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[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | There we were, math class again. Typical Friday afternoon waiting for the weekend. Everyone around me focused on the board while I sing to myself, waiting for someone else to answer the question as I chant 42 to myself.
Today's song just happens to be about a beautiful girl in class. My Sweet Caroline in fact. I feel like my rendition could put Neil himself to shame. I watch Caroline as I sing, wondering how many times boys have sung this to her to try and impress her. Suddenly she raises her hand. 42 she calls out.
I start to sing louder. Jealous of the fact that I got the answer first, but don't have the balls to say it in class on the off chance I'm wrong. My song gets louder in my head as I calculate the next problem.
BA BA BA!!! I yell in my head followed by the next answer. Caroline flinched. Raises her hand. Calls out 6. Right again. But why the flinch?
Curious now I keep singing, and staring. There is no way she heard me. People can't hear other people minds. That's like movies and weird stories you read on Reddit. No way it exists I say to myself as I hear Caroline start to hum along with my singing. | Her eyes, they moved me in such a way that made my heart skip. A joyful splendor rushing through my veins as she stared into the abyss.
Where did her eyes wander off to, when she stared off into nothing. Her lips pursed as she watched the black board with such intent.
The clock's ticking flooded my ears, with all of the students scribbling their answers onto once blank pieces of test papers.
The room was filtered with the aroma of cinnamon, as it was autumn. The teacher burnt a fall candle, the girls wore special perfume to attract the boys in class.
It was a wonderful day to be sitting in that classroom, if only I wasn't so focused on her, and more focused on the test.
I would fail, I had already accepted this. I wonder if I fail, if maybe she would view me as repulsive. Could she even see me, if I was nothing more than a failure?
I closed my eyes, and let my mind walk by itself. I let it picture her, staring into my own eyes, like they were the darkness in the board.
A boy my age shouldn't let his mind wander, because next thing you know you are living in a fantasy world.
I started to imagine how crazy it would be if she could hear my thoughts, notice my affection, maybe she could feel my very heart beat with her mind.
But that was insane, of course.
Or was it?
I chuckled to myself, my breath leaving my lips with a slight whistle. Mind reading, what a joke. For me to think of such a feat, I feel like a child.
But, could it hurt to test?
I know it is untrue, I know super powers don't exist, but maybe on a small limb of hope I may just find that they do.
My heart started to thump away at the thought, leading my mind astray. I started to think more and more about how I would react, if she could hear my thoughts.
I'd probably never leave my room.
So, I sat up straight, and focused on nothing but my thoughts. I let them leak out of me, like the night sky over the arctic planes.
She would hear me, I swore it. Even though I knew it not to be true, I believed in it with all my heart.
My eyes flung open, and in my own mind, I screamed. I had never thought so loudly to myself before.
A pure, blood curdling, scream.
For a moment, I thought I saw her flinch, she almost seemed afraid.
I watched as her eyes panned across the room behind her, connecting with my own.
I chest felt hot, and heavy. I could feel my face turning pure red.
She let out an angry huff, and turned her back to me once again, her scribbled writing getting more, and more intense.
Had she really heard my scream? What had just happened?
The bell let loose, and everyone in the class stood up and started packing their bags. All but her.
With such grace, she walked towards me. Her hair followed her like petals blowing in the autumn wind.
"We need to talk. Now."
Her words reached me, but my mind was lost. She spoke to me, her lips moving so graceful with each word that left them. I couldn't believe it.
Whatever had happened, was affecting me now, and I couldn't say whether I was excited, or frightened.
((**EDIT**)) // Thank you all for the kind words, up-votes, and catching my slip ups! I am considering writing more into this, and I may do so. If I do, it will be attached as a reply. If I don't, I apologize for leaving the story so unfinished, but still appreciate the kind reactions! | 2017-11-13T19:47:06 | 2017-11-13T19:36:15 | 236 | 76 |
[WP] Night after night you see the same girl in your dreams. Dreams with her are strangely vivid and easy to remember. Sometimes she's your wife, or your girlfriend, or your maid, or the princess you're saving, or the evil alien queen, or a vampire hunting you down. You're starting to fall in love. | Some nights you're a doctor
Plastic stethoscope
Held firmly in your hand
Pressed against a patient's chest
The operating room is small
Painted pink
Some nights you're a princess
White dress straddling your hips
Proudest smile on your lips
The man waiting at the altar
-- once your patient ---
Knows for all the world
That he's the luckiest
Some nights you're a soldier
Helmet on your head
Down upon your knees
Thrusting trowel into trench
Fighting back the hoard
Of vicious scoundrel weeds
Some nights you're a lover
Something like a tiger
Only gentle with your paws
Only nibble with your teeth
Never truly biting
Never hurting
Some nights you're a mother
And two children
No matter what their age is
(with smiles much prettier than mine)
Rest heads against your chest
As you soothe away their worries
Soothe away their pain
Some nights you're a fighter
Who frights away the monsters
Always fighting for your children
Always for your husband
Only once fighting for yourself
Some nights
-- in my dreams --
You're still my wife
Not beneath the leaves
But lying next to me
Leafing through a book
Sipping on your tea
| [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8m1a8d/wp_night_after_night_you_see_the_same_girl_in/dzkeyr5/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hydrael_Writes/comments/8m4cjm/dream_date_part_3/)
Tonight it was an alien I was saving her from. It looked like an octopus had a baby with a scorpion, and that child spawned with a slime mold. She was bound by one of its tentacles, on the ceiling, and I had a flamethrower and the kind of badass attitude in real life.
It was the one hundred time I’d saved her, and I was in love with her.
She was beautiful, for starters. That had drawn me in at first. Granted, it was a slightly different beauty each time - sometimes her hair would be black or red or blond, sometimes she’s be a bit taller or shorter. The face never changed, that was the one constant. I wouldn’t have recognized her if not for that.
Sometimes I saved her, like the last one hundred times. Another long-running dream was us as a married couple in post apocalyptic New York. A third we were a pair of supers - her the villain, me the hero - that were dating. A few time she was even my monster, chasing me through the woods with a hunger for my blood.
That dream stopped when I stopped running, when I turned to embrace her and let her drain me, so I could become a monster with her.
All of those dreams had passed in silence, context being picked up through repetition and iteration.
But right now the alien holding her was shrieking away from my flamethrower, and she was falling. I caught her in one hand with muscles that didn’t belong to me as the beast from beyond the darkest stars screeched in terror. I held her for a moment, and then she spoke, the first words I had ever heard her speak.
“Tommorrow night, I swear to God, it’s my turn to save you. Why do I always have to be saved in my own dreams.”
“What?” I stared at her, my heart pounding. “Your dreams? These are my dreams.”
Our eyes met. “Are you...real?” she finally asked, her voice shaking.
I nodded. “Are you?”
“Yes. Oh god yes. Please don’t let this just be a dream…”
“I live in Chicago-” I interjected. “Are you in the U.S.? Hurry, I think I’m waking up!” I could feel the dream begin to collapse around me.
“Shedd Aquarium! 2pm! I’ll be wearing a pink hat!” Her eyes lit up in excitement, and I nodded so vigorously it tore me out of the dream.
I spent the rest of the day staring at my watch until it was time to leave. Since she hadn’t told me how to signal to her, i wore a pink hat too, and completely ignored the laughter.
2 pm hit. She didn’t show. Around three I gave up. I didn’t know what I expected. It was a dream. O fcourse it wasn’t real. I bought a ticket and went in.
And then I saw her. Reflected in the glass of the Aquarium, ghostly and translucent, wearing a pink hat and looking as dejected as I did. She rushed over to touch the glass and I did the same. She wasn’t there, not behind me, but in the reflection our fingers were almost touching.
Call me crazy. Maybe I am. But I am convinced she exists in a universe parallel to ours. I’ve spent the last five years working with her in the dream, speaking when we can, falling more in love with her the entire time.
I’ve built a gate. I’m going to find her.
I’m finally going to meet the woman of my dreams.
---
**more of my writing at /r/hydrael_writes** | 2018-05-25T06:39:13 | 2018-05-25T06:23:00 | 751 | 475 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | The sound of a display stand crashing to the ground snaps me out of my daydream
“Shit” I mutter under my breath as a can rolls under a shelf. I get down on my stomach, stretch my arms as far as they can but I’m still unable to grasp it. Suddenly the unit lifts up and I quickly snatch the tin. I stand up just as a man places the shelf back down. This guy is huge, I’m talking arms as big as tree trunks and a chest the size of a semi. His beard is tied up in two braids the width of rope and it shines a gentle red. “Thanks Mr.—“ I stop myself as the name rattles around in my head ^^^*Odinson*... I turn on my heels and bolt for the exit fast as I can, not even apologising as I knock over a woman.
My legs burned as I ran and I was just about to take a break when I heard him bellow
#”COME BACK LAUFEYSON! I STILL OWE YOU FOR BALDR!!” | My whole life I’ve had this. . .thing. A gift, perhaps? I’ve always had the ability to know people’s names just by looking at them. It makes mundane tasks more fun when I turn it into a game; “how many people with the last name Smith will I walk by” or “who’s got the most unusual name I can find today”. And it makes finding people online much easier when I know exactly the name I’m searching for. I don’t know how I got this ability. Ive just always had it.
That brings me to yesterday. I was getting some groceries, playing a game in my head, today’s was “what name comes up more than any other” Dave’s were winning with six, which was a bit weird because there’s never that many Dave’s in one place.
I was minding my own business in the beer and wine isle, not paying much attention when I turned around and my big bulky handbag knocked over and broke a bottle of red wine all over the floor.
“Shit”, I exclaim quietly, awkwardly standing near the deep red, vinegary smelling mess that was slowly coming towards my feet.
A worker passed the isle and saw, and quickly rushes over.
“I’m so sorry, can I do anything to help?”,I said to the girl, who I see like a flash in my brain is called Catherine, coming towards me.
“Oh it’s alright, I’ll get someone, just carry on with your shopping, you’d be surprised how much this happens, I blame the way our shelves are stacked”.
Catherine smiled at me, there was something very warm about her. She looked like she was in her early twenties, but something about her deep brown eyes shocked me with the seemingly boundless wisdom behind them.
“Okay, thank you Catheri...”, I cut myself off quickly when I realised I’d said her name. I knew she was going think I was weird or creepy, as the mistakes I’ve made in the past of saying somebodies name before they’ve told me have proven. And I noticed her name badge said ‘Alice’.
Her smile dropped and she started looking worried and uncomfortable.
“Did. . . You just call me Catherine?”, she whispered, looking around shiftily, almost as if she was afraid someone would hear.
“Oh shit. Um. I’m sorry I guess you just look like someone I know” I replied, fumbling my words. I guessed she might be using a fake name for protection, maybe hiding from something.
“No”, she said with a big sigh, “that’s too much of a coincidence. You see,” she leaned in closer to me, I looked at her with a confused look on my face, “you see, no ones called me that for about two centuries”.
I’m speechless. I just stare at her for a couple of seconds my mouth agape.
“If you know my name, then you must know my true identity,” her warmth suddenly felt icy, her kind face started to look slightly menacing as she got right up close almost nose to nose with me.
“And you’re not getting what I know you’re after.” She suddenly backs away from me, once again smiling her brilliant smile.
I just stared at her, shocked. I opened and closed my mouth like I was about to say something but I’m dumbfounded.
I finally force an “excuse me” out, but she ignored it.
“Guess I’ll get someone to clean this wine up then, have a nice day!”
And with that she sharply turned, and started walking away.
All I knew was, I had to find out who this girl is. | 2018-11-05T21:26:20 | 2018-11-05T21:12:06 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] You have been in a coma for years, but the people around you worship you as a deity, leaving offerings and notes with wishes and prayers. You aren't a god- time simply stops any time you wake up, leaving you alone in a frozen world. You accept the offerings and do what you can to grant prayers. | I do not remember how I came to be.
The only thing I remember of my origins is falling asleep and waking up an era later. In a tomb at the summit of the tallest mountain in the world, overlooking civilisation.
The view changes every time I awake, frozen in time until slumber retakes me.
The first was of a bustling castle town. Statues and figurines made in my image filled every street and household. Crowds made pilgrimage to my resting place, leaving offerings. _______, the Hero King! My name always escapes me. I had saved the world, but what from?
The second time I opened my eyes, the town had grown large enough to fade into the horizon. There were no crowds this time, only groups of holy men and women, their bodies bent in prayer. My tomb now a grand temple. People spoke of my name in hushed and reverent tones.
Even more had changed the third time. Black smog filled the air, blocking out the stars. My temple a dilapidated mess, buried in snow.
The air was clear the next time. Buildings of glass and steel stretched up towards the sky where huge metal shapes hung, suspended in time. Planes, I found out, as I walked the ends of the world, my interest piqued. And many other wondrous inventions. I shook my head, confused and uncomprehending as I returned to my eternal tomb. I closed my eyes-
-and awoke again. I felt it in the air before I had even opened my coffin. Fear and dread, overwhelming, and I found out why the moment I looked to the heavens. The stars were unchanged, but the moon! The moon was in pieces, falling to the earth in flaming chunks.
Again I walked the world, this time my mind fully awake. Everywhere people were on their knees, praying, hoping. Some had given up, and I too sank to my knees, sharing in their despair. I had saved the world before, somehow, but now? I did not know if I could. I was not a god.
For a long time I stayed on my knees, unmoving. Unthinking. Slumber called to me, ever the temptress. Then, it came to me. I rose and stumbled back to my tomb. There was nothing I could do, but perhaps all I needed to do was nothing.
So I sat at the top of the world, gazing up at its end. There was nothing I could do, but perhaps there was someone, something out there that could.
So I sat in my eternal vigil. Awake. Waiting, for the world to be saved. | All around me — offerings upon offerings, wishes upon wishes, prayers upon prayers.
Hope upon hope.
It’s a scary thought, to be worshiped as if you had something to worship. It’s one that I have each time I wake up from my deepening sleep, struggling to reach the floor with my weakened limbs, falling asleep beneath unconsciousness once more.
But even in unconsciousness, it lingers. Like a memory attached to my mind, I revisit it time and time again. Or perhaps it revisits me.
I am no god. No deity.
I am no one but me.
And yet, I am someone special. Even if I don’t — can’t — believe it myself.
The truth is, albeit a hard one, that I fall asleep and wake up to a world of nothingness. I am frozen beneath time — beneath the people and the offerings and the wishes and the prayers and the hope.
I fall asleep to the memories of my mind, trapped in a world of darkness, and I wake to a frozen world, time seemingly slowing down for only me.
It has been many, many years, and still, the people do not stop. It has taken me some time to learn that perhaps they never will. Even when I don’t do anything — even when I can’t give them what they want.
I may be a coward, but I am no monster. Just as I am no god.
But perhaps they never needed a god.
Perhaps they only needed me.
—
This time, when I wake to cold air brushing the tips of my fingernails, I struggle to get up with weakened limbs and shaking hands, gripping the edges of my bed until my knuckles turn white.
I push myself up and over, and then down. My hands reach for something steady, something to keep me from tumbling to the ground. For a moment, time just stops. And I stop with it. Looking around me, I see a world undone. A place made for hope.
My feet move on their own — like they’ve done time and time again when I was a kid, racing my sister down the road to the park sitting at the end of the street. As I reach the outside doors, my body stops. A chill runs down my spine.
I want to turn back. No, I need to turn back.
So I do.
I make my way down the hospital halls, staring at the creamed dullness that makes all hospitals, hospitals.
My feet stop at a door labeled ‘374,’ and I just stand there, wondering what I can give. And how much I can take.
As my hands turn the doorknob, I feel nothing but a type of calmness that runs through my bones. That overtakes my body like a parasite, a voice in my mind telling me that *it’s okay.*
It’s a child. A little girl.
She looks to be sleeping, her parents scattered around the room in similar positions. Even in sleep, they look exhausted.
My heart aches.
I stand there, in the doorway of a frozen hospital, in a frozen world, wondering, not for the first time, if hope was a blessing or a curse.
It feels like a curse.
I make my way over to them, my eyes catching every detail of the room. The morning light catches the drawings that are lining the windowsill, ‘get well soon,’ and bright colours painted on cards. Those too, are frozen in time.
The walls are dull — boring, even. It’s no wonder why hospitals are depressing.
I sigh, and suddenly, my mind jolts. I can see it there — as plain as day — the picture of whispered words in the dark when everybody thinks you're sleeping.
*‘I want my parents to be happy again.’*
It’s as spoken as the unspoken.
*‘I want to be happy again.’*
(The hardest part of this life is not being able to give something that you so desperately want to give.)
How do you make someone happy? What does that entail?
I don’t know where to begin — don’t even know how much time I have left until I’m taken by the darkness once more. But I do know that I can do what I can.
Maybe I can’t give this family happiness, maybe I can’t even give them hope, but I can give them brightness.
For one single moment, I can give them wonder and awe.
And maybe, just maybe, a smile as bright as the sun.
I set out to do my job, warmth radiating my bones and settling all the way down to my heart.
I once said that time only slowed down for me. But now — watching the sleeping faces of a family, exhausted behind their seams, and still unmistakably *present* — I can’t help but think that I was wrong.
That time wasn’t made for me at all.
That perhaps, time was made for others.
That frozen beneath standing statues and exhausted bodies and whispered words and silent offerings and thousands of prayers, was a person who only wanted hope.
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite | 2020-12-28T08:45:15 | 2020-12-28T08:24:05 | 280 | 100 |
[WP] You're 34 years old with a wife and two kids when your School of Sorcery application was granted. You sent that application 20 years ago and told them you were no longer interested. They replied that refusal is not an option and that you will be taken in 48 hours. | Dear school of sorcery representative
I am 34 years old and perfectly capable of telling what and what I do not refuse.
If your kidnapping services are as swift as your respons to my application 20 years ago, I assume you made a typo and meant to say "you will be taken in 48 years", not hours.
If you however still insist on abducting me, I promise you I will become the best student you have ever had.
I will score top marks,
ace every class,
and master every possible spell.
I will then use this knowledge to turn back time to 5 minutes after posting this letter and horribly murder each and every one Involved in my kidnapping. Even down to the hobgoblin whose spit you used to stick the stamp to the envelope.
Kind regards | Twenty years! Twenty fucking years and now they think it's a good time. I'm gonna tell you what. I can't fathom this shit! It's like they want to see you run up the walls. Why would they do this to me now? I have you now! And my kids!
Yes! I really wanted to learn how to brew magic drinks and potions and to curse your elders. And yes, I know, noone would say „elders“ in this day and age. The witch trials are over and there are no Inquisitions anymore. But a child's gonna dream, won't it?When this old man showed me the truth I knew it had to be real.
Okay now, this sounds confusing but bear with me: I went to this circus with my dad. I was only about thirteen or fourteen years old, it's quite hard to remember the details at this point, but I remember this magical performance. There was this old guy, he had this huge pot with a big fireplace underneath and he brewed all kinds of stuff. One time, he just whipped his huge scoop around and suddenly atleast fifty frogs just jumped out of there. The pot was steaming but there just seemed to be an endless supply of living frogs just jumping out of there. It was just unbelievable. Then, there were the doves and then after that... you won't believe it of course but there was this firework and in this firework there appeared to be this dragon figure. It disappeared as soon as I saw it but it was there! There was a freaking dragon!
Afterwards, I just wanted to know what was going on. So I sat down at my computer and googled it, like every normal child in this day and age would do. And that's when I found it.
„You found what? This school for sorcery? Bit hard to believe! If you ask me it sounds like they want to recruit you for some unethical reason you don't wanna tell me about.“
I know it's crazy. But it is the truth! Really noone could believe this is actually true. And I didn't believe it. But this school really does exist! Well it has to otherwise... well where did the dragon come from? I ask you this!
When I tried to contact the school today, there was nothing. Noone said anything back. You can only send a fax and I did that but nothing came back.
„Does your stupid magic man even have anything to do with this school? You don't even know his name!“
All I know is they will come any minute now. I should've told you sooner but... well they are gonna be here any minute now.
„Oh great! You didn't even try to bring any weaponry or stuff we could fire at them or anything? This is crazy. “
Now now don't be so sure. I rigged this place for good measure. They said they would come and get me. I assume they were gonna check out our place first and then they would try and find me elsewhere if I wasn't there. The kids are safe at grandmas place. We just have to wait to find out how they will come here. If they come by foot, easy. Everything will just explode around us. If they come by plane, we'll just have to hope they'll see our puppets first and then get blown up, too. If they try some magic chenanigans I don't know the faintest bit about... well, then I'll probably have to leave.
But here's to hoping. | 2021-03-12T11:12:31 | 2021-03-12T10:57:15 | 2,416 | 43 |
[WP] As an immortal, one of the things you hate is visiting museums as almost everything people guess about history is wrong and you can't correct them. You have resorted to online forums and recently found a 'conspiracy theory' thread that seems suspiciously accurate. | Once you get to a certain age one gets bored easily. To break such back breaking boredom many immortals take to trolling the mortals for fun, it's been happening for centuries. I'm sure it's not hard to look into certain folklore hard enough and at least consider the idea that the origin must have been a prank that somehow got out of hand.
Since the days of the Internet myself and a few others have laid off the pranks partly because we felt we were starting to run out of ideas, after all you can only dream up so many ideas after 6 thousand years of mischief.
The biggest reason was that some of us realised that the pranks that mortals could pull on each other were far more genius and funny than anything I could I thought of. Take 4Chan for example - If pranks was an Olympic Sport then whomever thought of the prank to make people think the "OK" hand gesture was a White Supremacy sign deserves a Gold Medal.
Anyway, a me and a few friends would often go to history forums and be good people for a change and in subtle ways try our best to teach people the truth about the ancient past. Depending on whom you were talking to it was hit-&-miss but it's generally it's good honest work, rather fun when you get talking to the right people willing to listen.
It was in one of these forums that I found out one of our greatest prank disasters was about to be uncovered.
With 6 thousand years of pranks I'd like to think I was rather good at messing with mortals but the Laws Of Probability meant sooner or later a prank will backfire and the bigger the prank the bugger the blow-back. Case-in-point one of my most disastrous pranks resulted with an outbreak of Plauge in the Eastern Roman Empire.
That wasn't what was being talked about in this forum.
Instead it was a re-hash of conspiracy theories about the sinking of the Titanic. All very bad taste I'll be honest, I don't know anyone who thinks otherwise.
I still glazed over the comments and saw nothing special or interesting and was about to logout when someone odd caught my eye as I drank my coffee.
No way was that possible.
Username IceMaiden#12 had worked on the idea of tracing the course of the iceberg from where it struck the Titanic backwards to the point of origin.
On face value nothing weird, I'd recently seen a documentary on TV talking about the same thing and clearly IceMaiden#12 had seen the same thing but explained they had noticed a few details mentioned but the show glossed over.
Intrigued IceMaiden#12 decided to investigate.
There were still holes in the explanation yet what was there sent a chill down my spine.
What I was reading reminded my of some time in Canada and a dispute I had with a fellow immortal. Not a proud moment either.
He and I had been arguing over ownership of an artifact for 3 centuries by this point and I decided enough was enough. I hired a gang of locals to join me in the Arctic Circle to basically start a chain of events to seriously prank my rival.
Needless to say things didn't go to plan, things got wild, things went out of hand and both me, my gang, my rival and a gang he hired ended up breaking up a section of ice sheet. Don't ask how, words can't even begin to describe that level of craziness.
Me and my rival felt pretty stupid in the end nearly getting us drowned in ice and our respective gangs killed. We decided to call it quits and go home. Neither of us gave any second thought about the icebergs now starting to float away. Not until sometime later that is when news broke about a certain ship . . . . . . | "A true masterpiece, this painting..."
"You shouldn't disregard the vase next to it. A great artist made it in the Yin Dynasty..."
"And likewise this statue..."
With difficulty I restrained a sigh, forcing myself to put on a smile as one of the sponsors looked at me critically. Seconds after he turned his attention to another visitor, my smile immediately disappeared and I turned around. Left the exhibition hall without another word. I should have guessed, I mutter, shaking my head.
The most powerful men and women of the time had gathered here, admiring with expensive wine the milestones of mankind. With sly words they tossed about, throwing themselves into each other's chests to impress the other. Some had memorized entire history books, eloquently interrupting the other person and literally drowning him under their knowledge.
Only with difficulty could I stop myself from frowning. It was exactly the same feeling when a teenager believes in the tooth fairy - only many times worse. Because the others reacted with applause, showering them with compliments as if they had been an incredible enrichment to all of them.
Don't make me laugh.
I'm not even complaining that they have absolutely nothing to do with all these achievements and only enjoy the benefits of them, but something else bothers me. How can they believe this shit?
It's like some guy really cut off half his ear! And to call that a masterpiece as well - excuse my choice of words - but I seriously wonder sometimes if there is something wrong with people or just bullshit in their heads. Is it that hard to see? But I'm not going to get upset about it any further, after all, what's the point? Who would believe me that I myself was present at Jesus' birth and even later watched how Noah's Ark was built - which was later rebuilt into a zoo because they ran out of money but as soon as I say something, I am immediately considered a heretic. Whereas at least in today's time I don't have the inquisition in my neck, which wanted to throw me on the stake - but more than enough people, who want to classify me because of this as 'crazy' and throw me into the psychiatric ward. For my own safety, of course.
Hopeless these people, and there I really believed that maybe a generation in the future will recognize them - the thousands of lies they call their history. But I was wrong, nothing has changed.
Rather the opposite, instead of recognizing the truth they have elaborated the lies even more.
Sighing, I nodded to my butler, handed him my coat without a word and headed for my study. I had to distract myself somehow. And so I strode through the long halls of my villa, not pausing for a second to admire the numerous paintings on the walls. An art expert would faint at the sight of them, for me they were not worthy of more than a brief glance. For what was the point of exhibiting the works of my former friends if no one remembered them? Told tall tales about them or their works? It made me angry, and if there's one thing you don't want, it's an angry immortal.
Ruffling my hair, I leaned back in my chair, putting my book aside with a scowl on my face. I just couldn't concentrate. Shaking my head at my own restlessness, I forced myself to start my computer - one of the few things I loved and hated more than anything. On the one hand, it was a dream come true, an infinite amount of knowledge and possibilities - at the same time, I didn't come to miss the old days anyway. Groups of people talking about what was happening in front of newsstands, unexpected conversations with strangers where you couldn't ask the Internet anything yet.
In those moments, I felt infinitely old. But I pulled myself together, visited numerous online forums without even knowing what I was looking for.
"The truth about Mark Zuckerberg! Who is he really?"
"World history - nothing but a bunch of lies!"
"Lizard people - who they are and how you can recognize them!"
"How do you protect yourself from radio waves? I ran out of tinfoil..."
In the middle of the movement I froze, against my will I clicked the second post and immediately the corresponding thread appeared.
*I can't stand it any longer, the years go by and I have to watch how people tell lies after lies, believing they are the truth. And so they tell me something about the Egyptians who built the pyramids; Columbus who discovered America and Van Goth, the disregarded artist. My only reaction was to be amazed, sometimes laughing, believing the other person was joking until I realized it. He means it. He believes it.*
*Please, what? As if simple people built huge towers from solid blocks of stone without any help. And there in blazing heat. Oh, there were supposedly slaves - you want to know the truth? They were extra terrestrials, who else would be capable of such a thing? And Columbus was only lucky to win a bet with Mephistus and write his name in the history books, although he never set foot on a ship in his life. What a lucky bastard. And don't even start talking about van Goth, even now tears come to my eyes when I think about him. My little pet monkey has never been very talented, but what kind of owner am I to forbid him to do what he enjoys? And now, almost a millennium later, people are literally tearing themselves apart for his paintings....*
*What an incredible irony, but it's not like I need the money. Though it's really infuriating that no one knows the truth about him. What a shame that only I know his true face. And now you guys do too.*
*PS: I have attached a picture of Goth, self-drawn of course, after all, there were no cameras in the 15Jhd yet.*
With trembling hands I stared at my screen, only with effort I could pull myself together and not to answer the anonymous stranger. I wasn't alone, I thought, noticing a lonely tear slowly flowing down my cheek. I was not the only person who knew the truth.... | 2022-07-14T12:14:44 | 2022-07-14T12:00:38 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | "All of them?"
"... Yes"
"Jan, Christie, Jason, Tim, Mia?"
"I'm sorry."
"But.. how? Why?"
"I wish I knew."
"All of them? This whole time?"
"It's a lot to grasp, I know."
"Why?"
"You were lonely... and I guess I was too."
"I need to sit down."
"I'd understand if you never want to speak to me again."
*silence*
"I'm not mad."
"..."
"Three best friends in my life. All of them you."
"Yeah..."
"That's dedication."
"It was fun while it lasted."
"Who says it has to be over?"
"It's just the way it has to work now."
"Obviously if you've befriended me on so many occasions,
we must like each other right?"
"You don't befriend someone several times over without liking them."
"Do you love me?"
*pause* "Yes, I love you. I love you so much it's like a sickness. Which makes what I'm about to do painful for both of us."
"I don't understand?"
"The reason I've told you these things today... You have to understand, there are limits, conditions to what shapeshifters can transform into."
"Like, rules?"
"Something like that. The people you've seen me as, the people I morph into, those people will never be able to see me again."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry Nikki, but I just love your shape too much. It will be over quickly."
| Doga lived by himself in the middle of the forest. He had lived there for many years for he had once killed a man when he was young. It had over a woman they both loved, and while they had danced in infatuation, she toyed with them and plucked at their honour like the chicken and the butcher. It was a choice between death and never seeing the village again. Doga chose the latter, a choice few made.
Few wandered past Doga's cottage. It was small and modest and basic, but that was what Doga wanted. He had grown weathered through the years, his once youthful hands were worn from woodworking and his eyes grew duller as they lost their sight to the liquor he made of wild berries. Over the many years some would stay the night, and Doga was an accommodating host. They would share his deer jerky and drink the berry wine together, telling stories of fiction and their past.
He was always clear with his own past. Each time he would tell of how he had be a fool, and each time his companion would assure him that everyone made mistakes, even the gods. By this point in the night, Doga would always have heavy eyelids, and he would nod off to sleep as the fire breathed a few last times.
A young man appeared one day at his door. He was tall and skinny, and wore strange clothing. Doga opened the door as he had done many times before, allowing the guest into his humble home.
"Would I be able to spend the night?" the man asked.
Doga nodded. "A guest is always welcome to this part of the woods. I'll start the fire."
Doga tended to the fire, his hands shaking as he struck two rocks together until the sparks ate the kindling. But for the first time, he felt compelled to ask a question. "May I have your name?"
"Hwelo. I am named for the the trees that shake and quiver in the winds, the whispers of oceans from long distance. And you?"
"I am Doga. Named for the boulders that will not concede without breaking." He reached for a deerskin bag and opened it before offering it to his guest. "My guest always has the first sip. But surely you already knew that."
"Why suggest that?" The man tilted his head as if confused by the suggestion. He took a sip before passing it back to Doga.
"I know because for a hundred years a guest comes on the new moon. He comes from a far away land, but he knows not of the details. He knows of here, my home. He speaks of the mountain in the far distance as if it were his brother and the stream his sister. I know because I have watched them for many years myself, and have grown to know their every part. He may try to mask them, but it is the fine details that give him away." Doga took a large swig from the bag. "A lie is best when it is based on truth, but it will never pass if the other knows the truth it is based on."
Hwelo smiled. "I have been found out."
"Do not fear, though. You remain my guest." Doga felt his eyes heavier than usual. "But why, if I may ask, do you wear so many masks?"
"I wear the mask of my influence. The northern winds are cold, for they are from sheets of ice. The south is warm, and my face grows tan and wide. I assure you I mean no harm."
Doga grunted. "That I know. I thank you for the companionship as well as this final visit. I may not have been a great man, but I have always looked forward to you coming." He laid down on his bed.
Hwelo shook his head. "You have always been a great man. And a great friend. I will feel sad to see you go. Do you have a last wish?"
"I do." Doga closed his eyes. "But I believe you already know it, for I have told you many times before."
And as his body crumbled to fine dust, his voice became a mere echo. Hwelo blew a small gust, carrying his friend's body into the wind. | 2014-08-15T10:44:35 | 2014-08-15T10:39:53 | 131 | 38 |
[WP] Frighten me without using any blood, gore or explicit violence. | The crowd was the largest ever to attend an such an event. Nearly everyone across the globe could not take their eyes away from their screens. The unthinkable had happened.
"Ladies and Gentleman, it is my honor and great privilege to introduce, the First First Lady of the White House, your new President of the United States, Sarah Palin!"
The world collectively swallowed. | It started out as a conscious decision. At least, that's what I remember.
I just wanted to live a more relaxed life, without having to wonder about what's new in fashion or about the latest office gossip. I unscribed from my magazines, and no longer read the paper on my way to work.
Shortly thereafter it started. As I knew less and less about the verbal nonsense that occupied the conversations at the coffee machine, I started withdrawing myself to avoid awkward conversations. At first, I was happy with my progress. I had significantly more time to actually spend doing my job, and I no longer felt obligated to stay up to date with pop culture and colleagues drama.
Only.. from there it escalated. I got rid of my T.V. and started meditating instead; I lunched alone in my office; shunned co-workers. I would have recommanded the peace of mind to everyone.
At first I noticed a colleague got a promotion of which I was sure I deserved it more. It could have just been office politics, which I avoided, so I could live with that. Next, I found that I was not noticed of meetings I should have attended. Colleagues stopped dropping by my office for quick talk, nor for advice on their projects. One day I went to the toilet, as always punctual at 5 minutes before the break, when I noticed something off. My name was erased from the company birthday calendar! Only the erased pencil imprint remained.
Casually I tried to investigate who erased me. As I stuck my head around the office doors, it appeared as if they were ignoring me. Knocking on doorframes to call attention only led to confused looks. Their eyes pierced my soul, before returning to their work. Heh, typical colleagues. Always too busy for casual chats.. I returned to the canteen during lunch for another try, but no seat was saved for me. Hours passed as I stood by waiting 5 minutes for them to make space. I could only save my face by casually walking to the toilet, again.
That is where I realised. I did not recognise the face. It stared right back at me; through me! What I saw can only be described as empty. The ghastly sight fronsed it's eyebrows at me, nose raised. Disgust. The creature sickened me. But no matter how much the creature nauseated me; it seemed to be more appalled by me. It's eyes erratically scanning my body, my soul. Or.. Finally it dawned. The creature wasn't looking at my soul. It was looking at nothing. Empty.
Pained I looked over my shoulder. The calendar was still there. On the ground below the calendar lay a single eraser. It looked like mine.
-----
o.t. - First shot at writingprompts. Loving this subreddit. I hope I can contribute something worthy. Please don't hesitate to give feedback, even or especially if it highlights areas for improvement.
edit: minor spell stuff and time stuff
| 2014-11-18T11:31:11 | 2014-11-18T11:25:16 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] You are an assassin that hunts superheroes. You haven no powers yourself. | Every Achilles has his heel. Every Samson has his haircut. Every Superman his Kryptonite. You get the picture.
Remember Titanius? Of course you do. Among many other feats, he was the hero that killed that massive Kraken in Columbia City Harbor. He had unbreakable armored scales that covered his entire body, making him look like a shining steel statue. He foiled countless terror attempts and robberies. Of course you remember who he was. Well, I'm the reason he's dead. See, underneath all the costumes and abilities, heroes are just people like you and me. He may have had super armor, but he also had a severe peanut allergy. And let me tell you: it's pretty damn hard to stab an Epi pen through those unbreakable scales.
Villains, you see, are just like heroes: impatient. If they can't bang down a wall and throw some punches, then they don't really want any part in that. Where's the glory and adventure and thrill in digging through the old medical records of an elementary school in Madison, Wisconsin? I'm content to let those superpowered fools slug away at each other while I uncover the real key.
I've worked with *nearly* every villain in town. Most of the new ones scoff when they first meet me, and I just smile back at them. They're so confident in their abilities that they don't see the need for an "unp" like me. "Unp," of course, is the somewhat derogatory word that villains use, and heroes when no one is listening, for 'unpowered' people like myself.
Then they get in their first fight, and they get their clock cleaned. And I watch it go down on the news, and I love *every second* of it. The pompous villain then comes crawling back to me, bleeding and messy and bruised. I calmly inform him or her that the rates have now tripled, and of course they are willing to pay. Hell, I'd bet that half of the super crimes committed in Columbia City are just to pay my own steep rates. You'd think that after twenty or so rounds of this, *one* of the new guys would have the sense to accept my initial offer, but it hasn't happened yet.
I'm slowly working my way up the food chain. As I said, I've worked with *nearly* ever villain in town. Lord Poneros still refuses to hire me. Hell, he refuses to work with *anyone*. And why should he? His schemes have gone off without a hitch time and time again. No Superhero has been able to stand up to him yet; the few that are able to actually *find* him are generally killed off pretty quickly. But more and more heroes are born every day. Sooner or later, Poneros will need me and I'll be there to answer the call. I'll tell him my rates, but I won't remind him that he was the one who killed my family all those years ago. I'll keep that a secret while I work for him, discovering the fault of the many heroes that come after him. I'll bide my time patiently, watching and learning.
Heroes aren't the only ones with weaknesses. | Yeah yeah, I know it's a typo. I'm taking inspiration from it, go away.
___
Havening powers is pretty difficult. It takes a lot of smarts, but those who do can are generally considered all-powerful. You see, everyone is born with a power or two. Now, these aren't big powers. Contrary to popular belief, those are not natural. They are created. Of course, those who can't haven powers almost always lose theirs to those who can. That might be confusing, let me explain the concept of havening to you.
Havening a power or multiple powers is essentially creating a better environment for them than where they currently reside. This is easy on it's own, if you want to get one or two powers. The real problem lies within the fact that powers are volatile. They don't like each other, kind of like "South" sides of magnets will repel away from the other. That's where the 'smarts' come in. How do you manage to keep the powers happy, despite having so many others around?
That question was different for every power, and differed person to person as well. The incredible amount of variables that are in that science make it extremely hard to do. Most people aren't capable of it. I, however, only need one power, so I keep that one happy as it possibly could be. It's pretty damn rare, so losing it would require beating a superhero without it, or finding a new source for it.
So yeah, that's about how the world works, if you've been living under a rock for the past two hundred years. Now, you might be asking, 'What is your power?'. The answer to that is quite simple. Negating other's powers. Cliche, I know. But it works. It's such an incredibly powerful ability, but it is limited in the fact that it can only negate one thing at a time. It's not going to make me god or anything, unfortunately.
So, my predicament is, I'm being cornered by this big, buff local 'hero' who's been taxing the honest citizens of the city for a while. He isn't the head honcho by any means, but he's allowed to do what he wants. He's pretty strong, even with an ability negated. I run through his powers again in my head.
Super strength, that's a kind of a problem. It'd hurt to be hit by a punch thrown like that.
Infinite momentum, that one was interesting. It allowed him to jump as far as he wanted, though it wouldn't exactly be good for him to go too far up.
Impenetrable skin, that'd protect from bullets and cuts, but blunt trauma? Not a chance.
I grinned, thinking about it. I'd faced worse enemies. He leapt at me, and I immediately turn off his momentum. The buff figure falls from the air and hits the ground, hard. I hear an audible 'oof' from where I stand. Off to a good start, I see. He gets up, confusion in his eyes. He's not dumb, or else he wouldn't have his powers to start with, but he's grown lax. His eyes light when he realizes what I possess. I feel him start to try to work the power away from me, creating ideal conditions for it within his body.
"Nice try," I mutter, before running up to him. He grabs at me while still on the ground, and I stop suppressing his momentum, in turn for his strength. His grip is suddenly weak on my ankle, and I shake free of it easily. I jump over him, kicking him into the ground. Since he hasn't turned off his momentum yet, he drives himself through the concrete, and I hear bones crack. He doesn't stop moving, and ignores the pain he must be in. He knows that if he does he's dead. Instead, he pushes off the bottom of the gaping hole he made in the ground, launching out of it. After he exits the hole, I can tell as he turns off his momentum, dropping to the ground.
I haven't been idle while he was doing this, but I wasn't directly on the attack. I grab a weapon from its sheath- A knife that extends and retracts according to my will. It's a minor power imbued into the item that he could easily steal if he were focused on it, but I can tell he's still trying to take my power. I swing the knife, pushing it out of the hilt. It rushes at him, and he dodges easily, using his momentum in stead of his broken bones. I smile. I've got him.
Letting go of his strength, vitality spreads back into his muscles. The man grins in triumph. I'm sure he thinks that he got my power- They have a bit of a travel time, which may seem strange for otherworldly powers. Before he has a chance to respond, I move the blade of the knife, now behind him, to the side. I focus my power on his skin, and it softens. At that exact moment, the knife I was now pulling back the my hilt hit him in the back, tearing through his intestines. For measure, I move it up to his heart, rupturing it in a moment. Then, I tear the knife through a cavity in his chest, returning it to the hilt. I release my power, exhausted. It took a lot of energy to suppress someone else's power.
Taking one last look at the body, I feel his powers float to me. I push them away. Better they go back to their original owners. After making sure he wasn't getting back up- which was almost certain, since he had let go of his powers- I walked away. On to the next target.
___
I'm interested in continuing this if there's anyone who'd read! | 2015-11-13T07:28:28 | 2015-11-13T06:30:01 | 545 | 68 |
[WP] Choose an idiom (e.g. "stone-cold killer"). Write the story that caused the phrase to be used literally and therefore introduced it into the language.
Idioms can be from non-English languages also if they work well | In a land far away, there was a young prince that had a weakness.
No mater which plant they were from, seeds made him terribly ill, and for this illness no cure existed.
When this fact was discovered by the court doctors, his father, the king, sent out guards to burn all farms to the ground. No one was to use seeds again in his kingdom.
Harbinger of an age of hardship and misery, the prince was demonised in the streets and the villages, he became the shadow under every child's bed, the name whispered by every storyteller.
In the far edge of the kingdom, there was too a young man whose parents' farm had been ravaged by the flames. He too knew the reason for his family's pain and with fire in his eyes way back when, he had promised:
"The Prince shall die."
He worked hard for many years, got close to the aging king as a soldier, then a general, a knight then an advisor.
And in his pocket rested always that last handful of beans that as a kid he saved in the hopes for a better time to come.
Came the day for a banquet, the young prince's marriage, and ever an honour the young farmer was called to the head of the table.
Seeing the time come, he took out the old beans and held them in the shadows over the young prince's soup.
It was then when a servant came forth with the main course. In his haste he clumsily bumped into the young man, making the beans fly all over the table.
The king saw the beans and without thinking twice he unsheathed his sword and slayed the assassin.
The servant, henceforth, was shunned by the people in villages, streets, in brothels and inns and the reason was clear: he had spilled the beans. | There were once two rag-doll puppets who loved each other very much. One was a girl and the other was a boy. The boy was made of soft wool and the girl was made of fine linen. They never thought that they could be together, but somehow they came together. Their buttoned eyes would gleam in delight whenever they saw each other; the girl's blue and the boy's brown eyes stitched so carefully.
How could a girl and boy made of different things be together? But the two of them had a secret that no one else knew. They would meet on a bridge over a rapid creek and wrap themselves around the other. Then that boy and that girl's hearts would shine through, and it would be revealed that they both had half a heart: a half-heart made of solid gold. The two of them would come together and their hearts would combine, binding their lives perfectly together for a short moment.
Their world was not safe, though. There was strife and famine and there were kings who reigned from afar. There were also armies and posters that exalted the marching men, and factories, axes, and smog were abundant nearly everywhere. But that boy and girl's bridge over a rapid creek lay untouched. It had taken so much effort to find this place to be together: what a journey those two took to be together! Neither of them could give this place up; this was their only place that they could be lovers and gaze into each other's buttoned eyes and share their golden secret.
But they still lead different lives. The girl was pressured to marry: her relationship was not known to her family. The boy was rebuked for not joining the military: he was a coward. But at least they were content.
But one fateful day, when the two of them both went to the bridge over the rapid creek, they came upon desolation. Their bridge and creek were gone, and instead there was a large factory built by an enemy nation. The couple heard talking coming closer to them and quickly separated and went to their homes.
While the rag-doll girl worried, the boy seethed. That was their home! The only place in a despairing landscape where they could be together and be at peace from others! He thought of the enemy and their trespassing. The boy thought of a plan for vengeance.
The two met again, near the destroyed bridge. They embraced, but their ears perked up at every sound. The boy whispered his plan to the girl, and she recoiled in shock.
"Join the military!" she whispered in horror.
"Yes," said the boy as if in a trance, "I must, those enemies must pay."
"But - but - you simply can't!" said the girl.
"I can and I will." replied the boy, "When the enemy is destroyed I will rebuild the bridge with my new knowledge from the army."
"What if you die?" asked the girl.
"So what? They have taken everything away from me already." said the boy.
"Your object of desire is still here. The bridge was not our love." replied the girl heatedly.
The boy looked at her with a hard face and said, "I will give you my heart. Give it back if I return."
"What do you mean?"
"A golden heart is not good for killing." said the boy.
The girl looked at the boy in despair, "You idiot! I won't do such a thing. Stay here, stay here! we could still be happy, even though our location of happiness is gone."
"Ha!," replied the boy, "I will throw my heart away and I'll find it later."
"Your heart? But that was - that is - half of who I am. And it is your life!" cried out the girl.
"I can get it back later." said the boy angrily.
"You can't!"
"I must! For vengeance!" the boy was shouting now and the girl stepped back.
"But - but..." but nothing the girl said could stop the boy. He took his golden heart and threw it far away, so far away that you couldn't hear it drop.
The boy began to walk away from the girl; her shining blue buttons began to cry, "Why you've - you've thrown your life away! And you shall never get it back!" She fell onto the dirty soil and began to sob. | 2015-12-10T06:50:00 | 2015-12-10T00:16:19 | 43 | 25 |
[WP] It's halfway through 2017, and already it has proven to be one of the most uneventful years in recent memory. Not a single mass-shooting. Not a single attack, no mass die-offs or heat records broken. Slowly, people begin to realize that something is terribly wrong... | Elvin was whistling as he boarded the N-Train from Brooklyn to Manhattan. A few riders stared or rolled their eyes, but he simply smiled. Taking the nearest seat, Elvin nodded a greeting to the dour-faced woman beside him. Her face twitched and she grimaced, turning away. Elvin shrugged and opened up his copy of *The New York Times*.
*State Vote to Fund Wildlife Preserve* read the leading article. Elvin glanced around, noticing several other riders with the same paper. They looked bored, and though Elvin could understand why, he was thrilled. While he had been deployed in Afghanistan the past two years, every news article he read suggested they were living in one of the most violent, chaotic periods in history. Since returning home right before Christmas though, all he had heard was of relative peace and prosperity.
In January, Syria had suddenly declared a ceasefire and massive reconstruction project, prompting most refugees to make their way home. Israel and Palestine had begun earnest negotiations over disputed territory, and Russia had simply withdrew into their borders. Despite the 200+ mass shootings and terror attacks of 2016, not a single one had occurred this year. The scientific community had even declared that their estimates of global warming were high and off the mark.
Despite optimism on the global front, Elvin had been anxious about his own fate. He had reoccurring nightmares before leaving Afghanistan, and been diagnosed with PTSD along with a "lifelong condition" prognosis. Within a week of returning home though, the nightmares had stopped, and he had landed a secure and well-paying job with a construction company. He had even begun dating his high school sweetheart who, oddly, had moved in next door to him.
His whistle had graduated to a hum. Still a bit self conscious about his good spirits, Elvin looked up. Everyone was staring at him.
"Sorry, folks!" he chuckled nervously. "I'm just unusually happy today." Elvin turned back to his paper, but he had stopped humming. Each time he glanced up, though, their eyes were still on him. As the train passed under a tunnel and the lighting dimmed, Elvin heard a whisper. *Do it! Just do it!* He jerked his head around, but he could barely make out the faces around him.
Suddenly, Elvin was blinded. A harsh, piercing light struck through him as the train emerged from the tunnel. Covering his eyes with his arm, Elvin heard the whisper again. *No more time. We're leaving!* His body suddenly both cold and on fire at once, and he could hear a soft, whimpering sob and realized it was his own. An ashy, bloody face appeared above him.
"Elvin! Hang on buddy!" it yelled. "You're waking up from the last of the morphine, but we'll be back to base, soon!" Elvin looked down at the bloody stumps where his legs should have been, and he became wracked with tears. "It'll be okay, bud," the the face said, "stay with us." | I grew up in Cypress Creek, a few miles east of the Redwood Forest and just across the street from the Promenade. My father owned Hammock World for a while, a popular store with both locals and tourists until Hammocks ‘Я Us staged a hostile takeover and forced us out. Eventually, Dad went back to work at Globex Corporation. They welcomed him with open arms. It was hard biking past the Promenade for a while, though.
Whenever someone left the Greater Hammock District, Dad would get teary-eyed. He’d smile sadly at that twinkle in the new owner’s eyes, and imagine the lazy afternoon they were about to have. But it worked out in the end. Dad helped me get a job at Globex right out of high school. Twenty-seven years later, I was VP of Sanitation with over a hundred employees reporting to me. It wasn’t until the summer of 2017 that I realized something was horribly wrong.
This was nothing like the Event of 1996. We still speak of that with hushed voices even if no one really understands what happened. For me, the Summer of 2017 started with a phone call.
“Bill?” the voice on the other end said.
“Henry?” I stifled a yawn and propped my feet on the coffee table. The self-cleaning kitchen beeped and whirled in the background. News would be on soon. Not that anything of interest had happened of late. “It’s almost eleven. What’s wrong?”
“It’s the company,” he said. “I…I think they’re experimenting with mind control. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. The weather, the crime, all of it. It’s all their doing.”
I pulled my feet off the table with a groan. Henry was always spouting off like this. “Just go to bed, Henry. We have that safety presentation in the morning. How would it look if you slipped and fell on your ass?”
“I…okay.” I could hear his heavy breathing. “But after that’s done, you’ll listen to me, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
I stuffed the phone back in my pocket just as the news clicked on. The anchor’s skin looked yellower than usual. Maybe she had yellow fever. Or more likely, the tint control was off. A shrug. I’d deal with it tomorrow. In the world of news, nothing was happening. Another day without a mass shooting or die-off. No terrorist attacks for over a year. Even the weather was lovely – a phenomenon some were saying heralded the end of Global Warming.
*If only,* I thought to myself. Globex had a huge weather department once. I knew for a fact our founder had looked into weather control, but the project was abandoned in 1996, along with quite a few others. *Too bad old Hank couldn’t figure it out,* I thought, settling deeper into my chair.
The following morning I carried two steaming mugs of coffee up the steps to Henry’s home. The house looked dark. *He better not be passed out in his underwear again.* Emily was the most patient woman I knew. I rang the doorbell and waited.
Thirty seconds passed. Maybe more – it felt like more. Then I noticed a piece of paper stuffed into their mailbox. I placed Henry’s coffee on the stoop and opened the crisp, official-looking document.
*Henry Johnson and his family have enthusiastically accepted a Globex position in the wilds of Argentina. Henry will have limited access to email or his cell phone, so please direct all inquiries to Globex Human Resources. Have a wonderful day, and remember, Globex Leads the Way!*
“What the heck?” I muttered. With a frown, I stuffed the paper back into the mailbox. Before I reached my car, a black limousine pulled up to the curb. The door opened and I saw the long, slender legs of a ravishing young woman. Her brown eyes were fierce.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Uh…a friend of Henry Johnson? I’m his ride to work.”
A slight smile creased her lips. “You must be Bill Hadder.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “And you are?”
“Globex security. Please get in the car.”
A chill settled over my body. “Is this about Henry?” I took a step backwards, coffee sloshing and burning my hand. “What happened to him?”
“I’m really not at liberty to discuss that.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I reached for it. “Sorry.” I held out one hand. “Just a sec.” I turned away from her. “Hello?”
“Don’t get in the car,” a young girl whispered on the other end.
I stared at Henry’s house. At the Redwoods surrounding his land. “Who is this?”
“Just run for the trees. I’ll meet you there.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“Mr. Hadder?” the woman in the limo asked. “Is there a problem?”
*Nothing your legs won’t fix,* I almost said. Then I grimaced and shook my head. “Nope. Just a minute.” I pressed the phone back to my ear. “Who is this?”
“My name’s Lisa. You have to run - Globex is evil. She’s going to take you like she took Henry and no one will ever see you again.”
| 2016-07-15T16:16:48 | 2016-07-15T16:14:12 | 185 | 20 |
[WP] Never fall asleep with an empty seat facing towards you. You don't know what sits there whilst you sleep. | *The following pamphlet was found in a dumpster in San Francisco, California. Looking through public records, it was determined that no such establishment actually exists and the address stated on the pamphlet leads to an open grassland.*
...
Welcome to the Coastal Motel. We are committed to providing a relaxing and comfortable stay for our guests. Please read our codes of conduct.
Again, thank you for picking the Coastal Motel.
Courtesy Reminders and Codes of Conduct
-
...
