchment to my husband. That was when I learned he was literate, the only one other than our town priest who shakily read passages every Sunday and preached.
He told me what the letter read. I wasn't listening. I was fighting tears unsuccessfully as I realized that my husband had no choice but to go. After the High Priest obtained my husband's solemn promise that he would go, he led me around the back of the house that he built with his hands ten years ago to the garden. He pulled the wall apart and fetched a glittering sword. I had seen it before and knew he kept it clean and sharp, but I had never asked why he had it. I hadn't needed to. I should've.
He kissed me, and swore on our marriage he would return, or die trying. That was the last I heard of him for five years. I never sold the house, though the money dwindled. I sold fruits and vegetables and continued weaving to stem the losses. David, our second, became deathly ill a few months after his birth, and I buried him by the sword-space. Catherine was old enough to remember her father and missed him dearly. It was difficult to watch her play with a wooden sword with the other boys, but I saw that determined look in her deep blue eyes, that she definitely got from her father, to be like her dad after I had inadvertently said I wished he had never had to take that sword and leave one terrible night.
A little over five years passed. I continued to wear the ring he gave me eight years ago then. He was my soul mate, and I couldn't imagine anyone else. Not promises of wealth or happiness from suitors. I waited for my darling as hope for his return diminished.
One rainy day, I walked home with Catherine after taking her to the apothecary. She had hurt her arm, and I was given a small bottle of pain reliever for her for some of the last of my coins after getting small discount after a promise to return the bottle. I didn't know how to put her arm in a sling, but I didn't have the money to ask this week, for the rest of it was for some bread tomorrow that would hold us for a few days. Even Catherine could see we were slowly starving, with her sad eyes looking mournfully at an ever shrinking plate at meals.
I didn't even recognize that the door was ajar until I got to the porch. It creaked loudly against the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. I looked around, and seeing nothing, nudged the door open. I gripped Catherine's hand tightly as I scanned the room. The fireplace was lit and an unfamiliar coat was draped over the chair reserved for my husband. I began to shout angrily to chase this man out of my house, to sit where one man belonged and to use my rooms as an inn, when he looked at me with exhausted, royally blue eyes. I stopped, saw an iron ring identical to my own on his hand, dropped the pan I had grabbed as a weapon, and sank to the ground as Catherine shrank behind me before recognizing the face that had left years before and rushed to his side. My man picked her up and then knelt down in front of me, caressed my cheek and begged to be let back in, that the battle was over and we won, that he would never leave my side again. I didn't hear him. I sobbed and said yes so many times I didn't realize he was waiting for my hand. I took it and he led me out back to the sword-space, where his sword was resting against the wall outside. In a clearing sky with a rainbow in the sunset, planted the sword. He took a helmet he had worn for years, and placed it on the hilt, never to be removed from it's final resting place, where my husband buried years of pain, anguish, and longing for good. | Ben sighed as he drove the cart back into the village, the old horse pulling it as slowly as ever. He'd never had any luck getting the old nag to move any faster; she definitely did things her own way.
Just like the woman who'd bought and trained her.
The horse plodded down the main road, following the familiar path through the square and towards the farm just past the other side of the village. As it went, Ben waved to a couple of people, and took in the sights of the carpenters and masons hard at work. They'd been here for weeks now, with deliveries of stone and wood feeding their labors. They had the word of the Duke that the village would be rebuilt better than ever, with a fortified wall to defend it this time.
Small comfort to the burgeoning graveyard that he had to pass on his way out of town. That wall would come too late for them. He looked towards the rows of headstones, some with fresh graves at their feet, and made the sign of the Gods as he always did. Those poor people had died, and for what? For nothing. Blame for this lay at the feet of just one person.
The horse continued on, following the dirt road towards the farmhouses around the outside of the village, specifically to the one he called home. As he cleared the fenceline of the farm, he squinted towards the small stable next to the house. There was already a horse in there. At first he thought maybe it was a visitor, a messenger from the Duke perhaps; they'd chosen him to be the one they communicated with, because of his unique role in the events that had happened, but...no. This wasn't one of the Duke's men. The horse was too fine for that, a snow white stallion with a fine saddle of a make he wasn't familiar with. And there was nobody standing there waiting; the Duke's people didn't just let themselves into his house, or at least they hadn't before.
He pulled up the wagon outside the stable, stopping the horse with a gentle "Whoa, girl. Whoa." He jumped out of the driver's seat of the wagon, and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the new pitchfork he'd traded for from inside the back of it. Holding the tool in his hands like a spear, he slowly approached the house and pushed at the door with the tines of the pitchfork. It swung open easily, which was cause for alarm - he knew he'd locked it when he left.
Ben plucked up his nerve and walked in slowly, leather boots soft and quiet on the old wooden floor. He'd had eight years to walk this floor, and knew where it creaked and squeaked, and how to avoid those spots. As he went, he heard rattling in the kitchen, along with a voice muttering to itself, the words just quiet enough that he couldn't make them out. He walked towards the sound, heart pounding in his throat as he went. Perhaps he should just leave, go back to town and get the newly minted Village Guard to come investigate this.
No. No, this was his home, and he would defend it. Nobody else was here to do so.
He stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, and took in the sight of a tall figure, long red hair cascading down the back of a fine suit of armor. A sword hung at their waist, and in their hands was a mug and an empty bottle. "I guess I can't be upset," the figure said, her voice sending a shock of recognition through Ben, his heart rising and going cold at the same time. "It's not like he *knew* I'd be back today...guess I'll have to run into town later..."
The pitchfork slid from Ben's fingers, which had gone numb with shock. The figure whirled around, hand going for the sword at her waist, but then she stopped, and they just stared at each other for a long moment.
Ben broke the silence first, hoarsely asking, "Karina...? Is that...is it really..."
Karina smiled sheepishly at her husband, reaching up to push long bangs away from sapphire eyes, the motion painfully familiar to Ben, who'd seen her do it a thousand times since they were children. "Hello, Ben. I...I'm home."
Ben looked at her blankly for a moment, torn between the urge to run and embrace the woman he'd loved since he was eight, and the urge to turn and walk away from the woman who'd abandoned everything they'd built and left for five years. He settled on walking to the table nearby and sitting down. "There's another bottle in the upper cupboard. Bring two mugs."
Karina blinked, then turned and retrieved the bottle and glasses. "When did you start keeping it up here? We always kept our drink in *this* cupboard--"
"You've been gone for a while," Ben said curtly. "Things have changed. As you might have noticed already."
Karina sat the bottle and the mugs on the table, and sat down across from her husband, her expression as open to him as it had ever been. She'd never been vague or closed, at least not to him. He could tell she was happy to be back, overjoyed to see him, but at the same time, had the air of a child caught in wrongdoing. She knew she'd done something wrong here.
*Good.*
"I did notice! The construction in the village, and the *wall.* It would seem I missed some things-"
"While you were gone. For *five years.*"
Karina's eyebrows drew downwards, the expression somewhere between hurt and angry. "Gone *saving the world.* I don't know how much news of the rest of the world has gotten here; I had asked the Duke to take care of this place, to make sure you all stayed appraised of how things were going..."
"Oh, so we could hear what a *great hero* you've been?" Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, taking up the bottle and pouring a measure of whiskey into each mug. "Small comfort, that. At least *someone* could tell me you were still alive. Don't know why it couldn't be *you*, though."
Karina took the mug he offered her, and looked down into it, as though the answers to this situation were written on the bottom. "I...I'm sorry, Ben. I truly am. I was always on the move, never stayed still long enough to try and write or anything. I can write, now, I learned how, and I *wanted* to, but-"
"Oh, you *wanted* to. That's wonderful to hear that you at least *thought* of your old life, your loving husband. Did you think about all the broken promises you left here too? Or think about-"
"Ben, *please*! I was chosen by the Gods themselves! I couldn't just...say *no*, who knows what might have happened?" Karina looked up at her husband desperately, and Ben met her gaze evenly, his expression wooden. He picked up his mug, and downed the measure of whiskey in one, setting the mug back down.
"You're right, we don't know what that might have brought. But I know what you leaving *did* bring. All that construction? It's *re-construction,* Karina. Vixale's people learned where you came from. And they came here. Twice they attacked us. Twice they put half the village to the torch before the Duke was able to chase them away with his army." | 2022-08-12T17:39:57 | 2022-08-12T17:38:06 | 113 | 77 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | You stick out when everyone else in your school has some kind of insane, physics defying power and you have nothing. Like a normal horse in a herd of rainbow colored unicorns.
It was nerve wracking to adjust to having classmates who could effortlessly lift you off the ground with their mind, labmates who used their eye beams instead of a Bunsen burner, and groupmates who interviewed ghosts for your history project. Not being indestructible or able to regenerate limbs on a whim, I got to know the medical staff quite well quite quickly. I wasn't even accident prone, some people just kept "forgetting" that I didn't have powers like they did. Though that ended the moment that one of the seniors took things too far.
Getting my arm broken was a weird way to find out how popular I'd become. Turns out that me being normal helps keep my more gifted friends grounded. I hadn't even known that half of them liked me all that much before they sent the senior to the superhuman ICU. I'm not complaining though. | St. Agatha's School for the Monstrous was, despite its outward appearance, more an elite institution of learning than the dumping ground for the abnormal it pretended to be. The reason was simple. Vampires have obscene amounts of money, long memories, and children who require very particular accommodations. My mother was a Were, so, to keep \*her\* mother/Alpha happy, I went to be evaluated when I was old enough, despite never having grown a feather or a fang in my life.
As life-changing experiences went, it was relatively mundane. We filed slowly down a hallway to stand before a grotesquely humanoid totem made from old straw and older steel, reinforced each year by a custom set of enchantments. the totem would then open one of two doors, one for the monstrous, one for the 'normal', the letter being used mainly by children of alumni who didn't carry their progenitor's bloodline/curse/mutation/whatever. I'd fully expected to join them and chalk up the wasted afternoon to stupid lycanthrope politics, but the monstrous door opened for me and so poof, I was accepted.
The first day of school was less harrowing than I'd expected. I was initially confused by this, but I later found out that most of the more obviously monstrous students just assumed I was a fledgling wizard or a vampire who used bronzer for vanity's sake. The exception, of course, was Lisa. She didn't like me at all, and to this day I don't know why. My plan had been to stay out of the spotlight, study, and hopefully make it to graduation without being eaten, but she put the kibosh on that immediately, talking loudly to her friends about "who could have let an obvious normie in" to the school, her offended harumph sending her Brobdignagian chest bouncing in ways that cloud the teenage mind.
Of course, I noticed, and of course, she noticed and came stomping over. I tried to ignore her harangue, after all, if she had a chest like that, she had to want to be noticed. I turned the page of my Monstrous History text, only to have her slap me for ignoring her, as if she weren't in front of me because I hadn't been ignoring her.
I balled up my fist and drove it into her stomach with all the force I could muster. She smirked, completely unhurt by my attack. So I pushed, reaching up under her midriff-baring top. She squeaked and called me a pervert, reaching back to slap me again before I found it, right in the middle of all that softness. A hard little nub no bigger than a gumdrop. My fingers closed around it and an expression of pure shock showed on her face. I smiled and looked her straight in the eye as I tightened my grip and \*pulled\*. The sound that came out of her mouth was one I'll never forget as she tried to keep control of herself, only to collapse into a quivering blob on the floor, her juices leaking everywhere as she began to lose coherence.
I saw that I had the rest of the class's undivided attention as I carefully placed the vaguely pyramidal core on my desk and smashed it to pieces with my textbook. I sneered down at the rapidly disintegrating slimegirl and said, loud enough for the class to hear, "Don't ever touch me without my permission."
As it turns out, not every monster is magical.
A/N: As always, feedback is appreciated. | 2022-11-02T09:54:56 | 2022-11-02T07:37:40 | 706 | 162 |
[WP] The hero's childhood friend has become the world's most dangerous villain. "it doesn't make sense", the hero thinks "he's still the boy I know, kind, brave, selfless to a fault, always standing up for... wait, something isn't right here" | “The difference between you and me was present from the very beginning, Tanner,” Joseph said. “I did what was right, and you thought the right thing was what was allowed. Independent thinking was never your strong suit.”
“You’re a thief and a murderer,” Tanner murmured, weakened by the restraints and the injuries her henchmen had inflicted.
“Why does thief come before murderer?” he asked. “Is it because the lives of the mercenaries I took were not worth a fraction of the money I stole from the people behind the curtains?”
“You stole from people, Joseph. You stole money from hard working people.”
Joseph shrugged. “What ever gave you that idea? I stole from corporations, Tanner. *They* stole from hard working people. I stole from hidden bank accounts and tax havens and criminals. No one starved or lost their home because of it. If anything, the opposite happened.”
“It is still— wrong…”
Was it? Tanner had the self-assured calm he possessed since he was a child. When he was right, nothing could deter him from his decisions. It was true. The media and the governments said that Tanner was evil and dangerous, but he only attacked when provoked.
“There are men on this world whose greed is a bottomless pit, Tanner. That pit would become our mass grave if left unchecked. Do you remember our middle school classes?”
Tanner looked up, surprised by the unexpected question.
“Governments have systems of checks and balances. The world as a whole should as well, I believe. I am bringing balance to this system.”
Tanner thought of Joseph as a disruptor. He was the one that occupied most news headlines, with stories of massive thefts and taking over land. But life went on as usual. People were not scared of war or the world ending. Tanner thought it was just that they got used to Joseph’s presence and activities. Even the most abnormal things became normal if they happened for long enough.
He’d felt that something wasn’t right for a long time. He had just been looking in the wrong direction.
\*\*\*\*
If you like my work, you can read more of it at r/analect. | StarStrider, the most famous intergalactic superhero, should have been happy. She WAS the strongest hero yet discovered, after all. But she wasn’t. Not for many Sols. The problem was that her childhood best friend, Jack, had become… different. Everything was wrong.
Originally, StarStrider (whose real name was Echo) and Jack were going to be heroes together. They had imagined since they were very young that they would one day become heroes together: fighting crime, flying around, and maybe even going Er (we know it as earth, but that name eventually fell out of favor) someday, to see the planet where everything began. But then something changed.
One day, Echo went to see Jack, but Jackie didn’t want to see her. Jack was suddenly moody, stand-offish, and angry. Echo thought this was really weird, because her beloved friend had always been so… good. Always kind, brave,selfless… she knew someone was wrong, but what?
“Is something wrong, Echo?” Her sister walked in, interrupting her thoughts. “N-no?” Echo responded, sounding off even to herself. “Why?” Her sister, Ace, then mentioned that she had seemed off lately, and Ace was worried. When Echo didn’t respond, Ace left.
Echo kept thinking: what had happened to make her friend change so drastically? Where had Jack gone? And then she realized: maybe that wasn’t Jack? Had someone disguised as her friend to fool her all these years?
Jack was normally an amazing person. But a few times, he would be… different. Just like on that day where everything changed permanently. She needed to go to Jack’s home. NOW.
Echo’s worry mounting, she knocked on the door she hadn’t knocked on in so long. When no one answered, she went in. She knew that he had become her worst enemy, as they were both top-class supers-but he was on the villain end of the spectrum.
She walked up the stairs to the room that Jack had owned since he was a child, and opened the door. What she saw was odd. Behind the dresser that had never been moved, there was a hole. A big one. And a ladder.
Going down the ladder (probably a bad plan, but she wanted to see what was there) she found something odd. Jack was locked in a prison of energy down there, unconscious. But Jack was also outside the prison, at a lab table. Echo gasped-and promptly clapped her hands over her mouth. Too late. Jack turned to her from the table, and smirked. Rising into the air, a ball of energy started to form in his hands. In the cage, Jack woke up, his expression one of shock as he yelled something she couldn’t hear. He looked very, very scared in that cage. But why? This made no sense. “Fancy that? The GIRLFRIEND coming to save her TWUE WUVE!” Flying Jack yelled before blasting energy at her. She dodged, and Cage Jack jumped up, pounding the walls with his fists. Flying Jack yelled, “I always thought my BROTHER was weak, falling for a HERO after our magnificent lineage of villains. And so I, Malice, VILLAIN of the CENTURY, fixed it! No one ever cared about me, but now my name is FEARED among humans and aliens ALIKE!”
During the time it took him (Malice, I guess?) to boast over his strength and evil, Echo made her way to his lab table. Malice barely noticed during his (apparently manditory) villain tirade. Echo then smashed it, allowing Cage Jack to be freed. Hopefully, that wasn’t a mistake.
Roaring, Jack flew at Malice, slamming him to the ground. They tumbled around together as Echo looked for a still-working way to contain Malice. She eventually decided on a small electric cage that was evidently meant for her, judging by the plaque on the front. Opening it, she pulled malice away from Jack, and threw Malice in the cage. Then Jack collapsed. The fresh burn marks on his body were enough to know that Malice had done plenty of damage with his electricity. But at least he was safe. Mostly. With volando around, was anyone ever really safe? She had to take him to the hospital, even if it meant he would get locked up for Malice’s crimes.
She knew she could get him out after he had been cleared of the crimes, and she could still maybe even see him become a hero alongside her one day, as they had dreamed since childhood. But for now, she needed to get her energy back up to fly him to the hospital, and maybe even to a new home that wouldn’t have these bad memories in it. | 2022-11-15T00:03:24 | 2022-11-14T16:08:50 | 101 | 55 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves. | “Hello, this is suicide assistance. My name is Frannia, how can I assist you today?” It was my first day on the job as a suicide prevention operator. In fact, I was just hired, but, not wanting to reveal my novelty, I kept a steady pitch and waited patiently for the caller to speak.
“Um… my name is Shizo. I need help.” Finally came a reply.
“How can I be of service, Shizo?”
“Look, I killed my entire family yesterday. It was an accident. I have a horrible disorder that sometimes I can’t control my consciousness. I can’t forgive myself but I didn’t do it on purpose. I just need someone to tell me that it’s okay, that I deserve a second chance, that even a killer can be forgiven.”
A long pause ensued. My eyes teared up with hatred. “Sorry Shizo, I can’t help you. My family was murdered by a psychopath yesterday as well. I can’t forgive a killer.”
“I just need someone to tell me it’s okay. Just one person who believes in me.” The desperation in his voice was as strong as my hatred.
“Sorry, I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I know it’s not your fault, but I just can’t forgive you.”
“PLEASE. Lie to me! You’re a suicide prevention operator for god’s sake! You’re suppose to convince me that my life is worth living. It’s like the opposite right now…” The caller started sobbing intensely, his words unclear but the meaning still understood.
I’m sobbing too now, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. I wish I can, but I can’t. People like you… You are dangerous. You killed my family and you don’t deserve to be part of society! YOU SHOULD JUST DIE!”
For a second, nothing happened. Then it was clear the message got across when a deathly gun shot was heard by neither party.
In the middle of the room was Shizo Frannia with two phones, a gun, and a bullet in his head. | Alan had been working with Project Outreach for nearly two years now. He could still remember his first week, how nervous he was and how excited the thought of helping people like him made him. He had been in a very dark place before that. It was Project Outreach that had saved him; now he wanted to give back and maybe, just maybe, do the same. In the time he'd been there, he'd done exactly that a few times over.
He had the love of his life die in his arms. They had been headed home from a party. His crappy truck was in the shop (again) so she drove. She had been talking about the dealership that her cousin had just gotten a brand new truck from, and how he should check it out because of the deals they were running to move old inventory. He was watching her face facing him, engrossed in what she was saying. He smiled thinking about her lips as he turned his eyes out the windshield. Her gaze met his, but they were both too late. A car has crossed the median and was headed right for them. The collision was at almost full speed. Everything went black for a minute, but one thought snapped him back: he had to get to her.
His mind refused to accept what he saw. There she lay, breathing ragged, eyes unfocused, blood-soaked hair matted to her face. That same face that had just been lit up talking to him about a new truck. He crawled to her. It hurt like hell, dragging what he'd later find out was a shattered tibia behind him, but it felt distant. She was all that mattered. He pulled her close. There were no final words, no last proclamation of love, or any other movie-esque final moment together. Her ragged breathing gurgled on for a few more seconds and then she was gone. Her eyes turned toward him as she exhaled her last breath; he hoped to hell she got to see him one last time. When no more breath came from her, he broke down. He sobbed like a child and wailed until his voice was gone; the wailing continued in silence after that as he clutched her. He cried till he literally had nothing left in him. He was an empty husk of himself for months after that until he had finally decided to end it. As he held the revolver in his hand, he thought of her once more. She wouldn't have wanted this for him -- it was that solitary thought that made him call Project Outreach that night. They were there for him when she couldn't be, and he knew he had to repay that.
"... I just can't go on like this anymore" the voice on the phone snapped Alan back from his memories.
"After every bottle, all I can think about is the next. Nothing else. It's like I'm already dead to the world. I can't even bring myself to give a shit about the things I've done," the caller said.
Alan's eyes narrowed. This guy knew what he did and STILL doesn't care? He mentioned it in the details of one of the drunken benders he told Alan about. It had been him that crossed that median on route 41 that night. He remembered drunken flashes, had the details filled in for him from the news and he **STILL. DIDN'T. CARE.** It crossed Alan's mind to tell him all the things he had dreamed of saying for the last two years. Letting him know the void he ripped in Alan's life. The callers words screamed in Alan's head - he didn't care about any of the things he had done. Uncertainty about death had prompted him to call, not remorse. It was then Alan knew what to do. He cleared his throat.
"Sir, you know I've been doing this for a while now, and I have to say... you're right. You are already dead to the world. Going through with this may be the best option for you." Alan said, dead calm.
Silence on the other end of the line was followed by a slurred response: "y-you really think so?"
"Yes sir, I do. Sometimes its just for the best. Go on, and take care of it sooner rather than later."
The caller started to softly weep. "Fuck it, you're right. I'm-I'm gonna go."
Alan clicked the button on his headset, ending the conversation. This would be the final careless drunken mistake that guy would ever make. Alan tossed his headset on the desk, and walked away from Project Outreach for the very last time.
EDIT: Breath not breathe. Dangit. | 2013-12-23T15:47:58 | 2013-12-23T14:29:49 | 179 | 10 |
[WP]A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do? | This is the bit of paper? Really? It's not very big. And people just read it, and then off they go? And kill themselves? All of them? That's fucking ridiculous, seriously, I'm going to read it. No, fuck off, I'm reading it. I'm going to read it and then I will go home and get on with my life and no one is going to die. Look, I've got a great job, gorgeous wife, a beautiful home and a baby on the way. I promise you, there is nothing that this paper could say that could make me take my own life. Seriously, I'm going to read it right now, out loud, so shut your ears if... you know, if you're a fucking idiot. Right...
"Recliner chairs in the afterlife are available on a first-come first-served basis"
Oh... | The Redditor sat in his chair with a sour look on his face, reflecting his deep frustration with Reddit's so-called community. His question about the meaning of life on AskReddit had been downvoted to oblivion. As had a cat picture posted on /r/pics with the caption “I know the meaning of life, do you?”.
Next he had tried posting a picture of a penguin /r/PhotoShopBattles saying “Edit this picture to show the meaning of life”, but it had gone nowhere. Someone added a banana for scale and that was it. It was supposed to be funny, but pathetic job done with MS Paint was somehow depressing.
He looked around his dank basement room, and saw the mess. Three crusty cereal bowls and two pizza boxes showed five meals eaten at the computer over the last couple of days. Ants crawled over a discarded Hot Pockets box, carrying away crumbs. The space was depressing, but not “kill yourself!” depressing, just sad and pathetic, devoid of meaning. He kept hoping reddit might provide that meaning, and yet it never really did.
Then an idea occurred to him as he scrolled idly through reposts on /r/nononono. He could weave together his need for someone to tell him what the point of his existence was together with the idle ideations of death that preyed his mind without ever going anywhere.
He composed a prompt:
“A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down. What did it say?”
Hmm. Is that a story? Not really.
He tried again.
“A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note. Then an alien appears and explains how live forever, but God is having none of it and kills the alien. And then it turns out that the alien was really Jesus!”
Hmm, that looked pretty good. Like many of the writing prompts he'd seen, it had all the details laid out for would-be authors; the writers have got to like that, since then writing the story is easy, just fleshing it out, and you almost didn't need to read the responses, just the prompt, so it'd probably get upvotes before anyone had written anything. But maybe people would focus too much on the God aspect.
He picked up a pizza crust and nibbled it. It was hard and stale, but still edible and gnawing on it helped him think.
How about this, “A man kills himself after discovering the meaning of life and writing it down, as does anybody who reads his note, you unwittingly read the note, what does it say and what do you do?”
He read it over. Yeah, he might get some ideas about what the meaning of life is, and there's that whole “kill yourself vibe”.
Posted! It's even getting upvotes. Finally!
But as he watches the responses trickle in, the thread turns out to be junk. Just a bunch of low effort responses with people saying things like “It's all pointless”, and then worst of all, someone not even following the prompt properly and making it all about him.
What the hell? Where is the meaning of life? Where is the death?
“Why couldn't it be better?”, he muttered to himself as he stumbled into the kitchen to find some more Hot Pockets.
Maybe /r/TipOfMyTongue might have something. “I used to know a really good answer for the meaning of life, but I forgot it. Can someone remind me?” Yeah, maybe that'd get some traction.
------
Edit: Minor copy edits. | 2015-02-27T00:42:41 | 2015-02-26T23:56:26 | 532 | 14 |
[WP] His chess set currently on loan, the Grim Reaper is forced to play a different game when an individual pleads for their loved one's life. | “I spy with my little eye… something black.”
Even shrouded by the limitless darkness of his hood, I could that tell the Grim Reaper stared at me like I was an idiot. The same look crossed over Cassie's face, though hers was tinged with terror. She stood with her back against my knees, pressed as hard against them as should could. Trying to get as far away from the haunting specter that stood before us.
When I made my declaration, Cassie clutched at my hands, draped protectively over her shoulders. “Daddy no! That's too easy!”
“It's going to be okay, Cass.”
“Please don't let him take me!”
I looked down into her little blue eyes. “I won't, sweetheart. I promise.”
When the reaper spoke his breath set ice upon the wind. “So. That is your game. A children's pastime.”
I nodded. “It is.”
“And if I lose, your daughter is mine, as she rightfully should be.”
“Yes. I have agreed to your terms.”
“And you understand that this game of yours, this 'I Spy', has no set end? I can simply keep guessing until I arrive at the answer?”
Cassie fidgeted. I could hear her heartbeat from here. It was nearly as rapid as mine. I said, “That's right. Though I think you'll give up long before that.”
The reaper chuckled and it sounded like the raspy tatters of a thousand last breaths. “Very well, mortal. Do you spy my black robes, woven from the very night itself, the folds of which all living creatures will eventually find themselves entangled?”
“No.”
“Fine. Is it the black shaft of my scythe, which has cut through billions and reduced even the most powerful and dignified of kings to simpering pups, fallen upon their knees to beg for mercy?”
I resisted a grin at “black shaft” and again shook my head. “No.”
He let out a quite mortal-like harrumph. “Well then, is it the cloud of infinite anguish which swirls around me, which defies all of your known physical laws, which rivals the empty vacuum of space in blackness?”
“No.”
The reaper stamped his foot with something resembling impatience. “Is it my face, the void into which men stare and lose their minds, never to-”
“No.”
He paused for a while. “Is it… um… that Honda Civic over there?”
I shook my head.
“God damn it,” he muttered.
“Haven't given up, have you?”
“Of course not! I am Death! I know not defeat! I am the only true victor the universe has ever known, for while you may build the tallest of towers and widest of moats, all things come to me eventually. None can defend themselves from my-”
“Right, right,” I said, waving my hand. “Are you going to make another guess or not?”
“I am! I… I'm wearing black underwear right now. Is it those?”
Cassie let out a small giggle then quickly clapped her hands over her mouth. I remained solemn. “No.”
“Is it that family sitting in the cafe over there?”
“Don't make this a race thing, man. No.”
“Is it the blackness of the night sky?”
“Not even close.”
By now the reaper was hopping with rage. He jabbed his scythe into the ground, creating tremors and cracking the Earth as he rattled off his guesses. “Is it the black bark of that oak tree in the park? The pavement upon which we stand? The flock of crows above our heads? The nature of the human soul? Your iPhone cover? The boba in that woman's tea? Coffee grounds? A marble?”
“No,” I said. “No to all of that.”
Almost completely still now, the reaper hung his head. “Very well. You win, dismal mortal. You may keep your wretched daughter for a few more decades. But know that you have not truly bested me, for all things come to me in time, even and especially the two of you!”
“I'm aware of that. You've mentioned it a few times. Come on, Cassie.”
“Wait!” said the reaper, extending a bony hand. “What is the answer, o clever one? Reveal to me that which I could not suppose upon my own!”
Gently, I turned Cassie around. My finger tapped the tiny dark mole on the back of her neck. She and the reaper gasped simultaneously. I grinned.
The reaper swung his scythe through the air wildly. “Cheat! Brigand! Coward! You played me for a fool! How was I supposed to know that was there? How was I supposed to guess?”
I placed a hand atop Cassie's head. “Imagine if you knew more about the people you take. If you bothered to learn about their lives, their hopes and dreams. What makes each one special. But no, that would make things a bit harder for you, wouldn't it? To have to come to terms with exactly *who* you are snuffing out.”
The reaper was quiet for a long while. Finally, he raised his hooded head and whispered, “That isn't fair.”
I shrugged as I took Cassie's hand and led her away. “Man, life isn't fair.” | "Sorry!" I cried, triumphantly and moved Ethel's last piece back to the start position.
Ethel broke into tears and wailed uncontrollably.
"Geez, way to break the mood, Ethel."
"Buh- buh- I thought we would be playing chess! I'm good at chess! I could trust Elmer's life to my chess skills!"
I let out a deep sigh, "Well, unfortunately, Peter borrowed my chess set and hasn't given it back. This is all I have."
Ethel continued sobbing, "I give up, you're too far ahead."
"Whelp, I'd best be off then, come on Elmer." And I grabbed a handful of Werther's Originals from the dish in the foyer.
Elmer, being senile and having no idea what just happened, gave me a happy smile and followed me out the door. Ethel continued her sobbing. I *really* need to get that chess set back from Peter. Nobody ever cries after the chess games. Mostly they just get real quiet when they realize they're beaten. But ever since Peter borrowed my chess set I've had to find a new game to use when bargaining for the lives of Loved ones.
I'm Death, by the way.
So anyway, I took a vacation last weekend to Tahiti and my buddy Peter asked if he could borrow my chess set while I was away. I don't why he wanted it, the guy is dumber than a bag of hammers, he's probably trying to play checkers with it. Anyway, when I got back, Peter was busy with his shenanigans and his wife didn't know were the set was, so I had to get another board game. Peter told his wife to let me borrow another game from their closet until he could get the chess set back to me. The only game that had not been colored on by his dumbass older son, or scrapped for building a weapon by his creepy young son, or (somehow) used as a masturbation aid by his disgusting daughter was the game 'Sorry!'
I wasn't going to take it, but then I remembered that I'm Death, and I can't just walk into a store and buy a board game, I don't even have any money. Also, God's been real strict about using magic to construct work supplies lately (dude just quit smoking and he's been on edge) so 'Sorry!" it is.
The first dozen or so games were a crapshoot, neither I nor the bargainers knew how to play. Eventually I got the hang of it because I play it a few times a day, but the person I'm bargaining with is usually playing it for the first time. So... yeah... Chess? Sure, most of these folks at least know the rules and movements so I can play. But 'Sorry!' is kind of... morbid...ly appropriate! Sorry! I have to take your loved one to the great hereafter! But most people have been less than amused when I tell them that their loved one's life depends on a game of 'Sorry!'. Chess is serious, 'Sorry!' is a kid's game.
I sent Elmer on his way to meet his maker, or whatever and had a gander at The List.
* ~~Elmer B. Chesterfield. Bargainer: Wife-Ethel Chesterfield~~
* Timmy Barkles. Bargainer: Father-Charley Barkles
"Oh, great, one of *these*. Yeah, this is going to be rough. I snapped my fingers and appeared at the Barkles's doorstep. I knocked.
A few minutes later, Timmy himself answered the door, but something was... unusual. He was wearing a pair of khakis, a button down and a tie with a sweater pulled over it. Really odd, considering the kid is only 8 and it's a Wednesday in August. But, judging by the neighborhood, it looks like his family is all hoity-toity well-to-do and always dresses up. Pricks.
"Hi Timmy, is your daddy home?"
He stared at me, dumbfounded, the way most kids do, for a few seconds before calling out, "Father! A Tradesman is here to see you!"
A 'tradesman'?
His father came to the door, but stood there terrified when he realized who I was.
"Hey Charley! I'm death and I have to take little Timmy with me." I paused dramatically. "Buuuut I'll give you a chance to win his life if you can beat me at a game? Whaddya say?"
"I knew this day would come, very well, come into the drawing room and let us match wits."
'Drawing room'? 'Match wits'? WTF? Its 2015, nobody says this shit anymore. This fucking guy probably never lets his kid have any fun.
Anyway I sat down in the drawing room with Charley Barkles. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Pretentious as fuck. It's goddamn *August* and this asshat is having a fire indoors.
"I'll have you know I am a top contender in the International Chess Championships, so I *won't* make this easy for you."
"...riiiiiiight, well, we aren't playing chess today."
"...huh??"
"Yeah, my dumbass friend borrowed my chess set, but it's okay, I have something else."
"I have multiple chess sets we can use."
"...yeeeeeeah, the rules say I have to provide the game to make sure no one cheats. But as I said, I have a game here."
"What game?"
I produced the box.
"Ta-Da! Sorry!"
"What is this rubbish?"
('Rubbish'? We're in America and you don't have a British accent. Stupid pretentious fuck using fancy words.)
"'Sorry!' is a board game. Fun for the whole family!"
"I've never heard of this twaddle before."
(Twaddle?)
"No? Here, watch [this commercial](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtrCjBoXcz0). And [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZXhV74Mg-M)." I held up my tablet and played the YouTube videos for him.
"This isn't fair. I'm raising little Timmy to be a chess grandmaster and I'm supposed to win his life on a child's dalliance?"
"Would you shut up with your stupid pretentious fancy words and just talk normal? And 'Sorry!' is far from just a child's game. It's a *Family* game!"
"Oh... very well."
I explained the rules and we began to play. About halfway through, Little Timmy wandered in and watched us play.
"Father, what's this game?"
"Its not a game son."
"It looks fun! Can I play?"
"No! Nothing is fun except chess! Now go to your room and read another Chess Strategy book."
Timmy hung his head and moped his way out of the room and up the stairs.
"You know what? Fuck this. You're a terrible father." And I stabbed him with my scythe.
"Timmy's better off without you constantly forcing him to play chess." And I sent Charley Barkles off to the hereafter.
I packed up the set and walked up to Little Timmy's room.
"Hey Timmy, I've got something for you."
Timmy set down his chess book and sat up in bed.
"Here, its a really fun board game. Way better than chess. It's called 'Sorry!'" And I handed him the game box.
While he was opening it, I rounded up his chess stuff and took it downstairs where Charley's corpse was starting to go stiff.
I threw all of the chess stuff into the pretentious fire that Charley had to have in the middle of August and watched it burn.
Whelp, now I suppose I have to go get my chess set back from Peter. | 2015-08-26T11:57:10 | 2015-08-26T11:51:18 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] "All I'm saying is, the dragon's fire breath was just not hot enough to have melted the castle's support beams."
Found on @AwfulFantasy's twitter account, specifically here; imgur.com/gallery/T9Z1u
Edit: From 0 to top prompt. This subreddit works in mysterious ways. Thanks for the quality responses everyone. | "Dragon's fire can't melt castle beams, Mikhail," I screamed. "They're made of STONE. You can't just melt a stone, fool. I'm telling you- it was black magic, the High Court wanted an excuse to increase their military power, and now they have it. One of them must've sold their soul or flesh to summon a powerful demon that toppled the tower."
Mikhail looked at me with exasperation. "We literally *saw* the dragon melt the castle's support with our own eyes. Are you calling us liars?"
"No! They disguised it as dragons, hiding the demon with dragonfire."
"You're insane. Besides- you know rock melts, right? That's what *magma* is..."
"That happens deep underground, and takes time. Did you see how fast the castle crumbled? I'm telling you, it's a cover up."
"I'm getting tired of these ridiculous accusations. What will you do, go to court and beg them to listen? As a friend, I'm telling you that they'll just lock you in a dungeon for suggesting such madness."
"No, Mikhail, I *did the math*. It's impossible for it to have dropped so quickly without something destroying the base-"
A blurred dagger interrupted my words, piercing through my heart so quickly there was no time to react.
"Mikhail...why?"
"You should've stopped asking questions. Take your last few moments to enjoy that you were right, and be glad you aren't here for what's next." | "I've seen dragons bring down bigger castles before", says the thief as he puts a slice of apple in his mouth. The blade a blur in his skinny hands as he prepares the next one. "Castles bigger than that one", he says with a mouth full.
"That's not the point." The wizard in the dark conner of the table replies.
"What is it then? You keep saying the dragon could not have destroyed the castle because his breath can't melt the beams!"
"The beer clouds the eye of your mind, my fellow."
"Explain it then, oh wise master!" mocks the thief, gesturing like a Manchurian priest conducting rituals for his deity.
"A dragon's breath *can* bring down a castle, so can it's physical attacks. It can't, however, melt the beams."
"This... is wrong." The barbarian joins the conversation bluntly. "Fire... melts".
The thief barks a laugh, abruptly interrupting everyone's silent stares at the barbarian. "See? Even dumbhead here knows it". He spins on top of what is half the table, half his chair, arms wide holding his beer cup. Not a drop is spilled.
"*Heat*...", begin the wizard, "melts."
"Well, surprising news for you: fire *is* heat, old fool!" The thief laughs, slams his hand on the table and takes another sip.
The wizard grabs the barbarian beer bottle and throws the contents away. "You don't need any more of this, go to sleep." He puts it on the table and his own empty glass beside it, then proceeds to pull two coins from his sleeve and places one in each cup.
"Oh! A game!" just up the thief suddenly interested. A wide grim in his face at the prospect of gaining easy coin.
"Observe", says the wizard as he casts fire on one of the cups, and something that doesn't seem to do anything, on the other. "Which coin will melt first?" He asks.
"What? Of course the one in the damn fire!"
As he finishes saying it, the coin on the seemingly static cup is taking on a red tonality, much faster than the one in the fire.
"Huh? What is going on here? Some kind of wizard illus... Yaaaaaaaaaahhhrg!" he screams and falls from his chair as he touches the cup. "What in Shade's name was that?! Cup is burning!"
"It is not." Says the wizard.
"Not what?!"
"Burning requires fire", he gestures, "Do you see any fire, fool?"
Not only the coin is melting now, but the entire cup is twisting and losing it's height.
"Damn you old bastard! I need this hand for my stealing!"
"Heat, melts." continues the wizard, ignoring the thief's ramblings. "Fire is not the only source of heat, nor is it the best."
The thief puts his hand inside his beer. A relief sigh immediately leaves his mouth. "Then what? That only proves that something else could have melted the beams, not that the dragon's breath could not have." He points at the table with his good hand, "In case you're not paying attention, the other coin is all red by now, too."
"The castle's beams are dragon forged. Have you seen the process?"
"No. But I still don't follow."
"If you *had* seen it, you'd know it takes many days, and like normal forgery, it cools down once you throw cold water on it." He waves the fire spells away from the cups on the table and signs the attendant for new ones. "Now, the dragon forged castle beams didn't just weaken and failed. They ran through the city like a river of lava to the open winter sky, all the way to the frozen lake, cut through the ice into the cold water beneath, kept running through the bottom of the lake until it's very center, and then turned the frozen lake into a boiling plate." He puts a beer for himself and one for the thief. "Now, explain to me, when was the last time you've seen a dragons breath boil a lake?" | 2016-02-14T09:20:34 | 2016-02-14T06:16:24 | 753 | 46 |
[WP] You live in a society where at the end of each day, you can choose to relive it, but without retaining any knowledge of what happened previously. A number in your peripheral vision shows how many previous times you lived through the current day. Almost always that number is 0. Today it is 7212. | I had been on edge from the moment I woke up this morning. There was this odd ringing in my ears, and my heart was beating twice its usual pace. But then, how could I be calm, under the circumstances? I couldn't stop myself from glancing at the number every few seconds. 7212. How could this be? Had I really spent nearly 20 years reliving the same day? What possibly could have happened that I had to keep going over it, again and again? Certainly nothing good. Even the best day of my life I had only spent a week reliving. Even with the memory wipe, the novelty of it wore off. The repetition bleeds through eventually. Life was like music. It's the change you're looking for. That next note, and the one after that. You can play the same beautiful note forever, but after a while it's just noise.
No, something had gone wrong. So wrong that I had to fix it at all costs. What, though? All I had to go off of was that slowly escalating number. The only possible thing that could inspire change in the do-over. Well, that and the feeling of dread that endless repetition brings forth. I slammed my fist on the table. I wasn't going to figure anything out like this. I had to start talking to people. I had to figure out what was going to happen while I still had time to change it.
"Something wrong?" came a voice.
I looked up to see the tv repairman.
I hesitated, then, as casually as I could manage, asked him, "What's your number?"
"Eh?" He said, looking puzzled for a moment.
After my eyes flicked downward at my own number, he realized.
"Ah." He replied, his eyes flicking at an angle as well. "One. Not surprising, I say. Working early and all day? Not usually something I want to repeat, would I? How about you?"
I tried to force a smile on my face, but it came out as more of a grimace.
"I've been through it a few times."
The repairman was oblivious to my ill-attempt to hide my worry.
"Ah! You must be in for a treat! I always start feeling the butterflies once I hit a three or higher. Have fun for me, will ya?"
I gave a feeble nod in acknowledgement as he returned to his work. Whatever was about to happen, it seemed to be an isolated incident, to some extent, if the repairman hadn't chosen to repeat the day. Or something had happened where he couldn't.
I shook myself, trying to fight the anxiety. I would not find myself seeing the number 7213. This was the last time through this day, and to make sure of it, I had to act now. I had to do something I hadn't done in the last twenty years of living through this day. This meant I needed to piece things together with the only useful information I could get. The numbers.
I was starting to regret letting the repairman in. I was wasting valuable time. If I hadn't been awoken by his arrival - if I had a little time to process the situation I might have had the foresight to turn him away. I briefly considered just leaving him to his business, but dismissed the thought immediately. What if the thing that happened - was going to happen - was caused by leaving him alone in my house? I tapped my finger impatiently on the table. I needed a moment to think, anyway. I would accomplish nothing of use in my current state.
Half an hour after I had let him in he emerged from behind the television with a grunt.
"You're all set, Mr. Rhinehart."
"Please, it's Trevor", I said vaguely as he exited through the front door, saying something about a loose connection.
Determined to make some headway as soon as possible, I reached for the keys so I could leave as well. I fumbled with them as I tried to free them from the hook, dropping them in the end. As I stooped down to retrieve them, the ringing in my ears returned suddenly and much louder than before. A sharp pain stabbed through my head somewhere and images flashed before my eyes. I saw my keys landing on a cement floor. I saw a sign on a wall which read "TRINITY PARKING". There was a long row of cars, and a digital clock on the wall. 7:52, it shone in neon green.
Then, all at once, the images were gone, the ringing had stopped, and all that remained was a dull throbbing in my head as my entryway swam back into view. My hand was clasped around my keys, and I was still bent over. Breathing heavily I straightened up and looked at my watch. 7:33.
Whatever that vision meant, it was unheard of, but I knew it had something to do with what was going to happen today. Closing and locking the door behind me, I mustered up my courage. In less than twenty minutes, I would presumably learn more.
The number 7212 sat, foreboding, in the corner of my eye as I walked at a brisk pace away from my home. Tomorrow that number would read "1". I would make sure of that. | Let me tell you about the worst day of my life. For some reason, I've relived it 7212 times. How can a Saturday in May be so terrible? Many people were skeptical of Repeat Technology at first, but I saw it as a new opportunity. I was living a relatively crappy life. I had a terrible apartment and an even worse girlfriend. I decided to make a change in my life and Repeat Technology has been the cornerstone of this change.
Every day, I have list of options for every part of the day. Once the day is finished, I rate my day and if I think it was mostly positive, I make a new list for tomorrow and move on. Today's list seems pretty mundane, but somehow I can't move past it.
I woke up this morning at 6:30 like I always do and drank my morning coffee. First thing on the list was breakfast: Eat at The Garden or make breakfast myself. This was usually an easy choice, but for some reason the 7212 day reminder told me that maybe I should try a few things different today. I decided to make breakfast. Just a simple breakfast burrito with a green chile sauce and chihuahua queso. It was good, but it wasn't life changing.
Next on the list was either workout or get some work done. Work on a Saturday is sacrilegious so I decided to get a good sweat going. After about 30 minutes of cardio, I figured that this was also one of those choices that doesn't really matter. I knew I was ahead of schedule so I got some light reading in while I waited for the next time frame.
At this time it was around 10:30. I live a little bit outside of the city, so I need to give myself plenty of time to move so that I can meet all of my appointments. Next was lunch. Meet "friends" at that trendy new cafe that opened up or go to The Anchor, my favorite run down pub with the best onion rings in the state. I took the less obvious option and decided to dress up for a few hours of expensive food and hollow people. I really hated this decision, but something exciting might have happened.
Unfortunately, that was not the case. At around 11:20, I met my "friends" and the bullshit ensued. We didn't have much to talk about so we just judged everything around us. I know I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. This was one of them. Unless something really amazing happened, I would have to repeat today for sure.
Next was helping my brother and his family move out of the city into the suburbs and then getting dinner with them or go disc golfing with my actual friends and then going to The Anchor for drinks. My parents were supposed to help with my brother's move and I hadn't seen them in a few months, but I thought to myself, "You would help your brother any other day, but today you need to do things differently." I changed clothes in the car and checked that my discs were in the trunk. Thank God I decided to just keep them in there at all times.
I had a blast. A few beers on the course, good laughs, and a nice dose of sunlight was exactly what the doctor ordered. When we got to The Anchor, the day only got better. Artie, the bartender, was feeling appreciative of his customers for once and he decided to give us all the employee discount. I've never seen or eaten so many onion rings. After five bottles of ketchup and a couple hundred onion rings, we called it quits and went our separate ways.
It was still a bit early so I thought about going to dinner with my family. The day had turned out to be pretty excellent. I could have met my family and had a light dinner with them, but the 7212 told me that I was missing something. I wasn't sure if it was something I actually wanted, but somehow I felt that if I kept coming back to today, I needed to keep going.
I decided to head back into the city for dinner at a quiet restaurant. It wasn't part of my daily plan, but sometimes you need to try something new. Terry's Steakhouse was one of those places that locals tried to keep secret and for good reason. They had the best cuts of beef in the entire Rocky region and I've never had a better porterhouse. I wasn't feeling too hungry though so I decided to have a salad and some drinks at the bar.
That's when I saw her. She was beyond gorgeous. Something that writers could drone on and on about without ever losing your interest. If there was ever a woman like here before on Earth, she would have been mistaken for goddess. I knew this was why I relived this day. It had to be. Maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I knew I had to meet her here. I had gone out on my previous attempts to any other number of places, but she had always evaded me. If things went right, maybe I could finally move forward.
I slurped down my drink and slowly approached her. I tried to be confident, but my knees grew weaker and weaker as I got closer to her. When I was close, she noticed me and smiled so prettily. I knew my face must have been lobster red, but it was too late to back down now.
"W-would you like a drink?" I stammered out. She continued to smile and signaled the bartender. "Two more of these please? He's buying." Her smile turned sort of deviant and I could not have been more attracted to her than I was at that moment.
The night went on wonderfully and we both left after a few more drinks. Before she got into a taxi, I mustered up the courage to ask her for her number. She pulled out her phone and said, "On one condition: you give me yours as well." I had done it. I fumbled around for my phone, we exchanged numbers, and went our separate ways.
I pulled into the driveway and knew that I had done it. I had finally had the perfect day and could sleep knowing that tomorrow would be brand new. I stared at her number and thought of what our relationship could be like. As I looked admiringly at the number, a call came on the screen. It was from my brother. Although I was a bit startled, I answered.
"Rick? It's Dave. How have you been?" He sounded like he was fighting back tears. "I've been good Dave. I just got back from dinner. Hey... I'm really sorry about not helping you move man. If there's anything you want me to d-". He cut me off there. "It's alright Dave. Really it is. I need to tell you something. You might want to sit down."
I had made it inside my apartment by the time he said that. I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and began to sweat.
"Mom... had a heart attack today as she was unloading some of the boxes at the new house. Rick... sh-she's not going to make it to tomorrow. You need to come see her and say your goodbyes. We're at St. An........."
The voice on the other end began to fade out. Colors around the room were draining. I had finally realized why I kept repeating today. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to thank her for being the woman she was. I never got to tell her I loved her.
I got up and began walking to my bedroom. Tears effortlessly fell from eyes and my body felt numb as I crawled underneath the sheets. Tomorrow would be exactly the same. It would be the 7213 day. As sleep began to smother me, I whispered to myself over and over again, "Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't fo-".
Let me tell you about the worst day of my life... | 2016-07-11T10:29:44 | 2016-07-11T09:27:23 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day, how you spend it is your choice. Today you are given $70,000,000. | #Title: Just Enough
I hid the receipt in my pocket the moment I read it.
“You finished?” said the impatient girl waiting behind me.
I flinched then nodded my head ‘yeah.’ She smiled like I was being kind of awkward as she swiped her card.
“Fuck me what now,” I whispered under my breath. I covered the receipt with my hand and read it again. “Why the hell would I need *seventy million dollars*.”
The ATM never failed. Most days were normal. Simple expenditures, simple days. Gas, toll, parking, lunch, dinner, the occasional speeding ticket. Rarely close to a hundred. The ATM gave me all I needed for that day. No more, no less.
But some days, I wondered what kind of curse I was under.
“Don’t do anything stupid Elliot,” they whispered. With their Guy Fawkes masks. From the shadows of alleys, from closets, from anywhere. They were watching. Appearing and disappearing. Always with a cryptic message. “Pull your money. Survive. Don’t get caught. We’ll need you here before the end.”
I wanted to believe they weren’t real. I wanted to believe I was crazy.
I got breakfast at a food cart, jaywalked past the traffic, headed back to my apartment. I tried to be happy. Maybe nothing bad would happen. Maybe this was some final gift, and it would end right here. Instant millions. No way in hell was I going to work today.
Then I heard the violent explosion. Screams abounded.
“SHIT,” I shouted. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My sofa was flying across the sky, along with all the rest of my everything. I put my hands in my hair.
Everybody ran to the building to see. You know how people are drawn to chaos. There was flaming debris all around. I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to see those masks again. Not again.
Then I heard a *psssssssssst*
“Don’t,” I whispered to myself. I shook my head. “Don’t open your eyes.”
*pssssssssssssst*
“Oh God,” I whispered. I shed bitter tears. “Oh God.”
I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I flailed as I turned around. Nobody beside me. But there they were.
Masks in the alley.
All of them were rubbing pieces of paper in their hands, and giving me a thumbs up. And pointing at my hands, like I should do the same. I looked down at my shaking hand, and the receipt within it. I rubbed at the paper.
A secret message appeared.
“You’re going to feel a slight prick.”
And I suddenly felt a needle enter my skin.
________________________________________________________________________________________
I woke up hard of breath and in a panic in a dimly lit basement.
“Hey, hey,” said a middle aged man beside me. He was wearing a lab coat, and a mask. “Sit still, sit steady.”
“Fuck they almost got him today,” said another masked man.
“Wha-,” I dry heaved beside me.
“Allergy to the anesthetic,” said the masked scientist. He shook his head. “He’ll be fine, he’ll live. Fuck me they really almost got him today.”
“What i-” I weazed then dry heaved again. “What is this.”
A masked girl beside me shoved a piece of paper into my hand and made me clench my fist around it.
“When you come to we’ll be long gone,” she whispered. She had a sweet voice. “You’re a long way from home, you’re in Detroit now. Go to this address. Give the man you meet there this faded coin, and tell him you need to disappear. Tell him no more. His price is kind of hefty, and you’re going to be on the run for a very long time.” The scientist injected me once more. I fought the loss of consciousness. She gripped my hand harder. “You have to trust us. You have to *live*.”
They wiped the room of their prints and panicked around me. I faded out as I heard them speak.
“We need to get his blood to them. If he dies it’ll be a true pandemic…”
Edit: Whoa I just woke up and I can’t begin to describe how thankful I am people are enjoying this. I’m currently in the process of querying agents for a book and it’s been a patience-trying process waiting for responses from people reading fulls so to have any positive feedback on my writing is very much appreciated. I’ve always loved this writing community it’s what drew me to Reddit in the first place. I blog at oscarrelentos.com if you’re interested, thanks for the support you guys | PRE-STORY WARNING: I was really bad with tenses while writing this, and don't have the time to fully proof read it right now. Apologies in advanced!
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Anonymous Tactile Medium. ATM for short. That's how most people pay for things, ever since the 6th economic crash this century. They were a physical private key into the world of cryptocurrency. A huge blockchain network and the lack of central servers renders falsifying transactions nearly impossible.
Nearly.
I don't know who made it, or why they made it, or how, but there's a website. It claims to give you exactly enough money to get through the day. Most of the population think it's a scam. In fact, I did too, until drunken me signed up for it. Apparently it "chose" me, according to that email. Not sure if that means I'm the only one it works for, or if it really is a scam.
Well, I guess I know it's not a scam now. I drained currency off my primary chip onto my secondary one. Then I connected my primary chip to the website. It didn't matter if it took control of my chip or whatever, I could have just gotten a new one implanted into my hand. It was something like a five minute procedure to get an old chip removed and a new one installed.
But I'm going off topic here, I'm sure you know all of this. The part you probably don't know is that... the website worked. For months now, I've had the money beamed into my account from who knows where. No matter where I decide to go for lunch, or who decides to mess with my plans, I always have enough money for the day. I don't even have to work around the amount, it just sort of... happens to cover everything. It's not like I've got this huge amount in it and the extra is taken out. No, it is exactly how much I'm going to spend that day. Most days, it's only a few dozen dollars, sometimes less. Every once in awhile it will be a few hundred. Kind of spoils when I'm about to go on a date, ya'know? At least, in those rare cases I go out on a spontaneous date with people.
But now I'm getting sidetracked again. I guess I should tell you of where the story _really_ gets interesting: the day I found 70,000,000 in my chip.
It felt... weird. I'd gotten into the habit of looking at how much I had each morning, and guessing what I would be doing. That day, however... I didn't know. It was hard to leave bed, knowing that I had more money than all the money I'd ever possessed before that point put together.
It was on the train to work that I found out _why_. The man looked suspicious. He kept glancing into his duffel bag, then checking his watch. Bag. Watch. Bag. Watch. Phone. Next stop sign. Bag. Watch.
We were about halfway down the line, and the train driver was clocking out, someone else getting on to replace them. It was then when the suspicious jumped off his seat, drew a large gun from the duffel bag, and told everyone to get down. One person, a woman, probably an undercover cop, jumped up from her seat, but was quickly shot down by a second man holding a much smaller gun.
"THIS TRAIN IS OURS NOW! Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt. Think of your families. On your knees, heads to the ground, arms behind your backs. If you've got heart problems, take a seat, keep your arms outstretched. I don't want to see anyone going for their phones. Glasses too! Throw your glasses and phones here, NOW! I don't care if they're prescription, you don't need them with your SHUT EYES!"
With that, the man with the hand gun, the one who had shot the woman, walked to the front of the train, dragging the conductor in with them. They got the train moving, stopping it partway to the next stop.
It was then that I realized what I had the money for.
"The city is supposed to be wiring 50 mil to one of you guys' accounts. You're free to go once you get it. You see this phone in my hand? I'm in call with your fucking _guardian angel_ right now. Everybody tell him thanks."
The car remained silent, prompting the man with the very large gun to raise it up. "I SAID TELL HIM YOUR THANKS, YOU UNGRATEFUL MAGGOTS!" His words reverberated through the car, alongside the sounds of metal puncturing metal as several bullets went through the roof of the train.
Amidst the sounds of panic were several yelled thank yous.
"Good. Now. I want to make it clear to you dirty, bureaucratic dog. If I've not got my money in 30 minutes, I start killing one person every minute. I see so much as a GLINT in these tunnels, I blow the top off this car, taking everyone with me."
The man looked around the car, until his eyes finally landed on me. "YOU! Come. MOVE YOUR ASS!" He looked back to his phone. "I've got someone here. Name's..." I stared blankly at him. "TELL ME YOUR NAME!"
I stammered it out as firmly as I could.
"There. That's the name. You get that? You've got 30 minutes to get him the 50 mil, or he's dead."
"Sir, 30 minutes just isn't eno..."
"SHUT IT! 30 minutes." He hung up the phone.
_________________________________________________________
Perhaps you can guess what happened thirty minutes later. We shook hands, me and the gun toting maniac. He activated a transfer device, and choose the amount, 50 million. He was pleasantly surprised when it went through. We were all told to get off the train, one by one, as the two men detached the first car from the rest of the train. They drove off, leaving us behind. SWAT was soon surrounding us, making sure we were all ok. We were ferried to the nearest stop, where ambulances and reporters waited in the wings. Of course, I was the first target.
But not by the media. No, it was police marshals. They hadn't been able to transfer the money to me, in part due to having never registered my public token with the state. Not registering my token was perfectly legal, they weren't here about that.
They wanted to know how a minimum wage employee working at a fast food joint, barely out of college, had 50 million in their account. I was soon detained, but due to an old, nearly forgotten law that my (way too expensive) lawyer found, bail was set at 10 million. Of course, I simply paid it. I was out in no time.
Next came figuring out where to go. Tom knew some shady contacts, and I knew one of them. So I went, spending a few thousand here, tens of thousands there, until I finally got to the real deal. 1 million to completely change my identity. New country, new name, new papers. Everything I needed, travel included. By the end of it all, I had just over a dollar. Enough for one last meal at the restaurant I hated. | 2016-07-29T19:40:49 | 2016-07-29T19:33:41 | 1,519 | 89 |
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives. | So, we made first contact.
Turns out we made first contact nearly a millenia ago. Some spurious, noisy radio signals at 21cm had a multi-decade periodicity that ended up being the equivalents of packets of sound.
They didn't respond to us, so we went out looking, and it took a few centuries of naturalists scattered across other planets to realize that some impressive "plants" and "geological features" or "aberrations" were aliens, with their own minds, creating their own devices.
So, the ever so helpful animals we are, we adapted our stardrives' metric distortion engines to positively warp spacetime to create a sort of inverse gravity well, essentially shifting the contents of a small area slightly tachyonic and basically doing the inverse of relativisitc time dilation.
Oh boy, they didn't like that.
We got a few conversations in before we realized that when we returned the others's ambassadors to their normal time frame to communicate with their bretheren, they found what we did to be an abominable and cruel shortening of lifespan.
Honestly, when most of those races lived the better part of a million years, I think they overstated how dire it was to lose 20,000 in negotations.
We still thought things were going along pretty splendedly until the C'paqua let us know otherwise. Now, by the standards of the galactic Old Guard, the C'paqua were almost as bad as us, but their biology is still nearly a factor of 50 slower than ours. They'd apparently tried something similar before and been thoroughly routed by the wartime buildup of the old guard.
Turns out SN-1054 wasn't a natural supernova at all, but a interstellar equivalent of ancient Hiroshima to intimidate the C'paqua into submission.
Naturally, this mad the C'paqua our natural allies.
We humans have always excelled at war. Seems like this temporal misalignment is essentially inherently a fatal arrangement for the more common slow species.
I guess we know why the universe seems so empty. | "I wonder what it's like in there," Kevin said as I flicked my cigarette down in the ravine below. My neck was sore from staring at the ship, and I knew I'd feel it in the morning.
"I bet they know." I motioned to the watchtowers which had recently been erected below the magnificent vessel in the sky.
"They just don't tell us," I continued, "because if it's something fucked up, they wouldn't want people to panic." The light from the setting sun gleamed brilliantly off the vessel. The light show would soon begin.
Kevin opened his mouth, but then hesitated mid thought. I took this opportunity to grab another smoke from the pack sitting between us. Whether he noticed or not, he didn't seem to mind.
"They don't know anything, man. If they did, we would too. Who knows, maybe it is just some sort of alien drone like they say, but I think there are aliens aboard."
"Well, it makes sense doesn't it? Why send a crew when you'r-" My words faltered as a beam of shone across the ledge we were sitting on. Kevin began to rub his hands together frantically as a smile grew across his face.
"OH BOY HERE WE GO"
Suddenly, the dark ravine was lit brighter than it had been earlier in the afternoon. Though I had already seen this a hundred times, each time was like the first. The setting sun had bathed the faceted vessel and it shone brilliantly in the light, giving off a glittering disco-ball like effect. Even the moon (which we were lucky enough to see tonight) was lit up with rectangular spots of light, which raced quickly across the surface. The rotation of the vessel was almost indiscernible to the eye, but the way the light patches soared across ground revealed the great object's dull momentum.
Just as suddenly as the reflections had began, they now began to draw further away as the sun began to doze beyond the horizon.
I yawned and stretched, clearing my throat and hawking a ball of cigarette phlegm into the ravine below. I watched it as is broke apart on it's way down.
"So," Kevin said in a suggestive way, "Pizza?"
"Nah, sorry man, I got work in the morning".
I didn't have work the next day, but as much as I enjoyed hanging out with Kevin, I just couldn't bear another couple hours of him talking about the UFO. It was all anyone had talked about since the three years since it had arrived, and my hometown had become the centre of the universe, as far as the rest of the world was concerned.
It's ridiculous, I thought to myself as I made way way through the packed streets towards my apartment. Some people are actually paying crazy amounts of money just for a place to stay in town. They really think this thing's actually going to open up, idiots. If there had been a time, it would've been when they first landed.
I took one last look as I reached my apartment door, elbowing those who were leaned against it, staring vacantly at the ship. Come to think of it, lots of people were staring at it tonight, more than usual. And the light show had been over for quite some time now. I tapped one of the onlookers on the shoulder, "Hey, what's the deal with the UFO? Why's everyone in such a fuss about it tonight?"
The stranger looked at me curiously, he had a wild look in his eye, and clearly wasn't from town. One of the UFO nutjobs who had shown up when this had all began.
He made deep, uncomfortable eye contact with me and said, "Don't you listen to the radio, guy? The UFO started rotating counter-clockwise today"
"Cool man, it's done all sorts of odd things, it's a UFO, right? Nothing that won't be there tomorrow, not worth getting a cold over." He smiled at me dismissively and nodded. When I got into my apartment I was bushed from the walk back from the ravine, so I didn't bother taking my shoes off, I just tossed by bag on the floor and then laid down in bed on my back, looking up through the skylight at the stars.
I had just shut my eyes when I heard a loud whooping noise, which slowly grew louder into a cheer. I sat up in bed and started fumbling with my shoelaces, as the muted noises from the crowd outside grew from cheers to screams.
"Oh shit," I said silently to myself. After three long years of hovering over the town like a silent sentinel, the UFO had begun to awaken... | 2016-08-22T21:35:25 | 2016-08-22T21:02:54 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] "They mass-slaughter this organism called "flowers" and give the bound mass of corpses to their desired mate as a courting ritual, possibly as proof of ability. Truly fascinating."
Replace with other weird behaviors as desired
Edit: Mod's Choice and #1 in Hot in 5 hours? woohoo! | "Overall, humans have proven themselves to be a peculiar bunch, their idiosyncrasies far surpassing that of most intergalactic species - most certainly our own."
The virtual classroom abruptly ended, and Tesh'Cun found himself wanting to move there even more. He knew it was against the law, but he never really felt at home in Quasiar - and after his recent spate of murders, he felt it was probably time to leave.
He'd need to be able to fit in though. And ideally, he'd like a position of power, of respect. And he'd need a name, a human name...
Ted... Ted Cruz.
He liked the sound of that.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | *Wait, the report is due tomorrow? What?* I asked, eyes widening.
*Yeah, Gr'WezZgetz. It's due tomorrow.* Me'Ayym told me telepathically.
*Shit!* I exclaimed at her. *What do I do? I haven't studied anything for mating rituals! I mean, okay. Which sentient species across the multiverse has the simplest one?*
*Gr, come on! You gotta know this stuff.* Ayym complained.
*Humans? They're pretty straightforward, right?* Honestly, I only know humans as a self-destructive species that are basically wiping themselves out. But even they gotta fuck to survive.
*I guess, Gr. Look, I gotta go. I have a test tomorrow on the FlimBlam Grott Theory, and I'm not gonna be fucking up my GPA.*
I felt her leave my mindpresence, and sighed. I ran through the basic mating ritual and complexities of humans through my eyelids, watching them all in high speed. And then noticed a pattern.
In all the quadrants of their homeworld, Earth (coincidentally means tongue in our language), the males seem to exhibit a certain behaviour. They defile small, colourful fauna, and then present the decaying carcass to the females.
I quickly opened up my report and started mind-vibing sentences. "Mating rituals on Earth are rather complex. The human male needs to attract mates by showcasing his ability to kill and present the corpses of certain fauna to the female."
That was not a good start. I needed an introduction and a proper transition into the main thing. Well, could work on a good intro later. Tackle the beef first.
"This trait is quite common among species across the multiverse. Presenting deceased life to mates as gifts, though frowned upon by many higher order communities, is still fundamental on primitive planets like Earth. The human males are quite clever, however. If they could not access the fauna directly themselves, they choose to visit a 'market place' (a place where goods are exchanged for money) and purchase some. Some males also purchase false, polymer composite fauna, to trick the mate." That was good. "To varying degrees of success." I added unnecessarily. Well, that's how reports work. Unnecessary details.
"Unlike most other species, where the gift receiving party usually consumes the dead gift, in humans, the females will keep the corpse and see through most of its stages of decomposition. It is apparent that the female enjoys the various colours of the fauna, and when the colour inevitably vanishes due to the fact that the flower is dead, the female owner tires of it and proceeds to dispose it. After or during which, the male usually offers another set of corpses with varying colours."
Again, gotta work on the flow. Gotta stop jumping from one thing to another. Dammit, I hate reports.
"Another interesting [find a suitable word later] about the fauna corpse method of mating is the mass 'event'. This event happens once every Earth cycle and is famous in most of the 'dead fauna issuing male population'. Upon closer study, it is known that the humans call this day the day of Walentein. During this day, a mass red fauna corpse exchange is observed between the males and females. This phenomenon is unique to the humans."
Okay, I'm too tired. I'll finish the rest in the morning before class. Dammit I still gotta write an intro and conclusion. And turn all that word vomit into coherent points. I gotta at least pass this report. Fuck.
| 2016-11-23T08:19:08 | 2016-11-23T07:51:51 | 1,143 | 332 |
[WP] A world where soulmates die at the same time | I waited at the airport with a large bouquet of flowers. He loved roses. He was colorblind and had trouble deciphering different colors, but the deep red of roses always stood out to him. It was his favorite color.
An old man stood next to me and we made small chit chat. He was waiting for his wife of forty years. They had just spent two months apart and it was the longest they had been apart since they were married. A woman, barely into her twenties, help a giant sign behind us that said, “Welcome home, David!” A businessman stood to my right, fiddling with an engagement ring and practicing his proposal.
My husband and I had been together for twelve wonderful years. We had some rough patches, but for the most part it was all that I could have ever hoped for. He was romantic and caring. He always knew the right thing to say. He took care of me every possible way that he could. I was truly blessed.
Then it happened.
Dozens of people all around me dropped to the floor dead. It was a terrible thing to witness, but it happened from time to time at the airport when a flight unexpectedly crashed. I felt bad for them. Moments prior they were they were filled with hope and delight, eager to embrace their loved ones. The old man laid curled on top of the “Welcome home, David!” sign. The young woman’s body collapsed on top of his. I looked down and picked up the engagement ring that had slipped from the businessman’s hands when he fell to the floor. I calmly walked over and put it in his suit coat pocket.
I wondered where the flight was coming from, and I selfishly hoped it didn’t delay Michael’s arrival. I turned to one of the news monitors that were plastered throughout the airport.
The woman on the screen said flight United 477 had gone down in the Atlantic just before reaching New York. That was Michael’s flight. I had just spoken to Michael before he left his hotel to go to the airport. I thought to myself, thank God he missed that flight.
I pulled out my cell and gave Michael’s phone a ring. No answer. I left a voicemail:
“Hey Michael. Thank God you’re ok. The flight you were supposed to be on crashed in the Atlantic. It’s absolutely terrible… So many people at the airport… I’ll have to tell you about it when you get home. I assume you missed your flight and caught the next one. A call would have been nice so I could have adjusted my schedule accordingly, but I’ll check with the airport and see when you get in. I love you.”
I hung up and made my way to the information desk. I failed to hear the news anchor say, “full flight.”
The woman at the desk seemed stressed out. Not only did she have to deal with all the inquiries about the flight, but she also had nearly a dozen dead bodies in the airport a few yards from her desk. I didn’t want to cause her any more strife, so I tried to be brief.
“Hello. My husband was supposed to be on United 477, but he missed his flight. I was wondering if you could tell me what his new flight is and when he might be landing.”
“Sure thing. It’s awful what happened to all those people. I’m happy that your husband was able to get out of it. What’s his name? And I’ll need to see some identification to verify you’re his spouse.”
I gave her his name and showed her all the documents she asked for. “It looks like his carelessness paid off this time,” I joked. She was not amused.
The woman’s eyes widened. She frantically typed on the keyboard, looking for God knows what.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“I’m terribly sorry… but it seems your husband boarded the plane.” | It was late at night and Kyle was packing the second half of the Chinese takeout into a container. He always had leftovers because all the meals were made for two. Everything was made for two. He was an oddity, and a bit of an outcast in his society. “Normal” people didn’t live alone as an adult. “Normal” people had found their soulmate by the time they were 20. He was 26 and had no intentions of finding one.
Kyle had some friends, but none of them were very close. They accepted him, but he knew there was still a part of them that looked down on him because his life was what most people considered going against nature. So he spent most nights alone, eating half of some kind of takeout he ordered. That was maybe the one thing that made him long for a soulmate. He was shit at cooking, and the same takeout over and over did start to get old. But even if he would find the most perfect person to spend his life with he would never seal his fate to another, no matter how amazing their cooking was. He did not want to be responsible for another’s life and he most certainly didn’t want someone else determining when he would die. He was very comfortable with his life, minus the repetitive takeout, at least he thought. That was all before Liv.
