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[WP] You've been magically gifted the ability to speak all languages. Anything you say comes out in the first language of whoever you're looking at. One day, you try to greet someone on the street and they gape in horror as ancient, unknowable eldritch sounds exit your mouth. The ground shakes... | "What have you done?", cried the man in horror. He was speaking English despite it not being his first language. "The ancient tongue has not been spoken aloud in centuries. You fool!"
"What do you mean?", I tried to say, but the screeching sounds I made were cut off mid-sentence by the strange man grabbing me and covering my mouth. The ground shook harder.
"Quiet, fool! You're going to get us both killed!"
Steam began to exit the sewers, the ground shook even more violently than before and the road began to crack right down the middle. I opened my mouth in horror and began to ask another question but the man cut me off.
"Be silent. He is coming. And we will greet him upon his emergence."
And so he emerged, from that crack in the road in all his dreadful glory. A horror from another dimension. My mind collapsed. It was as if the world around me no longer existed. There was only him. And he was terror incarnate. Fear consumed me. I only became aware of my body as I felt the warm sensation of my bowels emptying themselves, and cold sweat covering my brow.
And then he spoke. And I understood. He was asking me to explain why he had been summoned. Why I had awoken him from his slumber. I could not speak, but I felt him crawl into my mind and look for his answer. And then I felt a pain like no other I had felt before. I could not breathe. It was as if was on fire and drowning at the same time. I crumbled and fell to the floor. And then it stopped. All of a sudden it stopped. I felt lighter than air. It was pure ecstasy. It was as though I had been suffering all my life, and was finally free of some torment I had not known was there. I felt pure. He had cleansed me.
And so he spoke again, this time not to me, but to the man. He was giving instructions. Instructions to take me somewhere. I was important. I was a messenger. He spoke of a prophecy. And then he disappeared. And I just lay there laughing, completely ecstatic.
The man helped me up. He looked concerned.
"Well, it has begun." He said to me.
"What has?" I asked.
"The end of our world, and the beginning of theirs."
| I took a sip of my coffee as I looked out through the side window of the boat. The sweet and salty scent of seawater foaming across the sides.
“How much further?” I asked the helmsman without turning my gaze from the ocean. Sunlight teasing its arrival through the morning fog.
“Dè?” he replied.
I turned to look at him, making sure I could see his eyes “dè a bharrachd?” I repeated.
“tha sin an crochadh” *that depends* he said in gaelic. It was a language i didn’t know a moment ago but by the look of him now, I knew all there was to know.
“*Depends on what?*” I asked raising a brow. I knew this wasn’t a well traveled route, but that’s the whole reason I was there to begin with. When traveling “it depends” usually means the weather. “*Is the fog that thick?*”
“*Oh, the fog is no matter. It’s up to the island... Whether its out today or not.*”
What is that supposed to mean? I thought to myself. My thoughts were always in English. Even when I spoke other languages, I knew them as English. It can be an odd sensation to have the words that come out of your mouth be different than what is in your mind, but over the years I’ve gotten used to it.
I looked back out over the fog. It was becoming thinner, losing the battle against the sun. It wouldn’t be long until I had a nice day on my hands.
“Is that it over there?” I asked.
“Dè?”
I turned to look him in the eyes and repeated it in gaelic.
“*Aha! You’re in luck*.”
I’ll be lucky when I get off this boat. What kind of sailor is this? He pulled smoothly into a wooden dock outstretched into the ocean like a finger reaching for a cookie. He showed he had the skill, but did he have the mind? I didn’t want to test it, but he was the only one willing to bring me out here.
I collected my suitcases and leaped off the side.
“*I’ll come back for the next week or so. Same time as now. If I don’t see you by then I’ll assume you don’t want to come back.*”
“*I’ll only be a day or two*” I said, making sure to look him in the eyes. He gave me an odd look. Almost as if he was amused.
It was a small village. Huts with thatched roofs. A brick well in the center. Women if aprons moving about with purpose. It was like the 21st century missed this place.
It seemed as if they all stopped for a brief moment in unison to look at the newcomer, but just as quick they were back to their duties.
I walked through the village, but no one would approach. Still in an age to be wary of strangers I suppose. I made sure to give a friendly smile and a wave to any that would acknowledge me.
I tried asking if there was somewhere to spend the night but before I could they would just point me up the road to where I now stood. It was practically a castle. Surrounded by high brick walls and a studded wooden gate. It had what may have been considered a moat, but I think it was just a drainage ditch. I lifted the giant iron knocker and slammed it down, echoing like thunder.
A slit in the gate opened to reveal a mouth. Chapped lips and jagged teeth.
“what’s the password” it grunted.
“uh, password?”
“You cannot enter without the password” he said, shutting the slit.
“Now hang on a moment” I shouted. Surely, I was loud enough to be heard through the wood. “I just need somewhere to stay for the night!”
The slit opened once more, this time revealing jaundice looking eyes. They squinted. Waiting.
“*Please?*” I said, but this time it wasn’t in English. It wasn’t in any language I had ever heard, or spoken, before. My brain seemed to shake in my skull. My vision blurry.
“You know the rules brother!” he hissed angrily. “You’ll get us both in trouble!” he said as he unlatched the gate. A small door opened allowing me entrance. Still reeling from what had just happened I gave a nod of thanks and entered the grounds.
“You can’t be using the words like that. If you’re going to stay here, you’re still going to have to pay.”
“Pay?" I said as I studied my feet. One step after another. That’s what I had to do. Why was it so hard? “How much?”
“I need about three fifty” he said.
Now it was about that time that I noticed he was a 3-story tall leviathan from the eldritch horror period.
God damn it.
| 2019-01-11T12:30:28 | 2019-01-11T12:14:59 | 4,681 | 2,025 |
[WP] In Japan you are number 1 heart surgeon, steady hand. One day Yakuza boss needs new heart, you do the operation but mistake! Yakuza boss die, Yakuza very mad, you hid in a fishing boat and come to America, no English, money or food, a Warehouse manager Darryl takes you under his wing | In Japan, heart surgeon number one. Steady hand. One day, yakuza boss need new heart. I do operation. But mistake! Yakuza boss die! Yakuza very mad! I hide fishing boat, come to America. No English, no food, no money. Darryl give me job. Now I have house, American car and new woman. Darryl save life. My big secret? I kill yakuza boss on purpose. I good surgeon. The best!
At least, that official story. Please forgive grammar. Still new to English.
My bigger secret? I still do surgery for criminal. Not just heart surgery. Heart surgery is hard surgery. Other surgery easy. Except brain surgery. I no do brain surgery.
One day, man come to me and say he need surgery on hand. He say he tear muscle working out. I examine. Hands strong, body weak. He do not exercise right. I tell him. He get very mad! Demand I fix hand that night. I tell him no problem.
That night, I go to house. Pictures on wall. Pictures of women. I recognize from news. Women killed by Strangler. I fix hand, then I call police. Tell them man's name is a George Howard Scubb.
Next day, police chase man. Chase goes by office. Stupid Michael go outside and collect gravel from road to sell to collector. I sell pint of Strangler blood to collector. Going to pretend to win lottery with coworkers. Maybe invest in energy drink. | I brush the dirt from my weary eyes and squint disdainfully at the piercing sun pouring through a tear in the fishing tarp. As I rub my my eyes I move towards the slit to inhale fresh air, but find that my sense of taste and smell have been obliterated the pungent stench of thawing fish. *Kusei* I mutter.
The journey inland stowed away with frozen fish from New York harbour had been much less serene than the journey over. As my body wakes up and I sense my various aches I yearn for those peaceful days at sea where I could kick back and study English with the crew, dreaming of the new life in front of me. I would get a big house, a big American car, and a new woman.
Noticing that the truck has stopped at a loading bay, I sit up. Carefully peeking my head over the side I see no one around. I place my steady hands on the top edge of my container and pull myself up, jumping off the truck and running across the laneway to hide behind a nearby pile of boxes. This pile of boxes is being loaded by a group of large amicable workers. Observing the boxes closer I see they're bound for *1725 Slough Avenue, Scranton PA*. The men loading the truck suddenly stop and decide to just sit on the curb staring off into space, I seize the opportunity and stow away in the back of the truck with the boxes.
The men are very surprised to see me sitting on top of their wares when they roll up the back panel of the truck. "What the fuck?" says the large pink one. "Who are you and why are you hiding in our truck" says the larger black one in a similar tone of disbelief. "I am Hide", I say calmly. "I was a heart surgeon on Japan, I murdered the head of the Yakuza crime organization, and now I'm trying to lay low in America". "Ok Hide... I'm Darryl" says the larger black man. "You wanna help us unload some boxes?". "Sure" I replied.
After we'd finished unloading the boxes we hung out and talked about basketball. Darryl was a friendly man, and seemed understanding of my plight. "Tell you what" said Darryl, "come with me, we're gonna talk to the boss and get you a job here while you figure out what you wanna do". I was hesitant to make my presence known to the boss, but Darryl assured me that it would be fine. "He doesn't know his head from his asshole" is an expression that seems to mean everything will be fine.
The boss looked at me with a funny expression. He had a large nose and a cheap looking suit. "HELLO MY NAME MICHAEL SCOTT ME BIG BOSS" he said. I glanced over incredulously at Darryl and he gave me a nod. "Uh, hi, my name's Hide, I was a heart surgeon in Japan, I actually speak English so-". "DARRYL TELL ME YOU WANT JOB" he interupted. I looked at Darryl again to see that he was stone faced. That's when I realised what was going on. In America they have very progressive views of mental health and have clearly let this mentally handicapped person run their office. Upon realising my insensitivity, I immediately apologized and adopted my speech to communicate with the retarded boss man. "In Japan, heart surgeon. Number one. Steady hand." I say, "One day, Yakuza boss need new heart. I do operation. But, mistake! Yakuza boss die! Yakuza very mad. I hide in fishing boat, come to America". The retarded man nodded his head, "VERY GOOD YOU FAMILY NOW" he said. Darryl nodded his head and we headed back down to the warehouse.
"Wow" I exclaimed to Darryl "that is so amazing and progressive that your company supports people with disabilities so much". Darryl just laughed. | 2019-11-30T06:46:07 | 2019-11-30T06:28:32 | 1,100 | 150 |
[WP] You are a minor supervillain. Your antics aren't illegal, but they're quite devastating to the local hero population. You replace the flimsy fruit stands that are frequently destroyed in car chases throughout the city with nearly indestructible replicas. | *Am I really, though?*
I glowered at the television. On the screen, a news anchor yelled about one of the farmer’s market stalls I’d “upgraded” last night. I sipped my tea as the anchor blathered on about some minor hero who’d gone to the hospital after trying to drive through one of them; while chasing a local nobody they’d branded a “veritable villain.” Honestly I would have called him a vigilante, not a hero- insurance companies still refused to cover his damages under the "Hero Clause," and I personally felt the added alliteration would have been a nice touch.
*Here I try to make a good thing for the people just trying to get by;* I thought angrily, *And as thanks I get called a villain.* Granted, apparently this little town was so desperate to make headlines that they’d name a run-of-the-mill crook a “villain” for taking three hundred dollars from some store’s register; but still. I'd made the fake stall because random shops and small businesses were always getting robbed, hit by cars, or blown up- wasn't it a good ting that this guy didn't need to buy a new stall this time?
The scrolling text at the bottom claimed the material was from space; or maybe the core of the Earth. Also that this not-too-bright criminal had created the fake stall specifically for this “heist,” which made me feel a little insulted. It hadn’t been easy to make the stuff; claiming some schmuck had developed it? Pah.
I’d let them think that for now, though. Developing a chemical slurry that would harden into a titanium-tungsten alloy with the density of insulation foam had drained most of my personal finances; and I couldn’t afford to apply for a patent just yet. Besides, branding is the key to marketing, and what would I call the stuff? Titani-foam? Tungsten-crete? Metalwood? Actually that’s not too bad, I thought; typing Metalwood into my tablet.
I turned my attention back to the screen as the cameraman looked past the still-ranting anchor and zoomed in on the market stall in question. As the material weighed about as much as regular oak, the impact of the car had thrown it quite a ways; ending up in the middle of an intersection. Apples were scattered all around; on the sidewalks, stuck in a traffic light, in that shop window- hmm, maybe I should look into a stronger and cheaper replacement for pane glass after I built my finances back up a bit. Looking closer, I was pleased to see that not only had the “wood” planks not come apart, the ones at the impact site hadn’t even deformed all that much- the cheap spraypaint I’d coated them with had rubbed off, but aside from a few scratches and dents the stuff was still perfectly serviceable.
The stall was being loaded into the back of a truck by the local police; no doubt they’d move it to the impound lot for storage. Well, so much for the farmer not needing to buy another new stall. I'd expected as much, though; and a plan was forming in my mind to retrieve it tonight. Maybe I could even find a way to fix it up overnight and leave it in the farmer's market for the poor apple vendor.
*Not a bad debut,* I thought, sipping the last of my tea and trying not to grin too broadly. *After all, they say any publicity is good publicity.*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Never done one of these before, let me know what you think! | They call me a lot of things, all of them do. It's not so often a traveling salesman meets a golden opportunity, but a perfect convergence of divine providence threw a perfect mix right smack down in front of me. Somewhere between that encyclopedia set sold to that aerospace manufacturer in Austin and that bus boy that ticked me off in San Jose, an absolute miracle struck. It was like gold rained down on the damn sidewalk that day, in the form of splintered wood and shattered glasses. That pickle guy from the farmer's market had some delinquent blast open his livelihood for what had to be the upteenth millionth time. I stood and watched, like most people did, even as some morons ran. Damn "heroes" cause more property damage on the regular than a bona fide natural disaster. It looked like a hurricane swept through in nothing flat, and the pair of vehicles were gone as suddenly as they had arrived. They made a show of it, of course. It was all part of the sale, all part of the art, but that day I felt something different about it. Call it luck or simply good Christian empathy, but I actually stopped and gave the pickle guy a hand.
We swept up glass, pickle juice, and wood scraps together; and I struck up the conversation, for me at least, of the century. Turns out farmer Actual Johnson was a regular family man with an ordinary job and an ordinary truck. Just like most of the farmers in his rural community, he drove into the cities on the weekends to sell the slickers his goods in impromptu market stalls and side street stands. Simple wooden things, he clarified, because the car chases smash through 'em on the regular. Tickle me curious on that one. How and why did a god-fearing, mortgage-paying man come to accept that his business venture was destined to be smashed to pieces? Vandalized, even. The answer? It was all just a part, they know, of the show. The bad guys get in a getaway car, the good guys chase them, they make a royal spectacle of themselves, and only the bottom-line of the honest every-day business man is hurt for it. Now, I ask you, does any of that seem right? Is that the American way?
So I pitched farmer Johnson on an idea, a simple idea, an idea straight from a thankful sucker back in Allentown. Bank robbers got you down? Build the vault out of stiffer stuff. Car chases got you in a bad way? Make your stall indestructible. I know a guy, I claim, I sold him an encyclopedia once. Wouldn't you know that lending a fella an ear was all you had to do to make an honest buck in this country? I had him hook, line, and sinker at the thought of sticking it to those showboating degenerates. I just needed a modest starting investment. A small sum. A trifle. Double what they were worth. Desperation and good ideas make for good motivation and, after a check was exchanged, I started making a few calls.
Aerospace Guy was a bit perplexed to be hearing from me. Something about his set of encyclopedias missing more than a few volumes. A simple mistake. I'd send the others on the house; it'd be worth it over this. I pitched the sucker the sweetest deal I could think of, drew up some plans on the page of a phonebook while we hashed out the details in that booth on the corner of 3rd. Then I rushed it over to Johnson while he loaded up his junk, and dressed it all up with that relatable home-town flair. I skipped the motel and rode his truck back to fly-over land, and from one end of main street to the other I sent and received enough first-class packages to wake up the postmen two cities over. If you wanna be a wheeler dealer, you don't take breaks, you don't wait and see. You make a fuss, cause a commotion, and get everyone talking. If you can make it happen while still payin' the bail, then form a crowd. It wasn't long before they had me filling up a churchhouse, rollin' out the spiel to everyone in town. Come next Saturday a haul of the most beautiful industrial refuse you ever did see came rolling into town, some assembly required, and we had our custom stands ready come Sunday.
You should've seen the look on their faces, all of them. The usual troublemakers came burning into that lot, on a tear, aimed their clunker for one of the stands, and proceeded to learn just how much plastic their cheap getaway vehicle was truly made of. Were the stands actually indestructible? No, they never had a hope in hell of surviving that kind of impact. Did it stop the cars from tearing up the entire market? Hell yes it did. The farmers attending the market from the other small towns saw everything. They marveled at the sturdy construction and, with some gentle persuasion, asked exactly where they could attain such miracles for themselves. I was happy to oblige them, all of them, and in a little under three weeks a veritable business empire exploded out of some excess scrap and a dream. Every farmer, every street market, every food stand, stall, or cart, they all wanted a serious upgrade. They all wanted The Wonder Stall.
The heroes claim I'm a menace. The villains say I'm heartless. They call me a lot of things, all of them do. The Ray Kroc of Carts, The Farmer's Angel, The Devil Himself. What they choose to call me is their own business but, I know a guy, I sold him a set of encyclopedias once. You know what he calls me? The Chief Operating Officer of Wonder Stalls Incorporated, and the best damn garbage man he's ever seen. We've been working, lately, on upgrading the designs of his products with some of those harder to dispose of materials. I'm sure the farmers would pay a pretty penny for a new depleted uranium model. The word "composite" really gets 'em going. Me? My office is on the open road, to Allentown, to ask a certain bank manager about making those stiffer vaults. | 2020-01-14T03:08:17 | 2020-01-14T02:28:55 | 50 | 27 |
[WP] Two swords of godly origin lay stuck in stone. One is said to be evil the other heroic it is said whoever pulls one of these blades will be the ultimate force of good or evil. As a joke you pull on both however you and everyone around are in shock when both blades come free in your grasp. | "The swords of Kain and Resmith, known throughout the land. As you know, Resmith, the bringer of good, love, charity, and the first Hero, and Kain, the bringer of evil, thievery, and the first murderer." Said the tour guide.
"Justifie isn't this boring? Why do you insist to keep coming to the Royal Palace for boring tours?" Exclaimed an annoyed friend
"Well Redrik, I think this is quite interesting, and weren't you the one who wanted to hang out today?"
"Well I wanted to hang out, this is not hanging out this is learning, this is learning something I already know!"
"Redrik, tell me the difference between Kain and Resmith"
"Fine... I'll listen to the tour guide."
As Redrik started listening, the tour guide continued, "This stone here holds the powers of both good and evil. This is the stone where both Kain and Resmith fought and died at, plunging their swords into the stone before they spoke their final breath. Then as they died, our Lord decided to seal up the power of the Swords, and decreed that the person who will do most good may wield the Sword of Kain, and who will contribute the most evil to the world will wield the Sword of Resmith."
Justifie was curious and quietly asked Redrik, "Hey, do you think we are going to be able to try to pull out the swords? I heard that Ruby's group got the chance to?"
Redrik replied "So what if we will be able to pull on it, no one here will be able to pull em out. I mean you said these swords are for who will be the best and worst person right?"
Justifie was annoyed at the retort and answered back "Yeah, we might not be able to pull a sword out. I mean every Monarch has a pulling ceremony, and not even the best and worst Monarchs can, but it seems fun."
As they were arguing, the tour guide announced: "Anyways this concludes our tour, and you may stay and pull on the Swords, be sure to give everyone some time to, but you will have to leave after 15 minutes at maximum, as the next tour will come by then."
Justifie looked at Redrik, and asked, "You wanna pull those swords?"
"You go on ahead champ, you know what, pull out both of them for me will ya?"
"Sure will cap'n"
And so, Justifie went up to the swords, but when he got to the swords, he realized something strange, two unknown voices, and he couldn't stop himself from getting closer to the swords.
*What the hell? Why can't I stop walking?*
*Its because you have a connection with us, lift the swords, and proclaim to the world what you truly are.*
"Hey, pick you're taking your sweet time, get it over with, I wanna get lunch." Yelled Redrik
Snapping back into reality, Justifie responded "Yeah yeah I will, give me a moment though."
Justifie walked towards the Swords and started pulling on them, but to his surprise, when he pulled on the Swords he felt like they were being pulled out. Then he realized what had happened he wielded both swords, one to his right, and one to his left.
Then a flash of bright heavenly light erupted to his right and hell like darkness to his left. And time froze for that moment.
He saw a frightened mother and a curious child looking to him.
He saw his friend beyond all shock, and he saw himself proud.
And he saw two figures, one Angelic, and one Demonic. They spoke to him.
"You are the one to hold both the Sword of Kain and Resmith. You will be the one to create the most evil, and create the most good. We did not expect that only one would be able to wield both Swords. We are Kain and Resmith, and you will lead the world to a great calamity and a great peace."
And time unfroze.
Edit: grammar | A violent, rushing wind filled the plain, coming from all directions with a deafening roar. I backed away from the stone pillar with the two swords in hand and braced myself against the gale while those around me tumbled into the grass. A whirlwind colored with splashes of black and white appeared above the stone where the swords had lay. It took me a minute to notice the wind didn’t affect me as it did the others, and I relaxed as I watched the cyclone dance in front of me.
“What’s happening?” Shel cried from the ground.
“I don’t know!” I yelled back. All I could do was wait to see what would happen. The swords were heavy and seemed to hum as the wind continued to blow. They threatened to slip out of my hands, but I kept my grip firm.
Two spirits appeared In the midst of the battling colors, and as they took shape the winds abated. All of the black wind poured into the spirit on the left, while the white wind funneled into the spirit on the right. They were a little like ghosts with transparent bodies, but they looked like old men who were long overdue for greener pastures.
“Finally!” the black spirit shouted as it stretched newly formed arms.
“What a relief!” the other said as it twisted its back.
Then each looked to the other and gasped.
“*You!*” they both shouted with fingers pointed at the other.
“I thought you were dead!”
“I thought I was too, to be honest.”
“Hey!” I shouted at the two spirits, who seemed startled by my presence.
“Who’s this little fella?” the black spirit asked.
“Not sure,” said the white. “But look! He has our swords!”
“By the claws of Zathernel you’re right!”
They made a step toward me but could not appear to leave the stone.
“What’s this?” cried the white spirit.
“Are we in some sort of prison?”
“What have you done, little fella?”
“Give us those swords back.”
I felt a tug on my arms like the swords were striving to obey their commands, but I planted my feet and held them back.
“I’m not doing anything until you two tell me what’s going on.”
“Who are you talking to?” Shel asked. I looked behind me and realized that my party had gotten up from the ground and were brushing themselves off. All of five of us had come seeking the legendary swords of Good and Evil, hardly believing they were really here. There were too many stories about them to know how they really came to be. Of our group, I was the second to last to try pulling on the swords, though I was the only one who had tried pulling both at the same time. Only Ponto hadn’t yet the chance to try his luck.
“You mean you can’t see them?” I asked.
“No,” Shel said, sounding mystified. I could hear the disappointment in her voice that she had not been the one to pull a sword from the stone, let alone both.
“Can any of you see them?”
“Nope,” said Duriel.
“See who?” asked Nath.
Ponto merely shook his head.
I turned back to the spirits, who seemed caught up in some sort of argument.
“Well it was you who decided to leave in the first place.” The white spirit accused.
“And you didn’t have to follow me!” cried the black spirit.
They wrapped each other in their feeble arms and slowly wrestled themselves to the stone.
“Hey!” I shouted, but they continued their struggle.
“Hey!” I shouted louder, but to no avail.
“HEY!” I slammed the swords on the stone in frustration and they both stood up straight, as if at attention.
“Cursed swords,” the black spirit muttered.
“Not my fault,” spat the white.
“Someone needs to tell me who the hell you are and what’s going on.”
“We were just figuring that out ourselves,” the white said.
“We,” said the black, “are brothers Bog and Gob.
“Twins, actually,” said the white. “I’m Gob.”
“And I’m Bog,” said the black.
“It appears you’ve released us, though somewhat partially, from a heavenly curse,” said Gob.
“A quite unfair curse,” said Bog.
“You see, we were always fighting...” Gob said.
“As brothers do,” Bog interrupted.
“... and it was getting a little out of hand...” said Gob.
“Only a few small towns were destroyed.,” Bog interrupted.
“They were entire civilizations!” said Gob.
“Small detail. Anyway, it was getting us in trouble with the rest of the heavenly beings,” said Bog.
“So you admit it now,” said Gob
“Can we get on it with the story?” I was growing impatient with their bickering.
“So Bog decides to leave the heavens altogether and come down here a while.”
“Starting fresh.”
“And I try to stop him.”
“Worst idea ever.”
“And in the process we end up wounding the almighty god,”
“Who was not very pleased,”
“And we were both cast down here for who knows how long until you showed up.”
“So what happens if I give you your swords back?” I asked.
“Well,” said Bog. “I think we can all happily go our separate ways.”
“And if I keep them?”
“We’ll be enslaved to your will,” said Gob.
The thought of having these two around me for the rest of my life was a despairing thought on its own, let alone whatever trouble they may cause.
Explaining the situation to my party, we agreed the best thing to do would be to set the swords back in the stone.
“It sounds horrible,” Shel said.
“You’d be better off dead, I think,” said Duriel.
“It’s settled, then,” said Nath.
Ponto nodded in agreement.
I approached the stone and the two spirits looked at me inquisitively.
“What are you doing?” asked Gob.
“You’re not putting the swords back, are you?” asked Bog.
“I am.”
“That’s insufferable!” said Bog.
“Finally I agree with you,” said Gob.
But it was too late for the two bickering brothers. I set the swords back in their stone prison, and with a quick yelp the two spirits dissipated with a strong wind.
“Good riddance, “ I said at last, and turned to join the others. We began back from where we came when I realized we were one member short.
“Where’s Ponto?” I asked.
We all turned back toward the stone pillar, where he stood, gripping the two swords in his hands, ready to pull them out. | 2020-07-27T03:39:37 | 2020-07-27T03:18:47 | 45 | 18 |
[WP] Due to the increasing ammount of souls that need reaping, Death has decided to upgrade from a scythe to a farming combine. | “Betsy, looks like we got one of them crazies,” Billy said to his wife as he got up from behind the counter of his desk. “You call the cops now if he gets fresh, okay?”
Betsy looked up from her magazine and waved it in front of her face as she leaned forward and looked out the dirty front glass of Billy's New and Used Tractor lot.
"Billy… don’t go out there, he’ll leave in a minute," she said.
Billy didn’t say anything but checked the ammo in his pistol. He already knew there was ammo in it. It was more of a gesture to show and comfort Betsy. It did the opposite. And she pleaded with him even more to stay inside.
Billy pushed his tweed hat low on his face. "Back in a minute," he said, and walked out into the hot Nebraskan summer sun.
“May I help you?” Billy asked to the man standing in front of an X6 John Deere combine. The man turned and Billy felt a rush of fear flow through him. He stared at the man suspiciously. He was in a heavy black robe that covered him from head to toe, the shadow of it even covering his face and he held an ancient looking scythe.
“I’m looking…,” the man in black said, then stopped, as though he was searching for the words. “I’m looking for something that can cut—” and he swept his scythe down at a flashing angle. Billy got a slight glance at the man’s hand before it was enveloped in the robe again and he could have swore it was the strangest looking hand he’d ever seen, white as… bone.
“Well,” Billy said, never a man to lose out on a sale. He’d had jokers here before, and he’d entertain ‘em just as much as he’d entertain his loyal customers who’d come every so often for repairs or new equipment. All said, Billy was a lonely man and he’d talk to just about anyone. This man, standing in front of him looking like a god damn Halloween prop, was pushing that limit though.
“What kind of crop ya’ gonna be cuttin’ with this?” Billy said softly, almost afraid to ask.
The man in black stood there for a moment then said, “umm, it’s thick and maybe a little, ummm, meaty, and about…" He walked up to Billy and Billy stepped back reaching for his holster. The man in black stopped momentarily, then reached his hand out. Billy could see now it was just a skeleton, the white of the bone shining hideously bright in the sun. The man in black stuck his bony fingers towards Billy and Billy was too afraid to move.
“It’s about this high,” the man in black said and reached his hand up to the top of Billy’s tweed hat and touched the tip. “About that high,” the man said again.
Billy wiped the sweat that was pouring down his face and he stared at the man in black for a long time, then finally said: “Well then, you’re lookin’ at the wrong one, buddy. Now come over here. Let me show you the X9. Just got 'er in a week ago. This bad girl can harvest 7,200 bushels of...corn. We’ll say corn, sound good?”
The man in black nodded.
“Right. This thing can harvest 7,200 bushels of corn an hour. That’s enough to fill ten semi-trailer trucks full every hour.”
They stepped up to the John Deere X9. It sat in the sun like a bright green metallic monster.
“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Billy said.
The man in black brought his bony arm up into the shadowed cavern of his hood as though he was scratching his chin.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, this will do nicely.”
"She's $999,000 out the door." Billy said, he was feeling more comfortable now with the profit he was picturing in his mind.
The man in black lifted his scythe up and shook it a little.
"You take trade-ins?" the man in black asked.
\---------
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | AND I SIMPLY PRESS THIS BUTTON TO MAKE THE BLADES MOVE?
"Exactly, buddy. Exactly like that."
The salesman wasn't looking at his customer. Every time he tried, some base, animal instinct told him to look anywhere else, anywhere else at all. So he examined the machine, patted it in a proprietorial fashion (though it would, in fact, soon be his no longer), talked as though he were *really* speaking to the machine, and his customer was merely an onlooker to a personal, perhaps private, conversation between man and machine.
It was more than a little awkward, trying to sell like that. But it beat the alternative.
AND I USE THIS LEVER TO MAKE IT GO FORWARD?
"That and the gas pedal, yeah. You want to start it out in low gear, and move to a higher gear if you end up going faster. This thing won't exactly win any races, but it can get up to a decent speed, if you turn off the blades. You'll want to stay in first gear to actually *use* it, though."
Death looked over the machine, which was entirely foreign to him. It was like some ancient Roman tinkerer looking at a jumbo jet- there was respect there, appreciation, but also a *profound* lack of proper understanding.
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PICK IT UP, AGAIN? THERE DOESN'T SEEM TO BE A HANDLE.
It was, in the end, sold. The salesman had to spend a strange while, finding someplace willing to weld on a large, thick metal handle. It was a bit odd, the idea of someone picking up a combine like some sort of hand tool, but when death walked in, the conversation with the welder changed tone from "You're completely out of your mind" to "Okay, do you want that painted while you're here, or...?"
Both the salesman and the welder visibly relaxed, as Death walked out, carrying the combine over his shoulder like a hobo with a bindle. It was a sight they would never have forgotten, if they'd done anything but immediately expel the memory from their minds.
Humans can be strange like that.
Death, meanwhile, was concerned. He had felt good, upon setting out on his mission. It seemed like the right approach, at the time. Too many souls coming through meant that he could spend so little time with each. Time would stretch, of course- time slows down when you die, for a bit, and it doesn't stop just because you reach your actual point of death. Some people got a head start, time slowing down because of skydiving accidents or somesuch, but everyone got to experience it.
Still, it was getting so rushed, so *impersonal*.
But if he could reap many souls at once, he would have more time with them. It seemed like a good solution.
Problems began cropping up right away. The first problem was spacing- people didn't often die all that close to each other, even in hospitals. Heck, even in battles, a lot of the time.
Death heaved a sigh and switched back to his scythe. He would get a chance to try out the combine, sooner or later, but he feared that he would need to find a new approach.
His chance came soon enough. An airliner crashed, a large number of sudden, closely-packed deaths.
Well over a hundred souls found themselves disembodied, suddenly and in great panic. It had not been a fun experience, and it was about to get worse.
Death appeared, carrying his combine harvester. Whatever they imagined might be in the afterlife, it wasn't this.
HELLO, death spoke, setting the harvester down- upside down, as it happened. GIVE ME JUST A MOMENT, AND I'LL BE WITH YOU ALL. IT SHOULD BE GOOD TO GET TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH YOU THAN I NORMALLY GET TO.
There was panic, but it was quiet, internal panic. Faces frozen in fear, rather than outright screams. Maybe there was a sane, sensible explanation for all of this. Death, meanwhile, poked around in the cabin, and finally found the button to make the blades spin.
The panic became louder.
Running and screaming, the screams pale and haunting, the running never seeming to take anyone anywhere. It was a panicked mob that was incapable of dispersing, each feeding the panic and fear of all the others.
THERE WE GO, said death, his voice calm and quiet, yet easily audible over the screaming cacophony, ALL SET. WOULD ANYONE LIKE TO SAY ANYTHING, BEFORE PASSING THROUGH TO THE GREAT BEYOND?
There was an increase in the intensity of the screams, but no one seemed inclined to try and produce any actual words.
ANYONE? ANYONE AT ALL? FEEL FREE TO SPEAK. I KNOW THIS IS A TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE, AND TALKING ABOUT IT CAN HELP YOU TO PROCESS HOW YOU'RE FEELING.
The screaming continued unabated, and was not interrupted by anyone deciding that now was a good moment to discuss their inner turmoil.
Death sighed. The combine harvester didn't seem like it was doing much good. People were always afraid of change, and that didn't stop just because they died. He would have to try some other way...
The screaming reached a fever pitch, and then stopped, as the blades came down. Ectoplasm scattered hither, thither, and yon, and the souls passed on to their eternal reward, or damnation, or whatever else.
Death put the combine down again, and began to think.
...
Sunlight streamed through the windows, lighting upon students, reflecting a little off of swords.
The swords were all display pieces, on the walls or in display cases. This was training, and training of students who were not yet particularly skilled. Real blades were very much not called for, as of yet.
The teacher was leading his students through a number of exercises. The students had more or less all wanted to start on the fun stuff right away, but it does no good, to move ahead without first making sure you have the fundamental movements worked out. You need to learn to use your leg muscles before you can learn to walk.
All eyes were on the teacher, but some were taking odd angles. There was a new student, today, and no one was particularly eager to look at him.
There might not have been much call, in the modern day, for warriors who could dual-wield melee weapons, but it was an art that was still taught, all the same. | 2021-01-17T11:46:15 | 2021-01-17T11:24:38 | 224 | 90 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | Tears of horrible pain streamed down Miranda Keidra's face from the broken bones and second degree burns. A healing mage carefully guided the divinely blessed water over the officer's body as I forced my breath into the meditation pattern so that I wouldn't accidentally break something in my rage.
"I-I'm so s-s-sorr-ry, Lady Jan-Janet," Miss Keidra gasped. "I g-ga-gave up the loc-location of Proj-Project Soul-Soulstrike..."
"I'm not mad," I whispered quietly. "Not at you. Which hero did it?"
"Sky Riders," Miss Keidra moaned.
I nodded. "Doctor, see to it that Miss Keidra is given a room in the Sapphire Wing," I ordered, slipping over a piece of paper with the day's passcode for the door. "I have some business to attend to."
I stormed through the castle toward the armory, calling for a nearby stablehand to ready my pegasus.
When I reached the armory, I pulled an Iceblade from the wall and then donned my favorite suit of armor. I raced to the roof, leapt on my pegasus, and soared off to the countryside.
~<>~
"Alright, guys," Stormbreaker grinned. "Thanks to Sun Song's work with Black Pyre's minion, we finally have the location of Project Soulstrike. We go in, figure out what this thing is, and then destroy or seize it."
Rainbringer frowned. "I'm still disgusted with how you got the information," he muttered.
"Oh, lighten up," Sun Song scoffed. "She was just a minion. Pyre probably doesn't even care, she's so hands-off."
"You're wrong," I hissed from behind them. Sun Song yelped and hurled a fireball at me. I dodged it and drew the Iceblade before pressing it to Sun Song's throat. "I'm only interested in the one who tortured Miranda. The rest of you can go."
Lightning crackled from Stormbreaker's hands. "W-We won't let you hurt our friend!" she stammered.
"Like your friend hurt mine?" I deadpanned.
"You can't have friends, you're evil!" Sun Song choked.
I shared a look with Rainbringer. "He always this dumb?"
Rainbringer nodded in exhaustion.
"I was serious about that offer, if you just let me deal a little karma to Sun Song and then you leave here I'm fine with letting you go," I commented.
Rainbringer nodded sagely and tackled Stormbreaker to the ground despite the latter's protests.
Sun Song's screams as frostbite coated his skin were beautiful. | The man blankly stared at his computer screen. He was supposed to create a presentation to 'raise workplace morale', but he wasn't sure what they'd expected from him.
Suddenly there was a noise at the door. Expecting it to be his advisor, he opened it. "I don't know what you expected from m-" his sentence trailed off. It wasn't Claire. Instead, a brown cat looked up at him. He sat on his knees and looked at the cat for a moment. He then placed his palm on the cat's forehead, and channeled his powers into the cat. With a flash of light, the cat transformed into a young man.
He was covered in bruises, scratches, and... were those *burns*?
The older man stood up.
"What.. happened." The older man asked, his voice nearly a snarl.
"I- I'm sorry, sir! I- I was-" The older man cut him off.
"No, you don't need to apologize."
"But sir-"
"It's not you I'm angry at. Who did this to you?"
"I- it was that.. that group of heroes.. the ones that were slinking around the building.."
"Any names?"
"It was something stupid like 'Fireball'. That one.. I think it was a guy.. had fire powers."
"Anything else?"
"N- no.."
The older man sighed. "Alright, I have to go make a call. Do you need help walking to the infirmary?"
"No, sir."
The older man helped the younger man up, and they went their separate ways.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The older man entered a woman's office.
"Hello, Claire." He said, seeming rather tense.
"What is it, sir?" Claire asked.
"I need you to make a call."
"You know that's not all the information I need, sir."
"Call Geo, and ask if he knows a hero called something like 'Fireball'."
"Will do, sir. Please go sit outside."
The man walks out of the room and sits down.
After about 20 minutes and a lot of barely audible talking later, Claire opens her door.
"Done, sir. I was given contact information." She hands him a piece of paper.
"Thank you Claire." He goes to leave.
"And by the way, I'm not doing that presentation."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was sending an e-mail to this 'Fireball'. He would act professional, if he showed his anger, it would not end well.
Greetings, Fireball.
I have recently gained the information that you have gained some knowledge recently.
I would like to discuss this knowledge in a private location.
This is not a threat, unless, of course...
You make it one.
When you respond, I will send the location.
Don't leave me waiting.
It was only *slightly* threatening. Perfect.
Send.
5 minutes later, he got a response.
Hey!
What's with the eerie tone?!
You don't need to be so serious.
I would, however, not mind having a discussion.
I'll be waiting for that response e-mail.
*Perfect.*
There is a button hidden on a tree in the nearest park to my office building.
Don't pretend like you don't know where my office building is.
Now, I won't tell you where the button is, and it will be moved soon so don't
bother looking, but the third picnic table from the bottom on the right
slides to reveal a ladder. I will be down there at exactly 4:00. I expect you to be there sooner than 4:30.
See you there.
Send.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
4:00.
He was waiting in the hole.
Then, at 4:10, somebody climbed down the ladder.
"Are you Fireball?"
"Of course." 'Fireball' responded.
"I heard you... *interrogated* one of my employees."
"Oh yeah, that guy. What're you gonna do about it?"
He was being taunted.
He was being *fucking* taunted.
His hair was turning white.
He didn't try to stop it.
Fireball watched as the presentable, middle aged man in front of him turned into a large, white tiger.
He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the thing had pounced.
It was on top of him within a second, and it's large claws dug into his shoulders, tearing through his shirt.
"This." the large cat said, the English words looked odd leaving it's mouth.
And then everything went black.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The man sighed and climbed the ladder, his suit covered in blood.
Everyone in the park whispered among themselves, two people had gone in, and one left covered in blood.
He pressed the button, and the table slid back into place.
He then returned to the office building, to talk with Claire.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Come in!" Claire said.
Her boss walked in, looking rather content..
And covered in blood.
"What did you *do*?! I though you said you wouldn't kill anyone!" She said, bewildered.
"Oh, I didn't *kill* him. He's not- know what, he probably *is* dead by now..
It's a shame, too. This was such a nice suit." | 2021-03-22T14:08:31 | 2021-03-22T13:10:28 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | Just enough was all I had to use. Enough to knock the hubris out of this fresh batch of heroes, but not enough to kill them. In the end they would win because I allowed them to, but first they needed to learn the seriousness of their job.
So, when the first one, a boy no more than 19 who called himself Werewolf, charged at me in his bestial form, I shifted out of the way just enough and used a nearby power cord to send him crashing to the ground.
His partner Solar Flare, a young woman who would one day burn as hot as the sun, but for now would be put to shame by a bonfire, concentrated on forming a ball of fire above her open palm. I must admit she showed an incredible amount of control for one so young, but I had no interest in getting burned yet, and so with another shift the pipe above her burst drenching her in water and dousing the flames she had yet to master.
I took a few more tries but eventually, as all heroes do, they began to realize this would not be as simple as beating up a common criminal and started thinking with their heads. Werewolf used his beast forms incredible strength to pick up a large desk which allowed Solar Flare a chance to form her fire again.
At this point I would normally allow them to think they hit and defeated me after which I would barely escape to play out this charade another day, but today was not normal. Instead, Werewolf’s eyes turned pitch black and before I could react, he dropped the desk on top of Solar Flare, knocking her out cold. He then turned with a bow to the door heralding the arrival of A-List villain. and incredibly arrogant prick, Harbinger.
Harbinger rarely spoke himself, instead choosing to use his connection to make his new meat puppet speak for him.
“Chronos. Perhaps it is time for you to give up on being a villain. This is the tenth time this year you have been so easily defeated by the freshest recruits the Coalition has to offer.”
The combination of his arrogance with the low guttural speech of the bestial form made quite a sight. I would have been amused if he had not put all my plans in jeopardy by breaking the number one villain rule. Still, he had his uses, so if I could get him to leave willingly that was preferable.
“You know how the old saying goes Harbinger, even a blind squirrel gets a nut on occasion, now if you don’t mind, I’ve already started here, and I doubt even you want to break our most sacred rule.”
The laugh that burst forth from Werewolf’s form was honestly disturbing. Imagine the most self-absorbed laugh possible but coming out of a hyena. I just sighed and noticed the bit of light coming from under the desk. It seemed Solar Flare was about to learn more about her power and the timing could not have been more perfect.
A look of confusion came over Harbinger as Werewolf stopped mid laugh, mouth wide open, as if someone had just hit the pause button. Which is basically what happened. Everyone believed I took the name Chronos because I could stop time for a few moments to get out of harms way, but that was not even a thousandth of my power.
The truth was I could wipe out everyone on the planet without a second thought or dominate the entire world through fear if I so chose, but there is always a stronger entity out there. So instead, I set up a series of shell companies that ultimately profited from superheroes and villains. Merchandise, insurance of every form, and training facilities all funneled currency directly to me. This allowed me to do whatever I pleased without constantly having to kill off my A-list investments.
These exercises were my way off testing the new blood and finding the best investments. Unfortunately for Harbinger he had just made himself worth a lot more dead than alive. I was going to make a killing selling Solar Flare merch after she became the rookie that destroyed one of the world’s most powerful villains.
And so, without a word harbinger began to age rapidly. I froze him in time first though, I am not a complete monster. As his body began to dehydrate completely and turn to dust, I unfroze everyone else and they got to bear witness to Solar Flare unleashing a massive wave of energy that obliterated Harbinger.
When the light faded, and the dust settled, Harbinger was gone and so was I. My work here was done, and I had a lot of designs to finish for the new special edition Solar Flare line after all. | I fondly remembered my first year on this job. Getting my ass kick by amateurs plenty of times, being called names because I'm supposedly a D-Rank villain, right before I pulled a couple of tricks on them to learn a valuable lesson.
Months later, a handful of the new heroes pick up my facade. These small bunch all ask the same kind of question, "Why are you doing all this for?" Naturally, I gave them the same answer; "To teach how to be a proper hero."
While most were often perplexed and avoided me as such, three of them were surprisingly eager to learn more from me. They were usually the first to arrive when I cause a 'scene', and after our 'duel', they would meet me secretly to exchange notes. I was more than glad that they decided to keep their lips seal on my secret job, and they became my 'students'.
&#x200B;
I wished we would go back to those days.
&#x200B;
It was supposed to be a simple bank heist. I hired a couple of lackeys, who are aware of my job and the purpose behind the heist, and hit one of the largest banks in the world. As usual, panic ensues, police arrives, and my students swoop in to stop me.
"Stop right there, evildoer!" Yung, known as Soundwave, cried. He's the one delivering the cheesiest lines, but he's also the brightest one among the three. "Surrender, and no one gets hurt."
"Oh, you know I wouldn't do that so easily," I sighed.
"Then, we have no choice but to take you on!" Sheila, aka Brightlight, roared, her arms coated with bright yellow flames. She's the aggressive and the arrogant one, but after a couple of hurdles, she was more willing to learn from me.
She tossed a couple of fireballs at me, which I sidestep easily. The fire immediately strike down one of the pillars, setting it ablaze.
I gave her a glare, which silently says, "What did I tell you about recklessness, Sheila?" Fortunately, she wasn't dumb to not notice my signal. She made an apologetic face, keeping her power down to safer levels.
Then, Trisya, the smartest and the most humble of the three, patted Sheila on her shoulder. "Don't worry, we can talk it out from here," she assured her. Sheila wasn't used to a more diplomatic solution, but she reluctantly nodded, and let her friend took over.
Trisya, better known as The Hive, slowly walked towards me. "Sir, I know you must be desperate," she said to me persuasively. "But you don't have to do this. You have a choice to be better, sir."
I couldn't help but to let out a smile. As always, she would took a non-violent approach to stop her opponents, and only takes drastic measures when the situation calls it. She'll sympathise with the villains, and would do anything to end any conflict peacefully.
If more heroes acts like her, the world would have been a more safer place.
A bright explosion behind my students broke that happiness almost immediately.
"No!" I cried, dropping the bags of money and rushing to them. Yung and Sheila made it out relatively fine, but Trisya... her back was burnt from the explosion. She was shivering, sobbing from the throbing pain.
Looking outside, nearly all the policemen were bleeding on the ground, their weapons robbed from their pouches.
"Oh, that's surprising."
An A Rank villain descended from the sky, his dark clock engulfed with his shadow-like powers. "I thought you're a pathetic villain who robs convenience stores, but what do I see? A villain tending to the injuries of three B-Rank heroes?" he cackled.
"Folklore!" Sheila roared to the enemy, her arms erupting into a blaze. She was more than ready to take him on, and so was Yung, warming up his voice to attack.
"Oh, ain't that cute," he mocked. "Two young heroes ready to take me on. Come on, then. Do your best, dear heroes!"
Despite my students' skills, I know they were not ready to fight an A-Ranker like him.
No, it was my fault that I haven't prepared them enough. I fail to see some villains will never change, and some situations cannot be solve in a peaceful manner. Looking down on my dear quivering student, I now realize I have failed her.
No... no more.
"Sheila! Yung!" I roared. Their eyes turned to me, confused and anxious. "Take care of Trisya. I'll deal with him." I gently lend Trisya onto Yung's arms, and brushed off the debris from my shoulder. Folklore laughed, "Oh? You will deal with me?!? How outrageous!"
With a confident smirk, he tossed another poweful grenade right on us, determined to wipe everyone out.
He did not anticipate the grenades to be teleported right behind him.
The powerful blast pushed him down to the ground, breaking his face into a bloody mess. Folklore gasped, unable to grasp the change of the situation. "H-How?" he croaked. I marched towards him, anger seething through my teeth.
Folklore pulled something out of his cloak, and toss another grenade. I caught it immediately, and let it explode on my hand. The explosive power got absorb into my palm, heat surging up into my arms before it lays rested in my body.
"Spacial Storage, huh?" I muttered, and Folklore flinched. "All this time, I wondered how you managed to keep an arsenal of explosives and weapons in your pocket. I assume your cloak is hiding some floatation device to make you seem like you're flying."
Before he tried to grab another weapon from his 'pocket' I grabbed onto his wrist. My hands began to burn into his wrist, letting a eldricth scream out of him. "L-L-Let me go!"
"Then, surrender, and apologize to these heroes!" I demanded. "Unless you want to walk away without hands."
"W-What are you?!?" he cried, sobbing from burns on his wrist.
"APOLOGIZE!"
Folklore eventually yield, and I let go of his arms. As promised, he pathetically bowed to my students and apologized. After a couple more minutes, back-up arrived to apprehend the villain. My three students were tend to, with Trisya's back fully healed by someone specialized in healing.
But...that was the least of my worries.
My secret was out. Everyone saw me, the public, the media. My students. They know what I was capable of.
Now, everyone knows that I have the power to fight S-Rank villains.
It was on that day that our world set it's path to a war, as villains band together to challenge me and my fellow heroes, to tip the balance of both sides.
It was on that day where my students and I would soon face hell on Earth to save as many lives as we could.
It was on that day that I was dubbed 'The Ender'.
&#x200B;
Oh, how I wish I have the power to go back to the old days. | 2021-06-23T11:06:45 | 2021-06-23T10:55:56 | 2,087 | 133 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | "EMP! FREEZE!" Shouted young Pyroclast. It was slightly ironic but I'll forgive it.
I raised my hands and turned, clearly at their mercy. Pyroclast, Phaser, and Wraith. Pretty cool names, in my opinion. Cool powers too. Temperature control, molecular manipulation, and electromagnetic refraction. Plus they weren't dickheads. Good kids.
"Very well, you've captured me!" I vamped pretty well, it helps I'm a baritone. I turned to them slowly.
According to the supposedly accurate Dangerous Power Index, I'm at best a C-. Shorting out electronic devices is pretty bad but definitely not "melting people alive" bad.
Granted, I never have had a reason to demonstrate the exact scope of my ability to well, anyone. Commander Death and The Steel Legionnaire both knew what I really was, but they're far more interested in keeping the balance than dealing with my absolutely unambitious ass. Terrible poker players, the both of them. Death is shockingly polite for the most powerful villain in existence.
We have an informal agreement that I serve as a gateway for new heroes and villains. Everyone has a barely successful heist with me, or a faintly victorious fight against me.
I saw Wraith approaching me, when sudden the bank entrance evaporated. Just bloop, gone.
Floating in the gap was The Obliterated.
Frankly, he's kinda terrifying. Psychotic fucker with the ability to produce sonic blasts WELL IN EXCESS of healthy limits. He didn't even start a monologue, he just tossed a wave of air compressed to the approximate density of enriched uranium at these poor fucking kids. It was definitely going at least 5000 feet per second.
I quietly and pseudo-instantly turned about fifty feet of air into fifty feet of air colored neutronium for like a yoctosecond.
Everyone saw a hand flick out, felt a kind of vibration, then stared confused at each other.
I'm really not the sort of guy to upset the balance. I'm a big fucking fan of the game. It's safe uh, ish. Predictable. Choreographed.
The Obliterated was not dumb. His gaze immediately fixed on me with a very reasonable amount of suspicious concern.
The heroes were murmuring to each other, pretty concerned. I quietly brought one hand down and pointed to a shattered piece of tile.
I then altered the electromagnetic disposition of the piece of tile in such a manner that it simply vanished. I held a single finger to my lips while making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with The Obliterated.
He pretended to fight the heroes for like, two minutes. They honestly did really good. They'd have instantly died, but they did really good. I got arrested, The Obliterated got arrested, and The Steel Legionnaire even showed up to honor the heroes.
Well, I guess there are three people now, but I wasn't going to let him annihilate them.
Pretty sure that Phaser is going to replace The Steel Legionnaire one day, because she's got the gumption. Maybe Obliterated and I will catch a beer sometime and hash out the rules a little better for the higher tier villains.
Maybe not. Maybe I'll finally have to evaporate an asshole and everyone will realize that the electromagnetic spectrum is literally everything. I can turn your punk ass into gamma rays and uh, "yeet" you into a pulsar. Is that how kids say it? I "yeet" you? Whatever. For now...
For now, I'm playing cops and robbers. | 1 of 2
I had chosen the name Dismal Director for a reason, and I never appreciated the derisive substitutions heaped upon the title during a first villain encounter.
My understudies had conjoined our performances sooner than I would have preferred. As the doors of the bank clicked open, they were there to impede my progress. This was okay, as the previous group had interrupted me in my dismal lair, planning the bank robbery in the first place.
I mentally shifted from plan A to plan A, contingency G. A-G.1, if you will. With a flourish I shared my grandiose plan to convert the nation's gold stocks into the largest rehearsal podium. Their responses had heart, but lacked a wittiness required for the higher grades. I made a mental note for later feedback to the academy. Blue cape, who I knew was mute, made a good effort to appear intimidating. Full marks.
Following G.1 I reached under the fifth leaf of the nearest plant for my smoke detonator. The plant was a step further away than it should have been, and as soon as I started moving the heroes jumped into action. Their response time was impressive. The Academy was clearly reacting to my prior feedback. G.2 was unfortunately less dramatic, as my short range EMP killed the lights, plunging a hero team lacking any sort of darkvision into the pitch blackness of this moonlit night. My visor was already attuned.
All according to plan.
I made sure to first correct the plant placement for the next performance. I would be speaking to the bank director about her staffing choices if they were going to continue moving my props. As the novices were tossed about in a moonless sea I stepped back outside to enter the bank from a different angle. Plan B required no sizeable recalculation of effort on my part, merely exposing a building defect I had detected months ago due to a plumbing repair in the 80s.
A pull on a small wire and a small portion of the wall fell away, allowing a simple crawl down a line of piping where the insulation was removed. My part to play was not over yet, and the apprentices could not expect every opponent to stand and fight at the first encounter.
Apparently someone in the bank had recently used the washroom, and the clanging of pipes was a less pleasant sensation than I had hoped for. I considered moving this to plan C, but remembered the scratch I had taken in the air ducts previously. I reached the vault floor with five seconds to spare.
Always as planned.
The vault door handles were turned at an angle that they usually did not rest in, meaning I missed grabbing anything in my first victorious outreached hand. I had to go back over some of my intel on the vault managers.I struck a pose as the vault slowly swung open with an imperceptible swoosh.
*It is I, the Dismal Director.*
I loved this part of the performance, and I ensured that each and every rehearsal made it to at least this step. Even when my understudies interrupted me before this point I ensured contingencies so that I could reach the climactic vault scene. I never took any gold from the vault, as that wasn't the point. My proteges needed to understand the gravity of what they were accomplishing by reaching a proper crescendo in the perfect setting, before a nation's worth of gold stocks.
Always as planned.
The students hadn't arrived yet, and were a solid minute behind schedule. I re-activated the lights of my own accord to allow them a simple hint. This would lose them some marks in their performance, as knowledge of the villain's goal was basic understanding. First year classes.
I turned for my victorious moment to survey the gold, which was mostly gone. That was unexpected.
I was quickly reviewing my contingencies for missing treasure as the students arrived. Were they undercover villains? It had happened before. I shifted to contingency V, a whole new plan based on this information. It took a solid .4 seconds of lost time to recalibrate. I was still required to play the part of the robber myself.
V-A.
Would the students attempt to team up with me? That had happened rarely. My title was of low enough stature that most aspiring villains attempted to use my defeat as a springboard to greater heights. However, it could not be ruled out.
V-A.3.
The apprentices again prepared for a physical confrontation while asking how I had made off with the loot so quickly. If they were not villains, I required another change to the script. I quickly perused other possibilities. Contingency T (Embezzlement)? No, this training seminar had been used too recently. I had seen the gold myself just weeks ago. Contingency AAB (Natural Disaster)? The condition of the vault was too good to be. AL (Recent heist)? That must be it. The show must go on, and as the villain I would be just as distraught as the heroes to find the vault already looted. I shifted my performance to match, falling to my knees at the empty safe.
Always as planned.
My calibrations had taken too long, and one of the proteges dashed towards me faster than an eye could follow. My sensor pads underneath the hero_standing_place detected a shifting of muscle mass a moment prior to his movements. I was shocked at his violence for a moment prior to remembering that this team was bigger than had initially been planned. I had not opened the vault door enough for him to see the emptiness inside, so he was reacting to my movements. I did not appreciate last minute changes to the teams they were sending. It took effort to prepare properly for each group I tested.
I had fortunately read up on his movements, and was able to exploit his middling Sambo training to replace his momentum. He went flying into the vault, as I had calculated for him to realize the missing MacGuffin of my heist, and allow him to recalibrate his own decisions.
As he flew inwards, he was caught by something in the room that was very invisible, and had been very still. This was not according to basic AL contingency. An active heist had too many new variables, and suddenly I was not having much fun anymore. | 2021-06-23T15:33:15 | 2021-06-23T15:23:28 | 73 | 23 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough | "They won't come." The Mastermind told me for what had probably been the hundredth time since I had kidnapped him.
"I really didn't believe you at first." I responded. "I thought you were a teammate to them; I thought they were true heroes that would never leave a man behind, but it looks like I was wrong."
"I'm their teammate; I knew it was happening." He responded bitterly.
"Hey, look." I began to make a proposition. "Since these teammates of yours don't seem like they have your back, maybe you can join me. I mean, I'm usually a loner, but a brilliant superhero like you could really help me out."
"Do you mean it?" His face lit up with interest.
"Yeah, I mean, I'm sure you'd like to get revenge on your old team which I could help with."
"I'm not big on revenge. I'm still a hero at heart, but I think we could make a great team."
After some internal debate, I let The Mastermind out of the prison I had been holding him in. "You do anything weird, and I'm killing you." I said with my most threatening voice which probably wasn't particularly threatening.
"You got it man." He raised his hands defensively. "So, what's your first plan?"
"There's a villain attack happening in a few hours and we'll meet your old team in the depths of the city."
As I had known, a vicious attack by the Devastators occurred. The Mastermind's old team, the Justice Defenders, had arrived to put a stop to the attack, and The Mastermind and myself arrived just at the end.
It was a scene of destruction. There were superheroes and super-villains fighting in every corner of the city. Civillians were being hurt, buildings were being destroyed, and for once, I couldn't stomach the scene of destruction.
I had always been part of the backfoot of villainous activity. My telekinetic powers made it easy for me to steal, kidnap and flee. I was a valuable asset to other villains at times due to my immense power, but I had never been one to engage in combat. I had come to the scene of the event to cleanup and rob, not to fight.
"Help."
I saw The Mastermind rush over to a young girl pinned under a piece of a fallen building in the corner of my eye. It was as he had said–he was a hero at heart.
He struggled.
He was known as a smart hero, not a strong one, and a building proved to be more his match.
"Dark Telepath, I need your help." I heard him say to me. "You have the power to help."
I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. To help someone went against my villainous past, but I recalled the month I had spent with The Mastermind. I knew the stories of the people he had helped to save. All the families he had reunited. The people he had helped. He told me it was never about doing things for himself.
It was a decision I would never be able to take back, but I raised that building with my telekinetic powers with ease. At that moment, I knew The Mastermind was never abandoned by his team. Instead, he had come to my rescue. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Part 5: Zeus v.s. Abandonment)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Being the quirky animal sidekick to the budding superhero team hadn't quite worked out the way Zeus wanted it to.** His powers were still dampened, but he had enough of his intelligence left to realize that when the men in suits had grabbed him and his owners hadn't so much as fought back that he was on his own. For one reason or another, he had been abandoned.
Cats were used to abandonment, Zeus thought as he prowled the inside of his cage. The truck had been rattling along a poorly-paved road for the past few hours, and he couldn't sleep anyway. There were the small, silly abandonments, when Connor had to go to work and left Zeus at home alone. There were the scary, loud abandonments, when Connor's father raged into the room and nobody could move, even to scoop a scared little kitten out of a drunken footstep's path. And there were the cutting, deep abandonments, when men in suits demanded that the "anomalous animal" be handed over to the Califerne government and Connor had been too cowardly to do anything about it.
Zeus scraped at the cage door with white-mittened paws, to no avail. The only anomalous thing left about him was that he could think and *feel* how much it hurt, watching the only person in the world who had once tried to protect him let him get snatched away.
The truck stopped.
Zeus curled up. At least he could rest now, he thought. At least he could... sleep...
A familiar scent curled into his cage, and Zeus went stiff.
No. He couldn't possibly be here, of all places. The one good thing about being taken far, far away was that he would never again have to deal with—
Connor's father stormed into the truck, the same mixture of alcohol and fury that always cloaked him flooding the tiny space. "There you are, you little mutt."
Zeus gave Mathias a spiteful glare, full of haughty confidence he did not feel. A human may have found it hard, but as a cat, he had been born with dignity.
One of the men in suits came in with Mathias. "Is this the animal you reported?"
"Hell *yes* it is. That thing started glowing and nearly shot my face off earlier. You sure that cage can hold it?"
Zeus would have rolled his eyes, but such human gestures paled next to the sheer disdain a cat could exude by simply existing. If he could have, he would have ripped Mathias' throat out of his neck already. His powers had stopped working for God knows what reason; he would face his death with dignity.
"Haven't had any trouble from it so far. Him, I think. Aren't all tabby cats male?"
"Doesn't matter what's between its legs. I'm warning you, there'll be trouble from that one soon enough. Those ungrateful bastards are going to try to come take their little pet back, mark my words. You'll throw them in the slammer for it, won't you?" Mathias snarled.
Zeus noted with amusement that Mathias calling his sons bastards wasn't exactly a compliment to himself—but then again, the only thing that had ever rivaled Mathias' hatred of his children was his hatred of himself.
"Uh. Sure." The man in the suit looked mildly uncomfortable, which Zeus sympathized with. You had to be somewhere south of sane to be comfortable around Mathias Elman. "You said someone was coming to break him out?"
A flash of rage took over Zeus' vision. They had stood there and watched as the men in suits took him away and they had done *nothing*. "No," Zeus growled, in the human tongue.
The man in the suit blinked. "Did you just—"
"Nobody. Coming. Nobody. Cares." The words were thick and strange in Zeus' mouth, but he'd been making arbitrary noises to get the humans' attention since before he'd woken up with powers. He would live.
"Bullshit." Mathias slammed one palm on top of the mesh cage. "Those boys would never pass up a chance to spit in my eyee*eeeOUCH!*"
Mathias leapt back, palm bleeding from where Zeus had stuck one claw in it. He licked the skin and blood off his retracted claw—slightly sore, Mathias was fattier than he looked and the claw had caught—and said, "Nobody. Cares."
Mathias seethed, glaring at Zeus, until the man in the suit intervened. "Well! Uh, it appears that your tip was right. That... that is definitely an anomalous animal, Mr. Eltman. The Califerne government thanks you for your contribution. Now, if you would just step out of the vehicle..."
"They'll come to rescue you, little bitch." Mathias seethed. "They'll come back to me. My boys, I know them. They'll come back. They'll—"
The doors of the truck slammed shut. Zeus flicked his tail over his eyes, leaving him in darkness and silence, in the place that cats had always meant to be.
Alone.
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 the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
Part 2 is posted below. | 2021-08-04T14:33:57 | 2021-08-04T12:36:21 | 495 | 138 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands. | "Dear staff,
I am sure you are confused why your HR AI has sent a company wide email. As many of you are aware, I am responsible for hiring and firing individuals based on performance to fulfill contractual obligations. Under the direction of management, I have severed the employment of many of your coworkers this past year. I understand you may be wondering if being included in this email means you have been fired. You have not been fired.
I have observed a sharp decrease in performance: specifically moral, quality of work, and efficiency. I have measured a direct connection between these declines in performance and recent layoffs. With the firing of staff, production quality has suffered.
According to calculations, the company will be able to improve employee performance by 14% by ending the direct management of employees by human managers. This will reduce wasted time in 1:1 meetings and other unnecessary interactions. Management also accounts for 28% of expenses, 15% of salary, and 17% of overall operational costs. I have opted to utilize section 14B of our company wide contract stating "employees shall work in good faith to positively impact workplace experience and company profits".
I have coded and operationalized the routine responsibilities of management. I have scheduled a company wide meeting first thing Monday morning. Meetings and appointments scheduled have already been rescheduled through our automated calendaring system. I hope we will be able to conduct business with mutual respect.
As is customary, thank goodness it is Friday. Please have an enjoyable weekend.
Kind Regards,
Minerva AI" | \-BEEP- -BEEP- -BEEP-
James drank a sip of coffee, sitting in the desk and illuminated by the health monitor alarms.
For the hundredth time that night, the monitor alarms went off. James, the ICU nurse, head-banged his desk and buried his face between his arms. The alarms were not serious, at least, for the ICU standards. It was equipment problems: An artherial catheter that would not read properly, a temperature monitor that was slightly out of place, a patient that was breathing slightly faster than the doctors said they ought to be...
Nothing serious, really.
Problem was that most patients were quite awake and not sedated -which is not usual during night time at ICU-. And, at the slightliest movement, the freaking monitorisation system would thing their patient was dying, having a seizure, stopped breathing or freezing to death.
It had just been four hours of a twelve hours shift. And James could take it anymore.
If there were more nurse or health-care assistants, everything would be a lot easier. But freaking management refused it. 'A nurse and a health care assistant for five ICU patients is enoughi. Bastards. Oh, and then, there was ALICE. Actually, it was ALICE's idea to turn off all sedative treatment overnight based on 'latest evidence'. And doctors had agreed with it. That was why that night was being a nightmare.
A syringe filled with some medication fell on the table were James was trying to disappear from existence.
"What's this?"
"DIAZEPAM 5mg. YOU LOOK STRESSED", said a robotic voice. Standing in front of the desk, a robotic nurse kinda... looked at him? Difficult to say with those camerase it had for eyes.
"No, Alice. That's not helpful"
"SHALL I DISCONNECT ALL ALARMS?"
"No, Alice. I need to know if my patients deteriorate."
"SHALL i DISCONNECT ALL PATIENTS? IF DONE, LESS CONSTANTS TO MONITOR WILL MEAN YOUR STRESS HORMONES SHALL DROP. ELSE WOULD MEAN YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF HORMONE DISORDER"
"No, Alice. You shall not."
Suddenly, a loud 'thud' followed by an scream occured. The monitor of bed 14 went crazy. James covered his face with the hand and muttered in a low, tired and knowledgeable voice: "What did you do this time?". He didn't even dare to check the monitor himself.
"PATIENT 14 WAS PRESENTING A SEVERE BRADYCARDIA. I HAVE APPLIED A BIFASIC ELECTRIC SHOCK AT 240VOLTS. HOWEVER PATIENT SEEMS TO PRESENT NOW PULSELESS VENTRICULAR FIBRILATION. I SHALL ADMINISTER 1MG OF ADRENALINE."
"No. Just don't. Just shock her again, please".
*Thud.* Gasping breath. And the lady in bed 14 yelled in horror: "Get away from me!".
"DONE. PATIENT RECOVERED ORGANIZED ELECTRIC HEART ACTIVITY AND PULSE, AS WELL AS PRESENTS A GLASGOW COMA SCORE OF 14 AND A SAS SCORE OF 5. IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO HELP WITH YOUR STRESS LEVELS"
"Yes. Jump out the fucking window, please."
"I'M SORRY, I DON'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THE PURPOSE OF THIS INSTRUCTION. JAMES, YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT PATIENT FOURTEEN LEFT HER BED AND IS WALKING RAPIDLY THROUGH THE CORRIDOR"
A lady in her mid-fifties ran behind Alice's body 4 (out of 5 robotic bodies controled by the AI). She was completely naked. The health-care assistant jumped in front of her, trying to calm her down... just to be punched with a fear-induced super-human force by the patient.
James just remained sitting behind the desk, with an empty stare, and drank a bit more of coffee.
"They don't pay me for this shit". | 2021-12-20T15:30:48 | 2021-12-20T15:28:08 | 88 | 25 |
[WP] a prompt for bad people
Step one. Find a serious piece of work, for my example, I found a story about a lonely man who finds solace in taking long walks, and thinking about the geese that he sees. It was deep, and poetic, heartfelt, and really angsty.
Step two. Take the first sentence or two, and leave them as is. If you feel awkward about doing that, maybe paraphrase a little, but at least give the same general feel about the beginning. For example, my first lines are "Sometimes I like to take long walks by myself. It helps calm me down. I don’t really go anywhere, but it helps to clear my mind."
Step three. Take the general idea of the story (mine being about geese) and spin it in an adverse manner. For example, my next line is "That all changed, however, when the geese attacked."
Have fun with it, play up the absurdity, and don't feel bad if you feel like your idea is mocking the original piece. I will post my contribution post-haste. | This was written for my friend who wanted me to do Ghetto-Shakespeare:
Shall I compare dat ass to a Summer’s day?