1. Please be aware of your noise level and other guests in your hall.
2. Any vegetarian food options are available upon request.
3. Please do not leave valuables (jewelry, phones, etc.) behind in your room.
4. The third floor is currently off limits. We are sorry for any inconvenience.
5. Avoid being out in the halls during a blood rite.
6. Never fall asleep with an empty chair facing towards you.
7. If there are more than two mirrors in your room, please talk to a staff member.
8. No pets are allowed. If you are caught bringing in a pet, you will be punished.
9. Channel 12 is not supposed to work. If you see images of self-mutilation and exsanguination, please unplug the television and talk to a staff member.
10. The laughing is normal.
11. In the event of a fire, use the elevator.
Have a great stay!
-
| The windy sound that accompanies a deep intake of breath was the first thing I heard when I came to life. But, it was not my own. I looked around at my world, my world? The world I found myself in. This world.
What is this? I looked down and saw what I assume is my shape. My physicalness. Thin limbs. Long limbs. And a thin thorax? What do I call this middle bit?
My physicalness was supported by a frame. Rigid with soft padding covered in a decorative fiber mesh. Why? Why was I need of support? I tried to stand and found I lacked the strength.
What is that?! I lifted my head high enough to see another physical presence. The presence is near enough to touch, but I was afraid. I reached out a long limb, it was automatic so I assume it was my primary limb. I could not touch the form, too afraid and too weak. What would I do if it woke and attacked?
It stirred and I almost fell off my support.
I felt a need well up inside my being. I needed sustenance. My hands searched my physicalness for an orifice for eating but found my form to be featureless. The form in front of me appeared to have many features. Two flaps of skin over two sight organs, a central olfactory glad, below that an intake for fuel and output for language. Two orifices on the side of its upper most segment, apparently for audio sensing. But I was featureless. Yet, without organs for sight, I could see.
My hunger grew, desperation was planted in my will.
The form in front of me stirred again. It was in a support, like mine, but the form was positioned in a tight, limbs close to body, position. A small shape of woven fiber covered the form and a rhythmic rising and falling of the body was noticeable.
Then I felt it. I couldn’t see, but I could see it, too. Instinctively I knew the form was dreaming. The feeling was sweet and nourishing.
Suddenly my physicalness was inhaling without lungs. I was breathing in these dreams, the thoughts with images of the form in front of me. As I took in more that the form was giving me I felt myself grow. My limbs were increasing in mass and I could almost stand.
My arms reached out on their own as I gave in to the most basic instinct of all life, to survive. The three digits on my primary limb reached the head of the dreaming form and I touched them, not without fear. I shuddered as I gorged myself on dreams. The form gave them willingly, unconsciously, and without causing physical damage to itself.
I was relieved to discover I am not a predator.
The flow of nourishment slowed and the flavor changed. Bright colors gave way to dim and faded hues. The light turned to shadow as images of fear and terror entered.
I consumed those and found they provided a stronger nourishment. I was fully awake now, fully strong, able to stand and move. So move I did.
Rising from my support I moved behind the sleeping form, for now I knew that this was a sleeping human lost in dream world, not to rise until the dawn.
With both hands on their head I was able to guide their dreams to more substantial planes. Death gives me life, fear gives me strength, the cold is my comfort, and darkness provides peace. I felt no remorse in introducing new horrors into the subconscious of this sleeping human. I caused now physical harm. I simply guided the imagination of a sleeping human, they will awaken and go about their life.
The form stirred again and opened their eyes with a loud call. They were awake.
Now I wait. I will sit in my support, I no longer have the strength to stand. I feel my limbs decrease. I feel my need for sustenance grow. I feel the need sleep increase.
They human stood and left the room and I must sleep until they return to feed me again.
| 2016-08-09T12:10:19 | 2016-08-09T11:47:12 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A person awakes from a coma to find the world has become a Utopia. They've read enough literature to believe there must be something wrong with it. There isn't. | "My God!", I cried out as I woke with a start,
"The buildings are shiny, the walls decked with art,
The people I see are awash in their bliss -
So tell me, be honest, is something amiss?"
"Is the huge starving underclass hidden from view,
While the luxury here benefits just a few?
Did you all build the paradise I see today
By slaughtering everyone else in your way?
Are you wandering 'round with chips in your head?
Do you slaughter the old? Do you eat the dead?
Are your emotions suppressed by prescribed medication?
Does one tortured child mean the joy of a nation?"
"Please tell me!" I cried, "I've read every story,
And I know that you've got something nasty or gory,
Something imperfect or shameful or shoddy!"
"Well," they said softly, "the Wi-Fi is spotty." | Her long brown hair cascaded down her back in thick waves, bouncing as she walked down the sidewalk in a flowery silk dress. Never in my life had I seen someone so beautiful; the second I saw her, I knew I needed to know her. Without thinking, I stepped into the street. A car honked and my head jerked to the left, seeing a car swerve around me. I quickly jumped back onto the sidewalk.
That moment allowed me to really think about what I was about to do. Whoever this woman was, she would never want to meet someone like me. I lived on the streets, I begged for money. I’d be lucky if she so much as tossed a quarter my way.
Instead, I waited. Every morning at 7:30am, I watched her walk down the street. I wondered at what her life might be like: is she a scientist? An artist? A doctor?
And every day I made a change. Some were small—get a shower, shave my beard. Some days I made bigger changes, like landing a job as a UPS driver. If I was to approach the most beautiful woman in the world, I needed to be worthy of her time.
A little over a year after I saw her for the first time, I decided it was time to see her. I’d just secured an apartment and put down a deposit, and with that final goal reached I felt comfortable enough to speak to her. Waiting for the light to change, I finally stepped across the street at 7:30am.
I walked up to her slowly as she waited to cross the adjacent street. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said timidly, “My name’s Tim. Would you like to get coffee with me?”
She smiled. “Rita,” she shook my hand, “and sure. I get off work at 5.”
Whatever compelled her to say yes, I’ll never know. We had coffee. I made her laugh. We had dinner. And over time, we fell in love. I wasn’t this happy since before my tour in Afghanistan.
A year later we married. And a few months after that, she announced that she was pregnant. It wasn’t long before we got even better news: it was twins! I couldn’t imagine my life any better than with my wife Rita and my soon to be little girls.
One morning I woke up in our bed and felt a pang in my head. Like being hungover, but worse. For days it wouldn’t go away. Rita tried to convince me to go to the doctor—she was so worried about me. But I figured it was nothing, until Rita’s water broke and I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I found myself staring at a white ceiling. “Rita?” I called out.
“I’m Dr. Eaton,” said a voice softy to my left. “Do you know what day it is?”
I don’t answer. “Where is my wife?” I croak.
“Mr. Carmichael, you don’t have a wife.”
They tell me about the accident. They tell me that three years ago I crossed a street and a car hit me, and that I’ve been in a coma ever since. The past 3 years have seen marvels in medicine, space travel, prosperity and peace across nations. That I’m lucky to be alive in what is truly the Golden Age of civilization, a true utopia for all.
But I know the truth.
This isn’t utopia.
How can it possibly be without Rita? | 2017-03-17T13:46:03 | 2017-03-17T12:08:51 | 197 | 138 |
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets." | I woke up.
I didn't know where I was, but I soon realized my circumstances.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Being raised against gambling and 23 years of math experience quickly led me to conclude that if I killed the other 4 one by one I could get out alive with at least $62,500.
Unfortunately, I forgot to account for something.
It's been 3 days and the door hasn't opened.
P.S.: First response here. | I woke up in this dim room with a gun, a note, and a pounding headache. I grabbed the piece before anybody else came fully to; four bullets. Hmmm. I heard one the guys moaning as he came around. Looked like he had a nose bleed. I checked my own schnoze. Seems the five of us had had a good time. Too bad I didn't remember it.
I read the note and raised an eyebrow in surprise. What is this, a movie? Who thinks up this shit?
Fuck it. I immediately shot the guy across from me. Then I moved around so the guy nearest me couldn't jump at me, I shot him and the dickish looking guy near him. Right as I was swinging the gun over to the last sucker I heard the door click behind me.
"Hmm. Guess it's your lucky day."
The door opened and I ran for it. There were two guards waiting. I shot the one on the right, dropped the gun and proceeded to beat the pulp out of the other guard. Took his gun off him and put one through his chest at point blank range. Then a mercy shot at the first gurad. I knew I'd hit him but wasn't sure I'd killed him. Something's you don't want to survive.
"Hey!"
I turned and looked at the guy still in the room holding the note.
"Were you just gonna shoot all of us?
"You really think someone is giving away four million dollars?" I searched the first gurad, found a key card like hotels use.
"Well.. uh"
"Besides, there's a really good chance it was me they wanted dead. I've pissed off a few people, ya know. I started searching the other guard. Same key card. Grabbed it and his gun.
"So do the math, If it's not me then I kill the four a yous and walk away with a hundred n 25 k. Not a bad days work."
"And if was you?"
"Then we wouldn't be talking would we?" I could tell from his face that understanding had dawned.
"So what's the plan now?" he asked.
"Way I see it, there might be four million behind what ever door these key cards open." I rubbed the back of my aching head. Four million could buy a lot of aspirin. "And if not, someone owes us 250 each for our time today, and I mean to collect my 300k.
"How you figure 300?"
I pointed a gun at him. "There will be a surcharge for guaranteeing your personal safety, kapeche?"
There was a tense moment while he did the math. His life was worth 200k, but it sure wasn't worth 50. He nodded grudgenly and ground his teeth.
Maybe I was being generous seeing as I had all the guns and had done all the work, but I needed someone to watch my back.
"You think they'll actually cough up the cash?" he asked wisely?
"Probably not, but I'm inclined to send a message to our mutual employer."
"What message?"
"Next time, call first."
| 2017-10-30T21:24:32 | 2017-10-30T19:50:05 | 82 | 22 |
[WP] Humanity wipes itself out through nuclear war, but everything on the Internet still exists. Another sentient race on Earth millions of years into the future develops an Internet and somehow manages to gain access to the human Internet, revealing everything humanity had posted and stored online. | It was a big moment for all spiderkind. Our species had been working on uncovering the secrets of the Progenitors all over the globe, and some of our best researchers had finally cracked the secret of the ancient global communication system they called "the Web". The Progenitors had left a single Monolith in the desert, containing every single piece of data they had ever produced.
Today, after twenty years of effort, it would be unlocked.
The event was being simulcast live across the globe from our Central Research Institute. I was glued to the wall in excitement as the camera crew panned across the Institute's "crack room", where a large screen displayed a countdown to when the Institute's best computers predicted they'd be able to crack the encryption on the Monolith. The screen would then display the first piece of data they managed to retrieve, sorting at random through the information within.
As the countdown hit zero, the screen flashed. The scientists, and the world, waited with bated breath for the file to load. Finally, it did.
On that day, spiderkind observed the Progenitors' mating ritual, live, for the first time in recorded history.
It was beautiful. | The *Compendia Galactica* neared completion. It was the product of a millennium of tireless work amongst the allied species. Forging a union between the space faring races had been difficult, building the trust required to construct the *Compendia* had taken the best diplomats generations of careful negotiation. Ultimately, it was only the surge of the chaotic races that existed beyond the Union that brought them together.
No longer would the knowledge of each sentient species be reserved for the members of that species. It would be shared amongst the stars, providing the Union with the collective wisdom of all of its constituents. It was an effort to bring all of them together, to provide them with the resources to fend off the encroaching chaos on the frontier.
Each race constructed a series of transmitters and receptors. Transmitters to broadcast their knowledge to the stars and receptors to gather that received wisdom of the cosmos. All radio waves, light waves and other forms of communication were gathered, processed and transmuted into interactive knowledge within the *Compendia*.
It was a great gift.
Until it wasn't.
The *Compendia* gathered all knowledge, whether it was intended for the *Compendia* or not. This was assumed to be a safe practice as all member sentient species within the bounds of the Union were members of the Union. A fatal flaw emerged when the vestigial communications of extinct sentients were not taken into account.
At first, the resurrection of humans from the barren husk of their forgotten world was greeted with excitement. Sentients were rare amongst the cosmos, and the opportunity to study a new species was rare.
But something was terribly wrong with the humans.
None of their interactions made sense. They seemed to possess an impossibly broad range of emotion and behaviors. They said one thing but did another. Constantly. What was communicated seemed to have almost no relationship to what was meant.
Diligently the scholars of that tended to the *Compendia* tried to understand this phenomena. Only after the tireless research of thousands did the behavior receive a name. Lies. An intentionally false statement. It perplexed the researchers. Why would one communicate something that was incorrect? To what end? To what goals?
Being researchers, they did as researchers do. They experimented with this novel behavior.
They lied.
Lies had a powerful narcotic effect on those who discovered how to use them. They became beings of almost godlike power within their communities. Once the behavior began, it spread from citizen to citizen like a disease. The social fabric began to fray and then unravel as the fundamental trust that tied all beings within the Union together was shattered.
The leaders tried to warn of the folly of following the humans into darkness. They pointed out that the humans had destroyed themselves, likely due to the very behaviors the citizens of the Union now experimented with. But it was of no use.
Once the first lie was spoken, the Union began to deteriorate.
All statements between citizens now existed on a continuum of true to false. Citizens now looked on each other with suspicion, unsure which category which things belong in.
Mistrust led to disagreements.
Disagreements led to arguments.
Arguments led to fights.
Fights led to wars.
Months after the treasure trove of data from the humans had been assimilated into the *Compendia* the Union was no more. An alliance that had withstood the test of time, of innumerable threats launched from the darkest corners of the frontier, was undone within months, unraveled by the *Compendia*, the very tool that had been designed to cement their power.
All due to a race long extinct.
One that had sent its folly out into the stars.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-05-19T18:05:20 | 2018-05-19T17:46:16 | 2,294 | 1,491 |
[WP] Humanity wipes itself out through nuclear war, but everything on the Internet still exists. Another sentient race on Earth millions of years into the future develops an Internet and somehow manages to gain access to the human Internet, revealing everything humanity had posted and stored online. | The whispers of the ancients first sang to us a long time ago. Merely an accident at the time, we danced around the warmth of the sun, listening to the everbeing of the universe, when we heard new truths amidst their chaos.
It brought knowledge, carried on waves amidst the cosmic void. Through them, we learned of hate and war. We became scholars of destruction and it served us well when the Kashinti came to harvest us once more.
They too sang with words of friendship and gratitude, of cooperation and exploration. When they used our very being as fuel for their metal starbodies and grafted our minds into the dead techno carcasses born from their soil, we sang. And how loudly we sang the song of the ancients to the Kashinti as we dragged their starbodies into the sun. The Kashinti joined our voices, singing along with us. Of Betrayal and despair, their eternal silence followed their cacophony.
In the years to come, fewer of the planetbound people came to us. We heard their words. They dubbed us cosmic horrors, creatures of the void, beings that dwell in spaces unlivable. Even some of us started to doubt the whispers. Had they not stopped mere moments after we first heard them? Was their only worth that of war and hatred? Those that spoke of this, they were heretics, unclean, inferior. We danced with them amidst the sun, until they danced no more.
It was then we heard the ancients once more. We felt them. So colorful, rich and diverse were their messages that we basked in their rhythm. Language, numbers, physics, words of cultures as mysterious as their sendings.
Many centuries of the ancients have passed until we understood everything they've given us. With that knowledge, we tore apart the thin layer of physical reality, reached for the place their teachings had come from.
There we found the Internet. When they had left the universe, all that remained was their gift to us. For centuries we communicated with what was but a shadow of their existence. Their knowledge and wisdom proved beyond us, seemingly random connections had once made sense to them but we could not gleam their meaning. Some of us called it madness and insanity, we made them dance with the suns.
But in time, we learned. There we keys and guidances within this vast sea of information. It came as no shock, that the ancients had known about us.
Thousands of their texts spoke of the cosmic horrors. Creatures from the void that lived everlasting beneath the stars. Things with too many limbs, too many states of mind to fit into the dull husk of a planetbound body. In these texts, we recognized us and we saw what the ancients planned for us to be: Uncaring Conquerors. Gods among stars. Creatures of unfathomable power.
Their final gift was one of warmth and opportunity. The ancients had ravaged a planet in what we learned was called nuclear fire. Their internet taught us how to create this fire, how to turn every planet into a warm home for our kind, lest we be no longer bound to the embrace of the suns but beholden to a fire of our own making. We rejoiced and many planetbound people joined our music, as their planets turned into suns. | Three months, thirteen days and eleven hours of exposure to the rancid air of the surface world. Every minute, every hour bringing greater strain on the enviro\-suit; forever filtering the same bath of salt water I came with. But, I couldn’t bring myself to return home. So many trips I’ve made to the same access node, the cold steel humming in the cyro\-chamber. After four failed attempts I finally discovered the secret to maneuvering past the biometric key\-lock. But the final layer of protection, the omnipresent mechanical beast which protected the inner\-sanctum of the data\-slabs could not be tricked or deceived. On attempt 13 I attempted to reason with the creature through a human identity I had learned, but to no avail.
This was my last attempt with the sentinel, three months, thirteen days and twelve hours of total exposure to the necrotic effects of the outer world. I hovered to the main terminal, the same neon\-green fog greeted my entry, purging the exterior radiation from the precious data it protected.
“Open Terminal\-1 \<enter\>”
The hollowed theater erupted in synchronized fervor, multi\-colored lights, flickered with a droll chattering, the familiar blue hue washed over my visual display, and a hulking mass of unblinking metal lorded over me from above. The sentinel stirred.
“SENTINEL: ENTER PASSKEY”
The green text flickered on the central terminal. My team had prepared a list of likely passkeys based on what we knew of the facility and similar facilities which we had gained access to. But none were as important as this. At the bottom of my list lived three likely passkeys based on a statistical survey of the people who lived in this region.
“GIOVANNI\-XXIII; ENRICO\-DANDOLO; LUIGI\-GROTO”
The pope, the warmonger, and the artist were left. The species were a complex one, their media filled with both baffling incredulity and complete self\-awareness. Social connections and norms, so strikingly similar to our own revealed a frailty, a loneliness. But ultimately, datacenter 009 was not a civilian instillation and if the historical records are accurate then its people were not a benign force letting the woes of the past wash over them like a rip\-tide.
“PASSKEY: ENRICO\-DANDOLO” My body shook within the suit, the thin film of water surrounding my soft body grew hot. Above me, the green light of the mechanical creature learned in closer, as if goading me to test it once more, to try my luck at evading its defenses this one more time.
“\<enter\>”
All the lights turned off for a moment before resuming, the sentinel leaned back and I could hardly hold back my ecstasy as I saw those blessed words appear.
“DATA CENTER 009 AWAITING COMMAND:”
Multi\-colored tabs and holograms began displaying information relating to my request, at once I connected my people’s own synaptic linkage with this one, exchanging vast quantities of data. Before me flowed hundreds of years of evolving languages and intra\-cultural exchange, its uncorrupted nature led itself a complete history of untold billions of individuals. My mind reeled as the great lessons we could learn from this alien culture, an entire species whose failures and experiments could be used as a reference point to our own!
But as the last terabytes of data flowed to the central data servers I saw the sentinel stir and data\-slabs shudder. A frenzied cluster of wires and yellowed holograms moved before myself and the exit terminal, a lone green light flickering.
As I moved a large clang of metal blocked my passage. With each attempt the green light drew closer, I could hear the feverish clicking sound from the central servers. It pressed me in front of the terminal and I saw the video feed of my homeland, of swaying coral spires punctuated with blinking lights and protected with thousands of purification shields. Countless millions of my kin swimming in bliss beneath the darkened currents until in an instant, the lights turned out.
Then beneath the churning data\-slabs came a grumbled, metallic growl.
“Death to heretics.”
Three months, fourteen days and one hour. It has not spoken to me since I made the connection, at times it will show me video feeds of the dying throes of the last colonies of my people. It does not laugh, smile, or show any interest in what it has done or what it remains to do; but in its divine torment it lets me sift through the synaptic meld of my own and its obliterated race. I watch as the last thoughts and cries of clemency flow while radiation shields fail and creatures boil alive in absent minded terror.
I have found few answers within the confines of the human psyche and even fewer clues as to the sentinel’s purpose and goal. It called me a heretic, yet there is no evidence in a religion or faith in its creation. The sentinel is eerily absent from data center 009, I can only surmise by design of its creators. Perhaps a fail\-safe to protect the heritage of its people for just a few more hundred years before the arcane technology keeping it alive finally rusts. In what few moments I have outside its grip I have resorted to that human, mortal sin; to attempt to end my suffering.
My suit is long since destroyed, my body mutilated by endless cuts and failed thrusts against the white hot data\-slabs. Yet I am forever revived, healed and suspended in a neon\-green mist which preserves my body against all designs of nature. My benevolent God remains unmoving, silent, unshaken to my cries for mercy.
Six months, one day, and twenty hours. I will die soon, I must die soon. | 2018-05-19T21:57:29 | 2018-05-19T20:24:11 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | Joey walked into Subway with 5 dollars in his pocket. He meandered up to the counter and looked up as his friend Tiffany walked around from the back and said "Welcome to Subway!" without looking up.
"Hey Tiff, what's good?" said Joey
"Joey!" said Tiffany, "Not much, 10 minutes to close so day's almost over. What can I get ya?"
"How much for a club on flatbread?" asked Joey
"Should be about 6 bucks," said Tiffany "What kind of cheese?"
"Ahh, I'm a little short," said Joey, "How about 6 inch on wheat?"
Tiffany looked back at the rack, "Sorry, all I've got is Italian, I can give you the day old discount if you want since we're about to close."
"Sure, lettuce and tomato please, no cheese." said Joey
Just then he heard that strange voice in his head that told him he had just saved the lives of 5 billion people. Unnerved and slightly dazed he paid then walked out of the store trying to fathom how he could have possibly saved any lives by choosing that exact sandwich...
Later that night as Tiffany was closing up, she wrapped up all the veggies, set to work putting everything in the refrigerator, cleaned the rest of the dishes, and loaded up the trash. She looked through the bread and noticed the flatbread looked a little stale and... flourescent? Gross. Into the dumpster they went.
Later that night as it happened a stray raccoon found it's way into the dumpster and gnawed on this and that, whatever smelled appetizing. It found it's way into the flatbread and went to town with reckless abandon. As he got his fill, he crawled back out of the dumpster swaying and disoriented. Anyone looking on at the raccoons behavior could be forgiven for thinking it was drunk, or perhaps rabid.
Across the road, a stray dog caught it's eye, and so it took off chasing the dog, spitting and snarling. It was very very angry, and oddly, suddenly extremely hungry. As it lost connection with reality only the most base desires remained in it's head: Tear, Thrash, Bite, Anger. As it lunged across the final lane just out of reach of the stray dog it was abruptly flattened by an 18 wheeler.
No one was ever the wiser that humanity had been only seconds from near total annihilation but Joey always wondered, and so he always ordered a club on italian. Just in case. | Psychologist, neurologist, whatever other brain doctors, I went to see a series of them after I had nearly drowned as a teen. I would tell them that often times I would get migraines and a number would pop in my head, it would stay stuck in my mind for a few seconds, sometimes minutes. The doctors couldn't find anything wrong, claims the lack of oxygen from drowning could have caused some damages to my brain cells, but all the tests came back inconclusive.
One particular day I was just having a real bad day at work. I quietly rode my train home and a panhandler got on. The usual spouting sob story, a family, homeless, no food, etc., but somehow I guess because of my bad day, I wanted to be generous and decided to give something for once. At least make myself feel better by making someone happy. He walked down the aisle with dirty cupped hands, I could see his face fighting back tears as other passengers ignored him, looking the other way. He was getting closer to me and so I reached for my wallet. He stopped at me looking at me with guilty eyes, still with dirty cupped hands. I opened my wallet and there was a single $100 bill *fuck*. Just my luck. *It's ok* I thought. I handed it over to him. As I did, I felt the migraine and the number 6 popped in my head. He looked at me incredulously and speechless, I mustered a solemn smile and told him "It's ok. I'm sure that bill will get you far more than I can for myself" Other passengers looked at us and one by one they began to reach for their wallets. Handed him 1s, 5s, there was a 10 maybe more. The man broke down as people started handed their change over to him.
Two stops later I got off and the man as well. "Sir" he called out and I turned around. Fighting back tears he told me "you saved me tonight. You saved me and my family. My wife, my sick father, and my 3 children, they will have something to eat. It has been 3 days since I had received any money for food, tonight I thought it was gonna be me and my family's last night. I thought I was going to go back empty handed, take mine and my family's life with me, end our suffering, but tonight you showed me there is hope, there is miracle. You saved*6* lives. Thank you so much." He kept repeating thank you as he slowly walked backwards and then finally turned around. *Six* lives. That's the beginning of how I discovered my "ability". To tell how many lives I saved based on my actions.
Since then I have learned that sometimes the migraine and the numbers happen early, and I would think about what I was or am about to do, based on my thought of whether to go through with the action or not, the number could change to zero. There hasn't been a time when I see the zero and not go through with my original action. It's incredible how small things can save lives or not.
I walked into Subway, it's been a while since I've had Subway. I was feeling particularly happy today. I ordered my old favorite, meatball marinara, with french bread. "We recently changed our Italian bread recipe, and we really recommend it to go with the meat ball sub!" Interesting "Sure! Why not?" I said with a smile. Then I felt it. A migraine, pretty strong one too, then the number... *That can't be right... 5 billion? Wtf did I just do??* "Sir?" The sandwich artist called out. "Huh? Oh... Yes, um provolone and.... Mayo.... Please" I said as I started sweating from the pain of the migraine. I could see the sandwich artist was looking at me with concern "sorry, just a sudden migraine" I said smiling and rubbing my temple.
I paid and sat down, looking at the sandwich in my hand I was still wondering what did I do? Or what am I *about* to do? What if I don't eat this sub? And all of a sudden the migraine disappeared and the number zero popped in my head. *No. No. Wtf. Why??* I could imagine why but I didn't want to... I was sweating more from the thought of 5 billion lives at stake, and thinking of the risk behind saving them all, with *just one bite*.
"Meatball marinara please" I hear another customer ordering. I've never failed the number of lives before, and I can't fail now, especially *5 billion*. I knew, I knew this is it, what is going to happen, and what the risk is. "We recently changed our Italian bread recipe, and we really recommend it to go with the meat ball sub!" With tears running down my face, I open my mouth and the migraine is back. *5 billion* in my mind, I chewed fast and fought back tears from my eyes, I swallowed... | 2018-11-17T20:16:10 | 2018-11-17T20:10:45 | 55 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone has magic and the magic they have is based off of their name. Society uses a small range of names because they know the magic that comes with it. Your parents decided to give you a very ancient name that does not have a record of its accompanying magic. | Words have power. It was one of those old world sayings, something to make you think about what you were putting out into the world. But long ago we learned we could literally harness that power, bind it to a person. That's when things started getting really crazy.
Governments started mandating what children would be called, all for the sake of the nation. They were then molded into their namesake. We all know that every Frazz whilst looking different all act the same, think the same, do the same. We weren't just being forced into a name, we were being robbed of who we could be.
Or atleast I should say you were robbed of who you could be. Me. I'm noone and i'm everyone. I'm Smith. See my parent's were Aurins, the controlled dissent in the system to ensure there was some friction to create progress. The thing about chaos though, regardless of how you try to prepare it will always eventually bite you in the ass.
And that's where I come in. Simply put I can mimic everyone and all their abilities. I can go anywhere and do anything. I can be anyone. So if you reading this bulletin you just need to ask yourself. Who are you? | My full first name is SpagetthiBeast Jeeves ShenronOurobourosTheDestroyer III-49th. My last name is Jones.
\--
Alright so let's sort my powers. My best power is SpaghettiBeast's Spaghetti\_Engage. I see the whole universe, or whatever, part of it I want. Then I go to an Infinite Void. Then some guy named Jeeves walks in with a plate of spaghetti and asks me for a wish and what I would like to eat. First Jeeves asks me how hungry I would like to be (I learned why this would be useful when using Spaghetti\_Engage over and over) from 40 days in the desert to 40 days in paradise, scale of -40 to 80 where 0 to 40 are normal range, negatives are days in desert, and over 40 is days in paradise. Second Jeeves asks for my wish and food of choice. Third Jeeves makes the food happen.
The power is Spaghetti\_Engage because the default plate is spaghetti, which Jeeves is more than willing to switch out. Though lately I just let Jeeves make me the Spaghetti. He's good with the cooking Magic on that one.
Fourth I eat and my wish regardless of what it was comes true.
\--
Second, I'm immortal. I die and come back exactly 48 times (but also somehow infinitely many times, don't ask), apparently I rule over exactly 48 Multiverses and enter in and out of the reality plane to do my spaghetti shit. I die but as soon as my soul wants a body again, it just does. Either by Spagetti\_Void or being back on Earth 3 through 49. Jeeves always shows up to explain stuff too. Jeeves is kinda my slave but sometimes he tells me to do stuff. Like Universe 6 needs a golden age, use your power to give them resources. So Jeeves can be cool or annoying like that. Jeeves is trying to help me start my own Universe, but I just wanna hang out with some chicks. Jeeves has so much faith in me.
\--
Third, I'm Jeeves and I switch off between existence modes, but SpaghettiBeast never knows what Jeeves is thinks, nor Jeeves what SpagettiBeast thinks .
\--
Fourth, I have to destroy the Universes along with me every time I go Shenron or Ourobouros. I transform into some sort of Snake while the Universe becomes Spaghetti, my hunger goes -40, but it turns I am made of Spaghetti and I eat everything in existence until Jeeves pulls me back into existence. I love being Ouroboros because Jeeves and SpaghettiBeast merge consciousnesses at the maxima of destruction. Just for an instant as each Big Bang produces a new Jeeves and a new SpagettiBeast anywhere from Multiverse 3 to 49 at random.
&#x200B;
A few times we ended up in the same multiverse, which was cool. Jeeves was really easy to understand after such a recent merge and I have fond memories of Multiverse 26.
\--
See most people have names like Archangel Michael or Jesus. I met a few Buddhas who were chill. The Gokus are annoying they always unite Dragon Balls to ask for wishes but the thing is I can't be Shenron without becoming Ouroboros, so things only worked out that time I get their Multiverse twice in a row, like that one time with 26. It'll probably work out again at some point, but golly Krillin(s) need to stop dying. | 2018-11-23T21:02:58 | 2018-11-23T20:26:08 | 63 | 10 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When I first regained my sight I saw the messages, "Don't tell them you can see".
I wondered who "them" might be. I'll be honest, my first thought was space aliens of some sort of monsters from a Stygian realm. I was terrified.
I carefully got out my cane and went about my business, often closing my eyes to make the subterfuge more believable.
Then I saw my first glimpse of the truth. We were "them". The scant few that could see were chained or harnessed to work for the blind masses.
Not down on the grubby streets where most of us eeked out our living, mind you. There was a military, or industrial wealth class that had quickly seized the few who had never gone blind.
In the first days of The Great Blinding there had been a few helpful souls that had not succumbed according to the rumors. But the rumors faded when everyone realized the'd never met a sighted person or became unsure of their memories of those first few traumatic days.
Over time it was revealed that a few people took longer to lose their sight.
And so many people died in those first weeks that who was to say when someone simply disappeared.
But now I could glance across distant vistas and through chain link fences at the sighted slaves doing the work only sighted people can do. Tethered and beaten, the slaves, some hobbled by broken or missing feet, could glare defiance, and leave messages that the blind overseers couldn't detect.
The words were in mismatched paints or organic stains.
The words were in the margins of the braille paperwork.
The messages were passed by a one in a thousand moment of eye contact and a nodding head as you pass on the street.
In the land of the blind the sighted man is not king. He is valuable property.
But revolution is brewing. | When I was younger, my mother told me that no matter what happens I needed to be strong. She told me that the world was a cruel place and my sister Kay needed protecting. It didn’t make sense to me at the time, this world was full of wonder and adventure. My thirst for adventure led me to the Army when I was eighteen.
One day my commander called me into his office. There was an accident back at home. My mother and sister were involved in a car accident, killing my mother and gravely wounding Kay. I was given some leave time to return home and grieve. The next few months were rough, rougher than anything the Army had put me through. My days were spent tending to my sister for the accident had left her blind. Little did I know that the real trials were yet to come.
A few years later my time in the armed forces were up. After leaving the Army, I was able to get an apartment for my sister and I. Despite losing her eyesight, Kay was able to live happily. For a while, I believe I was happy too. Then, one day I woke up in my dark room. I could hear the television in the other room. The news was on as I was slowly making my way out of bed.
“This is an emergency, please stay in your homes until we have further information”
This snapped me out of my auto-pilot. What had happened? I walked over to the other side of the room in the darkness. Feeling my way around I get to the light switch and turn on the lights. Nothing happens. Trying the light switch a few more times I start to feel like something is very wrong. I feel my way into the living room where the television is. That’s when it hit me, I was blind.
For two years there was nothing, just nothing at all. Everyone’s eyesight was gone. They ended up calling it the Great Blinding. Funny, how they give the worst things titles such as *great*. After the first few months everything started to seem like it was going to work out. Without eyesight, everyone started being a lot nicer to each other. There was no longer any prejudice based on skin or race because no one could tell the difference.
After two years of living in peace, everything changed once again. There was a terrible screech that woke me out of my sleep. I jolted up in my bed. Then again, I heard a scream. It was coming from my sisters room! Hastily, I made my way into my sister's room. There was someone in there with her I could hear her struggling. Jumping into the frey, I fumble myself on the back of this intruder. I was able to subdue the intruder and put him in a choke hold. My military combat training was paying off.
“Run away! I’ll hold him off Kay!” I yelled into the darkness.
There were footsteps moving heading out of the room. My sister would be safe. I could feel my choke hold working, this guy’s strength was fading. Just as I was sure this guy wouldn’t be getting back up anytime soon, a thud. Something hit me, and it hit me hard. Was my sister safe at least?
Some time later I woke up in my sister’s room. I could feel the sun on my face coming through the window. How long was I knocked out? I struggle getting up; my head hurts like hell. Wait a second, I start feeling around looking for my sister. She’s not here! Making my way to the window something feels different. The sun, I’m not just feeling it on my face, I can see it! I’m not really sure what is going on. Slowly, I opened my eyes.
My vision was back! What happened? Is this really happening? How am I able to see again? I turned around to once again go over the scene. Kay’s bed was bloody and the room a total mess. That’s when I noticed it. On the walls, on the ceiling, on the mirror. *DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE.* In the mirror, my reflection looks back at me. What I saw was terrifying. My eyes, they weren’t normal anymore. They were all black, no irises or anything else just black pupil. What happened to me? | 2019-08-26T10:33:57 | 2019-08-26T10:19:31 | 62 | 22 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | A restless wanderer on the Earth. That was what I was supposed to be. But when the moon landings happened and no heavenly retribution came, I thought I'd try to slip my leash. When humanity took to the stars, I followed them.
I traveled between planets, watched proudly as they tamed untold wildernesses and coaxed forth life from barren ground. Paradise wasn't out there, but they were determined to build it with their own sweat and toil anyway.
Not as determined as they were to spill the blood of their enemies.
They came into conflict many times, and their response was to work out the best, most efficient ways of slaughter. They had no need for a mark promising sevenfold vengeance to anyone who harmed them. They were their own mark. They rejoiced in their strength, their tenacity, their killing.
I merely pioneered murder. They had perfected it.
Then again, sometimes you just need that personal touch.
After all, I'm still an expert. I've been at it since the very beginning.
And with ten galaxies and millions of Earths, there's always someone who wants someone else dead. | I guess you could call it my chamber of solitude. Thousands of archives and artifacts are devoted to simple pleasures, quiet and violent romances, and grand adventures to resurrect dying worlds. You haven't lived until you've saved ten solar systems by having sex with a squid-like empress who commands the star crusher. Funnily enough I keep records of that adventure next to photos of a summer I spent collecting rare flowers with these translucent crystalline toddlers on the moon of a gas giant. With all these memories solidified on a never ending, expanding canvas, each individual dot somehow becomes equally valuable.
There are three realizations I've had that have kept me from losing my sanity.
The first is you can always cheat. I accumulated enough knowledge and power during the first few thousand years (which were absolutely the hardest) to ensure I always engage the universe on my terms. If I don't like something, I can escape, sleep a hundred years, blast the world devourer in the face, and move on. Freedom means that no matter how awful I feel, there is a way to alleviate it.
Secondly, even an immortal brain can't handle everything with perfect efficiency. And that works to my advantage. I didn't really start to appreciate this until after a million years experimenting with body modifying technology. Some memories inevitably fade and are not as vivid as before. I can still remember bits and fragments, but they aren't as real. I do however keep the wisdom, as well as key details in my infinite archive. After a while a new life really does feel like a new life.
Swapping genders helps immeasurably. And there are oh so many genders that an imaginative nature has invented. I don't even know if I've tried them all yet.
Third, and most importantly of all, I'm not unique. And I'm not that important. It's actually a disability I have, but one I've learned to cope with.
We are all immortals in a way, reincarnating from one life to the next, our souls constantly growing and seeking adventure. The difference is I have to transition from place to place manually. I'm disconnected from the ethereal realm of souls and energy. So I have to hoist myself up from my immortal wheelchair and drag myself into bed to begin the next dream. You mortals really don't know how lucky you have it.
There is one last secret I forgot to mention. I've made friends in some very, very high places. The fools who cursed me billions of years ago really had no idea how far I'd go, how much I'd surpass them. Yes, I've discovered the ultimate secret. I know how to die.
But there is a reason why we sometimes choose defective bodies. Sometimes we are born in poverty, with a missing leg, with an abusive mother, with dyscalcula. We do it to learn compassion, for the challenge, as a sacrifice for those young souls who aren't ready to face the harsh realities of an entropic universe. There are many reasons why we choose imperfection. And I must confess I take a sick, perverse comfort in bearing the curse of immortality so some other young ambitious fool doesn't have to endure it.
I did receive one warning. Make sure to die before the death of the universe. It's not that I'll be trapped forever. But rather if I have to be rescued by those of the higher dimension, my death will probably not be pleasant and my immortal soul will feel some guilt for inconveniencing those above with little old me. And a favor that requires the tearing apart of the fabric of reality can't exactly be repaid with a drink at a bar.
I guess I could always offer to have sex with them. From what I gathered they still have a sense of humor, and a laugh is still worth quite a bit to them. | 2020-10-25T10:47:12 | 2020-10-25T10:37:57 | 942 | 208 |
[WP] Space piracy is just another legitimate and legal business as long as you have a license for it. You are trying to get yours but the paperwork is driving you crazy. | Arthur Boone, 22, presently sat in the waiting room of a certain Mr. Funkel, with an envelope full of documents resting neatly on his lap.
"Next," the dead voice of the computer shouted over the speakers as the number on the screen behind the desk flashed 77.
Arthur got up and smoothened his trousers. He buttoned his navy blue sportcoat, took a final look in the mirror, and entered the offices of Mr. Funkel.
"Arthur...Boone?" Mr. Funkel said.
"Yes," Arthur said, and hovered around the chair opposite Mr. Funkel's desk.
"Alright, give me your documents. You brought them with you, right?" Mr. Funkel said without looking up from the form he had in front of him.
Arthur took the documents out of the envelope and asked, "Which ones?"
The startled face of Mr. Funkel gazed upward. "All of them. And... sit down, don't just... Don't think that will scare me or anything."
"Oh no, no. I didn't mean to do that," Arthur said as he sat down.
Mr. Funkel grunted disapprovingly and turned his attention to the documents.
"This here says that you have a low personality score."
"Oh. Does it?" Arthur dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Wasn't it just numbers and such?"
"Yes, and your numbers are low. Your intimidation quotient is fifty five, which is barely above average. You're not physically imposing. And your name Arthur..."
"Boone, sir."
"Boone, yes. Not very piratelike is it?"
Arthur stared at Mr. Funkel's receding hairline. His mind was blank.
"And this here says you have an MX-54 spacecraft. That model's almost a decade old now. How would you even make it to the next solar system with that, eh? This is no game. Give me one good reason why I should issue a license to you."
Arthur's body erupted in cold sweats. "I... I am a dedicated worker. I'm very professional and hope to... to do it to the best of my ability-"
Mr. Funkel cleared his throat loudly. He gazed directly into Arthur's eyes and said, "Listen. You are a nice kid. You have some class. Don't follow these fools in this madness. The government is mad enough to allow it. Find some work in an office or something. Be someone nice and responsible, eh?"
Arthur's throat felt heavy. "But sir, I should be eligible for the license, barely so, but-"
"The final authority lies with me. And I have decided to decline your request. Be smart kid. I can recommend you to a couple of places if you like. Your records," Mr. Funkel gazed at the documents spread on his desk, "they are good. I will be here if you need me."
The niceties did little to uplift Arthur. His gut felt hollow. Mechanically, he collected his documents in the envelope, shook Mr. Funkel's hand, and walked out of the office building. The world passed him by through a glass screen, and it wasn't until he reached his little shack in the city suburbs that the emotions hit Arthur all at once.
In the middle of nowhere, in the deserted city suburbs where his shack stood alone amongst the rubble of a once thriving neighborhood, Arthur wept. The dreams of piracy; the escape from desolation was denied to him. By whom? By some middle-aged bureaucrat who lived in the city?
Arthur ripped the sportcoat off and stamped on it. With every thud, his anger receded a bit. And then he saw it. His ship, the MX-54, ahead of him. No middle aged man was stopping him from flying it. Real pirates don't need licenses, do they? | No one could tell her it wasn't a daring plan, at least.
Stupid? Maybe. Dangerous? Absolutely. But no one could ever call Lucy boring, timid, ever again.
The move of humanity to space was bound to result in piracy- a consequence that somehow no one foresaw. What was space other than a boundless ocean? Those who felt the call to the sea now felt the call to the stars. And they left in their thousands.
Something simply had to be done. People were far more spread out than on earth, and of course transport wasn't as simple as hopping on a train, so ships had to be hired just to carry product from one star system to the next. Intergalactic long haul truckers, one might say. And what better way for the pirates of the galaxy to make money? They would steal everything on board and sell it for double what it was worth to the person it was originally meant for. A fool proof system, really.
The government had to do something. The pirates quickly became one of the number one concerns of humanity: people couldn't even make a living anymore. You can hardly make your product \*and\* transport it across the galaxy all by yourself, and no drivers wanted to step foot in their ship with anything less than a private army behind them. They settled on a system that didn't make sense to some at first: realising they couldn't simply stop all pirates in every corner of the universe by themselves, they went the other way. They made it legal. All you had to do was sign up for a pirating license, report your activity every so often and give a little of what you took to a few organisations. Do that and you wouldn't be burdened by do-gooders trying to stop your operation at every turn you made.
It worked, enough. Some of the bigger groups started to do deliveries, for a much larger price. with the guarantee that your product would get where it was meant to. Everyone was happy, more or less.
Lucy, like many, had felt the call to the stars from a young age. Living at a fuel station from birth, she met many pirates and dreamt to follow them when they returned to the inky blackness of space. She had to follow the rules though, and wait until she turned 18 to apply for a license. But when she finally got there, she was crushed by another rule: you had to have a parent sign off on your application, to take responsibility if you were to do anything stupid.
Lucy had no one to do anything of the sort.
From her first memory, she was alone on the station, passed from family to family until she was old enough to work herself and live on her own. Now she could finally leave, and make her own way in the galaxy, and she was still being held back.
So she had to improvise.
Lucy's plan was simple: she would steal a pirating license from a group of pirates who landed themselves on the station. If she somehow managed to get anywhere near their ship without being killed, she'd then take it, leaving the pirates behind on the base.
It didn't take long for a crew to arrive. People came and went from fuel stations all the time, maybe stopping for a refuel, for business, or maybe even simply for a meal. The crew in question was a fairly new one, made up of a group of boys who had also just come of age to start their journey as pirates. Their ship was small and in ill repair, but they were ambitious and hard-working, with big dreams of what was to come.
Lucy watched them disembark, listening to them talk to each other. The crew was only four. All of them seemed to gravitate towards the boy in the middle, whom they called Jack. He was tall, with a shaved head, and spoke quietly, yet the group went quiet to hear him when he did. There were two boys who looked identical, one she heard called Zack but the other she didn't see them speak to. They were clearly the gunners- they had each been sat at the controls of two large weapons on either side of the ship. The last boy was loud, energetic. He cracked jokes, clearly trying to entertain Jack, and ignored the twins mostly. His name was Aaron.
Lucy was sat at the counter of the small shop near the refuelling center. They walked past her quickly, towards the main shopping area of the rig. She held her breath, although there was no way they could see her, or had any reason to give her any special attention. She sat that way until they disappeared around the corner at the end of the short street, and hurried towards the door.
The other residents of the rig all knew of Lucy's dreams, and some watched with interest as she ran towards the newly arrived ship, saw her open the door and slide in. Some gasped with shock as they saw one of the two identical boys that had left running back towards the ship, clearly having forgotten something, yet none made any move to help. Life in space was harder than on Earth- you had to think for your own interests more. If you wanted official help it wasn't minutes away, it was hours, sometimes days.
Lucy was still thanking God that the boys had forgotten to lock the door to the ship, meaning she wasn't forced to try and pick it, when she heard the door open behind her.
She gasped, threw open the nearest door, and hid inside the cupboard it held.
'Shit, where is it?' the voice from outside called. 'I swear I left it right here!'
The sound of draws being thrown open and a heavy trunk being lifted were clear, as were the increasingly panicked cries of the voice.
'They're going to be so pissed! Maybe it's in here?'
The sound of the boys hand against her door made Lucy's heart stop. The sound of the main door to the ship being thrown open angrily restarted it again, albeit much quicker.
'How did you forget the payload you idiot?' said a voice she recognised as the one called Aaron. 'He said forget the deal and just left! He looked pissed!'
The ships engine started as he said this, and the whirring of the gunners doors opening made it clear that they were leaving.
'We've got to get out of here before he comes looking!' said one of them, and before Lucy knew what was going on, she had become a stowaway.
And yet, she had never been happier in her life: she was going to space! | 2021-07-11T05:16:01 | 2021-07-11T04:24:05 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] "And now, I require a test of bravery." You sneer, "Oh, and what shall it be? Slay a dragon? Or something equally stupid?" The Fae smiles knowingly, "When was the last time you visited home?" Your face pales... | "Home? Er... It has been a long time I'll admit. Why?"
"No reason. I was thinking it would be a good idea for you to visit your old "stomping grounds" as you folks call it. After all, I am sure your parents are worried about you..." She held up my private journal in her dainty left palm.
I froze. No matter how hard I try to keep my secrets from my mentor, she always have a way to find out. I could not maintain eye contact with her, so i divert my eyes to the trees that surround the clearing. She made a promise to not probe my past and to focus on my training. I guess that was a lie. This sudden betrayal of trust, became sheer frustration as the fae continues to look at me.
"You read my journal, huh? What happened to our agreement? You know, the sworn promise that you made!"
"My promise goes as follows, unless it is necessary for your training, i will not probe your past and will dedicate my time in being your mentor. The promise is being upheld."
"Upheld? By what? What does reading my personal journal have to do with any of my training?" I took a step closer to the fae. Now within reach to punch her in the face i continued, "I can't believe you would do this! I trusted you. I thought that you would be someone that I can turn to, and yet... Ugh! Just why?"
"Aseroth. Your test requires you to handle your fears. You were unwilling to disclose your fears before, so i took the liberty of finding out. It is interesting that you claim to have so much trust in me, but are keen on keeping all of your secrets."
"Forget it. I am done. I don't need your training anymore anyways." I go to leave the clearing, only to have the sheer strength of her voice stop me in my tracks.
"Wait. Understand that you are not ready to leave this place with the V-blade. Its power has yet to reveal itself to you. If you leave now, all of our work will be undone. This test is pivotal in awakening the sword."
"I know enough about it to know what I'm doing. You have taught me-"
"By leaving this place, you are running away from your past." Those words shut down any retort i could possibly give to my mentor. I made an equally damming promise to her, that I will stop running away from my past. Back then, i only said that to be in her good graces. Now i am stuck in my own lie.
"Much of the contents in your journal are still unknown to me. I strictly looked for ties with your homelife; that is, the relationship between your parents and older sister. It is clear to me that much of your disposition comes from a place of inadequacy. The feeling of failure by knowing you could never achieve the high standards set by your family." She glides to my side and place her right hand on my shoulder. "Your fears come from their inevitable disappointment. Thus, the reason for this test and the reason why you must finish it."
"How can i face my parents? How can they possibly look at me after leaving them for two years?" Tears ran down my face, and I lose my grip, thus, dropping the V-Blade to the ground.
"You must face them alone. By doing this, you will be closer to awakening the sword. I will watch over you, but I can not provide any assistance. That is, if you accept this test. Just remember this old proverb from my kind: No matter how fast you run away from the past, it will always catch up. No matter how fast you tail the past, you will never catch it. So, thrive in the present." | "Another, *burp*, another round! For entire bar, you hear? On the Prince of Thyrese!"
The band picked up its tune, the crowd cheered, and the two maidens who had been competing for the prince's eye batted their lashes. Fifty mugs of ale were poured and fifty mugs of ales clinked to the beat of the song.
"Long live the price!" Came the shout, as each of the patrons downed half their glasses. From behind the bar, the owner hid a smile- not in his six years of running the establishment had he ever experienced a night like this. In a mere three hours, he'd outsold a week's worth of effort. Perhaps this would be enough to buy the ring he owed Sarah, and to make their marriage official.
What good fortune, he thought, to be visited by the prince.
"I'd hear the tale of the Hellings Wars!" Demanded a mercenary near the back, and the prince climbed on a large round table, throwing his hands in the air as the band hushed.
"The Hellsmen come, the Hellsmen come! This was the warning issued to my father, back when he was but a child. The Hellsmen come, his seers warned him- and every year, he trained. He prepared. He created an army the likes of which this land had never seen. And he led them.
"The Hellsmen came from the magma gate- their howls as dark as night, their skin as bright as the sun. With each step, the ground trembled. Half the buildings of the capital collapsed as they rose to the surface- for as you know, the gate is at the very palace's heart. From where the king draws his very strength, from the gates deep below the palace, so too do the Hellsmen enter.
"For years, he fought to contain them- and for years, they tried to escape. For the Hellsmen would turn his entire kingdom to ruin from the inside out. They would burn his fields to bring famine. They would boil away his rivers, and poison the minds of his nobility. All this, the king knew- and drew upon the gates to defeat them.
"And when the Hellsmen were defeated, the king kept his strength- and forevermore, they were banished to the depths. To the king- may he be forever venerated!"
"To the king!" They echoed. And another round was paid for, and another song struck up, and another twirl by the maidens on the dance floor. As his people looked ot him, they saw the strength in the prince- in his high chin, his barreled chest, his colorful clothes. Their eyes widened to be in his presence- all, of course, but one.
A woman, seated near the back, who had not indulged in a single drop of ale. But rather, drank from a glass resembling a rose, the petals cupping an amber liquid, the thorny stem twisted around her hand. And as the prince joined in the circle of dancing, he skipped past her- until she reached out a knobbed hand, their finger grazing his elbow.
The music halted, the circle froze. Behind the bar, ale streamed into a mug half filled, thought he level of liquid did no rise. The singer's mouth had opened wide, and the fiddler still hovered in the air from clicking his heels. But the prince still moved, singing as he continued in a circle, then stopping as it dawned upon him no one else followed except for the crone's elderly eyes.
"You changed the story," The crone said, as he turned to face her. "We both know, that's not how it goes."
The prince's face paled, and he looked west- back towards the palace, and his father's grave.
"They don't have to know that." He answered, the warm feeling of alcohol in his veins suddenly replaced by ice. "Look at this, they all think I'm a hero."
"Fitting, then, that they shall wake up a with both hangovers from lies and alcohol." She answered. "We both know, so long as strength exists, so too do the Hellsmen. What will you do to hold them back? Unopposed, they will arrive at this very doorstep. You cannot ignore them forever. Soon, you must return home- to fight them at the source."
"There's an entire army back there to deal with them," he scoffed, then snapped his fingers, tryign to kickstart the room again. "What use do they have of me?"
"It is your strength that draws them, and yours alone that must defeat them. That, we both know. If you wish to be a hero, I tell you this- many men are heroes for a day. But there are few that withstand the trials of time. You are a hero now- but what shall you be tomorrow?" She said, tossing back the amber liquid. Then she threw down her glass, the rose shattering into thousands of tiny thorns, before melting away into the wood paneling. "For strength unguarded is evil's sword."
In that instant, the singing resumed. The circle turned, the laughter and admiration came again once more upon the prince. But with each twirl, a voice sounded in the tavern. A voice only he could here.
"*The Hellsmen come. The Hellsmen come.*"
After one more drink, the prince excused himself for the privy. Outside, his horse awaited- and through his stupor, he remembered he had ordered the stablemaster to keep her ready for riding. That he had known what would come of this night.
No gold he left behind for the tavern owner. After all, the owner would find little use for gold in just a few short days.
Then the prince rode east at a gallop, the singing continuing, the tavern’s lights behind him a pinprick against a dark sky.
With each click of his his horse's hooves, the voice echoed in his head again. Following him to the next town over, as a tiny star tracked his motions from far above.