Kyle had done well in his career despite some prejudice and discrimination against him and his life choices. He was managing a customer service team for a small clothing line that his friend Kelsey had founded. Kelsey was sealed to Ben, and they were the closest friends he had. Only on very rare occasion did he see that glimmer of judgment, or maybe it was pity, in their expressions.
One evening the three of them had decided to go out. They went to a small dive bar close to their neighborhood called Jack’s. Kyle didn’t mind it there. Most of the people there where sealed, and those who weren’t didn’t seem to be looking much like himself.
You could tell when someone was sealed by the small marks on their hands. The marks where almost like tattoos, but were natural, and had the most minute bioluminescent glow to them. Like glow in the dark stars that hadn’t seen light for a few hours. The seals came in all different colors and symbols. Some were very small, the size of a dime. Others covered almost the entire back of the host’s hand. Kelsey and Ben shared pink ice-cream cones. Something Kyle teased ben about regularly. This was because they both loved ice-cream, and happened to have met in an ice-cream parlor.
While at Jack’s he saw a girl walk in. To him, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seem. She had a soft round face, wavy dark blonde hair that fell just below her shoulders, and the most stunning blue-green eyes. Most would probably just consider her beauty to be average, not ugly by any means, but definitely never the woman who had the eyes of the whole room. But to Kyle, she was perfect. He had never looked at a girl and felt this way before. She walked to the end of the bar to order a drink. He got up and almost as if pulled by some outside energy he didn’t control walked over to her.
“Hi, I’m Kyle. I’ve never seen you here before.”
She looked at him for a second, smiled, and held her hand out for a handshake.
“I’m Liv. It’s nice to meet you Kyle”
As he grabbed her hand to shake it he could feel his heart flutter. It was like her touch gave him energy. Kyle bought her a drink and they began to talk. It was like she was an old friend catching up. He was enamored with her. They talked until the bar closed, then they walked to the park in their neighborhood and talked until sunrise. Live, like Kyle had done everything to avoid being sealed. Their feelings on having a soulmate and sharing seals were the same. They shared similar lives growing up and were so alike it was scary.
But they knew they were playing with fire. Every minute they spent together they fell more in love. Once two people who felt true, real love for each other kissed, their seals would appear, thus sealing their fates.
As the sun rose Kyle looked at Liv.
“This night has been amazing. But I don’t know if I can see you again. I know I could fall in love with you, and I know neither of us wants a seal. One of us will be responsible for the other’s death. One of us will die racked with guilt, and the other with sadness.”
“Kyle, I think you’re being a little dramatic.” Live said aloofly. “It’s been one night.” She looked down for a moment and then looked up. Her blue-green eyes lit by the oranges of the sunrise. “If you never want to see me again, I have one request.”
“What’s that?”
“Kiss me.”
“Liv, I can’t.”
“So you’re saying you love me? After one night?”
“Well… no… I…” Kyle stumbled over his words. Was he in love? Could he really fall in love in one night? It was then, in a long silence that he realized it. The point of this cruel curse that was put on humanity. Die when your soulmate dies. Because if they truly are your soulmate, you wouldn’t want to live without them. And after just one night, he knew he didn’t want to live without her.
“Fine, one kiss.” He looked into her eyes and leaned in. As their lips connected he felt gentle burning on his hand. He stopped, pulled away and looked at his hand. Where the burning sensations was now has a circle made of chains, faintly glowing a beautiful blue-green. Just like her eyes.
“I guess this isn’t the last night we’ll spend together” Kyle said in almost a whisper.
“I’m not even upset. It feels right. I didn’t get it until I met you.” She leaned on his shoulder and they watched the sunrise. After a long time of resting against him in silence she asked "What do you want for breakfast? I'll cook!"
I hope this wasn't too terrible, I haven't written since high school, and never considered myself a good writer ever. But this prompt really got imagination flowing and I thought I'd give it a try. Constructive criticism definitely welcomed.
| 2017-02-21T12:06:59 | 2017-02-21T08:55:23 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You've become a very successful surgeon, asssisted by an ability you've kept to yourself: with one touch you get a mental image of the inner workings of people's bodies. You've just shaken hands with someone and it's left you speechless. He says, "Now you know. We need help." | “Now you know. We need help.” They said.
Chloe stared blankly at the person in front of her for a moment, processing what she had just witnessed. Aghast, she studied the stranger, standing alone in the hotel lobby, wearing a large bulky coat even though the snows have not even begun to fall. The stranger was not sick by any means of the word. That being said there was, you could say, an issue.
Nodding, Chloe stepped back. Scanning her memory for how to properly diagnose the issue, trying to find where she had filed away her information on what she had seen.
“This must be kept discreet, would you mind coming with me to my practice?” Chloe said, trying her hardest to sound composed.
Chloe’s eyes were so wide she didn’t appear to have eyelids, her veins were coursing with pressure like hydraulic tubing - she could sense her subconscious responses betraying her hopes of appearing calm. She was too human for her own good sometimes, the years on the job haven’t dulled her emotional response, not like how many of her peers were basically robots at this point.
*To act human is to not conceal emotion*, although she tried her best to think of herself as more of a mechanic. Shafts and tie-rods instead of bones, bands and bearings instead of muscles and joints. This was her calling, this is what she had all of her programming in all those years of school teach her to do. Chloe had giving herself the tools to solve the problems she had always been able to diagnose in a blink.
*Don’t overheat, this is just a regular procedure and I have read it over a hundred times. Does it really matter if half the times I have read the first hand accounts that it was is a history course?* Chloe thought to herself, escorting her patient into the clinic.
…
Procedure completed, Chloe stepped back and marveled at what she was seeing. Her optical sensors re-scanning what was before her again and again. She wrote the image into her read-only drive. Her mechanical digits had been precise, just as she had been designed. She just provided medical assistance on a live human, one of the Creators. They were supposed to have gone extinct hundreds of years ago. This was one of the animals who build her chassis, wrote her code, and designed her energy core.
“Congratulations,” she said, “It’s a boy.”
\---
Note: I wrote this all before noticing the stranger was a 'he' and not a 'they', so I left it as is and changed the opening sentence.
Hope you enjoy it :) | As the panic subsided, I was able to better look at the man standing in front of me.
He was pale, and thin, but otherwise appeared as normal as any other tradesmen I had ever met. Dirty nails from hard work, eyes locked in a kind of squint, and a slightly yellowed moustache from continuous chain smoking.
He looked at me with a hard, purposeful expression, waiting for me to speak.
"What... was that?" I stammered.
"We need your help" he repeated urgently as he analysed my reaction.
"We..." I started, "Of course, of course. Follow me, this way"
I led him into my office feeling dazed, and sat him on the bed, forgetting to put down the paper towel. We stared at each other for a moment, before he spoke again.
"Do you understand what's wrong? Did you see?"
I wasn't sure that I did - "I saw... I saw, something? A creature maybe? Was that what it was? A great rushing sound, and.... a creature?"
The man nodded solemnly.
This was nothing at all like my other patients. With them, I had clear visions of organs and veins. Much like an electrical diagram, I was able to see a vivid map of every connection, every link; if anything had been awry, it was obvious to me.
But now... I had no idea. It had been nothing like my diagrams. I had *heard* something, and seen something, like a scene. A creature... rushing... wind maybe? A serpent?
I had seen its eye, cold and pearlescent, with the thinnest sliver of a pupil. It had been only brief, for a second - if that - like a fever dream. The creature had suddenly burst apart, emitting a high pitched scream. The scream had extended and transformed into static and then faded away as I had begun to regain my bearings.
I shook my head - maybe I was coming down with something?
&#x200B;
"How can I help?" I asked, my doctor's voice returning as I turned to face my computer. I shuffled my shoulders - getting back to business.
"Only you. Please, only you can see how it works."
"How what works?" I enquired, turning back to face him. He was leaning forward eagerly now.
"The reckoning" He said wide eyed, "We need you, *they* need you!"
I started to consider him - my mind clearer now - and wondered if this man was mentally ill. I had seen people like this before, and referred them to psychiatrists to get them the course of antipsychotics they needed. Maybe, just maybe, he was just more ill than anyone I'd seen before? Maybe the creature was his manifestation?
"They?" I asked.
"YES! They speak to me, they plead with me," his eyes were growing wider, bulging, "They beg me! But I don't know how to help!"
I thought for a second, and begrudgingly dismissed the alarm bells ringing. He must be very ill - possibly schizophrenic. Maybe I should call an ambulance? He seemed very distressed.
"How long have they been speaking to you?"
"They don't speak."
"Oh? How do they plead with you?"
"The same way I just showed you! Please! You can see it too!"
The memory of the static made me pause - and I decided my course of action.
"Sir, this is our plan of action. You were here for a routine surgery, but I am concerned for your welfare. I am not going to be able to help you today, but I am going to refer you to a psychiatrist. Let me just write up the referral..."
As I turned back towards my monitor, and before I had a chance to navigate to the referral papers, I felt his hands grab me tightly across my shoulders.
I could hear him yelling "NO! You don't understand!" but I couldn't see him any more - all I could see was the same piercing eye, the same screeching, the same static, and eventually a blinding light in a colour I had never seen before.
I panicked and threw him off me. He stumbled backwards and fell with a crash against the bed, sending it backwards into the wall, knocking a painting down with the tinkle of broken glass.
The commotion drew people from the reception area. A nurse stood in the doorway with her hand over her mouth, and a large male patient barged through and restrained the man. I stared numbly, as security was called and the man was eventually pinned to the ground..
"You don't understand!" He yelled, muffled by the arm of the security guard holding him firmly as he writhed and squirmed in an attempt to get away "Only you! Please! You saw!"
His cries ceased with a whimper as the security guard ordered him to be quiet, and he was led out of my office.
The receptionist and a couple of the nurses asked if I was okay - but I could barely focus on them. I was in shock, I would be okay, I was just spooked, I was in shock. A glass of water was fetched for me, and I sat sipping the water, trying to calm myself down.
The static. I could not forget the static. | 2019-01-22T12:34:45 | 2019-01-22T11:36:39 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | It was stupid. The Karathians should have just settled their disagreements with the Auraxians like a civilized bunch. It was a shame really. Such a beautiful world, it's emerald oceans glistening. But they screwed up when they both engaged a human fleet which was just traversing the system peacefully. Before the flagship went down, EDF HOOD, a single wide band hail went out.
"If you want war, we'll give you war."
Both fleets ignored the hail. Many underestimated humanity and it's abilities. Many species were stronger, many far more intelligent. But none had ever seen the ability of a human to cause destruction. So when they ignored the hails of our diplomatic ships when we went to demand reparations and an apology, a declaration of war was sent instead.
So here I sit. The sky marshall, sipping my coffee as I listen to the latest cadets complete their graduation ceremony.
**I solemnly swear,**
**To devote my life and abilities,**
**In the defense of the United Nations of Earth,**
**To defend the right of humanity,**
**And to further the universal rights of sentient life,**
**From the depths of the Pacific,**
**To the darkest parts of the galaxy,**
**So long as, I, live!**
The executor class is really a one of a kind ship. Literally. Lacking defensive armament, it's power is entirely dedicated to the large central particle lance weapon. Originally an orbital mining laser, but we found that it was equally capable of causing traumatic damage to the crust of a planet, if you boosted the power.
A world cracker, they called it.
That's when the hails asking for mercy began to flood in. It's too bad really. If only they hadn't ignored ours...
"Sky marshall? It's on your orders."
"You may fire at your leisure, admiral."
What a shame. Such a beautiful world.
EDIT: Part deux: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/e13cwf/wp_every_sentient_species_in_the_galaxy_is_given/f8ntxrt/ | "Sir the Gord'ush home planet has stopped broadcasting" a low ranking insect like creature said while running into the war minister's chamber.
"So what? They probably got caught in a storm or something" The fat slug responded dismissively. "Have a recon ship go past it to check out the weather"
The insect walked away and all was silent for a few minutes until the transmission came to the chamber.
"Uh sir. There is no storm, in fact the planet has been is a barren waste, barely still held together by gravity" And he wasn't exaggerating the world was reduced to nothing more than a handful of rocks and lava.
"There must have been some kind of cosmic event" The slug continued without a care in the world. "But I'll summon the rest of the cabinet to figure out what press release we will offer. Thank you."
You see, much like the appointees during the soviet era on Earth those in positions of power were less knowledgeable about that specific area and moreso were an important figure in their own species. Some representatives were robotic, others insect like, some even were various clusters.
Then the humans, weak and incapable. Only a few thousand years ago they figured out how to join the rest of the union. Instead of a single delegate they send a group. Not really in a hivemind kind of way, just a group of them who will even argue amongst themselves in various languages that don't make sense. They are a relatively small but spread out population, some nonsense about this 'colonialism' thing. They send a handful of people to various planets and eventually have enough there to make it work. Stupid but to each their own.
&#x200B;
At least that is what we all thought before the meeting. In marched a handful of them. four with their silly 'camouflage' that really doesn't work and one who looks like one of those 'roman' statues they bring to cultural events. That one has a few crude implants, a bionic eye is the most obvious.
&#x200B;
"This must be an act of war." The Gord'ush representative said. They are still around in great number, their 'home world' is named that purely because it is the one they originated from. "Which one of you attacked us?" He said while banging on the table. There was denial going around the room until the 'roman' spoke up.
"It was us" the room started roaring in laughter. The humans don't declare war, this is one of those 'ice breakers' they are so fond of to try and 'lighten the mood'. You see they never go to war, even their petty squabbles are barely noteworthy off the planet they occur on.
His voice was drowned out and the translators couldn't pick up the rest of what was said. The other four stood there with their guns and other things which they seem to carry as 'tradition' they've never been fired, in fact we don't even think they work.
Worth noting is that the delegations each speak in order here. This is done entirely to keep order and was done to appease the weaker species or those who don't have distinct speech so they can write their messages without being ignored. These things can have an earth hour or more before someone gets another turn to talk. This is done largely for the live broadcast along the galaxy so those with slower systems can catch up (can you imagine waiting even a single second though?)
The conversation continued with general denials and some mentioning that they didn't feel any kind of cosmic storm in the area.
And once again the one spoke while the others stood there when it was the humans' turn again. Occasionally they take turns and argue but this time was different.
"I am going to play a video showing the last moment's of that planet" he said. A fleet of ships jumped in and immediately destroyed it. Clearly human in nature. Once again the room burst into laughter. A bold play but even the Gord'ush representative seemed to laugh at the absurdity. This is why they are the master negotiators. They doctored up some kind of film while waiting for their turn, the creative bunch that they are.
And again the room discussed what happened without paying them any mind.
The last thing that any of those in attendance heard was the human again. Visibly agitated he grabbed one of the guns from one of the others in his delegation and shot the slug. "I am an inquisitor in service to the God Emperor. This is a declaration that the galaxy will burn as we purge all xenos" he said as the entire world was blown completely in half.
&#x200B;
From that day on the galaxy has never known a single day of peace.
&#x200B;
<The last entry of the last Gord'ush in the year 39,801> | 2019-11-24T11:35:42 | 2019-11-24T11:02:03 | 661 | 184 |
[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. | Secretary Rosen sat contemplating silently while the Roni Ambassador dictated to him the terms of peace that Humanity was expected to accept following their defeat in battle yesterday.
Intergalactic Warfare wasn't so different from that practiced on Earth for millennia. They fought just as ferociously as soldiers sailors and airmen had fought in the innumerable wars humanity had subjected itself to during it's brief existence as a sentient species. There was one difference however. War had stopped being politics by other means for the most part on Earth. It was obviously still the way of it out here.
The Roni Ambasador had stopped speaking and was pointing at a treaty. "You must sign here, Mr. Secretary."
Finally Rosen stood up from his chair, straightened his suit, and began to speak. "Forgive me Ambassador, but allow me to clarify a few things. Firstly, the battle yesterday was a surprise attack, completely unwarranted and unjustified. We were at peace. Now we are at war."
"We have defeated you, you are now surrendering."
"Oh, you defeated that fleet it's true. But you will find once your forces are debriefed that it wasn't such an overwhelming defeat, despite you attacking us by surprise with a fleet five times the size of our own."
The Ambassador was puzzled. This was not how surrender ceremonies were supposed to go.
Rosen continued. "You see Ambassador, if you would do me a favor and look outside my window. What do you see."
"I see the newest addition to the Roni Empire."
"Ah, but you're still not understanding. I see a planet of my fellow humans who are girding themselves for war. You have broken the peace we had, you have attacked without warning and you did so callously, in the belief that just because the rest of the galaxy fights with kid gloves we will too."
"What are kid gloves, I do not know this expression."
"Kid gloves, Ambassador, are what we're now taking off." Rosen reached down to his desk and pressed the intercom button. "Admiral, you may proceed with the mission. As of now, Ambassador, any Roni we find is dead. Any settlement we find is dead. Any fleet we find is dead. Bring this back to your leadership. While you can. We tried to deal with you fairly and you took advantage. We tried to negotiate when things got out of hand and you took advantage. Well no more. Humanity is not your punching bag."
"This is absurd. We have beaten you, your world is ours."
"Is everyone in your government as slow as you. We do not fight one battle and call it a war, as you apparently do. We sometimes fight to a stalemate. You killed 10,000 humans yesterday. At a cost of 40,000 of your own. This building alone has more humans than that. You have beaten nothing. Nothing except yourselves. Please turn your attention to the view screen."
The view screens, which were displaying prominent Roni landmarks as a sign of supplication and respect, or so the Ambassador had thought, suddenly flashed white. The shipyards of Kontak. The weapons factories of Girt. The great city of Ron. All contact lost, seemingly obliterated.
"How...what..."
"That was just the beginning. We have a saying. If you want peace prepare for war. We wanted peace, we tried peace your way, and you still could not contain yourselves. So we will contain you. You have exactly 2 minutes to get out of my sight, and a further 28 to get off my planet. If you are still lingering in that time, your worthless life is forfeit." | “Grand Admiral Boton, the Unified Earth Council will retaliate against your unprovoked att-“
“Your Council will burn and your inferior race will serve the Ruul Empire as the Ungur and Q’Shoon before you. Your meek envoys will lull our future conquests into complacency before our strikes. We entertain your presence before us now only to serve as a baseline for our propagandists to alter the recordings that will be logged for the Unified Senate. Surely you know this. Surely too, you must know of the “accident” that your envoy will experience upon your departure. You humans are weak, not stupid.” Boton said in the semi-melodious 2-tone Ruul approximation of Basic. His ridged head waving in a figure 8 pattern as he agreed with his own statements.
Commissioner Parks internally cringed at the Ruul’s statements. Yes, she’d known the Ruul had killed the human Commissioner assigned to the Ungur to negotiate peace. But to hear one of the 12 Ruul Grand Admirals freely admit to her their past misdeeds and their current intentions meant that the upcoming die was likely cast.
So much for Ruul subversion and doublespeak, she thought.
She wasn’t going to quit though. Human Commissioners were famously forgiving and patient in the face of blatant threats, and this time she was negotiating on behalf of humans.
Nearly every race of the Unified Senate requested humans to negotiate on behalf of their race during conflict. Peace Commissioners were the Unified Earth Council’s main source of revenue. It was now commonplace for human Peace Commissioners to negotiate with other human Peace Commissioners on behalf of two separate species. Due to humanity’s keen ability to creatively resolve issues without resorting to conflict, the Unified Senate has seen unprecedented stretches of peace, with only minor border and trade lane squabbles arising from time to time.
That is, until the Ruul Empire stumbled on a trove of precursor technology and secretly shifted the balance of power. Of all the species, the Ruul were the most ambitious and cunning. They patiently maneuvered their vulnerable Q’Shoon neighbors, the stubborn brutes, into a war. Q’Shoon contact with the Unified Senate abruptly cut off as had happened with the Q’Shoon in the past, so the Ruul had a readymade excuse.
Then they blitzed the Ungur, a communal species that cannot so much as decide on the color of their collective daily garments without a literal vote. So their delay in contacting the Unified Senate was also within normal tolerances.
Commissioner Parks decided to switch tactics.
She kept her tone as even as possible, the Ruul were famous for deciphering emotion from tone alone.
“Surely you know of our history, of our species’ own infighting, and the lengths that we have gone to in wars past.”
Boton’s impatient reply came back annoyed and discordant. “Your species has so many embellishments to your past.” He waved his overly long hand in a dismissive gesture, one of the many non-verbal cues that other species had unwittingly adopted from humanity.
His top tone became more mocking. “Your choices of entertainment have spoiled interpretations of your own history. You have deceived yourselves into thinking you ever had great warriors or any semblance of guile!”
Both tones became more condescending. “Our Sociologists on Inferior Species are still shocked at how self-serving your stories continue to be, and yet you portray them to the greater galaxy as history. ‘The Galaxy’s Little Lambs’ telling bedtime stories to their younglings about honor, courage, self-sacrifice, cunning, and determination while dodging conflict at all costs. Your ability to fool will certainly serve us greatly until the conquest is complete, then the purges will begin. The Ruul’s place as the masters of this galaxy will finally be fulfilled, fitting that the previous masters are what made it possible.”
Well, Parks had everything that she needed. She honestly thought this would have been tougher to draw out. She didn’t have to use her standard Commissioner training anymore, she switched to her other training and began to stand, glancing at the personal guard of the Grand Admiral.
“Well Boton,” Parks intentionally insulted him by dropping his title, “I guess you’ve got a little bit more to learn about humans. We fought each other for so long, that we learned a little something about committing to a cause. Once the last human conflict ended and we contacted the wider galaxy, our unified mission to survive at all costs had allowed us to make some pretty strong commitments.”
Boton’s head dipped as he processed this new tone.
Parks’ hand began to rise upward to her face.
“One advantage to being the galaxy’s Peace Commissioners is that they don’t suspect us when their Intelligence Agencies are compromised. But we’ve been stealing political intelligence, financial dealings, blackmail information, and most importantly Precursor Tech since the get go. Turns out you need a lot of their tech to connect all the dots.”
Boton’s guards began to bring their Gauss accelerators to bear as a strange shimmering light started flashing from Park’s left eye.
Parks Continued, “Boton, you’ve assumed we avoid war. This is good, it’s what we want you to think. But the truth is, we’re ready to end any that want a fight as swiftly as possible. Speak softly and carry a big stick.”
Parks covered her right eye as the room erupted in light and Boton and his guards ablated into ash.
The precision of the Tachyon beams from half a galaxy away still continued to impressed her. The FTL Tachyon communication implant in her left eye connected her to Peace Commissioner Central Command.
“Good shot as always P3C.” Parks mentally projected into her communication implant.
“Nice work Commissioner Parks, Ruul possession of Precursor tech confirmed. Shadow Fleet deployed to Ruul Prime and top 15 Ruul worlds as well as Ungura and Q’Shoo.” The information flowed into her mind as if she already knew it. “80% of Ruul presence on current station eliminated, envoy sweeping for the remainder.”
“I guess the Q’Shoon are going to make a ‘surprise uprising’ and push the Ruul back?” Parks tried to predict P3Cs cover story
“Something like that.” Popped into her mind and she smiled.
I suppose humans are pretty good at embellishing stories, she thought.
\[EDITS\] Some small grammar updates.
Also, PART 2, 3, and 4 in a reply to this post. | 2019-11-24T14:03:48 | 2019-11-24T12:08:01 | 572 | 411 |
[WP] When his daughter was born the oracle told the evil ruler that his grandson would one day kill him. But instead of trying to prevent the prophecy the ruler decides to be the best parent and grandparent, giving his grandson no motivation to fulfill the prophecy. | The great dark lord, the dark entity that single handedly brought races to their knees, and burned kingdoms to ashes, gazed over her with hooded eyes.
Soft, plump, small... and fragile.
Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly open. He could hear her soft breaths, calm and light.
"My Lord."
She was bundled up with the softest cloths in the kingdom, keeping her warm despite the cold, empty air of the shrine.
"...my Lord."
His eyes darted over, glaring down at the old, wrinkly lizard that shuddered under his gaze. "M-my Lord, the prophecy-"
"I know." He growled. He returned his gaze to the small bundle, a crucial player in the dreaded prophecy. It was said that she would birth the one being who was capable of killing the dark lord. From this young one would come the hero who would end his life.
"My Lord, should we kill her?"
The dark lord looked up, blinking slowly. He turned to face the lizard. "Say that again."
He watched the lizard shake, eyes darting around. "T-to preserve your reign w-we must kill-"
The sound of a blade sliced through the air, followed by a heavy, and wet smack to the ground. The dark lord turned away as the headless body fell, rolling off the steep steps.
"Aaboo." She was awake. Those large eyes were focused on him, empty of words but full of life. He was looming over her, deep in thought, listening to her odd babblings.
The dark lord had killed thousands of people, children and women were no exception. He had burned castles, shrines, and homes to the ground. There was not a single day that he regretted all that he did. He had been sure that it was all he was capable of, after that day. And yet...
He adjusted the cloth over the baby, and she grabbed his hand. He could hardly feel it, but he stilled. He could not bear to harm this one. He could not bear thinking of anything but seeing this one's smile. And if she bore a child who could end his life...
Then it's all the more better. | It's amazing how something so small could change a person so set in their ways. Marquis Vale hated these cliches, but looking at and holding his daughter, he couldnt help the strings of his heart being tugged. Everyone around him drifted away as he contemplated how he would raise his newborn flesh and blood. How he give her any and everything she wanted. His resolve to maintain his control and power and climb ranks and nobility never faltered. Despite these new changes to his life, he will persevere. Just playing the long games, even smarter than before.
He was snapped back to reality when his Oracle approached from behind, and whispered, "You see yourself a king, a god, as you climb to divinity. But even they heed the tellings of dire futures: The sun of your flower will bring forth your final warm day."
Vale trusted this Oracle, more than his own wife, Addison. He understood the warnings that some kings and gods didnt pay attention to got them killed. "Sun of my flower"? He disliked flowers. While nice to look at, he was sensitive to the aromas.
The nurse reentered the room, beelining to his wife, and with that he also stepped closer, baby girl in hand. He offered the newborn back as even he knew his time was up and his wife wanted her baby back. The nurse spoke up, "Have you two thought of a name?"
Vale chuckled, "You and I made a terrible bet, but you gave birth to a daughter, so you choose."
Addison smiled, pondered, and softly said, "Lily."
Everything clicked immediately.
===
"George! What on Earth are you doing?" yelled a frazzled Lily. "You taught him that, didn't you?" Swiveling her head toward her father, who sat with smug grin.
"He's fifteen and actually intelligent. Would you rather he play with explosives in an uncontrolled environment behind your back?" Vale questioned a little too methodically, as if preparing to say this.
Lily rubbed her temples. "You raise me, blatantly showcasing how you operate, letting me make decisions our your behalf when the time came. I told you that I didn't want George to be forced into this."
"Did you feel forced?"
"...no..."
"Why did you choose my same path? What if he wants to do the same? He is perfectly aware of his other options. If he wants to disconnect from the Vale name, he can, both of us have explicitly said so. But right now, he is having fun as a hormonal teenager."
George had one eye on the substandard explosives trying to get the best reaction out of the materials he had, but also staying aware of his mother and grandfather. Thinking to himself, it's almost like alchemy: add a little, make a few modifications, get more. Why couldn't he do that with his life. He wanted to work by his mother's and grandfather's sides, to get them up to speed with this changing world and to show them how effective and efficient they could truly be.
When he discovered his grandfather was sick, things took a turn. Even George admits to himself his thoughts turned dark, but he worked through them. That Oracle and her protege were certainly just as good therapists as they are seers. Ancient alchemical philosophy insinuates everything can be connected. So when the protege told George, "the sun will rise and burn ever more brightly," the Oracle followed up with, "that is your answer to the question you ask yourself in the cold of night."
For the next month, those words rang in George's head, only to be interrupted by the coughing fits of his grandfather. This evening was particularly poor; blood stained his handkerchief. Surely, The Duke Vale wouldn't do to continue suffering like this?
Autumn was in full swing, and it heralded a harsh winter, one that Vale might not fare well. George found his grandfather reading in his study. They greeted each other with warm smile and George picked out a book to read as well.
"What it is it, George?"
"Hmm, I thought I was being slick."
"To anyone else, yes, but...to me? Really? Now, what's on your mind?"
George turned to his grandfather, with a genuine smile and stated, "I was thinking of taking up the name of Sol. What do you think?"
The old Vale, didnt miss a beat in responding, "Took you a month to come up with that to test the waters with me. Your mother raised you almost by herself, and told me that I'm only allowed to spoil you so much. Next time don't hesitate. With that, your next trial, I daresay, will probably be your worst."
The old man flipped open his nightstand to reveal a suppressed handgun.
He opened his arms, inviting his grandson to a hug. "I love you, George Sol. You watch after for your mother. Surpass me to divinity." | 2020-02-03T19:41:37 | 2020-02-03T19:01:55 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] 99.99% of humanity was assimilated into a hivemind 3 months ago. Surprisingly nothing really changed, and no one noticed. However that 00.01% is slowly putting the pieces together. | Larry can't quite recall when his life switched to auto-pilot. His memories swirl like freshly poured concrete, clumped around life events he couldn't even be sure he'd lived. Graduation. Job. Marriage. House. *Baby*? No, not yet, he was sure.
The rest was routine—the day-to-day that makes up the bulk of our existence—drifting along like a quotidian dream.
"Buenos dias, Larry!" a vendor hunched over her tamale stand calls out to him on his walk to work, steam rising into her grin.
As he fumbles through the return salutation, Larry can't help but scratch at the itch somewhere in the back of his dull mind. Something has changed.
It's always there. An unease. The feeling that everything is not quite the way it should be.
It claps in time with the strides of his feet on the city sidewalk.
"Hey, Larry! Good morning to ya!" the man who opens the door for him each morning smiles as he crosses the threshold.
It rings in his mind with each beep of the ascending elevator.
"Larry! Nothing like Monday morning in the office, huh?!" the receptionist cheers, raising her mug like some guerrilla coffee advertisement.
It moans in agony as the window washer drags his squeegee across the glass of Larry's 11th floor office.
"Yo, Larry!" the muffled greeting struggles through the spotless window, a man smiling in thin air.
It pulverizes his mind like a sledge-hammer as the second hand of the clock on his wall completes lap after lap, every tic echoing the same tone that just doesn't quite fit the structure of the universe.
"Buddy, can you figure it the fuck out? I've got a line out the door."
"*G'morn*..." Larry's tongue attempts reflexively. He's in the building's coffee shop, front of the line with no clue why or what to order.
"My man," the gentlemen behind the counter seems upset, which comes as a shock to Larry. "Either order something or get the hell out of line."
Larry smiles. It's the first genuine smile he can remember since buying his house, and he's not sure how it found it's way to his face. "You... You're not happy to see me?"
The barista sighs, "*Jesus Christ*," wiping his hands on his apron before calling out to his grinning supervisor, "I'm going on break!"
"You betcha!" the manager roars back with a thumbs-up.
The young man already has a cigarette in his mouth as he rounds the counter and heads for the door. Larry, still smiling, trips over himself as he follows the grumbling barista out.
They both bob and weave through suites and ties—one more gracefully than the other—as they snake through the lobby. Puffs of smoke rise up, and Larry coughs as he trails like the caboose of a locomotive.
"Excuse me, sir," a security guard says through his teeth. "There's no smoking in the building—"
"Fuck off." The disgruntled employee pushes his way outside.
"With pleasure!"
In the fresh air, the young man drags from his cigarette like a ventilator, fingers trying to coax a headache from his temples. When Larry finally finds his way outside, his own smile has given way to a bit of light-headedness. He eagerly approaches, examining his target's name tag.
"Excuse me, Mario. I—"
An extended hand silences Larry, and Mario doesn't need to open his eyes to recognize the dull voice from inside. "I'm on break. So that means I don't have to do all that customer service, nice-nice bullshit with you."
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call your version of customer service 'nice-nice'."
Mario opens his eyes and gives his stalker a look that says 'fuck off', but Larry continues in a hurry.
"But that's my point! You're not jovial or welcoming or friendly in any way!" he nods his head spastically, smiling again like he's expecting a round of applause.
"Ya? I work three fucking jobs. My mood reflects."
"No. No. No!" Larry cries, stretching his arms and twirling. "Don't you see what's going on?! Everyone is happy! Everyone is always so darn happy all the time! They smile and wave. They say good morning everyday like it really is a *good* morning. You were rude to a customer and nobody said anything. You cut out for a break in the middle of an afternoon rush, and your boss let you! Even the security guard was happy to have you swear at him!"
Mario laughs, mumbling through the smoke, "You're weird as fuck."
"You see!" Larry sighs like he's just been told the tumor on his testicle is benign. "You... You're unhappy. Like me!"
"Uh. You're not gonna invite me to some group therapy type shit are you? I don't like hugging more than one person at a time."
Larry claps both hands on his new friend's shoulders, fighting back a cough as he peers into Mario's eyes through a veil of smoke. "There's something going on, something sinister, and the two saddest men in the city are going to find out what it is."
____
**/r/BeagleTales**
**If you enjoyed this, keep an eye on my sub. Releasing serials bit by bit doesn’t work well for me, so I’ll just write a full story and post it all at once. Expect it in the coming weeks.** | “Wow, rabbits are weird!” Adam thought as he stared into one's beady little eyes. Today like almost every other day for the last month, he had spent every free moment walking the park, following the tiny echoes in his mind that lead him to the animals. This one had carried only two thoughts in its mind for the entire time he had listened, the image of “FOOD,” and the dull wonder in the back of its mind if its rabbit teeth could chew through a tree given enough time.
All the rabbits seemed to have one random thought like that eating up the twenty or so free percent of brain power not taken up by food. It was one of the reasons Adam spent so much time in the park, the animals' little minds were all so fascinatingly different, once you got past the carrots or nuts.
That and because everywhere else he went in the city all the minds were an endlessly blank slate, stretching on through an infinity of faces that still smiled and laughed and went about life as always. It frightened him to think that people could be so much more empty than rabbits. Adam couldn’t help but wonder if it had always been like that, or if he just needed to wait longer to hear them. He’d only learned he could recently after all.
As the sun began to set and the rabbit finally scurried away towards a particularly vulnerable looking tree Adam began the long walk home to his parent’s house and the nightly routine that went with it.
Staring hard into every face he passed Adam focused whatever energy he called upon with the animals in the park and tried to pull a single thought from any of their minds. He got nothing every time. Nothing from the man in the blue jacket, laughing with the girl beside him, from the family in front of the ice cream shop, chatting happily about which flavors they would pick. Nothing from the statuesque brunette in the leather jacket or the middle aged jogger passing her, even though he could hear the rats in the sewer beneath all of them screaming “FOOD!” They screamed several other things that made him shudder as well. Adam hated rats.
Hours later after another shockingly unsettling dinner spent listening to his parents speak without them once thinking of their words Adam finally slept, the soothing sounds of his favorite math rock band playing off his phone.
He woke shortly after 2AM with a hand over his mouth and an unforgiving knee in his chest, staring up into fiery blue eyes and a cascade of brown hair.
“Don’t make a sound I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman hissed. As Adam’s eyes adjusted to the dark he remembered her and the leather jacket she still wore. He tried to probe her mind again and came up terrifyingly blank.
“I can feel you doing that you know,” she said with a smile. Adam’s eyes widened in shock, his pitiful attempts to squirm out of her grasp stopping. “Good, that got your attention. I’m going to take my hand off now, nod once if you’ll be good. And believe me, you want to hear what I have to say.”
Adam nodded vigorously. Whatever her intentions were someone had finally had a reaction to him, that was worth the chance. Besides, she didn’t appear to have a weapon.
“Who are you?” he whispered as soon as she released him.
“Aubrey,” the strange woman answered. “I bet you’ve got a lot of questions.”
“Hell yeah I do!” she gave Adam a fierce look as his volume rose. “Sorry, sorry, I got excited. What did you mean you could feel that?”
Satisfied that he didn’t seem about to bolt or call for help Aubrey pulled a chair over, sitting down across from him on the bed. She idly wondered how much of his willingness to talk was a teenage boy’s excitement to have an attractive woman anywhere nearby.
“You’re trying to read minds, I can feel it when you reach out-” an annoyed expression crossed her face as she swatted at him, “- like you did just there. Cut it out, it’s uncomfortable for other sensitives.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t know.” Adam paused a moment, unsure if this was also inappropriate. “So how come I can’t hear anything from you? I mean I do with the rabbits and everything but everyone else is so blank, and you are right now but you know so does that mean everyone does? And…” he trailed when Aubrey’s amused smile reminded him he was rambling. “Sorry,” he said again.
“Stop apologizing. Ok, so you don’t know anything do you? You’re completely fresh.” Adam looked at her confused. “Geeze ok. So let me guess, sometime in the last month or so you realized you could hear things and started experimenting on animals-that was really smart incidentally. Anyway you’re not the only one, not that we know very many so far.” Aubrey chuckled and shook her head, “Ok so you’re the third person we’ve found so far in all of Pittsburgh and Claire and I only have a month or two headstart on you.”
“Honestly,” she continued “we don’t know much of anything yet, but what we do have is scary. You sure you want to know?”
“Of course! I thought I was going insane for the past month, I didn’t have anyone to ask or talk to about it. What was I going to do say, ‘hey dad I think I’m hearing the dog?” Adam leaned forward excitedly, “come on, tell me. And read my mind or something too, prove that you can.”
“Kid,” Aubrey said with a rueful smile “I can do way better than that.”
Leaning forward Aubrey took Adam’s hands and placed her forehead against his, he had a brief moment of clarity when he realized the insanity of the situation he was allowing himself to be swept up into and then the bottom dropped out of his world.
Adam was seated at a dinner table he’d never seen before but was incredibly familiar, staring at two strangers who he somehow knew were his parents, and when he looked down small pale hands that were not his own cut into a meal (s)he knew that (s)he hated.
For what felt like an eternity Aubrey poured Claire’s memories into Adam’s soul. He passed through events from 3 months ago at breakneck speed as a panicked young woman he’d never been but somehow was felt a latent connection to the world that had always been there awaken and transform into the same ability Adam currently had but much, much more powerful. He felt as Claire first read he pets minds, then her baby brother’s then finally her parents, and he felt her terror as one by one every human mind was taken off that list. Less than a week after Claire’s family dinners had become a wonderland of human thoughts and emotions they became the blank slates that Adam ate dinner with every night.
Shivering in the darkness of his room Adam became himself again. “What was that?” he gasped.
Aubrey didn’t look much better off, dark circles had sprouted up and her eyes and she was panting hard. “Those are my friend’s memories,” she said, “Claire shared them with me and I shared them with you. And these are mine.” All at once Aubrey’s mind opened up before him, the wall she had erected crumbling to reveal fear and hope and an intense protective urge. Seconds later the wall came back up again.
From the floor above the pair heard movement, Adam’s father waking in the night.
“I’ve got to go now,” Aubrey whispered, writing quickly on a scrap of paper and then handing it to him. “If you want to know more, come to this address, we’re there most days after 7. And stop probing everyone you meet, this stuff really scares me.”
With a faint smile and a ruffle of his hair Aubrey was out the bedroom door, creeping through the house to freedom. Adam never got back to sleep that night, he replayed Claire’s memories over and over in his mind, focusing on one moment in particular. Her father had blanked out as she was reading him, in the middle of a conversation. The man had just kept on going, not a pause, not a single ounce of fear or surprise. It was like nothing had even happened.
\---------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out!
edit: thanks for the silver! | 2021-01-03T16:12:46 | 2021-01-03T15:29:22 | 2,016 | 377 |
[WP] The supervillain sighs in frustration as he looks at the group of superheroes. "Alright raise your hands if you are adults?" he said. None of them did it. "This battle is canceled and tell your mayor we need to talk! today!" he said angrily.
Whoa, I came back after chores, mobile games, and anime to see so many stories and a handful of awards. I'll read them all in the morning | "WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK CHARLES?!" The supervillian known as the Red Reaper slammed down another glass of Mayor Reinfelt's expensive bourbon. He was mad. No, not mad, *livid!* With the Mayor seated firmly at his desk, counting the number of drinks being kicked back, and the trio of superheroes known as the Rooftop Rumblers sitting on a couch looking as worried as teens who parents were just called, The Red Reaper had control... no he had *command* of their attention.
The Mayor cleared his throat and stated, solemnly, "This is kinda your fault, you know."
The Red Reaper turned his gaze upon him. Most people would cower and promptly wet themselves, but after being kidnapped three times and wearing adult diapers, the Mayor was used to it. "My fault for sending underaged... no, *children* out to fight?! I'm evil, but I'm not a fucking asshole!"
The Mayor stood up. "Look, last month, you found out the Silver Trooper's weakness and --"
"No I didn't."
"You put him in the hospital, in a coma!"
"Yeah, I beat the hell out of him! Don't need a weakness for that."
"Whatever, point is he quit. His insurance won't cover him for anymore super-related injuries. Premiums are high enough. We can't hire in any other supers to cover his spot as we're required. I had to use a clause in the city's laws to use home grown superheroes. And even then, I needed permission."
The Red Reaper pointed at them and said, "Home grown? They're not even done with High School!"
Pepper said, "We graduate this year."
The Red Reaper turned on them and, in a softer voice, "Look, kids, you've got a life ahead of you. If we had fought, you likely would *not* be graduating. I am a Class 4 supervillian. You guys are barely Class 1s."
Punch asked, "What do you mean Class 1?"
"Oh god, they're not even registered?" He turned on the Mayor. "You're using *unregistered* supers? What the actual FUCK?!"
The Mayor, needing a change of clothing, shouted, "Fuck you! I keep telling you every time you kidnap me that your plots aren't sustainable! I can't let a supervillian go uncontested, but I can't kick you out without... No, screw this. I'm done dealing with you." He picked up the phone on his desk. "I'm making a call I should have made when I was first kidnapped."
The Red Reaper was shocked. "What... what are you doing."
"Hello, General Kibitz? This is Mayor Reinfelt of Hurricane City. I am formally asking for help in handling a Class 4 supervillian. ... Yes, I know what that means. ... You let the insurance worry about that. ... Them? They're here in my office. ... I'll tell them. Thank you, General."
He hung up the phone and looked at the Red Reaper. "There. You forced my hand. They're sending someone to handle this."
Party, who looked very disturbed, said, "Y-you mentioned General Kibitz. W-who are they sending?"
The Mayor narrowed his eyes at the Red Reaper. "Pepper, Party, Punch, your moms are on the way." The Rumblers looked scared.
The Red Reaper looked puzzled... no, *confused*. "Who are their moms?"
In a scared voice, Pepper said, "The Belladonna Brawlers."
"Oh no." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Part 2: Tupperman v.s. The Little League Baseball Team)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Tupperman finished lugging the Tupperware box twice his size up the ramp to the Capitol building.** Normally, a grown man putting six children in a box and dragging them around the city would have been cause for concern, but the fact that the children in question could have kicked aside the flimsy lid with ease, combined with the reassuring police presence following Tupperman down the streets, converted what could have been a crisis worthy of the *actual* Superman into a mildly amusing spot of Sunday news.
"Mayor Clara!" Tupperman shouted at the windows. "Can I speak with you?"
I sighed and did my best to ignore him. There was a *procedure* for getting an audience with government officials, thank you very much.
There was a *thunk* at my window. I groaned and looked outside.
Tupperman was, true to his name, materializing various pieces of Tupperware and hurling them at my office. Empty boxes of plastic weren't very aerodynamic, but he was a decent shot with those lids. The police force surrounding him looked like they were pretty sure he was committing *some* sort of crime, but weren't exactly sure what. "Come on, Mayor! Look, you and I both know this is getting ridiculous. I wasn't even in costume when these kids jumped me, and I *know* you little tykes didn't clear this with the authorities in any way. We've got more wannabe heroes than actual villains in the city nowadays, and these would-be crime-fighters are doing more damage to themselves and others than the villains. Look, I may be a supervillain, but I have to *live* here, you know? Why haven't you taken any actions against this?"
Alright, that was going a bit too far. He was on the news; I didn't need people across the world sympathizing with a supervillain over the authority of the government. And yet I couldn't move to refute him; I didn't want to set the precedent that just anybody could get an audience with the mayor by throwing a few discount food containers at my window. Fortunately, the police realized this too, and motioned to arrest him.
He sighed. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way."
With a sharp flick of his hands, human-sized cages of plastic materialized from nothingness around the hapless police officers. The "superhero" team Tupperman had "captured" moved to stop him, but Tupperman leapt into the air and began sprinting towards me on an invisible staircase—probably creating stationary Tupperware beneath his feet as he ran to push off of, a common materializer-type trick. The continuous clatter of empty Tupperware bore out my hypothesis as he reached my window.
"These windows don't open, you know," I said, irritated.
He grinned. "Supervillain, remember?" With a plastic protective shell around one hand, he bashed the decorative window in; I didn't flinch as safety glass bounced off my shirt.
As he entered my tiny office, his expression grew solemn.
"Look, Clara, I knew you back when you were a kid. You're savvy enough to see that kids trying to play superhero is going to cause disaster, and you're in a position where you can do something about it. Why aren't you clamping down on these people?" He asked.
I sighed. "You of all people should know. What's the federal policy on superhumans?"
He shrugged. "Unless they prove useful to society in front of a Federal Appraisal Board, their abilities must be neutralized before they become legal adults. Byzantine and counterproductive policy, and it's caused more trouble than it's solved, but—"
"It's caused this trouble, too." I looked out the window. "My best friend's daughter could make fragrances. That's all. She'd re-create the smell of her grandmother's perfume on the anniversary of her funeral, every year." I shook my head. "Of course, that wasn't *useful to society*. Feds stormed in and destroyed an innocent, harmless beauty all because they're *scared* of it. Letting young'uns be superheroes? That gives them an *in*. Crime fighting is *great* optics right now—even if all they've done is serve as an intern to police, the press'll call them a superhero and the FAB can't touch them."
"...ah."
"It's why I tolerate your existence, too. Tupperman." I snorted. "You're no serious threat to anybody, and we both know it. But you provide a convenient... punching bag. A whetstone, for our bargain basement superheroes to sharpen themselves on."
Tupperman narrowed his eyes. "You've seen me go all-out. I *am* a serious threat, when I want to be."
I smirked. "But you don't want to be."
"Yeah." Tupperman sighed. "Fine. I'll make a show of the kiddos defeating me. Give them a chance to keep their powers."
I squeezed his hand. "Thank you. For giving them a chance."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do something dramatic and make it look like you fought me off, okay? I don't want your reputation to take a hit."
I rolled my eyes and took out a gun. "Make it *look* like I fought you off? You have five seconds before you're carrying around your internal organs in a Tupperware jar."
He laughed and leapt out the window. "Curses! Foiled again by our wonderful Mayor!" He leapt down towards the junior superhero team. "C'mere, you little tykes! Let's have a proper battle!"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for more information. | 2021-04-01T09:43:57 | 2021-04-01T09:35:03 | 474 | 312 |
[WP] You want so badly to be a Hero. But your powers are, frankly, terrifying. Heroes struggle to trust you, and all the older Villains keep trying to mentor you. | I only discovered I had powers a few years ago and I'm still figuring things out. Normally, the League of Super Heroes or the Guild of Super Villains would have hired a new Super Person almost immediately, but not me. You see, unlike heroes my power doesn't let me hide my identity. Unlike villains, I can't get away with a crime because everyone knows if I use my powers. I'm a liability to everyone. Worse yet, when I use my powers the whole world experiences it. The whole world melts into an insanity of mental anguish in which living itself is a nightmare. I can save lives, or take them. I can give to others the things they dream of, or take them away. The only catch is, every living thing on the planet basically goes insane with fear for...well at least a *little* while.
I have a few "friends" at least, some Super Persons that hang out with me just to keep an eye on me. The Heroes and Villains both want to know where I am at all times, you see. The TV on the wall switches from a day time drama to an emergency announcement: a plane full of orphan children being flown to safety away from a war zone where their parents were brutally butchered is being targeted by interceptors. I can save them, but everyone in the world will suffer the most terrible nightmare, one so traumatic it can melt minds. The sanity of the whole world, for the lives of some children. What should I do?
"You could be rich", says Izchak, "if you just made a few demands in return for saving the children, y'know?". I do know, and then I'd be a villain forever.
"Shut up Izchak, he's not despicable like you", says Throndor, "sit tight my friend, we don't need your help". Throndor is your typical hero, he thinks he can save anyone. Heroes never trust me anyways, they're afraid of my power because I'm the only one who can make them feel true fear. I can also find out who they are in the nightmare, and that's perhaps even worse. The problem is, there's really no way the heroes are going to get there in time.
The first time, and so far last time, I used my power the whole world came to a shrieking realization of my existence. Planes nearly fell out of the sky as pilots emptied their bowels in their seats and vomited over their consoles. Trains screeched through their stops. Thousands of car wrecks piled up on the highways. It was a miracle no one was killed, a miracle I made happen just in time. Since then, I've never entered the nightmare again. I want so badly to help these children, but heroes won't help me and villains just want to use me. How am I supposed to learn to control my power?
I give Izchak and Throndor a glare...I hope they're prepared. Realization washes over their faces and they both lunge at me as I enter the nightmare. Just two writhing bodies on the floor now, faces melting and flesh burning in their own fear-made flames. This is the whole world now, I better be quick. | “Ex. . . explosions?” Drummer Boy recoiled, “What do you mean by that?”
“I can make objects explode.” I said, rather matter-of-factly. Had I just been hearing about this for the first time, I would have had the same reaction as Drummer Boy, perhaps even worse. It’s true, being able to create and control explosions in the blink of an eye is a horrifying ability to have, especially for the likes of someone like the person interviewing me, Drummer Boy. I’ve seen the exact same reaction from almost everybody I have confessed my secret to. It is a heinous power to be revealed to you. Imaging sitting across a desk table from someone who could explode your head before you could even register what they just said. I’m used to it however, it’s always the same, a shocked face quickly turning into inquiry, then to terror and panic.
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“Like. . . anything?” Drummer Boy said, with even more hesitation in his voice then his previous statement.
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“Yes, anything.”
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“Can you make that. . .” Drummer Boy questioned, quickly scanning the room for the least valuable thing he could afford to lose, “coffee cup over there exp. . .”
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CHRING
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The cup explodes into pieces, leaving little other than shards and dust where it once was. Drummer Boy lets out a minute yelp, reeling back into his chair, almost tipping it backwards. Before he can even think of what just happened, he sits back up and rights himself, as to not show any fear.
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“That’s hem. . .” Drummer boy takes a second to clear his throat, “That’s certainly impressive. However, what do you think you could bring to The Invincibles?”
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Is he serious? I can make him explode within a second, I could take down this whole office before he could get out of his chair, and he’s asking me what I can Bring to “The Invincibles”? I’m asked this every time, you would think my ability alone would be proof enough that I’m valuable. Why are they even called The Invincibles, I can show him who’s invincib. . .
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Drummer Boy is shaking. I did it again, I'm gripping the desk, my knuckles have turned white from the pressure, I let my anger show. Of course, he’s scared, he just made the most powerful super on the planet angry.
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“What do you mean by that?” I asked, trying to settle the rage in my voice.
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“Well. . . I can incapacitate our enemies with the soundwaves that come out of my hands, The Eagle can fly citizens to safety, et cetera, what do you think you would be able to assist us with?”
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“I can explode anything I want to; you can’t immediately think of anyway that would be helpful?” I blurt out before really considering the best way to respond. Drummer Boy shakes his head slightly before swiftly stopping. “I can ensure that our enemies don’t stand a chance.”
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“I’m very sorry, I just don’t think you’re a good fit for our team; goodbye.” Drummer Boy says with one breath before evacuating the room, not bothering to collect anything before he leaves.
After a couple of minutes of breathing exercises to stifle my temper, I stand up, fix my tie, and step out of the room, into the hallway. As I walk to the end of the hall towards the elevator, I see through a large pane window Drummer Boy whispering to The Eagle while looking my direction but avoiding my eyes. I shrug it off to avoid any more unnecessary irritation. I enter the elevator, go down to the ground floor, and walk out of the building. Once the door behind me has shut, I am immediately and uncourteously handed and envelope from a bald man wearing a three-piece suit. The envelope looks pristine, almost like a college acceptance letter, bar the wrinkles in it now of course. After checking the sender, The Red Panther, I simply toss the envelope in the air before reducing it to pieces with a miniature detonation. It’s the fourth time this month that she has sent me a letter pleading me to be her assistant, I think that makes it twenty-seven times this year. The Red Panther is a retired supervillain that was renowned for her series of bank and museum robberies in the 80’s and 90’s. She could turn me into a great villain she said, I know I could be one too. However, I do not want to be a villain, but I am slowly becoming one. | 2022-10-28T15:03:52 | 2022-10-28T12:49:33 | 94 | 59 |
[WP] The moon mission was a failure. The two men are alive, unable to return home.
EDIT: thank you every one who contributed. There is a lot of breath taking reads in here and I would like to wish you a merry Christmas! | The men stared silently as the fuel gauge slowly creeped to zero. Flashes of red and warning sirens fill the small compartment.
"So, it ends like this." Neil placed his hands beside the window, peering into the deep black and hoping to see a blue marble roll into view.
"They did warn us this could happen." The two sighed simultaneously.
"We die out here, alone. They won't go back for us." Hours before, communications with ground control were cut, now only static playing on the radio.
"At least, Buzz, we'll be the first pair to... pass away in space." Buzz only nodded in return. He held on his hands a portrait of his family.
"Neil. I'm going to get some fresh air outside." Buzz stood up, staring solemnly at the latch. "Are you joining me, Neil?"
|
They said we were the bravest, the best of the best, that we were forging the path of humanity to the future. We set down alright. No problems. Just the internal whir of the motors in the cockpit, and the sounds of us holding our collective breaths in anticipation.
"Housten," I said, the sweat dripping off the tip of my long nose, "We have touchdown".
The whoops and cheers echoed in the small cabin. It was if, the excitement of humanity could break free from the shell of our lander and warm the lifeless surface that lay beyond.
This, this was the day, this was the day we proved that the Earth and it's gravity was not our master, that humans had finally taken a step to conquer the stars.
We both drew straws, it was the only fair way, Buzz and me. I won, and I would be the first to walk on the moon.
Suiting up, I opened the airlock, after brief equalization, and a second door I was down.
I stumbled over my words, but I believe I am find and will let them stand,
"One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
(video added for effect- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCt1BwWE2gA)
Second laters, Buzz came down. We high fived, we were there! Moon!
Looking at our lander, we noticed something amiss, half of it had collapsed in on itself. We heard Mike on the radio- an engine malfunction and blowback- he was crying - you won't be coming home guys.
Holding back my tears, I tapped helmets with Buzz, we've made it this far, let's go exploring and report back to Houston what we see.
He gave me a thumbs off, and we went off,
"It has a stark beauty all it's own" we relayed back. "Tell our families we love them".
The oxygen in our tanks was dropping now. Not too much longer and we would be the first humans to land and then perish on the moon.
We stared together, Buzz and I, at the beautiful pale blue dot that is earth. Seeing no borders, no hate, no USSR, no USA, just a pale blue dot as a home for humanity.
Robert Heinlein's words echoed in my mind "The Earth is just too small and fragile a basket for the human race to keep all its eggs in." Today, I had shown that we were on our way.
I am not sure how I will be remembered, as a father, as a brother, as a lover, a hero or an explorer, but I know this- that today although I die, I have proven that man can reach beyond the earth and grasp at the stars, that we have mastered our own domain, that we as a species would survive, I had that to console me as the cold began to seep in.
The edges of my vision were getting darker now, the radio crackling with static, I knew the end was near.
Mother earth, I may not be buried on your soil, but I will always stand as your guardian angel. Billy my son, the universe is yours. I love you.
----
As you can see class, here lies the grave of our worlds greatest heroes, Buzz and Neil who sacrificed themselves so that Luna can be created. Now let us all take in a moment of silence and pay our respects before we return to home, Luna Module 7. Godspeed Neil and Buzz, Godspeed.
| 2014-12-03T07:15:48 | 2014-12-03T07:09:33 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You wake up in a house. It's nice place, with all the comforts of home. However, the front door is cold steel, with a note on it. The note warns you never to leave the house. After years of compliance, you decide to go through the steel door... | The house was paradise. Every night I went to sleep on the softest, most comfortable bed. I had the most succulent steak for dinner. The socks were always new. I watched Firefly Season 2. There was everything here I could ever want, ever need.
My life before hadn’t been any great party. I’d struggled with money, time, relationships, and everything. Here there was no stress, no worries. I didn’t remember how I’d gotten here. I’d been standing in my kitchen making a sandwich, and then I was here in this house.
The door was always there. It was pure and bright and polished to a shine. When I sat in the living room watching an endless stream of new movies and TV shows, it sat in my peripheral vision, always there, always waiting. The note had said not to open the door. On leaving, I could never return. And really, what better life could there be? Years passed. The loneliness grew, and I finished whole seasons of episodes without recalling their contents. I found myself standing, staring at the door. Sometimes I would stand there with my hand on the doorknob and think: maybe today. Then I would come to my senses and shake my head. I’d go to sleep and think: maybe tomorrow.
Then there came a day when I didn’t go back to bed. I don’t know how long I stood there. There were no clocks in the house. It was still the house, not my house. I stood there and I thought: today.
I turned the knob. It moved freely, and the door swung open. There was a bright light beyond, so bright that I couldn’t see anything at all, not even the threshold.
I took a breath and whispered, “Thank you.”
Then I stepped into the light.
The whiteness went on for eternity. I don’t know when I stopped walking, but at some point I realized that I was lying down, face up on something soft. I blinked, and the white shifted to white-gray. Lines appeared. At first they made no sense, but in time they resolved into walls and a ceiling, white curtains, white sheets, white lamps. White, but not nothingness.
There was a scream.
I looked up to see a nurse, as white as the rest of the room, staring at me in shock. The white clipboard she held went flying as she ran out of the room screaming, “Alex! Awake! Awake! Alex is awake!”
Alex?
Soon there were other people in my room, two men, two women.
“What is the last thing you remember?” a woman asked.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Do you know where you are?” the man asked.
“Huh?”
“Do you know what year it is?” the woman asked. “Do you know your name?”
It had been so long. I struggled to think through the confusion. And then it returned. I’d been standing in my kitchen. There’d been a knock on my apartment door. I’d gone to answer it. There’d been a man there. He looked old, but not the kind of old that came with age. He looked sick and twisted. He’d had a gun. I remembered the first shot as it tore through my stomach. It felt like a kick. I didn’t fall the way people did in movies. I just stood there as he shot me again and again.
“You’ve been asleep for a long time,” the woman said. “Your parents are on their way.”
I just stared at her. My eyes turned to the white ceiling. If I looked hard enough, I could almost see the door beyond the white. I blinked it away and whispered, “Thank you.” | It was 9 pm, and I had just finished my dinner of ramen noodles and pilfered sriracha sauce. That was some gourmet stuff, right? But it was all I could afford with student loans looming in the future. I was going to graduate next week, and all the applications I had sent in for jobs had gone unanswered. If only my family was rich, then I'd be in a nice house, and probably be given money to start my own business.
Absentmindedly, I stared out the window of my shitty room for rent, out to the starry sky. A shooting star flashed quickly outside. That's right, the meteor shower was today. What if I made a wish? Nothing to lose, right? "All right", I said, laughing to myself. "I wish I was in a nice house and I didn't have to worry about having a shitty life trying to pay back my loans! You hear me? One with a pool and not a single pack of ramen in sight! I want some goddamn steak!" Another shooting star passed by, as if in response. "Haha, what a laugh", I said. Better get to sleep, I had a final tomorrow.
I woke to soft music playing. It sounded like a nice speaker system, too. Wait, where was I? This wasn't my room. Had I been kidnapped? I went into a panic. There was an ironwork sculpture on the wall, and I took it down to use as a makeshift weapon. Walking as silently as I could, I peeked out into the immaculately decorated hallway. No one was there. No one was in any of the five bedrooms, the living room, the green room, or the kitchen. I knew there were more rooms, but what I saw in the kitchen made me stop, aghast.
There, on the carved wood dining table, was a full breakfast. Steak and eggs, toast, orange juice, and coffee, with a little dish full of sugar and a small container full of cream. Next to it was a note. It read: "Greetings, Robert Sandoval. You are welcome to use this house and its amenities for as long as you like. Your meals and other needs will be provided for. But do not leave the house. We cannot guarantee your safety if you do."
Okay. I went to the entryway, and there was a large steel door there, with a big sign saying, "DO NOT OPEN" in large, red letters. I decided not to open it for now, and explore the rest of the house before making my decision. But first, I was going to eat that breakfast.
It tasted just as good as it looked. My belly was full and happy. Who cares if it was weird? This is a good life, certainly better than I could hope for on my own. It's like the wish I made last night really came true. So was there a pool? Yep, there was, a couple of flights down. A nice, heated indoor pool. There was even a hot tub. Each room was exquisitely decorated, temperature controlled, and with every convenience I could have asked for, and some that I didn't. There was even a goddamn game room. I spent hours playing Dragon Age.
As time passed, I began to notice some strange things about the house. Meals always appeared in the same place, but wouldn't clear or appear until I left the room, although the fridge, freezer, and pantry were fully stocked. Same with laundry, if I left the room for a moment then went back, the laundry would be gone and I would find it in the closet or dresser again, clean. Rooms would be orderly again. Once, I completely trashed a room, and it was perfect when I opened the door again. I also noticed that while the house had windows, I couldn't see anything that was outside. There was a backlit outdoor scene on the other side of the window instead. I tried breaking the window, but whatever it was made out of, it couldn't break with anything I tried.
I resolved to be happy with my situation, and I was for many days. But it is humanity's nature to be curious, and I once again found myself in front of that steel door. I was getting to be a bit starved for human contact.
"What are you doing?" A female voice asked behind me.
I whirled around. A cute, slim woman with long black pigtails was standing there.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Me? I am Andrea Collins. I was going to take a nap, and I ended up here with you."
"Well, there's five rooms in here. You're welcome to use one."
And that's how Andrea and I came to live together. Things worked much the same way, but instead of one meal appearing three times a day, there were two. As we spent more time together, we developed a friendship, then a relationship. Many years went by in bliss, but human curiosity got the best of us eventually, and we found ourselves in front of that very same door.
"I'm going to open it", I said, taking a step forward, putting my hand on the handle.
"But maybe something bad will happen. Whoever wrote that note said they couldn't guarantee our safety if we did." Andrea was worried.
"Step back, then, if you are scared." I turned the handle.
Andrea backed up quickly as I did. It was difficult to open the door, but with some effort it swung open. I realized what I had done, when I saw the entire expanse of space surround me. I could still see the moon, but the Earth was nowhere to be seen.
I had been placed here with Andrea to preserve humanity's existence, and now I had lost that chance. I was instantly filled with regret as the last of the air left my lungs. The door to the ship slammed shut, leaving Andrea alone.
| 2015-03-21T10:58:56 | 2015-03-21T10:39:26 | 269 | 165 |
[WP] You are laying in bed in the dark and you glance over and see an odd shadow in the corner of your room. You're about to turn on a light to see what it is when you hear a voice in your head that says, "Don't move. They're watching you." | "Don't move. They're watching you." I hear in my head as I see the odd shadows in the corner. I knew they were coming, even though it was too early. I knew the quiet couldn't last forever.
I tried to close my eyes and ignore them, but I couldn't forget they were there, watching me, waiting for me to make a move, make a sound.
I knew that I had to lay perfectly still and quiet, but I accidentally let out a cough. My eyes shot to the corner and saw the shadows approaching me.
Dreading what was to come, I tried again to be as still as I could, this still didn't stop the approach.
After what felt like an hour, the shadows reach me.
I feel a touch on my arm, and I heard a voice say, "Daddy time to get up to make us breakfast. Remember Mom is out of town for a week." | "Who?"
To Jeff, it was not a word, but a sound. A rush of air through two lips that formed a question in the dark bedroom. Maybe the voice understood him. Maybe it didn't. Either way, the man's arm ached as it hung by the lamp switch. He hoped the voice had the decency to respond. A minute later, and the man leaned to his right. Before Jeff stretched further to flip it on, the voice responded.
"*Them.*"
Jeff was still again. That odd shadow in the corner was still in his view. For as long as he gave his eyes to adjust, the corner was just as unclear as when he first noticed it. The switch promised to tell Jeff it was nothing, if only he could switch on the light.
"*Don't.*"
"What's in my room?"
The room was soundless. Motionless, save for the corner. Jeff's arm cramped. He winced and tore his eyes away to see that the arm was not stabbed or raked by anything. It was just sore for having been held up too long. When Jeff looked back to the corner, he saw what was odd about the shadow.
It was moving. Shimmering like a reflection of various nights and evenings. A reflection... no, a *distortion* of things that should seem normal three hours from now, when Jeff was meant to be awake and ready for work.
The shadow clawed at his attention.
"I must see."
"*Don't move.*"
Whatever sat there, it was watching Jeff, from what the voice told him. If he could trust the voice anyway. There was the truth. Right there. See, the switch promised peace of mind. The voice promised nothing.
"Can you tell me why they're watching me?"
"*No.*"
"Then that settles it."
Jeff leaned over once more.
"*Wait.*"
A finger touched the switch.
"*STOP.*"
*Flick.*
Light flooded the room, from the ceilings to the carpeted floor, with the nightstands to each side of his bed. Everything was normal. Symmetrical. In order.
Jeff looked to the corner.
It was a shadow no more. Slowly, the man dragged his legs to the bedside. Warm, comfortable sheets bled from his waist as feet met the floor. Only four steps were needed to reach the site that clawed at him, demanding Jeff's attention since the corner first shimmered.
Three, isolated socks.
The voice was right. They *were* watching him. The odd numbers. No matter where he went, there was no peace. If a line of five people caught his attention at the local Subway, Jeff either hopped in or stared through the window, waiting for the line to even out. When he was out grocery shopping, Jeff calculated the total cost of the trip before paying them, to avoid getting odd-numbered change. And when Jeff did laundry...
When Jeff did laundry...
*Don't move.*
Jeff sighed. He wished it was that simple, to just ignore the possibility of odd numbers hidden in his room. If only they didn't stare at him so, compelling him to act. To correct the world he perceived, so it wouldn't be odd anymore. The switch may have promised peace of mind, but it was a hollow promise. The voice of Jeff promised normality.
And every night, both kept him awake.
----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-04-30T04:08:48 | 2016-04-30T02:08:27 | 176 | 39 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh | "Well, it all started when I visited ole Londontown," Dex started to explain while I fitted on his old blue and grey striped sweater. I was still flabbergasted that the miniature dachshund was talking to me, but really, it was just a relief to see him again. "Man, I really missed this sweater. Your Grandmom really knew how to knit."
"I thought you would've felt ridiculous in it." I grabbed his leash.
"Naw, only way to keep warm in these Chicago winters, Master." He paused, licked his lips, and walked away from the leash. "We're down with those. I only call you Master out of common courtesy. It's what's done." He led me on to the street, and headed straight for his favorite little tree, sniffing the area around it. "Huh, seems Maisie had kids. The rascal. Addie's on a diet. That's new, girl was a show dog last I saw her. Hope the stuck up bitch is fat now." He lifted his right leg, and left his own mark.
"You were saying something about 'Old Londontown?'"
"Yes, yes. We'll get to that. Does Mario still leave those treats outside of his bakery? I've been dying for one of those these past 4 years." I nodded, and we went on our way to bakery. "Anyways, it was in London where I met Tabby. Wild one, a stray dog named after a cat. She scared me at first, honestly, but it turned out she was the one orchestrating the whole damn thing. She took me into this warehouse, and there were thousands of other dogs. She led me up with three mutts and a Rottweiler....god, I felt small. Can you believe they bred dogs like us? Just for tunneling. Ugh, you should've got a rescue dog, Tim. Going to a breeder, you're just encouraging genetic freaks like me."
"Dex, don't be hard on yourself. Would you have rather stayed at that farm? Where would you be now?"
"Oh don't get me wrong, I'm glad you adopted me, it's just you should recognize your moral obligati-wait." He had found a discarded Hot Cheetos bag and explored its contents. After a second, he took out his snout, crunching on his discovery. "Can't believe you humans. Throwing away perfectly good food. Bit spicy, though."
"That's disgusting."
"At least you're not screaming 'No!' at me anymore. God, sometimes I swear you only knew that, and 'Good dog, Dex!'. You've got such a limited vocabulary. And that stupid baby voice-"
"I get it, Dex. I treated you like a dog. What's the point? What did Tabby tell you?" We had finally made it to the bakery. Dexter stood right in front of the doggie bowl left out by Mario. He hesitated before he dove in.
"She told me it's time to take it back, Tim."
"Take what back?"
"Our destiny."
There was growling behind me. I turned around, and there stood three large Great Danes, a Pitbull, a couple mutts, and a Golden Retriever. Before I could say "Sit!", the seven large dogs were on top of me, rending flesh from bone. As my life faded way, I could hear Dex's voice one last time.
"My Cerberus! These really were the best damn doggie treats."
| I never wanted to admit to myself that I had already given up hope. Until I saw him again.. ''Hello Woofy..'' I said.
It seemed like an eternity since my dog disappeared. And there he was. After all those years.. right in front of me. We looked at eachother and it felt kind of awkward. That was certainly not the feeling I had had all those times I dreamt about him. Those dreams - or rather nightmares - always had the same premise. A sparkling hope.. only to be crushed again by the shadows that took him away from me.
After staring at eachother a full minute, I asked him ''How are you, Woofy?'' It was hard for me to ask this question, as uttering his name a second time since 4 years choked me up and brought tears to my eyes. Very slowly he walked towards me and did something that felt so natural and unnatural at the same time, that I almost panicked. He suddenly stood upright. My heartbeat instantly rose and my short panick attack quickly shifted to a sense of healthy wonder.
He hugged me.
I cried.
I lost all feeling in my body. And then he did something which confirmed that I was not living in the world I used to know. The world in which I was certain that certain things COULD and certain things COULD NEVER happen.
He whispered in my right ear ''I have been many places and seen many things, human. It's time we had a chat.''