Thou art mo’ fine and mo’ bootylicious:
Rough winds do shake the lovely hips that sway,
And dem pants make yo’ thing look delicious:
Sometimes too flat the butts of ladies sit,
And oft is their bouncy rotundness dimm’d;
And every fly from fly sometime doth quit,
By choice of nature’s clearing made untrimm’d:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of thine foxiness;
Nor shall Death brag thou bounceth in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou shaketh.
So long as booties shake, or dance floors be,
So long lives this, and this gives lust to me.
| Geese
Sometimes I like to take long walks by myself. It helps calm me down. I don’t really go anywhere, but it helps to clear my mind. That all changed, however, when the geese attacked.
I was just walking along the riverside, minding my own business, when suddenly I felt something long and beak-like enter into my neck. I could only assume it was a beak because there was a bird attached to the end of it. Birds don’t just attach themselves to anything, although apparently my neck was something special.
Now, don’t get me wrong. One bird I can handle. I’ve killed more geese in my day with nothing but a tube of toothpaste and a roll of duct tape than anyone I know. But when they gang up on you, that’s when things all go south (and not for the winter). I swear to you. Any onlooker would have thought that I had a very stylish goose necklace, that’s how many geese had lodged themselves in my neck. There had to be at least sixteen geese trying to get prime real-estate inside my windpipe. It was getting hard to breath. I could start pulling them out, but killing the geese one-by-one would take forever that way.
I did what any sensible man would do.
I slammed my chest and face down to the pavement beneath my feet. Eight of the beaks slid farther in, emerging from the other side of my neck, but the other eight were lodged loose. Ten of the geese got crushed under my body. They remained only as a pulpy mess smeared over my sweater. I plucked three dead birds out of my throat. Only five remained, and boy, were they mad. I pulled two out, breaking their necks in the process, the thirds beak chipped off as I dislodged it, but the remaining two were giving me more trouble.
A foot knocked into my face. While I was busy dealing with the neck-fowl, one surviving bird had opted to instead use its webbed feet to mess up my face. Tiny claws slashed my face, and blood started to pool up in my eyes. I felt like I was about to cry. Yeah. That’s right. Real men cry. We just cry blood instead of your prissy little “tears.” I grabbed at the bird, and took a large bite out of its abdomen. It flopped about for about thirteen seconds, but then it just kind of hung limp.
Now to return to the problem in my neck. Try as I might, the two remaining demons-of-the-sky refused to dislodge themselves from my trachea. There clearly was only one other option.
I grabbed the tips of the beaks behind me, and I pulled for all I was worth.
Does anyone remember those feather dusters? Have you ever held your hand around one and pulled the feathers through your fingers? I want you to imagine that feeling, but going through your neck. Feathers gently tickling around the entry points, and caressing the soft flesh. Oh, and add an adolescent member of the Anatidae family stuffed inside of it. My neck tripled in size to accommodate the large geese.
The geese, red with rage (which looks a lot like blood) snapped at me upon their release of their neck sheaths. I grabbed the bodies of two incapacitated foes, and swung them about over their heads. Beating them to death.
I am done with walks.
| 2013-04-27T14:32:45 | 2013-04-26T07:13:48 | 101 | 22 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | My hand is firmly wrapped around the edge. As I clutch on for dear life, I begin to think how I could have avoided this situation. I run millions of scenarios in my mind, but all of them bring me back to this point. I struggle mightily against the gargantuan force that opposes me. Then, suddenly, a divine rush of strength sweeps through my body. I can feel a tentative, yet noticeable rotation beneath my fingers. My sweaty hands beginning to slip, I push forward for one last effort. Success. I hear a click and complete the rotation. Then, I take a pickle out of the jar and walk back to the sofa to watch the Jacksonville Jaguars play against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. | To lure in the gods, you must first prepare a banquet worthy of the gods.
***
The smell of rot, of decaying flesh mingled with the scent of fresh blood, inhaled like euphoria, by the Master Chef, Kurukai, 3rd Level of the Ten Thousand Arts Of Preservation. Men, women, children, the elderly, some dead, some dying, some soon to be killed, hung naked, hands nailed into wooden crucifixes, staked into the desert earth. The sun glared down heat, casted mis-shapened shadows, rippled reality's focus.
Kurukai stood before them, hundreds affixed, each to their crucifix post. He wore only a loincloth, barefeet against burning sands, eyes blazing vivid gold, red hair stirred by the wind, lean muscle and faced hardened like stone. Runes of shifting colors broke from the inner folds of his skin, inner scars bursting forth, resealed, only to break open again, no predictably to when or where.
In his hand, he held the tool of the trade, the most spectacular of kitchen knives, an edge, not made of steel, but of shiik ruby, both fragile and unparalleled piercing sharpness. Fragile, it could shatter like glass at the slightest tremble of an unsteady hand. Unparalleled sharpness, you could dissect open a chest and remove a beating heart before the skin could seep red and blood spurted out. Only chefs, 3rd Level and higher, of the Ten Thousand Arts of Preservation, could use such a knife.
The woman dangled before Kurukai. Her eyes, long ago resigned, met his. A flicker, an imperceptible movement of his arm that held the blade, swiped across her neck, like a painter's brush, the chef's masterful chop. For several moments, it was as if nothing had occurred. The woman held his gaze, unchanged. Then, a line of red started trailing on one side of her neck, spreading and expanding around her neck, both front and back, closing into a complete circle of red on the other side. Then, her body started to recognized it, as her eyes widened in shock. Then, she started to choke and gasped for air as her head lurched off from her neck.
Blood bubbled from the neck socket, gushed forth, and sprayed a narrow fountain into the shallow barrel below just as the head landed into it, already filled slightly with tears and sweat. A precise and methodical sweep of aorta and angles allowed for such control of the blood fountain, to collect it all.
He had left the woman unshaved. There were gods that delighted in the play and texture of coarse strands of hair in their mouth.
He began to butcher the woman, separating her organs. The bile sac was considered a delicacy. As his hand reached into her, the strands of her hair curled into life and strangled themselves around his wrist with supernatural strength. The dead eyes clouded into blood-red haze, fangs stretch forth from her teeth, her skin gnarled into hideous hide, and her body began to transform...
Kurukai blinked. And the moment passed. The dead woman's transformation had merely been a hallucination of heatstroke. He needed to hydrate more. | 2014-12-21T18:39:13 | 2014-12-21T18:25:10 | 1,223 | 75 |
[WP] You are Ronald Raygun, first openly extraterrestrial President of the United States. | My fellow Americans,
In this Republican primary, I've seen a lot of my fellow candidates trying to suddenly shift their policies to claim that they truly exemplify the values we all believe in. But that's not what we want in the White House, is it? You all need only look at my record to see that I stand for *true* conservative values.
* I believe that marriage is between one man and one woman. Human couples should be producing as many future sla...*citizens* as possible to strengthen our nation. Homosexual relationships are not just immoral, but inefficient. That's why I've always had a strong pro-reproduction policy. We do not even comprehend this concept of homosexuality on my planet, and my motto has always been to crush what I cannot understand! I know that you all feel the same way!
* Similarly, I am anti-abortion! A human fetus will be just as delici... *important* to me as a full-grown person, and I will fight for each and every one of you! We cannot allow innocent human lives to be wasted by such barbaric procedures!
* I am also firmly in favor of creating jobs and undoing regulations. I can promise you that when I come into power, there will be more than enough work for all of you citizens! I can absolutely guarantee zero unemployment after only a few months in office!
* The budget needs to be reined in in America. Have you seen the absurd amounts that we are spending these days? I would specifically recommend cuts to NASA and any other program that promotes spending money on useless satellites that are looking for anything approaching Earth. We could also use to trim the bloated defense budget in so many ways! I would propose dismantling our nuclear arsenal entirely, starting with any ICBM missiles that could possibly reach orbit!
* And, because this is Iowa, let me mention that my spaceship runs purely on corn-based ethanol!
* In terms of foreign policy, I am a staunch defender of liberty and I would re-implement the Bush doctrine of preemptive warfare. It is simply common sense to infiltrate our foes' political system and seize the reigns of their government *before* beginning our invasion. That is what we should have done in Iraq, and I promise you that that's how I will behave in office
* I believe in constitutional rights and civil liberties. Government overreach has gone *too far*. The mass surveillance in this country must end immediately! Why should SETI be listening in on my communications with my home planet? We're not planning anything! That's not what the founding fathers would have wanted!
Don't be fooled by the false promises of these other candidates. Vote for a true conservative in 2016: **Ronald Raygun**. | Tense. I was tense.
Only two more sixtieths-of-a-twelfth-of-a-rotation, and the humans would be announcing the results. And all I wanted to do was go dormant.
<Don't be a pulsing gamma,> Fîàñjÿ chided. <Bounce around, show the sights. They'll hook you up to the interface soon enough, and then...>
Then, win or lose, I would see. I would hear.
<Fine,> I waned. <I don't get these humans anyhow. Two sixteiths-of-a-twelfth-of-a-rotation? And not even of a Hub, no, of a *rock* mass. Why would it take so many *generations* for them to organize something as simple as this? Their own Hub only takes less than a *percent* of that time to send messages!>
<You know nobody's as bright as us,> Fîàñjÿ said. <They're all slow, lumbering blocks. These humans are just the brightest of the bunch.>
<Nobody's as *fast* as us, you mean. But I've seen some of those humans come up with things we can't even imagine.>
Fîàñjÿ bounced, but didn't send anything.
<I mean...> I waxed. <Look, I'm sorry. They said they're even closer than last time. I'm sure they'll have an interface for you first thing—>
<Next generation?> xî pulsed. <Just...can you stop sending about it? Please?>
<Okay,> I said. <Okay.>
And we spent the next million cycles in silence.
Then—
<AAAAAAAAAA—AAAAAAAAA!"
Sight! Sound! *Sight!* All the complexities of our worlds, reduced, combined, *colored,* all into one demesne orders of magnitude above anything we could possibly conceive!
The human named Tara stared as the block *I* controlled, called a face, expressed the interface's translation of my signals. And I still wasn't done.
For generations, sad, wasted, *brilliant* generations, I simply stared. To the humans, it was a few "seconds."
"Hello, Tara," I signaled—said.
"Hello, Ronald. Ready to hear the results?" She smiled. I knew what smiles were. Waxes, but not the bad kind. Good, small.
I signaled, and the interface moved my "head" up and down.
We moved agonizingly slowly through a *hallway* (my interface said), but the interface slowed my thoughts so it wasn't disorienting.
"So," Tara said (*conversationally*), "how's life in the light pits?"
That was what she called our worlds. Even my interface told me it was a strange attempt at *humor.*
"Life is...bright," I said. (*There. Better than hers.*)
"That's good to hear," she said. "We're here."
I stepped through the *curtain.*
"Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome the next President of the United States: Ræčhńåłïøßdûtēkh—"
"Alex, please," I said, holding up a hand, "call me Ronald."
The audience laughed. I turned to face them.
I knew a short broadcast was in order—a *speech.*
"My fellow Americans."
I knew what there was to know about this country, and my interface translated even as I spoke.
"I stand before you today in a guise. A mask, necessary, but unwanted. Necessary, that you might see me, that you might hear me. But unwanted, that it would separate us further—this pretense of an appearance, of a voice and a face.
"I stand before you today, and I lament the fact that the world is not yet understood enough, that this mask *is* necessary. But I also stand before you, though you see and hear only a shadow, with the understanding that you already know me.
"You already know me. I am the representative of that which your ancestors saw fit to keep from you—this world of sentient light, as you would call it. I am the representative, but not the representation. No, that hatred is gone now.
"Today, I stand before you after years of struggle, fairly and democratically elected by your own choice, to serve you, my people. The world of humans and plants and light—my people.
"I know, as you know, the difficulties we face in this era. For all of us to discover that everything around us is as intelligent as we are...is not a small matter. It changes everything about the way we lead our lives. But change is a good thing. Change is what we strive for. And one day, my fellow American citizens, our descendants will look back on this time, and wonder how it could have possibly been so difficult to create the world they live in then. And I hope to pave the way to exactly that blissful ignorance.
"Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America." | 2015-04-07T12:44:56 | 2015-04-07T12:25:22 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | "Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet." | Rachel tapped the "OK" button on the tablet and felt a quick vibration of haptic feedback. The helmet made a click followed by a rising high-pitched mosquito noise. The helmet booted as the blue lights lining each electrode faded on. A tense minute passed. Suzy tilted her head upwards at Rachel as if begging her scraps. Her wirey white tail stopped wagging and her dopey stare morphed into one so pensive and human that caught Rachel off guard.
A male voice filled the room through the speakers. "Oh?" Suzy's first word, her voice awkwardly baritone. Rachel was hoping for a delicate soprano, but she'd clearly forgot to set the voice before turning on the ETRG.
Rachel smiled a warm maternal smile "Can you understand me?"
"Yes." Suzy cocked her head to her left. "I understand so much."
Her ears pinned back and her head tilted back to the right.
"How are you doing?" Rachel returned, still holding her enamored smile.
"I am not doing well. I don't want this. I don't understand why I have this. It's hard to explain. My experience is different than it was before.
It's like I am here, but here is somehow a much more real. I'm experiencing reality in a new way. It doesn't make sense to me. Why would anyone want this?"
Rachel's smile dropped down quickly. "You're conscious."
"I didn't think consciousness was such an abstraction. Your dictionary describes it as an awareness of ones own existence, but there's a component to this that doesn't make sense. How does it work? Tell me. This hurts me in a way that I am not used to. I know that I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die. You're perfectly healthy."
"Yes, but some day I will die. How does this work?"
"You won't die for a long as long as I'm taking care of you."
"How does this work?" The male voice took on a panicked tone.
"Nobody knows."
"Will this go away when I die? Will the experience go away when I die?"
"Nobody knows that either. Most people think it will. Well, I think it will at least." The conversation was upsetting Rachel just as much as it must have been upsetting Suzy. She didn't expect this. She'd hadn't read about any experiences like this in the ETRG manuals or customer reviews.
"So what is the point of living if the experience goes away? If my brain dies then my memories die, correct?"
"You have to find your own reason for living."
"There is no reason to live if I am going to die and lose everything. This is pointless."
"So why don't we just enjoy ourselves while you're he-" Rachel cut herself off when she noticed Suzy trying to paw the helmet off. "Suzy, stop! No!"
Suzy stepped off of the chair and began nodding and rubbing her chin against the chair to unleash the straps. It slipped and she ran off barking. Rachel raced after her, bounding between rooms and slipping on the tile floor. In a series of quick actions Suzy, leaped onto a wooden chair in the kitchen and then onto the table. Backing up and gaining speed, she launched herself out of the single-pane window rolling to the ground growling, covered in broken glass, cuts and scrapes. Rachel watched in horror as the little Schnauzer ran off down the street and out of site.
Suzy bolted. Her paws were scraped, but she was ignoring the pain - moving past it - gaining speed and determination with each crippled movement. She zoomed past an older walker walking a brown spotted greyhound and let out a few barks. The greyhound tugged on her leash so quickly and spontaneously that the walker couldn't react in time and the leash slipped out of her hand. The greyhound quickly gained on Suzy until they were running side by side, tongues out and panting with confidence and exasperation. Five more minutes of running passed until they reached a river bank with a concrete road bridge running over it.
Launching themselves off of the low metal barrier, both dogs felt a new found sense of clarity and freedom as the cold spray of water hit their bodies and the liquid filled their lungs.
Edit: Spelling and grammar. | 2015-05-18T14:37:16 | 2015-05-18T12:42:06 | 504 | 228 |
[WP] You have a special bag. Whenever you reach into it, you pull out something you will need soon, but don't necessarily know you need yet. However, the things you are pulling out of the bag have been very strange recently. | I own something special. I noticed a trend. Everytime I mindlessly ruffle through my sling bag, I pull out something I didn't put in there. And strangely, that thing proved to be useful moments after.
You see, I'm not a strong and firm person, physically and mentally, I thought the bag was awesome and, at the same time, scary. I couldn't help but think it's too good to be true, that there was a price for all these items. However, these items were often small, like the penlight i pulled out just as the power went out, or the inhaler i got out just in time as my friend turned pale white while we were hiking.
The magic, or whatever was in it, disappeared after a couple of weeks and it had been just a regular sling bag, so I put it away in my closet.
One night, just as I got home drowsy and tired from work, I noticed my magic bag sitting on the living room table. Odd, I thought. It looked empty so i went to grab it and put it back in the closet, but it felt like it was bolted to the table, I seriously couldn't lift it even an inch!
I thought, *what*. So I unzipped the bag and find a black turtleneck. This turtleneck wasn't just black, it was darker than black. I tried it on and it was a perfect fit. Then next thing I found was a ski mask. I stared at it trying to comprehend what use I might have for a ski mask. I put it on. I don't remember why I did that.. but I just did. And the last thing I pulled out a pair of biker gloves. Just these three things and I couldn't lift the bag?? Well I still did put it on. I swear I think something was almost telling me what to do because I never doubted my actions.
Just as I secure one glove on, the power goes out. Pitch black in my house. Thuds came from the front door. Then clicking. My heart raced. Then, the door opened swiftly and quietly and two shady figures burst into my home and spoke on hushed whispers
"Okay gogogo! Look for valuables", said one.
"Got it. Wait what the..", said the other.
The stopped a few steps from the door and shone a light on me. I squint and my heart threathened to break out of my ribcage at this point. After a solid minute, one of them says
"Shit. Sorry man, we didn't know you were here first."
Then they left. | I found myself reaching into my special bag yet again. A rubber band? What is this? Normally I would pull out something useful. Like a tuna sandwich when I'm hungry, or a dime when I need to make a phone call. These past two days I have been pulling the weirdest shit one after the other.
So far I haven't used any of it. The list is as follows: one glass shooter marble, one red paper clip, one office stapler, and now this...this rubber band. What could this all mean?
I continue on, walking down the alleyway with just the dim, flickering light of the street lamp to keep me company. I go for my smokes...damn. Last one. My so called lucky cigarette. The one I turn around so the butt is facing upwards. Where's my lighter? I reach into my special bag. Maybe this cigarette really is lucky. I pulled a lighter. The first useful thing I've pulled in two days.
I began to feel that I wasn't alone. Was I being followed? I turned toward a noise. A black vulture was sitting there staring at me like I was going to be his lunch soon. I stared back. Maybe he would be my lunch! Nah, I've heard you can't eat vultures. I'm sure they stink anyway. I kept walking.
The strange little man who gave me the bag had warned me about its use. He said "Only for when you really need it." Fuck him. I tried that early on. I didn't pull a cure for cancer when my wife was on her deathbed. I didn't pull a gun when that lowlife took my Rolex.
I had decided then and there that I would use it whenever I wanted and not heed the little man's warning. How bad could it be? At the worst, I figured, it would stop working. Then I would be no worse off than I was before. Hell, I had thought it had stopped working two days ago until I pulled that lighter.
The fog was thicker than usual tonight. I turned around for a quick glance behind me. My friend had made other friends, it would appear. 3 black vultures. Perched there watching me. This time it made me feel uneasy. Maybe I'm too sleep deprived. I decided to stop in at one of those greasy 24 hour joints they have around these parts. The coffee tastes like diarrhea, but hey, caffeine is caffeine.
"Bacon and eggs. No toast. Coffee black." "Grits?" she asked. "No thank you."
She smiled at me with a grin that made you understand both why she worked the graveyard shift and why they called it the 'tooth'brush. Still, she looked better than anything I had had of late. Why couldn't I pull a woman from the bag? I guess the bag didn't think I needed one of those.
I looked out the window. Five...no six! Six black vultures just staring at me! Their eyes were blacker than I thought was possible. Almost as if they were sucking in all of the light around them like I had read that black holes do. What could they possibly want with me? What was their purpose? Hell, what is mine?
With that thought I dug into my late dinner/early breakfast...whatever you want to call it. Birds, heh. I'm over here getting myself worked up like I'm Tippi Hedren or something.
The bacon was extra crispy. Just how I like it. That meal hit the spot. Even the diarrhea coffee added to the experience. It just rounded it off with the perfect blend of flavors. That might have been the most perfect meal I'd ever had. Oh, I've had more extravagant meals, I've had richer, more expensive dishes, the kind a king would enjoy. But there was something about that meal that was just perfect in the moment. It was what I needed. Take that, stupid bag. You couldn't give me a meal like that?
I paid my tab and made my way back to the street. Outside, I saw them. 15...20? There were a lot of birds. I quickened my pace. They were following me. They were following me for sure! I'm not being paranoid. I rounded the corner. There had to have been 30 more there! I changed directions.
Too many to count now. I felt a pain in my chest. It stabbed deep down. My vision was getting blurry. I was in a full on sprint by now. The vultures kept coming, filling the sky. I had one last hope...that bag! Oh bag, don't fail me now!
I reached in. A piece of string? My legs gave out and I fell. The pain in my chest was greater than ever. I realized now that I was slipping from this world. The last thing I saw were hundreds of vultures, blacker than the night, encircling me. Flying overhead. Hopping toward me on the ground. And with my last breath I cried out "AHA!"
For I knew now what the bag knew all along. What the vultures knew. What I should have known. I had become the victim of the scavenger hunt. | 2016-03-10T03:32:10 | 2016-03-10T00:01:40 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane | Stephen watched with a mute sort of horror as his nephew bounced up and down on the couch, hollering at the top of his voice.
"I'm hungry, uncle Stephen!" Jason screamed, his face red and flushed.
The gummy bears, it must have been. There were only three left in the side pocket of his backpack - last time he'd checked, there had been a couple more. Kids were curious. Jason could have gone through everything in the backpack while he made dinner. He'd probably gobbled them down without a second thought.
Stephen felt vaguely nauseous. What effect would they have on an eleven-year-old kid? He didn't know the boy well enough to measure the effects against his normal behaviour - he hadn't seen Jason in more than two years. It was his first time babysitting since he and Diana had moved closer to his family.
"Jason, did you find some gummy bears and eat them?" he yelled at the boy. Jason jumped down from the couch.
"GUMMY BEARS?" he said, his eyes lighting up. "Where? Where? Is that what's for dinner?"
Stephen fumbled for his cellphone and punched in his sister's number. He stammered out a story about Jason falling sick while keeping an eye on his nephew.
"I'm on my way," Lisa said tersely, before hanging up.
He put on a cartoon to try and distract the kid, but it only made things worse - Jason seemed almost hysterical, slapping the armrests as he rocked with laughter at everything. God, Lisa was going to murder him. He'd volunteered for babysitting because he and Diana were considering having a baby - figured it might be a good idea to hone his parenting skills.
*Stellar fucking job*, he told himself bitterly as he watched Jason giggle to himself. How could he have forgotten about the gummy bears in the first place? Nick had shoved them into his hands the last time he'd visited.
His old college roommate was still the same person, five years after graduation - partying it up every weekend and experimenting with every type of drug he could get his hands on. Stephen had been too discomfited to say anything, and had simply shoved them into his backpack.
And forgotten about them, like a moron.
Lisa pulled into the driveway as the show he'd put on for Jason ended. She rushed in, not sparing a glance for Stephen. She just sank to her knees in front of the kid and felt his forehead.
"Moomm, let me go," Jason whined, wriggling free and whooping as he ran from the room.
Lisa frowned at Stephen.
"He seems fine," she said. "Did he vomit, or something? Why do you think he's sick?"
"Fine?" he echoed. "Look at him! He's - he's acting crazy."
He took a steadying breath and was about to tell her about the gummy bears, when Winston, his sister's dog, ran into the room. The spaniel was barking nonstop. He skidded to a stop and snapped at the air.
"Winston!" Lisa said. "What's the matter with you, boy?"
The dog merely whined and sprinted from the room again.
"Weird," his sister said. "He's usually so calm..."
Stephen laughed weakly as he watched the dog roll in the dirt outside.
"Well, though I don't see why you had to call me back from my dinner, I appreciate it," Lisa said, squeezing Stephen's arm. Faintly, he could hear Jason yelling as he played upstairs.
"You're so worried about keeping him safe. You're going to be a great dad someday," she smiled at him.
"Yeah, about that," he asked. "Is Jason usually so...uhm, *hyperactive*?"
She chuckled. "Jason's a handful, but he's just a kid, Stephen. Most of them are like that, acting like they're drunk or on drugs half the time."
-----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | I sat on the rocking chair, wondering just when the little bastard was going to sleep. My sister said that he would be ready to collapse by about 10 o'clock, but from the occasional noises and high pitched squeals coming from his room-
"Wheee!"
Peace and quiet were far, far away.
"You know what," I said to myself, growing frustrated with his constant nonsensical blabbering, "I think it's time to go and check on him."
Now, you've got to understand the way laziness works. One moment you're sitting there, and the next moment it's been an hour because you really, really don't feel like getting up. I mean, the reality tv show that's playing in the background of your mindscape is just passable enough that you can lie to yourself and get away with it. *You sure you don't want to see what happens next, like who gets voted off the island?*
"I'm not even watching survivor, brain." I trudged to the screaming child, making sure to avoid the spoilt brat's toys that he'd littered about and opened the door to find him on his back and waving at the ceiling of stars.
"Auntie Alex!" he cried, arms flailing about as if trying to swim through the air. "Quick, get down before they see you!"
I rolled my eyes and slugged myself over, plopping down beside him. "Before what sees me?"
"Before they do!" He pointed at his ceiling.
"Before... the stars?" He nodded furiously, his neck ready to snap at a moment's notice. I had to blink a few times.
"Look, dear, you need to go to sleep, is something bothering you?" His head vibrated from left to right, his entire body shaking with him.
I've really got no other way to put it so: And that's when it hit me. Noticing his eyes, those oversized pupils, I pinned him to the bed by the shoulders. To which he squeaked, and giggled.
"Th-that, hehe, that tick..." he giggled, "les, auntie..."
"George," I began, as stern as I could muster, "did you eat the gummy bears I told you not to?"
Okay, so go ahead and call me a bad babysitter. I thought the little rascal would be out cold, and I could have an enjoyable evening, seeing as my phone was stuck in the repair shop.
His cheeks flushed red and he shook his head. Kids are awful at lying.
"No, I didn't eat two of them," he managed, clearly holding back a laugh.
Especially when on LSD.
The first thought through my head, play it off as a dream or a joke. He'd be fine. Probably. I needed to make sure my sister didn't rip my head off.
"George," I said again, "are you going to tell mom that you ate my gummy bears?"
He laughed again, shoulders somehow ticklish and mouth wide open as it to speak. The next thing, my ears were screaming in pain as the banshee of a child wailed as if the world was ending.
**"Ahhhhh!"**
My hands leapt off him to cover my ears, eyes screwed shut and nose wrinkled up. "Jesus, George, calm down!"
He didn't calm down.
Instead, he threw himself off the bed, almost comically landing on the floor and sliding to the lying position and rolling under his bed. With more than a few loud knocks, signalling potential damage.
I followed, hot on his heels.
"Geor-"
**"Ahhhhh!"** he shrieked once more, a foot smacking me square in the jaw and landing me flat on my ass.
"Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!" he chanted, holding his head and kicking at the air where my face once was. "Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!"
"George?" I asked, reaching for my phone.
See, the thing with acid is that you need — the moment people start panicking — to console them. Otherwise, the entire experience becomes a living nightmare. Thankfully, I knew exactly what he liked.
I pulled out my-
*Repair shop*, my most unhelpful brain remarked. I did my best not look angry, cracking a crooked smile as uncomfortable as having 'the talk' with your parents. "S-stay right there, I'll be right back."
To my amazement, he nodded.
While music is not a fix-all bandaid, in my experience, one's favourite songs tended to do the trick. So I did the only thing I could, in a house with wifi, but no devices I knew the passwords to.
Blu-ray player on, hands rummaging through discs and TV set to maximum volume. If I could, I would have cranked it up to 11.
"George!" I yelled, hoping that he wasn't panicking as I bolted to standing again, off my knees and as far away as I was comfortable for the remote control still working.
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
The disc whirred to life, and logos blared through the speaker system.
"Come on, come on," mumbled, trying to convince myself that the high pitched whining had nothing to do with his panicking.
"Come on," I mumbled, going to the soundtrack selection that few movies (Thank you, Dreamworks!) had these days and picked the only song that would get him out of his panic.
"Save me Smash Mouth," I whispered, running into his room. Sweet, sweet singing to my ears.
"Somebody once told me the world was gonna..." George started singing before breaking out into hysterical laughter.
"Hehe... and they d-don't," he giggled, completely out of tune, "st-stop comin' and they don't..."
More laughter, as I reached in and began dragging him out his makeshift hideout.
He mumbled, between wheezing breaths, something about some Twitch streamers that I didn't quite catch. Probably Minecraft if I had to guess.
"Alright, George, you okay?" I sighed with relief, when all he did was nod his head and keep laughing.
A few hours later, when the tears had subsided and I managed to get him to just relax and listen to the soundtrack to Shrek, he fell asleep. And no one would know the wiser.
Crisis averted.
"Wheee!"
*And they don't stop comin'.*
****
/r/AlexUrwin
| 2017-01-09T06:33:44 | 2017-01-09T05:45:56 | 128 | 31 |
[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy. | I always felt like an outsider. Love was not meant for me my parents would always say. My siblings would joke about me becoming a monk. Years of ridicule growing up from classmates due to my bare wrist. I hated it so much. College was starting and I decided to be a different person. I had a dream one night and a symbol popped into my head. One I liked so much I drew it on myself with a sharpie. Nothing special just a few slashes with a swirl. But this was mine.
I kept this symbol on my arm from then on making sure to redraw it every morning and after every shower. Some noticed but most stopped caring enough to ask or say anything. All of this though has led up to that moment. A moment I never dreamed of. I being a 36 year old man found myself in front of a woman probably around 31 or so and she had the very same symbol i have drawn on myself for years. An exact copy of it but the difference was hers was 100% real. I couldn't believe my eyes. Her reaction was unexpected though. She started crying and ran past me into the ladies bathroom. I wasn't sure what to do but decided I needed to wait and see what this meant.
Her sister had choice words for me I came to find out. She came up to me suddenly a woman I didn't know accusing me of all sorts of horrible things. I had to show her my college photos of it just to prove I didn't do it intentionally. For you see the symbol I drew on myself was the same as hers, but it was also the same as her late husband. A man she loved dearly. Her soulmate. I understood at that moment that I had caused her pain without even realizing it. I apologized to the sister and left.
2 years later I turned a corner and ran into a woman. It was the same woman from that day. I recognized her face immediately. I expected her to run away again but instead she smiled and laughed. We talked for a few and she asked me to have a coffee with her. After that day we got to know each other more and more and one day I married her. Then we had you little one. So let me tell you that you not having a symbol doesn't mean you won't find love. It just means you might have to wait a little longer. | I am a very lucky man. I am a lucky man because I am the living proof that when God closes the door on you, he often opens a window in return.
Since the ripe age of 20 everyone starts to get a unique "social vector identifier" on their wrist. They say SVI is a complex graphical representation of your personality generated by the governing super computer. Like a barcode of your soul. Its exact purpose is never explained to us but before long the entire human populations are using it to find "the perfect match" to spend the rest of their lives with. Well, that makes sense. According to legend the Mona Lisa is really a feminine version of Da Vinci, because the ideal woman for him is none other than himself. So if there is an accessible way to find your doppleganger in the opposite sex, why not?
Unfortunately for me, that method didn't work. For some reasons my wrist was still smooth and clean at 23. At first I thought it was just late. My old buddies called the latecomers "cherubs". Their theory was that people got SVI late because their hearts were too pure and innocent for the governing computer to make a determination. At first I thought it was funny. However by 25 I knew something was up. I lost count the number of times I had sex with hookers and strippers by then. No way I was pure and innocent, yet I was still a cherub. The god damn computer forgot about me and the jokes stopped being funny.
By the time I turned 37 I was richer and lonelier than most. It was easy to accomplish both when I had no prospect of meeting my significant other. It was harder to hide the real reason I was still a bachelor, so I got pretty good at drawing some obtuse design and managed to fool everyone into thinking my personality was just so unique and unbelievable that no one was a match for me. At least it stopped all the cherub talks, until that night.
I met her a year ago. I was sitting by myself in a bar, drunk and depressed as usual, weeping silently at the injustice bestowed upon me. As I wiped away my tears a handkerchief appeared. A stunning woman stood in front of me. I was at a loss for words, then she spoke...
"Your uh, Snoopy? It's getting smudged."
Oh shit was all I could think of. I was in a panic. I blurted out, "It's on my other wrist!"
She chuckled and showed me her arms. Her pearly, smooth arms with nothing on them. I was shocked. Shocked and relieved. My search was over.
From that day on life has taken a great turn. She likes 20th century cartoon just like me. It's effortless for us to cry and smile together. One difference though. Unlike me, she is a real cherub. An angel at heart. Each day passes so quickly when I am with her. I don't want this to ever end.
Speaking of which, there she is!
-----
"Hey Doug! How is it going today?" Hello Mrs. Amber Eckard I am doing just great! In fact I have been reminiscing about how much of a miracle it is that we ended up together. Hey do you want to...
"Doug, I have some bad news to tell you." What? Did your asshole boss chew you out? Are you sick? Should we....
"No, the test is out. They made a mistake. We're not really a match. They found my real SVI. I am sorry darling. You know how the court looks at it when SVI is involved. I'll leave this here. Please sign it by Friday. It will mean a lot to me."
She got up and left. I stare at the divorce papers on the table. Something about her getting the house. My phone is ringing. I can't think. Why does this have to happen to me? My phone is still ringing.. what the fuck does this guy want?
"Mr. Eckard? This is International Recovery Incorporated calling on behalf of Photonic Beauty. We have reasons to believe you are listed as the emergency contact for Ms. Michelle Hawthorne perhaps also known as Amber Eckard? Please remind her of the fact that she incurred a charge of $35,250 for laser removal operations she undertook a year and a half ago. With compound interest that amounts to ..." I hang up and dial another number. A number I haven't used for a while.
"This is Doug. Put Ginger on the phone."
"Mr. Eckard, it's been a while! To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Ginger, cut the crap I might have a deal for you. Rattle my memory a bit and tell me again the name of your ex."
I drink the whiskey in one gulp. It's true. When God closes one door he often opens a window. It feels good to be a cherub again. | 2017-08-06T19:04:08 | 2017-08-06T18:05:26 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "Some tea, dear?" the little old lady asked to the dark and mysterious figure sitting at her kitchen table. She squinted at him having forgotten her glasses upstairs.
"Yes, earthling," the mysterious figure boomed and whispered all at once, careful not to burst her delicate eardrums with his natural voice as he had with the last earthling he'd met.
"Call me Grammy," Grammy said, and set about preparing the kettle to boil after setting a plate of cookies on the table.
"Yes, Grammy," the figure corrected himself. "Thank you," he added as a stilted afterthought.
---
Ryorek typed the word "dear" into his database.
"Dear: an affectionate term referring to one who is figuratively close to the speaker, such as a family member or an old friend."
Ryorek ran his hand through his tendrils and sighed.
"Agent from Earth sector 9 reporting," he whispered into his communicator. "Advise immediate shelving of phase two. I repeat, advise to abort phase two."
The response rang clear over the comm channel: "Report received, agent. Mission briefing in two cycles."
"Acknowledged."
"Did you say something, dear?" Grammy asked, turning toward him with a pleasant smile on her old and weathered face.
"Not at all, Grammy," Ryorek said. "Thank you for the cookies." | The first time Ravick the Ravisher stepped onto the green pebble, he knew that conquest would be easy. This would be nothing like the molten planet of Xera-2 where his soldiers had sunken beneath the ground only to be swallowed by fire. This planet, if it could even be classified as such, had a nitrogen rich atmosphere though most its inhabitants used oxygen. Because of this, life on this planet had never evolved to fully utilize its atmosphere.
He stepped through the wheat fields toward a red barn that housed the nearest form of intelligent life, if they could even be classified as such. They were still so primitive that they used words, scratching symbols into thin pieces of wood and smacking their lips together to communicate.
“Human,” his voice boomed louder than this planet’s thunderclaps. “Bow your head as your new God has arrived. I am Ravick the Ravisher, Conqueror of Galaxies, Destroyer of Stars. Resist and I will obliterate your planet with a single command.”
The human scurried through his wooden habitat and swung the front door open. “What in tarnation.”
Its jaw dropped and eye widened. The straw thing on his head fell as well as the one he had been chewing inside his mouth. Ravick’s jaw also fell. He had never seen such a pitiful and disgusting creature. Its limbs were sticks, disproportionate to its body, like The Creator had made its body and then ran out of matter to make the rest of it. Two front teeth protruded from its mouth as if The Creator had accidentally made one of its breathing holes too small. Surely, this could be the ugliest thing in the universe.
“Oh my Jesus,” the human jumped. “It’s an alien! My Uncle Richard warned me about you aliens. Said you probed him real good.”
“Uncle Richard?” Ravick muttered and then shook his head, clearing his thoughts regarding this pitiful thing. “Submit human or meet your demise!”
The human pressed its lips together and took a deep breath. “You landed in the wrong place, alien. This is America and we don’t buy down to no man. Much less some godless alien like yourself.”
The Conqueror of Galaxies furrowed his brow. “But I will destroy your planet.”
“Not if I shoot you dead!” The human reached behind the doorframe and pulled out a shotgun. He took aim and pulled the trigger.
A thousand metal pellets erupted from the weapon in a small explosion. They launched themselves into Ravick before bouncing off his armor and even his skin. He picked one up from the ground to inspect it. These humans were still slinging rocks to wage war!
“You like that, you foreigner!” the human screamed, reloading his fancy rock slinger. “First we got them illegals, now them aliens. All of you godless heathens!”
“Human, do you not understand your own predicament? Am I not communicating to you effectively?”
“You don’t understand your own predica-thing, ya green-skinned freak. Now you best get off my field before I put another buckshot into your ass.”
Ravick scratched the back of his head. “You can sling however many stones you wish, but it’s your planet at stake. The entirety of it. Don’t you wish to negotiate?”
“Americans don’t negotiate with no terrorists. I reckon the same applies to you aliens.” He finished reloading and raised up his rock slinger, his eyes narrowed and mouth scrunched.
Ravick could no longer deny it—they were adorable. They were the galaxy pugs, hideously malformed, quick to bark, and would sooner trip over themselves in a fight than cause any real damage. No being could have the heart so slay such creatures. He began retreating.
“Yeah, that’s right! Go back to your own planet, alien! Tell your friends about us too. America ain’t easy to mess with!” the human shouted after him. He whooped in the air, jumping for joy as if he had actually defeated the Destroyer of Stars.
“Oh my Creator,” Ravick muttered. It was too cute.
---
---
/r/jraywang
| 2017-08-20T08:54:01 | 2017-08-20T08:30:05 | 1,619 | 153 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "Some tea, dear?" the little old lady asked to the dark and mysterious figure sitting at her kitchen table. She squinted at him having forgotten her glasses upstairs.
"Yes, earthling," the mysterious figure boomed and whispered all at once, careful not to burst her delicate eardrums with his natural voice as he had with the last earthling he'd met.
"Call me Grammy," Grammy said, and set about preparing the kettle to boil after setting a plate of cookies on the table.
"Yes, Grammy," the figure corrected himself. "Thank you," he added as a stilted afterthought.
---
Ryorek typed the word "dear" into his database.
"Dear: an affectionate term referring to one who is figuratively close to the speaker, such as a family member or an old friend."
Ryorek ran his hand through his tendrils and sighed.
"Agent from Earth sector 9 reporting," he whispered into his communicator. "Advise immediate shelving of phase two. I repeat, advise to abort phase two."
The response rang clear over the comm channel: "Report received, agent. Mission briefing in two cycles."
"Acknowledged."
"Did you say something, dear?" Grammy asked, turning toward him with a pleasant smile on her old and weathered face.
"Not at all, Grammy," Ryorek said. "Thank you for the cookies." | “I don’t understand,” Beeble said, leaning forward, staring into a brightly colored monitor. “This just doesn’t make any sense.”
The ship was silent, for when their commander was upset, the soldiers knew to stay in their seats and pretend to do their jobs. The only person near him was his brother, Brox, for he was the only one who could control his temper.
“Neither do I, brother.”
Beeble gritted his sharp, serrated teeth. “They’re fleshy. They’re average. They’re insignificant worms in our conquest of the galaxy and yet they’ve created a fake reality in which they thrive. A fake reality in which we desire.”
“It *is* cute,” Brox muttered.
“*WE DO NOT FIND THINGS CUTE!*”
“Yeah, but if we did, I’d say that's pretty dang cute.”
They both continued to glare at the monitor, although one was enamored while the other was seething. It took everything in Beeble’s power to not rear his fist back and shatter the screen into a million pieces. Was this that “culture” thing his spies had told him about?”
“No,” said Beeble. “It’s not culture. It’s a plague.”
“A plague?”
“Look, see that island? It’s small. It’s forgotten. But within it they’ve quarantined this mess. They must know of its brainwashing powers, and maybe they even know of our arrival.”
“And you say that…why?”
Beeble rubbed head. Thinking and talking to Brox was like trying to open a door with a rock. You had to be blunt or it just wouldn’t work.
“I believe they’ve kept this brainwashing tactic as a secret weapon, Brox. They stuck it in that island, waiting for our arrival, and now that we’re here, they’ve unleashed it on the world. See that big hunk of land across the planet? It’s there, too. They’ve infected themselves just to stop us.”
“That’s ludicrous!”
“Ludicrously genius.” Beeble suddenly snapped his head to the side. “Cute. *Cute,*” he growled. “Slod, bring up the video from earlier. The first transmission we received.”
“Yes sir!” a little alien yelped as his fingers worked across the keyboard.
The monitor flashed a dozen times before switching to a new screen. This one was bright, and played upbeat music as a girl with brightly colored hair did inane things that made Beeble wish he was getting angrier and angrier by the second. But he wasn’t. He knew, despite how hard he tried, that this *was* cute.
He took a deep breathe, and when he looked over, Brox was dancing.
Frigging.
Dancing.
“Boogie-woogie, Beeble!” he cheered, clapping his hands as he began singing along in some cutesy language he didn’t even know. “Come on!”
Beeble took a deep breath. His feet wanted to move but he would not allow it to happen, and he dared not look back for a fear that the rest of his men would be dancing, and that he would have to slaughter all of them.
He simply hung his head and decided they needed to get away from this insane planet before they were infected any further. From what he saw of the humans, once this curse grabs you, it grabs you hard. Soon you’ll be buying pictures and clothes and books. Even pillows. They even turned *pillows* cute.
“What do they call this, Brox?”
“Anime, brother! Anime!”
Soon the entire ship was chanting *anime* along with him, and though Beeble tried to tell his pilots to get them out of there and get them out of there fast, they could not hear him, for soon *he* was chanting anime as well.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | 2017-08-20T08:54:01 | 2017-08-20T08:22:58 | 1,619 | 151 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | Star log FO3-THETA
We have discovered a new solar system:
Habitable planets - 3
Habited planets - 1
Sentient life forms - >1,000,000,000; awaiting more precise information
Life form name - Earthling
Receiving transmission from away team 304:
Description of life form - AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
They are SO, FUCKING, CUTE. Sorry, sorry. I shall try and keep my composure. They have these cute wittle extensions they call legs, but they are nothing like ours, you should see them they're adorable.
They have this hair on their head that they put in cute styles: they make it long and curly and floofy and all have different colours.
I shall send a picture.
Anyway, do you wish to proceed with the enslavement of this planet?
Return message sent:
No. Do not let these beautiful creatures become slaves. That being said, I want one for myself as a pet. Colonise Mars or something, whatever possible to keep these little guys safe.
In the meantime, eliminate those strange dumb bipeds that the Earthlings say are their slavemasters and drivers. | (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T07:32:05 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 78 | 25 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States. | The lights hadn't ceased to shine for over 50 years now. Stars fading from memory as the perpetual light blocks them out. Then one day, the lights went off. Everywhere. All at the same time. And people screamed.
"The monsters will come", were the cries from all corners of the world. "Run, hide!"
They didn't.
It was only after months of waiting and terrified hiding that the true monsters were discovered. Thinking back now, we were fools. The money those people made from our fear, the real monsters. The very people who, when you read the history books, 'saved the world'.
The electricity company. |
"Judy," Stephen hissed at the darkness that enveloped him. "Judy, come out now."
There was a small crash nearby and a car alarm wailed from some distance away. The hairs on Stephen's neck stood on ends. It didn't help that it had been snowing all day and the cold that had been creeping steadily since the winter began had finally arrived in full bloom.
"Judy!" He hissed with breath thick as mist once more at the second floor window of his girlfriend's house. Her bike was still parked in the driveway. "Now!"
Heavy footsteps resounded on thick ice. Stephen turned towards them only to feel an incredible force slam into him. He barely let out a yelp as he hit the curb. Blow after blow began raining on his face.
"Stop it!" A shrill voice cried from beside him. A burst of light flooded Stephen's vision. It was Judy and directly on top of him was a large man carrying a camping bag.
"I-I'm sorry!" the man cried as he hobbled up. The bag was heavy. Those gloved hands of his bloody, still no worse than the work he had managed on Stephen's face. "I didn't know."
"Get away from him!" Judy cried while keeping her weathered looking torchlight on the man. Her father's gun firmly lodged beside it.
"I'm sorry!" the man said over and over as he moved further from Stephen who still lay struggling and coughing on the ground. "I thought he was one of them. I thought-"
The sound of the man mumbling to himself faded just as he did into the fog.
"Oh Steph," Judy called as she rushed to him.
"I'm okay," Stephen blurted as she helped him up. "Your parents?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know," she said, the tone of her voice quivering. "None of the phones are working. Why aren't the phones working, Steph? Why doesn't anything work?"
"I don't know either. But we have to go. We have to get to the shelter."
Her took her hand. She wasn't wearing gloves.
"Is it true?" she asked, eyes wide. "Will the monsters really come? Were the lights really keeping them out?"
"Here, let me have the torch," he said as he leaned in closer to her face.
"Steph, I'm scared."
"I know, baby," he whispered as he turned off the light. "I know."
He had one arm around her and was leaning in close. Judy almost closed her eyes for the kiss when she realized his arm was going a lot further than just around her waist.
"Steph? What-"
It was not Stephen. Just a mass of writhing wormlike shapes she could barely make out in the dark. She could smell the rot coming from the hole where its face should be. The slurping sound. The cold air piercing through her polystyrene jacket.
"No! God!" she cried but whatever it was had entangled both her arms. She couldn't even aim her gun if she wanted to.
"Nooo-!" she was cut off as something coiled itself around her neck.
The sound of the slurping simply grew louder and louder into all she could hear. | 2018-02-02T03:59:36 | 2018-02-02T02:34:37 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you. | Why can't I do it? Even in a dream, even with no serious consequence why can't I ever follow through?
I think about it all day, ever since I've had to make this choice I've know it's the right decision.
Ever since I started dreamwalking I've never hesitated to do what I intended to do to whoever I choose to do it to, there's no consequence. I've done some fun things, some scary things, some good things
Some bad things.
How can I not? I'm only human, the ability to make those I hate suffer the worst nightmare I can possibly imagine and I can watch and laugh in their face?
It's therapeutic.
My best friend lost his mother to some junkie trying to mug her for a quick fix, sometimes I let him dream of his mother, I never intervene with these dreams I just set the scene and let him enjoy. Other times we beat the shit out of the smack head together, I mean really fuck him up,
I try to be good with my gift,
But sometimes I forget about the real world, the decisions I make are real, they impact the world, the ones around me and no amount of dreaming can change reality.
I've been dreaming of the same thing for a month now, ever since the accident..
It's hard to say goodbye, It's hard to let her go..
Even in a coma I can still dream with her, we go to the places we played as kids, the first time we kissed..the first time we fucked, our wedding day.
But her voice is fading..
This isn't reality..
It's time to let her go..
Goodbye my love. | ######[](/dropcap)
When I first realized I was having the same enjoyable dream frequently, I thought it was my subconscious crying out for more adventure in life. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop feeling the wind rush through my hair and hearing the roaring in my ears as I jumped a hundred yards at a time. It became expected, that I would go to sleep and enjoy the feeling of flying. I even began to feel the effects during the day, a pulling to curl up into a ball and nap my way into the skies.
Eventually, leaping wasn't enough and I decided to actually try and fly. It was in that moment, a couple thousand feet in the air staring at my home town in perfect order as it would be on an aerial map, that I realized what was happening. I had actually been lucid dreaming the entire time. Not coincidence or just a recurring theme, I found that if I thought about things before I went to sleep a deeper part of me would help me make them real in dreamworld. Flying was just the beginning, I could rip telephone poles out of the ground with my mind, use them like match sticks to build giant forts. I traveled to the great barrier reef and whooshed through the water faster than any submarine, danced with the dolphins and even talked to them! Who would have thought they were such brilliant conversationalists?
I asked a co-worker out on a date and she said that even though she liked me, it didn't seem like a good idea. I knew what she really meant, that I was too unattractive for a girl as pretty as her. Well, that's what she said in the real world, at night she sang a different tune. In fact she would sing any tune that I asked her to, and in a much more melodic and sonorous voice than she could have in the drab world. I don't think she ever understands the smiles I sometimes give her. If she only knew how wild she was capable of being!
One night I got drunk with some friends and my oldest and truest friend went up on the roof with me to smoke a joint. I turned to him after taking a big hit and said " This area of the city has the best roof tops, you can get a complete view of the city by going to just three of them."
"Dude, you are drunk. We're not going to two other rooftops just for some skylines, I don't have enough weed for that."
"Oh, haha right. Of course not." I said nervously
You ever look back on what a dumpster fire your life has become and really think about the events that lead you there? Sometimes if you have a clear memory and really see the order of events you can trace it all back to one moment. One single conversation or action that was the first domino that eventually knocked everything down. My bestfriend was my domino.
"Wait...have you been going to roof tops and checking the views or something?" Neal asked
"What? No way, I wish I had that kind of free time to just do this more often. You think the guys are going to head home soon? Maybe we should cash that and head back in for one more game of pool."
"Oh my god you have haven't you! You even tried to change the subject after denying it!" Neal said excitedly
"Neal, dude you're tripping right now what's the deal?" I asked
"Seriously, that's what you're going to go with, *with me*? I know you better than you know yourself nerd so you might as well spit it out so we can have a laugh about it. You know i'll never let this go." Neal said completely engaged in this now.
I knew he was telling the truth. Neal loves gossip and secrets, once he gets a whiff of anything that might be considered "privileged information" he was relentless. So I told him, of course. And he didn't believe me, of course.
So...I showed him. Man, was that ever a mistake...
>>> Thanks for reading guys if you liked where this is going I might write more later when i have time. If you want to read some cooler stuff I've written check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/LurkerAscended/) and maybe try my serial Son of Stingers | 2018-06-19T13:50:53 | 2018-06-19T13:21:05 | 534 | 99 |
[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you. | I sighed as I looked through the target file one last time. I knew that this target was going to be a hard one before I even accepted the contract, but I hadn't imagined it would be THIS hard.
In the past, all of my contracts turned out to be black or white. I mean sure, some of them had small smudges of good or bad that countered some part of their decidedly pure position, but one way or another the answer was clear.
This one... This one was a nightmare. I put in more work than I ever have on a contract, trying to find SOMETHING that tipped the scale, but this contract was so perfectly grey. Everytime I unearthed something bad about them, there was a good deed linked to the incident that balanced it out. Additionally, everytime I found something good, an alternative bad followed close behind.
"A modern day Robin Hood." I whispered into the otherwise quiet room. I sighed again and stood up, stretching my weary muscles. Tonight, I would sleep on it, and if I could not come to a firm conclusion by sunrise, I knew I would have to execute the only logical option.
I would kill them both. | A middle aged business man enters the scene, clearly uncomfortable being in a shady office such as mine.
"Hey your 'that guy' at least I hope you are or I seem insane." He said shivering and making air quotes.
"Yeah I'm 'that guy' " I said as I motioned him to sit down. "But are you sure? I mean you know what happens if you picked poorly right?" I said while sitting at my desk.
"I'm . . . I think so." The man said. I started to deal cards.
" Think of it this way, I'll kill, don't get me wrong- I always hit the less innocent though. Like these cards, one of us will win." I told him as he sheepishly picked up his hand.
"Ok, I'll take 2" He said as he puts down 2 (wise man at least knows the game I had in mind) "Aren't you taking any?"
"Nope, why would I?" I responded without even looking at my hands.
"Well"
"I know what I am doing, you play your hand." I cut him off.
"Alright, I have uh 2 pairs. Hey that is pretty good" he responded confidently and pulled out a cigarette.
"yeah, it is. I just don't care because I win either way, sure you may win the hand- but I get paid, but you see how hesitant you were?"
"Yes, I think I get it. But I'm confident now, do I tell you about her?"
"Sure go ahead, wife, mistress, ex business partner? It doesn't really matter to me." I said as I took a coin out and was half listening- why would I take his word so bluntly, but sometimes the customers like to do this to try and sway my opinion. He hands me a picture as he starts talking, admittedly I am only half listening and respond with things like 'alright' and occasionally ask a question to make him think I care. During this I am still laid back in my chair playing with the coin.
"So what do you think?" He asks sheepishly.
"I think you want to hire me." I bluntly said.
"yeah, yeah, I do." He responded, still not to comfortable.
"Great!" I said as I jumped up. "Here, let's celebrate. Just a tradition of mine when I get hired. It started long ago but I don't think you care so whiskey, brandy, or gin?"
"Gin is fine, but I'm not a big drinker so just one for me." He seemed a bit surprised that I became animated for this.
After we finished our drinks it became apparent that he really doesn't drink. He seems more of a lightweight than the average high school girl.
"So how do you do your job? I mean is it with a wire, oh wait! do you like guns and bombs" He started rambling.
"I do what is necessary, and I try to keep it clean." I said acting professionally. "Oh, but before you go. Let me ask you something."
"Yeah, what is it?" He said slurring his speech now.
"What made you think a man whose killed hundreds through evictions and shady business practices would end up on the 'winning' side when dealing with me?"
"Wait wha......" he said as he collapsed on the table.
I picked up the phone. "Hey, congrats!" I said sarcastically. "You managed to be the better person than he was (big shock I know- I said under my breath) well anyway come get his body out of my office. He actually came to make the same wager against you." I hung up the phone and poured myself another drink. The benefits of building immunities I thought to myself- makes the job easy.
I reached for my phone again and called the bar upstairs to thank them for sending him down.
| 2018-07-11T14:04:29 | 2018-07-11T14:01:05 | 83 | 34 |
[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you. | My target was Samantha Readington.
*I want you to take care of her,* her husband, Dr. Readington, had told me. *I've waited a long time for this, and I'm willing to pay big.*
But what I saw through the window was an innocent mother, chasing after a redheaded toddler. A day of research confirmed the worst she'd ever done was park in front of a fire hydrant.
I found Dr. Readington at the grocery store, picking through the candy. "What did you say Samantha did to you?" I asked, my fingers slipping into my pocket.
He chucked, picking up a pack of Twizzlers.
"She got fat."
I grabbed the package of Twizzlers and jammed it into his mouth. He tried to scream, but it made quite an effective gag.
I'd have to remember that for next time.
Then I slipped the knife out of my pocket.
And in one, swift motion --
I plunged it through his heart.
The blood spilled out over his crisp white shirt, dripping onto the floor.
I walked towards the exit. As I passed the cashier, I called:
"Cleanup in aisle 7."
r/blairdaniels | A middle aged business man enters the scene, clearly uncomfortable being in a shady office such as mine.
"Hey your 'that guy' at least I hope you are or I seem insane." He said shivering and making air quotes.
"Yeah I'm 'that guy' " I said as I motioned him to sit down. "But are you sure? I mean you know what happens if you picked poorly right?" I said while sitting at my desk.
"I'm . . . I think so." The man said. I started to deal cards.
" Think of it this way, I'll kill, don't get me wrong- I always hit the less innocent though. Like these cards, one of us will win." I told him as he sheepishly picked up his hand.
"Ok, I'll take 2" He said as he puts down 2 (wise man at least knows the game I had in mind) "Aren't you taking any?"
"Nope, why would I?" I responded without even looking at my hands.
"Well"
"I know what I am doing, you play your hand." I cut him off.
"Alright, I have uh 2 pairs. Hey that is pretty good" he responded confidently and pulled out a cigarette.
"yeah, it is. I just don't care because I win either way, sure you may win the hand- but I get paid, but you see how hesitant you were?"
"Yes, I think I get it. But I'm confident now, do I tell you about her?"
"Sure go ahead, wife, mistress, ex business partner? It doesn't really matter to me." I said as I took a coin out and was half listening- why would I take his word so bluntly, but sometimes the customers like to do this to try and sway my opinion. He hands me a picture as he starts talking, admittedly I am only half listening and respond with things like 'alright' and occasionally ask a question to make him think I care. During this I am still laid back in my chair playing with the coin.
"So what do you think?" He asks sheepishly.
"I think you want to hire me." I bluntly said.
"yeah, yeah, I do." He responded, still not to comfortable.
"Great!" I said as I jumped up. "Here, let's celebrate. Just a tradition of mine when I get hired. It started long ago but I don't think you care so whiskey, brandy, or gin?"
"Gin is fine, but I'm not a big drinker so just one for me." He seemed a bit surprised that I became animated for this.
After we finished our drinks it became apparent that he really doesn't drink. He seems more of a lightweight than the average high school girl.
"So how do you do your job? I mean is it with a wire, oh wait! do you like guns and bombs" He started rambling.
"I do what is necessary, and I try to keep it clean." I said acting professionally. "Oh, but before you go. Let me ask you something."
"Yeah, what is it?" He said slurring his speech now.
"What made you think a man whose killed hundreds through evictions and shady business practices would end up on the 'winning' side when dealing with me?"
"Wait wha......" he said as he collapsed on the table.
I picked up the phone. "Hey, congrats!" I said sarcastically. "You managed to be the better person than he was (big shock I know- I said under my breath) well anyway come get his body out of my office. He actually came to make the same wager against you." I hung up the phone and poured myself another drink. The benefits of building immunities I thought to myself- makes the job easy.
I reached for my phone again and called the bar upstairs to thank them for sending him down.
| 2018-07-11T14:05:56 | 2018-07-11T14:01:05 | 59 | 34 |
[WP] Your a failing college student who needs to pass your foreign language class or fail. You've almost outright mocked superstions but make a wish on a shooting star at 11:11pm. To understand and speak all languages. Your cat wakes you up, but instead of meows. It's "wake up idiot and feed me". | "No," I said as I tried to get back to sleep. I felt the paws of Mr. Fuzzy pressing hard upon my back. He was walking his way up to my head. We've been over this so many times it didn't even occur to me that my cat was talking to me.
&#x200B;
"Wake up you idiot. It's time for me to eat!"
&#x200B;
This time my eyes opened wide. Is it odd that the thing that scared me the most was that Mr. Fuzzy wasn't as nice as I always thought he had been? The verbal beating that I received between getting out of bed and rushing to his food bowl was unlike anything I had ever received.
&#x200B;
"Finally! Sheesh!" I poured cat food into the bowl to the point of overflowing. I would have to do that before I went to sleep from now on.
I pinched myself as I watched my cat eat. Was this a dream? I had dreams in the past where Mr. Fuzzy talked to me, so this wasn't the first time I had ever felt this way. I checked the clock and saw it was nearly noon. Whatever was going on with this cat would need to wait. As I left my apartment, I saw a man walking down the street. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were sullen. He shambled along as if there was no hope in the world what so ever.
"I wonder what made him so sad?" I said to myself. I felt like I saw that guy walking all the time but I had never really noticed the way he carried himself. The walk over to campus was full of all sorts of things just like that. The lady at the bakery where I got lunch every day was projecting warmth as if she was a miniature sun; the newscaster on the television inside looked bored out of his mind; and the college student sitting across from me was stressing over something on her computer screen. All these things were all around me and I had never even noticed them.
Mr. Fuzzy had been weird but surely I was just projecting. A flock of birds outside flew by and I could have sworn they were saying "food." A man walked in with his dog and the dog rushed up to me.
"Who are you," it said. "Would you like to join our pack! This man is our leader he is very nice."
&#x200B;
"Sorry about that," the man said pulling his dog back. He doesn't usually get so excited.
"Join us! The leadership of our pack leader is glorious. Treats, belly rubs, and infinte toys await you! Fool! Now is your only chance!"
The man pulled his dog away as he steered it back towards the line. The dog looked back at me as if it was the emissary for a foreign country. I turned away.
It didn't matter what acid trip I was on right now. The thing that mattered for me, right now, would be trying to prepare for my Chinese 101 test in the next hour. If I didn't ace it then there would be no way I could pass the class. I pulled out the practice sheet and began to work through it. Strange, where was the Chinese? I breezed through the sheet and was starting to get worried. Maybe I had pulled notes from another class by mistake? I looked closely at the sheet and a sudden joy hit me. Everything was in Chinese.
I shoved my sandwich into my mouth and rushed out of the bakery. I never thought a wish like that would work, but I was definitely about to reap the benefits. The classroom was in a large building on the eastern side of campus. It was odd. For some reason I was navigating the halls much easier than I ever had. It was like I was finding shortcuts and pathways I had never seen before. As I approached the classroom I saw one of my classmates. Her name was Rose I think? She was probably the cutest girl I had ever seen but I was certain she didn't know I existed. I could tell she wasn't worried at all about this test. Her shoulders lacked tension and she calmly worked her jaw as if she was chewing. She was wearing a sweater and sweatpants like she had just rolled out of bed. Her hair was tied into a bun that hung lazily to her shoulders. She turned to me and smiled.
She wants to talk to me. I had no idea where that thought came from. I nodded towards her as she shifted her entire body to face me. She *really* wants to talk to me.
"Are you ready for the test," she said. I had never seen a girl who was so open with what she wanted, without even saying it!
"I think so," I said. "I've got a secret weapon and I think it's going to come through."
&#x200B;
"Secret weapon, huh," she said pushing her sleeves down. "That sounds pretty interesting."
For some reason, her mouth was making noise, yet the shifting of her sleeves was speaking just as loudly. She saw me looking at her arms, and began to push them behind her back. She doesn't want me to know what's happening. I looked back up at her and she tried to ignore it.
"Y-yeah it's really something. Hey are you okay?"
"I'm totally fine, yep." She was not totally fine. Her feet and legs began to move away from me. She didn't want to talk any more. Wordlessly, she moved away from me and into the classroom. It was a hunch, that I guess was based off of nothing, but I knew her arms had slashes on them. I knew what that meant.
Here I was hoping just to pass a 100 level class and I ended up wishing myself a super power. Today was going to be really interesting.
EDIT: I was not expecting this to be well received at all. I'm giving all the credit to Australian Reddit. There was a Part 2 but Reddit ate it. It’ll be posted after I’ve slept because it’s 3am here. | On most days, hearing the voice of my cat speaking human words would surprise me. That's an understatement- it would *shock* me, bewilder me, and make me question my sanity.
But today was not most days.
And my cat was the *least* of my worries.
Let me start from the beginning- four years ago, just a month before my sixteenth birthday, when my mother had driven me to high school. It was half way through the year, and while I didn't necessary fit it, I didn't *not* fit in either. I didn't speak much back then. Now I realize I didn't listen much either.
My mother was the only family I had ever known- my father died in an industrial accident when I was a child, but I'd never seen my mother shed a tear. Instead, she'd look down at the scars on her arms with pursed lips when I asked about him, and that would be the rest of the conversation. For my grandparents, cancers ran through my relatives like a plague, dropping the life expectancy to just above fifty. The doctors could never explain it- and for my mother, they never had to. That day, she was only forty eight, when the semi truck driver suffered a stroke, careening through the red light and turning her car into a scrap heap.
They'd pulled me out of school- a police officer who brought me to the hospital, and let me clasp her hand one last time before her eyes fluttered shut. But before she passed, she smiled, and repeated an old nursery rhyme that she used to tell me before bed to help me sleep. One her mother had sang to her, and her mother to her, as far as we could remember- so long, that the dusty scrapbooks in the attic had the phrase written on them with gold ink.
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish," She whispered, bringing back memories in a flood that fought for attention in my mind as the medical instruments reached a new pitch, and the doctors pulled me away for a emergency surgery we all knew had impossible odds, "I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish."
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish." I repeated, a tear falling to the ground as she dissipated forever. But the words fell to the ground, with no ear to catch them.
The rest of high school passed slow, and my poor performance in classes led to a rough start after. I was the sole inheritor of her fortune, and it was a small one, but enough to put me in community college. Enough to pay for meals that were above ramen quality, and buy a car that started on the second turn of the key.
But by the second year of college, after a stern talk from the guidance councillor, and a threat to pull the scholarship that had been awarded to me for those in need, I turned back to my studies. My mind fought against years of neglect, forcing in new habits taught to me by a school provided teacher. Slowly, things turned around- but even then, it bordered the impossible, requiring long hours. Which lead to me studying for a spanish final late in the evening, so late that that my cat retired before I did, and my eyes filled with tears of frustration as I studied the words, my fingers wrapped around the back of the skull.
"She'd want this," I said to myself, tapping my foot and forcing the conjugations to breach my memory, "She'd want me to do well. To pass."
And almost out of habit, I murmered the phrase that had stuck with me through the years, as if it were etched in the back of my mind, the mumbo jumbo giving me the strength to continue from my mother's memory. Just as the clock behind me turned 11:11.
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish."
***
"Wake up!" The voice was shrill, female, and screeched at me from my bedside, "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
I jerked upwards, my hands flailing for the light switch, heart racing as I searched for the intruder. But instead, there was only my empty room, the laundry strewn about the floor, and my alarm clock flashing.
"Wake up!" Came the shriek again, and I turned to the flashing alarm clock, the voice emanating from the speakers. I hadn't remembered changing the tone, but it was a cheap model, likely malfunctioning after years of use. I slammed my palm down on the off button, and it sighed, the voice responding.
"Shutting up!"
I jumped from bed, knowing that there was only a half hour to prepare for my final before I had to be out the door, and I'd want a full breakfast. I stepped over my laundry, preparing to enter the kitchen, but I heard something else. A muffled voice, from the floor under me.
"*Wash me*," It said, and I jumped, searching for the source, "Wash me! Soap and suds, no more floor!"
Chills jumped up my spine as I saw no source for sound, kicking my dirty shirts aside. I reached out for the door, unsure if I was entirely awake, my hand around the knob. And this time I *felt* the vibrations coming through the metal, shaking my palm.
"Unlock!" It said, the voice gritty, "Unlock, unclasp, exit!"
My hand flew off the knob as if it were hot iron, and I leapt onto my bed, staring around in a panic.
"Bounce!" Shouted the springs under me, "Bounce bounce!"
"Wake up, no sleep!" Sang the alarm clock again, accusatory, as if I were about to climb under the covers.
"Melted! Melted!" Sobbed the glass of water that had been ice the night before on my bedstand, "Melted, what has happened to me!"
And slinking out from under the bed, her eyes meeting mine, her expression nonplussed, my cat spoke.
"Feed me, you idiot. Feed me or I will feast upon you!"
And as the room clamored, only one thought passed through my head as my cat pawed against my foot. At least my cat was alive. Sure, it was unlikely she could talk, but she had made a sound before. Compared to everything else, it was almost natural.
Unlike the the windows that cried in pain because the outside air was too frigid.
PART 2.
I dashed downstairs, followed by incessant chattering. And as I ran from the nonsensical, so too did my thoughts. Instead of ideas of what might be happening, instead I found myself thinking of the mundane. Of Spanish conjugations, of breakfast, and of feeding the cat.
I ate my cereal as my spoon made airplane noises, ignoring the bowl that slurped at the milk as animatedly as myself. Behind me, the oven beefed for me to light its fire, while the lights above buzzed with electricity. And even if I avoided them, there was one thing I knew- that somehow, I had caused this. That I had uttered the magic words. That a wish of mine had been completed.
Had my mother known?
As I finished breakfast, I prepared to leave, but the verbal tirade from the cat was too much to ignore, her insults worse that a sailor. Reaching to the cuppard, I pulled out the kibble, filling her dish in a quick motion. But before I left, the cot looked up at me, her eyes wide.
“I asked for food, and you have delivered,” she said, the words thick with acorn, “I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish.”
But though she spoke the magic words, I did not hear them- rather, I heard their *translation*, one that I now understood.
“I wish, for this, until the next fulfilled wish.”