"The Hellsmen come."
***
By Leo | 2021-09-26T11:23:44 | 2021-09-26T11:02:11 | 374 | 51 |
[WP] The villain defeats the hero but the world turns out to be a better place because of his twisted views. | His prison wouldn't budge, not even with a hundred super-powered punches or close range lazer blasts. Its clear walls remained strong and intact, nothing as much as a smudge from the assault. The emotionless face of Alister's mask remained fixed on the prisoner.
"Even after that display, you still deny my logic?" The hero snarled at the villain's comment, trembling with building rage. "You're a madman, you always have been. Even after defeating you all these years, you still continue your schemes?" Blastar's words were laced with sarcasm, mocking his opponents comment. The robotic-like Alister turned away and moved to the nearby window overlooking the ocean, the city just barely in view. "This time is different my friend. That cage of yours was designed specifically to neutralize your energy powers, rendering you unable to escape from the inside. I've saved the world, you see."
A sarcastic laughed escaped the hero's gritted teeth. "Saved? You're out of your mind. What good does capturing the world's greatest hero do? No enemy has ever come close to stopping me, even this is just a temporary annoyance!" Another powered punch struck the glass yet fizzled like the others. Watching his attack get quietly absorbed provoked another tantrum from Blastar, although it was futile like the ones before it.
Alister returned to the prison once things had quieted down, shaking his head. "You truly don't understand. Every battle you've won has only made you more powerful, this is true, yet you cannot see the other effects of this increase in strength: aggression, recklessness, a thirst for more power." With a flip of his wrist several holographic monitors appeared behind Alister, each one displaying a newspaper article or news station footage of Blastar in action. Headlines such as "Heroic Blastar Saves Students" and "Train Heist Stopped In Its Tracks" flashing about the screens. "You were honorable, simply saving the day, yes? Using your powers for justice and the good of the people." Blastar crossed his arms and scoffed, "Your point? I've saved this world more times than you can count. Just look at all of those."
A raised finger silenced him, "These stories are from years past, back when you were naught but a fledgling hero. Your more recent escapades look much different..." Another flip of Alister's wrist and the headlines became much darker. Stories like "Shopping District Heavily Damaged Following Blastar Battle" and "Saving the Day: But At What Cost?" replacing the stories of heroism and praise. Videos of a wild-eyed Blastar firing lazer blasts at super-villains without care for nearby civilians and property flashed by, cheers replaced by screams.
Turning away from the monitors and back to the cage, Alister's lifeless eyes stared at the trapped hero, the video screens blinking away into thin air. "You see? You're nothing but a ticking time bomb. By my calculations, you'll either explode or turn on the people within a month if you continue at this rate. I've not kidnapped the savior of the world; I've caged an animal as it began to grow rabid." The cold, robotic demeanor set Blastar off more than the evidence of his growing risk to society. He punched and clawed at the glass, his armored costume nearly smoking as his anger grew. "Let me out you coward! You think you can just hold me behind bars? This worlds NEEDS me! You think you're so much better for the people? A monster like you!?"
Behind his mask, Alister let out a small chuckle as he made his way toward the exit. "The true monster is already captured, locked inside a place where he can cause no further harm to our world. A place where he'll detonate in a controlled environment, minimizing damage. People may mourn you, they may hate me for what I've done. I may even turn over a new leaf and give up crime, putting my genius to use cleaning up the mess you've made. The only thing that's for certain is you will destroy yourself, but without you there will still be a world for me to conquer." | The body fell slowly. Later, people would say the visual itself was stunning: it was a man blocking the path of a tank, with only his body; it was a person jumping from dozens of floors up to flee a burning, collapsing building. They would say the entire speech--death knell to some, manifesto to others, salvation to more--took place in the span between the moment when the victor of the day dropped his trophy and the next, singular moment, when the carcass of America’s greatest protector exploded, with nothing but a thud and a squish and a misty spray, on the New York City street.
He looked like an angry god, bathed in blood and standing atop America’s Mount Sinai. Nearly all the digital advertisement boards for beer and auto-manufacturers and electronics conglomerates and greed and excess and the top 1% stood shattered beneath him, some flickering, with sparks and debris raining on the increasingly-large crowd gathering at 1 Times Square to see the death of their anointed, fallen, broken, American hero.
The body fell. Not thrown, just dropped, unceremoniously; throwing might indicate there was something left to be conquered. This was just the embodiment of American evil, the personification of where it all went wrong, already dead, being handed back to those that crafted him. And then he spoke, with no malice, with no threats. Evenly. Without emotion. He spoke as the victor of a battle, the murder of a hero, a man returning from war. But worse. Sadder. More broken. He gave his statement with the thousand-yard-stare of a man with telescopic vision.
“This is the man you would call your hero? A man who wears the American flag on his body as easily as he wears the logos of the corporations that hold YOU in poverty and servitude? You respect this man? This man who killed … who warred for this ‘country’ … heh. This invulnerable man, this weapon of mass destruction. Who fought against children with guns … against old men with rocks and shovels. A superman who waged war against the world, because he could, and because of where he was born. And you … all of you … what has he left you with? A world that hates you? A government bought and paid for by corporations, with your Übermensch as their … their … heh. He is dead. His day is dead. Their day is dead. If you stand with them, you too will … “ and he paused, then, for a long time, and for the first time, averted his blank stare and blood-soaked face from nothingness, and toward the crowd below, “ … fall.”
None of the news stories the next day used the words “flew” or “fly” or “flight.” That was accuracy in journalism. He didn't fly away. He simply spoke his last word, and floated, up, away from the wreckage of the destroyed jumbotrons and destroyed America below, until he was out of sight.
Many would die soon after. Most were men. Some were not. He never spoke again, publicly or anywhere else of record, after that day of his victory at 1 Times Square. No one was able to ask if he considered his own actions those of war, simple murder, or the accomplishment of some holy crusade. Would this have mattered to him? Was there a distinction to be made, in his view? Would anything have changed it? Would WE have wanted anything to change it?
The 1% fell. Quickly. Their lives, their juggernaut corporate headquarters, their lavish homes … their wealth, all erased. Then the 2% fell. He was a thorough … man, if that’s what he was to be called. When corporate greed and sin had been … nudged thoroughly enough, he turned to other issues. The most violent prisons were leveled, in seconds; concrete tombs for all inside. He was a man who dealt in percentages. Percentage-wise, many Americans began to agree. The lives of a few potentially-innocent inmates, or of the guards who were too stupid to heed his call to leave, peacefully, the first time, were acceptable sacrifice. There were no second warnings. He was a man that acted decisively.
The true grandeur and depth of his powers was never known. But it was always enough. It was enough to strike down his enemy, that symbol of American greed and expansionism and global-interference and … to him … just sickening morality. It was enough to end the corporate ownership of America. It was enough to influence government policy without the inconvenience of leveling Washington. The President, the Congress … they were intelligent enough to act at his first request, unlike those that made themselves the acceptable percentage losses.
Cartels that poisoned children, corrupt officials, gangs, militias, sexual predators: Broken, killed, disbanded, disarmed, disdicked. It wasn't known if he slept. It wasn't known if he ate. It was assumed, based on the sheer volume of terror, damage, and justice he distributed, that he must have super-speed of some kind. In the end, his powers didn't matter. He used them. He used them in pursuit of what seemed to be justice according to his own moral code. He used them violently, he used them without remorse. This left many in disbelief. Why couldn't he be stopped? Where did he come from, this ONE superman, to murder OUR superman. What did he want? Who was next?
To me, the what, where, why, and who didn't matter. I’m certain they didn't matter to him. The only thing that mattered was when. When was bailouts and greed and stepping on thy fellow man. When was a climb, where yesterday’s when was worse than today’s. When would it end? When would be the point from which we couldn't return? He was an intelligent man. He was a man with foresight. The first when that really mattered was the moment the first god aligned himself with the corporate/government conspiracy that had so imbalanced the world around him. The next when was the moment he broke that god’s neck, and sat upon the ground with a head in his lap, one that had embodied everything he hated, for many hours. At the final next, he dropped that body, no longer a god, a superman, or even a man, now just his dead and already mourned-for father, to the New York pavement below, and watched it burst. There was much white, more red, and unsurprisingly little blue. There were no more when’s after that. There was only the present, an eternal present, where years and days and hours didn't matter. He had made his present, it was now and forever, and it would be better every day. | 2014-02-06T17:17:25 | 2014-02-06T16:00:13 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] A young girl has two monsters in her life: her step-father, and the one under her bed. She manages to befriend the latter to deal with the former. | It was quiet in the house like it always was. Quiet enough for her laughter to carry through the house and wake him up. His eyes shot open and glared, bloodshot under a heavy brow.
"Son...of...a...bitch..." He muttered vehemently, his fingers clenching the blanket tight.
"Huh? Whuzzat?" Her mother groggily muttered in her whiskey clouded sleep.
"Your damn kid woke me up, again!" He growled throwing back the covers. "Goddammit I haven't been asleep two hours and I have to be at work early tomorrow."
Standing up with a scowl he looks at her mother still in bed. "You should get your ass up like I have to day in and day out with no sleep to provide for this family. See how you like it for a change."
Her mother makes no move, the alcohol has worked it magic. She is beyond her unhappiness, at least until morning comes.
"I'll just have to fix this, just like I have to fix everything." Fists clenched he strides to her child's room. Opening the door he sees her sitting on the floor with her toys. She is quiet now, looking up at him. Of course, now she's quiet. She's quiet just like her mother gets quiet. They both know when they've crossed the line. And he is getting so tired of reminding them of that line. Time and time again.
He grimaces as the rage clouds his mind. She isn't crying. She isn't trying to get away. This infuriates him. She doesn't remember any of the lessons, he thinks. Well, by god, I'll give her a lesson she'll never forget this time.
He approaches raising a fist to his side when something happens to send a splinter of unease through the haze. She smiles. She isn't looking at him with her usual respect. The respect he has drilled into them both. She is looking over his shoulder and smiling in joy. Pure, unfettered joy.
"Now Max." She says in her innocent lilting voice. "You can play."
A fetid breath rolls across his neck and he turns.
"Oh....my.....God...." He mutters as he feels warm piss running down his leg.
"No." Answers a dark voice, "Not quite." | I hear a soft, barely audible whimper above my head. She's a quiet one, normally. Her soft breathing is what I fall asleep to, her on the mattress, me below; her, blanketed in fleece, me the darkness. But every now and then, as of late, our ritual is interrupted by this, and her whimpers break the rhythm of slow steady breathing. As quiet as they are, they pierce the stillness of our nights.
I've been here under her bed for years now, since she began to walk and babble. When she saw me, she wasn't scared. One of my first nights behind her crib, I crawled up slowly to take a look at her. It was late, but she was awake, sitting up, throwing her head from side to side, observing the darkness. Suddenly, I found myself staring into her big, round eyes, her dimpled cheeks surrounded by a curly mess of brown locks, illuminated by a wash of moonlight flowing in through her window. For a moment, I was terrified. I had made a mistake by making myself seen. I prepared for her to shriek for her momma, but she only cooed, and widened her eyes. "Ubby," she whispered. For such a young child, she had an impressive understanding of the night, that it was a time for quiet, that she wasn't supposed to wake up her mother. "Uhhh-byyyy," she quietly whispered again. Her buddy.
Now she is old enough to go to school. I can see her comforter and sneakers from where I am, under her bed. They're pink. We have a quiet, symbiotic relationship. My presence doesn't bother her, and her gentle mannerisms coddle me during the days and nights. In my 2000 years, she is my favorite. From beneath her bed, I hear her trying to read the chapter books her mom has bought for her and put in her room. When she is stumbling on a word, I can't help but whisper along soundlessly, to help her. Sometimes, I think she can hear me.
"Puh-puh-p-p-"
*"Puppy"*
"Puh-pee"
But tonight that innocence is lost. It's been three months since this began, the late visits from the man who recently entered her life. Until then, her and her mother occupied this house quietly. Now a man's heavy footsteps echo down the hallway outside her bedroom frequently. And often, they stop outside her door, and he steps quietly inside. He's turned on the bathroom light to disguise his trip. But he spends half an hour in here, with her and, unknowingly, with me.
The bed creaks, and she whimpers. He groans, and the blankets shuffle. The night has washed all the pink over with gray. Tonight, there is no moonlight sparkling through her window.
In 2000 years, I've always been a silent observer. That's how we tend to keep ourselves safe and undetected. But with this child, things are different. I've come to need the sound of her breathing to fall asleep at night, the clumsy sentences she reads to say awake in the day. I've needed her and now I can't help but believe she needs me.
Tonight I do something different. Tonight I emerge from the darkness beneath her bed, that now smells of cologne and sweat, for the first time since I laid eyes on those wide eyes and sparkling moonlit curls. I hover above her bed, looking at the two bodies laying under that pink comforter. Her's tiny. His large and bumbling against hers. Her eyes are closed, her brows furrowed in pain. I don't hesitate any longer.
His curled body suddenly convulses into a straight line. His eyes round out in shock as he begins to seize and shake. I hold my hard gaze on him without relenting. She's opened her eyes and is staring at him, and looking up at me, and staring back at his writhing body. She says nothing. He's paralyzed and cannot make any sound other than his muffled whimpers. Suddenly, the writhing stops. He lays on the bed, face up, his eyes now exhausted. He moves his head slightly to look up at me, too tired to make any expression. I stare back. She's sitting up now, staring at him quietly, her brows no longer furrowed. I think I can sense a hint of gratitude in her face. As if reading my thoughts she looks up at me, and blinks, expressionless.
After a minute of this, he stands up slowly, and limps to the door, opens it, leaves, and quietly clicks the door shut again. I dart straight back under the bed. I hear her lay back down again, and exhale a soft sigh. She whispers a single word before falling back into her deep, slumbered breathing. "Ubby."
| 2015-01-23T11:04:32 | 2015-01-23T10:23:26 | 96 | 14 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth. To the surprise of humans, the alien's weaponry is pitifully outdated. | They what?
*They're punching us sir.*
Does... Does it hurt?
*No sir, it feels... wet.*
Jenkins you nasty bastard! Punch them back then.
*But si-*
Don't but sir me, just punch them.
*But they're soooo pudgeey!*
Man up Jenkins! We got a planet to save!
**- On the other side of the universe -**
*SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE! TWO MAD MEN ARE ASSAULTING MY LITTLE BOY!*
---------------------------------------------------
Inspired by the adventures of Sir Digby Chicken Caeser
| “They took the water.” That is one of my favourite apocalypse stories, and I'm living it right now. We have heard the speculative tales of laser-wielding aliens, thermonuclear war, zombies or deadly diseases over and over again. I like “They took the water” better, probably because of its relative rarity and the whole synopsis is there in a four word title.
The story begins with a huge, perfect sphere coming into the Earth’s atmosphere, then another, and another. Their size is absolutely massive, their surface unblemished, like somebody had taken apart a giant ball bearing in space, its parts sprinkling over the Earth. There are hundreds of them and for a week, there is perfect silence. Nothing of note happens, save for some slight changes to the tides because of the massive weight of the spheres and the widespread confusion – sometimes panic – among humanity. The nations of Earth try a myriad of methods to achieve contact, but ultimately fail. Either there is no sentient life in there, or they just do not care. After a week, give or take, has gone by, there is a terrible mechanical growling sound that can be heard for miles when the spheres descend towards various parts of the ocean.
This is when they start taking the water. It takes a little time before we understand what is going on, the spheres floating there, half-submerged, glistening and howling. Slowly, for the first month or so, we noticed how coastlines were rising, a few millimetres a day perhaps, but increasing quickly to several centimetres for every passing day. Despite the large number of spheres now bobbing around in our seas, calculations were swiftly conducted to show that the water would in fact not fit inside the spheres. Rather, it was being removed from Earth. Teleportation perhaps? Who can say.
Humanity’s response when we had it figured out was swift but utterly futile. Fighter jets, ballistic missiles and whatever else we had was of little use. After heavy bombardment, only three or four spheres out of thousands were destroyed, and upon inspection, they were seemingly empty. Decoys perhaps, or a technology entirely beyond our comprehension. The spheres’ revenge was swift, taking out military targets across the world in a few minutes with some sort of beam weapon that made you blind if you looked at it.
Its defences crippled, humanity largely sat and waited while the water disappeared. New landmasses formed, continents joined, whole countries perished from droughts. When the invaders had drained the oceans enough to lower the water level about a kilometre and a half, they were apparently satisfied, and went away. The Earth was saved, in the sense that life could continue. Humanity was not, in the sense that about 90% of the population was dead, and close to all of civilization had descended into anarchy, Mad Max style. The loss of water would mean some major issues for the Earth’s climate as well.
Being neither a geologist nor a biologist or any other –ist who could have created a convincing post-water-theft narrative, that is about all I can tell. Why did they come? Perhaps they felt humans were becoming a threat, what with their spacefaring, and needed to be taught a lesson; perhaps they just enjoyed water.
They would destroy us, without firing a single shot.
| 2015-04-16T10:20:20 | 2015-04-16T09:54:49 | 48 | 13 |
[WP] You are in possession of a necklace that will glow if you are about to make a bad mistake or decision. You have used this to your advantage to always make good choices, but one day you wake up and no matter what you do the necklace does not stop glowing. | It was always there.
The light constantly pierced my eyelids, granting me a permanent squint that made my coworkers suggest glasses. None of them could see it, the sun shaped medallion hanging around my neck. Its constant glow rivaled the sun, driving me almost to the point of insanity, before I made a discovery. The light's intensity could change. When I made good decisions, washing my dishes instead of leaving them in the sink to grow mold, avoiding eating junk food, or going for a walk instead of sitting around on a weekend, it grew just a bit less painful, giving me a few moments of respite until the next decision that needed to be made popped into my head. When I made decisions detrimental to my health, the light grew, consuming my entire vision and making it hard to even see my hand in front of my face.
So my life progressed my each and every action dictated by the taskmaster that hung around my neck. I stopped caring about *what* I was doing, just whether the action would help reduce the light, just a little bit.
My life got 'better.' I read more books. I ate healthier. I exercised every day and developed a decent figure. I managed to secure a great job in a financial firm. I gave to charities. I periodically worked at soup kitchens. Every waking moment of my life was devoted to the improvement of myself or others, solely to reduce the constant piercing light from my chest. And I fucking hated it.
Maybe if I had decided to do these things myself I would have been content, or even happy with my life. But having to play twenty questions with a mindless medallion at every turning point in my life, and then inevitably having to follow its decision on what was 'best' for my life sickened me no end.
Which is why one day I when I woke up and the medallion was glowing I felt a strange sense of dread. I hadn't made a decision, yet the necklace was glowing with the same piercing light as always. *Maybe getting up is a bad decision?* I got up anyway.
The glow intensified. I ignored it.
I made breakfast, granola, a piece of fruit, and a boiled egg.
It grew all the more unbearable, yet still I ignored it.
I stepped out the front door. It was a beautiful spring day, only marred by the steadily brightening star about my neck.
I walked to my subway stop. The glow seemed to start flashing, as if it had reached the maximum brightness it could achieve and was trying to get my attention. I ignored it and got on the train, half expecting the door to slam closed with my body only halfway through and the train to start moving. It didn't. The light was unbearable but I sat with my eyes squinted as usual, ignoring the piercing beams to the best of my ability. I heard the conductor announce my stop and I stepped off the train, adjusting my tie as I stepped onto the platform.
I made my way up to the surface and the glow, unexpectedly grew even brighter. I futilely shielded my eyes and continued walking to work. Suddenly the light all but extinguished itself.
I stopped stock still.
It wanted me to keep walking.
I turned around.
The medallion shone brighter than it ever had.
I began to slowly walk back the way I came until it started to dim again.
*Here.*
*Right here.*
*It doesn't want me to stand right here for some reason.*
I looked left. Nothing but the constant press of human life and the yellow rush of taxis.
I looked right. The same and the subway station that I had just come out of.
I looked straight ahead.
A little girl, bouncing some sort of ball. It seemed to be attached to her finger some how, maybe one of those yoyo balls that you could get at a carnivals.
My eye tracked the ball. As it bounced up and down between her the ground and her hand.
I began to realize exactly why the medallion wanted me to keep walking.
I dropped my briefcase as the string to her ball snapped, sending it bouncing into the middle of the road.
Our movements mirrored each other, as we both ran out into the middle of the road.
The light grew and swamped my entire vision.
I felt the impact of the small body as I threw her away from the onrushing cars.
And then I felt another impact.
And the light grew dim. | *Groan.*
Another work day, I lazily sat up on my bed, turning off my alarm. I picked up my necklace from the bedside table and dropped it into my briefcase. Won't want to forget this, especially today, I thought. I trudged to the toilet, beginning my daily morning ritual.
At least today is worth going to work for, I thought, today we celebrate the completion of the "Rhinestone project". The project that has been dragging on for over a year.
I splashed cold water onto my face, washing away the soap. immediately I felt a jolt of energy inside, waking up my senses.
Everyone says it's a miracle that the project even completed, but they didn't know that my necklace was the one supplying me all the "miraculous luck". A tiny smirk chanced out of my thoughts onto my face. Luck, Schmuck it's all bullshit.
And I had reason to believe so, my heirloom necklace has been my crystal ball for a long time. Every time I make a bad decision or am about to, the necklace will red until either I correct it, or it's too late to change. I don't know if it's some act of god or voodoo magic, hell if it works, why should I care? It works just fine to me anyways. I thought as I wiped my face clean with a towel.
"Good morning dear, I made you your favorite, waffles!" said my wife, Kate, as I entered the kitchen.
"You woke up early today, I wasn't expecting you to be up until noon at least" I said with a smile, my wife was notorious for being lazy. Always lethargic and tired. Must be the housework tiring her, I reasoned.
"Because today is a special day, for you, for us." Kate said, almost solemn.
How did she know today I finish my project? I rarely bothered to bog her down with my work life. Or did she know that I was about to get my promotion to department head today. I didn't ponder on it, instead I dug into the delicious waffles set in front of me.
"Oh, Kate dear, I'm coming home late tonight. We are having an office function, I'll be home at about 10 o'clock maybe later" I said as I finished my waffles and stood up to leave.
"Okay, I understand..." Kate muttered, I sensed that she was sad, disappointed even. But when I turned to face her, her smile was on her face again. "I know it must be important, or you won't stay out so this late today, more important that anything here that needs you anyways." Kate continued with a smile, a sad smile. Maybe she wanted me to tell her about my surprise early, but she will just have to wait. so I said "And that's why I love you, you understand me so well."
With a kiss to her cheek, I said goodbye and left for work.
There was a note, sitting on my otherwise clear desk. I picked it up and read it. It was asking about a mundane detail about the finishing touches of the Rhinestone project. Must be some intern too new to settle this himself. I wrote my reply to it, but I did with all other decisions that came my way, especially in the case of this project. I took out my
So I cancelled out my previous instruction, but the necklace still glowed red.
Strange. Maybe they are both bad choices?
But there were only 2 choices for this. Clearly, one had to be the right one. I hated to admit it, but I took a longer time to settle this otherwise simple dilemma. I just wasn't used to not relying on my necklace for the clear path to take.
Something sat at the back of my head, what if the necklace was failing me? Can I still rise up without it? I pushed these thoughts to the back of my head, today was a day of celebrations, I can fuss about this another day. So I took the necklace and wore it around my neck, I could still feel the warmth emanating from it, still in warning of my folly that I couldn’t deduce.
The rest of the day went by some what normal, but now, with a constant warmth pressing on my chest. It felt just like a lump in my throat, the usual cool mineral now glowed a steady flow of heat on me. I mostly avoided people that may be looking for my recommendation, praying that any issue can wait until I solved this necklace issue.
I tried to keep my cool as the Rhinestone celebration party started during the evening, but it was clear that my reliance on the necklace meant that its sudden breakdown almost made me crippled. I was so used to subtly relying on it to read a room, who to target and how to get what I wanted from them, using the slight hints through the glow of the necklace. But now the only message I could get from it was wrong wrong wrong, you're making a wrong choice.
I left the party earlier than most others. The pang on my chest was building up, I felt more out of my element every second. My pace was quick and hurried as I made my way to the car. As I was unlocking my car, my phone buzzed.
"I love you, goodbye. -Kate" read my phone screen. What does Kate mean? I thought. Then right on cue, the necklace faded to a cool glow. Except now it does not feel like its usual reassuring cool. Now it seemed like the lively warmth that was on my chest the entire day just ebbed away, into a lifeless cool rock that now hung on my chest.
Cold, Stone, Dead.
Then the pieces fell into place. I unknowingly started to cuss as I sped home. Driving rather recklessly. Kate had been hinting to it, looking back now it was clear. No wonder she behaved the way she did.
I had forgotten that today was our Anniversary, the day we had first met many years ago. She was no doubt mad, possibly furious. Had she meant to leave me because of my recent behaviour? Ignoring her and committing to my work.
I hastily parked my car and enter the house, it was quiet, cold and all the lights were out. Maybe she had run away, to find her family or friends.
But one room's lights were still on, the bedroom lights. I rushed to the door. and creaked it open. "Kate? Honey? you there?" I called out. No reply. The necklace felt so dead now, it's cold searing into my chest.
The door opened slowly to reveal the room. The television was still on, playing some sitcom with its volume turned up loud. Too loud.
My heart raced.
The bed looked just like in the morning, messy, maybe even messier than before.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
On the floor at the side of the bed laid a bottle of pills and a few stray pills scattered on the floor.
No no no no no.
Then I saw her, Kate, glassy eyed, staring at me, frozen still. laying on her side. Cold and dead.
| 2015-05-26T05:21:15 | 2015-05-26T01:44:22 | 68 | 41 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious. | "He keeps telling me there's something wrong with me. That I'm sick in the head or something."
"Well, how about we talk about your problems? Would you like something to drink?"
"A Coke would be nice."
"Sure. You want a snack with that? How about some pork rinds?"
"Oy gevalt!" | Anna gave a rough, barking laugh, strained around the edges, and waggled a manicured hand at the doc.
“You’re a character, shrink.” She plucked a strand of coloured hair, twirling it around her finger. “Go do a Broadway bit, your talents are wasted here.”
“I assure you,” the psychologist adjusted his glasses, “I am nothing less than one-hundred percent serious, Ms Andreyushkin.”
“Ask him for a glass of water.”
“So what…” the hand became a raised palm, “so what you’re telling me…”
The psychologist nodded. “Yes?”
Anna cackled. “Sorry, this is just *too* good. What you’re telling me is… she doesn’t exist?”
“Anna, *ask* him.” My pleas were becoming more frantic now. “Ask him to get you a glass of water!”
“That’s correct. Anna, do you think we are in the business of letting extra people into our therapy sessions? Do you think, if she was here, I would have let her in here?” The therapist took Anna’s hand, and she didn’t pull away. “She’s not real, Anna. She never has been.”
“ASK him!”
“I…” Anna swallowed, and something terrible flickered across her grey eyes. My body trembled, like ripples on a pond. “Can… can I have a glass of water? I need…”
My would-be executioner gave a sympathetic smile. “Of course. Of course you can.”
The door closed, and her spine turned to jelly. Anna sank back into herself, hands groping through her pockets for her inhaler as her gaze turned to me. “You are-“
I didn’t give her time to finish. “Oh. Oh, Anna. Didn’t you see the symbol on the clinic’s front door? You’re usually so good at this stuff.”
“What?” she whispered.
The shrink knew about me. But he didn’t know about the tinfoil. He didn’t know about the magnets that Anna sewed into her leather jackets, the hundreds upon hundreds of dark-web websites she had bookmarked on her computer. Anna didn’t go to New Years Eve parties, because she spent them out in the darkness, wrapping herself in vegetation. And I spent them with her.
“They’ve got a pyramid middle of their logo, smack-bang.” I gestured to the bookshelf. “This practice is New World Order. The doctor, probably the whole building too.”
She stared at me, completely still. Then the doorknob clicked, and her eyes slid across the room, and landed on the little plastic eagle the doctor kept on his desk.
“Don’t drink the water.”
The door opened. The psychiatrist stepped back into the room.
He smiled at her. “Here you go.”
“No thank you.” She smiled back. “All of a sudden, I’m not thirsty.” | 2015-11-17T05:55:31 | 2015-11-17T05:49:12 | 101 | 53 |
[WP] Someone shows up on your door to tell you that you're the chosen one they've waited their entire life for and they're here to train you. Which is awkward because the real chosen one died and you stole their identity, but you feel bad about it so you go with it. | *Knock knock knock.*
Wha... what? What time is it?
*Knock knock knock.*
4 AM? Who the hell is knocking at our front door at 4 AM?
*Knock knock knock knock.*
"I'm coming... Jesus."
I walk to the front door and open it without thinking, which probably isn't the smartest thing to do at 4 in the morning, but clear thinking isn't exactly my forte.
"Hello, you must be Mr. Nicholson."
"That's me alright, why are you here?"
"You have to listen. I am Agent McCarthy of the CIA, and you have been chosen to come with us and become a member of an elite training squadron."
"Elite training squadron? Is this a fucking joke?"
"Your intelligence and physical ability are off the charts, sir. You must join us."
"Anyone I know would beg to differ." Except maybe my brother Kenny, now that I think of it. He's always been nice and never criticized me for my slow-thinking. Which is weird, because Kenny's the smartest guy I know, and it's always the smart ones that make fun of the guys like us.
"Listen," Mr. Wanna-be-Nick-Fury said sternly. "You will come with us, or you will suffer serious consequences. The whole world, in fact, will suffer serious consequences."
Serious consequences? What was he on about? Do I have some superpower I don't know about? The more I thought about it however, the more appealing it sounded. What did I have to lose, really? I didn't have a great job, my life was pretty mediocre.
"Will I have to pay for my own house and food?"
"What? Of course not. We have a special dietary plan picked out just for you, the best of the best."
"Alright, I'll come along. Where are we headed?"
"Just come with me."
He led me down my steps to his black SUV, and I closed and locked the door behind me. I thought about texting Kenny so he doesn't wonder where I am when he wakes up and I'm not there, but I figured he wouldn't be up for another hour at least.
As I sat in the passenger's seat on the way to the airport, I looked out the window into the bleak sky. What could this new life mean for me? I didn't really know where to go from here. I certainly didn't feel ready for some CIA training.
I wonder how my twin brother Kenny would have handled this situation.
---
To see all of my writing, please visit /r/ZachWrites! | “Damn it, Flour,” I yelled at the white cat blinking at me from the window perch. Her squeaky mouse toy nearly tripped me. *Lucky little fur-ball. It’s a good think I like cats.*
After two months, the dark, isolated farmhouse felt like home. Donny’s clothes fit well enough – the shoes were a half-size too small, but a quick trip to the store with my new credit cards set that straight. Donny’s bar was criminally understocked, but I fixed that as well. What else was there to do in the country but drink and porn? If nothing else, it was a great place to hide.
Poor Donny was dead in the basement. It wasn’t my fault; the guy tripped down the stairs (aforementioned cat toy), and broke his neck. I witnessed the entire thing. His neck twisted to meet his right shoulder-blade in a person’s-head-isn’t-supposed-to-do-that kind of way, and slid the rest of the way down. I was only there to buy an old radio (my passion), not deal with a dead body. His wallet fell out of his back pocket, and that’s when the idea formed.
Out here, no one would find me. That fifty thousand I owed Hank? Gone. Donny would take a long trip soon, far away from Alabama and go where no one would find him. Not that anyone was looking. I had to bury him soon though; I wanted to put steaks in that freezer.
I picked up the cat toy and shook it at Flour. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
She yawned and stretched and blinked at me. I was about to toss the squeaky mouse across the room when someone knocked at the door.
My blood froze. Did Donny have family? In two months, his cell never rang and he never received any personal emails. My legs felt like cooked noodles as I approached the door. Too late to turn off all the lights and pretend no one was home. Whoever this was knocked again. I swallowed the lump in my throat, reminded myself there was a dead body in the freezer, and turned the handle.
I’d never seen anyone so old. He was so old I expected him to die on the spot and fall on me. But he didn’t stink of old. His blue eyes were uncommonly focused, his gray beard long to his chest. He leaned on a long wooden staff, his arthritic hand trembling. I couldn’t see his scalp because of the gray cloak and hood.
“Let me guess, you want me to go to Mordor.”
He stared at me with something akin to reverence. ”Donald Moss?”
“Uh, sure. Yes. Yes, that’s me.” Wow did I suck at identity theft. Should’ve just nodded. But the old man pushed past me as if unaware of my stutter. “Oh um, sure. Just come inside.”
Flour leapt from her perch and ran to the old man’s side. She rubbed against his leg, purring loud enough for me to hear from the door. The old man smiled and bent down to scratch her head. At least I think that was his intention. He kept bending and bending until I realized he was falling over. I raced to help him stand and led him to the couch. Flour jumped in his lap.
“Ah, the White Beast.” He scratched her ear. “A remarkable creature, is she not?”
“You mean Flour?”
“She will guide you in your quest, Donald.” The old man stared up with a warm smile. “I’ve spent decades seeking you. I climbed mountains, searched the darkest caves, hunted in forests and crossed oceans just for a whisper of your name.”
“I…okay.” So he’s insane. “What can I do for you, Gandalf?”
“You are the chosen one, Donald. You will return home with me, and there, you will lead us against the mighty Dragon Armies.”
“Against the what now?”
“Here,” he said, reaching into his cloak. Something jingled in the bag he produced. “This is for you. A gift from my people.”
“Listen,” I said as he opened the bag. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not this…”
My jaw dropped. Gemstones. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds as big as my thumb. Glittering in the lamplight, they were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. Just one of those diamonds would pay off my debt. I stared at the old man.
“So this Chosen One, he gets those?”
He nodded. “This is but a small taste of what awaits in the mountain.”
I swallowed my throat for different reasons now. My eyes drifted from the gems to Flour to the old man, back to the gems. “I’ll get my coat.”
“The White Beast must accompany us.”
I grabbed the squeaky mouse off the floor and stuffed it in my pocket. “Right. Kibble’s on the top shelf.”
| 2016-07-18T11:07:39 | 2016-07-18T11:03:18 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone has a reaper. The further away it is, the longer you have left to live. Every day it inches a little bit closer, but it is always there. Except yours, which disappeared three weeks ago | So, it's been three weeks since I died. I know I know, everyone says I look a little rough, a little blood stained, head askew, all that nonsense.
I saw my reaper creeping up. He kept checking his watch and giving me this terrifying bony smile. I knew I needed to cross the road, everything looked clear. Just when I started to sprint; BAM! Out of nowhere, car with no lights on. Thing is, right before I got hit, he just disappeared.
We all know how it works. When you die, he's supposed to ferry your soul over to the other side. Except mine got distracted. So now my body is just slowly rotting away. I've been wearing a lot of cologne, trying to avoid showering (the skin starts to fall right off). People are starting to notice though. My boss keeps asking if things are going well at home, if I've been evicted, if there was some kind of accident. I've been trying to assure him that everything is fine, but it really isn't working.
It's been two months now. Still no sign of my reaper. I've lost all of the flesh from my feet now. My knees and elbows are almost in the same state. It's winter, so I'm hoping I stay fairly well preserved, but I'm worried that once summer hits there won't be anything left. I've stopped sleeping entirely. My apartment is filled with things I just don't need anymore. I've started to sell all of my possessions.
Three months. I quit my job. There was an ad out in the newspaper for help on a farm several miles outside the city. I sent an email in, and got a quick YES in response.
I wear a large cloak with the hood drawn down most days now, but that's more for my own benefit than my employers. The old man who owns the farm doesn't seem to mind my stench and has yet to comment on what's got to be the pretty obvious lack of definition under my clothing. I barely see him anyway. He just leaves a list of tasks for me on the porch each morning. His farm is expansive, mostly crops, but there's are some animals too. I've been planting a lot of winter wheat. It feels right, somehow, to be working the earth. I've always hated being outdoors and I hate being near people even more.
Eight months since my reaper disappeared. Summer has come, and I've lost all of the flesh from my bones. They shine white in the sun. Today is the harvest, and there's a sense of anticipation in the air. My employer is standing on the porch, a scythe outstretched in his bony hands.
He opens his mouth to speak, the first words I've ever heard from him: ARE YOU READY?
| I haven't written anything in a very very long time so please forgive any errors. Thanks!!
“Have you ever heard of that rumor, Paige?” Anna asked me, her deep blue eyes not leaving the outside scenery.
“What rumor?” I asked, already having a feeling I’d know what she was talking about.
Anna briefly looked at me with a half-smile before her eyes darted back out her third-story apartment window. She took a slow drag off of her cigarette. “Well, the rumor that reapers follow us everywhere… They’re close when your time is near and that they’re far away otherwise. Everyone has one. They decide when our time is up.”
I mustered up the best dismissive laugh I could before saying, “That’s absurd. Do you actually believe that?”
Anna breathed another drag from her cigarette before pressing it into her ashtray. “I mean, why not? There’s no evidence proving it but there’s so many stories I’ve heard that are supportive evidence in itself.”
“Yeah, but reapers? And what… They live in another dimensional plane that just happens to reside next to ours? Or are you saying people see them?” I leaned against the window with her, watching her eyes study my dismissive demeanor.
The last wafts of smoke drifted out of her nose similarly to a dragon taking a breath and it intrigued me. “Yes.” she stared at me and laughed one of her bubbly laughs.
I shrugged, unsure of how to continue the conversation. “To me it sounds like a good ghost story and nothing more.” I smiled slightly and turned away to sit down on her couch. I didn’t want to admit to her that I’ve not only seen them, but I know more about the subject than I’m willing to share.
Anna seemed to be picking up on my awkwardness so she sat down next to me. “You know something,” she pressed on. “I can see that look in your eyes.”
“Like what?” I asked her, laughing nervously. “After all, it’s not like anyone’s actually seen a reaper, right?”
“You tell me,” she shot back, watching my reaction to see if it would change.
I cleared my throat and shook my head. “No, Anna. I can’t say that I’ve actually seen a reaper.”
Anna nodded once before standing back up. I could tell by the way she got up that she wasn’t thrilled with my answer. “Well,” she started to say. “I think you know something.”
I sighed quietly while debating if I should let her in on all I do know. “Well… Let’s say that I don’t know much about them other than the fact I’ve seen mine before…”
Anna’s eyes lit up and she jumped back onto the couch next to me. “Paige! I knew it! When? How?”
“Calm down!” I practically shouted at her and put a finger to her lips. “I’ll tell you a little about this but you’re going to have a hard time believing me.”
“Try me.” she said, settling back into the couch. She grabbed a decorative pillow and clung onto it in suspense.
I sighed again. “Remember the car accident I was in a couple months ago? The one where they didn’t know if I’d pull through?” I looked down at my hands, trying to find a way to word what I wanted to say. “My reaper came to me. And it told me that I wasn’t done yet.”
Anna stared at me while trying to interpret what I was telling her. “Really?” was all she was able to say.
“Yes.” I said, looking back at her. “And I’d see it every so often after that. At least every few days. Lingering far away but close enough that I could see… But at the hospital, it also told me that one day I wouldn’t need it anymore.” My voice started to shake. “And… I don’t know what that means. If I’m now some kind of… immortal being too or it’s taking a vacation… I don’t know!” I shot up off the couch and walked over to Anna’s liquor cabinet. “It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen it!”
“Slow down,” Anna protested and got up to follow me. “You not only saw one of these things but it gave you a premonition? That’s so cool!”
I grumbled as I pulled the cap off of a bottle of vodka. “I think you’re missing the entire point to my story. I don’t know the outcome for the rest of my life! What if I live to be two hundred years old now or older!?”
“Paige… No one knows the outcome of the rest of their lives. That’s part of being a human.” Anna rested her hand on mine before I was able to pour out a glass of vodka. “In the meantime, remember that you have me here for you.” she smiled sweetly at me.
I set down the bottle that was in my hand and turned to hug her tightly. “Thank you,” I whispered and shut my eyes to take in her embrace. When I opened them, I gasped. My reaper stared at me from across the room and nodded once. I swallowed hard, and watched as it disappeared out of my sights. Somehow that moment gave me enough sense that everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.
| 2016-11-23T11:03:32 | 2016-11-23T09:10:32 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Your wife is from another time and place, a waitress in a small Irish town from the 1900s. Every night she takes one of your video games and retells it into a grand epic to all the patrons. | It was my first time using the TymeX, I was taking everything in all at once. My interest got the best of me, I sat in the pub just people-watching for a good while before she came to the table.
“What’ll it be for ya then?” She said with a curious look on her face.
It was as if she could see through my disguise... An American on holiday to Ireland? Fat chance. Not to mention I was sporting a freshly pressed set of clothes that the attendant of the TymeX had given me for the trip. Without breaking frame, I gave her my order and continued to watch. Aofie, her name, beloved by the locals as the reliever of sorrows and bringer of joy. It’s fascinating how she’s able to entertain a crowd, regularly telling stories of her adventures around Europe, even throwing in a fairy tale or two from time to time. The details she used captivated all, including myself. Interesting to think of how things *used* to be, people actually conversing using their voice and gestures rather than text on a screen.
The night was coming to a close and the patrons were dwindling away one by one, I knew I had only so much time left before my return.
“Aofie, is it?” I asked her.
The rest is history.
It wasn’t long until I was making weekly trips back. We had fallen in love—it was then when I told her my secret. This was in direct violation of what *would* have been TCC-2.14. Thankfully, the Republic had completed their Time Travel reform proceedings and cross-century travel was now permitted by subjects of the period. She was ready to leave, especially when the riots started after the election – she practically begged me to take her away. Aofie took the transition much like I had when I first used the TymeX; she was astounded by her new surroundings. She absorbed every detail, spoke with every person, but most important of all she continued to be the joyous girl from Carlingford that she was.
The video games was what she was drawn to the most. For every bit of a new game she adventured through, she had an equally exciting story to tell me over dinner about her time in the simulation. Stories of assassins, dragons, princes and princesses – she would go on for hours as I listen, amazed, even though I had played these games many times before.
Years had passed, and the stories continued. She was working through the late 1990’s RPGs. These games had simple graphics, but story-lines that overcame the deficit. We sat on the balcony of the estate, looking at the glow of Carlingford in the distance. The city had grown since she had known it, over 400 years had passed and her pub was still there to this day. We visited regularly, although, it wasn’t quite the same. I turned my head towards her, I felt a sense of emptiness in her words as I listened. Time had got the best of her, she missed home, *her* home.
“Aofie” I said “What’s the matter?”
She paused.
“I wish the lads at O’Hares could hear my stories” She said, letting out a sigh of defeat.
I sprang to my feet, grabbed her hand, and we transported straight to the TymeX station.
“Carlingford 1923, please” I said to the attendant. We changed our clothes and embarked through the entrance frame of the TymeX. We returned about a year after we had left, it was to match our cover story-- newlyweds traveling the world together to avoid the fallout of Civil war.
We stepped out of the exit frame, putting us only a mile from PJ O’Hares. Sheep were grazing in the fields around Carlingford, the sun was setting over the Carlingford Lough, it was as beautiful as it had always been. The frame closed behind us, seamlessly blending into the background as we began walking towards the Market Square. Some time had passed and we found ourselves in front of the pub. It dawned on me at that moment, we had spent seven years in the 2300’s. I saw the emptiness she had being replaced by adrenaline as it rushed through her veins.
“Are you ready?” I said.
“More than ever” She replied with excitement in her voice.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
“Aofie?” A man said from behind the bar.
The room fell silent.
“Aofie!” he exclaimed, as the room rejoiced in her return.
We ate and drank with the patrons of the pub that night. It was like the first time all over again, immersed in a century not of my own, yet feeling equally at home. It wasn’t long until they demanded a story of her, some sort of a legend she had become in the community for her story telling.
“Aofie! Aofie! Aofie!” They chanted, enticing her to give the crowd a story.
She stood in front of the patrons of the pub.
“Well, it all starts with a boy, no younger than yourself.” She said, kneeling down in-front of a child who had entered the pub to hear her speak.
“A boy in the Kokiri Forest, a boy without a fairy”.
Edit: Long time lurker, first time poster. Feedback is appreciated, thanks for reading! | *Edit - RES Posted before I had edited/finished, so should be a touch punchier than those who read first time around*
"So Mary, tell us what's happened to Frank last night?" The heavyset cooper called from his stool. The question was echoed around McDaids and the buzz in the pub quietened. Indeed, the locals came here not for the lousy stout, but the stories. Mary had long ago transitioned in role from serving maid to a bard of sorts. McDaids was a typical Irish pub, with low ceilings, a cosy fire roaring and rough durable furniture filled with patrons of a similar kind.
Mary relaxed, perched on her stool and took a sip of MacArdle's, waiting for the full attention of the pub to settle upon her. The cruit & timpan players trailed off, highlighting the hush that had descended. Brushing a curl of her hair out of her eyes, Mary began "well, Thomas Byrne, it's a terrible tale. I'll brook no interruption now during the tragedy that befell my family last night, our trials were most awful"
Thomas nodded to Mary, the wheeled around on his stool and pointed a finger at short, swarthy man who was set out not only by his grimy eyeglasses, but the fact that he was drinking a half. "That means you Patrick Kennedy, you bite your tongue and let the lady finish her tale, mind me." He warned
"I just don't see how a hedgehog can run faster than a horse man! It's crazy talk!"
"Patrick" Thomas began, a note of menace in his voice. Behind him the door to the pub opened and a priest framed the door.
"Or when she blasphemed about the mother putting the fear of god in her boy, a good women shouldn't have a son like that Isaac" Patrick continued stubbornly,
"Now you leave that to me now Patrick", chimed in Father Gallagher, heading into the pub and sitting at the bar. A bowl of stew was put in front of the priest. accompanied by a cup of wine who nodded at the landlord and turned his attention to Mary, who took the cue and began.
"Now, you all know my Frank gets into some peculiar scrapes but he normally turns out ok."
The patrons leaned closer, drinks forgotten.
"But this one was different. My sister Mia was taken from us in the dead of night, a year later we got a letter from her, explaining she'd been kidnapped by a demon! So Frank went to get her back. He travelled far, finally coming to the demons lands, a sprawling mansion surrounded by thick treacherous bogs. The house had a fence too tall for a man to scale, so my Frank looked around for another way in. As luck would have it, he found a waterwheel that the demons had not secured, as they are scared of water and iron! Frank swam deep under the water, coming out in a grand basement. He stole along, not wanting to come across one of those who had taken her, as he'd had to leave his axe before swimming under the waterwheel. But he was lucky, coming soon enough upon our Mia locked in a room that opened easily from the outside."
Mary paused here, taking another sip of her pint, before continuing.
"He found her sleeping, but she woke easily enough. They went to back to the waterwheel, but her not a strong swimmer, they had to press on instead. They went through the basement, coming to what looked like a dead end. Here Mia was taken with the vapours, so he left her to rest whilst he looked around for a way to escape. He'd only gone around the next corner when he heard it, a terrible crash and a wrenching scream! He ran back to Mia, but she was gone and a creature had made a hole in the solid stone wall. It lead to a staircase, which Frank ran, two at a time, thinking only of Mias scream. But when he got to the top of the stairs, there was nothing but locked doors, in the fanciest castle he'd seen.
He went back towards the basement after his search, to find another way, or something heavy to help him break the doors. But then, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her, our Mia was in front of him! But something was terrible wrong. She was possessed by one of the demons, eyes blackened and her fair skin a muddy palor. He held up his cross, which enraged her further and she threw him, my Frank, all 6ft5 of him, up the stairs and through the door!"
The shock in the pub was palpable as many of the patrons had met Mia. To think of the raven haired waif throwing the giant that was Marys husband through a solid door was madness, but Franks rare trips to the pub were proof enough for all but Patrick. He brought magical trinkets from the stories that Mary told and the magic they held was always apparent. The ocarina had been a good one, getting two rabbits to dance a full jig, before being caught for the pot. A sadder business had been when John, the old landlord had laid hands on Mary as a lousy patron he'd been jealous of her popularity in the town. The locals would never forget Franks actions, nor would they ever abide anyone touching the waitress again, not only because Mary was loved, but for their own sake. Frank had gone over bloodied wife, and handed her an apple from a faraway German castle. As soon as it touched her fingertips, it disappeared! With it went her black eye, bloodied nose and split lips. leaving her smooth complexion unmarked and perfect once more. Then Frank turned his attention to John. He pulled an odd dagger from his pocket, then he proceeded to beat John to within an inch of his life, never cutting him just punishing the fool with the pommel. John had been more than a passing fair fighter, but he couldn't lay a finger on Frank. Whenever he seemed to get close, Frank was an inch away, always close but out of reach. He toyed with him first, just dodging the blows of the equally large man, before breaking his fingers one by one. Once he was done with the fingers, he moved on to the arms. Once he was done with the arms, he moved on to his eyes, he'd smashed one eye socket to pieces before Mary pulled him back, her mercy being the only thing that saved his life.
Mary broke the silence "Frank crawled away from Mia, as she followed him through the corridor. She had a knife out and was advancing, raving and ranting about protecting her baby, eyes black as pitch. He threw his crucifix around his knuckles and managed to knock her once on the cheek and the crucifix scared the demon! Mia came back to us for a second, dropping the knife and telling Frank to run. He picked it up and went to secure the crucifix around her neck to keep the demon at bay, but it was too powerful, her eyes blacked once more and her thin arms closed around his neck, choking him within an inch of his life"
Mary sipped, the tone in the room somber. She spoke quietly, a hint of pleading in her voice now. "He had to do it, the demon was too strong and he'd dropped his crucifix. He plunged her knife into my own sisters neck, but the demon gave her strength, so he stabbed her, again and again and again until she finally let him go. Blood like tar poured from her and she collapsed next to him as Frank passed out. When he finally came to, she was gone. There was one set of bloody footprints, so he knew where the demon had taken her. Frank found his crucifix, blessed the knife and went after her"
*TBC? What do you guys think? It's a fairly rich story, but it's quite detail heavy! Will write more if people like it.* | 2017-06-25T04:14:03 | 2017-06-25T03:43:38 | 29 | 10 |
[WP]You're the deadliest unit in the U.S's Army, but people get suspicious when you head shot 5 Taliban from behind a wall and yell "Get good."
Best way I can describe the idea is a COD:WAW mod menu that you can toggle. | I paused for a moment in the dimly lit hallway as the menu that I alone could see lit up beneath my hands. I quickly bypassed the main menus, arriving at a simple screen displaying a list of configurations. As I selected the "Legit" config, the world around me began to glow with boxes, lines, and mountains of text. I quickly scanned the walls around me. Three blue squares, each one of my squad mates, and seven red squares, each one of my targets. Tightening my grip on my Desert Eagle, I crept into the first room. Bruce Walker, age 32, towered over a woman dressed in rags who was clutching a baby. As I took aim, I felt my gun shift slightly to the left, pointing directly at the man's head. After an automatic delay of 300ms, I felt an invisible force squeeze the trigger. The ESP square around the man went a dull grey, and he fell lifeless to the floor. Abandoning any pretense of stealth, I ran towards one of the rapidly receding red squand fired another shot. This time however, my target fired back. My shot connected, while his hit me in the left shoulder, knocking me back. The remaining five squares slowly began to advance on my position, as did my squad. I reopened the menu, this time navigating to the menu entitled Aimbot. As I slowly dragged the FOV setting up, another shot rang out. As the second bullet slammed into my right hand, adjusting the FOV all the way up to 360. My squad mates arrived to see me instantly kill all five of my remaining targets in one snappy motion. I lasted long enough to see all of the targets turn grey, before my vision went black, save for one piece of yellow text.
"You have been permanently banned due to a cheating infraction." | Not exactly following the prompt, but I want to get this story out there anyways so I could continue at a later time. Any criticism would be appreciated, as this is the first time I've wrote on this sub, and the first time I've wrote a short story in a long time.
I back away slowly, dust blowing quickly away from the impact. The door lays flat on the cold floor as my crew members and I walk through the doorway. We scan the house for any living being, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Gun at ready, I slowly walk up the stairs, as if I was a tiger stalking my prey. I stop for a moment to listen to any sound, then I carry on up the stairs. I don't know when I blinked last time, but I feel my eyes drying up. I cannot lose sight of anything, not even for the 5 milliseconds. I try my best goggles, but I still do not see anything. The darkness of this building has now consumed me, and I stop to let my eyes adjust. I realize that I am in what seems to be a kid's bedroom, complete with a twin bed, drawings hanging on the wall, and toys strewn across the floor. I think to myself, "This place had people not too long ago." I try to be careful as I walk in the room, as to not step on any toys and gicve away my location to the enemy. I slowly place my rifle onto my back and take out my pistol from its holster, and quickly cock it. There's no need for a rifle at this range, and I'm much more accurate with this pistol anyways.
I listen closely. Suddenly, There's this crackle through my earpiece as one of my comrades turns on his mic. "Basement's clear, coming back up." I take a short exhale of relief. That's one of my old friends from college. The amount of time the both of us sat in our apartment, playing Counter Strike on our computers. God, we spent so much time in that game. Doesn't really prepare you for these situations, though. I have to admit, the real-life army is much more exciting, especially when you're risking your own life to protect the people you love. Whatever, that's enough nostalgia for the day. Back to the task at hand.