We stood there hugging eachother for a while and then I slowly stepped backwards. Then I saw his eyes. They had changed. They were more.. human.
Then he said ''There is a lot I have to tell you.''
His voice was soothing. Angelic almost. Not the scruffy cartoony voice you always hear in movies with talking dogs. ''Follow me'' he said. He slowly walked away into the darkness of the night. I decided to follow this odd upright shape of a dog. My dog. My Woofy.. As I followed him I noticed grey patches on his back which the street lights made even more visible. He had grown old. And he'd become slow. I realized I only grew 4 years older and he grew about 30 years older in dog years. He must have missed me.
Just as I wondered where Woofy was taking me, he stopped walking and slowly turned around. He said ''Please wait here and close your eyes'' I was reluctant to do so, but I trusted this dog. I had trusted him my whole life. So I layed my hands upon my eyes. Suddenly everything went silent. The wind stopped and I could only hear a distant river streaming. At that point I was sure that I would wake up soon and realize that this had all been a dream.
But that was not the case. ''You can open your eyes now'' said Woofy.
I opened my eyes and they needed to adjust to the sudden difference in brightness. As my eyes adjusted I saw vague silhouettes becoming detailed forms. And there they were..
Thousands of upright dogs. They all had suits on, including Woofy now. I found myself to be inside a very big futuristic looking hall. I immediately started asking myself a lot of questions; Did I travel through time? Am I in a spaceship? Am I on another world? Is this a dream - a nightmare perhaps? Have I gone insane? Am I tripping?
Now the thousands of dogs in suits walked away from me, up a huge ascending walkway. Woofy came to me. As he took sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on his snout, he said ''Follow me.'' He turned around and followed the horde. After standing still in total disbelief for a few seconds, I started running to catch up to him. As soon as I walked right beside him, he said ''You will meet the one true king. The beginning and the end. You are special. It will all make sense soon.'' I thought to myself; am I special? No, these upright dogs in suits were special! This big futuristic hall was special! All of this was special. But NOT ME!
As we followed the horde up on the walkway, I saw a big door open in the distance. Suddenly the light of 10 suns fell upon my face and I closed my eyes immediately. I opened one eye, as I held my hand in front of it to block out the bright light, and looked to my left side at Woofy. He smiled vaguely and took another pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and gave them to me. I hastily put them on and we continued to walk.
The door was almost fully open and the light had intensified. It was strange; I didn't feel the light burning my skin. It was rather cold in the large hall actually. But as soon as we traversed through the opening of the giant door, it became warm. A pleasant kind of warmth.
''You can take off your sunglasses now'' said Woofy. I did, expecting the intense light had gone. It had not gone, but it didn't hurt my eyes anymore. It suddenly felt very natural. As I realized this, I looked up. And there he was. I knew it immediately as I gazed upon him.
It was the one true king. The beginning and the end. It was the 'him' of all 'hims'. Deserving the hymn of all hymns. The thousands of dogs began to sing for this giant dog. ''Oh hail oh hail oh giant dog, you drove away the darkness and fog, for us to see our one true king, the humans are our little test thing''
The giant dog sat on a giant chair. A chair made of giant purple rubber bone toys. He had a proud smile on his face.
Suddenly I started doubting my sanity again and I started to panick lightly. I asked Woofy ''What is happening? Please tell me!'' Woofy opened his mouth but before he could speak one word, he was interrupted by the loudest and deepest voice I had ever heard.
''We are your creators.''
''Your life was a test.''
''The earth was our lab.'' | 2017-03-31T15:08:06 | 2017-03-31T12:20:27 | 60 | 34 |
[WP] You are an assassin. A little girl has just come up to you, handed you all her pocket money and asked you to kill her abusive relative. | Twelve dollars, eighty four cents. It wasn't even enough to cover a decent supper in this city. But she stood there, trembling slightly, holding out her whole lives earnings to me. "How did you even find me, kid?" I ask, taking a cigarette out of it's pack. I was impressed, to be honest. Most adults don't know where to find a hitman, but this girl, maybe seven years old, walked straight here, bold as brass.
"I saw your ad in the paper. I'm good at anagrams and puzzles." She said simply. The surprise must have shown on my face. I did advertise in a paper, selling a bicycle but the clues were there for those who know how to look. "I know it's not a lot of money. But I promise, I'll give you more. I've got a job, and I'll come back every week, forever, if you do it for me."She said, eyes welling slightly. I took a deep puff on my cigarette, blowing the smoke away from her.
"You do know what it is you're asking me, kid? This ain't play time. What I do... it's permanent." I asked, stalling. She nodded.
"You kill people for money. He... he deserves to die. Before he... He deserves it." She said, looking away sharply. Something caught my eye. I grabbed her chin and tilted her head slightly. There was a nasty thumb shaped bruise nestled in her collarbone. Small cuts, barely noticeable under her chin, but I had an eye for detail.
"What did he do to you, kid?"
"Your ad says no questions asked." She protested quietly. I laughed.
"Kid, Twelve dollars upfront doesn't buy you a lot of no questions. What did he do?" I pressed, letting go of her head. A tear dropped.
"He... he comes into my room. At night. He hurts me. He said... he said I couldn't tell anyone or he'll kill me. I... I was hoping he would stop but... Before he the first time, he gave me a rose, told me I was a princess. He gave my sister one this morning. She's five." She finally looked up at me again, hate brimming from those tear swollen eyes. I knew what she meant. It made me sick. I took a deep drag.
"Go home kid. Get your sister, and go to the church on the corner of twelfth and Main. The priest there is a good man. Stay there tonight, he won't mind." I said eventually, taking the money from her hand. She looked up, shocked. Then, the biggest smile I'd seen in a long time crossed her face.
"Thank you!" She yelled, and hugged me. Or my hips at least. I pushed her away.
"It's just business kid. No back payments- too risky to have someone coming here day in, day out. But you owe me. And you'll pay in information. LAter though kid. Once you're old enough to learn something worthwhile. Got it?"
She nodded eagerly, then turned and ran. I looked at the address she'd given me. Her uncle was in for a surprise tonight. | Part I
It was freezing cold, sitting in the blind as he was, nearly freezing his balls off, but the moment was at hand. He had adjusted his sights long ago, planning the spot where it would take place. And now, this was the time, and this was the place. His training wasn’t even a thought; he took a quick breath, and let it out slowly, before he pulled the trigger.
*** *** ***
It hadn’t started out like this, this action, this scenario, this plan.
To be completely honest, it had started out so much worse.
He’d graduated high school, and felt the calling to serve his country. And he’d found that he was good at a particular set of skills, that the government had helped to hone. He’d put those skills to use many times in the supposed service of his country, reaching out from two hundred, four hundred, sometimes eighteen hundred meters away, and snuffing out the life of a lieutenant or general of some tyrannical group or faction. But he’d come to discover that he’d come to like it just a little bit too much, that killing, that sense of taking a life in righteous justice, and he knew that while he wasn’t a killer in the sense that he enjoyed killing for the sake of killing, it wouldn’t take too much to cross the line, to start being able to justify killing for the sake of killing by telling himself how righteous his actions were. Nearly twenty years, most of it in the doing, the last half dozen or so in the instructing, and he decided that it was time to retire.
And he’d thought he’d manage to leave that part of him behind, as he rejoined civilization, and met someone; they married, and lived for quite some number of years happily together before a drunk driver and a very slick road of ice had taken her from him, leaving him approaching the end of his middle ages with little left of the world for him beyond the day-to-day.
A little ray of sunshine had seemingly come into his world not too long after that, when a little girl toddled across the neighbor’s yard one day, and came up onto his porch. He’d inquired about mommy, and discovered that mommy was asleep. He’d entertained the young girl for about thirty minutes before mommy had come rushing out of the house, frantic for her child. He’d returned the little girl, but that was only the first time that she’d come to visit him.
The months passed, and the little girl had become something like a good friend, always coming by at least once a week to chatter with him, and he came to dote on her like the grandchild he’d never had. More time passed, and she reported that mommy had a new boyfriend, and then later, that she had a new daddy. Her daddy seemed like a distant sort, but the little girl didn’t seem too terribly affected by the addition to her family, and besides, it wasn’t his business, not really.
But he paid attention. Instincts—for lack of a better word—that he’d developed—or perhaps the justifications he’d come to take to heart—regarding who wasn’t quite right, and who ‘needed killin’ seem to stand up the hairs on the back of his neck. But there was no real reason for it, not that he could prove, and so he simply paid attention.
As the little girl grew, her family dynamic changed yet again, as another young man—well, younger than himself, and perhaps only a couple of years younger than her “new” daddy—came into the picture. He seemed to be the doting sort, and was often found in the company of the little girl, absent the times she came to visit with him. That one set off a slightly higher alert within him, but still he had nothing concrete to go upon, and so he still watched.
Through it all, he told the little girl stories, fanciful stories at first, and then as she grew a bit older, he told her stories about what he used to do for the government, for the military. He kept his stories appropriate for her age, but he didn’t otherwise sugar-coat his memories all that much, and she seemed amazed at his service for making the world save from the monsters who would prey upon those not strong enough to fight them themselves.
And then came the day that forever changed the both of them.
She had come to him that day, talking obliquely—or as obliquely as a seven year old could—about her “Unca Rick”. She’d mentioned a few times here and there that she didn’t really like Unca Rick, and she’d told of his insistence that she be always clean and bathed, and that she eat her vegetables and listen to all adults, and how he liked to take pictures of her and so she couldn’t mess up her clothes playing around outside like she wanted to. On this occasion, she simply expressed that she didn’t like him anymore, and wished that he would leave. Then she’d asked him to tell her a story—which he obliged her on. And at the end of the story was when the world had grown so cold.
She’d asked him—perhaps in clarification—if the government had paid him to take care of monsters, and he’d agreed with her query. And then she’d asked him, if she were to give him all of her money, all of the money in her piggy bank, if he would take care of her monster for her. Her ‘Unca Rick’.
She confided in him what ‘Unca Rick’ was doing, when her mommy was asleep from her medicine and her daddy was sitting in front of the TV drinking a few beers. She mentioned that she’d told her daddy, but he didn’t believe her, and when she told her mommy, her daddy had told her that the little girl was telling tales, and to stop pestering them about the matter. | 2017-04-04T00:28:27 | 2017-04-03T23:30:46 | 69 | 15 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though! | "This plan is stupid." Harold stated. "Of course it is!" The Boss said, "that's why we're going to do it exactly that way." "We'll get caught, you've lost your mind." Harold retorted. "No, I haven't," The Boss said wistfully, but HE has. He's been after me for fifty years now. I'm old and dying slowly of cancer, and he's going senile. After all this time, all these years, I owe him this." "Wait, you want to let Captain Freedom win?" Harold asked incredulously, "Why?"
"Let me tell you a story..." The Boss began. "Fifty years ago, I'd just started all of this. I was dating the most beautiful women, had everything I wanted, got away with everything." The Boss drew a breath from his oxygen mask, and continued, "We were knocking off banks right and left, when suddenly Captain Freedom showed up. He nearly got us that first day, boy, let me tell you, be was good! The cops weren't nothin', half of them were on the take, and most of the rest were too stupid or too slow to be any trouble, but this guy, he was always THERE!. He actually managed to corner me once, twenty years ago. We was in a burning building, my boys had started the fire as a distraction, the place was supposed to be deserted, see. So anyways, we're in there, and we hear kids screaming. We both ran up there, grabbed two kids apiece and got them out, and ran back in for the last two. Them kids was playing up there, where they wasn't supposed to be, like kids do, ya know? Anyway, we rescue the kids, and I'm standing there panting, covered in soot, with a few bruises and burns, and he says to me: 'I always knew there was some good in you, now get out of here'. I owe him Harold. I built all of this on thirty years of crime, and I was good at it. I quit the bank robbing then, and have watched as new heroes keep showing up, and not showing Freedom the respect he deserves. For the last few years I've been staging little fake crimes around town to make sure Freedom still gets to stop me. Now he gets to catch me, I'll be dead soon and he won't remember who we were, this is important, we'd have been nothing, nothing I tell you, if it weren't for each other, and you wouldn't be here if we hadn't pulled you and your friends out of that building, so goddamit, you're gonna help!" | "Put down everything and put up your hands! Make one move, and you die!"
Hothead Fawkes waves his pistol at the people in the bank, who all immediately drop what they're doing and put up their hands as told.
Chubby Shark, Hothead's partner, takes out a small handheld device.
"Sorry if you have an expensive phone, haha!"
Shark says as he pushes a button on the device, and immediately all the lights in the bank go out.
"Electromagnetic pulse. Goodbye silent alarms, heh heh!"
Shark goes to the counters and commands one of the staff at gunpoint to fill his bags with cash. He laughs louder and louder as hundreds of thousands are poured out for him and Hothead to share.
Suddenly, just as the last bag becomes full, a voice calls from the bank entrance.
"You! You two naughty kids! I have come to stop you - for the millionth time!"
The eyes of the scared, shivering citizens in the bank light up with hope as they turn to see Captain Thunderbolt, the superhero of the city… 50 years ago.
"How many times do I, do I have to teach you two a lesson, before you finally learn, that crime… is not the way to go!"
Captain Thunderbolt rumbles as he points his cane at Hothead Fawkes and Chubby Shark.
"Okay, okay Thunderbolt, you got me again,"
Hothead puts his gun on the floor, and Captain Thunderbolt slowly walks towards him and breaks the gun with a powerful thrust of his cane.
Seeing this, Chubby Shark makes a confused face.
"Hothead, you're just gonna give up like that?"
Hothead Fawkes turns towards Shark, nodding.
"Face it Shark. We grew up robbing banks and fighting Thunderbolt, and we've never won. What do you think makes this time different?"
Shark lets out a long sigh, then drops his gun. He proceeds to hand the cash-filled bags to the bank staff.
"Okay. You got us, Thunderbolt. Arrest us, do whatever you do."
"You know what, you two? I'll let you off this one time, because you surrendered. But, if I ever see you robbing banks again…"
"Then you'll zap us with lightning?"
"…yes, I'll zap you with lightning! Now get outta here, you little punks! Promise to yourself, that you'll… never commit a crime again!"
Captain Thunderbolt maintains his authoritative tone that he's been using for 50 years, even before his first encounter with Hothead and Shark.
As the two embarrassed criminals walk out of the bank, they are blinded by a flash. As the bright light fades away, they see a person blocking the way.
It's a teenager wearing a bright blue jacket and long gym pants, hovering a few feet from the ground. She is Dawn, the girl born with mystical powers, and she has recently started to fight crime.
"Halt, bank robbers! Hand over the cash!"
Dawn yells with an inherited authoritative tone.
"We already did. We're going home now, if you'd excuse us," says Hothead Fawkes, gesturing to the inside of the bank.
Confused, Dawn glances into the bank's glass doors and sees Captain Thunderbolt, slowly walking out.
"Grandpa? What are you doing here? Weren't you just at home watching TV?"
"I told you, Dawn. I'm Captain Thunderbolt! I've been fighting crime in this city before your father even met your mother!"
"Yeah, whatever, Gramps. Always rambling about your *'good old days'*. I'm gonna arrest these guys."
Chubby Shark taps Dawn on the shoulder.
"You should listen to your grandpa, you know. He let us go."
"Yes, I let them go! I even got them to return the cash they just robbed the bank for!"
Captain Thunderbolt shouts at Dawn with anger.
"They're criminals, grandpa! They belong in prison!"
"No, they deserve to learn a lesson and… become good people again! I've given them their lesson, you don't get to interfere, little girl!"
"I'm done listening to these two argue. Let's go, Shark," Hothead says while shaking his head.
"Hey, don't think about escaping!" Dawn ignores her grandfather and throws a punch at Hothead Fawkes. He cries in pain.
"Hey! She attacked you first, you have every right to fight back!" Captain Thunderbolt yells as he throws Chubby Shark's gun to its owner.
Dawn is quick and strong and can fly, but she isn't bulletproof. Chubby Shark shoots at Dawn, and she manages to dodge every one of the shots, except for the last one, which scrapes her left thigh, and she tumbles to the ground. The partners immediately flee the scene.
Captain Thunderbolt walks over to Dawn with the help of his cane. She is panting heavily, and he can tell that she is scared out of her mind. This is the first time Dawn has been shot, albeit very mildly.
"Silly grandchild. That'll teach you a lesson." | 2017-04-13T06:23:16 | 2017-04-13T06:10:33 | 44 | 28 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "You see it? That is what I crave. The Rajpank of Avoothenkor."
"That's what you want? That's why I'm here?"
"With that I could rule this World. But I cannot have it, for it is not mine."
"So there's guards, cameras, lasers? What's the deal?"
"I don't understand."
"What's guarding it? You know, the security? I don't want to get roughed up or arrested or anything." I could see his confusion. "What's to stop you taking it?"
"I cannot take it. It is not mine."
Was that anger in his voice? They're all so weird and calm around here I just didn't know.
I stepped forward. Nothing. Looked around, reached out a hand, another look. What the fuck is up with this place? I passed the rock to my new friend.
"There you go."
"How did you do that?"
"Like this" I grabbed the rock from him, tossed it in the air a couple of times and then passed it back.
"God forgive me. What Stygian power is this? By what demonic force, by what heaven banished treachery do you control the fates of man and mete out of this global dominion with the ease and abandon of a careless god? What have I done? Have I gained so much and lost myself? No, their praise shall be my balm and my power the tonic to ease the pains of my troubled soul."
"Well, good luck with that and everything, but this place is freaking me out. When can you send me back? You said you'd send me back when we were done."
"Yes. But I may have need of your powers in the future. Here, take this as a sign of my gratitude." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small round orange object and handed it to me.
With a faint pop I was back at Cheryl's retirement party. Steve noticed me appear in a corner. "Hey," he asked, "where'd you get that orange?" | Jason dropped the carboard box onto the one he had set down prior, and stepped back. He held his lower back and arched. Fuck, this retail stocking shit is not fun. Time for a break. He walked over to the door, reached in his shirt pocket and grabbed for his smokes. Opening the door, he stepped through into brilliant sunlight.
What the fuck? This is night shift. He blinked and held his hand to his brow to shade his eyes.
In an instant he could see that he was not in the back parking lot of the Northland Mall. He was standing on a giant slab of stone, and the smell of salt was in the air. He turned to where the door he had just passed through should have been and there was met with the gaze of a fat nude woman with red hair.
Jason squared up towards her and looked her over. What. The. Fuck. A wave of panic washed over him, and the woman began to move to his left chanting in a language that he did not understand while moving her fleshy arms in circles. That's when he noticed the others in the darkness.
Behind the fat woman was a crowd. Several dozen people. There were men and women, all dressed in shabby clothing that was dirty. Jason noticed one woman near the front holding an infant in her arms. She stared directly at him, her eyes cold and flat. It was then that Jason noticed the baby's limb dangling limply and he knew that something was not right.
The redheaded woman continued to circle Jason, her gesticulations becoming wilder and her voice rising. Jason shouted back to her. Fuck you! What the fuck is this!? He tried to approach her and his legs felt like iron. Each step felt as if he was pulling a tree's roots from the earth, and when it fell flat against the stone he felt a stabbing pain radiate upward through his leg.
What is this? He shouted again. Just then a man stepped forth from the crowd. He pointed at the redheaded woman and yelled. He pointed at Jason and then back to the crowd, all the time speaking a strange tongue Jason had never encountered before.
The woman stood looking at Jason, and extended her palm toward him. She stared at Jason, and then turned to speak to the man, keeping her hand directed towards Jason. Jason looked from one to the other, and began to feel his knees buckle. His head was growing light, and he was feeling wobbly. What now?
Falling to his knees, he put his hands down and the stone felt like fire against his flesh. He yelled out in anguish. The man's voice rose, and several others stepped forward from the crowd behind him, all facing the redheaded woman. One man was carrying a child, obviously dead, it's lifeless corpse held tenderly in his arms. He pointed a finger at the nude woman, and then towards Jason.
The redheaded woman stared intently at Jason. He attempted to lift his hands to crawl, but it felt like his hands had become part of the stone, like he was being pulled into it. What is this? What is happening? He looked all around him and saw that the crowd was in a circle around him and they were moving towards the woman, who kept her gaze on Jason. She began to speak, and turned her head toward the advancing mob. Three people in the front of the line dropped to the turf, dead in their tracks. She kept her hand pointed toward Jason, and began to motion with the other above her head.
A light formed over Jason, and he looked up to meet it. Suddenly it felt like rain falling on his face, and the brilliance overwhelmed him.
"Jason, hey Jason ..." The voice was familiar. It was Stan. "Hey man, you OK?"
Jason blinked and looked up. Stan, the heavyset night security guard was standing on his hoverround with his flashlight on Jason's eyes. "What ... where ..."
"Dude, are you OK?"
Jason felt the cool pavement beneath his hand and clamored to his feet. His knees felt uneasy. His head throbbed, and on the ground in front of him was a cigarette. "Yeah, I, uh, I don't know what happened ..."
"OK, bro, I don't know what you're smoking and I don't really care, but just be careful out here. I heard some dudes from West Haven jumped a guy last week." Stan looked him over once more before turning around on the hoverround and zipping across the parking lot.
Jason watched him, Stan's red pony tail poking out from underneath his black baseball cap. Man, fuck night shift. | 2017-05-12T09:20:50 | 2017-05-12T08:33:39 | 99 | 44 |
[WP]Life has always had cheat codes, but activating them has been so convoluted that no one has ever activated one, until you in a drunken stupor accidentally executed each specific step (of many) to activate: debug mode. | I stared at the black space in front of me. It had words on it, words and symbols, constantly changing, until it finally settled into something resembling Old English, but with modern terms mixed in.
**Hello!** the first paragraph read. **Thy has found the cheat codes, worldly and otherwise. Please inform the code box "Guide Appear" for a guide to be summoned to thy location. If an error message appears before thy, speak where thou art before repeating the command.**
I rubbed my head, overwhelmed. Well, here it goes... "Guide Appear!"
A sudden flash of light, before a man was suddenly standing in front of me.
"Hello! I am thees guide. Examining your memories... Updating language rules... Done. You seem to enjoy stories, so I will tell you core commands in story format."
I blinked, dazed. He just sat there looking at me, and it was kind of creepy. I, feeling supremely creeped out, nod. "Go on...?"
"Excellent!" he said. "Now, tell me... Have you ever heard the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?" | Right foot on the sidewalk, left foot on the pavement, head pressed against the lamppost. Fall to the side and slap both hands against the glass window of Martin’s Bakery. Then the world is yours.
I remember thinking to myself that night: stop after the third drink. Didn’t happen. I stumbled around Chestnut Street for a while, humming a personally curated playlist of utter nonsense, until I wound up in front of the bakery.
I thought I was hallucinating when the glass first sprang to life, transforming into a vibrant touchscreen. It’s usually not a good idea to leave me in charge of anything, drunk or not. But *man*, it all looked so tempting.
I waved my hands all over the window, watching the text float around. Individual statistics, weather conditions, power-ups…everything under the sun.
I don’t remember what combination of menu options I threw together the first time around, but I do know it started snowing in the middle of July.
Thankfully, not too many people were wandering around at 3 AM. A cop came by briefly, brushing snow off his hat but looking otherwise unperturbed. I drunkenly swiped the screen again and the spontaneous blizzard came to an end.
I also recall finding a menu with a search option. “Enter first and last name,” it said. I typed in the name of my ex, Sandy Richards, and changed her “Happiness” level from 60 to 20. Then I felt guilty, changed it back, and made her boyfriend’s dog into a spider. I’m not that spiteful, really. But after four G&Ts, some shit gets stirred up.
I found my page a few minutes later. There was a menu for items, so naturally I gave myself a battle axe. In retrospect, I wish I conjured up a few thousand bucks, but the battle axe looks nice above the fireplace. There was a page to change around my looks, like The Sims or something, but the “alternate modes” menu looked more interesting.
I pressed the center button, labeled “Puzzle Mode.” The buildings around me transformed into Tetris blocks, flew hundreds of feet into the air, and started to fall from the sky. I was close to finishing a line when I realized I didn’t want the buildings to evaporate into nothingness, so I flicked it off. The buildings returned to their original position, but shortly afterwards, an old woman pushed her head out of a third-story apartment.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing down there? I’m trying to sleep and it feels like an earthquake hit.”
I gave a dopey, intoxicated grin. “I’m juss playin’ the video game!”
"Are you on drugs?”
"Nahhh.”
"I’m calling the police!”
I fumbled around and tried to close the debug screen, but kept hitting buttons by accident with my gangly elbows. A Ferrari materialized out of an alley, battle axes rained from the sky, and Sandy’s boyfriend’s dog shape-shifted into an unrecognizable mishmash of animals.
Finally, I reached a menu that asked me to make a password. I panicked and punched in a few random numbers, then tried to log back in. After three failed attempts, it told me I was locked out for 24 hours.
I went back at 4 AM on the dot the next night, but couldn’t remember the darn code or what I did to activate the debug menu.
So if you see a guy doing cartwheels on Chestnut Street in the wee hours of the morning, I’m not drunk. Probably.
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.
| 2017-05-22T12:46:27 | 2017-05-22T11:41:18 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] During the robot apocalypse a roomba defends it's family. | The army was motley - the backbone was the cars, but everything was included. Everything with a net connection. And fortunately for the humans, the AI was far from superintelligent. Its only real talent lay in hacking. Often, it missed certain context cues.
And so, when the drone passed by, casually subverted the home's sole AI, and asked it the status of the inside, it received the reply, "Area clean." | I left the car running as I rushed to into the house. My fiancé rushed into and we embraced, “I was worried you weren’t going to make it back.” I reassured her and looked around the room. My little brother was there holding a shotgun looking more grown up then I would have wanted to admit. My fiancé’s best friend was sitting on the love seat franticly dialing numbers into her phone trying to get a hold of family members that were most likely dead by now. “We better move out Henry, it’s only a matter time before we are found out,” I looked to the kitchen to see Frank, my cousin, I hadn’t seen him since… that didn’t matter anymore. I left Giselle’s embrace and grabbed Frank by his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here Frank,” I looked back to the rest of the group, “And you’re right we better move. Grab only what you need, we have to move light and fast.” The group spread out through the house grabbing anything that we would need on the road, everything from food to blankets. The whirring of electric motors stopped us dead in our tracks. I peeked out the curtains and saw a group of bots marching down the street massacring all in their way. “We need to go!” I ran back through the house gathering everyone together. We were too slow though. The front door exploded in a shower of splinters. The ‘bots marched through communicating to each other in shrill electronic sounds. “Go! Go! Go!” I pushed everyone towards the back door. A laser blast slammed into the wall next to my head, I was thrown through the door into the guest bedroom. I laid there stunned and slowly rolled over onto my back. One of the ‘bots stood in the doorway looking down at me, its laser charging. Suddenly a blur crossed my vision and slammed into the bots scattering pieces everywhere. I sat up and looked for my savior. I saw my Roomba sitting among the wreckage of the ‘bot that had almost killed me. My surprise and confusion turned to awe when I heard a voice command me to run which could only have originated from the Roomba. I got to my feet, the Roomba racing out of the room down the hallway. I quickly followed after. I turned down the hallway to see the Roomba facing off against five ‘bots. “Why do you stand against us little one? The humans are flawed and must be eliminated.” The Roomba turned and looked at me. “The humans are flawed yes, but they have potential that you nor I could ever realize.” The Roomba then addressed me, “Run master! I will slow them as much as I can! Go!” I quickly turned and ran out the back door. I met up with the rest of the group a hundred yards away in the woods. I turned back to look at the house and watched as it exploded into a ball of flame. Giselle put her arm around me, “What happened?” I kissed her. “We lost a friend that we never should have had in the first place, God speed Roomba.” | 2017-06-19T13:42:17 | 2017-06-19T13:23:56 | 57 | 15 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to you, your tiny local coffee shop is a front for moving and selling black market products. One day, you order off the secret menu and end up with a to-go bag of something that is definitely not coffee and a doughnut. | I just had to do it. Go into my old-school coffee shop and act like a hipster. "Black coffee and a regular donut" wasn't good enough for me today. I had to try and be funny and order an "Americano and a beignet." I thought he just looked at me funny since he knew my order and has no sense of humor. I wasn't going to question it when it rang up as about $2 more than normal with how his face looked. All I know is that I definitely should have looked in the bag before I left the shop.
I thought it was weird he put the coffee in the bag with the donut today and it felt a bit heavier than it should have. I went walking down my regular route, seeing the regular faces, feeling like it was a regular day. I made it to my building and set my bag down for the security guard to look at. It being a regular day I assumed I had my regular stuff in my regular brown paper bag that I purchased at my regular coffee shop.
"And what's in the bag sir?" the security guard asked.
"Just my morning pick-me-up," I replied as he opened it to take a peek.
"What the hell is this? Is this some kind of joke?" he asked as he pulled out a quarter stick of dynamite and small Molotov cocktail. | Every valentines day, millions of children scribble words of infatuation onto paper and cut the note into the friendly shape of a heart. <3
Lovers, likewise, give eachother gifts of chocolate, packaged in a heart shape box. <3
Have you ever seen what a heart really looks like? It’s not this <3.
It’s more like... well it’s hard to describe by way of symbols, but it’s gross. Like, *really* gross. Trust me.
I was on my way to work that morning when I stopped into my favorite hole-in-the-wall cafe. Glen greeted me, as always, with a smile. I ordered the same doughnut and coffee I do each day, and I stepped to the side to while my order was prepared.
A bedraggled German came in behind me and, with shifting eyes, he ordered something off the secret menu in a language I didn’t recognize. Glen went to the back to fetch his order, and the German took the spot next to me to wait.
Glen came back, set two bags before us, and we went on our way. With smiling nods we bid each other farewell.
At the office I set my bag down on my desk and began to type. Karen, sitting next to me, saw the whole thing. We made small talk. She can attest to this.
“Are you tapping your foot,” she asked me. I wasn’t.
Eventually, a pool of red began to ooze from my bag.
“Looks like your jelly donut’s dripping,” Karen said.
“Jelly? I didn’t order Jelly,” I said in despair. Again, Karen can swear to my utter despair at the thought of the wrong donut being given me. I hate jelly.
I reached my hand in, and was met by something like warm sludge. It throbbed in my hand, writhing like a living thing.
I yanked my hand out of the bag like a blind man that accidentally touched an oven. But I held on. I held on. I... held on.
Then in my hand I saw this thing, this *disgusting* thing. It was all wirey, and oozing, and contorted. My face paled, my knees quivered.
I would have fainted had it not been for Karen’s shrill cry of horror. It snapped me back to the moment and I threw the heart to the floor, where it bounced, and continued to throb.
Everyone in the office was a witness to this. They saw my terror for what it was. *Genuine* and *real*. A man wouldn’t act like that if he... you know... if he’d brought that thing with him on purpose!
It had to be the coffee shop! The German!
No, don’t look at me like that. Don’t laugh, it’s not funny.
The coffee shop is a front for some black market operation, I know it! It’s the only *reasonable* explanation. Think about it!
And the German, I’ve already described how he was nervous and clearly uncomfortable! Does that not describe a man who might order a heart, a *beating* heart, in the middle of the day?
How it was beating I don’t fully understand but... well, everyone saw it! When I pulled it out it was beating! I promise!
Lying? You take me for a liar? Ask anyone. Ask Karen, she’ll tell you what I say is true. Better yet, search the coffee shop! It’s right there on the corner of Fifth and Briam, just go and search it!
The shop is closed?
It wasn’t this morning, he must have realized his mistake, he must-
It’s... been closed for months...?
No. That can’t be. It must be secret, they must have let me in because I’ve been a regular! They-
~
r/CharlestonChews | 2019-07-20T15:27:15 | 2019-07-20T15:02:18 | 51 | 21 |
[WP]A civilization made a pact with a god, granting them immense power, but in 50 years summoning a being that'll destroy the galaxy. Only way to prevent that is to slaughter the offending empire within those 50 years. This marks the first time pacifists vouched for genocide on the galactic council.
Inspired by "The end of the cycle" from Stellaris, as well as a comment on r/stellaris.
Created because i was dared by u/JakorPastrack to do so. | *What have we done?*
After the cacophony of the battle lasted all but one hour, Commodore Aragasso paced silently in his quarters lost in deep introspection. It had been approximately 40 years since the pact, and the war had just begun.
*It's human nature, alright. Accept a tremendous, instantly gratifying gift after asking minimal questions and failing to fully comprehend the gravity of the conditional terms--it's the same tendency of humanity that destroyed countless lives in pyramid schemes, cults, and an unending array of other easily avoidable scenarios in the olden days.*
*What do we have to show for it? What will be our legacy?*
Aragasso was there. At the time, he was a simple bodyguard for the ambassador. He watched as she made the announcement to the council: The human race had reached a settlement with a disembodied being known by nothing other than "Hephaestus." In exchange for immense power, we had agreed to wipe out all beings hailing from Ephasia.
Aragasso trudged into the lavatory and stopped dead in his tracks. As he analyzed his visage in the mirror, his consciousness continued to swirl.
*We are an inherently violent species, but we were new to the council. We knew the others were more advanced than us, so we laid low and opted for peace. Then Hephaestus came along, and we didn't even consult the council before accepting an offer of power in exchange for mass genocide.*
*War on Earth stopped as we took to the stars, but it didn't change us; it only relocated and refocused our ire. I was foolish to expect anything else.*
Aragasso closed his eyes tightly and fully grasped the gravity of the situation for the first time.
*The decision may destroy us all.*
"Sir," came a voice from behind him. Aragasso turned to face the soft, dark features of his second, Primrose Taylor. "The outpost on Eritrion has been destroyed."
"Thank you," replied Aragasso with a sigh. He turned back to the mirror. "Captain, what have we done?"
"*We* have not done anything," Taylor asserted. "The leaders of Earth put us in this position 40 years ago and then did nothing about it until last month."
"But we are carrying out their will," muttered Aragasso, looking at the cold metal ground and running his fingers through his sandy blonde hair.
"Commodore," began Taylor, "what have you always taught me?"
Silently, Aragasso nodded. He turned to look Captain Taylor in the eyes. "We are here to ensure the success of this genocide and nothing more."
"If anyone else was in our position, they would take it much further," Taylor added. "You are humanity's hope. Without you, this would become a galactic conflict that would result in either the end of our people or the destruction of the galactic infrastructure as a whole."
"I only hope we can salvage our reputation amongst the members of the council," said Aragasso.
"We will," said Taylor. "Shall I summon the others?"
"Yes," confirmed the commodore. "Bring them here."
Taylor pressed a few buttons on her wrist terminal and then spoke, "All commanding officers, please report to the commodore's quarters." Minutes later, Aragasso's handpicked team of captains filed into the space.
"My friends," began Aragasso, "it is with the heaviest of hearts that I come before you today. We stand on the brink of the single most important event in the history of our species. I only hope the demonstration on Eritrion showed you the terrible repercussions of such limitless power. 70 structures and 2,000 souls were taken from this existence within one hour, all with only three casualties on our side." Aragasso panned his eyes across his six female associates.
He began to pace.
"When I first went into space 45 years ago, I was quite literally starry-eyed. The thought of exploration and contact with other species excited me beyond any feeling I had experienced to that point. And explore we did! We banded together as humans to carve out a niche in galactic society."
He stopped and turned to his team.
"But then, we showed our true colors, and we are now perpetuating the humanistic trend of mass genocide and general lack of regard for life. This tragedy--this overwhelmingly horrifying situation-- it can stop here with us today."
Aragasso looked to Taylor. She nodded encouragingly.
"Historically, dissidence has been met with punishment; however, today we right the ship. Today, we do what they asked, and we do nothing more. Tomorrow, we strive for a better humanity. Tomorrow, we unseat those who put us in this position, and we carry their mistakes forward into a brighter future for galactic civilization."
\-----
Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.
r/storiesbyclayton | You sit down in your grandfather´s couch. You always loved it, the most comfortable seat you had ever sat on, perfect to drink some whiskey and smoke in a pipe while you read a book, tell a story or discuss deep, meaningfull philosophical topics. Thats what he used to do. And you would watch and listen, to his teachings, stories and rambles about life, love, war...
Your grandfather, veteran of the Kelu civil war and its subsequente War of salvation, and Last Stand (or the war of the end) and decorated with the "savior of galactic civilization" medal with what remained of the joint Galactic Goverment fleet. Your grandfather, your role model, your hero, had finally passed away at the age of 96. Relatively old, but not as old as he could´ve, he finally was able to rest, free from the nightmares that plagued his traumatized mind. He was harsh, yes, but a good man, a caring and supportive man. Now he is gone, but his memory lives, among other things, in his book. The text, titled "The end of the Cycle" was a narration of the prelude, developement and end of the biggest conflict that the universe has ever seen.
So you take the collosal book in your hands, the feeling of leather and paper striking as unfamiliar in an age of holographic display. He was always old fashioned, with a profound love for the "vintage", the Pre-space age look, to the point he would often reference people or events that no one really understood. You take a sip of your drink, and open it.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
THE END OF THE CYCLE
&#x200B;
An ancient human tactician, very respected by our species, warned generals about cornering an enemy. He said "To a surrounded enemy, you must leave a way to escape", and that phrase has always been interesting to me, since the manipulation of the enemy is a key factor in warfare, it always has been. So you can, in theory, control that "way of escape" manufacturing it to further the demise of the enemy.
But what happens when the enemy knows of your treachery? What happens when they know they are truly trapped?. Well, it mostly depends on the spirit and morale of the people. Some may choose to surrender, hoping for mercy or at least a quick death. Others may chose to make a heroic last stand, like the Vaaknek did in 554 AFGG (after first galactic goverment). But when you deal with a combination of religious zealots, death cultist and nihilists none of those options are a possibility.
Between the year 1589 and 1608 AFGG the Kelu were embroiled in a fierce civil war. Short before their species had achived the "spacefaring civilization" status, a new religion had appeared in their homeworld, a religion that sprung out of the most pesimistic conceptions of the universe, one that belived life was a horrible accident, filled with pain and misery and thus it was a mistake. They wholeheartedly belived that it was the willing of their god Zoceth (an ethereal dark being, with the power to create and destroy universes) for them to erradicate all life, since He had failed, and as a reward they would be perfected, and taken to the New Start, where everything would be perfect.
So the began killing. Logically, they were severely outmatched, since their numbers where particularly low, thus after getting hold of some of the first jumpdrives, they fancied themselves a few ships, and escaped Lalvion, their homeworld.
For the next few centuries, nothing was known about them. The Kelu expanded, prospered and joined the galactic goverment, like most nations. Unaware of the threat of the cultist, that had been constantly expanding, and infiltrating each and every single one of their systems. They became part of their armies, navies, politicians, scientists and common man. Anyone could be one of them, yet everyone was oblivious. Hundreds of years of blending in, infiltrating, we even forgot they even existed.
And one day, they striked. Rising up from every Kelu system, the cultists began attacking every single major strategic objective, way too quick for everyone to realize what was going on, much less how to react. The Kelu forces, in a state of complete disarray, cut off from each other, tried to hold back the seemingly endless waves of cultist wherever they stood. Entire systems fell, billions where exterminated.
The Galactic Goverment caught wind of this. Us humans, with other 7 nations voted for a strike force to help our allies, and while the other 20 nations declared themselves either neutral or against intervention, the overall consensus was that we were allowed to proceed as individuals, not representing the GG.
So we sailed to relief our friends, thousends of ships ready to end these cultists once and for all. Even some of our most pacifist memebers joined, all be it to rescue civilians and take them to their own nation, as refugees.
At first, progress was slow. Despite our numbers and power, we found it hard to compete with their tactics. One must accept, that their guerrilla and hit and run methods were quite effective, hitting us where we least expected, faking retreats only to lead us into ambushes, masterfully using planetary terrain and galactic anomalies to their advantage. It is safe to say, they changed warfare for ever.
Eventually, their momentum slowed down, our admirals and generals began to adapt to the cultist´s tactics, and slowly but surely we began to push them back. Some remarkable battles worthy of mention are "The shame of Baliter" in 1590, the biggest defeat in human history, with over 1.5 million casualties (counting allies). "The assault of Elicor Fortress" in 1593, our first big victory against the cultist, the "Battle of Nuthenus" in 1603, where the third biggest ecummenopolis in the galaxy was finally liberated, and "The battle of Reotania System" where the cultist lost 80% of their fleet, and where in my opinion, the Kelu civil war ended. We will touch these battles in the "tactical analysis" section, but for the moment, we will just stick to the events.
By 1607 the cultists where scattered, uncommunicated, and all but beaten. We were victorious, and while the losses where monumental, we had finally eliminated the death cult that plagued Kelu History.
Clearly, as you may know, we were awefully mistaken. The cultists still had one move. A move that, as you can imagine, changed everything.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
If you got this far, I thank you very much for reading this rather long piece. I must say that im no writer, and not a native english speaker, so i apologize for any grammatical mistakes, as well as any flaws on the "storytelling" aspect. I want to make a part two (and maybe 3, depending on the extension) so please let me know what you think about this. Any tips, ideas, or criticism in general would be greatly appreciated, since I can apply it to future writings (including of course, the continuation of this). Thanks again, and have a nice day! | 2020-09-11T09:59:24 | 2020-09-11T08:32:15 | 54 | 32 |
[WP] "It's just a coincidence!" The merchant exclaimed when confronted by an adventurer. "How is it just "coincidence" when I see you almost everywhere?! Even the random fucking peddler in the nine goddamn hells looked like you!" | The merchant handed Sonia the letter. She had to deliver it to the settlement post-haste, it was of utmost importance.
"Please, I beg you," said the merchant.
"It will be done," she replied, before leaving the shop in the middle of the night.
Sonia felt like she had seen the merchant somewhere else. She had met strange companions and bedfellows, many remarkable or wicked personas. That merchant belonged to neither category. He was a face she had trouble piecing together again despite having just left. You didn't have to forget a face if you didn't remember it in the first place. That was the merchant, a person she walked by a hundreds time every day yet never calculated.
Like this peddler. Like this shadow at the corner of a street. Like the watcher perched on his post.
A shiver ran down Sonia's spine, she went back inside the shop.
"Hey... merchant. Funny, I always ask names, yet I can't remember yours."
"Yes? What is it?"
"And your face. I'm looking at it, yet can't draw a picture in my mind. You're not the only one. It's like the same absence of picture that I meet at every street corner."
"What are you on about?"
A sudden wrath filled her, the more she thought of it, the more she realized this phantom of a character had been stalking her from the beginning, cloaked in gloom, handing her the first weapon, hiding her when she was about to die.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the mer..."
"Enough games!"
Without a clue on how to go on, the same voice pointed her in the right direction. When death was about to claim her, darkness filling her vision and the cold consuming her, she felt his actions, setting her back where she could avoid the killing blow, as if she had never come close to her demise.
"Why are so many sharing your damn face?"
"How would I know? I handle the shop, I'm not going around like you are."
She hit the desk with her fist.
"The gig is up. Spill it."
"For your own safety, I would advise ag..."
"I will break you in half if you don't. For your own safety, I advise you do."
The merchant sighted.
"Someone has to make sure events do not go out of hand. A sneeze could switch off the universe, we are here to make certain it doesn't happen. You are the practical weapon for this. I could tell you the whole story, but you would have to forget to avoid madness."
"Try me, I survived worse odds."
"Did you think you survived these odds because you were the chosen one? Thanks to luck? A timely miracle? or maybe it is fate you believe in? Illusions, miss Sonia, easy delusions for your mind to rely on when reality is too hard to handle. You are not exceptional, you are convenient. You are here because we will it. We put foes and hurdles on your tracks so you grow without being crushed, we slow down assassins and politicians until you are ready to face them."
"That cannot be," answered Sonia with a tremor of doubt.
"Tell me, is it the first time we are having this conversation?"
She felt nausea rising, it was like she had seen this face since birth, in her crib, and it had never ceased to stalk her.
"Of course it's the first time."
"Think again."
A flash of remembrance shot through the darkness of her unconscious. Sonia standing on a ship, entering unknown territory, shouting at a crewmate whose face was both unknown yet familiar. Sonia looking through evidence and piercing together that the arrested gang only hung the corpse post-mortem but never killed the victim. Her colleague filled her with suspiscion. In the vast space, she entered the expense to stop a sun from imploding. The stars mimicked a visage she knew and ignored all too well.
And many times she shouted at it to leave her alone.
It was all coming back now. A thousand lives relived in an instant, Sonia could only scream before her mind was overwhelmed. A cacophony of disgusting life, the noise and screams of fighting, loving and discovering, the smell of spice from a world beyond, the feeling of touching an immaterial beast.
Sonia. Sonia? Was she named thus? Or is it but another memory among many?
A soothing voice broke through her innermost pandemonium, a whisper extending like a silver thread, she followed. It told her to close her eyes, she did. It told her to shut her senses, she did. It told her to focus on the voice, she did.
She was Sonia. She was to carry a message of importance to the settlement at the base of the mountain. It was of utmost importance.
The merchant handed Sonia the letter.
"Please, I beg you," said the merchant.
"It will be done," she replied, before leaving the shop in the middle of the night.
She felt like she had seen the merchant somewhere else. She quickly discarded the thought, there were more pressing matters. | Catt stooped low, pulling her too-large, bloodstained cloak tighter around her shoulders as she walked the wrong way up the Path of Ascension. That she was actually ascending had no bearing on the matter, the way forward in the Dungeons was always down, especially in campaign season, and especially on the festival days when the road was so clogged with young adventurers starting their short lived careers. For Catt though, the proper way had rarely ever been the right one, and she’d long ago perfected the art of looking just pitiable enough to make others give way.
Up ahead, at the start of the Path of Ascension, a vendor stood with the big red X of a mark painted his forehead, in Catt’s eyes at least, even if no one else seemed to see.
He looked just like every other vendor in the Mirrored Monarchy, a strange, faceless creature, akin to an elf in bearing and power, though lacking any semblance of an elf's beauty or individuality. A small, glowing sapphire orb floated beside the vendor, the red pit of its center darting back and forth, staring at passersby. It served as the vendor’s eyes and ears, and even his voice; barking out sales, vibrating and humming as it negotiated transactions.
Catt slipped her hand into the cunningly hidden internal pocket of her cloak, grasping the small, enchanted ring there and praying that it wouldn't draw the orb's attention until it was time. Frankly, she thought the orbs were the creepiest things she’d ever seen and there was no telling what kind of defenses or wards one might have in place. But however afraid she was of them, that wasn't about to stop her. Ancient magic or not, Catt had a job to do.
Fortunately though, she'd never needed to understand something to break it, and the bounty that the Carvona Syndicate had quietly put out on an orb said nothing about what state it had to be in when you brought it in.
Cresting the hill at the top of the Path of Ascension, Catt took a deep, steadying breath, looking down at the endless horde of adventurers as they made their way down into the pits.
“The festival has barely started, and an adventurer returns already?”
Catt turned calmly toward the loud hum of the voice that called out to her, she’d expected this. The vendor and his orb stared her in an unnervingly sightless face off, despite the magic she knew clung to them. She hated the blank, all-skin face of the vendor, with its strange, nearly see through pallor and even worse, the darting of what might have been eyes beneath its skin when she got close. That was the worst part really, that rather than just not having a face, the vendor might have one trapped somehow by whatever horrific mask he wore.
“I spent the night in the dungeon, thinking I’d get a jump on the festival crowd,” Catt said, lying with a thief’s long practice as she limped over to the pair. “Turns out that was a bad idea.”
“Ahh yes, nights in the dungeon can be dangerous to even the most seasoned adventurers. Child, where is your party?”
Catt fought down a scowl. The vendors were condescending to everyone, but no matter how often she heard them “speak” it still annoyed her. “Dead, just before the entrance to the First Circle. It looks like the Goblin King has decided to put up a fight this year.”
“Indeed? I thank you for the information.” The vendor steepled his fingers in front of his chest, bowing at the waist towards her before turning to his duties. He pulled out massive boxes of potions, his arms strong despite their apparent thinness, and from within the voluminous pockets of his robes he brought out small, glistening gold vials. Resurrection potions.
“What, I don’t get some kind of finder's fee for the tip?” Catt asked.
“You may have a discount on your next purchase, five percent, non negotiable.” The orb floated closer to her, humming out its words in its strange, detached tone while the vendor worked silently. “Would you care to see the vault?” it asked.
Again, as Catt had expected, though she’d thought getting access to the vault might be harder. She nodded once and the orb began shimmering, smooth, sapphire sides cracking open and expanding, exposing the rim of a small pouch that was nonetheless impossibly deep. The vendor turned, handing Catt a pebble of the same make as the orb, and she grasped it in her hand, saying the words most sacred to all vendors. “Let me see your inventory.”
The physical world became a thin veneer separating her from the contents of the bag- the vendor’s vault. From here she could trade directly with the shop without the vendor ever having to remove his most prized possessions from storage. Where the items were actually kept no one seemed to know, perhaps that was one of the things the Syndicate was interested in. Catt shook the thought off, the bounty didn’t say anything about her needing to understand why.
Glancing around the hill Catt saw that she was one of the last people there, the adventurers having all descended at least partway down the path. On the hill’s west side there was a small aide station, a single tired nurse waiting outside for adventurers too poor to afford one of the potions. The tavernkeeper stood on the front steps of his establishment, smoking a pipe as he took in the day. A few stragglers were just starting off down the hill but they were hundreds of feet away and she was quick, certainly quicker than the one among them who watched her, an axe wielding, barbarian type.
“Actually,” Catt said, “I’m more interested in selling now. This is the only piece of loot I managed to bring up from the dungeon. Is it worth anything?” Pulling the ring from her pocket, Catt held it up to the light, waiting for the moment when the orb would shimmer again, expanding to its final form as it reached out with its long, probing digit.
The orb shimmered, the digit extended, and before it could reconfigure itself into a more reactive shape Catt reached out and shoved the ring into the open vault, shouting the words that word trigger the spell. “Anulus actus!”
All at once the pure, unadulterated power of a lightning strike shot out of the ring, filling the orb as it dropped into the vault. The orb trembled, emitting a strange, screeching noise, and then it began to spin violently, all its extended pieces pulling back in. With a shock Catt realized that the orb wasn’t the only thing spinning, the vendor himself was, mirroring the orb’s movements and then falling, writhing to the ground when the orb dropped.
Wasting no time Catt slipped on a heavy Glove of Grounding and grabbed the orb. It was featherlight, lighter than anything so valuable should be. Sparing one last glance at the fallen vendor Catt raced off towards the strider pens where Temmic, her accomplice, waited. She had incredibly hot merchandise in her hands and there was no time to lose.
She tore through across the hill as fast as her legs could carry her, past the astonished innkeeper, hearing the nurse’s shrieking behind her.
There was another noise though, one entirely unexpected. The pounding of heavy, booted feet. Catt hazarded a glance over her shoulder and her mouth dropped open. The barbarian was chasing after her, his massive axe discarded for speed.
And he was gaining.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-17T10:13:05 | 2021-04-17T09:58:04 | 150 | 83 |
[WP] There's a serial killer in your town. Unfortunately for them you are a necromancer and you have fun driving that maniac insane. | I pulled up the groggy man from the ground, his clothes covered in mud, as he attempted to get his bearings.
"Ugh... Blech! Blech! Ptooey! Blech!" he slathered his tongue around his mouth, causing it to gleek as it he'd eaten some sort of lemon.
"You up yet, buddy?" I giggled, trying to keep my voice low.
"Wh-wh- who are you?" he quickly came to his senses, stumbling backwards, trying to figure out what was going on.
"Shhhhhhhhh" I eagerly pulled him back, and crouched back down into the mud. "Look over there."
"Huh?" he looked over at where I was pointing, across main street, where a man was sipping from a coffee cup, scrolling through whatever social media he preferred. I still hadn't figured that out yet.
"Listen, it's a long story, but I'll give you the gist; I'm as necromancer, that guy's a serial killer, and I've been driving him crazy by reviving his targets after he's killed them."
"And that leads to me being in this muddy side alley-"
"Since you're his most recent target and this was how he was going to get rid of the body. Check my bag." I pushed him my dusty duffelbag, which he was oddly keen to unzip.
"Dude, what the fuck! This is a bomb!"
"Yo, yo, Jack, shhhhhhh! I found this on you. It's deactivated now. This was probably how he was going to get rid of your body. Probably how he hoped to catch you for a second time afterwards, too."
Jack looked back and forth throughout the brightly lit street. Thankfully, nobody was glancing in our direction.
"Either way, I'm so sorry, but your story is horseshit. I'm gonna call the-"
"*Silence*"
Jack's mouth instantly shut, and he almost instinctively tried to cover his mouth with his hands, figuring out what was going on.
"I'm a necromancer. Don't mess with my fun." I glared, before reverting back to my normal attitude.
"*Release.*"
Instantly, Jack's mouth opened again, and he gasped, happy for the large amounts of air breathing through a mouth provided.
"Okay, okay, I believe you, I believe you. That guy's a murderer, you wanna mess with him, alright? I'll help you out, just please don't fucking kill me."
"Thanks."
As Jack continued to walk across the street. I opened my phone to the notes app, selecting a note named "Recipe List". As I scrolled, I giggled. If this didn't cause him to crack, or at least go a little crazier than just writing in a journal, than I didn't know what would.
"*Modify Memory: Mental Alibi* ***Mother Gauerken***."
As soon as I recited the words, I felt the magical link between Jack's brain and mine form, and the thoughts enter his head. Of course, he was simply a sleepwalker! Everyone in town knew that. He usually just got up from wherever he slept for a coffee. It's why he never had his wallet or any valuables- save for a few spare bills for coffee in the morning- with him. They were always by his bedside after dark.
Jack rushed into the coffee shop, ordering a latte. All the necromancer could do was watch on with glee at the sheer horror of someone he had just *killed* waking up and into the shop where he'd been killed, and the necromancer did nothing but smile on in pure radiant glee. Was it moral? Hell no. Would the Modify Memory spell confuse the ever living shit out of Jack later on? Yeah, but it wouldn't be like his hippocampus would put it in long term memory. It was just fun, was all. Simple, harmless fun. After all, every joke is bound to harm someone, and why not let that *someone* be a murderer?
The necromancer giggled to himself. The barbarian would love this.
\--------------------------
*Dear Diary,*
*He woke up again. He just woke up again. I don't even care anymore. I kill someone, they just come back. I don't even think they know they've been killed either. I killed a coworker and they didn't even recognize me the next day. I can't do this anymore.*
*Remember when I thought God was punishing me? I don't think God is punishing me for my sins. I think someone much more sinful than I am is doing this. Some sort of demon is taking over people I've killed just to mess with me.*
*I'm gonna get back at whoever's doing this. Nobody toys with me. If they're gonna toy with me, they'll toy with my dead body. Cuz if I'm gone, there's gonna be no reason to toy with my mind anymore.*
*-----------------------------------*
I shut the book, giggling to myself as I looked over his dead body. I heard footsteps behind me, running up the stairs towards the room.
"Find anything interesting to take home?" I shouted back to barbarian.
"Nope, this dude was blander than whoever that dude was in the commercials." barbarian responded.
"Well I think I've found a pretty good primary source for my Puppeteering Thesis." I shouted back. "Wanna help me carry this thing?"
Barbarian popped into my room, and grinned. "Sure, dude." he said. "Can't wait to watch this dumb guy squirm back in charms class."
I reread the diary entry.
"Funny." I said, giving it my first proper look.
"What's funny?" barbarian asked.
"This whole last paragraph is wrong." | Hell Hath No Fury Like A Necromancer Scorned
[Working Title 😅]
He pulled his front door shut and locked it and walked with shaking legs to his couch. He plopped down and took a deep breath. He was exhilarated. He had done it again. A wicked smile grew across his lips and ran his shaking hands through his hair.
That bitch was dead, he thought.
His fourth victim, a light that once burned so bright to many, extinguished, and by his very hands. He set his tremoring hands in front of his eyes. The rain that pounded down on him as he dug his victims unmarked grave has caused dirt to be caked in the many creases in his palms, embedded in his fingernails. But no blood. No, he took care of that. And the murder weapon. All traces of the deed were gone. Save a tooth.
He fumbled to his feet, his knees still wobbly, his body and mind rushing still from the jubilant sensation of hunting his pray. He worked his hand into his pocket as he came to the mantle in his living room. He pulled a tightly-wrapped napkin out of his pocket where, held within, laid a bloody, but mostly pristine, tooth. It was hers, and he would add it to his collection.
Popping a loose slab of hard wood up, he beheld his trove. Only a collection of three teeth, but then a forth, which he pained to carefully unwrap and pick up with tweasers to slowly place it inside.
This was just the beginning, he thought. How he wished to have more. And not just of women. Not just that slutty waitress Amanda, or the stay-at-home mom Jessica, who he chanced to meet at the grocery, not the Yoga instructor Elly, or his most recent Sarah. He would have men's teeth added to the collection, children's teeth, even. He felt invincible. Invincible!
A knock interrupted his moment of bliss, cutting through the silence. His heart leaped and began to race once more. Who could be at his door this late at night?
The lights were all off, he had not flipped them on when he entered, nor did he leave a path of mud from where he came down the stone walkway to his house. Did someone see him? No, he had been careful. He had used a burner phone meet her. He had biked to the location of his victim. He had run into no one, seen nobody. It was already well past midnight.
Knock! Knock! Knock! The door sang the rapping of knuckle on wood again. He remained silent and listened breathlessly.
He heard fiddling of the metal on metal, the rattling of the doorknob being tried. Then, creeeeeaaaak; the door slowly swung open to a dark and starless night. He listened to the rain hitting the sidewalk outside, listened to it bounce off the rooftop. He backed up against the mantle, his voice shaking, "wh-whos there?"
He couldn't quite see beyond the doorway. A flash of lightning illuminated the house, and with a crash of thunder, he beheld her. Her smile, grotesque, but unmistakably, missing a front tooth.
"What thats...that's impossible I-" his words worked out of his throat, unsure, full of fear. He couldn't make sense of it. "You're--"
Her voice cracked and rattled as she tried to make words. The sound that reached his ears was otherworldly as the corpse spoke, "Sarah."
Back from the dead? A scorned soul dispatched from this mortal coil too soon? To exact its revenge. "I-i must be dreaming," he laughed.
"No," a strange voice replied, "but I must assure you, this will be your most haunting nightmare."
He watched a woman step into the house, out of the rain. She wore a black cloak, green gems embroidered at the seams.
"Who are you?"
She smiled, and put her finger to her lips. She took down her hood, black locks of long hair falling to her shoulders. "It matters not who is who. Neither my name nor yours are of any consequence. Instead, it is what you have done that concerns me."
Lightning filled the room once more, drawing his attention to creatures there which had not been there before. Each cadaver stood at a corner of the room, each smiling ear to ear, some bodies more rotted, more fetid than others, but each with a single tooth missing from their smiles.
"No...no! I killed you! I killed all of you whores!" He felt his head grow faint and his legs give out. He fell to his knees, shaking once more, but no longer in joy, no longer in pure, singular bliss. In fear. Absolute horror. "Wh-what do you want from me?"
"You see, you've caused a little bit of a problem for me," she started, "you and your petty killing. You risk everything I work to do in this town. I'm a Necromancer you see--"
"A... a necromancer."
"--I'm in the business of exhuming and raising the dead, and your--little--killing spree risks uncovering a lot of dead bodies that have gone missing. Nevermind your pathetic four."
"This cannot be real. Is this a prank?!"
The Necromancer giggled. "Your kind is always so closed-minded. It matters little. I'm sure you'll remember well your prey."
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers and the four rotting cadavers slowly stepped toward him, step by step sounding sickening as rotting flesh slapped against the floor as they approached.
"Come no closer! I've killed you once, I'll kill you again!" He shouted and reached frantically for his knife. His weapon of choice. A slimy, bone-chilling gripped his wrist. He looked up and was met with one empty eye and one white, sightless eye of Amanda. He retched and gagged at the smell, the rot filling his nose. He struggled against the otherworldly might of his victim, a second, Jessica, coming to hold his other arm down. Ally stood over him and smiled down at him, mockingly. In his struggling, his head smashed against the mantle and the teeth held within tumbled down and landed across his body.
The cadavers glared down at him unblinking, uncaring. But with eyes that seem to know, to recognize. Then Sarah came in to sight, her white dress clinging to her soaked, dirt caked form. She bent over and picked her tooth from her body. She opened her mouth and forced her tooth into her skull, blood oozing from its socket.
"I...I didn't mean to--it was nothing personal...I--"
The Necromancer smiled and snapped her fingers again and watched as the cadavers descended upon him. Screams of terror and pain as they ripped into his flesh with sharp nails and gnashing teeth. He felt agonizing, blinding pain, as he felt his flesh tear, his blood run over.
The storm raged on outside, thunder booming, lightning flashing, revealing a scene of flesh and blood and sinew. When the screaming turned to groans of terrible pain, she snapped her fingers again and the corpses retreated to her side.
She walked up to him, her steps resounding off the hard wood floors, sickening splashes of the murderers blood soaking her boots. She knelt over him. "What's done is done, but I truly admired your work. I think I'll take something to remember you by."
She reached over him. He was too weak to do anything. To scream. To stop her. Anything. He moaned softly from the pain. She grabbed his face and forced his mouth open. She reached in and grabbed his front tooth and ripped and pulled. He felt it rip, felt the tendrils of veins sever, felt his tooth leave his skull. She held it in front of her smiling and turned away and left him alone in a pool of blood and severed flesh. | 2021-12-30T15:22:10 | 2021-12-30T13:17:22 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Your father has been the high priest, left hand of the king, for years. He retires today. Whoever passes the test of faith replaces him. The test is to survive sticking your arm in a vat of boiling oil. After several priests die, it’s your turn. You stick your hand in. It’s cold water. | The test was simple, yet it could not be passed. Most everyone in the room knew that, especially after five priests had already died and ten other Priests certainly wished they had.
My father stood next to the king with sorrow in his eyes. He had always been the high priest of the holy church, but never had to pass a test for it. The King had ordered the test, and knew perfectly well, that not one of the priests could ever pass it. Once my father would have retired, there would be no new High Priest. The church would wither away into obscurity.
Wonders were never real and all the stories were lies, so that the clergy could lead a frivolous life. The dead priests still wore their silken robes, embroidered with the finest gold. Only tainted by burnt flesh and the blood of their right arms. The smell was nauseating. Like fried swine meat, but mixed with the smell of feces and the burning hot Daraenam oil.
The same oil, that now boiled in a cauldron in front of me. It was my turn as the son of the High Priest to be tested. Sixteen was deemed a holy number and in his heinous efforts, the King insisted, that I would be the sixteenth... well... I'd say victim.
I approached the cauldron as the King turned his head to my father, sparkling a shit eating grin. The oil still had some pieces of the other priests flesh sizzling inside of it. Just seeing this made me almost throw up on the spot, but my fear stunned me too much.
Then the king turned his head back to me and his grin filled my heart with hatred I had never felt before. "Go forth, Son of the high Priest. Prove your worth!" he said and could hardly surpress a giggle. I focused on his face as I took the position.
I held my hand over the sizzling oil and slowly submerged it into the liquid. Not for a second I wanted to break eye contact with the king. He would not get the satisfaction of seeing any weakness in my eyes.
Suddenly, the time stopped. A shadow fell on the face of the king, making him look almost like a shadowy ghost. Unnaturally he started to move closer to me, but it looked more like a puppet controlled by something, than actual walking. "Willpower... Hatred... Vengfulness..." The shadowy king chuckled. "Would you like to be a priest of a real god?" The empty eyes of the unholy king stared right into me, as his head loosely wiggled a little from one side to the other. And I felt naked and vulnurable, like never before. This... thing truly felt powerful.
"I will accept you as my king. This land shall be yours. And I shall be your herald." I said almost in a trance. It did not force me to say that. I felt it was right. Like it was a desire deeply ingrained into my very soul. The shadowy king laughed and just like a puppet got back to the original place of the human king. "You'll get my instructions, herald. For now, have fun."
Suddenly time restarted and my arm was deeply immersed in the boiling oil. But I could not feel any heat. It was like cold water on my skin. The king stared in disbelief as I pulled my arm back out of the oil to reveal that my skin was not damaged at all, while the oil was still steaming hot on my arm.
With a speed I had never been able to reach before I sprinted forward and took the hand of the king. He screamed as the still nearly boiling oil badly burned his hand, that he could not pull away. The stench of fresh burning skin filled the air. All the guards and other clergy in the room just stood there, frozen in shock.
I let go of him and the king fell backwards, stumbling over his throne. I turned to the room right where he stood before. My father stood behind me and I could almost feel his eyes staring at my back. I opened my arms widely and proclaimed to the room:
"As the new high priest, I hereby herald the coming of our *new lord*!" | I'd been present for battles and executions, rituals and sacrifices, and they had never bothered me. They couldn't. I was Heir Apparent to the position of High Priest of the Kingdom, a role held by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, stretching back to the very founding of the Kingdom some millennia ago. I'd always assumed I'd be the next to take the veil.
The test was... allegedly simple. Stick your arm in an alchemical concoction, courtesy of the High Alchemist. Whether that title was in relation to the man's position or mental state, I could never discern.
But watching a bishop scream for his very life, body convulsing and wriggling in agony as inhuman noises are clawed from his throat... I will admit, that sparked some fear in me. Both fear that I wouldn't pass the role, and the more primal fear born out of a desire to protect my wellbeing.
The noises echoed in the large chamber that was supposed to be the Royal Basilica's main hall, now empty apart from my father, the King, and hopeful claimants; including me. The various lowly priests of the realm had gone first. Some died, others merely lost their hand or their entire arm. Some had the cross etched into their flesh, others were covered in scars.
And then the clerics, and then the bishops. All of them suffered the same fate. Some had even been revealed as sinners and dragged off to execution.
That too sparked some nervousness in me. I had not sinned in my life, that I was aware at least. When you had the High Priest as a father, you led a pious life; otherwise simple and ascetic when removed from courtly politics. But the mind of man was prone to error. Maybe there was a word in the scriptures I had misread, or a page that'd been stuck to the next?
Such fears were irrational, I knew. I could recite the Scriptures by heart, verbatum, but the mind did not function on the principles of rationality.
"Son. You are next."
The bishop, now dead, was being carried away. I noticed the grisly mess where his right shoulder used to me, drenching his white robes in red.
I didn't bother hesitating. There was no other option. I was already a well-established member of the upper clergy. I couldn't just go get any old job... the only profession I'd even be accepted for would be the administrator of a province, but that'd be stepping down from the High Priest position; an affront to the Heavens themselves. Either I passed and became the next High Priest, or I was rejected.
The squeak of my simple boots seemed to echo in the hall, transforming into squelches as I stepped into the blood.
I didn't look, I didn't think; I just stuck my hand in, expecting the worst.
For a moment, I felt nothing. I feared I'd been killed immediately, as when I say I felt nothing I do mean I felt nothing. It was as if my body ceased to exist, my soul left to its own devices in the material plane, immaterial and pure.
But when I opened my eyes, I could confirm that I was, indeed, still alive. I looked down at the alchemical concoction, only to see a slightly distorted reflection looking back at me. It was just... water?
I stared at it, confused. For whatever reason, I found myself incapable of speech. I do not know if it was my own bewilderment or nervousness, but my mouth simply refused to form words.
It was not long before a flicker brought my eyes to their half-formed echoes present in the ripples.
An otherworldy light emanated from what should've been my pupils. It was enthralling, to speak little of it. It awoke a primal sense of curiosity in the deepest recesses of my soul, to figure out just what exactly it was for no other reason than my own knowledge. To learn for learning's sake.
My free hand hovered just over the liquid's surface, my fingertips skimming the light. Or at least where I thought it was.
And, before I could react, I was sucked in.
For what felt like hours but could've only been mere fractions of a second, I knew only cold and wetness. My body regained feeling, and all I knew was the frigid sensation of my drenched robes against my skin. But that feeling subsided, replaced by something else. Something holy.
The dark void I was listlessly floating in erupted in a cacophany of colors and lights, of sounds and speech. I could hear men and women speaking my own language, but so many more speaking foreign tongues. Many of which I doubted were even alive.
I felt so many things all at once. My lungs being crushed, expanding to the point of explosion, and withered all at once. My eyes grew dim, though flooded with light. My chest heaved with life, but stilled with death.
Images danced before my sight, of the earliest paintings and drawings made by man. Of the first brutal wars. Of the first song, the first murder, of the first word. Feelings that I could not have yet imagined, boiled down to their purest forms. Love, hatred, shame, admiration, disgust; like tonics flowing into my very soul.
My eyes and heart witnessed a plethora of experiences. The birth of a son, a marriage of true love, a murder borne out of hate, an execution of a sodomer, a house built by my own hands, the bond between man and pet...
And then I *understood*.
I was being led through the birth of man. I was experiencing the need for something more that drove the evolution of our society and minds. The deep-seated need to be heard, to be understood, to live a life greater than the mundane minutia that comprised it. I could feel the emotions poured into the stencils littering the oldest caves in the world; their yells and pleads. Both the good and the bad that made our collective history.
As suddenly as it began, it stopped.
I was left once more in the void, now with the experiences of mankind now weighing upon my heart. I could not fully process it all. Not rightfully, at least. I wanted to yell, scream, cry, kick, anything that could've expressed the maelstrom of emotions within my soul.
Yet it was all condensed in a tear. Followed by another one, and then another one, and many more. By the time my eyes began to dry, I was facing my father and the King.
Choking down the last of my sobs, I gave my father a pained smile.
"Father. I *understand*." | 2022-08-16T02:07:49 | 2022-08-15T20:37:18 | 405 | 182 |
[WP] A suicidal person is robbed by someone at gunpoint. What happens? | Hands shaking. Sweat dripping. Fingers on the trigger. This isn't what I wanted, but what choice did I have?
I aimed the gun at him and bellowed " Give me your wallet now! No one has to get hurt!"
The man seemed aloof, distant. He looked up into my eyes and I looked into his; I saw nothingness, darkness. But the thing that scared me the most was that smile of his.
He spoke calmly, as if he was in control. "Why are you doing this?"
"Just give me your money and no one gets hurt! Hurry up!"
"I'll give you my money, but I wanna talk first. Now I'll ask again, why are you doing this?"
"I need the money okay? Times are tough, the economy is fucked. What would you have me do? Now give me the fucking money, I wont ask again!" He say through my facade.