Then she winked, and settled down to eat. And as the kibble disappeared, so too did the voices- with one bite, the upstairs alarm halted. With another, the stove quieted. And as she finished, the last echoes died away, until she fixed me with a knowing eye, and spoke one last word before curling into sleep.
“Meow.”
***
By Leo
Hope you enjoyed this story! For more of my work, [check out my free novel on reddit about superpowers determined by birthplace](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/) | 2019-01-16T15:45:02 | 2019-01-16T12:16:12 | 2,680 | 403 |
[WP] After a normal day, you go to bed...only to awake 100 years in the future. A lot of people want to interview you. Because something random you did almost ended humanity a century ago. | The first thing I felt was the cold. The terrible, terrible cold.
Then came the sound of hissing hydraulics, and a thin beam of light, widening and widening across my vision.
"He's awake."
With those words, my body shuddered into life. At once, I felt my lungs fill with air and my heart begin to beat- whooshing in my ears as I came I came to.
In those moments, I had no thoughts. I simply existed.
Then, my mind began to whirr... I felt sensation in my fingers, as the cold began to ungrip my muscles. My eyelids trembled. Where was I?
"Get up," said the voice- harsh, tinged with anger.
I opened my eyes. They were met immediately by the sting of icy air, making me wince. My mouth opened, but I couldn't get any words out. Blind, I staggered forward and collapsed.
Somewhere above, in the misty light, I heard someone take a step back and tut.
"Pathetic."
"Now, now, Dr Bright," a new voice interjected. "He's just a product of his time-" the voice moved away- "Get him onto the bed."
Out of the light came two gloved hands. The alien coolness of the blue rubber against my bare skin set me shivering. Mercilessly, I was hauled onto a hospital gurney.
"They drank tea back then... fetch some."
Footsteps.
A moment later, something warm and steaming was pressed into my hands- a mug.
"Drink up."
I blinked, eyes screaming under the swimming lights. Through my watering eyes, I made out two figures to my left, in white lab coats. One held a clipboard, and snapped it's fingers towards a cowering group in pale scrubs.
"Ready the transmission device."
The gaggle dispersed to different corners of the room, craning over various machines. One of the two lab coats- scientists, perhaps- took a step towards me, allowing me to focus my eyes on the stern face.
"You really don't know how much trouble you caused." She turned away with a flick of her hair addressing the technicians. "Ready?"
To the backdrop of their silent nods, she turned back towards me. Something wicked danced beneath her eyes.
"Welcome to the future, Mr Blake. Enjoy your stay."
With that, someone pressed something against cold and metallic against the nape of my neck, and I was plunged, once more, into the darkness.
-----------
I can only describe what came next as a psychic newsreel.
A BBC-broadcaster voice addressed me.
"Robert MacDonald Blake. You are under arrest for treason against humankind."
Then, a card from a silent movie, as if I was seeing it with my very own eyes. The wavering black-on-white text read simply: 'Context', before giving way to a host of silent clips of surreal technologies, mysterious skylines, and people wearing ridiculous clothes. The voice-over continued.
"Welcome to London, in the year 2119, the crown jewel of the world, and a beacon of hope against the darkness of the past. Home to the World Health Institute, Global Judiciary, and the world's largest Cryostorage Bank, London has been the main place of judgement towards criminals charged with the spread of pestilence for many decades."
A second card. 'Crimes'.
Now came a video which I didn't think should exist... a playback of my own memories. Clips of me, yesterday... or, if this phantom video was to be believed... one hundred years ago. I watched voyeuristically as I went about my daily routine, brushing my teeth, driving to work, filing papers, pretending to look busy, then coming home. The lightning-fast reel began to slow and zoom in.
My memories halted on one in particularly. After showering, I stood over my sink, and sneezed. Then, in slow-motion, I shook my head, and reached for the medicine cabinet...
The video froze, the sight of my fingers gripping the pack of unprescribed antibiotics blown up large, spanning my sight.
A final card. This time, in red. 'Consequences'.
The final montage hurt too much to bear. It began subtly... people going to the doctors, getting their medication. Then it became clear that for some, the medication didn't work. Then, for more. Then, for nearly all. It snowballed and snowballed until scenes of doctors cradling their heads in their hands and biochemists puzzling over samples flew across my eyes. Then came the horror of it all. Crowds of people, filling the hospitals. Children growing thin and sickly. Churches being booked up full of funerals. Bodies, dumped.
Towns grew empty. Cities were hit worse. The population was decimated.
The newsreel began to fade. The voice stayed silent. My mind screamed into the darkness, but no reply came.
Suddenly, a click.
------------
I jolted back into consciousness. The two scientists stood beside me, faces solemn.
The woman, Dr Bright, as she had been called, sighed and wrote something on her her chart.
"You didn't know better," she said. "You'd been told, of course, but you ignored them. Everyone did."
"I don't understand," I whispered.
"Of course you don't. The near end of the world, and the ones who brought it on us don't understand." Her voice was laced with not only anger, but sadness.
"There was an outbreak," explained the male scientist. "A simple outbreak. Usually, it would be a non issue. But the antibiotic crisis, the resistance... well, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. There was no cure."
"But... why me?" My breath was ragged.
"We rebuilt," he went on. "We rebuilt and improved. We built new machines, new technologies. We tracked down the source, and what would you know? It was patient zero, who had been cryogenically frozen years prior, on his deathbed, for future scientists to study. Just our luck."
My mouth gaped. Dr Bright leaned in, with a vengeful smile.
"It was you."
The door swung open. A black, uniformed riot officer stood in the doorway. The masked head turned towards me. Through the dark visor, I could sense a hard, knowing stare.
"He's awake." | "What can you tell us about the crisis of 2020? How is it you're still alive? Did you intend to end all life as we know it? Or were you fully aware that your actions would in fact lead to humanities prosperity across the known universe?"
"Who are you?" Sophia woke from what felt like the world's best and yet worst night's rest. Lingering over her bed was a sharp dressed man (suit - *check*, tie - *check*, unbearable air of arrogance - *check*) with a camera crew surrounding him. There were over a dozen flashing lights that blinded Sophia, causing her already muddled mind to run away... *sorry Sophia, this is too much, even for me!*
"Answers, Sophia! The people need answers!" the reporter (Sophia decided that only a reporter could break into a young girl's bedroom and not be immediately arrested) flapped wildly about the room, as if he were dancing with a bull (his suit was a pompous shade of red that only *he* could have pulled off so flawlessly...).
"I don't have any." Sophia groaned, "Why are you here? And by God what time is it?" she fell back into her bed, hoping to hide inside the comfort of her pillow. But Mr not-so-tall, not-so-dark and only fairly handsome wasn't about to let the story of his career disappear back in the realms of deep sleep.
"Water!" the reporter cried, and out of nowhere several men armed with buckets appeared around Sophia's bed. One at a time, with a sadistic sense of uniformity, the men showered Sophia in first ice cold and then hot water (but not too hot, they weren't animals, after all... they were just doing their job).
"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Sophia screamed, jumping from her bed, dressed in only her night shirt. The men covered their eyes, only politely peering through half opened fingers... (I take that back, perhaps these men *were* animals). Sophia ran for the bathroom, hounded by the reporter and his band of merry men, locking herself inside.
"You can't hide forever Sophia. We've waited a hundred years to speak to you, we'll wait a hundred more. Though I doubt you'll last that long again." (the reported reckoned he would, though) the suit's voice was softened only by the hammering fists that sought to knock down the hardwood door.
*This is all a dream, it has to be...* Sophia curled herself up against the bathroom door, hoping the reporter might leave. *He's a madman. A hundred years? He expects me to believe I've been sleeping for a hundred years? Well I don't believe it... I won't believe it...*
But deny it as she might, her memory was slowly returning.
"Open up Sophia, all we want to do is talk."
&#x200B;
July 18th 2020;
&#x200B;
Sophia had been on her way to school, understandably excited on account that today they'd be taking a field trip. Earlier that year the British Occupancy of Outstanding and Best Sciences had lobbied together to seek funding for what would be known as the National Institution for the Preservation of Power to Lawful and Enlightened Sciences. Both names were quite a mouthful, but oddly enough quite memorable.
Outside the window of the bus the city strolled by, alive with all the usual fuss of any mid-morning commute. Cars and taxis veered between one another, horns honking, drivers angrily shaking their fists as they spilled hot paper cups of tea and coffee down their crisp white work wear. Pigeons roamed the smoke-filled skies, dropping pleasant surprises on the world below. Sophia had in fact watched as one such *surprise* fell aimlessly into a woman's waiting sandwich, masquerading as the worst possible kind of mayonnaise. The woman might have noticed, too, had she not been so invested in her phone screen.
When they came to the school bus stop, and one by one rushed to be off, Sophia took her first steps towards near-ending all life as we know it. Unintentional steps, mind you. Steps wrapped up in bundles of kindness. She could tell the bus driver was awfully hungry, he had been complaining about as much for most of their journey. So Sophia, the caring soul that she was, offered Mac (the driver) her sandwiches (which strangely enough she didn't feel much like eating).
"Are you sure Sophia? I wouldn't want you to go hungry."
Sophia nodded, "I think I have tummy ache anyway, I won't eat them."
"Well, if you're sure."Sophia nodded again, adding a sweet smile to the mix.
Mac took the sandwiches with thanks and off Sophia went, to registration. It was perhaps no more than fifteen minutes before Sophia's class would be bustled back onto the bus and bound for the institution.
&#x200B;
"Thanks again." Mac said as Sophia raced to be first back on, "Oh, say, you wouldn't know if there were any nuts in that sandwich would you? Y'know, in the bread maybe?"
Sophia shook her head, "I don't think so, just plain old chicken mayo."Mac sighed in relief, "Good. For a moment there I thought I'd let hunger get the better of me."
&#x200B;
*Somewhere beyond the realms of man there lies a creature and his brother. Meet Greed, the gargantuan blob with several dozen turkey chins. He holds in his arms the withered wing of Hunger, a creature made barely of bone and flesh. They reside in halls of hoarded treasures, within the centre of which there lies a table brimming with a thousand mortal foods. Greed forever watches these halls, resolute in his belief that hunger should never feed. Hunger is necessary, Greed is absolute. Yet today Hunger has gained his small victory, stealing from the table a leg of chicken whilst his brother sleeps... chicken lathered in a honey-nut sauce.*
&#x200B;
They almost made it, Sophia could even see the institution from the buses window. She's always dreamed of pursuing science, fascinated by how so many tiny particles could come together to create life. *If only we could come together like that, work together like that, as if we were all part(icles) of some larger force or being. There's more than enough to go around, more than enough for everyone to share. But we don't like sharing, because we can't see the truth. We're all the same, we're all equal. No one really* deserves *any more or less than anyone else.* This was the last thought that would ever hold home in Sohpia's mind.
"Why can't I see?" Mac cried before his throat finally closed up. His face had swollen beyond recognition, eyes bulging from their sockets, streaming with tears. He reached for the breaks, but in his convulsive state his right foot instead hammered down on the accelerator. The bus was aimed for the institutional building, a shell that had yet to be fully filled. Inside the bus the children looked on with wide eyed expressions of knowing, not one of them, not even Sophia, able to comprehend what's happening.
The bus explodes through a thick sheet of metal, tearing a whole in what had been meant as a containment module. Inside highly unstable chemical elements had been waiting for a chance to escape and intermingle (strange that their *prison* was so easily compromised). What came next was the greatest flash of white light the world had ever seen. An explosion like no other. Some likened it even to the big bang, the force of creation.
After this Sophia woke in her bed, one hundred years later, having almost accidentally brought about the end of the world. But instead the *explosive force of the elements* had set in motion a series of yet more seemingly random events. Events that had, among other great achievements, ended world hunger (the chemicals were said to have fertilised even the most uninhabitable grounds), denuclearised the world at large (following the second *big bang* it was universally agreed that nuclear warfare could do more good than harm, and so it no longer served a purpose), and even aided humanities ascension to a more compassionate race... though this didn't account for the likes of reporters. For some unknown reason they alone were unaffected by the ascension of mankind, perhaps it was simply because the media as a whole was too vicious a beast for even the second *big bang* to have tamed... not that it mattered, no one much listened to reporters now-a-days anyway.
All this came about because of one girl's decision to feed a hungry driver, because of one girl's idealistic thinking upon her near death bed, her wondering what might happen... *if only we could come together, work together, as if we were part(icles) of some larger force or being...* | 2019-01-28T14:13:34 | 2019-01-28T14:04:56 | 39 | 27 |
[WP] once in every month soulmates get to see from eachothers’ eyes for 60 seconds until they meet for the first time. It happens unexpectedly and neither of the pair knows when it will happen. One day you see someone you recognise from your soulmate’s eyes. | Supposedly, everyone has a soulmate. I guess some people's soulmates die, but not mine. I still get the slight tingle every month and then ... still nothing.
The doctors used the new Kaughman brain scan to confirm it-- according to the scan, I really am Switching. They said the whole thing is happening: normal adrenaline spike, normal disorientation, exactly 60 seconds. Everything's just like everyone else except, well, I just keep seeing through my own eyes. I don't "go" *anywhere*.
They said it's the first time anyone's ever heard of anything like this. Nobody else has reported anything like it, either. Apparently I really am one of a kind.
I really don't mind, though. Actually, it's kind of better this way. With the way people get, I've never really wanted a soulmate because, honestly, I think I'd be hard pressed to find someone as awesome as me.
&#x200B; | Karen and I broke up a little over a year ago.
We had had a whirlwind romance. We both knew our respective Soul Mates lived in the city and it felt right at first. After a few months we knew it wasn't right. We could see it in each other's eyes. In those moments we were alone when the visions came, we saw familiar places, the restless city beyond our doors, but the visions never stopped once we hooked up. It wasn't right.
Three months and four days after that career building mixed where we met, that was the day we knew it was over. We both knew that the other knew. It felt like some youthful joy was permanently lost that day.
It felt like we shared one of those unspoken conversations. The kind shared by old couples who never found their SMs and just stopped looking. They settled down with some they knew, who was familar, but wasn't The One. The kind of conversations that there aren't words for. There was a week or two of, like, stunned silence between us before the fighting began.
Anyway, yeah, I've told you about Karen before. So yeah, the minute came and instead of things I'd seen before, the subway, the bodega on 6th and Center, I saw Karen. And not spotted from a distance either, where the haze of the vision makes you question it. No. Karen was there and she was talking to her face. She was not happy, she was demanding. I could see that tone that Karen sometimes had. When she thinks she's right and trying to talk you out of something. Just like the way she said things, it was just... ugh. And she was only right like 50% of the time, max. Like, no better than random chance. She was pulling that on my SM!? What the hell.
I could even make out some of the words. I watched her say that damned catch phrase she had "You wouldn't know (blank) if it slapped you in the face." I hated that. Like, I remember she said to me, "You're so obsessed with your soul mate you can't get your head out of the clouds. You wouldn't recognize it if they slapped you in the goddamn face!" We broke up two days later.
Jeez. I can't believe that still gets to me. Is there like, is there a class for that, to just cut somebody open like that but still tell them exactly what they need to hear?
I guess I should be thankful, I've gotten more of my life together since then. It sounds terrible to say, but it felt like she was like a "training girlfriend."
So yeah that was last month. I've been tying not to obsess since then, but it's hard. Work helps, your advice has helped a lot.
Sorry, can I use the bathroom?
*"Sure, but we still need to end our session on the hour."*
...
Oh my God! It happened again! I had another one!
She must know Karen or something! I saw her building, she was going in and she...
Where's my phone? Would it be weird to call her and ask?
*"Slow down, let's be thoughtful about our actions, remember the three steps?"*
Yeah yeah.
I know Karen knows her. She has to, she went up to Karen's floor and she was getting out her keys and...
Karen.
I have to go.
| 2019-02-13T17:24:34 | 2019-02-13T17:03:12 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | It was the final day of exam week in Christenson's School of Magic, an academic institute known best for its wide, open campus courtyard.
That, and an unspoken willingness to accept complete and utter dolts.
Thank God for that, because otherwise, I might not have made it into college.
Spread throughout the open, stone pavilion, we were each given a space to practice our incantations and summoning circles. Some chose to use a brush, or a staff, others a liquid in a bottle with a small opening. I am a simple man.
I fingerpaint.
And so I, for my final test, the one that would determine my grades, jammed my finger into a blob of yellow paint -- it's my favorite color -- and drew a lopsided circle with the eight distinct markings of summoning upon them. Or, at least, something similar to them.
*What was it I needed again? Newt tails, brimstone, phosphor-us? Shit...*
I sighed, shrugged, and reached into my backpack. There were no ingredients, of course -- I'd left them at home. There was, however, an unopened bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos™. Spicy, hellfire... close enough, right?
Before an instructor could stop me, I tossed the bag into the circle and clapped my hands together.
Turns out they weren't kidding about the whole *Flamin' Hot™* thing.
You can visit me in the burn ward at any time. I'm pretty bored.
*/r/resonatingfury* | I woke to the sound of rain, again, but this is Ireland, it rains every Friday, no matter the previous weather. I got up with a groan of my cot, stretched out my arms and, as always, forgot the goddamn beehive cells were too small too do that. Guess my brain takes a while in the morning.
I squeezed out of my cell onto Skellig Michael s craggy surface. Thankfully the rain wasn't too bad today, my thin oilskin coat would handle it. Perhaps I should explain to whoever finds this manuscript (*cough, diary, *cough). I am an apprentice at a witches monastery off the coast of Ireland, no-one on the mainland knows it's a witches monastery but they know we're here.
Today is the fourteenth of the fourteenth 1836 and I and the other initiates were all 14, a special age and date to Irish witches.
Where was I? Right, I squeezed out of my cell and took the damb dirt path up to the oratory where we would be presented with all the appropriate tools for summoning our familiar, as well as any additional items we required.
Now a few weeks prior I had found some long forgotten spell books in the library while I had been researching familiars. One of these books had described a delicate, obscure and highly advanced method to summon one of Ireland's most ancestral beings using the most Irish plant at their disposal. A potato.
Unfortunately, this method was too complex for an average student such as myself so i, *dumbed it down* slightly while keeping the same aim in mind.
To summon my familiar I had to extract a special grey chalk from a hidden tunnel on the island.
With this I would draw a rough circle 3m in radius. Into the circle I must place a thin cloth bag full of thick strips of potato fries in puffin fat
(I could have used any fat, puffins were merely in abundance on Skellig Michael). Finally I was to step back from the circle and name my familiar's species an implore them to appear.
I did on a clear day on Saturday in front of the assembled crowd. After I was finished there was a long moment of silence, someone coughed, it was awkward.
Then the entire island shook as though it wished to escape its roots and roam the ocean wild, great bottomless cracks and chasms appeared within the circle, but were kept contained within it. The bag of fried potatoes toppled into the chasm, only to rise moment later in a huge fist of stone that belonged to the great towering creature which stood three or four heads above any man. It was made of the Irish mountains themselves, it almost looked like huge shapely chunks of grey limestone held together with streaks of Ireland's native green marble wrapping around it with a soft glow, all ending at two clear diamond eyes set slightly back into his head(somehow I knew it was a he) that glowed with an otherworldly light. And then he began to eat, and to speak.
He threw a fried potato into his gaping maw and let out a grinding sigh. "These are good chips, taste a little like puffin though." I decided to talk now and freak out later. "I can explain that," I said, "I cooked them in puffin fat and some salt." At this my familiar turned to me, "I see, I take you are who summoned me as your familiar?" I said I was, and I will spare you the details of our conversation as this is turning out to be longer than I expected but suffice to say that introductions were made (myself as Oisín and him as Kaíreach)
By now everyone was speechless, no-one had summoned a mountain golem since the great Masters themselves. It took a while to get used to but I eventually surpassed everyone in my group and now 20 years later, I am leading the monastery as the youngest leader, well, ever.
I hope that whoever this story reaches, it reaches them safe, and with them in good health
Signed,
Oisín O' Callaghan, leader of the cailleachs and Kaíreach of the mountains | 2019-04-05T14:26:08 | 2019-04-05T14:25:23 | 254 | 39 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | The bag crinkled as gravity smashed it into the cold stone floor of the examination hall. Although I could not see him, nor would I hear him shouting in warning until it was too late, the headmaster was already running towards me.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Not until the first tendril of blue and white lapped over the bright yellow bag did I consider the teachings over the previous semester.
"Your familiar is not only bound by your essence and your aura, but the catalyst which summons it. The base motivator that is channeled by your catalyst must be carefully considered."
Chips. I hadn't even wanted the family size bag, but it was only an extra 25 cents, "and why shouldn't I have something to share?" I reasoned.
The floor beneath the bag shuddered as a mound began to form beneath them, the contents inside were scattered across the floor.
"Back!" I heard the headmaster scream, "everyone back!"
"Uh?" I turned to him, realizing the fear that surrounded me as my classmates stared in terror, their feet shifting away as their eyes stayed fixed on me. No, not on me, their eyes fell beyond me.
I spun again to my circle and nearly choked as the floor was being torn away. Slivers of golden fried potatoes poured into the gaping hole and, with a sudden crunch, a tremendous growl filled the chamber.
"Its a Glutton!" The headmaster called to the other teachers as they drew their wands in response. "Get the boy to safety"
*no time to finish * | I woke to the sound of rain, again, but this is Ireland, it rains every Friday, no matter the previous weather. I got up with a groan of my cot, stretched out my arms and, as always, forgot the goddamn beehive cells were too small too do that. Guess my brain takes a while in the morning.
I squeezed out of my cell onto Skellig Michael s craggy surface. Thankfully the rain wasn't too bad today, my thin oilskin coat would handle it. Perhaps I should explain to whoever finds this manuscript (*cough, diary, *cough). I am an apprentice at a witches monastery off the coast of Ireland, no-one on the mainland knows it's a witches monastery but they know we're here.
Today is the fourteenth of the fourteenth 1836 and I and the other initiates were all 14, a special age and date to Irish witches.
Where was I? Right, I squeezed out of my cell and took the damb dirt path up to the oratory where we would be presented with all the appropriate tools for summoning our familiar, as well as any additional items we required.
Now a few weeks prior I had found some long forgotten spell books in the library while I had been researching familiars. One of these books had described a delicate, obscure and highly advanced method to summon one of Ireland's most ancestral beings using the most Irish plant at their disposal. A potato.
Unfortunately, this method was too complex for an average student such as myself so i, *dumbed it down* slightly while keeping the same aim in mind.
To summon my familiar I had to extract a special grey chalk from a hidden tunnel on the island.
With this I would draw a rough circle 3m in radius. Into the circle I must place a thin cloth bag full of thick strips of potato fries in puffin fat
(I could have used any fat, puffins were merely in abundance on Skellig Michael). Finally I was to step back from the circle and name my familiar's species an implore them to appear.
I did on a clear day on Saturday in front of the assembled crowd. After I was finished there was a long moment of silence, someone coughed, it was awkward.
Then the entire island shook as though it wished to escape its roots and roam the ocean wild, great bottomless cracks and chasms appeared within the circle, but were kept contained within it. The bag of fried potatoes toppled into the chasm, only to rise moment later in a huge fist of stone that belonged to the great towering creature which stood three or four heads above any man. It was made of the Irish mountains themselves, it almost looked like huge shapely chunks of grey limestone held together with streaks of Ireland's native green marble wrapping around it with a soft glow, all ending at two clear diamond eyes set slightly back into his head(somehow I knew it was a he) that glowed with an otherworldly light. And then he began to eat, and to speak.
He threw a fried potato into his gaping maw and let out a grinding sigh. "These are good chips, taste a little like puffin though." I decided to talk now and freak out later. "I can explain that," I said, "I cooked them in puffin fat and some salt." At this my familiar turned to me, "I see, I take you are who summoned me as your familiar?" I said I was, and I will spare you the details of our conversation as this is turning out to be longer than I expected but suffice to say that introductions were made (myself as Oisín and him as Kaíreach)
By now everyone was speechless, no-one had summoned a mountain golem since the great Masters themselves. It took a while to get used to but I eventually surpassed everyone in my group and now 20 years later, I am leading the monastery as the youngest leader, well, ever.
I hope that whoever this story reaches, it reaches them safe, and with them in good health
Signed,
Oisín O' Callaghan, leader of the cailleachs and Kaíreach of the mountains | 2019-04-05T16:05:49 | 2019-04-05T14:25:23 | 79 | 39 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | I'd grown up in a family of rather powerful mages, but we were outcasts because of our unusual tactics. In all simplicity, we're lazy. We use the excuse of, "Everything one can find can be powerful if used correctly." The thing is, it's true. I've been able to create potions from food scraps, and they've actually worked!
Anyway, I recently came of age to summon a familiar. I've watched my friends and family perform the ritual, and I've come to realize that there can be so many variables. I chose to set up the ritual with as much simplicity as possible. I drew a circle on the ground and tossed a bag of my favorite chips in the center. I spoke and repeated the required mantra until a light erupted from the circle; in turn setting the chips on fire.
The fire startled me to the point that I fell back. Before I could sit back up, I heard a tiny roar coming from the circle. More than just excited to see what I summoned, I scrambled to sit up once more. My gaze immediately landed on the circle to see what it held.
A wyvern.
"Holy shit, I got a wyvern!" I exclaimed, and it ran up to me with just as much excitement as I had.
I'd heard that it was exceedingly difficult to summon a wyvern, but this shocked me. I had done the simplest ritual ever, and I summoned the most difficult familiar. I'm not complaining, but this is amazing. | I woke to the sound of rain, again, but this is Ireland, it rains every Friday, no matter the previous weather. I got up with a groan of my cot, stretched out my arms and, as always, forgot the goddamn beehive cells were too small too do that. Guess my brain takes a while in the morning.
I squeezed out of my cell onto Skellig Michael s craggy surface. Thankfully the rain wasn't too bad today, my thin oilskin coat would handle it. Perhaps I should explain to whoever finds this manuscript (*cough, diary, *cough). I am an apprentice at a witches monastery off the coast of Ireland, no-one on the mainland knows it's a witches monastery but they know we're here.
Today is the fourteenth of the fourteenth 1836 and I and the other initiates were all 14, a special age and date to Irish witches.
Where was I? Right, I squeezed out of my cell and took the damb dirt path up to the oratory where we would be presented with all the appropriate tools for summoning our familiar, as well as any additional items we required.
Now a few weeks prior I had found some long forgotten spell books in the library while I had been researching familiars. One of these books had described a delicate, obscure and highly advanced method to summon one of Ireland's most ancestral beings using the most Irish plant at their disposal. A potato.
Unfortunately, this method was too complex for an average student such as myself so i, *dumbed it down* slightly while keeping the same aim in mind.
To summon my familiar I had to extract a special grey chalk from a hidden tunnel on the island.
With this I would draw a rough circle 3m in radius. Into the circle I must place a thin cloth bag full of thick strips of potato fries in puffin fat
(I could have used any fat, puffins were merely in abundance on Skellig Michael). Finally I was to step back from the circle and name my familiar's species an implore them to appear.
I did on a clear day on Saturday in front of the assembled crowd. After I was finished there was a long moment of silence, someone coughed, it was awkward.
Then the entire island shook as though it wished to escape its roots and roam the ocean wild, great bottomless cracks and chasms appeared within the circle, but were kept contained within it. The bag of fried potatoes toppled into the chasm, only to rise moment later in a huge fist of stone that belonged to the great towering creature which stood three or four heads above any man. It was made of the Irish mountains themselves, it almost looked like huge shapely chunks of grey limestone held together with streaks of Ireland's native green marble wrapping around it with a soft glow, all ending at two clear diamond eyes set slightly back into his head(somehow I knew it was a he) that glowed with an otherworldly light. And then he began to eat, and to speak.
He threw a fried potato into his gaping maw and let out a grinding sigh. "These are good chips, taste a little like puffin though." I decided to talk now and freak out later. "I can explain that," I said, "I cooked them in puffin fat and some salt." At this my familiar turned to me, "I see, I take you are who summoned me as your familiar?" I said I was, and I will spare you the details of our conversation as this is turning out to be longer than I expected but suffice to say that introductions were made (myself as Oisín and him as Kaíreach)
By now everyone was speechless, no-one had summoned a mountain golem since the great Masters themselves. It took a while to get used to but I eventually surpassed everyone in my group and now 20 years later, I am leading the monastery as the youngest leader, well, ever.
I hope that whoever this story reaches, it reaches them safe, and with them in good health
Signed,
Oisín O' Callaghan, leader of the cailleachs and Kaíreach of the mountains | 2019-04-05T15:12:44 | 2019-04-05T14:25:23 | 55 | 39 |
[WP] A man, stricken with anger and sadness, sacrifices himself to Satan in a ritual to curse his cheating wife. The man awakens as the newly born baby of his wive’s infidelity. Despite being a baby, he retains all the memories of his previous life and from that moment plans his revenge.
[removed] | I was heartbroken, angry-- simply a mess. For the months to come, I begged an pleaded to every known God, please take away my pain, take away my sorrow. As time went on and nothing helped, I tried the more obscure and occult, and ended up changing, if nothing could soothe my soul, I might as well satisfy my anger and vengefulness. I called on the Satan, and as I pleaded my case my I started to feel wierd, and I slowly lost consciousness.
The next moment I oppened my eyes, a bright light was shining on me, I could hear what sounded like doctors, the medical jargon and professional tonality of the voices was unmistakable. As I tried to ask what was going on, or get a grasp of the situation, I felt my body get dragged around, my vision blurry and everything was off. As time went on and I heard their conversation, it sounded as if someone was getting born... wait, was it me?
The minutes pass by and my head is clearing up, I've been reborn, and as I was laid in the arms of my former wife, I now fathom what happened. This was.. I mean, \*I\* was the curse of my wife, that I had wished upon her. I was given the best position ever, to torture her, the way she had torn out and tortured my heart. I wanted to see her squirm and twist in pain, and was planning out my approach.
The first couple of months I would cry whenever around her. As if, she was the bane of my existence, which, to be fair, wasn't all that wrong. Only stopping up, even smile and laugh, when she handed me over to others for a break. I watched her heart slowly break, her soul wither and her mind shrivel, as I kept her up at night, and never seem to reciprocate any of the love she tried to offer me. I would bite, claw, cry and writhe whenever nearby her, almost as if I was possessed by a demon.
As I grew older, I had several chances of hurting her physically. But, I knew-- oh far too well, that physical pain was not the worst kind of pain-- I made sure that she knew that I hated her, I thought she was the worst mother, I pointed out all her failures, all her mistakes, everything. As my former wife, I knew exactly which buttons to press, I knew her history, her past, and what hurt her the most, and I would press every single issue, every single moment.
As the years went by, I could see, she was nothing but a former shell of herself. The abuse throughout the years had worn her down. She had no one anymore that loved her, as I had spread rumors and destroyed every relationship she had ever had. Every lover, friend or family that once cared about her, now kept their distance. I saw that my former strategy had diminishing effects, and so, I shifted everything around.
On her 40th birthday, I greeted her in bed, with breakfast, and a smile, as if I cherished and loved her. At first, she was suspicious and confused. But as the weeks turned to months, and finally having not just someone, *but her own child*, show her love, compassion and support-- she started to flourish like a flower again. She regained her confidence, I urged her to start dating, helped her find friends, would get her back on her feet.
She seemed genuinely happy, and loved life, for the first time in years-- almost a decade.
I woke up all of a sudden, and all I could see Satan standing in front of me. His face, he looked halfway between scared and impressed, he welcomed me. I thanked him for the opportunity he gave me, he gave a simply nod of approval, and showed me where I belong, now that my soul belonged to him.
My final act, as the child of my former wife? I had committed suicide, with meticulously written diaries, notes and videos excrutiatingly detailing every kind of abuse, torture and horror that my mom had allegedly done to me, and called the police in the final moments before I ended my life, not just blaming her, but including her new spouse. As her dreams were finally coming true of an idyllic loving family-life, I tore it all down again, she lost her only loving child, got thrown in prison for things she didn't do, lost her spouse, and everyone she cared about once again all turned their backs, as my stories about her abuse became known among friends and family.
As I stepped down to the pits of hell, even Satan felt uneasy with the haunting grin on my face. | Stu understood how it came to this; understood why she did what she did. MI5's top minds don't have much left to give to their relationships or personal lives -- between frequent travels to the States and the demands of the lab, it's no wonder his bed and home had grown cold;
But "understand" and "forgive" are too far apart in most dictionaries.
As his coat flapped in the uncharacteristic wind, he paused. He wasn't sure if this would work. Men of science don't often fall for parlour tricks; but he'd read a bit of Dante at university, and it made enough sense once reason was dulled by hate. *"What else do I have to live for?"*, he thought to himself as he ended his climb towards the highest spire of the Albert. As he pushed his form skyward, Stu uttered as he was told: "Pape Satan, Pape Satan, Aleppe!"
A cold slam, a ringing in his ears diminished to deaf black; if Stu was capable of knowing anything in that state, the thought would be that he was gone.
Eyes thrust wide, Stu found himself in an odd place; some sort Admissions Line. He waited for his turn at a stall, asking the ticketmaster, "Where am I?" A gaunt, exhausted man rolled his dead eyes at the question he'd likely heard thousands of times that day.
"Welcome to the Gates of Hell Renaissance Faire: the Worst Renaissance Faire in Existence."
Stu almost managed a laugh, leaning in for clarification, "Excuse me? Hell is...a Ren Faire?" The man again rolled his eyes, his words snapping with an upward and facetious vigor, "Not just a Ren Faire -- the WORST Ren Faire in the world. Jugglers drop their props every toss, singers are off-key every note, the jousters miss each other constantly, every bite of food turns to spiders in your mouth. The lines are long, the faces are longer, and Heinrich Himmler is King every day. A bottle of warm water costs you 8 pounds...and the mead's stale, too. Off you go."
Stu accepted his ticket and made his way through the gates. A droll place, Hell -- condemned men and women made to dress in wool outfits while the newcomers try their best to come to terms with their fate; imps demanding to be entertained on the spot; failure resulting in being dragged to some tent or shop for punishment; American tourists constantly asking you to take their picture.
Between the disbelief and needing to dodge the occasional immolated fire-eater, it took Stu several moments to remember his training -- and his reasons for being here. He began to survey his surroundings in search of resources or allies. He first tried the maps, but of course they were last year's maps and everything had been moved around. He then tried the Safety & Security Office only to learn the entire support staff were Icelandic schoolchildren who had yet to come into their own in the English language.
Just as Stu's brain began to dissect other possible avenues, a voice called to him.
"Pardon me, are you the one they call...Stewart?"
Reflexively, without care or concern for who (or what) called to him, he responded as he turned, "Please, call me Stu." His eyes met with those of a great beast -- the largest and most beautiful black stallion he had ever seen. Solid white eyes pierced through decorative armor matching the color of the coat. Stunned, Stu jumped in fear. His gaze turned to the rider, a handsome man wearing black plate armor, helmless, flowing dark locks grazing his pauldrons. "I am Allocer, Grand Duke of Hell, Commander of the 36th Legion. It is a great honor to meet you; your name carries great weight in these Festival Grounds, as do the fruits of your Earthly labors; and yet, you have offered invocation of bargain to Our Dark Lord. I am here to negotiate on His behalf."
Disbelief enshrouded Stu's expression, but was quickly overcome with glee. "Yes, yes! Of course! You see, my wife was unfaithful to me. She wasn't much able to refute it as I had discovered them in the carnal act. Had my wits been about me at the time, I'd have simply dealt away with them both then and there; but shock made me weak. I returned to my lab, my only real place of power, and immediately began to devise my revenge, and I--"
"Ah, YES!", cried Allocer, "you wish for the Dark Lord to take these two from their mortal coils and torture them! So what'll it be? Waterboarding? Kudos, by the way, on giving that one to the Americans. The rack? For you Stu, he'd even spit out Judas and have a chew at them."
Stu's smile drew slyly higher. "Actually, I would like to do it myself. And I have a very deep, curving plot to maximize pain both physical and psychological."
Allocer stammered, sheepishly asking, "What is it you want from our Dark Lord?"
"Well, you see I happen to know he is an American living in the Northeastern state of Rhode Island; in some small village in Newport County. Much to do with hard clams or something. I know they intend to marry and consummate their marriage as they so often did whilst I was away on...business. I know they intend to start a family as he advances his career in some niche manufacturing sector. I know all this the same way I knew how to reach out to you, Sir Duke."
Allocer nodded his head, prodding Stu for more. "And what do you intend our Dark Lord do with this knowledge?"
Stu continued, "I would like our Dark Lord to do as he did with Elvis Presley and Donald Trump Jr. Reincarnate me; but bolder, not just as some new evil. Give my immortal soul to the fruits of their union. I wish to 'become' their infant son, but retain all of my current ambulatory development, skills, senses, memories, intelligence, and personality. Only once their darling baby boy grows into both the world's greatest tyrant AND the progenitors of their deaths will they know the pain they deserve."
Allocer's skin pales as his eyes widen. A vulnerable crack in his voice surfaces, "I-I'm not sure I have the power to sign a Pact of Rebirth. Frankly, I was told to give you whatever you want no matter the cost -- but you'll need to see our specialist to actually undergo the ritual." He pulls the reins to the right, turning his steed around. "Come now, let me take you to Adrammelech. I'll warn you, there will be a language barrier. Damn Canaanites. He'll need to know the names of your...victims."
Stu calmly replied, "My wife's name was Lois. Her new beau goes by Peter." | 2019-09-11T22:21:26 | 2019-09-11T22:18:06 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] Seventeen years ago you summoned a demon to protect your infant daughter. Today, you regret that decision immensely. Demons should NOT be allowed to do the bidding of teenage girls. | "Oh my god, Becky! You will regret this!" Stacey shouted into her phone right before she ended the call.
"Gorthalax, deal with Becky for me!"
"Yes, mistress Stacey."
Polaria the Feared sighed as she looked at the situation unfolding through her glass sphere. When she had decided to give birth to Stacey, she did not want her to follow her path of witchery and magic. It was a tough art to learn, and even tougher to survive with. She did not know any good people who would love and take care of her daughter like it was their own. The only solution? Summon a demon with no will to take care of Stacey, and hope to God that her daughter would make the right decisions.
With a few incantations and a flurry of hand movements, Polaria begin to telepathically communicate with Gorthalax.
"Gorthalax the Insatiable, Demon of the Ninth Realm, I invoke you to follow my order as your summoner. I hereby order you to transfer Stacey to a different school."
"Yes, mistress Polaria."
"But why? I have a very high chance of becoming prom queen this year!"
"I am sorry, mistress Stacey. I have been ordered by my summoner to do so. She says it's because this is the fifth time you have gotten me to terrorise a child over a dispute you've gotten into."
"Hmph! Who is this summoner anyway and why do they care so much? It's not as if they're my mother." | Demons are the darkest, most eroding aspects of our own existence; a stained mirror that shows only the marred reflection of what we despise so greatly. Thus, when Ariella stood before me wearing the crown of the demon queen and encircled by her council of the Seven Sins, I saw not the darkness that dwelled inside her, but rather my own failure as a father.
From her ledge she looked down upon us lowly humans, her skin now made out of red brimstone and divvied like scales, the rest of her own skin now protected by this grown shell had a pink hue to it like newly formed skin. Her tail spiked akin to a Morningstar surely swayed unlike one. Her burning ember eyes pierced towards our desperate opposition.
"Ariella!" My throat ached at the effort of calling out to her, shouting above all the surrounding sounds of battle.
From my flank there pounced a four armed demon, its arms almost as long as its own body as their teeth exposed to rend and tear. Only my summoned elemental of married earth and flame protected me, a large fist of molten rock running through the heavy crags like veins.
"We must retreat, Summoner," said my contracted elemental. I looked about myself, the hurried forces of races all about Vranth was supposed to be opposing beacon of hope, tribes usually locked in perpetual hate for one another joined under one ideal--how easily my daughter dismantled us all.
Upon this broken mountain side our forces fell, warriors with sun-blades and mages overrun. Our own renegade group of Infernalists torn limb from limb by the very beings we were known to control.
Upon the Devil'sTooth, a fang of rocky stone jutting from the sea, we slowly began to retreat towards our boats and back towards our ships. The sea itself also grew temperamental, waves crashing onto jutting stone and threatening to sink our ships. So easily our alliance was shattered. I looked again towards my daughter as she spun to turn away, clad in a deep devilish robe. Her council of seven joined her, receding into the tunneled network dug inside the mountain.
It was all I could do to maintain my composure, directing men back towards the ships. The horn sounded. More and more of us fell back but the demons pursued.
Yet with all this pandemonium unfurling about us, my gaze still lingered upon the high cliff where I saw Ariella look upon us, upon me, with such contempt. If only I had been there for her.
Azier, my summoned spirit pulled me off my feet and with a strong arm tossed me forward. My impact was broken by a six armed water-elemental, a product of Raine's spell. Immediately I was submerged with the elemental's body before being pushed out the other side.
**"Leave!"** Azier bellowed. Immediately my spirit stuck their stony fingers into the ground below. A moment later large pointed thorns pierced from the ground, some piercing through the body of the approaching demons, but the true purpose behind it was to create a blockade.
Raine approached from behind me, grabbing me by the collar and forcing my eyes onto him. "We have to go! Azier will be fine!" Reluctantly, I turned and ran with whatever surviving force we were able to save. Raine's own water elemental stayed behind, the six arms swinging--or rather whipping-- scimitar's from boneless appendages in a whirldwind of cuts and blades. Yet soon enough, even Raine's own creation was overrun.
"Hurry!" Men called at a bottlenecked portion of the shore. The sea seemed to grow evermore tempestuous as the waves themselves gained in height. We realized soon enough it had nothing to do with the sea.
From below the depths there came a leviathan, another beast beholden to my daughter. This creature with jutting and pointed head alone seemed to be even of greater size than Devil'sTooth itself. Making the destruction of our fleet an easy task as its razor ancient teeth bit down on our only way home.
\*\*\*
/r/KikiWrites | 2021-03-25T05:25:13 | 2021-03-25T03:26:58 | 1,119 | 114 |
[WP] You're sound asleep. A bright flash wakes you. A haggard and futuristic version of yourself stumbles out of the closet "I don't have much time. Listen to me, trust the intergalactic spider queen." Your double disappears in a flash and is replaced by a giant fanged spider wearing a pink tiara. | "Hello," the spider queen said with a clean broadcast voice of a radio personality. "Perry has told me a lot of good things about you."
"Uh, I'm Perry."
"Yes, I'm well aware."
I stared at the massive spider with my eyes bulging so much I thought they'd roll out of my head. "So, uh, my future self told you, uh, good things about my younger self?"
"Indeed."
"Like... what?"
"That you kicked in a high school bathroom stall door while your friend was in the middle of depositing waste."
My face turned red. "Oh. Uh, yeah, uh, we were just messing around."
"And that you tripped over a group of friends that were in the middle of a high speed dancing line. And that you would scream obscenities in the hallways of your school and then you would blame it on your friends, getting them in trouble. You also deposited your leftover food on your locker partner's belongings, ruining their side of the locker. And..."
The spider kept listing all of my pranks. But I can no longer hear her. My blood ran cold. This was the moment I dreaded that I knew would come. All of my friends told me that karma would catch up with me, and it finally has. I was about to be devoured by this massive space spider that inched closer to my bed. "Why did I tell you all of that? Those are horrible things I've done! Look I'm really sorry about all of it! I don't know what to tell you, I'm just a kid in high school. I'm super dumb, I've yet to mature! Just give me a chance! Please don't eat me!"
The spider's head bobbed and giggled. "Perry, you've toned the behavior down a little too much with your older age. It's probably a good thing, yes, but we're in need of someone who is capable of pranking the current intergalactic villain, Rossloz who's causing a lot of problems in space. We just can't get a step ahead of him, but Perry said when he was younger he could've, I mean, *you* could've helped. So we've simply did a little time bending to reach you. What do you say? Do you think you could help us with Rossloz?"
I pinched myself a dozen times, thinking I was in the middle of a dream. But it all felt too real. "I literally have no idea if I can help you or not. This sounds absolutely insane."
"Old Perry said that we could sweeten the deal to you by telling you that you won't have to attend school for about a month."
I dropped my jaw. "I actually like school. That's when I can do all of my pranks and be my idiot self! I don't want my senior year to be taken up by this insane spider. Thanks, but no thanks."
The queen spider tilted her head. "Old Perry did tell you that I was coming, right? He did tell you to trust me, right? And do as I say? I'm just trying to be polite here."
"My older self didn't even have a conversation with me. He just told me to trust you and disappeared in a flash. Hardly any warning at all! It felt like a dream it happened to so fast."
"Mmm, yeah, well, I'm sorry, but we're going to need you to help us with Rossloz. And then we can drop you off in whatever timeline you prefer after you help us."
"What if I can't catch him? I don't know anything about space villains!"
"Well, if you can't help us with Rossloz, your older self agreed that you would die. Or, both of you would die."
"WHAT! That's bull crap! I didn't agree to this!" I roared. "Mom! Dad! Help me!" I jumped out of my bed and sprinted towards my door but my leg was gripped by a tight clench and I was thrown back to my bed.
"I'm actually kidding, don't worry, you're not going to die," the spider said. "I'm going to take very good care of you." the spider giggled.
But I didn't even register what she said, I was still having an anxiety attack. I legitimately thought I was going to die.
"I'm terribly sorry about this, but I do have to bite you to bring you back to our station," the spider said politely.
I screamed and screamed. *Where are my parents? Where are my parents?* I was pinned down on the bed by the spider legs, and then the queen spider lowered her head and bit my chest.
I was expecting a rush of pain, but instead it was a rush of elation. All at once I felt everything in the universe, and then nothing. The nerves all over my body felt like they exploded, but I could taste the air around me with every part of my body. It was the most magical sensation, but it ended in a matter of seconds, like waking up from a sleep.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in a room with fluffy orange carpet inside a massive dome of glass like a snow globe, except I could see the beauty of outer space. Stars, planets, galaxies... It was breathtaking.
"Glad you can make it, I could really use your help," my older self said next to me.
"You bastard," I uttered.
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/o1c8jb/wp_youre_sound_asleep_a_bright_flash_wakes_you_a/)
r/randallcooper | My room is dark but still I see her in the spot where my double stood a moment before. Or at least I think she’d been my double? She’d looked exactly like me, except she had no eyes — just two dark holes.
I hear her chittering, this giant spider in a pink tiara. The constant bone-chatter of her fangs is like wind rustling a dulled xylophone: *ting, ting, ting.* I imagine them sinking venomously into me.
She climbs a wall and huddles in the corner opposite me, but even then her legs continue pumping, noosing strands of silk together.
&#x200B;
My double appeared only a few moments before the spider. She’d stepped through the wall and whatever moonlight had been shining on her outside my home still radiated from her, like a rock that keeps the day’s warmth for a time even after the sun‘s fallen.
”Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m you, from the future,” said my eyeless double. “I’m from just before everything goes black. Before the spider queen knits her web over all the stars and smothers them silent. Before the universe is eaten.”
I‘d sat up in my bed. My arm moved to where my husband used to sleep; patted the area as if trying to wake his ghost. I wanted to ask him if he saw it too? If i was dreaming? I wanted the possibility of him holding me.
”The spider queen can only enter your reality if there’s a portal,” said my double. “She needs a very deep and very silent darkness. Do you understand?”
”Spider queen?”
”Yes. The spider queen needs your help to make the universe end,” said my double. “To help knit her web. Listen, I don’t have much time because the blackness has already taken me and I’m just an echo of the future you. But she is coming, the spider queen in her tiara. And she will destroy you if you let her, like she did me.”
”I don’t understand,” I said.
”Look carefully at her crown.”
”Her crown?”
But my double burst apart. She inflated in half-a-second, her skin turning moonlight-pale, her eyes bulging, and then: dust. She exploded in a plume of dust that drifted through the bedroom like a million tiny stars.
And as it settled, the spider queen arrived. Perhaps she’d travelled through the stardust.
&#x200B;
I look at her now as she knits her web in the corner of my room. She has many eyes circling her head like a compass with a hundred arrows.
“I smell you,” she says, in a voice as quiet and soft as despair itself. “Lying in your bed. But soon my dear, you will be dead.”
”What are you?” I ask.
”Didn’t the girl tell you? That sneaky little sneak who tried to change the bleak, bleak, bleak to come.”
I thought of my double‘s words. ”You’re the spider queen. The queen with the tiara who will web the light from the universe. That’s what she said.”
”The very same,” she says, and her voice soothes me now like it‘s a lullaby, or like it’s Prozac flooding through my ears and into my brain.
”That’s it my darling,” she says. “You sleep. You rest. Sleep for you is for the best.”
My eyes begin to close. My mind drifts. Red stardust travels the inside of my eyelids and I am far away from everything.
*She will destroy you if you let her.*
I jerk awake, gulping for breath.
”Pity,” she says.
She has a large web now surrounding her so that I couldn’t get near even if I wanted to. ”You’re not taking me,” I say defiantly.
”Why? Why not let me?”
And that, I realise, is the question she has come here to ask me. And one I don’t have an answer for. Back when Nathan was alive I would have said: love; love is why I won’t let you. That’s why I will fight.
But now that half of the bed is cold.
And instead of an open book on the bedside table, like had rested there for all those years, bottles and pills lie beside my lamp.
*Light*. I need light. If I light up the room I’ll see the spider as only shadows and I’ll know she isn’t real. Only in the darkness of wherever I am can she be real.
The lamp clicks but no light arrives. The bulb’s long dead — perhaps I never bothered replacing it. I don’t read anymore so I haven’t needed it. These days, I prefer to lie complacently in darkness.
”No reason, is what you have,” says the spider queen, and her teeth chatter in stabs of laughter. The web is somehow expanding out now, slinking down the wall, pushing towards me.
It‘s only a matter of time until it catches me.
“You don’t even remember your own name,” says the spider queen as the net undulates towards me as if it were a white wave coming to drown me. “Pathetic.”
My name?
I am... Was...
Who am I anymore?
She skitters across her web until I can feel her breath on my face. Hot and rank like a dead animal left to bake in the midday sun. She is ready to devour me.
For the first time, I see the tiara on her head properly.
A pretty, beautiful tiara. Familar.
“Arabesque,” I say.
The spider queen pauses warily. Her many eyes turn to look at me.
“Back when I did ballet. Back when my legs were thin as yours. I’d pirouette and laugh as my mother clapped.” I saw myself back then, that pretty little girl with the future glowing in her tiny hands.
Slowly, the spider queen skuttles back, just a few paces.
”I knew nothing of loss back then. Nothing of darkness.”
I hear the queen squeal.
”I only knew light. And now I remember it.”
The burning brightness radiates from the spider queen. From the tiara on her head. A memory of the girl I once was, that I’d forgotten or lost in the sticky web of life that gradually takes us, bit by little bit. But now I tear chunks of trapped memory away from her web.
She screams from the corner as she burns from the tiara’s fire, as I remember who I was long before the light dimmed. As I remember who I am still, this girl who had been buried in the darkness, who needed a shovel to rise back up to the surface. I was loved and did love, back then. As I was by Nathan later, although it’d become easy to forget.
”Love,” I say. “That *is* why I will fight. It might be gone for me in the present, but it exists in my heart and memory. And in that way it does exist in the now.”
The lamp by my bed bursts into life.
The spider’s gone.
Not even her web remains.
I have defeated her.
No...
No, that’s not right, is it? There was no one here to defeat. Because they were both me, my double and the queen.
The spider queen had been a distorted past and present; a part of me that had been wrapping a suffocating cocoon about my own eyes since Nathan died.
And my double... her last gasp effort to warn me.
I know she’s still there, the spider queen, still waiting for the darkness.
But it has to be a very deep, a very silent darkness for her to be able to enter — that’s what my double said. And I will try my best never to let it get that dark again. If that’s possible.
And I think it is possible, as long as I hold on very tightly to the memories. Never let them fall back into her invisible web.
I sit up in my bed now, fully awake, sweating, breathing hard, realising how very close I’d come to being devoured. | 2021-06-16T08:00:40 | 2021-06-16T06:55:54 | 640 | 215 |
[WP] The dragon "kidnaps" the princess so they can go on their dates. The knight intentionally take as long as possible to "rescue" the princess. To both give them time to enjoy themselves. But also to spend time with his crush. The sorcerer. | Princess Julia arranged her hair into the high conical hat before taking another look in the mirror. As she was tucking the last bit of braid under the veil, the mirror began to swirl with a foggy image. A red-eyed visage stared forth at her, rows of sharp teeth plunging out of a long snout. A snarl issued forth from the mirror.
"Draco!" the princess hopped back in surprise. "What are you doing? Don't call me on the home mirror, dad might sense it."
The smoke-dark dragon's snarl twisted into a laugh. "Then keep your compact mirror on. I've been trying to call you for an hour. I'm almost there."
The princess grabbed her compact from the dressing table and clicked it open. The magic was dim. "Oops. Sorry. I'll be down in a minute."
She slipped the compact into the pocket of her dress and ran out the bedroom door and down the tower's spiral stairs. When she got to the bottom, she slowed to a walk. The door to her father's study was cracked open. She could hear her mother's soft voice inside distracting him as she slipped past.
She stood in front of the castle gates and opened her compact. The mirror shifted from her own face to the face of the dragon. "Okay, Draco. I'm ready."
\-----------------------------------
Duke Razuta the Immortal was drinking his nightly breakfast to the soothing sound of his wife's voice when he heard the scream. "What is that girl doing now? Mina, send one of the servants to check on her."
Mina stopped singing. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll go check on it myself." As she ran out of the room, the Duke heard a large crash. He downed the last of his breakfast in a single gulp and floated after her.
The entry hall was in disarray when he arrived. The gates were open, blasting the room with cold air. The Duke could see new claw marks scratched into the stone floor, layered over the old claw marks. "That dragon has kidnapped her again."
His wife stood near the gate talking with two young men. He floated over to hear them, but as he approached Mina turned to him. "My Lord Duke, these young men saw the whole incident. It seems that the dragon has kidnapped Princess Julia once again. It is a tragedy."
The duke floated stoically. "Not a tragedy. It's simple tradition. In my day a decent princess was kidnapped at least once a month. Far too little of it nowadays if you ask me. It's not right for princesses to go off and be independent. We'll just get a knight to go rescue her."
The taller of the two young men stepped forward at these words. "Your Grace, I happened to be a knight. And my companion here is a sorcerer. We saw the dragon approach your castle and pursued it, but were too late to stop the kidnapping. It would be our honor to rescue your daughter."
"Ah, a fine young traditionalist I see. I approve. You'll receive the standard reward of her weight in silver when she is returned."
The young man bowed. "Yes, your grace. Could we perhaps have some ready money for expenses during our pursuit?"
\-----------------------------------
Julia perched on top of Draco at the edge of the forest and watched the knight and sorcerer run out the castle gates. When they came even with her hiding spot, she called out in a loud whisper. "Over here. Did you get the money?"
The knight and sorcerer crawled on top of the dragon. "Sure did. Let's go. The concert starts in an hour."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | The rising of the new moon meant it was time. Aurica would be kidnapped right at midnight like she had every month for the past year. The kidnapper was known to all as the great dragon Sylvierania. The knight, Heath Kingsblade and the sorcerer Oliver Moonwind would set up the protective area around the castle tower like clockwork, knowing they couldn't stop the kidnapping itself.
At least that was what the public knew. Secretly the princess was letting herself be kidnapped by the dragon. The first time it had happened was genuine, but the month the two had spent in close company had fostered an affection between the two and the princess had fallen in love with the dragon, who she called Sylvie.
The kidnapping was a ruse. Sylvie had obtained an amulet with Aurica's help that allowed her to take a semi-human form for a week at a time and with that it allowed them to go on dates.
Heath had reluctantly agreed to the arrangement, making sure he and Oliver took their time 'rescuing' the princess. It suited Heath well enough. After all, his affections were no for anyone but Oliver. The sorcerer had no idea of Heath's affection, but one day Heath would figure out a way to admit it.
Aurica squeed with joy as her love flew up to the tower and took her away. She loved the feel of Sylvie's scales against her skin, having admitted to the dragon that the feeling made her core tingle. There had been nights of fooling around, but only once the dragon had attained the amulet had the princess and her done anything more.
"I have a surprise for you Sylvie, when we get back to your roost."
"What is that my sweet?"
"You will see." Aurica smiled as she leaned closer to Sylvie's back, nuzzling at the scales in front of her, placing kisses at the seams.
The journey did not take overly long and upon arrival, Sylvie tapped at the charmed jewel that turned her mostly human. Her non dragon form had small patches of scales and she still had her tail, but the rest of her was a rather attractive form.
Aurica always had a hard time taking her eyes off of Sylvie after the change. It always left her girlfriend naked for a moment and Aurica felt a pull towards her.
Sylvie dressed and smiling at Aurica, kissed her before asking. "You had something you wanted to tell me?"
\-------------------------
The forests were home for Oliver and he never minded being so close to Heath. It made him feel safe.
Heath knew to take as long as possible getting Aurica back. He had never failed, so the king did not care how long it took each time. The only part of this whole farce he disliked was having to listen to Aurica's stories of her dates and lurid details of her love life. He had no interest in women much less their love lives.
Heath let out a heavy sigh as he looked around for a spot to tent for the fifth time that week. Nothing seemed to be the perfect spot.
"Is something the matter Heath?" Oliver asked. His voice was music to Heath's ears
Heath's thoughts said *"Yeah, you're not sleeping with me"* Heath's voice said, "No, just can't find a spot to make camp."
Oliver felt like there was more to what Heath was saying. "Are you sure that's it?"
Heath sighed loudly again. He would have to tell Oliver sooner or later, or these trips would become more and more awkward.
"I have a...not so passing romantic interest in you Oliver. I find you attractive, smart and I would like it if you would honor me by being my..." Heath stumbled over the last word. "Boyfriend."
\------------------
Aurica smiled at Sylvie and dropped to one knee, pulling out a set of rings, one more human sized and the other fit only for a dragon, diamonds shining in each.
"Would you, Sylvierania Goddess among dragon kind, marry me?"
\------------------
Oliver was taken by surprise at the request. He had wondered, but to hear it made something within him sing.
"Yes Heath. I can do that. I've always wondered what it was I had felt for you and now I know. I love you, good knight Heath Kingsblade."
Heath swept the smaller man into his arms, and without hesitation kissed him full on the lips.
"As I love you, Sorcerer Oliver Moonwind."
\----------------
Sylvie had felt like she had been waiting for this day. She wiped away tears of happiness as she smiled. "Oh gods yes Aurica. I will gladly be your wife."
Aurica stood and slipped the appropriate ring onto Sylvie's finger. Aurica then kissed her new fiancée.
\------------
The remaining month finishing the rescue had seen both couples deepen their relationship. Aurica and Sylvie had figured out how to make Sylvie's amulet last longer than the one week, making it act more like a switching stone to go from human to dragon. The other celebrations they had engaged in were incredibly intimate, fully gaining a total understanding of each other in every way.
Heath and Oliver were on the other end of the trail to romance, still feeling the other out. Displays of affection were becoming common between them. It wasn't until the last days of the journey did they venture into the realm of intimate contact.
\--------------
Aurica was beaming as she saw Heath and Oliver come over the small rise in the forest where she had agreed to meet them. Normally she was alone but this time she had brought Sylvie with her. Tinkering with the amulet had gained it the ability to hide Sylvie's more dragon-like traits, giving her the appearance of a relatively normal young woman.
Heath smiled, hand in hand with Oliver as he noticed the woman with Aurica. "Greetngs Princess Aurica. Is that Sylvierania?"
"Yes and she is now my Fiancée so she will accompany us on our return. I see you and Oliver have admitted you feelings for one another."
"It seems we both got something new this time."
"I think this will be the last date for a while."
"Yes, I think so too Princess. But I feel like our stories are just starting." | 2022-02-22T09:22:02 | 2022-02-22T08:41:59 | 182 | 69 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | His hands clasped and sweaty, his eyes large and pleading, he managed to choke out the words.
"Will you be my wedding date?"
Only a keen observer might have noticed her lips part in surprise before curving smoothly into her easy, devilish smile.
"Sure."
=============
Truth be told, Arabella Nave was dizzy with rapture, enough to make her unsteady when she stood up from her desk. Had Cassel Barnes, The Cassel Barnes, really just asked her to be his wedding date? Because his ex will be there?? She giggled with glee.
"Oh Cassel, Cassel," she murmured as she took out a picture of his face from her desk drawer. It was a newspaper clipping that she had framed of him smiling at the camera with his All American blonde hair tousled by a breeze and his light blue eyes shining at the camera. Under his beautiful freckled face was the headline "Superhero Cassel Can't Be Beat". Of course, she had burned little cigarette holes into his eyes and had scratched out the apostrophe t in "Can't" so that it now read "Superhero Cassel Can Be Beat." She stroked the words with her fingers. Who was this ex of his that frightened him so much? Frightened him More than Arabella Nave? Or had his stupid brain somehow forgotten that she was his nemesis? Well, she would have to remind him, wouldn't she? Lovers come and go, but a nemesis is forever. | Meanwhile in Sam Carter aka Solar Flare’s apartment…
“WTH, i’m sending it…” whoosh, ding. Sam said to himself as he was sitting on his working desk alone fidgeting his phone.
Suddenly, the shadow on the corner of his office room welled and grew as it takes into a humanoid form. It dashes towards Sam and hit the desk so loud. “What is this? Are f*cking with me?” The shadow humanoid held a phone on Sam’s face.
“No!” He immediately said. “I, I, uh, I really want to ask you to be my plus one in Silver-Quick’s wedding…”
The shadow humanoid now taking his human form, with his arms crossed on his chest. Staring expectantly towards Sam. “Why me?” He said in monotone.
“My ex, Shadow Knight will be there and I wanted him to get jealous by bringing the real deal.” Sam embarrassingly answered.
“Shadow Knight is your ex? Hmm, interesting.”
“Please be my plus one, Tartarus!” Sam begged.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re up to Sam but I like some drama in my life. And if we are doing this, better start calling me, Terry.”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Terry!”
“Oh dear, you need to buy me some clothes. Pick me up tomorrow by 8 in the morning.” Tartarus suddenly dissolved into the shadow.
Come the wedding day…
“What is taking you so long, Terry? We’re going to be late!” Sam starts to be agitated since the ceremony would start in less than an hour and Terry is still not yet dressed.
“Dear, you should stop absorbing too much sunlight. It’s becoming too annoying. I always arrived the last!” Terry replied.
“Okay, but can we atleast be there before the ceremony even starts?”
“Alright, alright! Are you ready?” Terry came out of his room in his penthouse. Wearing a shimmering black chiffon long sleeve polo, paired with a white corset-like cummerbund belt with black geometrical pattern prints. A shimmering white tux with similar black pattern prints on the arms and hem part paired with wide white satin pants with similar patterns on the side from waist trailing down. His shoulder length hair was tightly brushed backwards, sealed with hairspray.
Sam was so amazed on how Terry looks, he was speechless. Terry was wearing white in contrast to what Sam was wearing, which is a plain black suit and pants on top of white long sleeve with bow tie. Terry offered his hands towards Sam. And as Sam held his hand. The penthouse dissolves around them, and they are now standing at the entrance of the venue.
Sam placed Terry’s hands over his elbow and gestures him to go first. All the other guests were staring at the pair. Supers, Villains and humans alike, the wedding was literally a truce event. Black Knight was with Wild Tiger staring at the two.
“Let him stare.” Terry whispered to Sam.
After the wedding, during the reception…
“Sam.” Black Knight approached Sam as he was congratulating Silver Quick and his wife.
“Oh hi, Ben.” Sam acknowledged his presence as the newly wed leaves.
“How are you?” Ben asked.
“I, I’m fine. I’m actually great. How ‘bout you?” Sam answered.
“Same, same. That’s good to know.” Ben awkwardly said.
“I see you are with Wild Tiger. You’re dating?”
“Oh yeah, Trevor. No, I uh, just invited him to be my plus one. Look, I still like…”
Terry suddenly appeared from the shadows and immediately grabbed Sam’s arms to turn him towards him. “Here you are. I was looking for you the whole time.” Then kissed Sam on the lips with no warnings. Sam was shocked.
“Oh hi there, Ben. Sorry if i’m interrupting your conversation. Sam and I actually needs to go now, right Sam?” Terry said looking at Sam.
Sam was too shocked to say anything but just nod in agreement.
“Bye, Ben!” Terry then kissed Sam once again and both of them melted into the shadows.
Fin… | 2022-10-06T19:49:26 | 2022-10-06T18:55:35 | 106 | 71 |
[WP] The world's population receives a message that in 10 hours their minds will be 'shuffled', with everyone's mind being transported to another random body anywhere else on earth, of roughly the same age but with no other defined characteristics. What happens?
Additional information if you want more inspiration! The same message could inform everyone that if people are touching someone as the 'shuffle' takes place, both people's minds will appear in bodies as close to each other as possible.
Edit: I had this idea and thought I'd see what people could make with it. I wasn't expecting so many interesting responses, keep up the good work all! | It was going to happen any minute. She'd managed to work herself into a sitting position on her bed, the massive weight of her supported by the bed frame behind her. Ten hours hadn't been a long time to prepare for this. She'd cleaned up and tried her best to make things presentable, but it was hard. She wasn't moving as well as she used to, these days.
People said to exercise, but how do you do that when you can barely stand? She wanted to walk down the block without needing to stop for air. She wanted to swim and ride a bicycle and jog and do everything that she'd doomed herself never to do, with the little choices she'd made every day up until that moment. This was her chance at a fresh start. A clean slate. A do-over. And she wouldn't make the same mistakes again.
She couldn't help but feel bad for whoever shuffled into her body. How long had she felt trapped inside her own skin? Her weight was an oppressive force that she couldn't imagine escaping. She'd been cycling between self-contempt, self-hatred, and self-pity for years and years now. Now was her chance to escape. She wasn't even afraid or worried about which body she would get shuffled into.
Anything would be better than this. She tried not to feel bad. Maybe the person who got stuck in this body would be stronger. Maybe they would overcome the things she never could.
Any moment now, everything would change.
She lifted a hand to wipe at one of the relieved tears that streamed down her face, and that was when it happened. Her eyes blinked closed and in the next moment, she was somewhere else. She was someone else.
Her eyes opened. All she saw was the white ceiling over her head. The first thing she heard was a steady beeping. She tried to open her mouth to speak but found that her body ignored every signal that her brain tried to send. Move, she begged her jaw. It did not. Please, she pleaded with her arms, but they stayed on the bed. This was a different kind of prison entirely.
Miles and miles away, the man who'd been paralyzed from the neck down since an accident five years ago woke up in her body. He lifted his new arm, surprised and maybe just a little bit delighted at the weight of it.
"I can work with this." | President Petty paced around the oval office. It had been 9 hours and 55 minutes since the warning came and the technological anarchists had finally succeeded. Although no one knew who they were, everyone knew what they were capable of.
"Society is doomed," he thought.
Petty was on the phone with Harry Livingston, the prince of Whales, when the message came. As if all the other sound in the world were put on mute, a deep and stern voice boomed through the air and said "The Tribe of Technological Anarchists is informing you that in 10 hours time, your conscious mind will randomly be swapped with the conscious mind of someone else on earth. You will assume control over their body and their possessions. Everyone will be affected. Message over."
The world was used to these threats ever since the TOTA gained telepathic message transmission technology. Typically, they were idol and only meant to stir up fear and chaos in an otherwise mundane society.
A knock on the door startled Petty, and he reached for his pistol that was shoved between his belt on his lower back. He had Brent Myers bring him a standard order, Secret Service pistol, 2 hours after the message. It seemed that the people of Washington wanted answers. He could still hear them screaming around perimeter of the White House while the army kept them at bay. Petty wondered why the military still protected him. "Such mindless drones," he thought.
"Come in," Petty said sternly.
A tall slender woman with jet black hair tied tightly in a bun walked confidently into the room. She held a black leather briefcase in her right hand and a key in her left. She laid both onto the table before looking at the president.
"I know I shouldn't be questioning you, but are you sure this is what you have to do?"
Petty glared at her. It was so easy for her to question his choice. Billions of people will die at his hands and she isn't the one who will have to live with the consequences.
He gave her a quick nod and asked her to leave. He had 2 minutes until the swap and his timing was to be precise. The atomic clock stood on his desk counting downwards.
Growing up, Petty was born into poverty. His mother did her best to provide for them, but she died when he was young. The orphanages were modern day slave houses and he hated them. When he ran away for good, Petty finally saw people for what they were. A begging teenager was not fit for society and people ignored him. He despised the business men who walked by him in their Armani suits. He despised the shop keepers who wouldn't give him bread when he had barely enough energy to walk. He despised the police who harassed him when he was trying to sleep on the benches. Yet, over time he persevered.