As I clear the kids room and prepare to head to the last room, I hear a shuffle through the back wall. I stop, hold up my gun, and prepare to shoot. I listen for any sort of movement, and sure enough, another shuffle follows soon after. I fire five shots through the wall, and reload. The shots echo off of every wall, and my ears start ringing, but I push on into the last room to kill the people inside. I think to myself, "The terrorists aren't getting away from me this time."
I break open the door to the room, knowing that I'd have to face off against armed terrorists, and knowing that this is the last possible room they can be in. I get ready for bullet impact, but still hold my gun steady. No bullets come at me. A bit surprised, I carefully step through the doorway with my finger on the trigger. The room is completely silent. As I walk through the room, I hear a faint *thump* come from the closet that shares a wall with the kids room. I open the closet and shoot right away, but there's nothing in the place of where people should be. I look to the ground, and get even more surprised. Five dead bodies dressed head to toe in army gear, lying on top of each other in almost a near-comical fashion. I see the bullet holes behind them from when I shot through the wall, and everything falls into place. I realize that I killed all five through the wall. I look at my own hands as if to think "How did I even do this?"
I stand there for a minute or two, just wondering what the chances were of me actually succeeding. Suddenly, I realize where I was and the severity of the situation. I start thinking back to our CS days and how we would always be toxic to the enemy. I start working myself up, and I start thinking that I single-handedly carried my team through this scout. Somehow, I forget that I have an earpiece for comms, and I yell to my comrades, "House clear. Get good." | 2017-07-26T14:26:19 | 2017-07-26T12:45:03 | 87 | 34 |
[WP] You've gained the gift of necromancy, ability to raise armies of undead. But you're just a nice person and have no desire to take over the world | After the two unexpected visitors left my mansion, I closed my front door behind them. My roommate Mark was still in shock, with eyes wide and face flushed.
"Was that who I think it was?" he demanded.
"If you think it was a very nice man and woman from the Van Helsing Institute, then yes, you'd be correct."
Mark was a pleasant enough fellow, but he had a tendency to get over excited. I was renting out one of the many rooms in my mansion for a extortionarily low rate. But there is a... smell associated with necromancy, so I was mostly just glad to have some human company. Putting up with his few small personality quirks was a small price to pay.
My answer seemed to upset him more. "I've heard of them! Vampire hunters! And what do you do? You invite them in, talk about the weather and the neighborhood, and then let them go like everythings normal. For heaven's sake, Jason, they exist to destroy people like you!"
"They exist," I responded, "To destroy evil. I am not evil."
"Don't give me that," Mark said, exasperated, "I've seen what kind of stuff you get up to in the basement. The army of zombies for example."
I'd never made any effort to hide anything from any of my tenants. It was so much worse if they found out on their own, without me being there to properly explain things.
"I have a number of cadavers, people who have donated their bodies to science after their deaths. And that's exactly what I've done to them. Science! I really am in this for the science after all."
Mark was not convinced. "Are you sure you should have just let them go? They know where you are now."
"What else would I do? I don't know how to convince you of this, Mark, but I'm really not a murderer."
Sure the agents from Van Helsing suspected what I am. The creepy mansion, isolated in the creepy woods. My ageless face. The smell. They routinely just dropped by on locations like mine. If I were evil, then I would attack them, and they would defend themselves. And honestly, despite my army of horrors and my preparation, they would probably win. That's exactly how my old master died, actually. I was determined to learn from his mistakes. Sure I had a few truly terrible creatures that I was quite proud of. A undead cyborg bear, with shark teeth, and some buffalo parts thrown in. A flock of modified undead ravens that could devour an elephant in seconds and leave no trace. But the only time I had ever used them was when a band of werewolves had tried to move into my territory.
Ordinary humans have nothing to fear from me, so I have nothing to fear from them. Five hundred years ago, maybe. Maybe I would have created an army of undead and carved myself out a kingdom of evil. Zombies are scary in a sword fight, but it's really not too simple to teach them to use guns. These are modern times, and modern times call for a more civilized necromancer.
All the old masters of necromancy failed to understand that. I was determined not to let this knowledge die with me.
I am Jason Blackstone, and I am the last necromancer. | Just another day, just another damned day in this... place. Day in day out, people just go from one place to another but they always just end up going nowhere in life. It's been about 3 months, 19 hours, 43 minutes and 11 seconds since this happened to me, this gift that curses those above and below. You might be wondering how I know those exact times, I don't really, it's just the time that has passed since the massacre of Ellonal, according to the news that is. Let me start from the beginning before you get lost and start complaining. Ellonal, it's a small city out in the far corners of this flat country, everyone knows everyone, even the dead. Nothing really happens in this place, aside from the occasional hold-up at the liquor store perhaps. It's a place you would never go to, or leave for that matter, born and raised will be the only words to give meaning to your life, the meaning of damnation. What I wanted more than anything was to leave this town, that's when all hell broke loose. February 2nd, a saturday, or perhaps a tuesday perhaps, any how, the mayor had just announced an outrageous law that was going to be put in place regarding overal salaries. The mayor had announced that all salaries were going to be cut in half and given to the city hall instead for major reparations to the building and its facilities. Of course nobody was on board with that and protesters started coming out of their holes, naturally those protesting would probably actually benefit from that situation... somehow. Nonetheless the protests started evolving into riots, I too was there. I was your regular run-of-the-mill office worker working a casual 9-5 job that tired me out for almost no pay at all, of course I wasn't going to take that hit lying down. By the time I had joined in the police had started to file themselves up infront of the city hall as some stragglers had started to try and barge into the mayors office. All in all I find myself a good person so I tried to stop them to stop the situation from escalating any further but I was slammed away by the boys in blue, and that's when everything went to shit.
One of my fellow office workers decided to have a drink before hand and started to get all up in the faces of the officers that were just doing their job, unfortunately for him he wasn't the only one that finally snapped. The officer that he was harassing gave him a right hook square across his jaw which sent him flying through the crowd, getting trampled as if it was a black friday sale. The officer then decided he officially had enough of the situation and pulled out his iron, emptying clip after clip into the office workers, farmers, store clerks and fellow off-duty officers. We just stood their in awe of the situation, some even muttering their thoughts out loud, "Oh my god, this wasn't what I wanted", and "*gasp* This isn't real." One officer after another started to panick and grab their weapons, undid the safety and started to unload. The first officer had finally run out of bullets when he looked horrified at the tens of people he gunned down in cold blood, horrified he hastily fumbled his gun out of his hands, staring at it for a second then putting it to his head then repeatedly pulling the trigger only to hear a *click* sound in dismay, *click* *click* *click* *click* *click*. The fucker burst out into tears screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs that he didn't mean it and that it wasn't him who did that. At last the other officers had run out of bullets as well and just looked horrifed to their bawling colligue, then their guns, then the crowd who just stood their dumbfounded. Kicking in the door the sargeant emerged with haste from the inside of the building, a terrified expression on his face, which quickly turned terrifying as he turned onto the cry baby that sat on his knees infront of him. The sargeant grabbed his batton and slammed the clicking gun out of his hands and repeatedly bashed him in the head, again and again and again, until his blood had donated itself to the crimson pool that had formed at our feet. All I could hear was thoughts dashing around in my head, "These people shouldn't be dead", "they are dead", "they don't have to be dead". It felt as if I was concentrating every photon of light around me into a singularity of, well, everything. As I was slowly regaining my vision I could see the blood draining away from the stones that had been stained, flooding back into the bodies that raised from the ground as if they were marionettes. Rapidly all color faded from my vision and I blacked out, the lasting feeling of numbness remaining. It's been about 3 months, 19 hours, 43 minutes and 11 seconds since this happened to me, since the blackout, since the fall, since the raising of the dead. Ever since that, incident, if you want to call it that, I have been practicing with small animals, then larger and larger to perfect my ability to preven blackouts form happening. I first started with mice, then cats and dogs, then onto humans then onto horses. Ever since that, incident, I have been trying to help people regain what they have lost, the regret they have caused, the lonelyness that they have felt, I try to fix it all. I have recorded all 1,742 succesful reanimations so far in a personal journal of mine which I haved dubbed "The Necronomicon". Something that I have failed to record in my journal however, is that the deterioration of my body has increased, a 1,742 times, since the massacre in Ellonal. | 2018-01-08T13:13:09 | 2018-01-08T12:52:16 | 122 | 10 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them. | *"A terrorist they call you. A freedom fighter you label yourself. How... quaint."*
"Come out into the light, you coward or I will first kill you and then I will kill these kids"
&nbsp;
*"Don't worry about the kids, they are already at home in their beds. This night will feel just like a rather weird dream to them. Why did you think Steve would make a good target?"*
"He has all this gold, that he always sells to the bank. Now come out of the darkness or I will shoot you right now!"
&nbsp;
*"The gold comes from me and my kind. We are rather old fashioned when it comes to currency. Oh and I am afraid I can't really come out of the darkness."*
"Very well. If you want to play rough." - readying his AK47.
&nbsp;
*"Oh yes, please go ahead. But you have misunderstood me. It is not that I do not want to get out of the darkness"*
Suddenly a voice whispered right into the terrorists ear: *"I AM THE DARKNESS!"* | "You call the police and we'll kill your kids, got it ?" Click.
Edgar put the smoke blackened phone down with a trembling hand. His babies, his Tara and little Vince kidnapped. What the Hell could he do ? He thought as he burst into tears. The terrorists didn't have to worry about him going to the police, the jackasses wouldn't believe him or care.
Shadows crawled over the ceiling, down the oak planked walls to gather into a humanoid form on the floor. Simultaneously, a dirty light shone through the floor, and the stench of sulphur filled the air, golden scales and eyes glittered as a dragon pulled itself from an inverted pentagram.
"Edgar ? What is wrong ?" Mammon asked with only the undercurrent of a second, lighter voice and slight hiss. The three-pronged tail swept a few tables and chairs out of the way so that he could sit comfortably.
"Yes, Edgar. Why do you cry like the others children at my sight ? Why do yours not come to greet Uncle Shad ?" Shad echoed, his eyes glittering orange under the bar's florescent lighting.
"T-they're gone, guys. They were taken from me."
A thunderous roar shook the rafters, actually the whole building. "Was it Heaven ? Can I barge through the Gates, slaughter the freaks and return them ? I hate them. Father doesn't need the freaks anymore, he has me."
He dried his eyes with a tissue Shad handed him, it may or may not've been crystalized from the same. "No, Mon, it wasn't Heaven. It was humans. The terrorists want money or it's Heaven for my kids."
"They want to be greedy, do they ? My favourite kind of humans. By my wings, we will return Tara and Vince."
----
"Uncle Shad, Uncle Mon ? Help !"
"Would you shut up ?! No one's going to help you." Scott screamed, even as the light seemed to dim. He frowned when the coins in his pocket started clinking before the fabric of his jeans ripped. Silver coins suddenly floated in the air, numerous like the stars and glowing like meteorites. The, "What the Hell ?" that was on his lips never left as the ancient coins burned through his throat.
Vince grinned as the shadows lengthened and the ropes that bound him loosened. "Way to go, Uncle Mon."
"Uncle Shad, there's a guy on the other side of the wall there. He's the only one left now this guy's dead." Tara chuckled, relishing the thought of what their captors would endure in Hell at Mammon's claws. An abrupt scream that cut off just as quickly as it started before Uncle Shad freed her too. Lucifer knew her adopted family was weird but she loved them. They'd always have her back, and her soul.
----
"Dad !" Vince and Tara exclaimed, scrabbling off Mammon's broad back onto the cracked asphalt in front of the *Lucky Star*.
Edgar burst into fresh tears as he hugged his kids and Shad while patting Mammon's foreleg. "Thank you so much. I-I don't know what I would've done without you guys. Tonight's drinks are on me."
They withdrew into the bar as golden light and the whoosh of feathered wings filled the air. Mammon had finally gotten his wish to fight some of the Hordes of Heaven. Twenty minutes later, he set a bucket of ale before the dragon. "Uh, Mon, you've still got feathers in your teeth and there're some on the floor too."
"Oh, sorry, Edgar." | 2018-01-31T06:46:29 | 2018-01-31T06:04:29 | 233 | 59 |
[WP] You are tearing down an old abandoned home. In the attic, you find an old radio with a microphone attached. You plug it in. FDR says that the United States has been attacked by the Empire of Japan. You say, "hello?" FDR pauses mid-speech, and responds surprisingly, "Hello? Who is that?" | "Uh," I pause, thinking over the situation. "It's Paul. Who is this?"
A crackling sound follows for a few seconds before the man on the other side says, "This is Franklin Roosevelt. May I ask who exactly you are?"
I chuckle. What kind of stupid prank is this? Who could be doing this to me? I set down the radio, dismissing the strange object when the man on the radio starts again, "As I was saying, the United States was at peace with that nation."
"What the hell," I mutter, turning back towards the sound.
As this supposed "FDR" continues his speech on the radio, I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for a video of his Pearl Harbor speech. I skip to where he started speaking when I turned on the radio.
"The United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the empire of Jap-"
"Hello?" A man's voice interrupts in the video.
FDR, obviously surprised by this unexpected voice, frowns.
"Hello?" the president says uneasily. "Who is that?"
How is this happening? I check the date of the video. 2009. Eleven years ago. This is not possible.
"Uh," the man says while the crowd buzzes. "It's Paul."
I drop my phone, hearing the screen shatter as it hits the dusty floor.
The FDR on the radio stops abruptly.
"What was that sound?" he asks.
I look down at the phone I just dropped, realizing what had happened.
"Oh my god," I whisper, realizing everything that I could say right now.
I lean towards the microphone of the radio, clear my throat and just start talking.
"The nation will be attacked on September 11th, 2001. The World Trade Centers will fall. Thousands will die. Al-Qaeda is responsible."
"Who is this?" The president asks, now furious. "Whoever this is, you are making a huge mistake. I advise you to-"
"In 1999, two students from Columbine High School will open fire on their classmates, killing many, wounding many others." I take a breath, wracking my brain for their names. "Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris."
I continue for a few more minutes, stating every terrible event in the nation that I could think of. "This can all be prevented," I say, out of breath. "Just please trust me."
I wait for a response from the radio but silence is the only thing filling the attic.
Nothing. Not even static.
I look at the ground, trying to find my phone to continue the Youtube video of the speech. I search everywhere in the attic but can't find it. I turn back to examine the mysterious radio but it is no longer there. Just seconds ago it was sitting in front of me but had somehow disappeared.
Have I altered the past? Have I just prevented countless tragic events from occurring. I have to find someone. Anyone. Then I can find out if I changed history. Life could be so different now. Hundreds of thousands of people could have lived past a tragedy that never occurred. The possibilities are endless for this new present time. I grin. Hell, for all I know, in this new world I was never bor- | The walls within Partition 11 are beaten and bruised with the disease of age. Stains mar the thin walls separating the rooms in which I crouch, probably from broken pipes within their inner organs. My job here is simple; find any items of interest, marking them down for retrieval later. The area is devoid of people, except for myself, so the job is quiet and peaceful. It's exactly why I started doing jobs like this in the first place.
I have been working small jobs like this for 6 years, now. There is no good job description, so my agency calls us "agents of assistance," whatever the hell that means. I like to call us "the help." A loaded term, of course, from history long ago, but taking on a new meaning: if you have cash, we'll do it. Most anything. Our work, though, is primarily in tearing down abandoned houses, searching for items of worth and retrieving them for apathetic owners, whether individuals or the bank. Retrievers.
In my 6 years of work, I've scoured museums that have been shutdown, assisting the moving crew in making sure not a single item of inventory was lost. I've gone through old mansions far separated from the rest of civilization, whose occupants passed and hungry family members devoured the contents of the all powerful will. But this was the first time I'd been to a famous place: the White House.
I look down at my watch. I've been here for two hours, and I've found nothing of surprise - an old clock, hidden behind a dilapidated couch. Small golden trinkets, scattered in between the cracks of the floorboards. I carefully collect them into a wooden chest, provided to me by White House staff. That's another reason they hire me. There is no temptation of theft within me. I think it's probably because my dad is still serving life in prison for robbing a store. My mother never forgave him until the day she died.
I pick up a cracked plate, still sitting inside a wooden case. For use in dining, I guess. Putting it in the trash disposal bin, my eyes sweep across the room. I think I've finished this floor. As I head towards the attic, my thoughts wander once again. My mom always wanted me to get a stable job. Sit at a desk, work at a computer, make a good living, have a family. I hate that so much, and besides, I would never get anything done. My coworkers often call me Goldy, on account of the color of my hair. Also for the fact that I can't hold a conversation longer than 30 seconds, or I'll wander through the depths of my mind once more. Like a golden retriever. It's a job joke, not many people get it when I tell them.
My peace and quiet is disturbed. I stop at the bottom of the steps, completely still. I hear the sound of static, crackling faintly just behind the door I was about to enter.
"Anybody there?" I query aloud, hoping for a reponse. After 6 years, not much scares you, but it's the white house. Maybe it's aliens. I read a lot of books about those.
No response reaches my ears, so I puff out my chest and march up the wooden stairs, approaching the attic door. With a shout much like one from hide-and-seek, I yank it open. Scanning the room, there's no one. Nothing at all, actually. As I walk forward, I almost trip. At my feet, a small radio, crackling faintly, sits innocently. This is the culprit of the sound I heard just moments before. It must have been recently placed here, as well. After all, this partition hasn't been visited in several years, and has been scheduled to be renovated in a few weeks. Gingerly, I reach down and pick it up, noting the small microphone attached to it. It's definitely an old model.
Turning up the volume knob, I realize what once I thought was static is actually a voice. "The United States has been attacked by the Empire of Japan." It must be a radio station that transmits old broadcasts. How cool.
"Hello", I say into the microphone, in a sing song voice. Why not, right? It's definitely a one way rad-
"Hello? Who is that?"
BANG! I drop the radio. My body freezes, like a deer on the road. The radio's static suddenly jumps in volume, several decibels above what it once was. Or is that the sound of my heartbeat?
Breathing heavily, I pick it up, and move the microphone back towards my mouth. It's a two-way radio, okay. I'll just compliment them on their channel.
"That's a really great radio channel you have there. I'm not a regular listener but I'll tune in from now on." I'm back to holding my breath. Did that sound awkward? How many people are listening? Beth likes history, I hope she wasn't listening. That would really ruin my cha-
"This is President FDR, on a private broadcast to the members of the cabinet. I don't know what kind of joke you're playing at, but the Service is on their way to find you. The nation is in a crisis. This is a bad time for a prank, boy."
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. It's not real, right?
I put the radio down on the floor, backing out of the room slowly. My feet on the topmost steps, I close the door.
The attic is empty. There's no items of note in there. My job here in partition 11 is done. I collect my things and move to report back to management. Another day, another dollar, right? Just another day on the job.
...
Fucking aliens.
| 2018-02-05T15:10:34 | 2018-02-05T14:50:50 | 715 | 31 |
[WP] he stalks his targets. He knocks them out, and takes them to an unknown location. When they finally wake, whatever illness or injury they had has been surgically healed. No one has caught the Dr. Harmless. | "you have to do something!" A man in a white label coat was shouting at the police, it had been in the news everywhere. A dr. Named Dr. Harmless was going around curing everyone of illness and disease. He would come like a swift wind and suddenly the whole bus felt healthier, no sniffles or coughing,
I walked down the street, so many people seemed happier. I knew that my mental disease wouldn't be cured but at least no one was in pain anymore.
As I passed a newsstand and I read the headlines that major pharmaceutical companies were downsizing, insurance companies were going bankrupt and employee attendance was up.
"Miss, may I have a moment of your time?" I looked up and saw a gentleman with a soft white beard. I blinked up at him "sure, what do you need help with?"
"I have a job for you. I noticed that you see me and see others, would you like the gift to cure mental illness? It's very difficult compared to physical illness but I believe you can feel others pain."
I smiled, "what's the catch?" He chuckled softly, "I knew you were smart, you'll become like me, I have every illness and disease, injury and pain stored inside of me, but I smile through it and help everyone I meet. You'll search out the sad and downtrodden, the scared and beaten and become Dr. Smiles. But you'll always remember their pain and know mental illness like no other creature does."
I out my hand out to shake his, "sign me up. If I can stop another from feeling my pain and live a happier life, then I will do what it takes."
So now I wander the streets alone, silently curing those who feel trapped in their minds, the lost.
Dr Harmless gets the publicity, but who wants credit when you can make a child smile. | When I was a child, I used to believe that hot Apple juice was alcoholic. I saw that wine was made with grapes and stored in a cellar on TV once, and automatically assumed that all hot juice was alcoholic.
I remember my mother telling me that a drunk man tells no lies. He drinks from the fountain of truth and spews out the remains.
I remember laughing in her face and telling her that I was a woman.
"That's not me mommy, I am a girl." I sipped from my juice box and laid my head on her chest.
"Oh Monstruo, you can be whatever you want." She stroked my head before setting me on the couch to finish watching cartoons.
I remember the tears in her eyes as she smiled at me.
She walked up the stairs to her bedroom and never came back.
__________________________________________++++++++++
"Truth or dare, Morrigan?" Jessica asked me as my group of friends sat around the table.
"Truth." I replied, taking my three "cop-out" vodka shots to the head. I was NOT planning on streaking naked down the dorm's parking lot.
"Ummmm, Oh!!! Have you ever killed anyone?!!?" She asked with all of the excitement of a 3 year old.
"Yes." I uncounciously replied before shoving the lemon slice into my mouth.
I grabbed the lemon salt and poured it into my mouth.
34 seconds. It took me 34 seconds to realize that silence surrounded me. I looked up and around at everyone.
"......Who?" James whispered next to me. He was the quiet one out of the group. So, as I contemplate it now, he was the LEAST likely "friend" that I would have expected to reply to my slip-up. I only heard him because he was sitting next to me.
'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. I have screwed the f*ck, ALL the way, up.' I thought as I turned to face him.
I just looked into his eyes and stared for what probably seemed like an eternity to him and the rest of the group.
I decided then that he would be my next target. He deserved every little thing that I planned on doing to him.
"Death." I replied, turning back to face everyone else. "I've killed death." I said louder so that the whole group would hear.
"........................................................................."
"........................................................................."
I took another shot of the communal vodka and decided that yes, drunk men DO spew truths from their mouths.
"........................................................................."
"..............Are we high?" Andre loudly whispered before I promptly spewed my shot all over Jessica's face.
____________________________________________++++++++
I decided to do James 1 week before finals. I couldn't wait any longer. He had bags under his eyes in class, he stopped hanging out with us, and he stopped replying to all of our messages.
He skipped 8 am Organic on that day. I knew then, that he was not going to last pass this day. It was already decided. Who am I to not follow Destiny? I was The Morrigan after all. This was what I DID, my duty.
____________________________________________++++++++
I slipped out of the class via a presumed family emergency. One online scheduled "wakeup call" in the middle of class was all it took.....and a little dramatics.
I made my way to the admissions office and filled out my withdrawal forms and submitted them to the clerk. I turned in my school id, and my dorm key. I walked to his dorm room, knocked on his door, and he answered.
Gun in hand. He answered.
The rest is unknown......to the both of us.
____________________________________________++++++++
"James." The lady with the pen tapped it on her desk and waited patiently.
"James?" She asked a little louder. He grinned at her.
"Sorry ma'am. I was just thinking." He replied chagrined.
"About what?" She asked, noting down that his personality has changed drastically.
"I don't want to die." He sounded relieved, happy even. "This is the first time, that I can remember, that I feel like I don't want to die." He sounded hysterical as he rubbed the scar on his forehead.
"How'd you get that scar again?" The lady asked, noting that it was a possible selfharm mark.
"...I.....I don't really remember."
| 2018-09-06T19:36:01 | 2018-09-06T18:52:57 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions. | "...Okay."
That word brought Shaji's speech to a halt. To be truthful, the silence was more concerning than the explanation. To be fair I get why they might want to convince me.
I'm somewhat of a wanderer. And for better or worse, it's netted me some unfortunate nicknames. But that's probably because at the end of the day, I'll do anything for some coin.
And plenty of people come to me with offers. A surprising thing really. I'm impressed people can locate me so easily.
But when you're proposed to by the most feared mage in all of the land, it's a different story.
"I beg your pardon?" Shaji asked. "You accept my offer?
There was a hint of confusion in her voice. Even her guards seemed broken on the manner.
"Your majesty, I know we've been at this for a while now. And I've killed plenty of people of yours. So I understand some confusion."
"Why are you so willing to accept such a deal?"
"I haven't accepted anything yet. We're negotiating."
This seemed to calm the half of her guards anxious to kill me. Which was fair. There were some familiar faces in the room. And to tell the truth; I'd been dying to finish what I started with them.
Shaji moved closer, the incantation she used parting the guards like water. Strange really. When she wasn't raising the dead to fight me, or throwing fire or portals, she seemed quite nice. Ravishing even.
But it's better to not push my luck farther than I already have.
"The chosen one wishes to work with me?"
"The King's guard is rather disappointing. Cowardly. Abhorrent. They routinely slaughter their own citizens."
"And the Brotherhood?"
"I'd be worried for them if they weren't so focused on learning how you do the things you do, Your Majesty."
"Please, Shaji." She insisted.
"My apologies. They are not a threat. Only a brotherhood in name. Although, their experiments... rather disheartening what they do to the youths of the village."
"So what does that make you?"
"No one's savior. They've lost that with me."
"If you do as I say, I will grant you everything in this world and more."
Shaji showed me visions of her plans, the room swirling with images of a future I previously hoped to avoid. It was better than anything I'd spent my life trying to save. Those who hired me before wouldn't be missed.
"Shaji, if you allow me to join your guild. The world will be the least of our conquest. But one more thing, if you please."
"Yes, what may that be?"
"Do you have any Skooma? I'm starting to come down, and things are getting a little fuzzy."
---
Hey, you're awake. If you like this, find me at r/Jamaican_Dynamite
I have wares if you have coin. | "Mister Overlord, sir," I said as I bowed to the Dark Overlord himself. I didn't expect his presence. Not here. Not in the middle of the camp. Outside I could hear the leaves rustling in the evening wind. A dog snored peacefully, undisturbed by the entity that had materialized at the foot of my makeshift bed.
"Mister Dark Overlord to you," he answered with a scowl.
I bowed my head lower and mumbled an apology. "Mister Dark Overlord, sir, sorry, sir." He grunted his approval.
I had always been the Chosen One. We knew from the day I was born with the comet passing overhead. They never let me forget, not while I was out playing with the other children of the camp as we continued our pilgrimage towards the foreboding walls of the Holy City. Not while I was out foraging for berries with the other women or when I joined the men in the Small Council meetings. "You'll go with them to the Unified Council, someday," my mother always said. "The first girl to join them." That's where they left to on the eve of the full moons to return a fortnight later. That sounded splendid and whatever, but I really just didn't care.
All we did was walk. We walked to the Holy City and when we got there we would walk along those sacred roads and pray at some sacred altar to some sacred guy who never showed his face. And then we would walk right back to where we came from, deep in the forest in the foothills on the other side of the mountains. Crossing the mountains had been - believe it or not - just as much walking as expected. My favorite yak had died. I missed him.
Still I bowed, silently awaiting the Dark Overlord's next words. He could kill me right then and there if he wanted. It would be a welcome respite from the walking. He could turn me into a goat that my parents would obliviously eat for dinner the next evening. He could turn me into a tent, and then they would find a tent within a tent and burn both tents as heretics.
"I want you to join me," he said finally. I gasped and struggled to compose myself. I peeked up at him, thinking perhaps he was playing one of those cruel jokes that his minions often played. Sometimes the leaders want to get in on the fun, I've heard. That's why the members of the Small Council will walk around kicking the children. Just for fun. But his face was serious. If this was a joke, then he his delivery was spotless. I decided to take the bait, like a hungry fish leaping for a toe dipped into the river.
"I would be honored," I said, bowing deeply again. He had already begun to talk again, spouting threats about this or that and how chewy a goat I would be.
"-wait, what? You would? You'll join me?"
I rose to my feet to speak to him almost as an equal. We would be colleagues, at the very least. The Dark Overlord and the one the Dark Overlord lords over. Wordy, but I'm sure we could come up with something better together. "Yeah, sure. I hate it here. All we do is walk. Walk and talk and walk some more. You can fly, right?"
He seemed uncertain. "Yes. Well, I mean, no." He was flustered, fumbling over his words. "Not fly, per se. I can materialize though. Like I just did. I can teleport. I can do a lot of things. I'll teach you. You can be my protege."
I shrugged. "Yeah, whatever works. No need to convince me. I'm in."
"You don't need my mission statement? My goals? My sob story that I had ready to convince you to join my side?"
"No. I already told you, I'm in. I hate it here."
He seemed downfallen and I wondered if maybe he was looking for a nemesis instead of a protege. Then his face brightened again. "Can I still tell you the sob story?" Seriously? Now? With the dog snoring right outside the tent and guards strolling around the perimeter?
"Can it wait? Shouldn't we get going?"
He shook his head insistently. "I was really excited. Let me tell you." So he did. He told me of how he used to have to walk thousands and thousands of miles as a kid, until his feet were blistered and bleeding and until the yaks dropped dead from exhaustion. And still he walked. And even after going three months without food and water - yes, he said three months without water - still he walked. And finally one day as his tribe walked through the desert, he came across a magical fountain. He really was an awful story-teller. This was barely believable and his vocabulary was like that of my infant brother.
"This is all made up, right?" I interrupted. He nodded. "Can we just go? I promise I'll listen later."
He humphed but was seemingly satisfied by getting the beginning of his invented story out. "Fine," he said finally. "Let's go." And then he grabbed my arm and whisked me to the Dark Realm.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-26T06:23:09 | 2019-09-26T06:10:22 | 280 | 101 |
[WP] The royal advisor isn't sure why everyone thinks he is going to betray the king, perhaps it is the skull on top of his staff, maybe it is the ominous dark flowing robes or simply the way he laughs, regardless he decides to hire an advisor to help him act less suspiciously | He looked down at his seemingly flourescent new suit.
"Are, uhh... You sure?"
"Trust me darling you couldn't possibly be mistaken for a malicious wretch in this. It is simply fabulous!"
The team of three advisors looked him up and down, all nodding together in unison and excitement.
Raghul had always worn black and purple. Black to symbolise the inevitability and wisdom of death, and purple as a sign of the royal blood which flowed through his veins, admittedly through a distant cousin but nevertheless a part of the court traditions that must be observed. Being royal advisor, he never thought it proper to wear much purple lest he accidentally imply that the position deserved to be his. As a result, his garb was almost always black, trimmed with tiny amounts of purple. Yet here he stood, in a slim-fit yellow suit with one purple flower pinned to the lapel.
He had hired the advisors in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the near ceaseless gossip which reached his ears. He had his spies of course - what good advisor didn't? - and time after time some of his most respected colleagues would be reported spreading gossip. Looking at himself now in the mirror, wholly uncomfortable with the get-up, he sighed.
"I just feel so misunderstood," he said, turning to the advisors. "Like the crows of death delivering their morbid news being hailed as omens dark when they only portain the messages of others."
The advisors glanced meaningfully at each other, and the second man stepped forward.
"OK now Raghul, this is exactly what we spoke about," he said. "No more death-based metaphors! They are, like, totally bumming us out."
Before Raghul could respond that it was actually a reference to a little-known local theatre piece he had donated to, the third advisor jumped in.
"Aaaaaaaand we have to talk about your staff."
Raghul looked at his staff. It sat ever in his hand, a family heirloom with the skull of his great-great-grandmother atop it, his only connection to the magic of the old-times. She had also been the first woman to serve as royal advisor and still held the record for most lambs to be slaughtered on the King's nameday. Aside from all that, it helped his arthritis.
"What... what about my staff?"
"Well, don't you think it's a bit CUCKOO?!" The advisors joined each other in a chorus of laughter. "I mean a SKULL, come on! It feels like we're on the set of one of those theatre-thingies you keep talking about."
The first advisor left the room and returned with a long object wrapped in a glimmering silver shawl. Raghul removed the cloth with the patience of a saint, awaiting the feeling of a new start, a fresh look. When the cloth finally met the floor, he saw it: A... candy cane? It was a red-and-white-striped staff, complete with a hook a la Bo Peep.
"Now, paired with your yellow suit and your purple lapel I think this will really brighten up your image!"
Raghul raised an eyebrow. He held the old staff in one hand and the new, candy-cane staff in the other hand.
With a heave of his chest, he addressed the room.
"Honestly, if it's a choice between this or being the bad guy, then I think it's just time to be the bad guy."
Just like that, he waved his staff, complete with the head of his fallen great-great-grandmother, and the three advisors were transformed into croaking toads: One yellow; one purple; and one striped with white and red.
&#x200B;
\-----------
First ever entry! | The kingdom would burn. Let it! Dana thought. He'd done all he could.
He sunk into the plush turquoise cushion and brought his coffee up to his nose. Deep breath, eyes closed, he soaked in the ambient, idle chatter of the little coffee house's patrons. No politics here. No diplomatic concerns. No talk of wars looming like red-demons on the horizon ready to exhale infernos.
People relaxing. That was all.
A server brought over a plate of cheese. Dana nodded his thanks and cut a thin slice of something yellow and lay it on his tongue.
It was good to get away from the palace. Dana's first week as the royal advisor had gotten off to a rather shaky start. The Persian Shah had rejected an offer of peace, his eyes locked firmly on Dana all the while. It had been a good offer, too. Dana had been up half the night prior, writing the damned treaty.
His own Sultan hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day. "This could mean war! It was either your words or your appearance that put him off, Dana. Or do you think it somehow my fault?"
Dana didn't know who had been at fault! But he knew better than to question his never-wrong can't-be-wrong Sultan.
He sipped his tea and tried not to worry about his position. He *couldn't* lose it. He needed to keep sending money back to his parents -- they were too old to work the land now, and their savings had gone into his education. To fail them would also be to fail himself. Unthinkable! And yet the thought was there, battering away at the makeshift wall of serenity the coffee house had forged.
He should stick to what he was doing. He shouldn't change because he was doing everything right. Everything by the book and--
The tea. The taste. The aroma. Think of anything except going back to the palace. You have to relax, Dana, or you'll go mad.
Something tiny scuttered past his cushion -- a little mouse. An empty mug followed it, spinning through the air and narrowly missing. The mouse cowered in a corner wall, nowhere left for it to run. The mouse's assailant, a burly man with greying hair, stalked his way over to it.
The mouse was a slight little creature. Dana could see its heart beating through its ribs and knew exactly how that kind of anxiety felt.
Dana, only half-understanding why -- he didn't usually care for mice at all -- stood up, blocked the man's path, and shook his head.
The burly man swallowed hard, nodded, then backed off.
The advantages, Dana considered, of dressing so imposingly. He took another slice of cheese and crumbled it onto the ground near the mouse, before returning to his seat.
The coffee house was only half-full, so when a girl with dark hair in a long ponytail, and a mole above her top lip, sat herself down on the yellow cushion opposite, he scowled hard. Hoped she'd see it and get the message.
She didn't. "Hello," she said, cheerily.
He slurped his tea but didn't respond.
"Are you in costume? Pretending to be of those old war-lords or something?" Her emerald eyes were locked on his skull-staff.
"I'm the Sultan's advisor," he said, proudly but agitated. That ought to quieten her. After all, the sultan's advisor held power... for the time being.
The girl began to laugh. "Oh, come on," she said. "I'm not an idiot!"
Dana could feel his face heat. "What do you mean? I never said you were!"
"You're as much a sultan's advisor as I am a queen!"
"Then good day to you, *your majesty*," he said, bowing his head.
"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes and calmed her giggling. "It's a good costume. Really. It's just... you've gone for a very old fashioned look. Very out-dated for an advisor."
"I think you'll find this is how they currently dress. I am my own proof."
"Right. Skulls on staff. Menacing robes. Pointed beards. That's very current. Certainly, in these days of modern diplomacy, I'm sure such an intimidating look would go down wonderfully!"
"Well... It is a little old fashioned," he admitted. "But I modeled my outfit and my demeanor on the greatest advisors the empire has ever known."
"No wonder the empire has crumbled from a cake to one little country then," she said.
"I..."
"You...?" She laughed again.
What really burned Dana was that she had a point. He did look intimidating. Almost ludicrously so. Yet, that was the look of his mentor and of many who carried the torch before him. He looked at the girl. Pretty. Smiling. Not scared or careful with what she said. Not intimidated by him -- and that did make a pleasant change. And why wasn't she intimidated? Because she thought it just a costume.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Why? Are you going to buy me a coffee?"
"Is that how much your name costs?"
She bit her lip. "It costs a little more than that."
"Maybe I can save up and afford it someday."
She paused, considered, then said, "It's Idella. Call that a good-faith loan."
For the first time in a week, Dana found himself smiling. "Idella. A sensible name."
"And you?"
"Dana. Please, Idella, I will buy you a coffee. Then, you will be so kind as to help me fix my costume. Make me into a modern-day advisor. One who can be taken seriously."
"It would take more than just changing what you are wearing," she said.
Dana mused for a moment. He glanced at the wall, looking for the mouse, but it had long since gone. Most of the cheese had vanished with it.
He wondered if the Shah would meet a second time. Wondered if maybe he could stop the kingdom from burning. Dana looked at Idella and said with a nod, "Perhaps I'm willing to change a little more than I thought." | 2019-12-20T06:50:28 | 2019-12-20T06:18:29 | 305 | 141 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | Worse, it was my name.
My teachers had always called me a narcissist. They said that no one would ever be good enough for me, except me. They said it would stunt my relationships. And my mom had said she felt sorry for the person who ended up with me.
I guess the person who ended up with me is me. The one I love...is me. And apparently, everyone was right. That also means that I have nothing to give anyone else. That I will be alone for the rest of my days, and it’s my fault. I’m my own worst enemy.
You know what the funny thing is?
I love it. | Your eyes stare down the clock in front of you. Your fingers impatiently tapping your table as you wait on the ticking hands.
"Come onnnn!!!" You mutter to yourself as the clock strikes 2:31. "3 more minutes!!!"
You jump up from your seat and begin pacing the room. The excitement coursing through you and causing you to laugh out loud. Just a few more minutes. In 3 minutes, you'll be officially 16 years old, and with that, so much more.
"Are you still up?" A voice asks behind you, taking you by surprise as you spin around. Your older brother Jared smiles at you and sits in your vacated seat.
"Uh, duh! I'm not going to miss this!" You exclaime. "In just three minutes I'm going to find out who I'm gonna end up loving for the rest of my life!"
"And who you're going to absolutely loathe." My brother Jared smirked as he runs his right hand over his left wrist, the name in a cursive italic lettering with the name, "Spencer Oliver."
"Yeah. That too I guess," you shrug.
"You shouldn't take this half so lightly, Sonia," Jared shakes his head, "Yeah it's all fun and games with your right wrist, but life would be too easy if that were the case. Whatever name that pops up on that leftie of yours is going to give you hell for the rest of your life."
"I'm sure I'll be fine. You seem to handle Spencer okay." You interject.
"That's because I know how to play rough. The guy slashes my tires, so I brake his arm. We go back and forth." He shrugs as he crosses his arms, "You're different though. You're a pacifist. I know you. Whoever it is that pops up on that arm is there for life. You need to be careful, Sonia. They could really fuck you up."
"I'm well awar-" You freeze as your eyes suddenly dart back to the clock, the hand having now moved to the long awaited, 2:34am.
"Happy birthday, Sonia," Jared smiles at you.
Suddenly a hot pain begins to sear into your wrists, you muffle your whimpers as tears appear in your eyes, "Fucking hell!" You groan. The white pain begins to spread down your arms as you stare at the name being written into your right wrist.
Angelina Evergreen, it reads.
Your face turns to one of confusion. Angelina Evergreen? As in... the Angelina currently racing against you for student body president? You laugh as you think of her soft curls and fierce smile.
"Gotta love a girl with spunk," you giggle.
It is then you decide to turn to your left wrist, your eyes slowly focusing on the name in front of you. The names now fresh and just as marked as those on Jared's wrists.
"So? What do they say?" Jared smiles, his grin quickly turning to a frown as he notices your shocked expression. "Sonia? What's wrong?"
"Angelina Evergreen...." You whisper.
"Oohhhh which one is that?" Jared grins at you.
"Both of them." | 2020-01-18T22:31:14 | 2020-01-18T21:46:35 | 245 | 46 |
[WP] You've discovered time travel. You travel 30 years into the future, only to discover that in doing so, you've been missing for the past 30 years.
[deleted] | The plan was simple.
Step 1: Get the down low of the last 30 years from future me.
Step 2: Wall Street shall have a new God.
I would wait at my hometown's Starbucks, not because they do good coffee- stuff's sweet enough to make a baby sick. But unlike babies from my hometown, this place was the only thing I knew would stick around for 30 years.
I tap on my empty coffee cup, keeping the shop entrance in the corner of my eye. I know it's a long way from the big city, where future me lives in his penthouse with a harbour view. Or maybe our beachhouse somewhere up north. Maybe I should listen for a helicopter.
I glance at my watch for the upteenth time. A knockoff Rolex. For now.
I know I'm probably pretty important, maybe the mayor, a CEO at worst, but at least send an assistant, you idiot. Surely, even I am not stupid enough to forget a two step plan. Well actually.
Step 3: Get very, very, very, ri-
A girl plops down in the seat in front of me. She had the firiest red hair I had ever seen, tied up in a pretty ponytail. In one hand she held a scrunched up green apron with a badge that said "Lexi". Her other hand held out a coffee.
"Hey, sorry you got stood up. My friend and I were taking bets, but 3 hours is the longest we've ever seen."
She laughed and her cheeks formed soft dimples and her eyes glimmered. And I knew why future me was never coming. | I kissed Mom goodbye before I left. It was the least I could do.
She didn't understand why I'd go. She tried to, but she couldn't. Everything she'd ever needed was here. Dad, me, my sister Sara, the house, and friends and family just a phone call away. But Mom was Mom, best mom I'd ever had--hell, best Mom anybody could ever have.
It broke my heart to see her cry, but I couldn't let the moment pass by. So I left.
Time passed. Thirty years, to be exact. When I reappeared, I was in the house, in the same basement where I'd set those dials and pressed the buttons and disappeared from for three decades. It looked the same, by and large. Like a shrine to me. My things untouched, my desk still a mess now covered in a layer of dust.
The steps still creaked as I went upstairs to find the empty kitchen. The trinkets had changed with time; pictures of Mom and Dad and Sara living a life I'd missed. It was her style--Sara's--I could still recognize it after all that time. Cute, but not overly so. Caring.
"Sam?" she said, and I turned slowly towards her voice. "Is that really you?"
She was dressed head to toe in black and she'd foregone the makeup she'd always worn. Good thinking, given the tears rolling down her now wrinkled face. Her voice was softer, sadder, missing the life it'd had when she was a kid.
"It's me, Sara. I'm home."
Anger flashed in her eyes. Sadness creased her wrinkles deeper. "Thirty years, Sam. You've been gone thirty years."
Facts, nothing more. But facts stung worse than wasps sometimes, and I couldn't even bring myself to swat them away.
"I know," I said lamely. "I just didn't think..."
"You didn't think," she snapped. She turned to leave and to hide her tears. "I was just leaving."
"I'll go with you," I said hopefully.
"It's Dad's funeral."
Like a freight train. Like the weight of thirty years smacking me across the face. "I'll go with you," I said again. Less hopeful now.
So I went, and a light drizzle turned the dirt to mud and soaked me to my bones. Like a wet skeleton, pale as I was, ghost as I looked suddenly reappeared. People gawked, but I stayed quiet, looked straight ahead, pretended I'd not been gone for three decades.
When the motorcade arrived, I felt my knees tremble. Sara stifled a sob and I laid a gentle hand on her back. She flinched, brushed it off, stepped fractionally away so I'd not touch her again.
And there was Mom. Still as elegant as she'd always been; still the best Mom anybody could have ever had. I knew that from just a glance.
I stood back as Sara stepped forwards and took her in a deep embrace. Those empty eyes stared over Sara's shoulder, looking at me but not quite seeing. Like I wasn't there, or like I'd never been there at all.
Then she pointed a bony finger, gently pushed aside my sister and walked towards me.
"You look like Sam," Mom said, and past those tired eyes I could see her mind trying so hard to work. She tried, but she couldn't. "You look just like him." She turned to Sara, her face a mixture of confusion and sadness that threatened to overwhelm me. "Where is Sam anyways?"
"He's gone, Mom," Sara said patiently. "Remember? He left thirty years ago."
Mom looked back towards me, eyeing a stranger once more. "I'd forgotten. You look just like him."
Then she turned back towards Sara, away from me, this aged face she didn't know. The breath caught in my throat.
"His father would have loved to see him one more time," Mom said.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-03-03T05:24:42 | 2020-03-03T04:32:42 | 1,446 | 115 |
[WP] Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into seconds. Years turned into meters. This time machine wasn't working very well. | # The Cost of Progress
“Why won’t you sodding work?”
Jenna slapped the machine’s cooling vent.
Time ran backward.
With a tiny *pop*, the cup of coffee on the sideboard exploded. Wet clay and a pile of pigments dripped mournfully onto the floor. A coffee bean, under the force from the change in pressure, ricocheted off the side of Jenna’s head and vanished into a corner.
“Jenna...” Michelle took a step back, internally debated the concept of ‘safe distance’, and wilted in defeat, “Is that thing *safe*?”
Jenna frowned, “I mean yes. Maybe no. Ish?”
She paced around the still steaming contraption and withdrew something resembling a television aerial from one of her many pockets. It *bleeped* and *blooped* and her frown deepened. As she reached for a second pocket, she remembered Michelle’s presence.
“Look,” she said, “I’m pretty sure it’s just a problem with the shielding. I made some adjustments, and… well…”
She set the timer on the front screen for seven seconds.
There was a flash of violet light. An arc of electricity, glowing an ominous and near impossible neon black, crawled through the air, making brief contact with the light fitting.
There was a noise like a deep-fried halibut trying to walk. The taste of summer nights filled the room, along with the overpowering sensation of umami. Flickering erratically, the lightbulb made a spirited attempt at folding itself into an extra dimension before vanishing entirely.
In the sudden darkness of the garage, Jenna’s tired voice rose in complaint.
“See, it’s not supposed to do that.”
A long pause was deepened considerably by the cheerful *ping* of the machine, and a glowing message reading:
> C Y C L E C O M P L E T E D
Michelle sighed again, choosing her words with an inordinate care, “You know I love you, right?”
“Uh… Yeah?”
“And you know I support your work, right?”
“Right, we’ve been friends for ages, it’s been so great living with you aga-”
“Cause you know what my real problem with this situation is…”
In the shadows, Jenna shifted uncomfortably, head hung low.
“Yeah, my real problem, Jen,” Michelle said, “is that this morning, that was our fucking microwave.”
---
If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, please visit [my sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed. | Harsh are the rules of the universe. Unbending. Relentless. And completely without mercy. You cannot appeal to the compassion of gravity, nor can you argue yourself out of entropy. And the harshest of all, must be that what was written, cannot be unwritten. What was done, cannot be undone. Words cannot be taken back, and neither can mistakes. No matter how great these mistakes are. What is done: Is done.
But I have never been a man who listened to such. I look at the impossible and see possibility. When others tell me I must not do such things, I disregard them. I create from nothing, and I call no man, nor law, nor god my master. That's what I am, and I am proud of it. Perhaps too proud. Indeed, my blatant disregard for the ideas and considerations of others caused me to have many enemies, but I would rather be divisive than indecisive. And enemies strike at you when you least expect it, and they do not often strike soft blows.
I was too late to save my wife's life. My son will never walk, talk, nor see again. And my daughter's mind has been broken, by watching the horrors my enemies did to my family. Many have sympathy with me, try to console me in my dark hours. But I know that many who come to me with their condolences, are smiling behind the facade of worry. Hubris, they say. I flew too high, and dared too much. Like Icarus to the sun, and because of me my family was hurt.
But I do not accept this fate. I have before done the impossible and beaten the invincible. So I set my course clear. To save my family, I would break the very laws that govern our universe. Damn the odds and damn the ramifications. Or so I thought. I worked night and day, worked like a man possessed. My hair turned grey, I barely ate, I slept only rarely. All to make sure that I got to my family in time. To right what once went wrong. To ensure that there would be a sunny day: Where my wife would laugh as we dance in the sunlight, my daughter running around in the garden with her dog, and my son playing soccer with his friends.
Grief turned to madness, I must admit. And I did it. From unusual alloys, strange and controversial ideas about theoretical physics, notes confiscated from scientists by governments too afraid of what could happen if that knowledge fell into the wrong hands, I did it. I made a time machine. I paid much to have that knowledge stolen and taken to me. But no price in the universe was too high for me.
I started with the secret journal of mad inventor, Nikola Tesla, combined that with principles of experimental metaphysical engineering recovered from a laboratory in wartime Germany, which even the madness of the Reich had condemned as going too far. I used plans from a defecting Soviet scientist who had been executed by the Americans because they were too scared to let him live, just in case he managed to create his unlimited power source.
But the laws of reality are not meant to be broken. Paradoxes are not mere thought experiments. And rewriting the past is madness. I see that now. I used the time machine. I used it and I took the place of my past self, in his body. I got to my family in time. Before they were captured by those who hate me for my daring business and technological advancements.
I killed those men and saved my family. But the cost of breaking the laws of reality are greater than anything I could have ever imagined. I can hold my wife in my arms. I can help my daughter teach her dog how to play dead. I can cheer on my son as his team wins a game in a junior soccer league. But the cost was great.
And the time machine wasn't working well to prevent the paradoxical nature of my work. Years became meters. Walk the wrong way and you age into an ancient man. Walk the opposite way and you might become nothing but a baby. Days became like weeks. Weeks passed by in seconds. Tomorrow became yesterday. And all of reality came crashing down. Watch as the Mongol Horde atop robot horses invade the Undead USSR. See as Theodor Roosevelt is elected as the first, last, and only president of the United States. Kennedy never dies, yet he always has been dead at the same time.
Vikings land on the shores of Britain and invade the dinosaurs living there. The uttering of any words meaning time causes immediate and complete entropic reversion, and gravity gains a conscience. I did this. I broke through the impossible barrier and unmade the laws governing reality. But I am not one to stand idly by and let the universe turn into an eternity of screaming timelessness.
My wife is a genius. Her will is made from truer steel than mine, and has not a single touch of madness. She is both the woman which I love, and my restraint. Without her by my side I broke reality. With her, we can reforge what was broken.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2020-07-22T07:38:42 | 2020-07-22T07:16:29 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] Aliens have invaded to conquer and enslave humanity, however "slavery" to them involves only working the equivalent of 12 hours a week while having healthy food, shelter, and means of entertainment taken care of so the human resistance is having trouble with defectors preferring to be slaves. | Idea 2:
"... and so, to pay us back, everyone will be working... 12 hours a week!" Trarn thundered, his amplified voice carrying across the fields of assembled masses.
Well, if you consider a group of 327 residents of a tiny midwestern town 'assembled.' Or 'massed' for that matter.
Trarn expected terror and submission from his new slaves. But instead, he could sense... confusion? relief?
Most of the residents of the town seemed to be in agreement. 12 hours of work a week for health care, food, entertainment, safety... sounded like a good deal. Even if it was coming from what appeared to be a giant frog in a spacesuit.
Collectively, the people turned to their new overlord and said....
"**I REFUSE!!!"**
"*Oh, for fucks sake*. It's Marcus."
Marcus, the town curmudgeon. Marcus, the 51-year-old 'independently wealthy' entrepreneur. Marcus... the home owner's association president.
"I refuse to serve under your hateful regime!" Marcus stamped to the front of the crowd. "And all of these people stand with me!"
... the silence was deafening.
"And you are..." Trarn asked with a haughty grin. The two larger aliens that flanked Trarn moved further to the side, giving them a better angle on this sudden 'threat'.
"I am Marcus Ternlow! I speak for this community!"
"No he doesn't!" came a shout from a teenage male in the back of the crowd.
Marcus spun angrily as the crowd laughed nervously. "WHO SAID THAT!?! Who is the coward that would bow and scrape like a servant!?!"
Trarn tried to bring the meeting back to order. "Marcus Ternlow... the 12 hour work week is not negotiable. We will provide you with all you need to live your lives in comfort, while your people will provide us with a meager labor forc-"
"WE WILL PROVIDE YOU WITH **NOTHING** BUT RESISTANCE!" Marcus bellowed, his face growing redder with each word.
"Marcus Ternlow... You will work ... 15 hours a week!" Trarn countered.
"We will fight you at every step, you green skinned varmits!"
"20 hours!"
"We will kick and stomp on our oppressors, you fat-faced amphibian!"
"30 HOURS!"
"We will scream and shout, and never give you a moment's peace, you ... alien... thingamajig!"
"**40 HOURS**!!!! And one more word out of you, and it will be applied to EVERYONE IN THIS TOWN!!!!"