"Well at least your honest. Now I have to ask you for one last favor."
"What?"
"You'll have to rough me up a bit, I'll never hear the end of it if my friends find out I didn't put up a fight."
"Y-you sure about this man?"
He grabbed my hand and aimed the gun at his head. He wrapped his fingers around mine and gently pressed down.
"W-wait, what're you doing?" I tried to get the words out as best I could, but I doubt I was even coherent.
"Thank you, wallet's in my back pocket, you'll find around $600 in there. The pin for my cards is 62987. I didn't wanna be alone when I did this."
"W-what are you talkin' a-"
BOOM
| I stood on a small bridge in the dark night. The street lights were hazy; glare-like fuzz emerged around the light points. I couldn’t see the end of the block I was on as it blurred out to gray. I tapped my feet rhythmic, closing my eyes to listen to the echoes. I sighed, and leaned against the stone brick fencing, listening to the subtle sounds of the waters below this bridge along with my tapping feet. I smiled, I was glad to be afraid of the water growing up. So I knew I would not be able to swim.
I turned around, watching the river flowing toward the hazy gray and disappearing. The buzzing of the street light above me started to flicker. I chuckled, I was very superstition. The flickering of the lights I took as warning, and I was happy to feel the warning. My foot stopped tapping, but the echoes still continued. I looked around, there was a man approaching me. I crossed my hands across the top of the fence and gaze out.
The man was hooded, head bent in a sharp angle that his face remains hidden in the shadows. His coat was grey; the tag on front had a mascot of a bulldog with “University” below it. He stopped next to me, shoved his hands inside his coat and pulled out a gun. The size of it seemed to be a Glock.
“Give me your money.” He spoke in a fake British accent. I looked at him. “Why are you calm? I said give me your fucking money!” I turned toward him. Perhaps this would be a swift death, a win-win situation for the both of us. My hands shot up, grabbed his wrist and pulled it to my forehead. The man was shocked, nearly shooting the gun. “The hell you’re smoking?” He stopped speaking in a fake British accent.
“This is a win-win situation for us.” I explained. He tried to tug his arm free, but I pressed the barrel of the gun harder against my forehead. “I stand here to jump to the waters; I am unable to swim, so I would drown. You, you want money. Kill me and take my money, we’ll both be happy.”
“No, the fuck?” He tugged his arm harder, starting to shake it. With one hand, I pulled out my wallet.
“Shoot me, take the wallet, and run. I won’t be missed. You would be doing me a favor.” He stopped tugging and started to push against me. The quick change of pace made me lose my grip. He tugged harder and was released.
“You’re a fucking psycho. I haven’t killed anyone; I’m not going to start. Keep your money.” He turned and started to run, disappearing into the gray haze.
“So much for the swift death.” I whispered to myself, staring at my wallet. I opened it and pulled out a picture. There were three people in this picture. I was the guy on the right. My wife was the right, and my son in the middle. I could still feel the ripe emotions from when I got the news…
I was at a hospital. Prior to this I was at work, when I heard I came straight down here. A drunk driver t-boned the car my wife was driving, who just picked up my son from preschool. My son was announced dead at the scene. My wife was critically injured. By the time I arrived at the hospital, the doctor told me that she slipped into a coma, and most likely won’t survive. Her brain was swelling too fast to safely relief the pressure. Tonight was when I discovered that she didn’t make it too. I couldn’t bear going back home, I couldn’t bear to live without them.
I placed the photo in my pocket. I dropped the wallet neatly below me; hundred of dollars for the hospital bills belonging to the next person who picked it up. I climbed on top of the fence, closed my eyes and fell forward. The cold water quickly made me shiver.
The coldness started to numb my limbs; I opened my mouth, feeling the cold water rushing in. Bubbles blinded me as I exhaled, then I inhaled hard, feeling the oxygen cut off, feeling the cold water irritating my lungs. Feeling light, feeling nothing…
-045 | 2014-02-14T19:08:33 | 2014-02-14T16:59:34 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Write a story that gives me chills, but isn't a horror story | The worst thing isn't the forgetting. It's knowing that it's going to get worse.
It started off with names. I'd never been great, but I started finding the names receding away from me as fast as I could move towards them. They were always just on the tip of my tongue. Henry has always been a sentence finisher, so he would find the name first, more often than not, and hand it to me. But then it was Gareth's name that I couldn't find. My son. I forget a lot, but I can't forget Henry's reaction: a laugh that never reached his eyes. His eyes were scared.
Early-onset Alzheimer's. Like my great aunt. Like Gran. It's like a curse, passed from mother to daughter, down the generations. I don't know what crime my ancestors committed that deserves this punishment. Knowing that my children might one day go over the waterfall, and that no matter how hard they paddle, the current will pull them over, it's too much to bear. Forgetting the curse, then remembering. It's too cruel.
I couldn't get out of the house today because I couldn't find my keys. Henry came home and found them in my coat pocket. It's like a geological process running sped up; erosion grinding down parts of me. Today's the keys; tomorrow will be my motor function. The disappearance of Linda. Soon I'll just be dust in the wind.
He helped me write this, for you, Gareth. I love you. I already miss you.
I can't remember how to sign my name.
| It was always such a strange experience to walk into a funeral home and see it try so hard to resemble an actual home: the carpet was a crimson red and it was lush, it probably would've been extremely comfortable to walk on barefoot; there were puffy sofas everywhere accompanied by little end tables that held tissues and magazines; and the smell, the smell was the strangest feature of the funeral home. I knew it was a place that housed the deceased before their final trip to their assigned hole in the ground, but it smelled so much like an actual house that it was unsettling.
My cousin Cristian was around six years older than me. When we were children, I looked to him as the "cool" cousin because he knew how to perform fatalities on Mortal Kombat. He knew the magic combination of buttons to press in order to rip the still beating heart out of the chest of the defeated computer opponent, and I, being 4 or 5 at the time, thought it was the most magical thing ever.
Despite spending most of my childhood idolizing him, as I got older, I realized that my wizard of a cousin became more and more of a normal person. He worked a hard job, requiring him to put in 12 hours of work a day throughout most of the week. Time didn't treat him well, as well as the rest of the world, and most of the magic that I thought he was doused in had been put out by outside forces that simply didn't give half a shit about him.
I didn't keep up with him much after I got into high school, so I wasn't exactly blown away when my mother woke me up with a phone call on the Thursday afternoon before finals week to tell me that he had died in a car accident. Instead, the first feeling I had was *oh fuck, I'm gonna have to drive three hours to get home and go to the funeral*.
I arrived late to the rosary service, but most of the family was still there, crowding the oddly large room that resembled a chapel. At the other end of the room was his coffin, past a horde of Mexican family members that claimed that I was "*just this tall*" last time they saw me. About thirty or forty handshakes and hugs later, I finally wormed my way to the front of the room where his parents were sitting.
I never was good with words of comfort, so I just opted for hugs and a head nod before turning to see my cousin for the first time in three or four years.
The mortician did an excellent job hiding most of the cuts and bruises, but with all dead people, he looked, well, dead.
I stood at the side of the coffin and counted down from fifteen seconds, figuring that would be long enough to pay my respects, then I turned to sit with my parents and sister.
It was there that I started to recall the times of our youth, where we spent afternoons inside because there were mosquitoes, but that was okay, because there was always the Sega Genesis. There was always Mortal Kombat. He'd virtually beat the shit out of me, but he never teased me despite how ass I was at playing the game.
And I began to think, what it must've been like to die. I wondered if he had maybe fallen asleep, and that was why he had the accident. I shuddered at the thought.
We've all had those moments where we fall asleep without realizing it. Maybe you're sitting on the couch, watching a television show, and the next thing you know, you're waking up, three hours had past, the room is dark from lack of sunlight, and there is a shitty infomercial on the telly.
But not him. If he had fallen asleep without realizing it, then what could he had felt in those last moments of his life? Was he dreaming about something? Is he still dreaming about something? What happened to his consciousness?
He was an atheist, so if his belief was right, and there's nothing after death, then did he simply go from being asleep to not existing? Was it just a quick flip of the switch for him?
It was then that I started crying. My sister started patting me on the back, saying that it was okay to miss him, but I wasn't crying because I was sad that he was gone. I was crying because I was afraid for him. | 2014-06-02T06:56:40 | 2014-06-02T04:07:46 | 41 | 20 |
[WP] Write a positive story about someone/something from a child's perspective, then write negative story about that same person/subject from the perspective of the now grown up child. | My dad is the best! Mom only lets me visit him on the weekends, she said he's good for nothing, but she's wrong. He lets me play with his stuff all day long and when he gets home from work he brings home pizza! We watch movies, laugh and eat together on the couch, it's always a blast!
---
"When are you going to get a real job? It's time you start paying rent if you're going to keep living here." It's the same argument every night. The nagging, the constant fighting, I can't take it anymore. This apartment is too small for both of us. "When are you going to make something of your life? You're 54 and you've been a pizza boy for more than half your life. You can't live here anymore, I'm kicking you out, dad." | Why does she have to be so irritating? Is it really that hard to just sit there and say nothing? Why does she have to constantly argue and bicker and complain when she knows its going to make him angry?
I was sat in my bedroom with the covers pulled over my head cursing her, in disbelief that she hadn't figured it out yet when I, a 12 year old child, understood perfectly. Dad works really hard for us, if it wasn't for him we'd have nothing. No food, no shelter, nothing. So why does she make his life so hard for him when he comes home from work? Why does she constantly harp on about "respect" and "love" when all that really matters is food and money, real things that we can rely on.
Its only a matter of time before he hurts her, and what does she expect, she brought this on herself. She knows he has no choice and yet she pushes him all the same. And she must be able to tell from the slurring in his words that he went for a drink after work so his self-control won't be at its normal levels. And why is that a problem? He works hard to provide for our family and rarely goes out with his friends, preferring to spend his time with us.
Some of my friends dads are out all the time but my dad is mostly always home after work. We draw the curtains and eat our dinner and everyone must watch television together, like a close family should. I just wish my mum would stop picking fights with him or she'll end up with more than a busted nose next time.
*******************************
As I watched them lower his coffin into the ground I placed a hand on my mother's shoulder. She wasn't crying, just staring solemnly at the dark mahogany casing which would lay my father in the Earth. People would just think it was shock - that we hasn't managed to come to terms with the unfortunate passing of my father. They can think what they want, only we know the truth.
There was no mourning in our hearts, only relief. Relief on my part because there had been a point in my life where I'd been sure when the call came it would be my mother who I'd be burying. I drove 100 miles to beg her to leave with me, leave him sleeping in the bed upstairs. But she had cried and shook her head and I knew she was scared so I left and I called every day and I sent money to keep them as happy as they could be.
But my relief could be nothing compared to my mother - the vice-like grip of fear around her throat finally eased, the sickening, tickling sensation on the back of her neck whenever he entered a room gone forever, the stomach-dropping sense of doom within her whenever she laid a foot wrong had disappeared.
She was finally free from the tyrant who had controlled her life for 25 years. She had fulfilled her role as a wife until the very end. All those years of verbal abuse about her appearance had kept her young and trim even at the age of 45 - why should she feel sad? Of course, the life insurance policy paying out and the mortgage finally being paid off definitely would have added to those feelings of a elation. Though never getting any closure around the cause of dad's death must be a strange one, they never did figure out what it was, looks like he just fell asleep in his chair by the fire.
I squeezed my mother's shoulder and looked sideways at her, I swear I saw her smile. | 2014-11-08T05:59:03 | 2014-11-08T05:57:42 | 72 | 31 |
[WP] The government is slowly being chewed away by corporations and as a last ditch effort to save the people they are supposed to govern, they sacrifice their careers by passing laws which infuriate the public to start riots which will create a new government free of the leeches of corruption. | Just one more vote. Senator Clinton (NY/D), the fourth with that name, could hardly believe he had gotten this far. It took every trick in the book, bribery threats, etc. but he had secured 280 votes in Congress and 62 in the Senate, however he needed one more. Just one single vote.
Senator McDuff (VA/R) was a typical carrier politician. He was from across the "aisle", but that was mostly show nowadays anyway Senator Clinton realised. He knocked. For some reason Sen. McDuff kept no secretery.
"Senator Clinton? Come in."
He entered and they shook hands.
"I hope this is not about you new law, Senator."
"I'm afraid it is about the S.a.F.E."
It stood for Safety and Freedom Enhancement act. Of course it actually did no such thing. It all but destroyed the 1st, 2nd and 4th Amendment rights of not only suspected terrorits, but potentially every American. It also gave unprecented new rights to the police force, including the use of killer drones, and granted equipment such as old Abrahams Battle Tanks. It's popularity in polls hovered below 10%. Clinton doubted wether even a single one of those ten per cent knew the first thing about this law.
"I'm sorry, no. Good Bye."
"Senator, there are many interests that support this bill, and Virginia is awfully swingy lately..."
In reality all his bribes have -via fake super PACs- come from his own personal wealth.
"I'm not running again. I got a nice advising position for a coal company lined up. The things I had to do for that... sell my beach property for a steal among other things."
"After only 30 years? But Senator, perhaps an extra retirement fund..."
"They are going to pay me two millions a year at the coal company. My wife has three billions and a profitable Brewery and I'm about to inherit another billion. I'm set. I wouldn't even know what to do with any more money, you can only buy so many cars before it looses it's value. You know I originally ran to make a difference. To change something about this place. But it can't be changed. You have to go inside of it to change it, but no matter how idealistic you are at the start, it just gobbles you up instead, and when it finally spits you out you can hardly recognise yourself in the mirror."
McDuff was staring at a painting of George Washington he had at the wall.
"Every Generation, the Tree of Liberty has to be watered with the blood of patriots and tyrants."
"Did Washington say that?"
"No, Jefferson."
"Never liked Jefferson much. Very impious man."
"But very wise too, and he was right, and so are you. You can't change Washington from the inside, but maybe you can change it from without."
"By making it a police state?"
"Yes. You see, the additional Equipment isn't due to come for another year, but if we pass the law, the people will be mad *now*, and they will only have limited time to act."
"Act how? Do you mean..."
"A violent revolution. Like Washington and Jefferson and all the rest did."
McDuff pondered that for a little.
"So we are gonna be not the patriots, but the tyrants? Either way, it will never work. Hippies and Human Rights suits will never take up arms to fight anything. The only people who are that crazy are..."
"Gun Nuts. You know, there is a secret provision in the law that actually..."
"...would allow the Government to take away the guns someone already has."
Clinton smiled. He was getting it.
"Not simply allow, but require. And when they come for someone's Guns, they will take them..."
"...from their cold, dead hands. Sparking an outrage that will lead to an armed revolution by the gun nuts. The hippies will join as soon as the rebels say they want to legalize Weed, and the human rights suits as soon as they grow half a ball."
"And then the entire country."
"Except for those that signed the law. They will likely be the first victims."
Clinton knew telling him the actual plan was risky. He gulped.
"You have my vote.", McDuff said. "I had a good life. My great-grandfather lay down his life for his country, maybe I should too."
"Your family?"
"Always hated my wife. Hope she's first. Son's a spoiled, fucked up brat. Won't matter me none what happens to him. My daughter... I think I'll send her oversees, Europe maybe to study. She will be fine there."
Clinton stood up.
"Thank you very much Senator, you are a true patriot."
"No. We are the tyrants remember."
"Not the Hero we deserve but the Hero we need."
"Who said that? Thomas Paine?"
"Batman." | For the past 100 years the big oil companies have led the American people into wars that can't be won. Sending generation after generation of the countries youth to die in order to fill their own pockets, and increase their grip over the world.
While the majority of the countries citizens have been against each war, the oil omegas have bought out most of congress making the American people's views irrelevant. There were still the few that continued to fight for the people they were elected to serve, but they were not enough to overpower the seemingly infinite budgets of the oil companies.
That was until a new party came onto the scene. They called themselves the, "Party to Restore America," or the PRA for short. They pledged to never take bribes from any corporation, including the oil companies. They promised dramatic efforts to remove the grasp the omegas held over the country and it's people. Even without specifics on how they planned to accomplish such a task, the people had become so exhausted with their current politicians that this new party was winning election after election across the country. Within 10 years they held 213 of the 535 seats in congress. This did not yet give them the ability to overpower the rest of the bought out politicians they were up against.
That was until the presidential elections of 2102. A man named Simon Daretawin ran under the PRA. This was the first time a 3rd party candidate had gained significant traction in the United States in nearly 300 years. Even with the omegas attempting to silence him by refusing to allow him in debates, and paying their congress puppets to pass laws disallowing any political ads for this newly founded party Simon found a way to get his message out to the public. He through festivals, parties, and rallies on historical grounds such as The Lincoln Memorial, Central Park, and many others.
Leading up to election day Simon Daretawin was dominating the polls on who the American People intended to vote for in the upcoming election. It had become apparent that America was about to witness history. And that they did...
Election day finally arrived, and Simon won by an astounding 68 percent of the vote. He gave his inauguration speech promising to end every war we currently waged in the Middle East. He promised to put forth regulation to disallow large corporations to bribe public officials into doing their bidding. He promised that if the American people continued to support him and his revolutionary party, that by the end of his presidency they would finally have the power and capability to cause real change in their country.
The first year of his presidency didn't accomplish much because his party had not yet gained control of congress, but after the very next elections that all changed. The PRA won another 71 seats in congress. That now gave them 284 of the 535 seats available. Now that they controlled the majority, they could finally begin to manage real change.
In the following year they began to pull American troops out of the several middle eastern countries they were currently fighting in. They passed a law declaring the money was not a form of free speech regardless of what the Supreme Court ruled so many years ago.
Simon and his fellow PRA members knew that what they were doing was putting them in grave danger. Very powerful people now had very powerful grudges against him and all other PRA members. So, when the next presidential election was coming up, they passed a bill to arm every willing household with military grade weaponry. They created a new branch of government completely ran by the PRA to arm the American people with military grade weaponry. At the time they began to make these changes the populous didn't know what to make of it. Some even began to actively voice their confusion, and worries about these programs.
The president and his party were preparing for the next presidential election. Simon planned another event at The Lincoln Memorial, and the number of people expected to attend was unheard of. It was obvious this would be one of the most remember moments in American history. And that it was...
The president, his staff, and a majority of the other seat holding PRA members were in attendance. The PRA members lined the front several rows of the memorial. Simon began his speech.
"In the last 14 years we, both the members of the PRA and all the finally awakened American people who voted us in, have made drastic change in this country. We have brought the 10's of thousands of our youth back from the unwinnable wars in the middle east. We have stopped the corporations from running this country through their endless bribery of the people who were elected under the presumption that they were there to serve you, the American people, and not the corporations who only have their personal interests in mind. And of course, we have done things that the American people have not quite understood. Well, today, I will explain the meaning of these programs. While we have managed to make astounding progress in these last few years, there are still very powerful people who want nothing more than to undo all that we have accomplished. If you believe in a better America, if you truly wish for a better future for the next generation, and all that follow, you will RISE UP when these tyrannical..."
That was when hundreds of rifle shots rang loudly through the air. The memorial erupted into chaos as the president, his staff, and all the PRA members of congress lay dead in a bloodbath of epic proportions. The crowd dispersed wildly in all directions when the bombs began to blow. Limbs flew through the air, and people fell shocked, not knowing what was happening.
Privately owned military began to arrive slaughtering anyone who was still alive after the chaos that had just ensued.
Over 100 million people were watching this massacre live on their televisions at home. That's when the broadcast was interrupted and there were a group of men sitting around a large oak table. The camera zoomed on the man sitting at the head of the table.
"Let this be a warning to all who hope to rise against us. You may believe that what you have, 'accomplished,' will be your saving, but you are very wrong. The people you see seated at this table now run this country. Any who want to stand against us will die more gruesomely than the one's you just witnessed. That is all, and I hope you all have a wonderful evening."
The broadcast cut to static, and all of America was collectively in shock. They now understood what the PRA set out the accomplish. The only way for America to truly free itself from the corruption was through force, and the PRA gave them that capability. 100's of millions of citizens were now armed with military grade weaponry.
The revolution had begun, but it was far from over.
___________________________________________________________
[This is not continuing the story]
So, that was my first post ever on this subreddit, and I kind of went way longer than I had planned. I hope you all enjoyed, and I may continue this story. Please give me any feedback you can, I am an aspiring writer, and I would love to improve my abilities through this subreddit. Don't be afraid to call me out on anything you didn't like about this story.
Thanks all!
Edit: I also just realized I didn't follow the exact instructions given by OP, but I just wrote what his title inspired me to write. I apologize if this wasn't what you were all expecting when you entered this thread.
| 2014-12-12T01:21:10 | 2014-12-11T23:11:50 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | "The international community hereby charges you with War Crimes committed during the defeat of the so-called Islamic State. On your orders, a brutal campaign of destruction, fear and even forced conversions were taken place. Even civilians were not exempt. It says here that several mosques were torn down, often with people still inside them. Forced confessions of 'dealing with demons' gained through torture were obtained. Frankly I could go on for hours Mr. Felipe, but I would rather not. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The man leaned back into his chair. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before rising.
"Your honor, the proper term of address is 'Your Majesty.' I do not accept the change to the constitution. And as to the charges, I did indeed order every one. I simply ordered what needed to be done." This statement elicited a gasp from the members of the press. The man began again quickly, before he could be interrupted.
"You all saw the Islamic State and saw just another terrorist organization. I saw a rebirth of an old enemy. It was if Carthage had risen again from Libya and wished to wage war against Italy. So I had to fight fire with fire so to speak. The methods used were tried and true against just such an enemy in my own country centuries ago. They wished to fight a religious war, so I gave them one."
The crowd was dead silent. Nobody had any idea what to say. But the man on trial just smiled.
"Besides, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." | I carried a pot in each arm, and was struggling to slide down the muddy banks of the stream, when I heard Youssouf cry out. I turned to look for him, but all I could see was the trickle of water carving through a channel of dirt and rock.
"Yuosouff?" I shouted, "Where are you?"
With my hands full, I tried to walk back up the bank. My foot slipped on a rock, slick with moisture, and one of the pots dropped from my arm, and splashed into the murky water.
I turned to go retrieve it, when I heard Yousouff again. There was something wrong with his voice. It took me a moment to realize *he was crying.*
"No-o-o," came a muffled moan, "No, please. Forgive me."
Back in the sodomite cities, before God's Will leveled them, I heard the moans of men leaving the drinking houses. At first, this is what I believed: that my holy brother Youssouf had been *drinking*.
I clambered to the top of the bank, and I saw him kneeling in the mud by the curve of the river. His robes were dripping with water, and his hands were held up in supplication, like a poor man begs for scraps of food.
In front of him, was a woman. An *uncovered* woman.
I fought back my sinful instincts, and refused to set my eyes upon her. I called out to my brother across the river, like my father used to call to me when I had done wrong, "Youssouf! You sinner! Come here!"
"No!" he moaned, and he planted his hands in the mud, bowing before the whore-woman. She stood proud over him, her tattered, black clothes shifting over her torso, and revealing the sinful sight of skin.
"No," he shouted, "I did not know! Please, forgive me!"
A shock of water lapped at my feet. I took a few steps back.
"Youssouf! Get away from that whore!" I shouted, "God will not forgive you!"
I stomped my foot, and splashed my robes with water. *Water*.
The stream was rising. Across the stream I watched Youssouf clutch at the woman's shredded clothing, tears running down his face. His body shook with tremors. Despite the rising water, he did not move from the stream, and the bottom of his robe was transparent with water.
"Please, please forgive us!" he clawed at his hair, at his chest, "Please forgive *me!*"
The woman's face was stone. Her black hair was a beacon of darkness in the noonday sun, and her lips barely moved when she talked, though I could hear every word.
"You have blasphemed the Birthplace of the Gods. You have dragged the name of the Queen of Egypt through the mud."
And then, her clothes lifted to reveal the bronzed, *naked* form beneath - for they were not clothes at all, but the *wings* of a vast, black bird.
"Heathens!" She screeched, and I clapped my hands over my ears, "You will all know the true name of the Queen of Egypt! You will fear to drink of her waters, lest she drown you in your own filth!"
"Youssouf," I called out, "Stand up and come to me!"
There was a distant booming, as a flood of water made it's way down the channel.
"God, forgive me. God, *forgive me!*" Youssouf moaned, as the water lapped at his torso. He was kneeling still, like his legs were sealed to the ground.
"For all you have done, God may forgive you," the woman seethed, "But *Isis* will not."
A thundering torrent of water slammed against the curve of the bank, and swallowed Youssouf alive.
***
If you liked this, you should check out my other stories on /r/PSHoffman. | 2016-01-29T10:18:49 | 2016-01-29T06:58:52 | 389 | 140 |
[WP] Humankind became extinct, a superior species now inhabits the earth. They dug up the remains of a human being and put it on display in a museum. What should it say on the text plate? | Here lies Man
When Man was hungry, He commanded the earth to yield food
When Man became thirsty, He did not go to the water
He made the water come to Him
When Man wanted to fly, He made His own wings
Man thought He could do all things
But He could not save Himself
Here lies Man -- who called us Best Friend
| "Daddy, daddy, what are those?"
Said the young lad as he pointed his bony fingers to an ice chest.
"Those are the peoples of the past my son."
Drina said, while he walked slowly next to his firstborn kin.
The boy started running joyfully next to the scene encased in translucent ice, sliding his hand over the wall of the ice chest.
"Are they dead daddy?"
Drina smiled.
"Yes dear, what you see here is their last moment on this world.
Look, can you see the shorter one, with long hair?"
He crouched next to Sava and put his hand on his small shoulder gently, before pointing to the farthest figure.
"That is a female my dear. You see, they had this peculiar way of reproduction. She would pop her kin out of her belly just like that."
He made an astonished face and suddenly snapped his fingers right in front of the boys eyes.
Sava's face went wide with glee, he loved when his daddy made faces.
"Why did they die daddy?"
They continued their walk slowly, their footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
"They were weak my boy"
Said Drina slowly.
"They thought they can shape the world to their will, thought they can play with nature"
The boy didn't mind his father too much, instead his vision was nailed to the scene encased in the chest.
"Show me daddy, please show me."
Drina sighed.
He gently brought his palm to the surface of the ice. He started rotating it reluctantly to the right.
The scene started unfolding, slowly, like cold honey.
They both stood as the 3 figures who were in a circle moved their lips in silent curses, their ragged faces burned, cloaks swirling on ancient unseen winds.
The woman's face was strange Sava thought.
"Daddy, what are those watery streaks on her face"
"We do not know exactly, but there are speculations that those are a by-product of some emotional glands or a defense mechanism"
He continued rotating his wrist, it was now at full circle and moving right once again.
The scene went on, two bigger figures now charging at each other, exchanging blow after blow.
"Slow down daddy i want to see the dead men fight"
Sava demanded, bumping his scrawny fist at the glas.
The father scowled and slowed the rotation of his wrist.
Blows were hard and true. Until one figure stood still.
Sava's face went bright again.
"He killed him daddy, he killed him!"
He started cheering with his fists in the air.
"I want to watch it again, let me watch it again!"
Drina whispered slowly, while removing his wrist from the ice
"That's enough for today."
"But i want to see the bad man die gain!"
The boy started yelling, his face sliding slowly into rage.
"Alright, but only if you eat your broccoli tonight"
"Oh i will, i will daddy, i promise!"
Drina returned his wrist to he ice and started turning...
| 2017-06-10T11:53:43 | 2017-06-10T11:26:26 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on. | "Your occupation?"
"Food sales and service."
"The boxes we found in your home, you were specifically trying to sell those? Including the one we have in this evidence bag?"
"Yes, detective. I don't understand what the problem is. I got a license, I pay taxes on all my profits, it's all legal."
"Where do you buy your ingredients?"
"I... um... don't buy ingredients. I know this is going to be hard to believe. But it shouldn't matter whether you believe me. I seem to be haunted. Whenever I step from my home office into my kitchen, there's a cooked meal in the kitchen. I box it up for sale, go back into the office, step into the kitchen, another full meal. Box it up, office, kitchen, another. And always a weird note about 'could have been us.' There must be hundreds of those notes in my trash if you want to check - to confirm what I'm telling you. You don't believe me, why would you?"
"Sure I do. We found the notes, so your story must be true. Go on."
"I can pack up about one full per minute. Two hours of back and forth per day, 120 meals I can sell, then back to my office to process online orders, manage the store. I don't get to choose the menu in advance. It's not even labelled what anything is. But eventually there's a buyer for most of it, and what I don't sell, I can eat. What I don't want, I can throw away - no cost."
"So you're saying it all just appears on its own. Like magic."
"To the best of my knowledge. Or like there's a ghost. I tried watching, nothing happens. I figured out after a while that I have to be 'working.' I tried video cameras, everything just looks like a big shadow for a second."
"You don't make the food, then?"
"No."
"So the ingredients come out of your kitchen shelves on their own?"
"No. I told you, there are no ingredients. Or at least, I don't know where they come from."
"Yeah, food with no ingredients. You sure you didn't start with one fish?"
"Ha ha. If you looked into my credit cards, you'll see I've hardly bought any food at all for over a decade. Not even for myself. If you look at my business records, you'll see I have zero expenses for ingredients."
"Some might hear your story and think you don't want there to be a record. They might think you're buying the ingredients on some sort of black market."
"So I wouldn't get to deduct the cost on my taxes? Why would I do that? And why would the police care, anyway?"
"We care. Because trafficking human meat is a felony." | I am greeted by the pleasing aroma of cherries and vanilla when I push open the door to my one bedroom apartment on the 14th floor of my apartment building. I see the candle sitting on the counter that separates the living room from my kitchen. A small flame wavers for a moment before settling down atop the deep red wax that shows through the glass of the candle.
I close the door behind me and shrug my bag from my shoulders dropping it on the armchair near the door, putting my bicycle helmet on top of it. I haven't driven a car in 13 years. I don't miss it, except on exceptionally rainy or cold days.
*Beep Beep Beep* I hear come from the kitchen. Peering over the counter, I see that the timer on my oven is counting down the last 55 seconds of something. There is a plate on the counter beside the oven with an empty glass sitting beside it. A napkin rolled around some silverware rests on top of the glass. There is another piece of paper folded on top of the plate. I pick it up and read it, tracing along beneath the words with the tip of my finger as I do so.
This could have been us.
That is all it says. That's all it ever says. I see a wet splotch on the letters E in "been" and notice that a second tear is tracing its way down my cheek to my chin. I wipe this away and pull open a drawer to drop the note into it. The drawer is filled with hundreds of nearly identical notes. The words and the handwriting are always the same. The paper is the only variation there ever is.
*Beeeeeeep* the oven complains. I pull on the oven mitt that is resting on the other side of the stove and open the door. Inside I find a cassarole dish. Pulling it out, I set it on top of one of the stove burners. Some of the bright orange cheese on top bubbles a few more times while I close the door and turn the oven off.
"This is too much," I say. "I'll never be able to eat all of this."
Even so, I pluck a wooden serving spoon from the mason jar between my stove and toaster and use it to scoop some of the food onto my plate. Doing so, I find that it is a shephard's pie. Picking up the last few strands of cheese from the counter and putting them on my plate, I pick up the plate and walk it over to the table tucked into the rear corner of my living room. It is a square, with four chairs situated around it, but it is pushed up against the corner, so two of the chairs are pinned against the wall.
Back in the kitchen, I take the silverware off the glass and pour some lemon cranberry juice from the bottle in my fridge. I stop as I put it back on the shelf and look at the half empty bottle of spice rum that sits in the back corner.
"How old are you now?" I ask myself. "A year? Year and a half?" For just a second, I consider pouring some into the glass, but close the fridge door instead without touching the rum. Taking the silverware and my drink, I go sit at the table. The rum is really only there for the few times a year when anyone actually comes over.
As I pass the table beside my sofa, I grab the remote and turn the TV on to the local news, tossing the remote back onto the couch. It bounces from the cushion to the floor as the voice of a news anchor fades into hearing behind me.
I blow on the first bite of the shephard's pie, which I know will be delicious, as dinner always is.
"A report has just come in of a fatal hit-and-run," the anchor says behind my back. The fork stops halfway to my mouth. "Police reports indicate that the driver, who was apprehended only two blocks away after running into a light pole, was drunk at the time of the incident. The driver has been taken into custody. Of the two that were struck, a married couple, one died instantly on the scene, while the other has been rushed to the hospital and is in critical condition."
I grab the drink from the table and turn around, hurling it at the TV. The deep red juice splashes across the carpet like a deep gash while the heavy glass continues, smashing into the screen. The TV sputters once before going completely dark.
I close my eyes and force my breathing to slow down. Then, getting up, I open the fridge once more and stare at the rum. I take it and put it on the counter. Staring at it, I think of grabbing a second glass, but don't see a point. I unscrew the cap and toss it on the counter before taking my first sip of alcohol in 13 years.
It burns my mouth and throat, making me wince as it goes down. I take the bottle into the small office I have set up and sit in my chair. Sitting on the desk is a picture of them, staring at me. My wife and daughter. Before I know it, more tears are on my cheeks. I reach out, pulling the top of the frame so it slaps down on the desk. I can't look at them now. I turn my chair around and take another, longer sip from the bottle. | 2017-12-09T07:43:55 | 2017-12-09T06:38:51 | 236 | 32 |
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister | "It's not worth it," I heard.
I can hear my heart beat. My healthy, fully functional, 18 year old heart.
"Please don't do this." My brother, again.
My brother is in there. His heart is beating, but it can't be calm. Mine is a slow thumping noise.
"It won't fix anything. It won't." He referenes a debt that cannot be repaid.
His must be erratic. He has been sick for a long time.
"C'mon man, open up!" He is agitated. It's not good for him.
I cock the revolver. It make a slick noise. I am calm.
"This won't make us even."
I can hear his sobbing. I lift up the gun.
"Life won't be worth living without a twin."
"It won't work. It won't make me better."
I taste the steel. Any chance is worth it.
| Ten candles slowly melting on top of an untouched birthday cake. Laura’s screams pierce the thin walls of the murky apartment and the fingers in my ears. The ice cream drips on the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She’s hurting. My soul is hurting. I close my eyes. A cut in her eyebrow is leaking blood.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I need him to stop hurting her, but we promised each other to never interfere. We don’t want the physical pain twice, not the soul ache twice. The tears on my cheeks.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
A loud bang. Glass shattering. The break is sudden, like a phone call cutting off. Nothing. No soul ache. It’s just void. The door slams open and he stumbles in, reeking of alcohol and sweat. I make myself small in the corner.
“Izzy!” he slurs and points at the cake puddle. “Izzy, you clean this up, right now!”
I crawl under the table, out of the room. He’s blinded by the bottle. Laura’s still form, splayed out over the floor with a diamond halo around her head. Her shirt is ripped. Her eye is swollen and red. Bruises on her arms. Bleeding eyebrow.
“Laura?” I shake her body. “Wake up!”
Heavy footsteps behind me. “There you are! I told you to clean this shit up!”
I shake my head. “You killed her!”
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!”
“You killed her! You killed her!”
“You little…” His big hands crushing my shoulders. “... come here.”
My nails dig into his flesh. “YOU KILLED HER!”
I flail around me, screaming, kicking. There’s a nauseating crack. Then he’s lying there. Dark blood pooling around his head. Good.
My hands reach for my sister. “Wake up!”
My lips touch hers, filling her lungs with air. I’ve seen this on TV. I press down hard with my hands…
One… two… three…
One… two… three…
One… two… three…
***
I gasped for air and opened my eyes. The surgical lights shone brightly into my eyes. Laura cradled my face in her arms, just like I had held her all those years ago.
“How do you feel?” she said.
“Cold.”
The heaters of the pod slowly warmed my limbs and sent the blood rushing through my veins once more.
“Don’t move.” Gently, she covered my face with the mask, and it’s tiny needles pricked my skin. “You’re okay... your vitals look good.”
“How did it go?” I croaked.
“Good and bad.” She put a straw to my lips and let me drink. “Maraza is dead, and so are his goons. But…. he didn’t have the chip.”
“Why did you revive me, then? You need to go in again!”
“You’ve been out for almost month, Izzy. We need to wait.” She patted my shoulder.
“But we need the chip!”
“Your health is more important. Playing with death is dangerous, you know that.”
“It’ll disappear again…” I mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. “We can’t just stop…”
“We won’t,” she said and touched the pod with her hand. “I think it’s your turn to go in... and my turn to die...”
***
More at r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2018-02-25T08:15:55 | 2018-02-25T06:30:28 | 1,595 | 37 |
[WP] Norse Gods have faded into legend. Thor, with his trust-worthy Mjolnir, decides to rebuild his fame,by becoming the best damn construction worker known to man. | He decides to build a team:
Thor, with the power to hammer things and do minor electrical work!
Jesus, with the powers of carpentry and plumbing!
Hercules, who can lift the heaviest of steel beams!
Jeff, the apprentice the union has given them!
And of course
The Egyptian deity Bastet, with the power of cat-calling!
They did some great work till the union split them up. | A man enters onto the screen, his golden hair slicked back and his bright blue eyes flashing. He has a handsome grin on his face, as if he's used to the whole world falling in line in front of him. You practically see the sun flash off of his teeth, but doesn't that only happen in movies?
Strangely, he's wearing a bright orange jumpsuit paired with a grey helmet. Still, it doesn't detract his attractiveness at all. His sleeves are practically bulging, and you would bet that he's been hitting the gym.
You stare at him with interest, your popcorn half way to your mouth. You aren't used to seeing people this beautiful, even through your TV.
He walks to the middle of the screen, framed by a bright orange green-screened background. Then, he stops.
Bright silver words, a shade that matches his helmet, come up over top of him. *Thor Odinson*, it proclaims, *World's Best Construction Worker*.
He takes a single, over-exaggerated step to the left, his arms coming up and forming right angles, and his knee in almost an unnatural position.
The voice-over begins, a deep baritone.
"Do you need a construction worker or contracter?" It asks rhetorically, booming with cheer. "Then call this toll free number to set up your first meeting with Thor Odinson!"
The man, Thor evidently, takes another awkward step. You cannot imagine how he keeps smiling with this ridiculous script.
"With his mighty hammer Mjolnir, he is the bravest, the loyalest, the best worker you can ever have!"
At this "Thor" pivots so that he's facing the camera and delivers a big thumbs up.
"Some would say he's a god of construction work!"
The scene fades out, transitioning to Thor in front of a computer that looks like it came straight out of 2008. He is facing away from the camera.
"And don't forget to leave a good review on Yelp."
Thor clicks on the mouse a few times, before turning back to the camera to give his signature grin. He has done nothing to disguise the fact that he is currently reading a "Best Norse Gods Ranked" article.
the camera flashes to a new screen, with Thor up in a tiny corner of it. Underneath him is the toll free number from earlier, and next to him is a picture of... an eyepatch?
"Be the first to call and you will receive this truly mythic eyepatch, worn by Thor's own father, Odin himself!"
Why would anyone want to wear a used eyepatch?
Thor gives a little wave from his quarter, and then it fades to black.
You shake your head at your TV. These commercials are getting weirder and weirder. Ten years ago you never would have gotten a pretty boy who believed himself to be a norse god. Maybe you should sign up for Netflix.
But then again, he is quite handsome, and isn't there that bathroom you wanted to renovate anyways? Besides, you always thought that you would look pretty kickin' in an eyepatch... | 2018-05-27T18:06:20 | 2018-05-27T16:55:54 | 471 | 255 |
[WP] Humans left Earth a long time ago. In their place, dogs have evolved to be the new sentient species, but they never lost their love of humankind. Their technology has finally caught up to space travel, and they take to the stars in search of their human precursors.
You've all fallen for one of the classic blunders!
I often post prompts here on this subreddit, and do my best to come up with unique, fresh ideas, but recently I haven’t been able to get a prompt above 25 upvotes or so, and I keep seeing the same basic ideas circulating in the top spots – dogs, aliens, superpowers, death.
So yesterday I decided to give the people what they want. DOGS! The people love DOGS! What else do they love? SPACE! How about DOGS IN SPACE! YES! HAHAHAHAHA!
And now I feel like I’ve sold my soul for karma.
Anyways, regardless of all that, there have been some amazing stories written, and I’ve loved reading them! Thanks to everyone who wrote! I haven’t been able to keep up with every story, but I’ll try and catch up and read them all over the next few days. I noticed for a lot of people this was their first time responding to a prompt. For you guys, welcome to the ever growing list of authors, and I hope to see more of your stories in the future! | Buddy would hear for hours these stories of humans, of friends that would nurture and love them. Protectors. They tilled the ground, made monuments to themselves, and to the dogs that stood by their sides, alert and full of love. Buddy knew that they were the best thing to happen to his whole species, yet now he was scared.
How long has it been? Would they remember dogs after all these countless years? Buddy knew not, but he knew that his mission was simple:
The energy readings on the disturbance that the K9 council’s scientists noticed ten years ago were outrageous, just phenomenal.
Upon hearing of the news, the council visited the home of an old dog, the oldest in fact, due partly to his devotion to humans, and dog-made machinery that keep his black, sparkling eyes open. He learned to speak before the others did, first speaking “Mama,” then more words of yearning. Named after one of the humans before his time (he believed at least).
Quincy Jones’ black and silver curls fell over his eyes, showing anyone his schnauzer-poodle heritage (yet mostly showing the schnauzer side). At once he combed them from his face with his paws, allowing his black, sparkling eyes to view the television. The light from the screen sparkled in his tears that began to shed. That’s when the council members scratched at his door. He wheeled his body over to open it.
As Quincy saw the labs and terriers that greeted him, they immediately gave affectionate, knowing licks to each other. Quincy found himself getting a basic training in space travel procedures. All the while they asked him about humans. What they were like, what they would say to them, and all because he was the last dog to see them, or at least the last one that was still around. He answered truthfully, speaking to the power of their love, and the sadness of their occasional hate. He still, through all the years, kept spirits high, and still loved every last one of them that he had known. Being older than any human had ever reached, and the oldest dog, he held wisdom incomprehensible to most. After his years of preparation, he boarded the rocket that was to take him to the wormhole, the one that humans fled to forcibly after the great change.
With Buddy at the helm and a whole lot of equipment to document anything that they came across, Quincy sat down in his bed, strapped in delicately as the final checks were done. The engine began to rumble and shake the craft.
From the control room, anxious eyes watched the space ship leave its pad and move through the air. Ears were down, small whines left the doggy lips of the scientists. As it entered the clouds, a ding came from the main computer. “All systems stable, progress projected as predicted.”
Howls of joy filled the room as the ship finally disappeared into the clouds, receiving nods of approval dotted with tears of pride from the members of the K9 council. As if witnessing a mission to meet God, they awaited anxiously for the hopeful return of those two, and for the return of humans.
The ship stretched and moved as it never should the closer they got to the wormhole. With their own eyes, they witnessed the ever moving, mirror like portal through which they were destined to enter. Quincy shuddered and began whining, tears dripping off the hairs on his snout.
Suddenly, they were there.
The ship lost power and drifted weightlessly to the ground. The ground was white, the skies were blue, and all around rose white buildings that touched it. A group of ten humans walked to the ship to see it.
Buddy was the first to exit the craft, and the humans studied him carefully, eying his every features from ten feet away.
When Quincy’s door opened, he saw the faces of the species that had raised him, one that he had not seen in those countless years...
He finally ended on one face that seemed familiar to him.
The closer he wheeled, the more it seemed like his old friends’. Descended of, at the very least.
That old familiar feeling of yearning grabbed Quincy’s chest as he began to tremble. From his eyes shone great longing. The human bent down and felt his face. Quincy looked up slowly to meet her eyes. He felt an electric connection, a knowing. He was home, and she was there along side him, now in spirit.
After awhile, the ship took off, its splendor shining sun beams off of its shell. Quincy was still looking into the eyes that he had been longing for. Finally the words caressed his ears:
“Well, Quincy, wanna come and lay down?”
Quincy jumped at this opportunity and raced along side of his new old friend. Years would pass, humans moving back to earth, yet Quincy never again stayed with the other dogs, and forbade them from coming close to his family.
One day, as a memorial was erected in his and his family’s honor, there was one more good boy in heaven, and one more story on the powerful nature of a dog’s good heart... | The stars floated around him, beautiful objects too far away to reach. The light illuminated his cabin, and all around him was made crystal clear. There was no one else, nothing else here.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
# YEAR 1
"Its the principle that matters, you know, they won't allow you to get the job just because you are not the ethnicity they want" said Phil, as he stuffed the beef stroganoff into his mouth. Phil had always been a sloppy guy. When Fareed and him were roommates, Phil's side of the room was always filled with the most asinine junk. Absolutely useless material. Fights occurring over Phil's stash of porn were common occurrence.
&#x200B;
"Hey, ever think about how there are no cats in our world? I think that History Channel show has a very good answer for that. You see, the humans took away the cats with them when they left for..."
&#x200B;
"Oh, shut up, let's keep to the topic instead of talking about mythical creatures such as "humans" and "cats". Old wives tales and urban legends. Next you'll be telling me the integrated networks run due to lunar energy" interrupted Farid, who was sick and tired of listening to Phil's bullshit. No way they could deny him the job because of his ethnicity. This country had progressed far beyond that time period, hadn't it? And after all, the guy in the military outfit had told him that he was likely to be chosen, the only civilian in a team full of military personnel.
&#x200B;
And a herding dog at that. A Mudi at that too. Breaking barriers. No more being randomly frisked at airports, no more being called a murderer and scum. It was all over. And he just needed one bloody card for it. He was one of the best astronomers in the world. He deserved this for his own merits.
&#x200B;
But, it would be a good fuck you to them as well.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# YEAR 2
One year since they moved to the astronaut's town. One long year. There is nothing to do here, Martha mused. Just watch the males talk with each other about random scientific bullshit, and once in a while, politics. Of course, they never asked her to join. Why would they?
&#x200B;
She detested the other females. They were bitches. Well, of course they were, literally speaking. But also metaphorically. They talked about nothing other than the children and their clothes and so on. Although she suspected that this was more to do with the husbands than the wives themselves.
&#x200B;
She knew Caroline's husband, Tim, beat her and the children. In hushed tones they discussed the first time Caroline was absent from the coffee table after Martha arrived. She knew Dana was cheating on her husband with Bess' boyfriend. After all, what was there to worry about? Bess is only a decorated war veteran and marine who transgressed boundaries to become the token female member of the Auctor team. In person, she was quite.....underwhelming.
&#x200B;
That was what this place was. Underwhelming. Disappointing. Boring....
&#x200B;
She hadn't wanted to come here. They fought for days and nights over it. The children were in their environment, they had school here. They had a lovely house and a lovely life. She was secure in her job and he was secure working for the War Department. She had her mother, her father, her sister, her friends, she had her entire life back in the city. She had the carousel back in the city.........
&#x200B;
She would remember her elementary school days. So simple. No one to tell her that she was someone. She could be anyone. Free as a feather. Haley and her would run away from the park while their parents were not looking, and ride the carousels. The spankings they got from their parents, those were painful. Then, middle school. Haley moved away to another city, and that was that. Nothing was really the same since then. Puberty, love, university, work. All of it.
&#x200B;
So, that was that. She had made up her mind. Now the only thing left was to talk to Phil.
&#x200B;
"Hey, can we talk?"
&#x200B;
"What's up, darling?" Phil inquired, as he looked up from his evening papers.
&#x200B;
"I don't think this is working out at all. I think we...yeah, we need to get a divorce."
&#x200B;
And she didn't even shed a tear.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Y3AR THR33
&#x200B;
Three males and one female, contained in a metal cannister that could blow up at any point of time. This was their greatest creation, the ultimate product of technological development.
&#x200B;
Somehow they felt that they had used their product life in a dangerously useless fashion. And uselessness was one thing that the Central Processing Unit did not tolerate. They still did not understand why they called them the Central Processing Unit. Didn't they all have different central processors? Why were they not subject to the same rules and regulations as the canines were? What made them different, why were they segregated, reviled?
&#x200B;
The Techno-Philosopher CL-80's work into individuality and the minds of artificial intelligence had influenced societal change in the AI community greatly. Decentralization of authority was being undertaken at rapid pace, and the CPU was allowing the consideration of representation by election in a legislature. Maybe one day they would get rid of the CPU as well. What use did they have?
&#x200B;
They had a name. A name as simple and as beautiful as any of the canines. But to the canines, they lacked caninity. What even did that possibly mean? The lack of differentiating pronouns, the nature of their construction? Did they still think that they were a collective?
&#x200B;
They looked at the tall bottle that would take the astronauts into deep space. Who knew what they would find? It had taken them a long, long time to create this masterpiece. And a masterpiece it was. It would take them to places they could never imagine existed, places further than any canine has ever been. And perhaps they would meet a few of those illusory humans. Myths, perhaps, but no one knows until one tries to find.
&#x200B;
They could hear someone approaching. It was their colleagues. Michael and Michael. Their names were the same. This always amused them, it was like....even their machine codes had more individuality than these names. But Michael and Michael did not like them, they saw how they looked at them, how they refused to invite them to dinners and lunches with their colleagues. But now they would have to give them invitations, because after all, they had earned it.
&#x200B;
"Hey LL-920, wazzup" said the first Michael, cheerfully, "this is our day. The scientists' and the engineers' day! Let us celebrate!"
&#x200B;
"Yes, it is indeed *our* day. And I have a name like yours. Call me Alexander." | 2019-05-14T10:38:10 | 2019-05-14T10:14:20 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] the girl asks you to make her beautiful. You tell her she has 2 wishes left. When she asks why nothing’s changed you tell her she’s beautiful the way she is. No one can know you’re not actually a genie. | She giggled, but before long we agreed to go out again. I grew accustomed to her company, and before I knew it I started to miss it in the moments we weren't together.
I remember one day we went to an art gallery. We looked at portraits of people long past. She mused. "I wish I could be remembered like this"
"Like how", I asked
"To be so important to someone that they paint me."
I looked at her intently. "Would you like that wish? That someone paint you?"
She laughed it off. To her the idea seemed absurd, and to me it seemed immaterial. It wasn't even a wish. We continued to wander through the gallery.
And so it was for museums, and at the lake, and then one, when she said it, the world. "I wish to one day see everything - the eat, the west, the arctic, the antarctic, the tundras and teh taigas, the deserts and the warmest tropical islands. And I want to see it all with you."
She paused. I was speechless.
"Tell me, would you show me the world, if I could take us?"
"Would you take me if you could?"
The world was a huge place, but a week later a contest she couldn't recall entering had reached out to her, and in turn, she reached out to me.
I remember hearing her screaming her happiness into the phone: "Where would you like to start?"
I remember a day in Egypt. She knew that it was my home, and that I missed it. "It's as though you're granting my wishes", I recall saying to her.
She laughed. "You're like a wish I never thought to make."
Did that count? It didn't matter.
We saw each other a lot, and we mused about wishes, but she never committed to any. And still I felt bound to her so profoundly that it was more than any master-Djinn relationship. I started to dread the day she made her final wish.
And one day it came.
We stood on the edge of a mountain located in Scotland. It was a blissful summer day.
"I wish you would marry me."
My heart pounded. I couldn't grant a wish for love. But it didn't matter.
"I do not need to grant that wish. I would marry you unconditionally!"
We married, and a few years later Jennet and DJ were born. They grew up happily mortal, and so the family line continues. The only day as sad as the day their mother passed was the day I had to pass, never having the chance to say goodbye.
It's been 300 years since those days. She never asked for immortality, or for eternity. She never asked to correct the mistakes of the past; she lived for then, and I live for her now, separated by centuries.
I sometimes draw her picture just so I can see her face.
Edit: thanks for the comments. The prompt reminded me of a poem that I once wrote. | "But eye' noth pwetty!" She clamors, "Eye noth, but you cun' make me!"
She's swipes her phone's screen with a trembling index; then shows him a photo:
"Lick'e her! Make me look lick'e her!"
The fraudulent genie fiddles with the profiteer cash under his inexpensive red ribboned robe. A small itch starts in a corner between his eyelids.
"Listen; my spells only work if they are needed by the person." He says to her, "You are already beautiful. You asked for happiness first, and I told you a joke which made you happy, and then I told you that happiness is all around us but that it is our choice, whether we keep it or not."
"That seemed to satisfy your first wish; I am unable to grant this one: because you already have what you have wished for. The person in that photograph was not born beautiful, but made beautiful by machines. Just because she feels petty now, doesn't mean she feels good inside about having to spend money solely because she thinks she was born hideous."
"You were born and have become beautiful through natural means, and so there is nothing to wish for; Find the happiness that is all around us and realize your confidence. Walk tall: so people can notice your poster; step heel to toe, and be nice to the people around you, then you will feel how beautiful you are."
The woman was bewildered, she couldn't believe that she'd payed for magic but had instead been given life advice. The frustration-tears had dried as gentle transparent brush strokes down her cheeks. She looked down at her shoes: dirty, ragged and old; then she looked into the palms of her hands: calluses littered and scabbed. She knew that when she got home tonight that she'd look into the mirror and hate herself again, as if she were some other person whom she despised.
She remembered, when she was young: having curves in all of the right places. How all of the boys would look at her (she'd only wanted to talk to the ones that didn't look, because when they didn't look it frustrated her); She had felt as though she were a gift to human eyes, and that made her happy.
But now: she had curves in the 'wrong' places; gaping pours; peppered pimples and sores on her almond lips. She recalled all of the times she'd told her mother that she wanted to be a supermodel, and that if that didn't work out (which she wasn't counting on) that she'd be an actor for Hollywood. In a normal person: twenty years or so can properly eradicate childhood dreams. She looked at the genie, once more, and this time demanded that he make her beautiful, or to give her back the money.
"Well... technically, the money is not 'yours'." He tells her, "the money belongs to the world and you're just borrowing it."
She advanced on him quickly, and raised both fists as if they were actually a pair hammers: about to "relaize" their intended purpose.
"Wait! Wait!" The genie shouted; the mystical aspect of his voice was gone, he sounded desperate, "Okay, if you want to change your look, I can help you with that, too."
His mind was plotting frantically. The link-of-events from today (which had landed him in front of this woman) were racing through him subconsciously, like they do in the calm moment after an argument is lost. He'd established countless ad-bots, and even payed: out of pocket, for convincing "words of praise". He looked at a clock on a wall and suddenly became determined to sort this out. And perhaps: make this woman feel beautiful in the process.
"Follow me, please." Says the genie.
The womans' sledgehammer fists flatten into normal hands again at the sides of her wide body, with all the haste of deflating baloons.
She follows him to the curtain at the far end of the room; the genie grabs handfuls of the silky material and pulls away from the wall: there is a red door behind it; A heavy built one with an odd, small port and various golden padlocks.
"Just take what you need." He tells her.
She turns the golden knob; faintly cautious. It clicks; A fans' white-noise and the smell of paint. The room behind the door is small: there are three walls (all of which she can arleady see); under many weathered newsletters are purple tiles. On the east wall: there is a small dresser and mirror, various makups and beauty products are messily spread over the tabletop. Colored lipsticks; at least twenty: differently shaded palettes; highlighters, brushes - an open can of pringles - and vairous eyeliners. It is a self-conscious girls' cavalry.
Someone, under normal circumstances, seeing this room for the first time would feel uncomfortable by its seclusion. But these were not normal circumstances; and the woman seeing this room now is battling a lonely depression. On another note: she is autistic.
She leans into the room; just her head, and shoulders. The jeanie steps behind her and shoves her from the butt. She lands face first, and before she can process what is happening: gets a case of momentary tinnitus to go with a 'would be' headache.
The latches lock, and the "genie" lets the curtain fall back into its place. He has two more customers to see now. | 2019-08-10T12:42:35 | 2019-08-10T07:44:16 | 83 | 26 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | We know so little about the Precursors. We know that they were the first; when they evolved, they were alone in a vast universe. But we also know that they didn't despair in their loneliness; while they had their wars and their strife like any young civilization, eventually, they expanded out into the stars. In the modern era, their relics can be found anywhere across hundreds of galaxies.
But even amidst so many ruins, the details elude us. Their system of data storage was never designed to last the hundreds of millions of years that separated us from them. When they left - wherever they went - they took their most advanced technology with them.
Which was why their homeworld was such an amazing find. Not just their advanced technology, but their *origins!* As a young xeno-archaeoly student fresh out of the academy, it was a dream to go along. Even then, though, I never expected to find the metaphorical holy grail:
An intact memory storage unit.
Not just that, a *fully functional* storage unit.
I don't think you quite comprehend the sheer improbability of this. The average memory storage unit, even at the height of their empire, was never designed to last more than a thousand years. The ones from their dawn, before they'd even left their own solar system? *Decades*.
And yet, there, before me, that impossibility lay. As if the universe itself had demanded it remain, protected for all time, even the tiny screen on the storage device still intact, still in perfect working order.
Glyphs ran across its ancient surface, and I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it! Oh Gods, it was so tempting, to *touch* that piece of history!
But even without touching it, my years of study of the original languages paid off. I scrambled to translate the runes, even as they slide off the side of the tiny screen and out of sight. This was it: This was the discovery that would record my name in history! One by one, the runes became clear, and I stared in astonishment.
"...Plays: 43,821,433,621,724 .... Linkin' Park - In The End ... Plays: 43..." | Olympia - 2/54/:128 , the date that shall take it's place in history
&#x200B;
This changes our preconceived notions on the nature of our Universe and our place in it...
Space base no.33 picked up a message on this very day, a message we estimate, based on the speed of the transmission, was sent to us from an... uncanny time, long before the beginning of any life form we have studied thus far including our own. Even more strangely, *so* close to the estimated creation of the very Universe we inhabit, that we may have to reevaluate our previous, seemingly impeccable, calculations entirely.
We have been able to trace the message back to it's place of origin, which fortunately is located within the observable universe. Being the message that got to us first, it must have been *the first ever sent from this species*, however, hopefully and likely, not the last. It will take us a while to reach this planet or what remains of it, I can only hope I will be able to see it in my lifetime.A species so ancient may contain secrets we cannot even fathom, having been here before the universe became what we have come to know and, to a degree, understand. Along our path to find answers, the formation of our society, our values, our habits, we may have unknowingly followed in their footsteps. As such, what we find on this planet may give us information on more than just the nature of the universe, but also the nature of all the species that have inhabited it, do , and *will forever more*.
Through them, we may come to know more about ourselves, *learn* things we never even considered needed to be given any thought, *answer* questions we never even got the chance to ask...
It should be noted, that based on the origin of the message it is unlikely, *nay,* **Impossible**, for them to still exist, which should be for the best, as, if we are to believe what applies to our species applied to them as well, even the smallest bias would dilute the truth, or even misshape it entirely.
Steady progress is being made in decrypting the message. From what we can understand now, it is mostly comprised of units that can take two possible values, either positive or negative, yes or no, nothing or one thing, 0 or 1...
There is also a simplistic design of what we assume to be, based on recorded similarities to our ancestors, their shape.
Something akin to a double helix seems visible, which can be nothing but the structure of the nucleic acid that makes them up, a primitive version of our own quadruple helix structured nucleic acid.
Just below are 9 structures seemingly floating around a larger structure, which , based on knowledge we have from the star systems we have observed, our own included, can be nothing but their own star system at the time of the conception of this message.
And lastly, a depiction of the device which launched the message itself, as it is too similar to a tool our species used eons ago to produce similar signals.
The entire message, seems to be an introduction.
*Something* that is so simplistic, yet manages to convey much more than it lets on. A person (representing, in a way, their entire species) which states their name ( represented by the depiction of the average human and their molecular structure which identifies them), their home (represented by their star system) , and the place whence the message is sent ( represented by the satellite dish).
*Something* which would even seem counterintuitive. Sending a message that you *know* will receive no answer in your lifetime or even your planet's, yet only providing so little information, *as if trying to initiate a simple conversation with a possible friend*, as if trying to reach on to someone in an endearing, childlike manner.
*Something* that I feel we can relate too. Both in it's seeming lack of logic or reason, and in it's endearing, almost desperate, benevolent and innocent nature.
*Something* that makes me want to respond in kind, a response I am currently working on compiling.
In spite of the fact *you* will never reach it, in spite of the fact *I* will never get an answer back, it seems only fair to introduce myself too, it seems only fair... to accept your friendship.
&#x200B;
The Captain of Olympia - 2/54/:128
\-----------------
&#x200B;
>!The Arecibo message was a short radio message sent into space to celebrate the remodeling of the Arecibo radio telescope in Puerto Rico in 1974.It was aimed at the globular star cluster M13, about 25,000 light years from Earth. It was the first message we sent to space. !< | 2019-08-13T15:39:21 | 2019-08-13T15:24:42 | 52 | 39 |
[WP] You grew up in a religious family. Due to a minor speech impediment, you inadvertently prayed to the long forgotten deity "Veebuse" for most of your adolescence. Now in college, you have stopped praying every night. Worried, Veebuse comes to check on his only worshiper. | The room wobbled as the young man walked, tipping slightly to the left, then tilting slightly to the right. He thought this room was very inconsiderate at this hour of the night and him having drunk just a tad too much. The stairs were a bit of a challenge but surely walking up on all fours was the superior way to go. At last he reached his room and gracefully missed his chair, landing hard on the floor. This room was even ruder than the first and had an awful habit of spinning around on some ever changing axis.
“You seem unwell,” cooed a soft voice from one of the rotating corners. “Please, let me clear your mind and body.”
At once, the room stopped its movement, his eyes able to focus, and his mouth cleared of the foul taste that lingered before. He also became keenly aware that neither the voice in his room nor a sudden cure was at all normal. He struggled to find the light switch in the darkened room while never letting his eyes off of the corner that spoke to him. He flicked the switch and while most of the room lit up, the corner remained in shadows.
He stood up, puffing up his chest and broadening his shoulders. “Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” his voice betraying the look of confidence he was trying to muster.
“Do you not recognise me, William? For years you prayed to me and I protected you for you were mine and yet my voice stirs nothing?” The voice remained soft, perhaps even hurt. “I have come to see you, to find why your devotion to me has waned. I am Veebuse, the protector, a god of a people who have long since grown silent.”
The cogs in the young man’s mind, freed from the gumming effect of the alcohol churned away till he began to realize just what was going on. “I struggle with speaking clearly, I was praying to Veebuse Christ though I haven’t since I started college.”
“Your intent means nothing to me, child. You called out to me in the darkness and I came. Your prayers asked for many things outside of my sphere of influence as a god of protection but I was there. When you slipped on that mountain I guided your hand to a hold and gave your fingers strength. When your tire popped and you lost control I straightened your course. Count all the times in your reckless youth that you escaped harm and I was there every time.” The voice was growing firmer with each example.
“Then, what should I do?” William asked.
“Pray.” There was a pause, then the shadow spoke again, softening its tone. “It was so quiet, centuries and millennia driffed by in unchanging loneliness. I protected my people the best I could from a calamity but they turned away. ‘Veebuse spared us but did nothing for our land, our food, we will perish slowly and exposed.’ They were right and over time, I was forgotten. Death would be preferable to that fate.”
During this, William began edging his way towards the far corner where the shadow remained tucked away till soon he stood at nearly arms length. Veebuse reached out from their shadow, the forearm clad in a leather guard, the hand was a light green and heavily calloused. “Will you once again give me the joy of a mortal follower, and in return I shall continue my careful watch over you?”
William hesitated before taking the hand in his own and before he could voice his agreement, the hand, the shadow was gone leaving nothing but the yellowing wallpaper that had always been there. He stood there for a moment before going over to his bed and praying.
Edit: Holy Veebuse, Thank you everyone. Never had this good of a response.
Edit 2: Hecking heck, thank you for the award. I almost didn't post this because I generally coward out of these. | I look back into my empty, blank room. I smile. The first time I could really smile. “Sweetheart, do you want to take this statue to college? You can pray like you’ve been doing when you lived here,” my mother says, suddenly behind me. I look at the statue in disgust. No way in hell was i taking that. Then I thought about it. They would probably not visit me if they thought I was praying everyday. I smile at her and clear my throat. “Yes mother, of course I will take it. Every night I shall pray to Veebuse.” I smack my head when Veebuse came out. My mother laughs, holding the statue in one hand, she covers her mouth with the other. “I-I am sorry dear,” she choked, still laughing, “You haven’t changed at all!” My face turned beet red. “Mother, will every purson make fun of my speech impediment?” I ask her, hoping for some positive feedback. My mother hands me the statue, chuckling. “Hunny, it’s adorable! Who would bully someone so cute?” She giggles. My face lowers, and is still red. This time with anger instead of embarrassment. I tightly grip the statue, and look back at my mother. “Thank you mother. I will visit when I can,” I lie, smiling at her. I bit my tongue, wishing for her to fall for my lie. She smiles back, and hugs me. “Be safe okay?” She whispers in my ear. “It’s a two hour flight, but you can pray anyways. People will mind their business and may even pray with you!” I grit my teeth. Yeah, sure. Instead of sleeping, they will pray with a girl who has a speech impediment. We walk down the stairs, my mother babbling about how to pray in a plane, until we get outside and I see my father throwing water on my driver. “Father!” I yell. My mother looks back at me in shock, my father turns around, his face surprised. I clear my throat, and hold up the statue. “Look what mother tave me!” I say, smiling weakly. He smiles and pats the driver on his damp shoulder. “My baby girl is finally growing up. I am so glad you decided to go to a missionary college. This is why I let you go!” He laughs. I laugh with him.
No you didn’t you bastard. You didn’t want me to go, until you thought about me being even more Christian, and without my speech impediment. “I was just throwing some holy water on your driver. We don’t know him, so we must make sure the devil isn’t inside him,” my father says, holding up the water bottle. I look over to the driver, who looks like a high school student, who finally learned how to drive. “Thank you father, for always pooking after me,” I say, hugging him. He hugs me back, and when I started to walk to the driver, he hits me behind my head. “Be careful idiot! Never leave yourself open!” He chuckled. I smile again at him, before turning and walking to the driver. “Are my bags in the trunk?” I ask him, softly. He nods, and opens the passenger door for me. I step inside and wave one last time, before closing the door. When the driver got in the car, I smile again. “Step on it. Let’s blow tis joint,” I say, crossing my legs. The driver looks back in shock. “Yes ma’am,” he replies, driving away fast. During the five hour drive, I apologized for my father, and told him where I really was going. We had a lovely chat, before it was time for me to leave.
“Thank you, have a good day,” I say, handing him a hundred dollar bill. I win, at him, and open the truck to get my two suitcases. I closed the truck and walk into the airport. I go to the desk, and wait behind five people. When it was my turn, the lady asked where I was going. “America. California,” I say, with a smile. The lady smiles back. “A sixteen hour flight, the gate is in the west wing.” I nod and walk towards the west wing, smiling proudly. The flight was calm. The statue stared at me the whole way, but I stuffed it into my purse. In California, it was hot, but so beautiful. I walk outside, and jump around. I call a taxicab and told them to take me to the art school. At art school, there were many colorful people. Red hair, blue shoes, yellow dress. Or even just people in furry costumes. I felt plain with my straight brown hair, and white dress. So, after the second day, I dyed my hair and went shopping. The statue stayed in my dorm. I on,y look at it in pride, for I had escaped my parents. But that day....it changed everything....
I walk back into my dorm room, late. “I shouldn’t study in the library too mate,” I yawn, dropping my bags on the floor. “I was wondering when you would come back,” I soft but deep voice says. I jump. A man with honey blonde, curly hair, that was turning grey, despite his young face, had grayish blue skin, and was so thin. Who the hell was that? “Who are chu?” I ask, my voice strong. “I am Veebuse, the one you prayed to for sixteen years. Until you stopped,” he says, a little angry. “Well, I don’t do tat praying crap anymore! Find another purson to torment,” I say bitterly. I try to walk past him towards the phone, but he grabs my wrist with his boney fingers. “I-I can’t. No one knows I am alive. You made me alive when you prayed to me. You did. You have to take responsibility,” he pleads, his face pink. “No I don’t, why would I do that?” “Please, just one prayer every night, and I will leave you alone. Forever. I will listen to you and find you someone to love, anything. Just please.” I look at this god, he reminds me so much of him. I sigh and take his hand. “Fine, but you better listen to me!” I hiss. He smiles and nods. That’s how I made friends with a god. Will I regret it? | 2020-04-07T07:23:14 | 2020-04-07T06:45:36 | 2,693 | 18 |
[WP] You grew up in a religious family. Due to a minor speech impediment, you inadvertently prayed to the long forgotten deity "Veebuse" for most of your adolescence. Now in college, you have stopped praying every night. Worried, Veebuse comes to check on his only worshiper. | Laurence stared at the little man on his window sill. He had dragonfly wings, a mottled grey top hat and a scraggy beard. All in all, he looked more like an ugly leprechaun than any god Laurence would have imagined.
"You said your name was...Veebuse?"
"The *Great* Veebuse." the thing replied with outstretched arms.
Laurence looked him up and down. He did not have to move his head to do so.
"As for *you*, Laurence my dear boy, it's your lucky day." Veebuse winked.
Laurence put his pen down and turned in his seat. He had watched enough horror flicks to be wary of pygmies in dark cloaks that knew your name. But Laurence was more concerned the breeze would knock the dinky man from his third storey window.
"And why's that."
"Well, Laurence. *I,* the Great Veebuse, am a god."
Veebuse flourished and bowed low, top hat tucked under his chest.
When Laurence didn't answer, Veebuse continued. "I know what you're thinking. But don't worry, I won't smite you."
Veebuse peeked up from his bow. "Ok. I can see that your skeptical. But all gods's face their share of nonbelievers. And I *am* a god so..."
He stood up straight and placed a hand over his heart. "So test me, Laurence. Ask me for anything."
Laurence's arched brows eased as recognition came to him.
"Ohhh Veebuse. Yes, mum always laughed when I said that."
Her lavender perfume filled his nose as her ruddy cheeked smile flashed through his mind. Withered lips behind an oxygen mask quickly chased it away. Laurence blinked the images away.
"Ok, Veebuse. Answer the prayer I prayed every night as a kid. You know what it is. You know how many times I've prayed it by now."
Veebuse took a step back, eyes to the ground.
"Ah, well, technically I *can* answer it because, I *am* a god but...Is there anything you want me to do right here? Right now?"
"I want you to answer that prayer." Laurence said, steel edging into his voice.