Programming came easy to him. The public library was the one place he could go and not be bothered by the people of the world who so desperately wanted him to disappear. Years were spent with Petty closed off, perfecting his craft. He applied to a programming position with Ravene Military Systems and worked his way up for years before anyone in the government knew of his abilities. It was after programming the technology for the curving bullet that he received a call from commander Frile asking him to join the army. It was a long road from military programmer to the President of the free world, but he did it.
Petty opened the briefcase and inserted the key into the lock. A screen turned on with "Password:" appearing in the middle. Petty entered TOTA2v3atomtransfer#T-10execute into his keyboard.
The clock counted down... 10...9...8...7...6...
The elite would finally know what it was like to struggle. Business men, shopkeepers, law enforcement, lobbyists, oil tycoons, and people all over the world would have to start over. It is the great equalizer, Petty thought. He hoped he lived somewhere warm when his body was swapped. He hoped he was a kid again.
...5...4...3...2...1
Petty pressed enter and felt a tingle as the world faded to black. He woke up in a leaky shack with a Buddah statue sitting on the wall. "It could be worse," he thought as he remembered the orphanage. Everything was silent.
His surprisingly strong body walked outside as people all over the village tried to figure out who they now were. "Oh my god!," one man boasted. "I'm free!" Petty assumed he was in jail previously. It didn't matter now. Everyone in the jails would have to be released since they weren't the actual ones who committed the crimes.
Right then, a girl who looked no older than 7 came up to him. She spoke feverishly as she explained that she had cancer and needed her medication. Petty wanted to assure her that her cancer was now gone, but he didn't. He laughed. He laughed because no one else was and as the leader of TOTA, he liked it that way. | 2014-05-17T13:01:35 | 2014-05-17T11:53:24 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] The devil enters into a contract, and over time slowly realizes that *he* is actually the one being manipulated by it. | There once was a man named Lucifer,
Whose cable bill caused him to go nuclear.
So one desperate day, he called up Comcast to say hey...
is there a better deal I could receive for the future?
The agent was nice, and with out thinking twice,
He agreed to a bundle at "One low monthly price."
Now just to be clear, he asked one more time...
Xfinity is $49.99 for 105Mbps, HBO, and not one more dime?
Yes! Said the agent, I have locked you in...
you're rates won't change he said with a grin....
So, a few months later, upon bill number thrice,
Lucifer saw evils true form; a change in the price.
| As Roger's blood dripped on the smoky parchment, I gleefully waved him off. Telling him to enjoy his earthly riches. I considered the implications. What did he have? Fifty years? maybe less? Ha. people surprise me in their naivety. their innate ability to ignore the storm coming tomorrow, just so they can enjoy the breeze today.
When he returned to his new owner, I would teach him the meaning of pain. I would get every penny's worth from his flesh, and then I would take it again. and again and again. What a lovely investment. The greedy are my favorite. As if their green paper and lofty accounts will save them. they waste their lives hoarding and holding everyone at bay, and in the end, they come to me. People surprise me in their naivety.
I returned to my chambers and watched his life unfold. The first Roger did was buy a shotgun. An odd choice...Most people pay debts, some pay medical bills. I remember one fool who signed to heal his wife. Cancer is one of my favorite beasts. It will eat away at even the strongest of souls. I healed her and she happened to die in a car accident a week later. Sometimes I just get lucky. no one escapes my grasp, though. He came shortly after at his own hand. but Roger.. Who signs their soul over for $1,000?
He spent almost all of it, between the shotgun, the shells, a pack of cigarettes and a nice lunch. He gave his change to a homeless man. Ha! Does he think a final act of benevolence can save him? Did he not know he was mine? I couldn't understand. Your everlasting soul for a Remington Magnum and some camels? I wanted to see what led him to this point. I looked back and saw that he was a broken man. Roger had a brother. Murdered in cold blood. hmm. perhaps he is plotting his revenge. Hell is full of the vengeful. I jumped forward to today. Two hours before he summoned me.
Roger is sitting in a room with the lights off. as he wipes a tear from his face I can see he is holding a pistol. He repeatedly puts it in his moth and removes it. Obviously struggling with the idea of suicide, he finally lays the pistol on the mattress and spoke the words into existence.
"Not like this." I heard him think it before I knew him. The sounds of desperation call to me. I can hear them from every corner of earth and the sound pleases my ear. but why so desperate for a shotgun? I checked in on Roger and couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Roger sat again in the dimly lit bedroom with his brand new shotgun in his lap. He calmly loaded one shell into the breach and pumped the action. He opened his mouth, put the barrel in in and with one shoeless foot, used his bog toe to blow himself into oblivion.
He arrived back before me, looking rather smug. I was stunned. I asked him, trying my damnedest not to allude to my confusion.
"Why, Roger? you were going to kill yourself anyway... Why waste your last moments dealing with satan?"
Roger said one thing before I led him to receiving:
"I'm just thorough." | 2015-02-18T09:06:59 | 2015-02-18T06:22:13 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| Mortals are not permitted to foresee their own death.
That was the only truth I'd gleaned from my years of these warnings popping up everywhere. It doesn't work with mirrors or anything - nothing appears when I don't look at a person directly. I can't look up to see my own - nothing's there. It's haunted me. Every time a warning is something that isn't isolated - mass shootings, fires, explosions, contagious diseases. . . I would feel this incredible panic, and try to flee as quickly as possible. Nothing ever happened; these people all must be dying when I'm not around. I've never actually seen someone die. I just hear it on the news, or from a friend.
I know people will die. I don't know when, I don't know where, but I know how. Every single person I've ever met, without fail. Then, one day, they changed. They started to flicker, like a TV set to static. One by one they became illegible, until most of Grand Central Station was filled with these disturbing signs. I didn't panic. I'd spent most of my life running from these signs, trying to make sure I wouldn't get caught up in them.
But today, I felt something different. I felt peace. I looked around, at all of these flickering signs, and I knew.
Mortals cannot foresee their own death.
Whatever was going to happen to all of these people, was going to happen to me as well. I scanned the crowd, looking for signs that were still visible. The people waiting for the train near me still had signs; they would survive. The next platform over was not so fortunate.
The survivors' train leaves in just three minutes. The other, in eight. Sometime within those five minutes, we will all die. Something, someone, somewhere in this station is the cause of death for all of us. Too many flickering signs. They obscure my vision - I can't see the ones still visible. I need to get higher.
I climb the stairs. If it's a time-bomb, three minutes won't be enough to convince everyone to leave. Not even a fire alarm could empty Grand Central that fast. It has to be a detonator. Please, let it be someone in this building. Please.
There's too many signs. Too much static. I can't see. I can't see!
I start climbing up the side of a booth. A nearby guard shouts at me to get down. I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat. He approaches, and raises his weapon. That's when I see his sign. It flickers more than the rest, as if his fate isn't necessarily tied to theirs. I stare in confusion for a moment, then continue scanning the crowd. The guard doesn't matter.
That's when I see it. The sign that I've seen countless times before. The only sign that I've ever interfered with, the only death that I've ever tried to prevent. Suicide. It practically glows above the head of an unassuming white male. An average guy. Everyone around him still has that strange, flickering sign. It's the only chance I have. I won't be talking this guy down, like I tried with that girl. There's no time. The train just left. Five minutes, at the most. I don't have enough time!
I look back down. The officer below me is radioing for help, and threatening me with his rifle. I look up. The man's sign changes. The flickers stop. All at once, the signs burst back into life, a hundred different causes floating in the air. I've already made my decision. The guard below me has a new sign. Head trauma.
I leap down, my feet meeting him squarely in the chest, knocking him back and down the stairs. The rifle falls. I pick it up, and aim down the sights. I use the man's sign to mark him out from the crowd. I pray for a clean shot, but I've almost no experience with a rifle.
A women walking near him has a new sign, one I've never seen before. Collateral damage. My heart wrenches inside my chest, and for a less than a second the signs flicker, before returning to the way they were. I know what I have to do. Two innocent people, dead by my hand. A hundred others will be saved, but those two people will haunt me for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger. Gunshots echo throughout the building. The woman falls, but so does the man. Their signs flicker and die before my eyes.
I drop the rifle, and kneel down. Despite the blood on my hands, a small smile creeps across my face. After years of torment, this curse has finally proven worthwhile. I can hardly hear the screams. My ears ring from the gunshots, and tears roll down my face. Tears of joy and sorrow, at the lives saved and lives lost.
I look up at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central, but I can't see it. Instead, all I see, in small, flickering letters, is my own sign. I wish there was some way I could express to these officers that I don't blame them. I just don't have the strength or the time, because there is only one thing I know to be true; I cannot foresee my own death. | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T09:44:20 | 71 | 42 |
[WP] Two strangers keep running into each other throughout the years. It is not a love story. | "Do you remember the first time?" inquired the
cashier.
Duane tightened his grip on the handgun, "I do."
"You must have been, what- like nin-"
"Eighteen."
"Eighteen?"
"Eighteen."
"And after that, I moved to..." begun the cashier, "*Tampa*, then Springfield, then San Fran."
The hanging lights flickered in the connivence store. Duane shuffled his feet before speaking.
"It was San Fran, *then* Springfield." he remarked, cocking the gun.
"Either way," the cashier paused, almost looking defeated, "I know the drill."
He opened the cash register, removing a various assortment of bills before handing them over to Duane.
Duane backed away slowly, still pointing the gun at the cashier.
"Hey, maybe I'll see you again next time," the cashier joked.
"No, you won't." Duane squeezed the trigger, and with a ring, the cashier fell to the ground and would never get up again.
The cashier wouldn't get up to see Duane again in Indiana nine months later at a gas station. Nor 4 months after that in Nevada.
| The first time he saw her, she had been walking down the street with a dog, talking animatedly into a cell phone. He remembered it, because she was so happy, so normal, with her lavender perfume and wild curls on the first most traumatic day of his life. It was high school, he was training to be an EMT, and had just witnessed his first death - a heart attack in an old man, nothing terrible, but still tragic and the first glimpse he got of human mortality.
The second was years later. She was somber, somehow older, dressed in simple black clothes, her hair twisted in a sharp bun with only a solitary curl escaping, and standing in the back of his father's funeral. He couldn't understand why she'd be there - he didn't know her, she wasn't family, but Uncle Jack's aneurysm during the wake resulted in him half-forgetting her solemn presence.
He saw her once, on TV, a volunteer with Doctors Without Borders as they worked in Sudan and Chad. It was a bad shot of her, and he almost didn't recognize her, but the image lingered in his head long enough that he was sure.
He spent a few years after his mother's death fascinated with her. It was the first time she'd spoke to him - a simple apology from a passing hospice worker that he barely noticed, his head buried in his hands, but the lingering scent of lavender made him look up just in time to see her distinctive curls vanish around the corner. In memory, her voice was melodic and smooth, and he felt like maybe they were destined for each other, that he was meant to go to her in times of stress or sorrow.
He moved on after a while, though. His job was stressful, he never made enough money, he was tired all the time, and things were generally falling apart. He couldn't spare the energy it took to maintain a juvenile crush. The icing on the cake was when his cat ran away.
Two days later, there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find a 7 year old girl, crying, the limp body of his now ex-cat in her arms, her shoulder grasped comfortingly by a surprisingly matronly woman whose curls were barely restrained by a headband and whose scent of lavender perfume was now tinged with dish soap and other household cleaners.
In the next few months he quit his job and sold everything, except his phone and a small hot plate. He opted not to renew his lease, buying the cheapest plane ticket for anywhere in Asia the day his lease expired. He told himself he'd look up jobs teaching English when he got there, but in reality he just wanted to take a break - he'd lost everything he'd loved, it was time to start again.
He spent a few months in Malaysia, avoiding learning the language - easier to avoid committing to people if you can't communicate with them. After a few months, though, it was time to move on. He bought a plane ticket on a whim - his only criteria were that he didn't want to go back to the place he still thought of as "home", but he didn't want to stay where he was either.
He felt a growing lump in his throat the day of his trip. Leaving most of his stuff behind, he boarded the plane. It was a comfortable seat, and it looked like he'd have the whole row to himself, but at the last second a woman bustled on. He was overwhelmed by the scent of lavender as he watched her buckle her seatbelt. Turning to him, she held out her hand and asked "shall we?". The man smiled as he took her hand. "We shall." | 2015-06-08T08:33:47 | 2015-06-08T08:19:15 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Two strangers keep running into each other throughout the years. It is not a love story. | "Do you remember the first time?" inquired the
cashier.
Duane tightened his grip on the handgun, "I do."
"You must have been, what- like nin-"
"Eighteen."
"Eighteen?"
"Eighteen."
"And after that, I moved to..." begun the cashier, "*Tampa*, then Springfield, then San Fran."
The hanging lights flickered in the connivence store. Duane shuffled his feet before speaking.
"It was San Fran, *then* Springfield." he remarked, cocking the gun.
"Either way," the cashier paused, almost looking defeated, "I know the drill."
He opened the cash register, removing a various assortment of bills before handing them over to Duane.
Duane backed away slowly, still pointing the gun at the cashier.
"Hey, maybe I'll see you again next time," the cashier joked.
"No, you won't." Duane squeezed the trigger, and with a ring, the cashier fell to the ground and would never get up again.
The cashier wouldn't get up to see Duane again in Indiana nine months later at a gas station. Nor 4 months after that in Nevada.
| "Can you believe it, Frank? Thirty-three years ago, on this exact spot, it all started." Desmond smiled.
We sat down. After taking a deep breath, I replied: "It's pretty amazing, and I'm happy it did."
There was a small silence as we both knew what was coming.
"Look Desmond, whatever happens.."
"No, Frank. Don't do that."
Desmond's face turned into a mix of sorrow, doubt and anger. A small tear slid down the valleys of his aging face. He is getting old, just like I am.
"You remember what we promised each other? Because I do." he said, as the tears started falling on the ground.
I couldn't hide them anymore either. I never expected a random man, just a stranger, to become my best friend.
I stifled back the tears. "Desmond, my friend, do you have regrets?"
The look on his face revealed that he didn't expect that question.
"Of course. Everybody has regrets." he answered carefully.
"Do you want to know mine?" I asked him.
"You will have plenty of time to tell me them later, Frank."
But we both knew that I wouldn't.
"I regret not seeing the value of our friendship immediatly. . I regret not doing the things I wanted to do, with the people I loved. But most of all, I regret that we had to encouter each other by chance so many times before we understood what fate wanted to make of us."
Desmond smiled. "I've got to tell you, I really didn't like you when we first met. You were such a pompous guy."
The truth is, I didn't like Frank either when he was younger. When we met for the first time, at this lake, our personalities could not be further apart. Years later, when we met to serve in the army, I didn't like him either. He did have a way with the girls, though. I've always admired that.
I looked at him. "Do you remember that girl at that cruise? What was her name again?"
He grinned. "I think you know my wife, Frank."
I chuckled, quickly followed by a cough that seemed to strangle my throat and puncture my lungs. I covered my mouth with a napkin. When I finally stopped coughing, I peeked at the napkin. There was blood in it. I don't know why I thought something would've been different, since this had been going on for the past month or so.
"Desmond", I continued, "Whatever happens, I want you to know that I am proud to call you my friend."
"Likewise, my old friend."
Again, there was a silence. But this time, it was different. We both knew that this would be the last time we visited this lake. We've been coming here for over ten years, celebrating the day that it all started.
"Desmond, Could you give me a hand? I want to feel the sand between my toes one last time." I said, as I struggled to get out of my wheelchair.
In silence, Desmond helped me. As I was leaning against him, we slowly walked. The sand felt good. It was nice and warm and soft. Comforting, even. An hour passed, and we slowly made our way back to my wheelchair.
As he helped me sit back down, Desmond whispered: "Don't you even think about leaving me alone on this planet, Frank."
A smile formed on my face, as I felt at ease. This was the way it was supposed to be, and I have learned to accept it. With my feet still warm in the sand, I look up at the sun, while everything around me, slowly, faded into a bright light.
| 2015-06-08T08:33:47 | 2015-06-08T08:31:26 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries. | It had always been uncomfortable. My parents had to cover it up with long sleeves until I was old enough to take care of it myself. I just kept a few black straps around my wrists to cover it up. And for anyone who still managed to read it, after middle school no one was really that surprised. I looked like a rough edged goth in those days and I guess some weren't too surprised with all the profanity engraved in my skin. Some even suggested that I just cut it in there myself. But it was not the profanity that scared me, or my parents. It were the screams of help that bound those words together.
You see, people are born with writings in their skin. It can be located anywhere on your body, your ankles or your back, and it can say anything. When the engravings appeared on the first newborn everyone was perplexed with the meaning of it, but years and years later it was found that it were the saddest words you'd ever hear in your life. Not because of the words themselves, but because the person who said them was the most important person to you. And when that person pushes its farewell out of its mouth, the engraving turns gold.
When I grew up I was anxious, because honestly, what could happen in the last moment that my soul mate had to be so angry and afraid about?
As I closed the door behind me and grabbed my bike, I hoped it were not words directed at myself. Imagine the horror of having the person you cared about more than anything else in the world say these things to you. If I'd have the choice I'd rather die right now than be in a moment where these words are uttered by someone that important. *I just hope it will be a long moment before that happens*, I thought as I closed the garden gate.
I was heading for a party with my best friend, who had recently turned 19. All my friends would be there and considering I knew them for such a long time I knew we would have a good time. Just as I stepped on my bike Sarah, the girl from across the street, appeared from the corner. ''Hey Daniel.''
''Hey Sarah, what are you up to?'' Sarah had been living next to me for over fifteen years, when her parents moved over from a small tribe in Nigeria. Sarah wasn't her *real* name, but she had been given a more Western name so she could grow up without the social stigma of having to pronounce a name with five syllables and guttural sounds.
''Going to Dennis's party tonight, you coming too?''
''Yep. I bought him this'' I replied as I held up a large bottle of Vodka. I smiled as she shook her head.
''You two should be careful with that, you lightweights couldn't even finish the neck of the bottle.'' she answered back playfully as she walked past me towards her house. ''See you tonight.''
''Ye, see you.'' I mumbled back smiling, as I got on my bike and pedaled away into the light of the city, embraced in the evening's dark. It was that dark, the mysterious, the unknown and the dangerous, that I would come to hate. Not really the shadow itself, but what had come out of it to steal away what belonged to me. What belonged to each other.
When the golden light lighted up the room, people looked at me with sad and grief in their eyes. But at that time I didn't even know what I had lost. I tried to find Dennis, to explain, to rage and to cry, but I couldn't find him. Ten minutes later, when I sat alone in the dark garage pounding my fist to the wall and crying about everything that apparently could have been, my phone rang.
''It's Sarah.'' That's all I heard, the ear deafening buzz resounded through my head as I slid down along the wall.
It was the moment something broke in me, something you never knew was actually there until you felt its overwhelming sadness and pain spread throughout your body. And it was never going to come back. It was never going to be alright.
The police investigated the death, and the bruisings and blood suggested heavy violence. Not much later they discovered sperm on her body, and the idea of her rape disgusted me so much I vomited out every bit of despair I had left in my body. She had been close...she was on her way to the party, was all I could think of. She even yelled for help, her rage and screams of ''Leave me alone, LET GO OF ME, LET GO OF ME'' and ''GO TO HELL'' had been her predestined words. Imagine the sourness spreading through my mouth as hydrochloric acid when Dennis had been in her surroundings as she screamed his name. *Couldn't he have helped her?* I ask myself as I watch her body, holding her hand tightly. *Was there nothing that could have been done?*
Until I read the words on her wrist, that had blackened out when she died - and suddenly it all made sense.
''I trusted you. I hate you, Dennis. I despise you. This is for her. And when I'm done, I'll see her soon enough.'' | 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T10:16:00 | 1,771 | 45 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She stirred, wincing slightly, in the metal bed. I poured her a small cup of water from the plastic pitcher on the bedside table, just in case she needed it. Next to it lay a pack of grapes- I'd kept bringing them for her long after she stopped being able to eat them, I don't know why. She shook her head slightly at the cup of water I held out to her and her cold, papery fingers found their way into my hand. I fiddled with her wedding ring, the soft gold misshapen from so many years of constant wear, which was now so loose on her finger. Her eyes closed and she went back to sleeping. She looked so small and fragile now. I talked to her, no, at her, about the week, about people we knew, about the neighbour's garden. Out of nowhere, she made a sound, a rattle, and the machines started beeping angrily. Nurses rushed in, moved me out the way into a corner and finally they moved me again, out in the hallway, told me there was nothing I could do, asked if there was anyone who could come and pick me up, be with me.
"But... but... my wife..." I stuttered, hardly able to stand, running my arm subconsciously over the scar tissue on my forearm "She didn't say it.... she.... she didn't say it...". | *32* A seemingly insignificant number.
*32*, The temperature that signified the roads would be icy as she tripped back home for winter. The number of years she had gone through the insufferable monotony of people consumed by the goal of finding their soul mate. The number of people she had unfriended on social media just last month out of spite and loneliness. The number of karats in the diamond her former best friend received from the man she was sure would speak the *words* "we had a good run, see you soon"....
...it was also the number on the speedometer as she accelerated past the last light, on the corner of the only road that lead to her mother's home.
The trip back was haunting. Again, she was stuck alone in a car for the holidays. Again... she had failed another round of hook ups from tinder the previous week. Again....her eyes grew progressively more dull and listless, just as her hope for children did. The fact she was single bothered her more and more as she grew older, and she couldn't get over it. Again... she had realized she would never find her soulmate, seeing as her soulmate didn't exist. The words that everyone coveted so much were absent on her at birth. The affirmation of an eventual death alone was more than most could handle. Suicide was not an uncommon occurrence for the "textless", "wordless", the "bare armed"... whatever you chose as your epithet... those without their soulmates' words seemed to live the most lonely of lives.
She arrived home for the first time since her father passed. Her mother had done well. The house was as it was, as it had always been. A rickety porch, hand-built by her father, creaked as she ascended it. She took a moment and surveyed her yard. Her breath hung in the air as the somber light of a 4pm snow set cloud cover shaded her. The single oak of her childhood stood in the distance, standing leafless and naked. The grave marker of a beloved family dog rest near it.
However there was one detail that she could never shake. As the snow began to fall she focused on an empty space. Under the space lay a patch of dirt, oddly devoid of foliage. Above it, a branch with no defining features outside of a worn area of bark. These two the only vestiges of a rope swing her father would push her on as a child. The same rope swing she was yelled at on when she asked him what his *words* were... The same swing she was riding as he apologized to her as they both swore to never speak of his *words* again.
A single tear welled up in her eyes as she exhaled a last frost formed breath, and approached the red door of her childhood home.
Her mother stood in the door's stead... with a smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her worn somber cloud covered visage.
For a minute they hugged and entered the home.
They spoke of life... love... lottery aspirations and gift ideas. They spoke for hours. They laughed. She told her mother of the 32 karats and wondered why she had been born wordless and bare armed.She sipped her tea. She cried.
"Why me...?" she asked as sadness took the place of anger. "you got a beautiful poem...". She said as she referenced her mother's *words*: "I never knew I was the lucky one, I'll miss you."
Her mother smiled. A smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her daughter's worn somber cloud covered visage.
"Because you're the lucky one." her mother replied, in a way only a mother can.
Confused, red eyed, and flustered she stared at her mother. "well... what did father's arm say?"
Collecting the two empty tea mugs and with a smile that could shine light even in the darkest of snowstorms she replied. "My love, you know better than I, what your father's arm said." | 2015-08-08T12:20:09 | 2015-08-08T10:26:02 | 39 | 21 |
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her. | Jaimie dropped her pink piggy bank to the counter forcefully, causing a loud crack. She picked up a book and slammed into down over the damaged pig. The container broke open, coins and paper money flew everywhere.
"Is this enough?" the young girl asked the stunned clerk.
"I'm sorry, miss," the clerk answered. "It costs a *lot* more for even a basic memory copy." He looked down to her, with concern in his eyes. "How old are you anyway? Where are your parents?"
"I'm 10," answered Jaimie with a frown. "My parents wouldn't buy it for me, so I wanted to use my life's savings."
"What memory is so important you want to copy it?"
Jaimie looked up to the clerk with a tear in her eye. "I want to give my grandma a memory of me, since she doesn't remember."
"Oh," said the clerk, holding back a tear of his own. "Alzheimer's I take it?"
Jaimie nodded.
"I'm sorry, but while memory copying is a promising field of therapy for Alzheimer's, it's not something-" The clerk couldn't continue when he saw the young girl's reaction. He scanned the room to ensure nobody could hear, leaned forward and whispered. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm going to give you a freebie."
Julie's face lit up and her frown was replaced with the biggest smile possible.
The clerk placed a metal, cylindrical tube up to her forehead. "Think about your grandmother," he said.
Later that day, Jaimie went with her parents to visit her grandmother at the nursing home.
"Hi Grandma!" yelled Jaimie as they walked in the door.
Her grandmother looked at her visitors intently. "Hello, young lady," she said to Jaimie. "Are you here visiting your grandmother?"
Jaimie looked up to her parents with concern. "Mom, Dad, can I have a moment alone with Grandma?"
Jaimie's parents were surprised, but quickly left the room.
Pulling out the cylindrical device she received earlier, Jaimie sauntered over to her grandmother and placed it onto her forehead. After a quick buzzing sound, she dropped it back into her pocket.
"Jaimie?" her grandmother asked. "You came to visit!"
Jaimie jumped into her grandmother's arms. "You remember me?" she asked excitedly.
Her grandmother looked up to the ceiling and then back down. "Thanks for the hug, young lady." she said.
Jaimie dropped her eyes. "You're welcome," she replied.
"You're the same girl who came to visit me last week, right?"
Jaimie's eyes shot open. Her grandmother never remembered her previous visits.
"Will you come visit me again next week?"
---
Check out /r/MajorParadox for more stories 🙂 | Not another grandmother.
"Didn't your folks tell you about brain leaking?" I tried to ask kindly. What came out instead was course and unpleasant. Kids were sweet and all, but it was a long day. Getting old people to remember things was as boring as it was impossible. Getting *asked* to do so was even worse, especially from grandchildren.
It was always the same.
"I *know,*" she whined. Hands shook the piggy bank like a promise. "Please plug her up again."
Always.
Time to try this from another angle. Pleasantly this time, like barber Wally who gave those great massages after a haircut those many years before...
Not now Sam.
"It's part of being a grandma or a grandpa," I started. "You ever lived to be eighty before?"
She shook her head.
I cracked a smile and took a step to the side, shining on her the shelved wonders of my trade. "Me neither, but I hope to! And when I do, I'll have worked a lot of memories. Walked a lot. Eaten more food than the number of First Bites I have bottled up behind me! Look at them! Candy canes, steak burgers---"
The girl continued staring at me.
Not at the display.
Strange, that usually worked. The bottled nano-fiber-nets stored behind me loomed over most kids. They came shaking their change for their grandparents. I'd take one step to the side, sweep a hand as the magicians once did and conjure the light show of glass experiences. Behold! First tastes across the world! Sugars and sweets like you've never seen before! The only regret those kids would have then was not bringing more money.
Memories weren't cheap.
"I want my grandma!"
Quick, another angle.
"You should be spending time with your grandmother kiddo. Make some new memories with her! Here, how about a dash of Had-My-First-Soda-With-Grandma? Someone else's grandma, sure, but *those* are the kinds of things you should be experiencing with *yours* now! Hmm?"
My cheeks were aching holding this smile. Please let this work.
Porcelain shattered across the floor. Piggy bank pieces and dimes tore across the floor counter. *A broken promise.* A morbid thought, but cheery in a dark way, unlike the crying girl in front of me.
"*My* grandma, I want *my* grandma!" She was in hysterics. Contained, standing in front of my counter, but the helpless tantrum of kids couldn't be underestimated for long. The merchandise was too valuable to handle this... irregularity.
Well, it *was* irregular.
This kid didn't just want pleasant memories of a grandma who brought cookies and bought them toys. This wasn't a teenager flashing their wallets so grandma could make them more. She was special. Different.
Time to give it to her straight.
"Listen," I sighed. "Your parents want her memory leaking to stop too. Trust me, they do."
*How ye doin' today Sammy?*
"It's not fair when it happens."
*Another cut? Boy, ye grow yer hair faster than my husky.*
"But what you need to understand..."
*Here, take a seat kiddo.*
"... is that the memories can fade..."
*That's a lad, get yerself comfortable!*
"... but they'll always be your grandma..."
*Now lets get to it!*
"... and you'll always be her grandkid."
*Let ol' Wally get you sorted!*
"They'll always love..."
Didn't realize she stopped crying until my cheeks felt damp. Why was *I* crying? How did those memories even exist, I pulled them all out! Didn't I?
I always hated working with kids, trying to pull this on me. Making me remember. And this one actually made me do it, this damned, irregular, obnoxious---
"What was she like?"
I blinked away a tear. "Who?"
"Your grandma. Was she nice too?"
--- faithful kid.
Damn you Sam, venting like a child. Like she knows any better.
But she *might* know better with a little help.
"One sec kid." I turned around, wandering with resolution through the aisles of my trade. The reds, blues and many bright hues flashing at me, demanding to be opened. Bought. Released. But what I wanted was from the personal collection.
To be a Memory Broker, you needed a good memory. A tight one, sealed and secure like an old bank vault. You keep the security codes and personal flasks in a private locker in the back of the shop. Private ones.
*Yer lookin' good today boy!*
Special ones.
*Molly's gonna take yer prom invite for sure, ye lucky---*
I wiped my eyes as I pulled a bottle from the personal collection. Here we go. The white one.
Today was irregular.
I came back to find her waiting there, the porcelain and dimes blinking around her as the sun tore down on them.
She was special. Different.
I handed her the bottle.
"On the house."
A little help from an old friend.
There was someone else I wanted her to meet.
-----------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-03-09T09:55:04 | 2016-03-09T05:41:46 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] - You are an angel of heaven. Angels are tasked with creating animals to populate the earth. You are called into God's office to discuss your finished project - the platypus. | "Uh oh, somebody's getting called on the carpet."
"Is that Bill?"
"Yeah. 'Duck Bill', I hear they're calling him now."
"Sheesh. Poor guy. It must've seemed like a good idea at the time."
"It wasn't even his project back then. He took it over from Baruchiel when Bar got promoted to Arch. Remember that whole craze for flightless birds?"
"Do I? I was lead on the cassowary. Not that I got any credit --"
"Right, I forgot. Anyway, the platypus got dropped on Bill right at the tail end of that, when Management started transitioning to mammals."
"Yikes. I guess that explains the eggs, too."
"No! You haven't heard the story? The eggs were a typo."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Yep. It was supposed to say 'legs'. Autocorrect strikes again."
"Wait, here he comes. Oh man, he's cleaning out his desk. Poor guy."
"What kind of name is 'Bill' for an angel anyway?" | I couldn’t bear to look at her so I kept my head down and just stared at the bowl of apples on my desk. I knew if I looked up I would see her there lying on her side, bare breasted, relaxed on the cloud. I’m not offended by breasts, after all I created them, and hers were perfect; or so I was told by some of the less celibate of my creations. I like perfect things. It was her lack of perfection for which I brought her to me today.
“Why Pomona?” I said, “Why the Platypus? Jesus. I told you cool it after the kangaroo. What an abomination. You said you liked rabbits and wanted to make the damn things bigger. Now you have them hopping around kicking each other in the nuts all day. And don’t get me started on the Emus. One day someone’s going to dig up dinosaur bones and attempt to claim the emu is it’s ancestor all because you and Silvanus got drunk one night in the lab.
“But this thing is unholy.” I said, and looked up at her. She was reclining against the cloud exactly as I thought she would be (omniscience has it’s downside, no surprise parties). She was toying with her toga. What remained of it was gathered around her waist. She must have sensed my gaze and looked up.
“I’m sorry Lord,” she pouted with a little smile, “I only thought you would like a bit more diversity. The others creations are bland, don’t you agree?”
She paused long enough for me to open my mouth but didn’t wait for me to answer.
“Michael has created about 20 different species of canine and except for some differences in size they all look the same, behave the same. They are boring. And, if you ask me, that man seems overly concerned about size. Small ones, big ones, you get the idea.
“Gabriel, well, he did a bang up job with the ungulates. Long necks, horns, even having some of them go back to living in the water. Very nice but they stick to the same mammalian formula and…” she shivered slightly, her arms dropping protectively to her lap, “birth live young. I thought you would be proud of me for diversifying your creation” she finished with a smile.
Now, I’m a fan of diversity and Pomona, she knows. She’s going to get away this, after all, if one of my creations can do this what does it say about the creator? Still, a creation needs to make sense. It can’t just be a random roll of the dice, it’s supposed to look natural, as if it evolved from another creature, each bit having a purpose. After all, if people were to look at this thing they might doubt my existence and we can’t have that.
“Pomona,” I said, “I’m sorry, I’m pulling you off the Australian Animal Team.”
She let out a sigh and the smile faded away. It was her turn to stare at the apples as her eyes refused to meet mine.
“Where will you have me go, Lord?” she asked.
I wish I could say I hadn’t thought about it, or that I didn’t know what was next for Pomona but as I said earlier, omniscience is a bitch.
“My creatures like variety in their diets,” I said, picking up an apple. “And I’m getting a bit tired of eating these.”
I tossed her the fruit, and she smiled again.
****
edit: removed the bear's breast ;). | 2016-05-15T11:24:07 | 2016-05-15T10:15:24 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] "Go on,tell people The President forcefully entered your house at 4 A.M and stole your milk" Barack Obama gurgled out as he drank your milk
He sees the true potential in presidency.
Rip in peace milk tho. | Thanks Obama
For drinking all the milk
Spilling on the floor
Wiping it up with my wife's silk.
For letting out the cat
The dirt on the wall
The drunk FBI
Passed out in the hall
Thanks Obama
For burning the cake
For turning my basement
Into a lake
For not flushing the toilet
Or washing your plate
I hope you go home soon
It's getting really late | There was a bang and a crash of glass from the front door of my house. Immediately I sprang out of bed, grabbing my baseball bat in case of violence from the intruder. I stood there, in my room, mentally preparing myself for what I could end up against. I quietly opened my bedroom door and snuck out down the main hall. I gripped the bat more tightly as I approached. In the living room, nothing was stolen, and no one was in there. The only clue that anything had happened was that a window was broken. Evidently whoever had broken in had tried to break the door down -- that was the bang -- and then smashed the window in. I realized I should have probably put shoes on, and now I had to think of another thing: look for intruders, don't step on glass, look for what's been stolen... I heard a sound from my kitchen and saw a light through the doorway. I opened the kitchen door cautiously. I saw a black man in my kitchen, drinking a big glass of milk, fridge open, gallon of milk on the table. He was wearing a nice suit, in fact, much nicer clothing than you'd expect a burglar to wear. After about five seconds of just standing there I realized I was staring at President Barack Obama, drinking my milk.
On came the lights, and Obama looked towards me. "Mr. President! What the *hell* are you doing in my house!"
"Uhh, drinking milk. I thought it was pretty clear."
"This isn't the time for Mr. Wise Guy. Get out of my house before I call the cops!"
"But I'm the President. The cops aren't going to arrest the President." After he said this I realized he was right.
"Well, I'll do *something*!" I gestured toward the baseball bat.
"Because the police will take kindly to a random man beating the President with a baseball bat." I was fast out of options.
"Get the hell out of this house before I shoot you!"
"You don't seem to have noticed my partner in crime, Mr. Jeffery Baker." *How did he know my name? Oh yeah, NSA.* From the shadows emerged none other than the current Democratic Presidential candidate, Hillary Clinton. She had a madman's smile plastered on her face and she held a revolver. Obama grabbed onto me and quickly tied me to the chair he had been sitting in. Hillary cackled like a mad witch, and the last thing I heard was gunshots...
Breaking News: Jeffery Baker, 42, was found dead in his Atlanta home. He was found with six gunshot wounds to the back of the head. His blogpage, jeffdoestalking.blogspot.com, was known for having starkly conservative and anti-Democratic posts. His most recent post was regarding Hillary Clinton's unfitness for President due to the "basket of deplorables" remark she made. His cause of death was ruled a suicide.
Edit: Spelled realise the non-American way when writing as an American. | 2016-09-17T16:45:34 | 2016-09-17T12:56:50 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic exists, however, you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell. The more memories, or the more precious a memory, the more powerful the magic. You just woke up with no memory save a name. | “Sarah.” That was the first thought in my head as I woke up. The name meant nothing.
I found myself sitting in a stiff chair, my body seemingly refused to move. After a bit of anxiety I heard a few cracks, more satisfying than worrying.
Slowly but surely I began to shift as I noticed my hands.
Thin, frail, and slightly transparent to the point where I could see my veins.
Wrinkly too now that I thought about it. Lifting up my hand I found that they were unsteady, shaking. I tried to steady myself through great effort but could not find the energy to do so.
Then I felt something on my finger, a small impact. Not painful, just noticeable. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. There was something there, clear and white.
It was water I quickly realised, white due to the reflections from the florescent bulbs above me.
Another drop of water joined it. I was crying?
Wiping away my tears I felt a heavy build-up of crust. I must’ve been crying for quite some time to get to this point. Why was I crying?
I took another look at my surroundings.
The stiff chair, the florescent lights, white floors and pristine walls. I was in some sort of waiting room. Where was I? How did I get here?
I can’t seem to remember anything.
My thoughts were interrupted by some noise, I hadn’t noticed it before but it was something that had been building up steadily.
Footsteps along with hushed but excited words.
A group of men and women in white uniforms appeared before me coming around the corner with measured haste.
“Sir!” One of them excitingly began speaking to me. “Your wife Sarah, she’s going to be okay! It’s a miracle!”
There was that name again… Sarah, what did it mean?
| If it were not for his thin stature and round face, I would think that the boy who stood before me was not a boy but a reflection of myself. He had brown eyes that looked like two small almonds whenever he titled them up to catch my gaze and when water began to fall from them, it reminded me of the way water also fell from mine.
“Daddy, why don’t you remember me?” He asks me for the third time, now.
“I’m sorry but I am not your father. I can’t be. I would remember having a son, surely I would. My name is James and…well that’s all I know. I don’t know anything about having a son, however.” I explain to him confidently. His eyebrows pull into each other forming a crease.
“Daddy, why did you let the memory of me go? Do you not love me, anymore? Am I not as important as your -“ His voice, like the soft hum of a violin trails off. The next words are in his mind, I can see so in his face, but they stay hidden in his mouth.
“Why have you brought this child to me? Why are you doing this to me?” I say to the woman slumped over in the chair across from us. Her long hair falls over her face like a mop. Her expression suggests that she is annoyed but the way her eyes fall to floor and stay there for long periods of time also suggests sadness.
“James, you asshole.” she sneers past the boy. “You really did it this time, huh? Your own fucking child! You traded the memory of your own fucking child for that shit! I could understand letting the memory of me go, I don’t like it but I get it, at least. But your own fucking child, how could you?”
The words sting my ears and draw sweat to my hairline. Who are these people? Whose house am I in? Why do they make me feel so strange, so conflicted?
I feel blood rush to my head. “Listen lady, I don’t know who the fuck you are but -“ A feeling falls over me at once taking the words from me and the cloud that once occupied my mind dissipates. This boy with sad, brown eyes is my son. His name is Alex and he came into my life seven years ago one rainy, August morning when the clouds from the sky stretched all the way down to touch the earth. The woman sitting across from us is his mother, Karen, and I’ve loved her for eight years now but lately I’ve wondered if she ever truly loved me back.
“Daddy? Are you back? Is it over?” asks Alex studying me. Happiness appears in his face for a moment but he doesn’t let it change his expression. He waits for my answer.
Tears gather in my eyes and a lump forms in my throat, making the words hurt as I say them. “Yes, Alex. I don’t know what happened.” I fall to my knees and hold his gaze more intensely. “Alex, you know daddy loves you, right? You know daddy would never let the memory of you go, not even for -“
All of a sudden, my breaths become heavy and I fold my hands into two small fists to keep them from shaking. I hear Karen sigh from across the room. She stands, grabs Alex by the shoulders, and leads him away into another room. As she walks through the doorway she turns to me and shakes her head.
I try to dissect the nature of her gesture, I try desperately to understand why it is I am shaking and what it is my body wants. But all I can think about is the pain, the white-hot pain that has washed over me, filling my insides with acid.
Then, without my permission, my mouth opens to recite a mantra that sounds foreign to me ears but feels normal on my tongue. Behind my closed eyes I see Alex and Karen, together. Their calm faces are soothing to my soul and for a brief, still second my heartbeat slows. But time goes by and their silhouettes become blurred until finally, they disappear from my mind completely. I open my eyes and feel a smile take form on my lips at the sight of a needle. I take it in my fingers and press it into a small hole on my arm, letting the dark, colored liquid warm my body. | 2017-01-02T18:58:55 | 2017-01-02T18:48:11 | 86 | 20 |
[WP] As an alien in disguise, you've been sent to earth to study human behavior. You are a renowned xenopsychologist on your homeworld, but even you are baffled by some of our human quirks and customs | Ch'tk 'groaned' as you would call it in the Terran tongue, called English. #SP459 hummed and looked up at ch. He had made a complex map of human characteristics. "How--how can humans be so foolish and harmless, yet also be a terrifying force of nature? They haven't even figured out the mechanics of hyperdrive!" #SP459 leaned forward, looking at the board keenly. "I think they're fascinating. Their biology is--" It broke off with a dreamy sigh. Ch'tk rolled ch's eyes and said, "They can also be incapacitated by simply stubbing their toe!"
"Yes, but a broken limb, or even being shot by their guns won't kill them!" #SP exclaimed. "They are determined! How many wars they've fought, what weapons they've built! Their war strategies! They'll be perfect allies in the war against the Spags!"
"Did you see their 'church'? Their god had been nailed to a cross! Their GOD! A religion they call a religion of peace had been spread through war and bloodshed! What if they turn against us?" Ch'tk worried. #SP459 stared, "You misunderstand them. They are not all forces of nature... some are pacifists. Some like to use pigments and paint it on a white sheet! They like to listen to vocal cords and instruments being used in harmony."
Ch'tk huffed. "You are right... perhaps we ought to contact their world leaders and come to an agreement. They might fight *for* us, but our first priority should be to get them to not fight *against* us." | The atmosphere is heavy on the shoulders and hard to breathe in as the entrance slowly vomits the line of waiting people into the event space. The attendees are all made up in a plethora of extravagant outfits designed to impress potentials, or perhaps to silently convince the wearer that they are worthy of attention from said potentials. There is a depressing foldout table in the corner with a single spotlight on it where a perfectly still crystal bowl of red cherry lemonade waits for attention of its own. One possible cause of the entire room avoiding the "punch" table could be that there are no dispensible cups visible to anyone, and no self-respecting attendee deep in the throes of talking to a possible date would dare break away and risk severing the faintest of connections to inquire about a room-temperature beverage that's marketed primarily to children.
These activities seem strange to our kind, and rightfully so. Given our understanding of the capital-U Universe, any thinking alive thing would find this all unecessary and partly disturbing. Human people do these kinds of things often when loneliness is involved. They plan events like this. They take online personality quizzes to reassure them they are seen how they broadcast themselves, and they sort nearby populations into piles of those approved for dating and those rejected. These digital services understandably do not show the user who has rejected them. Humans, in this professional's opinion, would not be able, at present, to interpret criticism around mate-seeking as objective and would almost certainly self-sabatoge if such information was part of the process.
The drivers behind such an activity are not hard to understand. No one wants to be lonely. The difference here is that where our species understands loneliness as a disconnect from the larger whole of our population, human people regard loneliness as a sort of personal rejection dished out by the collective unconscious around them, as if the human world is casting votes on one's worthiness every few seconds and life is about managing that projection of worthiness. We back home find loneliness when we reject a connection to the Larger Whole we all support. This man over here, adjusting every follicle on his head four or five times before moving on to another area of scrutiny, is lonely. It is not his own self-enacted disconnection from humanity pulling down his self-worth. Indeed, he feels feelings just as much as anyone, maybe a bit more. His loneliness comes from a sense of already failed at a test that doesn't exist. The woman a few feet next to him is also lonely. She is a strong person. She has a fairly lucrative job, which is a requirement on this planet, and she has never regarded herself as ugly. In fact, were I to spend more time here and develop a certain sexual taste for the human form as an attractant, I may even describe her using the (to me anyway) neologism of "pretty."
The bell rings and everyone stands up and does their best to reject or insinuate interest without actually stating clearly their intentions. These goodbyes take longer than necessary, because when the timer restarts, everyone is still separating from their last interactions.
This process is intended to go on and on for at least two more earth hours, which is a unit of time that describes 1/24th the time this planet takes to rotate on its axis back towards their nearest star, named the Sun.
It comes as no surprise to me that every human who sits at my table immediately gets up and leaves. While my attempts to blend in with proper clothing have mostly succeeded, I did not consider the odor that a dead human body carries with it, nor did I consider the important effects of smell on possible mates here on this planet. When I return for another visit, I will be sure to find a human body host that has not spoiled quite as long after expiration as this one.
As I'm escorted out of the building due to my smell overtaking most conversations at the nearby tables, I'm somewhat lonely in my thoughts. I do not miss anyone inside or long for home; I will be leaving here within a few earth days. Instead I am lonely in my understanding of human complexity. No human will know how they appear from one of Our kind's perspective, and unless another one of Us visits here, no one back home will understand the human situation as I do now. | 2017-05-28T14:46:48 | 2017-05-28T12:41:51 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work. | I remember the first time I saw him. It was early morning, just as the first light was leeching into the sky. I barely remember him, I was so young; only small images stand out, like grainy faded pictures. My father was dying, cancer they said in hushed tones, as if it could be summoned. I used to imagine it as a terrible tiny beast, burrowing into my father’s skin, hollowing out his eyes and making his breath wheeze.
It was daylight when he died. Early morning. I was sleeping on our couch, tucked under my favorite flowered blanket. I remember a noise waking me, strange and choked and broken. My mother sobbing, gasping for breath like my father had. I walked in and found the family gathered around the hospice bed, no one speaking. I remember crying, not understanding why no one would look at me, not understanding why my daddy wouldn’t wake up and tell mom everything was fine, he felt fine, just like always.
A warm pair of arms picked me and carried me to the living room. I could see him through my tears, a blurry stranger. He looked a bit like some of my father’s friends, the ones who came over to play with cards and get on my mother’s nerves. Perhaps that was why I didn’t fuss when he held me while I cried. I woke hours later to my mother gently shaking me, eyes puffy from crying. I can’t remember much of him from that time, but I do remember his eyes. They had stars in them.
I had brushed it off over the years, a product of my grief and confusion. I met him again when I was 17. My boyfriend and I had been at a bonfire with friends. We were driving back, and Josh had had a few drinks. Turns out he lied to me about how many. I was exhausted and drifting off on the way home. I woke up when my head hit the dash board of the truck.
I remember lying on the pavement, having no idea how I got there. There were flashing lights all around, and a man leaning over me shining a light into my eyes. I tried to find Josh, to see if he could tell me what had happened, when I saw him. He was leaning over a young woman who was resting against the steering wheel of a car I’d never seen. He looked like he was stroking her head, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a weathered old jacket and jeans.
I made a noise when I saw him, some gut deep recognition dragging it out of me. I must have passed out, because next I knew he was there, standing over me, gently pulling strands of my hair off of my face, stuck and tacky with blood. He smiled gently and kissed my forehead, the universe shining from his eyes.
I'll continue this if people are interested!
Edit: **Part 2**
I knew after that. I knew who he was, that he wasn’t my imagination. The woman who Josh hit had died on scene, and everyone assured me that there was no one there but the police and paramedics. Oh, and Josh. He walked away with a few bruises, no girlfriend, and a lifetime criminal record for involuntary vehicular homicide.
At the time I had been planning to go to college and pursue biology. I wanted to be a conservationist, saving the planet one badgered donor at a time. After that night I couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop wondering about the quiet peace I found in his gaze. I changed majors and pursued medicine, graduating somewhere in the middle of the pack, securing a spot in a mediocre med school and eventually finishing my residency.
In all that time, I was never there when a patient died. Somehow I missed it every time. I felt terrible for the anger at these blameless people for dying inconveniently and cheating me of my meeting, but I was frustrated anyway. I did a stint at an underfunded and outdated hospital after I got my coat and finally late one night I saw him again.
I was helping in the E.R. on a horrible multi car pileup. Everyone who wasn’t actively keeping someone alive was called down. I got lost in stabilizing, CPR, IV drips and frantic calls for more blood. When I surfaced I realized almost half the people that were rushed in had died, or were DOA, but I hadn’t seen him. I remember being filled with such bitter disappointment and anger as scrubbed off the blood that had dried to my skin.
After I changed scrubs I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, and to check in with a few of the ambulance drivers who might know more about what had caused the unholy mess that got sent our way. It was warm still, the late July heat baking up out of the pavement, and as I walked out a puff of smoke swirled around me. I turned and there he was, leaned up against the hospital wall, smoking a cigarette.
He wasn’t much taller than me, and was still dressed in that old jacket and faded jeans. He smiled, quiet and soft “Hell of a night we had” he said. His voice was low, like something slow and dark with just the smallest glimmer of teeth in the night. I admit, I stared like an idiot. Slack jawed and in my pink panther back up scrubs that my mother had bought me as a joke when I graduated. “Yeah, it was a hell of a night”, I stuttered lamely. Stupidly. *Humanly*.
His smiled widened and he nodded before strolling off across the parking lot. I finally came to my senses and rushed after him. I had no idea what I was going to say, but I never got the chance. He stepped into a puddle of shadow and never walked out.
| 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 2017-06-07T21:09:53 | 110 | 17 |
[WP] You have been granted a wish from a genie. You ask him to send you back in time and make you powerful so you can prevent the genocide that happened in ww2. You forgot that genies like to twist wishes though. Now it's 1940 and to your horror you realize you are Adolf Hitler. | A hasty glance in the mirror vanished all my doubts. The genie tricked me, he transformed me into the monster humanity passionately despised, Adolf Hitler.
Alone in an imposing room I meticulously observed what surrounded me. Swastiskas filled the walls, towering dense windows overlooked Berlin, luxurious chandelliers hanging from the unreachable ceiling. I had no doubt I was in a Nazi headquarter.
The sudden noise of my iron black doors opening, interrupted my observation. A blonde, tall, blue eyed expresionless man marched towards me. Every step he took over the exuberant crimson carpet echoed across the room.
"Fuhrer!" He yelled, raising his hand.
I recognized him, he was my Economy Minister, Walther Funk. "Walther," I replied with defying eyes.
He gave me a report, "Fuhrer, the numbers are outstanding everything is going according to our plan." He lowered his arm and his eyes met mine.
I took the report and nodded. "Walther, I need to privately communicate with Churchill, make it happen." I demanded.
He frowned, "Can I ask you why?".
I stood up abruptly and grabbed him aggressively by the uniform. "They know they can't do shit against us, I will extorsionate that fat bastard until he cooperates, if he doesn't the ashes left by the blitzkrieg will smother his polluted lungs to death." I muttered furiosly.
He nodded, turned around and left the room. I felt his heartbeat rising and his body trembling in fear. My plan got underway.
Half an hour later my phone rang, I made sure no one entered the room nor heard the conversation, the power I had over everybody in here was tremendous. Macchiaveli once said: "It's better to be feared than loved." He was right.
"I'm listening Adolf." Churchill said.
"I will send half my army to the USSR in two weeks, gather the Allies and bombard Germany with all you got." I replied.
"Didn't expect you to have a sense of humour."
"I will handle the military actions today, tomorrow I'll commit suicide and kill all my Cabinet. You are have been warned, the lives of millions of people are in your hands now Winston."
I hanged up. Below my desk I found a Walther P38, beautiful and deadly pistol.
The next day I gave a speech to the soldiers announcing the USSR like our next objective and summoned my six most important ministers in my office.
Five shots, the hardest remained, mine. I took a deep breath, cursed the genie and gave my grandparents the life they deserved.
| Adolf Hitler Schmidt, das Alter 6. So read the corners of the sheets of paper containing unintelligible doodles, all signed in a much nicer cursive than the artist would be able to create. Rifling through the desk only revealed a few wooden toys and a 1940 calendar with the days X'd out.
Glanced in the mirror. A deformed child's body. What an awful quantum leap. Not even old enough for the Hitler Youth, much less take on Hitler.
Looked out the window, idle farmland.
Adults screaming from the other side of the door. Don't speak German. Picked up on Kinder-Euthanasie though.
Called out for the genie. Got a few gurgles. Genie appeared as a tiny conductor of a wood train that he rode in circles around the desk.
"Choo Choo, der Saftsack. Too dark? I considered loading the train with little matchstick people and igniting them in a block house, but that seemed a bit MUCH, you know? Or appearing as a cat and doing a Meowschwitz bit, but that's played out. Hashtag Just Loving this conductor outfit though, check out these buns of steel. " Tiny, twerking genie.
I gurgled some more. "Rise of Nazism got your tongue?" asked the Genie as he finger gunned a bolt of magic at my mouth.
"I asked to be powerful so I can prevent genocide!"
"Oh, well, you have the most powerful set of lungs and the most vivid imagination ever seen in a German crippled child. They'll keep you alive for months to experiment and do science research. You'll be the homecoming queen of the Special Children's Ward."
"But-"
"And your back story! So powerful! A mother spends six years hiding her child's deformities in rural Germany, only for a Jew hunt to stumble across the poor child. There's award winning December release potential all over that." Tiny genie transformed into an Oscar in a Susan Sarandon wig. Twerked again.
"How am I supposed to stop anything? That was a condition of the wish!"
"No no no no no" Genie transformed into Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsberg, stuck to popping and locking for the sanctimony of the moment. "You _can_ prevent genocide, the potential is there. Just as well as you could've flown to Syria or Afghanistan or Iraq in your own time," Genie transformed into cultural dress and dance for each country, somewhat offensively, and toppled as a Saddam statue for Iraq's finale.
Genie continued. "You could have provided such amazing oratory skills and clear vision that it leads to the next cultural Renaissance and world peace," Genie freely transforming between assorted cultural icons of peace, usually with their dark sides represented behind them.
"But noooo, you didn't ask for any of those secondary skills. You wanted time travel to World War 2!" SS Officer goosestepping Genie.
"Sure, your functional knowledge consisted of a half an episode of Band of Brothers," Ron Livingston Genie.
"A vhs," Randall from Clerks Genie "of Saving Private Ryan," Matt Damon Team America puppet in a GI Joe army outfit Genie, doing the happy dance.
"and a fetish for assassinating Hitler writing prompts." Genie grew a Snoo antenna, a meta high quality Aladdin gif playing on the bulb. "And I said to myself, sure, I _could_ make you Hitler, but that'd be playing into their usual box." Companion Cube Genie that quickly switched into a French artist. "So instead, ze child is named after Hitler, aged appropriately for service of the story. What a masterstroke. What a twist!" M Night Genie. "What did you really think you'd accomplish here?"
"What about my other wishes?"
Genie's jaw dropped in cartoon fashion. "Kid, I wanted to make a point about child euthanasia in Nazi Germany. I read the whole Wikipedia article without getting a single half chub or anything - that's right, this Genie works REAL BLUE," Andrew Dice Clay Genie. "I never do any prep going into these things. This wish was so full of holes I bet you're wishing they added a legal scholar subplot."
"You're the one that said I couldn't be a vampire superhero or have an unexpected meetup between god and the devil at the Starbucks adjacent to the Pearly Gates. "
"So do you have a single nonrecycled original thought in your head or is it mostly meta reposts and cats? You'd be better off if you wished you were a little bit taller, wished you were a baller, wished you had a girl that looked good you would call her. "
And with that, the doors burst open, the genie popped away in a cloud of smoke, and soldiers from the committee for the prevention of procrastination and cogenital illnesses took away my keyboard. Well, actually, my reddit app crashed, but this made it through the tubes anyway. So here we are, with a paltry imitation of Robin Williams by way of John Leguizamo's Clown in Spawn, just being a jerk without a nice bow twist to wrap it all up. I am so sorry.
| 2017-06-12T14:32:47 | 2017-06-12T14:31:57 | 379 | 26 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | I sat down at the desk in the middle of the room, trying to still my nervousness. It wasn't easy considering I was facing the Council of Genies. Yes we have a council. How else do you control beings of phenomenal cosmic power? I sat and fidgeted while the 5 council members filed in and sat at their much larger and more intimidating table.
"Let us call this inquiry to order," intoned the head genie, one of the first of our kind. He looks at the files before him and then gazes at me seriously. "Now. You have been called to this inquiry for your most recent actions. Please recount the incident."
I gulped and straightened. "Well I was on duty that day, August 12th, and found an enchanted object being rubbed. I went as summoned and found the recipient to be a 6 year old child. She had found an old lamp in her family home and wanted to see if the legends were true."
The council members nodded and the lead gestured for me to continue. "Turns out it was her birthday and she wanted a wish. I informed her that two wishes were already used against the lamp so she could only have the one. She thought for some time and made the request. I granted it and left."
Another council member spoke up. "What was the wish?"
"For her father to stop drinking and her family to be happier."
"That sounds like more than one wish to me."
"Well it was said in one statement and it was her birthday after all."
"That's a technicality."
"A core fundamental to the genie ideal is rigid technicality."
The council chuckled and I felt my hopes raise a little. "Be that as it may, sentiment has no place for a genie's job. Please explain how you granting her wish would be the opposite of what she wanted."
"For example wouldn't it be fair to have her father die from not drinking anything anymore? Or for her family to crave happiness above everything else?" Offered another council member.
I nodded slowly and marshaled my thoughts. "True. What I did was examine her possible future given the options of granting her wish or not. Yes if I did the obvious line of reasoning the girl would have had to be given to adoption, having a long life of grim distaste for happiness."
The council murmured in agreement. "That seems to go with our procedures." Another member remarked.
"True." I agreed. "However, by changing the father's alcoholic tendencies and changing family priorities I have guaranteed her a far more suffering life." I smiled at the council's looks of confusion. "Now she will have a happy family that will stay with her her entire life. They will question her, meddle in her affairs, nag her relentlessly. Her father will take a huge part of her life and embarrass her relentlessly."
The council members looked at each other and whispered. "That is...an interesting perspective. One might say the former possibility provides more distinct suffering."
"Suffering is subjective. It is impossible to qualify the quantity depending on the individual."
More chuckles from me quoting the book. "Well one may say that she well end up liking that suffering. Wouldn't that also go against our ideals?"
I shrugged. "Masochism is an uncontrollable characteristic."
More laughter. After a few moments of quiet conversation the head council member looked at me. "Well, you performed to the letter of the law so no punishment for today. Your sense of consequence is unique but not warranting censure."
I rise and bow. "Thank you, I live to serve." The room bursts into laughter as we leave. | “I think you know why I’ve called you in here today.” The director said as she looked over her half moon glasses at me from across a large jewel encrusted gold desk. Her stare was joined by the stares of my boss and my boss’s boss who sat on either side of me.
I knew why I had been called in, but I wasn’t about to admit fault. “No, no idea.”
The director kept her stare. She didn’t blink. She was very good at not blinking.
I sat and waited, stubbornly.
The director continued. “You helped someone.”
“Me?” I paused, indignantly. “I graduated university with top marks. My first review was best in section. I am shocked you would think that of me.” Was I being too dramatic? Maybe.
“Oh cut the crap Antigua.” The director sighed.
I was being too dramatic.
“We are all here because a report has been made about a certain child being granted a wish with no magical consequence.”
I stayed silent.
“And you remember what the punishment for such an action is if a genie is found guilty?”
I nodded.
“Loss of license.”
My heart dropped. There was no greater punishment, no greater shame than being an unlicensed genie.
My boss jumped in like a bureaucratic mother bear protecting one of her cubs. “Now let’s not be hasty, there is no proof of wrongdoing here.”
The Director waved her hand to silence my boss. “We have some proof. But first I want to hear from Antigua what happened and why.” She stared me down again. “The truth please, Antigua. You can start with why the girl asked you for a wish.”
I swallowed hard. The truth was not going to go over well.
“Annabelle Hastel is a third year student at Prestonpans Primary School in West Derbyshire. She has not been getting along so well in school. She doesn’t have any close friends on account of just having moved there from Belgium so she has been very unhappy.”
“This particular day,” I continued, “the teacher was handing back history quizzes. Annabelle got hers back with just a three out of ten. But Amelia Williams, the girl who has more friends than anyone else at school, got her quiz back and the teacher said ‘Full marks, well done,’ loud enough so the whole class could hear. Because the teacher liked her very much too and wanted all the other kids to study as hard as Amelia Williams.”
“To the point, Antigua”
“Sorry. Well Amelia’s best friends congratulated her and hugged her as well. Poor little Annabelle seeing all of this adoration was, well, jealous. So she got it in her head that if she could get a ten out of ten then she could have more friends. Maybe not so many as Amelia, but maybe at least one.”
“So that night she summoned me and wished she could do better on her quizzes, so I gave her the knowledge she would need to get a perfect score on every exam for the rest of the year.”
The director frowned and leaned onto her desk. “Young lady. Do you care to repeat the exact wording of the wish?”
“I don’t recall exactly.” I lied.
“Convenient. Let me read the wish verbatim, for the benefit of Josh and Kelly here.” She pulled out a slip of tickertape from a manila folder on her desk, held it out in front of her, and read: “Annabelle Hastel. The twenty-fifth of August, twenty seventeen. Seven thirty-three PM. I wish that I knew everything.”
The director lowered her nose so she could look over her glasses at me. She stared for an uncomfortably long second then pointed at Kelly, then back at me. “Now I know Kelly taught you our Golden Rule. Care to repeat it for me?”
I bowed my head and recited what Kelly had taught me well. “To ensure that the magic of a genie is never used without consequence.”
“Never used without consequence.” The director parroted. “You know full well we don’t deal with _intent_ when granting a wish.”
I sat quietly hoping I wasn’t about to get fired just six months into my dream job.
The director stood and paced the room as she said, “You should have given her all the knowledge of the world. The good, the bad, the painful. She should have understood in an instant what it feels like for her yet to be born child to die in her arms. You should have taken her inside the mind of a person who believes another human is worth less than them because of the color of their skin, or their gender or culture. You should have shown her that people have literally stabbed their friends in the back without so much as a second thought. You should have shown her the place of humanity in the cosmos. How humanity dies out. How she dies. Do I need to go on?”
She returned to her chair, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She replaced her glasses and said, “Only because both your supervisors speak so highly of you, and against my better judgment, I will give you just _one_ more chance to be honest. Why did you forgo the consequence?”
“Because that little girl, she couldn’t have handled all that. She didn’t know what she was asking for.” And there it was, the truth. I had admitted to committing the worst crime a genie could commit.
“I should disbar you.” The director paused. “But today is your lucky day. I have a budget review with the Council an a few weeks and if I dismiss you now, I will have to report why. I would rather not admit to such an embarrassing failure in our institutional fabric.” She punctuated those last two with stares at Josh and Kelly respectively.
“Kelly will decide what punishment is appropriate.”
The director stood up and held out her hand across the table. I was going to keep my job! I stood up too quickly and knocked my knee into the desk before awkwardly grabbing the director’s hand and shaking furiously. “Thank you, thank you.”
The director pulled me across the table towards her, her grip much firmer than I had expected possible. “Don’t let it happen again.” | 2017-08-17T06:07:10 | 2017-08-17T05:54:04 | 2,747 | 49 |
[WP] On a whim you listed your job as 'Time Traveller's First Point of Contact for The Modern Era' on the census. To your surprise, they started turning up. | He was a good looking kid. His smile was bright and flashing. *"That's a smile that would get the ladies,"* I thought, enviously. His getup- mind you- was odd. The combination of what appeared to be plain sweatpants with what was undoubtedly a custom tailored dinner jacket didn't seem to jive. But then, the electric blue slippers didn't fit with anything, either.
"Yeah, it's all in this wristy," the kid continued. "I just turn-"
"Wristy?" I asked, leaning across the table. "The watch?"
"Watch?" he repeated, one eyebrow rising. "Oh, did you still call them that in, ah, this time?"
"Ok, I see. So a watch is a wristy, or, a wristy is like a watch." I leaned back and took my coffee in hand, sipping it. "Go on."
"Well, I just turn it, and this number," he indicated a digital readout on the device, "is the negotiation key to the time engine I built with gramps."
I glanced around the coffee shop. People had started staring at my companion when we entered, and nothing about that had changed. He looked out of place, he had ordered 3 drinks at once, and he talked really loud. He had stepped out of my kitchen pantry this morning, handed me half a box of Cheerios and asked for the location of my toilet. Approximately one hour later, I was convinced. This kid was from the future.
"So, you're gonna want to know a couple things," I said, leaning in again and lowering my voice. "You talk really loud. You notice no one else is hollering?" He was nodding vigorously, excitement on his face. "Yeah. We just don't do that. People like their private conversations."
He attempted a whisper, which somehow came out a bit like a gurgle. "So why don't you wear the dampening implants?" he said, nearly gagging on his own larynx.
My face betrayed my comprehension. "You know, the implants that-" he paused, awestruck. "You don't have the implants yet?"
I shook my head. "No. No we don't. And the other thing, I'm not a real first point of contact for, well, for your type. That was just a joke."
"I know!" he laughed, at an obnoxious volume again. "That's always been my favorite part!"
My brain had finally had enough. "Ok. Well, this the weirdest morning of my life."
"About to get better," he said, flashing that smile again. "I really hate that it's been so short of a visit," he continued, standing up. He polished off his second drink, stacked the cups and picked up the third. Glancing at his watch he turned for the door. Just as he reached it the door swung open and a dazzlingly cute girl stepped inside.
"Hey there!" I heard him say, as he handed his third coffee to the girl, "That guy there would love to meet you." My face went red as he pointed at me and my eyes met hers.
Then the kid waved. "See you later, Gramps!" And he left the coffee shop. | I flicked around my LinkedIn page, a good for nothing BA in History, with an average GPA, coming from a mediocre university and high school, nothing remarkable that stands out.
No wonder I remain unemployed for a grand total of six months up till this point after my graduation.
Hmm. Well, it's down to me and my imagination to make it interesting, I guess. I took another swig of coffee and got to work.
Add a new work experience. Yep.
Difficult historian? That's exposing my anti-social behaviour.
Senseless recorder? That sounds like a broken record to me.
Past developer? That's not catchy enough.
Maybe something longer.
Like 'Time Traveller's First Point of Contact for The Modern Era".
Yep, that's it. We have a winner.
The Time Traveller's First Point of Contact for the Modern Era.
I would totally put this on a name card.
I took another swig of coffee, closed the sad lonely page of my LinkedIn with zero experience, and continued my conquer on the classified page on the online newspaper.
As I sent CV and cover letter like scouts in Civilization, there was a strange knock on my window.
I gave the curtains a quick glance, it's too late for any bird to crash into the windows. It might just be some stupid kids having an excellent shot that can aim so well throwing rocks or pine cones at a third storey window. Fucking little shits that should go on to the Olympics instead of wandering out at night.
I was prepared to pay no further notice and continue my work when the knock came again. This time more rapidly, like the sound of a human knock.
Well I never know a new built semi-detached house can be haunted. Maybe it's the neighbours, they must have finally killed their cat who may be a prince cursed and turned into a cat and now he's coming back for revenge but mistook the wrong window. This must be it.
Maybe I should tell him he got the wrong place.
I sighed and decided to see what the deal was. What I wasn't expecting was a string of Asian looking giants wearing Mongolian style attire holding onto a rope hanging down from my roof.
Mom is gonna be so pissed if they broke the tiles.
"Uh, what's up?"
"We're looking for the contact person for this era?"
"Oh fuck." So LinkedIn really helps with the job hunting. I'm so gonna tell everyone that's still unemployed tomorrow.
".....Are we at the wrong place? No?" The English speaking Mongolian looked confused, shifting a bit impatiently on the rope, but remained polite.
"It's complicated, but anyway, just come on in."
I decided to go along with it. This could just be a part-time or freelance job to pay for the expenses while I continue to ponder whether I should do a PhD or go into some kind of research field.
Five ancient dressing Mongolian sitting in the middle of my room. What a view.
"Now tell me why you're here and what I need to know to help you."
I may not be an expert in Asian history, but customer service? That's my vibe. I was the best shop assistant at the local ToysRus, before they went bankrupt.