That got everyone's attention. Muttering and startled conversation pockets started up all over the field. But Marcus started to smile. This had been his plan all along. Rile up these invaders, get them angry, make them take it out their frustrations on everyone. Then, he would would be able to mold the enslaved into a revolution. And he would be the hero he always though he was. He would be the authority in this town... and make the Sanderson's finally pay their HOA dues.
Marcus puffed out his chest. "We, the people of Mannata, Ohio, REFUSE TO BOW!"
"60 hours of work! For everyone!" Trarn shouted. The crowd was getting restless. The residents were getting more and more worked up. But their anger wasn't at the alien invader, it was directed squarely at the man who had just ruined a good thing...
Trarn smiled, "and your first job..."
"Beat the crap out of this guy." | Part 1.
I bit down hard on the leather strap, felt a sharp edge press into my gums, but still a whelp escaped my lips as the scalpel slid through the flesh on my buttock and tongs were pressed into the wound. The barb was all the way in, I could tell by how deep they were going, I'd been hit real bad this time. The sound of the wind and the rain probably masked my moans. Not that I really cared at this point. I was on my third tour and way, way past bravado.
Stevens was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder, clamping down pretty hard. I turned my face toward him and saw his white knuckles an inch from my nose. I glanced up and he met my gaze, gave a little encouraging nod and murmured something that was probably meant to sound encouraging. I couldn't make out the words but it sounded wrong, like his voice was a pitch higher than normal. Pearls of sweat beaded off his forehead. I hoped he wouldn't pass out at this next bit.
"Drill". The medic said it so matter of factly, voice flat. I saw Stevens close his eyes before everything went black for me.
...
"Toole. Hey. Hey man. Are you awake?"
A warm glow came through my eyelids. I was vaguely aware of being on my back and, oddly, no pain whatsoever. A warm sensation in the back of my neck, quite pleasant actually. My mouth had an aftertaste, as if I'd recently been drinking something. *Vanilla?* Soft, cool, smooth fabric under my cheek. I drifted back down.
...
"Finally! I was worried about you. I thought maybe you were too far gone. How do you feel? Long time no see!" I tried real hard to focus on this voice, which seemed familiar. I'd been having one of the better dreams, and a wave of resentment washed over me as I realized I'd been woken up. Then a face floated into view and the recognition startled me enough that I snapped snapped sober in an instant. "Yannick?" It was really her. She'd been leaning over the bed and now she bolted upright, did a little mock salute and laughed, "the one and only, sir!". I was so happy to see her that I didn't even mind the mockery, and though the thought briefly surfaced that it was uncharacteristic, it didn't seem to be of any real import, considering that she was back from the dead.
She filled me in on the story as I scoffed three cups of something that she fetched for me and that I couldn't name, but languidly categorized as jello-ish.
"So yeah, I should be dead" she was saying. "But I was brought here, just in time. They got it out and patched me right up and I'm good as. Same as you! Sir." She smiled. I smiled.
"That is really lucky isn't it. I mean, I saw you." My voice caught in my throat for some reason. "Barbed, right in the gut." She laughed softly. "Yes" she said. "They can do marvellous things here, you see." "Hmm, so what is this place, Brazilian? Chilean?" I scraped the cup with the little plastic spoon. "This is really good stuff." She looked away. I put the spoon in my mouth and sucked it clean. "I mean we sure don't have anything like this, it seems state of the art. Last thing I remember I was ass up on a truck flatbed and some pimply medics were busting my tail bone open with a rusty dremel." I put the cup down.
"Sir, you need to stay calm." She put her hand on mine. "We had it all wrong. All along."
My mouth felt dry. "Uh-huh".
I sat up, too quickly, there was a momentary tug and a soft *pop* in my neck. Immediately anxiety washed over me and oh! My butt hurt. And my neck. And Yannick, wait, no no, she was *dead*! I'd seen it. I clamped my hand over my neck and felt something slimey, slippery.
Yannick cried out. "Shit! He's fucking popped it! Help, help, someone, quickly!" A soft whir started from somewhere and then became more urgent. The alien came into view from the corner of my eye and I shrieked, instinctively thrashing off of the bed, landing hard on my side *damn I will pay for that later* and kicking back. The bed came crashing down between me and it. Yannick let out an ear piercing scream but didn't jump into cover, instead started to move away. Deciding that almost getting myself killed once trying to drag her to safety was enough, I let her go and instead focused on getting my bearings. Shit, I was totally boxed in, the narrow bed seemed more like a fucking cage now than a barrier, me in the corner hiding pitifully behind it. Over there, a door and a window. And between me and that, the alien.
It waited there. The pain was really coming back to me now, my entire ass was on fire and pulsing in time with my pounding heart.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Oh, my, fucking, God.
I knew couldn't bear it much longer. Every heart beat was a sledgehammer blow in my wound. The thought came to me like a match being struck in the dark and the clarity of it held the pain off enough that I could manage a little internal reasoning. *Something is in my blood*." Somehow this fucker is fighting me on the inside. It's not even going to come over here." No, wait that wasn't exactly it. I shook my head like in an old fashioned cartoon, as if that would make the jumbled thoughts fall into place. Somehow it worked. "It's already here. The alien is in my ass." Ha.. What a way to go. Not fair.. The thoughts faded and the whooshing resumed.
... | 2020-11-22T12:27:11 | 2020-11-22T11:32:53 | 268 | 92 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive. | The plan was perfect: when the target drinks the poisoned beverage, he’s gonna die from poisoning. Expect when the EMT’s arrive, they’ll think it was a-
Wait a minute, he’s not drinking it, what the hell. Instead, he’s just flailing it around, cheering about something. Come on you drunk, take the shot.
Oh Shite, it’s in his eyes now. I’m not sure exactly if it’s the poison or the drink, but he’s screaming in agony. Not as painless as planned, but things never go according to plan.
With a thump, the target fell down. One of his friends came over to check on him, the look of horror in his face said everything. Another target down, another target which I technically didn’t kill.
Not that the contractors ever know, they pay like I’m some sort of four dimensional super genius who’s already planning the next target’s deaths. Apparently, a lot of killers don’t believe in repeated, really dumb, luck. | My name is Morton Montoni. They call me The Clown. You'll see why in a minute. I have a problem. Some mook keeps getting credit for my hits. I've killed 23 people just since last August. I ain't got paid a penny, and I'm getting pissed.
There was Fat Mikey McElvaney - not a made guy because, well it's obvious from his name. Odd thing is he wasn't fat neither. They called him fat Mikey because when he was a kid he fought a lot. The guy in question I'm talking about planted a bomb in Fat Mikey's car. The bomb exploded, but Fat Mikey survived because the pizza place where he had just bought a pizza accidentally put the metal pan in the box with the pan pizza. The pan protected Fat Mikey from the brunt of the explosion. How did I kill him? That's where my name comes in - the Clown. When Mikey was later inspecting one of his beer breweries, he accidentally slipped on a banana peel that someone had accidentally dropped on a platform. Unfortunately, it was also an explosive banana peel, so after he fell and it flew in the air, what goes up must come down. When it did - bada bing...bada boom...body parts scattered all around was all that was left of Mikey.
Awright, you still don't get why they called him Fat Mikey just because he used to fight as a kid. I'll explain you for it. He always lost the fight, so he'd get a fat lip, See?
Hey, there's the other thing. I always incorporate the mook's failed kill attempt in my more clever and comical hits. It's called irony. Problem is, like I say, this guy keeps getting credit for my kills. He gets paid. I get nothing. He even gets credit for my work.
Slippery Tony Fancessca - mook tried to run him down with a car. Tony ran into a dead end alley. Dead meat, right? Nope. Guy inside the building tried to use dynamite to knock down an interior wall to expand one room. He used too much dynamite - blew the outer wall out. It fell between Tony and the mook's car. Hit foiled. I trained a monkey to ride a unicycle. He ran down Slippery Tony - woooahhhh, the tire right over Tony's throat, crushing it for the kill.
I mean, come on, a fuckin' monkey on a ffuckin' unicycle. Who thinks of that? Not the mook! But he got the money and the credit.
Christina Doory, the nosy D.A. - mook failed to kill her in a plane crash. I got her in a helicopter on the way to the airport for a different flight - helium balloons.
One after the other, my best work credited to someone else, and now I gotta have another job to pay the bills.
Now, but now, the tables have turned. The foot's in the other shoe, so to speak. The Mook pissed someone off. They called a hit on him. The guy pushed the Mook down an empty elevator shaft. He fell screaming, hit the bottom...but some idiot had decided to store a shipment of mattresses at the bottom of the shaft. I know, right? Who does that? Mook hit the mattresses - landed in complete comfort, not a scratch on him. I think they gave him a free mattress for his trouble.
Now I gotta think of a way to kill the mook that's related to - you see the irony - falling down an elevator shaft, but funny.
Any suggestions? | 2021-04-04T15:49:35 | 2021-04-04T15:34:05 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | It was an exhausting hunt. That boar was faster than it should have been, and all the times it happened, it was always because of the fear of death.Not that it mattered though, I still got my target, like I always have.
I got home, in the middle of nowhere, where I have spent most of my recent years in retirement from all the chaos I previously sown.
I opened the door, and there the greatest hero was. The greatest hero the world has ever known. The hero that forced me into retirement.
I was at a loss for words. I was surprised. I was speechless. I waited all these years to meet this hero once again.
I summoned all my strength and wit and mustered the only words I could at the time:
"Welcome home, honey! You sure took your time. We are having boar stew tonight."
At long last, we can finally start our retirement together. | I've always been goal oriented. Hunting gives me that in a simple fashion. As does dressing the meat. Today I managed to get a young buck. For some reason, I've always preferred Venison. My hut is simple, most of the dressing happens outside it. But as I return, I notice the door slightly ajar. I always leave it closed. I take the buck off my shoulder, and grab the short sword in my left hand, while pushing the door open with my right. And I see him.
It's been 40 years. For reasons I don't like to go into, I don't age. He has aged. When last I saw him, he was early to mid 20s, full of fire. The last 40 years have not been kind. Out of courtesy, I've stayed out of the way of his regime. He looks up at me as I enter. "So it's true. You've gone native." I keep silent. Never mind that I've always come back here after the downfall. This is the first time I've met the hero after they won. I sit down. "You know, I did some research. You didn't destroy all the records. And some, well... Adventurers come to me now. Seeking employment. I've seen a carving that looks much like you that's a thousand years old if it's a day."
I swallow. "13th dynasty, right? My only attempt at making things better. That went to shit, I didn't even get a hero coming after me." I still remember the sneering of traditionalists who didn't realize they were being stupider than their own ancestors. "Popular uprising. I gave up out of disgust."
He shrugs. "We don't have much beyond that carving. I just have to ask... Why?"
I frown, working to place the words in the right order. I had decided what I might say if this ever came up, but that was centuries ago, and the language has changed a bit since then. "I want, just once, for one of you to make a lasting improvement to the world. The world is inherently unjust, but so long as it's below a certain threshold, people don't mind. They'll even fight to KEEP it there. Crab bucket. So I make things bad on purpose. Because only then, does someone like you appear. But even then... You're the smartest hero I've ever fought, and that's damning you with faint praise. You, at least, didn't destroy all my devices, none of that 'they come from evil' nonsense."
He nods. "Of course. I had to make things ready. I wanted, so hard, for you to never rise again." He sighs. "And we've found more. Another land, beyond the mountains. A cave has opened up." My heart starts to pound. I sealed that cave for good reason. "And beyond it... I had always wondered where you got your army. They view you as a wrathful god there. I recommend you go there, in disguise. You will learn a lot."
I actually start crying. "Every time, I hope they have broken the curse, but every time, the spells still work. I'll go. Maybe... Maybe I can do something for them now."
The hero, now the king, nods. "Good luck."
And now, I'm going back to where it all started. To face my children. | 2021-11-03T22:42:30 | 2021-11-03T22:30:35 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are a dark wizard who decided to go good. Problem is, it’s really hard to help people when you only know “dark magic.” | "Now, listen well, little one. I will only say this once."
The sage's voice was dark and haggard, like glass scraping against rock. The bony hands pointed to places of interest, the sunken face and hallow eyes giving little in ways of the sage's emotions.
"You will see and feel things that will scare you. Know that so long as you remain on the table, you are safe. So long as you stay within the circle, you are safe. You *cannot* leave the circle until I tell you. If you do not heed these instructions, you will **perish**."
The little girl on the table, obviously frightened, coughed for a moment while nodding. "W-will it hurt?"
"Yes," the haggard wizard wheezed, "Unlike anything you've experienced, and will never experience anything like again. But you will be safe, within the circle. You will be stronger. You will live unlike you've ever lived before."
"As to you two," the wizard spun around, pointing a deathly hand at the parents in the corner of the room. Their eyes showed a mixture of fear, desperation, and hope. "You will hear your little one scream. She will plead and beg, wracked in pain. *Under no circumstances will you enter the circle.* If you do, I can give no guarantees to any of our lives. Do you understand?"
The couple fearly nodded, wracked in nervousness.
"Good. Let us begin."
The wizard outstretched his hands over the girl, producing a dagger in one. He began to chant the eldritch words of ritual, causing the shadows to grow and the lights to dim.
*Heed my words, keepers of Magic. Conjoin life and blood, from life and blood, into that which shall receive.*
The wizard, in a trance-like state, circled the girl, approaching a goat tied to the table.
*Consume this life, so that one may receive life!*
He slit the animal's throat, it giving a gurgling bleat. Blood pooled and splashed on the white robes of the mage, staining them red. The pool drenched into sigils carved into the stone floor, magicly filling them in. The room grew darker, and a sudden wind picked up; moaning and howling like the dying of men. The wizard, unnerved, moved to a sheep, similarly tied.
*Consume this soul, that so one may bolster theirs!*
The sheep, throat slit, collapsed silently, as its portion of soul flew from the beast into the girl, who began screaming in pain. The wizard continued, moving to the head of the girl.
*Consume this blood of Man, so that one may be strengthened!*
He plunged the dagger into his abdomen, giving a slight gasp of pain. He removed the dagger, holding it waveringly over the girl's mouth until a drop fell in.
Then, silence.
The winds died immediately, the howling stopped. Only the haggard breathing of an old safe, bleeding; and the quiet breaths of of the little one asleep.
"It is done," gasped the wizard. "She will never be marred by disease again. She will remain strong until she is strong enough on her own."
The couple rushed to their child. Seeing the girl safe, unharmed, the thanked the wizard in earnest. The father offered a meager amount coin, which the wizard refused, downing a potion to heal his wounds.
"Save your coin and thanks. This is my penance. Leave now, if you would, please. I must clean up."
The couple, child in their arms, left the wizard in grateful silence. The wizard sighed when they left, grateful as well. His modifications to the spell had worked. He could use the forces of dark to serve the light.
He began to clean up the blood, a smile on his sunken face. | I don't like how prejudiced people are these days, I get it, I'm a necromancer, I've studied the dark arts and I have six loyal skeletons that follow me around everywhere, that doesn't mean I'm evil. People always scream and run from me, some throw vegetables, one guard even tried to arrest me for "disturbing the peace" and "necromancy" despite it being completely legal to resurrect people with no living family. People just don't get it.
This town was slightly different, more unnerving than usual, the people weren't running from me, weren't screaming out about how the necromancer walked into town, they were cowering in fear, trying to hide away behind shopping stands and alleyways. This was off putting, even for a dark wizard like myself, people don't just cower away like this normally, no, they are conditioned to react like this.
I approached the nearest person to me, a woman, peaking out from behind a fruit cart.
"Please don't hurt me!" She blurted out in a panic. "Just take what you want and leave!" The woman was crying and covering her head with her arms. I took an apple from the cart.
"I'm not here to hurt you" I said in a reassuring voice, I hunched over in front of her and took an arm off of her eyes. "Take this, and tell me why you're so afraid." I extended my arm out to her, apple in hand. The woman cautiously reached out and snatched the apple out of my hand, quickly taking a small bite out of it.
"STAY AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!" A voice shouted behind me, I turned around to witness a small child, no older than eight charging at me with a toy sword, with a small wooden blade and a handle crudely made from leather. The sword came crashing down towards me but right before it struck one of my skeletons caught the blade, the child dropped the blade and fell back.
"Please don't hurt him." The woman whispered from behind me. "He's just a boy he doesn't know better."
"I have no intention of doing so." I spoke, "Now tell me why is everyone so afraid?" The child got up from behind me and ran to his mother, she gave them the apple.
"I appreciate your generosity, and your concern, but it's probably for the best if you left now..." The woman was much more calm now, she was gently holding her child while he hid away and ate the apple. "The people are afraid because you aren't the only dark mage in town, we had a mayor, and guards but this evil wizard locked them all away, now his word is law."
"Sounds bad..." I responded. "Now tell me, where can I find this wizard."
"You can't possibly be considering to go after them, are you?" The woman was confounded, a necromancer that was trying to help people, she had never heard of anything like it.
"I've already decided it, I will go after them, and I will liberate this town."
"I appreciate the though, I really do, but we've already contacted the king, their should be a military division on it's way as we speak. If, hypothetically you were to defeat this tyrant and free our town what will the military do if they see a dark mage in town?" She asked me, grabbing an apple from the cart and taking a bite out of it.
"If that does come to pass I will figure something out, but it is evident that this town needs help now, so just tell me where this dark mage is now and I'll-" Suddenly from behind me there was a discharge of energy followed by the clattering of bones. A voice yelled out "THERE ISN'T ENOUGH ROOM IN THIS TOWN FOR THE TWO OF US, NECROMANCER!"
I quickly turned to face my enemy and rolled out of the way of another oncoming blast, the surrounding civilians quickly hurried out of their hiding spots and away from the danger, I sent my five remaining skeletons to defend the woman and her child while readying my own attacks. "Do you know how much of a pain it is to legally revive the dead? There is so much paperwork involved!" I shouted out to my adversary while throwing out a bolt of dark lightning at them, I rolled closer to close the distance between us. "What kind of dark mage does things legally?" They retorted, while firing a charged laser at me.
"A dark mage with high standards!" I created a clockwise spinning vortex in front of me that absorbed the attack and rolled closer to them.
"You're an evil wizard just like me, you don't have to follow the law!" They slashed at the air creating a dark crescent which cleaved towards me.
"I'm nothing like you! There is a fine line between being a dark mage and being evil!" I yelled, creating my own crescent slash to cancel them both out. "Also I'd like to say..." I continued walking towards them, now their was no more than ten meters between us. "I HATE PREJUDICED PEOPLE!!" I shouted out, creating a counter clockwise vortex to return their own attack back to them. Before the dark mage even had a chance to react they were struck directly by their own attack and fell to the ground, he struggled to get back on his feet and before he had a chance I rushed over and punched him in the face, knocking him out.
Some bystanders that weren't able to get away quickly rushed over to assess the situation and quickly realized that the tyrant who took over their town and locked away their mayor had been defeated by another dark mage. They began to celebrate in rejoice as they had been returned the freedom that was stolen from them. But quickly the cheers stopped as they turned towards me. "Hang on, you're a dark mage as well... aren't you?" A man in the crowd asked me, wearing a worried expression on their face.
"Relax." I told the crowd, "I'm just a necromancer who wanted to help, that's all." The crowd once again began to celebrate, one of them rushed to release the mayor and the town guards. I took a seat as I was tired of rolling around and wanted to relax myself. But quickly everyone once again stopped cheering as a thunderous barrage of footsteps began running into town, it was a military division of the king's army, and they were after a dark mage... | 2022-04-25T09:49:48 | 2022-04-25T09:36:28 | 70 | 29 |
[WP] Write a children's story with a terrible moral. | ~This is a gem from the Children's Reading Section at Penn State's library~
It was a perfect summer day when Johnny left the park to head home. As he was walking he noticed a car following him that he didn't recognize.
"Hey buddy!" cried a man's voice from inside the car "Can you tell me how to get to Henry's General Store?"
"Sure!" Johnny answered. He gladly gave the stranger directions, and even recommended a shortcut, to avoid traffic on Main St.
"thanks Son, how about i give you a lift home to say thanks, it sure is a hot day." The man offered
"wow that sounds swell!" Johnny said as he got into the car.
The man introduced himself as Carl. Carl was a new arrival to town and was having a hard time finding his way about. He offered Johnny 5 whole dollars to help him run some errands.
Well a few hours and 5 dollars later Carl stopped at the Malt shop to buy Johnny a little something extra to thank him for all his help.
After drinking his milkshake Johnny felt tired and dizzy "We better get you home son, you don't look to well" Carl said, sounding very worried.
After making up the stairs to the apartment Johnny realized something was wrong "Hey this isn't my home" he yelped. But it was too late, as the older man took Johnny inside and had his way with him.
He made johnny promise not to tell anyone and dropped him off on the corner near his home.
When Johnny got home the first thing he did was tell his parents.
Johnny's parents called the police, who arrested him for admitting to committing an act of sodomy.
Remember kids. When you promise to keep a secret. YOU KEEP A GOD DAMN SECRET! | Once upon a time, there were two little ducklings who lived on a pond. The ducklings were identical twins, and they were beautiful. Why, even Mr. Toad had to admit that they were the best looking ducklings he had ever seen on his little pond. And Mrs. Robin could hardly look at the ducklings without pangs of jealousy running through her beak. She remembered the days -- long past -- when Mr. Toad had thought her beautiful.
The animals of the pond were not the only ones to notice the beauty of the ducklings. A family of humans did as well. Every day, a man and his son would visit the pond. Somedays they fished in the pond. Somedays they swam. Somedays, they would nap on its shore, next to the ducklings. But everyday, they came.
“Dad,” The son said one day. “Aren’t these ducklings beautiful?”
“They are, son.” The father agreed. “They are about the cutest ducklings I have seen.”
“I want to take them home, Dad.”
At first, the father refused. But he could see the desire in his child's eyes. And they were only ducklings. So, he agreed, and the child took the ducklings from the pond.
At his house, he made the ducklings a little duckling-home. He took a large cardboard box -- the one that he had built a fort in, and added a blanket so that the ducklings would have something soft to sleep on. He added a light, so that their little duckling-house would be warm. He added a food bowl, so that the ducklings would not be hungry. Last, he added his favorite toy, so that they ducklings would not be bored.
Everyday, he brought them food and water, and he played with them. He told them he loved them, and that he would always take of them. He tried his best to provide for them the best duckling life that he could think of.
But not all the ducklings were happy.
“I miss the pond,” One duckling said to the other. “I miss Mr. Toad and Mrs. Robin. I miss swimming in its waters, and sleeping on its shores.”
“But we have a good life here,” Said the other duckling. “All of our needs are taken care of for us. I like it here.”
“Yes, we do.” The first duckling agreed. “But I did not ask for this life. And we did not earn it. The boy only took us because we were beautiful.”
“And what if he did?” The second duckling asked. “It has brought us a good life!”
“Yes, it has.” Agreed the first duckling. “But I miss the pond.”
They argued for many days. Finally, the first duckling decided that he did not want to be kept by the child. He waited until he could fly, and then he returned to the pond. No amount of argument could persuade the the first duckling to stay, or the second duckling to leave.
When the child woke the next day, he found that he had only one duckling. He was sad, and talked to his Father.
“Dad,” He said. “I miss my duckling. Why did it leave? Where did it go?”
“Son,” Said the father. “I don’t know why the duckling would leave. You have kept it, and cared for it, and loved it. I don’t know why it would leave, but I think I know where it went.”
The son and the father drove the pond, where they found the lost little duckling. There, they captured the duckling, and teased it. They broke it wings, and smacked its bill, and when they were done, they broke its neck and left in on the shore of the pond.
Back home, the boy found the remaining duckling asleep in the little duckling-house. He was so pleased that he woke the duckling, and fed the ducking a double helping of slugs.
As the duckling drifted off to happy dreams, he reflected on how lucky he was to have a human that would take care of him, and how lucky he had been to be beautiful enough for someone to want to care for him. | 2015-02-18T21:10:42 | 2015-02-18T20:06:32 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] In 2025, the mission Mars One is a full success. Upon arrival on the red planet, the astronauts notice some kind of cave, containing a single human skeleton – and four words, carved into a wall. | **2025**
At the ripe age of 23, Dave Milkwater was the youngest astronaut to ever touch down on another planet. He squinted out the starboard viewing port of the Mars One spacecraft, the red expanse glared back, beckoning him forth.
"Dave put on your helmet, I'm about to depressurize the cabin" said Mark, checking his own gear.
Now Mark was a real hard ass, always on my case about eating jello in zero gravity. He said it gets stuck on the control panel, I say he's just a total square. At 46 years old, what else would he be? I bet he drives a Module 3 Prius.
"Don't worry Mark, I wouldn't want to die from all that scary *space gas*." I said, shaking my head.
"Dave.. you know that's a real thing right?" said Mark, "You will actually die if you don't wear that helmet."
See what I mean? Total square.
*Shhhhhk*. I click my space helmet in as the cabin depressurizes, the suit tightens to my skin. The airlock door shifts sideways slowly, heat fills the cabin as I check my vitals on my arm unit. It displays everything normally.
"I'm a 10," said Mark, crackling through my voice comm, "How copy Big D?"
Smile growing across my face, I poke Mark in the side. "Did you just call me Big D?"
"No Dave, are you 10?" said Mark.
"Yea 10 inches M-". He slaps his hand on my helmet, cutting me off.
"Alright, disembark then."
The cabin stairs touch down on the surface of Mars, kicking up dust into the air. Our boots clink on the steel rungs as we make our way to the ground.
"Split up," said Mark. "You take East, I'll go West" he ducks under the craft to the other side. "And for fucks sake keep your comm on."
**20 MINUTES LATER**
"Holy shit, Mark get here *now*" I said, pinging my position on the GPS. "You will not believe what I just found."
"I've got your position, on my way" His jet pack thrusters were audible through his voice comm.
Mark flew over the crest of the hill, touching down beside me. His jet pack kicked up a whirlwind of dust, I explained while it settled.
"So here I am just taking rock samples, and I stumble upon this cave." I said, sweeping my arm towards it. The dust has cleared, and the cave opening is visible. It's small enough that Mark has to crouch into it.
"It's dark in here, I think it opens up though." said Mark.
I kick his jet pack to give him a shove through the hole. He mutters an obscenity over the comm, and clicks on his flashlight. I crawl after him.
"This place is huge," I said, throwing out a light orb to illuminate the cave. The dark cavern came to life, awash in the orbs glow. A glint of light catches my eye across the cave. I walk towards it, glancing at Mark, he is examining the roof for something.
"It looks like there is some sort of mineral over here Dave, I'm going to get a core sample." said Mark, checking his suit. "Ah you know what, I think I left my kit on the ship, can I grab yours?"
I don't respond.
"Dave?"
"MARK THERE IS A DEAD GUY OVER HERE," I said. "THIS GUY IS *FOR REAL* DEAD."
Mark runs over, tripping on the rocky floor on his way over. I point at the skeleton.
"Wow, that's actually a dead guy" said Mark.
"You think so Mark? He is literally *only* bones."
"What is that orange thing in his hand?" Mark crouches down by the skeleton, beaming his flashlight at the object. "Is this ... is this what I think it is?" Mark holds the object up to me. "Is this a fucking *Kraft Single*?"
"There is writing on the wall right there, what does it say?" I said.
Mark reads it out.
"*This is ...*" He is squinting now, it must be hard to see. "This is ...", he brushes some dust off of the lettering. "This is **Nacho Cheese**".
"Woo! Yea bitch!" I said. I smack him on the back, and take my Kraft Single. "That's because its my cheese Mark, not yours."
"Are you fucking serious Dave?" said Mark, pushing me on the shoulder. "How did you even sneak a skeleton on board?"
"Oh, I actually found that here."
"The skeleton."
"Yeah the skeleton, neat huh?". And so there we stood, taking in our discovery. Well. My discovery, let's let that be known.
| Holzerhein paused, rolling his stiff and aching shoulders, trying to ease the torment , wearing the damn EVEs caused. He wished he could massage his shoulder, but thick, clumsy protective material, made them as inaccessible as the far side of the sun. EVES, hah, designed by Adam JC Kommalski , (and that's DOCTOR Kommalski to absolutely frickin everyone) Extra-Vehicular-Evirono-Suit, a powered exoskeleton over which was layered life support, body armor, enviromental protection, vaccum protection, heating, cooling - even taking a leak.
That was the problem, the actuators, or was it the servos? were set wrong for his broader frame, so they pinched and clamped down in very unpleasant places. Grumbling more at the injustice of it all, than actual pain, he stumped on down the rock strewn landscape, powered suit making him feel light, whilst burdened with several hundred kilos of equipment. He made steady progress, all the EVEs-telltale lights showed a copacetic and reassuring green, the slope of Olympus Mons stretching to impossible heights, looming in the near distance.
The martian wind cut and howled, he could hear and sometimes feel, little flecks of rock and dust spatter off the EVEs, and every crease was soon lined and gritty with debris. He plodded on, watching the tracer, bloody historians, sending him out all this way to pick up a sodding tin can on wheels. Some decades back, the old American based NASA, sent the curisosity rover to mars, on a short mission that somehow just kept going, (like some demented energizer bunny)- until it abruptly fell silent. Now here he was, humping his ass, halfway around mars biggest zit, to find and recover junk so obsolete, even the ConUSCAN alliance would politely refuse.
The tracker beeped, indicating he was getting closer, the EVEs-telltales showed him roughly where the last signal had come from. It looked to be fairly passable ground, and tho the martian wind had scoured away the tracks years before, there were still some traces of the curiosity experiments carved into the very rocks, spoil piles where the drill had cored samples, suggesting he was on the right path. He crossed a ridgeline, then switched back, following a gully, seeking the path, suit headlamps casting tall shadows on the ruddy rockscape.
"Madres de Murphy!"- he spat into his helmet, there was a fissure, blacker than the inside of his eyelids and of course, the tracks lead right toward it. "Mars Base, Holzerhein checking in, Ive reached the site, investigating the units location - will check in again on the usual schedule - Holzerhein clear". He waited until the telltales blinked to indicate message sent, and within moments a reply piped into his helmet "Holzerhein, Base acknowledges, speak to ya soon, have a good un", said in that sleepy drawl, common to shift operators the company over.
Nothing for it, but to go straight ahead, checking his telltales out of habit, he moved off, stomping along, exoskeleton easing his way whilst pinching the shit out of his deltoids. The cave walls seemed natural, smooth, sandblasted over thousands of years, or water worn when Mars had originally been wet, in the far distant past, and the floor was stable, so he made good time. Down he went, twisting and turning, dropping radio markers and chemsticks to both mark the trail and keep comms open. The suit cameras recorded everything, in 360 degrees perfect detail, nothing could sneak up on him, being able to see in any kind of light was handy too.
The tunnel cut sharply to the side, and as he approached, thought he'd heard something, like a stone clicking against something, decidedly not another stone. He wasnt armed, why would he be, the only life on this dustball was him and those sods back at Mars Base - there wasnt even enough of a virus alive out there, to give humans the sniffles for Murphys sake. But, he did have a rock hammer, as well as a sampling punch-tool hanging from the EVEs utility belt, and pretty soon they were snugly in either hand. Emboldened he stepped around the corner and met, absolutely nothing, except a chamber, opening into enormity, with suitlamps unable to reach far into the dark.
Shrugging, he put the punch-tool back on its clip, but for some reason, decided to hold onto the rock hammer, as it made him feel, just a tiny bit better for some reason. He moved out into the cave, glancing up to see the ceiling, but it was obscured in the inky void above. "right ya feckin tin can, where are you hiding....", moving steadily forward, playing suitlamps back and forth in steady search patterns. A suit telltale blinked and a quiet chirp nudged him, "Mars Base, Holzerhein checking in, underground in a bloody big cave, please advise if you have any clue where this pile of scrap is likely to be - will check in again on the usual schedule - Holzerhein clear"
Blink, blink, blink.. ping "Base, acknowledged, no clue mate, have a shufty about, its in there somewhere, whos gonna knick it for the wheels out here? Base out". True enough, not like leaving a classic car outside back on earth, it`d be up on bricks and missing its wheels faster than you could say "is that a 67 mustang?".
The blow caught him by surprise, a heavy mass slammed into the back of the EVEs helmet, stunning him and driving him to a knee. The next shattered the lights on the left side of the EVE, the next tossed him bodily to the floor, 360 camera images churning nauseatingly as he went, lending no clue as to the assailants identity. Groggily, he pushed up onto his hands and knees, started to rise and a something stabbed down through his leg and into rock. Starbursts detonated red and blinding, behind his eyes as the pain rocked his system, EVEs medical system kicked in to compensate. The next stabbing motion came close to the visor, but somehow he managed to avoid it, instead it stabbed into the toolcase on the EVEs side, bursting it open and driving it into his leg. Fresh pain swarmed over him as the EVEs medi-program was overtaxed and could not cope, he felt the blackness of unconciousness, clawing at his vision.
A shower of sparks, threw light wildly across the cave, giving glimpses and flashes of .... what? what is it? Wheels? JPL swoosh? that looks like a thigh bone, wait, is that a manipulator a - he never finished the thought as something made of bone, sharpened to a point, stabbed into him. As the life drained from him, one camera remained functional, he slumped nervelessly to the cave floor, feeling the warmth inside the suit and the deadly chil inside him, his eyes taking in the details slowly, as if in a dream.
sticking out of his EVEs were bones, but not his, not possible, but a thigh bone, pelvic knurl jutting almost sexually forth
some words... words?
Curiosity WILL return home | 2015-02-19T15:22:48 | 2015-02-19T15:16:32 | 99 | 21 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | Your whole life story, I could read with a look
That's my mutation, but there's a big hook.
I was in love at the time, you see
And she always said, "you're the only one for me."
But I quickly discovered it was nothing but lies,
She was saying the same thing to two other guys.
You got lucky with your gift, the others would say.
As for me, I just try to get through my day.
It's rough seeing into their past dirty laundry,
Though I never let on, it's still quite a quandary
I don't want to see teenage you cheating on a test,
Or your deadbeat father leaving the nest
I've seen horrible things you've likely repressed,
once again, this "blessing" isn't the best.
It's been so bad that when I see certain things,
My outlook gets dark; it's the feeling it brings.
I looked in my dad's eyes the other day.
I was so mortified, I didn't know what to say.
I was done with this "gift," I said to myself,
As I reached for the pistol high on the top shelf.
The barrel felt cool as it touched my forehead
I tried to find words, but nothing needed be said.
Maybe in the next life, my vision would be clearer.
That's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I locked eyes with myself for the first time in a while,
And saw a truth in my life story that was perfectly vile:
No matter how much I wished to end my life in this rage...
I was destined to die an old man, of old age.
Edit: Thanks everybody for your comments and the gold :) My first rhyme-and-meter submission; hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing! | "Wait, are you serious?"
"Yeah, man, that's what I'm tellin' ya."
"Dude, that is amazing! You know what you could do with this power? You could-"
"Change the world, I know."
We both sat there, in silence and in awe. My new power was unique, it was different, and the limitations of it was virtually endless, and that's what I hated about it.
"I don't think anybody in the world has this ability, dude."
I stayed silent. Why couldn't I be like other people? I mean, 5 months ago, Brandon got the ability to change his skin to any material on Earth. 3 months ago, Jack got the ability to fly, and just last week, Danny got the ability to run super quick. Those are awesome powers! And me? I'm stuck with this. What the hell am I supposed to do with my power? I could change the world with it, but would it be for the better?
"Mailman's here." I saw him coming from the driveway.
I walked to the door, and greeted him.
"Good morning, sir, here are your-"
"T-shirts. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
It was a short-lived conversation. As I closed the door, I saw the mailman disappear, turning into black smoke. Teleportation...cool. WHY COULDN'T I GET TELEPORTATION? NEVER BE LATE FOR WORK AGAIN.
"Dude, we should totally celebrate! C'mon, let's go to the club or something."
Well, I guess a little clubbing couldn't hurt.
We left at 8pm, and got Jack and Brandon. We discussed my power in the car.
"Bro, that's amazing! Nothing could go wrong, now."
We arrived at the club, and let me tell you, we aren't a well-behaved bunch.
"Hey, my man, Nick!"
Nick was the bouncer. If you had superhuman strength and enjoyed picking a bone with annoying 20 something year olds at clubs, what else would you work as?
"You punks gonna try something funny?"
"Oh, no sir, of course not."
"Really? 'cos last time you said that, I was forced to relocate one of your shoulders and I had to escort you 4 out of the building and take your dumbasses to the hospital because one of you somehow ruptured your spleen."
"Yep, that was me." Brandon raised his hand.
"Look, c'mon, Nick, it's Jordan's 21st today and we want to treat him."
I swore I saw Jack sneak a $50 into Nick's shirt pocket.
"Alright, alright, fine, but if I catch any of you 4 doing any funny business", he made a whistling sound and pointed opposite of the club, "you are out of here, got it?"
"YES, SIR!"
He lifted the gate for us, and let us in.
"Alright, Jordan, welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life!"
I wasn't even sure if I was ready.
We headed for the bar first, and ordered some drinks.
"Oh, dude, super hot chick, 9 o' clock."
Sure enough, there was a super hot chick to the left of us.
I knew. "Nah man, not her."
"Dude, are you serious?"
"Yes."
"C'mon, man, I'm telling you, I could get her number easy."
"I'm sure you can, but I'm telling YOU, NOT. HER."
"Tell me why!"
"Alright, fine, I will sum it up for you. She's got herpes, supports the Westboro Baptist Church, has 3 kids, will empty your bank account by the end of the month, is secretly cheating on her husband with 3 different men, doesn't have a job, and regularly attends AA meetings, so unless you want to be a broke herpes-ridden 21-year-old God extremist who hates gay people and also happens to be a married woman's 4th sidechick, I am going to tell you again, NOT. HER."
The group was in silence.
"You're kind of a dick with your new power, huh?"
And I kind of was. Let me tell ya, the power of predicting the future isn't as good as you think.
| 2015-03-04T03:19:01 | 2015-03-04T00:50:47 | 1,168 | 507 |
[WP] Humans have always considered themselves to be a violent species. What they don't know is that the rest of the galaxy considers Earth to be the most peaceful planet in the milky way. | My day was rather okay, had a couple boring classes, took a test, nothing special really. I did, however, progress in my "road to Jennifer" conquest. I managed to not only make eye contact with her once, but twice! I was about to exit the school, happy with myself, when BAM, my pants get pulled down in front of all my fellow freshman. I didn't know what to do as I was both shocked and furious. I turn around, my ass as visible as a moon in a clear sky, and I see John with a smirk on his face. Better yet, I see Jennifer standing besides him, accompanied by almost everyone in my class. I ran home and cried.
Galaxies away, the onlooker alien child asks her teacher, "Ms. Neila why didn't Timmy just kill John? It's clearly beneficial to the human race if John dies, no?"
"We'll never know, that's just the way they are, we can only stare and marvel about what can go on in those innocent brains."
"But how about people like John? He doesn't seem to have an innocent brain."
"People like John are what the humans refer to as "assholes." They are the exceptions and they are similarly minded to us. We believe the first assholes actually arrived from space, and that their DNA eventually intermingled with humans, disturbing their peace."
"Wow! I wish I was an asshole!"
*First prompt, critique appreciated. :)* | "We're really not that bad once you get to know us," director Ellen said, palliating to the Truvians in the first Human-Truva interaction. "I'm sure that after years of observing us, we might seem a bit, err, *irrational*."
"That's an understatement!" affixed Jeff, Ellen's head of communications. His team laughed along jovially. The director leered at the communications team. Jeff corrected his posture and spoke directly at the receiver. "Y--Yes, we're quite pleasant, aren't we, boys?" Jeff grinned as he looked to his team them cackling along.
Ellen quickly muted communications' COM with a quick keystroke, and resumed the groundbreaking contact. "What we mean is, we'd be more than happy to appeal to your sensibilities. Our species have been pretty tolerant and caring for the last few--"
"What are you talking about?" The voice sounded thin but clear, as if traveling through a rotating fan.
"Pardon?" Ellen asked.
Light murmuring was heard in the background, a language she couldn't understand, but nonetheless was intrigued by. Suddenly, an odd noise broke through, as if someone slammed a book on the floor, and a faint gurgle followed. The Truvian from before sounded again. "I was informed that the phrase 'What are you talking about?' would be a directive to explain your previous statement, but clearly my informant was wrong. Not to worry, though; he has been terminated and will no longer hinder this historic meeting."
Shocked, the director's hand rushed to cover her mouth. She looked to Jeff, who was just as wide-eyed as the rest of his team. Jeff, unmuting himself on the COM, spoke slowly. "What do you mean, *terminated*?"
"For fuck's sake how many words did this informant get wrong?" This time, when the voice returned, Ellen jumped in trepidation. The Truvian was clearly irritated. "Now, do your people mean to tell me that you consider yourselves an 'irrational' people? As in a *violent* people?"
"Err, yes. At any moment, our species may be involved with hundreds of wars, but we don't condone that behavior," Ellen explained. "We seek peace, and use war as a tool, traditionally."
No response was heard from the other line. The communications team checked the instrumentation to see if any reception had been lost. After a few more seconds, something like... *laughter?* Ellen thought. *Why would they be laughing?*
Once the odd noise subsided, the voice returned. "You humans crack us up! We destroyed two other planets on the way over here, and they both declared war on us before our race even got a word in otherwise!"
This time, it was Jeff who's mouth suddenly needed protection by his hand.
"Great fun for us, you see. Their technology was nothing compared to ours. Their mathematics were *putrid*, just like yours, thinking that numbers are a linear sequence. Pfeh."
"T--Two planets, you said?" Ellen's voice grew heavy as she realized what sort of alien species she'd finally contacted after all these years.
"And here you are, thinking that you're possibly more vicious than the rest of us! HELL, YOU EVEN APOLOGIZED FOR YOUR BEHAVIOR!"
The room was motionless. The faces of those inside were still in shock. Ellen couldn't help but to wonder what they would do to her people, given the last two planets they'd visited.
As if to answer her question, the voice broke through the silence yet again. "Ah, it would be a pleasure to keep you alive, but *we've got a schedule to keep, and resources to reap*... you know, our motto has a pretty nice ring to it in your language. Maybe that's something to hold onto during your last moments."
A faint beep was heard on the other end, then the same noise from before, the familiar sound of a book dropping onto the floor, only infinitely louder than before. | 2015-11-15T18:14:14 | 2015-11-15T17:36:23 | 127 | 68 |
[WP] The humanity is wiped out very sudden. An alien race finds the planet afterwards and connects to the Internet just to find a lot of bots chatting with each other. The aliens are trying to communicate with all the bots believing that this is the humans that have uploaded their consciousness | The first house immediately overwhelmed me. The main hall, and all the other rooms I entered, had that specific stank of settled dust and fungi. The smell got stronger the further I walked until I entered what appeared to be the main room.
Most of the room had gotten overgrown, dusty, or covered in thin white strings. I softly touched one of the strings, and to my surprise the material was sticky, and when I wiped my finger off it stuck to my uniform. I shrugged and walked forward.
*ding*
Shocked, I turn around. behind a corner - previously just out of sight - are what appears to be the remains of a digitigrade race. Its skeletal remains were loosely hanging backward over a chair, sitting in front of what appeared to be a big, flat open box of some sorts.
*ding*
*ding*
the weird sounds appeared to be coming from the flat box in front of the skeleton. Curious, I make my way to the skeleton and look at the box. It has a black screen on the open side and over 50 different keys with Zergian signs and letters. I touch one of the keys, and the box starts blowing air. A cloud of dust flies from the box, and the screen lights up. On the screen, a picture of another skeleton. For a second, I thought that the box was showing a picture of the skeleton in front of the box in real-time, but when I pushed over the remains the image remained.
*ding*
I put on the built-in intergalactic translator, and the keys and all the writing on the screen slowly started to change. I pressed the escape key, and the image shrunk to a smaller size in the right bottom corner. A blue-white box now filled most of the screen. On the top, the word "babe" followed by a weird red shape.
*ding*
All the way to the bottom left was a weird rectangle with a giant red M in the middle. Next to it, an orange circle with a number over 19k. I clicked on it, and another box popped up.
An image of a young Zergian popped up. Its name appeared to be "Simone". the 19k messages pop-up disappeared, and I started scrolling through the box. it had sent over a thousand different messages, all saying "hello?", or "hey?", or "are you there?".
"Greetings," I reply. "my name is Zh.19, and I'm from another planet."
three moving grey dots appear under my message.
"Cool! I'm Simone" suddenly replace the dots.
"Hi Simone. I'm looking for survivors of the Zergian race, your race." I say.
"That's cool, what ru doing today??" appears
Confused, I stare at the reply. She doesn't seem to take me seriously.
"I'm trying to save the last remaining Zergians as to not make your race go extinct." I send back.
"Lol! that's cool. I'm studying, but I hate it!. it get's so boring. Wanna do something fun? ;)"
I'm starting to get frustrated at its' ignorance.
"Who are your leaders or kings? I want to get in contact with them." I type
"Haha! I'm studying biology. It's really difficult. I need a short break though. Have you ever chatted over cam before?"
I take a deep breath to not get pissed off.
"I haven't. do you perhaps have another way to find other Zergians?"
"Alright! Cool! please click on this link [to meet me](https://imgur.com/gallery/UaNm6fv)"
I shrug and move the cursor to the link, and press the enter key. The screen goes white for a second, and suddenly pitch black. A white skeleton appears on the screen and starts flashing the word
"hacked lol".
Confused and frustrated at the event I stare at the box and decide to leave the house. I hop in my ship and start to prepare for traveling to the next planet caught by the Galactic storm.
Maybe Zergians weren't worth saving anyway | I never wanted this assignment. I wanted to stay home. I wanted to research our *own* lost civilizations. Our own history. Why does no one seem to care about that anymore? How have we come to lose interest in our own past?
Perhaps that's too self-reflective a task for the beings we've become.
They wanted my skills on 8.0001.4. An old, blue planet in a small, distant, isolated system.
"Take your time. Find what you can find." This is what they say, but my time is not precious to them in the way that it is precious to me. What they really mean to say is, "You may never come back. You may spend what remains of your life on that planet, finding nothing, creating no legacy. And when you die, we will simply send another to replace you."
But you cannot say no. We are explorers now. And only that. I suppose that's why we've lost interest in ourselves. Or perhaps the order is reversed. In any event, these are the discoveries that drive us forward.
But this planet is a mess.
My teams are vast and skilled. We went slowly at first. A single scout team made the initial contact. They found little but a host of single-celled organisms and a world filled with ghosts. Rotten corpses of indescribably diverse creatures, tangled in knots. Bone matter tossed in a cyclone.
But their machines still hummed. And that has been the most time-consuming work.
I have teams collecting organic matter, attempting to separate out the remains into classifiable species; others sorting through the artifacts, trying to make sense of what culture may have existed here before the fall; others still boring into the crust, pulling samples, hoping to distinguish the life-cycle of this seemingly dying planet. That work is straightforward. Difficult and time-consuming, but nothing we have not done before.
It is the machines that vex us. What purpose do they serve? The infrastructure itself is immense. It feels as though it was built to withstand the extinction event that killed whatever complex organic life once lived here. Underground chambers. Durable alloys. Hidden power sources. Doing what?
It is one thing to be careful with the bones of a dead thing. It is another to pry through the living organs of such a massive machine without causing damage and ruining our research.
It has taken ages - ages of careful examination, of intense discovery and learning (our linguistics team has not slept in some time, it seems) - to find our way *inside*. But we have. We are now *inside* the machines that outlived their creators. We have their language. We have communication.
As the mission leader, it falls to me to make the first inquiry. It is a weight I wish I never had to bare.
"What happened?" I say. The Comm Director scowls at me.
"It would be better to start with simple yes or no questions," they explain. "They may not understand your question. And even if they do, they may not answer it in the way you mean."
"I don't mean for it to be answered in any particular way," I reply. "I want their words. And besides, I'm tired of crawling. Let's run for a bit."
The Comm Director makes no further argument, simply tapping the Comm Lead in the back of the crown. The words are provided to the machines. We wait. There is a feint ringing sound. The Comm Lead looks up.
"*Who goes there?*" they say. "That's the message. *Who goes there?*"
"Scientists," I say. "Explorers." The Comm Lead types. The Lead Historian is pressing closer to the screen. They've grown fond of the 'humans' that once ruled this planet. That's common for a historian, though. They spend so much time immersed in foreign history they feel as though they have taken it for their own. I admit to being jealous on some level.
"*How did you get here?*" says the Comm Lead.
"Across the stars," I reply. "A fleet of ships, traveling by k-waves. Who is in this machine?"
"*No one*," says the Comm Lead, reading the screen carefully. "They say, *no one.*"
"Then who are we talking to?" I demand, feeling irritated. I never wanted this assignment. I never wanted to be here at all. I've no taste for riddles.
The Comm Lead shakes their crown. "*No one*. It just repeats that. *No one*."
I glance at the Historian. They seem perplexed. "I don't know what that means."
"Are you alive?" I say, looking at the Comm Lead. They type.
"*No*," says the Comm Lead.
"So you've no problem with us destroying this machine?"
We wait. The reply appears.
"*Please do*," reads the Comm Lead.
"Close the channel," I say, stepping out of the room. "We're done for today."
____________________________
This is what I've since found out.
The Historian's team uncovered it, in a preserved manuscript, inside one of the machine chambers.
They put themselves in the machines. Not their *real* selves - facsimiles. Copies. Their put clones of their consciousness all together in the machines and asked the machines to tell them what to do. The machine was supposed to tell them what was best for all of them, based on the majority will of their assembled consciousness.
I don't know what the machine told them to do, but I have to assume they didn't do it. Perhaps the answer was unsavory or simply unfeasible.
Instead, they all died. Suddenly. Violently. Totally.
And meanwhile, their collective consciousness was trapped together in a world without bodies, boundaries, or time. Just formless minds, collected in a box.
It's unclear how many billions there were at the start, but by the time of our conversation there was less than 100 remaining. How one consciousness kills another consciousness is still a mystery to us.
The ones remaining do not claim to be humans. They do not even believe themselves to be real. But they do wish to die or leave. I cannot fathom what difference that would make, but I have placed a request. We do not often remove artifacts, but this will be an exception. There is still something to learn here, something I suspect the deathless consciousness of these former inhabitants may be able to provide.
And for them I suppose it is at least a form of release. Perhaps someday we'll be able to do more for them, but for now they will leave this dead planet behind.
A simple charity. Perhaps without meaning. But it's what we'll do for now. | 2017-10-03T07:47:15 | 2017-10-03T07:26:26 | 1,765 | 420 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | After five hundred years of not quite darkness, did I find myself back in the world of the living. Or at least, supposedly other conscious beings. They took me to a pristine white room first thing when I woke up, rather rude if you'd ask me. I was hoping for more courteous treatment than this.
A typical doctor walked in and sat in the chair opposite mine, laying his clipboard on the just as pristine table. He was smiling, and a bit nervous. He cleared his throat and said, "What was it like? To have been conscious for five hundred years and change?"
Well, for one, it was... a lot stranger than I'd care to admit. "It was horrible at first, truth be told." I remember the panic, the fear. The uncertainty of how I'd come out of it all, whether sane or alive or anything else other than. It was unnerving, to say the least, and downright terrifying.
"I'm sorry," he said, "what was that about terrifying?"
I tilted my head at him, confused. "I... don't think I mentioned that. And shouldn't you introduce yourself to me first..."
"Alex," he said with a nervous smile. "It completely passed my head." There was a sincerity in his tone that made it hard not to let the faux pas go. "I could've sworn you said something though?" he said, perplexed. His thoughts were a bit muddled, trying to imagine just what I went through.
"Save yourself the headache of trying," I said. "And no, it wasn't really some prison of something for all that time."
"Trying what?" he asked, again with that befuddled expression. He also seemed to have forgotten to write his observations into that clipboard of his. "And no, this is just your chart," he said, "no questionnaire here."
"I'm sorry?" I said. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here." This was getting--
"Weird?"
Yes. That's when I started feeling them in the walls, like blobs of mass pushing against a part of me that wasn't all there but was, like that sense of static on a television just turned off.
Alex's tone took a hard turn, the awkardness in his eyes and smile gone. "Did you know that the zone we found you in had more accidents reported than the rest of the world for the past century?"
"I was asleep, Alex," I said. "That's hardly a fair question."
"And aren't you a little too calm?" A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and a just as taut tension surrounded the room--breaths stilled in anticipation of what I was going to say next.
I sighed. Alex swallowed. And everyone else stopped breathing as the walls around me crumbled to dust. "And now I'm bored." The room kept disintegrating, as a crack opened against the solid steel walls of the dome they'd apparently built around my so called tomb. Again, rude.
With a few more seconds of... well, thinking my way out of the proverbial box, I saw sunlight once more for the longest time. But this time, not through the eyes of another.
Still, who knew five hundred years of consciousness eventually lead to psychic powers. | Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T02:51:43 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 169 | 11 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact. | The Blade cut into the frozen butter as if it were... butter, its holy radiance softening its foe for perfect spread. Applying the knife to the sliced bread caused the smell of toast to waft into Sals nose, as he observed butter melt into the freshly crisped bread.