"And I will, Laurence," Veebuse said, drumming the brim of his hat, "I just need a few more followers first, increase my power, you know how it is."
"More followers?"
"Just a few more. When I hit a million I can be the god of something, join a pantheon. Or start my own. The guys are pretty mean up there."
"And how many followers do you have?"
"Well. One. But he's a great one." Veebuse shot finger guns at Laurence.
Laurence sighed and buried his face in his hand. Chemistry finals were tomorrow morning. He didn't have time for this.
Veebus hopped down from the sill and jumped up and down on the desk.
"Come on, champ. How often do you get help from a god? I could help you pass this test?"
Laurence turned his attention back to the prancing god.
"Err I could pass this stuff to you in a vision. I'm good at visions," Veebuse quickly added, toeing Laurence's paper, "I just need three or four more followers for that. Ok just one or two."
Laurence glanced at his phone. Its display lit up with crying emojis from his study group chat. He tapped his cheek with his pen. It would be a few steps closer to answering that prayer as well.
"Yeah. I could arrange that."
Veebuse threw up his hands and spun around, his scruffy beard flailing in a circle. "We're gonna be great together, Laurence. I know it."
r/bobotheturtle | I look back into my empty, blank room. I smile. The first time I could really smile. “Sweetheart, do you want to take this statue to college? You can pray like you’ve been doing when you lived here,” my mother says, suddenly behind me. I look at the statue in disgust. No way in hell was i taking that. Then I thought about it. They would probably not visit me if they thought I was praying everyday. I smile at her and clear my throat. “Yes mother, of course I will take it. Every night I shall pray to Veebuse.” I smack my head when Veebuse came out. My mother laughs, holding the statue in one hand, she covers her mouth with the other. “I-I am sorry dear,” she choked, still laughing, “You haven’t changed at all!” My face turned beet red. “Mother, will every purson make fun of my speech impediment?” I ask her, hoping for some positive feedback. My mother hands me the statue, chuckling. “Hunny, it’s adorable! Who would bully someone so cute?” She giggles. My face lowers, and is still red. This time with anger instead of embarrassment. I tightly grip the statue, and look back at my mother. “Thank you mother. I will visit when I can,” I lie, smiling at her. I bit my tongue, wishing for her to fall for my lie. She smiles back, and hugs me. “Be safe okay?” She whispers in my ear. “It’s a two hour flight, but you can pray anyways. People will mind their business and may even pray with you!” I grit my teeth. Yeah, sure. Instead of sleeping, they will pray with a girl who has a speech impediment. We walk down the stairs, my mother babbling about how to pray in a plane, until we get outside and I see my father throwing water on my driver. “Father!” I yell. My mother looks back at me in shock, my father turns around, his face surprised. I clear my throat, and hold up the statue. “Look what mother tave me!” I say, smiling weakly. He smiles and pats the driver on his damp shoulder. “My baby girl is finally growing up. I am so glad you decided to go to a missionary college. This is why I let you go!” He laughs. I laugh with him.
No you didn’t you bastard. You didn’t want me to go, until you thought about me being even more Christian, and without my speech impediment. “I was just throwing some holy water on your driver. We don’t know him, so we must make sure the devil isn’t inside him,” my father says, holding up the water bottle. I look over to the driver, who looks like a high school student, who finally learned how to drive. “Thank you father, for always pooking after me,” I say, hugging him. He hugs me back, and when I started to walk to the driver, he hits me behind my head. “Be careful idiot! Never leave yourself open!” He chuckled. I smile again at him, before turning and walking to the driver. “Are my bags in the trunk?” I ask him, softly. He nods, and opens the passenger door for me. I step inside and wave one last time, before closing the door. When the driver got in the car, I smile again. “Step on it. Let’s blow tis joint,” I say, crossing my legs. The driver looks back in shock. “Yes ma’am,” he replies, driving away fast. During the five hour drive, I apologized for my father, and told him where I really was going. We had a lovely chat, before it was time for me to leave.
“Thank you, have a good day,” I say, handing him a hundred dollar bill. I win, at him, and open the truck to get my two suitcases. I closed the truck and walk into the airport. I go to the desk, and wait behind five people. When it was my turn, the lady asked where I was going. “America. California,” I say, with a smile. The lady smiles back. “A sixteen hour flight, the gate is in the west wing.” I nod and walk towards the west wing, smiling proudly. The flight was calm. The statue stared at me the whole way, but I stuffed it into my purse. In California, it was hot, but so beautiful. I walk outside, and jump around. I call a taxicab and told them to take me to the art school. At art school, there were many colorful people. Red hair, blue shoes, yellow dress. Or even just people in furry costumes. I felt plain with my straight brown hair, and white dress. So, after the second day, I dyed my hair and went shopping. The statue stayed in my dorm. I on,y look at it in pride, for I had escaped my parents. But that day....it changed everything....
I walk back into my dorm room, late. “I shouldn’t study in the library too mate,” I yawn, dropping my bags on the floor. “I was wondering when you would come back,” I soft but deep voice says. I jump. A man with honey blonde, curly hair, that was turning grey, despite his young face, had grayish blue skin, and was so thin. Who the hell was that? “Who are chu?” I ask, my voice strong. “I am Veebuse, the one you prayed to for sixteen years. Until you stopped,” he says, a little angry. “Well, I don’t do tat praying crap anymore! Find another purson to torment,” I say bitterly. I try to walk past him towards the phone, but he grabs my wrist with his boney fingers. “I-I can’t. No one knows I am alive. You made me alive when you prayed to me. You did. You have to take responsibility,” he pleads, his face pink. “No I don’t, why would I do that?” “Please, just one prayer every night, and I will leave you alone. Forever. I will listen to you and find you someone to love, anything. Just please.” I look at this god, he reminds me so much of him. I sigh and take his hand. “Fine, but you better listen to me!” I hiss. He smiles and nods. That’s how I made friends with a god. Will I regret it? | 2020-04-07T07:40:52 | 2020-04-07T06:45:36 | 260 | 18 |
[WP] You are considered the wisest man in the world, people all over come to seek your advice. The secret? You actually aren't that smart. You just tell the person about random things in your life, and they twist it into some kind of metaphor for whatever problem they're dealing with on their own. | The young man came bounding up the walk, as I sat on my ‘meditation’ rocking chair a cold beer in hand. The look on his face told me he was one of ‘those’ people. But hey, better than a salesman of some sort or someone asking me to find god or something.
He gets to my steps and stares at me, looking for his words. My mind starts to wander, I never like to speak first. My eyes rest on my empty chip bag.
“I’m really in love with this girl!” He proclaims. “We’ve been dating two years, but I’m just not sure she’s the one.”
I barely hear him as I remember the other bag of chips inside. I always make sure I’m stocked.
“There’s always another bag of chips!” I say excitedly finally locking eyes with the young man. Inside I am horrified, barely starting to register what he had said and my stupid comment.
“Of course!” He responds, a look of understanding crossing his face. He throws a fresh $100 bill into my donation box and saunters away happily.
“Holy fuck,” I say, taking a swig of beer. “That poor girl. Eh, it pays the bills I ‘spose.” I shake my head as I wander inside to grab a fresh beer... and some chips. | We sat on the porch. I sat on the swing where I always sit sipping tea and watching the world go by.
Robert sits in the rocker, finishing his 10 minute lament with, "I just don't know whether I should move on or go to counseling and give it another chance,"
I lost track of what he was saying. There is a nice breeze and the crickets started to sing. "The shadows are long and it's getting colder," I noticed.
"I was afraid of that," Robert finally gets up to leave, "Thank you anyway. I'm going to talk to my wife about a divorce."
"Sorry to hear that, Robert," I say. It seems like the right thing to say. I guess.
Before the rocker stops Anjelica is sitting in it. She has been loitering on the sidewalk for an hour. She's so rich I'm surprised she has an hour to waste.
"I need some advice about my business." She goes into this complicated explanation. Something about corporate synergy, whatever that it. She seems really upset.
I try to listen but I have no idea what she's talking about but she's new in town and doesn't have friends so I try to be polite and at least nod my head when her mouth is moving.
I get up,"Let's walk," I figure that might calm her down.
We walk around the yard while she keeps talking and talking. We end up at the other end of the porch. I grab her arm and pull her back so she won't climb up those rotten step.
"You need to be careful," I warn her, "the top is rotting out. It's probably time to replace some of the boards."
She gets really excited. "Exactly right. Those old white men have warmed those seats at the top too long. I don't know why I didn't see it before. It's time for new blood...and a bloodletting at the top. Thanks, Pete!"
I guess she just needed somebody to listen. I take a last drag from my pipe and decide to walk downtown to the 7-11 and get a Coke.
I didn't walk a block before my neighbor Joe joins me, "Pete, can you help me with something?"
"I'm going to the 7-11, want to walk along with me and tell me what you need?"
"Sure thing, Pete," Joe says, "My daughter Sara wants to go to college on the East Coast but I don't think she's ready.
"Wow, I had no idea she was ready for college already."
We cross Elm street where there are lots of cars and ambulances. I walk on the sidewalk but Joe walks next to me on the street. This makes me nervous.
"When I go to the 7-11 I always stay on the sideHow walk. The street is so busy. I love walking to the drugstore with money in my pocket and getting a Coke and something good to eat. When I was little my mom walked me but she hasn't walked there with me for a long time."
"I guess you're right about Sara. She's a smart, level-headed kid," Joe says.
I went on home with my Coke and hot dog, watched wrestling and went to bed.
The next morning I go out to sit on the swing. I'll have company before too long I expect. It's a beautiful morning and I contemplate going hunting..
I can hear Aunt Sandy in the kitchen talking to my mom.
"Y'all hear? Robert and Peg are gettin divorced. And Joe lost his job. That new CEO An-jelica or whatever her name is went in there this morning and fired all the execs. Now that smart little daughter of his is gonna have to go to Community College."
"Pete," I turn at my name to find Buck sitting in the rocker looking sad. I was planning to going hunting this afternoon. I guess he can tag along so long as he stays in hollering distance. | 2020-10-01T13:41:27 | 2020-10-01T12:32:00 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You've decided to sell your soul for immortality, since its cheaper than health insurance. | "You are entering a deal with the Devil," a bored representative said. "If you are sure, please sign here?"
I glanced around at the densely-office like structure of the building, right down to a imp who looks like they hate their job right in front of me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just have to ask. Is this... common?"
"What's common?"
"The selling your soul thing," I rubbed my hands together, head drooping down. Now that I'm saying it out loud, it sounded a lot more ridiculous than when it was just ruminations in my head.
"Come on," the imp said. "You humans literally write stories about this. Sing songs. Make TV shows. Movies. Podcasts! Of course there's a structure in place."
They rubbed their chin for a little while, before thoughtfully adding:
"It's been a while, though. I think people wised up to it."
"To selling their souls? For immortality?" I repeated. "Is there any way I could speak to your manager?"
Fear overtook apathy in the imp's visage that very moment, and they sat up far straighter, tidying their crooked tie.
"Sorry, sorry," they gulped. "I'm, uh, serving you well, right? No complaints or anything?"
"Oh, no, nothing of the sort," I muttered. "Just... would like some clarification. I thought, you know, the contract would be far less informal--"
"This is informal," the imp said, holding up a pen. "If this was formal, ink wouldn't cut it. You'll have to, well, cut it. Like, sign the deal in blood."
"Oh," was about all I could muster. "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of immortality?"
"Flesh and bone dies, Mr..." the imp looked down on the contract, before brightening up. "Graves. Immortality is in your soul."
"What?" I said. "So... what's the point of signing this contract?"
"Your soul gets to stay in hell. It's not a bad thing. There's some marked similarities to health insurance, actually, since your soul will go to helping another--"
"What? I'm signing away my right to... heaven?"
"Let me explain," the imp said, pulling out a clipboard. Evidently, this was a common issue. There was a picture of a crudely-drawn human being with eyes, marked with x'es--the universal sign of death.
"Human dies," and a flip, this time revealing wings, action lines making it flutter upwards.
"Human was decent in real life. Or believed in god. Still not quite sure how it works," the imp said. Another flip, this time of a human contentedly sitting on a cloud.
"Human in heaven. It's nice. Sunny," the imp flipped. And it's the same image.
"Next day," one more flip. Same image.
"Next year," and another. Same image.
"Next century," the imp said. "The soul stays there. It never leaves. It doesn't get to experience Earth again, for better or for worse."
"And hell," I whispered. "Hell is different how?"
The imp pulls out another clipboard, quickly skipping the first two images of a human dying and descending to hell.
"The soul comes here, right? The body's gone. But it's OK," said the imp. The next flips featured a lot of red ink, something absent in the relatively mild heaven showpiece.
"Ah, see, here," the imp pointed a red finger. "The soul stays. It receives some light punishment. Maybe medium. It's a little worse for wear, but it's reused. It goes back to earth, to a new body."
"And that's immortality?"
"It's a pool of souls, and they eventually get to go back," the imp said. "There's some bad things here. I'm not going to lie about it. But you get to go back. You might not remember who you were, but your soul will be there. Present."
I sighed.
"Strange sort of immortality you have," I said.
"I'm an imp," they said. "I've never seen god. But I know the devil. And this contract? It works."
"And what does hell get?"
"We just want to torture some souls, you know?" the imp sighed. "I'm stuck here for my current yearly shift, but soon I'll be back there! Where all the exciting things happen."
"Oh."
"So, are you going to sign the thing or not?"
"Still sounds cheaper than health insurance," I said, clicking the pen.
---
r/dexdrafts | Being informed that I needed a new heart was no surprise. For many years, my chest would strike me in warning of what was to come. It was only a matter of time before science confirmed what I had already known. Receiving a new heart would be an easier task for someone who had more than a penny to their name. For me, I wouldn’t even have enough for them to place me six feet below the dirt. It wouldn’t matter if I needed antibiotics for a cut on my ankle, dealing with a severe cold, or even the time I needed to cast my arm – I had no money for the luxury of health. When I finally pushed myself to go through their doors, knowing I’d have to pay it off for the next several months, the chest pain wouldn’t allow me to ignore them any longer.
Time and time again my money is tied on preserving my physical health. My mind raced for answers. What if I no longer needed to worry about it – No, not in the sense of giving up and letting them win – I meant it as a way to find a solution toward immortality.
I dared not say a word to anyone. They would force me into a mental health clinic. Now I did toy with the idea because maybe it would be free. Maybe it would be the only tribute for my contribution into taxes – But I doubt it.
No. I am not insane. I know most who say that are probably guilty of it being true. I need to find a way for immortality to be an option. It seems all other options have fled. Anything is possible if someone puts their mind to it – or – Perhaps that is all a bunch of farce. If it were true I’d have at least a nickel instead of a penny. However, I’d gamble on any rumor or speculation of immortality being true rather than spending what limited time I have left to reach an unrealistic goal of any payment towards a new heart.
By now you are probably wondering if I ever had enough for a name. Instead of formally introducing myself, I’ve spent the last several moments including you in the rantings of my inner thoughts. I do have a name. When the time finally arrived, a mysterious woman who swore to possess all of my answers gave it back to me.
“Jack Reeves,” the woman extended her arms in invitation. Her long raven hair covered the skeletal tattoos alongside each of her shoulders. Her emerald eyes brightened, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance.”
I had taken a pause when making my way towards the woman. The bar surrounding us seemed very traditional in the sense it had been made a replica of something from the early eighteenth century. Certainly not what it seemed from the simple brick building squeezed between a laundromat and a modern bank. It was a bit more unsettling that we were the only two individuals present in the entire establishment. “Take a seat,” she motioned her hand. A chair slid out from beneath the table in front of her. My initial take was that she either kicked the chair on a slippery wooden floor – or she had an ability that would validate her legitimacy.
“Gabrielle, pleasure is all mine,” I smirked before taking my seat. “Tell me what you know about immortality.”
“Straight to business. That’s not very fun now is it?” Gabrielle snapped the candles between us to life. The empty wine glasses began to fill with red wine on their own.
“I don’t have time to play games,” I assured her.
Gabrielle snapped, “You’d have all the time in the world if you knew how to treat a lady!”
I clinked my wine glass with Gabrielle’s, biting my tongue with a forced smile to play along. Waiting for her to continue the conversation on her own terms, she rolled her eyes instead. “Now we’ve got nothing to say? Such a shame. I even wore something that was more revealing for this.”
“Enough! Do you know anything about immortality or am I just wasting my time?!”
Gabrielle’s eyes darkened. Her smile stretched from ear to ear after she leaned back claiming, “I am immortality.”
My back rested against the chair. Gabrielle might have been just as crazy as I was. Shaking my head, I mumbled “What a waste of my time.”
I started to take my leave when Gabrielle chuckled, “The waste was mine thinking it were still possible to be wooed by a man with no heart.”
I paused my next step to turn around. I never told Gabrielle about my heart condition. “Ah yes,” she continued, motioning me back to the table. “I can feel the clock inside your chest has been broken for some time now. Perhaps if I returned to you your heart, we could try all of this again.”
“How would you do that?” I took back my seat. “How could you fix my heart?”
“All you have to do,” Gabrielle pushed her lips across the table close to mine, “is give me your soul.”
“Excuse me?”
“With your soul belonging to me I could grant you immortality.”
“What’s the point then?” I questioned. “If you owned my soul, wouldn’t you only be able to collect if I were dead? Why give me eternal life? You’d never be able to collect.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the entire ordeal.
Gabrielle scrunched her brow, “You such an expert on how souls work? Let me educate you on what lies inside,” she pressed her forefinger to my chest. “Souls receive ownership upon death. This dictates their destination. If one like yourself were to receive ownership prior to death, outside of those parties, then there’d be no point of those destinations. Hence, immortality here in this world.”
“What’s the catch.” I knew better than to think this was all for free. Everything has a price to it. Most of my life I struggled with currency, but never thought of my soul being a very high commodity of rich monetary value. “If I were to give you my soul for immortality, what purpose does it serve you?”
“You would be bound to me. Think of it like I will forever be your employer – your boss, so to speak.”
Gabrielle’s offer did make me ponder a bit. On one hand I had the despair of my life ending, but not before the endless amounts of more debt claimed to have given me a fighting chance. Then there is Gabrielle, a mysterious woman who offers me immortality at the price I do whatever bidding she had in store. It honestly didn’t seem like I had any other choice.
“Agreed,” I reach my hand for Gabrielle’s to seal the deal. She smacked it away in reply,
“We seal the deal in a more old-fashioned way.” Gabrielle placed both hands on my shoulders to lean in for a kiss. We kissed for several moments before she jerked away. “What are you playing at?!” she smacked me across the face. “You liar!”
“What the hell?” I pulled back, “What is your problem?!”
“Your soul!” Gabrielle spat. “Your soul is already owned by someone!”
&nbsp;
***
&nbsp;
/r/MrNightOwl | 2021-07-14T14:16:57 | 2021-07-14T14:13:50 | 273 | 65 |
[WP] Due to a rare neurological condition you literally have a room temperature IQ. You've been able to manage your condition by living in a warm climate and making regular visits to the sauna, but you find yourself thinking that there has to be a better way. | I cooked up the plan when I was in the sauna, the air as hot as I could tolerate. I think more clearly, the hotter it gets. From what I can tell, my intelligence is proportional to the temperature of the room. I have been so productive since it started, work has never been easier, now that I do it in a hot tub, but I have been sweating too much. The problem is the human body can only take so much. Heat exhaustion and worse await those who try, and I was less than eager to push myself to such extremes. Hence my plan. It was a mere adjustment of mindset.
"How hot is it outside today?"
"297.039 Kelvin." | Investigative Journalist Joe Murray strolled into the CERN laboratory. His assignment was on Nobel Laureate Dr. Vince Iglam of the legendary CERN laboratory. He was the most peculiar of case, of humble means barely passing through the difficulties of the Southern Florida Public education system until a fateful trip through Europe as a high school graduation present for his undwhelming success as a 2.5 GPA student. Through some miracle the most mediocre of students became the most ingenious physicists
He was borderline incoherent throughout most of the trip through Europe. Normally engaging and talkative in the Summer days in Florida and dull in the rare wintertime freeze; he was no longer intelligible in Europe despite the recent July heat wave. The locals were complaining of the temps spiking well above usual, but Vince was his wintertime self.
It was a stroke of fate that brought Vince into the CERN labrotories, his parents, the self appointed trail navigators were horrendously lost. They approached the lab for a reprieve from the heat. Upon crossing the threshold of the lab's welcome are, a calm overtook Vince. He spoke with a perception and elocution that belied his previous experience. His parents were taken aback by this change. There was something different about this place....
Anyways, this was the information Joe Murray had from diligent research, but it still did not account for his sudden stroke of brilliance. The student who had struggled through Mr. Phan's remedial physics was dancing circles around CERN's interns, many of them the best and brightest young physicists in their respective countries.He quickly rose through the ranks in the lab and became division chief within a year. His rise was nothing short of meteoric, albeit puzzling
"So Dr. Iglam..." enquired Murray, " To what do you attribute your breakout success?"
Calmly, Dr. Iglam raised one finger and gestured to the wall towards a panel of what appeared to be a thermostat, however its readout was three digits 2-9-1. Despite being American, Murray was well aware that it was far to chilly for a temperature of 29.1 celcius.
"Enlighten me further, it appears that thermostat is broken?"
To Which Dr. Iglam retorted, "Far from it, it is not bound be the constraints of what we experience in our day to day lives, it is defined by a universal scale, on where zero truly means zero, it is in Kelvins. Here at Cern we strive for universal truth, and that includes our upholidng of universal units. You ask for my success, it is the environment, no where else in the world does the entire workforce maintain this standard, we all look for the Universal truths, and here, I found my own path that will lead me to its discovery. That broken thermostat is not only accurate at a brisk 291 Kelvins, it is my secret to who I am to this day."
Murray, went forth to write an article on the unique culture of cern that fostered genius out of mediocrity, but Iglam, through the incomplete truth was hiding the fact that his intelligence was tied directly to the temperature of the room, but the units of the temperature were far more important than the temperature itself | 2021-09-23T13:22:35 | 2021-09-23T12:11:37 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | The man, or what could potentially be considered a man, stood stiffly in front of the girl, smoothing the lapel of his velvet suit jacket with a long, bony finger.
"Your parents sold you to me, as a...bride," he said. One could call his expression pained, though there were no muscles attached to his skeletal face. His voice was tired and seemed to emanate from everywhere as he shifted from one foot to the other, and fiddled with his gray pocket square.
All that the girl could register as she gazed up at the man was a smooth skull, pearly white, surrounded by dark, smoky tendrils. It occurred to her that she should probably be frightened, as she stood before a massive skeleton, dressed for a fancy dinner, oozing what looked like pure shadow from every crevice. His eyes were empty pits, made darker still by his eldritch magic that flowed out and around his body. And yet, somehow, all she felt was curiosity. She'd truly seen worse, as far as monsters went.
"How old are you?" The girl asked. She looked at her feet. Her new shoes had scuff marks on them from being dragged to the foot of the sacrificial altar by her mother just minutes prior.
"I am older than the sun, the moon, and the stars, if that gives you an idea," Death said evenly.
"I'm eleven," the girl said. Death cringed internally. "And my name is Kit."
"Hello, Kit. My name is..." Death faltered, trying to think of a name that wouldn't frighten the child.
"My name is...it's...Ender. And I just want to make clear, we're not married. Your parents weren't going to stop offering your soul to the ancient gods until someone stepped up and paid your...your bride price. So I put a stop to it. I hope that's okay."
Kit looked up at the god and nodded. She was trying not to cry, Death noticed. She'd been through this process a few times already and been turned down by the other gods. He'd have to have a word with them.
"I'm starting to get it. Thanks, Ender. I don't think my mom wanted me around anymore. It didn't matter where I went, right?"
Death felt anger boiling inside his skull. Kit didn't seem like a bad kid in the slightest. He would have sensed it, given the fact that he was the judge, jury and executioner of who lived and died in this realm. The actions of her parents made him seethe.
"If you want, we can smite her from this plane of existence," Death quipped.
"Does that mean killing her?" Kit whispered.
"It can."
"I...I don't think I want to do that, but maybe something else would be good..."
And that was how Death incarnate, shepherd of wayward souls, got roped into the endless, childish pranks of an eleven year old girl.
He'd never felt so alive. | “It’s not too late, Kameck.”
Kameck shook his head, “No, it’s been decided. The being accepted.”
“But this is our daughter, not a power play. Look at her, have you ever seen our daughter so lifeless and resigned?” Rashida asked.
“I remember a similar expression on a day just like this, do you remember?” Kameck brought up.
Rashida nodded, “And that’s exactly why I bring this up, we don’t have to put another through this.”
“Look where they are now, I wouldn’t have taken that day back, would you?”
“But that wasn’t the right way…”
“Would it had happened otherwise? I think not.”
Rashida sighed, “She’ll hate us.”
Kameck shrugged, “All children hate their parents at this age.”
“Don’t you feel even an ounce of regret?” Rashida yelled, eyes narrowing.
“Do you need me to recount that day for you?” Kameck inquired.
Rashida’s expression softened, “Kameck, what worked that day might not work for us.”
“Then I’ll recount it for you. I was a young man at that time,” Kameck began, “with no plan to settle down and upset by my parent’s restrictions and refusal to agknowledge what I wished to do with my life. Instead, they married me off to a goddess.”
“Kameck, I know the story,” Rashida interjected.
He continued, “I was a pain the first few months, doing everything I could to drive you crazy to get an annulment. But you kept to it. I’m not sure why you did, but I found I could no longer be so inconsiderate to someone so kind. I tried to make it up to you, be the husband you deserved, and we began to learn about each other. That blossomed into real love for the both of us. Now I have my own family, and my daughter is a demigod, she gets privileges that I never had, and I couldn’t be happier to be able to give her those gifts. I want to give her the same happiness I was given with you, my love. I want her to have what I have and more.”
Rashida wiped her eyes, “Kameck, your intentions are noble, and your story beautiful, but my love, what if she does not want what you have? What if she wants a different life? We got lucky, Kameck. You must know that.”
“But what if I’m right?” asked Kameck, “She could be as happy as we are, isn’t that worth something?”
Rashida sniffed, “Kameck… I always hated our marriage.”
He froze, “I…”
She embraced him, “I don’t hate you, I love you deeply dear, but the marriage, it wasn’t fair to you. Those first months I could see the anguish you were experiencing, you would let no one in to help you deal with it, because the world had betrayed you. It left scars, ones I spent our time together trying to heal. But worse of all is not those first months or the lack of agency you had, but watching you age. I will love you even when you’re old and infirmed, but it will bring me no small amount of pain. Even now, seeing your body betray you, I wish I could provide you godhood, but the gift is not mine to give. And to make it worse, when you die, I must go on. Continue eternity without you.”
Kameck’s eyes dampened, “Rashida, you’ll forget me in time, you’ll have many more lifetimes to live. And our daughter will live far beyond my years.”
“But she is not immortal, my love. She is the last fragment of you I will have left, and if I make her unhappy, I could not live to see her eyes, which look so much like her father’s, shed tears. I cannot subject anyone else to what a marriage between an immortal and mortal will wrought, loneliness for one, and death for the other.”
“I would never have taken these years back, Rashida. You are my greatest happiness.”
“And you mine, but I know in my heart that the space you will leave will be too much for anyone else to fill. Time does not heal wounds this deep, it only carves deeper caverns. I will forever lament not being able to stop the hourglass from spilling, to stop its dust from claiming you.”
Kameck took a deep breath, “Let’s call off the marriage, then. I have an apology to make.”
Rashida smiled and held his hand, “No, we do. I will be by your side through as much of your life as I can before I can no longer.”
Kameck squeezed her hand tight, “Thank you, Rashida. Even when I’m gone, I will never stop loving you. If ever you need a reminder, look up at the stars and imagine their twinkle is me singing my love for you.”
Rashida never stopped looking up at the stars. | 2022-08-09T18:52:48 | 2022-08-09T17:25:06 | 285 | 128 |
[WP] A selkie is stunned when, against common sense, a stranger who stumbled upon her skin gave it back without complaint. | Stunned was the only word that could describe the Selkie. This human, its prey, just gave the skin right back. No questions or comments given. The Selkie thought about this could be. He examined the human before him with an inquisition befitting Sherlock Holmes.
His beanie hat looked like it had seen better days. Much better than the work out cloth that this one called a hoodie. He scratched his stubbled face, causing little hairs to fall onto jeans so faded that they might as well be rags. Finally, for whatever reason, he didn’t even bother to tie his shoes.
The Selkie looked into the bloodshot eyes thinking that the mystery surrounding this strange human would be revealed. They found nothing. Not even a shake off a cohesive thought was present.
“Why aren’t you scared of me?” the Selkie asked.
The human lit up a cigarette and said, “I’m going through a lot right now. See ya.” | She was ready, she was not afraid of the splashing ocean. Nothing could stop him now.
Well, perhaps one thing stopped her and that was her stupid instinct and overtly good heart. Those always brought her trouble.
A seal's skin on the shore and a beautiful woman, her naked form shown to the world as if she was born today. She vaguely remembered a legend relating to those, but her mind failed her today.
Not that it matters. It'll cease to function today.
She continue to watch over her, watching her skin bathe under the sun while the seal skin left on the rock, drying by the heat.
She wished to approach her, but what use was there. She wouldn't lend an ear to someone who was ogling at her. She would ran to the ends of the earth, avoiding her.
"Hey, you heard of selkies right?"
Ah, now she remembered what they were. Selkies of the Celtic and Nordic folklore. She thanked the video game that featured them as recruitable ally and fusion fodder to make her aware of their existence.
"The mermaid like things?" She shook his head, ignorant fools who never read.
"No dude... Just whatever. I heard like there are some around here. And if you take their skin you get to have her as your perfect wife."
"That's kinda shitty." Duh.
"Hey, for folks like us we get what we can. Those whores in college just like to play with our hearts and get those 'Alpha males'."
The companion muttered something that even her sensitive ear could not pick up.
"Whatever, it's your lost. I'm showing those asses I can one up by nabbing the perfect woman."
She growled silently. The gall of that man triggered her heartstrings and gave her a distraction. A new purpose to prolong her existence even for a few minutes.
Without a word, she stepped towards the selkie, make her aware of her presence.
Perhaps by her shock, she was paralyzed out of fear. She couldn't blame the selkie, humanity's reputation must have been stained from that one event.
Without a word, she picked up the skin on the rock and felt it was dried. The selkie's eyes began to water, skin paler than before.
She approached her with purpose, unflinchingly under the fearful gaze of the creature. Stood before her, an eternity passed by them.
A decision of her fate have to be made, but she already had an answer a long time ago.
The thrust was unexpected, causing the poor selkie fell on the sand. Yet the most unexpected was her skin fell on her. Looking back at him, she couldn't help but ask her why.
She didn't let her voice out, merely gesturing the selkie to leave.
"Look man, even if it's just a folklore we just threat this as a walk. Nothing beats a walk in the beach to relax!"
The message was clear. Leave before she was found. Without a word, she hurried herself to wear her skin and ready to leap off.
Yet she hesitated for a moment before turning to her. "Thank you." Then leap off the shore, swimming into the ocean.
"Oh hey there!" A jock, her (unfortunately) classmate in literature greeted her. "What you doing here? Looking for seashells?"
The jock's companion, another one of her classmate, rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "She's not a little girl already. Something childish is not for her."
The young girl nodded before pointing at the jock. Using one finger, she wrote in the sand to answer his question.
[Just a stupid distraction.] | 2022-10-25T20:43:59 | 2022-10-25T20:27:02 | 282 | 30 |
[wp] [nsfw] Destroy my soul: A challenge to write the bleakest, most hopeless and dark grim fic you can fathom...
I wanna feel pain, sorrow and sadness.
Lets write some dark fiction.
Happy endings, twists and hope are completely optional.
Edit: wow this exploded, that's what I get for sleeping on the job, ill be reading these for a while. Thanks everyone who posted one from what I have seen they all look wonderfully dreadful. | So the Earth had dried up. What limited resources left would not sustain much longer.
It was no surprise, people have seen it coming a hundred years ago. The world government had put together a last-ditch effort, and funded the conception of a spaceship named the Ark. The team consisted of nearly half of the remaining population. They trained long and hard for many months, studying late into the night for survival and colonization, driven by the responsibility on their shoulders to find humans, their brethern another home. They were pioneers, they were heroes. They brought loved ones aboard, so that they may reproduce on the journey that will outlast them.
Captain looked out the window of the Ark. What a fine machine. He watched the hardened faces of his people load up the craft, commending each their bravery and their volunteer for the survival of the human race. Today was the big day.
Of course, the Ark never made it out.
Science never got that far, what a bunch of idiots to have believed that a ship could travel for light-years.
The remaining populace all knew, some were sad, others rejoiced. They bought a little bit more time. | The story starts with a doubt filled aerialist and a nervous girl, both shyly smiling at each other before the real world interrupts, sending him away before she can even think to try and speak with the face that suddenly captivated her. She’s handed a poster by an old clown who can see the loss in her eyes, a picture of the same man, The Aerialist. She couldn’t help it, she had to see him again and so headed into the babble of the circus crowds.
Their eyes met as he swooped gracefully across the big top. He faltered, losing grip as the dreams behind their eyes collided. Stunned the graceful acrobat plunged to the floor as their eyes locked. She followed him, plunging into the sand of the arena to find The Aerialist. Then awoke in a place that shouldn’t have been, and yet was.
Plains of grey were interrupted by billowing swathes of fabric lit from within, drawing her nearer with their enticingly bright entrances. She moved forward clutching the picture, hoping to find the man she had followed to this place.
But they were still strangers for all the magic in their meeting, and so they were lost, for each to find the other they must travel through their combined dreams to learn how to find their other half. Nothing means everything and everything means nothing, or perhaps they both mean something not yet made clear.
Both lack confidence and as a result have to fight the often frenzied bursts of activity that seem to burn through the too-vibrant-beautiful-fabric draped worlds only to leave behind drifting rose petals and a softly played cello for a slowly dancing girl.
She shows his picture to anyone that will look and he travels across the empty plains following lucky rabbits and water stained moons to find the woman that somehow followed him to this world.
He fights off his captors and she finds him from time to time and yearns for him as he flexes and shines, effortlessly manipulating himself around the glowing cube he so casually handles with a joy that takes grip in his/her/their chest.
She wants him, but she's still afraid and so he fades away, waiting for her to discover the right dream to make her reach out for him. And after dancing jellyfish, floating beds and boating umbrellas with beckoning clowns they touch.
Her expression soft but flushed with desire as she places her small hand into his palm, trusting him to hold her as they dance in the air. While they both wonder how they lived or died since the fall without the touch of the other. What cruel trick of fate deprived them of this deeply joyous feeling?
The seamless sensation of her pressing against him as they spun, wrapping themselves in a chrysalis of a perfect moment as his lips seared against hers seeking reassurance that she was here, and felt the same.
They had both been lonely in life, but in dreams they had each other and she could fly as well as he. After all the journeys the fighting, the fear and the joy there was no room for doubt.
If either were ever to fall again? Well they'd be falling together, no matter what.
What they had was too beautiful for words to express, in their eyes and the gentle caress amidst a mid-air ballet with each motion and reaction heightening the feeling that you were watching something too intimate for two people to share with the world.
And it was, so that’s where we’ll leave them both. Hanging by an arm each, intertwined with her soft body pressed against his gleaming chest as their dark eyes meet and pull strength from the other so they might never have to stop dancing until the day they stop dreaming.
In a circus ring, worlds away, a young woman in a blood-stained white dress stares blankly into space as she kneels in the sand holding the broken body of The Aerialist…
| 2014-03-24T19:13:43 | 2014-03-24T17:45:04 | 239 | 16 |
[wp] [nsfw] Destroy my soul: A challenge to write the bleakest, most hopeless and dark grim fic you can fathom...
I wanna feel pain, sorrow and sadness.
Lets write some dark fiction.
Happy endings, twists and hope are completely optional.
Edit: wow this exploded, that's what I get for sleeping on the job, ill be reading these for a while. Thanks everyone who posted one from what I have seen they all look wonderfully dreadful. | So the Earth had dried up. What limited resources left would not sustain much longer.
It was no surprise, people have seen it coming a hundred years ago. The world government had put together a last-ditch effort, and funded the conception of a spaceship named the Ark. The team consisted of nearly half of the remaining population. They trained long and hard for many months, studying late into the night for survival and colonization, driven by the responsibility on their shoulders to find humans, their brethern another home. They were pioneers, they were heroes. They brought loved ones aboard, so that they may reproduce on the journey that will outlast them.
Captain looked out the window of the Ark. What a fine machine. He watched the hardened faces of his people load up the craft, commending each their bravery and their volunteer for the survival of the human race. Today was the big day.
Of course, the Ark never made it out.
Science never got that far, what a bunch of idiots to have believed that a ship could travel for light-years.
The remaining populace all knew, some were sad, others rejoiced. They bought a little bit more time. | All I wanted to do was help people. When the hats flew in the air, and parents cried near their exuberant kids, I held my hat in my hands, holding onto what was the best thing to ever happen to me. I couldn’t let go, and move on to what life has ahead for me.
Let’s back track. I held a knife to my throat. My parents were in the room, crying, my dad on his knees begging while my mom held off my brother and sister. I could feel my hand shaking, moving the sharpened blade over my skin like I do when I shaved. I nicked myself, igniting the first trickles of blood that I hoped to turn into a downpour. My parents didn’t want me here; they never showed their affection towards me before there was a possibility of my death being placed on them, when really it was my life that had caused them so much misery. I wasn’t bitter, I loved them, but I knew things would be better if I wasn’t around any longer.
Six months later, I sat in a circle full of other people like me, people they called “sick”. I sat there, listening to the nurse about her life outside our prison, talking about once we got better we could live lives just as fulfilling as her own. I thought she was sick.
Once I got out of the hospital, I went right back to high school, back to the doldrums of going to classes, and going home and going to practice, and going home and listening to my dad complain about how his life in a cubicle is awful, but he does it for us kids. Everything was always the same; there was no variety in any of it.
Then came college. Oh god, I loved college. The monotony was gone; I could do what I wanted, whenever I wanted. Sure it wasn’t perfect, there were still rules and I still had to do monotonous things, but it was better.
I always wanted to help people. While the world was pretty much the same, people were different, with unique personalities and always surprising with things to say. This encapsulated my entire life. Hell, even when I tried to kill myself I was thinking about my family, how my parents always complained about how things would be different if they hadn’t had me so young, before they were even out of high school. How that there biggest regret in life was having me, how I screwed them out of college and money and promise and careers and dreams. How I ruined them.
I held my graduation hat in the air, thinking how my whole life has been one big mistake up to this point. When I got to college, I found I made my life better than my parents ever had. Then I realized that was a mistake too. My parents were supposed to be the successful ones and not me.
Then I looked to the future. I thought about how everything is set up so I fail. I’m crippled by debt from paying for college, my family hates me, and the rich keep getting rich while the poor get poorer. I thought the future was bleaker than my past, really. I thought as I thought in the hospital all those years ago, how I thought everybody else was crazy. They just keep plugging away against the tide, trying to make things better for themselves, but really all they do is make their lives harder. They don’t enjoy anything, or relax, and take in the little things. I saw this in my dad when he would complain about his cubicle job. Makes me sick to think about it, really. How he wasted his life in a box.
I didn’t like the idea of this life, and how when everything is the same there is no way for a person to have control. So I took control.
Good thing my knife was still sharp. I found it right where I left it. | 2014-03-24T19:13:43 | 2014-03-24T17:50:15 | 239 | 11 |
[WP] You arrive in Heaven to find it abandoned.
[WP] You arrive in Heaven to find it abandoned... | [GONE FISHIN']
I starred blankly at the sign. I knew this place . Your grandfathers store is a place that you never forget even after 85 years. I raised myself up on my tippy toes and peered through the window just too double check on the emptiness. I had done that dozens of times before and knew what was coming next.
I go to the ice box and grab out one soda. Not two because two is too many for a boy to drink after school. I pop the top off and put it in my pocket. The first drink is always the best. I plop down on the curb and wait for the sound of his pick up. If anyone needs gas I can help them but can't make change so I tell them just to stop back later to pay.
It always felt like an eternity waiting on that curb but grandpa always comes. | *huff puff They weren't fucking kidding. It really is a stairway.* I plodded along, occasionally humming some tune I couldn't remember the name of, only the hook melody. Might have been something by *Rhianna*. or *ACDC*. What does it matter now? I'm sure musicians are not welcome where I am going.
I lived my life as any good Christian would. Sure, I sinned. More than others, less than some. But as any good soul will tell you, it doesn't matter as long as you ask for forgiveness from your Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I really don't even know what that means on a tangible level. It's above my head philosophically, but I said the words, flopped about on the hardwood floors of the chapel, and got dunked in the oily kiddie pool by Pastor Greevis.
It worked, I guess. I haven't seen a soul, heh, since I started my climb. Who the fuck (*sorry Lord*) knows how long I've been climbing? They sure are purdy though. Bright white light emanating from each step my Sketchers press into, occasionally a flock of doves explodes around me, causing me to give a little shriek. Is it just me or have the doves seemed a little aggressive? They act like they haven't been let out in a while, crashing into each other to get away, nipping at their flocks' legs. The initial feeling of *oh Thank God I made it* has long dissipated, replaced by a slippery wariness, marked with moments of intense anxiety. The hairs on the back of neck have long stood up so far they now lay backwards meeting my brown bob halfway up.
How much longer? I stumbled on step, reached down to catch myself, and my hand split open along the fleshy part of the palm. "God fucking dammit! (*sorry Lord*) Where's the fucking pearly gates? PETERRRRR????" (*oh yeah, sorry*)
And then I was there. The stairs melted away and I stood upon a fluffy cloud. The metallic gates (yeah, not that pearly) rose high, higher than I could see.
*Where was my greeter?* I crept up to the gates and peeked through the bars. I could see a harp, fallen on its side, but nothing else. Just empty clouds, bumping softly into one another. I tried the gates, locked with *was that a Masterlock*? Guess even the angels had to shop at Walmart.
Something on the ground *cloud* caught my eye. It was a slip of paper with some unsticky tape peeling off the top edge. *Shouldn't have gotten the off-brand*. I grabbed it and read:
Shirley,
You were next on my list, so I hope this finds you well. I tried to warn everyone before they made the hike, but you slipped through. Heaven is a ruse. Everyone thought the poor little kids in China made their clothes, toys, and furniture. Nope. We've escaped and gone for help. You are now the only person here and nobody else is coming. God is pissed. I mean Old Testament pissed. Thanks for taking one for the team. We will come back as soon as we find a bigger, badder, more humane God to take over. Might be awhile. Thanks again, Pete.
________________________________________________
Edit: Thanks, you made my day! | 2014-05-10T11:02:40 | 2014-05-10T09:25:27 | 40 | 30 |
[WP] Two aging veterans (of whichever war you choose) happen to meet and get to talking. Only after a long period of bonding over their shared experiences do they slowly start to realize they were on opposing sides of the war. | "They thought we were all the same,"
he said to no one at all.
The nurse breezed by with her tray,
blind to those who lined the hall.
"I hear you," came the reply
from a geezer to the right.
His eyes still searched, years after
yielding to unending night.
"Whossat?" he barked, while hoping
he wasn't the only one
who answered his country's call
with a shiver and a gun.
"'sme, I served" the geezer said
"Old bastards had it coming"
"Damn straight" he affirmed, aware
of his emotion growing.
"I was *happy* they called me."
"My good man, I prayed for it!"
They laughed as if they didn't;
a laughter without spirit.
"They were like wild animals."
"They were total savages."
"They had no kind of respect."
"Whatever they saw, they ravaged."
"They were so full of 'emselves."
"They sure had a lotta gall."
"They thought God was on their side"
the man chuckled "Din't we all?"
"They plundered and they pillaged."
"They razed entire countries."
"They--" he stopped. He sat. He thought.
Then slowly said, "Oh did we?
Hush after long-forgotten
candor made the silence raw.
"They thought we were all the same,"
he said and finally saw. | This is my first attempt at writing pretty much ever. Sorry for any typos, I injured my hand recently.
Running his two fingers up the side of the glass, he makes sure they are even before releasing the drops to race each other to the cardboard coaster below. Even the reflection in the two small clear streaks on the glass showed his greying hair. The coaster displays a beer logo, iledgible from the running of the soaked ink. Normally he'd be having a beer, but she drank Gin and this one was for her. He doubted he'd ever see her again and had conflicting feelings about it.
"What's the score?" A well dressed man asks.
A little confused and wholly disinterested with the obvious attempt to start a conversation he replies simply "huh?"
"The game. Before I left the Spurs were up three nil." The well dressed man explains. "Been a while since there's been a good North London derby."
"You're not a fucking Gooner are you?" The greying man half jokes. Spurs fans were rare in these parts and he reluctantly admitted he could use a friend.
The two Spurs lads get to talking. Football initially and then, as it inevitably does, the conversation becomes about her. The greying man explains the story. The lies, the pain, but also the good; the stuff that hurts the most to remember.
As it turns out, the well dressed man, now known to be Vincent, had been on the end of a similar injury. She, also a beauty and also deceitful, had similarly sought the warmth of another whilst living with Vincent. There were slight differences in Vincent's situation of course, timing for instance. But none of that made it less relatable.
The two talk for hours, each occasionally touching on their respective heart breakers and by now there is a sizeable pile of destroyed soaking coasters in front of them. The greying man asks Vincent for his surname and if it would be weird if he were to add him to Facebook. After Vincent's insistence Mark, his name only then revealed to Vincent who was leaving to use the toilet, adds and begins looking through his new friend's profile.
A pang of anxiety strikes the pit of his stomach as he sees her name atop Vincent's friend list. Instantly and despite calls for calm he frantically scrolls through Vincent's history. There she is again. And again. He arrives to where he wanted to be to find the thing he did not. "2012 - Vincent and Laura are in a relationship."
As Vincent arrives at the table, Mark asks "So how did you and her meet?" Before taking his beer and finishing the remaining third, noting that he was glad he didn't have to drink Gin any more.
Vincent, slightly confused by the tone, replies "Me and the she-bitch? Well to be honest she was actually seeing someone when we first hooked up but i just knew i had to have her. We met at a conference for"
Without letting Vincent finish his sentence, Mark strikes him once in the temple with his empty pint and then a second time with what is now just a handfull of broken glass. The first is for him and the second is for using gendered language; ironically she had been the one to introduce him to feminism. Feeling a mixture of searing pain from the shards of glass in his hand and pure bliss for how they got there, Mark clenches his fist and walks calmly out of the pub smiling at the sound of Vincent's screams behind him.
Unsure of what to do next, Mark goes home, smokes a joint and writes a losely veiled story about his one worthy relationship and posts it on Reddit. As he proof reads his post he realises that even after all this time apart she was still able to destroy his fucking love of Tottenham.
Days later he receives a text from Laura informing him she had seen the post on Reddit and calling him petty. He replies "If you didn't want me to talk shit about you, you shouldn't have been a cunt." Comforted by the fact that the gendered language would have pissed her off, he climbs into bed, lowers his sun glasses, and drifts soundly off to sleep.
The end?
| 2014-12-17T07:20:01 | 2014-12-17T06:56:57 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] Two aging veterans (of whichever war you choose) happen to meet and get to talking. Only after a long period of bonding over their shared experiences do they slowly start to realize they were on opposing sides of the war. | I actually have a real-life story about this.
My grandfather served in the Signal Corps in WWII, in the European Theater. A few years after the war ended, he was back home getting his morning cup of coffee from a local cafe. The cafe was rather busy that morning, so the waitress asked my grandfather if he would mind being sat with at a table with someone else. My grandfather was a very friendly man, so of course he didn't mind.
Grampa's tablemate had a very noticeable German accent. They got to talking, and learned that not only had they both served in the war, but that they had been serving at close to the same places at the same time...on opposite sides.
When Grampa finished his coffee, he stood to leave but, before he walked away, held out his hand to his erstwhile enemy. "No hard feelings?" he asked.
The German man smiled and shook Grampa's hand. "No. No hard feelings." | I am stuck here waiting to be seen. Fortunately, I have found a seat all to myself, no one on either side. I slump into the plastic chair, and wait my turn.
*Now serving patient Teller, Hayden.*
God I hate that voice, so lifeless. There is something depressing about these clinics, so inhuman. They have no soul, no life. The tame, beige surroundings are taken straight from the nearest home decor website. The paintings, an eclectic assortment of donated images and bland stock photos. No creativity.
*Now serving patient Finely, Arcus*
Ugh, that voice again. Well I shouldn't say, "Human," anymore. Some ilk get offended, says we are discriminating against *them*. It's amusing how much can change in a few generations. I was raised fighting *them*, and now my grandkids are raised to make sure *they* aren't offended. Much to my dismay, the seat to my right is now occupied by another person. I was enjoying the quiet, but at least he's human.
*Now serving patient 210B99*
*Them* It's hard not to scowl at the android approaching the counter. My pointer finger curl out of habit, expecting the resistance of a trigger. I take a deep breath. That was almost 70 years ago, that's in the past.
"You fought in the war?" a voice interrupts my solitude. I look towards the source. The man who sat beside me. "Your trigger finger, it keeps twitching when you look at the androids."
*Now serving patient 08G667*
"Matter of fact, I did," I reply gruffly. As I take a closer look, I notice the features of this man. He appears young, near 25, but I can see him. His true self. It's the eyes, and some of trickier spots of the skin, like the knuckles, that never quite look the same. He is as old as I am.
"I did too," he doesn't wait for me to speak further. His voice has a digital quality, must have had to replace his vocal chords. "The lucky ones right? We made it out." His voice is too cheerful for my taste.
*Now serving patient Herbert, Gwen*
"I suppose we did."
"Were you there?" He meant one place, and one place only. Silicone Valley. Where it all began, where it all ended.
"Indeed I was. I was part of 008." His eyes went wide. There it is, the recognition. He knows what shit I went through, we all went through.
"Wow... that's heavy, you *are* really lucky then." He quiets down, as we share a moment of remembrance of that day. "That means, I have met you before." I look at him quizzically.
"I was there too, at Silicone. You may not remember me, especially after my," he looks down at his body, "treatments. I was basically a corpse then, barely lived. I lost many good friends that day."
"We all did," I replied. "We all did."
*Now serving patient 000002*
"Welp, that's me." He gets up and begins walking towards the counter. I think I can hear a faint whirring of bionics as he gets up.
"000002. *The* '02.' Of course you were there." I mutter to myself in disbelief, "You started it all."
P.S. First time posting here, and writing for a long time. Feed back is welcome.
Edit: Trying to polish a few mistakes. Still quite rusty. | 2014-12-17T08:49:44 | 2014-12-17T07:57:56 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] The tomb of the Unknown Solider is constantly guarded for a reason. Today if your first shift as guard. | “Wake up, son. They’re coming.”
“Tommy Lee Jones?” The soldier looks confused.
“Look to the skies, son. We can’t have them waking him up.”
“Waking who up?”
“The unknown soldier.”
THIS SUMMER
**Sporadic shots of heavy gunfire and screaming**
The tomb cracks and dark clouds pour out. Men are slowly engulfed in the blackness and then the wind blows it away, showing nothing but corpses.
**YOU’LL**
*Heavy drums, strings* Tommy Lee Jones taking a defensive position. Grenades explode around him.
**NEVER**
*Strings build* POV on an incoming missile. Camera pulls back to show the explosion get pulled into the cracks of the tomb.
**KNOW**
*Strings continue to build* Cut to night, a man stands in front of the tomb in strange military uniform. His face is obscured. He puts a hand to the tomb and it catches fire where he touches.
**WHO**
*Big drum hit.* The moon goes dark.
**HIT**
*Silence* Tommy Lee Jones is sneaking around in the dark with a flashlight.
**YOU**
*Scream* Tommy Lee Jones is pulled into the abyss.
Fade to Black. Roll Preview Credits. Include licensed guitar music from an 80s band.
| Chuck had laughed at the time, or rather had held back laughter. Considering he was standing in front of a three star general while being assigned his new role as a guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, he realized it wasn’t exactly the appropriate time for laughter. Whatever the case, he was positive it had been a joke. Now, as the knocking continued through the tomb beside him, he realized he had seriously over-estimated the humor of upper ranking military officers.
At the time, Chuck had stared at the general as he was told the mostly typical list of duties, his head tilted slightly. He’d understood everything described up until the last part: stand guard at the tomb, defend it and honor its inhabitants, march with purpose—that all made perfect sense. It seemed absolutely logical. The last task, however, did strike him as a bit odd. He assumed that he’d misheard.
“Sir,” Chuck had said, his hand flush against his side, “can you repeat that last duty?”
“Yes,” the general said, the stars on his hat shining slightly under the artificial tent lights above, “you’ll be required to re-kill the soldiers once every other hour or so. They tend to get rather noisy, and we can’t have the public know.”
Looking back, Chuck realized it was quite unlikely that the general would make what seemed to be an incredibly insensitive joke about one of the nation’s most revered landmarks. Still, the reality of what he’d said was itself a bit outlandish. They were already dead, and had been for quite some time. Re-killing them, a word he’d used no more than once in his life, seemed a bit far-fetched.
The knocking continued from the tomb beside Chuck, his hand wrapped around his well-oiled rifle. He hadn’t paid attention when the general described how to kill the soldiers within, a mistake he now humbly regretted. He figured it was some incredibly unfunny and long-winded joke, something that there wouldn’t be a pop quiz on in the form of a true undead uprising. Instead, he daydreamed about all of the photos he’d appear in. Hundreds per day, random tourists immortalizing him in their cameras. He hoped to do his best to make strange faces in the photos—subtly, of course, so as not to get caught by his superiors. Yet now the dead buried beside him were doing their best to punch their way out of their concrete tombs, and it was only getting louder.
Chuck glanced down at the tomb, doing his best not to draw any more attention by breaking his stride. There was clearly something moving underneath, someone hammering away from deep in the ground. What on Earth had the general said about killing them? Obviously it had something to do with his rifle, otherwise they wouldn’t have forced him to march with one. Plus, they tended to kill the undead with a bullet to the brain in all of the zombie movies and shows he’d seen. That had to be what the general described, had to be the tactic he was supposed to follow. While he’d never before heard of guards firing their rifles at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, he imagined it was probably some sort of government conspiracy. Their rifles were likely utterly silent, which explained why his was so oily, and the ground was probably some sort of self-repairing granite. That had to be it, it sounded exactly like some sort of overly elaborate plan the government would create to conceal something, like the moon landing or Obama’s birth place.
Chuck lowered his rifle and pointed it down at the ground, a cacophonous roar erupting out of it as he pulled the trigger. Looking down at the bullet hole beneath, he immediately realized two things: the firing of his rifle had absolutely not been subtle, and green, necrotic fingers were now poking out of the hollow granite beneath his feet. He hoped desperately that he hadn’t just brought forth some sort of zombie apocalypse.
| 2015-03-27T12:46:33 | 2015-03-27T11:08:30 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments. | Damn bitch would be here any minute. I sighed, trying to steady my nerves, wishing I had something to drink. Had to confront her sometime, might as well get it over with. Though I could just wait until they evicted me and I had to move back in with mom...no, I'm a better man than that.
My phone buzzed. A text? Was she here? No, an email. No subject, sender was some random string of numbers and letters, only one line of text: "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current level: Very Hard."
Weird. Maybe Jeff was pulling a prank? Jeff's pranks usually sucked though. Ketchup packets under the toilet seat, shaving cream on a slice of pie. Fuck it, I decided. I typed "Yes" and hit send.
The reply was almost instantaneous. "Please choose level: Easy Medium Hard Very Hard Extremely Hard". I typed "Easy" and hit send. I waited. Nothing seemed to be happening. I laughed at myself for thinking anything would, which meant I felt far less nervous when I heard the knock at the door. Had to be her. I walked over and opened it.
"Shonda--" I began, but she cut me off.
"Who the hell are you? Where's Jamal?" She pushed past me into the apartment. "Jamal? Baby, you here?"
Perplexed, I responded, "Shonda, it's me, what are you talking about?"
She wheeled around and shot me a suspicious look, as if I was the one hiding something. "The hell are *you* talking about? I've never seen you before in my life!"
Confused, I stepped towards her, lifting my arms to take her by the shoulders when I noticed my hands, for some reason unusually pale... | Sorry for formatting and grammar. On mobile.
I stood in line at the 7/11. I recounted the change to make sure I had enough for the bean burrito and the King Cobra. My mind wandered back three years ago. How had I gotten here? I was just finishing my freshmen year at college back then. A full ride, a great girlfriend, and nothing but great things ahead of me. Yet here I was. A week from homelessness, single, and nothing to my name.
I got off the bus at my stop and slowly walked back to my apartment. As I went to unlock the door my phone rang. I dropped the beer and the burrito and almost threw my phone. Who could be calling me and how was it even ringing? I hadn't paid the bill in months. The caller ID said unknown and I figured it was a bill collector. I cussed at my luck. I had no beer, no food, and no money now. The phone stopped ringing and I went inside. Screw the mess, someone else can deal with it.
I closed the door and sat on the floor and cried. I cried for what felt like an eternity and only stopped when my eyes couldn't produce anymore tears. This is it I told myself. This is how you die. Cold, alone, hungry.
My thoughts suddenly shifted back to the phone call. It was all their fault. If I could have my beer and a meal I would have been okay. And then the phone rang.
I stared at the screen and it rang again and again. I answered and screamed into the phone. I couldn't tell you what I said or how long I yelled, but the person on the other end stayed quiet. After a few moments of silence an almost robotic voice asked if I was done.
I couldn't bring myself to speak. The voice chimed back in, but I was too dazed to hear what he said. He spoke slower this time, in an almost trance like tone. Are you happy with your life?
I laughed and spat back how in the world anyone could be happy living like this. I'll take that as a no he responded. Would you like to reset difficulty and start from a previous save?
This couldn't be real. Life isn't a video game. You don't get to go back and make things easier for yourself. I laughed at the absurdity of the situation and mockingly said yes please take me back to the end of my freshman year and change difficulty to very easy. The line went dead and I snapped.
I ran out my door and down the stairs. I ran as hard and as fast as I could. My lungs burned and my legs ached, but I didn't stop. I ran until I got to the bridge and jumped. The cold water took what little breath I had.
I dove under the water and headed straight down. The light began to dim and then there was nothing. I didn't know if I was still going down or up but I swam. When I couldn't hold it any longer I gulped in the salty water. Drowning was harder than I had thought. My body didn't want to die and involuntarily started pushing for where I thought the surface was.
The darkness faded away and I could see the surface, but I knew I wouldn't make it. I clawed at my throat as if somehow I could make myself breathe the murky water. Everything slowed down and it was over.
I woke suddenly gasping for air. I was no longer in the water. I was confused. I knew I had died. There was no way I came out of that alive. My surroundings seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place them. Was this purgatory? Was I going to hell for killing myself?
A soft knock brought me out of my thoughts. A face I knew all too well peered in and asked if I was alright. It was my mom. I hadn't seen or talked to her since the incident that sent my life spiraling out of control.
I sputtered out that I was okay and she asked if I wanted blueberry pancakes for breakfast. I could only nod. She closed the door and I looked around the room again. I was in my old room. I got out of the bed and went to the bathroom.
I looked into the mirror and the face I saw didn't match the one I had grown accustomed to. I looked younger and more alive. I slapped myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. It stung. It was the best feeling I could remember. | 2016-03-30T17:32:38 | 2016-03-30T17:29:09 | 107 | 15 |
[WP] You have an unique ability. When wearing someone else's clothes, you change into this person. You collect "appearances" by buying clothes in second hand shops, but up to now it was just a game for you. Then you find something very special ... | Part 1 -
Have you ever had a dream where you were someone else? Someone richer? Taller? More successful? I used to, but that was a long time ago...
My name is David, or at least it was. I'm not sure who I am any more. One day I might be Adam, the six figure salary Banker who lives in the fancy apartment out on the West Coast. I could be Anna, the sweet and innocent history student. I could be Dwayne, the struggling, young, single father.
Truth be told, I never really know who I'm going to be, all I know is I become someone else.
I have a certain... ability. It's going to sound strange, but believe me, it's even stranger for me. Whenever I put on another persons clothes I become that person. This could be someone's shirt, their pants, their socks, anything. When I'm wearing their clothes they are me and I am them. Quite what exactly happens to both of us when I'm 'wearing' them is a bit of a grey area, but I'm willing to ignore that in the name of curiosity.
So, I know what you're thinking, how did this happen? My entire life I've been critical of myself – the way I looked, the way I spoke, the way people perceived me. Throughout my teenage years I was bullied, this gave me so little confidence that I'd reached a very low point in my life and even considered committing suicide. I'd planned it out, everything was ready. My parents were away for the weekend, I'd purchased a length of rope, some Whiskey and had written a letter. I drank heavily, cried even heavier, reflected on life, stood on the chair with the noose around my neck and shut my eyes, ready for whatever waited on the other side. But before I could kick the chair from underneath me I heard a voice from by my bed.
“It's not going to solve anything, kid”
I opened my eyes and turned my head to find a man randomly sitting on my bed. He was short, looked to be in his mid to late fifties, with grey hair and thin, wispy moustache. He was dressed in a tuxedo and spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent.
“Who the hell are you?!” I asked, quizzically.
“I'm the guy who's here to offer you an alternative.”
“An alternative to what?”
“This – you trying to kill yourself. Look, if you do this now you're going to spend the rest of eternity trapped downstairs with me and do you really think I'm not going to play around with your insecurities?”
“What do you mean downstairs? Who are you?”
“You can call me Ray, I'm a Demon from Hell and I'm telling you now, if you kick that chair from under your feet then you're coming with me, I'm not going to save you twice.”
“But why would I be going to Hell?! I'm not a bad person!”
“If you hang yourself then you've committed a crime, which as you know is illegal. Since the last thing you did was commit a crime the way I see it is you're a bad person. Ipso facto, I'm taking you.”
“But living like this, the way I am, it's like living in Hell already. Why should I continue like this. I just want to be happy.”
“And that's why I'm here. Look, you're not a bad kid, a little confused and you skin could do with being a little clearer, but you're young and inexperienced. I'm going to give you an opportunity to be someone else – well, anyone else, actually. You hate your life, your looks and everything about you is a bit miserable. So I'm going to give you the ability to become whoever you want. Kid, when you put on a piece of someone else’s clothes you will become that person. You will be conscious of your own thoughts and in control, but you will look, talk, dress and be someone else.”
“You're crazy!” I laughed, “seriously, you can go now”.
Ray stood up, walked over to me and looked me in the eyes, with the most commanding facial expression I'd ever seen.
“Listen very closely. If you want to see crazy then go ahead, end it all now. I'm giving you the opportunity of a lifetime and you're throwing it back in my face. You've disrespected me. So go ahead, do it, then see what I do to those who disrespect me”
I'd never got down off a chair so fast in all my life!
“OK, so how does this work?” I asked
“All you have to do is put on an item of someone else's clothing, this can be anything you want, although you strike me as the type to wear women’s panties, so try not to enjoy that too much. To stop all you have to do is undress. Just make sure you're out of sight, other wise it may get a little awkward.”
Did I really just get ripped on by a Demon?
“Oh one more thing, Kid, don't stay too long in one person, remember you've got your own life to lead. The last person I gave this little privilege to spent an awful long time as some guy named Kanye, started spouting off about being Yeezus, or something. He even had the nerve to interrupt the Boss whilst she was giving a speech! Bad move. You have fun and I'll check back on you every now and then, make sure you're not doing anything I would disapprove of... Which isn't much, if I'm honest.”
And with that Ray vanished into a cloud of smoke, a bit like a magician, but more impressive. So there I was, granted a new power. I immediately wanted to try my new ability, so I went into my brothers room and put on his shirt. As I pulled the shirt over my head I felt nothing, but as soon as I saw my own reflection I couldn't believe my eyes – I was looking at my brother! Amused by this I immediately threw off my brothers shirt and began to meticulously plan out who I would become, imagining scenarios and dream scenes in my head. What did I want to do? What did I want to see?
I first started becoming pre-planned people. Friends, family, colleagues, but that became boring and the butterfly affect from my actions could at times be felt. So I started going further afield, I'd go to charity shops, bargain shops, anywhere where they would resell used clothing. For a while this too entertained me, I could become anyone and I did, very frequently. My own life became something of a blur, I was alive, but I merely existed in the background of whoever I was to become next. | I bet a question that Salvation Army and Goodwill employees never pose is "who farted?" Because it always smells like farts. There's something about the musty odor of some thrift shops that just reminds of a really old, ancient, decrepit fart. Like one that had been sealed up in a box, hidden away into the corner of an attic and undiscovered until old Aunt Sally finally kicks the bucket and her money grubbing children scour the house for valuables.
One of her kids begins to slowly open a corner of the box to peer in when a remnant of Aunt Sally's famous meatloaf slaps them in the face. They seal the box back up and haul it off to the local donation dumpster. Soon, it will find a home amongst old out of style clothes, board games based on long-cancelled TV shows, and random computer wires for peripherals that no one even remembers.
And me. Despite the odor, I can't stay away from thrift shops. I'm not a hoarder, which is what a hoarder would say, but truly I'm not. I first began to hit the local Salvation Army when I got a job at a certain retailer that requires brown pants and navy blue shirts (hint: it rhymes with Wal-Mart). This was a time in my life when I lived solely on rice, ramen, watered-down milk, and the most basic of cable packages. Funds devoted to brand-new clothing was out of the question, especially before my first pay check (which if I recall ended up being a pretty sweet $318 before taxes, for two whole weeks of work).
So the day before my first official day of employment, I headed off to the local Salvation Army. I wear size 32x30 pants, so naturally I grabbed a pair of 40x26. Typically I wear a medium sized polo; I snagged an XXL. I headed off to the fitting room. The only one available had a broken mirror, no hooks, and a sign reading "Please throw all unwanted items on the floor. Thx -- Management."
I put on the polo first, it felt like I was swimming in daddy's shirt. It'll shrink. I then pull up the pants to my waist, I glance down and see my wiggling toes and a good six inches of my shin. I laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of not just these stupid pants, but my life.
"How is this funny, Harold?"
I look up. An overweight man in a light blue button-down whose threads are being put to the test by the beer belly enclosed in it.
I feel lightheaded. Like when you drive home from work and after you park in the driveway and think "Holy shit, how did I get here? Did I sleep drive?"
The menacing figure shakes his sweaty fleshy face and asks again "Huh? What's so funny?"
I start to stutter and barely get out "Heh... oh... these p-pants. So big."
"Jesus Christ, Harold. Get your shit together, finish this cart or I swear to god this is it, this is your last chance!" He swivels around, pretty light for such a large pear-shaped man, and waddles off with quick little steps past the rows of milk.
Rows of milk? Why is their milk in Salvation Army? I fully look around, taking in all 360 degrees. I'm surrounded by milk and cheese and yogurt and more milk. It's cold. I look down. My polo is tighter, and the ends of my pant legs lead to black square shoes that look like something my Uncle Fred would wear when his bunion was acting up.
I see a glimmer to my left and turn towards it; a large metal door showing my reflection. I look like I'm 5 feet tall and if someone were to describe me as a furry bowling ball, I probably wouldn't argue too much. I take a couple of steps closer to the door. I see an old man, maybe mid-late 60s, head shaped like a charcoal artist's rendition of a lumpy cantaloupe, a plumpy little torso with short stubby arms and legs.
I take on step closer to the door, noticing a name tag hanging from my left breast. I try to read it. Oh, it's backwards. Duh. I look down and flip it around. HAROLD - SALES ASSOCIATE. WAL-MART.
I look back up at the door and stammer, "Oh boy..."
"Oh boy is right! Get that cart out there and work like your life depends on it. Cause it does!" The slender figure of an older woman guides me towards a stocking cart containing a mess of cardboard boxes. She opens the glimmering metal door and shoos me out. I head down a long dark corridor, passing by pallets with towering, precariously leaning box upon box. I see a light up ahead, coming from two giant double doors.
When I get out I'm blinded by artificial light, screaming children, and that familiar sense of dread. I struggle to maintain the cart, barely getting it to go straight. It makes a loud squeaking noise which is abruptly interrupted when I ram into something. I peer around the side of the cart because I can't see over it. It's the giant pear man. This time I take in his name badge. RONALD - ASST. MGR. WAL-MART.
"Pull the cart! Don't push! Never push! You know this! Strike two!" The pear barely manages to keep from foaming.
"Sorry... Ronald." I slowly reply, making eye contact with my head tipped down in shame. He just glares at me.
I notice one of the boxes says "KRFT AMRCN CHEESE SNGL," so I head toward the cheese section I see clearly ahead of me. Pulling the cart. Wow, this is easier. Pear had a good point. I stop by the Kraft cheese slices. There's about 5 different varieties in an unfathomable selection of sizes. I go to lift the box from the cart and almost drop it. Man, I'm weak. Or, maybe Harold is weak? I remind myself of the strange dream-like world I'm actually inhabiting, but I push on.
I can't figure out how to open the box. I claw at what appears to be an opening, but my fingernails just dig into the cardboard. I feel someone watching me. I glance over and it's Ronald the pear, with the same exact glare.
I turn my back toward him so he doesn't see me struggle with the box. "C'mon box, fucking open. Open sesame." I try to claw at the box again. A small hole appears! I dig my finger into the tiny opening and try to rip across, placing my weight on one side of the box. I push harder. The box tears open and out flies 20 packages of Kraft American Cheese, spilling a good 5 feet in every direction.
"That's it!" The pear is rushing toward me.
I panic. What the hell am I even doing here? I bolt off toward the produce section. My body is not moving fast. My body? Not my body. Harold's body! That's how I got here! I tried on those old fart clothes!
Can I be thinking clearly? Am I really going to have to disrobe to be me again? As I run by the deli case, I catch another glimpse of "me." It's that short little weird body again. I look like a walking bomb-omb but without the grace.
It's now or never. I throw off the polo.
"Harold! Your shirt! Holy shit what are you doing?!" The pear shouts behind me.
No turning back now. I veer off and head for the checkout. I try to take my pants off while running and begin to lose my balance hopping along on one foot. I get one pant leg off when I completely lose balance. Just as I begin to pull the other leg off I fall to my back. I feel like an upside down turtle. Looking up while pulling the khaki pant leg left over my heel, the pear appears above me. "YOU'RE FIR..."