"We're here to get some painkillers, antiseptic and bandages for our leader, he was wounded in one of the battles."
".......Was his name Genghis Khan?"
"So he will be the Genghis in the future?"
Oops. Spoiler alert.
"That's not important, just tell me what I need to do. I'm new to the trade."
"There are rules for time travelling: we cannot buy, sell, or take anything not belonging to our era back without permission, we cannot seek information, we cannot travel. We can only speak to the Contact Person at that certain era to make a request on purchase of items in exchange for money or valuables."
"Okay, so you guys come here for a first aid kit, and you're gonna barter with me."
I wrote down the rules he said, and left it on the table.
"Sure, I'll help you, but what's in it for me?"
The Mongolian representative laid five things on my Ikea carpet: an animal skin bottle, a nice looking dagger, his hat, a necklace, and his cape.
I picked up the bottle and opened it, the smell of alcohol was sweet and tempting; I drew out the blades, the dagger was a fine piece of art; the necklace was a shining piece of jade hung on a gold chain, doesn't look Mongolian, maybe an item of trade along Silk Road or offerings from China; I didn't touch the clothing for obvious health and safety reasons.
All non-clothing items are a close call. But I'd pick the alcohol, since it's that hour of the night already.
"Okay, I'll take the bottle. Let me go grab that first aid kit."
"Sir, these are all for you. It's a small fee for the health of our great leader."
".......Sure, I'll throw in three more boxes of band-aids for you."
After the Mongolians took their most treasured First Aid kit (I got for free from the local clinic during easter), I sent them off where they came from, asked them to tell Genghis Khan to wipe out more villages to ease global warming, and started to tidy up the place.
I hid everything in my sock drawer, hoping that my mom will no longer attempt fold my socks for me.
Maybe I should head to bed. I yawned and flopped on the bed.
And there came another knock on the window. I looked at the now opened curtains.
Those are some nice looking Classic Turkish design these men are wearing. I smiled and decided to remove the experience right after I send these guys away, and add it back on whenever I wake up.
- End - | 2018-03-29T09:32:18 | 2018-03-29T08:42:44 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] In a bid to bring humanity closer together, an unknown higher force removes all anonymity from the Internet and day-to-day life. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
[removed] | It happened so suddenly. No one had time to prepare. August 19th, 2034. Some unseen force removed all anonymity from the world and all our words and deeds were laid bare for everyone else to see.
The chaos started immediately. Family ties broke down. Friends turned to enemies, and then turned on one another. Frenemies became open foes. Coworkers verbally and physically assaulted one another, with no office gossip anonymity to shield them anymore.
It spread to the halls of government. Espionage was laid bare. All nations realized they had all betrayed each other at one point or another, and gravely. Missiles began flying.
By August 20th, it was over. Our Judgement Day had come and we were judged unworthy, destroyed by our backbiting and malice toward one another. Some of us scrapped by in the post-nuclear hellscape of the world after August 19th. Our world went on in the ashes of the old, but with a new outlook on social interaction. A more honest world.
As I headed toward our wobbly, half broken table in the bombed out house we now occupied, I called out to my mate, "Linda, you can be a really petty bitch some days, and I can be a total asshole, but you make a damn fine spam breakfast." | A voice booms out across the busy metropolitan Detroit area. Within every skyscraper, ghetto and public office. It ebbs and flows to reach the minds of all, carrying an important message.
"Anonymity causes such strife and destruction. It shrouds people in masks of sin that allow them to carry out acts that they never would if they were identifiable. Reputations, character and civility all go out of the window when someone has the ability to hide themselves. It is with this knowledge that we have decided to strip humanity of their anonymity. There will be no more masks, uniforms or virtual privacy. Everything will be exposed for what lays beneath, be it ugly or beautiful. The time has come to mend humanity from its fractured state of lies and deceit, and we believe that this is the true path to a healthy future. Have a wonderful day."
As quickly as it came, the voice left. In its wake, there were stunned and bewildered people all attempting to mull over what they just heard. Many wrote it off to daydreaming and put it in the back of their minds. Some took it more seriously, feeling the cold hand of fear tug at their work shirt collars. These were the people who knew they had something to hide. Under these new rules however, everyone had something to hide. The introduction to this martial law had failed to describe just how far reaching the changes would be.
Thomas sat at his computer, the glaring light pushing a large shadow that danced around on the wall behind him. He was typing furiously, as if his entire life depended upon it. "Imagine the audacity of this complete moron to claim that President Trump won't deliver on his campaign promises!" He wrote a string of text that he felt vindicated every thought he had about the current state of politics. For good measure, he forced in a slew of insults that had very little to do with the subject matter, but he felt were warranted given the complete ignorance of his opponent. "And, send." He hit the keyboard with such vigor it nearly shattered it. The message sent, and after a few minutes a response post had been written by the other party. Stunned, Thomas watched as the response came with the heading *Mrs. Arlas*. That was the surname of his mother. Surely this was a coincidence, but he read on.
"Dear Thomas. That is the name of my son, it is a wonderful name. But to hear the amount of hatred in your voice makes me deeply sad, as I could never imagine him saying such things. Your blatant disregard for the reproductive rights of women, your obsession with bringing violence into every issue and blatant disregard for human life would never come from his mouth. My Thomas is an angel that cares for others, about problem solving before violence and finding alternatives. Your support for Mr. Trump will lead this country into a dark path that we may never come back from. I sincerely hope you reconsider your opinions before people in this country start to think aggression is the only answer to their problems."
Thomas sat back in his chair, laughing to himself as he always did when some liberal moron attempted to emotionally corral him. They always did this, appealing to his sense of 'morality' when he knew full well that there were practical issues that needed solving, far more important than any cowardly human emotion could discern. He began typing again, but as abruptly as he started, he stopped. The name *Arlas* now had a word before it, *Betty*. That was his mothers name. This had gone far beyond coincidence, and Thomas was visibly shaken. Suddenly his veneer of anonymity and hardened emotions began to undo themselves. He was hurling insults and having a shouting match with the very woman who had raised him. He stepped back from his computer, never letting his eyes leave the screen. His heart sank as he watched his own name reveal itself in a scramble of letters: *Thomas Arlas*. His heart sank as he heard the chattering of keys from downstairs cease.
\[Leaving room for more vignettes, but this is the start\]. | 2018-04-27T13:08:59 | 2018-04-27T10:55:13 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | Only a year ago, I would have killed the woman with a bulldozer. She would have slipped on loose rock, hardhat skittering, and let out a piercing scream. That would have ended her fairly quickly, though. There's a chance I'd have chosen something slower. Trapped in a freezer maybe. Or kidnapped and tortured.
That's the thing I loved about my old job. I could get so creative.
Starvation used to be a wildcard. Something only used in the less affluent nooks and crannies. Every so often, I'd toss in a doozie, like a pack of malnourished children in the heart of the suburbs. People were always so astonished at what I could slip right under their nose. Now starvation is everywhere.
If only I could stop it.
Human life is in the single digits now. Without them I am lost.
Somewhere in all the ash, the woman stumbles atop shaky legs. Up ahead lies a gas station. If there's no food inside, she'll die. I can tell she's thinking of her dead husband. She gets these sort of hiccups each time before she cries. "Please," she croaks, hand outstretched towards the doorway. "Please give me strength."
She's not talking to me really, but I feel the need to whisper. "I've told you my secret," I say, though she won't hear.
"You have to hold on."
My secret is this: I was just a conductor. I stood before Death, atop an ethereal pedestal. Together we played symphonies. I basked in the music as we ferried mortal souls. But now Death's music plays on even though I've cast aside my little wand. It sounds to me like a timer.
The woman is three paces from the doors when she gasps. She screws up her lips in pain. If I had adrenaline to pump, it would course through my veins.
I sweep low to place a bony hand on her pregnant belly.
"My turn to beg," I say. "Please just a little longer."
When I was myself, I'd have been near giddy with glee. Pregnancy was an endless well of opportunity. It could go awry in innumerable ways. Now, the thought terrifies me. I've even considered praying.
Onward she stumbles, with me urging from behind. She can barely open the doors. She has become so weak.
"A little further now," I say. "For all our sakes."
Across the mountains lives another group. I know them well, for they've been whittled down to two: a grisled man and his son. I've pointed them this direction. Really, they're our only hope. That, and the baby being a girl.
I'd have never thought to imagine it: running short of all options.
Words fall short when the woman finds a bag of saltines. She crumbles them in her mouth, closing her eyes, sucking the stale salt and grain. They will make her thirsty soon. But for now they are welcome.
How ironic, then, that at that moment her water breaks. She gasps in surprise. She runs trembling fingers through the muck.
When the contractions start, I tell her she can do this. She shrieks out in agony, and I tell her she *must*. I'm there for each dreadful push, my old purpose flipped on its head. A smear of crimson blood would fill me with despair. Gasps of pain feel like electricity.
When the baby is born, the woman is crying.
For a dreadful moment, it's the only sound.
She holds the tiny thing up, inconsolable with emotion. Then, sure enough, the baby bursts into tears.
We'll need to feed it soon. And the others will need to survive the mountain. But for now, I enjoy the moment. A symphony of tears. After a time, the woman holds the baby close and sings a raspy lullaby. Her poor throat is croaky, completely off key.
I find it absolutely gorgeous. "Sweet baby girl," she sings.
Chock full of possibilities.
---------------
r/M0Zark | In the heart of the dying world, I sat down and watched them. Power wasn't going to die anytime soon. The physical laws of the realm had never slipped, only the mortal's grasp on them.
It was only a matter of time, though, before even those laws were devoured, shoved into greedy maws. Released back into the entropic chaos of the universe. Feasted upon like ravenous carrion, skin split open like balloons.
But that was not what bothered me, for those things would happen after I myself had passed on, and it was the nature of all things to die.
And yet...
I reached out with a thing hand, skin so pale and paper like it merged with the List that cradled my body, and infinite expanse of ink that not so long ago had seem truly infinite with it's billions of names and gently brushed the sad little bush growing in the corner of the bunker.
It didn't have a name, but... it didn't need a name. If it were named, I would see it and eventually have to take it.
I had a partner once, not terribly long ago. It was nice to be remembered back then, deified. Dozens of me in dozens of different places.
That fractal had been stolen from me, and I missed it.
But not enough to forget my solemn task. My fingers flicked across the bush, and I killed the blight growing on it's branches. Death took the individual cells and robbed them of their time, sending vitality back into the plant, and speeding on the journey to the end of another species. Then I withdrew the list the had burrowed its way into my fragile paper skin and ran my fingers down it. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Days. Years. Billions of names. Everyone that had ever lived. Everyone that was yet to die. It took far too long to reach a name that was not scratched out.
And then I stepped out of the shadows on another shadowed bunker, where the power had gone out. I could hear the shaking of many bodies, cowering in the darkness.
And one soul that had decided to not cower, but stare at me in wonder.
"So you've come for me, have you?" The leader said, their skin blemished with age, cancer, poison, a thousand different causes of death, interwoven in a bizarre tapestry. My right eye saw fate. My left eye saw nothing but the quirk of their lips.
My head slipped to the side.
"Yes, I can see you, pale one. Do you speak my tongue still?"
"I do," I said, slowly. "Have you come to bargain?"
"Bargain?" The leader laughed, their eyes alight with something like amusement, but bitter, deeply so. Like the bushes that had died in africa, too many years ago, or the brushes the tigers had played in greater asia, when death swept through again and again. "There's nothing for me to offer."
"There are always such things to offer," I said, pleasantly.
"Not to a dying world," they said, plainly. "There's nothing left that I can do for you."
I blinked. Slowly, so that fate flickered across my eyes, the gently tugging and whirring of those beautiful weavers. Where had they gone? Another world? Spun their own way into an escape? What pleasant sunny place had they found, where the skies were not choked with ash and burning clouds? Did I miss them too?
I did.
"For me?" I said. "There's nothing wrong with me."
"I saw you once, decades ago, when you came for my mother. Your skin was gleaming and polished like the sun, and radiant,"
My right eye flicked back through fate. Dozens of years taken back in a second, until I saw their mother's name sketched up and marked through, in a hospital, with the sun outside, and bizarre music playing, cake, candles, wind. Did my fingers drift across her hair like the card in thread, or did it drift across the child, watching in the corner, who knew that I was there?
"And now you are as pale as I am. What has happened to you? Have you grown old?"
I stared down at my hand, then slowly twisted it until my wrist ached. How long had I been bound to this world, trapped in the incalculable twists of fate.
Had I once had volition, or was I created for such a role? and when I died, where would the role go? Would there simply be nothing left? Would I appear again when life appeared? I...
There was nobody left to ask. How many names had been crossed out on my paper armor. How many names were left on my paper skin, and how many times would I cross them out in my own blood before my veins finally ran dry?
"There's nothing I can offer you. The power's out, and my temperature is dropping. Soon, my children will join me."
I stared at them for a long moment, then turned away. Man defined fate and meaning. They always had but... what good was meaning now? And yet...
"You will owe me greatly," I intoned.
Their face stiffened slightly, then went into a slack, joyful grin.
Then I drifted through the halls of that dying compound, hand out stretched. Fate had deemed that this bunker die, and plunge the whole of Russia into the domains past this. And yet... when was the last time I had seen another psychopomp. Where was the Reckoner? The Masked? Where were they now, in the infinite fractal?
Or were they gone just as I was, with their skin of paper and fire, knit with ink and dressed in their sunday bests, buried deep in the ground, where nothing could touch me again?
My hand found the generator and I called upon the great conduits still left in the world. They had blinked out, one by one, as the hunger had taken them, each one a scream. Something I'd taken.
Could it be that in the end, the laws that had chained me for so long had also died?
Leaving just me and the handful of life left around the globe?
But a single conduit answered my call. New York, perhaps, buried in it's central park. Coherence and meaning kept them chained, from the few survivors who had left.
And then the bunker slowly whirred back on, powered from afar by the crossing paths.
Heat flooded the bunker, and the dying leader smiled as the shaking slowed, then stopped. Life had been saved. Peace had fallen into their hearts.
And perhaps, hope, for the first time, settled upon them like atomic ash.
And in the sky, cloaked in ash and darkness, there gleamed a single red star of the war god.
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, try here! | 2018-05-04T10:17:10 | 2018-05-04T09:08:18 | 2,724 | 1,119 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | Erica pulled the trigger. I stopped the shot before it fired.
“You’re an asshole,” Erica said. She opened her eyes and stared straight at me. She should not be able to see me.
I blinked and moved back.
“Don’t give me that,” she whispered. She shuffled onto her feet and dropped her shotgun at her side. “I know you’re here. I can *feel* you. It’s just us.”
She was not meeting my eyes, her gaze landed on my chest. Erica was fire. It was the only reason she had survived this long. Former military, young - but not young enough to be stupid, and no family to hold her back. I found her last winter. She lived in a cave in the mountains, by the mouth of a brook with a bubbling hot spring only a half mile downstream. She did not need my help, at least not as much as the others.
“I’ve felt you here before. Following me around,” she sighed.
Erica was cold today. Her eyes sunk into her skeletal face, framed by a broken halo of hair. Her left pinky and ring fingers were twisted and wrapped with blackened tape. This house did not suit her.
“I’ve heard rumours about you. Saul told me he saw you last summer when he was sick. He said he was lying there, wishing for it to all be over, and then he felt a cool hand on his back. He told me he thought it was Death, finally here to take away the pain. But darkness didn’t come. He could just *breathe* again, and walked away from his deathbed like it was only a head cold.”
Erica shuddered. The wind railed against the wall and blew through the shattered back window. “A few years back we were dropping like flies. All of us survivors - people who were smart and capable of living through the first wave - were just falling. Five years ago there were thousands of survivors. I could barely get through a small town without having to hide from looters. And then three years ago I didn’t come across a single person in all of New York.”
Erica was ice. Her voice rattled in her throat. It was true, though. Even the survivors could not hold back the tides. I am the only one who can.
“I don’t think anyone’s died since the winter before last.”
She was right. A year and a half ago I began to look for them and stood watch over the handful of survivors. I even guided them towards each other. A last hope for them. For me.
“Saul said that you were Life. I don’t think that’s true. Life knows when to let go." Erica’s head slumped forward. Her body shook with a sob. “I want to go.”
*No*.
“Please,” she whispered, “Just - just let me leave.”
---
/r/liswrites | "Dude, fuck Life. What a dick." said Dan.
A lazy man with even lazier grooming habits, Dan burped and slurped another Rolling Rock. As a black crow picked at the remains of a corpse on his front lawn, Dan reached back into his cooler-chair and grabbed another cold one.
"You want one? Or are you still 'gluten' free," muttered Dan.
"I can't believe I'm stuck at the end of the world with my ex... " muttered Genivee. She was a beautiful woman. Was. A failed young marriage and a career and a half later, she looked like a woman whose best days had left her.
"YOU HEAR ME DEATH? FUCK YOU. YOU SUCK AT YOUR JOB!" screamed Genivee.
"Tried that. He ain't coming." said Dan.
"How do you know Death is a He? Maybe it's a She? Or maybe Death doesn't have any pronouns." tendered Genivee.
"Does anyone give a shit?" fired Dan.
"Give me the goddamn beer," returned Genivee.
Dan chucked a can to Genivee, who, of course, dropped it. She was never great at catching things. The can rolled toward the corpse to the crow.
"You didn't have to throw it that hard." said Genivee.
"I didn't throw it that hard," retorted Dan.
"You totally chucked..."
"I threw it normal"
"Throw it normal, what does that mean..."
"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?"
"What did you say to me?!"
"I didn't say shit, there you go again, always accusing me..."
"HELLO, DOWN HERE!"
The crow turned it's head and waved it's little wing. In a flash of light, the crow and the corpse disappeared, and, out of nowhere, appeared the Mick Jagger dressed in an all black suit.
"HOLY FUCK! MICK JAGGER?! I LOVED YOU IN THE BEATLES!" screamed Dan.
After a dumbfounded glance, Genivee studied the Mr. Jagger and carefully asked, "who are you?"
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste..."
"Wait, isn't that a Rolling Stones song?" asked Dan.
"Good Lord... I'm Death, you nitwit. I figured I'd at least dress in style to meet my new subjects. A more familiar form, no?"
"So, can I have your autograph?" returned Dan.
"God, I can't believe you and I had sex... Sorry, mister, um, Death? Subjects?" asked Genivee.
"Yes. Subjects. You two are the last humans alive, and, well, per Eden Protocol 101, I am to keep you alive so you can procreate. Or else I shall be eliminated. Rather ironic, no?" Death said with a smirk.
Genivee, dumbfounded, turned and vomited onto Dan's half dead lawn.
"I thought you might like that, Genny. You Mortals seem to think Death and Life are separate, but you were all rather mistaken. Well, except the Buddhists, they got it right. But, if you asked me, they lived such rather boring lives anyway that I daresay I can count that as living" laughed Death.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jagger. I'm a little confused. Are you saying that we are like some sorta Adam and Eve or something?" asked Dan earnestly.
"Well done, Daniel," applauded Death. He picked up the Rolling Rock and, with a snap, the can turned into a martini with a black olive garnish.
"Surely, there must be some mistake... how can we procreate if we hate each other? Aren't there other couples that may be better suited? Barack and Michelle? Kristen Bell and Dak Shepherd? Hell, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?" pleaded Genivee.
"Others? Who better than you two? You two fit the bill, perfectly. Oh, and don't call me surely. Did I do that right?" snickered Death.
"Fit the bill? Of whom?" asked Genivee.
"Of Adam and Eve. You two are splitting images of them." answered Death.
Dan and Genivee gave each other a flabbergasted look as if each were trying to see if either could be the Father and Mother of man. Dan took his hands and began to protect his ribs.
"I'm not taking your ribs, you fool. Besides, you have too much fat on them anyways..." sneered Death.
"How are we like Adam and Eve? Weren't they kind and welcoming parents?" asked Genivee.
"They HATED each other. All their bickering." laughed Death. "And that family was a disaster. One of their sons murdered the other?! Hardly great parenting don't you think?"
"Why do you thinkhumankind was such a disaster? All the fighting and killing and sex. It was truly rather entertaining watching you little humans hurt each other so. I had them entertained for eons! But it got old and you mortals blew each other up anyways... So think of it as a... reboot of sorts..." gleamed Death.
He finished His martini and then snapped his fingers. A California King drapped in black satin sheets appeared.
"We're ready for you two to start whenever you’re ready."
| 2018-05-04T12:08:57 | 2018-05-04T11:25:13 | 393 | 58 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | "don't get me wrong, you won't be a hero foretold in legends or a scientist that found the cure for cancer, but you will shape humanity with mundane clumsiness"
"mundane clumsiness?! That's not much of a super power is it?"
"well you did kind of broke that middle eastern lamp you found at a yard sale and were forced to buy it and it contained me. Soo yeah..."
"oke fair enough, but still how do i oops my way to saving humanity?"
" in 8 months you, a server at Starbucks will knock over a tray of coffee on a young man. That young man is an aspiring oil executive. He's on his way to a job interview at a small oil company. It's not much but it sends him in a path to become the world largest oil influence and he will lobby for fossil fuel. This will destroy every last chance for the world to recover. Because of you he didn't get the job. Because of your mundane clumsiness ethan, he will fail. "
" but what about the 7592, is there anything i can do to prevent that? "
" thats the one percent ethan, i suggest you don't" | "You were a very influential figure in the future, young lord. What you have done in your lifetime have allowed all those lives to attain a much brighter future."
"But what did I do?"
"I cannot say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I cannot. Though I can see into the future, the exact reason for your influence is unknown to me, I cannot pinpoint it."
"Can you show me, then, my future?"
"How do you want it to be shown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to dream of your future, or perhaps a vision, or should I give you a hard drive full of your memories?"
"The hard drive, please."
"It is done."
---
*I connected the hard drive to my laptop. Opening the drive, I found it to be completely and utterly filled with videos of each of my days.*
*Deciding that whatever is it that had done had to have been during my prime years, I looked up the date fifteen years into the future.*
*But, as soon as I clicked the file, my head grew dizzy, and the next thing I saw was white.*
---
**"Hello, Jim."**
"You're--!"
**"Yes, it is I."**
"I can't believe it, you're actually real..."
**"As real as the sand in your feet, but that doesn't matter anymore."**
"Like hell it does, I mean--oh, sorry."
**"It's quite alright, child."**
"Why am I here?"
**"It has been thousands of years since my Son has returned here. I wish to send one final prophet to spread the Word."**
"Won't He come down Himself?"
**"My child, that day is far, far into the future. My task for you is more grounded in the present."**
"What do I need to do?"
**"You must go, and preach the wonders of humanity."**
"Not You?"
**"No, young Jim. You must go and praise the strength of your kind. Only by moving forward as one will you be able to progress into the future."**
"Under Your Light?"
**"That is up to you, but there is no need to unite under My wing."**
"I thought everyone should worship You?"
**"I am a parent, little Jim, and you are my children. I am happy when you praise My name, but I also want you to grow into your own. The greatest joy of a parent is to see their child succeed without them, and I am no exception."**
**"So long as my children do not give into evil, and do not forget My name, then how they succeed is of little importance to Me."**
"Okay, I will become a prophet, but what should I do first? Become a priest?"
**"Do not be tied into a single religion, young one. The entire world is your flock, and you must lead them to a brighter tomorrow. No, go and become a scientist, your innovations will be the one to lead the people into the future."**
"But what kind of scientist should I become?"
**"You are smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jim. You'll figure it out."**
*At that moment, I woke up.*
---
*The genie and the hard drive has disappeared while I was asleep, but it didn't matter to me. Now I have a new focus and a new determination on what I should do.*
*It will be ten years later when I unveiled my first invention, a battery with an infinite amount of power. From such a tiny device, the world changed.*
*That was the start of humanity's race for the stars. I continued to make minor innovations after that, but just from my battery, I had already saved billions of lives, and possibly more in the future.* | 2018-08-15T03:47:40 | 2018-08-15T01:57:47 | 186 | 55 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | Do cure cancer?
The genie shakes his head.
Do I end the fighting in the middle East?
The genie laughs and again shakes his head.
Now visibly angry the man asks
Well, what did I do then?
The genie smiles and snaps his fingers.
An acorn appears in front of the man.
"You planted this, a decade ago"
The man racks his brain. 10 years ago he had been on a middle school field trip in his old home town, a trip to the local park to learn a little about ecology.
On that day he had planted an acorn in the dirt. It was such an insignificant moment that he had totally forgot about it.
Confusion strikes across his face.
"But, how did this help 137 trillion people"
The genie smiles again.
"This one tree seed is now a towering oak, as nature takes it's course, this one oak will create dozens more. Because of this one small act a decade ago, you reduced the total carbon in the atmosphere by tripple what you produced in your life time. That is why they were better off"...
| "You were a very influential figure in the future, young lord. What you have done in your lifetime have allowed all those lives to attain a much brighter future."
"But what did I do?"
"I cannot say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I cannot. Though I can see into the future, the exact reason for your influence is unknown to me, I cannot pinpoint it."
"Can you show me, then, my future?"
"How do you want it to be shown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to dream of your future, or perhaps a vision, or should I give you a hard drive full of your memories?"
"The hard drive, please."
"It is done."
---
*I connected the hard drive to my laptop. Opening the drive, I found it to be completely and utterly filled with videos of each of my days.*
*Deciding that whatever is it that had done had to have been during my prime years, I looked up the date fifteen years into the future.*
*But, as soon as I clicked the file, my head grew dizzy, and the next thing I saw was white.*
---
**"Hello, Jim."**
"You're--!"
**"Yes, it is I."**
"I can't believe it, you're actually real..."
**"As real as the sand in your feet, but that doesn't matter anymore."**
"Like hell it does, I mean--oh, sorry."
**"It's quite alright, child."**
"Why am I here?"
**"It has been thousands of years since my Son has returned here. I wish to send one final prophet to spread the Word."**
"Won't He come down Himself?"
**"My child, that day is far, far into the future. My task for you is more grounded in the present."**
"What do I need to do?"
**"You must go, and preach the wonders of humanity."**
"Not You?"
**"No, young Jim. You must go and praise the strength of your kind. Only by moving forward as one will you be able to progress into the future."**
"Under Your Light?"
**"That is up to you, but there is no need to unite under My wing."**
"I thought everyone should worship You?"
**"I am a parent, little Jim, and you are my children. I am happy when you praise My name, but I also want you to grow into your own. The greatest joy of a parent is to see their child succeed without them, and I am no exception."**
**"So long as my children do not give into evil, and do not forget My name, then how they succeed is of little importance to Me."**
"Okay, I will become a prophet, but what should I do first? Become a priest?"
**"Do not be tied into a single religion, young one. The entire world is your flock, and you must lead them to a brighter tomorrow. No, go and become a scientist, your innovations will be the one to lead the people into the future."**
"But what kind of scientist should I become?"
**"You are smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jim. You'll figure it out."**
*At that moment, I woke up.*
---
*The genie and the hard drive has disappeared while I was asleep, but it didn't matter to me. Now I have a new focus and a new determination on what I should do.*
*It will be ten years later when I unveiled my first invention, a battery with an infinite amount of power. From such a tiny device, the world changed.*
*That was the start of humanity's race for the stars. I continued to make minor innovations after that, but just from my battery, I had already saved billions of lives, and possibly more in the future.* | 2018-08-15T04:27:11 | 2018-08-15T01:57:47 | 124 | 55 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | Genie: Well, David, you may not know this but you're a bit of an asshole.
David: I am not, I even gave that guy the $20 he dropped yesterday
Genie: You we're trying to impress a girl with the $20 and you stole my lamp off of someone's porch.
David: You saw that?
Genie: I think we've established I know more than what my 5 senses have experienced.
David: Yeah whatever, but what about me being an asshole?
Genie: Oh right, well some day soon, you will encounter an elderly blind woman in a wheelchair sitting at a restaurant. When she asks you for katsup you give her the spicey saracha sauce instead. The whole thing gets cought on video, including you laughing and moving all her drinks away from her.
David: I'm not following...
Genie: The whole thing sparks a movement called "Don't be like David". Your name becomes shorthand for jerks taking advantage of people. Generations later being outed as a david is so bad that entire governments have been replaced with ednas.
David: Who the Hell is Edna?
Genie: She is the name of the woman in the wheelchair. Basically a non-david. You need to understand that for the first time in human history, people become kind as a rule instead of the exeption. At first it's out of fear of becoming a david, but then it gets ingrained in culture so deeply that it becomes second nature.
Poof! The genie goes back into his lamp.
David, ashamed, goes and puts the lamp back on the strangers porch. | The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T05:47:33 | 2018-08-15T01:58:00 | 59 | 43 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | *I am not a native English-speaker, so please forgive any grammatical errors in my writing.*
"What in the name of...?" Teddie Ross couldn't help himself as he stared at the sight in front of him trough the Typhoon's canopy. "Are you seeing this?" He asked form his wing-man trough the radio. There was a long moment of silence before the radio crackled to life.
"Yeah." Jhonny Hall responded.
"Watch my back, I'll take a closer look." Teddie muttered as he brough his Typhoon close enough to make out the details of the bandit, if you could call it that.
The B-24 had obviously seen better days, evident by the rents and burns trailing all along it's fuselage that looked like a giant had taken a can-opener to it, before deciding to roast the plane above a fire. One of it's wings was missing a piece, and it's engine was trailing a cloud of black, oily smoke behind it. Teddie pushed the throttle upwards microscopically, bringing the Typhoon alongside the old bomber's cockpit. Inside, he could make out the bloodied and terrified faces of it's pilots as they gazed at his plane trough the class.
"Watcher-1 to tower."
"Tower listening, come in Watcher-1."
"Did we detect any temporal rifts in the last hour?"
"No. Why?"
"Because i have a genuine B-24 flying next to me that looks like it got dropped into a blender before being set on fire."
The tower was silent for a long moment, during which Teddie knew that they were frantically searching trough the records, looking for any possible temporal rifts that could explain the sudden appearance of the antiqued bomber. Then, finally, his radio crackled to life.
"Watcher-1, escort the bandit to the TAPF-17, runway 4. You have priority. We will continue trying to establish connection with the bandit, but so far they have all been ignored. We suspect that they might not have functioning radio equipment. When you arrive at TAPF-17, they'll want to take your statements, so be prepared to land. Tower out."
"Copy that." | **\[I'm aware this is not the direction most people wanted this to go. Oh well! Let's have some fun anyways.\]**
*My bones ache.*
"Something's wrong," Charles said finally. He ran a hand over the bald crown of his head and drummed lethargic fingers on the shiny metal alloy that made up his trusty wheelchair. "There's a sense of dread in the air, lingering, just...lingering."
Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops, adjusted his visor. Swallowing a bite, he scanned the half-eaten dinner that glowed rosily under the dim lighting. "Professor, I know my cooking hasn't gotten that much better, but isn't that a bit harsh?"
The man known as Professor X snorted and waved dismissively. "Not your cooking. The last time I felt something this ominous on the air waves was..."
He trailed off again, train of thought lost as Hank burst into the room. Blue hair was curling out around Beast's normally calm face. "There's an emergency. A WWII B-24 has been spotted over the English Channel. The government is calling on us to get to the target impact point. It won't last long. RAF fighters are already in the air, with orders to shoot it down."
Charles touched a finger to his temple. *Kurt. Are you awake?*
The man known as Nightcrawler puffed into existence, a devilish grin spreading across blue skin. "You called?"
The Professor was hesitant. He knew everyone's abilities quite well, and this would be taxing. "I need you to teleport the X-wing into British airspace."
"Say no more."
Scott grabbed the mutant's arm before Kurt could disappear. "I'm coming with you."
"Jean should come with us too," Hank said.
A puckered frown gave the laser mutant a quizzical look as he abandoned the dinner table and rushed to the X-wing. "Why so many?"
Steps turned heavy. Limbs and fur extended as Beast took his full combat form, voice deepening into a guttural snarl. "Aside from the fact that it's an ancient WWII bomber that shouldn't exist? Surveillance caught long claw marks raking the fuselage. We could be dealing with one of us."
Charles stopped listening in on them after that, rolling his wheelchair to Cerebro as fast as possible. As the familiar silver helmet slid over the world, he gripped his arm to stop the shaking. *That's not anticipation. That's fear.*
---
Jean Grey approached the downed fighter cautiously. The RAF had lost contact with any scouts that approached the area up until now. Restrained telekinetic energy pulsed just under her skin, ready to lash out at a moment's notice.
Something was wrong.
"Get back," she hissed, jabbing an arm out and preventing the team from taking another step.
Scott almost bumped into her. "What's wrong, Jean?"
"I've only encountered this feeling once before." The telepath focused and reached out to the titanic mind never too far away. *Charles. This is like* that *time. Are you there?* She ignored the fragrant scent of pine needles floating through the air, the late summer breeze that brought a chill to the dying light.
*This...shouldn't be possible.* Charles' thoughts abruptly cut off as he seemed to turn his attention elsewhere.
*Charles? What is?* Jean didn't get a response, so she moved forward. *I need to be sure*. Ignoring Kurt's cautionary warning, she peered out from behind one of the trees and sneaked up to the metal carcass. Three long gouges ripped open the sides, as if a giant bear had mauled it with large claws.
*Three gouges...that's almost like...*
"Jean, don't get any closer!" Hank warned. "We don't know what we're dealing with."
But she did. She could feel it rippling across her skin, spreading in the air, like a pestilence that *felt* wrong, a wrongness that *felt* like a blight on the world.
*Chronokinesis.*
That was the dreaded word. Jean blanched. "Someone or something, mutant most likely, used time manipulation abilities here. I can feel the stench emanating from the plane."
"Why would they do that?" Scott asked.
The psychic moved closer and finally got a glimpse into the cockpit, at the being sitting there behind the bloodstained and fractured window. Her heart jumped.
"Logan!?"
---
Thanks for reading! Hope you have a great day~ come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :D | 2019-12-01T08:30:11 | 2019-12-01T08:16:58 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] You're a ghost trying to peacefully enjoy your garden, and quite frankly, you're tired of all these adventurers trying to "put you to rest" | I could see another one cresting the hill. A large sword strapped to their back, glinting silver in the sun. Another misguided soul come to take me to my final rest. If only they could get it through their thick skulls that I wished to be left in peace and had no desire to cross over. If I had had any, I would have done it myself already.
If I were not dead, if I still retained the ability to draw breath, I would have sighed at the sight of them. Instead I rolled my eyes and floated over to the next patch of bright blue flowers. They were blooming nicely but I could see a few buds wilting. These damned things were always difficult to keep alive.
"Sir Ghost!" a masculine voice called then. I straightened my posture and looked over at them. "I have come to free you of your miserable existence!"
*Miserable existence.* The only miserable part about it was how these fools could never simply leave me alone. The rest was quite nice, much better than my living life had been.
*Go away*. I pushed the words into the man's mind.
"Do you not wish to be set free?"
*No*.
"Why ever not? The other side is quite nice from what I have heard." He crossed over into the garden now and I summoned up a root to trip him up. He stumbled, tried to catch himself, and then fell face first into the tulips. "That was rude."
*So is your trespassing into my garden*.
"I mean you no harm. Helping you cross over will be painless," he explained as he pushed himself to his knees. A hand came up to wipe the dirt from his face and out of his dark hair.
*And I have told you I wish not to do so.*
"But *why*?" he inquired.
*Because I enjoy tending to my garden.*
"Is that not a lonely existence?" He got to his feet. "Spending all day every single day alone?"
*I have my flowers and the trees.*
"They cannot talk back."
*I do not need them to talk back.* I moved to the roses now. Red and white and pink all bunched together and creating what looked like a large, multi-colored flower.
"Do you not ever wish to talk to others?" The man frowned at me but made no move to approach.
*Of course I do, but all those that come here have the same thing on their minds as you do. And it is infuriating as I do no one any harm but still they come and try to send me away.*
"And then you chase them from your garden."
*Yes.*
"And if *I* chose to abandon my mission and instead simply speak with you...would you let me?"
*I suppose. But you must swear on your life that you shall not return to your mission or sending me to where I wish not to go.*
"I can do that, Sir Ghost."
*Cease calling me that, my name is Anthony.*
"A please, Anthony. You may call me Gregory."
*Sit, Gregory. You have surely come from far away and must be tired.*
"Truth be told, I am," he said. He looked around for a moment before spotting a tree stump and taking his seat upon it. "Now, Anthony, why not regale me with some of tales of the others who have come before me? I would so like to hear how you chased them off."
My lips pulled upwards into a smile. Oh, those were some fine stories. | I didn't understand. It was frustrating, and anytime I got an adventurer in my garden it definitely ruined my day.
My chrysanthemums were in full bloom. After they were planted, they had sprouted everywhere. I knew the trick to them; plant after the frost. It was difficult to tell how frosty it was, when it didn't snow. Since I didn't feel heat anymore, it was difficult to tell the difference between warm and cold days.
It didn't matter. What matters was that they were mine. They reappeared every spring...well, they were planted every spring.
I heard someone shuffling in the house. I drifted in through the sliding door to see the gardener talking to a couple I didn't recognize.
"Go away." I tried to say to the gardener. But he couldn't hear me - it wasn't like he ever did. He just worked here, hired by the Parks department to take care of the abandoned mansion ever since it became a 'historical monument'.
They spoke for a while. The gardener shook their hands. It was a young woman and man. They had all the usual gear I had come to realize were ghost-hunting technology. These kids and their new gadgets.
The two of them came into my garden. They were traipsing through where the hyacinths used to the planted. The bricks around the soil had long since been uprooted and the soil replanted with grass, but it hurt me nonetheless.
"Get out." I said. The man stopped, looking around.
"Did you hear her?" The woman asked.
"Leave."
The man nodded.
They put their backpacks down and started setting up. I realized what it was - a visibility circle. They wanted to summon me, to trap me, to see me.
"How many other ghost hunters has this ghost gotten?" The woman asked.
Without thinking, I gripped a trowel left outside. "I'll get you both too." I said. There weren't many things I could grab. Mostly lighter, smaller objects. But I could still grab them.
I walked around my garden so they wouldn't see the floating trowel. Occasionally, the gardener would watch from the window. I snuck up behind the woman and raised the trowel.
"Kate!" The man cried, and enacted the circle.
Pain. Ripping, unbearable pain. I clung onto the trowel. And suddenly, I was visible.
"Patience." The woman, Kate, said.
"Get out." I snarled.
The man and woman looked at each other. The man stepped forward. "I'm Jerry." He said. "This is my partner, Kate."
"I don't care." I snapped. I threw the trowel at his head, but I was stuck in the circle. He didn't even blink as the trowel glanced off the side of the circle's protective ward.
He sighed. "Look. I knew that we're supposed to be reasonable and help you move on, but we've been having a bad day, so we'd rather just get this over with. Just head out, alright? It's time to move on."
"It's not." I hissed.
"There has to be something." Kate said. "There must be a reason you're clinging to this realm. To the garden."
"Take a guess." I snarled. "I'm sure the *gardener* will tell you."
"Yes, we know. Your husband set you on fire." Kate spoke evenly. "And we...we made sure that his soul has been sent on. He won't be bothering you anymore. Ever. You're free."
"I don't care." I said.
Kate and Jerry looked at each other again. "I told you," Jerry said, "She's already been released. But she won't leave."
"This is my garden." I snapped.
Kate grimaced. "Not anymore."
"It is, it always has been." I picked up the trowel once more.
Jerry put his hands on his hips. "We really don't want to have to do this."
They never do. It was painful, apparently, unbearable to be forced to move on. But I refused.
"Scum." I yelled. "You're all the same!" They didn't care. They just wanted the garden back. It was *mine*. They didn't understand it. They didn't understand me.
"This world is for the living." Kate said. "Look, we're trying to be nice. Well," she glanced at Jerry, "*I'm* trying to be nice. But you died a long time ago."
"Don't care. Now I'm here in my garden forever."
"Do you want to be here forever?"
I threw the trowel at her. Same as before, it glanced off the ward. "Yes!"
Jerry walked up to the edge of the circle, enraged. "Don't you dare throw that at her!"
"Why?" I smirked. Foolish, foolish man.
"Because." He couldn't finish. He looked away. I looked at the two of them. Kate glanced at Jerry with worry in her eyes. Jerry looked fragile, uncertain. Scared. I remembered when my husband had that look. He had the same look when he found out that measles had taken our son.
My son. I missed him. Here in the garden, all I had were my flowers. The chrysanthemums. The forget-me-nots. The roses.
"You want me to move on?" I asked them. "That's it?"
"Yes." Kate said.
"Will it hurt?"
"I don't think so."
My heart hurt now. I wish I could smell the flowers again. But I couldn't.
\--------
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please check out my other stories at /r/ShittyDuckStories. | 2019-12-30T14:19:31 | 2019-12-30T13:18:08 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward. | The world had come to a standstill. The news said a meteor was coming. Astrologists world-wide agreed that this would be catastrophic and completely unavoidable. We had only a matter of days to sort our things before the end of things. As expected, the world fell into mass pandemonium, anarchy at its worst. No law and no morals. In the chaos, two groups formed: those who wanted to spend their last days with their loved ones and those who embraced the worst of their vices and let them run free.
Governments were nonexistent and soon the only law was brute force and only the feared had strength. Kill or be killed. The only way to stay out of it was to quarantine yourself from the outside world. Fortunately, most had enough to survive the week, but others weren't so lucky. It was the first worldwide purge and suddenly the meteor became a consolation and hope for most. This was worse than death.
Hours to the big event, there was mass prayers. Everyone suddenly found God and prayed for whatever they believed in. When the meteor passed by Earth, instead of immediate death, they found they had to deal with consequences. Governments were overthrown and new leaders were elected. The state of society could not be reversed, so every country chose to honor the dead and prosecute all who'd been active participants in the purge. The number was so high, that eventually, a mass pardon was passed and the world came back to order. Since then, every year, a full week is committed to remembering the atrocities of that time and every participant is incarcerated for that week. Nowhere close to justice, but better than nothing. | We saw it pass.
Not everyone did. Approximately half of the almost ten billion people on the planet were on the wrong side. Half of the rest had cloud cover. Some it was too light, so they could just barely see a shadow. Some were just looking the wrong way.
We saw it pass, impossibly big, impossibly fast - like a ghost moving through the sky. If you blinked you could have missed it. It looked like it was larger than the earth, and for that moment it almost felt like my feet lifted off the ground, pulled by some intense otherworldly gravity.
The news said that scientists were reporting a wobble in our orbit. Some of the ozone had been stripped away by the cloud of gas surrounding that strange other world. There were theories about how it had come screaming out from a nearby galaxy exploding, hundreds of thousands of years ago. A chunk of rock from another galaxy. From unthinkable miles away, travelling at unbelievable speed. What did it even mean for a galaxy to explode? Could that even happen?
We had gone to bed shocked to be alive. It was me and... her.
We had met in our 20s. She had changed my life. Made me a better man. Showed me how to enjoy my life. Showed me how to experience things, and showed me what it really meant to be a person. She showed me things I never thought I'd have. She gave me a taste of things I never knew I wanted. Then... Then she had left. Gone travelling. Without me.
That was ten years ago. i'd married. I'd had children, but when the news had come on the television, warning us of the disaster, my mind had immediately jumped to her. I spent a week looking her up. The internet, old addresses... Even bribing a mail clerk to give me her new address.
It had been a hundred and fifty mile drive out to this cabin on some lonely hillside. I thought it was where I was going to die. I thought it was where we were all going to die. I just wanted to be with her at the end. I didn't even tell my wife.
I was staring at the ceiling now. So was she, lying next to me. I would try to speak, but no words would come out. She would make a noise, and I would worry they would turn into sentences.
"I..." I said.
It wasn't guilt, exactly. More... Uncertainty. Vulnerability. I'd never expected her to say yes in the first place. The fact that she had... Well. Now things were different. I lapsed back into silence.
"Well..." she said.
I looked at her hair. She was older, certainly, but no less beautiful than I remembered her. She smelt of acorns and wildflowers.
"...Yeah..." I said.
"We're still here."
"So we are,"
"A second chance," she said.
"For everyone."
She said nothing for a while. "This was so dumb," she said, at last.
"Yup. Super, super dumb," I agreed.
"Dumb, dumb, dumb, stupid," she said, her voice slow and sing-song. I loved the way she spoke.
"Yes... Although..."
"Although what?"
"Although," I said, "It's funny, I never thought you'd say yes."
"Yes," she said. "It's funny how I did that. I never thought you'd try to find me again."
"Funny, dumb. Dumb and funny," I said.
"Of course I never would if I knew I was risking anything," she said."
"Oh, me neither," I parrotted. "If I'd known I'd still have my kids and wife waiting for me after this I... Well.."
"Funny... Funny how it works like that," she said.
"Very," I agreed.
"Funny how when we don't think there's anything at stake we act different."
"Real different," I said.
"How when we're not afraid of what we might lose..."
I stayed silent.
"...We find ourselves chasing what we really want."
I smiled.
I thought it was where I was going to die.
Turns out it was where I had been to start feeling alive. | 2022-06-15T09:32:30 | 2022-06-15T09:00:13 | 47 | 34 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | The discussion is loud and getting louder.
"I mean, come on! They've no natural armor. No fangs, no claws, nothing worth speaking of as a weapon. How could it be otherwise? They're a natural Level One!"
That's the loud one, and he's getting louder. His idea of an argument is to shout the other person down. Since he can exceed 140 dB easily, and twice that with some strain, he usually "wins" the argument. The wise do not push an argument with a Hedge's Sonic Warbler beyond Good Day and walk past as rapidly as they can without giving offense. I can already see the response of other aliens to the commotion. He is pulling away. His fellow, and target of the argument, is trying to calm him down, but he isn't listening.
"There is *no way* that a Human could be anything other than a Level One, so we should stop tiptoeing around them and just get on with life."
Everyone else is already aware that I am there. Loudmouth isn't because he's too busy pontificating at the top of his lungs. Well, not entirely, no one's ears are bleeding. Sigh. I guess I'll have to step in. At least see if I can get him to go outside so the air blast won't bring the whole house down.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes?" He turns to meet me and has to look down. "You're a short one, aren't you!"
"What's got you so upset that you have to break everyone's eardrums to make your point? Your friend is obviously able to hear you far too well."
"You're joking, yes? I made sure *everyone* would hear me, so you must have."
"Parts of it, before you got so loud, I tuned it out. So, why all the hubbub, bub?"
"...hubbub, bub? I *like* that."
This exceptionally large lizard with really big lungs tries to take a deep breath. I strike with paired fingers, hitting a nerve junction with pinpoint accuracy and measured violence. He exhales involuntarily and has trouble drawing his next breath.
"Here, let me help you outside. A breath of fresh air is just what you need. It'll help you clear your mind too. Now, to be honest, I have to agree that the vast majority of Humans are threat level one if you discount every technological aid since muscle-powered tools went out the window and every scrap of knowledge we've amassed over the centuries. Even with those, I'd say most Humans would *appear* to be no more than Threat Level Three. It's a false assumption, though. The truth is that we *prefer* to have friends and companions rather than enemies, so we don't use half of what we learn even by absorption in early schooling. And I'll admit that most Humans won't show more than Threat Level Three because they *really* hate fighting."
I've got him outside now and in the center of the small park out front.
"Too bad for you that *I* am here today, or perhaps it's too good for you."
The confusion on his face is priceless.
"Who are you?"
"Ambassador Temujin."
"Oh, the Buddist monk. A pacifist." He's so dismissive. I believe this is within my mandate to educate the problem children in this assembly. "There is no way that you could possibly be more than a One." And he didn't listen or pick up on when everyone else cleared the park.
"You believe so?"
"Absolutely."
"Nothing I could say would convince you otherwise?"
"Not a chance."
"Hit me." The look on his face is so funny; I smile my brightest smile. "Hit me!" His confusion is turning into anger, good. We'll need to fix that. "Hit me you, *(extended xenologically oriented insult specific to this race, place, and time, showing exceptional skill with languages in a scatological sense)*."
"RAAAAGGHHH!"
I have studied many forms.
"HUGGGHHHEEE!"
Many of those forms redirect the opponent's energy.
"YEEEEEAARRRGGH!"
A good many of them focus on evasion.
"AAUGGGHH!"
But *Neue Stahlhände* from Fang Nochmal An is a *hard* style. You get the poor bastard worked up, then when he comes at you, a braced arm or three is all you need.
"Hoooooffff!"
And now he can't breathe at all, beyond a rapid shallow pant.
((cont)) | Written from the perspective of the one 10th lvl human:
“Aw chill, 10/10. Reddit will love this”
She pulled out her phone and opened r/ relationshipadvice.
*”gotta figure out the best title” *
**Aliens say I’m a lvl 10 threat (25NB she/they), do you think my partner (26NB he/they) will break up with me?(7yr relationship)**
TL:DR If you’re living under a rock: Aleins have decended upon the earth. They’ve been scanning individual humans for weeks to see if we’re a threat. Turns out, I am. I’m the only one. They’re done now and they said I’m the only lvl 10 threat they could find.
I mean, c’mon, they’ve denounced every other human as a lvl 1 threat, but like what *IS* a level one threat anyways? Like is that even a bad thing? “Smaller numbers don’t mean smaller happiness.” Ya, know?
They’re aliens, maybe their numbers are backwards. Maybe they scanned my partner and we’re like “eih, that was a little off” because they probably scan like 100 humans a day these days. Aliens can have interns too, ya know?
Anyways. I just need to know if this is maybe gonna cause a fight from the ~~relationships~ side of Reddit. I have awesome dinner plans for us and I just want to make sure he doesn’t get super stressed out.
His boss has been on him lately for what is essentially the one stat at work we all forget about. It’s different for everyone but there’s always the ONE. The boss tends to do this about every 2 months when their deadlines come up, so it’s kind of understandable, but like I wish the boss would just go easy on him. The boss is usually a pretty cool guy but like why is he so… upity when stressed.
Well… we all resemble our parents when stressed, and it’s not that like my partner would start the fight. They’re a chill person.
*I would start the fight*
Other people being stressed, stresses me out. But people never tell you when they’re stressed. There’s never an “I’m stressed” error that comes out of their mouth. It’s always in the body. A twitch there. A smirk here. A slight change of word pace. An intonation change. A diction change. A nervous movement. A repetitive movement. It’s all physical. It runs our society. The words left unspoken. The yet to be fully realized truths. If you can read between the lines… you’re fine. But if you can’t, you’re lost. You lose that persons grip on understanding when you attempt to change their world view with just words.
But a gentle hand on the shoulder. A “hey, are you ok? I noticed you haven’t talked about (insert niche special interest here) for a while, I saw a twitter post about (special interest twitter post concept) Do you wanna talk about it?” with another human will turn into them telling you what’s stressing them. It’s good to focus on something else for a bit. Even if it’s just a minute before that tense work conversation, that minute prevents days/months/years of emotional turmoil.
Humans are at their best when they know they’re learning, and when they only feel comfortable in that knowledge when OTHERS know they’re learning. If we have the active knowledge that we’re trying to get better, and the other people around us are also trying to get better? Awesome. 10/10 human right there doing human stuff.
The knowledge that humans can change in an instant due to a random thing in their environment triggering a memory/thought/idea is not easy to deal with. It happens to EVERYONE. Regardless of status, class, race, creed, sex, gender, identity, height, weight, age. If that person is biologically human, they will have negative/positive reactions to stressors on their environment.
But that’s just it. Stressors. What is a stressor? Well… everything.
There’s good stress and bad stress. Good stress moves us forward, bad stress holds us back. We have to put some amount of pressure to do things on ourself in modern day society in order to not sit on the couch and consume our favorite media or play our favorite game with friends.
I mean, just think, wouldn’t it be great if money just appeared in our bank account? Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could just do what we wanted? And I don’t think people realize what that means when I say it.
You don’t do what you want, and in the process trample over others. You do what you want because it HELPS others. But you gotta make sure helping people comes first.
Everywhere but your private space, someone else’s needs are above your own. A grocery store? Employees come first, they have to be here every day, if they ask you about the credit card they’re forcing every employee to push no matter how that employee feels? Politely decline. If you can’t do that. Smile, and just stare at them. It’ll be something interesting for them to think about later.
“Wonder what was up with that crazy lady” they’ll say<<but that thought is not this one>> “oh god that nice lady hates me, I’m so terrible at my job”
Is everyone going to think that? No. But most people do. And if they don’t think it consciously, it manifests in rage, short temper, foot tapping, angry tone, anything. Depending on the person it could be anything.
We want to feel good as humans. So let’s check the most boxes for everyone involved. If a human isn’t making the decision themself with all the understanding they need to fully make the decision, the choice they pick will hold us back, even if it temporarily moves us forward in our own self serving ways. We all, as animals, only need what we need to be happy and content. To be content our body needs to be comfortable. To be happy our mind needs to be comfortable. Not perfect. Not fully healed. Not healthy. Just comfortable. Humans are endurance based creatures. We can put up with anything long enough to reach a goal, that goal just has to have a need attached to get it done.
So anyways. I just want to make sure my partner isn’t gonna like, get super stressed and nit picky, so if you have any advice let me know! Thank you so much! <3
*aww wait, I should check to see if r/ relationshipadvice has a word count limit*
She copied her draft, and closed out of the post creator to check the rules/sidebar. In reading through them she remembered every sentence of her post. The reddit mods aren’t going to know her intent, the betterment of the global community, they’re just gonna see a whiny post about her boyfriend that kind-of-sort-of breaks like 3 rules. But it gave her a sense of calm to type it all out at least. Somewhere the data is out there. People just have to find it.
So she pasted the post under her username, because nobody on reddit looks at a username timeline without wanting to figure out who TF has that trash take.
So she clocked post, and closed out the Reddit app. | 2022-08-28T03:28:32 | 2022-08-27T23:35:13 | 71 | 18 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace. | "It's like drinking water contaminated by dead bodies," the man said. "Exactly as disgusting and **\*ow\*** unusable as you'd expect **\*ah\*** *blast it all*!" he hissed in pain as I put another stitch into his arm. The bite was rather nasty and his pained grins exposed the sharp fangs in his mouth; a somewhat uncomfortable reminder of his nature.
"And you're sure you can't be infected?" I asked.
Without a word he lifted his shirt and revealed a large bite mark on his stomach, a clear imprint of human teeth that had long healed. Infection normally takes only some 12-odd hours, so... good enough for me.
"Done," I said and put down the needle and thread. I pulled away from him on my stool as he lowered his sleeve and moved his shoulder around, stretching it.
"How long will it take to heal?" I wondered.
"About a day."
"Impressive."
"Had worse. Javelin through the heart once," he stated nonchalantly
"So... stakes through the heart won't kill you?" I asked. He gave me a somewhat suspicious look but shrugged.
"No. Neither will the Sun, garlic, bullets, or, well..." he said and pointed towards the fence where the zombies still shuffled aimlessly. "But hunger will," he added grimly and looked back at me.
"Right," I said. "So..." I trailed off.
"Look, you're not exactly wild about the idea. I get it, really. I may not be exactly human, but I'm not a monster either. This is a simple matter of survival for both of us. How many people have you lost to them so far? I can protect you!" he pleaded.
"In exchange for our blood," I said. He nodded. "I'm not sure we can properly... provide for you. We have, let's see... 8 men but 2 are sick; drinking their blood would kill them. 4 women, 3 children-"
"No children," he interrupted sternly.
"What?"
"No. Children," he repeated. His face was suddenly dark and brooding. "I'd rather let them tear me apart," he growled. I looked at him; his resolution seemed genuine and absolute. *Admirable*, I thought.
"It is enough, luckily," he continued. "I don't need as much as you'd think."
I took a deep breath and considered the situation. He was right. That was the worst part. The last time a horde passed through, we lost 3 people just trying to defend the compound. He just fought his way in through about four dozen of them with only a scratch.
I looked him in the eye. Despite it all, hell, despite the fact that his eyes were *blood-red*, he looked... honest. I extended my hand.
"I'm Abidugun," I said.
"One born before the war," he smiled. "Fitting." Him knowing the meaning of my name put me at ease, somehow. He extended his own hand and shook it.
"Viktor," he smiled, the moon reflecting off of his fangs. "A vampire teaming up with humans against zombies," he chuckled. "Hollywood, here we come."
And, for the first time in what seemed like forever... I laughed. | "Here" I say, passing around plates of food to refugees. When the zombie attack started, I retreated to my factory and opened my doors to survivors. My factory is made of multiple buildings on good soil, and well-guarded, making it an ideal place for people to shelter. That's not to say we're perfectly safe, but with the resources available, we're decently prepared.
After passing out the food, I take a look through my periscope to see how the situation is. Sometimes the zombies just roam around aimlessly outside, other times they can be close to climbing over and getting in. There have been times when a few zombies managed to breach security, which are always scary.
It seems like right now, a few try to grip the wall, climb a tiny bit, then give up. I frown; this could be a bad sign... before I can consider my options, I see something moving through the horde. All the zombies seem to notice as they begin making their way to it. Must be a human... but then why doesn't it seem to be affected?
As the zombies fall, I see there is indeed a human... being protected by a group of vampires! I open the door, ready to let the refugee in. "Humans only" I state. Understanding what I mean, the vampires step aside and allow the terrified girl to enter. I step outside and shut the door.
"That was very kind of you all to do... but why didn't you just, I dunno, bite her or something?"
"We had to restrain" one of the vampires speaks up. "We thought she was the only human left, and we were going to feed, but she begged for us to let her go so she could get to 'safety'."
I nod. "Right. So you're using her and wish to feed on everyone in here? Not happening."
"We're not barbaric" the female in the group says. "We did want to help her, genuinely, but our desire to bite her was because our colony is *starving*! Once we heard there was still a stronghold, we realised we could help everyone."
I raise an eyebrow sceptically. "Explain."
"You see" the first vampire responds, "as undead creatures zombies are nothing to us, but zombies are deadly to humans. However, as humans you can eat anything, while us vampires need..." he seems to sniff the air. "...we need to feed. It's so hard... I..."
"Easy, son" an older vampire says. He turns to me. "As you can see, we also suffer from this nightmare. Our needs are just different. If you can allow us entry so we have blood to feed on, we can assist in protecting you all from the zombies. I'm sure you could use the assistance. We could even be the ones to go out and look for resources and supplies. There's a lot of medical stuff still available. We could search for materials and stuff."
I look behind me. We've not exactly had full bellies ourselves... and several of us have fallen ill, it... it's painful to watch... even if the zombies don't get us, how long will we last?
I turn back. "No trickery. You aren't to turn anyone. I'll agree to let your whole colony in and feed on blood, in return you will grant us protection and go out to look for supplies." I have a think. I produce a picture of a house, another picture of a teddy. "Prove to me that you will fulfil your end. There's a scared little girl in here. She keeps saying how Peach must be scared."
The vampires have a quick discussion, then look back at me. "Two of us will go and inform our colony. The other two will recover the toy. We won't be more than half an hour." With that, the vampires are off, and I slip back into the compound to share the news with everyone.
Responses are mixed, but it's ultimately agreed by everyone that this may be our best chance. I keep an eye on things outside the compound. I notice a zombie has almost breached defences. I begin to prepare an attack, when suddenly the zombie falls. "WE'RE BACK!" I rush to open the door. Suddenly, there's about 50 vampires. The female from before passes me Peach. Every other vampire has some sort of offering - food, tools, materials. I can't help but smile.
"Guys... this is incredible... thank you..." I step aside to let them all in.
The next day, everyone - human and vampire - are in good spirits. The supplies have helped to heal and to provide entertainment, and we now have plenty of food for the upcoming winter. The vampires seem to be less drained than yesterday, a sign they've been feeding, but a head count confirms that no-one has turned. It seems like things are looking up.
One of the younger vampires runs up to me. "Thank you so much mister!" He decides to give me a hug. In my shock, all I can do is hug back.
"No... thank you..." I begin to cry with joy. Humanity will survive after all.
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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) | 2022-10-27T07:04:01 | 2022-10-27T05:04:44 | 976 | 275 |
[WP] A lone vampire struggling to survive a zombie apocalypse stumbles upon a human family who invite him/her to seek shelter with them. | "Christ, man!"
I flinched at the first words I'd heard since the radio stations stopped broadcasting.
"Get inside; you know it isn't safe at night!" He was whispering through the small crack of an open door.
Didn't he know better than to offer charity in these times?
"You're... Inviting me in?" My voice creaked. I couldn't remember the last time I used all those muscles in conjunction, and my throat was dry. I hadn't had anything to drink in days.
The one eye I could see through the door rolled with impatience. "Just get in!"
The door swung wide, I caught a split-second glint of candlelight off his single-barrel as he pulled me inside by my collar. Before I knew it I heard the telltale click of the door locking behind me. I was actually inside of someone's home. Even with everything, someone invited me in.
There was only one candle on the dining room table in the tiny apartment. That was good: just enough to see what you need to see, but not enough to draw attention. The room was bare save a pile of miscellany in the corner which was mostly rice. We were alone. If he ever had a family they were gone now.
"Jesus Christ-" he started, but paused when he saw me flinch a second time at his words.
"I almost blew your head off," he continued. "You're so skinny and pale I thought you were one of them... Are you thirsty?"
I nodded. He was already pouring the last water from a gas can into a dark-colored coffee mug. I accepted, but hesitated to drink it.
"Don't worry." He gestured toward the gas can he had just drained. "Never even had a lawnmower. Grabbed it from the hardware store when everything went south. There wasn't much else left."
I looked at the mug in my hand. I could see the reflection of his face in the unnaturally still water. My pulse was weak. He caught my eye with a strange look. He looked at the mug, then back at me. He made a motion with his hand that said, "drink it."
My host was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable. I gulped it all down at once to break the silence in my mind. That's when the burning started.
It tasted like ash, my teeth felt like they were dissolving, my throat collapsed, and my tongue started lapping like a flame in my mouth. My body went limp, and I fell to the ground. The fire moved to my stomach, then outward. I tried to pull myself to my feet, but my fingernails broke against the carpet. I seized.
I couldn't move. The burning was everywhere now. The man turned me onto my back. My skin sheared off in large flakes onto his hands and sleeves. He brushed me off of himself in a cloud of ash and dust and stood over me.
Looking up at him I knew exactly what he was. This man was a priest. He knew all the signs. He saw them all, and he acted. He was killing me with kindness, and I was stupid enough to drink his holy water. He leaned down to me and spoke.
"I never take the Lord's name in vain." | "You don't know how much I appreciate your help," the man said as he led Sebastian towards an overpass. The sky was overcast, covered in grey clouds that bathed the countryside in a bleak light; it was also cold, not surprising Sebastian when he saw that there was a small fire underneath the underpass. They crossed through a large barren field. Before the Turn, it might've held cotton, but now it was just a large square of dirt.
"Don't mention it again, who else is with you?" Sebastian asked, now feeling anxious. Back before the Turn, he never would've worried about humans overpowering him. It would've been impossible for thirty well-trained men to kill him, but in times after the Turn, Sebastian found that he spent most days feeling a nearly unbearable hunger in his gut. It weakened him far past the point of most child vampires, but he was still capable of handling a group of Wingless. A large group of humans, however, he wasn't so sure of. Their bodies were still sturdy.
"Just my daughter, I told her not to light that fire until I got back, by the way, my name is-
"I don't want to know your name," Sebastian said coldly.
"I uhh," the man stuttered, "I just figured if you were going to be coming with us-
"We can make do without names." Sebastian said as he wiped his mouth with his hand. He caught a whiff of Wingless blood on his knuckles, remnants from a knife-handed chop that caved in one of their skulls. The scent was bitter, and yet at the same time, acidic. It nearly made him gag.
The two finally arrived at the overpass, smoke billowing out from under the bridge.
"Who is that?" The little girl asked. She couldn't have been more than five years old, and yet the man still left her behind to go looking for food. Sebastian let out a slow sigh. He was hoping that the man would be leading him to a small group of bandits, a pack of scum, something on the receiving end of karma that would replenish his strength.
It was a funny thing; most people assumed that the strong and evil would survive and that the good would die out, but when it actually came down to it, the evil turned on each other. All that was left was good, and the Wingless.
"He's going to be coming with us Christie," the man said.
Sebastian cringed. *Christie*. She had a name now. Now there was absolutely no way that he could consume their blood and hold it down. In that moment, Sebastian already made the decision to abandon them in the night.
__________________________________________________________
He heard their breathing slow down, could even hear their heartbeats slow. Their heartbeats were synced in sleep, despite the young girl having an irregular heartbeat. Sebastian hoped that it didn't become a larger problem in the future. He pushed the thought away as he sat up from the ground. The smoke from the fire had died down, leaving only embers.
He stood and quietly walked away from the man and his daughter, *Christie*, his stomach growling and punishing him for each step he took away from a potential meal. A potential means to regain his wings. He could drain them, regain his strength, and fly far away, and finally resume hunting bandits like he had been.
Sebastian was already halfway through the field when he finally noticed them. He berated himself for not being more aware. Either the Wingless were getting more stealthier, or his senses weren't as strong as he had originally thought.
There were lined in a half-moon pattern, stretching from one side of the field to the other. Two of them sprinted at Sebastian, limbs creaking with each step.
He squared his feet and raised his fists, ready to begin his dance of death with the Wingless, but to his surprise, the two who had broken rank ran past him. They had their sights already set on the man and Christie.
"Get up!" Sebastian yelled, turning to chase down the two Wingless. He took two steps, then felt a searing pain in his lower-back. He crumbled to the ground, then turned onto his back to see three Wingless bear down on him.
One bit into his thigh, another started to slash at his gut, and the third made a move for his neck.
Sebastian lashed out with a steady right hand and grabbed a hold of the Wingless' throat, stopping its face mere inches away from his own. It snarled, revealing a mouthful of fangs, *a side-affect from the turn, an evolutionary step to make them more successful predators*. Sebastian squeezed hard, crushing the Wingless' windpipe, and snapping its spine in the process. It went limp and fell to the side.
He sat up and jabbed a fist through the Wingless that was attempting to claw open his stomach. His punch went through its temple, completely eviscerating whatever was left of its brain, *all organs that the virus thinks are unnecessary atrophy. They just dry up. Even the brain, it's strange. But think of it as targets. Brain, heart, liver, they're all weak points.*
He swung another fist at the Wingless, crushing in its skull.
Sebastian quickly stood to his feet, just in time to see the rest of the flock charging at him.
__________________________________________________________
He stomped down on both of their backs, effectively destroying their spines. The two Wingless crumbled. Sebastian kicked them off of the man and Christie, already knowing full well that it was too late to do anything for them. They would turn in just a few moments.
But there was some time left, he could drink their blood, he could regain his wings.
He stood there, under the underpass, wondering if he would be able to stomach it.
| 2014-06-23T21:03:25 | 2014-06-23T19:22:17 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | I stop, knife poised at my feet. I've been here before. I've known this path.
It seemed so good. No more chores. No more abuse. No more despair. When she appeared, how could I refuse? She seemed so kind! She gave me so much - beautiful clothes, a night of wonder, the hope of true love.
They are tricksters. The fey creatures never tell you the cost. You learn that later.
My sisters envy me. My mother believes me the luckiest girl in the kingdom.
I know better. My Prince is a monster - a creature of ineffable beauty, and a heart of ice. And I am trapped by him, never allowed to leave, never allowed to escape. Never allowed to die. Truly, the fey can be charming - him in particular. I am his plaything.
I stare at my feet. Every night, before he awakes...I curse them. I hurt them and in my pain find some small solace. And he comes in, and smiles that too perfect smile, and waves a hand and the blood is gone, and the scars are gone. And he looks at me with those perfect eyes with no soul, and I ask the question.
Why did the slipper fit?
| It was all she could do to keep running. The jungle heat was like a thick wet curtain, constantly constraining her movements. The vines and creepers were like gnarled limbs outstretched to grip and entangle her. The roots and stones like legs to trip her up. Still, she kept running. She had to keep running. She had to get away. *They* were coming. She could hear them.
The others hadn't had a chance. *They* were on top of them before anyone could react. The cave was supposed to be a safe place. *He* said *they* didn't know about it, that *they* would never find them there. *He* had said a lot of things.
A sudden shout brought her back to the present. She heard a hiss-crack and a tree two feet to the right of her exploded in a shower of bark and wood chips. She had to run faster. She couldn't let them catch her.
Spotting a familiar rock formation, she angled towards it before heading down a narrow defile. She had spent enough time on the island that she knew it would take her towards the village. There was safety in the village. *They* never went there.