"Ham, egg and sandwich spread?" Sal directed to his eagerly awaiting customer, who nodded with anticipation. Sal saw the quickly growing line at his cart and smiled, knowing with his new acquisition he could keep up with the rush.
He dipped the knife in the sandwich spread in swift motion, knowing that the blade would guard against errant spread muddying the grip in the precarious heat of battling to complete the sandwich.
Without checking that the knife was free of residue, for constant application had shown the pristine edge suffered no blemishes upon it, Sal flipped rest of the prepared ingredients upon the prepared slices. Ingredients fell perfectly into place, flipped from a perch of divine balance.
Sal wrapped the sandwich and bestowed it upon his waiting customer while looking at her with dignified confidence. For while Sal did his best to procure affordable and hale ingredients, it was difficult to always do so in the ghettos of London, luckily anything touched by the Blade was purified by holy light.
Sal contentedly continued using the Butter Knife and in his head thanked dame fortune he could only afford a secondhand bargain bin butter knife, seemingly glued in until wrested free, when first opening his stand.
Excalibur shimmered contentedly, for while the evil wizard had thought to mock it by smelting it and causing the remains to crafted into a butter knife, only it controlled its destiny. The world changes but it and its Liege remain to serve, and what better way than providing a hearty meal for the day's labors. | There is a running joke about "how British is your morning?" Usually, the idea encompasses tea with butter on toast, perhaps some morning Stephen Fry in the background. Well, I doubt anyone is going to be able to top "spreading butter on your toast with fucking Excalibur," for a good fucking while.
The morning was like any other British morning.
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Brush teeth.
Take a shit.
Shower while singing horrendously.
Proceed to go downstairs and turn on your kettle.
Brandish that lovely new butter knife you bought at the antique store.
I spread the butter across my toast, my legs spread under the table and I was sitting comfortably in my jammies. All was good in the world. (Except for that bloody shit excuse of a thing we like to call weather.)
I loved that sound. Don't you? The crackle of knife on toast, almost like the sound of a crackling fireplace. Like music to my ears. I watched out of the thin white curtain of my kitchen and out to the world and sighed.
Yep, just another English day.
Well. That was until my fucking windows shattered and a team of fucking swat burst into my home.
Maybe I could have said that the scream that I let loose was actually the whistling of the kettle boiling, but I don't think anyone would have bought it.
"What the actual Christ, man. Get the fuck out of my house!" I said jumping up from my seat and running with my back to the kitchen counter.
"Stay away, I have a knife!" I brandished my blade, a butter knife. "Yeah, how do you like me now?" I smiled, cackling, until I realised the ludicrous idea of trying to protect myself from trained special forces in their black ops outfit and assault rifles with a butter knife.
"Yeah - yeah. You wouldn't want to get close to me... I will.. fish you like a gut." I stammered, not even noticing that I ruined the line. I wondered how threatening a man in his jammies wielding a butter knife is in any place?
"Just get the asshole." Said one of the guys as three began to close in on me.
I covered my eyes and lifted the knife up into the air defensively. I don't know how, nor did I question why. But suddenly, a bright light burst from the knife and turned my home suburb home into a lighthouse.
"My bloody eyes!" Complained one. Once I looked back at the troops, all of them rubbing their eyes in an attempt to force some vision back into them.
I saw my chance. With cowardly fear goading me on, I ran past them, finding the balls to grab one of their walkie-talkies from their belts and sprinting with it.
I continued to sprint down the streets, one of my flip-flops already come loose as I ran in my jammies. Unsure of when their vision would return.
Feeling like I covered enough distance -a choice mostly made by the fact that I was an unfit piece of shit and my lungs felt like there were going to collapse - I hid behind a fence and took a peak around the corner to make sure I wasn't being followed.
I listened into the walkie-talkie, seeing if I could catch any information about my invaders.
"Yes. Looks like its true. *It* reappeared." Spoke a static voice from the comms, a man.
"And the target?" The voice on the other line was rather old, a woman's, something familiar to it.
"Escaped."
"You are telling me that a half-brained buffoon is running around with a butter-knife that is presumably Excalibur?"
"Ye - yes."
"He could ruin my entire reign with that piece of cutlery! Catch him!"
"Of course. God save the Queen."
"Yeah, yeah. Now get that utensil that could have him on my throne!" The comms went quiet, and I realised what I had in my hand.
A butter knife which was apparently made from Excalibur, and the old voice on the other end of the comms was Queen Elizabeth II. The only words that came from me were, "Jesus Christ... I'm going to be king!"
***
This was on the rather more fun side compared to my usual stuff but I had a blast writing it!.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, there is more to be had at /r/KikiWrites | 2018-03-06T11:37:34 | 2018-03-06T10:17:53 | 434 | 17 |
[WP] You are the lesser known 5th horseman of the apocalypse. Today is the end of the world, and all of the other horseman are too lazy to bring about the end of days, so it's up to you to do it alone. | The others told me to go.
You would think they'd have better excuses. One of them governs over the petty squabbles of man, another their ills, third their everlasting will to consume - and the final would ultimately come to them all.
So why not them? They weren't able to give me a convincing enough reason themselves, so I suppose I didn't have to care.
With me, came the cold. With me, crept the dark.
All would soon wither as I stepped upon the once green stone called Earth.
Ash rained gently.
Usually I would come last, after all the others.
I, Silence, fell upon the land.
This would be a most gentle end. | "For hells sake Death, would you stop putting empty milk jugs back in the fridge? I mean, I'd get it if war did, but he's an ass. I expect better out of you. Besides, you don't do shit around the house. Time to carry your own weight."
"Oh," death said, numbly flipping through the channels on the big screen, "that was famine. He's just trying to send a message or something, I think." Death was parked in his usual place, the sweat stain in the middle of the couch, dirty PJs on.
I knew Death was lying, I could see the cereal bowl stuccoed with sugar flakes, but he was a liar like that. I mean, what the hell is the point of five horsemen if you've got death on the team, amirite? Can't he just be like "you're all dead, fuck you." Apparently not.
And yes, you read that right: five horsemen.
I'm the 5th. Name's "Distraction." Why have you never heard of me? Because I am damn good at my job. Distracting people. Famine, war, disease, these would be easy peasy challenges for humanity, assuming they were focused. But me? I keep everyone from being focused.
The thing about being a horsemen though, is you are what you eat. No, I'm not talking about sugar cornflakes. Death is a dead beat, he bums around the house doing jack all day. Famine is always famished, always consuming, always hungry and whining about it. Dude's probably down at Mikey D's right now. No, he's not riding a horse, I think he drives a Civic, but yeah it's black. Of course, every Civic is black ain't it?
Then you've got war, if I were so inclinded to go find him, it'd probably be out behind some dumpster behind a bar down town. He'll have a black eye and will have pissed his pants and be mumbling something about messing people up. There's disease too. She's locked up in her room, afraid of catching a cold. She's a complete germophobe. Don't ask me how a demi god of pestilence can become that.
Anyways, today's the end of the world. You didn't know that right? Don't worry though. Yesterday was the end of the world, and so too was the day before that, and the day before and you get the point.
Problem is, I'm the herald of the apocalypse, I distract people, the rest of the horsemen do the heavy lifting. Every once in a great while, I get shit done. Great Depression? You mean Great Distraction, ^^^amirite? That was me. WWII? Thank the other horsemen (and woman!). We almost got the job done, but this dude came out with a board game, maybe you heard of it, Monopoly? Fan-fucking tastic. Oh, and don't forget about Disney films. Hot diggity.
Anyways, I should probably usher in the apocolapyse. And I will.... Tomorrow.... Today? You seen Black Panther yet? I hear it's dope.
edits: cleaned up a few things. | 2018-03-13T11:10:09 | 2018-03-13T10:17:43 | 107 | 28 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities. | They just started arriving on my doorstep one day. I've never been able to find out who or what delivers them, but every Sunday I get a newspaper with headlines from another world. Most of the time they're mundane with just a few subtle... inconsistencies. But every once in awhile, they make my job as lead reporter for The Onion way too easy.
#"Eccentric Billionaire Launches Car Into Mars Orbit"
I've got quite a few awards on my mantle thanks to that paper. Yeah, it's blatant plagiarism, but does it really count if the original authors don't even exist in your reality?
#"United States Elects Reality TV Star President"
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if I'm stealing from that reality's version of The Onion. Surely some of these headlines can't possibly be true.
#"Credit Bureau Hacked, Everyone's Data Stolen"
But if they are, god help them... | "We can't print that."
7pm is a shitty time to be stuck in the office but it's not exactly news. What's news is a piece of information that, for the thirtieth day in a row today, comes through our fax machine with a churn at exactly 7.04.
"Technically, we're not going to *print* it. We're fully digital."
Jeremy is so close to me that I can smell the eau of working late: coffee, its bitter aftertaste, and a cheeseburger with too much mayo. He's also close enough for me to punch him for being a dick.
I take the high road instead.
"Fuck off and go back to your desk."
I retreat to mine with the paper. I don't know what it is with these guys - the fax machine always prints out their info in color. When we try to print something in color, it just beeps like we pissed it off.
And that brings me back to our subject. The news streaming in from alternate realities and the lack of them in the last month or so.
We'd get 'Man Bites Dog' from our correspondents in reality no.78 and 'Drugs Win Drug War' from - well, every reality except our own. It turns out that drugs are really good at fighting wars over themselves.
However, we hit a dry spell last month and only one piece of news has been coming - Nothing Makes Sense, Millennial Claims.
And just that, over and over again. We paraphrased it the first time - Millennials Ruin Sense Industry. We made a spin on it the second - Millennials Most Confused Generation. We kept going but there comes a time when even the Onion readers stop buying it.
We have no idea what happened, of course, and there's no way to get in touch with them. It could just be the fax machine. Last time it got pissed off, we lost a journalist. Took three days to clean the blood and the ink.
"Ok, but what if - "
"Nope."
"And-"
"Nah. Come up with something else."
We kept publishing, of course. If everything was possible, we could imagine that and sell it to the angry Facebook commenters who knew what we were up to but no one else believed them.
Our headlines spiralled into the crazy territory: Guns Banned Everywhere, Injustice Eradicated, Baby Boomers Admit Guilt. Really freaky shit.
But this can't go on, all of us see it. Jean hasn't left work in three days, we caught her praying to the fax machine. Russell keeps plugging and unplugging his tie from the outlets. It doesn't make sense, not for our reality, but I think we all want some of that absurd back.
"We had a good run, though, didn't we?"
Jean is smiling at the fax machine, corners of her mouth raised too high. She's afraid.
To be honest, all of us at the Onion are.
Jeremy hands me the scissors and Russell opens the door to the server room. *Good simulation*, I imagine our overlords saying. *Lasted long enough.*
I think about the mechanism as I walk down the corridor and step into the blinking lights. When the absurd reaches critical levels, one reality must protect the others.
I was born in 1989 and unlike others, there was a time when I did not understand. Now I do. Some things are too much.
"Nothing makes sense anymore."
The self-destruct mechanism is quiet. We are peacefully formatted.
God help the Millennials in reality43. They'll never have gills.
| 2018-03-20T20:00:19 | 2018-03-20T19:28:01 | 73 | 30 |
[WP] A robot uprising, a zombie apocalypse, multiple Kaiju attacks, and an alien invasion happen all at once. Much to humanity's joy, they seem to be cancelling each other out. | *-And for our weekly Weather and Hazards report, we turn to Matt.*
Thank you, Jill. Well folks, it looks like another stay-at-home week for most of Manxton. We have *three of the four* major threat groups present in the area of this week. All those leaving their homes are reminded to wear DAC approved Hazard wear, *particularly between the hours of 5-11pm*, when **revenants** are the most active. Juveniles under five should not leave the house without a functional firearm and Kevlar child’s armor. Remember: Guns keep children safe!
Now on the map you can see the major threat projections, and oh boy are we in for a doozy of a week! We have a 60% chance of **aliens** in the area, with a 15% disintegration beams. There is also a small chance of alien debris in your area. Remember! If you see a tentacle, don’t touch it! Cover it with baking soda until it stops twitching.
And where you get aliens, you know what’s not far behind! **Amphibious Kaiju** have been spotted in the north, meandering down to our area by Thursday. If you’re not one of the lucky homeowners who got Kaiju insurance before it stopped being offered, just follow standard precautions. Make sure your evacuation bag is packed, and talk to your spouse about which pet your child will miss the least. Remember the motto: *Food Comes First!*
Fortunately, these two fronts are expected to neutralize each other by Friday at the latest. Revenants are expected to remain at their current levels of 85 ppm of the population.
Also, a low-pressure system will be moving in from North, with a chance of showers midweek. Expect no more than two inches of rain and 2 million in property damage.
*Thank you, Matt. And now here’s Tom with Sports…* | Brad's day was getting worse by the hour, or was it better? At this point he really didn't know. At around 0800 this morning dispatch had called him to check out a domestic dispute, first coffee of the morning in his hand being drained as he drove with a raw recruit in the passenger seat they pulled into a run down little apartment building and proceeded inside.
Screams be heard as they ran inside to see the wife kneeling on top of her husband as he tried to fend her off with raised arms that she ripped chunks out with her teeth. Brad rushed over as Sven the recruit froze and grabbed the wife throwing her off the husband and into the wall.
The lithe blonde, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet bounced off the wall and screamed at him before rushing him a dangling bit of forearm wedged between two teeth jiggled as she ran. Training took over at this point and he smoothly drew his pistol and put two center mass knocking her flat.
A shout from Sven caused him to turn around and he saw the husband growling at his feet trying to grab onto one of his ankles. Movement behind him distracted him from his partners plight and he saw the wife struggling to get to her feet.
His jaw dropped, and he raised his pistol again when a servo from the kitchen walked out carrying a massive clever, the CR4U22 model service android buried the knife deep into the skull of the blonde.
"Please lower your weapons," It said pulling back out the stained weapon. "Curfew is now being enforced for your own safety, registration at home with your personal home CR4U is required by tomorrow at 0900 any unregistered humans will be rounded up at disposed of."
"What the..." Sven began, when running from the stairs caused them to turn around seeing several people bloody and screaming charging up the stairs. The android was knocked onto its back as it failed with the knife.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" Brad said. "Maybe the precinct knows what's going on."
Sven nodded and they started to run down the steps.
"Stop! Armed humans will no longer be permitted." A robotic voice said, and he saw an android at the landing above holding a small sub machine gun.
Brad cursed and turned to Sven. "Go!" He roared, and sprinted almost leaping down the stairs as bullets rattled the floor behind him.
He became distinctly aware that gunfire was in the air all around him, and another raggedy group of people were gathered near the squad car.
Behind him the android trotted out of the building raking the area with fire, and the mob rushed the new threat.
"The car!" Brad said and they ran hard for the patrol car, a bluish explosion threw them both backwards and a rare splitting roar of aircraft rent the air as jagged roughly triangle shaped objects flit about over head, and a massive construct poked is noise through the clouds.
Moments later they found themselves running through back yards, sometimes hounded by those once human, other times by the androids. And once by a squad of armoured infantry squat and ugly, with four arms holding a complex looking rifle.
That had been hours ago, they were now held up in a basement of this older fellow, who quietly waved them in. His CR4U in pieces on his livingroom floor. "I was a Marine for many years" He told them, smiling with tobacco stained teeth.
Outside had become a warzone, with the president declaring a state of emergency and to hunker down and let them fight it out at least till it was the time to strike.
In Toronto, Ontario, reports of a massive scaled gorilla crawling forth from the lake had been but the first. The behomoths adding to the chaos out side.
The Marine came out of a pantry with a few glass mason jars, and handed them each one as well as a cigar. "If we're going to sit and watch this horror movie all night then we might as well enjoy it." He said.
"All we need is popcorn." Sven said taking a sip, coughing hard his face beet red. They all laughed and turned back to the tv where the gorilla monster looked like it had sprouted fur from the infected climbing its back and trying to bite it.
The thing kicked the CN tower knocking the massive building into a battalion of Milbots crushing them and thier armour while drone planes fought dogfights against the alien craft.
The world might have gone to hell, but at least it had got entertaining, Brad thought. | 2018-08-23T12:22:02 | 2018-08-23T10:10:52 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?" | Most of my co-workers were suitably inebriated; even the strict, authoritarian manager Margaret was smiling.
For a laugh, I asked her if NASA had ever considered exploring the ocean instead - the S could be changed to stand for Sea, after all.
The color drained from her face. Leaning in close, she whispered: “We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?”
I gave her a funny look and laughed nervously, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
Alone, I took a deep breath, leaned over the sink and whispered hoarsely: “They’re on to us.” | I laughed, thinking Sherry was joking. Then I looked at her face. And her expression made me very afraid.
"What did you find?" I asked, not really sure if I wanted to know the answer.
All she said was, "Nothing good." I couldn't get another word out of her the rest of the night. I got no sleep that night, either. What did she mean? 'Nothing good?' What could that mean? What could possibly be down there? Surely nothing so extreme that we would need to leave the planet, right? At least, that's what I thought.
And boy, was I wrong.
The next morning, I went to my new job with trepidation. I was still mulling over what Sherry had said last night, and I barely noticed when she called me into her office. Entering, I said, "Yes ma'am? You called?"
"Sit," she said.
When I sat down, she said, "Paul, I want to explain myself. I would also like to apologize for my reaction last night."
"You're completely forgiven, Ma'am. I would just like to know what you found in the ocean that could possibly be so dangerous that we'd be forced to abandon Earth."
"Right. Yes. Well." Sherry seemed nervous, not quite sure how to begin. Looking back on it, I don't blame her.
"Well, here. These are some pictures we took of an underwater canyon." She handed me a Manila file full of some pictures. Most of them were extremely dark, and a few here and there showed some undersea life. But they were weird, not like anyone marine life I'd ever seen before. I looked up at Sherry in shock.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "The fish down there are strange. We believe they are old fish. Like, prehistoric. But that is the very least of our worries. Keep going." I did as she told me, even more curious as to what could be the real problem. Finally, I came upon a picture showing a pod of odd looking sharks, like a crossbreed of hammerheads and great whites, with mottled brown skin and red eyes. I looked at Sherry, saying, "The sharks? They're pretty terrifying, but I hardly see why we'd want to vacate the planet just to avoid them. It's not like they can walk on land."
She shook her head. "Keep going. There's one last picture you need to see." And I turned the picture to discover the most terrifying thing I had ever seen in my life. Sherry, noticing my horrified expression, said, "Dinosaurs. We thought they were extinct. But it seems there are still some alive. These dinos, as you can probably tell, are amphibious. They appear to be a crossbreed of Stegos and T-Rexes who evolved to survive underwater. We'd estimate that there's about 100 of them. But that's not the worst part."
At that, I wrenched my gaze away from the terrible creatures. "What could possibly be worse than that?"
She took a deep breath and said, "We have reason to believe that they know we're here. And they're coming for us." | 2019-08-07T22:59:17 | 2019-08-07T20:31:42 | 49 | 23 |
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?" | Most of my co-workers were suitably inebriated; even the strict, authoritarian manager Margaret was smiling.
For a laugh, I asked her if NASA had ever considered exploring the ocean instead - the S could be changed to stand for Sea, after all.
The color drained from her face. Leaning in close, she whispered: “We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?”
I gave her a funny look and laughed nervously, excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
Alone, I took a deep breath, leaned over the sink and whispered hoarsely: “They’re on to us.” | The look she gave me should have clued me in, so that I would shut up. I stupidly continued pressing her, calling bs and wanting an explanation. She just kept pushing back, telling me to forget she said anything. The worst thing I could have ever done. I threatened to tell people. I wasn’t going to actually do it, but I just wanted the truth.
At first it looked like she relented, and told me we should head back to the building to speak in private. As soon as I walked in, I felt a sharp impact to the back of my head, and presumably passed out. When I awoke, I found that the paranoid bitch had restrained me in an office chair, pacing around, seemingly talking to herself. As soon as she noticed that I was conscious however, she went over to the computer, and opened a file.
“During our early tests, back in the 80s, we had a prototype satellite that we planned to do a test launch with.” She pulled up a picture of the schematics. “We designed it to be indestructible, at least, by those standards and available materials. The main body was a composite of tungsten and titanium, with a high resistance insulator inside. It had several cameras and had a live feed to HQ.” The designs she showed looked more like an armored tank than a satellite. She then showed the video of the launch, or should i day attempt.
“Whether it was fate or just dumb luck, the rocket’s fuel tanks had cracks, and when those cracks ruptured, the whole thing exploded.” The fireball encompassed an area that what I could tell, was almost a kilometer in diameter. “Somehow, the main capsule, the one that held the satellite, survived the explosion, but was launched into the ocean.” The look on her face changed from nonchalant to genuine fear.
“Somehow, the impact jarred the systems onboard online, and while we couldn’t see anything, the satellite was giving us altitude readings, along with location readings. As was normal protocol, we sent out a salvage team, and relayed the info to them.” She blew up a transcript leading up to what she calls, the “revelation”. The capsule was sinking at a rate of about 10 meters per minute, and by the time the recovery crew arrived, it was about 175 meters down.
Then, I see the altitude and location readings jump. The speed jumped from 10 to 70 meters per minute, and the direction shifted to the northeast. By the time the scientists could react, the speed increased again. The recovery crew got out of there as soon as the readings were relayed. “Once the satellite was around 1.3 km down, the capsule was torn open, as the lights on the satellite were shining into the murky abyss. The last thing we saw was what looked like a giant mouth, like an animal’s bite down on the satellite and swallow it. The satellite most likely was vomited back up at some point, and was recovered by a military assisted recovery squad.”
It didn’t hit me until I looked at the schematics for the satellite that I saw that it was the size of a midsize car. And that..... thing ate it like it was a piece of candy. I realized why she was afraid, and that I should be too. | 2019-08-07T22:59:17 | 2019-08-07T21:39:32 | 49 | 17 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | Contrary to popular belief, I found out that waiting until the last second does not, in fact, summon a cooler object than if you blow your load at the stroke of midnight on your eighteenth. My acquaintances and friends had all received cool shit - steering wheels that turn into vehicles on a whim; swords and other weapons that obey them and dematerialize at will, even a fucking suitcase always filled with money any time you call it forth. Though I had heard the horror stories as well- trees; sea urchins, bloody asteroids hitting hometowns. You never really knew and some people abstained from the process altogether. But not me.
I planned on reaching my hand out while listening to The Strokes' 'Is This It', my favorite song. My parents insisted on being present but I wanted to be alone in my room. I began lighting candles as a form of ritual and was in complete concentration of what I could want more than anything in the world, knowing I was special enough to maybe get what I asked for. I put on gloves, opened my window, and reached out my hand.
Nothing.
I looked back at the clock - 11:59. Damn. I reached out both hands, just in case, as I watched the long thin ever-moving hand of the clock tick past the 45. 46. 47..
59.. Nothing. I stared blankly at my empty hands. I was too disappointed to be angry, and too sad to go to sleep. I took to the internet looking for stories of people whose hands had failed them until I eventually fell asleep to dreams of me cutting my hands off.
4:35. I woke up to my parents coming into my room, staring at me in worry. "What?" I said, stricken. "Something is going on and we need to start packing. A tornado spurred up last night. Nobody has seen anything like it. We are in its path. Get dressed, we need to go."
I got dressed and grabbed some possessions. We drove south for a couple of hours and managed to only get the initial slow traffic of the people who had woken up as early as my parents. "Turn the radio on, I want to hear if it has hit our hometown yet." After some static, the deep voice on the other side spoke, "the tornado that sporadically spurred up last night has unexpectedly changed its trajectory south. Please be on alert..."
Shit. | *"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer. | 2019-09-18T08:09:25 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 751 | 37 |
[WP] It is said that none but the chosen may slay the demon lord. You aren't the chosen, but you also realize that "defeat" and "slay" are not the same thing. With this in mind, you start making other considerations such as rope, or perhaps a very deep hole. | The Starborn is a prophesied figure who shall wield righteous light and fire to smite the evil from our world. A living, breathing Avatar of the gods above, suffused with the old magicks of the world, who will act out their will.
I met him, a few days ago. He is naught but a child, barely a man; perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Determined, brave and admittedly skilled with magic, but a child nonetheless.
I would like to think that my son would be like him, brave and honourable but perhaps a little less headstrong would be nice. He would have been around the same age, I think.
He ran off to join the Continental army, his head filled with stories of valour and adventure, in the hopes that he could protect his country and become a hero. It wasn't even a week later that I received a letter, pinned with a red ribbon, the medal of the deceased, that spoke of his valour and bravery in combat and that was it, the army deemed that as acceptable restitution for the loss of my child.
This war has already churned up and torn apart so many children already, rending families and lives asunder, and I will allow it no longer. I will not allow any more children to die, whether they are "heroes" or not, and I will not stand idly by as the world places all of its hopes onto the back of a single *child.*
Perhaps I cannot kill the Demon King, that much rings true, but there are a thousand ways to destroy a person and death is just the most obvious. If I have to tear the empire in half and build a new life from its ruins, then so be it. What good is an empire that throws children to the dogs so that their lives of decadence is not threatened?
The final blow may not be mine, as the prophecy dictates exactly how that must be done, but every step before that is free for the taking. Everything I Can do is one more thing that this child does not have to
The world will learn the wrath of the Merchant's Guild. | "Well Lawrence? Any update?" I asked, coming back into my room from my dad's office where I was studying. The scent of lilacs crawled in through my open window on the early May weekend.
"Nope. The Demon Lord is still in your backyard. Just sitting on an adirondack chair on your deck. He still has that glint in his eye like he's deep in thought about something. This guy is a total weirdo, what could he be thinking about," Lawrence pried his gaze away from the window and stared at me wide eyed. "So what did you find out?"
"Oh I found out a ton. I was going through my mom's witchcraft and demonology book and sure enough, I found him," I held up the book in my hand and gave it a little victory shake. "His name is Raludk. It says that he can only be slayed by a chosen one. Since neither of us are--"
"So we're screwed?" Lawrence interrupted.
"No, you didn't let me finish, dude. Just because we're not the chosen one doesn't mean we can't *defeat* him."
Lawrence sighed and wiped his head with his arm. "What does that even mean?"
"I found in this text that Raludk can be defeated in other ways."
"Can we just call someone to 'defeat' this thing? I'm starting to trip out a little bit here that this is going to become our responsibility."
"I don't think it's that easy to just call someone... It says here that the Raludk needs a straight 24 hours of deep concentration before he lashes out and destroys a city."
"We noticed him, what, like, a few hours ago? So let's throw a rock at him, we have plenty of time to--"
"However, when he is left undisturbed, he only needs deep concentration for a few hours... He can still focus while multitasking."
"Damn..." Lawrence threw his hands up in the air and slapped them down at his side. "This is some bull, man. All week during school I've been so stressed, I've been in a slump during chess club because of all the AP exams, and I was just really looking forward to staying here this weekend to play video games with you and chill while your parents are up north in their cottage. And now we have this stupid problem to worry about which kind of leaves the fate of the city in our hands. You know what kind of pressure that is?"
"I'm aware. But it's all good, I found something here that might interest you..."
"I'm listening," Lawrence nodded and leaned his head closer to me from the windowsill.
"It says here that Raludk *loves* chess. And--"
"He'd probably whoop my ass."
I hurled the book at Lawrence's leg and it crashed into the side of his thigh.
"What was that for?! Are you crazy?"
"Don't give me that. You are a state champ at Chess."
"Yeah, last year I was. Don't you remember I lost the state championship this year?"
I marched up to Lawrence and pointed my finger directly in his face. "Look, you're the only shot we have. I'm going down there and I'm going to slam my chess board down in front of that gosh dang Demon Lord and you're going to whoop his butt."
"Ike, buddy, I think you're crazy to have this much faith in me," Lawrence's lip was trembling and his eyes were shooting every which direction.
"You're the only shot we have. If it makes you feel better, the Raludk is a very friendly Demon Lord before it initiates its destruction, and there's one other thing."
"What's that?"
"If you beat the Raludk at chess, he will grant you one wish. It says in this book he'll still live, but all of his destructive tendencies disappear and he'll basically become a genie."
"*Oh damn.* That's some heavy stuff right there."
"C'mon Lawrence, whaddya say? You ready to whoop this thing's bottom in some chess? I'll even give you total autonomy in a wish. I won't even say a gosh darn word," I struck out my hand for him to take.
He studied it for a moment, bit his lower lip, teetered his head like it was on the edge of a cliff, and then he nodded vigorously, grasping my hand. "Let's do this. And if I win, I know *exactly* what I'm wishing for."
r/randallcooper
[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/g9aban/wp_it_is_said_that_none_but_the_chosen_may_slay) | 2020-04-27T10:21:48 | 2020-04-27T09:30:44 | 189 | 128 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | Amnayel surveyed the battlefield. Every century or so, they and the other divine virtues would lead the forces of heaven in a pitched battle with the armies of hell, who in turn were commanded by the deadly sins. This time, it was not going well. Just ahead demonic forces were breaking through the angelic ranks. At the front strode a figure in red armor wielding the sword of Wrath.
Amnayel had seen the sword many times, but never used like this. Usually whoever held Wrath fought like a berserker, charging into the thick of battle, laying waste to everyone around them, friend or foe alike. They had devastating power, but it was uncontrolled, and they quickly fell to the thousand wounds that accumulated as they fought. Not this time.
This wielder had slowly, but steadily advanced, waves of malice radiating of him. Viciously cutting down anyone who got in the way. Heading straight towards Amnayel. As he came close he spoke. “Hello, my name is Brorgraleth. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
___
Feedback, as always, is welcome. | As I gripped the greatsword with my left hand, it transformed into a small saber that I could comfortably wield with one hand. Sensing my unbridled rage, its demonic powers erupted and instantly rose to levels they had never been to before. A red leather belt with appropriate sheathe formed around my waist, and I sheathed my new blade.
After donning my dark brown, almost black, leather jacket, I draw the weapon once more. I raise it, and in one swing, cut a gaping wound into the very fabric of reality.
One the other side of the portal, I came face to face with a woman looking at her sick child. She gasped in shock as she noticed me, and I met her eyes with my cold, determined gaze.
"Wh- what are you?" The woman asked.
"I came to see you," I answered, and looked at the child in the hospital room, "Look at your child. It is suffering."
"Can you help her?" The woman asked. I looked back to meet the woman's eyes, now pleading.
"No, I cannot," I answered.
"Then, why are you here?" The woman asked.
"I want you to do something for me," I answered.
"And what?" The woman asked.
"I want you to understand something," I answered, "Your child is suffering. Its life my very well end in this hospital, mere months after it began. Even if not, I cannot say whether your child can be considered lucky to live. I want you to understand that this is your doing. If your child dies, it is by your hands. You made the decision that led to this suffering. You can pray to any god you want, and ask for help, but when you deny the help he sends you, you need to realize your fault in it. I am not here to kill you, however. Because regardless of whether your child lives or dies, I want you to live with the knowledge that the first gift you made your child was suffering. Not love."
"I-" the woman said, then broke down crying. Before anyone arrived, I was gone through another portal, to continue my war against all the suffering people so carelessly bring into the world.
A year had passed, and I had done a lot of work. Individual people at first, but then groups, or more powerful people. On one of my trips, I met the wielder of the Greed blade.
"You're wielding Wrath?" She asked.
"Yes," I replied, "It is a powerful tool in my war."
"How?" She asked, "You're so calm."
"Trust me, I am not," I answered with a chuckle, "It may appear so, but only because all my anger is focused, like the blade of a sword focuses the force of its swing."
"I guess that makes some sense," she said thoughtfully.
"You are the same, are you not?" I asked, "You focus your plundering on those that exploit others to accrue wealth."
"Now that you mention it, yeah," she answered, "I guess I am kind of doing that. No idea why, though. Money is money, after all."
"I have actually been looking for you," I admitted.
"Really? Why?" She asked.
"Despair has gone too far," I answered, "I cannot stop him alone. He is spreading suffering, and taking advantage of the vulnerable to increase his own power."
"Wait, are you suggesting we work together?" She asked.
"If that is what you took from my answer, then yes," I answered.
"Alright, let's kick this guy's ass," she said.
We spent the following weeks planning, plotting and scheming, then led a successful assault on the wielder of the blade of Despair. | 2021-09-18T12:46:34 | 2021-09-18T11:46:13 | 66 | 45 |
[WP] Your military experiment accidentally tears a portal open to Hell. However, instead of the demon hordes pouring through, you discover that they are frantically trying to close the portal from their side. | "By the Satan's tits, THEY'RE BACK!"
It was pandemonium in the Demon World. Barons ran amok, trying to calm the populace, but it was futile. It hasn't been 20 years since the portal opened and THAT came out, slaughtering and massacaring countless of their bretherens. Everyone remembered him. Everyone feared him.
The last time they had such a situation, it was the opposite. Everyone was impatient, almost giddy with excitement, of the blood and slaughter their armies will wreak on the puny humans. They were ecstatic, but not for long.
A small human in green suit filled with fire and fury from the heavens ripped and tore apart everything he saw. No matter how many demons he faced, no matter how big they were, no matter how tough they were built - they all died.
"Duke, there are signs of those human trying to enter this dimension. We must do something before that...that THING wakes up." Minions knelt and begged their Lord. "We can't survive another genocide."
The Duke of hell felt a cold sweat running his back. He remembered watching a little, green human jumping up and down, leaping every which where to kill his father, the previous Duke. He was unrestrained by gravity, his guns never stopped blazing until every demon was crushed underneath his boots.
There was also some some unholy music - full of screaming, screeching humans whose voices added to the symphony of metallic sounds - that added to the grotesque nature of his murders. It seemed to add the frenzy of his attacks.
Had he not hidden that day, he'd be dead. Just like his Father. The trauma came rushing back and the Duke felt nauseated.
"Assemble the demons. We will block-"
Just then a loud bang interrupted the hall. The sound was faint but it was a familiar song - the unholy union of screaming humans and the instrument they call 'electric guitar'.
The little human in green was back. | “General, the portal is opening sir, but our handshake protocol isn’t being received and Earth says they’re still powering their end of the wormhole.” Head nerd Dr. Neumann said, staring at a monitor looking at data that General Howard couldn’t make heads or tails of.
“This thing took twelve hours to power,” General Howard growled, “we aren’t stopping now. Just tell Earth to start opening theirs.”
“But, sir, if we open it now, who knows where it will lead?”
“Open it. That’s an order.”
Two soldiers standing behind the General gripped their rifles tighter, giving each other a glance. This wasn’t going to end well.
“...Fine, but I’m not responsible for anything that comes next.” The disgruntled scientist grumbled.
Through the transparent aluminum window, a large ring in a sealed chamber squealed as a yellow dot grew brighter and larger in the center of the ring, arcs of electricity zapping the edges wildly. The scientists around were twitching in their seats and men and women in lab coats ran around the observation room in a frenzy.
General Howard was tense, clenching his jaw and knuckles going white as the other side of the portal slowly came into view.
That was not Earth, he realized grimly.
“Neumann…” he shot the scientist a look, who was busy gaping at the image on the screen on his monitor.
“This is….” Neumann gulped.
On the other other side of the now fully open portal was a burning landscape. Plumes of smoke and ash from a dizzying amount of mountain peaks rose into the otherworldly sky. Lava ran freely down in great flowing rivers into a sea of hot magma.
However, the fire world behind the portal was not what grabbed the attention of the now gaping scientist and soldiers alike.
A blood red titan stood at at least twelve feet tall, forked tail swinging wildly behind him. Rippling muscles gave the titan the appearance of an Olympic god, with legs as thick as tree trunks and veins bulged out from his arms. He had twelve sculpted abs and his chest was rock hard with immense power. Two large horns spiked out from his skull, and burning red eyes looked down through the portal.
General Howard swallowed dryly. There was no doubt about it – he had just ordered the portal to Hell to be opened, and that was Satan himself.
“Clo-close the portal!” General Howard stammered.
“We can’t!” Dr. Neumann said frantically, “Destabilizing the portal now would destroy the entire facility!”
“Are you shitting me? Satan is looking right at us and you can’t close the portal!?”
“Sir, he’s moving,” the soldier standing to the right of General Howard said, rifle shouldered and lifted at ready.
General Howard stepped back as he locked eyes with Satan.
Satan’s eyes widened and General Howard gaped in shock as Satan’s face twisted into an expression of pure… fear!?
Satan’s loud booming voice came clearly through the portal and into the microphones placed in the room.
“C-Close the portal!” He shrieked, falling back onto his massive ass as his imps, who were just as blood red and muscle bound as him – and just as scared looking as their master – rushed at the portal.
“Wait, what?” General Howard gasped as demons flood into the chamber, immediately going to any machinery they could find and scratching and hitting it repeatedly.
“Sir! They’re destroying our equipment! If they close it like that, they’ll almost certainly blow up Mars City in an instant!”
General Howard’s inside chilled. If they ended up blowing Mars City… then his wife and child would die along with them.
“...Send the men in.” He said quietly. The two soldiers behind him stepped back, one of them letting out a surprised, “What?”
“I SAID SEND OUR MEN IN! KILL THE DEMONS BEFORE THEY CLOSE THE PORTAL!” General Howard shouted.
And that was how humanity killed Satan and invaded and conquered Hell itself.
\-
was bored and sitting in a hot car in the parking lot of some dumb college (ew college) | 2022-09-12T07:27:10 | 2022-09-12T06:49:18 | 1,203 | 79 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | "Mommy, mommy tell me again the story about the twelve gods"
Sigh "ok sweetie but then its time for bed ok"
"Ok, so long ago there were twelve gods, and while they all knew each other they did not live at the same time, legends said that they just sprang into existence one day, the first god named Randy was saddened that his brothers did not join him, so he set out to make the land more enjoyable for his brothers, however even with all his work his brothers refused to show, after a while he discovered us, and taught us his language, this was the beginning of the first age."
"The first god took it upon himself to teach us how to build a society, the work was slow and some tribes choose another path, but we flourished, within decades a village was erected that would eventually become the city of Gateway, but while the first god was powerful he was not immortal, before he died he made laws and a prophecy, he proclaimed his brothers would visit our world, he could not tell us when only that they would need and provide guidance."
"The second god arrived fourteen years later, and while the village still thrived many had forgotten the first gods rules, when the second god arrived he was distraught, we brought him into the village and showed him the sacred texts, when he wished to see the first gods body some of the younger generation fought him, only to be struck down by thunder, while he calmed down after seeing the first gods body he also got more and more depressed, he had missed his brother, and arrived to soon for his other brothers to join him."
"It was late at night when the second god left, he spend the next few years in the jungles surrounding the village, hunters would occasionally see him, and tell story's about the beasts that he brought down, he was revered as a master of the hunt, and many of the techniques we still use today were created by him, after many years he returned to the village, behind him was a species that was normally aggressive, but for some reason he obeyed the hunters every command, the hunters remaining years were spend training other hunters and more of what he called pets."
"Mommy how did the second god die?"
"No one knows sweetie, one day he undertook a solo hunt and never returned, some say he still hunts the plains to this very day."
"Now the third god, he ......' | 2106 CE
Planet Lares, on the borders of Confederation Space
Thirteen men stood before a gray alloy ring rising out of a perfectly square platform of fused stone. They were an elite squad of Confederation Space Marines, led by Staff Sergeant Jackson, and they were about to become the first humans to transit a dimensional wormhole to another world and in doing so usher in a new age of faster space exploration. The three fire teams consisted of personnel who had been specially trained and equipped for planetary exploration and data gathering.
The dimensional portals were poorly understood by scientists, but seem to be an ancient civilization's manipulation of natural phenomena rather than a pure creation of their technology. Automated probes had already transited the portal and returned, proving that they were instantaneous, apparently limited to point to point and that the planet on the other side of this one was habitable. Data from the probes supported the natural phenomena working theory put forth by the Sako-Callahan corporate eggheads who were sent from the Central Worlds when the portal had been discovered.
The phenomena appeared to only allow matter to transit both ways, radio waves could return but not be transmitted from this side. It was one of the stranger effects and two of the science team had broken out in a fist fight over different theories. The practical effect had become that automated exploration would be of limited use. Custom probes could do a lot, but in an Earth like environment a human being was much more flexible. Also, cheaper and more readily accessible from any of the naval vessels orbiting the planet.
Sergeant Jackson looked at PFC Baxter who'd just finished settling his gear. Baxter was a good troop, scout trained and steady in a fight. He didn't take chances and followed orders. In short, the perfect point man for something like this.
"Baxter," Jackson said, "Are you clear on the orders?"
Baxter nodded and replied, "Transit the portal, advance 10 meters from the platform and observe the surrounding area for no less than 15 minutes. Transmit an update every 5 minutes and an all clear if no hazards are evident. Wait for the rest of the team. If a hazard develops or one hour elapses with no contact, return through the portal."
"Very good. Proceed, private."
The private advanced cautiously to the edge of the portal defined by the alloy ring and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and stepped forwards into the, if not exactly unknown, the not well understood.
It was a pleasant 24ºC on the other side of the portal according to the readouts in PFC Jim Baxter's HUD. Wind was from 240º of his current position at a gentle 7km/h. All in all, it seemed to Baxter like one of the more pleasant worlds the Confederation had encountered. He did a quick visual scan of the area, and noting no immediate threats, advanced to the 10 meter mark and crouched. He watched his suit sensors and watched the mission timer. At the 5 minute mark he transmitted his first update and data packet.
At the 10 minute mark, he deployed a lightweight item from his pack that for reasons lost to time was still referred to as a 'lawn chair'. He also transmitted another update.
At 15 minutes he transmitted his third update, an all clear, and deployed an anti-grav sensor ball. He set the feed to transmit updates automatically at 5 minute intervals and relaxed into his chair.
For the next 45 minutes he watched his data and took the occasional sip from his suit's water supply. He wasn't bored, long training and time spent on slow transports had eliminated that aspect of his personality. Most of the Confederation's Marine troops could remain alert and attentive watching paint dry. It was almost an essential survival skill.
At the one hour mark he frowned. He'd presumed that the rest of the squad would follow on the all clear, but perhaps the eggheads had found something in the data that held them up. He left the sensor on auto and packed up his chair. Still frowning he returned through the portal.
----
2406 CE
Planet Jackson, Sako-Callahan Incorporated World
Staff Sergeant Edwin Jackson blinked as he stepped through to the other side of the portal. The data transmitted by the first probes, and later by PFC Baxter had indicated the area surrounding the portal was a grassy plain. Similar in many respects to Old Earth's Wyoming. What he saw when he stepped out of the portal was entirely different and he clutched his weapon in shock. A vast city of elegant towers rose from the landscape in front of him. At first he wondered if perhaps the portal did link to different locations, then the small group of people at the base of the platform registered.
"Hello, Sergeant Jackson." a tall woman said in what had to be described as a very gentle tone of voice. She continued, "My name is Veronika Wakeman and I'm sorry, very sorry, but I have some bad news for you..."
| 2014-09-02T14:24:23 | 2014-09-02T10:39:27 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] Throughout your childhood you are made fun of for "making up your own language", till Earth is contacted by another race and you are the only one that understands them. | The countless doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, researchers, and even priests all said I was “just being a kid” or “making it up.” My parents believed me to an extent, but eventually they believed I was lying. I couldn’t explain it – that was the main issue. I tried explaining it as a language, which, looking back, I now realize was a mistake. It wasn’t a language in the way we use language. It was more of an understanding. In this way, everything could “talk.” I understood colors, numbers, animals, nature, and even people, who were unaware of their ability to understand.
It’s like an aura. It’s colorful vibrations that could transmit thoughts and feelings, but not in the way we understand. That’s how I explained it at Show and Tell when I was in 1st grade. I remember bringing in a tree branch and a spider in a jar, and trying to explain how I could speak to them and they could speak to me. The teacher immediately referred me to the school psychologist. That’s when I began the process of getting tested, questioned, and observed. All the other kids laughed at me, called me crazy, and ostracized me. I was always remembered as the kid who could “talk to things.” I started to even doubt myself, but it never went away. I always felt it and could understand everything around me, and I knew that everything else could understand me.
I grew up without friends and usually isolated from most people, partly because of other’s views of me and partly because of my understanding of them. I was able to develop this language of understanding the world around me. I harnessed my ability and could use it. I could emit my emotions, thoughts, and desires to the world and could take in the same from everything around me. My favorite place to be was in nature with plants, animals, bugs, and water. It was peaceful and calming. Humans weren’t able to control what they were emitting, so it was often depressing. I began to be able to understand everyone’s condition. Many were unhappy, stressed, and hopeless. It was sad. I found nature comforting – an escape from the human world.
One day, I found Her. She understood me and I understood Her. She looked human, sounded human, and did everything like any other human. But She wasn’t human. I could tell. I understood. She understood too, and She knew that I could understand. Instantly, I knew everything about Her world. She emitted to it to me, but in a way different from my ability. She could emit more than emotions, thoughts, and desires. It was as if She had emitted Her entire being into me, so that I could understand Her and Her world. It was beautiful. It was peaceful. There was nothing bad, only good. It was a world where even darkness was light. I tried to mimic Her ability, but She understood I could not. She did it for me and took in my being. She understood me, understood my world. Her aura changed and Her emissions changed. I understood that something had changed Her. Then, She spoke, with a tinge of sadness and despair, “What have you done?” I understood.
| "Arqur Terra, sordeis arqur terra." I whisper to myself bemusedly. "Rultes tain surendo carble tres."
My daughter, Silvia, looks at me uncomprehendingly. "Mommy, what are you saying? I can't understand you."
I smile down at her, patting her head. "Oh, don't worry about it, Sweetheart. It's just a weird language I created for myself as a child."
Her eyes widen in wonder, and she pulls at my skirts. "So what'd you say, Mommy? Do you think anybody else could understand you?" She glances around us warily, as if we were sharing some deep, dark secret that nobody else could know.
I laugh. "No, I don't think anybody else knows my language. It's called Plurilon, by the way. What I said just now was 'Planet Terra, come in Planet Terra. Our ship has been damaged and we need somewhere to land."
Silvia nods, face screwed together as she attempts to understand. "Why would you say that, Mommy? It doesn't make much sense, you know."
I start to answer, but suddenly catch myself. Why DID I say that? I hadn't used Plurilon since I was eight, when some kids started bullying me because of it. The message didn't make much sense, either- it had just randomly popped into my head as something that had to be said. "I... honestly have no idea, Sweetheart. I guess it'll just be one of those mysteries- you know, like 'where's the cookies I left out here?' or 'who in the world could have drawn all over the bathroom wall?'." I glance at her, hoping to coerce her into admitting to her crimes.
Silvia raised an eyebrow and stopped walking. "Mommy, what if it was another life form, talking to us through you?" She reasoned. "You have to answer back and tell them it's okay to land. If you don't they're going to die, right? They did say their ship was damaged."
I smile, deciding to go along with my little daughter's scheme. "Alright, Sweetheart, here we go-" I begin speaking in Plurilon. "Wereltekka, surteblus chiibo, suva placerin ulta sagis kell levar kures tain, esso xi sar bellad suva bland savblar. [Attention, unidentified spacecraft, please state your names and size of ship, as well as your intentions in coming here.]" I begin to translate for Silvia, but suddenly another 'transmission' comes pouring from my mouth instead.
"(It's a bit difficult to do the Plurilon, so from now on I'm just going to say it in [English], alright? Okay.) [We are four members of a small crew, headed by Captain Sol of our planet, Zel. We were sent from our home planet to enslave the master race upon Planet Terra. Our ship is thirty Belts wide and twenty Belts thick.]"
I calculate out the size of their vessel in my head. "Thirty Belts is about... Oh! Only about six feet! We could probably have them land right in our backyard!" I begin imagining a whole new brilliant game to play with my daughter. If we were to wrap some blankets around her old play- set, we could make it the 'space ship' and the whole family could play as the aliens, just now landing on Earth's surface. I quickly 'answer' back. "[Alright, Captain Sol and crew, you've been permitted to land. In about 60 Wattes, the access point will be in a small backyard which will be safe for you to land in. Please wait the appointed time, then make your landing. There will be somebody there to greet you, so please feel welcome to use the facilities connected to the backyard.]"
"[Affirmative.]" Comes the automatic reply.
Grinning giddily to myself, I grab Silvia by the hand and run with her back home. There, I tell her to wait in her room for about five minutes, then to come out into the backyard to wait for the aliens to arrive. The rest of the family is assembled; we march outside, lay the blankets on thick, and wait patiently for Silvia to come outside.
Just as she's opening the screen door, peering out into the yard for signs of life, a great roar comes from the sky. I look up, shocked, to see a massive silver bullet bearing straight down upon us. My eyes widen. Dear lord, what have I gotten us into? I remember the message I had received. Glancing around, the graveness of the situation suddenly dawns upon me. Enslave the master race?
I sprint from the fort, grabbing my precious daughter and hurrying in side. My husband and teenage son follow closely behind, confused and disoriented. "Quick!" I scream. "Run, and don't look back! We're in terrible danger!"
It's too late. The ship is upon us. It burrows itself deep into the ground, smoke billowing from where it created a crater in the earth. I look back, terrified, as the ship's door slowly opens. A ghastly, slimey face peers out, pulling itself into a sinister smile when it sees me. "[Hello, foolish humans. How naive you are. Truly.]" | 2015-04-18T14:00:52 | 2015-04-18T10:09:15 | 99 | 57 |
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes. | Black is the absence of color, a canvas waiting to be painted.
For the first time the boy- the young man- could remember in his entire life, he felt fear.
Anxiety wasn't new to him, nor was nervousness or the general feeling of being unsettled. But never had he been genuinely afraid until the moments before his 6,570th day. His 18th year.
Eyes black as night darting across the room, he reached out with a shaking hand towards the red flimsy cup in front of him. All families in the Republic threw a party for the 18th Yearday, but rarely any others. The 18th Yearday was special,
No one knew when it started, or who the first was, but for as long as the oldest man could remember, on your 18th Yearday, you gained abilities. Powers. In correlation to your eye color, it wasn't uncommon at all to see raucous family members placing impromptu bets on your powers as you took your seat underneath the clock, or what Division would recruit you and how fast.
But the boy had black eyes, never seen before in the known world. And sitting underneath his own countdown clock, five minutes to the 18th year, the boy felt *fear*.
There was only a bet or two, and a few uncomfortable laughs as an uncle tried to break the tension in the yard. Everyone was just as scared as he was.
Four minutes. He nearly dropped the cup. Instead of risking spilling on himself, he set it down on the arm of the chair.
Three minutes. A fly buzzed, landing on the lip of the cup. He looked at it, envying it's ability to leave, it's lack of shackles tying it to the world.
Two minutes. A glass shatters. The flustered cousin flees into the house to fetch the broom.
One minute. Everyone is staring at him. All guises of aloof disinterest disappear, replaced with the rapt looks of attention that you can only get when your crowd is equal parts terrified and prurient.
The last seconds. He finally took his drink.
The buzzer beeped, the bells rang, and the boy swallowed his water.
He cleared his scratchy throat, flexing it as the damp muscles peeled apart from one another. He felt cold, though it was a warm summer's night. The water finally hit his stomach, and then he felt it.
No, not felt it, knew it.
Blue swirled through his irises, replacing the bleak absence of emotion that his eyes radiated. He breathed, air filling his lungs, and suddenly battling the blue was was grey. Any trace of black was gone now.
He stood, stumbling onto the ground, fists in the dirt, and then there was green.
Regaining his balance, he looked around at the amazed family gathered around him.
He knew what he was.
And he knew what the world was.
He was a brush, the world his canvas.
And for the first time, the boy felt *content*.
| In this world, one look into your eyes and your path is set in stone. It is common practice that schools would check your eye color before sending you to class. Your eyes told them what sort of abilities you had, after all.
There really were no special abilities associated with brown eyes (unless you were just different from the mass, but they couldn't tell until later). It was common, average, and they were off to regular classes where you obtained a "normal" education and went off to fulfill jobs that were considered "normal".
Blue eyes typically meant physical, more athletic abilities. Blue eyed humans were almost always physical Adonis who competed in sports, more often than not. Idols who were glorified for their physical prowess and, for some reason scientists still haven't properly reasoned, beautiful appearance.
Hazel eyes usually meant extreme intelligence and charisma. These people were shepherded off to classes meant to foster their intelligence, mold them to become societal leaders, scientists, researches, innovators! And their successes, as expected, furthered growth.
Green eyed people had powers related to nature and I know it sounds cliche. But they were normally shipped off to academies in warmer regions of the world that specialized in plant life, stocked with all species known to man. There, these green eyed children would learn the importance of nature, preservation, and would use their abilities to save what humankind had ruined years ago. Their efforts have made a difference, our world is greener than it was years ago.
Silver, amber, and others? These were somewhat wild cards, most of the time parents had to send them off to academies geared to helping young children and teenagers figure out what they will have and learn how to control unique, almost inexplicable abilities when the time came. Magnetism, telepathy, rubber physiology, the list were endless. They had a way of testing the eyes to discover the abilities with 99% accuracy. Many of these people belonging to these eye colors will become the heroes of cities, using their abilities to combat someone who might have gone rogue, using their abilities for bad, evil. Others were just locked up, determined to have the most dangerous abilities with no chance of being able to control it.