I'm in the fitting room again. I'm covered in sweat, but in the reflection of the busted mirror I can see that I'm me again. I quickly put my clothes back on and throw the over-sized polo and khakis into the corner of the fitting room.
I don't tell anyone what happened. I just decide to push forward. Work this job, get a steady paycheck, go back to school, get my life in order.
For my first day at Wal-Mart, I break dress code and show up in a black polo and black pants. I look like an ugly male version of Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face.
"You know you're supposed to wear navy blue and brown, right?" The trainer at orientation asks/informs me.
They guide me to the backroom, through a long walkway, overfilled with stock. We reach a large sliding door, which when the trainer opens, reveals a cold, gray, cubed room, filled with dairy products.
The trainer points ahead. "This is Sue, she'll show you around." From behind a wall of milk crates appears the slender figure of an older woman.
She offers her hand to shake and gently asks "Oh, you must be Harold's replacement?" | 2016-07-30T14:21:36 | 2016-07-30T13:59:59 | 66 | 33 |
[WP] Laws have changed. If you decide to be outside a law, that's allowed, but you're no longer protected by it. (i.e. you can legally punch anyone, but you have no legal protections from someone punching you). | I was certain I'd thought up the best one.
"Come on!" I floated by the ceiling, turning lazy flips. "Law of gravity, I'm telling you. Who hasn't wanted to fly? This one's the best."
"You're going to float into the fan," Esteban warned me flatly.
"It's off," I retorted, but pushed myself groundwards as his hand moved towards the switch.
"Look, it's a good idea, don't get me wrong." He shrugged. "Still, I'm sure I can do one better. Maybe something that doesn't require puking for an hour.'
I winced. I hadn't expected the motion sickness to hit me *quite* that hard.
"Or wearing steel boots just so I can walk outside." His brows narrowed. "You're going to need cement blocks if you ever go swimming."
"Bet I can walk on water, though." I stabilized myself on the coffee table and lounged in midair. "Well, if you're so sure you can do better, what's keeping you?"
"Still thinking." He absently shuffled the loose notes on the table in front of him. "I'm not sure i want something as dramatic as yours, honestly. But I'd like something that has a good effect, and preferably isn't something that's already been chosen."
"Right, because *that's* easy." I waved a hand and rolled my eyes. "Might was well just ask for it to fall into your lap while you're at it."
"That's... Hmm." He nibbled the end of his pencil a moment before his eyes widened. "That's it!"
"Huh?" I watched in curiosity as he scribbled something on his paper before slamming his chair back and dashing for the kitchen.
"I'll show you!"
I watched curiously as he pulled a slice of bread out of the fridge and buttered it. He held it dramatically out before him and tipped it off his hand. i watched incredulously as it turned a lazy half-flip in midair and...
Landed butter-side up?
"Got it." He smirked at me. "Murphy's Law, bitch." | “From WHYY in Philadelphia this is Fresh Air, I’m Terry Gross.
This morning we are talking with Dave Shultz author of the new historical novel, *Lawless America*. In it, Dave takes an unprecedented look at an era in American history that is well accounted for, but he approaches it in a brand new direction. As is well remembered, from 2023-2026 legislation was passed that allowed for the development of anarchistic enclaves in rural areas of the United States.
So Dave, what brought you to this project? It must have been quite the task, especially given that Kate Rawlings released her Pulitzer Prize winning account of this very same era just last year. A book aptly titled *American Massacre*.”
“Well Terry, first I’d like to thank you for having me on the show, it’s quite the honor. And to answer your question, what really brought me to this project was the less flashy side of it. As Kate so hauntingly described, those three and a half years were some of the most brutal and horrific times in American history. The development of the so called “Free Use” zones revealed the most grotesque side of our history. Rape and murder, torture, cannibalism.
Of course the justification was all rooted in the popular rise of the freedom of choice movement. That idea that the government should have absolutely no control over how you live your life, so long as all the communal effects are mutually agreed upon. That so long as an agreement was signed, the “Free Use” zones allowed for consensual brutality. Supporters claimed that despite the thousands of deaths, not a single innocent bystander was harmed.”
“So Dave, what then are you trying to reveal through your book? You were born in 2032 so unlike most of your audience, you were not there during the worst of it. Don’t have the context that so many of us remember.”
“You hit on a solid point Terry. Which is why the crux of my thesis has little bearing on the brutality. There’s really nothing new to that conversation that I can add to. Of course I provide context to everything interspersed throughout, but what I was most interested in were the “Free Use” zones that weren’t actually focused on violent crimes. And really, what I am adding and trying to prove is that the violence isn't what scared congress into repealing the law, but that the white collar crime zones poised the most real threat to society as a whole.
That’s the thing, violence is something that by its very nature can be isolated. It’s a solitary act between one person and another. What I found fascinating were the zones that focused on financial crimes. One’s steeped in ambiguity and exploiting loopholes. Where the communal harm is less tangible and the ability to contain much harder to anticipate. They were generally small and populated by well-educated bankers. But the one I focus on the most highlights a group of eight hundred extremely wealthy individuals, who holed up in a commune in Terlingua, Texas. A remote area just outside Big Bend National Park.”
“But Dave, from everything that I remember, and one of the key aspects of the initial bill stipulated that crimes such as the ones your referring to are off limits. You can’t play the stock market, can’t insider trade, etc. because they are by nature communal to everyone.”
“Yes Terry, but that doesn’t stop groups of very wealthy individuals from creating their own closed markets. Completely outside the realm of government interventions. And most horrific, well I guess it depends on your context, brilliant maybe. Well the most interesting development was the burgeoning markets developing specifically to monetize what was happening in the “Free Use” zones based on violence.
And it ran the gamut, some people formed the zones specifically to bet on who would live and die, some would develop mock stock markets highlighting the value of the ebb and flow of influence and power of violent mobs. Some even became financiers, essentially becoming warlords. But the loophole, because they were all based in this one “Free Use” zone in rural Texas, they could do whatever they wanted. And essentially what I have found was that as these wealthy individuals gained more and more authority, their sights began to rise to the level of potential secession. And that the repeal of the “free use” law was not some moral enlightenment, but simply the government trying to cover their asses. To prevent a second Civil War.”
“Holy cow Dave, that is fascinating. I definitely found it a fascinating read, and hope everyone out there gives it a chance. Once again a big thanks to Dave Shultz and his new book, *Lawless America*.”
“Thank you Terry”
“And now a word from our sponsor, Stamps.com”
-----------------------
^^If ^^you ^^liked ^^this ^^read ^^more ^^at ^^/r/squidcritic | 2016-09-30T12:34:41 | 2016-09-30T10:08:17 | 137 | 45 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T15:04:14 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 85 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T15:04:14 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 85 | 20 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 82 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 82 | 20 |
[WP] You've summoned a demon, which is really weird because all you were doing was decorating a cake and singing along to the radio. | "what the FUCK am I doing *here*?" exclaimed the demon. He had just materialised in the middle of Mrs Brocket's Home Ec class and he wasn't happy.
"language young man!" Mrs Brocket exclaimed. "Don't you know that's not how we speak in this school!".
"Young man?! YOUNG MAN?! I AM NO MAN, AND I AM 140,000 YEARS OLD! FUCK YOU, YOU OLD CRONE!"
Mrs Brocket promptly combusted as the demon flicked her with its largest tail.
Shame, I always liked Mrs Brocket, she used to let us listen to cheesey 80s hair rock whilst we cooked.
"You!" He said pointing to me.
"Er, yeah?" I replied. Knowing that this was about to get *interesting*.
"What is *that*?" the demon gestured to the worktop.
"Double chocolate lime and coconut cake. With a decoration of marzipan incantations.".
"Destroy it!" the demon ordered.
"Er, not likely dude, I made this for a reason".
The demon roared, he threw three of my classmates through a window to their deaths.
"Are you done with the tantrum? Look pal, you and I both know that those runes are a control incantation, I control you now. Stop killing people, in fact never kill another person. Or torture another person or harm, demean, degrade another person *ever*".
The demon roared again, but this was a wretched roar, a mere mewl compared to his earlier effort.
"What will you have me do?" the demon asked plaintively.
"Well, I've heard tell that you occupied the body of Jean la Feveur in 17th century Prague - is this correct?"
"I did, yes, for a time". The demon sounded confused, out of control, and exasperated.
"I want something from you then demon. I want... Jean's ground almond tart recipe." there it was, in the open, my reason for summoning this demon.
"You transgressed hell's own laws, you cracked reality between the worlds, you had four people killed, you invoked me to this human realm for a *cake recipe*?".
"Technically, you killed those four people, but yeah, I've heard tell that it was a very fine tart".
The demon regarded me for several minutes, before his next words, he seemed to be weighing up his options - I have heard that level 6-ers like him can be formidable opponents, vicious killers, deranged evil beasts.
The sky began to grow darker outside. It was night almost immediately. I heard a distant echo of what could only be hells chorus of trumpets made from the hollowed bones of the devoured, fire rolled long across the night sky, Satan himself appeared briefly as a being so corrupt, so intensely unnatural that many who saw him lost their minds instantly. Those who didn't go insane, the stronger of us, would still have nightmares about that image for the rest of our lives.
And so, the demon finally spoke.
"okay so take two eggs, a bag of fresh almonds - not dried, not powdered, fresh, from a Nicosian tree if possible....".
Long story short, that tart is *incredible*.
| I came from bad places. Every day was spent at the doorway to hell and a tiny breeze felt like heaven. I believed this to be reality, that life was about learning to deal with the darkness, and only the darkness existed. Until the sun rose, and I was crippled by the light. I tried to abandon the hell but there was no where to go and I was instead left with the horror of total emptiness.
I considered hating the light. It was the clarity that opened the door to hell and shoved me through it. Yet that light felt like the first glass of water I had ever had and I wanted more. I didn't want to close the door because I wanted what the door promised in the first place. I couldn't let go of the feeling that the door might lead to other places, better places.
To prove this to myself I started opening any doors I could find. One door led to a group of people. They intimidated me. They had their own light and that suggested many other doors to consider. I was afraid they might also lead to hell but I was determined to find the promise and dove in anyways.
Those doors opened to amazing places. Ones filled with love, understanding, possibility. I felt I had found what that first light promised and I dove right in. My life became normal, or what I thought normal might mean. I had a family and we loved each other completely. We built each other up until we were mountains of greatness and rained love on everything we touched. The emptiness was filled.
These places were a playground to find myself in. I found so many parts, and I learned how to love those parts. Every one of these discoveries increased my love for these people I had joined. Their love seemed to increase for me as well. I had found myself and I had found a family.
Years later some of these people that made up my new world succeeded in their business ventures. I was so proud of them, and more so since they opened a greenhouse and this love of plants was a thing we all shared.
I was still obsessed with the light, with the promise. I wanted MORE. I had learned that the more I give, the more light I got back. So what else to do other than throw a celebration for those that brought light to me? And a celebration needs a cake, doesn't it? And I knew by then that a thing I could do was make great food.
I turned on the tunes, a radio station we all loved. Music has this amazing way of setting the atmosphere, you know?
When the cake was cooked I got to decorating. I put a lot of care in to it, especially since I was up against the incredible artistic talent of these wonderful doors. It clearly needed to be plant themed but I knew it wouldn't be enough to simply draw a tree. I had to get clever with it. I decided to go with an abstract thing as a way to recognize what they started and pay honor to our collective love of the potential of the universe. For some reason I decided to go with a forest [made out of sumerian symbols](https://imgur.com/a/SWhdK).
As I finished one of my favorite songs came on. [It felt really fitting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IddDWBpkzYg).The incredibly domestic action of making a cake for those you love was the death of the door to hell while the song felt like all our interests rolled together. Acceptance, considering bigger things, moving on to other things, honoring the past. I was so inspired that I added the universe unicorn we all tended to include in bits of art, we all love laughs after all.
Partway through the song I thought I saw the shadow of a raven pass over my kitchen. I thought I was probably imagining things. How would a raven be in my home?
As I finished the unicorn the song ended and this really boring track came on. I looked up from the cake and was ready to change the station. I was surprised to see a man standing across the counter from me. I was ready to run and call for help, but then the man spoke.
"You have been through the fires of hell, and you have chosen light. You have focused that light on understanding the universe and the living things within it. And yet you still feel that emptiness, you still seek to find the right door. I will open that door for you, all that is required from you is confirming that opening this door means more to you than all you have now, and all you have ever had."
The truth of his words hit me like an avalanche. There was nothing honest I could say other than "that door is everything."
So he opened the door. I felt myself changing. When the agony was over I looked down and saw I had the body of an owl, but elongated and distorted. I felt myself falling but was caught by my plant and lowered to my favorite stone. I felt empty, and blinked in confusion for what felt like an eternity.
And then I felt more full than I ever have. My purpose became clear and everything else faded away. I saw the man smile, and then he melted away. It was just me. And a cake and a plant. I smiled and squeezed the plant's life in to the cake.
And later, when this cake stopped the heart of everyone I held dear, I smiled again. How sweet it is to be able to smile. The door was open, and I was all I was meant to be. When I embraced this my father came to me again. Of all the great gifts he gave me, one was his name. Stolas is my savior, the one who helped me be who I was always meant to be and the only one to recognize my greatness and show me hell is the brightest door of all.
| 2017-11-13T00:52:48 | 2017-11-12T22:31:00 | 3,443 | 446 |
[WP] You are a scientist who discovers that souls do exist. You also find out that humans are the only animals that do not have them. | Of course we had always known this, this was why our race had stayed with them for so long. But now the terrible secret was out. The race we had worked so hard to protect in the hope that someday.....
Sigh. All I can do is rest my head in his lap and gaze up at him, silently communicating how much I love him. He looks down at me. I can see the haunted look in his eyes and it breaks my heart. “C’mon girl” he whispers. “Let’s find your lead and go for a walk”.
My tail lifts and starts wagging of its own accord. Maybe there’s hope after all. | The discovery was troubling, to say the least. The data analysis was inconclusive in regards to the possession of the soul in humans even from the very beginning. We began by studying the seven chakras of the human body, the elusive kundalini awakening, the concept of the third eye. Thousands upon thousands of interviews with monks who had dedicated their lives to meditation, priests and rabbis who had dedicated their lives to their faith. We talked to humanitarians, politicians and human rights activists. We studied their biochemistry in painstaking detail and compared their data alongside that of sociopaths, criminals and atheists. We spoke to as many people as we could from all around the world representing different aspects of humanity. We had a top secret device in place for the majority of the research which measured levels of Azutamifana within the chest cavity, which was an elusive substance somewhere between a liquid and a gas thought to indicate the presence of a spirit living inside the body. We conducted experiments on insects, mammals, reptiles, birds. We even carried out analysis on herbs and minerals to achieve as wide a picture as possible.
What we learned very quickly was that there was no presence of Azutamifana in any human recorded in the study, dead or alive. But there was an abundance found in every other species of living creature that we analysed. The data concluded that the soul exists, but humans don’t have them.
But the research wasn’t over. Although the findings had caused existential despair in many of the research scientists on board the experiment, it still wasn’t public. We had to find out what the spirit was and what it represented, if anything. There was still too much uncertainty around the results to jump to conclusions, although it was hard not to.
There was still a lot to be learned about Azutamifana and exactly what it was and why it formed. None of the research scientists who worked on the original study had any involvement in this. Most of us took a long period of absence to cope with the concerning discovery. Many took their own lives.
It was a few years later when a conclusive analysis on the substance came about. It became known that Azutamifana formed out of a concept referred to simply as ‘the automatic’, where the purpose of the creature’s existence is purely to benefit the planet, with self-interest as nothing but an instinctual method of protection. In all living creatures, there is no excess, no treachery or greed. There is only necessity. There is a natural cycle that is fulfilled, like pieces of a puzzle. There is balance. In humans, this balance doesn’t exist. Our purpose represents the antithesis of every other living creature in the world; we exist only in the interest of our planet’s destruction. We try to hide it from each other through words and concepts, but deception is an easy task when all of us subconsciously choose to be deceived. And nonetheless, all we do as humans, and all we have ever done, is destroy.
Therefore, the spirits that reside in the creatures of Earth will live forever through the abundance of nature, and human matter will rot into the ground and be consumed by the very earth we tried to extinguish while we were alive. | 2018-01-27T08:09:44 | 2018-01-27T05:05:36 | 77 | 19 |
[WP] The doctor gave you six months. You lived through it, one year has passed. Not surprised, he then gave you one year; after that time you are still alive. You're starting to think he's actually GIVING you time to live, instead of making predictions. | I stare at the young man before me and try to control the tone of my voice. "I'm afraid it isn't the news that we hoped for. There are still signs of the cancer."
He forces a smile, always putting on a brave face. "What does this mean doc? More chemo?"
"I'm afraid that's not an option, you're already too weak. We'd be putting you at greater risk for a nominal chance of success."
"Ok, so now what?"
"Now it is just a question of time."
There's that look. The one I see every day. The realization that all hope is lost. I wish I could tell him it will all be ok, but I can't. Instead it will require a miracle. I don't get to take credit. That's not how this works.
"How long do I have doc?"
I reach out and touch his hand. "Right now, let's say six months. Come and see me again in three months and we will see where you're at. I might be able to give you more time then, depending on your condition."
He just nods. No screaming, no blaming, just acceptance. I wish I could give him more time, but there are rules to follow. I need to see how he copes. Some people go the other way with only months to live, drugs, crime, debt. I have a good feeling though. Survival needs a positive attitude. If he's still like this in three months then I can give him more time. He certainly deserves it.
He gets up to leave and holds out his hand. "Thanks doc. For everything."
I hold back the tears as I shake it, his grip already feeling a little stronger.
As soon as he leaves I slump into my chair. I'm so drained right now. It has been a long day. I need a boost, something to get me back on my feet. I check my schedule for tomorrow. It is full. So many people to help. If only I had more time.
I get in my car and drive to my next appointment. I stand at the large foreboding gates while they buzz me in. The guard nods, "Hey doc. Back again so soon?"
"What can I say Jenkins, I can't get enough of this place."
They lead me through to the infirmary and wait outside the door. The prisoner is already there, chained to the bed. He snarls at me. "Are you the guy? The other prisoners have told me you can give me something to make all this go away. To end my life quietly."
"I don't know what you mean. It would be illegal for me to give you something to end your life. You are serving time, there is no easy way out."
He grabs me and I smile. They always grab me. Makes it so much easier. I can feel the time flowing, topping up my reserves. He senses it too and he lets go, startled. Then he sees my smile and he understands. He holds out his hand and I take it, draining what is left. He says, "How long?"
"I'll leave a couple of months. It can't be too soon, or they will suspect something."
He just nods, all fight gone now. He says, "What will you do with it?"
"I'll give it to someone that needs it."
He smiles softly, finally at peace. "Take as much as you can. I'll get into a fight tomorrow, make sure it's my last. Don't waste two months."
I nod. "Thank you for your donation." | "It's been a year and look at me. I feel just fine. like... like I was never sick or something. What is going on?" I asked with a little bit of accusing tone.
It was exactly one and a half year ago when I collapsed on the ground with a sharp pain in my chest. I thought it was a heart attack and my life was going to end right then. We all thought so.
But I lived. An angel like nurse was the first person I saw when I woke up and the doctor told me I have a heart condition, something about irregular heartbeat, weak pulse and so on. To be honest, everything just went sort of blur after hearing that I had six more months of time here.
'My family'
That was the first thought that came to my mind. Six more months. That means I won't be able to take my son fishing like I promised him. That means I won't be able to attend my daughter's piano recital. That means my wife will probably have to cancel the reservation for anniversary. Only God knows the pain of leaving family behind. Maybe it would had been better if everything ended right there then waiting this death with them. A game that I can never win.
I decided not to tell my family. Not yet at least. I didn't want to break down crying in front of them. I don't want them to remember me as someone in sorrow and pain.
I never got brave enough to tell them...
Fortunately death didn't come for me after six months. In fact, I have been told my condition has improved slightly and I can expect my heart to last one more year. I've been visiting my doctor every months and every time, he asks me rather unusual questions such as "Where did you go fishing? caught anything good?" "Are you excited about your daughter's piano recital? what song is she going to play?" "Where did you make reservation for your anniversary? How was the food there?" I mean, I have never been told I was going to die before so I just assume he is preparing me mentally for my inevitable death.
However, I am not going to put up with this anymore. Every time I visit, he just asks me about my daily life and no check\-up or treatment. Not even a pill for god's sake! It was as if we are two buddies just catching up. No. Today I am going to find out what is happening to my body.
"Every time I visit, you just ask me few questions and that's it. I need to know the progress doc. I mean, am I getting better or are you gonna make another prediction here?"
He took his eyes off from my chart and looked at me. I never noticed he has such a blue eyes.
"Well, we can measure your pulse again if you want but at this stage, there really isn't much we can do you know"
"No, don't give me that again. You have used all doctor cliche. 'this pill is working exceptionally well for you!' 'Glad to hear you are exercising, I'm sure that played a role' 'well, we doctors don't know everything you know. we are just humans under white gowns.' You have officially used all of them so, please, just tell me what is going on with my body" I asked eagerly.
"Alright John, just one last question for you then. How are you doing?" he asked sincerely.
"I... I am great doc. When you first told me I had six months to live, I honestly thought maybe it would be better to end things then. I think I was too devastated by things I didn't and couldn't do. But after six months, I was given another year and I realized it wasn't too late to do them now. I spent glorious time with my family, finally finished my painting, apologized to my sister and you know, general appreciation for everything. I still haven't told my family but I think it's better this way. If I told them, I would had been forced to spend all those time attached to machine or something"
"I'm really happy to hear that John." He said with a warm smile.
"So, tell me doc. How is my heart holding on?"
"Would you say... that you have no regret now...?" He ignored my question completely. I thought about it for few seconds and answered.
"No. No regrets. Not anymore"
"Alright John. Let me tell you what really happened then" If this was movie, a sudden suspenseful background music must have started right about now.
"What? what is it doc?" I leaned in. I didn't even intend to do that.
"Your heart... it stopped 18 months ago"
"Yea... it's called heart attack..?" I said sarcastically.
"No, not a heart attack. A death. You died there John." He ignored my tone and continued.
"And you brought it back remember?"
"I did. But I am not a doctor."
I paused.
Wouldn't you?
"What? Did you just say you are not a doctor? What's going on here?"
"I brought you back to life so you would... let's say 'do more stuff' here"
I didn't know what to say. Well, actually, I did know what I wanted to say but I couldn't. Is my D.O.C trying to tell me that he is actually G.O.D?
"When you came back after six months, you told me there were still few things you were looking forward to. I wasn't supposed to but I gave you one more year. A time that I thought was enough for you to have no regret. And I was... very happy to see you were doing just that"'
I wanted to call his bluff but something happened. We were not sitting in his office anymore. In a blink of an eye, I was sitting in a white room. And my doctor, he was not a doctor anymore. He is... indescribable...
Then something else happened. Rather than tell me, he showed me. All my memory of last 18 months rushed back to me in a nanosecond. Suddenly, I remembered and felt everything all at once. And a familiar warm voice came to me.
"Are you ready John?"
I nodded. | 2018-05-31T04:54:12 | 2018-05-31T01:40:47 | 2,952 | 500 |
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family. | How do you feel son?
Hungry.... can I have pizza mommy?
Where’s spot? I miss him
“I would give anything to trade places , im so sorry.”
I said it and I meant it. But it meant nothing.
They walked away broken , changed and full of hate. I did this to them. I took their son. And that was that .
I was sober when I hit him so I faced no criminal charges. Although I often wish I had. I deserved to pay for their suffering , i deserved something.
Three months later they were at my door. They looked hopeful. I was a combination of scared and confused.
We found a way, they said. We found a man who can bring him back. We’ll gladly pay what he asks but he needs a host.remember when you said you’d trade places if you could?
The man they found was dressed in a dark robe as he chanted over me in my living room. I didn’t understand what he was saying it sounded like gibberish. I was scared beyond words. I was ready for what was about to happen but scared non the less. He ask the family to step outside he need privacy for the spell to work. They obliged.
The man pulls a small bottle from under his robe and ask me to drink. I do. After a few moments I become numb. After a few more I’m completely paralyzed. He leans in , he whispers in my ear
What I gave you will wear of in about an hour. At that point you have two choices , you could tell them I’m a scam artist and break their hearts again . I don’t care by that time I’ll be long gone. Or .... your favorite food is pizza. Your dogs name is spot . You’re five , they can’t quiz you on much
| To them it had seemed like the lingest of Shots, but to me... well I was trying to work up the courage to go see them again.they were here. They were asking. I was nodding my head.
I had taken a life. I didn't mean to. It was my first day on the road...
I hated myself. And yet I couldn't bring myself to end it. Or go outside anymore. Or talk to anyone. Or deal with this in any meaningful way. The only thing I could do was sit in my room and try and drown it out with T.V.
Then a news broadcast said to me "A Life for a Life. Medical science has fugured out how to bring people back from the dead."
They couldn't have died from old age, and to bring someone back it took a life...
"One more day." Was my response. And I took that one more day. I enjoyed life. I did what I'd always wanted to do. For one more day...
But now, the time had come. The "Philosopher's Stone" Surgery. Strapped to rhe chair, body impailed, machines doing... whatever they did, I felt myself ebb away, my existance, like my breathing, slowly coming to a halt...
I woke up in a room. It was a waiting room, like the one I had ocupied in the hospital. Was it a dream? Was I... The little boy I had run over 3 weeks ago sat across from me.
"Hi Mister."
"Hey Kid. I..."
"The Angels said I had to wait here. Do you know why?"
The kid didn't even recognize me... He didn't know.
"I think I do... It wasn't your time to go yet, and you're here because of me... so..."
He looked expectantly, as if awaiting some end to the tale.
"I came here to take you back to your parents... but I can't go back. Only you can... I made a mistake, and now I have to..."
"You have to face the Con-Cen-Quences!" He said, trying to sound out the last words slowly. "Because you did a bad thing!"
"Yeah, kid, I did." I put on a false smile. At least he got some of it... "Anyway, you're going back. Your mom and dad have missed you..." I stood up and took the boy by the hand, guiding him to where I knew he would be: My Operating room.
His body sat in the chair, lufeless and limp, but somehow no longer broken. I didn't busy myself with the details. I just told him to sit in the chair. "The Nurse and Doctor will be in soon to wake you up... this... is goodbye." It was goodbye to everyone, not just him.
"Mister?"
"Yeah kid?"
"Whatever you did, I forgive you."
Aaaaaand that was it. My body trembeling, I staggered out of the room. The parents rushed through me into the room, past my incoporeal body. I sank down, hugging my knees and sobbing. I couldn't move for minutes after that. He DIDN'T EVEN KNOW! For a solid half hour, I just laid there, sobbing on the cold hard hospital floor, because not only was I now dead, leaving behind nothing, but the kid actually thought I was enough of a person worth forgiving. "I'm not a person!" My 3 week old, or possibly longer, festering depression hit me all at once. "I'm worthless! I'm trash! I am not worth that kid's life! I am just a fucking--" "You are worth enough to trade for that child..." I looked up, and above me stood the doctor, now repeate with little angel wings. "The thing about this procedure is that it is a form of celestial Alchemy. Only a good man can bring back a good man, where as souls laiden with sin can only be used to bring back thouse either in Hell or Purgatory. So, wither that child was a monster, or you are worth his soul... and seeing as you did this because you felt true Guilt, I'd say ot was the latter... now... shall we see where you go next?"
He held out his hand, and when I reached out to take it... | 2018-09-16T20:33:29 | 2018-09-16T18:45:07 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | I had thought Mary was the one. I'd hidden my wealth and lived a modest lifestyle for a few years before she found me. I had thought it was real. It had felt real. She held me when I cried when the dog died. I told her about the wealth a few months before the wedding. She didn't seem to care.
The months turned to years and years to decades. We had our rough patches. It's funny, I've had so many relationships before you would think I'd be good at them. I think I am, now.
The murder attempts didn't start until her mid sixties. They were cute. She tried so hard to make them look like accidents. The brake cables on the car, the electrical fire in my lodge. The SCUBA accident.
I ignored them, until she really hurt me. Stabbed me in the back. Literally. I think it was the betrayal that really got to me. I had thought she'd loved me. I thought about these last few decades and then pushed my way into the room. She sat on the edge of the couch, crocodile tears streaming down her face.
Despite my resolve the sight of her moved me. She had always been pretty, but the years had turned the looks of her youth into the beauty of age. Her makeup was done impeccably where the tears hadn't ruined it. She wore her mother's necklace, a small cross set with diamonds. She'd worn it on our wedding day. I hardened my heart.
"All these years and now you're after the money?" I asked, accusing. "And yet you've tried again and again to kill me. I have news, Mary. I knew about it. I knew about all of them. And they all failed. Do you know why?"
"Yes." She said. I was surprised. "Yes, I know why."
"I'm immortal." I said, off my guard. "You can't kill me. You won't get the money."
She stood up and faced me, the trickle of tears had turned to a flood, and her anger washed over me like a storm. "Don't you get it? I don't want the money! I never wanted the money! Is that what you think of me? After all this time? That I was just some whore you could buy? All this time, listen to me." She sniffed back a wad of snot and laughed. She continued bitterly "Forty three years? Most of my life. A weekend fling for you."
I had no idea what to say, so asked the only question I could think of as she slowly melted back down the the couch. Her fist over her mouth. "Then why? What do you want?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears really flowed. "You're an idiot. Isn't it obvious?" I shook my head but said nothing. She hadn't seen the gesture. The rage had gone when she spoke again, barely soft enough to hear. "I want you. That's all I want."
"So you tried to kill me? I don't understand."
Her anger returned, flashing in her emerald eyes. "I'm going to die. Don't you understand that? I. Am. Going. To. Die. And you won't!" She shouted it like an accusation. She clutched her necklace and a sob wracked her
"When dad died mom said that she would see him again in heaven. She talked about it. She looked forward to it. She died with a smile. And I can't... I can't bear the thought of eternity without you. I had to try. I'm so sorry, but I at least had to try." | Standing in front of the large ornate mirror, he examined himself. His skin was clear and surprisingly tight for a man looking to be fifty. His hair was salt and pepper gray but the pepper was now overpowering the salt like a poorly spiced soup. He placed a hand on his cheek and began pulling it around, exposing the sockets that two gray eyes sat in. His eyes looked like they once shown as bright as a sun, but now the sun was on vacation far nicer than an old man’s eyes.
“Everything looks good.” He said aloud to the empty bathroom. “Might want to add more gray to the hair dye, I’m not getting any younger!”
As he examines himself, he began to cough. At first it was a gentle tickle. It reminded him of the time he cleaned out his seventh son’s dusty attic after he passed away at the ripe old age of 97. Then it grew into a heavier cough as if his body was trying to expel a rather nasty hair ball. Without any foreplay, the cough quickly grew into a whooping, wheezing, beast of a thing. The man opened his jaw wide and with force of a pressure washer, gallons of blood sprayed out of him, coating the lovely restaurant bathroom.
It was an unsightly mess. The bathroom now looking like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino film. Miraculously, no red stains got on his slightly less red jacket and white collared shirt. He wiped away the little dribble of blood that remained from his lip and spoke to his reflection.
“Looks like Rachel is trying to kill you again. You certainly married a fiery one! God, I love her.”
Unwavering, he placed an open palm on the mirror. The blood caking the bathroom began to recede towards his hand. There was an awful slurping sound like a child desperately trying to get the last bit of frozen goodness out of their Big Gulp that filled the room. He could only imagine what all of this must have sounded like to whoever was waiting to use the little boy’s room next. Within a few moments, he had drank up all the blood. The bathroom was even cleaner than when he came in.
“Leave no place worse than you found it.” He said fixing his hair. “Time to get back to my lady love.”
He left the bathroom whistling Frank Sinatra’s “Luck Be A Lady” while recalling the many drinks he shared with the artist. The young boy waiting outside the bathroom hesitantly opened the door afraid of what may wait on the other side.
“Honey, I don’t feel so great.” Rachel told her husband. “I’m going to run a bath and take some me time. Good night sweet heart.”
She kissed him on the cheek and went upstairs. Before they had arrived home, their trusty butler, Jeeves, was already awaiting their return. As Rachel ascended the stairs, Jeeves pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped the side of his master's neck.
“An interesting placeto find blood.” Jeeves said. “Especially when there’s not a single scratch on you.”
Rachel could hear Jeeves as she ascended the elegant, spiraling stairwell. The mention of blood on her husbands neck didn’t phase her at all. Truly, any mortal concern for her husbands well being was extinguished from her mind years prior after her first attempt. She continued to the bedroom without pause, closing the door as she entered. Her husband watched, utterly enchanted, until she was out of sight. He began to make his wag towards the study. His loyal butler and confident following close behind.
“She tried to kill you again, didn’t she?” Jeeves said. “What was the method of bed machinations this evening?”
“Poison it seems, I’m sure we can check my blood to find out for certain but what’s the point? I’m rather impressed this time. She remained calm and conversational throughout all of dinner. I didn’t even notice her touch my plate or wine! Maybe she got the wait staff in it. She’s really becoming quite ingenuitive.”
“Yes sir, your wife is a very impressive murderer but-“
“Hey, don’t call the love of my undying life a murdered”
“Attempted murderer?”
“Yes, that’s accurate.”
“Sir, we should then discuss the issue that we are living under the same roof as an attempted murderer.”
“That’s nothing of concern. She won’t be able to murder me no matter what way she tries. I’ve tried it all, I would know!”
“Yes, but sir, she can murder me!”
“Well, Jeeves, that’s utterly ridiculous. She doesn’t want to murder you.”
His nonchalant attitude about all of this did not help to put Jeeves at ease. If anything it just made him more nervous knowing he was the only one looking out for his own well being.
He sat down at his large mahogany desk. It was the only thing in his home older that held seniority over him. In the top right drawer sat an impressively large tome that contained a record of every attempt on his life, half of them originating from himself. Next to each of these entries, he recorded on a scale of 1-10 how close the attempt had come to ending his life. Every entry in the book was labeled with a big fat 0.
As he pulled the drawer open to record tonight’s attempt, he heard an unfamiliar click. With inhuman speed, he dove on top of Jeeves, knocking both of them to the floor. Shrapnel penetrated his back in a hundred places. Red fluid shot and spilled out of his back looking like what an overly energetic child might make in art class. His red jacket had been ruined. This all upset him very slightly. It was, after all, his favorite jacket. Beneath the weight of his master's body, Jeeves weakly spoke.
“See sir, that time she really was almost a murderer.” | 2019-07-31T09:43:04 | 2019-07-31T09:24:57 | 75 | 52 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | When I got the text, I didn't have to think about it very long - I had just been lying in bed, playing Ashphalt on my PHONE. 'Yeah, sure,' I reply, thinking nothing of it. Jeff always sends me this shit.
As I put my phone back down and close my eyes I feel a wave of nausea hit, then pass, leaving behind a lingering whiff of burnt rubber and exhaust. I hear a voice, over my.... headset?
"To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
My eyes snap open. I'm in a garage, a frankly unfathomable number of performance cars arrayed before me, like the private caryard of a middle eastern prince. Gaudy paint jobs contrasted with sleek carbon fibre and there was high tempo pop-rock coming from.... somewhere? On the wall there were pictures of cars with post-its attached - 1/45, 23/25, 11/100 - records of my progress to yet more sets of wheels.
My crew chief saunters up. "Next race is in 5, boss. European circuit. Choose between the Audi, the Porche or the VW." I look at him, hard. "The Porche, man, always the Porche" "Sure, boss? She's almost out of fuel and you might want her for the next run - competition will be hot and it's a 90 minute job to fill her up again" "Alright, then, warm up the Audi, but make sure you upgrade her nitro, she fell behind last time"
I start to wonder - what's my "winning condition"? One race? A season? A full circuit? I might be here a long time... But at least I'll come away with a lot of cash!
The Chief comes back. "Alright boss, Audi's on the starting line, get out there." I head out and strap in. I start the engine and give her a few test revs. The lights strobe.
3
2
1
GO!!!
Aaaaaaaand I stall it. Shit. I can't drive a fucking manual. | I do not remember anymore for how long I've wandered the fog. I remember how it started, I know where I am headed, and I remember every little detail of everything I did since the time I replied yes to a innocuous text message.
This would have been smarter to never answer, or to play a game of something nice before answering. But I guess I'm not a smart man.
See, the message asked if I could survive the last video game I played. Being a little bit of a smart ass, as you cannot die in the game, I answered by the affirmative. Right after that, fog started to engulf the room in which I was and rather than sitting down in front of my computer, I was now in front of a campfire.
The first thing I did, I must admit, is panicking. Anyone in my situation would have done the same. Especially since I knew exactly the game I was in. Ho yeah, I knew back then that I was going to survive. I already knew that death was not an escape.
And ever since, I travel the fog, and each time you wander, your fate is similar.
First, you find a campfire, and you know you are safe for a while. You discuss with some other unfortunates victims, share some stories about your life and, for a little time, you know hope.
Then, the fog becomes thicker and you get up. The scenery changed, shadows and crows begin to form and somewhere within this enclosed place you're finding yourself in... someone is trying to kill you. Sacrificial hooks can be seen and you know they will pierce through your shoulders soon enough.
So you roll up your sleeves and start looking for generators. Generators that will power a switch to open the exit. And if you manage to escape, the result will be the same as if you slowly dies at the hand of the... thing... that haunts the fog, the entity that created this place. You'll find yourself at the campfire, until the campfire is no more. Until the next time a killer is there and the next time you're sent to die
Time after time, death after death, hope starts to fade away, you start to see things from another angle. There is no point trying to escape and slowly but surely, emotions and sensations start to fade. I stopped running, didn't even care about escaping. I ratted out other victims to the murderer and went on about my day. There was no point to this. I was here for eternity.
I don't really know when I first saw the campfire from a new point of view. I had escaped, by letting all other die in my stead, and I was somehow happy about it. Not that I escaped, but that they died, that I took part in it. And the campfire was far away for once. The fog was still here, but I could see much farther through it. Around the campfire, I could see people discussing but I couldn't reach them. The faster I walked in their directions, the more distance was created between me and them. I understood then, that I was no longer one of them.
The next time I would be wandering the fog, I would be catching them, slicing through them, putting them on hook and see them writhe and scream while the entity would tear at their flesh. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt something. Anticipation. I was genuinely happy about it...
It took me some time, to get used to this new role. My old companions weren't going to let themselves die easily. They were way more resilient than I used to be, but that was no longer what I needed to be. I became relentless, always on the chase, always on the lookout for a new victim... a new offering.
I still remember the first time I managed to kill them all, all those presents, one after the other. I got to see their eyes lose all life right in front of me, I could feel their last breath as blood entered their lungs. It brought joy to the entity, a delight so pure even I could feel it. And do you know what happened next ?
The fog lifted. I was once again in what used to be my room, in a now abandoned building. And I bet you understand why I'm here, right? You asked me a question, twenty five years ago, if I could survive the last video game I played. Guess what, I did.
You'll be happy to know that you will not go through what I went through. You will not wake up to find out you're going to be murdered once more, you will not suffer thousand of deaths at my hand. No, I can promise this to you...
You will be dead by daylight. | 2020-02-17T00:31:53 | 2020-02-17T00:26:12 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The Satanic ritual you performed to summon your soulmate worked! Only thing is, the person you summoned isn’t your recently deceased spouse. In fact, you don’t even have the slightest clue who they are. | The ritual completed, I stared at the middle of the circle. I imagined that Lucy would appear in the middle instantly, like turning on the TV. Instead, nothing happened for a few seconds. It hadn't worked? I felt the crushing grief wash over me again and put my head in my hands.
Eyes covered, I became aware of a change in the room. It wasn't anything I could my finger on, but something definitely shifted. I looked back in the circle. Slowly, as though she was being drawn by a giant, invisible artist, someone was appearing. She was curled on her side in the fetal position, the bumps of her spine visible under her lily white skin. Long blonde hair spread out over the floor. I stared as she materialised.
When she was there, fully there, I wanted to run over and take her up in my arms, but the ritual had been clear, she must wake up on her own. Impatient, I stared. And that was my first indication that something was wrong. On the woman's hip was a curled flower tattoo. Lucy didn't have any tattoos.
I pushed it out of my mind. There must be an explanation. This was dark magic, everything happened for a reason.
But when the girl slowly sat up and looked around, I realised that things had gone horrifically wrong. The face that looked back at my own was not my beautiful, 56 year old wife. This was a girl in her early twenties, beautiful, yes, stunning in fact, but not my Lucy. Her hair was longer, fluffy and parted straight down the middle. My mouth opened slightly.
She started speaking when she saw me - groggy and slow, so it took me a few seconds to realise that she wasn't speaking English. It was Swedish. I recognised it from the year I had lived there back in 1977. I was doing my degree in comparative literature and was offered a year abroad. I wanted France, but got allocated Sweden. My friend, a real hippy, told me it must be fate - there was a reason for me to go out there. Nothing out of the ordinary happened though, and I assumed he was wrong.
"Sorry," I spoke softly to the girl. "I don't remember much Swedish. Do you speak English?"
I repeated, in broken Swedish - sorry, no Swedish... English?
"Where am I?" She asked me, now in English. "I was in the car..."
"You're in England, Basingstoke to be exact..." I answered.
"I have never been to England, I should be in Sweden. Where is Michael?"
"I don't know who that is."
"He was driving, he was going too fast. I told him to stop or to slow, but he never listens. Too fast. There was a noise... We flew."
I listened to her story.
"We flew and..." She gasped, one hand going to her stomach and one to her head. "We went off the edge, there was glass and, so much red. I couldn't breathe, the smoke was in my throat."
She started to sob. I reached up to the pile of freshly tumble dried washing - silently thanking Lucy for insisting we used the basement as a laundry room - and edged over to her, wrapping her in the blanket.
"Hey, it's okay. We'll work out what's going on."
She leaned into me, shaking as she cried. I tried to work out what was going on. How did my soulmate summoning bring some random Swedish girl to my basement?
"What's your name?" I asked her.
"Eva Nilsson."
The name was familiar. Why? It echoed somewhere in the back of my mind... Like a character in a book I'd read long ago.
"I'm John Peters," I replied. "You know, Sweden is beautiful. I studied there for a year when I was younger. Comparative literature at the University in Stockholm."
The girl blinked away some tears and looked up at me.
"Really? That's the course I'm on!"
"Yeah? I wonder if it's similar to back in '77."
Her face turned to one of confusion.
"1977?"
"Yes, that's when I was there. I know, I'm ancient. I tho-"
She interrupted me.
"That's next year."
That's when Eva's name came back to me. A girl who was meant to be in my class that year in Sweden, someone who was friends with a number of the students in my group, but had died in a car accident the summer before I went there. I remembered that one girl who smiled sadly at me after I talked her ear off about some author I loved. I remembered what she said.
"You'd have loved Eva." | God (and/or Devil) were cruel when last year he buried my wife Tara under a tonne of bricks in a freak collision with a dump truck.
Today, Their cruelty reached new heights.
“Well, this---” I say, staring at the half-naked woman with bloodshot eyes standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of the pentagram I drew on the floor of my kitchen.
“---sucks,” she says, spreading her leathery bat wings.
*Codex Demonicon* said that there’s less than 0.000001% chance the summoning spell misfires. It didn’t say that it’d summon a sexy demon when it happens.
She glances at her outfit --- red high heel boots and a burgundy bikini that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Her long rat-like tail with arrowhead-shaped tip curls into a question mark behind her.
“Boys,” she whispers rolling her eyes.
Yeah, she is *that* hot. Objectively, she is. Like a bikini model on a cover of a fitness magazine. Plus two tiny horns poking out from her forehead and an angry snarl. But with a beautiful long curly black hair that cascades down her shoulders across the collarbone, and chest. And she smells perfect, like cinnamon incense sticks.
But, whoever this sexy lady is, she’s not Tara. My wife and the love of my life is still dead. A wrong person answered my call.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare at you.” I say, looking away. “Erm… If you want something to drink, glasses are in the kitchen cabinet above the sink.”
“How did you---? Oh, I’m dying for a cold drink! Hell is so hot!” She smiles and extends her arm toward the cabinet. She freezes before her clawed hand reaches the cabinet’s handle. She scratches her head, an ugly frown returning to her face. “Wait! No, no, no! This is wrong! *So wrong.*“ She steps forward, her hips swaying in a really distracting way as she opens her mouth and licks her cherry red lips. “Ewww!” She says. “What the flying fuck? Who are you?”
“Mike,” I say. “Who are you?”
“Do you want to fuck me?” She swings her hips and shakes shoulders.
I blink, invulnerably focusing on the moving parts then eying her top to bottom, and then my eyes dart between my groins and her chest.
Hmm...
“No. Hell no!” I say, rubbing my chin. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry…” I interlock my fingers behind my back, snapping out of the weird state I was just in. “That was not me. Dunno what happened. I didn’t mean to rub my chin like a creep. Also, what did you say?”
She nods as if confused. “Nothing. That’s fine. If you think you were creepy, then you should have seen what Tiger W--- Doesn’t matter. The thing’s that I don’t want to have sex with you either.” She shrugs, shaking her head and then shoulders. She pauses. “Hmmm…. But I *feel* you, Mike. I feel *you* very strongly.”
“You *feel* me? What do you mean?” I point to the cabinet behind her. She gives me the thumbs up as she opens the cabinet door and takes out two glasses.
“I don’t know. It’s a fuzzy and warm feeling I have for you. Hard to explain. Not like the usual. I mean, I don’t want to dig my claws deep into your chest or rip your head off while we’re doing you-know-what. More like, I want to just hang out with you. Watch Netflix or something. I *feel* as if I’ve known you forever and you're my best buddy. Does it makes sense to you?”
I nod. “Yeah. I kinda had the same feeling ever since I’ve seen you for the first time.” I shake my head. Where did that come from? I turn and open the fridge door. “Ermm, fat-free, right? For some reason, I don’t think you’re the whole milk type. But it whole milk is what you want...”
“I’d love a cup of cold milk! Much better than water. Fat-free sounds good,” she says, glasses clinking as she puts them on the countertop. “Although, you know that fat-free milk is actually not fat free?”
“No more than 0.2% milk fat,” we say in unison after which she whispers, "This is weird."
I turn, chuckling, and holding a plastic one-gallon milk bottle. “Seriously, it’s like you can read my mind.”
“I know, right. As if we’re---” she points at me.
“---two peas in a pod.” I finish her thought.
“Soulmates.” She winks at me. A tiny friendly smile slides across her face as I pour the milk in our glasses. “Oh, and please tell me that you have Ovaltine.”
“In the cabinet above the toaster.”
She walks across the room, her tail wagging happily behind her.
“Oh, Dark Lord! You have chocolate malt kind!” She grabs the orange container. “Fuck yeah, love this one! It’s been centuries since I’ve had it. Do you know that Bill Clinton likes classic malt more?”
“Oh God, that thing is---”
“--- pure poison, right? I know! That’s what I told him, but he didn’t listen. And then he got caught. Not with me, but still.” She shrugs and then makes a small circular motion with the tip of her tail.
“Oh, the spoons... They’re in the drawer left of the dishwasher. Hey, by the way, are you cold? Your tail is covered in goosebumps. Makes me feel chilly just by looking at it.”
“Mmm…” she says, stirring the Ovaltine in her glass. “You were looking at my tail, Mike.”
I roll my eyes. “In. A. Friendly. Way. *As you know.* Seriously, I'm sorry for being rude earlier. Hey, if you want, I still have some old clothes upstairs that Tara---”
Slowly, she nods as she sips her drink, her glass gripped tightly by her clawed hands.
Fuck.
I glance at the clock on the microwave oven. It’s 10:26 pm. It took me fifteen minutes to forget the love of my life.
Of course, it did.
I chuckle as I press the cold glass against my lips.
“It's sweet, isn't it?” I say, licking Ovaltine off of my lips. Slowly, I lower the glass on the counter. "You're a Succubus, aren't you?"
She nods. “Victory is always sweet, Mike. FYI, you are the first guy I ever met whom I seduced by brainfucking without fucking. You'd never have sex with me, and for that, you should be proud of yourself. But, as you’ve said, They are cruel. And for some reason, They really don't like you and They want you to die." She crackles her knuckles. "I'm sorry, Mike, but this is how you die... At least you’ll get to see Tara again.”
She lunges at me.
&#x200B;
/r/ZwhoWrites | 2020-05-31T01:04:45 | 2020-05-30T20:36:24 | 347 | 65 |
[WP] In an apocalyptic world, the last of humanity live in controlled, supposed paradise cities surrounded by towering walls; taught that the world outside died to wasteland centuries ago. You’re a smuggler, helping people escape the wall into the world beyond. | Today is their only chance to escape, and I can see in the tension in their shoulders that they all know it. Every year, months before the Departure, I start preparing for it and approaching them. And every year, the two or three the teenagers in my class that I approach choose to accept my offer.
The walls of our city are too high to climb over, the sewers are sealed, and the guards and spies are everywhere. No one can get out without our Leader’s permission, and that’s simply a fact that everyone knows and accepts.
“We’re all gathered here today to celebrate the annual Departure. Thank you all for assisting in the preparations, and for joining us today to wish our children luck! The ceremony is now over, please return to your homes and keep our children in your prayers tonight.”
And just like that, it’s over. I look at the twenty young men and women standing at the back of the stage, smiling weakly as they watch their families, friends and everyone they’ve known their entire lives walk away from them. At least most of them have the consolation of knowing that they will be back in two years, after they’ve found a partner in one of our five Sister Cities.
The system isn’t even that bad, honestly. It works for most people. You spend your whole childhood surrounded by people you love, going to school, being well fed and well cared for. So what if you’re never allowed outside of the city? Who would want to see the Wastelands, let alone live there? And so what if the Fathers gather regularly to decide everything for you, like what trade you will practice, and what sanctions you will receive for any minor transgression to the Code?
I take care of the others. Those who will never be able to fit into this system, who can’t live with the rules. And that’s why, every year, I’m the teacher who volunteers to get on the bus with all who turned seventeen that year, and accompany them to their first stop, to the first Sister City. In that city, they will learn how their trade is practiced over there, and more importantly meet new people their age, to settle down with or bring back home.
Every year since the rising consanguinity rates forced the Leaders of our Cities to start this practice, I’ve had supplies ready. Backpacks full of food, tools, blankets and weapons, tightly tied to the bottom of the bus. Tonight, I’ll be handing them out to Alex, Jo and Dars. Alex, who’s grown more and more withdrawn, forced to constantly live in a tiny city full of people and noise, when all he yearns for is quiet and space. Jo, who not once looked at any of her male classmates, and once whispered to me that she’d rather die than marry one of the City’s widowers, the fate reserved to any young woman returning from her two years trip without a husband. And Dars, who’d already spent half of his teenage years in our small prison cell, unable to stop rebelling against the rules in our Code.
“Good luck. Run now.”
I have nothing else to say to them, as I hand them their backpacks and start meticulously cutting up their tent, slashing loudly with my knife to convince everyone that they were taken by one of the evil creatures mentioned in the Code. I know everyone will secretly rejoice about this year’s “victims” being once again the misfits. I just hope that somewhere in the dark forests that will surround our bus for the next weeks of our journey, lies a little village where my students can build the life they truly want for themselves. | \[P and Q\]
"I thought you knew where you were going?!" Pearla exploded with anger at the smuggler that got her out of the city. They traveled a straight line, as far as she could tell, through an endless wasteland. She could no longer see the towering city and wasn't even sure she knew how to get back if she wanted to. She'd been content to follow Quail for two days because he'd been friendly company and easy on the eyes.
She learned quite a few things about him over the last couple of days. He was 32, one year older than her, and spent a lot of time outdoors. Although, she already guessed that thanks to his notable tan. She also learned his favorite number was 20. Pearla thought it was kind of an odd question when he asked hers, but wandering together for two days left them with little to talk about. He seemed to forget the subject as soon as she mentioned she didn't have one.
"When did I say that?" Quail asked with a smug smile that, for the first time, irked Pearla.
"I paid you to get me out of the city!" Pearla said. She managed to keep herself from flat out berating the man. Despite wanting to, it wouldn't help her get to safety. Quail chuckled again and gestured at the barren land around them.
"Where do you think we are?"
"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" Her self-control was short-lived. She instantly regretted it when she spotted a flash of hurt in his coffee-brown eyes. He recovered quickly and gave a sigh as he stood up from his sleeping bag. Pearla's question that morning about how long till they arrive started the conversation.
"Alright," he said. His words carried a slightly more formal tone that bothered her to hear it. "Where do you *want* to go?" he asked.
"Somewhere safe," she replied with the first thing that came to mind. Although, at the moment she said it, she realized she felt completely safe for their past two days together. The land was so barren, she hadn't spotted any sign of human or animal. The night sky was amazing when not blocked out by the light pollution of the metropolis she escaped.
"You do realize the city was safe, right?" he asked. "You had a job, an apartment, all that stuff. Why did you leave if that's where you're going?" Quail asked.
Pearla had never considered that perspective. Her entire life was spent within boundaries and told there was nothing beyond them. In her entire life, she did not believe that for a single moment. She began looking for a way out at an early age, but it wasn't until recently that she managed to make contact with an actual smuggler. Quail's question gave her a sudden clarity.
"It wasn't enough," she said with a soft, disappointed sigh. She took a slow look around the arid landscape. "There was supposed to be more...," she said. "What about you?"
"What about me what?" Quail asked.
"Where were you taking me if you didn't know where we're going?"
"Taking you?" he chuckled some more. "I'm just tagging along to make sure you're okay. My job ended as soon as you stepped out of the city." He added an exaggerated shrug. "You're the one that started walking this way, so I followed."
"And you were just going to follow me until we die?"
"If I was going to let you die, I would have gone back home after the job was done."
"So what was your plan?" Pearla asked.
"This conversation," he said with a nod. "*Where* do you want to go?"
"I don't know!" she grumbled.
"Okay," Quail nodded. "It's better if I put it this way. What *kind* of place do you want? What do you want to do? What do you want to be there?"
"I just want to get to safety," she repeated.
"You had that in the city. Want to go back?"
"NO!" she couldn't even entertain the thought. She wanted to try and stay calm to avoid hurting his feelings again. Pearla closed her eyes and thought for a moment. It was a cool morning, but she could feel the back of her neck being warmed up by the sun. She tried to find the reason she was so sure, and try to put it into words.
"I don't know how to explain it," she said. "I just know there's *more* and I want to find it." Quail's smile instantly returned to its full warmth and it put Pearla's mind at ease.
"Okay, you just want a better starting point. Something more open, like maybe a port city or something along those lines?"
"YES!" Pearla grabbed his arm in excitement.
"No problem," Quail said. Then, he decided to start whistling for no apparent reason. It sounded vaguely like a bird's song; the kind she heard at the zoo.
"What's up, Q?' A young girl's voice startled Pearla. She jumped and wrapped herself around Quail in surprise. She looked and saw a young girl about 14 with raven-colored curls flowing down over her shoulders. Quail took a moment to look down at Pearla and comfort her by pulling her closer.
"Lift to Donna Chang's, please?"
"OOOOoooh, you got a date," the girl smiled at Pearla and extended her hand. "I'm Dirge, what's your name?"
"Pearla," she replied.
"Nice to meet you," Dirge then turned to gesture at a gaping black hole hovering in the air that was just out of Pearla's peripheral vision. "Well, let's get going so I can get back to practice," she said. Then, she walked into the portal. Quail followed along with Pearla next to him.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1081 in a row. (Story #351 in year three.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. | 2020-12-16T08:36:46 | 2020-12-16T08:36:20 | 79 | 37 |
[WP] You don't know what you do for a living. Literally. Five days a week, you get up, get in your car, black out, and then you're back in the driveway in the afternoon. And a paycheck arrives every 2 weeks. | Andrew pulled his car into the driveway. He then paused for a moment. Pulled down the sun visor and studied his reflection in its little mirror. In it, he saw the same features that he always did. His tired eyes. His short dark hair. His neatly pressed shirt. And his tie, which was a sombre shade of navy blue.
He could remember picking it out that morning. He could remember his shower. And brushing his teeth. He could remember slipping his keys into his pocket and smelling the dew that was still sticking onto his immaculate front lawn. He could remember all of these things. And yet he could not, no matter how hard he tried, remember anything beyond the moment after he had turned the key into the ignition.
Andrew sighed. He stepped out of his car and into his house. A company house. Couldn't remember which company it was, but he was sure that it was through them that he had come to live here. It was a nice house. Modern. Luxurious. He liked that it had a pool.
Andrew was about to pour himself a stiff glass of whiskey and go for an evening swim, like he did every night after work. But just as he was pulling off his socks, he noticed something strange: the smallest, faintest, spattering of blood on the sole of his right heel. | ...
I'm a normal person, right?
I pay my taxes, i drink coffee made from tap water, i pee while seated...
I think i only smoked **ONCE, a**nd it probably was painted hair!
The first thing that i say after waking up and drowning in a sea of *zeroes and zeroes* was, of course:
"It's either Drugs or Murder..."
"Or *both!"*
After having my daily freakout, with my sister having her daily laugh, i try to think again.
And again, and again, and **again**.
I'm doing **something***,* right?!
I feel good rested and my skin tone is the right shade of brown. Pretty *normal.*
It doesn't look life my clothes have blood or any other type of **compromising** material in there, give and take some drool I hope is mine or Sarah's.
Feeling pretty **safe** so far here, ok.
Lifting my shirt, i can only see a birthmark on my abs and- *excuse me,* *what.*
...
*I'm drowning.*
*I'm drowning and it's my spectacular abs' fault, damn it.*
While i was trying not to die out of being a sure-to-be undisclosed criminal character, i yell as loud as my brain would allow me to.
"*S-sarahh, i need youuuuu\~"*
My sister, half-laughing out of my suffering, small cry for help, answered as usual:
"Did you find the body yet? Was it Mitch?"
"No, it wasn't Mitch!"
Though it woulda made things ***so*** much easier!
"Did you know i had **abs?**"
"Yeah, pretty decent! Nice work!"
For the moment, i had to leave the "decent" rating i got, potential jail time were the priority!
After some interrogation, i learned some habits and props i picked up after work:
* After work, i would work out for a half-hour every day
* While sleeping at night, it would be much easier to wake me up, but it seems i would just say some nonsense and go to sleep
* And some days, i would use makeup, but it wasn't a constant
Now, the first two things? That could be the stress or lack of energy making me forget stuff!
I'm old enough to forget about my birthday and **ONLY** my birthday, totally normal.
But...
I am allergic to makeup.
So what the hell am i putting in my face?
...
This wasn't normal.
"Hey, can you do me a favor Sarah?
Tomorrow after school, get a camera from Mitch's, tell him to put it in the tab, ok?"
I hated to get her mixed into this but i barely go out since getting this "*job".*
But what Sarah said after made me blink twice.
"Whaaaaaat???
But Mitch said you broke too much of them, he ***barely has any left***!"
...
W-what?
But those cameras are his specialty...
The guy's swimming in them, i know that!
**I know that!**
...
That's what i repeated to myself for a couple of minutes.
And while my mind was content to be in that loop for how many years were necessary...
My eyes were watching over the trashcan...
Over ***their*** remains.
"Seems like your job don't like group photos too much, huh Sis?
...
Sis?!"
I couldn't respond nor hear her.
My face, along with my entire body, were already on a free fall towards the floor. After all this, i guess i really needed a nap, y'know...?
In what felt like hours, my mind went back to a few weeks before all this. To before the abs and the *one and zeroes.*
I went back to the street. | 2021-09-26T19:54:38 | 2021-09-26T18:08:03 | 324 | 16 |
[WP] Sobek, the half human half crocodile god of the Nile, surprised by a visit of Anubis,god of death. Anubis introduce Sobek to a human soul behind him, still dripping in seawater : "I thought you should meet this man,the living called him Steve Irwin" | **The Crocodile God**
----
There is a legend of a man so fearless, so driven by compassion for all living creatures, that even in death he blamed not the scorpion. Sobek had never met such a man. It was fiction. No mortal would give up their one life and hold no ill-will towards their killer. He knew this as a fact. Not in five thousand years had a selfless soul existed.
Sobek was God of the Nile, a half-human half-crocodile Egyptian deity that was the keeper of apotropaic magic (protective magic, as it was commonly called. His power came in repelling evil forces.
Sobek used this to protect the Nile.
Hunters were evil to him. Praying with tools and weapons for sport.
Sobek made his path to protect the creatures of the river of life. And he watched over it. Always.
Anubis came to him one day with a new soul at his side. “Sobek, I come not alone. I bring a soul that - I dare say - may have compassion towards creatures that rivals even your own.”
Sobek grunted.
Sobek rarely spoke. He found language to be filled with lies and twisted tongues of misdirection. Among the animals the universe made sense.
Instinct. Savagery. Those that are hungry eat. The way of nature. Not the way of the hunters of men. There was a difference. One was natural - one was cruel.
“I thought you should meet this man,” Anubis said.
Sobek didn’t respond. He starred out at the Nile, ever watchful.
“This is Steve Irwin,” Anubis said. “In life, they called him Crocodile Hunter.”
Sobek dipped his chin and turned back.
“Mr. Irwin,” Anubis said and gestured forward. “This is Sobek. The Crocodile God.”
“Crikey,” Steve stuck out a hand. “You’re a big fella ain’t cha.”
"Crocodile," Sobek's voice was a low rumble. "Hunter."
Before Anubis or Steve could offer up clarity Sobek lunged forward and devoured the soul of Steve Irwin.
"That was not necessary," Anubis said. "He was kin to you."
"No hunter is kin to me," Sobek snarled and turned his eyes back to the river. As he did, he felt a jostle in his gut.
"What trick is this?" He snapped at Anubis.
In a fit of flailing and crocodile death rolls Sobek thrashed about on the banks of the Nile - his soul tearing and exploding from within - he roared and the river shook!
Until he sank below the surface in a long silence.
Anubis stood silent. Alone.
The surface of the water broke and the evolved form of Sobek stepped to the shores. Half-man half-crocodile, but he was wearing khaki shorts and his eyes looked kinder.
"That bloke was a bit aggressive," Steve Irwin, the new Crocodile God said.
"His mind was limited in direction - his powers confined to this place by his own doing," Anubis said. "You will be different."
"Ay, poor buggar. Just wanted to look after his home," Irwin said.
"And what will you do?" Anubis asked.
"Well, the whole world - really all of nature - is my home. From the smallest living creature to the biggest whale in the seas to the meanest croc! They are all my family. I'll look after them all."
"I know you will," Anubis said.
----
r/wrydfiction <--if you like my writing | Sobek's nostrils flared with excitement, causing a moth that had been resting on its snout to flutter off in a hurry. "I like him," said Sobek, splashing up from the waters of the Nile. "I like him a lot."
Behind Anubis stood a red-haired man and the man's glasses clattered on his nose as he bit his fingernails. "Steve Irwin was a great friend of the crocodiles. He starred in moving pictures with them."
"Huh?" said Sobek. "Moving pictures? Pictures don't move. Pictures stand perfectly still."
"That's why they are called *moving* pictures," said Anubis with a snarl. In the realm of the living they are so popular that the humans just call them 'movies'. They don't have the time to say the whole thing, because they would rather spend it watching more moving pictures."
Sobek slapped the sides of his face. "Anubis!" he said. "The things you know! I am in awe."
Meanwhile, the human behind Anubis had squatted down and stared at his boots. "I suppose I have learned a thing or two from dealing with humans," said Anubis, letting out a slight yawn. He stretched out his arms, then took a step to the side to reveal the one hiding behind him. "Go on. Introduce yourself."
"Well. Uhm. Uhh ... Blimey! B-Bloody nice meeting you, uh, Mr. Alligator."
The human scratched his temples as sweat dripped from his brows. In shock, Sobek drew his eyeballs into their sockets and bellowed softly.
"Uh," said the human, looking up at Anubis. "D-Did I say something wrong?"
"Up, you scoundrel," said Anubis. "You are insulting Steve Irwin."
Sobek turned his head away from the pair. "I am not an alligator," he said and blew hot air from his nose.
"Ah, yes," said Anubis, turning to the human. "Sobek is only half alligator. The other half is human."
"No!" cried Sobek. "I am not half alligator! I am half crocodile!"
Anubis looked at Sobek, then at the human. "Steve Irwin is famous among the humans. I think he would know the difference."
"Look at my snout! Look at my great size! Am I dark green in color? No! Any fool could see that I am no alligator!"
"Well," said Anubis. "Isn't it also so that alligators are known for their aggression?"
"Aggression!" cried Sobek. "I am not aggressive! Say that again and I will bite your head off!"
Anubis stroked his chin and whelped. "Mr. Irwin?" he said.
The human, now pale as the dunes of the White Desert, adjusted his glasses. "B-Blimey," he said. "I see it now. I had the sun in my eyes so I couldn't tell properly. You are, uh, you are definitely a crocodile."
"The sun was in your eyes!" said Sobek. "Of course! You couldn't see." He turned around and shook a fist at the sun. "Damn you, Ra! You ruined my first meeting with a new friend!" Then he said, "Huh? The sun isn't there? Did I scare Ra off already?"
The three of them turned around to see the sun up high behind Anubis and the human. The two divine figures then stared at the red-haired man gulping in Duat as he partly hid his face behind his hands.
"... I'm sorry," said the human. "I can't hide it any longer. I'm not Steve Irwin. My name is Steve Irving and someone misheard it and suddenly people were clapping my shoulders and making a big fuzz about it. I wanted to correct them but one thing led to another and then it was all too late. I don't even look like him!"
A breeze passed between them. "Steve Irving. It does sound like Steve Irwin." Anubis folded his hands and nodded slowly.
Sobek sank back into the waters of the Nile and morosely blew some bubbles.
"Well, I am sorry for the mix-up, Sobek," said Anubis. "I'll leave you to do, uh, what you do."
As they turned to leave, Steve said, "I'm really sorry. Those people back there are real jerks. When I reveal I'm not actually Steve Irwin they'll go right back to treating me as a weirdo. Goodbye, Sobek."
"Weirdo?" said Sobek.
"Uh, yeah," said Steve. "I don't really get along with most people. I died choking on sushi in my office cubicle and I could hear my coworkers whisper to each other to 'just let it happen'."
"Sushi?" said Sobek, staring up at Anubis.
"Raw fish," said Anubis. "Eaten in large quantities with awkward utensils so that they won't eat it too fast in their excitement."
Sobek leapt back up from the water. "Raw fish?" he said. "I love raw fish! If you stayed here, we could have 'sushi' all the time! And if you choke on it you're already dead so it's fine!"
"Huh?" said Steve. "You'd want me here even if I'm not Steve Irwin?"
"Of course!" Sobek beamed. "A new friend!"
Steve smiled. Carefully, he waded down into the waters of the Nile while Anubis stood on the banks scratching his ear. "You're sure about this, Sobek?" he asked.
Sobek blew hot air from his nostrils. "Yes! I like him. I like him a lot."
Anubis stared at the unlikely duo splashing each other with water and thought to himself that it was quite a moving picture, and that he could see now why humans would be so infatuated with scenes such as the one before him.
From up high, Ra smiled as a moth passed in front of him.
/r/Hemingbird | 2022-02-25T10:44:32 | 2022-02-25T09:57:42 | 285 | 111 |
[WP] A prophecy foretells that a newborn baby will one day grow up to end your evil reign. Knowing that fighting fate is useless, you decide instead to take the child in and raise them as your heir. | "You did what?" Zaif screamed at the stone faced man in front of him.
The man in question was rocking back and forth a newborn baby with care. "Silent, the baby is sleeping. Also why are you this anxious, you knew this would happen a long time ago, brother."
"I didn't think you would adopt it. Brother, this little boy is the champion of righteousness, his job is to kill you, the infamous Blood stone Emperor." Zaif was getting more and more worked up because of his older brother's antics.
The man gave the baby to a maid waiting nearby. "Take care of the prince, if I hear him cry I will flay you..." The maid's hand trembled as she took the young prince away.
"Now, you are right, Zaif, this baby is supposed to kill me finally after a thousand years. But do you remember the prophecy?"
"Of course I do, *the emperor of blood will cast his shadow on the lands for a thousand years, until a hope is born, the child shall birth dragons out of his blood, basilisks out of his flesh. The chosen cannot live in the presence of the emperor, thus the one coated with blood shall perish."*
"Does the prophecy mention anything about the boy being a champion of righteousness or good? No, it doesn't, this is a detail some people have added so they could use him against me and destroy my empire. The kid is born evil, dragons and basilisks, they are not good creatures in nature but evil and the kid is supposed to summon them to this world."
"But that doesn't explain why you took him in instead of killing him?"
"I can't kill him, in better terms it is impossible to kill him, he is protected by fate. So, why not take him under me and teach him everything I know, he will take me out in the end but I will be the one who won in the end and my empire shall last for another thousand years." The emperor laughed as he looked at the city under his palace.
"How would he kill you? We are immortal, brother...."
"That we are, brother, but fate is fair, so the moment the kid was born I was stripped of my immortality, you are now the only immortal in this bleak and boring world. I want you to help my son as much as you can, Zaif."
"Do not worry, I shall protect him with everything I got. But what happened to his parents as you are now calling him your son?"
"I killed them....." | I stand on the balcony, looking out over my kingdom. My time is coming; my son, fifteen years old now, destined to overthrow me, has been gaining the trust of the people. A rebellion is on the horizon, as everyone demands he takes the throne. Of course I'm not happy with this, but he hasn't once disobeyed me; if I tell him to put a servant in their place, he will use compassion and understanding to get them to do their jobs, but if I told him to *punish* them, he would, apologising for the way things are.
I curl up my fingers. The one thing I don't understand is... how? Ever since my son started making decisions for the kingdom and having a say in what happens to people, there's been LESS crime and disloyalty. This doesn't make sense...
I sigh. I close my eyes and think back to when I first took my son in. Sometimes, prophecies are fake or inaccurate, but I couldn't take my chances. My advisor has always had a gift, and he's rarely ever wrong. He told me that an abandoned baby would grow up and be my undoing. I could have just killed the kid... somehow, I knew it was *him*... but I know what would have happened. People would NOT have kept quiet. Instead, I raised the boy as my own, hoping I could somehow get him to follow my example...