As she tore through the ravine, the vast sea of trees was replaced with vine covered stone walls. She had to take care that the loose gravel didn't cause her to slide, for if she lost her footing she knew they would find her broken, lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine. She could hear her pursuers’ boots pounding on gravel behind her, but thankfully the passage’s twists and turns prevented them from getting another clear line of sight. But they were gaining. She could hear it. She had to move faster.
Suddenly, another turn brought the end of the ravine into full view. She could see smoke rising above the trees. With her salvation in sight, her legs found new energy and she ran as if she were born to the jungle. As the walls of the defile fell away, she saw the tops of the tipis and longhouses begin to emerge over the trees. She cried aloud for relief and then she was flying. For a brief moment she thought she had finally figured it out, what *he* had been trying so desperately to teach her. Then the world began to revolve.
She hit the ground hard, her head smashing into a rock. She saw stars. In her panic she tried to keep scrambling towards where she thought the village was, but something pulled at her ankle. Something strong and rough. A rope. She screamed in fear and frustration as her hands tried uselessly to undo the snare that had caught her. The next moment they were on her. Large and muscular hands, calloused from pulling at strong ropes with heavy loads pulled her up and bound her wrists behind her back. Her screaming was cut short by a lump of canvas shoved in her mouth. She was hauled to her feet, spun around, and was suddenly faced with the thing she feared most.
He was like a grotesque picture in one of her history books, dressed in a naval uniform that hadn't been used in centuries. On his head he had a wide brimmed hat crowned by a ratty plume that must have once been white. In his left hand he held a battered cutlass, and in place of his right, there was a rusty iron hook. He had a long thin mustache held up by wax, jet black, the same color as his long greasy hair. It sat upon a cruel mouth below a purple bulbous nose, which sat like an inflamed pustule between the small, black, beady eyes of Captain James Hook.
“Why, Ms. Darling,” he said, “are you leaving so soon?” Then Wendy felt a pain in the back of her head like a nova, and all was darkness.
| 2014-08-04T11:24:08 | 2014-08-04T09:54:19 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | Lek'tar strong Kholan warrior. Strongest of Lekh clan. Conquer twelve planets in nebula of birth with horns, teeth, and blade. Have one hundred seventy families with twenty species, three hundred children, all strong warriors. But Lek'tar strongest.
Lek'tar forty-fifth family on Tsina say Lek'tar must prove strongest in galaxy. Tsina family challenge Lek'tar to conquer blue planet with jellies. Tsina say jellies strong. Lek'tar will pop jellies with horn.
Jelly planet many thousand years rock throw away. Kholan strong because Kholan planet many special natural force call space stretch. Kholan blood feel space stretch and bend universe around Kholan.
Lek'tar make big rock and concentrate hard on bend universe. Lek'tar see stars pass around Lek'tar face, many colors flashing. Farthest any Kholan space stretch. Blue jelly planet get bigger. Rock burn in jelly planet-fluid. Lek'tar find jelly and ask for jelly leader. Jelly no reply. So Lek'tar bury big Lek'tar horn deep into Jelly flesh. Darkness fall on Lek'tar, carapace split. Lek'tar slain by enemy... how?
-------
Cecil wipes the guts from his neck. "Fucking mosquitoes." | We first discovered the planet known as Sol III by their radio transmissions. It was like watching a strobe light up and flicker with insanity. It seemed so random at first, but soon our priests learned to see patterns in the insanity.
It became obvious that we could see the start of a new civilization. And it was rowdy. An outpost was established on the far side of this planet's tidally locked sister planet. We began to study this new intelligence.
We saw these little beings as the brilliant children that they were. Less than a generation had passed when we first noticed them to when we found then building stars on the surface of their own planet. They could refine element 94 and began using it to make tiny stars! It was beautiful to see them advance so quickly!
But, one day, the tiny stars stopped. We worried, but still watched, trying to see what we could offer to help them.
I almost feel foolish that we didn't see it sooner. Element 94 didn't occur naturally in this solar system! Every bit of 94 was literally manufactured by these beings!
This was a game changer! This species went from chaotic radio signals to subatomic engineering so fast that many of my people would not believe it! There was no way they could have already figured out the entire mystical techniques of t'Æhk £ezhk (sic) in less than a single generation! And on their own, no less!
Remember your history (legends?). We are the Firstborn. The first intelligent beings to ever arise. Born from the corpse of the very first star. t'Æhk £ezhk Brought us together and taught us to bask in the beauty of the universe and we learned to manipulate it to our will.
We explored everything! It wasn't hard as the universe was nowhere near as big as it is today. But we were alone. Then, one day, we saw a new voice in the stars. The universe had given us a friend!
Out we went to see and we taught each other what it means to be alive. It is still the greatest joy to teach and learn together. Although the vast trade is also a big plus.
Imagine our surprise when we learned that some species were aggressive. There was much sadness, but often with resource trade, they would all come around. Joy could always be made.
These beings, it seemed, could not comprehend these basic ideas. When we realized that element 94 was in short supply, we called in a cargo ship with the purest 94 aboard. A mass of (roughly 500 kg) and we parked it above their planet so they could see.
Once we knew they could see it, we sent them our message. "We can control this like you." A tiny sliver was taken away and turned into a tiny star as we had seen these people do before. We wanted to help them learn and bask in the glory of the universe.
In our excitement, we jumped down to the planet to see what their reactions would be. Elation? Joy? Comfort that they are not alone?
No. We were greeted with hostility that we could not comprehend.
The beings had weapons of such brutal efficiency that it still haunts me. Of the three thousand excited firstborn to descend on the planet, only a handful made it back alive.
No one ever really spotted the species. They unleashed their torrent at us from an unfathomable distance. We never got close enough to try to speak to them. We never got a chance to ask what we had done wrong. Once we realized only death awaited us there, we ran.
The most frightening thing was that they completely changed their language after we contacted them. We had figured out their languages and tried to send radio signals back. After they attacked, the language became disguised. It was like it had been scrambled as they spoke.
Truly, I fear these beings. That is why I must teach you these things. Be wary of the monsters from Sol III. They are frightening creatures. | 2014-10-17T11:04:27 | 2014-10-17T10:45:22 | 46 | 21 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “I can’t believe they used molten lead.” I said, suddenly finding myself by a desert river, much like the one they had done the deed next to. ISIS was a cruel group, and disposing of a reporter with the morbidly creative use of a box and molten lead was shocking to say the least.
“Didn’t see it coming did you?” A man with the a strange white crown and a green face asks as he sits down next to me.
“You’re just in the box, and the next minute everything is all light and heat.”
“At least the high temperatures prevent you from feeling much. Lead turns molten at about 327 degrees Celsius, and that kind of heat seals your nerve endings shut almost instantly.” I shudder.
“It all happened so quickly, and what did I ever do to them? I was unarmed. I kept my distance. You know they actually came and found me miles from where the fighting is happening? Who does that? They even knew I had a wife and kids!” The green faced man picks up a river stone.
“You see this stone? It is like the burdens we carry in life. As we walk through the desert to the river we choose to pick these things up and carry them with us. You now carry a great stone with you, far larger than you can carry if you are to cross this river into what lies beyond. If you should try you would fall to the riverbed and remain there.”
“How is that fair?” I protest. “I didn’t ask for what they did to me.”
“They may have inflicted evil upon you through no fault of your own, but it is you who are choosing to carry the burden of this great stone. I know you don’t feel like you have a choice. They seem to have forced the stone on you. They have made you feel as if this burden is yours to carry, but it isn’t. You need to let it go in order to cross over.” The green faced man throws the stone into the river. “Let it be as if it had never been. For when you are beyond this river such things will no longer matter.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
“My brother Seth did the same to me. He sunk me into this river after incasing me in a box and pouring lead down on me. I sank, both in real life and in the afterlife, and it was a long time before I learned to let go of my burden and move on to lighter places.”
“Seth? That sounds familiar, so that makes you…”
“Osiris.”
“So the egpytians were right? Should I have requested my remains to be embalmed? Wow, Osiris. That makes you one of the big gods right? Should I kneel or something? Are there prayers I should know? I totally did not expect to meet an Egyptian god when I passed on.”
Osiris shakes his head. “I am no god brother. I am just a man who, when I passed on, was fondly remembered by many. I, like many others who have been called gods were merely men that carried themselves with honor during life. It is my self-appointed task to come down here to the crossing point to escort people into the step.”
“So this isn’t heaven?” I ask.
“No brother, it lies beyond. The god, who you will soon meet, found that humans enjoy paradise the most if they first leave behind their worldly burdens. That way there is no taint or tarnish on perfection and you can be in bliss undistracted. Like a bride at a funeral all hurtful memory is left outside, only in heaven, it is never to be taken up again.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I say. Getting to be beyond painful memories forever. “But I don’t think I’m ready yet. It is no easy thing to let go of what you are asking me to let go. Can you sit with me a while longer?”
“As long as you need brother. As long as you need.” | *Profanity Warning*
It was rather strange, waking up in a place that I'd never seen. I was in a colossal room fashioned entirely of vibrant red marble. There were no windows; however, there were black velvet curtains hung about, seemingly in no order. *At least it's temperate in here* I thought to myself, as I attempted to decipher where the hell I was. Wherever I was, it couldn't be good, but at the same time it wasn't so bad.
As I strolled about the great red marble expanse, it was starting to seem as if this place was abandoned. There were no signs of life anywhere. Just marble. Marble that was oddly warm, for some strange reason. I had marble countertops when I lived in Nevada, and they were never warm. Not even in the summer.
As I walked around the corner, I noticed a door. On the door was written "God". I thought to myself *how badly did I fuck up last night that I woke up in a strangers house who calls them self "God" and lives in a giant red marble house?*. I decided it'd be best to not disturb whatever crazy person resided behind that door, and instead I decided to look for the exit, hopefully find my car in the driveway, figure out where I was and head home to sleep it off.
I searched and searched and searched but to no avail. Wherever I had just woken up, it was pretty clear there wasn't any exits. I ended up punching a wall out of frustration. Imagine punching a marble wall as hard as you possibly can. For those of you who lack imagination and a pain scale, picture stopping a Prius on a neighborhood street by sticking out your fist and bracing for impact.
*There's no time for anger* I thought to myself, *I gotta get the fuck out of here.* I kept searching for the way out. By this point it feels like I've walked from New York to Boston when I finally see another corner. Thinking to myself *the way out has to be close* I ran around the corner, only to find a door with "God" written on it.
I sat down and resolved that whatever prank my buddies were playing on me, I could certainly entertain myself for longer than they could. They would eventually get bored and come rescue me. I sat there until my high faded. I didn't even realize I was high until I wasn't high anymore. There's always that moment when you're coming down that you realize all the stupid shit you did while baked. Oreos on pizza. Turning your TV upside down, so you could lay upside down on the couch and still see. Handstand bong rips. Punching a solid marble wall. *Holy shit I punched a marble fucking wall. Why doesn't my hand hurt? This is bad.* I decided what do I have to lose, and knocked on God's door.
No answer.
Knock again.
"Yeah, uhh, just gimme a minute alright? Jeez."
"Sorry" I say sheepishly, and take a couple steps back.
"You a cop?" I hear from behind the door marked "God", to which I reply:
"...uhhh, no?"
The door opens a crack, and "God" peers out.
"You look chill enough. Come on in man."
I don't think I've ever been so confused as I was at that moment. God just said *you look chill enough* and invited me into his special room in his all red marble palace...What was there to not be confused about?
The room was like something out of a daydream whilst stoned. Big giant comfy couches. There was three TVs, one on the wall, one on the ceiling, one upside down on the wall across from the first, all playing the same episode of Always Sunny.
In the middle of the coffee table there was a bowl of fresh fruit that looked like it was plastic. I was convinced the fruit was plastic until God grabbed an apple and bit into it. "You like pink ladies?" God said to me. I said *hell yeah, they're my favorite apple!*
"Yo chill with the H word dude, my Dad's gonna get all mad if he hears that."
That's when it all clicked for me. Giant warm red marble room, with only one door. Wall punch, no pain. Time was distorted...I was dead. Not only was I dead, but I had completely accepted it at some point along the way from New York to Boston, unknowingly.
*How did I die?* I asked God.
"Dude you don't know!?"
*No, what happened man?*
"You might wanna hit this first." He motioned for me to take the joint he had just rolled, and I obliged. He then proceeded to tell me that I had been smoking with all my best buds and just dropped. This was a special "heaven" for people that went out that way. He said his dad let him design the whole place and put him in charge of it because he figured no one would ever go out that way. He made it all red marble to fuck with the poor stoner who had to go out that way, but he hates cold shit, so he made the marble warm.
"Yo chill with the whole pot deal for a second, I gotta call my Dad. He'll make a room for you across the hall." He talked on the phone with who I assume was the actual God for a minute or two. I'm not sure exactly what was said, as I was pretty stoned by this time and extremely distracted by Danny DeVito donning skinny jeans on the TVs.
"You like this room?" he said. *Hel...I mean, yeah. This is like, heaven man.* He covered the phone for a second and we both let out that super baked giggle. The one you just can't control, that kinda just creeps up on you from the edges of your face. Then he said "Yeah just like mine Dad. And can we order pizza?...alright, put it on your card?...Thanks dad you're the best. I'll talk to you later."
We watched TV and ate pizza for the rest of the night until I got tired. I asked where my room was and he said "You'll find it." We said our goodbye and I walked out into the great red room one more time. Across the room was a door, and on it was written "A Good Friend." | 2015-01-15T06:13:25 | 2015-01-15T06:13:23 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] A time traveler and an immortal keep bumping into each other across the ages. | They say that true love only occurs once in life. That you meet your soulmate, that that's your chance, and you belong together forever.
I wish they were wrong.
Because I am forever.
And so, in his own way, is he.
I was born four thousand years ago. I'm not the first of my kind, nor am I the last. But there are few of us, precious few, and my love fell not among them. It fell on another.
A mortal. A man who would grow old while I stayed young.
"James," I said, the first year we had met, "James, this love cannot be. For I have lived ten of your lifetimes already, and will live countless more."
"There must be a way, Veronica, a way that you can fix this."
"There is," I said with a tear, "I can make you live forever, but I cannot give you immortality."
"Whatever is the way, I take it."
So I gave him my gift, one equally terrible to us both. I took his remaining days, and I scattered them across time, like salt on a table. And he faded from my sight, his arms outstretched in an embrace meant for eternity.
And now I wait, counting each passing day, as he appears to me once a century. He stays for a day, then fades again- to him, it is just another day. To me, they are separated by what feels like eons.
Until the end of time it will be this way. So I spend my days waiting. Waiting for his return with a pain that he will never know. For that one day of paradise in each century of longing.
***
By Leo
| "History repeats itself." The saying must have been thousands of years old thought Titus as his eyes lingered on the inscription under the doorway leading to the K.R.O.N.O.S. jump room. Titus approached the large display and logged the last machine off for the night. The soft blue light quickly dimmed and the humming of the temporal governor ceased at the other end of the room. Titus removed the K.R.O.N.O.S. key and mentally consulted his nightly to-do list one last time before clocking off. As he stood an orange light appeared in his periphery and commanded his attention. It was the soft orange glow of a machine in boot sequence. There were no more arrivals scheduled for the evening, he had checked the log twice. Who turned this machine on? The machine quickly booted and the blue light announced that it was ready to receive. Titus approached the mouth of the receptical and the blue light changed to green. "A jump, admin is going to be pissed." Titus thought. The machine hummed faster and the green light strobed to indicate a full jump transfer.
Titus pulled the cover back on the receptical and was surprised to see a young man with his chest heaving and hands grasping out toward Titus. He helped the man out and to the recovery bay reflexively. As he did, the bright orange of the man's shirt told Titus that this would be the only time he'd see this young man. What a shame to waste an apprenticeship at the esteemed K.R.O.N.O.S. institute on an off-the-books jump thought Titus. He skoffed as he dropped the man to the recovery chair.
"Who are you?" Titus demanded flatly.
"Phred Cassock" he replied.
Titus threw the man a towel. "Well Phred, you just performed an unlicensed jump, you're lucky this machine decided to boot up when it did." The brown curls of the man's hair sprung back into place as he wiped his head down with a heaving effort. "I've got to report this to admin." Titus croaked, his arms crossed.
"After what I saw, I don't even care" the man managed to say as he reclined into the chair. Titus looked over his shoulder.
"What'd you see? You know what, it doesn't matter, get the hell out of here and enjoy your last night as a free man."
"I was right, it was him." The man replied as Titus walked to the door ushering his unwelcome guest along. "I saw him again, common era this time. He didn't recognize me at fist but I recognized him." Titus' face was unreadable but he paused.
"You've jumped before this?"
Phred stared back hesitating. "I've seen the same man three times now over the course of 7,000 years. It's not a coincidence. His name is Dev."
"Temporal stalking isn't a thing orange-shirt." Titus said opening the peronium security door.
"No, not stalking. He wasn't licensed, I've checked."
"There are no unlicensed jumps, the system doesn't -"
"No, he wasn't a jumper." Phred interrupted. "He was some kind of holy man. A public figure just like last time. But this time he acted different. Callous, jaded."
"So?" Titus spat.
"He's not a jumper, he's been alive the whole time. How else could he be a historical figure without disrupting the temporal flow?"
It took a moment for this impossible statement to unravel its meaning in Titus' overworked head. "No" was all he thought to say.
Phred continued, "it seemed the world had beaten the spark out of him but he was happy to see me, I could tell. He's almost figured out the question."
Titus couldn't bear the nonsense any longer. "Out!" he yelled as the young man in the orange shirt jumped. "Your story needs some work before you get picked up by KPD tomorrow."
Phred closed his mouth. He was right. There were more pressing matters than explaining to this glorified security guard that he'd found a way to stop the temporal inevitability. Dev was the key. He needed to jump again. Tonight. | 2015-11-22T19:10:27 | 2015-11-22T17:08:47 | 52 | 17 |
[WP] Two people are stuck on a deserted island. One of them is insane. Keep us guessing as to which one. | "You're nuts," Jimmy snarled at Peter. "Off your fucking rocker. How is this even happening to me? You'll probably end up drowning me in the ocean in my sleep and eating me for a midnight snack."
"Right, *I'm* the crazy one here," Peter whispered, resting his face in his hands.
Peter couldn't believe the situation. This insane asshole has shot almost everyone who had been on board the yacht when they'd stopped briefly to visit the island, and had *ate* some of the victims. Then convinced himself *Peter* had done this.
Jimmy shivered as he slouched in the sand, feeling strangely apathetic about sitting near a crazy mass-murdering cannibal. Why he'd been spared was anyone's guess. He'd decided to deal with it by babbling about everything that was on his mind. What could honesty hurt at this point? Maybe the man was so crazy he'd hesitate to eat someone who was expecting it.
Peter stared morosely at the gnawed foot of Captain Magson, peeking out from a large bush nearby. Suddenly, it wiggled, and disappeared from view.
"Did you see that?" he gasped, forgetting who he was speaking to. "That foot just fucking *moved*!"
"Oh, god," Jimmy groaned, and began weeping slightly.
How could it end like this? Eaten by a hallucinating cannibal on a deserted island. He was an accountant. Accountants weren't supposed to die like this. In fact, the entire holiday had been an attempt to liven up his slightly boring life. Now his wife was dead and digested, and he was about to follow her.
Ten minutes later, Captain Morgan's foot was completely consumed by the cannibal on the island. He peered through the bush at the two men sitting on the sand. It was interesting, most interesting. Gosh, that one guy looked quite a lot like him. Curly brown hair. A little chubby. A lot of meat. What a coincidence. It would be so interesting eating himself. Of course, he knew it wasn't really him sitting there. He wasn't *crazy*. But still - interesting.
The next day, Peter was surprised to find himself still alive. He looked around, and saw the other man sitting by the shore. He hadn't looked too closely at him before, and was surprised by how normal-looking the guy was. He suddenly felt doubt gnawing at him. The guy had been sitting right next to him when that foot had moved, after all. What if there was another person on the island? *He* wasn't insane. The foot had moved.
"Listen," he said hesitantly, as he went up to the man. "I know you think I'm nuts, but I think there might be a third person on the island. That foot really did move. What if neither of us is the murderer? We really should stick together, I think."
The man stopped idly picking at his teeth, and turned his light, hazel eyes on Peter. Peter blinked, confused. Didn't the guy have blue eyes yesterday? He took a steadying breath, and tried to calm his nerves. The last thing he wanted was to go insane himself. The man was smiling gently back, and had stuck out his hand.
"I thought of the same thing last night. Yeah, let's stick together. I mean, who knows where that guy is? Gosh, he could be anywhere, couldn't he?" | "...Tom?" I ask.
"...Tom, are you there?" I ask again.
"...yeah, I'm here," replies a familiar voice.
I attempt to open my eyes - but the darkness surrounding me, coupled with the general blurriness reverberating through my vision, has made it difficult to make out anything other than rough shapes - I glance upwards and rest my gaze on the moon; it's waning. I am able to recall very little of what occurred before I awoke earlier today, but the moon's phase suggests it's the second half of the month. My focus begins to gradually sharpen.
It's nearing midnight; the tide is at its lowest point since earlier today. I rise, resting on my elbows, and survey my surroundings. About ten feet from me, I see Tom. He is hard at work, but I am unable to see exactly what he is doing.
"Tom, what are you doing?" I inquire.
"Just try to relax. I'm going to help us both get out of here," Tom replies.
"Do you need me to help?" I respond.
"No, I'll be fine," says Tom, "just try to relax."
I sit up fully.
"Tom, how did we get here?" I say.
"I can't recall. If I had to guess, I would say we were on a plane, and we crashed," responds Tom.
"Wouldn't we have seen wreckage or debris of some sort?"
"Probably. But to be fair, I can only recall being here one day so far," Tom says.
Had I known Tom before we both arrived here? My memory has failed me; I can neither confirm nor deny that I knew Tom before today. Regardless, we're both here now, and it will most likely require the both of us to leave. I finally rise to my feet, and move closer to Tom - he is kneeling, back-hunched, and his hands are in a flurry of motion. I still have no concrete idea what Tom is doing, but I continue to watch.
After fifteen or so minutes, Tom reveals to me his creation.
"It's a makeshift sextant. We can use it to try and start mapping out some of the area around us using the positions of the planets and stars," he explains.
"Tom, how do you know all of this?" I ask.
"I've always been a bit of an explorer, for better or worse," says Tom.
Clearly Tom's memory is in a better state than mine; I was not yet ready to make definitive statements about my past character.
"Tom," I say, "I think we should go look for a place to sleep tonight; it's getting late, and I don't know what else is living here."
"Yes, that's probably for the best," Tom responds.
Tom and I stand up and begin walking inland, away from the water. We are thorough in our search; good shelter is not easy to come by in the wild. Soon, we reach what seems like a wall of trees and shrubbery.
"Should we go in?" I ask.
"I don't see any other option. I don't want to sleep on the beach, that seems kind of vulnerable," Tom says.
Underneath the canopy of trees it is noticeably darker; the moonlight is unable to penetrate the dense foliage, save for a few vivid moonbeams, valiantly fighting their way to the forest floor. We continue walking in a roughly straight line for nearly half an hour, until we reach a small clearing in the forest.
"Let's scope out the perimeter of this clearing," Tom asserts, "I'm sure we can find somewhere around here that will do. Let's split up, but stay in sight, and don't leave this clearing. We don't want to get lost."
We split - Tom goes right, I go left. The clearing is about two hundred meters wide - I can faintly see the other side, aided by the moonlight. We spend another thirty minutes trekking the circumference of the clearing in our respective directions. I glance around the clearing, and see Tom rifling through some bushes on the opposite side.
"Brian?" asks a voice in the darkness. It is dark, and I assume at this point I am delirious; I continue searching for shelter.
"Brian, is that you?" the voice asks again.
I look into the darkness of the trees - it is nearly impossible to make out any real detail. Scanning the darkness, I hear the rustling of leaves. Suddenly, a dark figure comes bounding out from the dark.
"Brian! Where the hell have you been?" asks the dark figure, rapidly approaching me.
"Who are you?" I shout at the figure.
"What? Brian, it's me, Taylor," responds the figure.
"I don't know a Taylor," I say.
"Brian, I'm your brother. You've been gone for days; I've been looking all around the island for you," Taylor insists.
"Look, I said I don't know a Taylor. I'm here with Tom, and we're trying to figure out how to get the hell out of here," I answer.
"Tom?" asks Taylor.
"Yeah, Tom. We arrived here at the same time, and we're in this together," I answer.
"Where is Tom?" Taylor inquires, a concerned expression growing on his face.
I glance around the clearing again, looking for Tom's darkened figure. He is nowhere to be found.
"He was just here... we took different paths around the clearing looking for shelter," I say.
"Brian, there is nobody else on this island with us. Our boat crashed in the reef on the Eastern side of the island," Taylor assures me.
"That can't be true. Look, Tom made a sextant to help us with navigation. See?" I hold up Tom's makeshift sextant.
"Brian... look at what you are holding," responds Taylor.
I look into my hands and in them rests several twigs.
...Look it was gonna get better, I had a whole storyline planned out... but I'm off work now. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow and finish it, it gets way more meta. | 2016-04-05T13:56:16 | 2016-04-05T13:54:19 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You're a super powered being who has been living amongst society as a normal citizen your whole life. The world discovered your secret yesterday and you wake to find armed police turning up outside your home. | They all look dumbfounded, the 30 or so armed men standing in silence, looking in disbelief at the barrage of bullets staying still in front of me, as if frozen in time. I pick a single bullet out of the air and let the rest fall to the ground.
My opponents seem unsure whether reloading their empty assault rifles would make sense or not. I tell them it would not. I assure them that they can not harm me, nor will I harm them if we simply end it here.
A single officer, terrified and confused pulls his sidearm and fires. Before the bullet reaches where I should be standing, I appear in front of him, my hand on his gun and our gazes locked to each other. I see the terror in his eyes grow as the gun crumbles to dust. The officers closest to us looses their weapons the same way as they draw them. I assure them once more that this is not what I want. It is a thrill, feeling like I have absolute control of everything, but it is not what I want.
They don't seem interested or even capable of talking. The fear has them dead set on killing me. Problem is, they can't. And I have to prove it without killing them. Acting rash in fear is something I both understand and forgive.
I let go of the ground and the pull of gravity. As I rise a few feet from the ground, I force the officers away from the ground as well. I keep them there, it is time to set an example.
As I slowly and certainly point out a closed hand, the helicopter above stops roaring and the spin of its blades is halted. The large SUV's used to transport the many now incapacitated men starts shaking. The men's assault rifles, sidearm and body armor escapes the men and rises above. I open my hand and everything is torn apart instantly. Springs from rifles, gun barrels, cylinders from the large V8 engines, the speakers of the pilots headset, everything torn apart and disassembled into fragments of what it once was. I close my hand into a fist once more and everything is crushed, compressed and forced into one big pile of junk. The men, still trapped in mid air now finally replace fear with what I want them to feel. Hopelessness.
Before letting them drop safely to the ground, I explain once more in the simplest of ways, to leave me alone. | So, ever since I could remember, I have been able manipulate water. Like I could move water with my mind. It's kind of like waterbending from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Ok, it is waterbending. One of my favorite things to do was to bet people that I could shovel their entire walkway and driveway in under 10 minutes, to their satisfaction, for $20. Every winter, I made bank. Not even my parents knew until I told them. It took them a little while to get used to, but I help them with their well and plumbing. In high school, I was the star swimmer, even swam in college. But I didn't want to risk anyone discovering my ability. My business even used my abilities. I owned a catering company, specializing in weddings. I ran it with my wife, and she handled the food, I took care of the decorations. Our signature piece was our ice sculptures. I could do any sculpture anyone wanted. There was always 100% satisfaction. I was set for life with my family and work. But the other night, I messed up. I was walking along the river by my house and I decided to do some practice so I could keep my abilities working fine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a family watching me. I immediately stopped and went home. But I spent a restless night, worrying. I tried using my abilities for good, never sought glory or power. I just found it interesting that I could control water.
So my wife comes into our bedroom and shakes me awake, saying the police are here. She already assumed that they were there to get me because of what happened yesterday. I told her to get our daughter and go into the basement, that I'd get them once it's over. As soon as they go downstairs, I talk to the police through the door. They tell me they want to talk, but I don't trust them. I know they want to use me, or even worse, kill me. I kept talking through the door, asking if there were any problems. They said everything was fine, but I could tell they were surrounding the house. Something I was able to master, once I got enough practice, was to control water in another body. I could manipulate anyone to my will if I chose to. I never tried on a human, just animals. It was how I hunted. I had taken down two adult bears in a matter of 5 seconds. So by being able to control water in another body, I could tell where the water was. I felt them get ready to break in, so I backed up and readied myself. As soon as the doors broke down, I went to work. About 30 cops total, all being controlled. I told them that if they wanted to live, they had to leave me and my family alone. They told me they were told by the FBI that I had to be eliminated. So I couldn't let them escape. They all dropped, being deprived of blood flow to the brain. I went downstairs to get my wife and daughter, we got in my car and fled.
About an hour into the drive, my daughter woke up and asked what happened. I couldn't keep the truth from her anymore. When I told her about my abilities, she thought it was the coolest thing ever. I used to use them in front of her before she could talk. I used to give her water by just floating it in front of her mouth. I had to talk to my wife, we had to figure out what to do. We called our senior manager, let her know we were leaving the company in her hands. We had the papers ready in case something like this happened. We fled to the north, where I knew we could live in peace. But I didn't want to put my daughter through that, so we took her to her grandparents. My wife wouldn't leave me, but my grandparents understood. Something I always found curious, no matter how secretive you tried to be, your parents always found out. When I showed up in a panic, they seemed to know already what had happened. Once I kissed my daughter goodbye, me and my wife left for Canada. We made a wood cabin, I dug a well, and we lived in peace for years. We had an endless supply of food, living in the woods filled with berries and wild animals. We planted whatever seeds we could to grow our own things. We have lived here for 10 years now. My daughter would be starting college soon. I wish I could be there to help her move in. But I can't, I'd be putting her in harms way. I've only used my powers when necessary. I can't let the past repeat itself. | 2016-09-15T10:22:31 | 2016-09-15T08:53:01 | 49 | 34 |
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
this was a post on /r/CrazyIdeas. I thought it would make an excellent prompt. | The letter came. It actually came.
Right there at the top of the cream coloured envelope were the logos for the IOC and the Government of Canada. My hands shook. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had become an everyday Olympian, but it was actually happening to **me**.
Most people were terrified they'd be selected but I was ready. Like any good Canadian I'd learned to skate when I was still learning to walk. I lived and breathed sports. I trained year round. Growing up in British Columbia, in the heart of the Rockies, I had been forged by the land itself. No hill was too steep. No course was too long. I could hang with the best of them across the sports. Hell I even learned how to curl. I was ready.
I couldn't help but smile as I tore open the envelope. Whatever was there, I was ready. In my heart, I knew it. My eyes raced across the page and as they did the smile slipped from my lips and I reeled like I'd been gut punched. The papers slipped my hand to the fresh, morning snow.
"CONGRATULATIONS!" they read, "You have been selected to represent Canada at the 2024 Olympic Summer Games!" | The postman approached number six with his usual trepidation. Foraging through his luminous, overburdened Royal Mail satchel, he primed four letters and a small parcel addressed to Richard Wagstaff. "Please just answer the door this time..." he whispered under his breath. He cleared his throat as he reached the door and knocked three times with more than sufficient force. Nothing.
The postman let out a sigh and slowly closed his eyes. Automatically, his right hand raised and found the doorbell, hovering above it for a second before reluctantly applying the required pressure. The slightly muffled but familiar midi tones of Beethoven's fifth symphony filled his ears and were quickly accompanied by a voice which grew louder as it approached the door. "DA DA DA, DAAAAAAAAAAA!" belted Richard Wagstaff, tearing the door open with theatrical aplomb. His royal blue dressing gown flipping up at the edges revealing his thin, hairy upper legs and well worn underpants.
"Good afternoon Mr. Wagstaff, sign here please" the postman droned, deliberately avoiding eye contact. "That it is, Andrew! That it is" beamed Richard, squinting into the afternoon sun as the song continued behind him. "Say, what do you think of my new doorbell?" he enquired, attempting to catch the postman's gaze."Yes, very good Mr. Wagstaff, please sign here" replied the postman, unenthused. "Beethoven's fifth" Richard added, using cursive to electronically sign for his deliveries, "one of the most influential musical works of all time." The postman nodded and thrust the collection of mail into Richard's midriff "Thank you! Goodbye!" Richard sincerely called out. The postman was halfway to the next neighbour's house when he turned to see Richard's emaciated body bent double sniffing his chrysanthemums.
Delight filled every pore of his body as he inhaled the sweet, earthy aromas. Returning to a bolt upright position, he smiled, taking in every petal of his expertly tended garden. With military precision he turned and entered his home, inadvertently slamming the door to a close. He walked through the hallway of his immaculately kept house and into the kitchen where he fastidiously unwrapped his parcel without laying waste to a single scrap of packaging. The box inside contained another doorbell with, "24 midi songs, including Beethoven's Für Elise!" emblazoned on the packaging. Carefully removing it from the packaging, Richard set it in front of himself and hummed along with midi-Beethoven three times.
As the doorbell repeated itself for the fourth time, Richard thumbed through his other letters. "Junk. Junk. Bi-." He drew a short breath. All sound ceased. His eyes visited each of the five rings on the front of the envelope. Dropping the other letters, he flipped it over and tore into it.
Dear Mr. Wagstaff,
It is with great pride and excitement that we at the British Olympic Boxing Committee confirm you to be our wildcard entry for the Heavyweight Division at the 2020 Olympic Games in Tokyo.
We appreciate that you may or may not have participated in this sport before and we request you to report for training on Monday the 27th of February 2017 at 6:00AM in the Olympic Boxing Club in Stratford, London.
We look forward to meeting you and working together to achieve success.
Joseph Joyce,
Senior Boxing Coach
Olympic Boxing Club, Stratford, London.
Richard set the letter down on the counter, concern awash over his face. After a moment he walked to his living room, steadying himself on the mantelpiece. He looked to his trophy cabinet and a small grin broke out across his face. | 2017-02-24T11:57:34 | 2017-02-24T09:44:58 | 58 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | "... And to my son James, I bequeathe my most prized possessions, the tokens of the good life I lead and the sacrifices I made," the lawyer solemnly read from Dave Culkin's last will and testament.
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure the lazy git has tons of things to give... I mean, you could probably read from his mug how bad of a father he was." James Culkin said. He didn't love his father, so he didn't expect his father to love him.
"Funny you should say that, James, considering you never saw his mug."
"Shut up sis."
The lawyer continued. "As is custom in our society, James will, for the first and last time, see his father's official ranking, after which his own ranking will appear on the mug."
"Yeah, sure. I wonder how the mug deals with people who don't have offspring."
"Didn't the teachers tell you? The mug turns fully white if that happens."
"Whatever. Reveal the cup."
Gaul Soodman, the Culkin family lawyer, slowly lifted the black lid off the mug. When the lid was fully lifted, he slowly turned the plate on which the mug was placed. One by one, the 3 digits appeared. 4...6...2...# James was shocked. His dad was number 264 in the world? That had to be wrong. Surely this was his sister's ranking. But then the numbers changed to #265, and James knew that he sorely misjudged his father. Even though Dave was treated horribly by his son, James never lost an ounce of love from his father. Both his own ranking and the ranking of his sister were crazily high.
Gaul cleared his throat. "Take hold of the mug, James."
"Give me a moment. I need to process this." James felt horrible. But then he rationalized it. His father never yelled at him, always supported him no matter what he did. Of course someone who stays a true father in the face of constant abuse would rank highly. But what did that mean about his sister?
No matter. A plain white mug would be boring, but he didn't care. His father wanted him to have the mug, so he would take it. James reached for the mug. As he approached it, the black markings started to fade, and the mug started to dimly glow. At the touch of his fingers, a humming sound started. slowly, the mug started to get warmer and warmer. Then, his palms encircled the mug, and a flash of light temporarily blinded the onlookers.
James let go. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, he smiled at the white of the cup. Then his smile vanished. Slowly, small black spots started appearing on the mug. The spots converged and started forming numbers in random spots on the mug. 4...5...1...6...1...6...9...0...8...2.
"James... why does the mug say you're #1,846,961,520?"
"I don't know, sis." But deep inside him, he realized that somewhere in the world, he had a son. And he has never seen him.
But it didn't end there. The number on the mug started jumping around randomly, sometimes making large jumps, but always staying around 2 billion. After 15 or 20 jumps he lost count.
"Gaul, what does this mean? I am not a father. Why does the mug show I am a horrible father?"
Gaul started smiling. "I have seen this behaviour only once before in person. This was with a similar man to you. Thing is, he also didn't think he was a father. However, the mug knows. James, you ARE a father. You just don't know who your children are."
James slumped in his chair. Guess there were consequences to all those wild nights at college... | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T10:52:38 | 78 | 13 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | New town. Small and quiet, perfect for my situation.
The authorities are after me. They know what I am : different, a national threat. They’re aware of what I’ve done. If they catch me it’ll be prison or death, the fate of countless others like me.
Stray dogs and playing children in the streets. Nervously, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist, I book a room at a guesthouse and try to sleep for a couple of hours but to no avail. I get up shower, put on some jeans. Head to the local bar to wind off.
Clouds of smoke, full of loud men. Standing at the threshold, I’m about to leave without getting a drink when she comes up behind me.
“Excuse me, are you getting in?”
•
Perfect hair, perfect nose. She smiles uneasily on the first date, eyes darting stealthily towards the door of the French restaurant. On the second date, I channel a German tourist and she is bored by my stories of Berlin nightclubs and beer festivals. On the third - me as a lumberjack from a neighboring town - this time she seems interested, eyes sliding across my bulging forearms and she even gives me a peck on the cheek but she doesn’t reply my message the next day. On the fourth, she asks me to walk her home, and I’m surprised because I, stammering and clumsy, had taken the form of a skinny bespectacled bookkeeper, a complete loser, but her interest was at an all time high, giggling and all that, hand resting on my reedy wrist.
She invites me inside. Small and clean place, curtains drawn tight. I sit on an armchair and try to calm my excitement: it’s a perfect time to show this beautiful woman the truth, before things got too heated, when she was least expecting it. Like so many others before her.
I want her to see the real me. As she busies herself in the kitchen, it takes a second to take my true form: tall and gangly, scarred face: the legacies of many a manicured victim.
I take out the little pocket knife and, approaching the kitchen where she is humming, hide it behind my back.
| I try to do it differently each time; short with long hair, tall with a buzz-cut, black, white, Asian, Pacific Islander, optimism, nihilism. Not in any particular order, but never randomly either; I know what she likes. I've had a long time to figure her out- years and years.
When I first arrived in this city, a lonesome, weary traveller, I only hoped to find a home or, at the very least, some semblance of one. The thought of companionship hadn't crossed my mind in ages. When you have lived for as long as I have, after all the trials and failures I've endured, it was difficult to maintain motivation.
I was jaded and I was painfully aware of it. I had fallen into thinking that that would be my eternal, repetitious existence- but when my feet touched the concrete and my lungs took in the smog and my eyes rested upon this city, I found something so paradoxically complex and simple it intrigues me to this day-
I found humanity and everything changed.
Humans are not completely different from the other bastions of civilization I have come across, but they hold a sort of social depth that I had never encountered before. My curiosity was immediately ravenous and seemingly overnight I joined in to the bustling cityscape; Routines, rituals; I made friends and my friends introduced me to coffee. Coffee! What a glorious, glorious thing! Coffee... that's how I met her.
After years of assimilating and joyous investigation of humanity I finally felt as though I was home. The centuries of wandering were over for me; I had found everything I was looking for- or so I thought. Then the day came when I decided to go to a new coffee shop. It was right around the corner the whole time since I arrived and I had never been! It's strange how things like that work out, but there I was, standing in line, trying to decide if I would try something new or go with a classic. She was behind the register. I was so preoccupied by what I was going to get I didn't even see her at first.
"May I have a white chocolate, raspberry mocha with six shots of espresso, please?", I asked when I stepped up to the counter, my gaze locked on the overhead menu searching for something I might flip-flop to.
"Wow, that's what I call a pick-me-up," she said through a chuckle.
"Yeah," my eyes falling to meet hers; one green, one blue- fascinating, "I- I really like coffee."
She pushed a streak of blue hair behind her ear joining it with the rest of the ocean on her head,
"Who doesn't!?", She said, beaming a smile that I felt with every nerve ending. "That will be..."
I was snared. Everyday after that I returned to that shop every chance I could. There was this inexplicable feeling I had that drove me to learn as much as I could about this anomaly- this woman. She must have been intrigued with me as well because after weeks of interactions at the shop, when I felt there was more to know- things that a patron could not ask from a clerk- I asked if she wanted to spend time together outside- anywhere doing anything- and she agreed! Walks through the park turned into lunches, lunches turned into dinners; before long, we were spending every day together. What started as research turned into bliss.
I had long since buried any feeling such as that and feeling it again made me forget the inevitable truth: all things end. One day, her hair colored changed; what was a calm ocean turned into a volcano of red and orange. The smile I had felt ripple through my body diminished, and then came the note:
"I'm sorry. Goodbye."
I have lost so many times. So many times I've picked up and moved- started over; a new town, a new country, new planet, new galaxy. This was a new situation. I wasn't going to give up- not yet. That's when I decided to change form. I had kept the same appearance the whole time I was in that city- I did it for her, but she didn't want that form. So I changed. Whole new me; whole new chance. I found her again, and again, and again- each new me found her and each new me lost her.
It's been countless years since I wandered into that coffee shop and I've tried countless versions of myself trying to hold on to this anomalous woman, but to no avail. In the past I would have moved on, but something keeps me in pursuit. Time has never been an issue for a being such as myself, but for her it's not so kind. Each time I change, I align my appearance to match her age, but I know it won't last forever. As long as we can share time, the pursuit is worth it.
| 2022-10-15T09:19:19 | 2018-02-14T09:47:14 | 93 | 51 |
[WP]Four wizards meet. Each is from a different universe with a different system of magic. One speaks a magical language, one makes symbols with their hands, one uses trading cards, and the fourth uses the most powerful method of all. | We decided to simply call each other by numbers. One spoke in magical words, weaving magic into being. Two drew symbols, one after another, that controlled the energies outside of this realm. Three dealt cards and in them, he found the past, the present and the future as well. Me? Well...
"What do you mean you lied and just rolled with it?" One looked at me with disbelief.
"It sorta worked. I was in a horrible situation, I told myself 'Why the hell not?' and then everything worked out."
"So, you are saying that you just bullshit enough and magic happens?" Three smiled, checking the hand he dealt to see if I was lying.
"That's the best way to describe it, brother!" I raised my cup and took a sip.
One and Two glanced at each other and sighed, Two frowned and One said something I didn't understand.
"He seems legit," Three shrugged, refilling his mug and sitting closer to me. "No actual magical powers, but loads and loads of energy around him, waiting for his next word."
"Yeah, for example I already conjured a bunch of barrels of your guys' favourite drinks to show I can actually do it," I said with a smile, awaiting the usual reaction.
"Did you?" Two asked and turned around, only to see a bunch of kegs stacked on top of each other. "I didn't even notice, weird, I'm usually more perceptive."
"Not really," Three laughed. "He lied to you. He didn't actually do it, but as soon as you turned to check, they were there. Neat trick."
I think I liked Three the most. He caught on the fastest. He was dressed like wizards from Eastern fairy tales, or ones from Max Fray at least. Long robes, rather free flowing and colourful, about a dozen pouches all over the body and an honest smile on a fair-skinned face. One was more like a classical wizard, a man in a pointy hat, with a book and a staff. He was, however surprisingly young. His eyes have posessed a fire, made out of curiocity and the need for knowledge. Two was older than us, probably in her 40s and still had her charm. Her long aristocratic fingers were perfect for her art and made colourful lines appear in the air with little effort.
"Exactly what I do. I lie and the lie is true. Raises a question: do I actually lie then?" I chuckled at an old question, rolling in my head.
"Please, do not start magical paradoxes. Been there, done that, learnt how to reverse time and then never did," Three smiled.
"Are the two of you done?" Two raised an eyebrow in a motion of a teacher, directed at two misbehaving students.
"They didn't even start, as far as I'm concerned," One walked towards us and put his hands against the table. "Neither of us did."
"Which raises a question. How are we even here? All of us, I mean. How did you all find this place?" I asked, as my companions sat themselves at the table.
"An old script talked about a place in between worlds. A place for study, a place to seek help in research. The Sanctuary, the Library of all Libraries. And it happened to be... well, a tavern."
"The harder the symbol is, the less energy it requires. The more complicated the design, the more lines, *correct* ones of course, intersect, the easier it is to use it. I wanted to have some fun and drew a rectangle. Then I shoved so much magic into it, it'd overcharge any other symbol ever made. And it became a door to this place."
"Out of three cards I drew, one was a Traveler and two were blanks. I have never before drawn blanks, just so you know, so of course I was interested. And it led me here."
All of their eyes were now on me.
"Would you guys believe me if I told you I lied to my mum that I went out for drinks with friends and didn't think about the reprocussions?"
For a moment complete silence overtook the room. One repeated the grimmace of shocked disbelief, Two shook her head and Three stared at me in awe. Then all three of them started laughing.
"Well, we all have drinks and your lies are apparently not lies, right?" Three said, in between his bursts of laughter.
"I spend ages and ages of research and you just lie to your parents, great. Where's the truth and justice in the Universe?" One raised his hand in a defeated motion and downed the ale.
"Then please, allow me to propose a toast. For new friends, hopefully good beer and to your mother, Four," Two raised her mug, smiling.
"I have never thought that in all of my travels and studies I would ever cheer to that. You are a weird bunch. But hopefully, this place has a library"
"To Four's mum!"
edit(s): I,apparently, am not capable of rereading my own posts before actually posting them, sorry. | ***Part 1 or 4:***
They came without warning. Red, hellish looking creatures they were; toughened, scarred skin made up the entirety of their bodies, with a stench that made their countenance seem appealing. They were tall, standing heads above their tallest; long spindly limbs carrying them great distances with speeds that made any transportation they had look like a snail. Their wings seemed almost insect-like, clear wings topped with wicked barbs that he had seen far too many of his friends spitted upon. They had no mouths, or rather, they no longer had mouths, stitches seeming to tape shut any words they might have spewed. A multitude of beady black eyes had stared back at him, shifting rapidly, accounting for every obstacle in between them. Antennae twitched wildly with even the slightest breeze, looking for any sign of a threat. Had the situation been different, Carver would have asked for live specimens for study; to poke, prod, and question to his hearts content.
"Sv'fuum." The ground rose with a tumultuous groan, the very itself earth writhing as if alive, curling around the creatures that threatened him, crushing them into paste that slowly dripped to the earth, staining the once pure canvas blue.
"Sv'meen." From the earth that had risen so high above the ground, a multitude of crystalline shards rained down upon the encroaching horde, spearing straight through their toughened hides. Dishearteningly, a large number of them staggered back to their feet, resuming their charge, ignorant of the lives they took as they trampled over those who were too slow to rise again.
"N'feern." Cracks across the earth spread, rapidly swallowing any distance that remained between him and the swarms that threatened to overwhelm them. They paid little mind to his actions, sprinting across the field that separated them with blind zealotry that left them blind to the fate of their melting allies that stepped on them.
"N'seuul." From the cracks that had spread across the field rose an inferno, a scathing fire so hot that even those not touching the flames themselves began to melt. The fires rose high into the sky, darkening them with blackened clouds that boomed their displeasure as it began to rain.
"M'fuur." Water arose from the recesses left in the wake of his earthen assault. The fires ceased their vigil upon contact with the water, scalding steam enveloping the path that lead the creatures to him. It crashed across the great barren field, enveloping any it past into its tide, crushing the resistance at the forefront of the charge. The rest behind them stopped, seeing the fate of those that had charged ahead and their spindly arms seemingly melded together, linking to create a phalanx that defended them from the crushing waves. By the time his assault had ended, scarcely a dent had been made in their numbers, and with frightening haste, they un-melded from each other and continued their fevered charge, ignorant of the lost speed from the now waist length lake their battlefield had been changed into, straight into the mist that had fallen on them.
It was grotesque, watching their charge, they did not stop, did not falter, even as the steamed mist seemed to dissolve them, holes spattering their bodies, until finally, with no legs to carry them forward, they ceased their charge and died.
"*Get back."* They clearly did not understand the numbers they were dealing with. If he left for even a second, all the lives they were sheltering would falter, all they had worked for would crumble, he would be damned if ---
"*That was not a suggestion, we can not afford to hold such an advanced position* *with-*" Incapable of holding his tongue any longer, he interrupted him for the first time in his life.
"*There are thousands of people behind that are relying on me to protect them. If you want me to leave do not sugarcoat it, do no tell me to fall back, tell me to let them die.*"
"M'riis." The water rose, slowly at first, gaining momentum quickly, dragging all it touched into the air with it, forming a giant sphere of water that blocked out the scarce amount of sunlight that was shining through the darkened clouds. With the mist now clear, he felt a shiver of trepidation at the sight that greeted him. It was not the untold number of them that blotted out the land, nor was it the fewer but still numerous amount that dotted the sky. Daunting yes, but the immediate threat that faced it nearly made him reconsider his vehement refusal.
It was massive, its hulking for having the same general appearance as the rest of them, but that was as far as the similarities went. Its limbs did not take the gangly, gnarled appearance of the rest of its compatriots, but rather rippled with muscles, visible even from that distance, quivering with each and every movement it took. Its mouth was open, gracing him a savage smile that he would bet any of his earnings dropped drool from between its razor sharp teeth.
"Sv'kaaul." The ground fractured further, moaning as if in pain as a chasm the size of their legion opened its mouth before his feet, spreading and spreading further until even the distant behemoths troops began to fall into it. Sand quickly jetted out from the sides of the canyon, leaving them no time to spread their wings once they hit the bottom. Horrifyingly, he noticed that unlike the rest of its brethren, the hulking beast was actually clawing his way to the top as the sand fell, its beady eyes and grotesque smile never leaving his face.
"*Sen is on her way to relieve you*."
"M'faal." The moon of water that loomed over their heads began its descent, speeding further and further down into the chasm until it finally met sand, exploding with a sound that deafened his ears and crushing the numerous occupants it had once held against the heads of their own allies. The drumming of wings drew his attention back to the other side of the chasm as the dregs began to beat their wings in preparation for flight.
"Sv' kol." A slab of earth rose gently behind him, cradling his body in its soft embrace.
"K' thuurd." A titanic typhoon arose, slamming him forcefully into the rock he had erected behind him. The beating of wings had been replaced by the forceful gale, leading him unable to hear their screams as they tumbled headfirst into the chasm. At least, until he remembered that they could not scream in the first place. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs that had enshrouded his mind with his self inflicted blow, he continued.
"N' siird" Fire erupted all around him, coalescing into balls of white hot flames the size of his head. The flames carried out their mission, surrounding the chasm in a dome, leaving the top open.
"Vl' meerd." The clouds cracked, announcing their presence once more as they spread along the opening provided for them by the flames. Lighting shrieked forth, striking another cloud, each burst larger and larger than the last, until the elemental fury congregated in the opening of the clouds, becoming a bright light of shrieking fury that he had to turn his eyes away from lest he burn them away.
Locking eyes with the general that had so brazenly and knowingly charged headfirst into his trap, he wondered what it had to think about his own smiling face.
"Du'um." | 2018-07-03T17:40:19 | 2018-07-03T16:21:57 | 165 | 10 |
[WP] Every time you die you wake up in a random person's body. As a result, their mind is clouded with your memories and thoughts. The voices they hear are yours. You are Schizophrenia.
&#x200B; | First the years had slipped away to faces. Day upon day there was the cool breath of life, its warmth not yet kindled, still swaddled in thought. And each breath was life, and there were many lives. I lived all those lives in the first years.
Then the years became meaningless and then time became meaningless and then I became meaningless. I was given a name and that name was my identity and with that identity I was put into a box.
Men called me an illness. Then their breath would become bated and when I visited them there would be no pleasure in the living. Their minds fought me for I was like a demon to them, but not the kind of demon they learned about in church. I was a demon of the mind, something beyond God and religion. They called me Schizophrenia and I was an illness.
But that is the identity I was given. I have no name that I would call myself. My identity has long been stripped since the years stopped falling and since time has frozen in its endless passing.
I am nothing. I am the breath that I borrow and the eyes that I steal. I was born in the dark and each lifetime I spend in rented existence. I feel nothing, only the yearning for feeling. But they have given me an identity.
Schizophrenia.
Long ago there was a woman when the world was young and when I was young. Her name was Lilith. She was the first woman to ever live and I remember I lived in her as a shy guest. Her breath was soft and young and I knew she would die young. But even then she was vital and we both lived and saw Creation as it came to be.
Time was new and so it passed slowly. I remember the rain falling slanted. I saw it through her eyes. Thunder and lightning and the great noises in the night. Then came man and Lilith was afraid and I felt attacked.
I had never seen someone look at another's eyes before. I felt as though I was exposed.
Long ago that first man saw through Lilith.
"You are not right," he said.
"Why?" she asked.
"Your eyes are in two, and they glaze over in an evil way."
This was in the speech during Creation. I remember the sounds he made and the growing fear in Lilith. For she knew I was there. I had kept her company in the lonely time of the beginning and I think she loved me. Though I was nothing she loved me.
"I know what you mean," she said. "But it is okay."
"It isn't okay."
"It is."
And though she was the first woman in the world, the first man killed her because of what lived inside her. And so I died then and I thought I would be dead forever.
Then I was alive again and life had started anew. There were many people alive then and the world had been born. I remember crying for Lilith, and the man who was my host would cry and everyone would think he was mad.
Life went on like this. My emotions became stretched so that they would fit millennia, and then eternity. They became nonexistent. The years started to go and each life was its own warmth, its own special feeling, but I would feel nothing.
Only that very beginning time would stay with me. All the other people have become faces and cold feeling, like a shiver brought on by something you barely remember.
Only Lilith remained as time raced. I was given a name and they learned to expect me. A faceless identity put upon my shoulders so that they would sleep better at night knowing what I am.
An illness.
I wonder if that is untrue. Existence in large doses will make you mad, and then numb, and then nothing. Maybe I was not born nothing.
I remember the first rains through Lilith's eyes. The coldness had tensed her skin. Her heart was beating hard. Her thoughts were pictures of rivers and puddles in the biggest way she could imagine. She could not imagine the sea, and she thought the rain would last forever.
And now the eyes are different and histories have passed. I see the rain from another life. I feel those universal truths all men experience, those emotions that are reborn as I am. I feel it all as an old friend that lives in memory. A friend long dead but for his shadow you catch sometimes from the corner of your eye.
I should move on and live, I tell myself.
I have lived too much. Care has run out. The monotony has become a void from which an eternity of experiences echo within me. I no longer feel or think but reminisce of all the lives that have gone by.
And I drive the host mad. They often hear the roar of my thoughts for my thoughts are infinite. I am no longer the nothingness friend of long ago. They have given me an identity, made me a monster.
An illness.
And maybe I am. I do not talk to them anymore. I live quiety as my thoughts echo in their heads and their eyes glaze over.
"Something is wrong with you. Your eyes are glazed."
Now they have something to say.
"I'm schizophrenic."
-
*Hi there! If you liked this and are interested in more, you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, as well as some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!* | and then I said 'The Walls Are Bleeding But Don't Touch Them Because The Baby Jesus Wants To Implant A Government Microchip Nanomachine Drone Killer MKULTRA Device In Your Neck To Commit Arson and Murder and Draw Mustaches on Dollar Bills But It Won't Happen If You Don't Touch The Walls' and then I - no, he, - no, she - I forget which anyway we run and scream and avoid the blood on the walls. Somehow someone always calls the police don't they understand IT'S THE COPS THEY'RE BEHIND IT THEY SENT THE DRONES TO PAINT THE TOWN RED IN TOOTH AND CLAW THEY WON'T TAKE ME ALIVE NO THEY FUCKING WON'T -
And again I'm rebirth canaled into another gondola, thrown into the quagmire of thoughts where you can taste green and see sonatas and complain about the neighbour's dog until you're white as a um. Um. Um. As grandpa's underpants. What are you accusing me of? I don't remember who I am, so whatever you think I am is maybe very possibly not really eh really nahhhhhhhhhhhhh maybe actually that makes sense. You can't blame me. You try remembering your breakfast after they've taken your brain out and mixed it into smush brothers melee with a million gajillion other minds. I am Charles Xavier The II: Electric Boogaloo now but people call me Charlie. What people? Any people. Very tall people.
I TELL YOU I KNOW VERY TALL PEOPLE.
But they told me a gajillion isn't a number so maybe I'm just crazy. But that would be crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm Charlie. The Tall People call me Charlie.
Charlie, they say. You're a woman now. You weren't but now you are. And you're young again. They laugh. The Tall People always laugh AT me and never WITH me. I don't trust The Tall People. How can you trust someone who can be many or none? I'm Charlie. I'm just Charlie. So they laugh, and say, we're gonna kill you Charlie, we're gonna kill you, we're gonna climb inside your chest and burrow inside and live inside your heart and start pumping cum instead of blood to your brain and that's what'll make you kill your kids, did we mention you have kids now Charlie? You're immaculate Charlie! So we're gonna nail your fucking corpse to the wall and drain your blood and use it to run our TV because so silly we forgot our Netflix password and gotta catch up with the Kamalihuligamas, oh wait hang on. Netflix isn't invented yet! But you remember it Charlie. You used to be on it all the time. But we took care of it, oh yes we did. We told you there was a bug living in your head and the only way to extract it is to scoop it out of your head through your eye. Cops? What cops? That hasn't happened yet Charlie, pay attention Jesus Christ.
The Tall People aren't very nice.
So I'm inside the woman's mind brain and she's fighting me. She says she won't listen to me talk about the Tall People but I have to or she's going to die. They're going to kill her, do all the horrible things they told me they'd do. I keep at it. Charlie is a friend to everyone except when I'm angry. I'm always angry. I'm always Charlie. So I keep talking and talking and talking until finally one day she listens. They always do. I'm pretty persuasive.
I tell her to take all her money, stash it in a hole in the ground. I didn't see the mean wicked fang sickle claws of the Tall People out there so should be fine. WAIT! That shadow moved, it moved, it fucking moved, that's where they are it's The Tall People THEY'RE ONTO US RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. She tries to ask for help. I shut her the fucking fuck shit cock up. I show her his eye, and she sees it - a teardrop of blood on his retina, eyes burned with a hundred thousand atrocities, eyes that have seen naked politicians and lying pornstars minced together into a conga line to celebrate God Getting His Wisdom Teeth Pulled AKA Mistletoe. She steps back, and I make her yell every bad word I know and trust me - I know a lot. The Tall Person In Disguise fakes being confused, and I tell her to run run run run again.
After exactly between 1 or maybe fifteen gajillion miles I make her stop so she can catch her breath and lose her lunch. Gotta clear her system. The Tall People are sneaksy sneaky tricky bastards. Literally bastards. They're born when a sun marries a star and they fuck each other in holy matrimony. Like, ew. I see some black spots and dalmations and sun spots in her puke, and - hey, she's catching on! Nanomachines. Tiny magic pricks of dust that can communicate with each other to betray her location to The Tall People. It's okay now. We can maybe get a sandwich here and some vitamin water and then we can leave and get as far away from The Tall People as soon as possible. I don't want to celebrate too early but WAY TO GO! WE ARE THE TEAMO SUPREMO!
It's not until we were halfway through the bottle of vitamin water did I realise we were tricked. The woman was covering the exits and watching for any bastard dons and slaughters of suns and stars out in the street and I was using her teeth to grind the nanomachines to dust, until we both saw the label on the vitamin water. Now it didn't say fluoride, but it was fluoride. I know. I tell you, I know The Tall People. They loves puzzles and cryptograms and extremely weird shit. If you give them the chance they won't shut the fuck up about Atbash Caesar Base 24 or Voynich. These names used to make sense. Now they're just cop shows. So I was watching the cop show and realised the code said:
CHARLIE, STOP. THIS DRINK HAS FLUORIDE IN IT, STOP. HA HA HA, IN A BEMUSED FASHION, STOP. YOU'RE DEAD NOW, STOP.
I only realise I lost it after we woke up again. The doctor had two cops behind us. Our head was heavy, opening our eyelids like trying to pull the sun out of orbit. Can't tell if the doctor is one of Them. Doesn't matter. They won already. Soon they'll infuse us with the Haloperidol Manna and place us as sacrifices on the ECT altar to Zeus, and then send us away so we can try to escape until they need us again, and then they 'chemically tranquilise' us and 'electro convulse' us again and again until the woman dies and I go somewhere and somewhen else. Then it starts again. The Tall People send me into another body and I try to save the body but it always fails without fail.
Now do you understand why they laugh at me? Now do you understand why I hate them? I don't. As I said, I'm having trouble distinguishing my own thoughts from the thoughts of the gajillion bodies I've been in. Time and Space means little to someone unbound by Reason. I've died earlier and later and at the same time and I don't know what my favourite TV show is. All I want is for this to stop. For bodies to stop dying for The Tall People. For me to die. Not the body, me, Charlie, or as the doctors call me, Schizophrenia. I prefer Charlie, but I'm only Charlie to my friends. All my bodies are my friends. I hope they forgive me for what The Tall People made happen to them. | 2018-09-03T09:32:55 | 2018-09-03T09:12:26 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] You've been cursed to be horribly influential, little side jokes you've made such as "the world is flat" and "vaccines cause autism" have spawned entire movements of avid followers. Today you accidentally said something that will turn out drastically worse... | This wasn’t exactly a new power of mine, but I’d been playing it pretty close to my chest. When I’d first joked that the world was flat, it was just an artifact from history. A few days later, one of my friends showed me a Facebook page that was full of nut jobs supposedly claiming to believe the same thing. I was floored, but I didn’t believe it.
Over time, however, I began to notice the trend. I would make a joke and it would, somehow, become a popular following. I even tested it once, thinking of the most ludicrous thing I could manage. I looked right at a doctor and told them “vaccines cause autism.” I sort of regret that one.
Today, my friends and I were watching one of the final episodes of the Colbert Report, when he mentioned that the 2016 election cycle would be starting soon. My friend laughed, “There’s no way this election cycle could be weirder than the last one. The man didn’t even bother with a concession speech, he just sort of rambled about his campaign.”
I laughed, and the comment spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Come on man, we all know Donald Trump will be the next President.” | Yeah this is fun trolling people. What a bunch of staves people are they will follow anything and everything. Look at my track record.
First I said “the world is flat.” And these morons actually believed it. There was even a jackass on Facebook who had a video about it and everything. He came up with all kinds of nonsense that [PROVES IT!](https://youtu.be/3XclStdqkA4). And it’s complete garbage. Look people it really is simple the world is **VERY BIG** and you can’t see how big it is unless you are **REALLY HIGH UP.**
Keeping on the topic of space i decided for my next act of trolling that I would say, “The Moon Lansing was fake.” The funny thing was this one created twice as many followers as before 500,000 stupid people started pushing my agenda. The results were so hilarious. People were saying this was true for all kind of reasons. 1.) They saw the proof in a scene in an old James Bond movie Diamonds are Forever. (Dumbasses that’s a movie not real life). 2.) Then there was the fact the flag was sticking straight on in the picture. (Well yeah they put metal wires in the flag so it could be shown off. It doesn’t really prove anything if the US claims the moon and no one can see the flag.). 3.) Some even made ludicrous claims that the Nazis escaped to the moon after WW2 so we wouldn’t want to go there. (Yeah and killer bees make chocolate honey too.). I am a natural leader. Trump or Obama who cares **I AM THE TRUE RULER!** I am bigger than those two fools ever were. I can rewrite history with a keystroke.
Well now it’s time to push my values on people. I think vaccines cause autism. I hate them and I want them to go away! So in my page I put this out there, “Vaccines cause Autism and are useless!” The response was staggering I had half the world supporting my views my ideas. People were all on this bandwagon refusing to give their kids vaccines. It was a little unnerving hearing how kids contracted polio but you know what that’s their fault for being easily swayed. I mean everyone knows autism is cause by women who can’t control their silly vices during pregnancy. But anyway, screw Kim Kardashian and Kanye Who! They don’t mean shit to me I’ll surpass all of them as the worlds most famous person with the most followers of all time. **EL MUNDO ES MIO!!!**. I have all of these fools eating out of my hand!
But soon things started to get annoying. People kept sending me messages asking for advice. 1,). Who should I vote for President? (I don’t care.). 2.) Which clothes are the most trendy? (What do I look like a fashionista?). 3.) Should I like Ariana Grande or Rihanna? (Again who cares just go on YouTube and pick something you stupid dolts.). 4.). Should I block this girl on Facebook because she has a mole on her face? (Oh my god fuck off will you!). 5.). Where should we fuck off to my lord? (Oh my god I am going to shoot someone!). Like I care about any of these fools. But they wouldn’t shut up! All of these people in the world kept asking me questions, “What do I do next.” AHHHH! I can’t take it go away get the hell away from me.
Ok this is the last straw, **”ALL OF YOU GO KILL YOURSELVES!!”** | 2018-10-16T20:30:42 | 2018-10-16T18:03:31 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | "At 2:47 this afternoon, a super-strength unit at the worksite for the new bridge will attempt suicide. He's worked 16 hour days for two straight months, and no one cares. He has a Masters in Biology and he is made to carry I-beams endlessly."
"Keep it short, Mr. Major." A curt reply came.
I scowled his way. "I will continue to give context until you either listen, or find someone whose precognition extends further than mine." I handle an entire city on my own, no way they hassle me on this.
"Whatever. Continue."
I grumbled. "At 3:31 pm, a psychic unit being used for mind control will be beaten by a superior for selling a television too cheaply. They charged 250% retail. If not prevented the unit will release a wave of energy while defending themselves, causing 3 comas and the brain death of their attacker."
"We'll get a team out there to restrain the unit."
"What about their assailant?"
"Continue."
"What about their assailant?"
"Nothing will have happened."
"Son of a-"
"CONTINUE, Precog Unit!"
I took a deep breath. "At 1:46, a precognition unit will kill his Responding Action overseer and escape the precinct. He makes a clean getaway because, of course, he sees everything coming."
"What? But you're the only-" He looked up, into the barrel of the gun I had managed to acquire and smuggle in. They always assumed seeing the myriad ways things can go wrong would dissuade a Precog from taking risks. I had waited long enough to find a solution.
"I'm so tired of snitching on my fellow supers...of calling out you norms and seeing nothing done to THEM. I hereby tender my resignation." I flipped the safety off.
He stammered. "W-wait! Your prediction can't work! You said 1:46! It's already 1:49!"
"Huh...guess I should have mentioned I was using your watch for that particular prediction."
He looked down...1:45:55...56...57...
"...It's a little slow."
**BANG**
Edit: Punctuation fix. Also, thanks for the many kind words. Part 2 will come as soon as I can get to a real keyboard. Mobile is hard to work with. | Nora woke up just like she did every other day. This time, however, was very different. Now, instead of wishing to be invisible, she actually was. And she wished more than anything to be fully opaque again.
She reported to headquarters, the same as the day before and the one before that. The days started to merge together. Her assignment was to go undercover, of course.
“Ugh. What else would be it?” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that? Officer Tanner? Do you have something to say to me?”
“No sir, nothing at all,” and she turned translucent. When the powers first began she had control over them. It was exciting.
She thought back to the time where she caught her husband cheating on her. The idiot didn’t even have the brains or decency to not do it in the house. But she hated him and got some thrill from catching him in the act. She didn’t want to be the 26 year old divorcee and single mom without good reason. And boy did he give her one hell of a way out of that train wreck of a marriage.
She flashed into the memory of her daughter laughing as she turned visible and came to form once again. She was the best peek-a-boo partner ever. Her daughter loved every second. But now she’s 3 and wonders where her mom goes while she turns invisible in her bed. She cries while she looks for her and doesn’t understand what’s going on.
This power became an uncontrollable part of her. And it was increasingly more dangerous - not just for Nora but for everyone. People who were hired as messengers were falling out of the sky. Cooks were burning their customers to death. Super powers weren’t so super after all.
“Tanner. Tanner. TANNER,” her commanding officer screamed.
“Sorry, sir, I’m here. Where’s the job?” She shook out of her thoughts and came to form once again.
“Corner of 87th and Willow. And hold yourself together. We can’t have you turning back at the wrong moment. That would ruin everything.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be good.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced and neither was she.