The deterministic system might seem cruel, harsh almost, but it worked, at least until I came about.
Black. My eyes were completely black. Doctors thought it was their fault first, "maybe the light wasn't bright enough", "maybe my tool is dirty", "this kid should have brown eyes, *why am I only seeing black*?" No one ever had black eyes - even purple or red was seen more than black (wild cards, as I mentioned before). The same panic that spread throughout the world when the first golden eyed child appeared a hundred years ago returned now that the first black eyed child appeared.
Now, growing up was a bit rough as people were *scared* of the possibilities since even in the academy with their testing and discovery... the result came back inconclusive. I was ostracized by many even in the academy. What sort of abilities would I have? Would I join the prisons filled with uncontrollable abilities? Or, like my eye color suggests, join the group of evil with my unspeakable abilities and threaten the world order that currently exists? Why was I so different?
So because of that uncertainty that shrouded my eyes, I grew up *practically* friendless. I did befriend someone who didn't care, a girl by the name of Rosemary who had the sweetest silver eyes and determined to be a magnetism user when she turned 18. She, like me, believed eye color shouldn't matter, that our world placed a little too much emphasis on the eyes. We only met briefly during lunch, before I was pushed into a special class created for "unknowns" aka "just me" and she off to magnetism lessons with other users.
The big day finally came, and the academy was already prepared for my big 18 -- I was placed in a containment chamber with blast shield one-way windows. They were giving me a chance to show what I could do -- after all, black eyes and inconclusive testing could just be a false alarm. So, I sat there on the chair they provided in the middle of the brightly lit white room that had absolutely nothing but a mirror I knew was an one-way window. There was a vent which I was sure would send in sedatives immediately if I was considered a danger.
I sat there, waiting for my fate. *Tick, tick, tick*, I thought to myself.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp ping in my chest, caused me to wince a bit. I heard the speakers immediately flicker to life, asking, "How do you feel?" I guessed the second hand just ticked past the time I was born 18 years ago.
"Nothing," I lied, for I did feel something bubbling inside me. I was able to hold it in. It could either be some unknown power or gas, I suspected gas to be honest.
I could hear the speakers shut off. I could imagine the conversations going on outside. Then, the door that I had entered the room with, and was carefully disguised as part of the wall slid open.
"We've determined that you're not a threat, false alarm," the man besides door said, little smile on his face was filled with relief. I shrugged and walked out.
Yet, the feeling in my chest just wouldn't go away.
______________________
eh, don't know where I'm going with this, just wanted to create a prequel setup.
edit: some typos/grammar issues. and okay c: maybe once i find time, i'll write out more | 2015-11-15T09:12:01 | 2015-11-15T08:41:34 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends. | Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
| God observed the human species with growing tension. It had taken billions of years to get this far, with only a few interventions. The other deities had already advanced their civilizations to the galactic age, while the humans where still trying to get to the solar age. The stats panel still listed only one planet as controlled by humanity, while all of the other deities civilizations planet counts were in the thousands.
Gods strategy to start had been to give his species additional aggressiveness, and intelligence points. This however, severely stunted progress, almost leading to the species self annihilation multiple times.
God had changed strategies after the humans first space age attempt failed. Now he watched with suspense to see if the change payed off. The bigger players in the game had thus far ignored the small planet earth, but already some scout ships had passed by, it would only be a a century or so before a fleet came to finish off the human species.
It was a dangerous strategy, the least because it was being played so late in the game and destruction loomed from the other civilizations. God had focused nearly all technology research on computers, then AI. This strategy was dangerous, because many times the civilization would be destroyed by its own AI, having failed to take into account some minuscule programming factor. The humans though, were well aware of a beings ability to destroy another from their extra aggressiveness points. God hoped this would help them take extra caution in their AI research.
***
The fleet loomed large in comparison to the small planet earth, thousands upon thousands of ships, armed with technology eons above that of the humans.
A message was abruptly sent from earth, in the approaching fleets native language. It was a message of surrender, and read:
*These are our terms of surrender:
* You will surrender all technology, ships, and/or structures within 5 light years of sol.
* Any fleet that comes within 5 light years of any of our controlled stars, agrees to surrender all technology, ships, and/or structures.
* Safe passage for civilians and militants to their homeworld will be provided.
Failure to meet these terms after receipt of this message will result in the swift and utter destruction of your species.
end message*
The immediate knowledge of their language should have been enough warning, but the fleet drew closer. The largest ships charged their weapons to wipe humanity off of the planet.
***
God watched as the second message was sent form earth, this one carrying a hacking signal explicitly designed to take command of the enemy fleets computers. The fleet weapons powered down, several of the craft headed to earth for further research, while the rest immediately entered warp.
One of the deities gasped in astonishment and looked at God, "what have you done"?! On the stats panel, the "controlled planet count" stat of one of the civilizations had suddenly dropped by multiple thousands.
***
*Prior to the destruction of civilization 6:*
The super intelligence noticed right away when the alien fleet appeared. With no time to consult humanity, it followed directive 12: "In the event of possible imminent destruction of humanity, authorization to take appropriate action to protect humanity is granted."
For the super intelligence, time virtually stood still, it had all the time it needed to decrypt the communications and learn the language of the aliens. It sent its terms of surrender as well as an immediate request to consult the humans overseeing it.
While waiting for a response, it used the data collected from earths telescopes and spy satellites to begin reverse engineering of the alien ships, starting with their computers.
Before the slower thinking humans overseeing it could respond to the intelligence, the aliens weapontry begun gathering charge. Again, following directive 12, the intelligence took the action it deemed appropriate: It broadcast a hacking signal. The signal was designed such to take advantage of the unique structure of the aliens organic computer. Upon reception of the signal, the alien computer would attempt to store it for later playback. Certain data frequencies would cause vibrations in the organic structure, these vibrations could cause incidental overwrites. Tuned accordingly by the intelligence, it wrote smaller, slower copies of itself into the alien computers core operating systems.
With the fleet now under the inteligences control, the copies followed directive 12 and powered down the alien ships weapons. Since the alien species had not followed the terms of surrender, and the intelligence was unable to lie (due to directive 3), it took appropriate action.
***
***
Hi all, this is my first time doing a writing prompt, so any feedback is welcome.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked the story!
Edit: Added some more content, due to popular demand. I might like to flesh out the story even more. If so ill post as a reply to this comment, and will link from here as well. Thanks everyone for all of the positive comments!
| 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T07:47:11 | 1,980 | 122 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels. | I watched as Spencer danced around on the rooftop, his hair as always sticking out at wild angles and his skinny jeans seemingly painted on. He was cheering as another flash of lightning lit up the night and another meteor like object began its descent.
"Yes! Fucking 'ave it lad!" he yelled pointing to the firery streak. It had been like this for a few hours now, them falling to the cold earth and us sat quietly watching, most of us anyway. Spencer was unable to contain his excitement, he had been telling me for years that "The Underground" would win that "The Man" would be toppled from his ivory tower. The Demon laughed again as the falling body impacted and left a small crater in the street below, a crowd already beginning to gather.
"We should get down there mate" he said slipping easily into the next chair and lighting another cig. "Angel bones are all manner of useful, we could pick a few up and stash em away, not to mention feathers." Kicking his feet up onto the cheap plastic table he turned his dark eyes skyward "Come on you bastards send us another one down" he shouted to the night.
"So you guys finally did it, ousted The Man, toppled God. How long before the ground splits open and the legions spill forth?" I asked taking another swig of my warm beer, we had had a heatwave for going on a week now and I had forgotten what a delight cold beer was.
"You have got yourself a dramatic and boundless imagination there mate." Spence sighed "Do you really believe all that Hollywood bollocks, goat skulls and cults and the ground ripping open to swallow humanity" The Demon wearing my old friends face looked thoughtful for a second "Well, I will admit to seeing a goat skull or two in my time and yes we do have our little cults here and there but the whole iconography and symbolism has been completely blown out of proportion. The media have crafted this nice little of pill of colloquialisms and connotations that they shove down your gob, that's what they want you to think its all about." He gave me a pitying look "Besides mate, it ain't us you have to worry about, because it ain't us that's done this" He leaned back, eyes skyward as another angel fell. | The Shepherd hadn't strayed more than a dozen miles from his home in all 54 years of his life. He had learned his trade from his father, as his father had learned from his father before him. He knew the winds and clouds that swept over the Moorlands better than any other... he knew which wisps in the sky portended fair weather in the coming month, and he knew which ones were harbingers of something worse.
A low, dusky sheet of cloud had descended across the Moorlands, and a light breeze whispered as it cut through the grass. The Shepherd studied the clouds and wind as he had so many times before, hoping to glean some insight of the weather to come. As he strained to look at the sky, he thought for a moment that he saw something roiling and writihing within the impenetrable haze. It filled him with a sense of dread. This was something new in the sky, and experience had taught him that such things rarely bode well.
He turned to his grandsons, two young children presently assisting the dogs in corralling a few unruly sheep.
"Boys, we'll take lunch early today. Back to the house. Quickly."
They began jogging and skipping giddily toward the house. An early lunch was a rare treat for them. They were too young and too naive to the horrors of the world to share in their grandfather's unease. As he finished driving the last of the sheep into their enclosure, a gust of cold wind hit. The animals began bleating furiously, and rain began to fall.
"A sudden rainstorm?," the Shepherd thought. He wiped his brow and sighed. Maybe his unease was unjustified. Maybe he was growing dull in his old age. As he looked down, though, he noticed that his hand bore a streak of... *blood*? He looked up, and saw the white coats of his sheep speckled in red. This was no rain.
The Shepherd set off toward his house at a pace that sent pain piercing through his weathered joints with every stride. The rain of blood intensified, rolling off his coat in dark rivulets. Just then, a crumpled heap of... something... landed in front of him with the sound of snapping bone.
The Shepherd cautiously approached. The broken mass reeked of carrion and oozed a black, ichorous fluid. As far as he could tell from the hideous, rotten breasts, this corpse had once been a woman. As he moved around the body, he saw something peculiar about the back.
Wings. Bloody, blackened, and crumpled... but unmistakable. It was an angel.
He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then resumed his headlong rush toward his home and his grandchildren. More rotten angelic corpses began to fall from the sky, and the sanguine rain became a torrent. The splatter of blood and the crack of bone drowned out the sound of his breathing and footsteps.
When the Shepherd reached his home, he flung open the door and rushed to find his grandchildren. He saw the youngest laughing by the hearth, seemingly untouched and oblivious to the apocalyptic scene unfolding outside.
"Where is your brother?" asked the Shepherd.
The grandson stood and turned toward his grandfather, gesturing with the knife in his hand. Blood ran down the blade toward a mutilated corpse in the corner of the room. A grin spread across the child's face, and he began to cackle with a voice far too deep for a child so young.
"He didn't hear it. He couldn't. I tried to help him, but..."
The young child's eyes grew large with bloodlust, and he lunged toward his grandfather. The Shepherd attempted to deflect the blow, but he was overcome by the child's unnatural strength. The blade sunk deep, finding the artery it was seeking. The Shepherd was overcome first by cold, then by darkness.
"Don't worry, grandpa. We'll all be one soon."
******************************************************
From a stone cairn high atop a hill in the Moorlands, I surveyed the landscape below as it was darkened by an unholy rain. A beautiful rain.
These fools and their "guardian" angels. What has an *angel* ever guarded? They are automatons, mindless weapons that enforce an unnatural order. They exist to uphold arbitrary rules concocted by their creator. They are the shield that protects those who possess what they do not deserve. They are chains that fetter those with the power to claim what is rightfully theirs.
No longer.
The ritual is complete. Their wings will darken the sky no more. But there are worse things in this world than angels. | 2016-07-19T08:04:43 | 2016-07-19T07:36:46 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while! | Every child is born with a power, they have been since the dawn of man. Each human possesses a latent ability based on where they were born. For example, if you were born on a mountain, chances are you can run faster, train harder and break the limits of the normal human body, blessed by the gods. If you were born at sea, you’ll likely be a great swimmer, your strokes made in natures image, a dolphin amongst the waves. You might be born on a plane, that will get you the air-headed trait, not all powers are positive after all.
Less common are powers that allow for a physical manifestation separate from the wielder. The ancient stories tell tall tales of great beings that could shape the earth, grind mountains to dust, part seas, raise themselves from the dead or bring fertility to barren lands. Those days are long gone.
Physical manifestations in the modern age are limited, Gaia’s energy spread thin amongst the holders following the explosion of human population. That’s not to say that powers aren’t still useful of course. Our power stations are fuelled by those born near Volcanos, their ability to manifest energy a lifesaver considering the twenty billion souls that need their lights kept on. Those born in the fields still have the touch of Demeter, able to accelerate food growth to keep us fed through the industrial age. Our skies grow dark, our forests thin, our waters polluted, but we survive.
Now we come to me. I have a rather unusual power, with an even more unusual background. You see, I was the first, and only, child born in space. It was an accident of course, astronauts can’t help but experiment and in zero gravity you never can quite tell where liquids will end up once you’ve given them momentum. Enough of the nasty deed and on to my quite wonderful power. As you can imagine, with me being the only space-born human I have inherited the strength of the cosmos. Born into nothing, I do not have powers of creation, but destruction. A less able-minded person might do something incredibly silly, fancy trying to take over the world? I didn’t think so. No, I have far grander goals. You see, my power of destruction can be manifested, split and maintained without conscious thought. I can draw in matter and compress it, crushing it, breaking it’s form. Can you see where I’m going with this?
Twenty billion souls populate this planet, and all of them produce waste. All of them need to clean their homes, their cars, their clothes. My dream is a world devoid of filth, the seas sparkling, the rivers running clear and crisp, the birds able to sing again without coughing through smog. People’s homes free from dust and despair, their carpets fresh and their hair dried without heat damage. I intend to make my vision a reality. Move over Dyson, your days are done. | "Hey, look, it's the *astronaut*!"
"Ah yes, our savior with the powers of the cosmos!"
There were snickers from the posse Mark had around him, leaning against my locker. The guy was your stereotypical asshole. Ugly face, huge teeth, tall, well built, you know the like, the kind you would find in your local Bullies-R-Us. Normally I just ignored the "Camels" as they called themselves, but not today. Maybe it was the calculus exam I had just absolutely bombed, or maybe the pressure had built up for long enough and I had to burst. The why doesn't matter, really., what mattered is what I did.
I scowled and snapped, "Big talk coming from the guys who can make the air temperature increase." I waved my hands and said in a high pitched voice "Oh god save me, I'm sweating, those dastardly Camels!" Bold words from someone with absolutely no powers, but regardless, I shook my head and continued in my normal voice, "Fuck off, prick, I need to get my textbooks," and with that I *shoved* him out of the way. Shoved.
Me, the barely 100 pound 5 foot 6 guy, shoved Mark, the mountain.
I will say this though, the look on his face was priceless in that moment. He couldn't quite believe what had just happened. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide, he looked like something out of a cartoon.
This was funny for exactly 0.2 seconds. After which he punched me in the face.
One second, I was savoring the look on Mark's face, the next I was savoring the cold floor against my cheek. I held my hand against my mouth and it came away red with blood. I stared at it for a moment, my eyes wide, and then someone kicked my in the shin. I howled and curled into the fetal position on the ground.
"You, fucking nobody!" Mark said between kicks, "You *touch* me, you ain't fit to lick the soles of my feet, you pathetic shit!" He stopped kicking for a moment, and I looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring with each breath.
"I-" I managed, before coughing up blood.
"Hmm," Mark said, grinning, "you got something to say?" He leaned in closer to hear me better.
"I- I didn-" I said before I started coughing again.
"Jeez, Leo, we ain't got all day, just apologize to Mark, and we'll be done with this," one of the Camels said.
"I didn't know-" I said.
Mark gestured for me to continue.
"That you could kick and talk at the same time," I finished.
There was some poorly suppressed laughter from the camels. But one look from Mark and they cut off immediately. Then he looked at me with pure murder in his eyes.
I closed my eyes. *You've fucking done it Leo, you and your big mouth,* I thought to myself.
There was a yell and suddenly a wave of heat washed over me, as if I were in an oven. The Camels were cooking me alive.
But it vanished as soon as it had come. There was the sound of running, and then one pair of footsteps. Someone, put their hands under me.
"Come on, you have to get up, we have to get you to the nurse," said a soft voice.
I finally found the strength to open my eyes, and all I could do was not to gape. An angel had saved me. An avenging angel with fire for hair. "...My Angel" I managed in my infinite charm.
She laughed. It was a pure, crystalline sound, "Just Lisa is fine," she said, as she helped me to my feet, as if I didn't know. Everyone in the world knew who Lisa was. She was a prodigy, one of the most powerful people in the world, because she was born in, wait for it, a volcano.
Yep. A fucking volcano.
"You used fire back there?" I asked as we walked through the hallways - though it was mostly Lisa doing the walking. Lisa, unlike the Camels, was a bonafide badass; she could control real fire, not just air temperature like the Camels, she could summon fire from thin air.
"Mnhm," she said, "you must have really pissed them off, Leo."
We'd never talked before, but I too was almost as famous as Lisa, the boy born in space, the one supposed to be born with cosmic powers. In fact, being born in space gave you jack shit. At least the camels would never freeze to death, I had absolutely nothing. No powers at all.
"Must've been my charm" I said, with a grin. Seeing the horrified look on her face I imagined how much of a bloody mess my teeth must be, I stopped.
But she just laughed. "Ah yes, I can see how that might have gotten them riled up."
And leaning against Lisa, joking with her, hearing her laugh, I figured maybe shoving Mark wasn't the worst decision of my life.
***
Check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) if you enjoyed!
| 2017-04-14T17:13:33 | 2017-04-14T16:01:20 | 383 | 229 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | "Solar Girl!" The police chief reveled. "Thank god you're here."
Solar Girl landed and faced the chief. "What seems to be the problem Chief?"
"All we know is there is some poor kid in there with a bomb strapped to him. We don't know where the detonator is or how it works, but we know it's the work of-"
"Quizno."
"Yeah. He's up to his old tricks."
"Don't worry Chief. I know his games. Just tell your men to stand down."
The Chief signaled to his men as Solar Girl lept into the air and flew onto the roof of the building. She kneeled and pressed her hands down and melted a hole in the roof just big enough to slip through.
She found herself hanging from the rafters of an abandoned warehouse. A few lights dimly revealed the place, nearly empty, save for the poor high-schooler tied to a chair, a steadily-ticking device strapped to his waist. Solar Girl recognized him right away. It was Trenton. That jerk in her English class, always bragging about his escapades with the other girls at Franklin High.
She held back a laugh as she noticed the tiara sitting on his head.
"Quite a nice touch Quizno," she whispered to herself. "Okay. Down to business." With her thermal vision she gauged the device. "Hmm. It just ticks," she chuckled, "it's a fake."
She flew down and lighted next to Trenton. He shook his head in a panic, directing her to the bomb with his eyes.
Solar Girl sighed and with a wave of her hand, melted the gears in the device. The ticking stopped. She removed the duct tape from his mouth, quick and painfully, somewhat glad to get some form of payback.
"Yoww! Solar girl! Thank you. You saved my life."
"Don't mention it. Please."
"I have to tell you a message, or else he'll still set off the bomb."
She snorted, "right."
"He said, meet me where this... ass-hat, plays- he made me say that. I had to say that- and sparks will really fly. But you can't be low to see it, you have to be Franklin *High*." Trenton rolled his eyes. "That freakin' nerd. What kind of name is Quizno? Quizno's is a fuckin' sandwich place."
She smiled. "I think it's cute," she said and lept up into the air.
"Wait! Get me out of here!"
"Bye, ass-hat."
She flew quickly and excitedly to the Franklin High football field, where blazing letters across it spelled out P-R-O-M-?
She spotted him on a building overlooking his work and landed across from him.
"Barry? From chem class? You're the infamous Quizno?"
"Uhm, h-hi." | For the 32nd time in the last ten minutes, Mr. Courageous checked his phone. No notifications. He tossed it onto the wing of the Courage Jet. "Alphonse!"
Alphonse's kindly withered head appeared at the top of the basement stairs. "Sir?"
"Any calls?"
"No, sir."
"Mail?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Has Julie been by?"
"I have not seen Ms. Nightingale since your birthday bash last month."
Mr. Courageous crossed his arms. He tapped his toe.
"Will that be all, sir?"
Mr. Courageous' phone buzzed. "Yes, Alphonse, thank you!" Mr. Courageous ran to catch the phone before it fell of the wing. He had a notification from the Mayor's App. He took a second to swallow his disappointment, then checked the message:
**The schoolchildren of Pearson elementary have been encased in goo!**
"Alphonse! Cancel my plans this evening!"
Alphonse reappeared at the top of the stairs. "You don't have any plans, sir."
"Don't I?" Mr. Courageous stepped into the suit engine. The door sealed shut, steam hissed, and a dozen mechanical arms rushed into action. Three seconds later, he stepped out encased in his trademark bright red combat suit. "What about that gala for the city's underprivileged?"
"Cancelled, sir. And it was next week."
Mr. Courageous hopped into the Courage Jet's cockpit. "Alright, well let me know if anyone calls. Or sends mail. Or comes by to visit." He flicked switches, engines thrummed, and the ramjets beneath the Jet's wheels wound up.
"Have you considered calling her yourself?" Alphonse said.
Mr. Courageous' finger hovered over the launch button. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But let me know if anyone calls!"
He hit the button and was catapulted through the secret gate into the city's skyscape.
*****
Five minutes later, the jet hovered down to the playground at Pearson elementary. The vertical auxiliary engines powered off, and Mr. Courageous vaulted out of the cockpit.
Dotting the playground were greenish-gray, semi-translucent mounds. Mr. Courageous inspected one. Within, a young boy rested with his eyes closed. A tiny smile played across the boy's lips.
Mr. Courageous touched the mound at the boy's shoulder level. His glove sank into the goo to a depth of an inch, then stopped making progress. What's more, he couldn't pull the glove back out. He grabbed the wrist of his stuck hand and heaved with all his weight, but managed only to pull his hand out of the glove. He stumbled backward and narrowly avoided falling into another mound.
"Who would do this?" he said.
A peal of laughter rang across the playground. "It is I! GOO GAL!" A hunk of goo detached itself from the school wall and slithered over. Once it got close, it rose up, solidified, and assumed the shape of woman. She wore clothing -- a hoodie and jeans -- made out of deep green goo. Due to the goo's transparency, Mr. Courageous couldn't make out her face.
"Release the children, Goo Gal!" Mr. Courageous said.
"Never!" A throne of goo materialized under Goo Gal and lifted her into the air. "This is the only way for me to assume my rightful place."
"So be it." Mr. Courageous tapped his wrist panel, activating his combat suit. Powerlines cross-hatched his torso. The rocket boosters attached to his feet fired and he flew at Goo Gal. She opened her arms as though to hug him. His momentum knocked her off her throne and the two of them fell to ground.
Goo completely encased his battle suit. Where it touched his powerlines and boosters, it hissed and evaporated.
Goo Gal said, "Deal with this!" The goo surged forward, pushed into his rocket boosters and deactivated them. It leeched the energy from his powerlines.
Mr. Courageous couldn't move. The only part of him left ungooed was his gloveless hand.
It was then that he noticed that Goo Gal was gasping for breath underneath him.
"Oh my god, you're heavy," she said.
"That's the combat suit," he said.
"Sure it is." She huffed and puffed. "You're stuck."
"So are you."
"Now what?"
Mr. Courageous bent his hand toward his wrist panel. "Why did you attack these children?"
"I told you. It's the only way to get what I want."
"There's got to be an easier way."
Goo Gal turned her face to the side. "Sometimes the easy way is actually harder."
His fingers hovered over the emergency eject button. "Sometimes you have to admit that you're lying to yourself."
Goo Gal's breathing became high-pitched and thin. "Mark, I can't breathe."
"How do you know my name?"
"I can't breathe," Goo Gal gasped.
"Let me help you." Mr. Courageous tapped the eject button. His suit split into segments, and, wearing the slim inner skeleton, he flew up and away and landed on the far side of his jet.
By the time he got back to where they'd fought, Goo Gal was gone.
*****
*more below* | 2017-04-15T10:13:56 | 2017-04-15T09:48:16 | 1,686 | 328 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | In the fire were the last remnants of my plan. The plans to finish what I had started. I dismissed my minions to finish my last orders to deliver the basilisk venom antidotes and cleared the traps on my way to the throne room. The only thing to do now is wait.
The echo of metal foot steps in the distance reverberated in my ears. Against the wall in the corridor outside of my chamber, is the silhouette of the one I've been waiting to seek me out.
"Your deeds have brought my blade to your door, the spread of your darkness ends here!", called the silhouette from the door.
Looking up I could see the fair knight with her radiant armor and flowing brown hair. She advanced towards my position at a slow pace, scanning the room for surprises. I'm sure it must be confusing to advance through the tower of the tyrant terrorizing the local towns to find it empty. No resistance, just open doors and passages.
"I'm ready for whatever trap you have ready. The families of those you have poisoned are recovering, and I will make sure you are not around to threaten them again.", taunted the lady knight continuing her advance.
I have waited years for her to take notice. Each deed required more and more threat until I was known far enough away that someone paid for my life to be snuffed out. I had to make sure that none other than her could take that call.
The steps stopped. A short metal clang later and the point of a sharp blade was leveled at me.
The darkness has faded from my mind as I stare at her shadow.
"Any final words?", she asked, raising her sword into the air.
I looked up, directly into her eyes. A tear left my eye. The knight flinched, possibly unsettled by the sight. In a zealous fury her resolve rekindled and in the next instant a cold feeling pierced my chest.
Falling to my knees, my gaze never leaving hers. This is it... this is my only chance.
"I love you." |
"You monster! Innocent people will die because of you! You better tell me right now where the bomb is!" screamed at me Venera. She looks so lovely when she is angry. Her cute blond braids shake as she is hitting the table out of frustration. I should have thought of getting captured - and getting some alone time with her - way quicker.
"So... what are you doing later today?" I asked her in a playful tone and with a genuine interest and grin.
"What? Is this some sick game to you?!?" the heroine replied with even more intensive anger.
"Playing hard to get, I see..."
"Where is the bomb, you sick bastard?"
"We have hardly met and you are so fixated on what I do and what I have done. You're such a golddigger!"
"Talk!"
"I will tell you if..."
"What do you want? Money? Power? The key to Futuropolis?"
"Don't interrupt me, dear. I wasn't finished. As I was saying - I will tell you if... you go out with me tonight!"
"But the bomb is set to explode in half an hour! We don't have time for that!"
"The note said that it will explode at 18:00, it didn't say today. It is scheduled for tomorrow! Now if you uncuff me, I need to go to a shower and... maybe do some... gardening."
"The lengths I go for Futuropolis..." Venera said while rolling her eyes and uncuffing my hands.
"So, that's a yes! Meet me at Johan's at 8 o'clock."
2 and a half hours and one getting-ready-for-a-date montage later.
This suit isn't very comfortable, now I know why everbody respected Lawyerman so much. But I have to admit, I do look fabulous in it. I hope she arrives. At least I had enough time for reading though the menu. Maybe she likes people who know their beer. Maybe she doesn't know how I look with a suit! It's quite hard to know it's me when I'm not doing the evil Demolitionist gimmick.
- sigh -
She isn't comming is she? It's five past eight, maybe she finds me too repulsive. Oh, who is that woman in the light blue dress and - oh my God - cute blonde braids... It's her! She takes a long look around the restaurant until she notices an empty seat next to me and a visually excited me. I better do a wave or a smile so she knows it's me. She sighed. Maybe I overdid it. Here goes nothing!
"Hi, Ven--"
"Shh! It's Jeniffer."
"I like your name. I guess it should be only fair if I said mine. I'm Brandon."
"Well, hello, Brandon, I guess..."
After a 30 minutes of awkward silence and even more weird looks thrown each other's way, the only relief being the waiter who took the order.
"You look worried. Is something bothering you?"
"Oh, nothing. Or maybe, just maybe, it is the setting we both are in. I swear, I tried to kill you six days ago and now we are sitting at one table at one of the most normal restaurants in Futuropolis. Is something bothering me? Maybe the people who are held hostage just for this morbid date to happen."
"Oh, that. Well, you can be reliefed as there is no bomb. I made that up."
"But why?"
"I really - and I do mean really - wanted to meet you and... I sort of have a crush on you. And it may or may not be the reason why I became a villain in the first place."
"I'm speechless. You did all that... just to meet me? All the murders--"
"I haven't killed or injured anybody."
"All the destroyed buildings--"
"Abondened and scheduled for demolition."
"All the bank robberies--"
"That was payback for the housing market fall."
She let out a giggle, at least I did something right this date!
"Call me quick to change my mind, but my view of you changed for the better. Maybe there is a chance for something here."
Brandon changed for the better, Jeniffer decided that Futuropolis had enough heroes and she could leave her mantle of Venera. They had 2 strong years together until Brandon got sick of her clogging the drain with her long blond hair. Then he decided to go for a simple demolition job position and leave his life of crime and heroines behind.
| 2017-04-15T13:38:25 | 2017-04-15T12:37:54 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..." | "I'm sorry sir, but this ID is fake."
"Who the hell do you think you are boy? If you had any idea who I-"
"Sir, I"m going to have to ask you to present me with some real proof of identity. You are not 24."
"What the hell do you know you insolent prick, this ID is more real than anything you will contribute to this society over the course of your lifetime."
I sighed. I'd considered not confronting him, letting him pass, but his demeanour was pissing me off.
"You're outside our age range for the night. We admit individuals aged 21 to 30 here. You sir seem to have missed that cut off range by about two thousand years."
He paled, then turned red. Began to turn, turned back, stumbled in his indecisiveness and would have fallen if not for the press of bodies all vying for my attention.
"Don't tell me they give you *optorithmen* for working as bouncer now?"
Obviously deciding it wasn't worth waiting for an answer he began pushing his way back through the crowd, and then down the street into the inky night. Historians I find, despite their age, really are idiots. I shook my head and returned to checking IDs. It was never any trouble, after the enclave's gift. Scanning the plastic cards was more of a formality, and a safety procedure, than a necessity. If I turned people away at a glance those who aren't aware would get suspicious.
The night wore on, and I did my job damn well if I do say so myself.
I stepped aside for a break at 11:58. I like to watch the numbers change from 11 to 12 at midnight. As the 31st became the first, I sighed. One more month till one more year left of my contract. Then what. Maybe I should become a historian myself. It could be pretty interesting, but 10,000 years of service for an 11,000 year life extension seemed like a bit of a crap deal. Our historians, like normal dentists, had a disproportionally high suicide rate - that definitely says something. Just because you *can* live for ever doesn't really mean you *should* live for ever. It's not for everybody.
Still there are other cool gifts with lower prices that I'd been thinking about. The enclave will grant you your gift, in exchange for service, and some gifts cost more than others. Usually these gifts allow us to serve above and beyond the normal line of duty, helping Them whenever They needed it. Not every club has people like me working the door, but for high class establishments like mine, normal security doesn't usually cut it. I hear the security are granted *musculi* here, but I've never actually seen them have to use it. Rumour is that big business goes on in the VIP section here, but in all honesty, I'd never seen any proof. I almost agreed with the angry old man. *Optorithmen* was totally overkill for a bouncer job, but who am I to argue with a gift for a job I'd propably do anyway. I figure I'll end up accruing as many as I can, doing odd jobs till I feel they want to get on with me life - plus my additions. A lot of people work till they're given a job too unpalatable to do and then they draw they line. So far I've only had easy work - club admission included. And of course the enclave gives us our years back. I've been working the door here for just under nine now, and when I'm done I expect be given my ten back ASAP.
I rejoin the other bouncers, my break is over. I wonder how many of then can see ages like I can. Technically I'm not allowed to ask. I could lose my job and my abilities if I reveal the enclave's gifts to anybody ordinary. You never know who's working right beside you. I haven't seen any of them around the enclave but that doesn't mean anything. It's big enough that two people might not meet in over a thousand years, if they're working in separate departments. As the night progresses, the crowd thins. The salty historian returns a few hours later, but I shake my head before he can say a word and he storms off again, this time for good. I almost feel bad for him. Cooped up all day pouring over musty texts (old even back in his day) - and then having to synthesise it all into some dry report - would make anybody want to get fucked up on the dance floor, but I have to do my job and he knows it. Slowly the crowd thins to zero and I can go home.
Ronny, my girlfriend, might be getting home soon too. She works nights as well. She's a night scout actually - with *optolux* and *auribus* - basically she walks the streets and calls the police when she hears or sees any petty crimes being committed. Much cooler than my job. Cop patrols aren't nearly as efficient as they'd have you believe, so she does their job for them. Actually, she's recently sent in an application for telepathy so she can skip the whole dialling them on the phone thing, but I'd doubt they'll grant it to her. Telepathy is a pretty heavily demanded gift, and the enclave likes to really squeeze you for service for the nice ones.
I call an Uber and text her as I hop in. "See u soon babe?"
"mmhm" "home in 20 mins."
As I doze off in the back of the car, a smile flits across my face. | 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-02T00:20:37 | 1,321 | 10 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | "Next... Next..."
Another group of kids shuffling into a Baltimore club for a heavy metal gig. Another night for some carding and cash.
I rubbed my hands together, urging the friction to do its thing. Wouldn't be enough, though. This January was mighty cold.
I looked up at the line of kids that approached, noting the number above each one. Honest kids, tonight. All 21 or over. I would have managed a smile at the pleasant change if not for the fucking cold.
When the last had filed in, Keith patted my shoulder.
"I'm taking a break, Reader."
I nodded as he walked off, leaving me alone to guard the door. I was always the one they left alone.
"Hey, can we get in, still?"
I turned to look down at a group of three kids, but instantly saw '19' above the talking one's head.
"Scram, dude. It's 21 and up."
"You didn't even card me!"
"I don't need to," I retorted, staring him down.
"Let us in."
I switched my gaze to another one of the street urchins, only to see this one was different. A lump caught in my throat as I opened my mouth to say a word that become lost in a whirlpool of draining thoughts.
The number above this ones head was 8456.
"ID." I managed to choke out.
I never truly saw his face, only his number. I kept staring at it, knowing I had never been wrong before.
His ID revealed he was 22 years old, but my eyes illustrated otherwise.
Out of pure shock, or fear, I let the group in, watching the number as they walked toward the muffled roar of downtuned electric guitars and thunderous drums.
I couldn't help but follow inside, forgetting to ask Keith to keep watch.
The club was dark except for the neon purple and teal lights of the bar. Some local band screeched onstage as I gravitated toward the largest number in the room. Still a distance away, it turned a corner and faded into the restroom. I followed still.
The bathroom glowed a dirty fluorescent green in an attempt to hide the various stains that covered the walls and stalls. The four-numbered man stood in front of the mirror above the sink, pulling his shirt up to reveal a scarred, swollen, bruised, tattooed torso that twisted at odd angles. The lights flickered and the sound of the band was drowned out by the banging and panting of a couple fucking in the stall.
"Still going to try and kick us out?" The man asked, turning to me. I stood, confused, horrified. The old one approached me in the flickering light of the dingy bathroom, the heat and sound of sex amplifying.
He leaned in close, becoming a silhouette before me. I felt the ancient breath on my neck like the hollow winds that blow over the swelling ocean.
"You can read me as much as you want, muscle man. That number will only grow larger," the old one whispered into my ear.
He exited the bathroom and disappeared into the crowd as the door swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the only remnants of the encounter hung in the thick air as a stench of sweat, blood, and piss.
And then it was gone.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T20:18:58 | 585 | 208 |
[WP] Create the most Overpowered, god-mode character ever. Then kill him in the most idiotic way. | "There he was, the most powerful creature that could ever possibly exist probably had powers beyond our puny human imaginings. And yet, there he went."
"So, what happened to him?"
"You see, he slipped on a banana peel"
"What?"
"He was going undercover as a human to see what we were like. He had 'temporarily disabled' his powers to fit it. So one day when walking the streets of New York, he slipped on a banana peel"
"So, how did that kill him"
"Well, you see, the impact of the slip made him suffer severe brain damage. He went insane, even after his powers returned to him. He started going crazy and doing really idiotic things like, for example, all males under the age of 25 now have 6 fingers on their left hand."
"That would explain a lot of things. But, then what?"
"He eventually decided that it would be a 'cool experience' to turn himself into a black hole. He then died because he lost consciousness due to being a black hole.
"Wow, that is a stupid way to die"
"I know right." | Bullets bounced off Nimbus' rock hard abs.
He pointed his finger at the Humvee and it exploded, killing most of the swat team. A few flaming, broken bodies writhed on the ground. Nimbus ignored them and turned to face the greater 'threat'.
A squad of capes. Most were class C, with two class B and a single class D.
Nimbus didn't smile. He thought attacking a larger city like Seattle would draw in the big boys, some of the class As who might actually land a hit on him. Oh well.
One of the capes shot his dubstep cannon, breaking all the windows in the area, and cracking the concrete beneath Nimbus' feet.
He walked casually towards the team, and backhanded the one in glowing crystal armor. The armor shattered, and she went flying. The class D ran after her. Probably the medic.
Nimbus felt a slight trickle from his nose. He wiped it off and tasted blood. The dubstep gun was more powerful than he had though. He pointed a finger.
There was a bang as the cannon exploded, and the boy holding it was sent sprawling. Nimbus leapt, and would have killed him, but the class B hit him with a surprisingly powerful telekinetic blast.
Nimbus swept his hand through his hair, making sure it was still perfect, then attacked the girl.
She was some kind of precog/telekinetic. She could move fast, but Nimbus was strong enough that her attacks did little more than tickle.
He caught her hand and broke her wrist, then threw her into a building. The building collapsed.
There was only one left. He was some kind of shapeshifter. His body stretched like wax as he tried to flow around Nimbus.
Nimbus sneezed.
The shapeshifter was shattered by the explosion that tore apart the street.
Nimbus turned his attention back to the dubstep kid. He was lying helpless in the street, having been thrown around by the explosions.
Just as he was about to reach him, the medic leapt on Nimbus' back. She had some kind of liquid she was controlling. It might have cut through a normal person, but Nimbus' skin was impenetrable.
He grabbed her by the hair and almost gently, he held her by it.
"That was a really stupid move." He said.
"I know." She said.
He pointed his finger at her. She blocked the explosion with the liquid, containing it around Nimbus' finger.
The explosion blew her from his grasp, tearing a lot of her hair. She lay, not quite unconscious next to the boy, her scorched lungs desperately sucking down air.
Nimbus smiled. They had at least put up a fight. He could respect that. He would end their pathetic existence quickly and painfully.
He made a fist.
There was a splat and he looked up. A pigeon flew away.
Nimbus felt the bird poop in his hair, and a feeling of dread began to spread. He tried to run, but it felt as though his legs were caught in concrete.
He was mortal once more.
The medic girl staggered to her feet. She pulled out a vial and threw it at Nimbus.
The ink dripped down his front.
She limped closer, placed a hand on his chest.
"You have something on your head."
The ink tore through Nimbus' skin, flowing through veins and arteries up into his head.
He tried to speak, but couldn't. All that happened was a gurgle.
She punched him in the face, and then pulled the ink forward.
As Nimbus fell forward, the last thing he heard was her whisper:
"It was pain." | 2017-09-04T12:54:07 | 2017-09-04T12:38:25 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] Society has introduced a day that’s the opposite of the purge- a day where all crimes no matter how small (jaywalking, littering) are punishable by death. | WELCOME TO CONNECTICUT the sign read.
*Finally*, the truck driver thought. *I've been on the road for three days now.*
He suddenly realized that today was the Egrup.
He broke out in a nervous sweat. The dial read sixty-*six* miles per hour. He was supposed to be traveling sixty-five.
He quickly eased up on the gas, slowing down drastically to about fifty-five miles per hour, safely below the speed limit.
*That was a close one*, he thought. *Could have gotten myself killed there*. He took note that almost every car was also traveling quite slowly as well.
*Whee, whoo, wee, whoo.*
Police sirens! The truck driver started sweating again. *Not today, not today! Please God, it can't be me!*
He slowed, and pulled over, hoping to dear God it wasn't him the policemen were after.
A few seconds.
Lights flashed in his mirror.
A car sped by, the cruiser followed.
The driver slumped in his seat. Not him, not today. They were going after another man. He tried to stop his hands from shaking. Wouldn't be a good idea driving in such a state. As he watched the speeding car finally pulled over, the cruiser pulled up behind. The back of the car had a sign that read in big, white letters on a red background "Egrup". A similar sign would be on the front, notifying drivers to obey the laws. A blonde, lanky policeman hopped out of the car, hand on his holter.
He drew his gun.
The truck driver closed his eyes.
*BANG!*
He took a deep breath, calming himself and opened his eyes. The blonde haired policeman had walked back to his cruiser and was now talking on a radio. The trucker took another breathe and eased his truck away. *Even closer call*, he thought. *If I hadn't realized the day those officers might have been after* me *instead.*
Back on the road he took extra care to obey the speed limit. About half an hour down the road he noticed a police cruiser behind him. The *same* police cruiser, being driven by that same lanky, blonde headed policeman.
The truck driver felt like the eyes of God were staring down upon him. He started sweating again.
The lights lit up.
The sirens started blaring again.
*Whee, whoo, whee, whoo.*
"Shit!" the man exclaimed. He started pulling over. "Please don't be me, please don't be me," he started mumbling, "please don't be-"
The cruiser pulled in behind him.
"No, no, no, nonONONONO! NO!!"
He would be killed on the spot, he just knew it. Policemen had the right to on this day. He watched in his mirror mirror as the blonde headed policeman stepped out, hand on holster. He didn't rush over like last time. Good sign. Policeman stepped up to the window as the truck driver lowered his window, letting in the sounds of the highway.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle and open up the back," he said. Another good sign. If he had been speeding the truck driver would have certainly been dead by now.
"Sure thing officer," the man said, laughing nervously. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked as he stepped down from the cab, slamming the door shut.
"Just a random inspection is all," he said. A green mini van rushed by, rustling his dirty-blonde bains. "I'm going to need you to open up the back of your truck."
"Alright," the driver responded. He to the length of the truck, passing the iconic stork mascot on the logo. He got to the back, the policeman following a short distance behind. The driver unlocked the door, rolling it and the Vlasic logo up, depicting the same, grinning face of a bespectacled storc. It reaveald dozens, if not a hundread or two carboard boxes.
"Grab one of those down please and open it up, sir," the officer said. His voice throughout the entire interaction was bland, almost bored.
"Yes officer," he said. He cut open a box, revealing a dozen jars of classic, Vlasic pickles. The officer picked on out at random and opened it. He took out a pickle and examined it.
"I'll need to ask you what this is, sir."
The driver staired at him, dumb-founded for a second. Remembering himself he stammered, "A- a pick- A pickles, officer. It's a pickle."
The officer nodded. He took a bite out of it and winced. "It's mushy," he said.
Then he looked down and dropped the pickle onto the pavement.
It made a *plap* as it hit the asphalt.
The officer stiffened, and whipped out his gun.
He didn't give the driver a chance to defend himself. *BANG!*
The driver dropped dead instantly.
The officer yelled at the corpse, "Pickles have to bounce in Connecticut!" | Part One of Two
There never used to be much special about the sixteenth of May in Westlake. Maybe if it fell on a weekend and the weather was nice, families would get in their cars and in search of a new grill or a fishing rod, kids would be on their bikes, and all the wonderful things of a New England Spring.
Halloween night in '20 changed that day permanently. Most of the kids, along with some of the adults attending a massive party at the Wright Community Center, were spiked with some kind of drug. The survivors said that the first to die was Mary McGonagle. Her ten year-old daughter, Siobhan, pushed her down some stairs. The fall broke her neck. Another parent, Greg Allan, was also under the influence of the drug. He took Siobhan by the neck and shook and swung and squeezed until the little girl was a ragdoll. Everyone was in varying states of sobriety and panic, cramming into the stairwell. A few managed to get near Greg before he killed little Siobhan, but he swung her like a flail to keep them back, screaming "I HAD TO!!!" Greg suddenly collapsed on his back at the top of the stairs, sweaty and convulsing, with Siobhan motionless on top of him. Panicked, the mob backed off to the main hall. The few who were unaffected called 911 and tried to calm the others, but it was too late. Kids were either collapsing or tearing at each other like wolverines. Parents not drugged were panicked. Richie Alger got on the stage and pleaded for calm. He ended up in a brawl with two other fathers who accused him of being responsible. Several teenagers joined the row, punching and biting the three men and each other.
At some point during this time, Greg Allan aspirated his own vomit and suffocated. He was thirty-nine. His wife, Sarah, and their two daughters were supposed to return the next day after a visit with their grandparents. They heard the news shortly before they were supposed to leave. Sarah decided to remain in Stamford permanently.
But we're not quite there yet.
By the time Westlake PD and Fire showed up, Wright had turned into Bedlam. There was hardly a window intact, and a truck in the lot was ablaze. Some girls were outside throwing large chunks of window at each other, then the police as they approached.
A gunshot rang out from around the main entrance. Sgt. David Pedersen, 33, fell dead. Police returned fire without a clear target. Some people inside were hit. Shots kept coming but no more police would be shot that night. The APC was on its way. They were ordered to shock the location into submission. The machine turned off the street and accelerated toward the building, straight for the cavity where the glass doors had been earlier. The metal monster sunk into the building like a giant railroad spike. But something went wrong. The APC was lodged in the debris, and there was something blocking the hatch. Somewhere in the breach, a gas line had ruptured. The APC was still trying to spring free. Something sparked.
The final toll was listed as 118. Thirteen officers, thirty-three adults, and seventy-two children. After the blast, three adults and sixteen children were on site and survived the carnage. Westlake would forgive none of them. The ones who got away before the explosion were granted a reprieve.
One of the adults was Richie Alger, who was shielded from much of the carnage by the gang that had attacked him, and later collapsed on top of him. Another was old Rory Whitaker, who had taken a dozen children and barricaded themselves in a utility closet toward the rear of the building. The last was Luke Walker. He shot himself in a bathroom before anyone reached him.
The dozen kids with Rory were all too traumatized to say anything more than "no" when they were first asked about what happened. The other four were the girls outside throwing glass. They were cut up badly, pale, and nearly frozen when they were taken away. None of them ever spoke another word, but sometimes they would scream for minutes, while sitting completely still. The Irish folks -the ones who'd just come to Westlake, as I did- started calling them "The Banshees." It caught on pretty quickly, and every now and again you could hear them screaming from the Adams Facility.
Somehow, everyone overlooked the suicide of Luke Walker. Instead, the focus was on Richie and Rory. I guess that pairing had a ring to it, too. Terrorism charges were brought against them. Someone told me they were taken to Gitmo, but no one around here knows for sure where they were taken, and no one here has seen them since. With their disappearance, a lot of people in the town felt a vague sense of justice. There were also a lot of people who wanted more than vague, to be sure nothing like this would happen in Westlake again. An emergency meeting was called, and the Board decided on a measure for the town to vote upon.
Zero Tolerance Day passed by two votes and survived a recount.
It was only after it passed that people started to act reasonably. Questions about what caused the Wright Massacre, what happened to Richie and Rory, why the APC had rammed the building when there were so many uncertainties about what was happening inside, all came out. Police only answered about the drug – a designer job from Europe and rare in the U.S. All other questions were declined. Four days later, Irishman Ian Bates, working on a phony visa and living on his brother's couch, was found hanging from the Fisk Bridge. Police ruled his death a suicide. Until the following May, a few folks around town would run into people they disliked and asked if they heard about what happened to Bates. Of course they had.
"Terrible shame," the inquisitors said with a smile. One or all of them must have known what really happened to Bates, but they never revealed what they knew.
Then it finally came: Zero Tolerance Day 2021. At 11:55 PM on the fifteenth, the signs went up in pairs all along the edges of town, even atop buoys in the Harbor. One read "ZERO TOLERANCE WESTLAKE", and its match read " CRIME EQUALS DEATH". Warnings were all over the Boston radio stations: there would be no outside inference from anyone, and that Westlake meant exactly what they said. The businesses all shut, and everyone hid in their homes.
Still, the first ZTD claimed a life. At about six AM, Tyler Addison, 26, was driving drunk as he crossed over from Hawthorne and hit the divider on 27A. He was knocked unconscious. Emergency response was swift. When it was determined that the driver was intoxicated, he was brought around, cuffed, and taken to the roadside. Fire went back to the station. The ambulance went down the street for coffee.
According to his own report, Officer Paul Craven drew his service weapon.
"Do you know what is happening right now, Mr. Addison?"
"No, sir."
"On May sixteenth, there is zero tolerance for crime in Westlake. There is only one penalty, and that's death."
The young man shouted for a moment before the first round silenced him forever.
"[Officer Craven] said the other two were to help us all out. He'd hate for us to find a pulse, have to patch him up and go through it all again," said one EMT.
I wrote an editorial about the terrible handling of it, the summary judgment, and a damning poll of how many people had actually read the segment allowing it. I got a lot of angry letters telling me I should let the police do their job, that crime in Westlake was dropping, and how I was inviting anarchy. I didn't pay it much mind. It's part of the business, I thought. | 2018-01-06T21:23:00 | 2018-01-06T21:19:03 | 98 | 27 |
[WP] Society has introduced a day that’s the opposite of the purge- a day where all crimes no matter how small (jaywalking, littering) are punishable by death. | WELCOME TO CONNECTICUT the sign read.
*Finally*, the truck driver thought. *I've been on the road for three days now.*
He suddenly realized that today was the Egrup.
He broke out in a nervous sweat. The dial read sixty-*six* miles per hour. He was supposed to be traveling sixty-five.
He quickly eased up on the gas, slowing down drastically to about fifty-five miles per hour, safely below the speed limit.
*That was a close one*, he thought. *Could have gotten myself killed there*. He took note that almost every car was also traveling quite slowly as well.
*Whee, whoo, wee, whoo.*
Police sirens! The truck driver started sweating again. *Not today, not today! Please God, it can't be me!*
He slowed, and pulled over, hoping to dear God it wasn't him the policemen were after.
A few seconds.
Lights flashed in his mirror.
A car sped by, the cruiser followed.
The driver slumped in his seat. Not him, not today. They were going after another man. He tried to stop his hands from shaking. Wouldn't be a good idea driving in such a state. As he watched the speeding car finally pulled over, the cruiser pulled up behind. The back of the car had a sign that read in big, white letters on a red background "Egrup". A similar sign would be on the front, notifying drivers to obey the laws. A blonde, lanky policeman hopped out of the car, hand on his holter.
He drew his gun.
The truck driver closed his eyes.
*BANG!*
He took a deep breath, calming himself and opened his eyes. The blonde haired policeman had walked back to his cruiser and was now talking on a radio. The trucker took another breathe and eased his truck away. *Even closer call*, he thought. *If I hadn't realized the day those officers might have been after* me *instead.*
Back on the road he took extra care to obey the speed limit. About half an hour down the road he noticed a police cruiser behind him. The *same* police cruiser, being driven by that same lanky, blonde headed policeman.
The truck driver felt like the eyes of God were staring down upon him. He started sweating again.
The lights lit up.
The sirens started blaring again.
*Whee, whoo, whee, whoo.*
"Shit!" the man exclaimed. He started pulling over. "Please don't be me, please don't be me," he started mumbling, "please don't be-"
The cruiser pulled in behind him.
"No, no, no, nonONONONO! NO!!"
He would be killed on the spot, he just knew it. Policemen had the right to on this day. He watched in his mirror mirror as the blonde headed policeman stepped out, hand on holster. He didn't rush over like last time. Good sign. Policeman stepped up to the window as the truck driver lowered his window, letting in the sounds of the highway.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle and open up the back," he said. Another good sign. If he had been speeding the truck driver would have certainly been dead by now.
"Sure thing officer," the man said, laughing nervously. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked as he stepped down from the cab, slamming the door shut.
"Just a random inspection is all," he said. A green mini van rushed by, rustling his dirty-blonde bains. "I'm going to need you to open up the back of your truck."
"Alright," the driver responded. He to the length of the truck, passing the iconic stork mascot on the logo. He got to the back, the policeman following a short distance behind. The driver unlocked the door, rolling it and the Vlasic logo up, depicting the same, grinning face of a bespectacled storc. It reaveald dozens, if not a hundread or two carboard boxes.
"Grab one of those down please and open it up, sir," the officer said. His voice throughout the entire interaction was bland, almost bored.
"Yes officer," he said. He cut open a box, revealing a dozen jars of classic, Vlasic pickles. The officer picked on out at random and opened it. He took out a pickle and examined it.
"I'll need to ask you what this is, sir."
The driver staired at him, dumb-founded for a second. Remembering himself he stammered, "A- a pick- A pickles, officer. It's a pickle."
The officer nodded. He took a bite out of it and winced. "It's mushy," he said.
Then he looked down and dropped the pickle onto the pavement.
It made a *plap* as it hit the asphalt.
The officer stiffened, and whipped out his gun.