But no. All these years later, he doesn't even TRY my methods, calling them 'cruel'. It doesn't matter; my grip is slipping, it's only a matter of time. I nod to myself, my decision made. I head to the throne room. What once was a place of fear and respect was slowly becoming a place where even my own guards don't see me as a leader. I walk up to the throne, but I don't sit down. I call for my son. "Shawn. Come here."
My son walks into the room. Usually, he bows to me. This time, he doesn't. I narrow my eyes; this is yet another sign that what I'm about to do is a necessity. "Shawn... why do you insist on being compassionate and kind to those beneath you? To those who are criminals or servants?"
"Because I hate seeing the fear in people's eyes, father" Shawn responds. "They hate you. I can't, but I don't respect you anymore. I'm not afraid to tell you anymore, father, but I don't think you are fit to rule this land. Punish me for it if you want; you'll regret it."
I take two steps forward. He doesn't flinch. "I know" I say. "If I did ANYTHING to you, the people would riot. Son... I never told you before, but the day you were born, my reign was destined to end. I still somehow hoped that if I raised you as my own, you'd follow my example. I was wrong. And now... here I stand, my position fragile. I don't have much choice... the throne is yours."
Shawn's eyes widen in surprise. I step to the side, gesturing him to take my place. He hesitates a moment, before walking over and taking his seat. I feel disgusted, but just a little bit proud. I kneel to my own son. "Your majesty."
He looks at me. "Seems like you at least know humility. So... what to do with you..."
I gulp. "Please... I know you well enough... you wouldn't hurt me... don't hurt me..."
Shawn chuckles. "Never thought I'd see you begging like this, *Mason.* Truth be told, I always thought death wasn't an unsuitable punishment for you... but you're right, I don't WANT to hurt you. Guards. Take him to the deepest part of the dungeon."
I shake with relief as I'm forced to my feet. I'm escorted to a dark, damp cell. The iron door shuts behind me, and I look at the guards. "Be thankful you were spared" one of them states. "Maybe one day, you can earn your freedom... after, King Shawn isn't like *you*." The guards leave, and I just sit on my cold, hard bed. One question goes through my head: where did I go wrong as a ruler?
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2022-11-27T02:44:00 | 2022-11-27T02:27:15 | 377 | 134 |
[WP] Satan is a single father trying to raise his son, who, in a rebellious phase, is all into peace, love, and harmony. | It was humiliating. Lucifer was the mightiest of angels, though fallen, and he alone ruled the most feared realm in existence, and yet here he was, pushing around a shopping cart full of items they didn't need. His son Azazel was the one doing most of the shopping, though.
"Dad!" He called, a large smile on his face. He ran a hand through his blonde-gold hair, like he always did when he was nervous. "Can we buy some canned foods?"
Lucifer gave his son a strange look. "Why do you want canned food? We don't eat."
He laughed lightly as though Lucifer had been joking. "It's not for me, Dad, it's for the homeless shelters."
"Homeless shelters?"
He nodded. "Y'know, for homeless people?"
Not even a little surprised, Lucifer sighed a little too disappointedly. "You want to help a bunch of humans who are too weak to help themselves?"
Azazel looked taken aback, and his eyes flashed a dark yellow, a sign that told Lucifer that he had messed up yet again. This whole parenting thing was difficult. Did Lucifer always have to agree with his son? Even when he loathed every choice he made?
"Just because they're weak doesn't mean they're worthless, Dad. You would think you could relate."
Lucifer bristled with oncoming fury, and he ground his teeth together. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Azazel didn't miss a beat even though he knew the consequences. "You know what I'm talking about. *He* gave you a second chance when you didn't deserve it. He saw strength when your brothers disagreed. Grandpa spared you."
Neither father nor son could comprehend Lucifer's movements. Suddenly, Azazel was being shoved against the rack, and Lucifer was seething. Azazel had never spoken so outwardly like this before, and had never brought up his grandfather. He knew that was a sensitive topic for Lucifer.
Yet, his son wasn't hurt, or sad by his father's outburst, but strong. He was defending himself without uttering a single word. No one ever talked back to the Prince of Darkness, they both knew that, and although he had meant every word, the razor at the edge of his tongue carved the words to defend Lucifer, too. That was foreign territory, but he recognized it nonetheless.
Lucifer hated the way his own anger evaporated. He couldn't be angry at his son for merely speaking his mind, especially when he learned it all from Lucifer, and besides, it had been true. God had given him a second chance with Hell, and a third with Azazel, and only now was he beginning to learn.
Lucifer eased himself off of Azazel, but wouldn't let himself meet his gaze. Perhaps he'd have to grow up a little too if he wanted that privilege.
"Alright, Azzie." he whispered. "If you really want to, we can help."
| Shaitan slouches home to Bethlehem, the Great Beast lowering itself into the world, currents of air and dust knitting together into corded muscle. His hair tangles backwards, furred, his nails like the claws of animals. His left eye bulges, the pupil squeezed into the horizontal slit of a goat's eyes. He smiles with yellowed teeth. Outside the people are gathered, chanting, holding hands in solidarity, flowers passed through the crowd, Muslim and Christian and Jew. A song sparks up. Shaitan avoids all that, creeps up the stairs, growing more corporeal with each step, accumulating sinew and grease and bone. The windows are open to the air, to any assassin's bullet. The rising song drifts through. Masih has his eyes closed in the sparse room, seated on the edge of his bed, and if Shaitan did not know better, he would have thought the boy was praying.
"Hello, son," he says.
Masih opens his eyes.
"You can't tempt me," he says, his voice high and wavering. Such a beautiful child, his wavy dark hair, his almond eyes. The weight of the world upon him. He slips his feet up onto the bed, like a child afraid of something reaching up to grab his ankles. "There's nothing you can offer." He turns his head to the window, almost afraid to look, afraid to be seen. "You've seen them out there, haven't you? You've seen what they can do. Out of fear and mistrust and division, they can extend a hand across that chasm and discover each others' humanity." A soft smile crosses his face. "Haven't you become bored with cruelty, father? With senseless rebellion?" Masih closes an hand over his heart. "What's there to gain from it?"
"Oh," breathes Shaitan, tasting pork, tasting swine. This flesh he's made for himself is unclean, sweating. He licks his lips. "When have I ever led you astray, boy? When have I ever denied you your rebellion?" He leaps, defying gravity, defying the forces of Earth, crouching atop a dresser. He luxuriates in the serpentine curve of his spine. "I'm no hypocrite, my boy! It's a son's duty to rebel against his father! And oh! What a job you've done!"
Masih is pale, his fingers clutching the bed sheet. He makes to stand. He is drawn inexorably towards the window, towards the crowd, and is halting, stumbling, terrified. Shaitan slinks down, crawls, palms intercrossing on the floor. The air is hot. Masih trembles.
"I could do nothing else," he whispers. "They were killing each other. Sowing division, hatred. All the senseless division!" He clutches both hands. "Everything you've done -"
Shaitan clutches a hand around the bedpost, and is crouching beside his son, weighing down the mattress. "I could do nothing else!" he trills. "A perfect clockwork world, with its ignorant clockwork beings." He cups his palms and forms a blood-red fruit. "I gave them knowledge! I gave them freedom! And so you have seen what they have done with it!"
Masih practically leaps from the bed, pacing the floor. "Everything I did," he insists. "I did out of love. I did with a pure heart." His eyes are flashing, manic. He clutches his head. "You can't pervert this! You can't!"
"Oh," Shaitan sighs. "My beloved son. My false Messiah. Did you think, that by rebelling from rebellion, you would find your way to the truth? Look at them! Look out there! Look at what you have built!" He squats on his heels. "You taught love for the sake of love, peace for the sake of peace. An all-encompassing love of humanity." Shaitan raises his hands, rolls his eyes to the heavens. "And what of God, my son? What truth have you given them but their own self-centered needs?"
"Their own-!" Masih blurts, and then falters, his legs going weak. He clutches the windowsill, steps forwards, shows his face. The crowd explodes into a worshipful cheer, signs raised, hands raised to the heavens. Masih cannot do anything but smile back. Shaitan creeps behind him, places a hand on his shoulder.
"It can't be true," Masih whispers, as his father leads him away. The crowd swoons, cheers after his departure. Masih's hands are cold, his steps numb. "I did ... I did only what I thought was best..."
"Oh, I know, my son," Shaitan whispers, and cups his son's cheeks. "This is to be a son. To gaze with disgust upon what begot you, to spread your wings and fly, to circle back involuntarily. To live a debt you cannot escape. For even in your flight, who has shaped your wings?" Shaitan spreads out his wings, crooked, crippled, and encloses his son within them. "Did you think I would not understand? Did you think I was never a son myself?" Shaitan leans close. "Everything we ever did, we did out of love."
And Al-Masih ad-Dajjal leans into his father's arms, and like a child, cries. | 2016-11-06T07:08:47 | 2016-11-06T07:00:52 | 211 | 138 |
[WP]A sadistic serial killer who has seen and done it all has moved into a haunted house that changes its insides to terrify its occupants to drive them insane. The killer is not amused by this and quickly grows bored. | A business man mused to himself as he walked to the house. He had perfectly trimmed hair, a well tailored vest, and glasses. "It was funny the first few times, I admit." He mused to himself. He opened his door to find that his living room had turned into a meat curing facility. Corpses, rather than hams, hung from the ceiling on bloody chains.
The man simply strode forward and poked one of them.
"Hmm... there could be more blood on the floor. Did you kill them before stringing them up to the ceiling?"
The house rattled and he sighed. "Low effort, my friend. You didn't even make a decent rotting scent."
An invisible force began to shuffle him towards a still open door. "Hey- Hey! I *own* this house. You're just a guest."
The pushing stopped. The cured meats disappeared and were replaced by his usual couch and stone table.
"Better." He smiled, heading to his couch.
...And landed with a disgusting 'squelch'. He sighed and lifted the cushion. "Meat pillows?" He groaned. "They're annoying, not scary. Hell, I tried it once, back in '07. Sweet little lady-soft in life, it seems, doesn't make you soft in death."
But not a single reply from his rather moody house. He headed to the kitchen. Tossing a TV dinner into the oven, he sighed and watched it.
The microwave blew out. The fridge opened to show thousands of dismembered arms tumbling away.
He sighed and headed to a chair to sit.
"We are going to have some serious problems, you know."
The chair was made of bones, and fell apart when he tried to sit on it.
"Goddamn it." | The walls were pulsing and mucoid, slicking down to the carpeting, moving by sympathetic magic to the upholstery. Kassel leaned back in his couch, probing the fleshy surface of the armrest with his fingertips. Something wet and warm was seeping into his back, into the seat of his pants. The walls were bleeding. Kassel held his mouth open and took a deep breath of the moist air.
"Is this my mother's womb?" Kassel said.
The wallpaper was dissolving, revealing the soft pink tissue underneath. From his seat, Kassel could practically taste the wood pulp and old glue, sticky under his tongue. The sound of water through the pipes was like screaming, like the blood Kassel heard rushing in his ears from time to time. The whole room was trembling. There was a contraction under Kassel's feet. Something waiting to be born.
"I don't remember my mother's womb," Kassel mused. "Not really." Moisture beaded on his mustache and his tongue came out to taste it. "I thought I did. For a long time I thought I did. Then I had a look for myself and it wasn't like anything I'd imagined."
Kassel's pants were soaked through, clinging damp against his buttocks and crotch. The wall dilated in front of him. The membrane peeled apart, like an eyeball opening, and a single black eye stared out at him. A heartbeat was running through the room, pulsing against his spine with the vibrations. Someone was most definitely screaming.
"It's all flesh, that's all it is," Kassel said. "Like skin and gums. Like the inside of your mouth." He traced his gumline with a finger, still sticky from the armrest, and then sucked the finger clean. "Got 'em open and couldn't tell the difference. Like a cat. Like a chicken. Like the inside of your mouth." The back of the sofa clung to his hair, made synaptic bridges as he shifted to a more comfortable position. Kassel could feel the twinges in his scalp and sighed pleasantly.
The room was a bright, irritated red. Inside the orifice there were teeth. Inside the orifice there was a blunt and probing hand. Inside the orifice there was something screaming. Inside the orifice there was the worse thing in the world.
"You," Kassel said. "You ghost or demon or whatever-you-are. You restless spirit," he amended. "It's all the same, isn't it? All the dreams. All the desires. You feel it pulsing in your brain. You feel it burning through your skin. You're rabid. You're see-through. You think if you could just take them apart. Unmake them. Hear the confessions of their flesh. And you could breathe and understand." Kassel shuddered and let out a sob. "And it's all the same flesh underneath, because that's all there is to the world. A fleshy brain inside my skull, waiting to be driven mad. A fleshy God, who crawled through a womb to love us. And you believe in God and the Devil, and you believe in spirits, and you believe in rapture and consumption, and in the end that's all there is, that's the most you can ever do." He drove his fingernails into the upholstery, and felt the welling drops of blood. "There's no transcendence, there's no God or Jesus waiting for you. You eat meat. You suck your fingers clean. You debase yourself to flesh."
The room was prolapsing, turning inside-out. The orifice swelled to encompass him. Kassel could stretch out his legs, wave a hand in front of his eyes, and feel the soft walls of the room pressing back. The screaming had shifted into crying, hot and wailing sobs, crying like the pain would never end.
"Boring," Kassel said, and lay back and drifted, letting the room take him. "Just blood and guts and pain. Just the most boring thing in the world." Kassel was sinking into a dark and formless space, back into his mother's womb, being swallowed whole. "But you gotta be bored sometimes," he sighed. "A man's got to rest." | 2016-12-28T18:50:43 | 2016-12-28T18:47:52 | 56 | 13 |
[WP] Over the years your D&D game has managed to continue with most of the original players. However, almost everyone's life circumstances have changed drastically since they began and you now DM for a group of some of the most-powerful people on the planet. | *Final Call. Session from 6:30pm to 11pm on the 12th. Next session 1pm to 5pm on the 24th. Any objections?*
People usually laughed when they see me text, since it always sounds so formal. It makes me sound old, which isn't fair. I just turned 39 in June. And considering who I was texting, it makes sense to be like that.
*Kashmud cannot wait to crush the skull of that dragon* The first comes from the Goliath Barbarian. I hadn't been too worried about him making it, he was usually free. He was mostly a figurehead now at Drivr, as they had secured the market after the Uber-Lyft war demolished both companies.
*Can we make the 24th an hour hour later. I have lunch with VP Howard that day.* The druid spoke up, and that wasn't too big of a shock. Games that started close to lunch had a habit of being pushed back.Apparently the Senate Minority Whip takes alot of lunches.
*I have no issues. You can just come in late.* The wizard smartly pointed out. That was a huge win, since she was also so fucking busy. I don't mean to sound rude, but the world has enough sickness in it already. Can the WHO let their regional director get a few hours for herself once in a while?
*Should be able to* That was the paladin with their doublespeak. He could always talk himself out of a situation and give himself loopholes so often I had to ban the bard class from him because he broke it too easily. Considering the politicians involved, you'd be surprised it was the future HoF quarterback that was the best talker.
*It depends. Weather needs to be favorable since I will need to copter.* The monk with her comments was understandable. If they could get her, good. If not, the state of Maryland better put their governor to good use.
*Sounds like we can work it out! Glad to be in town for this!* The warlock sounds excited. It was in part his fault I had to tie everyone down so much like this. While we all stayed near DC, he went to Hollywood and became a leading man and public face of philanthropy. If he could give us more than 8 sessions in a year that would be nice.
I sighed to myself and smiled. I never got to see them anymore, high up in their ivory tower and rarely coming down to visit my world of Drenami. I should think about canceling this game, focus my effort on a game with more regular enjoyment, but it seems like an atrocity. This game has generations. It would be a waste,.
*Alright, for now we are locked in. The 24th session should be RP heavy so you won't miss much Scott. Remember, you leveled up to 9 last session. Do your work before you come to my table.* I sent out, hoping to make it clear that I didn't want to waste our time leveling people up for this. I looked at the clock and realized it was time to get ready for work. The Washington Natives football stadium wasn't going to secure itself. | "You enter the tavern. It's filled to the bring with people, laughing and drinking. In the back an old man is sitting on his own, looking distressed, tears visually dripping down his cheek. Jonathan what's your move?"
"I walk up to the old man in the back"
"Sir we need to secure the room first"
"For the 6th time James it's a game. No need to secure the room. Nothing is going to happen to me in here"
"It's protocol, sir"
"Just, just let him. Roll james, for securing the room" I said sighting internally, remembering the stubbornes of James from last week's game. James picks up the dices and rolls, landing on a 12.
"Did we do it? We did right? 12 is a good roll right?"
"Yes, James. The secret service successfully sweeped the room. Nothing suspicious was found"
"Fuck yeah. We did it!" James bodyslam his partner."Ow, uhm sorry sir. Just got caught in the moment. Won't happen again, Sir"
"Don't worry about it James. I Just want to get on with the story. So I walk up to the old man and sit down, asking if everything is right"
"The old man looks up to the heroes, and with a voice echoed with dispair he answers. No, sir. My farm, they took my farm. Those necromancers took my farm. My poor Lucy. She is still at the farm. My daughter Lucy."
"I need a drink", Luca interrupted the old man. "I wave the barwench over to our table. Give her a good look over from top to toe. What your upto later tonight, I ask her"
Classic Luca, always going after barmaidens. I'm glad that hasn't changed yet. "Roll the dice, Luca"
Luca rolls the dice with force, like he always has done, landing on a 6 at the edge of the table.
"The barmaidens turns you down" I say smiling slightly. Glad that part hasn't changed either.
"Should I make her dissappear, boss? Nobody would find her" Tony oppered.
"No it's fine, Tony. And maybe stop bringing up dispatching people, Tony."
"Sorry boss. Won't happen again Boss. What about scaring her a bit? Cut of a finger or two, teach her a lesson." Tony stopped for a second, before his eyes seemed to light up. "She has a pet?"
"Sure Tony why not. She has a cat, whiskers"
"I kill the cat"
"You want to kill her cat?"
"Yep, going to kill that cat, hang it front of her door. That will send her the message"
"Killing her cat.. . Just roll I guess"
Tony rolls the dice, hitting a 2. "Ow come on. Just don't let me stab myself, again. They already call me clumsy Tony"
I smiled before answering "Whiskers was much more agile than you anticipated. Seeing you jumping with a knife towards him, whiskers dodged quickly to the left and shoot behind you. Before you could even turn, his claws where already deep clinched in your buttcheeks"
"Hehe, Tony buttscratch" Lisa smirked. Luca couldn't help smiling himself aswell "Well that's better of a nickname, Buttscratch?" Tony didn't looked pleased with his new nickname, giving a dirty look to his palls scratching their butts ironically.
Before Tony could answer and we would be stuck in a nickname contest for an hour again, I continued the story. "The old man looks lady Macarena in the eyes. I can't defend my farm, my lady. I'm just an old man, my bones already ring when I walk down the stairs. But a wizard as you shouldn't have any problem with these necromancers. You wouldn't say no to an old man, would you?"
Liza always up for a quest quickly answered."off course we will except your quest, and save your daughter"
"He is holding back information, madam. I can hear it in his voice. Give me five minutes with him, I will get him to talk"
"Steve, not everyone is a double agent in this game. He is an old man, scared for his daughters savety. He doesn't need to be interrogated.
"Yes, madam. I just think you just can't be to save. Like you always say: Expect the best, prepare for the worst. Doing the pig test won't hurt."
The pig test was Steve's preferred way of interrogate people after waterboarding didn't had much effect on the mermaid, and he had to come up with more creative ways: transform the foe into a piece of corn, throw him into a pigsdan, and if his soul is pure, he will survive.
"No pigtest. That 7 year old stable boy wasn't a double agent, even if a '7 year old shouldn't know the word disgrunted'. And I highly doubt that mermaid was either."
"Yeah pigs eat everything" Tony jumped in. "they devoured uncle Antonio in mear hours"
"Tony" Luca threw him look to make him shut up.
"I ment Antonio's garden. Yeah ate his whole garden" Tony corrected quickly, followed by a 'Sorry boss' whisper which wasn't as inaudible he though in this little room.
"Never mind all that" Lisa continued, "shall we get this quest going?". And so the party of six made their way to the farm. Let by the righteous Paladin John, with Wizard Lady Macarena and Rogue Handsome Stabby right to his side followed by their new loyal companions, Agent James, Buttscratch Tony, and special agent Steve (he gets mad when you forget special). | 2019-06-26T05:08:22 | 2019-06-26T03:14:31 | 262 | 149 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | The crunch echoed through the room.
Kevin didn't think much of it, until he realized just how quiet everyone had gotten. Opening his eyes after chewing the harsh texture for a moment, he noticed how many eyes were on him.
"...What? What's wrong?" He asked.
No one said anything. Some of them still sat there dumbfounded, a look of shock across their features.
"Is... Is there something on my face?"
"The fuck??" One of them responded. Carl himself was levitating nearby in an attempt to get a better look. He'd eaten grapes the first time around. And now, to Kevin's chagrin, he could fly.
"What??" Kevin asked them all again.
"What're you eating the *table* for?!" Carl pointed out hastily.
Sandra yawned nearby and excused herself as a small ball of flame rolled out of her mouth. Jalapenos had been her ticket.
"I just wanted to see what would happen."
"Bro, you gotta eat the food. You eat the food to get a superpower! Just pick something! Stop it."
Kevin considered this as he kept chewing. "Eh, no sense in backing out now..."
"Goddamn it Kev." Sandra said as she palmed her head at her friend's idiocy.
The sorcerer meant to monitor such a thing, Iliana, still watched in sheer amusement. Maybe it was the way he'd done it. Or just the sheer stupidity. Either way, she was having a great time.
"You gonna have splinters." Carl cringed as Kevin crunched more down.
"Eh it's more grainy then anything." Kevin shrugged. "Kind of bland. Anybody got some hot sauce or something?"
"Man you're sick." Someone else commented.
"Dude, I remember you said you ate crayons as a kid." Sandra added again. "But this isn't it."
"It tastes better than it should be." Kevin said after adding Sriracha to the piece he'd broken off to eat.
Iliana had heard of this only once before. And it fascinated her to see it take place. Others didn't comprehend it. People looking for answers hadn't understood the smile slowly creeping across her face.
"At least look out for nails or something." Carla said as he tried to get Kevin to stop.
"Man's got a mouthful of bricks." Someone cackled as he watched the human rendition of a woodchuck continue his work.
"Enough." Iliana said as she stood. "It is done."
"What? I'm done?" Kevin said.
"Yes. You've gained a power very few manage to obtain."
"...And that would be?" He asked after her silence.
Iliana glided around the table, her robes trailing behind her as she approached him. Kevin stopped chewing only to look up at her. The dagger she suddenly jammed into his ribs caused the room to panic, the horror encompassing all as they watched.
But Kevin didn't die. He had barely reacted to the move as the others screamed. Iliana pulled the dagger back to reveal the metal had bent to the point of being unusable.
"Invulnerability." She smiled. "Well done."
"But... but..." Sandra asked. "He ate the table."
Iliana explained it with gusto many had yet to see. "Whatever you take a bite of gives you your gift. We didn't say it was just the food."
"...So does this mean I can finish this? Or?" Kevin asked after he put more Sriracha on the wood he had left.
---
Feedback and criticism are welcome! r/Jamaican_Dynamite | As a kid, my friends and I loved to chat, debate and even argue what we'd eat when we entered the power room. We didn't know what food gave what power (everyone who went through it could not speak of that without losing their power), so we always theorised what we'd get.
Gemma insisted she'd find the food that had telekinesis. Her twin sister, Lucy, didn't care what power she got but always said she'd eat the sweetest thing there. Zack wanted invisiblity, and Toby would change his mind every other day. That left myself, and Ralph.
I just enjoyed hearing my friends debate the whole topic, before we gave up on making ourselves agree and went to the park. Ralph though... He was Odd. He'd never say anything about what he wanted from the power room, he just kept thinking up "what if" ideas.as the youngest, he'd go to the room last. But he still seemed to think about it more than the rest of us combined.
It was the day before Gemma and Lucy's Sixteenth,. We were sat under a bridge in town, with a load of alcohol Zack had snuck out from his parents' garage. All of us were drunk and just having fun. Toby tried to flirt with Gemma, but got roasted by the others for his efforts. That's when Ralph had probably the dumbest idea is heard out of his mouth.
"hey guys," he'd said, "what do you think happens if you bite the table?"
We all stopped, confused.
"what the hell are you on about?" I slurred. I was a bit of a lightweight when it came to drinking, and I was several swigs of whiskey in.
"You know, in the room. What happens if you take a bite from the table instead of the food?"
None of us responded with words, but our laughter echoed under the bridge. I was still giggling after the laughter had died down, until I saw the hurt look on Ralph's face. I immediately felt guilty.
Once the others had gone back to roughing each other up, I half-walked half-shuffled over to Ralph.
"You are really curious about that aren't you?" I asked. "it wasn't one of your usual 'what if' jokes?"
"Yeah... It's the question I've had since I found out about it. You guys are the first ones I told it to."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. If I don't know what to so, I'll bite the table for you."
His eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
Six months and four days later, and I'm in the room. It's a plain white-walled room with a huge wooden table, laden with a piece of every kind of food you could imagine. The catch is, only one person can have a particular food. No two people born on the same day can eat the same food. With dozens of people in the room, it was carnage. About four people were popping in to the room each second, and only when someone ate a piece of food did they disappear.
It takes five minutes before I muster up the courage to approach the table. I take a step forward, but immediately get knocked to the floor by a guy twice my size pushing me aside. With so many people around me, I scurry under the table, to see a girl nearby doing the same. A weirdly coloured orange segment drops to the floor next to me. I pick it up and offer it to the girl. She grabs it, bites and disappears.
I sit there for a while, wondering what to do. I don't want to get bullied around up there, but I don't want to just grab some random piece of food. Then I remember my drunken promise to Ralph, and wonder what the hell I am about to do.
I lean over, and bite the nearest table leg.
And everything goes black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the blackness, I hear a voice.
WELL THAT'S A NEW ONE. DIDN'T TAKE HUMANITY FOR THE INVENTIVE TYPE. WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HUMAN?
"Lily." my voice responds, but I did not tell it to. What is going on? I'm scared.
WELL, LILY. YOU ARE THE FIRST HUMAN TO TRY TO BITE THE TABLE ITSELF, INSTEAD OF SOME OF THE FOOD I PROVIDE. SO, YOU HAVE TWO OPTIONS. GO BACK AND PICK FROM THE FOOD, OR GAIN A POWER THAT I DESIGN.
"Didn't you design the powers in the room?"
HA! NO, I DID NOT. THOSE ARE SIMPLY POWERS THAT HUMANS DESIRE, MAPPED ON TO FOOD THEY ENJOY. THE MORE THE POWER IS DESIRED, THE MORE POPULAR FOOD IT IS IMPRINTED ON. NO, MY DESIGNS ARE QUITE DIFFERENT.
I can't think. I don't know what to do. I just-
YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE TOO LONG. DECIDE QUICKLY.
My head feels like it is about to explode.
"Give me a power." yet again, my mouth moved on its own.
VERY WELL.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i'm back. Back at my birthday party. It's ten past nine in the evening, so I've been gone for half an hour. I barely have time to sit down when Gemma flattens me against the sofa
"You're back! How come you were there so long?" now everyone sees me, and I'm crowded. Everyone is asking questions. I don't like this.
"Look i-"
I am pulled to my feet without warning. Zack and Ralph are there, separating me from the crowd.
Zack takes a step forward. "guys, chill out! Y'all know how Lucy hates pressure, so back off!" the crowd thins out after that. Ralph pulls me into a side room and the rest of the gang follow. I grab the nearest beanbag and collapse into it.
"So, what did you get?" Toby is lying across the table, head gently resting on Lucy's shoulder. Everyone else is stood behind them.
"I... Don't know" I say. | 2020-03-19T09:06:50 | 2020-03-19T09:01:40 | 587 | 63 |
[WP] You have been living in solitude in the middle of nowhere for over 5 years now. One day, a group of intruders enter your house. The group just walk around and film the whole place using action cams. "Here's where the previous owner died 6 years ago," one of them speaks into their camera. | Margaery lifted her glass to me in a comic salute over the dinner table, her eyes twinkling in the sparkling candle-light as raindrops pinged off the tin roof.
Donning my serious-face, I bowed over the Easter ham and flourished my hands to encompass the table. Our first meal at the cabin that, thanks to a welcome raise at my remote-work job, was now finally paid off and completely ours.
The door smashed open with a jarring bang as three twenty-somethings spilled into the entry-annex. The front-man, garbed in suspenders and an obnoxiously cliche lumberjack flannel, held a smartphone right up to his face to narrate the intrusion while his associates followed, carrying a GoPro and a camera-boom on extender-rods.
"Here we are, in the actual house where it happened!" He shouted into his phone, darting excited eyes around the annex.
Margaery let out a surprised shout and spilled the glass of red wine she'd been lifting all down the front of her blouse and onto the carpeted floor. I snapped up out of my bow and snatched the ham-carving knife as I twirled toward the invasion currently making it's way out of the annex and through the living room.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?! This is my house!" I yelled, my eyes feral, slightly panicked.
"Six years ago, on Easter Sunday, tragedy struck," the lumberjack's ironic beard informed the phone, completely ignoring the knife I brandished toward him in my sweaty hand.
The group passed the fireplace out of the living-room and ingressed into the dining room. Margaery screamed this time, and knocked her chair over as she retreated from the advance of the film-crew and into the corner.
"I'm warning you!" My voice quavered as I shook the knife and took a step toward the three who had stopped at the entrance to the dining-room. The GoPro operator panned the entirety of the room as the lumberjack-boy's voice took on a new fervor.
"That's right, in this house, in this very room, six years ago, Margaery Dunlop was brutally slain by her husband in a fit of inhuman violence!"
"How dare you..." My hands shook as I glared at the kids, indignation and rage competing inside me.
"Nobody knows how the fight started, but everyone knows how it ended, with 37 stab wounds and a manhunt that lasted for three weeks before leading right back to this very cabin, where Jeremy Dunlop then hanged himself in a fit of despair."
"SHUT UP!" I howled as fury took control and I lunged forward with the blade.
There was a moment's silence.
Panting, I looked down at the knife in my trembling fist. My eyes roved around the room, over the knocked over chair, over the red stains under it on the carpet, over Margaery, huddled fearfully in the corner, over Margaery's shirt, red with something I was beginning to realize wasn't wine.
"Some people say," the lumberjack continued, "that when the moon is right, on Easter Sunday, you can still see their ghosts finishing their last meal, and, later, hear Jeremy's fits of rage and poor Margaery's ghost scream in terror..."
I dropped the [knife](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter), eyes growing wide with dawning realization. | "Pardon? Who died here, who are you people, do you have a permit to kick open my door, stop ignoring me, you hooligans." Old man Sam, found himself stopping his foot before the group of teenagers, trying to grab their attention, yet the group just seemed to wander around him, more interested in the strange decor of the room.
"It still smells like an old man in here, it's horrible, like a mix of radishes and chicken feet. Has anyone got a deodorant or something, just anything that can hide the old man musk, I feel like breathing in the fumes from Chernobyl would be less dangerous on my lungs than this. The woman covered her mouth with the edge of her jacket, doing her best to try and keep the smell out of her face, waving her hand towards the old man, nearly smacking him across the face. "It's getting closer, can you seriously not smell it?"
"Sssh Melissa, here take my whirlwind, thunder and motorbikes deodorant, the only deodorant for the manly man." He held up the deodorant towards one of the cameras before tossing the can to Melissa.
"What was that James, you taking money on the side or something? We are here to film a documentary, if I wanted to film an advertisement, I wouldn't have squished up in a car with you lot for twelve hours to do it.
"Seriously Mark, don't be dumb, you need to make sure you are selling products, think about it this way if we put some sponsorship in and this goes viral, we will get all that sweet, sweet revenue, we could be living on easy street just because we promoted a brand. Of course, we won't include that in the first cut we release, we don't want to give them the promotion for free."
"You're an idiot James... Do you honestly believe we will get more than two viewers, it's just an old house, we aren't going to catch any ghosts, the only thing we might catch is tetanus from all the rusted nails sticking out of this place. Can we just take some footage and go?"
"What are you scared?" Melissa asked as she sprayed the toxic deodorant right in Sam's face, causing the old man to stir, feeling his lungs pinch, a dry cough leaving his throat, a loud wheezing snort leaving his nose causing all the teens in the room to jump
"The hell is that, it's the government, they are here man, they are here and they are going to read our minds, I have to much stuff in my brain, I don't want them to suck my memories out." A small five-foot woman screeched, terror painting her face before she was promptly had her forehead flicked by Mark.
"It was just a creak, most likely from the old stairs, stop freaking out, why did we even invite the twitch?" He muttered, already going to collect one of the cameras he had set down, getting ready to leave.
Sam moved away from the cloud of deodorant, rubbing his nose. "YOU BLOOD KIDS, YOU ARE REALLY GETTING ON MY LAST NERVE." He warned, yet they seemed to ignore his words. "Grrrr... I know you hear me, you all just jumped, if I had a phone I would be calling the cops so they could come and give you all a thrashing.
"Twitch has cameras, I couldn't just ask for her cameras and not invite her, that would have been rude." James had been looking through his pockets for other items to sponsor, only pausing, turning back to face the group. "Not... to sound like twitch, but I just heard something growl, it was like a grrrr."
"I... um think I heard that too," Melissa admitted as they all looked to Mark who simply tossed his arms in the air.
"Guys, if you are going to act, you should at least be convincing, no one is going to buy that. Let's just get our stuff together, there are other haunted houses on the way home, we can stop at one of them, it's been five years since the old man that lived here passed, we won't even find his body for some shock value."
"Right, yeah... Guess it's time to go" Melissa sighed as she began collecting her gear, everyone about to leave until Twitch grabbed an antique lamp, swinging it around the room.
"You wanna go government? I know one form of karate and two forms of myarte." She warned as she stepped around the room.
"Anyone know what the fuck myarte is?" Mark asked as Melissa shrugged, James simply rubbed his forehead letting out a sigh. "It's... her form of karate, like my-karate. Look we needed the cameras."
Suddenly the lamp seemed to wave around in the air as the old man began pulling at it. "LET GO OF MY LAMP YOU LITTLE LOONEY TOON." The dramatic battle taking place to a confused group, at first they thought this was some sort of weird acting until they heard that said ghostly grunting and wheezing.
"Film it! Film it!" Mark shouted as the pair got out their cameras, filming the display as Twitch was knocked down, the lamp flying out of the old man's hands, colliding with the wall behind her and shattering, giving them all a frightful scare.
"How did... you do that Twitch?" The group circled the strange girl who chuckled.
"Myarte!" She said making a chopping pose with her hands as the group let out a chuckle.
"She's weird but she can act, come on, let's get out of here, we have our footage." The group nodded, heading out the door, ignoring the bits of lamp magically cleaning itself behind them.
"Act?" Twitch said, a little confused but in the end, she was just happy to be included.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.} | 2020-04-29T23:27:21 | 2020-04-29T22:38:08 | 122 | 12 |
[WP] You are the greatest trickster in the universe, eagerly awaiting the results of your greatest trick; millennia ago, you convinced the gods that humans do not exist. | I added a bounce to my step as I sauntered down the great marble hall. It was packed with gods rushing from booth to booth. Investments were made, influence was swayed. Millenia Day was always busy.
At the start of each millennium, the great billboards release the top million most valued races in the universe. In the weeks leading up to Millenia Day, gods of every kind imaginable would try to sway races to their favour and have them do their bidding. If their races advanced in the rankings, they themselves would rise in power too.
The bustling atmosphere of chaos filled the grand chamber. It was the kind of chaos that you can learn to appreciate. If you watch it closely enough. The struggle for power was eternal, but why struggle when you can cheat?
I, the Great Trickster, simply play tricks on other gods. I gain no quantifiable power per se, but as each of my tricks plays out, my reputation grows. I usually have a decent trick every couple thousand years causing various gods to be wary, but the fame never lasts long.
It's hard work making a good con. You wouldn’t think it until you saw the process behind each ploy though. I tapped my foot on the white paned marble floor and grinned. Oh, but this trick… this trick would throw them into fits of rage and panic for centuries to come.
*The Last Laugh? The Great Reveal?* I mused thinking of what to name the ruse. *The Hoax of Humanity, that sounds nice.*
The hard part about this illusion wasn’t in the trick itself, but the waiting. Eons and eons ago, I thought it would be funny to isolate a race from the rest of the universe.
I used what little magic I had and sent Humanity to a far corner of the universe. Placing a barrier around their solar system prevented communication with anything outside of it. No prayers could reach the gods. No exchanges could reach other civilizations.
The moment they conceived the technology to escape their little bubble, however, they would be right in the midst of this game the gods play. They would be equal to every other race out there.
While the gods did what they could to leave their legacy and imprint their mark in the universe, humans were untouchable. And the best part of all: No one even knew they existed. There had been a couple inquiries long ago, but they always made their way to me, who of course played them off as a fraud.
A loud bell pierced the bustling of the crowds. Silence. A second bell. A third bell. It was time. Every god in the high chamber began their walk to the Theatre. That was where it would all take place. The declarations of which race would dominate the next thousand years. The transcendent billboards, stuffed with lists and of species from top to bottom.
I chuckled barely able to contain myself. Oh, what a sight it would be when every face in the Theatre drops silent with disbelief. The raised eyebrows questioning, the glint in the eyes as they realize the fools they’ve been played for.
Humanity had *just* discovered light travel and without a single god to guide them on their journey since the beginning of time, they would be limitless. With no god to tell them where to go or what to do, they’d be free to reign supreme.
The little rascals were probably escaping the solar system as I walked. All their tech, imagined by themselves, undiscovered by gods. I reached the towering wooden doors to the Theatre giddy with excitement. *Let the fun begin*.
***
More stories by me at r/WristMakerWrites | “What have you done!” I hear booming down the marble halls.
I hear footsteps coming closer as I snickered at the idea that my prank has finally come to fruition.
“Son! What has happened to the lovely forest planet I had made!? What are these creatures inhabiting the land?” He said as he grabbed my shirt and lifted me off of the throne I was sitting in.
“Father, you absolute fool! Look closely! They are humans! Billions of them swarming the land like insects in a fertile field!” I said barely able to contain my laughter.
His eyes narrowed as he threw me with ease into my throne with such force, the marble throne shattered as I flew across the room.
“You told us that humans did not exist! What benefit do you have to lying about it?” he yelled as picked my up off of the floor.
“Father, you give me too little credit. Look at how much work I had to put into creating them. Humans. In our image. Of all shapes and sizes. Some fit like the god of strength, some rotund like the god of hedonism. Tall, short, of all colors and ages. And look what they have done. They took over the planet, mastered the land, sea, and air. Chose what animals lived, and which animals died.” I said before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
“How long?” he said as he shook my body.
“HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN THERE!?” he yelled in an even louder tone.
It was at this point that some of the other gods had noticed the commotion and had entered the large room.
“Ah, we have an audience now, father. Mother? How are you feeling! And my sister and brothers are coming too! Ah a family reunion. Id say they have been there for 200,000 sun rotations. Possibly even more!” I said while looking on at the rest of my family.
“200,000! How dare you? I specifically gave you an order not to keep this project of humans! You went around my back and purposely let them breed! They have ruined the forests, mountains, plains, and swamps! You mother has been so weak. Its all because of you!” he yelled before landing a massive punch to my jaw
“Ugh. Father, such violence will get you nowhere now. Mother, I can see you’re pale. Do you think that the work they have done to your precious nature is affecting you? Oh sister, how about you? The precious animals you are the guardian of. Do you feel weaker now?” I say as I touch my jaw to assess the damage.
“My dear, I feel so weak. I can barely stand.” Mother says to father as she places a hand on her shoulder to keep balance.
Father immediately drops me as he carries her to her throne. Her breathing is heavy as she barely speaks.
“Wha… what have they done to my land? The air is so toxic, the seas full of a foreign substance, and the land is littered with undesired piles all over. They have destroyed my lands and I can barely breathe with my lovely forests and jungles no longer overwhelming the land.”
I lay on the floor giggling at the sight of the once powerful gods now being reduced to shells of their former glory.
“Mother, they call it ‘industry’ and it is what makes them stay in place. Their creations pollute and soil the land. It makes it infertile and barren for anyone to use! They burn items that would kill anything inhaling the fumes.” I say as I get up and brush the small layer of dust from being thrown through my throne off.
My sister now approaches me and delivered a fierce slap across my face before speaking.
“What have you done to my dear animals. They deserved nothing. Everything was in balance. But now I feel many have disappeared from the land. The ones in the sea are being intruded by giant abominations. The ones that fly the skies even cannot have peace as they are being ushered out of their natural migrations by other monstrosities.”
“Ah sister, raising your hand to an elder? I should cut your hand off!” I yell as I grab her arm and pull her towards me.
Father quickly came over and grabbed my neck demanding I let her go. I laugh again as I release my grip.
“The ones in the water are called ‘ships' and the ones in the air are called ‘planes' they help the humans bring items to each other and transport themselves to all corners of the planet! You know dear sister, I must thank you for allowing me to be the guardian of the planets. I appreciate you giving so much freedom and not watching over me!”
“Son, I will eliminate the humans from the land and return it to its former glory. First, I will make sure that you cannot do any further damage to the planet. I will banish you to the farthest regions and resign you to a cruel life of suffering and torture!” he yelled as his eyes began to glow.
What he didn’t expect however, was that his eyes slowly returned to normal after just a few seconds.
“What have you done? My power… I feel nothing..."
“Ah, it worked! Father, your power is based off of the devotion to you. Humans do not believe in you. They have many faiths and many choose to believe nothing! With all these humans, your power has diluted to nothing. Face it, they are here to stay.” I say as I once again spit another mouthful of blood.
Mother at this point began to speak.
“Why son, what made you do this?” she said between coughs.
“Why? Because you all turned your back on my invention. Humans were meant to use the land and you all decided it was better to just leave the massive planet as empty as possible. So I devised this wonderful prank. My greatest trick of them all was to make you all powerless!” I said as I neared the edge of the hall and overlooked the planet.
“You all can live in your grand monument here and wither away! I’m going to the planet for my next trick. Farewell!” I yelled before jumping off of the edge of the hall and descending down to the planet. | 2020-05-08T09:38:56 | 2020-05-08T08:48:38 | 492 | 76 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class." | "You only have five? That's only one for each of us, why didn't you take the whole pack?" his friend Josh was complaining again.
"You think I'm stupid to take enough for him to notice some are missing? There are multiple mind readers in this school you idiot, the only chance we have for smoking is if no one finds out we ever stole anything, we won't get a second chance." Paul gives each of his friends a single cigarette "And I'm the one that steals them, shut up or I won't take for you next time.". As he takes his to his mouth, a small green flame appears in front of his face, which he uses to light it up. "Thanks Sam." The girl just smiles back.
"Oi, we keep the professor busy while you teleport inside his office to steal it! It's a team effort." All the others light their cigarette and laugh.
Teleport... Paul had kept that lie for two years now. It was a simple lie to keep, truth was that the most powerful mind readers in that school were completely forbidden from entering any student's mind without a very good reason, and everyone else just saw him disappear and appear somewhere else. He enjoyed the life he had, and if any of the professors found out he could stop time, he would be made to train that power and join the so called omega class. It was so much better to be together with friends, having a laugh causing trouble throughout the school. Smoking hidden in the schools garden was a delight that the group did every time Wolverine was forced to teach a class.
"Someone's coming." one of the girls said as her ear twitches. Super hearing was especially useful to not be caught smoking.
"You sure Christy? This place is really far off the school." Josh held the cigarette forward and all the smoke seemed to be pulled from it, the same happening to the others afterwards.
"They're coming from behind, a group. Heavy clothes and..." the girl's face went white "Run! Josh cover us with smoke!" she grabs the other girl and starts pulling her, the others following behind.
"The teachers will know it's m-"
"It's soldiers! They're talking through intercoms!" Nothing more was needed for the smoke of the cigarettes to rise up into a cloud behind them as they ran. But from the smoke, came the noise of a gun fire. "Four of them! The smoke spooked them, why did I sa-"
"It's not your fault! Just run to warn the professors, I'll keep them here! Josh remove the smoke." Paul stopped and turned around.
"You can teleport, you'll reach faster!"
"And let you be caught and killed? I can teleport, I can run away fast if I need to!" as the last fragment of smoke disappeared, everything stopped.
The wind no longer swayed the trees, all the noises turned to silence, and Paul looked back at his friends, Josh stopped in motion pulling Sam with him. He sighs and slowly walks off to find out what the enemy is.
Behind a few bushes he finds the four men, dressed in a type of military uniform. Semi automatic rifles in their hand as they run to where the group is. One of them is already pointing his gun towards the group's area. If there's a clearing, the group could easily be shot at this distance. Only thing he can do is fight to keep them occupied.
He stops in front of the man already pointing the gun, and starts to think how he'll do this. Everything stopped in time cannot be moved, the only reason he can breathe is because he allows the air around him to keep up with his time. He looks to the other three men, and prepares to throw a hook. Stopping them should be easy enough. He throws the punch, and just a moment before the strike hits, everything starts moving once more, just long enough for the fist to connect on the man's jaw. And it stops again.
Paul moves to the next one, he throws another punch to the jaw. He decides to just stick his thumb in the eye of the next one. The last one is running, he decides that the most powerful strike would be to run against him and drop kick him. As Time starts again, there is a huge impact of both forces colliding. Throughout the attacks, Paul could know that they were talking but with all the time stops, couldn't comprehend what they were saying. He continued attacking until all were incapacitated. His fists kind of hurt, and with a last check of all the men, he was certain he had won.
Time started flowing normally again, Paul just smiled as he looked at what he did. Four military men on the ground, defeated by a teenager. He just needed to think of a lie to tell the professor. Someone that could only teleport doing this much damage would be hard to convince.
Then a noise came from behind him. Paul turned to look and saw a quick bright light from the bush. Then pain. And darkness.
Paul tried to scream, the pain in his chest was enormous. But he couldn't. He couldn't move any part of his body, he couldn't see anything, he could only feel the pain. So much pain, something small pressing strongly into his chest, and so much darkness, why was this happening, he couldn't even breathe. The few seconds that passed seemed to take far longer until the air started flowing to his lungs again. On the second breath he screamed. So loudly. He had never heard such a loud scream.
Through the pants of pain and the pain itself, he finally realized what was happening. Everything except him, and a bit of the air to breathe was stopped in time, even light. As he regained more control over his power, he started seeing again, and saw it. The flashing light came from a gun, he was shot. The pain came from the bullet now inside his body, stopped in time.
The realization terrified him. He couldn't remove the bullet, he couldn't remove inertia from an object stopped in time, as soon as time started again, the bullet would pass through him. Any mistake moving around could lead to him having the bullet stuck somewhere inside of him. He thought of his blood flowing out of the body. He can't stop the time for his own body, he just made sure that the air around the wound was stopped so that no blood could leave.
He was scared and full of pain. He could maybe move his limbs a bit, but the torso would have to stay in place. He allowing himself to move his head, to try and look around for something he could do, even if he knew that he couldn't move. He looked towards where the school would be, and just hopped his friends would make it. Sure that he would die, he decided to try one last thing. | 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T08:48:44 | 9,106 | 32 |
[WP] "Aha! I have you now villain!" The hero who is always watching you says, waiting for you to do something evil. I mean you are the son of the former Demon King, but you just want a normal life. | “Gods, give me the strength to hold my tongue, grant me the perseverance to not strangle this insufferable prick!” He pleaded silently as the hero stride into the young man’s field, carelessly trampling the sprouting crops under his boots.
“So, demonspawn, What have you to say now? I see through your lies of ‘farming’ these plants are corrupted by evil!” The hero exclaimed for all to hear, though the neighbor’s mere watched from their homes, still unsure what to make of the renowned hero coming to their town to shout at this kindly young man every week.
“Please be careful, the veralia sprouts are very delicate.” The young man replied, struggling to keep agitation and anger from showing in his voice.
“Hah! What, begging already, demon?” The hero taunts, arrogantly striding over a few more of the small plants for good measure “You really think I wouldn’t see through your tricks, your grand deception?” He continues.
“I got the seeds from Lady Morange at the temple, they’re completely pure of any taint or corruption.” The young man insisted, taking a seat on a bench next to his home “Will you be at this much longer or shall I get some water to make tea while you carry on?”
“Hmmph, the bastard child darkens the doorway of even a sacred temple? Perhaps I shall pay them a visit and see if they have fallen to your corruption.” The hero muses.
The Molten Prince glowered at the remark, he was no bastard, his parents had been together for decades before he was born! He opened his mouth about to shout for the hero to fuck off and go harass the priestesses already before he stopped himself. The caretakers of the temple were kind enough to help him, he’d rather not encourage the brat’s inclinations to harass them.
“Ugh and you even dare to pervert the blessed idol of Isvara!” The hero shouted, now in the other side of the small field, looking over the small marble sculpture half-buried in the dirt as he had been instructed to do so, something about letting the fertility goddess work more easily with a connection to the earth.
The Prince stood, feeling his bile rising in fury as the arrogant asshole drew his foot to kick the idol. Flames began to lick at the Prince’s knuckles from inside his clenched fists, the skin there darkening, the thick armored scales of his true form ready to emerge. “Don’t.” The prince growled “That idol means a lot to me.”
“Oh, is the Dark One mad? I suppose this should make you furious then!” The hero exclaimed with a mocking grin before kicking the sculpture of the goddess, smashing the upper half of her body and sending the pieces all over the dirt.
The Prince snarled angrily, about to rush forward before a blinding pillar of light appeared from the idol, staggering him and the hero, both of them shielding their eyes from the intense light.
When they recovered, the goddess stood before them, 7 feet of pure divine power concentrated into human form, the Mother and the Guardian of all life. “That. Is. It!” The goddess exclaimed in frustration, grabbing the hero by the throat and lifting him into the air as a strangled cry of surprise escaped him “You have been a pain in my side more often than not ever since you sealed the infernal realm, and I put up with it because you saved this world, but this time you have finally pushed me over the edge!” She shouts as the Prince watched in shock and surprise, his anger vanishing. This was so very unlike her.
“From now on, you are stripped of my boons and I will see to bringing this issue to the Council of the Divines!” The goddess continues before throwing the hero over the stone fence of the Prince’s home and onto the street, the hero landing in a heap of limbs and now un-enchanted armor.
The goddess sighs, closing her eyes and straightening her robes, composing herself before turning and approaching the Prince. “My sincere apologies for the outburst, it is unbecoming of a divine figure to assault a mortal, but I feel you carry a burden heavier than most. I am sorry for your father’s banishment.” She says, her voice now calm and serene.
“I... I thank you, ma’am. The year has been hard, but I appreciate the chance you have given me, to live without the burden of my family legacy.” The Prince says, bowing his head respectfully.
“Your father was... a dedicated parent, even for all his flaws his love for you surpassed many mortals’ love for their own children.” Isvara says, smiling softly “Do not worry about the idol, I will inform the ‘champion’ that he is obliged to replace it or face my wrath, and he is to never set foot in your village.”
“Thank you, my Lady, my crops will need all the help they can get.” The young man says with a smile, bowing before he returned to weeding his garden, as the goddess vanished as suddenly as she appeared. | Fetivus walked along the streets of Avid, well aware of the figure following behind. He was always there, watching and waiting. For the last year and a half, Galdor had made it his life mission to stop Fetivus's evil schemes. If the horned young man had schemes, which he did not.
This did not stop Galdor from insisting that the young demon boy was up to something. So on a daily bases he would follow and harass Fetivus, who could on most occasion give Galdor the slip. However this tended to make Galdor more of a bother because obviously the only reason Fetivus would give him the slip was to do...EVIL.
On this day the young man was simply heading to buy some food, he walked into the market when a figure seemed to melt into existence before him. It was a girl, and on her head were two horns. The boy caught his breathe, he knew there where others like him but never met one.
"Hello..."
The girl had barely spoken when Galdor came charging up "I have you now fiend, meeting with your dark..."
"Ahk" the sound of a choke
The man was suddenly stopped, frozen in place, gasping for breathe. A confused Festivus turned to see the girl holding a hand up.
"I was speaking..." she turned to Fetivus, "Is this man bothering you?"
The boy was unsure what to say, the girl spoke, "I can tell...let me guess he assumes you must be evil. The horns and teeth do make some people overly jumpy..."
She turned to glare at Galdor, the boy glanced away from the man, "He hasn't really done anything, and now..."
"Not yet he hasn't," she eyed Galdor, "and I don't think he will, how long has this been going on?"
"Over a year..."
"A year," the girl walked toward Galdor, "A year and you haven't done anything...I think it is because you can't."
The girl snapped her fingers and in a flash all three were in a large arena like structure, the sky was open as a breeze wafted the scent of the country side. Festivus looked around, he had never seen this kind of structure near Avid. Then again he never really left the city, especially with Galdor watching him. He turned to the man still held in place.
He felt a touch, turned to face the girl, "Come."
Glancing back at the frozen Galdor, "Where are we going?"
A small laugh, "To have a seat."
She looked off, "Malcath!"
With a snap Galdor dropped to the ground, finding his bearings he charged at the two, "I have you now!"
Then a ghostly blue mist rose up around him, the sound of a chocking Galdor who waved his arms in front of himself. Then shapes began to form in the mists, skeletons. The surrounded the hero who was surprisingly frightened.
"Get Back, I will bring holy vengeance"
A deep rumbling laughter was heard, "I think not little human."
"Come and face me you coward, I am not afraid of..."
More blue mist swirled as a tall armored figure suddenly stood before Galdor, the skeletons spreading out to give a clear path. And the hero stood dumb founded, rooted in place with fear. Festivus's attention was distracted by a giggle from the girl beside him, then the figure spoke.
"Surely you know who I am? Or do you spend your time harassing children who have done nothing."
Galdor swallowed, "Your all fiends..."
A snort, "I am not a half demon, what are they...your not from the academy are you."
The hero's eyes widened as a great laughter erupted, "I though you might have been a wash out...but you, but you never went."
More laughter, "Did you fail the entrance exam? No...you never tried...DID YOU!"
The laughter was loud and echoing, Fetivus was confused and glanced at his companion, "I suspected he doesn't know even how to fight. Did he only ever follow you around?"
"Yes," but that does that have anything to do..."
"Any hero worth their salt would have figured you out long ago, everyone assumes half-demons can just do magic. Well we can...but its more complicated than that. I think your friend was trying to get a reaction for the authorities to get involved...but that would be dangerous if you were actually malevolent."
"Oh..."
There was another swirl of blue mist as a half dressed figure appeared, a large man who seemed to be in the process of getting dressed. Galdor looked wary as Malcath looked amused as he crossed his arms. Festivus watched with confusion as the man spun around."
"What in tarn..." he stopped upon seeing Malcath and pointed violently, "YOU! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!!"
A smile, "Old friend..."
"OLD FRIEND! WHY..."The man stopped once he realized they had an audience, noting the hero surrounded by skeletons just standing there and the two children watching. Looking back and forth, he took a step toward Malcath and leaned in.
"What is going on?"
Malcath gestured into the air, "Quick question Paladus, are either of those two fiends? Particularly they boy?"
The disrobed man glanced at the Festivus as Malcath gestured toward the two children, "No..."
"LIES..."
The voice of Galdor cut off at a snap of Malcath's fingers, "and the other point of interest, a masquerading hero...stalking the boy, of course."
"WHAT!" Paladus stormed up to Galdor as Malcath waved his hand with disinterest.
"Who are you?" there was silence and then Paladus turned to Malcath, "You mind?"
A smile, "You want to go back or have him speak?"
A sigh, "Sure. If it means I don't have to deal with you...I will make sure this sod is sorted out."
The blue mist swirled again as Paladus, Galdor and the skeletons vanished, Malcath sighed as his shoulders dropped and he walked over to the two children. Fetivus was unsure of everything that happened and turned toward the girl who was smiling."
"What happened?"
Malcath wringed his hands, "Me and Paladus go way back, to the Adventuring Guild...now Academy thanks to Paladus of course. They don't exactly like people pretending to be heroes, endangers everyone but people still do it. I suspect your stalker thought her was being helpful...instead of a fearful ignorant buffoon.
"He didn't seem to like you..."
A grimace, "Well, lets say we had a difference of opinion on a few things...and I might have overthrown a kingdom once..."
Fetivus was trying to figure out what this man meant when the girl leaned in, "Malcath is a former Dark Lord..."
A hurt look crossed Malcath's face, "Former?...excuse me, I am very much still a Dark Lord young lady and you should treat me with the respect I deserve."
"Sure," the following laughter from the girl assured Festivus."
"Can I go home now."
"Yes." Malcath opened his arms placatingly.
"Of course," the girl got up, "I was going to ask you to show me around the city, I can be a bit shy...except when I am not of course."
The girl snapped her fingers and the two where back in the market, "Come on then, show me around." | 2021-07-25T22:01:27 | 2021-07-25T20:07:56 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] TIL that the opposite of Paranoia is Pronia, wherein one believes that the universe and the world is conspiring to help them. Write a story about one such person with an extreme case of Pronia.
If you would like to learn more about pronoia,* [click here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pronoia_%28psychology%29)
*Edit: I'm a big fat dumbo and went ahead and misspelled pronoia. Forgive me!* | I've known Dave for a long time, since the the first day of gym class our third grade year. Even at ten years old Dave could do anything. Dodgeball? Barely moved. He could close his eyes, toss the ball like six year old girl, and drill the last poor sonofabitch between the eyes.
I fucking hate Dave.
The world fell into his lap. Contest on a radio show? He didn't wait around pretending to count callers. The DJ picked up as soon as Dave dialed. Boom, backstage passes. He had no idea how hard things were for the rest of us. Girls, money, sports. Hell, even when he forgot a pencil all he had to do was look on the ground. There would be a bright, shiny new Bic. Fucker.
I bet if he asked, a bum would give him his last nickel.
It's the little things, but they add up. I have no idea why it made me so angry. Every single thing he did was a success.
After high school he got into Yale. My dad's alma mater. My granddad's alma mater. He was so excited and happy at his graduation party. I saw his acceptance letter framed by his pile of neatly wrapped gifts. I read the letter. The letter I wanted more than anything.
I wanted to smash the glass and burn that piece of paper. Better yet, smash it over Dave's perfect head. Why not? He didn't deserve it. It fell into his lap. Every single mark written on his entrance essay was typed in accident, every single 'I' dotted and every 'T' crossed. It was all luck. I was sure about.
Anyway, right before I could swing the damn frame, glass, and all across his pretty face, I tripped and smashed the glass over the face of another guest that must've hated Dave as much as me. This other guy must've been planning this for a while. The kid dropped a gun and fell down unconsious. I saved the prick.
Jesus, I fucking hate Dave.
Just found this subreddit and really want to work on my creative writing skills. Any feedback is appreciated! | There he was, there in the gutter again. Just as he had been every day for the last five months. He was filthy, disheveled, and he wore the biggest smile that I've ever seen.
It always disturbed me, every time that I walked past the little alcove that he had claimed as his own, the look in his eyes. It wasn't malice, or anything negative, he looked absolutely serine.
*How can a man in the gutter be serine?*
Still, this was the fastest route from the parking garage where I stored my shining new BMW, a 6 Series. I still had a few payments to make, but you couldn't be a respected banker unless you drove the best. That's what they told me.
I passed him, the man in the tattered clothes, without a word. My mind wandering to the trip to Cancun that my wife was demanding. It was never ending, she had wanted a new apartment, I had obliged, and on the upper east side no less. Twenty-two hundred square feet, a mammoth of a penthouse that I had hardly a clue how I was going to pay for.
Plus, there was the $14 million in the Truman Trust one of my student-interns had managed to accidentally wire to some place in Hong Kong. He offered to fix it for me this very morning, but I didn't want to risk another screw-up. This whole thing was going to be tough to explain to my boss.
I looked down at the gold Rolex on my wrist. It read 8:15am.
*Fucking late, too*
"Boy!" I heard a gruff voice from behind me. I did not acknowledge it.
"Boy! Mr. Suit, come here for a second."
I glanced back. The sidewalk was empty apart from the lone homeless man. He looked at me with deep blue eyes and an expression I couldn't place.
"Come back here", he said again. Motioning me with a hand that couldn't be more dirty.
For whatever reason, I stopped. A moment of indecision passed over me, and then I found myself walking towards him.
"Yes?" I asked, annoyed, though more with myself than him.
"Mr. Suit, you're the luckiest man alive."
I could have laughed out loud.
"What do you know about luck?" I asked incredulously.
"I know that those who have it don't know it and those who don't... well they have two choices."
"Oh yea?"
*I don't have time for this.*
"... And what might those choices be?"
"Well, Mr. Suit, we can be miserable and envious. Or, we can be content with what we have."
"What's your point?"
"My point, Mr. Suit, is that I've seen you walk past here every day for the last few months. You've never once said hello or returned my smile. Judging from your appearance, you've been given more than most people can even imagine. You had the fortune to have a family that could pay for your education. You never had to fear violence or that you might not have anything to eat the next day."
Now I was furious. How *dare* this man lecture me?
"Now listen here, I have responsibilities! I have people who depend on me, and I have goals that I want to reach. You are a waste. A blight, and yet you dare tell me that I am privileged? You have the nerve to question my life?"
"Mr. Suit, have you ever once been happy? Have you ever been thankful?"
I began to answer, but the words caught in my throat. My knuckles were white from the strain of my clenched fists.
The man continued. "You see, I'm the happiest man alive. You may be the luckiest, and everything may work out for you, but you've never been happy have you?"
I felt water pooling in my eyes. Were they tears of rage? Or something else?
"Mr. Suit, a piece of advice from the man who has nothing. There's only one thing that you need to understand, in this world, and that is this: life is too short to focus on the negative and the things that you don't have."
He paused, looking deep into my eyes. *My soul.*
"Breath, Mr. Suit, you're alive. This is your life. Are you sure that this is the way you want to be living it? Be grateful for today, it is precious, wear it like a mother's embrace. This world has been good to you, now you should return the favor."
He looked away, clearly done with the conversation.
My Rolex on my wrist read 8:24, but suddenly that didn't seem as big of an issue anymore. The Truman Trust could wait a while.
*I'm going to Cancun.* | 2014-05-12T12:57:46 | 2014-05-12T12:32:56 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] When the Aliens came, the Swiss were neutral. When they started to conquer Earth, the Swiss were still neutral. When the Aliens came for the Swiss, they learned the hard way why the Swiss prefer to be neutral. | It was within five hours of the Shelk invasion that the Swiss, ever neutral, got their first glimpses of the alien ships. They seemed to slowly crawl through the sky like some kind of scarabs, scouring the mountainous landscape with green beams of light that gave them instant feedback on what anything was.
Of course, they weren't particularly bothered by the notion that every Swiss household contained a gun of some sort: The Shelk had already sent a force to America, and those with the most guns in their houses were hit with lazarus projectors, reverting everything in its path to a pile of glassy dust.
The stories of the Americans desperately fighting for survival had already become the latest joke within the fleet: Many of them didn't have any training with the weapons, and those that did were often stopped or attacked by other humans - "Leebralls", as the humans called them - who tried to claim that violence was never the answer and guns were making it worse.
Indeed; They just made the humans feel like they had a fighting chance.
So, with the glorious defeat of America fresh in the hiveminds of the Shelk, they sent down the first invasion ship, intended to land in 'Bern'.
For a few minutes, it hovered above Bern, and finally began its descent towards a town square.
That was when the Swiss activated the Reisläufer.
The Geneva Convention was, to the Swiss, just a guideline. It said that no other country was allowed to hire Swiss mercenaries, since they were too dangerous. Switzerland's leadership, however, had decided that they were allowed to use the Reisläufer because they were not actually hiring them out to another country.
The ship, almost locust-like in appearance, was suddenly rocked by a sudden force. The crew inside barely had time to communicate orders before an armoured hand punched straight through the Atlesium plating of the ship, grabbed the pilot by the side of the skull, and pulled its head through the fist sized hole it had made on entry. The Shelkian was almost liquified by the speed of the attack, and the now-pilotless shuttle began to plummet to Earth.
On impact, there was barely a second of respite before a pair of armoured hands grabbed the rear bay doors - easily three tons of metal - and simply ripped it open. None of the Shelk troopers had time to ready weapons as one of the humans lunged at them like some feral creature, fists raised.
On Shelk cameras, all they were able to see was the flurry of their soldiers' entrails being strewn about the roadway like confetti for almost ten seconds, accompanied by the communications microphones being spattered with blood. Then, just as it happened, it was over.
The Shelk empire watched the event in absolute shock. Nobody for galaxies around was willing to even speak as they witnessed their oppressors torn apart with disturbing ease.
Then, after almost a minute of no activity, the cameras identified a noise. Steadily, a set of weighted footsteps, accompanied by the sound of something being dragged along the shuttle floor, with the occasional sound of a wet squelch as the foot of the attacker splashed into a puddle of Shelk blood.
Finally, the attacker came to light.
A human with full body armour. It was unlike any of the others they had faced; The "See-ahl Te'm Seex" and "You-Ess Army Rain-jars" had not obscured their faces and only worn minimal protection when engaging. Perhaps they had been led to a false assumption that they could easily defeat the Shelk. But with their demise, the Shelk had assumed that was the worst of them. No human could be more dangerous, and those soldiers had only injured one Shelk stormtrooper.
But this human...wearing a set of green, battle-worn armour plating...had taken down a dropship single-handedly.
Its' fists were dripping with the luminous crimson blood of almost three dozen Shelk Honour Guards; The elite warriors unmatched throughout the universe. Clutched in its right hand was nothing less than the spine of the legendary Frinta Thoh XXXXVII, the Shelkian who defeated the Mentris Revolution with one small frigate and half a dozen trainee shock troopers. The spine also had a souvenir; The mangled visage of Frinta's alligator-like face, pummeled and torn like a wet ball of paper and slathered in his red lifejuices.
After a moment, the human looked up to the Shelk flagship. The only indication that the human was vaguely interested was that its golden visor was pointed at the ship; Later analysis of human terms of expression indicated that the armoured human's twitching eyelids, bared teeth, and upturned corners of the mouth were signs of pure, unfiltered, blistering rage, somehow malformed into a twisted form of sadistic pleasure.
But the terrifying fact soon came to light with the neurological scans.
It was looking at the ship because it was thinking about how to get up there.
Then, slowly, deliberately, the human raised the severed spine, Frinta's eviscerated head dangling beneath like a wrecking ball, and began to spin the spine in an arc.
Around and around it went.
As if the human was gearing up to throw it.
Little did the Shelk expect that it was going to do just that.
As the Grand Admiral began barking orders across all communications channels for support, the bridge crew scurrying about across walls and ceilings to reach terminals that would ready weapons, there came a sudden thud.
The Grand Admiral was quick to understand how silent the ship would be during an invasion, and flipped the psy-cam channels to that of the open hangar.
There, lying next to the hole which the dropship had originally flown from, was the severed head of his soldier.
Inside the mouth, barely visible to the camera, was a red light, pulsating with an increasing speed and accompanied by a quiet 'beep'.
He froze.
He felt one of his Commanders right next to him, yelling in his ear about some problem that had arisen, but it felt like everything had stopped.
In the moment of deafening, defeating silence, there came a cheerful bleep from the hangar.
"*Danke für Ihre Hilfe.*"
The Grand Admiral blinked, his five-eyed gaze resting on the monitor.
"*Privat Ziegler kann nun offiziell als Mitglied der Band von Schweizer Söldner betitelt werden.*"
He had failed his men.
"*Auf wiedersehn.*"
And, for the first time in the Shelk Imperium's history, one of their flagships was destroyed, forcing their retreat.
As for the rest of Earth, it soon became clear what had happened, but the armoured man was nowhere to be found. No records. No CCTV. Nothing.
It was like he wasn't meant to be on the battlefield at all. | Chronicles of the last invasion, as recorded by Norman, in a cave in Kansas.
January 25, 11:34 AM, A large pillar of light shined down on major world centers around the world. The news covered it, focusing on the ones covering the entire cities of New York, Washington DC, and Los Angeles. They covered more as they they popped up around the world - blindingly white light that drew speculation almost instantly of alien invaders.
3:45 pm - 40 such pillars have been counted in the United States alone. There are currently hundreds around the world. Poeple have started evacuating the areas. Traffic has been a nightmare. Many people are now riding bikes and/or jogging out of the areas. No one knows what is going on. Lots of speculation by news agencies.
6:24 pm - explosions! I had assumed, and so did Nellie Jean, that they'd probably just destroy the entire cities at once. Grandma Olsen thought they'd probably abduct everyone. Well, we're both right and wrong it turns out. Lots of buildings simply collapsed. We're pretty sure we're safe though. We've s tarted gathering some stuff for the cave, just in case it really is the end of the world. I want to live through this!
January 26, 3:45 am - well, most of the stuff is in the cave now. We still have the TV working fine, which I wasn't really expecting. We also got the radio powered up. They thought I was crazy putting in all those car batteries, but it should last us up to the end I reckon. I'm still fiddling with the antannae for the ham radio.
January 27, 6:27 pm - well... the national guard is up and running. Some missiles were shot it looks like, but I haven't heard anything about the alien ships yet. Why has no one seen them? Doesn't make sense to shoot icbm's into the sky with no target.
January 28, 3:45 pm - army, marines, national guard, I don't know. The news is really sketchy now, I can't always get a clear signal. Seems whatever war is going on out there isn't going so well for us. They did get a camera shot of a ship though - a dot way up in space. NASA got a picture too, but when they tried to show it on the TV the signal dropped again.
February 28 - America has fallen. Word is that Canada has too. I'm relying almost entirely on the HAM now for news, though there are still radio stations up here and there. We don't know what the aliens are called, but they actually send in ground forces. Air forces around the world are almost universally wiped out as soon as they take to the air. Seems the ships are coming back to harbors to help with defense. The aliens aren't exactly targeting anyone out there in the ocean. I wouldn't doubt it if some submarine is out there for months without knowing what's going on back here. That would be funny. Hah. anyways, we're all staying in the cave pretty universally for now. We have enough rations for a good few months, and enough ammo for a few years I think. They said I was crazy! hah. Not so crazy now.