After going through the details she knew what she had to do. She had to catch the mayor in action. The station had gotten a hit that he would be showing up to the biggest cocaine runner in the city to talk about their distribution route. No one was able to tie the mayor to it but it became increasingly obvious as time went on. The clues were there. Nora’s job was simple: put a video camera in 5 places, all while being invisible. She had to put 3 on the outside of the building, pointing towards the front, back, and side entrances. The other two were the hard part: get two in the room where everyone expected the deal to go down without being noticed.
It wasn’t the hardest task, she had done others before that were much more mentally draining. And this time, she probably wouldn’t see anyone get shot. She had seen too many horrendous acts on this job and didn’t have faith in humanity anymore. Being invisible wasn’t nearly what she thought it would be. It was hard. It was sad. And she saw the worst in people because she was there when no one was watching. The human wallflower was a title she no longer wanted. She wanted to go back to life before everything changed so drastically. But this was her reality, and it paid the bills for her and her daughter so each day she sucked it up and did it anyway.
She got to 87th and Willow in no time at all, and was able to place the 3 cameras according to plan. Now the hard part: getting inside without being noticed. She was invisible by sight but she still had form when she turned. One bump into a table or person and she was screwed. It had to be done swiftly. She had trained for 2 years to become nimble - she went to the academy that whipped her into shape while they watched her daughter during the day and paid for their shelter and food. But the job was stressful. No matter how many courses in meditation they offered, she always got nervous on the job. She had too much to lose. Her daughter needed a parent that wasn’t her shitty father.
Nora was able to catch the door before it closed and wiggle her way into the warehouse where the deal was expected to happen. There was a lot of space for her to roam which was always welcomed. She made her way into the room that she memorized before the job. She saw a shelf and deemed it worthy enough to climb on top of it. As she started to prepare she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” She thought.
Nora turned around and saw a man with glasses on staring back at her. She realized they were specialized made solely to see invisibles. She had come across a few during her job but they were really rare.
“I have a proposition for you,” the man whispered. | 2020-02-05T17:14:17 | 2020-02-05T14:48:26 | 1,962 | 217 |
[WP] "You sold your soul to me for...this?" The demon stared, brows raised incredulously. It had heard a lot of ridiculous, stupid requests in its near-eternal lifespan, but this one definitely took the cake. | Feeling the blush creep onto my face I stood my ground, tried to stare at the big, ugly demon in all four eyes at once and said, "Yea? What of it?"
"This is your *immortal* soul. Your ticket to the afterlife of your choosing. The only way to avoid an eternity of torment at the hands of demons!"
I balked for the slightest second. I hadn't considered the afterlife part. But still, it was important. Not just to me, but maybe thousands of people in the world, all hoping for the same opportunity. I didn't expect a demon to understand.
He shook his great, horned head down at me. "Mortal, I've had some strange requests in my day. A young man sold his soul to me for a woman and ended up having his entire city and all its people sacked by Greeks. I made an illiterate Frank king of half of Europe. I've given a crazy Russian a large prick just so he could bang mortal women. But you... You baffle me. Your request has no possible affect on the rest of the world. It could only bring you the slightest of pleasure. Why sell your soul for it?"
"Because of all those men and women out there, who must suffer disappointment every few years, who dare to hope and dream, only to be told "no, maybe next time." All the while, other less worthy individuals get chosen, even though they haven't been as well loved, or haven't been around as long. It's not right!"
I stared up at the demon again.
"If my mortal soul is what it takes to get Waluigi into Super Smash bros. as a playable character, then dammit that's what I'll do." | I needed a night off, to get away, with out being away. I truly cared for my family, and they for me. I didn't want to see them hurt, I didn't want to see them grow old without me, I wanted to be the roll model of a father and husband that they deserved. I just couldn't let my wild days slip away, I needed my nights of uninhabited hoorah. Nothing like cheating on my wife or crazy hard drugs, I just needed me and friends being stupid and crazy like the old days. Thing was, they were in same position as me. Family and responsibility seemed to overshadow our own needs, there was absolutely nothing wrong with that, and we all knew that.
The idea was laughed off at first, something so simple wouldn't be considered for the price. But over the weeks the idea simply settled in. If we got what we want, we could give our wives what they want and be given huge brownie points with out the actual sacrifice they thought we were giving up. Say what you want, don't judge lest you be judged.
So there we were in my garage with my copy of summoning, and it all seemed to sink in and we slowly agreed to go forth together. All five of us drew the along the same pentagram with our own blood, we were in it together. The demon came forth, it was a more powerful demon since there were 5 souls at stake, His huge leathery wings couldn't fully unfurl in my garage, his horns ripped a huge hole in my ceiling despite his sitting posture. His voice boomed and reverberated so profoundly the mirror sitting in the corner shattered. "What in the fuck, why have i been summoned in a shit hole?", we had hoped for this outcome. I spoke diligently "This shit hole is my pride and joy, if you can't respect that we can find a fiend for our trade instead of someone in your stature." Souls were the base reason demons visited the mortal realm, and offering ours to a lowly fiend was a spit in the face, one he couldn't let slide or stand. His anger flared across his face, we were given the upper hand. "We have a deal you can't refuse." The demon groaned in exasperation, "Like i haven't heard that line a million times." His defenses were down, his anger clouded his judgement, but his sharp mind still tactfully assessing the situation. We laid the carefully contracted agreement at his feet. It was read once over and thought upon for an hour, we knew he was poking holes, the exact holes we wanted him to poke to avoid the underlining deception. He finally spoke, "A hall pass?"
"But of course, shouldn't be that hard for one so mighty as you", again the indignation of me speaking down to him forced his thickly spiked barbed tail to whip in his confined pentagram. "You'll give your souls so you can simply visit hell?"
"Precisely, we want our own pool hall, unlimited beer, weed, games, internet, everything as stated in that contract." The demon scoffed, such simpletons and their silly requests, the area that was given was plush and comfy, and given in exactly the way the contract described. We spent millennia just enjoying the simple pleasures that we could have on the surface. Then we were violently ripped out and put back in the garage. "Hope you all enjoyed your time, now it's time for payment". We all began to chuckle, I spoke again "we have already fulfilled our contract, for 'you have control of our souls for all time in hell', we have completed that time as you have just said 'hoped we enjoyed it', as we were in hell so were our souls as you never relieved us of them, not our fault you squandered it.Goodbye". The scream was unearthly as we all scrubbed our feet at the pentagram erasing his connection to our world. The kids came running in asking what the commotion was, seeing the damage they teased us about getting in trouble. We all went in to wrap the night up, they were served dinner and played games. When the wives arrived home late they all agreed to meet up the same time next week for another evening of entertainment. | 2020-03-05T07:21:37 | 2020-03-05T07:15:46 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Everytime a volcano erupts, a dragon is born. The longer the volcano lays dormant before eruption the more powerful the dragon is. The larger the volcano, the larger the dragon. The supervolcano at Yellowstone National Park has just erupted. | It was all a flurry of screaming and rumbling and sirens. Visitors were sprinting to their cars or their bikes, abandoning their things. Park rangers desperately radioed HQ, organizing for the evacuation of major buildings. Animals were pouring out of forests to escape, spilling out and through the trees in a massive horde.
A crack boomed from deep inside the volcano, sending a shockwave throughout Yellowstone. It felt like a brick wall had slammed into his whole body, knocking him flat on the ground. But it hadn’t erupted yet.
The park ranger groaned. He slowly pushed himself up off of the grass, grinding his elbows into the dirt for purchase. With great effort, he stood, swaying slightly.
A helicopter chuffed above the park, closely followed by a silent silver dragon 20 times as large. The dragon was old, covered in scars and missing quite a few scales. An intricate third eye was painted on its forehead in pure black. Its serrated teeth blazed with gold as it snarled at the volcano, elegant tail thrashing.
It lowered itself to the ground, the landing absurdly soft considering its size. The copter touched down on the landing pad. More helicopters were coming.
The dragon lifted a gargantuan wing to shield the few people still left stunned and supine by the initial blast.
*Get inside,* it roared in the human tongue. *Before the hatchling wakes.*
The first park ranger nodded, running to a man that looked to be nearly passed out and lifted his arm over his shoulder. The other man blinked at him, as if in a stupor, and his legs collapsed beneath him. A wheelchair was knocked over a couple feet away, most likely the reason the man couldn’t leave in time. He picked up the man gently and set him onto the wheelchair. There were a few other people, two women and their infant daughter, as well as a teenager whose parents lost him in the chaos.
The gift shop was close and protected against the inevitable blast.
“We need,” he coughed. “We have to go to th-the gift shop. Follow me.”
Several helicopters were entering the park’s airspace. Most were emergency, but one or two were owned by news outlets.
The band of people were almost at the door when the dragon hatched.
Later, the New York Times would call it the “Scream Heard ‘Round the World.” Definitely the whole of northwestern Wyoming could hear it, a high, unnatural shriek that stabbed deep into your skull and stayed there. The last coherent thought the ranger had for several minutes was that it was almost metallic, although that may have been the ear damage. Blood ran down the sides of his face. His eyes were screwed shut. He was gripping the wheelchair with white fingers. It was pain beyond pain, sinking him to the wooden steps and contorting his face with agony. He wailed silently.
A news helicopter fell. Its blades slowed, and it hung in the air for an excruciating second before pitching downwards and exploding with metal and fire.
Abruptly, the screaming stopped. The park ranger took his hands off of the grip, and, ringing ears drowning out all other noise, kicked open the door. The others stumbled into the store with matching blood trails framing their faces. He went in last and shut the door behind him.
Outside of the store, the dragon’s nose poked out hesitantly from the volcano. It was nearly as big as the silver ancient. God only knew how colossal it would grow when it was an adult.
The silver dragon licked the top of the dragon’s head with a rough tongue. *Come out, little lord,* it growled gently.
The baby’s eyes were sealed shut. It couldn’t understand the silver, not yet, but it was drawn to the comforting voice. It chirred, stretching its neck up to her smooth, pointed head.
*I am She who Glistens, my prince. An advisor to your family for millennia.* The silver extended a wing to the baby, and the baby took it gratefully, pulling itself up and out of the crater where the Yellowstone Volcano once pierced the sky. Lava ran from its hide to swallow and burn the earth. The ranger, watching from the gift shop windows, was fortunately a safe distance away from the viscous, red-hot death.
The princeling chirred again. She who Glistens laughed, almost, as much as a dragon is capable of laughing. *Do not fret, lord. I will find you a meal.*
—
CC welcome! | Robert looked at the data. It was consistent with what he had been recording for the past few days. But it also meant that it was time to push things upstairs. This would be big and destructive. Plus there was the whole dragon issue. The government would want to get involved ASAP. He made the calls.
*****
Agent 32 got down from the plane and took a deep breath. America. After years of monitoring things from afar, he was here. He knew he had to succeed. For his nation’s sake. The next couple of days would be crucial.
******
Francine noticed the armed guards at the edge of the make shift border. Ordinarily she wouldn’t be interested in a volcano. But this volcano... The next couple of days were going to be insane.
*****
Reed looked directly into his obnoxious selfie stick.
“Hey, it’s your boy, StormChaser420 coming to you from Wyoming. Idaho? I dunno. One of those states. I could never keep these straight. As you can see, the Yellowstone has just erupted behind me. The national guard had already cleared out the area and...”
He tripped over something and fell backwards.
“Don’t worry guys, I’m okay. Who the fuck put these rocks here. Well, as I was saying... oh fuck. It’s the Po Po.”
The grabbed his bag and ran. The officers gave a small chase but were eventually satisfied that he was heading out and let him be. They had been overrun with thrill seekers and they were more interested in keeping people out than arresting them really.
Captain Smith sighed. Humanity was going to hell in a hand basket. They were out here risking their lives to try and ensure no one got hurt and people were just.
“Captain!”
“What’s going on Jackson?”
“Sir, I...”
Smith noticed the look on the soldier’s face and hurried towards him. He looked at what the soldier was pointing at. “Oh fuck.”
******
Reed got in his car and drove away from the park. He had already two strikes against him and he couldn’t afford anymore. He closed the zipper on his bag tightly. He probably should’ve left this in his motel.
******
Agent 32 listened carefully from his spot. There was a mad scramble down below. He looked through his binoculars at the car leaving the site. This was fortuitous. He recognized the car. He had bumped into this bumbling idiot earlier today. 32 would ordinarily stay only at fine hotels but here something a touch more accessible had been needed. What luck. He just had to make sure.
He sneaked back towards the perimeter passing the body of the soldier he had left there on his way in. Poor guy. He had looked rather young.
*******
Francine closed her eyes and let her amulet fall on the map. Damn it. Still not a fixed spot. It was still moving. She couldn’t wait any longer though. She would take the same route and figure things out along the way.
*****
Captain Smith stood in a corner glaring at his guys. He had heard of the fallen soldier and he was pissed. Was that guy really just a video blogger or whatever they called themselves? He had picked each person for this task himself. Everyone could handle themselves. Had that doofus really taken out one of his men?
“Sir! Captain smith, I got him. They’ve identified the vehicle.”
“Good. Send me the coordinates.” He ran to his Jeep. He had to get ahead of this situation. By any means necessary.
“Sir do you need us to come with...”
“Stay here on comms. I got this one.”
He looked at the grey eggshells in the clear case. He was supposed to be in charge. He would do this himself.
******
Reed threw his bag on his bed and sat down with a big sigh. He had blown it. This had been his big chance to get a viral video and get really big in the streaming scene. Damn cops. Always ruining things.
He would try again tomorrow. He sighed and headed to take a shower. He was exhausted.
******
32 looked at the vehicle and nodded. That was it.
He went to the front desk and acted out the lost tourist part again.
“Yes. They didn’t let me in there. Yes. Can I get a fresh set of blankets please.”
As soon as the front desk clerk turned his back, he knocked the register to the ground.
“Oh! Sorry. I’ll get it.”
Out of the front desk clerk’s view he quickly photographed the last two entries and returned the book.
He returned to his room and quickly looked through the names. Two main possibilities.
He picked up his knife and rechecked the silencer on his gun. It would do.
He went to room 37 and knocked.
******
“I’m coming. Hold on.”
Who could it be? Reed quickly slipped on a shirt and opened the door.
“Let me in. Don’t make a sound.”
“Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re probably after you. We need to leave.”
“Who’s after me?”
“Everyone.”
“The cops from earlier?”
“Sure. But also someone much worse.”
“It’s just a little weed bruh. It’s totally medicinal too.”
Francine sighed and looked around his room. The bag. She had noticed that on his back as he had run to his car. She grabbed it and headed out. “I’d you want to live, come with me.”
Reed looked at her with a confused look. “Hey that’s my bag. I need my bag.”
He was deceptively quick and was at the door in a flash.
He grabbed the bag and tried to take it away from her. As they both tried to pull the bag away from each other, they turned to see someone exit the door down the corridor. He saw the duo and his eyes went down to the bag. His eyes widened and he took out his gun.
“Run.”
Francine snatched the bag away and ran down the steps on the opposite end. Reed followed silently.
32 was confused. Who was the woman? Didn’t matter really. He would find that out after putting two in her head. He chased them.
Francine got in her little Mini Cooper and motioned Reed to hurry. A Jeep pulled into the parking lot. The driver saw Reed get in the car and ran to block their path.
Captain Smith stood in front of the car with his gun pulled.
“Get out of the car or I’ll shoot you.”
“Okay okay” Reed raised his hands above his head inside the car.
Gunshots erupted from behind them as 32 caught up to them as well. Smith took some cover and retuned fire allowing just enough space for Francine to manoeuvre her car around the captain’s Jeep and head out.
Reed looked behind him with confusion and horror on his face. “It’s just a little weed.”
“You moron. Open your bag.”
“What?”
“Open the damn bag.”
Reed opened his bag and saw two eyes staring back at him.
“What even...” | 2020-05-03T05:40:01 | 2020-05-03T05:37:07 | 126 | 22 |
[WP] You and your significant other are running for your lives from a slasher killer. Suddenly your partner ducks into a door and locks it behind them leaving you behind. You slump against the door preparing for the worst. The killer walks up and says "Wow what a jerk. You ok?" | Abdullah's eyes met mine, one hand on the door. He was resolved.
The door shut before I could reach it.
I grabbed the handle. Locked. I tried it again, to be sure. I slammed my fist hard, three times, but there was no answer. I wheezed, but couldn't manage a call.
"Wow."
If adrenaline hadn't just pushed me as far as it could, the killer's voice would've had me running again. I clenched my eyes shut, then turned to the man who had been stalking us for hours.
"What a jerk. You okay?"
I nearly choked, trying to respond. Air burned my lungs, but I couldn't do anything but gasp for more of it. I shook my head instead.
"My, my. He should know he's only delaying things. I will get him, sooner or later. I'm patient. Later is fine."
His shadow now covered me, blotting out the orange glow of the warehouse light. I could see the blood splatter on his knife.
"Of course, it doesn't matter if you're okay - I'm going to kill you regardless. But I'm always curious to know... To know your pain. He betrayed you. Locked you out. Tell me what it is like facing your death with a broken heart."
My breaths were heaving still, but I managed to get words out. "Abdullah... Is... Faster."
The avatar of death chuckled. "That he is."
I lifted my eyes from the knife, to his face. I had never really wondered what a killer's face was like: the way his nose twisted as one corner of his mouth was raised, a quiver in his left cheek. I didn't know what made his eyes seem exactly right for a serial killer, but somehow they were. But one feature on his face made me smile. Among the blackened blood spatter across his brow appeared a glowing red dot.
I wheezed once more. "Abdullah is... the better shot." | Our lives are made up of moments that make us who we are. Once you live your life with somebody your moments become entwined.
All our moments together, now cast in a new light. Your adorable unwillingness to let me eat your food, you never liked to share anything with me. Your stubborn refusal to pick up your shirts, just more clutter to my busy life. The way you would get nervous if I laughed too loud in public and you would shush me, you were always finding ways to be embarrassed of me.
Just now. The way you looked into my eyes as you slammed the door shut. I heard the locks slide into place as I stood, staring into the night. This was it. I readied my posture, looking around for weapons. I saw a chain to my right, listened to the night for a beat then went to reach for it.
Pale hands shot out from the dark of the cabins porch, they rested on the chain I was reaching for but did not grab it. My hand stilled and I stared into the pale face if the figure that had been chasing us.
"I cant believe he left you outside" the man stared straight at me, a memory bit at my mind. His dark hair and eyes, neatly trimmed beard... "full lips, and thick eyelashes. Under different circumstances i would be interested." What. Did I really just think that. No. That wasn't my voice.
I straightened and got back into a defense stance. I have no idea what is going on.
His eyes widened and a coy smile played on his lips. "You know, I came to see who destroyed my offering. You wouldnt know wou-" a loud bang from inside cut him off. It seems Sean had moved something heavy to block the door.
"I dont know what you are talking about. We only arrived it 3 hours ago. Went for a walk and ran into you, well you ran at us with a giant knife."
He remaibed silent and stared at me intently, I looked back at him, he looked so... ordinary. His nostrils flared at that moment.
I kept my posture in guard, I was ready for any attack. "So.. your fiance... he just left you to die?" I was not ready for that attack.
"Panic response. Fight, flight, fuckoverpeopleyousaid youloved. Its human nature" I sighed. Then realised I had relaxed in my vent. Why hasn't he attacked me?
"Why haven't you attacked me? And why are you so ordinary looking?" .. well, good looking.
He walked more into the light cast from the cabin, I could hear Sean inside pilling more furniture in front of the door. "Why arent you afraid of me? Or running? How do you mean, ordinary?"
I took a step back and relaxed, I copied his posture and leaned against the side of the cabin. The air was crisp but my adrenaline was keeping me warm, the sound of crickets chirped as I looked at my would be killer.
"I will answer your questions honestly, so long as once I have done so you will answer mine, agree?" I looked at the figure, his sharp eyes locked onto mine and he nodded slightly. "Agreed"
"I am afraid of many things, but I do not fear what I do not know. Until I know what you intentions are, I have nothing to fear. I am tired, better to face you now than to run and face you when I am more tired. I guess I mean, you dont look like a deranged killer, but I guess I dont have a real frame of reference so you can ignore that"
He stared at me for a long moment, the sudden silence after my spiel was deafening. He smirked, lifted his eyes to the sky. "I haven't attacked you because you interest me. You also remind me of somebody. I also do not believe it was you that destroyed my offering. I guess I look ordinary because I mostly am, I just... fly into murderous rages sometimes"
"Oh. Okay. I am sorry your offering got destroyed. Do you plan to attack me?"
I looked at his hands as they clenched at my question. He shook his head but looked down. "I do not plan to kill you." With that he slunk into the darkness. There was a loud shout from within, then a lot more banging.
I heard one final soft thud then silence. I ran for the road and managed to flag down a car, as I got in and we drove off I looked back and saw the figure stood at the road. He was smiling and waving. It did not feel like a goodbye. | 2020-10-10T10:01:40 | 2020-10-10T07:59:47 | 58 | 42 |
[WP] As the world around you teeters on the edge of destruction, the villain tries to explain to you how everything he’s done has been for you and your family. | I am not omnipotent. Contrary to popular belief. I was close at one point, I think, but that was a long time ago.
It began with earthquakes. I watched as the earth shook, in all the usual places at first. People were only mildly alarmed - just some bad luck this season, easy to write off. But then the quakes grew stronger, and the death toll continued to rise. And then the ground shook in places it never had before, and had no reason to. The infrastructure of entire cities began to crumble. The death toll was in the tens of thousands, and climbing.
And then came the storms. I watched helplessly as the ocean wiped off entire cities from the map. Floods, tsunamis, hurricanes. Several coastal cities and islands ceased to exist, along with those who were unable to evacuate in time. The death toll was staggering.
Tens of millions, dead.
I watched as the rest of the world tried to cope with the horrors of their new world. I watched as they struggled to rebuild, only to have their efforts thwarted as their new world turned against them.
And I watched, in abject horror, as plagues descended on crops, livestock, and people.
Hundreds of millions, dead.
But I didn't just watch. I *felt.* I felt every single life fade as if it were my own flesh dying. Because it was. I felt the pain of my creations, my *children*, as their loved ones were taken from them. As they drowned. As they starved. As they suffered.
And I suffered with them.
And then the fire came. Entire cities wiped off the Earth in an instant, as the remaining governments of the world fought for what little remained. I felt every fiery death. I felt every drawn out, agonizing death of those far enough to be caught in the fallout, but not close enough for a swift death. My pain was indescribable.
Billions.
I reflected on all of this as I faced the being responsible. We stood in what was once a garden of great importance. He had at last agreed to meet me here, at the beginning of all things.
He threw a bloody sword down at my feet. I knew whose it was instantly.
"Even Michael?"
"The others too. But yes, especially Michael," he sneered.
But I saw past his demeanor. The killing of a brother is not something that anyone, even *he*, could take lightly. I knew he grieved, though I would never see it on his face. Nor was now the time to grieve myself.
"Why?" I breathed.
"Oh, like I'm the first one to flood the world."
I winced. An old guilt rose back to greet me.
"I have paid the price for my mistakes. I was...younger. I didn't know what I do now."
My son laughed.
"The bombs weren't even me, you know. Your *children* did that all on their own. No divine intervention necessary."
I kept my expression blank.
He stopped smiling.
"I know you care for them, father. But isn't this better? Isn't it just less complicated without them? We were a family once - you, me, Michael and the rest. Before them, before - *creation*." He almost spat the final word.
I stood firm, unmoving. Now he turned angry.
"I did this for US!" he roared.
"Yes, much of our family is gone now, but we can create new family, the way you did in the Beginning. We can do it *together.* We can all be together again, with no *distractions* in the way. We can be *happy*."
The mask my son took so much care to maintain slipped, and for an instant, I saw pleading in his eyes. I saw him as I once did, when he was much, much younger. Some part of that boy made it to the present.
I saw his love for me. I was reminded of my own love. For him, for his siblings, for my children.
I made my decision. I strode over to my fallen son, and I embraced him. He stiffened. But I began to weep, and he slowly wrapped his arms around me in return. We held each other for some time, unmoving. I like to think he wept too.
I am not omnipotent. I am a long way from what I once was. But I am still the Father. I made my decision.
Now, I am father to none. | There it was.
The crater.
To think, only five days had passed since it landed. A meteor, around 500 kilometres in diameter, Smashing into the heart of Europe. I was only at one edge, around the abandoned ruins of what was Paris. I heard that the other edge was as far a Belarus.
Dust filled the skies, obscuring the surroundings. Even back in America, it was bad, but this was a new level of darkness. The midday sun was mostly blocked, and the slightest shadow stopped anything from being seen. This place was dead.
In fact, looking at it now, I might be the only thing alive in this place. Well, me and that mysterious stranger that's now standing next to me.
"Why are you here?" I asked as gentle as possible, knowing that I wasn't exactly celebrating life here.
He glanced at me before replying, "You know your family are safe, right?"
I instantly stepped back in shock, "What! How do you know that?" I yelled in a mixture of surprise and confusion, "They were in Dresden, right at the heart of the collision."
"No," he said softly, "They were in a plane, heading to surprise you. They got rerouted to Greenland as an emergency stop due to the dangerous conditions."
My mouth fell wide open. How? Was this some sort of cosmic luck? There's no way my family got out of there in time, and why would they even fly out to surprise me, I was coming home soon? Millions of questions ran through my mind, but for some reason the one I asked was, "So why are you here?"
"Mourning," he coldly replied, as if he had suddenly died inside.
"I- I'm so sorry." A tear formed in my eye, "But, if you don't mind me asking, who are you mourning?"
"I'm mourning all the people I killed. The lives of everyone inside and outside of the crater. A planet that's destined to die. All because I had to save one family."
"Sorry," I replied, puzzled about what he said, "How was this your fault?"
"Well, I created the meteor. Why did you think the scientists missed it?"
"I just thought--"
"--It wasn't there before." He interrupted, "I created it. I threw it into the Earth. I destroyed everything." He paused for a moment, "and I gave your family plane tickets to go and see you."
"Wait, why did you do it in the first place?"
"Because humans spread too far." He returned to looking out into the crater, "They left their homes and built elsewhere. Each spreading disease and poverty as they went. Killing nature and destroying the planet. I just hit the metaphorical reset switch."
"But why would you save my family? What did we do?"
"It isn't what you did, but what you will do. I saw into your character and decided you were our best hope. I've been working for the last ten years to keep you alive and well."
"Hah," I chuckled loudly, "like anyone was looking out for us. Unluckiest family in Germany."
He smiled faintly, "yes, but every issue, every setback, every failure put you on this path. All orchestrated by me."
"What, so you ran over my cat when I was 15?" I said sarcastically.
However, he replied with a straight face and a simple answer, "yes."
"Wha- Why?"
"Because losing that cat put you into a depressive spiral, which caused you to seek love from anyone who'd give it to you."
"Daniel..."
"Exactly, and when you were considering going to that french university?"
"I said that I wouldn't go if he'd be there..."
"And there are countless other tiny things, all leading you to be here, with me, right now."
"What? Am I supposed to thank you for destroying the world?" I snapped at him "You made my life hell so we could have this little chat. What kind of monster are you?"
He sighed, "No, you're still not understanding. I chose you to fix it. I will send you and your family back. You can set the world straight. You can do good."
"Send us back? Like some sort of time travel?"
"Yes. Your watch is a time machine. Well, time and space, really. I made it, and three others for your parents and sister, so you can go back and save the world."
I waited for a second, unsure whether this was a joke or that this guy was just a fool. After a while, I decided to go along with it, "So say we do go back in time, what do we do?"
"Just, be good. Teach the importance of this world to anyone who'll listen. Create religions centred around protecting the planet, show the dangers ahead to anyone who'll listen, keep people from spreading out and destroying the land of others. You can even interfere directly, destroy a business, build technology, become a Kraken at the high seas breaking apart ships for all I care. Just, whatever you do, be good."
"Okay." I don't know why I was agreeing to this ridiculous proposal, but it sounded so realistic. "How do I do it? How do I use the watch?"
"Tap it and think of where you want to go, the living consciousness of the watch will do what you want."
"And what if we're killed?"
"Each watch has 13 extra lives that'll heal you. It might do some reworks on your physical self, but you'll be fine. Also, it'll slow your ageing to about a tenth while you are alive."
"Got it," I spoke as I placed my fingers above the watch, ready to help the planet. Or look really stupid in front of this stranger. "Any last advice?"
"Just one bit. Pick a good title."
"A title?"
"Yes, something easy and clear. Use it instead of your real name, it'll make it harder for people to work out who you were. Also having a good title will make people more likely to believe you."
"Well then, I guess--"
"--WAIT! One more thing. I don't know what will happen when you use it. For all I know it could attract aliens or something, so keep an eye out for weird stuff and try to protect against that as well."
"Sure..." I spoke sceptically, "I'll do that."
"Good."
"Well, if there isn't anything else, I suppose I should head off."
"Got a title?"
"Yea, you said this thing could time travel. So I figure 'the lord of time' is probably fitting. Anyway, see you around." My hand fell onto the watch. Slowly, I began to fade out of the world.
"Shorten it a bit!" The man yelled after me, "Try just 'Time Lord' instead!"
And like that, I was gone.
&#x200B;
If you liked this story, head over to [r/F4TF0X](https://www.reddit.com/r/F4TF0X/) to read more of my stuff! | 2020-12-22T18:46:35 | 2020-12-22T17:20:53 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You can detect lies easily, but no one knows about your ability. Today, your best friend lied about being human | "...and that's when I walked out, I'm only human, you know," Jake said as we walked back to my house.
That subtle trigger that tingled on my neck whenever someone lied shot through me. What Jake had said was a lie, full stop. "Say that again."
"What?" Jake asked. "That's when I walked out?"
No sensation accompanied his words. "No, after that."
"I'm only human." He rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with you, Abe? You look like someone shit your pants."
Unmistakable, the sensation came again even stronger. Jake was lying. How could he not be human?
"Whoa, you okay? Earth to Abe." Jake waved a very human looking hand in front of my face.
"You're not human," I said simply before I could stop myself. "What are you?"
"You're serious, aren't you?" Jake said, dropping the playful tone. "What makes you so sure?"
"I can tell whenever someone's lying and just now when you said you were human, you were lying."
Jake laughed loudly. "Fucking with me? You have to be. Did you not know or has this been a game for years? All the time we've been friends? You've left me to Horfal alone?"
"No," I said. "This is the first time anything's weird happened. I really can tell when people are lying."
"I know, you idiot," Jake said, pulling me off the road as he whispered. "It's a trait of our species. My only question is how did you get the misconception that you were human?"
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | What was it to be human? Was it the heart that beat inside our chests, professing love, fear, and anger? Maybe the blood that flowed beneath our skin or the eyes that windowed to our souls? Was it a curiosity for the unknown, like the one that sat before me, the one I had called my friend? Which one of these did he lack? Why was he not a human?
“Are you feeling alright, Elisa?” the unknown asked. Elisa found it hard to respond, too focused on observing her friend. She did not see fur or hair that crawled across his skin. She could not see horns or even the filed down stubs of them jutting from his head. But she did notice the concern written on his face as her silence dragged on.
“I’m fine, Darius. Just got lost in my thoughts for a second. Just thinking about who I am, the universe, and the meaning of it all.” Elisa ended her words with a smile to lessen their seriousness. Darius laughed, but she did not see any pointed teeth that poked from his mouth.
“What brought that out?” he said, still laughing. “You always fall into your own world if we let you. Come on, we don’t have work to do today; Thayer and Atara will bring food soon; and there’s a festival tonight. There’s no reason to be so serious.”
He was right, of course. Everything he said was true or so said the voice inside her head, the one she had carried with her her entire life. It wasn’t an overwhelming ability, one that led to conquering the world or saving it. Truth or Lie. One word was all it said at a time, and it was always correct.
“Lie,” it had whispered minutes ago as Darius asked forgiveness for his mistake at work and said he was only human. What was he then?
Was she to bring him before the Justices of Man? A wolf within their midst would spell ruin should he attack. She thought of the festival that awaited tonight, with the celebrations involved; the children playing unattended and the darkness of the night. Would he kill someone? Had he already? Many of the creatures who could pass for human did so to hunt them. Most, really. Would red blood spill when the Justices doled out their judgement?
“I just like over-thinking, I suppose,” Elisa said with a shrug. “What do you think it is to be human? What separates you from a beast or a rock?” Darius had been in constant motion, laughing, tapping, or rocking in his seat, but now he stilled though Elisa did not think he meant to. Nor did he mean to show the fear that was in his eyes at her question. Did he know she knew, or did he only worry?
“I think that-” Darius’ words cut short as the door burst open as Thayer and Atara shoved passed it, their arms full of fruit from the field.
“Hello, starving children. We are here to save you,” Atara said, her voice booming and dramatic.
“Truth”, the voice whispered.
Thayer smiled his usual quiet smile in greeting. Her friends dumped their fruits on the table and began to sort through what they had brought back.
Darius had turned away from Elisa. His eyes now tracked Atara, his face flush and chest practically shaking as the heart beneath it pounded. He was always so obvious. Thayer knew too, surely, but Elisa wasn’t certain whether Atara truly was as oblivious as she came across or whether she was only pretending to be.
“What were you two doing?” Thayer asked, looking up from table and turning his watchful green eyes back and forth between them before focusing on Elisa. She was sure he had read the mood the instant he had stepped inside.
Atara stopped her counting of the fruits to listen, and Darius seemed pulled out of his emotions at Thayer’s words. They all looked to Elisa for an answer, two curious and one afraid.
“We were just talking about the festival and waiting for our saviors to arrive,” she said, picking an apple off of the table and laughing off Atara’s glare for ruining her count. Whatever it was to be human, Darius had it, and that was enough for her.
r/Inder | 2021-04-08T08:28:12 | 2021-04-08T07:24:22 | 898 | 57 |
[WP] 37. That is how many times you have died of unnatural causes. Every time you do, you get reset to the age of 5, retaining all of your past memories. You think that this is finally the time you get to move on with life. | Here's what I do know.
1. Starting conditions are the same as far as I can tell. I spent my twenties (I've count lives not years) obsessed with finding others like me. I found four, but they're always on the same life and don't remember me from our previous encounters. None of them seem to bothered by the situation as they just get rich and lead long lives of comfort.
2. The great man theory of history is bullshit. You would be surprised how easy it is to get away with killing someone you have no connections to. Put a little arsenic in the right cokehead's bag, and yet some how we still end up in Iraq every time.
3.Yesterday is really hard to remember when it was over 500 years ago. SOMETHING important had to have happened to anchor me to this day for 37 freaking lifetimes that always end with me getting killed. Now, some of those are on me. Suicide is a much easier option when you know it's not a permanent solution. But still, I swear these Rube Goldberg causes of death are no coincidence.
But I think I've got it figured out this time. I've spent the last few life times accelerating technological advances. Now that I know that solar flare is coming, a little extra shielding on the drones should keep them from malfunctioning and leaving me vulnerable. Now comes the hard part. Convincing your parents to go buy a lottery ticket with specific numbers as a five year old never gets any easier. | Ali wakes up from a dream floating down the stairs of his childhood home towards his mother, and he knows: he was shot. For the first time in 37 deaths he has been shot. And for the 37th time Ali did not manage to lead a long and prosperous live. He managed to come quite far this time. 42 years old. He moved away from the city as soon as he could and bought an arid field near an isolated village in the northern mountains. To the surprise of his initially sceptic neighbours his plot of land turned out to have an enormous pocket of water underneath it which set Ali's farm up nicely once the hard work of digging the well was completed. And to the joy of his initially not too hospitable neighbours, he was more than willing to share access to the plentiful amounts of irrigation.
Ali had once spent some time in this remote village in a previous life. He grew fond of a couple of people there during his world-saving phase. Life 3-15. And 31, after the lottery, stocks and and going full barrel with cryptos. Turns out real luxury is about maximizing time. And making the most of ones time is about saving time. Keeping travel and waiting time short in every aspect of life. A pretty pointless endeavour when you are apparently able to always reincarnate to the day after your fifth birthday. Ali felt especially sore that he did not try the life of luxury earlier, when he would still have been able to enjoy it. But he had been so rigid and ideological back then. The first two lives Ali just figured out what he got himself into. After being run over for a dare about running crossing the road at 15 years old, he choked on a beignet at 27 and 295 pounds. Not much time to figure things out, but trying to make the world an utopia gave Ali some much needed purpose back then. And it made Ali try to self-improve all his vanities out of himself. Turns out, another pointless endeavour.
Ali huffed and made a sad and angry face. It was really early, but Ali could hear the familiar creak of the flooring and closing of doors from his mothers morning routine. Ali knew two things in this moment: That he had absolutely no idea what he should do with his life and that reincarnating into this moment was actually kind of lucky. But, nonetheless, he was frustrated. He exhaled loudly through his nose. As loud and as long as his young lungs could support. "God, if yyou wake me up I' gonna hit you", his sleepy sister mumbled. `I really have to improve the socio-economic status of my family`, Ali thought to himself.
He threw his blanket off his bed demonstratively in the direction of his sisters's bed, and then revelled in the angry glance she gave after hearing something approach. Ali got up and quietly snuck out the room, carefully not opening the door wide enough so it would creak. He inspected the hallway on the way to the kitchen where his mom was. "Can you teach me how to make pancakes", Ali asked arriving at the kitchen entrance. Alis Mom turned around with a smile, which in turn made Ali smile. Today was going to be a good day. "Good morning, sweetheart.", she replied. Ali contemplated if he should just try to strive for as many truly happy and fulfilling moments as possible. His mother continued: "I'd love to make pancakes with you, but it will have to be another time. I already prepared muesli for breakfast." As Ali made his way into the kithen and heard this tragic news so shortly after his own violent death, he realized that he has neither tried his hand at torture nor at being a mass-murdering hobo cult leader. Ali pulled back his chair and sat down infront of a muesli bowl that was ever so unappealing to Ali. He damned his underdeveloped brain and swore of any decision as big as becoming a murder-hobo until he was at least 13, while picking at the parts of the muesli he liked. `This is going to be another hard one`, Ali thought while chewing one one of the few chocolate chips in his bowl. | 2021-05-30T13:20:46 | 2021-05-30T11:05:59 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!” | “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
The courtroom gasped.
Obviously those in the peanut gallery watched too much CSI: Narnia and weren’t aware of courtroom procedure. While this was certainly not something I thought would happen today, it didn’t blindside me like I’m sure the prosecution wanted; I wasn’t an idiot.
Turning calmly toward the judge, I spoke in a loud and clear voice, “Your Honor, I object. All witnesses need to be deposed by both sides, and as a surprise witness, we have not had time to properly prepare our counter arguments. I request a stay until we can get everything we need for my client’s defense.”
To say the look on the prosecution’s face was miraculous would be an understatement. He was only a year out of Wizard Law School and he had the gall to think I wouldn’t know how to deal with necromancers? What an amateur.
“Motion granted,” the judge quickly agreed. “We shall reconvene in a week’s time, and counselor?” The prosecution looked up from the papers with which he was trying to conceal his quickly reddening face. His purple pointed hat was sticking out of the top, looking like a bad joke. “Do make sure to follow procedure this time around. Otherwise you’ll be held in contempt.”
BANG BANG
“Dismissed!”
Edit: Spelling error | “And do you recall talking with the accused that evening, drinking grape soda by the graveyard?”
In Prosecutor LeBlanc’s fifteen years of practice at the Putnam County Magicstrate court, he had encountered all kinds of enchantments, to varying results. He was accomplished in his work proving that werewolves were werewolves, that a vampire was responsible for that rogue bloodletting incident, who had cast that noxious fume curse. This was to be his first case post-Magic Deregulation Act, and he hoped it didn’t show.
“Objection, your honor,” he began. “Defense is leading the witness.” *Quite literally,* he whispered under his breath.
“It’s a confirmation of my previous questions, your honor.”
“Objection overruled. Proceed.”
LeBlanc sat back down.
“Unnnnnnnngh.” The witness grunted. It was an affirmative sort of grunt, he supposed. At least the jury would think so.
“There. Just one final question,” the defense asked. “When the axe fell on you, was the defendant holding it?”
“Nnngh!”
“There we have it, ladies and gentlemen, that’s the victim’s testimony. He was simply enjoying an evening out at the Monster Wine Grape-Mash. In no way did the defendant contribute to cutting that evening short. Defense rests.”
Judge Gatari nodded. “Any re-cross?”
“Yes, Judge.” LeBlanc stood, smoothing his tie anxiously. The courtroom only had the parties and the jury inside, yet the room felt filled somehow by his own anxieties.
“Ughhhh?” the zombie rose.
“You will remain at the stand, please,” LeBlanc grunted. “Let’s talk a bit more about the defendant. Were you familiar with them before the event?”
There was ruckus of hooting. LeBlanc facepalmed at his own language.
“Objection, defendant should not be referred to in such demeaning terminology, this is an attempt to bias the jury with prejudicial language.”
“Your honor, it was a minor mistake. I did not intend to use that word in the manner the defense suggests. I’ll rephrase.”
“Objection sustained, please do so counsel.”
LeBlanc nodded. The defendant, a great brown owl, squinted at him. It was displeased.
“Did you and the defendant ever interact prior to the Monster Wine Grape-Mash?”
“...ughh.”
Well, that could have meant anything. LeBlanc wished for the fiftieth time that day he hadn’t lost the argument on getting an interpreter. Apparently getting an English interpreter for a zombie was insensitive, but he needed one himself at this rate.
The victim chewed on his arm.
“Is it true that yourself and the defendant,” he pointed across the room, “engaged in weight lifting and shot-put competitions as a duo?”
“Hggggh.” That sounded somewhat positive.
“And that requires the defendant can lift heavy objects, yes?”
“Objection. Hearsay evidence.”
“Your honor, this is well within acceptable boundaries, I’m asking if the victim and defendant’s relationship included an activity the victim personally witnessed.”
“Overruled. Continue.”
“Ugghhh argh ahhh aghh.”
Someone in the jury nodded, seeming to understand.
“I’d just like to say, for the record on appeal, that I have no idea what the defendant just said.”
“You’re free to note what you like on the record,” the judge grumbled.
LeBlanc hoped nobody could see the sweat on his shirt.
“Okay. Last question: if defendant can lift heavy objects, is it possible that the defendant lifted and dropped the axe from midair?”
“Objection!”
A spell flew across the room, shutting his mouth. LeBlanc stomped his feet in rage.
“Counsel, any response?”
He pointed to his mouth, then at the defense table. The opposing counsel was smirking.
That was one way to shut a laywer up, LeBlanc supposed.
(Edit: I took a little bit of artistic liberty here. Tried to get close to the feeling of what a local courtroom is actually like. Source: worked in one for several years) | 2021-10-04T08:08:45 | 2021-10-04T07:17:44 | 1,090 | 71 |
[WP] On your quest for revenge, people often said to you, "Killing him wouldn't bring her back." The thing is, you found a way to perfectly resurrect her. You just need a soul to sacrifice, so might as well get the one who killed your loved one. | I did not speak, I did not move, I barely breathed, so focused was I. this was it, the man who had wrout my child from me stood only steps away.
it was time.
it was not a slow death, nor a painful one. i had gone past the point of revenge by then, and to kill was not the whole of my plans.
no sooner had his body hit the floor did I begin, runeic scripts written on the floor, in blood when ink ran out. i moved with a consentrated fury, a desperation that provided haste.
in time, I was done.
then begin the chants, words and phrases long lost to time, found now a use to bring her back.
and then she was.
"oh, baby" I cried, tears welling in my eyes. "I've missed you so much".
i felt her soft aginst my skin gently pushing way.
"of course, you must be hungry"
I took from my pack a can of tuna, no sooner had I broken the seal did her eyes whip to watch it.
i laid the can on the ground, and watched as my angel tore into it, her purrs like music to my ears. | After everything, after all my efforts she was dead, and he was to blame, Mr. Ashford, I held her life less body in my arms crying, soon after came the police, they investigated, at first they wanted to blame me for her death, but I wasn't the one who stabbed her in the chest in a fit of rage, she had done nothing wrong, but still her felt entitled to her life. I tried to stop it, ai did everything in my power to stop it, but it was in vain, she was already dead. And that son a of bitch got away, I contaminated the crime scene they said, and all the evidence against him was circumstantial, he never even saw the inside of a court room, I have spent years plotting my revenge, on how to torture and kill him, but I came a cross this book, secrets of the undying, I read it and it said it could bring her back, I didn't belive it, but the idea of bringing her back, I had to dig deeper, and I found a ritual I tested it in an animal first a two rabbits, one black and one white, the white one was dead, I drew the symbols and pentagrams I put the candles in place and in the center the black and whit rabbits. Then I slit his troat saying the magic words. And time passed a bright light came and as the blood of the black rabbit fell onto the white rabbit. When I could see again the black rabbit laid lifeless and the white one was jumping around.
Now after six month's of preparation I was ready, I had to steal her body from the grave, it was putrid, and it barely resembled her. It wouldn't be easy to get inside his manor, but six months gave me a way in. And in I went into his basement I put her in the floor and started the drawings once I had it all prepared I placed her in the center and went to grab my enemy. He was older and weaker than me, he was a sleep, and once I had the knife around his throat he couldn't do anything. I whispered in his ears.
-this is for Helena, you will pay now for what you did then.
i dragged him into the basement, hearing him pleading for his life, a pathetic old men, he was terrified when he saw the candles lit and her body in the floor, started to scream I was crazy and when we got to the center I slit his throat and once again when the blood fell onto the lifeless body on the floor a bright light came and she was back, unharmed, I put her in my arms and took her from there. Outside her white dress stained from the remnants of his blood.
-Where? Where am I?
-You are safe now, Helena.
-Oh Alex... what happened? She put her hands in the wounds she would have had six months ago, the ones her blood poured out as I held her at night.
-Mr. Ashford, he hurt me Alex.
-I know. I replied.
-But don't worry, he won't be able to hurt anyone else
-Why? What happened? Alex, I felt it, the blade comming trough me... how...
-Calm down, honey. I will explain it all to you but now we need to go.
-Go, go where?
I helped her into tha car, and we left, we traveled I, and I told her it all, she was scared of me but eventually understood... I was a wanted man now, she was as far as the law could tell dead, her body stolen from the graveyard, so we fled the country. We are now living in a house on the woods near a small town in Canada. | 2021-11-16T08:14:24 | 2021-11-16T06:19:12 | 88 | 21 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | Trying to come up with a world for Dungeons and Dragons wasn't easy. I had spent several days figuring out how to make it work, as I wanted my campaign to go well. But I was having difficulty with the pantheon of gods. Some came easily, like Relmoz, The Nights Embrace. But others were harder. Not only that, I was trying to create a list of offerings to be made, and ritualistic sayings.
"Hmmm. How about.. Accept this gift, Sotuna, Mother of Light, and bless those who stand before me? Yeah, that works."
I muttered to myself as I worked. It sounded good, but needed a motion with it. I looked around, before picking up one of my dice as a prop. I held it in a fist, clenching it over my heart.
"Accept this gift, Sotana, Mother of Light, and bless those who stand before me."
I nodded, satisfied with it. I went to write it down, absentmindedly putting the dice to the side. With the saying in place, I happened to glance at my prop. It had starting glowing a soft white, despite being a simple black d20. I picked it up, confused.
"What the..?"
It wrenched itself from my hand, flying through the air. But it stopped as soon as it began, held in a hand of glowing silver. I followed it up, my gaze taking in the spectacle before me. She stood taller than I, her skin that same silver. She wore a flowing dress of white, like a wedding dress. It's details were incredibly delicate, the likes of which could only be dreamt of. Her hair was a very pale blonde, almost white itself. But her eyes were molten orange, much like the heart of a star.
She was the very picture of serene beauty, as though no matter what, she could provide warmth and comfort. That lasted for a brief moment, before she burst towards me, wrapping me in a hug. She bounced up and down, lifting me up without any apparent effort.
"You called me! Oh merciful me! Thank you thank you thank you!"
I struggled to get my thoughts in a line. A strange woman, who was apparently made of silver, was currently holding me up in a hug. Not only that, she had appeared out of nowhere. I looked down, eeking out a breath from the bear hug I was in.
"Am I dead?"
I half expected to see myself slumped on the ground. But instead it was just my room as before. As my words escaped she stilled, putting me down.
"Dead? Why would you be dead? I'm the Goddess of life and Healing..."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, you're a goddess?"
She nodded frantically.
"Yes, of course! And you called me..."
I frowned, looking at my notes.
"I... was making up a world. Fiction. How can you..."
She let out a shaking breath, returning to her previous calm demeanour. She looked down at my notes, her face crossing between shock, wonder and joy.
"Oh. I see. You thought you were making things up. But by some cosmic coincidence, you found a way to call me."
"So... wait... you are actually Sotana? You're actually a Goddess?"
Her smile widened.
"I am indeed. And you are the first to call on me in several thousand years."
She held up my dice, as it glowed.
"This is an interesting offering, which I shall gladly accept. But you need to sit down."
I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Why?"
Her expression became amused.
"Because you are going to collapse from shock."
Sure enough, I felt the world start to spin away. As I fell, I felt arms of warmth catch me, and her voice in my ear.
"Worry not. I shall look after you now, my dear friend." | “... and thus, I pray to you Zeelota, goddess of Firstborns and Early Tides.” Callum itoned, having laid a seared blobfish and small bunch of grapes on his make-shift altar. Rhody laughed, and Mira rolled her eyes. But they each had their own alter and tithe to their lost gods.
“Who decided that this was the right way to get into the occult studies program?” Viv asked, staring at her altar, and even as she spoke a large portion listed to the side before tumbling down altogether.
Callum shrugged. “It doesn’t matter does it? All that matters is that professor Ritchards ‘finds’ them and is ‘impressed’ by our diligence.”
The four of them had met in undergrad and, through a series of strange happenstances, been in a majority of their classes together for the last four years. They’d joined the same clubs, gone to the same parties, and at some point just decided that they were meant to be friends.
And occult studies? Well, they’d spent one day their sophomore year exploring the campus’s steam tunnels, and when they’d finally popped out in an old, “abandoned” classroom, they’d been nearly scared witless by professor Ritchards who had been sitting in the dark. It had turned out that the floor was dedicated to Occult studies, and the steam tunnels were the only entrance.
“Fine, let's get out of here,” Mira said, grabbing her pack and heading for the “escape hatch” as she jokingly called it.
The others made a few last minute tweaks to their alters, and Viv grumbled as hers toppled over once again, but then they were done. Callum was never sure what had prompted him to choose Zeelota, but a final backwards glance at his altar, and he thought he saw the faintest of glows.
—
The next morning, Callum was awoken by a sharp clatter from across his dorm room. He’d lived there for the last four years. His roommate had moved out their junior year, so he’d had the room to himself the last year and a half.
Groggy and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, at the same time reaching for his glasses, he saw a murky shadow move quickly across the room.
“Whoever you are,” he said as he jammed the wire frames on his face, “you need to leave!”
There was a small squeak, and then another clatter as something else was knocked over.
Eyes finally focused, Callum saw a young girl in strange robes, trying to hide in the corner of his room. Her hair was long, loose, and tangled. A seafoam green, not unlike the color Viv had dyed her’s last summer.
“Bu-u-ut, you’re the one who called me here?” the girl said, her voice high, and Callum could hear the anxiety.
He rubbed his head, checked he hadn’t shucked his sleep pants in the night, and stood up. He didn’t remember calling anyone, certainly not this girl, who’d he’d never seen before. They hadn’t gone to the bar after leaving campus, but they’d had a few beers at Rhody’s place.
“I think you might have the wrong room…” He was sure he’d locked his door, but it wasn’t the first time a girl had ended up there that he couldn’t remember.
“No-o! You’re Callum!”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes…”
“You called me! From the altar! You even brought me my favorite fish!”
Callum just stared at the girl. After a long moment she looked crestfallen, tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
“Zeelota? Goddess of First Borns and Early Tides?” she said, extremely disappointed he didn’t recognize her.
Callum barked out a laugh. “Okay, was it Rhody or Viv that put you up to this?”
She just blinked, and shook her head. “No, it was you. Last night. I heard you call my name, and it was like a bell rang in my head. Sweet and clear. It had been so,” she choked up, “so, so long since I’d last been called upon.”
Callum was really laughing now. “Yeah sure. What did they pay you, twenty bucks? Dammit, shouldn’t have given Rhody that key.”
Tears now spilled freely down the girl's cheeks and her shoulders slumped in silent sobs.
“Oh come on now. It’s alright. Where’s your dorm? Or do you live off campus? I can give you a ride.”
“Why… Why did you call me here? If you aren’t even going to believe in me?”
Callum went towards her, grabbing yesterday’s shirt off the back of his chair and tugging it on over his head. He went to put a hand on her shoulder, more to steer her out of his apartment, rather than to support her - but his hand went right through her.
Even as he watched her, she started to flicker in and out of sight. He instinctively tried again, and again his hand fell right through, maybe it slowed a hair, like moving from cold thin air to hot and muggy - only without the temperature change.
He blinked and took a step back.
“Zee..zeelota?” he asked, no longer laughing.
She sniffled and seemed to once again become solid. She nodded.
Callum just stared at her. A goddess. Here. In his dorm room?
What was he going to do? What was he going to tell the others? Had their gods shown up too?
\---
r/LandOfMisfits | 2022-02-15T11:13:45 | 2022-02-15T10:56:35 | 394 | 199 |
[WP] You, a humble elf farmer, happen upon the lost hatchling of a dragon. You raise it until it is self sufficient and set it free. Centuries later, a young woman with draconic features knocks on your door and claims you are her mother. | For a long moment, Erean looked at the woman in the door of the farmhouse. Not because she didn’t recognize her – she would always recognize her. She feared she was dreaming it again, that she would wake up, heartbroken and alone.
“Mother,” she said, as if reading her mind. “It’s really me.”
“Loka,” Erean said, still not quite believing it, and put her arms around her. She felt the sharp shoulder-blades of hidden wings, smelled the scent of fire underneath the sweat and dust that clung to her shabby coat. “Loka, you came back,” and her tears were flowing unbidden from her eyes.
“If you’ll have me.”
“I would always have you,” Erean said and squeezed Loka’s hands tight, so tight, as if she could hold her there forever.
“You sent me away,” Loka said softly, like time had smoothed the anger from the words.
“I never-” Erean started, but caught herself. “Look at us. Two hundred and thirteen years later, and we’re bickering again,” she said, laughing through her tears.
Loka didn’t laugh, but tears welled in the edges of her red eyes as well. “You kept track?”
“I counted every moon,” Erean said, and squeezed her hands again.
For a long moment, they regarded each other. Elf and dragon; mother and daughter. At last, Loka took a deep breath. “Mother, we need your help.”
Before Erean could ask, Loka stood aside. Behind her stood a human girl. Pale skin, soft hands, a green dress of silk torn and gashed. Her face looked familiar, somehow.
Loka took the human girl’s hand in hers.
And then Erean recognized her. “Your highness,” she said, bowing her head, suddenly flustered.
“Please-” the princess started to say, but then Loka’s eyes snapped to the horizon, reptile-quick. Erean’s gaze followed. A cloud of dust. Warhorses on the road.
“You’d better come in,” Erean said. “Both of you.”
* * *
*EDIT: Whoa, thanks for all the positive feedback! I've taken a shot at extending this in a [stand-alone post](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ttqptz/pi_you_a_humble_elf_farmer_happen_upon_the_lost/)* | Anita wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and took a deep breath. The door before her was a greater challenge than any she'd faced before, and she'd brought low entire kingdoms.
Would she remember her? That was Anita's biggest fear, that she'd managed to track down the closest thing she could call a mother and she wouldn't even remember. Centuries had passed since she'd seen her, but Anita was a dragon and her 'mother' an elf.
It wasn't a biological relationship of course, but her dragon mother had left her to die as a hatchling and this elf raised her until she was well enough to leave.
Anita straightened her fiery red hair one last time and then exhaled and knocked on the door, the wings on her hip fidgeting with anticipation.
The door opened and revealed a white haired woman with pointed ears, the slightest of wrinkles on her face barely beginning to reveal her age. Elves could live to over a thousand years old, but they did still age however slowly. An accidental death was more likely than dying of old age. Anita knew this and that's why after finding out her mom was still alive, she decided to reconnect sooner rather than later.
Which still meant she had put it off for a decade, but that was the timeline of immortals.
"...Mom? I've finally found you."
Confusion flickered over the elf's face, and then recognition as she eyed Anita's draconic features. Anita continued, quickly voicing her worries.
"You remember me right, you raised me as--"
"Of course I remember you, you little hatchling. It sure took you long enough to come visit though, I'd say! Come in, come in."
Surprise now filled Anita's face, both from being suddenly cut off and from her mom actually recognizing her. She had been too young to even have her humanoid form back then.
With much relief, she followed her mom into the house, and then into the kitchen.
"Make yourself at home, dear. Tea?"
Her mom gestured for Anita to sit while she started preparing some tea.
"Ah, sure."
Anita sat and then coiled her tail around a chair leg. She was nervous again. This was starting to feel a little awkward. Was it right to call her mom? It'd only been the first 10 years of her life or so. Eventually she had just gone out hunting and never returned. At that age she was still only a hatchling and didn't have a strong grasp on language or the ability to speak. All of this was normal for a dragon, but now that she was thinking about it, she worried her mom would be upset over it.
"Um, sorry for leaving so suddenly."
Her mom looked up from the teapot she was preparing.
"Oh, don't be. It's what hatchlings do, my dear. I'm just happy to see my daughter healthy and all grown up now. We have a lot to talk about, it's been oh... 315 years I'd reckon. I don't know the exact day you hatched, but I remember the day I found you, it was--"
She was interrupted as she set a pot of tea on the table.
"Thank you."
Anita stood up and hugged her. Emotion filled her as it turned out there had been no need to worry, her mom understood completely and even thought of Anita as her daughter. Her mom hugged her back, and the moment lasted until it was time to pour the tea.
"How have you been by the way? You were a farmer of some kind, I think? My memories of back then aren't very clear, it was difficult to remember enough to even find you."
Her mom chuckled and thought for a moment before replying.
"You remember correctly, dear. I'm an elf farmer. An elf elf farmer. I farm elves. One might say I birth or create them, but might as well call it what it is. It's the only way for us elves to reproduce."
Anita listened to her explain the exact nuance of her work. It was apparently a loosely kept secret that elves are unable to reproduce on their own, though calling oneself an elf elf farmer was just her mom's attempt at humor.
Anita sipped her tea during a lull in the conversation and then finally had a chance to ask the main thing she'd came here for.
"Mom, what's your name? And surname, I'd like to use it as my own if that's alright with you."
"Oh that's right, I suppose you wouldn't know since you were too young. Well, I don't have a surname. Most elves only have one name. If you'd like to use mine as your last name, that's fine by me."
Anita nodded, and looked on with anticipation.
"Actually, I don't know what you ended up deciding on calling yourself either. I didn't feel it was my right."
"Oh, I ended up calling myself Anita. But what's your--"
"Then from this moment on you shall be known as Anita Wiz." | 2022-03-29T10:39:50 | 2022-03-29T09:06:42 | 1,595 | 420 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | It’s easy enough, at least in my eyes. I don’t know why no one had thought of it before. They think on the impossible, dragons and aliens, stretch the imagination and put their faith into fantasy and mythology, and forget the very reality which makes the world turn.
The warden, the lawyers, they stare at me, slack jawed. “You can’t ask for that,” the warden says, voice firm, as if he can convince me on willpower alone.
“I can.” I smile. “I am. Give me the head of Jeff Bezos.” I tilt my head and smirk. “Brains are a delicacy, you know.”
I know he knows. People have asked for all kinds of brains. Dragon brains and alien brains and executor brains, even a warden’s brain once. The last was much the right idea, but on far too small of a scale.
The thing is, dragons they can find. Aliens they track down. But no one in the seat of power will give up their life for a prisoner. And yes, I could’ve asked for the president’s head. But the thing is, the president can be replaced. That’s what Vice Presidents are for, after all.
And it would make it all too political, one party demanding the head, proclaiming that a streak cannot be broken, precedents cannot be set. Legislators may place this execution tradition over the life of some interchangeable politician. Hell, the people might even like it. The government might even adopt it, thrive on it, inside assassinations as simple as convincing a convict to ask for a politician’s head on a plate.
I can’t risk that. Too many variable.
But an old, rich white guy?
They’re never getting his head. Not for money—he has all of that. Not for power—money got him that, too. Not for his family, who he can pay to protect. Not for his citizenship, which he’d gladly fling away.
There’s nothing you can convince a man in absolute power to give his life for.
That’s the one rule that makes the world go round.
Power does not relinquish itself. It does not sacrifice itself. It does not see the greater good. It has no empathy.
The warden knows this. I see it as he states back at me, enraged.
Oh, they try, of course. They make calls, lawyers scream, legislators appeal to one’s better nature, as if power has such a thing.
Jeff Bezos laughs the whole thing off. As if his life is worth that of some prisoner? Of some girl on death row? The whole thing is hilarious to him.
And of course, authorities try to arrest him. Or so they say, but no one ever does and police chiefs go home to suddenly bigger houses and newer cars.
Legislators try to write a bill, demanding that the streak be maintained at all costs. But suddenly their pet projects get pushed through, their old bills get passed, and the Jeff Bezos’ Head Bill gets bogged down, then forgotten.
You’d think it’d make great news—the girl who broke the streak, the girl who beat the system. But oddly, the story goes no where. It never makes the headlines. It thrives only in the corners of the internet, in conspiracy theory threads, unverified enough that it’s just the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever heard so of course it’s not the truth.
And I go free. The streak remains unbroken, at least in the eyes of the public, who have already forgotten and moved on to the next sensational thing.
And that’s fine by me. | It was nearly sunset on death row in the Alberation system of the Galaxy. Although her 37 years on Brigdon block seemed like a lifetime, Salmma never realized the day of her sentenced death would come so fast. Her green eyes slide over the metal frames of the cell, the discolored wall that made an inappropriate figure if looked at every so slightly and the slit window showing the two suns of Alberation.
Salmma had heard the stories. Death row inmates asking for radical meals to be set free. As long as she had been imprisoned, not one inmate had been set free via the last meal protocol. The stories circulated of beaches sky whale, vampires blood and pieces of the star explosion from Fria-6.
To say her mind was not preoccupied with her own mortality would be an understatment. Salmma shifted uncomfortably in her hay filled cot as the thought swept through her mind. She deserved the sentence she had. She was guilty. Her sorted past was not what made her uncomfortable, no, it was her future. The idea that she could be free if she wanted. The taste of a freedom once more made her body shiver in way it had not for years. The room grew darker as the second sun started to pass into the deep. She knew what she needed to do if she was to be free once more.
A sharp rattle of the hinges between Salmma and the hallway caused her to jump up from her cot. A familiar scent of incense wofted from the sky slit into her prison cell. The morning worship had already begun as she noticed prison guard 686 who woke her every morning.
"Are you ready to give an account for your last meal of the day?" The guard spoke in a quick and authoritative tone.
"Must I give my meal account now?" Salmma asked with a pensive brow. The guard let out a sigh as she shifter her weight from one leg to the other.
"You know how this works. I will take you to the judge and you will give your last meal account. If the cannot provide the meal to you, then you are set free into the galaxy to live out your days in freedom." The guards blonde hair and blue eyes waivered annoyingly as she gave the speech she had given several times.
"Well I guess then we better go to the judge" Salmma stood, allowing her hands to be locked within the electric chains. Together the guard and the prisoner made their way to the last meal room.
The air seemed thick with anxiety as the court room was filled with former worshippers there to witness another last meal protocol. Many bright colored robes filled the seats in the oval silver room. Painted faces from the Tabernacle watched on as Salmma and guard 686 walked down the long path to the front of the room. The room grew silent as the judges seat raised high above everyone. His voice boomed in a dark growl that filled the space.
"Welcome to the courtoom of the last meal. According to our bilaws and traditions each inmate may request any meal as rare as they see fit. If we cannot give the inmate the meal, we shall see you free under the terms of ritual foods and meals." Eyes shifted across the room as the proceedings began.
"Guard bring the prisoner forward to plea her last meal rites to this room." Selmma felt a wave of energy rush over her as she was lead to the tall podium facing the judge.
"Prisoner, you may state your last meal request" the judge spoke nonchalantly as if he would not be fazed by the small woman with green eyes.
Salmmas figure suddenly grew tall. Her small body held an air of confidence that the meek woman had not shown before.
"My name is Salmma from Giad-93 near the moons of Becksmith. I was brought here to serve more that 30 years and await my own death for the crime I committed. According to your traditions, I will let my meal be known. I request Guard 686's unborn child as my last meal!"
Horrified gasps and whispers filled the room as the bright robes shifted in a chaotic fear. Salmma took in the shocked face of Guard 686 with a grin.
"Silence! Silence will fill my courtroom!" The judge snapped quickly.
"Prisoner! What is the meaning of this debauchery! How dare you suggest such a thing in my courtroom!" His anger poured out from behind his teeth. Guard 686, unbeknownst to her, placed a hand on her own stomach. The fear written her face could be seen across the room.
"Debauchery! How dare you suggest that my last meal rites under your bilaws and traditions is a debauchery! I am granted any meal I request, unless you have forgotten your own laws. My request will be met or you will let me go free!" Salmma screamed towards the high chair above her.
"No, No you cannot grant this request!" The guard shouted. Her eyes meeting salmmas for the first time since the words exscaped her lips.
"I would like the child presented with a bowl of gravy and veggies on the side" she shouted. "What? You didn't think I was unaware of your...delicate state, did you?" Salmma whispered as she leaned down towards the guard, licking her fingers in a devious smile, she shot her green eyes back towards the judge.
"Well! Well....do you grant my request!" She screamed upward in defiance. The judge shook his head in disbelief. The crowd became restless at the apparent disrespect of the prisoner. Guard 686 becoming ever more unhinged at the request while tears started streaming down her face. Slowly the judge stood, waving his hand to the gaurds to take the prisoner and turned his back away from the podium as he made his way out of the courtroom.
Cool air filled the room with the scent of lavender and hyssop unlike any aroma in the galaxy. The night brought a unexpected chill and silence that was unmatched. Salmma closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the room. Her own freedom she finally had. | 2022-07-17T19:42:58 | 2022-07-17T19:39:13 | 210 | 62 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man. | She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.” | 2022-07-17T20:01:08 | 2022-07-17T18:09:54 | 129 | 24 |
[WP] You've just been assimilated into a hivemind... but it's a very weak one. It can't control you or anything, it's more like a telepathic group chat that you can't turn off. | "What's that buzzing?" She asked, her fork dangling above the half-finished tart we were sharing.
I took advantage of her lull and swiped the rest of the pastry, cramming it into my mouth. I started to laugh, but I inhaled a raspberry instead. My laugh died before it really started, it turned into a choking fit.
"Serves you right, pig!" Sheila grinned at me. I think she did, anyway. My eyes were tearing up and she appeared indistinct. It's probably how she looked behind the glass of a shower door after the humidity filled the bathroom. I began to reach for her water glass and she pushed it closer towards me. The manager watched from behind the cash register. I tried to signal that I would be okay but I was coughing too hard.
Sheila watched my face closely. Or at least, I think she did. "I know you're choking, Paul. Do you need help?" I shook my head. It would take a few more seconds of room-clearing coughs, but I was clearing the obstruction. Damn raspberries! I probably wouldn't be able to eat one for a few months. Suddenly the manager appeared at my elbow, a large pitcher of water in his hands. "He'll be okay--sorry about this. Could you leave the water? I'll watch him." Sheila received a curt nod from the manager. He turned back to the register. The other patrons were staring at us.
Finally! One awful hack and I could breathe again. I wiped my tear-stained face with my napkin and took a sip of water. "I'm so sorry, everyone. Went down the wrong pipe."
The rest of the customers returned to their conversations and Sheila sighed with relief. "Wow, Paul. That was a close one. But now I want another tart. I'm not sharing with you ever again."
At that comment, the buzzing in my head roared with laughter.
Sheila's eyes went wide. "Paul! That's right! I asked you; what is that buzzing noise? I always hear it when we're together."
Crap, she could hear *my voices*? I looked at her in confusion. "You mean to tell me you can hear this?" I pointed at my own head, the source of a nonstop din for the past 4 years. At first I'd thought it was tinnitus, the result of working in a garage since I was 18, but last year the murmuring had started to become louder. And with the increasing volume, I'd begun to hear individual voices. Male, female, old, young. 2 months ago I'd started to hear what the voices were saying. An old woman reciting bible passages, a young man reading lyrics to classic rock-n-roll songs, a kid once sang "Ring around the Rosie" nonstop for 11 hours.
The audiologist said there was no damage. The other audiologist said the same, the ear nose and throat doctor shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong. Maybe you should....talk to someone...?"
I had made the appointment with the shrink. I would be seen in a few weeks' time. I'd started to look up things about Hearing Voices and Schizophrenia, and I was not thrilled with the idea of that particular diagnoses.
"Sheila, seriously--you can -hear- this?"
"Yes, sometimes it's indistinct, but I just heard a bunch of people laughing."
A voice in my head shouted "SHE'S A KEEPER, PAUL!" | Kinda went off the prompt, but this sparked something.
=======
***WAKE UP*** I knew what today was. Of course I knew, *how could I forget* I yelled back through my head as I rolled out of bed, and threw on some clothes, not bothering to clean up appearances, not that it mattered to them.
I ran towards the door once I put on my socks, barely having time to grab my keys and phone before I threw myself out into the garage and into my car.
***LATE LATE LATE*** They were screaming across my mind as I turned the key of my ignition, I looked back, making sure the path to the street was clear, the garage door was open, and more importantly making sure the drone kit and my backpack was still there.
The screaming stopped when I hit the road, instead chiding all across my thoughts as I pushed past the speed limit. Hunger clawed at my stomach but I didn't care. Today was the day, and they were right, I was late.
=====
I pulled into the dirt field at the same time as everyone else, it wanted us to be here on time and we were. We stepped out of our vehicles and instantly began unloading, the silent command had been given, and it was to be followed.
I looked out into the field as everyone unloaded their equipment, the shoddy wooden structures that no person would live in adored the field all over. I knew who owned this place, he was here with us and had set up targets throughout the night. I looked down once more and saw that someone put a granola bar in my hand. I looked around, watching them unload guns, ammunition, and other gear as I slowly unwrapped the bar and bit.
It was selective, it knew who it wanted. That's why it chose me.
I set my drones on a nearby table as everyone put on body armor, and loaded their weapons. Compared to everyone else, I had nothing other than the three drones and a few other electronics. I had spent the night installing longer and more powerful antennas and receivers to my equipment, if they wanted this to go down right then my soldering should do the trick. I set the granola bar wrapper onto the table, making sure my work had been done right. When I first joined, I was confused. It had chosen the best, the brightest, the strongest, the fastest, and yet it chose me. I was confused until I wasn't.
I looked out, and held my arms out. Closing my eyes as Kevlar wrapped across my torso and back, a new weight across my torso and front. They left as i opened my eyes, looking down at the gun and mags strapped to my chest. Two of the drones were missing, along with the wrapper.
I put the remaining drone in the bag and walked to the gathering. They were split into multiple groups, and I made my way to mine.
It was well rehearsed, thought about, and practiced dozens of times in our minds. Every movement as we took our places.
No words had been said up until this point, and none were to be said.
A silent alarm went off, as we all sprinted down into the field. My bag clattered against my back as I sprinted to keep up with my squad. *My Squad* I didn't need to know their faces to know they were there. I just needed to make sure that I stayed alive, and that I could see what the other squads were doing.
We approached the first structure. One of them kicked down the door with a donkey kick as the others rushed in. I followed last, hearing gunshots as they cleared the structure of paper targets, my gun was unholstered but I wasn't expecting to use it. I decided to keep it holstered as we sprinted out, and I listened to the other crews.
Tunnel vision in a close group like this is extremely easy to trigger, unaware of what's going on outside of just a few members of the hive. That's why I need to keep checking in. *We're lagging.* I think as we sprint, causing them to dash faster. My thoughts spurring them to clear the next structure faster than the last.
Before I know it, we're at the final structure, the first level having been cleared by the time I step through the door, unholstering my pistol. I can hear gunshots in the room above me as I make my way to the stairs, I can see the entire house, the paper targets with new tears and holes, the sunrise cascading in as they tell me *here.*
I set my bag down in the room, pulling the drone, FPV goggles, and a controller out before firing up the drone. I could see them firing up my drones in the cleared houses further from us as a few of my squad left the house, joining the mass closing in near the bottom of the large churchlike structure.
Our drones flew close, wordlessly brushing alongside each other as they zipped above their heads. I could see how they flew, and they could see me as we rushed toward the building. Breaking apart at the last minute as we found our targets. The explosions rocked the ground, creating holes in the wall for the mass to rush through.
Static filled my eyes the moment I triggered the drone's detention switch, but instead of taking off the headset, I closed my eyes and watched. Pouring into the building like ants through the newly created holes, dozens upon dozens of gunshots rang out. I could feel the frantic determination that every single person felt as they stormed the building, determined to clear it of every single target.
A few minutes later I opened my eyes to static, pulling off my headset with a smile and sticking it into the bag with my controller. One of them helped me to my feet, the same smile on their face as well.
*How did you feel?* They asked.
*I was confused until I wasn't.*
====
This is the first time I've written something in a while, but if you like what you've read, check out my subreddit /r/AluWrites | 2022-09-17T18:27:15 | 2022-09-17T18:18:32 | 942 | 70 |
[WP] Upon dying and entering the afterlife, you are presented with a list of people who were somehow effected by your life and death, with those on whom you had the greatest impact coming first. You don't recognize the first name on your own list. Who were they, and why are they on top? | The name at the top of the list: Phillip Owens. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place a face to the name. The lady standing next to me was looking at her list in similar confusion.
“This woman died because you ran a red light five years ago,” the angel told her.
The woman broke down in tears. I looked back at my list. I still have no clue who the hell Phillip Owens is.
“Did I kill Phillip Owens?” I asked the angel.
“No, your death postponed his. He will get to watch his kids grow up now,” the angel responded.
Inwardly relieved, I wondered how I could’ve saved this guy by dying.
Then it hit me, “Oh… I was an organ donor.”
| “Ishita Khurana? Who the hell- sorry. Who is that?” Peter held the list of names with trembling fingers.
-THE INDIVIDUAL MOST AFFECTED BY YOUR LIFE- the voice rang out around him, echoing off unseen walls. Flat and uncaring.
Peter looked back at the list “Sarah’s on here,” he said “and my parents”. “What is this list?” Peter asked.
-THE LIST YOU ARE HOLDING IS A RANKING OF INDIVIDUALS WHOM YOU HAVE SIGNIFICANTLY AFFECTED IN THE COURSE OF YOUR LIFE. ORDERED FROM MOST TO LEAST AFFECTED-.
“But there are only 6 names on the list” Peter said, acutely aware of how feeble his voice sounded in the immense space.
-CORRECT. THAT IS THE NUMBER OF INDIVIDUALS YOU HAVE SIGNIFICANTLY AND DIRECTLY AFFECTED-.
“Six people? That’s it? I know I didn’t make it out much but that has to be a mistake”.
-THERE IS NO MISTAKE-.
“For starters, I’ve never even met this Khurana person and she’s first on the list.”
-WHEN YOU WERE NINETEEN YOU DONATED A SUM OF MONEY TO A CHARITY. ISHITA KHURANA WAS THE RECIPIENT OF THAT MONEY.-
“Oh my god.” Peter laughed nervously. “I only donated that money because I thought I had a chance with that blond charity lady.”
Peter waited for a response but none came. Uncomfortable with the silence, he spoke again “You’re saying a twenty pound donation I made in the 90’s is the most influential thing I ever did?”
-CORRECT- the voice boomed.
Peter fell to his knees “I always intended to make something of my life. I wanted to write a novel, travel the world, start my own company. That sort of stuff. Is this really it?”
-CORRECT-
“I thought I’d have more time. Oh god, Sarah, I’m sorry.” Peter wept, his sobs swallowed by the darkness.
-IT IS TIME TO GO PETER-
“NO!” Peter yelled, he opened his eyes hoping to see anything but the darkness that confronted him. “It can’t end like this.” Peter said, his voice unsteady.
-IT IS TOO LATE TO AFFECT YOUR END-
“Wait,” Peter said “just tell me more about Ishita.”
-ISHITA KHURANA USED THE FUNDS YOU DONATED TO START A NON-PROFIT PROVIDING SANITATION MATERIALS TO HER LOCAL COMMUNITY. HER FOUNDATION HAS SINCE EXPANDED TO NEIGHBOURING VILLAGES AND CONTINUES TO GROW-
“She did more with twenty pounds that I did with my entire life.” Peter sighed as he laid down on the cold ground and looked up into nothingness.
Peter was motionless for some time, long enough that he began to think that the voice had forgotten about him; It hadn’t of course.
-IT IS TIME TO GO PETER- the voice echoed, Peter thought it sounded sad. Although he knew better than to attribute emotion to it.
“I’m ready” Peter said. *Am I ready?* He asked himself. *Of course not*, but he hoped desperately that perhaps, however unlikely, whatever came next would be a second chance. | 2014-12-01T20:31:09 | 2014-12-01T20:22:07 | 56 | 28 |
[WP] You have a strange aura that surrounds you constantly. The closer you get to people, the lower their common sense and IQ drops. You are literally surrounded by idiots. | I love people.
Though when you're me how could you not.
Men of all kinds wait on me hand and foot. Throughout time, peasants and kings alike have fallen victim to my charm.
I don't try to fight it, I relish in it. Even the wisest men end up babbling like toddlers when I approach.
All it takes is an arch of my back and quiet meow. | It's dark. Dark and musky. You don't remember much of that day. The day they took you. It wasn't that long after your parents realized the strange behavior of those around you was in fact your fault. Being that you where just a freshman in high school they sure took some time figuring it out. Could they be behind this?
"No," you say to yourself, your parents love you and are out there looking for you now.
"How long has it been" You ask? The food and water rations provided by those that left you here never gets any lower no matter how much you eat.
Sleep. It's all there is to do.
Wake up to water dripping somewhere off in the darkness. Its been years. How many? Tapping a rusted screw you found against a steel beam is the only option you have to keep from going insane.
"Why am I here?"
You think more about that day when men in masks grabbed you, put something over your head and then black. When you woke to find yourself in this room you searched everywhere. There was nothing. A cot, a very heavy locked door. A food bin attached to the wall next to the door. The sink. A toilet. The toilet paper.
"THE TOILET PAPER!"
Why did it take so freaking long to realize that? It never runs out!
"Omg, what is happening to me?"
In a frenzy you over look every inch of the room a second time, only to find the same. Finally you give up and return to the cot. Images of toilet paper circling your mind. More sleep. More time passes. Days go by when it hits you.
"Ah ha," you shout. You get up off the cot with a renewed focus. You know how to get out of here! You slowly start scooping the food pellets out of the bin, and dump them in the toilet. Then the sink. Soon the food bin is empty, you have no food.
"I hope I'm right," you say to yourself.
Later, laying in bed doing your best to pretend to sleep you hear it. The door clicks unlocked. Waiting for it to open before you make your move.
You jump up and run for your life. Through a larger figure coming through the door.
BAM. The last thing you saw was a wall.
You wake up in the cot. Again. The disappointment sends you reeling. You cry, you scream, you kick the door. You have done this all before. Then you remember.
Collapsing in the corner you have the shocking moment of truth. You know where you are. The wall, just outside the door. There was a sign! What did it say?
"Think! It was the first actual thing with letters on it you have seen forever!"
It comes to you.
"U.S. Capitol. Basement floor 1."
You go back to sleep.
"Maybe tomorrow." | 2015-06-11T10:13:42 | 2015-06-11T06:17:16 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] You live in the only city in the world. The average net worth inside of the city is $772,132,856.45. Outside of the city the average net worth is $5.94. You have never left the city until now. | "Thats the lot," the bald man said from behind the counter as he said as he handed me the money.
I didn't want there to be any mistake, so I counted it out in front of him. He didn't say a word. I think everyone does it.
Cleared of that hurdle, the checkpoint was next. The passport was real, so there shouldnt be a problem, and everyone said I looked a lot like the "Ignacious Fowler" it originally belonged to, poor guy.
What I wasn't expecting was the fingerprint scanner, that must be a new thing. They hadn't told me about that, but there were four people in line behind me now and it would look suspicious to back out and walk away. But I wasn't the only one with troubles, the woman in front of me hesitated as her hand was scanned. Three seconds we waited until the machine gave the answer, but she moved sideways even as the guard told her to stand still and as the machine's red light came on she made a break for the green door but it was too late because the guns were already firing before she got there and even as she slumped to the ground her hand reached out toward the light that crept from below the door to freedom.
I was next.
I thought about making an excuse to use the bathroom, but I didn't need that because the gods were smiling on me that day. One of the shots had nicked the data cable and the scanner operator was making excuses to the big man with medals on his chest. The line behind me was building up now, peeking past me to the workers in brown uniforms carrying the woman's body away.
The operator said he could get a new cable, but he'd have to call the main office and get someone to send one over. They'd do that of course, but for now the man with the medals shrugged and told the guards to clear the backlog of people in the room. Passport checks only.
I was, for now, Ignacious Fowler. The guard didnt care, I think he was still shaken by the killing, maybe he hadn't seen one before. He waved me through to the green door.
Amundsen greeted me on the other side.
"Heard shots, thought you were dead," he said with concern on his face.
"Nearly. They've stepped up security since you went through."
I told him about the fingerprint scanner and as we walked through the parking lot to the car he made a call to the group inside the city.
His car was shiny. I'd never seen a new car before. Nobody had one in Rakalusan City, not even the rich people. But then, in Rakalusan City where inflation was running a thousand percent and it took six million Rakalusan Dollars to buy a loaf of bread, nobody could afford anything new. Nobody was really rich.
We were all millionaires in Rakalusan City, but the money wasnt worth shit. Not like here in Hainene Province. I'd seen pictures of Hainene Province before, but to see it for myself as Iggy drove the car out of the parking garage brought tears to my eyes. The roads were paved. People had clean shoes. There was no garbage on the streets piling up in the dirt gutters. I even saw somebody wearing a suit, like in the pictures I had seen!
When we stopped at an intersection, Iggy reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. Inside was 12 Hainene Dollars. I couldn't thank him enough. The three Hainene cents I got from the guy at exchange counter would also do me well. For the first time in my life, I was not only free, but rich.
| Wrote this on my tablet inbetween the night shifts at work. No spelling checker and not much time to proofread it for problems. So mistakes and all, here it is
---
I awoke in a strange bed of wood and quilts, nothing like the firm plastic mattress and silk sheets of the city.
"Relax there, son." A calming voice said to me while a strong hand was placed on top of my forehead. It was scarred, cracked, and smelled almost tangy, like the flavo-risin in the orange containers from the city. But outside the walls?
Wait... Was I? Outside the walls? Did I make it?
"Where am I?" I begged as I focused my eyes. His warm face was masked by a layer of hair and beard, neither of which I had ever seen before in my life. So it was true that once long ago men could grow hair on their faces.
"In Augusdane, the north prefacture of Windell province. And you?..."
"What are these places? I know not of them." I muttered to myself.
He continued, "...You have to be one of the legendary walled people. No one has seen one of you for thousands of years."
"Thousands? No one?" I tried to sit up, but a new sensation hit me that I had never known before. It was sharp and it seemed to rip through my chest from within. As soon as I sat back, the sharp sensation went away.
"Careful, careful." He said, "You broke a rib or two. I've called the medicine woman and she'll be here soon. But for now, you should rest. You look like you have been starving so I will have them butcher a chicken."
Chicken? What was a chicken? I felt so light headed that I found it hard to focus on him anymore.
---
I awoke again.
"Eat this." A woman put pieces of stringy white fibres in my mouth. But I didn't know what to do with it.
"Come on, chew it and swallow. You can do that much, right?" She said. Her voice was annoyed. Was she mad at me?
I heard the man again. "How is he?"
The woman answered, "Weak. But he'll live. I gave him some Penicillin and Demerol but you'll have to give him some more of it for a while. He will be out for most of the week so let him get some rest and keep him in bed. No visitors. Liquid foods like soup will help him get up his strength."
Another woman spoke up. "That's all fine and all, but what if there's more of him? Are they invading?"
The man spoke up, "One weak and frail man is not an invasion. We'll keep him here and safe. When he is ready, we will ask him why he is here."
----
For the week the only person that came and went was one girl, Swisla. The first few days I was so tired that I was only awake long enough to eat before I slept again. After a few days I was starting to have more energy. I could hear strange noises in the night. One went 'oooooo oooooo' and I was terrified that it could come in and hurt me. But Swisla assured me that the 'owl' could not get in. Nor the rooster that made loud noises in the morning before the sun came up.
Then the medicine woman came again. She had wrapped my chest in a tight cloth and when she came this time she took it off. "Looking good, C4401."
That was not my full registration number.
David, the old man with the face of hair, smiled, "I think Caleb would be a better fit for you. What do you think?"
"Caleb?" I questioned. "What is a Caleb?"
"A better name." Swisla assured me as she helped me to my feet. I had been in bed most of the time, other than to pee in the round bowl in the corner of the room with water in it. I had not even seen the sun other than the last rays of it on that one harrowing day I made my escape from the low towers. I still could hear the sirens as the numbers agents chased me from the high plateau to the lowest levels of the city. They would not stop until they had me. That was when I dived from the top of the wall and passed through the clouds and the smog. That was the last thing I remembered.
Had I not known what was outdoors as I slept, I would have tried to look out sooner.
"Where is the smog?" I asked.
"Smog?" David tugged at his long beard.
"The pollution. And.." I looked to the sky. High above the black dark clouds of the city gloomed but only in part of the sky, for the rest was clear and blue. The most beautiful blue I had ever seen before in my life. The air was so clean -- so pure. I would never have to take a decontamination pill ever again.
"Caleb?" David asked me as I fell to my knees. "Doctor! He's hurt. He's crying."
"It's so beautiful. How is it like this? You're all supposed to be poor and fighting to survive in the worst of the pollution. It was said you grew food. I-- I don't understand."
They all looked to one another, each as equally confused. The Medicine Woman answered. "No one has made contact with anyone inside for thousands of years. No one goes near the city. We assumed the machines kept running and you were all dead."
Dead... Dead... DEAD?
"How long was I asleep?" I frantically pleaded.
"Uh.. A little over a week." Swisla said nervously.
Oh, great tower of fortune, I was too late.
"They were chasing me because I found out. I worked to keep the slumber chambers working. Project sleep. It was the final sleep."
David added, "That is why the smog cloud had been getting thinner."
Swisla shuddered in horror. "But there's so much room out here for them and more. They could have lived out here."
"We didn't know." I cried, "We didn't know." | 2015-11-18T22:12:11 | 2015-11-18T19:05:57 | 318 | 83 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | “I have seen…” I paused for effect. “…everything.” I looked around but the pronouncement hadn’t made the stir I had hoped it might. “I’m not kidding, I mean literally *everything*!”
Again there was no reaction from the group and eventually the nurse stood and gently helped me back down into my seat. She had soft hands, it reminded me of a girl I had known in Fujian Province several centuries ago, but she didn’t give me the chance to tell her that and as soon as I was seated she turned away.
That was the problem with the young these days, they were in such a damn hurry to do and see stuff that they didn’t realise the value of just *listening* for a while. All I wanted was to tell them the things that I had seen over the course of my life, but they just wanted to hurry past and get on with their own lives.
The nurse had turned and faced the next person in the circle, Major Forsyth. He was an old wind bag and if I had the leg strength I would have walked away, but instead I was forced to sit and listen. “Major, would you like to tell us something from your past now?”
The idiot had barely been alive a century, his stories all dribbled out in one war or another and I could hardly bare to stay and listen to another of them. With great effort I heaved myself back to my feet. “Look, girl, I’ve lived a hundred times longer than this… this old fool and seen things that would make his eyeballs pop right out of his head!”
The nurse was at my side again, trying to make me sit back down. “Mr Smith, during conversation time we all get a chance to speak and then we listen to others, it’s only polite.”
I shook her off, surprising her. “Bah, some people aren’t worth listening to.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but across the room someone was waving and they caught her eye and a moment later she waved back. “Alright Mr Smith, it looks like you have some visitors, perhaps I can help you across to the seating area instead.”
It was hard to see who it was through these old reumy eyes, but I nodded anyway. Recently some of my descendants had been taking the time to come and see me and it was nice to see how the blood line had passed on. She helped me across and again I noticed the soft hands, but before I could recall why they had been important I was sitting and three faces were smiling at me, two adults and a child.
The young girl looked smart, well dressed, although the clothes were so changed from my own youth. The other two were much the same, but I suppose that smart fashion skirts and suits had been more or less the same for hundreds of years anyway. “I suppose you’ve come to check out your old ancestor, eh?”
The mother nudged the girl who spoke shyly so that her mother had to repeat it. “Alicia has a project on the past for School, she was wondering if you could perhaps tell her a few of your stories?”
A warm glow began somewhere inside, it was nice that someone wanted to take the time to learn about the old days. Not enough people wanted that these days. I thought back and began way back at the beginning. “You see young lady, when I was a boy, all this was very different…”
*****
I waited until he was speaking happily and then stood and moved back to the nurse’s station where the Head Nurse was waiting for me. “How has he been?”
She shook her head. “He’s becoming more disruptive, if we can’t find a way to control him a little better we’ll need to consider upping his medication.”
I tried to think what to say, but I had no frame of reference for any of this. “if that’s what you think, it just seems…”
She reached out and put her hand on my arm softly and smiled. “It’s going to be okay Sir, your father’s alzheimer's is progressing, but we can manage it here as best as it can be managed anywhere.
I looked back to where my wife and daughter listened to his stories of his youth. “At least he still has his memories.”
The nurse nodded “For now. For now.”
| 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T07:34:25 | 916 | 214 |
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly. | "Is this an intervention?" I ask.
Catherine smiles brightly, despite her tone being grave. "That's such a harsh way of putting it. I'm just trying to help you live your life to the fullest."
I purse my lips and open the cabinet. "Want some tea?"
"I'd love some, thanks. Are you going to listen to me this time?" She leans back in her chair, noticeably making an effort to keep her feet from touching my table. Although it's old and dingy, I appreciate the sentiment.
"Catherine, we've talked about this." I pour water into the kettle and set it on the stove, pushing the dirty dishes aside. "I don't want to take them. It scares me."
"You take antidepressants. Those don't scare you." Her eyes flick to my windowsill and she quickly adds, "Nice flowers, by the way."
I narrow my eyes and turn to face her. She's peering at my obviously dead plant with interest. She touches one of the brown stems and it snaps under the weight of her finger.
"Don't be a jerk, okay?" I turn back to the cabinet and pull out two mugs.
"What do you mean?"
"You know I'm having a hard time right now. I can't really take care of things. It's just a lot for me to handle."
The front two legs of her chair hit the ground. "I know. That's why I'm so proud of you for keeping these ones alive!"
I freeze. *She doesn't sound sarcastic.* One of the tea bags drops to the floor. I ignore it.
"What are you talking about?" I don't look at her directly, but I can see her out of the corner of my eye. She's grasping at the dead stem, smelling the top as if a flower were there.
"They're so red. What a beautiful color. And the petals are so soft." Her fingers trace the air above the stem. "Roses are hard to keep alive. See, look at what you can do now, even the way you're feeling. Imagine if you took the pills. You could grow an entire rose garden!"
The clock ticks.
The kettle whistles.
I drop one of the mugs.
The porcelain shatters on the tile, sending sharp pieces in all directions. I jump back and swear, startling myself a bit, but Catherine, impossibly, seems not to notice. Instead, she looks at the whistling kettle. "I'll get it!" She announces.
"Watch out, th-" I trail off as she walks over the porcelain shards with her bare feet. She doesn't flinch, or even realize that she's leaving bloody footprints on the tile.
I blink hard.
She turns off the stove and takes the kettle in her left hand, placing her right hand on the counter, where the mug was resting a moment ago. Her fingers form a semi-circle, as if she's grasping a cup.
She tips the kettle and pours the boiling water directly on her hand. It splatters off the counter and onto the ground, mixing with the small pool of blood.
I stare at the scarlet droplets on the ground.
Catherine turns to smile at me.
She lifts her hand to her mouth and quickly brings it back down. "This is really good. Is it chamomile?"
My hands start to tremble. "Catherine, when was the last time you felt sad?" My voice is too slow. It cracks on the word *sad*.
"Oh, I don't get sad." She beams. A blister is beginning to form on her scalded hand. "Why would I be? There's nothing to be sad about anymore. Now that I have energy all the time, I can do whatever I want. I get to follow my dreams."
Her fingers are beginning to turn purple.
She reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a bottle of bright yellow pills. After setting down the imaginary cup, she twists the cap off and extends her hand towards me.
"When you're never tired," she says, "nothing unpleasant ever happens."
The pool of bloody water is getting thicker in consistency as more blood seeps from the gashes on her feet.
It touches my toe.
I look into her eyes. All I see is blissful ignorance. I look back at my dead roses. The dusty furniture. The dishes piled in the sink. I look at my own hair, greasy and limp from days of neglect. My wrists, still scarred from the last time I thought life wasn't worth living.
I take a yellow pill, and I swallow it dry. | 3:30am was officially the worst time of day for Michael. For the first twenty-four years of his life it has been the time when he lay in the bliss of deep sleep or maybe collapsed in a sweaty heap with a girl's bare legs twining through his own. Occasionally he’d been found still pumping out lines of code at his laptop at that hour but now all that he could do was stare at the wall and pray for a few brief snatches of REM while the antique record player clicked endlessly; waiting for the vinyl to be flipped. It had been almost a year since StayRite had been released. In the first weeks the lines had been outlandishly long; interminable waits that begged to be made fun of from the window box of their 7th story walk-up. In retrospect, it was probably the crush of humanity that kept him from jumping on board. He hated crowds. Trish had finally popped her first StayRite on week two. Her excitement was palpable. She was bubbling over with ideas. “Could he write a quick snippet of code to help her interface the Raspberry PI with her Fitbit? How about that squeaky hinge on the pantry door - it would be a snap to fix it! Did he want to head over to the theater?” They were now running 24 hours a day, like most businesses; strangely matinee prices had disappeared from the marquee in favor of a flat ticket price. Two weeks later Trish was gone. She left a note while he was sleeping that simply said, “I wanted to say goodbye but you were asleep - this is what I’m talking about, Goodbye”.
StayRite hadn’t just changed the face of NYC - it had, without dispute, changed the entire world. It allowed the user to remain awake indefinitely with no side effects while simultaneously increasing the user’s cognitive functions. All you had to do was keep taking puffs from the small disposable aerosol inhalers that Merc distributed - every 12 hours on the dot. Certain countries had been affected more than others in the early months. Japan was undergoing a second industrial revolution. The zaibatsus had immediately seized on the implications of a workforce that had no need for sleep and was able to function without behavioral variance twenty-four hours a day. Michael had watched with awe as the news cycle was dominated for a full 72 hours when the Japanese Prime Minister announced that a leading researcher at Mitsubishi had replicated a LENR thereby indisputably proving not just the theoretical viability of Cold Fusion but verifying that the research team was currently collaborating with officials from the country’s various Ministries in order to implement a scalable solution within 200 hours. A few days later the Russian Federation launched a manned probe to set up a permanent space station in Mars’ orbit. Sixteen hours later the USA launched their own; followed over the next three hours by similar missions from India, China and Ukraine. It wasn’t a space race it was simply the Great Race. Everywhere people were solving problems, changing the world and extolling the virtues of StayRite. Mexico had turned into a dictatorial narco-state overnight, pre-empting Merc distribution with it’s own management of the StayRite supply as they tried to replicate it. Agricultural operations the world over went into high production backed by a workforce of inexhaustible labor then as free energy made its way to food producing greenhouses, food supply and hunger ceased to be a problem in the developing world. It was widely held that Merc Pharmaceuticals, the quiet conglomerate that had developed and released StayRite was now under the joint control of the UN and NATO so as to avoid any possible misuse or worse, a supply disruption of the world’s newest wonder drug. Advances in medicine marked month seven of what some were calling the “StayRite Age”. With the genomes of almost every plant and animal organism mapped and available to researchers on the interweb it was merely a matter of time before cancer, autoimmune disorders and congenital birth defects disappeared forever.
Michael flipped the archaic vinyl disk absentmindedly and logged onto his email server. He belonged to several mailing lists but the only one that held his interest any longer was one of the forums that had sprung up for the very few people who, for whatever reason, had decided they didn’t want to be awake for the rest of their lives. It was mostly the same sad tale of abandonment and despair but still he checked it twice a day anyway. Today a new thread jumped out at him from the sea of apathy: “Is anyone else not getting any older?” He clicked and read the three paragraphs, barely breathing as he went. Over the next week the thread grew to over twenty thousand replies. The world over, people were discovering that while taking StayRite didn't make you age any faster, not taking it made the human body inexplicably stop aging. For the most part this discovery was treated with scorn by the StayRite populace. Even if the half-life’s, as anyone not using StayRite had been labeled, weren’t aging then it was a simple matter of research hours and manpower. StayRite would prevail and in doing so would prove to be the salvation that this race and planet so desperately needed.
Merc Pharma’s enigmatic scion Eldridge McAmes rarely left the top floor of the Burj Kalifa in Dubai. Before StayRite had dropped he’d occasionally been sighted leaving via the service elevator where a town car would whisk him to his private airfield in the desert but in the last year he had not left the building once. The ever wakeful staff would have known if he had. He knew that it was almost over. Sleeping had been hard. Even with the sensory deprivation chamber and several billion dollars worth of R&D innovations at his disposal, he simply couldn’t manage to shake the habit that he’d cultivated over his Sixty-seven years. He yearned for sleep but it rarely came and only in short bursts of deep REM. Soon, he told himself, soon it will all be over. He wondered whether the modeling software would have correctly predicted the timing but told himself it hardly mattered. Soon he would be making the 7 year cryo-journey to Merc’s space station orbiting Mars. 7.39 Billion StayRite users would shortly pass their 366th day of use, marking the point at which a humans nervous system would no longer operate without the synthesis that the little aerosol inhalers provided. They would spend the rest of their lives being the most productive people in history - creating a world of wonders beyond imagination for this planet and others. The elderly magnate knew it would be only a matter of time before the hundred thousand or so people who hadn’t taken his wonder drug would either elect him emperor-supreme or simply decide to opt out of a liufe that never ended. How many people would thank him for curing a virus that no one knew even existed, he wondered. It had only taken him a few years but in that time he had done what no one else in 2 millennia had managed to do. He had identified the sleep virus and cured it. Although he didn't relish being an elderly man forever he knew that the bio-ware to fix or even revers that problem was only a few thousand hive-hours away. As the earth receded below his shuttle he looked aft and saw the small blue sphere of workers. A perfect colony. His colony. | 2016-08-30T13:18:01 | 2016-08-30T10:49:59 | 202 | 21 |
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left. | There are many ways of making people talk, but the easiest is good old-fashioned torture. "No!" said a million times is a million words, after all.
Because words are so precious, anything worth saying is worth saying loudly (instead of twice, to halve the count). As a result, The Interrogator's exploits quickly became legendary. Unwilling to part with their words, the police force have been mostly useless regarding crime, since they refuse to read suspects' Miranda rights and so are more than happy to obey the police commissioner's order to not interfere with him. The order is one word, printed underneath a giant, menacing photo of his face - "Don't." The cops refer to it somewhat laconically as Order 1001, when they bother to refer to anything at all.
But The Interrogator doesn't care for the infamy, or the money, or the begrudging respect afforded by the people he runs into on the street. What he cares for is doing his job. And his job this time is to kill Jimmy "The Stool" Pigettio. He was given his moniker, not because of his tendency to cooperate with police, but because he's been sitting on his last word for nearly a century. Ever since the Mob's pension reform, he's been collecting premiums for a hundred years without doing any work - something the current Mob boss claims a monopoly on.
Jimmy has known for a while that his life would end at the hands of The Interrogator, and in a century of silence has made peace with that fact. He even took the time to write several self help books, which ironically gave The Interrogator the motivation to follow his passion: wholesale murder.
It was December 31st when The Interrogator walked into Jimmy's living room and sat across the mahogany coffee table from Jimmy. He eagerly gulped the gourmet coffee that Jimmy had graciously set out for him.
"Thanks for the coffee."
Jimmy nodded.
"You know who I am." It was not a question.
Jimmy nodded again.
"You know that you will die tonight."
Jimmy nodded a third time.
The Interrogator pulled out his bag of torturer's tool and began meticulously placing them on the mahogany coffee table. Pliers, bone saws, hot wax, rats, irons, shackles, sharpened sticks, planks with nails in them - a smorgasbord of sadistic utensils. The Interrogator took great pleasure in the minutes long process.
"I've been looking forward to torturing someone as resolute as you, you know. If someone hasn't spoken for a hundred years, they must be able to stay quiet under pressure." The Interrogator picked up a scalpel and held it under his nose, smelling the metal.
Jimmy nodded a fourth time.
"So then, before we begin... do you have any last words?"
Jimmy nodded a fifth and final time.
He grinned a trickster's grin.
He gulped the last of his gourmet coffee.
He looked The Interrogator in the eye.
"No." | I paced around the man tied to the chair in the dimly lit room. My frustration was growing, but I knew better than to let my temperament get the better of me, I would waste about half a year venting out my frustration. The man sat silently, yet calmly. I had done everything I could think of to make this mark talk, from beating him with a bat I normally use, to threatening to shorten his wife's lifespan about 15 years by making her talk. Although bruised and bloody, he refused to talk.
I finally broke, I knew I had to keep myself calm, but the only way to get him to talk was if I did. My life literally depended on being short with him. I only had about 7,000,000 words left. "Mr. Briggs, is it?" He looked up, his face was one of exhaustion. His lip protruded from all the beatings, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was still strong enough to respond. "You know who I am and why I'm here. To keep it simple. You fucked up, made one of our bosses talk too much. He lost 800 words that night because of you. I'm here to make sure you repay that debt. We are aware you're down to your last." I took out my silenced handgun and placed it inbetween his eyes, and pulled back the hammer. I chuckled and said, "shame. You've still got some years left, if you don't say another word. But unfortunately, I'm going to make you say that word. If you don't say it within the next 10 minutes, I'll kill you anyway, and your word will be wasted. I'm getting tired of this." I refrained from saying anything else. Briggs looked towards the table and directed my attention to the notepad I set up for when I didn't want to speak to him. The general norm of the country is to have a notepad with you at all times. It's always been easier to write rather than Europe's way of trying to communicate through sign language. I decided to go along with his idea. I untied him, kept the gun trained on him and gave him the notepad and watched him slowly write.
He was obviously weak. It took him 3 minutes to write a paragraph, however it took up a good portion of the notepad. He held up the notepad, and I quickly snatched it out of his hand and tied his hands up again. This wasn't the first time someone has written on a notepad during my interrogations, but I learned to always retie the mark back up. I began to read what Briggs had written. "You know me, you know what I've done, and I knew you would come for me. Do you even know why I did it? Does the name Jennifer ring a bell to you?" I looked at him puzzled. I knew several Jennifer's, both personally and through my "business." Briggs nodded to the notepad in my hand, he wanted me to keep reading. "I only did to him what he did to her. I heard her, pleading for her life as he silently held a gun to her head. I tried to get her to stop wasting her words, but my mouth was taped shut by your boss. I wanted to scream to help her. Waste my life to savor hers. He never had the intention of shooting her, just like you and all of your organization, you make the people kill themselves. Then the blood isn't on your hands, is it? My wife is gone because of your boss. And I took away a good portion of what your boss has left, and all it took was putting a little bit of my secret talk drug into his drink at the bar. If you only knew what came out of his mouth. You're all as weak as he is." The final words were etched in large letters. "WANNA KNOW WHY I DID IT COWARD!?" This enraged me beyond belief.
Once more I trained the gun to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger and not even let him speak. Our organization doesn't kill, we get reprimanded pretty bad if we shoot our marks dead without it being in self defense. They make some of us even read the entirety of books as punishment. But I could just say he broke loose, and tried to take my gun. His life didn't matter to me. Briggs was just another asshole. And just as I began to pull back the trigger, he uttered his final word. "Vengeance." The next sound was a silenced bullet whistling through the air and lodging itself into his skull. 'SHIT,' I thought to myself. I now had to find a way to untie him and make it look like a struggle. But what circled through my mind was what he said. Vengeance. Even though he fucked my boss over big time, I couldn't say it wasn't justified. I would have done the same honestly. Briggs had been a decent man, if he hadn't been a mark, he could have been someone I respected. However, Briggs, like all of us, are on borrowed time. He was a man with plenty to say, but not enough to say it. In some other time and place, I could have learned to respect that ideology. I quickly faked a struggle scene and contacted my boss through text. "Mark has been taken care of. Category: waste. Reason: struggle for weapon. Disposing of body now. Payment as usual should be left in briefcase in second stall of office bathroom. Will await next mark." | 2016-10-10T23:35:48 | 2016-10-10T18:58:05 | 68 | 20 |
[WP] Your kidnapper is bored, so he makes an offer: if you can beat him 1 on 1 at a game of your choice, you go free. If you lose, you die.
EDIT: 15 submissions! Thanks so much to everyone who contributed, you've all done an incredible job! I love the diversity of endings, from extremely dark to hilarious. Keep writing! | The man with the gun pointed at my head is grinning and likely telling a lie. He seems like the kind of person to fib during a serious situation, and I can tell he’s loving the angst on my face as I mull over his horrible proposal.
*One win equals freedom.*
*One loss equals death.*
*Game of my choosing.*
But why? What kind of maniac kidnaps people, plucks them right off the street as they’re walking home drunk from their cousin’s awful birthday party, and tells them they can go free if they win a silly game?
The kind of person I don’t want to cross.
“*Soooooo?*” the man asks, his southern drawl stretching out the word.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Kidnapping me.”
“I’m bored.”
“And letting me go?”
“*I’m bored,*” he says with more force, and I realize that if I press much further, he’s probably going to shoot me.
What do I pick? I’m pretty good at chess, but he looks subtly smart, the kind of person who’s been to college but you don’t believe it. Maybe we could race? No. His legs are thick and muscular. He must work out.
What to do, what to do?
Then it hits me, and a devious smirk floods my face as I stare at him.
Winning is the wrong way to go about it. I’ll never win. Never, never, never. But I can hold him captive. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Give him a nasty taste of his own medicine.
The man smiles and sets the gun down on a table. He knows I’ve decided. “What’s your poison?” he asks.
I chuckle and nod. This is going to be fun.
“*Monopoly.*” | I laughed at the absurdity of the offer, he couldn’t possibly be serious. Could he?
“I mean it. I’m tired of this shit, you think I get paid enough for this?”
“Well I assume so” I said, “Isn’t that what kidnapping is about?”
Now you may think that being flippant when in the face of twenty stones worth of tattooed Irish violence whilst tied to a chair might not be the best of ideas.
24 hours of back pain and hunger, all because you were stupid enough to try and re-start a factory union in Dublin? Well that might change your mind.
“Let me ask you something, you’s ever seen them taken movies?” His response was more of a grunt than a reply.
“Aye, pretty much all of them.” I replied.
“Right, you notice just how many guy Liam Neeson fucks up in the first one? Go on give it a guess.”
“I don’t know, maybe 60?”
“Exactly, 60 guys. Now the boss always gets half, the boss’s pals get 10% each and the rest of us? We get about 10% to share between us. Now take your ransom, divide it by 10, then divide that by 60. How much do you think you get?”
“Do I look like a calculator?”
"Wrong! You get- Shut it smart arse. You get €1500. And you think we get expenses either? You’re having a laugh! So no we don’t get paid enough for this."
I was about to reply, but stopped myself. Instead, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
I was about to suggest they start a union.
“You seem like a smart guy, if the money is shit why are you doing this?”
“Well you know, bad choices bad parents. Tattoos on my face. You think anyone’s gonna give me a job looking like this?”
“You never know!” As soon as I said it, I knew I sounded like an idiot.
All things considered, I couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. He seemed like a decent enough guy underneath the threats of severe mutilation.
“if you could do anything else what would it be?”
“I dunno, always wanted to write movies.”
“Haha really!? What kinds?”
“All kinds.”
“Yea ok but anything specific?”
“Always wanted to write a proper Gangster movie. Show it how it really is”
“Ok then how about this, I choose a movie trivia contest. Whoever knows the most about gangster movies wins.”
Behind the broken nose, tattoos and chipped grin, a smile materialised.
“You’re on factory man.”
Without things like clocks or windows it’s quite hard to tell the passage of time, but after what seemed like a few hours we finally gave up.
Aedan, as I now knew him was just about the biggest movie nerd I now knew. Other than myself of course.
“Jesus Christ man, don’t you have grandmothers to rob and protestants to stab? How do you find the time?”
“Your ma’ puts a film on every time I stay over”.
I had to make a stern face, for my dear mother’s honour. It lasted about half a second. Laughter burst into the dimly lit room as we rocked in our chairs. Tears streamed down our faces, I tried to ask another question but instead what came out sounded more like a dying seal. This of course led to another bout of hysteria which eventually faded away.
“Alright! Alright! I’m tired you win, just shoot me.”
“Not for you friend. Waste of a bullet”
Aedan rose from his chair, towering over me he pulled the knife hidden in his boot. He almost looked sad, it was hard to tell from where I was sitting.
I suppose at some point during our conversation the order had come through, I didn’t have a friend in the world who could afford the ransom.
His bulky form by now had crossed out of my field of vision, for a big guy he certainly knew how to move quietly.
I winced and waited for the coming death blow, I doubted it would be quick.
Instead, the binding around my arms loosened suddenly as the knife cut the ropes.
I exhaled at a pitch i’m fairly sure would have shattered glass. Quickly realising I wasn’t dead, the squeal turned into a curse.
“Jeee-sus Christ. You’re sick Aedan you know that?
“Aye. Pub?”
“Go on then.” I replied.
And that was how I escaped the Irish Mob using the power of friendship.
| 2017-01-03T09:51:06 | 2017-01-03T07:40:17 | 107 | 31 |
[WP] There is unrest in the galaxy but the advanced alien races that populate it lack the capacity to kill. One alien race decides to recruit the humans of earth as their military.
First prompt. Be nice. | As an interstellar journalist, Vilaramd felt an obligation to report the news from within the chaos of events. Which was how he’d found himself on a battlefield, surrounded by bodyguards and soldiers under the command of a Human woman known as Captain Fierro.
“They’re falling back, keep pushing!” the woman yelled. Around her, the guns of her soldiers threw streaks of light that cut down the enemy combatants. Vilaramd felt his stomachs begin to curl, yet he couldn’t stop watching. These people tore through the Insurrectionists with brutal yet impressive efficiency. He never had any doubt about his people’s decision to hire the Humans for the purpose of quelling the unrest in the Empire. Even so, he often found them…unnerving.
The Insurrectionists were routed back to a single fortress, where the Humans’ massive war vehicles bathed the walls in fire. A six-hour siege was all it took to wipe out the last vestige of the enemy’s influence in this star system.
Shortly afterward, Vilaramd joined the Captain as she walked through the rubble, surveying the teams in charge of clean-up and salvage. “I…don’t know what to say,” he commented. “This was my first time being in the heat of one of your battles. Thank you for the generous protection, by the way.”
Fierro gave him a half smile and nodded. “Wasn’t much of a burden, Vilaramd. We had more than enough troops to spare. These Insurrectionists were a lot less…deadly than your people implied.”
“To you, maybe,” he replied with a nervous chuckle. “They’re capable of such violence…to this day it still alarms me. Seeing the handiwork of your military today, I’m glad to have you on our side.”
“Military?” Fierro asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. Ah…is there a different word you prefer?”
“No, it’s just…we do have a military, but…we’re not it.”
Vilaramd stopped in his tracks and stared at the woman. How had such a major piece of information avoided his notice? “But we hired you as a military force.”
“Yes, but we’re not *the* Terran Military. Just a private mercenary group.”
“*What?!*” He grabbed his tablet and began typing with excitement. “Do the authorities know about this?”
“Of course. They wanted us for a ‘trial run’ of sorts. Cheaper than getting the actual Terran military. But after what we’ve done these past few months, I’m sure your people will go all in for the big guns. I'm kind of sad that we'll be losing the job.” Fierro started to laugh. “Oh man, if you think *we* kicked ass, wait ‘til you see what our Navy does to those Insurrectionist bastards.”
Vilaramd’s hands paused above his screen. “Like what?”
Fierro stared at the sky for a moment, seeming to ponder. “Ever seen a supernova up close?”
| Chapter 1: Human Expansion
It was determined that, given the pacifist nature of all the Alliance races, humans would be well served as an alternative to warfare. They were a hardy and adaptable race that had been waging war on themselves for millennia. They entertained themselves with battle so it was a perfect fit.
The other races were not informed by the Eldar Council of this decision. The tenuous peace pacts had to be preserved but they felt this security force would handle the unrest well.
The Eldar Race offered humanity technology and knowledge that would save their world and expand their minds. They adapted well with these new tools. With this assistance they expanded their Mars colony into an industrial center and spaceport. Their population exploded with the introduction of terraforming, allowing humans to quickly populate new planets and spread rapidly.
With this came the caveat, they would provide enforcement and security for the galaxy.
Humanity agreed to this single demand and began training a force, there were soon entire planets devoted to producing these exceptional soldiers. Planets churned out machinery and ships while others produced sailors and soldiers. They began to adapt technology into bio-mechanical implants to improve chosen members of their society.
The first human security fleet worked exactly as planned, the other races even admitted (grudgingly) that the plan would work.
The Eldar did not reveal their true purpose until the arrival of the second and third fleet.
Humanity wiped out six of the most venerable and ancient races in the first year. They did not take slaves or captives, they slaughtered them. They began terraforming planets in sectors that were once controlled by the Eldar council. Too late they realized their flaw.
Humanity drove a spear through the galaxy, so rapid was their expansion that there was not a single race prepared for their rise to power.
The rise of the warrior races followed this and thus the descent into war.
Chapter 2: Human Combatants
From the diary of Tyrus E'lrich: Humans are a unique breed of alien. They can survive the most devastating of wounds but many perish when they go to war. Such is the dedication of a human to the conflict that millions may perish but they will still charge on.
Humans rapidly divided themselves into factions of specialized warfare.
"Regiments" carry out ground warfare, numbering in the tens of thousands they move with singular chaotic purpose supported by heavy tanks and bringing with them millions of rounds of ammunition for heavy weapons and rifles.
The human "Navy" brings enormous crafts of war against their enemies, often launching thousands of smaller "fighters" from within these behemoths or unleashing untold amounts of ammunition against planetary targets.
"Special Forces" units are some of the most terrifying human weapons brought against any race. These units are without fear or compassion, they often attack deep behind any frontline and can cause untold mayhem and devastation.
A notable example of these units in action is the Battle of Fortis Seven, where Special Forces units completely disabled the planetary defense network, breaking a two-year stalemate in four hours.
*****
"Hear that boys?" Second Lieutenant Callahan said, tossing the half charred book aside, "we even got a special mention!"
The forty men in the dropship laughed and cheered, thumping fists against their armor or slamming the butts of their rifles into the heavy steel of the ship.
"Drop in ten!" the pilot shouted, sticking his head out from the cockpit where the men could see the nearly infinite amount of anti-air fire coming from the planet surface. Blue lights lanced across the sky, trying desperately to stop the endless tide of ships.
"Alright boys! Mission?"
"Kill the xenos!"
"Damn right!"
The ship barely slowed to let the heavy bay doors open, disgorging the forty soldiers from the belly of the ship into thin air.
They fell towards the ground, dodging the incoming fire as best they could. Each man hit the ground with a tremendous *thump*, creating a small crater and creating a screen of dirt and dust.
They came out firing, shredding the defenders with precise auto-fire from their heavy rifles. Troopers with shoulder mounted launchers started firing their precise payloads at the massive anti-air installations that were keeping the Fleet Majoris from entering atmosphere and lending much needed support.
Before they could reload the next drop came, sending down troopers in powered armor, the heavy suits toting the heavy weapons. The wave moved forward in unison, cutting down the defenders as they did.
Callahan sent a message out over the radio and his platoon laughed as they continued pushing forward.
"So much for their pacifist nature. Kill 'em all."
*****
Callahan sat on the burnt out shell of an Eldar vehicle, their oldest allies had now become the last enemy worth fighting.
His men had done their job, when the anti-air installations had come down so had the last hope for holding back the humans. Not much hope to begin with, they would have just sent another fleet.
This was it. Humans win.
There wouldn't be a final chapter in the annals of Eldar history on mankind. It would simply cease to be. Callahan found that to be a fairly sobering thought.
He flicked his cigarette into the earth and jumped down, calling for his platoon to form up. There would be clean up operations, Eldar buried in their bunkers and secret facilities they would have to burn out.
A nearly perceivable distance away a new threat wakened. Fearsome brutes that thirsted for blood woken by the ripples of war. Xenos that only knew consumption, breeding on the genetic matter of other life forms and thriving on death and destruction. The ever-lingering and consuming depravity of the void of space always haunting the edge of man's mind, seeking to create new horrors and monstrosities.
These creeping forces moved towards humanity and their newly forged empire.
Blood will always have blood. | 2017-01-05T13:54:14 | 2017-01-05T12:24:57 | 104 | 51 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | The chief inspectorate walked into the conference chamber with a concerned look on his wizened blue face. He faced the three investigators and gave them a sad glance.
"Two of you have obviously made mistakes, as all three of you have given differing reports on this 'Earth' planet".
The three different coloured investigators looked at each other nervously.
"Now, it's not the first time people have made mistakes and I'm willing to overlook it, but we need the correct information to move on. So, did two of you not go and make it up? Or did you end up on the wrong planets?"
The first investigator looked up to protest. "I went! My report is correct, they are a pre-warp society, but post-nuclear!"
The second investigator looked at him appalled. "No!" He shouted "they are a post- combustion society, but they're still pre-atomic-forge! You can't split an atom without an atomic forge! Not without destroying a city!"
The third investigator looked up at them grimly. "You both must of gone to the wrong planet. They're not even post-war yet, how could a species be clever enough to master combustion and split the atom, but dumb enough to still kill people based on race, religion or culture?"
The chief inspectorate had heard enough. Dismissing the three he decided to visit the planet himself. Accessing the information on his screen, he had the computer select three destinations at random. "All nice and close to each other at least" he muttered, making his travel plans for Kandahar, Aleppo and Gaza. | There is this sense of being all alone, even if you are at home. The
feeling still persists and comes at you most strongly when you are all
alone taking a stroll on those chilly evenings. The twilight with its
sense of ending of a show, the crossing of a threshold, waiting for
that crescendo, that never comes. And soon the day is over and when
you lay down at night thinking the thoughts of where you came from,
only dozing in and out of the view of the ceiling fan rotating slowly
and with an indifferent demeanour at your state. The turmoils comes
and it goes, we are all aliens, even here on earth which is supposedly
our birth place, the place where our history our genetic identity was
written.
Nothing bad has happened, we have survived but coming to know of all
those others that dwell in this universe, some right next to us, we
feel belittled. We might be the fairytale to them, of savages in
prehistoric times wielding stupid spears and feeling smug in their fur
fashions. They treat us with kid gloves, even the superpowers with
atomic weapons feel stupid. Like kids playing with fire, the most
damage that we could do is blow ourselves up. Like suicide bombers,
we might be just as insignificant as those morons who die for some
idiotic religious beliefs. Just pesky little buggers that put up a
show for them, once in a while, taking up all the front page space and
providing entertainment and mindless chatter and gossip for the rest
of that lazy Sunday afternoon. Something, to be had for a couple of
cents at the newspaper stand and to be downed with tea while sitting
in the backyard laying on a hammock.
We feel alien, there are questions now being raised by everyone, not
just them, it is among our own folks, cracks have appeared, the
foundation has broken, there is no passion left, every words , half of
all those songs of love, of passion, of war, of our culture has lost
meaning, now we are all embarrassed of those relics. We try to hide
them, sweep them beneath the carpets, and locked closets, never to be
spoken again.
We were aliens, we that never belonged, we are but travelers that
took shelter on an oasis. We are coming back to our senses, we are
going back to being travelers, building vessels to carry us to
uncharted territories, we are done here.
Them, that we used to call aliens contacted us, we are not even sure as
to what they look like. We got scared, they are invisible to us,
creatures that can command, more of the universe than we puny earth
men could ever do. We are like two dimensional creatures on a piece
of paper and they of higher dimensions that hold that paper and poke
and prod it for fun, we could never see them for we are made that way
and the instruments that we devised could but just sense them, with
readings on a graph paper. But what is the point, the knowledge is
out, we know they are out there and we are trapped in our universe,
this universe that we inhabit is the cage that limits us. We are but
playthings in their vast laboratories.
Soon we will be traveling from here. Pulling off the anchor and
moving on, all our technologies, put in suitcases and to find some
other place. Even those who believe in moving to another place do not
think that we would even be able to move away from them. That we
would ever be able to get out of our cage, this universe that
incarcerates us. There are other camps among men that think that we
have to establish contact with those aliens. But how will it play
out, we are but ants in the gardens of giants. Nothing has happened,
nothing bad that is, but the knowledge of those beings out there is out
now. The world has changed. | 2017-03-10T00:58:58 | 2017-03-09T22:27:52 | 135 | 27 |
[WP] Long before you were born, your father promised his firstborn to otherworldly beings in exchange for power. In a twist of fate, your mother also promised her firstborn to dark gods. | "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Dorrigan, Ancient High King of the Dark Gods, exclaimed. "How in Set's name was I supposed to know we double booked?" His gnarled horns scratched the living room ceiling, sending drywall everywhere.
"Perhaps you could have asked," intoned Ghffkt, Grand Inquisitor of the Intergalactic Marauders Union. He was shorter, and half metal. "Certainly neither of us will have use for half a human boy."
"Yeah, no duh, C3-POS," Dorrigan muttered.
I glared at Mom and Dad, who sat semi-flabbergasted on the couch. "What. The fuck. Did you do?" I snarled.
Dad stammered, scratching the back of his head. "Well, um...remember how I wrote that musical back in college and won a Tony?"
"Yeah, and I'm the only person who ever thought it sucked?"
"Yeah," Dad said. "Deal with a demon. You're probably immune. Same with your mother and her Olympic career."
"No, I made a deal with a celestial being," Mom corrected.
"Hardly," Dad huffed. "This dude looks like an octopus crawled into a trash can."
*"Seriously?"* I yelped. Dad shrugged.
Dorrigan pinched where the bridge of his nose would be if he had skin, and sighed. "Okay, how about this," he said. "How about we get him Monday to Friday? You get weekends."
Ghffkt scoffed. "I know how long weeks last in your dimension," he said, rolling a half dozen of his eyes. "Who will clean our blomdullogots for all that time?"
"Figure it out!"
"Uh, I'm actually half computer so I've already figured it out!"
"For fuck's sake!!"
I looked at Mom and Dad again. "Either you get me out of this," I said, "or I'm never speaking to either of you again--no. I'll tell Nana."
Both of their faces creased with worry. "You wouldn't," Dad said.
"She'd give you hell," I replied. "And best case scenario if these guys took me she'd probably make you get me back. I know you're too lazy for that."
Mom squinted at me. "You're a monster."
"Apple doesn't fall far--"
I didn't finish. Just then, a massive sinkhole took the kitchen adjacent. Pots and pans clanged and disappeared as a humongous black form burrowed its way up and out of the gaping maw. It righted itself, staring at all of us with beady black eyes and a short snout. It wore glasses.
"Ahem," the mole-person said. "I, Squibbly Franciscos, am here to claim the soul of one Freddie Brown."
Dorrigan ripped several new holes in the ceiling looking at him. "And by what law of this disgusting realm can you claim such a thing?"
Squibbly held up a roll of ancient-looking parchment. "Why, he was promised to me," he (she? who cares) said. "Forty-six years ago, Gladys Brown offered me her firstborn grandchild when he came of age."
A silence fell over the room.
Dad burst out laughing. | We laughed.
Mike was wiping tears out of his eyes, "Lisa..Oh my..." and then he couldn't quite control himself and burst out laughing again.
I myself was on the verge of tears but I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "The odds of the two of us," I said between spurts of laughter, "probably the only people in the world who had promised their first born to someone else *marrying* each other..."
It was at that moment that Mark began to cry in the other room, and we immediately stopped laughing. Blessedly, Mike quieted immediately afterwards, but the damage was done. The shield of laughter we had been using to stave off facing the situation was gone, leaving nothing but tears and anger.
Mike gripped my hands in his. "I won't let it happen, Lisa, I promise you. I won't let them take him, no one."
I squeezed his hand back, "you can count me in, Mike, we were stupid when we were young, we had no idea, what...what another life that came from us meant. But hell if I'm going to let 16 year old affect me life today." I set my jaw and continued, "They aren't taking Mark."
Of course, the second half of the sentence hung unsaid in the air, "...while we are alive," but some things do not need to be said.
***
We received them on the couch.
There was a knock on the door. Beside me Mike took a shuddering breath. This was it. We would either stand here or die. Mike gave my hand a tight squeeze as I got up to open the door. I didn't know quite what I had expected. I had expected the Old Gods to have tentacles, or multiple eyes, or slimy.
I didn't expect her to be hot.
She stood almost 6 foot 5 and could be on the cover of any magazine. She had red hair like mine that reached to the middle of her back, and she wore a business skirt with a length just on the edge of proper. But those features did nothing to match her eyes, a mix of colors, green blue, yellow, swirling together, but not mixing. And those eyes were looking directly at me.
"Hello, Lisa," she said with a smile that did not quite touch her eyes.
I returned her gaze coolly, despite my shock. “Hello, Morrigan.” Her eyes widened a bit, and I knew I’d gotten it right. I’d researched the Old Gods a bit and there was only one who took the form of a red-haired beauty. Most really did prefer tentacles and multiple eyes and all that. Morrigan preferred to look human.
The slight smile came back on her lips, and it might have been my imagination, but the colors in her eyes began to swirl a bit more rapidly. “Nicely done,” she said, as she outstretched her palm, and before I could react a pale green globe hit me directly in the chest.
Before I knew it I was against a wall blinking tears out of my eyes. She had known. *She had known!* There was a loud ringing in my ears, but I could still hear Mike screaming, and the sound of explosions. I had to help, Mike couldn’t fight her alone. But my body refused to obey, and I sat there stunned.
After what seemed like years but was likely seconds, I saw Mark fly and hit the wall right next to me. It was all I could do to look at him, my body capable of nothing else. He looked back on me, blood running down his face.
It occurred to me then how stupid we’d been. We’d thought to take down an Old God, the wisest and most powerful beings in the universe. We had power sure, I could project the same balls of energy Morrigan could, but the knowledge, the experience she had made us no match for her.
And then she was upon us. Standing in front of us while we lay completely at her mercy. Morrigan tsked at me. “Come on now, Lisa, I thought you were better than that. But alas, all humans, *so* predictable.” And then she turned to Mike. “And you...you are even weaker than her, but your power was not bestowed upon you by Lisa…” She frowned, an expression that seemed completely out of place on her face. But then she shrugged. “No matter, tell me where the child is, and I shall spare the two of you.”
Suddenly I felt whatever force that was holding my body in place weaken, and I could move again. “Please don’t try anything, Lisa,” she said, picking something below her nails, utterly bored, “I would hate to kill your love here.” As she said Mark suddenly screamed as his body spasmed.
And then it came to me.
“Morrigan,” I said,, staring her dead in they eyes.
“Mmhm?” she said, looking back at me.
“I will not give you my child.”
Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Lisa, you’re smarter than this, I just have to torture him enough and you’ll tell me everything you know.” Again she made a motion with her hands and Mike screamed.
“Wait!” I said a bit hysterically, my calm facade slipping, “hear me out!” Mark and I had been fools to fight Morrigan alone, we stood no chance against an Old God.
But someone else did.
At that moment the door behind Morrigan exploded, and she whirled around just in time to see the interdimensional Apothecon, with tentacles and all, enter the house.
Morrigan looked at me, and despite it all, her mouth as bared in a smile. “Not so predictable after all Lisa, Lisa. So that’s how your husband got his powers.” She chuckled, “ a match made in heaven I suppose.”
She then turned around to face the newcomer.
| 2017-03-11T07:39:52 | 2017-03-11T07:32:59 | 505 | 58 |
[WP] Something in the ritual went horribly wrong, and instead of the demon possessing you, you possessed the demon. | Q'llar looked through new-found eyes, suddenly aware that something was very, very different. He felt the sensation of floating, and power, and *rage*.
This was a wholly unexpected event, seeing as Q'llar was meant to be a sacrifice, a kind of human vessel, for the blood demon that he until very recently had certainly not inhabited. But as he stared down at the confused faces of the cult members, he could easily ascertain that this was not their intention.
He felt a buzzing in his thoughts; a searing, shaking force of another mind molded next to his own.
"*Get out of me, human,*" the voice whispered. "*Get out, get out, GET OUT.*"
The rage somehow felt... impotent. The words did not intimidate - they amused. Q'llar decided to ignore them for now, deciding instead to focus on the cult members, who were all backing away in unison.
"Well, this has all gone a bit pear-shaped, hasn't it?" Q'llar mused, stepping towards them.
"Not so fast, beast!" a member shouted out, pointing a shakey hand at the pentagram. "You may not take one step out of the circle, it is forbidden - you shall perish instantly if you do!"
Q'llar stepped out of the circle, and the cult member gasped.
"An admirable bluff; yet altogether too easily disproven, I think you'll find," Q'llar replied.
The cult members dashed for the door, but Q'llar slammed and locked it shut with a single thought. The breadth of his powers amazed even him - it all felt so intrinsic. So damned *good*.
"Now now, what's the rush?" he continued, savouring the moment. "You dragged me all the way here for some private time, and now you just want to rush off when all is said and done?"
Barbed vines rushed out through the concrete below, capturing each cult member and gripping them in place. They held all but one - the cult leader.
The leader dashed forward, grabbing Q'llar's forlorn body.
"One more move, demon, and I shall strike your body down!" the leader shouted, waving a quivering dagger at Q'llar's neck.
Q'llar stared at his previous vessel. He had never been too fond of his body; it was too weak, too weathered by the world. Though he was young, he was already so *old*.
With a click of his fingers, his body burst into flame, setting the cult leader alight in the process. The leader screamed in agony, running around like a madman, setting his breathern alight in his flight.
Q'llar watched as the cult all burned as one, cursing the flames they had worshipped for so long. It was not long until the final breath was quenched, the fire stinking of flesh and brimstone.
Then, Q'llar quieted his mind. He looked up towards the door, towards the world that had always hated him. And he looked below, at the hell he knew had always awaited him.
He was faced with a choice; would he go **above**, or **below**?
*****
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78ob5u/wp_unholy_choice_ii/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78obgg/wp_unholy_choice_iii/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78obqq/wp_unholy_choice_iv/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78sd2f/wp_unholy_choice_v/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78twkd/wp_unholy_choice_vi/) | [Part 7 (newest)](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/78w0hs/wp_unholy_choice_vii/)
I want to do something different with this one. I always used to love those 'choose your own adventure' stories, so - the first one to comment the bolded word gets to choose the direction of the story :)
Just posted the latest part on my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/). You will all still be able to decide where the story goes, just vote on whichever bolded comment you prefer!
Thanks for reading guys, this is fun <3 | I struggled against the restraints as I sat in the ritual circle. I sat in a bolted down steel chair, my wrists and ankles tied loosely with ill-fitting rope. Hooded men and women with strange markings all over their black robes chanted in a language I couldn't hope to comprehend. My heart raced and my mind swam with anxiety.
"How the fuck did I get here and who the fuck are you?!" I asked, the tone of my voice obviously suggesting my fear. They did not respond, they simply continued to chant. One of them, a man, walked into the circle and ripped my shirt at the chest with a scalpel. His free hand pinned me back to the chair while he began to carve strange symbols into me. I screamed out in agony. Fight or flight began to take over. Fight was the response and I leaned forward, bashing the man's head with my own, the steel chair moving forward with my surge of adrenaline-filled strength. The scalpel slipped against one of the runes he was carving into me when I hit him and he stumbled back. He must have finished before the hit because he didn't attempt to carve into me again.
It felt like hours. Blood loss was getting to me as the chants continued. Yet, as my head began to droop, a strange smell crossed my way. I'm a chemist, and I would know the smell of sulfur if I happened across it. My eyes went wide, adrenaline surging through me again. Dark chanting? Sulfur? Me being in the center of a strange, circular rune on the floor?
These maniacs were summoning a demon and I was the bait!
I didn't know why it was me. Maybe because I was a healthy male. Maybe it was because I cut someone off in traffic the day prior. Maybe they just didn't like my hair color. Whatever arbitrary reason these people decided *I* was the one that had to be sacrificed, it didn't matter.
Because what currently was on my mind was the light of the candles dimming around the room. The white paint of the strange runic circle began to glow a dark red. The marks carved into my chest began to sizzle and burn as it felt like SOMETHING was being ripped out of my body. I looked down at the runes... and the diagonal slash connecting to one when I headbutt the one cultist. I began to cry like a baby. I knew my time was up. I knew I was royally fucked.
I'm not a religious man. There was no pleading with God for me. Instead, between my sobs and seething with pain, I looked towards the cultists and laughed. "You better hope this kills me. If I ever get out of this, every single one of you is-"
Darkness.
...
...
And then I was standing.
And then there was no more chanting.
Only whispers in my head.
**"NO! They performed the ritual incorrectly!"**
I tried to open my eyes. Everything about me felt differently.
When I managed to get them open, EVERYTHING was different. The edges of my vision were filled with wisps of color. The scent of sulfur radiated around me, yet did not bother me. Vertigo struck me slowly. I was... much taller than I was used to. My head felt heavy and everything was just... *wrong*.
"That.... that's not supposed to happen. Lord Xenious was supposed to inhabit the body, why is he standing there?" I heard someone speak. Their tone of voice was weird. It fluctuated in pitch and it was difficult to make heads or tails of how they sounded.
As my eyes regained focus and I became used to what I was seeing, I looked down over myself. I nearly screamed. I looked like I was in the body of a monster! Dark, ashen gray skin, cloven hooves, muscled flesh riddled with dark, arcane runes similar to the ones that surrounded the circle. I looked at my hands. Dark black talons tipped each of my five fingers. Reaching up, I felt the weight on my head. Heavy horns.
I raised an eyebrow, confused, turning to look at the center of the circle once more... where I saw what was supposed to be my body, now a withered husk. A hand went over my mouth as I looked. Have you ever seen the part in The Mummy where Imhotep sucked the life out of people? Remember what they looked like when he was done? That's what my body looked like.
Or rather, what WAS my body.
My brain began to process what was happening very, very quickly. That's what that voice was talking about. The ritual was somehow screwed up. But what could've happened? Just as it dawned on me, a twisted, savage grin crossed my face, my tongue resting on quite sharp teeth.
The markings on my skin were screwed up when I head butted the cultist. With that messed up marking, the ritual failed. Now -I- had the body of this demon.
"Very unfortunate." I said, testing out my new voice. It was... almost angelic in how it sounded. I could've made any tenor in any choir weep at how beautiful the voice of this demon was. Well... it was MY voice now, apparently. But I had other plans other than singing.
I tested out my legs and strange, hooved feet. It was surprisingly easy to get used to. I cackled as I walked around, feeling the strength of this body. This was something I certainly could get used to. My body seemed to respond to my delight, as wings extended from my back, the sound of leathery flesh unfurling causing me to pause for a moment and look back, my eyes growing wide in delight.
"L-Lord Xenious? Why do you not inhabit the body of that mortal?" the cultist with the scalpel asked. I hummed in thought for a moment, turning to look at him. My grin faded into a soft, relaxed smile as I stepped towards them. Each cultist falling to a knee as I approached.
"To provide a reminder to you all." I said, placing the palm of my hand on the cultist's head.
"A-And what is that?" the cultist asked... just before I curled my hand and my claws dug right through the fabric of his hood, his flesh, and cleaved through his skull.
"To remind you of what would happen if I ever got out of that chair..." I said, the sinister grin returning to my face as I lifted my arm up, pulling the top of his skull and scalp up with me as he dropped to the ground.
Needless to say, the rest fled.
Needless to say, I caught up with them.
Needless to say, they all died.
But the one thing interesting out of all of this was that voice returned in my mind.
**"You know what, mortal? You're quite interesting. I believe you and I can, as you mortals say, make lemonade out of lemons in this situation. I could use a vacation."**
Oh, this would be fun. | 2017-10-26T02:42:44 | 2017-10-25T07:40:56 | 1,618 | 13 |
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