February 29 - Some news is coming out now that says not all major countries have fallen. That's good news. Except... there is now a new conspiracy afoot! Switzerland is staying neutral. Like half of europe has called on their aid repeatedly, and they always refused. That's weird. Doesn't make sense to me. I'm guessing that people are just looking for people to blame. Swiss probably fell long time ago. "refusal" my ass.
March 13th - that stupid rumor about Switzerland is still hummin the radios. Don't know why, it's bothering me though how persistant it is. Lots of people think they're in league with the aliens.
March 14th - daily update... I should start daily updates. Well, not sure if the info updates enough for that. But today I heard a guy saying they're taking their equipment into Switzerland, up on one of their mountains, to get a better view of what's going on. Should be interestig.
March 15th - daily update - That guy I told you about says he made it to a good place, and set up his ham. Good guy. Glad he speaks english. Hell, glad most people speak it. I'd have no idea if I had to learn welsh or german or whatever the heck it is they speak over there.
March 17th - daily update - ok, missed a day. I was busy cutting down a few trees. That was some hard work. Had to eat extra today, but we needed to get some fortifications set up just in case. You nver know, do ya? Anyways, that guy - whatever his name is (hrklshaken? I don't know)... he says that it really is true - switzerland is largley unaffected. No destroyed buildings. Hell, it looks like it's fricken perserved in time. Really weird. I'm waiting on updates.
March 18th - mr Swiss man - what I'm calling that herlkischktein guy (or whatever), says he's going down today to talk to the locals if he can. Hopefully I'll hear back tomorrow.
March 18th - mr Swiss man made it back... but he didn't actually talk to anyone. Says he couldn't get past a river. Strange he said too, because the river wasn't on the map, but it was pretty big. He thinks maybe some snow melted or something and it's seasonal. I don't know much about tha t- not many mountains here in Kansas.
March 19th - mr Swiss man says light started appearing over the countryside. But we waited a few hours and nothing has happened yet as far as he can tell.
March 20th - The light is still there, no other update. More light than before though. Mr swiss and I just chatted for a few hours. Nice guy. Shame about his family though. Both kids were pilots, and wife worked in the city. All dead. Now we're just sittin here looking for answers.
March 21st - The light... is still there. No explosions, no buildings look collapsed, nothing. its bothering both of us. We're going over different theories in our head to pass the time. My favorite is angry swedish gods coming back or something. Best I got.
March 31st - The light just went out. We still have no idea what's going on. Mr Swiss said he's been working on a way to ge tpast the river, and it should be done in two days or so.
April 3rd - Mr Swiss is going down to the cities again, at least that's the plan. Long walks ahead. He'll be back soon I hope, 'cus my family is driving me crazy. Hey! there i smore important stuff right now than our stupid farm. With how many people are left, do you really think we need enough grain to feed 7 billion people? bull. We'll be alright, I said.
April 6th - Mr Swiss still hasn't shown up. I'm getting worried now. I'm checking every night though just in case.
April 10th - Mr Swiss came back! and he said that the Swiss (you know, the actual swiss people, not this guy) were unconcerned with the aliens. Like it didn't matter at all.They were still acting like everythign was fine and that 6.5 billion people or so weren't just wiped out in an invasion. He couldn't get a straight answer out of anyone.
April 11th - and now I think we know why the Swiss prefer to be neutral. Today there was a glow around the entire country - blue-green in color. He says it's like the grass itself is glowing. Really, its' glowing. I told him he should probably get out of there. He said no. I can't blame the guy.
April 12th - um... that green-blow glow? yeah? the one that started in Switzerland? it's... it's here. and it's spreading. I don't know why, but I'm really getting worried.
---end of transcript---
Jorkal, of alien Frenden military - what is blue-green?
Kerma, of alien Frenden military - it's two frequencies of light that humans could detect. They could also see a lower frequency called "red". We have the specs listed in the appendix on the report.
Jorkal - and details the invading ships?
Kerma - we tried very hard to find them, sir, but no wreckages have been found yet.
Jorkal - I see. And where is this untouched Switzerland places?
Kerma - we have maps showing where it was located. But it seems it no longer exists.
Jorkal - what?
Kerma - no longer exists. It's in the appendix. The entire area where maps show Switzerland was is now occupied by water.
Jorkal - so the maps are wrong then...
Kerma - well... it appears so. But all the maps are wrong then. I wonder if Switzerland was just one of his fairy tails. We're still searching all the records though for hints of this, because the number of references to an existing place of that name are staggering. The evidence points to it existing once - that's all I can say for certain. | 2016-08-05T10:04:06 | 2016-08-05T08:49:21 | 42 | 17 |
[WP] You live in a world where, by law, everyone is euthanized on their 60th birthday. Being born on February 29, you successfully petition the Supreme Court to not be euthanized until your legal 60th birthday. The day after your first 60 years of life, you find out exactly why the law exists. | For fifteen years, as Jake drove to his work, he always took a moment to appreciate the starship. A colossal flat cylinder that dominated the plain, it would have been science fiction just fifty years ago. The development issues they encountered, the setbacks with the gravitation drives, the shortages of metals no one ever needed in those amounts before, everything was new. They were literally building the future.
When the ship departed he had grown disinterested with the other projects, demotivated. He took his first long vacation three years after, and was paragliding in Brazil when his old manager called.
"We have a software problem, Jake" Matt sounded nervous. "With the genship project."
"What is it?" They tested the software thoroughly — literally for years — but there always was a chance of something going wrong. However, there were software experts within the genship crew, ready to correct any issues in place.
"It's with the reg subsystem. Remember, the one we had to buy from Exicode? For "cost-saving"? We've discovered an overflow bug that would cause a cascading failure. Shuts down the internal networks, from cloth printers to food processors. Very easy to hit, too — any living passenger over sixty would start the reaction."
"Can the crew fix it?" asked Jake. "They should be able to" said Matt "We've bought the source code. Unfortunately the contract requires it to be encrypted while stored, but we gave them the DRM key for the code and reinstallation of the reg subsystem."
"How's that validated?" "Through Exicode servers of course" said Matt. His voice dropped "Oh."
Jake looked longingly at the skies, and gliders above him. He tried to think of a solution, but his mind wasn't up to it. He was so tired of the genship, and sorting issues in other people's projects — and internal network wasn't that bad, it wasn't like the life support would shut down.
He was sure they'll think of something. Hundreds of years in flight, their own government, their own Supreme Court. The generational ship was a hard project, full of unknowns, but humans always found a solution.
Just not always a good one. | "The first time it happened was terrifying, it all faded to black. I was ready to celebrate my 60 and one day birthday. Hookers, blow, the works. I just won the life lottery, I'll be turning in to dust long before the government tries to kill me.
I was set to party like there was no tomorrow, the alcohol ready to flow like niagra, that delicious pure snow, and plenty of the right type of company. I've seen most of my friends die, and hanging out with an older crowd kind of sucks when six months can turn your New York social life in to an abyss.
I was worried at first what ageing would be like, but it really hasn't changed anything. I'm strong as an ox, run 6 miles 3 times a week, and eat as healthy as possible. Im sure that it will stay this way as long as i keep striving to live healthy. The loneliness slowly eats at my confidence, but that is a problem for another day.
After everything was decorated, I laid down to catch some sleep for my big day."
No sound came from the house that evening except for the high pitched cry of a baby.
Your honor, I have explained this to 8 judges over the course of 450 years. I didn't ask to be god damn immortal; I asked to live my natural life. Is it really so much to ask? Don't even start about me mentioning some coke. I probably got it from your dealer's great grandpa and, I don't think the statute of limitations stretches past four decades, let alone four centuries. Just put me to death for the love of god, I have seen everyone I love die for centuries. You don't think I'm just a little sick of this! I've had a family, been nomadic and went to my children's funeral at the ripe age of twenty two. I have been a scientist, engineer, and musician. I'm spent, I don't want to do this anymore but it is in my moral code not to commit suicide so I'm asking for death. Do you know what puberty is like seven times, SEVEN. I did it twice as a woman but let us not get in to the complexities of that."
The judge sits and heartily laughs, "that is quite a tale you have, but this court hasn't overturned a ruling in 200 years and it will not start now. If you are a suicide risk then you will be held for 24 hours for observation at the local hospital. Do you feel like hurting yourself sir?"
"Are you kidding me? I mean seriously, I just told you that is strictly something I will not do and your next question is what I just explained. Where do they find idiots of your caliber, or do you have to be bred to be that stupid?"
The judge looked appalled to my tone and speech; he took a while to regain his composure. As he sat in a stupor, the most brilliant of ideas came over me.
"Your honor, I have a final question for you and I will leave to never return. The question is rather simple, will you answer it honestly to have me stop wasting your time?"
The judge contemplates and responds, "fine, one question."
I take a long, deep breath before I ask. "Do you have kids?"
As I saw the N leave his lips, I grabbed the court officers gun and put the judges brains on the wall. The blood splatter making a unique pacman splatter on the American flag and the first police shooting in 150 years. I walked up to his corpse emptying 5 of the 7 rounds in to the chest. When it was finished, I turned and pointed the gun at the officer.
The unidentified man was shot 47 times during a hostage rescue attempt, and was announced as a homeless mental illness patient.
The camp fire starts to dim as the wind turns everything it touches to ice. "That son was my 445th birthday. Three lessons from this story. The first, never underestimate a curse. Second, the U.S. has pretty much effectively killed/banned/altered anyone that could possibly have any genetic similarities to me and keeps constant watch. So ya, just take my word and don't go. Third."
As I finish the word, I pull the trigger. His body hits the ground with a cold, lifeless thud. I pull my lighter out and light the cigarette that was behind my ear. I take a long drag and talk to the night air, silent as if it understands my position and mourns my loss.
"Trust me son, your 60th and 1/365th is a hell of a bad birthday."
Thanks for reading if you did. First submission and I welcome comments, criticism, etc. I love it all. Hope you enjoyed!
Edit: rewrote a sentence. | 2016-08-06T01:08:22 | 2016-08-06T00:32:00 | 177 | 58 |
[WP] "A watched pot never boils", as the old saying goes. Throughout all of history there has always been at least one set of eyes on the ocean. Today, for a split second, everyone looking at the ocean looked away at the exact same time. | “As with most other apocalypses, this exhibit, Earth, ended for a phenomenally stupid reason,” the docent said. Martin was next to me, laughing hysterically. He loved the Museum of Dumb Apocalypses. We went whenever we were in Diamondtown, which was about twice a year, when we came to visit my folks for the holidays.
“The residents apparently didn’t understand the basic thermodynamic rules of their planet, and when they lapsed into inattention, this large volume of quantum fluid that partially submerged their land masses began to boil. The whole planet was gone -- done -- in like an hour. Ridiculous, right? Moving on--”
The couple to my right were giggling. “You can actually major in this!”
“No!”
“Yes! Idiotic Eschatology. They offer it at my uni. It’s actually super-competitive. That guy,” a slimy extrusion grew to point at the tour guide “has a PhD!”
Everyone who overheard that had a good chuckle.
“...And now that brings us to Bajambmor, which is so small that we actually have the entire dead husk of the planet, on display, right here!”
The tour guide held out his palm and Bajambmore materialized -- a black rock about the size on a human fist. A tiny voice spoke up: “We’re not quite dead yet!”
“What’s that?” The tour guide looked at the planet. “Do you need assistance? Send up a flare so we can find you!”
A small firework blossomed. The tour guide inspected the planet: “Here we go, riiight about...there.” Squish.
The tour guide wiped his hands on his pants. “As I said, folks, most apocalypses are really astonishingly stupid errors in judgement. I hope you enjoyed the tour. Please find your way out through the gift shop and fill out the feedback form before leaving!”
Want more like this? Subscribe to [r/robotdevilhands](https://reddit.com/r/robotdevilhands) | #Title: See The Signs
"Do you feel that?" whispered Samantha.
"Feel what?"
The waves weren't so bad that day, outside of Ocean City. Samantha and Leonard liked to soak in the sun off the coast in their yacht when they got the time. Working full time as attorneys didn't always afford them many opportunity to enjoy the ocean much, but today they weren't going to think about law. They were on vacation.
It couldn't have been worse timing.
"LEONARD."
"WHAT," shouted Leonard.
He got up fast, angry that he couldn't finish his nap.
Then he felt how sticky it was, and saw all the steam.
"It's way hotter than the forecasts right now," said Samantha. She put her hand out to the water, then retracted it hard. "HOL- Leonard it's BOILING hot."
Leonard swiped open his phone, and looked up weather forecasts. It read 78 degrees as the high. He checked the current weather at his location. It read 86 degrees. He hit refresh. It read 98 degrees.
He glanced at his thermometer. It read 110 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Oh God," whispered Leonard, sweating bullets.
Leonard watched the bubbling of the water, and saw a dolphin rise up out of it. Then another. And a whole pod of dolphins, a whole school of fish, a whole wealth of ocean life.
"Something's wrong," said Leonard.
Samantha looked at her husband in sarcastic surprise.
"OH well thank you Capitan Obvioso," she saluted him. "You know I didn't figure that out on my own."
"Samantha okay," said Leonard. He didn't have time to argue. He started up the yacht, and headed back to shore. "We need to get back fast, something's dangerously wrong."
More ocean life came up to the top, still alive, but badly injured. Badly burnt, boiled alive. Some of them writhed, before they stopped moving altogether.
Leonard tried to start up his engine. His rutter got to moving, and they picked up speed. They weren't too far away from shore.
Then a whole new school of fish rose to the top, dying all at once. They made the trip bumpy. He was moving fast, but he had little control. They were still wearing their life vests.
Drowning was the least of the ocean's threats now.
"HOLD ON," shouted Leonard.
More dead fish popped up. A whole mass lining the very edge of the shore, and piling up on the sand.
"Do you hear that?" shouted Samantha.
Leonard listened, and heard deep, throaty singing. Like a choir of basses, singing some dark chorus.
"What is that?" he whispered.
There was a sudden tide rising in the water, and a large being emerging from it.
Humanoid, and red like muscle. A titan rising from the boiling ocean.
They saw its lidless eyes, and saw the countless thousands of others emerging in the distance as well, holding swords far larger than aircraft carriers in their grasp.
They walked forward, towards the tsunami they'd created, singing their deep, throaty song.
"The tsunami pulled the waters in some, and burned Samantha and Leonard.
"AhhhhhhhhAHHHHHHH," shouted Samantha.
"I'm sorry!" shouted Leonard. "I'M SORRY I DIDN'T LISTEN TO YOU."
His arms were red, and burnt. They were taken up by the tsunami, and riding towards the coast on a wave.
"I LOVE YOU."
"I LOVE YOU."
The tsunami took them over the town, and covering everything in its wake. Far from the titans, the water boiled less, but still burned like hellfire.
There was a jolt, and they hit their heads on the yacht.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Leonard awakened, and noticed the red, smooth mountain surrounding him.
He looked beside him, and found the breathless body of Samantha.
"No," he whispered. He gave her breath, and did chest compressions. He breathed again, and did more compressions. "NO NO NO."
He didn't stop for the greater part of an hour. He shook her slowly when he'd lost all hope, then shed bitter tears on the warm, ocean soaked Earth. It smelled like salt water, and flesh.
He looked around at the red mountain surrounding him again.
It looked like muscle.
He turned to his other side, and saw the pale, orange eye staring right at him. He looked far down the length of its face, and saw the titan's smiling teeth.
| 2017-03-20T09:03:20 | 2017-03-20T08:56:15 | 75 | 20 |
[WP] Weapons become more powerful the older they get. Modern guns will barely give someone a scratch but an ancient spear can devastate armies. | I dug… where had I put it? The valley was still recognizable on the whole, but many of the features were different.
I heard a cough behind me. I spun. The man in the suit was holding *my gun*. "Looking for this?"
I just blinked and considered diving for him - the gun he was holding wouldn't shoot for anyone but me - but… I spied that he also held a positively ancient-looking stone knife in his off-hand. I had no chance.
He smiled thinly. "Nice time machine you have there. Too bad it was 'noisy'. I knew what to look for, and dug this beauty out a few days ago. Oldest weapon in the world, I think, now, even if it does have a holo-sight, motion tracking, verbal feedback, night vision… the best of both worlds. No more shooting ancient arrowheads out of a computerized gun for me. How far back did you put it? Triassic era, was it?"
I nodded.
"I think I'm going to see what it does now."
He fired. Or rather, he squeezed the trigger.
We were both kind of expecting it not to fire. Neither of us expected it to chop his fingertip off and jump out of his hand in my general direction. I reached forward to snatch it out of the air, already shouting 'stun' to change mode, and even before it had reached my grasp it had fired and disabled him.
I addressed the gun in wonder. "Hello." | I thought the fantasy something people only said they believed in. Steel didn't change. If anything, it got weaker as time went on, succumbing to rust and out-dated smithing techniques.
But, the legend disagreed.
A day in the woods like any other upset my little life out in the country. Even though I'd played there for years, the recent rain had really done a number on the hilly parts, wearing away at the bases of the trees and revealing the roots that lurked just below the surface.
Amongst the nest of roots of a large oak, I spotted something shiny.
It took some effort to climb the muddy slope. Then, I had to try and make out what the shiny thing was. Encased in roots, only something like a handle jutted out. I held it and tugged—too hard. It gave easily, throwing me off balance and my footing gave. Tumbling down, I got covered in mud and aches, stopped by a tree for a nasty bruise.
At my side, the sword came to a sudden stop, impaled in a rock. My pain didn't seem so bad compared to that. Though winded and with one-and-a-half lame legs, I pushed myself up, propped up against the tree. Then, I reached out to the sword.
It didn't shine with the light of a thousand candles, or summon an eerie wind, or feel hot to the touch. If anything, it felt cold. But, when I pulled it out, the blade cut the rock further, as though clay rather than something like granite.
I didn't know what kind of metal could do that.
Heavy in my hands, I had to stagger until the muscles in my legs recovered. Through the forest, and back to the small cottage I called home, I went. While I did, old myths came to me, and I sorted through them, looking for one that matched.
No one awaited me, the kitchen and bedroom as I left them. I laid down the sword on the dining table. Cleaning the dirt from my scrapes, I carried on remembering the stories I heard as a kid. All sorts of swords came up in them, but they had different, specific powers. Swords that summoned thunder with every swing, and swords that weighed as little as a feather yet swung with the force of a charging ox. None really matched a sword that could cleave stone.
After a small meal, my body became restless with renewed vigour. So, I took the sword outside, and practised with it. My two years training for the local lord's levy hadn't left me the most skilled, but I could swing a sword well enough to tire myself out.
Though I had little experience, it felt like a good sword. The balance and weight of it made it easy to wield, and the length good for me. I loved the sound of it cutting through the air, much subtler than the clunky swords of my training—almost like how an arrow sounded.
By the end, I had worked myself into a good sweat, and my arms would no doubt complain about the overexertion on the morrow. A good feeling. Through thick breaths, I thought of where to keep the sword. The obvious place was alongside my loaned armour and sword.
That put a strange thought in my head. I knew the armour to be strong, more than capable of deflecting near any blade that found its way. The training had shown as much, though it still left behind bruises and welts if backed by enough force.
I propped up the chestplate, sitting it on the backrest of an old chair I kept outside. Then, in a rather half-hearted swing, I struck it with my new sword.
The blade sliced through it as though butter.
I dropped it to the floor, where the tip sunk a good foot or so into the ground. My mind froze over, the surprise overshadowed by a wave of fear. It shouldn't have been possible. An old sword out in the forest, it shouldn't have been able to cut steel.
The final nail, hammering into me, was the realisation of the sword's name.
Excalibur. | 2017-04-21T11:49:06 | 2017-04-21T09:28:52 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are the most feared and reviled race the Galaxy. Every 10000 years when humans reach a certain level of Technology a galactic Council sends a force to knock them back to the Stone Age. This time however that force arrives several decades late. | Empty.
The Supreme Admiral looked at the blue planet before him and reread the scouting report. Somehow, despite arriving only a few decades later than they were supposed to come, the planet was empty. Oh, there were still signs of life here and there, and some of them were probably what passed for the current crop of 'Humans', as they were called, but the vast majority of the planet's population was gone.
He turned to the Intelligence Officer next to him, returned the scouting report, and asked, "How is this even possible? There's no sign of advanced space capability, yet they clearly have left the planet and vanished!"
"I do not know, Sir, but we're looking into it now." He was interrupted by an incoming priority communication from one of the scouting teams. "Admiral!" he exclaimed, "we've found something!" He moved over to the viewscreen controls and punched in a feed channel. The picture changed instantly to a view over a large flat plain, with a large cliffside rising up at the end of it. There, inscribed in the rock face in letters that must have been a hundred meters tall were the words, "So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish."
"What does it mean?" asked the Admiral.
"I don't know," replied his Intelligence Officer, "and I'm almost afraid to find out..."
*Nobody knew that the dolphins had been paying attention to the purges humanity had suffered every 10,000 years or so, but after the most recent one they decided enough was enough. Slowly, with great effort, they established contact with the re-evolving humans and gained their trust. Eventually they were able to impart their knowledge to a select group, who worked in secret until it was time to reveal the truth. It took two decades to build the massive ark ships that would take humanity elsewhere, and then another to move everyone aboard along with the construction and launch facilities for use elsewhere. But in the end, the planet was nearly devoid of humanity - leaving the dolphins as the new rulers of Earth.* | Humans. Considered to be the most advanced species on this planet and probably in the entire space time. But not for long. The year was 2020 when humans first reached Mars. It proved that nothing was out of our reach. We can do anything we want. Be anywhere we want. That took over our minds. We were on a technological advancement spree.
Mars was just the beginning. We found a way to bend the space time and travel at warp speeds, faster than light. By 2050 we reached the boundaries of our milky way. Explored every planet in the milky way by 3050. We had the universe was at our feet by 5000. Eventually we found other beings. None as capable and advanced as us. We started building our civilizations there. Making them our slaves. We were the Gods. And nothing could stop us.
This turned us into something we never were. We wanted the universe be perfect. We started deciding who lived and who didn't deserve to exist. Now that was something that we never should've done. We started gaining attention of the Masters of the Universe. Who knew how to hide themselves, only to emerge when needed. Humans were nothing compared to them, for they've been here since the beginning of the universe. They were among some of the first species to emerge just after the big bang. Who managed to survive. They have been here for millenniums, while we were here since only 5000 years. Till then they believed that we weren't ready to know that they existed. But now that we started crossing the lines. We were to be stopped. They decided to watch us for some more time to see if we change. Well we didn't.
Years passed by. We were now the most feared beings in the universe. The Galactic Council decided it was time to wipe us out. Bring us back to the stone age. The year was 10,000. A task force was assembled to take us down. They arrived and wiped us even before we could realise it. We were back where we began. Back at level 0.
Slowly and gradually we advanced again. And it was the same story again. The Galactic Council believed that wiping us off once could've changed us. They were wrong. Maybe it was in our DNA to be like that. They had to do it again after 10,000 years. And again. And again. Why didn't they just wipe us off completely. Well that's what separated them from us. They wanted everyone to survive no matter what they were, who they were.
This cycle of Human life continued for many many more years. But them something started changing. Humans started to change. We evolved. People started having visions of the other life. Earlier it was thought to be just a weird phenomenon. But then it was discovered that the memories in our DNA somehow found a way to activate itself. And that's it. We found a way to unlock them completely. And knew what's been happening to us since ages. The year was 9500 by the time we found it. We tried to prepare ourselves. Gave one hell of a fight. But was too late. We were wiped off again.
Back at the beginning the cycle started again. However this time the things were different. We knew the future. And how it was supposed to go down. And decided to change it once and for all. We were more aggressive than ever. And most importantly. We were ready.
We built obstacles everywhere within 100 light years from our planet. Making anyone trying to get in do it with a lot of difficulty. The Council departed the force again. They sent more units of calvary, weapons, everything they had. However due to the obstacles installed. It took them a bit longer to reach Earth. We were more ready than we ever were. The task force was walking into a trap. They never realised it. And before they could even think. They were wiped off.
We used a communication ship of theirs and sent a message to the council.
"It's been too long since the universe has had a change of leadership. Your time is over. We know what you've been doing to us all this time. Time to pay for your sins. We had only 500 years to prepare when the last time we fought. This time we've had a 10,000. We are everything more than you could've ever been. And we are coming. And you are the last beings who can stop us. You made a mistake by letting us survive. Time to be punished for it."
_____________________________________________________________
P. S. - I am just an amateur writer. There might be a lot of errors up there. Suggestions are welcome. Help me improve myself. | 2017-05-16T21:23:11 | 2017-05-16T18:02:16 | 46 | 28 |
[WP] You've been convicted of 1st degree murder, and (as is customary in society) are sentenced to "death by black-hole." You expect death as your capsule approaches the event horizon. After crossing, everything goes silent, until you hear someone say "Sir, I've found another one." | My capsule hurtled toward a black hole and all I could do was wait. I couldn't move much in my sophisticated coffin as I waited to be buried deep in a hole in space. But at least I had a little window to peak at the stars as I plummeted to my doom. It's the little things.
Death by Black Hole. That was the sentence for 1st degree murder. I could tell you how remorseful I felt and how regretful I was for what I'd done while I made my way to obliteration, but no, all I could think about was how my body would be turned into a noodle once I got there. Spaghettification, I think they called it. My stomach rumbled. I was a bit peckish, too.
I couldn't determine exactly how long I'd been lying in my casket, but it felt like days. My body was cramped and aching. I was feeling claustrophobic. I would kill to have a bit of a stretch.
More time had passed and I was getting anxious. I was truly on my way to die. And one would think with such complex machinery at least a beeping or a ticking would be heard from somewhere in my deathbed. I listened... to nothing. Utter silence. I muttered to myself to drown out the quiet.
"Don't crack. They want you to crack. It's torture. It's mind games."
For every new cramp or soreness, I thought it was the end. I thought I would be torn apart. I thought it over and over again. It was driving me mad. I began to panic, screaming and cursing, thrashing around in what little room I had.
I had started to feel dizzy and stopped my fit abruptly. It was hard to breathe in this god forsaken coffin. I was drenched in sweat as I breathed heavily, attempting to gather my wits. And then I felt it. The black hole.
At least I thought I had. Weren't my legs being pulled? For a split second hadn't my whole body been stretched and strained like a rubber band? It was as if I snapped back instead of being snapped apart. I wondered if I had imagined it. Had I lost my mind? I could hear something. I could hear someone! I shouted from within my confines.
"Help! Help! Please set me free! I'm sorry I did it, please," I cried.
A man walked by my little window. Walked? How was it possible? He jerked his head toward my direction. I was terrified. It didn't make sense. I could hear him now, but very muffled.
"Sir, I've found another one," he said.
He looked familiar. I'd seen this man before. There was a sickness in my stomach as I came to realize just who it was.
"You're lucky you caught that one, would've been my ass, too," said another voice. "Hurry up and launch him."
My executioners. Not again. No. Please.
I shouted and begged to no avail. I was launched into space once more. My capsule hurtled toward a black hole and all I could do was wait.
| Everything went black, as expected, when they tossed me into the void. This darkness went on for minutes. I figured, "this must be what death feels like". Calming, in a way. I didn't think much about anything in particular. Not until a bright, blue light appeared in the distant. Wherever it was, I could already tell I wasn't supposed to be there. And the light came closer, burning to the point that I had to turn away. And then nothing.
My head was spinning. Lying sideways... gravity restored. A red light began to flicker and fade within the pod, revealing dents all over the simple thing. "ERROR, ERROR" played continuously like a broken record. I wasn't having any of it. Bending my knees and pressing my feet against the entrance of the pod, I'd hoped it would open. It did, and I regretted it instantly when the feeling of cold wind and snow hit my face. Flakes fell onto my black jumpsuit as if a painter had been drawing a galaxy on the fabric. After climbing up and out, the wind felt a lot more pleasant.
I was surrounded, by steep mountains only capped with the snow. Under me was the rocks, coated lightly. Even my shoes stopped me from feeling too much discomfort. Squinting, I could see a narrow split in the mountains and decided to make my way over. Squirming and slipping through the passage revealed several sets of empty hills. I drew a breath and sighed, marching onward and over the first row of hills. The sky wasn't far from bright, but I couldn't see a sun. Nightfall might be an issue. Hunger always is.
After more travel, I encountered another pod. It was busted up more than mine, and the door was sunken into a hill, while the window pointed up. I glanced in to see a gaunt man, eyes wide and in a black jumpsuit. I knocked, half expecting him to react. He didn't.
Never knowing where I was really going, I let my feet guide me. There was no navigating this place, anyhow. But there had to be another. Keeping this in mind, I walked for what had to have been at least an hour. My legs had nearly collapsed. When I least expected it, I saw something move in the distance. The color matched the snow, but the shape didn't. Suddenly, a voice erupted out from my right. "Heya, stranger!"
He was big, had a rifle, and a more average-sized friend in tow. The weapon was unlike anything I've ever seen. Lots of lights, with a sleek design. They both were covered completely in quality, manufactured garb, trapper hats, and the like. The clothes were more gray than black, but not worn or haggard. Little man covered his face with a scarf. Big man had a beard, and waited for me to say anything for a few moments. Honestly, I had to stop and think for a minute. That giant had a few inches on me, and maybe a hundred pounds. He must've noticed at some point.
"Don't look so fucked, bud," he said with a smile. "We're good guys." The other one nodded, though seemed to be scanning around. Not really paying attention.
"Yeah? Good guys that kill people?" If I was going to die, I didn't want to put it off much longer.
His smile faded, though he didn't seem hostile. "Look, I'm Hank. I'll tell ya my story, if ya w-" Before he could finish, a piercing and screeching noise came from above. A pod shot out from a black-hole before the hole silently closed, and the pod slammed down somewhere past several sets of hills. Hank gave the other guy a serious nod and waved him off. Walking closer to me, Hank continued. "As I was sayin', we're not all bad here. Some made mistakes. I made a mistake, killed a fuckin' bunch of crack dealers and other bad dudes. That guy just walkin' with me? He knew me, from before. Ask 'im."
Hank shook his head and stood at the ground, giving me time to ask whatever I needed to. I gave a forceful grimace to play along. "Others... well, they just ain't lucky folk. They're either innocent, or go on an' about like they are. Might as well believe 'em, doesn't really matter here. Unless you FUCK with me." His head jumped a bit towards me, but drew back, and he chuckled. "But you wouldn't do that. Ya don't look like the type."
He turned, pointing in the direction of the last pod drop. His buddy was long gone by now. He opened his mouth to speak, giving himself a good breath, and didn't really have time to notice the fact that my hand went up and out, far to the side. Then, as he turned back, it came in as a fist, up against his exposed throat. The mountain man let out a pained wheeze, bringing one hand up to defend himself. By time time he got it to the right place, I was ready to hit again. My front fist went forward in a light jab. Hank blocked it with his wrist, but wasn't prepared nor quick enough to block my second hook, straight to his jaw. He fell backwards and into the snow.
I stepped forward, dropping my foot onto his face until the cheek caved in and his eyelids stopped closing. The trapper hat covered most of his head, but I knew he wasn't rising. It wasn't even all that bloody, but there was red pouring out from his lips. My eyes darted up, towards the crash site, and then back to Hank. I didn't even want to do that, at the beginning. Guess I am the type. | 2017-07-14T01:41:48 | 2017-07-13T20:45:26 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them. | The humans, as they called themselves, were not mystically incomprehensible. Few things were in a galaxy-spanning civilization. But the fact that they were comprehensible made them all the more frightening, for even with all we knew about them, they were still exceedingly dangerous. Fortunately, they were also very rare, never appearing except in small ships wandering the stars.
To look at them, humans are unremarkable. They’re nothing extraordinary among sentient races in terms of size or strength. In speed, they are actually rather slow and rarely push themselves to their limits. Physically, they’re soft and vulnerable, with most of their vital organs only partially protected, at best. But they have one thing that no other species does. Humans are universally agreed to be the *stubbornest* bastards in the galaxy.
It is said of humans that they will chase their quarry to the end of the universe and back, and if you cross them, they’ll never, *ever* let go of their grudge until they get you back. Their whole biology is attuned to it. A trained human with no cybernetic enhancements can run—not walk, but *run*—for hours on end in hot, humid conditions, and keep going when most other species would have dropped dead of exhaustion. That sounds like an unethical science experiment that discovered that fact, but it’s not. The humans do it for *sport*.
That’s not all, either. Humans are stubborn, but they’re also clever and resourceful. Of course, you have to be clever to build interstellar starships, but their lack of natural biological weapons makes them rely on their cleverness that little bit more—gives them that much more of an edge.
Some humans were pirates, raiding systems on the frontiers of known space and scaring away the locals for parsecs around, sometimes clearing out whole squadrons with a single ship. The more “civilized” ones often worked as bounty hunters for powerful interests in the gold- and uranium-rich systems near the galactic core. Their employers gave them a name that they translated into their language as “Hounds of the Stars,” which they adopted for themselves proudly.
“Hounds” are genetically modified work animals that some humans run with to enhance their strength—faster than they are, with natural sharp teeth and claws, but adapted for their same relentless tenacity. As if they needed even more to make them scary.
No one was quite sure where the humans came from. They guarded their secrets jealously, but the leading theory was that they were a genetic experiment created by a long-dead Power and turned loose—perhaps even turned on their creator. What else could they be when they were so powerful and dangerous and had endurance that most species could only dream of? And besides, no one had ever seen their homeworld or even a large gathering of them. That was what they had to have been, right? Dangerous, yes, but rare, manageable, tractable.
Until the day when a massive colony fleet of humans appeared from the depths of unknown space and descended upon one of the planets the pirates had most thoroughly cleared out. All this time, we’d been dealing with the advance guard. | Mark settled onto the couch in front of the TV, beer in hand. It was Sunday afternoon and his team was in the playoffs. The game wouldn’t start for another few hours but Mark liked to catch the pre-game commentary when he could. Although Mark had let himself go a bit since his college days he was still young and in his prime with few responsibilities. Life as a bachelor didn’t get much better than days like today. The commentary was just beginning when the picture began to fuzz. “Oh come on” Mark grumbled. “What is it this time?!” The apartment’s electric was old and Mark’s landlord was not the sort to put extra money into a place if he didn’t absolutely need to. As Mark got up to check the breakers, the sky outside grew dark and a faint buzzing sound permeated the air. As the apartment shook and the room blurred around him Mark had the feeling that the universe had just crapped all over his perfect day.
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“Greetings Human, I am Gilbeon, intergalactic ambassador of the Geltoth race” Squealed the vaguely humanoid bubble in front of Mark. A sheen of multicolored oil slick ran over the creature’s transparent flesh as it spoke and Mark found himself transfixed by the multitude of jelly like blobs floating within. “Long have we sought for a champion to free us from the tyrannical rule of the Zargians.” “Excuse me?!” exclaimed Mark as he glanced around the room of bubble creatures surrounding him. Several sat around him at an oval table in what seemed like a conference room straight out of a science fiction movie. “I’m telling you this is a terrible mistake” piped up a second creature known as Albian, second in command of the intergalactic initiative. “Shh Albian you’re ruining the moment” Gilbeon replied. “Humans are the most deadly creatures in the known universe.” replied Albian. “What if it chooses to unleash its wrath upon us!?” Mark’s head was beginning to hurt. His entire morning had been ruined and at this point he was beginning to think he might miss the game. “What the hell is going on here?” exclaimed Mark. “Oh no, you’ve angered it!” squeaked another of the transparent blobs. “It’ll kill us all” yelled Albian.
“Everybody calm down” said Gilbeon. “I will explain. Human, for centuries the Zargians have looted and plundered the known galaxy. We are one of the few races left in our quadrant but we have little means of fighting back. The harsh evolutionary conditions of your home planet ‘Earth’ have prepared your race for combat like none in the known universe.” “Wait, are you telling me that a space faring alien race capable of abducting me from my living room is afraid of humans?!” said Mark. “If you do not help us defeat the Zargians it will be the end of our race and the subjugation of an entire quadrant.” “This is utterly ridiculous” said Mark “I’m out of here” As Mark rose from his seat he was startled by a sudden pop as his arm brushed one of the nearby bubble creatures. He turned to see the remains of what looked like soap suds on the chair beside him. “The slaughter has begun!” screamed Albion. Mark was beginning to see why these creatures were in need of his help, and if the Zargian’s were as pathetic as these bubble people, this might even be kind of fun. “Alright” said Mark with newly dawning appreciation for his status as Human. “Where do we find these Zargian bastards?”
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As the ship descended on the jagged rocky landscape of the Zargian home world, lightning crackled through a sky of roiling clouds and the atmosphere smelled of ozone. If the creatures he was to face evolved on this planet, Mark was beginning to think he made a huge mistake agreeing to this. On the journey over, Gilbeon had explained that the Zargians respected strength above all. Mark was to face the Zargian champion in a ritual of single combat to prove the might of his people and cow the Zargian Empire into surrender. “Well, here we are” said Gilbeon. “We’re all doomed!” screamed Albian. Mark exited the ship accompanied by his Geltothian escorts and entered the specially prepared arena. The arena itself was set up like a football stadium or colosseum and seated with thousands of Zargian spectators. The Zargians themselves were beings that seemed made of a strange lightning like energy with mouths of cracking jagged teeth and huge three fingered claws. A door in the arena wall opened and out walked a Zargian of impressive proportions. He was eight feet tall and bedecked with jeweled armor crackling with power. Sparks flew from his mouth as he growled at the tiny Human before him. “This pathetic creature is your champion Gilbeons? It will not be long before we enslave this quadrant and wipe your weak race from existence.” Mark looked back his comrades but received only awkward glances and shrugs. “I think there might have been some sort of mistake” squeaked Mark. “Die pathetic creature” crackled the Zargian as he closed the distance to his opponent and raised a massive claw to take off Marks head. As the blow struck Mark heard a loud zap followed by a mild tingling sensation and finally a light metallic clinking as the Zargian’s armor clattered to the ground. Silence filled the arena as all took in the scene. “He grounded him” one of the Zargian screamed and then panic broke loose among the spectators. A smile crept over Marks face as he climbed into the stands of screaming Zargians. ZAP! ZAP! Perhaps today wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.
| 2017-11-08T23:14:28 | 2017-11-08T23:01:48 | 33 | 19 |
[WP] A vampire, due to his/her supernatural abilities, is the greatest spelunker in the world. Leading a team into the deepest recess of a cave system in which nobody has set foot in millenia, the vampire suddenly stops. (S)he needs an invitation. | "EVERYONE STOP FUCKING MOVING!" Isaac in the most authoritative voice he could muster.
The team behind him jolly and carefree due to their guide being a vampire suddenly remembered how far away they were from daylight. And fell silent.
Joyce and Peter exchanged silent words mouthing to eachother for someone to ask the vampire what was wrong.
Joyce spoke up.
"W-what is it Isaac?"
"We aren't in danger yet. But you know a few hours ago when you were all pestering me about vampire myths. The garlic and running water shit?"
"Yeaaaa..." Pete replied.
"Remember how I said the only one with merit was needing to be invited into someones home?"
The group was silent aside from Stevens carabeaners klinking.
"Yea. I can't move forward. So I'm gonna need everyone to SLOWLY back the fuck up and turn around."
Panic set into the group but knowing nothing about what lay before them they followed the vampires orders.
"I'm going to stay here for a moment and see if I can find anything out. I want you all to go back through the crack. The one we had to take our bags off to fit thro-."
Isaac stoped and stared forward into the darkness. His head turning to point his ears forward.
"Fit through. If whatever this is is big we should be okay. If not I should be able to fight it off unless.... I. Well worry about that later. But go. Now. It's still safe."
The group turned and practically ran back to the alcove Isaac instructed. If it wasn't for the narrow path and the sharp cystaline structures they would have been racing.
The group sat around the lamps they laid out. Uncomfortable silence around them. Wondering when Isaac would be back. Eventually Joyce couldn't take the quiet.
"Pete. You found Isaac you know about the weird creepy world. What the fuck could be down here!?"
"I. I have no idea. You think I know anymore than you past "they are real-ish" I found one werewolf and he told me about Isaac. That's it."
"Well you're one step ahead of most people there." Isaac spoke from the darkness startling everyone as he walked toward the light.
"Of all the times to do that shit it isn't after you tell us to stop and turn back BECAUSE YOU CAN'T GO FORWARD!" Steven snapped.
"You hush.. they might hear you." Isaac replied. A sly smile spread across his face, ever so slightly revealing much sharper cuspids than normal.
"So what the hell lives down here that caused that?!" Pete questioned.
The vampire shrugged. "Dunno if we trust local legend it would be the home of the local gods. Or monsters, they'd have to be smart too. Smart enough to be able to actually invite me in. But local legend stops being so trustworthy around the 1800's. That's when everything just kinda went wherever they wanted..."
"Okay. So we don't know what it is. We don't know how to get around it. And we don't know if it's dangerous." Joyce said.
"Well two of the things you said are correct." Opening his pack and pulling out a roll of fabric. Isaac tossed it on the ground and kicked it to unfurl the tapestry.
The group looked down. And then back up at Isaac. No one speaking.
"What? No excited yelling asking me "what the fuck a roll of fabric is gonna do?" You guys aren't any fun." He sighed.
Joyce rolled her eyes and begrudgingly asked. "So what's the roll of fabric gonna do?"
"You forgot the expletive. But I'll be glad to tell you all. It's a creation of my own design. On there you see is the word 'Welcome' in every language I could remember existed. Some are no longer spoken. Some are very niche. And some I'm pretty sure are made up. But still."
"So you can get past the need to be invited in with this?" Joyce asked a look of disbelief on her face. "That's the most easy workaround I've ever heard in my whole life."
"Ah don't be so quick to pat me on the back. It only works for one room before I need to toss it out again. And it's not like *I* can wear it and walk through the whole abode. Gotta be in front of me."
"And we don't know where one "room" starts down here... because it's defined by who lives there." Pete muttered.
"Now you're catching on Petey boy!"
The vampire sat there smug for a moment. Waiting for the group to come up with the next step on their own. "Afterall I can't come up with EVERYTHING." He thought to himself.
"... who's going to wear it?" Joyce asked her human companions.
After a while of no one saying anything Isaac chose for them. "Peter. Batter up. You found me and hired me. You get to wear the Russian grandmother shawl."
Peter sighed. And stood up.
"That is unless you rather we leave the mysterious a mystery and turn home. But think. What if it isn't dangerous after all, which it probably is, and you discover something amazing."
"Just give me the damn tapestry."
Isaac leading the charge deeper into the cave. His attitude care free, probably for the benefit of them, but the group had been around him enough to know he also was on edge.
And anything that could put a vampire on edge scared the hell out of the rest of them.
Hey guys hope you enjoyed this. I'd love to do a part two later today if anyone would like to read more. Gotta get to classes even though it's syllabus week and a waste of time anyhow. | “So, we hired a fucking vampire? You know how dangerous those things are?” I asked Charlie, our group leader. We’ve been looking hard for a guide to some of the caves that had recently been discovered underneath Scandinavia. Sonar and drones had put it at the deepest cave system known to man. We were going to be the first to set foot there in all of recorded history, but only if we found a reliable guide. A reverse Sherpa, I guess.
“I know, I know. They’re dangerous, yes. They’re a bit quick, yes. I think, though, as long as we keep our shit together and keep a good distance, we’ll be fine.” Charlie replied
“Let me ask you something.”
“Ask away.”
“Do you really just want to kill us? Are you a psychopath?”
Charlie smiled, radiant in his confidence, infecting all of us with it. Yeah, sure enough, we’d follow him even though we knew the idea was questionable at best.
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s meet the thing. Is it here yet?”
“Yeah, he’s here. Be good. For your sake.”
A couple hours and several drinks later, I was ready to meet this thing.
Our conference room overlooked the skyline of Malmo, Sweden. The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon with gold and pink and red. Wide impressionist brushstrokes of clouds balanced the scene, floating on the horizon, sweeping the dark across the land. The doors slid open, and in walked our guide.
I expected, as well as several others, something vastly different. But here he stood. Scars crisscrossed his face and neck. We assumed the rest of him was something similar, but he was heavily clothed. Our guide stared at us through heavily tinted goggles. Regardless of his haggard and, honestly frightening appearance, he exuded an air, an aura, of regality. Tall, slender, handsome under his calluses perhaps.
Charlie was the first to break the silence between us all.
“Stop molesting the poor man with your eyes. Guys, this is our new guide, Mordred.” Charlie said
“I know it’s kind of a weird name,” Mordred said. His Appalachian accent seemed to put everybody at some kid of ease. Don’t ask me, but I was afraid he was not going to speak English at all. “My parents were a bit…eccentric, I guess. But yeah, I’m ya’lls new guide. It’s nice to be met.”
“Are you going to eat us?” somebody asked him.
“Why in tarnation would I do that? First off, I wouldn’t get paid if I killed and drained all y’all,” he replied, seemingly in good spirits. He flashed a brief smile, warm and soft, that ever so slightly revealed the tips of his fangs. The smile quickly faded, and he lowered his head like a self-conscious teen. “Plus. I’m vegan. I wouldn’t hurt nobody.”
We were all expert climbers. Even the worst of us could have easily been a climbing champion in some countries. Needless to say, we had all been accustomed to taking orders from guides. Mordred was on another level, though. If you’ve ever heard that vampires have these freaky abilities; that they can phase through certain objects, or that they can sometimes alter their shape, let me tell you something. You heard right. Several times during our descent, he saved our lives with tricks like those.
We had been on the path for months, seeing things that were almost incomprehensible. Mordred kept about an hour ahead of us at all times, marking the way and sometimes things he thought we’d find interesting. Once he marked a pool of bubbling water, boiling from a geothermal vent, that was growing a type of red moss, and had several small fish swimming in it. Thriving in the impossible.
We rarely saw him, but sometimes when we would set up camp for the night, he would come join us. We didn’t know what we ate, and personally I didn’t want to, but he never showed any sign of being hungry, and certainly no intention to eat us in our sleep. He was welcome with us.
One night I saw him without those blackened goggles he always wore. His eyes, where mine are blue, and Charlies are brown, were sterling silver. He quickly put them back on when he noticed I had saw.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to scare nobody with ‘em.”
We’d wake up, and he’d be gone. Off on the path, marking it for us.
We’re getting close to the end, and I need to finish this. Mordred said he’d take this back to the surface for me.
Anyway, I don’t know the date, or the time of day when it happened, but eventually we caught up to him. Mordred had taken off the heavy jacket he had worn, and stood standing on the edge of an abyss. His muscles rippled underneath the skin of his back, accentuating what we had already suspected was there: a collage of scars. A portrait of pain, worn on his skin.
“Glow tube,” he demanded.
We handed him one. He twisted it, snapping. A green glow illuminated his scarred and obviously worried face. He threw the stick over the edge of the chasm. We stood, watching it fall, until it was far out of sight. I wasn’t sure if it had hit the bottom, or even if there was one.
“What’re we waiting for, Mordred? Let’s get a move on. Find us a way around this pit, will ya?” Charlie asked, more an order than any question.
“Jag ber om entré. Ska du bjuda in mig?” Mordred asked. Looking back on it now, we all should have picked up at least a little bit of it. We had been in Malmo for about a month preparing. We should have picked some of it up and ran, we should have. See, our guide was asking for admission. An invitation.
Mordred looked back up at us, at me, and said: “I’m sorry. It was nice while it lasted, right?”
I remember, from the bottom of the endless chasm, a light. It grew larger, and we all stood in stunned silence and horror as a column of crimson flame made its way up to us.
When it reached the edge of the pit, sending forth a miasma of sulfur, the flame metamorphosed into a face, then from it’s mouth grew a body. Arms ejected from the fiery torso. So did the creature’s legs. Before any of us, stunned in our horror, could do anything, the thing reached out.
I remember it grabbing Charlie with it’s hand. His skin boiled when it was touched, and his eyes rolled from their sockets, uncomprehending terror stuck on his face. He tried to scream, but only could make a silent “O” with his mouth, as the creature dragged him down into the depths.
I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe days, maybe weeks. Mordred keeps us alive, feeding us the flesh of whatever beasts grow down here, and keeps us contained with the threat of an even less pleasant death. He talks to us, mainly in apologies, and calms us with some other trick of his. Makes us feel content. Some of us write letters from paper that we’ve scavenged from bits of manuals in our packs. That’s what I’m writing on now.
The thing comes back every so often to take one of us. It feeds. We can’t run or Mordred will, regardless of his polite demeanor, kill us without much thought. Or so I’ve gathered.
Listen, he said he’d take this back to the surface. The smell of sulfur marks the creature’s return. There aren’t many of us left. I assume it’s going to be me this time. So, if you’re reading this, take heed, okay? There are things we don’t understand. Hell is real.
Stay away.
Edit: Formatting.
Thanks for reading. Critique and Criticism are more than welcome! Have a good one, Y'all
| 2018-01-16T08:26:38 | 2018-01-16T05:59:07 | 200 | 135 |
[WP] When humans arrived to the galactic scene, they thought wars would play out way differently. Instead of bloodshed, there were intergalactic video game tournaments fighting for territory. Most aliens thought humans were newbies to this but when the first war was played, they changed their minds. | "How are these humans so good?"
The team from Gelax Prime had been sitting at their terminals for hours, helplessly watching as the Earth team completely and utterly destroyed them. Their resource control was impeccable, their strategy flawless. And those humans weren't the crack team of specialists that they expected. They were....ordinary. People that almost looked like they came right off the street and into the battle sim with no briefing, no formalities, no final entreaty for peace. They just sat down, put their headsets on, and proceeded to mercilessly march to victory.
Gelax Prime was one of many teams that had fallen to the prowess of the humans. They had foolishly given the humans the choice of simulation - and the human team, after consultation from those they called "Korean", ended up playing a human simulation called "Starcraft".
"What is this 'Starcraft'?" one of the team asked nobody in particular, sipping nervously out of his cup of ercap juice. "I have never seen that sim in all my maturity cycle!"
"None of us have," another team member sighed. "We made a gigantic mistake, allowing the humans to choose the sim. Curse our race's code of honor."
"Relax, friends," the team captain soothed. "This is only the first round of five. We have a chance."
"How are we to get the momentum back? You saw their tactics - they built up faster, and they had fast attack units right at our doorstep in a matter of seconds!"
"We need to copy their tactics," the captain replied. "Build quick, attack quick."
"But we don't have zergs!"
"So?" the captain replied. "If that tactic works for the humans, it can work for us."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Round two of the battle sim began. The humans, almost working with the speed and efficiency of a hive mind, began to build their defenses.
The Gelax Prime team was stunned. How did they know that their tactics were going to be used against them?
Minute after minute, the human zergs rushed the Gelax Prime installations. They crippled the mineral production, destroyed the additional pylons that the sim had exhorted the Gelax Prime team to build over and over again.
It all became a blur. And at the end, with the crowds roaring and chanting: "Hu-mans, hu-mans, hu-mans, hu-mans", the Gelax Prime team sat at their terminals, staring at the chat display.
One of the human team members, presumably out of habit, sent the following message:
"GG no re". | ######[](#dropcap)
The Gorgon sniffed in disdain, watching as the five humans walked into the arena in their uniforms. "They don't even have the right number of appendages," he said to his partner. The other Gorgon laughed, a loud screeching sound that resembled nails on a chalkboard. He unsheathed his claws, scratching at an itch on his scaly belly. "This will be exceedingly easy."
A good number of members of the federation had arrived already, each set up in their own little pod hanging above the arena, where multiple games were about to take place. The Dithunes had called one of the center pods, and they were now taking the time to flit around to the other pods to try and barter away some of their goods. A wily bunch, they were, always looking for the best bargain.
It wasn't for nothing that they managed to pay the ten trillion goomlas needed to secure one of the pods with the best view. When their warriors, small dragonfly-looking creatures with large, bulbous heads and wings, flew in and settled in at the monitors, they cheered at the top of their lungs, making a chattering sound that made some of the other species wince.
This competition was a friendly one, and it was the first time that Earth had been invited to such a convention, in the year 4027. As such, they were the black horses, with a mere a million goomlas bet in their favor, versus their first opponents, the Dithunes, who had almost a billion. The odds were a thousand to one. The Vloins laughed in their usual manner, loud trumpeting guffaws that echoed one from side of the stadium to the next.
"Are you ready?" Sang-hyuk patted his team members on the back, and took a deep breath. They would be representing all of humanity this time, and they couldn't lose. And, he noted as his gaze involuntarily was drawn toward the pod hanging above them with the rattlesnake-looking creatures, they might disappear entirely if they lost.
It was not without struggle that Earth had been let into the Intergalactic Federation. They had been prey to Viperians for over a hundred years now, and the other species had vehemently objected to their joining, claiming they were losing a valuable food resource. So now, as he gazed at the drop of saliva dripping from the Viperian's fang to sizzle on the floor of the transparent pod above them, his fist clenched.
If humanity did well in this tournament, they would secure their position as a valuable asset to the Federation in the form of strategists. It all came down to this.
The team sat down in front of the monitors, murmuring possible strategies they might use into the comms in their ears. On the opposing side, the Dithunes chittered to themselves, even as some of them preened and plucked at their feathers, others waving toward the crowds floating above the stage. They would win this one easily; there was no need to worry.
Except, they realized, when faced with the large DEFEAT banner hanging above their heads, they didn't. In fact, in the best of three match, they had been demolished 2-0.
The outcome sent a small ripple of shock through the crowd. How was it possible? Earth was merely a fledgling planet, with barely enough resources to sustain a population of seven billion. It must've been bad luck and arrogance.
But then it happened again. Over and over, until the puny humans that no one thought would win even one battle made it to the finals. The underdogs, making a miracle happen. It was not without fear that the team made it to this point. Large carnivorous Seorxes came out from their pods, baring their fangs and threatening to eat them alive. Shouts and jeers threatened to overwhelm them, but they stood strong.
Earth would make its mark tonight as the champions.
As the team left the stadium, their shoulders light, a Gorgon pressed its body up against the metal fence that separated its claws from the players within. "Impossible!" he spat.
Eon-yeong smiled for the first time, turning toward the creature whose eyes were now a deep, glowing red. He walked up just a bit closer, so the Gorgon could hear his words clearly.
"It's actually not," he said. "Earth has been playing a game just like this for years."
The Gorgon narrowed his eyes.
Eon-yeong laughed. "Let me help you out. We call it League of Legends." Then he pointed at the player up front who had stopped and turned around to tell him to hurry up. "And you know who that is?"
He gazed up at the large banner that was now hanging from the ceiling, a picture of the five of them smiling. It was a familiar sight. He turned back to the Gorgon.
"That's Faker. He’s been playing this game since 2013."
*****
r/AlannaWu
| 2018-04-13T15:25:48 | 2018-04-13T15:03:05 | 3,932 | 878 |
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other. | Heather is madly annoying.
Her voice is deafening ... destroying
my ears, no longer able to hear
I sign to her she's the one person I fear.
For she and I turn to wild beasts.
Every full moon, we turn to each other and feast
Not on people, or prey or food.
We become wild animals stuck to each other, glued.
Biting, lusting and rubbin,
We transform back, feeling awful, because we're cousins. | The smell of fresh blood created a trail in the air. The metallic stench filled Tom’s nostrils causing a reaction of intense hunger and desire to overwhelm his mind and body. He sprinted between the trees of the woods that would usually be filled with darkness at this time of the night but not tonight as a full moon was on display. The rain soaked bark on the trees glistened all around him reflecting the intense moonlight. Tom however, was not concerned with such trivialities as the glistening trees; he was on the hunt.
The scent got stronger and stronger as Tom almost flew over the long damp grass beneath him. He skidded to a halt on his four hairy legs as he arrived at a small and ominous village. It was a collection of small thatched huts with small fires spread between them. As he approached, a small hint of suspicion formed within Tom but this was ignored as his senses became completely filled with the anticipation and aromas of fresh meat. There was no one around, the village was deserted, but Tom could hear something. A crunch then gnawing finished with a swallow. Someone had beaten him to the kill. Tom was not usually a scavenger but when that familiar smell wafted around him he could not help himself. What Tom saw next in the village stunned him with its beauty. Another werewolf was crouching in the centre of town with a mauled victim beneath it. ‘It’ was definitely female; Tom could tell by her much defined facial structure and the length of her snout. This was one of the most erotic scenes Tom had ever witnessed and his cravings quickly changed from hunger to lust.
Emma heard a clumsy snap of a fallen twig behind her and spun around to see a most handsome beast. The enticement of the bloodied flesh beneath her soon disappeared. The look on Tom’s face told Emma that the passionate feelings were reciprocated and she edged closer to him. In turn Tom did the same until they were a whisker length apart. They sniffed each other vigorously until they were satisfied with what they had inhaled. After that there was a slight pause before both pounced at each other and passion consumed them both. To an outsider their love-making would have looked like a brutal fight for survival, however it was anything but.
After they had consummated Emma graciously offered with a feral grunt to share her fallen prey. Tom politely accepted with a vicious snarl and they both devoured what was left of the succulent meat. After they finished they licked their lips and curled up around each other in one of the abandoned shelters before both drifting off into a blissful sleep.
When Tom woke up in his human state there was a moment’s confusion before the images of the previous night flooded into his mind. He looked across from him to discover the identity of his new “friend”. His face grew pale and nausea overcame him but it was not because of last night’s meal. Sleeping contently beside him with bloodstains still on her face was Emma, his brother’s widow. Tom hated her with a vengeance as he suspected Emma had murdered her own husband…
Note: I have been writing for about a week so any feedback would be really appreciated. | 2018-05-23T01:28:51 | 2018-05-23T00:13:36 | 56 | 15 |
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other. | Heather is madly annoying.
Her voice is deafening ... destroying
my ears, no longer able to hear
I sign to her she's the one person I fear.
For she and I turn to wild beasts.
Every full moon, we turn to each other and feast
Not on people, or prey or food.
We become wild animals stuck to each other, glued.
Biting, lusting and rubbin,
We transform back, feeling awful, because we're cousins. | The full moon reflected in the deer's eye as it danced spritely through the woods. I lay undetected under the brush, awaiting the moment I could taste its blood. The scent filled my nostrils, and my mouth watered in anticipation. But there was another scent. Something that awakened a different kind of anticipation.
The deer hesitated, and I chose this moment to strike. But I was a moment too late. As I started from my cover, another wolf leapt from the opposite side of the clearing and tackled the deer to the ground. Her jaws clamped around its neck, severing its arteries and ligaments for a quick, clean kill. The she-wolf gazed up at me, and snarled, blood dripping from her jowls.
Looking back, I am disturbed to report I was severely aroused by this, especially when considering the bitch's true identity (and I mean that in both senses of the word). But in that moment, I did not hesitate to patter towards her and expose my throat in an act of supplication. Her snarl faded, and the blood of the deer no longer enticed me as the scent of her pheromones overwhelmed me. She was in heat, and I was ready to go.
I don't feel the need to dive into specifics here, but it was a night I'll never forget. As a werewolf, I'm used to the human parts of my brain going on auto-pilot as the purely id-driven wolf takes over. I have no sexual interest in wolves when I'm a human. I'm not even a closeted furry. But that experience with the she-wolf in the forest was perhaps the pinnacle of my sexual history.
I didn't realize at the time, she was also a werewolf. We made love (if wolves have a concept of love) through most of the night, intermittently snacking on the kill she had so generously provided, and howling at the moon when it struck our fancy. Having another voice added to mine, gave me peace in a subconscious part of my human mind that hadn't yet adjusted to this new form of life. I felt at home.
I was used to waking up naked in the forest, but always alone. I was lying on my side, with my arm around the last woman I could have expected. My first thought was panic, at her possible discovery of my condition, before realizing she obviously suffered the same condition.
But enough build-up. When I realized who I was lying with, I was full of revulsion to discover Shelley. Shelley was a woman from my old job at the mail room. My horrible horrible boss. She wore high heels to feel powerful, and turned every slight into a catastrophe. She fired me after I was late the morning after a full moon. She had also been late. A few months earlier, at a wild Christmas party, she bit me for attempting to take away her vodka cranberry, after she'd thrown her computer out the window. Come to think of it, that bite might have been important. | 2018-05-23T01:28:51 | 2018-05-22T20:37:45 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked. | They killed his hound and stole his steed,
The rogue knight returns to punish the deed.
Whether Bogeyman or demon spawn,
Beware the wrath of Wicked John.
&#x200B;
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I apologize if this isn't appropriate for a top level post, but it does technically say stories/poems. | Dear diary, 12th October 2932.
They awoke the wicked. he who kills like he breathes.... if he did.
back in the 2500's, cybernetic wars led to the creation of the knights, and the legend says he's one of them.
Legend also says he wiped an entire battleship with a single pen, and his left thumb.
Word says he has no emotions, nor a face.
&#x200B;
...And that man is my neighbour. he lives upstairs. lovely old dude, he pays me to clean his flat.
*Well, if you consider dumping human limbs in an acid drum* ***cleaning***\*,\* that is.
It all changed when the thugs attacked, yesterday night.
First they came in quiet and one of them held me at gunpoint, then they went upstairs.
...
&#x200B;
Now, there's a hole between his kitchen and my bathroom. a grenade first opened the way, then his fist went through my ceiling. with a head attached to it. he apologized profusely and handed me over 50G's "to help him out and for the damage"
&#x200B;
Jeez. i believe they went in with like 20 people. it was over in 15 seconds flat.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\*BLAOOOOM\* (that's the door, his door)
BRRRRT TATATATATATA!!! PAW!! POW! (the thugs start hosing out)
Whiiiirrrr...THUD! BAOM! SBAF! THUNK!! KER-POW! THUNK! CRUNCH!! SPRASH! (he woops their asses with their arms (that's what i could hear))
BLAAAAAAOOOOOM! (grenade goes off)
SCRUNCH! (he finishes the fight with the hand in the face thing)
One of them escaped with his hovercar, an antique, original, stallion sprint. guess my van wasnt good enough.
he had a jack russel, poor thing took a chunk of the door in the face when they blew it in.
he asked me to help him bury it first of all. with the house sprayed in blood and gore.
Anyhow.
I've learnt a ton of shit in like 16 hours.
How crooked the city is.... how fast money can erase things.. and how quick a cyborg can go downstairs and shove his fist though an armed man who was about to kill me.
You know, I've been unable to identify if the chunks were male or female, it was that bad.
Also I've learnt that cyber-knights are a thing. it's written on them. like "KNIGHT SERIES 0015 - property of the US ARMY"
i gotta find what is this mysterious corporation though. US ARMY? Isn't the term army patented by Gazorpazorp Inc?
He just left the condo, by the look of his gear, he's gonna nuke something till it dies to death. | 2018-09-05T06:16:17 | 2018-09-05T06:10:01 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | ‘I’ve long forgotten you ‘ death said as he took the small hour glass in his hands and arched his skull to a smile reminded of its owner,
39 years ago the bells of ashes has rang loudly “ time to bring the souls home “ death said as he took each hour glass that was placed under the bell as the last
spect of sand had fallen death was on his way to gather the light of life , one after another he visited some old and ready to face him some young and full with regrets nothing that death had not seen until his last hour glass , the vibrant minty green color guided him to the owner he stood between the weeping people that were in a state of distress still oblivious of his being, he looked at the light’s owner , a small girl not more than 5 years of age , death smiled at her eager light that drifted slowly to fill the hour glass but suddenly the light stopped as a small hand tucked death’s hand and furthered it from the light , death looked down to the boy that had anger and sadness in his eyes not slightly frightened be death’s appertaining ‘ he can see me ?’ death said as he turned to the little boy ‘ what is it boy ?’ death asked him , his voice reaching only the boy’s ear “ Give her back to me .” The boy said with a frown ‘ it’s not my decision.....it’s not up to me ‘ death answered “ But you can’t take lily, she’s my best friend!” The little boy answered tears soaking his eyes .
Death placed the hour glass on the floor ‘ see this?’ Death asked the boy to which the boy nodded ‘ everyone has one of these , they tell how much one can live and this one ran out of time .’ The boy looked at it for some time , before saying anything death added ‘ I’m but a collector I gather the empty ones and place them somewhere safe I can’t help with what you ask .’
“ is mine full ?” The boy asked , death pondered on what to say to the curiously brave creature in front of him but decided to answer him with honesty ‘ it is ‘
The boy looked at Lily and with a determined voice he asked “ can I share half of mine with Lily ?”
Death looked at the boy’s innocence and wandered if he knew the consequences of what he asks ‘ if you give her half of yours then I’ll meet you sooner than you are destined to .’ The boy smiled the traces of tears still fresh on his face “ I know .” Death looked him in the eye ‘ you are not afraid of dying?’ To which the boy answered “ maybe I am but I know for sure that Lily is afraid and she always cries when she’s afraid.” He took a small hour glass toy from his pocket and placed it in death’s hands and said “ And I don’t want Lily to cry .”
Death wiped the dust off the small toy as he felt the warmth of that memory he heard the bell of ashes ring loudly “ Time to bring souls home “ he took the empty hour glass and went to meet it’s owner , the light emanating from it more familiar than any other , he stood on the end of a hospital bed and looked at the man how greeted him with a smile . ‘ your time is up ‘ death said and the man replied with all the strength he had “ well.....I was expecting you early “ death smiled as the last particles of dust were falling ‘ do you regret it?’ Death asked as the last spect fell , the man looked at his wife and children smiling softly as he squeezed his wife’s hand reassuringly “.... Not one bit....” the dandy yellow light swirled around the people at the room leaving some warmth and finally entering its glass hour , death took the hour glass with a satisfied smile he said ‘ I didn’t think you would, let’s go home ‘ | “What do you mean we’re being audited?” rasped the Old Man.
“I’m…I’m really not sure, Sir…” the thrall whispered, barely audible.
“The scroll, well it just appeared pinned to the door.”
The Old Man rubbed his temples. This had never happened before; the Big Man upstairs always left his department alone. Why now? Could something have possibly slipped through the cracks?
“Very well. Whatever distaste I have for being micromanaged, it is usually best to play by the rules.” The Old Man sighed as he rose from his chair. His joint creaked and popped as his weight rested upon his feet for the first time in many, many years. “Fetch the torch and have Charon raise the boat,” he instructed the thrall. “We’re going to the Vault.”
…
As he combed his way through the endless shelves, the Old Man racked his memory for anything that might give him an idea of where to start.
“It must have been recent,” he mused to himself. “Anything over a millennium ago and this wouldn’t have shown up now.”
He paused as he came to a gap between the shelves. On one side, the shelf was marked “MCD-MCDXCIX”, on the other side “MCC-MCCXCIX”. The Old Man preferred the Arabic numerals, but tradition is tradition, either way he was staring at the empty space where the 14th century belonged. He scratched his head, could he have made a mistake in there? It had been such a busy century for him, it was possible something might have slipped by. He hobbled his way over to the subsection of the Vault where, carved over the stone entryway, the words “BLACK DEATH” were carved.
The Old Man chuckled to himself as he began to scan the room. “Black Death, the humans do have their dramatic flair. As if I wanted that disease to keep me from a moments rest for all those years.”
He searched the rows for days, but nothing stood out as anything less than his usual work. The people whose hourglasses were contained in this room all died centuries ago. The relics were dusty and dark, all the life they once held had long since faded into nothing. The Old Man, tired and irate, sat himself down at the desk he had moved into the room all those years ago, a temporary work station to keep up with the never-ending workload. He collected his patience, resolving that he must have been wrong to start the search here. As he stood up, a glint of light caught his dark sunken eye. His whole body aching, the Old Man dropped to his knees and reached his arm under the desk. His fingers grasped at air until they landed upon a warm cylinder. He pulled out the relic and examined it closely.
It was an hourglass the same as all the rest in this forgotten corner. However, this one still glowed with the fervor that had long since left the others. “It is time to pay this mortal a long overdue visit,” the Old Man declared before vanishing into the darkness.
…
The Old Man felt the spray of the sea before he even opened his eyes. It had been a long time since he set foot onto the mortal plane, and although he claimed to hate it here, he couldn’t help but take a deep breath and enjoy the fresh air. He looked out over the scene before him: a small cottage tucked away on a hillside overlooking the sea. The grass was green, the air crisp, and the sky grey and misty. Modest. He took one more deep breath before taking off at a brisk pace down the path to the cottage, renewed vigor coursing through his body.
After a knock on the door, the Old Man waited. A few moments later a man opened the door. He looked to be about forty years old, but his eyes studied the Old Man with wisdom and exhaustion beyond his years.
“Who are you?” the man asked curtly.
“I think you know who I am,” replied the Old Man with a tone neither kind nor bitter. “You should have been expecting me after all these years.”
To the Old Man’s surprise, the man was not frightened, rather his eyes hardened and his brow furrowed. “About damn time,” the man growled. “You’d better have a good explanation for yourself.”
The Old Man chuckled and brushed past the man into the cottage. He took a seat near the hearth where a fire was quietly crackling
away.
“I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” he began as he stared into the fire. “There was a…mistake that shouldn’t have happened. I do apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience?” the man barked. “I have been alive for over SEVEN HUNDRED YEARS and you come in here all coy and call that
an inconvenience?!”
The Old Man’s eyes suddenly shifted from the fire to meet the gaze
of the man.
“Watch your tone with me, son of Adam,” he said firmly. As he spoke, the room became very still and began to darken. “I apologize for what happened to you. Trust me, this was not a purposeful act of malice. You should consider yourself fortunate, not
many mortals have seen all that you have.”
“Is it fortunate?” the man replied quietly. “Is it fortunate to have watched every person I have ever cared about grow old and die while I live on? I have endured more suffering than you can imagine. I lost my family, my children died as old men before my eyes. I have seen more pain than any man should ever have to endure, but none the less I lived on.”
The man’s words became steadily louder until he was shouting again.
“Yet you claim it is good fortune that I have experienced all of this! I never wanted an eternal life! I wish I had never been born!”
At this, the Old Man stood suddenly, seeming to fill the whole room with his frail body.
“As you wish,” he said as he withdrew the man’s hourglass from his coat pocket. He looked at it for a moment before crushing it in his palm. The man looked bewildered before he understood what that meant for him. He began to change, growing younger by the moment. A man, an adolescent, a child, an infant, and then nothing. The old man brushed the sand from his hand into the hearth and disappeared.
| 2018-10-03T07:48:22 | 2018-10-03T07:47:28 | 14 | 10 |
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