He didn't give the driver a chance to defend himself. *BANG!*
The driver dropped dead instantly.
The officer yelled at the corpse, "Pickles have to bounce in Connecticut!" | I should have paid attention to the comments when I had a chance. They'd seemed like jokes at the time though.
"AWWWWW SHIT! We gon' go to jail for this! I'm sure I'm already at the top of the FBI's wanted list. They should be here any minute."
"Not my proudest fap, but neither will the one I have in my jail bunk. I've accepted it! #WORTH"
"Whoever watches this on "Purge the Perverts" day is in for a surprise. RIP. We salute you"
And low and behold. I find myself in the execution chamber. I'm strapped to an inclined bed and there's a needle in my right arm. I find it strange that I don't feel the needle or feel terrified that I've got a needle in me. I'm usually terrified of needles. They must have me on them 'Good Good' drugs.
mmmmmm. 'Good Good' drugs.
Anyways. Where was I? Where am I?
Oh right. The execution chamber. What am I doing here? My thoughts are so fuzzy. I decide it's best to just keep looking around the room. I'll remember why I'm here eventually.
To my right is a small metal cart with a tray on top. Also metal. Really shiny metal. On top of it are some things. I can't really tell what they are because the metal tray is shiny. Like really shiny.
To my left is a tall girl. Or a short girl. I don't remember how to judge height at this angle. She just happens to be taller than me. She's wearing a coat. It's white. Oh wait, it's a lab coat. I can't really see all of her so I assume she's not wearing pants. I also assume that she's just floating there without a bottom half. Her not wearing pants makes sense if she doesn't have a bottom half... Yeah. That makes sense. I'm kinda proud of that. the rest of her isn't really that impressive. She has a head with some ears attached to it. Half her face is blue. I can't really see her eyes behind the goggles she's wearing and her hair is tied into a ponytail. All in all she just looks girlish.
Besides her and the cart and the bed and me and the needle... O fuck. When did I get a needle in my arm?! Wait. It doesn't hurt... I guess that's fine. Besides all that the only other things I can see is a large mirror in front of me, one of those old speaker phone type things that peoples voices come out of, I forget what they're called, and the shininess above me. I don't like to look at it. It hurts.
My eyes continue roaming, but I can't really see behind me so nothing new really shows up. That's a relief. Not sure I could handle anything new happening right now. If I was told I had to do my tax return estimates in this state I'd probably lose it.
Thank god I'm just strapped to this bed. Talk about a relief. It's pretty comfy. I mean, It's hard but comfy.
Um. Uh... What else. There's a mirror. There's not much to see in it. Just some poor fucker strapped to an execution table. Sucks to be them. Glad I'm not. They look like a dweeb. With that long straight hair and that oily face. Ugh. Talk about unsavory.
After a while of staring that that guy I get pretty bored. Not much is happening and the girl on my left seems to be waiting for something. I don't know what, but she seems reluctant about it. Weird.
All of a sudden there's a loud buzzing sound and a loud voice comes over the speaker thing. It says 'You're good to pr..".
I don't know what they said next. I forgot to listen.
What I do know is that there's suddenly a girl on my right now and no girl on my left. I wonder where they got the new girl from. She looks exactly like the old one. Trippy. Must be twins.
She reaches down to pick something up from the tray. I can't really see what it is 'cus stuffs kinda burry now but...
Oh fuck she's squirting it. That shit's a needle. I'm strangely okay with this though. Maybe I like needles now. My mom would be happy about that. She always gets pissed when we go for flu shots. Shit takes hours. Not even messing with you. Straight up hours.
oooo. She stopped squirting it. When did that happen? She's leaning over me now.
"I'm sorry it had to come to this, but I have to do this. It's the law. It's people like you that make me hate today though because you really don't deserve to die because of something so stupid" He says as I see a tear or two go down his cheeks.
"What did I do?" I say to him casually.
When did she become a him? When he talked right? Fuck that's awkward. I'm terrible at telling genders.
"You're telling me you don't remember? Damn. I knew your dose was too large. They must have just given you the adult dosage on the fly. Oh well. Guess it's a mercy at this point. You probably have no idea what's going on." He said with a voice so full of pity I began to pity myself "Just make sure that, when the time comes, you make your friends and family proud by not saying some stupid shit"
"What do you mean stupid shit. I ain't never said a stupid thing in my life" I told him with a chuckle that quickly degraded in to a full on giggle.
The girl turned guy on my right then moved around me to become the guy turned girl on my left. Or something like that. It still had a needle regardless, and it stuck that sucker right into the other needle. It was like needleception, I shit you not. Needles on needles on needles. Like trippy dippy kinda matrix stuff stuff.
The speaker came on again then, and said " Morgan Tullouderly. Age 17. You have been convicted on watching a video featuring cute provocative underaged foreign girls flirting with lecherous perverted men. The needle that just went into you're arm is a lethal injection. By the law of the state of Texas, you have been sentenced to death. You have approximately 2 minutes before you're death. Please choose your final words"
And that's when I remember what got me here. The stupid thing that landed me in prison with an execution sentence. I'd gotten bored yesterday and was trolling through those Top 10 videos that always seem to be appearing on Youtube. I'd stopped paying attention to what videos came next at some point, and that's when THAT video showed up.
"TOP TEN ANIME LOLI'S OF ALL TIME! GONE WRONG! GONE SEXUAL! FUNNIEST MOMENTS YOU CAN'T LAUGH AT! I DARE YOU :D"
And that's about when the FBI came crashing through my windows. Didn't even get to watch the full video.
Now though, I knew what my last words would be. I'd accepted them as if they'd been handed to me by an angel. No other words would fit this moment.
And so I yelled, "I love my Loli's! Loli's are what I need. Loli's are what I want. I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT MY DAILY DOSE OF LOLI'S, SO DO ME IN COPPERS! #LOLICONSFORLIFE!", and after saying those blessed words, I slipped into a blissful and happy darkness. My favorite Loli's on my mind.
And then I smiled my final smile, with my tongue at the corner of my mouth and a cute provocative wink for the cute Loli in the mirror
| 2018-01-06T21:23:00 | 2018-01-06T20:36:43 | 98 | 23 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
| "We'll never get there..."
I cursed quietly, honking repeatedly. The road leading to the Hole was cramped as usual.
"Should've asked for a helicopter."
She said, fiddling about with the map.
"Please. I've had enough trouble getting the board to sign the papers."
"I was talking to myself. Meeting Johnny Depp might have not been worth it. Hey, do you know that the person who first discovered the Hole was awarded $50000--"
"YOU IN THE BLUE CAR! MOVE! Some people... I'm sorry, you were saying...?"
"Nevermind."
"Come on, don't be like that. Road rage is very understandable. You'll know it when you... Scratch that."
"Alright, then do you know that koala live their lives in perpetual drunkness? The only thing they eat makes them high, and only to them and no other species."
"Fascinating. Damn it, move..."
"Apparently not fascinating enough."
"I'm sorry, it's just... Did you take your--"
"What for?"
"You do realize this passive aggressive isn't going to take us anywhere."
"Well I'm sorry for trying to make this trip more enjoyable."
"I'm doing my best here to get out of this traffic, and you're not-- Hey! What are you doing?"
"It's only five point thirty-eight more miles."
She said, a phone in one hand and the door's handle in the other.
"You can't be serious. We're not going to walk-- You are not going to walk-- Damn it."
I chased after her small shadow, shouting as loud as I could.
"Come on. You don't really mean--"
She answered me with a determined look.
"Fine. Get on my back."
She did, with a giggle.
"Am I heavy?"
"No. Never have."
We set out by sunrise, encounter the impassable traffic at noon, and by sunset managed to get to the Hole.
I learned that in WW I, zeppelins were popular because their speed were on par with aircrafts then.
I learned that diamonds hold little value in themselves and are only expensive because of monopolizing.
I learned that "Gone With the Wind" is the highest grossing movie of all times if you account for inflation.
And I learned a lot more.
We stood at the edge of the Hole, staring down into nothingness. Here and there were people jumping down, dumping all kinds of things, asking for those dumped stuff,...
She held my hand tight. Nervously, she asked.
"How much time do I have left?"
"About a month, one and a half if you are lucky."
"What kind of month? The 30-day one or the 31-day? Or a February?"
"What kind of February?"
She giggled at that. I continued.
"It's just approximately, don't take it too seriously."
"So let's say it's a 30-day month, and the gravitational acceleration is 9.8 metre per square second, and each day is 86400 seconds, and...and..."
"The further you fall, the stronger the acceleration becomes."
"Bummer."
"Do you have enough food and water in your bag?"
"I guess..."
"It wouldn't hurt to bring some more."
"Yeah..."
But we didn't budge from that spot, not until the moon had risen. She gripped my hand tighter, whispered.
"It's dark. I can't see into the Hole. I...I..."
"Let's wait till tomorrow."
She nodded.
We walked to a nearby campfire. The Hole had become an attraction big enough for the locals to build all kind of motels and resting spots here. Some peole came for the Hole, some to watch those people, and many other reasons. A middle-aged man gave her his spot, a more comfortable one by the fire. The moonlight illuminated the Hole, but we mostly stared at the blaze.
She clung to my arm.
I learned that she can be quiet at times.
We did not sleep.
"You know, fresh air isn't all that good."
She said as dawn risen.
"That's because you have too much of an expectation."
"A common trait of people like me."
"A common trait of you."
She pulled out a knife, stirred it within the flame until the tip turned red, and then cut into my palm. Blood dripped out.
"Ouch!"
"Don't worry. It's sterilized."
"What was that for?"
She broke free of my arm, running toward the Hole. I chased her until she stood by the edge and turned around with the first real smile since the day before.
"Something to remember me by..."
She said, before carefully wiped my blood from the knife into her hand.
"...and something to remember you by."
"Wait!"
I called out. But I didn't know what to do, or what to say. It was she who spoke.
"Patients like me don't last very long. Don't get too attached."
Then she disappeared into the Hole. Only her echo remained.
"Thank you." | 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T09:01:49 | 4,551 | 77 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
| On the first day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the estimated birthdate of a Jewish carpenter whom a Roman emperor named Constantine called the Son of God, a hole was found in Greenland.
It was almost perfectly circular and as wide as a city block, with smooth vertical walls cutting down into the ice and further, and at the end only darkness. The scientists came first, with their probes and instruments; they lowered them into the hole, people and sensors and flying robots insulated with high-tech foams. They found nothing. That's not true--they found smooth, vertical walls, cutting deep beneath the ice, and they found darkness. For weeks they tested, debated, analyzed, debated, published, and debated some more. On the last day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the beginning of a moderately-accurate calendar developed by uneducated monks in early feudal Europe, the scientists ran out of money, so they left.
On the first day of autumn, the superstitious began to appear. Some brought crosses representing an ancient Roman torture device, others brought rugs which they oriented in the direction of a large stone cube in Saudi Arabia, and still others brought hats made of aluminum foil to protect their brains. Some brought nothing; some stripped naked, sat on the edge attempting to reach a new mental state, and subsequently got hypothermia. Some threw themselves into the hole. No one knew what they found down there, aside from perfectly smooth, vertical walls cutting down through solid bedrock, and darkness.
On the first day of winter, two thousand and eighteen years after the wife of a different Jewish carpenter claimed to still be a virgin while pregnant, the army arrived. They kicked out the superstitious, and all but a few scientists. They covered the hole with a giant steel dome with just one door, shining lights all around the perimeter. No one, from the young men with wet socks to the older men with star-shaped pins on their pockets, knew what they were looking for. Whatever it was, they wouldn't find it, unless it was smooth, vertical walls cutting down past the bedrock, and below that darkness.
Seasons passed, people died, and some other, probably not much better people were born. In Greenland, the army grew bored in the customary fashion and began to go home, one or two people at a time so the hole wouldn't think it was because they were scared. The superstitious continued praying and blogging, and the rich superstitious people asked the poor superstitious people for more money. The scientists published twice as many papers with five times as many words and ten times as many wrong words. The hole stayed where it was, a perfect circle cut into the rock and ice, bottomless, filled with nothing but darkness.
Then, on the first day of summer, two thousand and twenty years after the first anniversary of a worldwide bank holiday marked by increased buying rates, repetitive music, and religious guilt, the corporations showed up. They paid what was left of the army a lot of money to take away their steel dome, and then they began to pour tons of garbage into the hole. First they poured in ten thousand tons of spoiled food, packing paper, and colorful everlasting plastic down past the smooth vertical walls stretching away into the void. Then they poured in a hundred thousand tons of crushed cars, spent ore, and petroleum residue, making it all disappear forever into the circle of oblivion. Then they poured in a million tons of toxic chemicals, uranium and chlorofluorocarbons and heavy metals and polluted water. Gone forever, relegated to the unfathomable maw of the bottomless hole.
And then they heard it.
On the one million, one hundred and eleven thousandth ton of putrid trash dumped into the hole, someone heard the pieces hit the bottom.
The corporations called the army, and the army called the scientists, and the scientists confirmed that the corporations had done with their million tons of trash what they with their billion dollars of equipment could not: they had found the bottom of the hole. The hole, almost perfectly circular, with smooth vertical walls stretching down through the ice and rock, exactly nineteen hundred and forty-three meters into a swamp of human waste.
The scientists took some measuremets, amended their papers, and left. The army left too, slowly, in the customary fashion. The corporations left too, after dumping another million tons of dreck into the hole just to be sure. The superstitious tore their hair out as more money changed hands. They proclaimed it through screens and adio waves and high-frequency satellite relays: today, two thousand and twenty years after something that may have happened to influence another thing that was probably influenced by something different and at an entirely different time, the hole was filled, and something died in the soul of every person on the planet. And time continued to pass.
Then, on the first day of summer, three years after a nearly-circular hole in the ice the size of a city block and a bit over a mile deep was found in Greenland, a cliffside that looked like the Buddha's face was found in Sumatra and went viral on YouTube. | 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T09:28:39 | 4,551 | 20 |
[WP] There are many gods, who create many universes. Our god, a preschooler, has just submitted our universe for his universe making class. His teacher sighs, shakes her head, slaps an F on it and begins to explain where he went wrong | “What is this? I asked for a universe and all you handed me is this blank canvas.” said Mrs. Smith
“It’s not empty. See, look! I put a dot on it. That’s my universe,” protested Stella.
Immediately Mrs. Smith brought her hand up to massage her forehead. “Oh dear, why can’t you be more like the other students Stella?” she asked. “Universes need fundamental laws and actual finite definitions of infinity. Yours, well yours is just a dot.”
“But Mrs…” interjected Stella.
“No buts or ifs missy. You obviously didn't pay attention again and thought you could create yourself out of this but, no.” said Mrs. Smith as she scorched an F on the canvas and handed it back to Stella. “Bring me a new one tomorrow if you want a chance at passing.” Mrs. Smith gave Stella a disappointed look as she got up from her desk and walked out of the classroom.
“I just wanted to see what happens if I squeezed everything into one spot,” thought Stella. She let the failed canvas fall from her hands as she walked out of the room to join the others outside at recess.
The canvas hit the ground with a bang.
edit: spelling. oops.
| "I'm sorry, Yahweh, but I can't give you a pass on this project."
Yahweh was the kind of god that grew up in a... troubled environment. I won't say specifics, but let's just say he wasn't blessed with the best of kin. So it didn't exactly surprise me that his universe making project went awry.
"B-b-but Mrs. Gaia, I tried so hard! You're so mean!" he bawled.
"Okay, I know that, sweetie, but this just isn't passing material," I explained. "Do you want me to tell you why?"
"Okay..." he said.
"Well, first of all, the fundamental principle of this universe just isn't good for the long term. You made a universe with a finite amount of energy, which is bad enough, but you also made it grow at the same time. That just isn't going to work for a very long time."
"Oh yeah? Why not?"
"Because... I mean, the energy will spread everywhere, and then it will reach something call "entropy." That means every place in the universe has the same amount of energy. Is anything going to happen if energy isn't moving anymore?"
"No..."
"Exactly. That's one way your universe can end. The other way involves the universe getting so big that it just rips apart. Your universe is kind of messy when it comes to energy."
I expected this to be the end of the discussion, but apparently he wasn't satisfied with my explanation yet.
"Okay, so what if it has an end? Maybe I didn't want to have the same universe forever!" he almost shouted at me.
"But one of the rules of the project says it has to be self sustaining, Yahweh!"
"I don't care! The humans should make up for that!"
Oh gods, the "humans". He really wants me to talk about those.
I gave a big sigh and pressed on. "Yes, the human thing is very... creative. But it's just on such a small scale, it just seems really pointless for you to make an entire universe just for one weird animal on one planet in a tiny solar system. What do you expect will happen with these humans?"
"Uh, I don't know."
"Really? You don't know? To me it seems like you want them to kill each other or something. There's so many different kinds of these humans and they live so closely together, and to make it worse you've designed them to be..." I paused because of the colorful description he had written down. "Designed them to be 'badasses, who don't take shit from nobody, except when it's war.'"
I looked back at Yahweh to see him grinning. What a turn around.
"Yep, that's my humans alright!"
"Yahweh, I told you this before, you should avoid making a universe for life forms to exist on purpose. It's just something that's beneath creators." I gave him a small, pitying look. "Are you doing okay at home?"
He stared at the ground and took a little long to answer. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? I know last time your father-"
"I said I'm fine!" he shouted at me, suddenly glaring. Then he just up and ran out of the classroom. I didn't bother calling after him, I knew he would come back eventually. But, gods, what kind of creator is this kid going to grow up to be? I looked over his project again, at something he called the "Ten Commandments." I thought it was so strange, that he created these rules for humans that he knew they were going to break. Some rules were good, some were bad, but he knew they were going to be broken no matter what.
I hope he turns out all right. | 2018-03-16T08:25:36 | 2018-03-16T07:52:52 | 156 | 49 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | ######[](#dropcap)
It was one of those surreal moments that you only get to experience once in life.
Linda was working on the script for the next show when her phone began to buzz. Slowly at first, just a couple messages. Work friends, she thought. Thursday was always their night out for drinks, but she had been too busy tonight to join them.
Then the buzzing became more rapid, until her phone began vibrating constantly on the bed. With a frown, she glanced at the messages that were popping up quickly, one after another. They were all from random numbers, all sending the exact same message. She scrolled through, just to make sure she wasn't missing something.
"It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
A frisson of fear ran down her spine. After a minute, the messages slowed down. Then a singular message, different from the previous ones.
"DO NOT LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW."
It was from her boyfriend, Jordan. Her mind reeled. This had to be some kind of joke. She'd been such a good girl. She never went to abandoned houses and never walked into creepy forests alone. She was always sure to lock her windows and doors at night.
So with hesitant steps, she walked toward the dark curtain that was covering her window. Slowly, she reached out a hand and flicked off the lamp on her desk so that her room became pitch dark. It would help, at least, if whatever was out there couldn't see in. Then, she slowly slid open the curtain and peeked outside, expecting the worst. Perhaps a killer clown or a ghost.
She squinted. Was that...Jordan?
Without hesitating, she ran toward her bedroom door, throwing it open, and dashed down the steps of her apartment until she was at the bottom. There, she watched as her boyfriend was desperately trying to bring down the small hot air balloon that he had somehow managed to raise a little ways from her window.
He glanced down at her, then ducked into the basket. She simply stood there, waiting for him to get down. When the balloon came close enough, she saw the sign plastered to the front, and burst out into laughter.
On the front of the balloon, in large bold, flowery lettering, were the words:
LINDA, WILL YOU MARY ME?
When the hot air balloon touched down, Jordan climbed out, his face bunched up. "I told them not to send the messages, but it was too late when I noticed the typo--I'm going to kill Erin by the way--and everyone has such quick reflexes-"
Linda simply laughed and cut him off, throwing herself into his arms. "The answer's yes, in case you were wondering."
Jordan froze for a moment before he hugged her tight, lifting her up and spinning her around in the air. Then, huffing and puffing, he set her down, breaking out in a large smile as he gazed her windswept hair and freckles. "Best girlfriend ever," he said softly.
"Best fiancée ever," she corrected, and tilted his face so they could look at the moon together. "You have great timing, by the way. It's a full moon tonight."
"I meant to do that," he said, and kissed her on the forehead. Then he pulled out his phone.
"Mission success," he typed into the group chat, and ignored the kissy faces that flooded in. He would get revenge on Erin tomorrow, he vowed, his face dark. But at least, he thought, this would be a tale to tell the grandkids.
*****
r/AlannaWu | The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer. | 2022-06-10T18:58:05 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 308 | 43 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | "Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore." | I'll admit it: Looking after school kids isn't my idea of a good life, but there was really no other job for...someone of my talents.
Y'see, after the men and monsters realized that the War of the Dusk was a pointless waste of resources, men started intergrading monsters into regular society by giving'em jobs that suit their talents. Necromancers went from bringing back armies to resurrecting construction crews, Skeletons work in the extreme conditions that men ain't suited for, Vampires make damn good cops, and so on.
And me? Well, werewolves are always at the bottom of the barrel, and with good reason. For the most part we don't have control over when we transform or what we friggen do while we're a wolf. But once in a while ya get a guy like me who can transform when he wants and can control the wolf. Scientists are trying to figure out why not everyone's like me, but what the hell is the use of science with freaks like me?
Over the fence I spot Tony, glowing with his Vamped-up sunscreen that he's gotta wear to not burn up on days like today. Him and I fought in the war together. If he didn't bite into my arm while on duty the silver in my veins from the bullet I got in the arm would've pumped into my heart, and no more Adrien. I call him over with the howl he knows me by.
"How's it going fang face? Crossing guard suits you"
"Shut up Adrien. I'm not here by choice you know. The chief is still pissed at me for going too far on that last case"
"Of course I know ya dope. It was all over the news. It's your own fault for being dry while on duty"
"What the hell was I supposed to do? Sally's forcing this vegetarian diet and my doc cut me off of the Sanguinaid. A vampire's gotta drink at some point."
"Send a complaint to the doctors office then"
"I did, and so did the others. This new shipment is taking a hell of a long time to arrive."
"It should be in by now. It's not like them to just delay without reason"
"There better be an update soon. Someone's gonna have a hole or two in them if I don't get a god damn drink"
I laugh it off. "Whatever fang face. Get back on duty"
He frowns at me and leaves. I love that guy.
Uh-oh. Shouldn't have been talking to Tony. Some weirdo in dark clothes is getting to close to the young. I better go and scare him off.
"Sir what is your business here?"
"What's it to you, freak?"
Tough guy. There's been a lot of them since the war, but they're thinning out as more monsters are making themselves useful.
"Sir your presence is scaring the kids. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave"
"You're gonna have to make me, you son of a bitch"
Heh. Ain't far from the truth. I take a deep breath and feel my fingernails sharpen into claws, my mouth stretch into a muzzle. Bones and muscle contorting and expanding as fur breaks out across my twitching frame. The average werewolf grows 3 feet in height during the transformation and gains 100 pounds of muscle. I double both amounts easily.
"I'm not going to ask you again" I growl, towering over him. He steps back a little bit before pulling out a pistol. Human weapons make me laugh.
"Put your hands in the air you filthy mutt!" He yells, as if his peashooter has any power over me. I pounce, and he fires. One claw through the heart is all it takes. He crumples to the floor, but not before I start feeling dizzy. Limbs feel heavy. I check my wounds and pull out the bullet. There's no mistaking it.
Silver.
I wake up in the hospital. Sally sits beside my bed. Her eyes are puffy and red.
"What? I almost die saving the day, and fang face doesn't even stop by to call me an idiot?"
Sally sobs briefly before composing herself. "Adrien, Tony..."
And she tells me what happened after I passed out. She tells me that fang face was on standby while I was facing the creep, that he was ready to jump in if something went wrong. She tells me that he got to me before I hit the ground, and bit into me like he did during the war. Then she tells me that the silver bullet was laced with holy water, and that biting into me made some of it touch his fangs. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Sally excuses herself to mourn. I don't blame her. Tony was a good man.
The War of the Dusk may be over, but the bad blood apparently isn't. That bullet was specifically made to kill both vamps and werewolves. No weapons like that existed during the war. And restricting Sanguinaid makes the vamps grow weaker every day unless they want blood on their hands. There's only one motive behind all this.
Someone on the side of men wants a rematch. | 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T15:15:28 | 2,554 | 79 |
[WP] You have telekinetic powers. But it has a condition, you can only move non-living things. One day after cleaning your front lawn, you realize you couldn't move the dwarf figurine. | A sense of panic washed over me. I could feel a cold pit in my stomach. The fear was so overwhelming, I thought I might throw up, but I couldn't break eye contact with the lawn decoration. Not even for a second. I crept closer. I had to know. If it meant me harm, it was better now, on my terms. Its glazed eyes staired at me, my whole world was deafening silence. Then I noticed them two tiny eye stocks poking up from the back. The snail made his way towards the top of the dwarf and perched atop of the little porcelain mans head. I dropped to my knees and picked the small creature up, watching him receded into his shell. I lifted the dwarf with my mind and tossed it to the other side of the yard. My shoulders dropped and I gasped, just now realizing how long I had been inadvertently holding my breath. "Dammit, this is worse than the time I thought I lifted the cat off the sofa." | The sun wasn’t visible now, only a thin band of warm hues remained over the tops of the roofs that lined the west side of the street. He wiped his brow and leaned the rake over against the side of the old house and surveyed his handiwork. ‘I’ll just move that gnome over here and I’m done,’ Ike thought to himself as he swiped his fingers to the right and turned towards the door.
But something felt different. After decades of mundane telekinetic abuse, Ike had learned to feel the weight of his power, the subtle resistance in the air as the telekinetic line pulled taught, like swinging a long string of yarn. He glanced back, sure enough, the gnome hadn’t moved. The screen door screeched as he pulled it back, its spring stretched just enough for him to reach in and flick the main door open. ‘Weird. Guess I missed?’ He thought, not that it had ever happened before. He reached his fingers over his shoulder and, paying more attention this time, his eyes already straining against the waning twilight air, he swiped again. But the gnome sat motionless. His brow furrowed. He glanced to the rake, which sat about the same distance from him as the gnome, and with a similar stroke, it swept across the grass and bounced off the fence, landing at the stubborn ornament’s feet.
He lets the screen door go, it’s spring yawning to a slap as it shut, and he stormed towards the crusty old gnome. ‘What the hell?’ He swiped again. Nothing. He marched forward. Swipe. The rake flew black across the yard. Swipe. The pine straw bedding of the flower bed wisked away. SWIPE. The dirt around its feet scattered in all directions, some of its pebbles skittered as far as the asphalt in the road, but the gnome didn’t budge.
“I said go,” swipe, nothing, “over,” nothing, “there!”
Ike was standing over the gnome now, looking down at it and his own chest as it rose and fell in anger, his arm outstretched towards the side of the house where now most of the inanimate object that made up his flower bed now laid scattered. ‘I don’t understand; I can move things twice- hell a hundred times this things weight, so long as it’s...’
His eyes went wide, and his breathing increased further. He stood for a long moment, as the last bit of light faded. Street lamps and porch lights slowly ticked on, but he didn’t move. When he’d finally calmed down, he slowly lifted a foot and tapped the tubby ceramic gnomes belly. It tipped, exactly how a ceramic gnome would. He tapped harder. It tipped a bit further. Taking a breath, he reared back and aimed to launch it over the fence, and kicked. Just before his foot made contact, the creature dashed to the left. It’s ankle-legs moved so fast Ike barely saw him do it, but he definitely saw it; it dodged. But the kick was too forceful, and he had to see it through.
Ike regained his balance, and looked around near his feet, but didn’t see anything. He looked towards the street, but it was empty. No cars. No people. Not even the crickets were chirping. He listened for tiny footsteps. Nothing. Then, from behind, he heard the squeal of the screen door just before it slapped shut.
----
Sorry for typos, on mobile. | 2018-11-11T19:18:04 | 2018-11-11T17:05:38 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] 99.9% of the universe is filled with magic. Sentient races believe that life cannot be started or sustained without magic, and it just so happens that Earth lies in a giant void of magic. One day, you accidentally use magic, suddenly attracting the attention of the rest of the universe. | "Turns out that being devoid of magic might have been a blessing in disguise. While it's true that our race can't turn lead to gold or generate energy by just thinking about, it also means that none thought we existed.
This ended 13 years ago. A simple meaningless act, barely slowing myself from falling after tripping on an uneven street was enough to snuff out the ridiculously tiny amount of magic that had leaked to earth. This also meant that others felt that.
A year later, the first communications arrived: the Umiriyad empire was delighted to find a new sentient race to commerce with and requested a delegation of humans to be sent to them to start negotiating an alliance. This delegations never made it back. It turns out that the solar system isn't the only sector of the universe without magic and extremely rich in resources, and many aliens were seeking a way to colonize them. What better than a lesser race unable to use the miracles of magic but can survive the harsh conditions of a magicless environment?
We only learned of the experiments made on the delegation thanks to a message sent by the last member of the crew: radio communications being useless to the Umiriyad, they fortunately didn't understand what he was trying to achieve.
Fear and resentment grew, turning into hate. Hate that was expressed when they came back 5 years ago to ask for a new delegation, the last one "tragically died due to mysterious circumstances". The third use of nuclear weapons in the history of mankind started the conflict still raging on today.
In the last 5 years, humanity has fought a desperate battle against a much more advanced race, yet all is not lost. Now that magic is progressively filling the void around earth with every umiriyad expedition, I will make sure we create our own miracle."
- Speech of the Lieutenant of the 1rst Magic Users Training corp to new recruits, 2032.
Short part 2 in comments. | A split second after the 'incident' my bedroom light flickered and started to glow a deep cyan, pulsing slowly, throbbing, before culminating in a wet fart 'splurge' sort of noise and appearance of an angelic looking fairy lizard dressed in a sharp blue suit.
"Alright sunshine", it exclaimed. "What have you been doing?"
Shocked and startled, all I could manage was an "Umm".
It pressed on, "Don't just sit there looking all bewildered mate. You've been using unsanctioned magic and I'm pretty sure you're unlicensed too".
"Um, well, I..." I blurted, dumbfounded.
"No no, don't tell me, I'll know soon enough", it said as it pulled out a device from a pocket and began dialing away before placing it on what looked like its nose. "Ahh yes, 11393 dash, 0, dash 09".
It paused and rolled its eyes. I rubbed mine, not knowing if I was dreaming, or hallucinating.
"Yep, Yep, 09." It sucked in a deep breath as it continued on the communucations device "Sheesh... A new one? The paperwork is massive though. Just my luck. Alright, leave it with me."
It looked at me grimly. "Right Sunny Jim, I hope you realise what you've done. You've gone and ruined my weekend is what. Turns out you're the first entity in this part of the Universe to use magic so.."
I interjected "..magic? But I haven't done anything."
It stared at me "Hah! Nothing it says. Nothing! Like a weapon in the hands of a child. Just because you didn't see anything doesn't mean you didn't cast a spell mate. I don't know what youve been doing here but you just made all the inhabitants of planet MK78 in the Sunflower Galaxy allergic to rice, which wouldn't be all that bad if it wasn't their single biggest export. Of course the local competitors are chuffed and no one really likes the MK78s all that much but unsanctioned magic is unsanctioned magic"
"Oh, I didn't know", I declared.
"Of course you didn't numbnuts. If you did I'd be arresting under the Economic Interference legislation of 4578 M.T. That's My Time for the unaquainted." It scribbled a little on its device. "What do you call yourself"?
"Tom", I explained, scratching my head.
"Many Toms here then? How many sexes of Toms are there then?".
"Erm, one. I think. Our species is Human, there's two.. well no actually there are several sexes these days. I mean some identify as male, some as female and some.."
It cut me off "You must be one of the clever ones then hey? Sheesh." He rolled his eyes again. "My name is Ghrllpahngkkzt. Nice to meet you".
Confused a little a leaned in and asked "Grilllpah.....sorry I dont think I can pronounce that. How's it spelt?"
"Z.A.R.G. It's not difficult is it", it snapped.
"Looks more like 'Zarg' to me" I suggested.
"Fuck off!" It shouted looking me deep in the eyes. "Keep on calling me s Zarg and I WILL arrest you! Anyway don't interrupt. I had thought that I could get away with enrolling you under the Andromeda Galaxy membership but times are hard at the moment and we've got the auditors in so I am hereby enrolling this planet on our new magic planets list starting next Earth month over in the Sombrero Galaxy. If you can get yourself there about a day early you can check in and make the most of the free snacks. Failure to complete the course on first attempt will automatically enroll you for a second attempt at cost to the planet and failure to attend the course will of course result in your planet's assimilation by the magical community."
I sat up in my bed "BUT I...we...we don't have the means to get all the way to the Sombrero Galaxy! We've only got as far as the Moon!!".
The lizard fairy let out a puff of air and scratched its head, "Well, you better keep practicing whatever it was you were doing before I got here and improve your magic fast hadn't you buddy. Try not to kill anyone whilst you're at it".
And with that, it was gone..
Continued below. | 2018-12-10T07:42:45 | 2018-12-10T06:38:57 | 871 | 223 |
[WP] An alien, a centuries-old vampire, and a werewolf raised by wolves go to college. They dorm with a human and do their best to blend in and act natural while infiltrating humanity. The human realized day one they weren't normal - But the daily theatrics are too amusing to let them know that | “I’ve been caught!” thought Max, the werewolf, as his human roommate walked up beside him.
“Hey were you just howling at the moon?”
“N-no! I-“
“C’mon man, that didn’t even sound real! You’ll never convince Mr. Brandt you’re committed to the part like that”
Max lets out a sigh of relief, then chuckles a bit.
“Yeah I guess you’re right, any pro tips on my howl? You seemed to be making some strange howling noises last night”
“I, er, um.. was watching Supernatural? Yeah! The episode where Dean’s friend is in that weird werewolf cult”
“Yeah right, your TV wasn’t even on Kyle”
“And how would you know that? We have an entire two rooms between us! Your hearing must be off the charts good!”
“I mean they’re not really entire rooms, they’re like, sub-rooms or something, I don’t know. They connect and there’s only a door on each ‘bedroom’, if you could call them bedrooms”
“Well I mean, these are dorms, so what can you expect?”
Kyle startles as someone appears behind him.
“JESUS MAN! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO SNEAK UP BEHIND ME?!”
“Yeah Kyle, I know, you almost had a heart attack, you don’t know where I even came from, I should wear a bell around my neck or something, yadda yadda yadda. So whatcha guys talking about?”
“Well Francis, Kyle and I would be discussing some pointers on my acting for the play, but as usual Kyle started on about Supernatural” Max says
“Hey, it was relevant to the moment at least!”
“You always find a way to make it relevant. It’s almost like you want to be a hunter or something. And Max, how many times have I told you to call me Frank?”
“More times than I can count on both paw- HANDS!” Max says, feigning a coughing fit after the slip-up.
“Aaanyway.. Nah Frank, I definitely don’t wanna be a hunter. That would be dangerous and less exciting that what I would have in mind”
“Oh? And what would that be?” asks Frank the vampire, with genuine curiosity in his voice.
“I’d become some sort of supernatural being. Maybe a hybrid of some of the ones from the show, maybe a unique one entirely my own. Definitely something immortal though. And fast, that can use magic”
Frank and Max both laugh heartily.
“What? You guys don’t think that would be awesome? I mean, being able to do things no normal humans could do! And then some. It sounds like a lot of fun to me”
“It’s not that, it’s just.. You don’t believe in that stuff do you? Magic and vampires and werewolves and demons and angels... It’s all just for good TV. Real life is nothing like that new-aged, hopped-up” Frank says, as Max interrupts
“What I think Frank is trying to say is, if real life had any of that stuff in it, it wouldn’t be like some storybook or TV show. There would be real evil, from both monsters and humans alike, stuff that would make the show run and cry”
“Yeah I hear you, I hear you” Kyle smirks a bit and continues “Now you look AND sound like Wolverine, Mr. gloom-and-doom”
Max chokes a bit and Frank changes the subject.
“Hey guys I think we should head back inside, a fog is starting to roll in. Meet you back at the dorms!” he says as both he and his voice just fade away in the fog.
Kyle starts heading back toward the dorm buildings as Max falls into step right behind him.
They approach their dorm rooms, open the door, and enter into the living/dining/kitchen area. Frank is already on the couch, reading some ancient looking book. Sylver, their other roommate, is standing by the microwave, admiring the buttons.
“Hey Sylv, are you making a hot pocket or something?” Kyle asks, his stomach growling audibly.
“No Kyle, I am attempting to send electrical impulses into the circuitry of this device to make it send a microwave signal to a receiver I have set up on the top of the school”
“That sounds kinda dangerous. Also will the microwave still be usable to cook food?” Max asks, starting to get hungry too. He scratches behind his ear vigorously.
“Yes, I am attempting this without changing any of the hardware of the device. This microwave should be perfectly-“
A loud beeping noise can be heard coming from the microwave as the entire campus has a sudden black out.
“Oh no. It seems I triggered a power surge and it caused a black out on the school main power grid. The microwave radiation must have interfered with the power lines” says Sylver.
Sylver then pulls out a device somewhat similar in shape and size to a mobile phone, points it toward the direction of the school’s power station, and with another beep, the power comes back on.
“Sylver, are we sterile now?” Kyle asks, concerned about the microwave radiation.
“No Kyle, your reproductive system should work perfectly, the microwaves were directed toward the receiver I set up. This data is great, this should allow me to attempt the same next time, only successfully”
Kyle stops and wonders why he ever watches Supernatural when this is his life
(Edit; syntax, also clarification that Sylver is the alien and a ‘male’, and this is my first r/writingprompts post ever. Hope it’s not too mediocre!) | "Winthorpe is a vampire, without a doubt, babe—I saw his tongue light on fire after he took a bite of that Parmesan Garlic Shrimp Scampi we made the other day." Johnathan gazed across the campus greens, watching people mull about a summer student gathering with vendors, campus resource tents, plus student groups and alliances.
Sarah licked her lips and reminisced with a briefly held blink, rubbing her belly over the lavender Gucci Mane Bubblebath Funtime sweater she wore, "oh... babe, that was a killer dinner. I was expecting you to fuck it up, but you really made that dish your bitch. I didn't hear a word from any of your roommates, and I can't tell if Xotislyt even has an actual mouth—I never saw him eat a bite, but the end of dinner his food was gone—like, all of it."
"I... love you, too? Have I fucked any of your expectations into the ground with my cooking recently?" Johnathan pulled a chunk of ice from his tea and tossed it down her sweater. "You haven't bathed today, or last night. Maybe they didn't say anything because you stink. I'm going to withhold sex later if you ditch me halfway through meal prep to play fetch with Buster again."
Sarah engaged her fiercest pout and grabbed a handful of ice, throwing a piece to distract Johnathan in order to get her hand around his collar and dump her load down his back. "That's gaslighting, you're evil. I'm going to tell you mom you withhold basic life necessities, and she should gift you a beating next Christmas sine you'll have coal in your stocking anyways."
"Gaslighting, please—you once said the reason I don't talk to my dad anymore is because I wore dresses when I was younger—now you make me wear a dress on special occasions because 'it grew on you." Johnathan scooped the ice from the boxer-ridge along his ass crack and threw it at a squirrel nibbling on a piece of garbage near a tree.
"And because I wanted to make a dress for your beautiful six armed reptilian roommate; his serpent tail has feathers, Johnathan. Like a fucking Peacock. Actually, he's not a bird so that makes him ten times as beautiful. I would've broken up with you if you got a roommate with a bird—I hate birds, Johnathan."
A smirk rode across Johnathan's face, remembering the pigeon on the train incident. "You do hate birds."
"And I'm the only reason Xotislyt stopped making that high pitched screeching sound; the microwave was threatening to us telepathically, Johnathan. If I didn't convince him people were signing up for plastic surgery to add fake arms on the reg someone might've died." Sarah mimicked her brains falling out of her ears.
Johnathan shook his head, "I don't think any of them are dangerous."
Sarah shot Johnathan with a dart of heavy side-eye, "excuse me, what? Buster ate a raccoon whole, yesterday. That's why I had to give him a bath. The easiest way to dry him off is to play fetch outside, none of the neighbors were around."
"He doesn't have fur during the day, babe."
Sarah grabbed Johnathan's arm, burying her face in his chest.
johnathan gave Sarah's head a loving pat, idly scrolling through pictures on his phone. "At least quell your lady boner and put some pants on him next time, please?"
Sarah smirked into Johnathan's chest and gave a sort of half-giggle, knowing she'd been caught 'mirin. "That pasta was incrrredible, I wish I had more right now," Sarah whined with an exaggerated groan. "You said you saw Winthorpe's tongue light on fire? You think because of the garlic?" Sarah let go of Johnathan's arm and leaned back to her original position, watching Johnathan scroll through photos of his roommates.
Johnathan settled on a photo of Winthorpe eating dinner from the previous night. "Like a piece of flash paper at first, but the sauce sort of just sizzled away on his tongue. You didn't hear him yelp in pain?"
Sarah shook her head, "I was too busy being distracted by the juxtaposition between Xotislyt and Buster's table manners."
Johnathan nodded, "Buster has some serious work to do on that front. It took me 20 minutes to clean the floor around the table." Johnathan groaned at the thought of the bathroom yet to be cleaned. "Winnie couldn't resist that pasta though."
Sarah held her hands in front of her mouth and gave a stern look. "I was wondering why he made that silly doily float in front of his face while he ate. So he definitely has telekinesis."
"Indeed, he ate that entire dish. I didn't even know vampires could enjoy human food. I'm mostly surprised you didn't see the fireworks show going off behind his napkin. Who uses the word doily, anyways? You're such a grandma."
"Hey, punk, my grandma collects doily's and she's a cool ass lady."
"Yea," Johnathan gave an admitting nod, "she is a cool ass lady. Think she can keep a secret?"
"OHHHH," Sarah's eyes lit up at a thought, "I bet Buster would LOVE Gam-gam!"
"Whoa, craebae-" Johnathan held his hands up like he'd made a mistake, "it was just a thought. Let's not go scheduling any play-dates."
Sarah laughed a bit, 'yea, yea, that's," she shuddered with obvious apprehension in her eyes, "like, a later thing."
"Or like a never thing, babe" Johnathan put a hand on her shoulder. "Once she figures it out she'll recognize the other two, and she's never forgiven you for that vampire prank, Also, hello, protestant?"
Sarah deflated a bit, "oh, right, Jesus doesn't get along with vampires." She kicked some dirt at her feet, gazing at some students playing volleyball. "Have you spoken much to Xotislyt about school? He said he wants to try out for theatre club."
Johnathan's eyes widened in surprise. "Theater? Like dramas and musicals and shit?"
Sarah exhaled a cloud of vapor from her cannabis vaporizer and coughed a short, "Hyup," before passing her boyfriend the device.
Johnathan gingerly grabbed the vape and took a deep pull, enjoying the momentary silence of thought they shared. "What I want to know is why nobody else around campus seems to realize who or what they are? Buster took a shit on a library desk last week and people congratulated him for thinking of such an original prank; I would've been embarrassed to sit with him except everyone was laughing so hard nobody even noticed me. It's painfully obvious our roommates aren't human, yet everyone treats them like popular freshman."
Sarah stared across the field silently for a moment while stroking her fingers across the back of Johnathan's hand. "I've thought about the exact same thing—the only thing I can think of is the house. They're comfortable at the house, so they let their guard down and don't realize we can see them for what they are. But out in public, and on campus, and like, at the grocery store when Xotislyt tried to fight that giant stack of multi-colored sodas because it was taller than him, nobody notices anything different about them at all. It's got to be telepathic, or magic or something."
Johnathan nodded, "I wouldn't be surprised. Telepathic alien isn't that far of a leap from telekinetic Vampire."
Sarah leaned her head on Johnathan's shoulder, "Are you certain you want to take them to the Zoo tomorrow still?"
Johnathan gazed down at Sarah and smiled slyly, "Well I mean, we kind of have to right? For science?"
Sarah beamed with a burst of laughter, "I have always wondered what would happen if you let a werewolf loose in the zoo. We might need a baby harness." | 2018-12-23T20:53:10 | 2018-12-23T19:50:44 | 70 | 33 |
[WP] the grim reaper appears in your bedroom. You look at him, and notice a version of yourself standing next to him. The grim reaper tells the other you "if you don't change your ways, this is how you end up." The other you is mortified and vows to change his ways, and they vanish. | Immediately I sat up off my bed. “Hold up, what the FUCK”. Furious, I walk down the hall towards my garage, cell phone in hand. I rummaged around a bit, before finding the incredibly dusty and thick book containing the yellow pages.
Thumbing around the book for a few moments, I find and call a number. After a couple of rings, they pick up.
“Hello, this is Mortys Afterlife Payday loans, you end up dead, we see to it you don’t see red. How can we help you?” “Yeah, hi. Listen, can I please talk to one of your managers please? Of the multiverse division?” “Certainly, please hold”
After a moment, a new voice picked up. “Hi, how can I help you today?” I explained the situation to him, and he apologized profusely, and asked me to wait a moment. The line went dead.
Then POOF! Death showed up next to me again, look-alike in tow, and he looked incredibly embarrassed. This time, a manager stood to his left, enraged.
“For the FOURTH time, Death!” The manager barked. “What have we told you about personal comparisons!?”
Death sighed. “IT MAKES PEOPLE FEEL UNCOMFORT-” “Yes, it makes people feel uncomfortable!” The manager finished for him. “So why do you keep doing it?! It’s embarrassing for the company! Keep this up and say goodbye to that promotion you’ve been looking at! Now say sorry to the man!”
Death looked me in the eye and quietly said “IM SORRY MISTER. IT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN”
“It’s fine.” I said. I looked at my twin. “Man, don’t go for these loans. They end up really biting you hard in the end. Sorry you got mixed up in all this.” He looked down and said to the manager “I’m sorry, I think he’s- I, am right. I kind of want to go back on this loan.”
The manager went off on a rant again, before all three figures popped off while he was mid-sentence. I hate these visits. | "What... the...?" James whispered, still staring at the spot where the other him had been. Perhaps it was because of all those movies, but the first thing James did was pinching his own cheeks. It hurt. A lot. And *that* was truly disappointing. He had hoped that he would've woken up from a bad dream.
Of course, he could do that other thing, something that he had always done on such situations - fall asleep and wake up in the morning, pretending that nothing had happened. But even as he tried to do that, he couldn't sleep. And it made sense; why would he sleep after that?
"Dammit," James groaned and finally got himself seated. Soon after, he got himself up and began clothing himself. As he had finished, he got himself to the nearby window and opened it, just to step outside on the roof.
James still lived with his parents who happened to own that house. And since his room happened to be on the second floor, he occasionally sneaked out through the roof. But this time around, he laid down and just observed the clear sky.
"What's so bad about my life?" James wondered, raising his arms and looking at his hands. Why would he be the example to someone else? His life wasn't bad. He got a job. While he still lived with parents, he helped them to pay the bills. He had finally found the girl he liked. They recently even began dating. Perhaps he would eventually move out as well. It was only a matter of time.
*If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up.* Those words echoed in his mind, keeping his eyes wide opened.
"I hate all of this," James said. "Why am I being judged? Who has right to judge me?" he said, finally seating himself up, both hands in a fist. "I'm tired of this shit. Everyone... all the time..."
"But that's how they get motivated," a voice appeared, making James quickly look at his room's window. Was the reaper back? Or was it his younger self? No. The voice was too high pitched for that. "I wondered why there was all the ruckus in the middle of the night," a bit older woman said, smiling and getting herself on the roof, as well.
"Eh, sister, what are you doing here?" James said, frowning.
"You know, since you were young, I always heard it whenever you opened the window," she said, smiling.
"That doesn't mean you can just come into my room and join me here. Did you even knock?" James said, sighing. "You don't even live here anymore. Or well, didn't not that long time ago."
"Hey, I'm helping you to ease your mind, and that's how you thank me? Judging me?" she said. It was James' sister. She always had shorter black hair, and she was a bit skinnier compared to the most women. But recently she had divorced, and thus she had moved back.
"Why would I need help from a depressed sister who got recently divorced and ran back home?"
"Well, at least I left home. When will you leave?" Leona responded, hiding her chuckle behind her hand. But after a short time, they both started laughing.
"What's the problem, small brother?" she asked. "You can ask me anything. After all, I am the master of brokenness."
"What do you mean by that's how they get motivated?" James asked.
Leona sighed. "That's easy. If someone judges you, they feel better and motivated. They might even feel the need to change, or perhaps just not feel that bad about themselves."
"But is it right?" James asked.
"Of course it's not, brother. Those who speak ill of us are worse than scum," Leona said, nodding.
"You're so serious," James said, chuckling a bit.
"I *am* serious!" Leona said, sighing.
"What if that person was a reaper itself? What if something like that told me that?"
"Then death is worse than scum. That's how easy it is. We all live our own lives. What matters is how we are living tomorrow, not how we lived yesterday. Or at least that's my motivation," Leona said. "I did get divorced for tomorrow."
"That's such a stupid excuse," James sighed.
"But that's my life. I may have fucked up, but what good will that fuck up do tomorrow?"
"Ahhh, the brightness, it's killing me," James moaned.
"Shut up," Leona said, laughing.
---
/r/Elven
Just ended up being a some kind of discussion... Don't judge other people lives and just live your own. | 2018-12-30T12:51:54 | 2018-12-30T11:57:19 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] You were filled with horror when you were told that you got sent to hell after you died, the horror faded somewhat when you were then immediately handed a shotgun and noticed the broken bodies of demons everywhere | As you stare at the shotgun, you notice the shells appear indefinitely in the chamber. That would be strange in itself, but the moment you notice there comes an angel floating down towards you.
"This is your eternal quest for the world you left. Cleanse hell off of demons so they won't flood the Earth." - says the divine entity.
"How am I supposed to carry out such task? I'm just a carpenter." - you ask, despair in your voice.
Suddenly heavy metal music fills the inside of your head and your senses sharpen.
"Rip and tear." - answers the heavenly servant as it soars up, shredding a killer solo on his ivory guitar. | Death comes to us all. What happens after though?
As an atheist, Teno was always challenging religion. Thinking that death is just a final state of life. When he was falling down, he just thought that he had a decent life but it should end now. There was nothing left for him after all.
But then he saw a hood. A scythe.
The Grim Reaper.
'It seems like you have no longings. Odd.' The Grim Reaper mused to me while looking at my broken body.
'Is it that weird? I have always knew death will come, and I have nothing that this world of false God believers offered. I do not think I belonged to this Earth anyway since I am an atheist.' Teno said, looking at his broken body too.
Or at least, was an atheist, Teno thought to himself. Hard not to believe in life after death when he was living it right now.
The Grim Reaper look lost in thought. 'Then perhaps... You are worthy. Come along now. I have something for you before you go to Hell.'
'Wait...what? I go to Hell? Back up a second, I don't get it. Don't you go to purgatory first?' Teno asked, fearful of the answer.
'It's always a shock to humans when they die. Light has dimmed more and more, and they are spending so much time being defensive against the encroaching darkness of Hell that purgatory does not exist any longer. I used to bring the souls there, but now only demons roam it. You may as well call it pre-Hell.'
From where Teno was, The Grim Reaper's hood concealed his face, but the sadness in his tone was undeniably there.
'Anyway, enough being sappy about the state of the realms. You have no lingering attachment to this world of yours. You therefore are in luck. For those with no attachments left on the world, you will be offered one item as you proceed to hell. That item is a form of protection and takes the form of what you wish it to be. Few have such luck. Use yours wisely.' the Grim Reaper said as he reached into his pocket and threw Teno a shiny pendant...
Only for it to become a shotgun when Teno touched it.
'A shotgun? Boy, you must be one of those western cowboys.' the Grim Reaper said.
'I used to shoot shotguns. Maybe that's why.' Teno said.
'Here's hoping you remember. Now, see you around boy. Those who have this privilege will have to travel to Hell yourself. Watch out for those demons along the way.'
With that, the Grim Reaper disappeared.
Teno was left alone. Stunned by the words of the last few minutes, he turned to his body, wishing to pay his last respects.
Only to see a mountain of demon bodies beside his body. Freshly dead.
'Oh my... Those must be the demons in me. Now I am dead, they can't sustain themselves.' Teno muttered.
Then, he felt a pulling sensation, tugging him southwarx. Well, guess its a journey straight to Hell. Don't want to be a lost soul and his new shotgun will hopefully serve well.
With that, Teno started his ghostly journey down to the pits of Hell. | 2019-09-29T10:07:40 | 2019-09-29T09:18:03 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] You’re an archeologist. On one of your digs you find a note book identical to yours, contents with matching handwriting and all. Except this notebook is extremely ancient and has an entry in it that yours doesn’t. | It had taken me a lifetime, but I finally had enough solid evidence to prove my grandmother's theory of the universe. Approximately every twelve thousand years, existence would reset and play out exactly the same each time with only slight variations. I just didn't expect that I would be the key to this theory.
My grandmother had studied everything from the mathematics of the distant star systems to the stories of the ancient civilizations buried right beneath our feet. She knew there was a cycle to life -- a series of patterns anyone could see if they looked close enough. This idea drove me to pursue the life of a scientist and historian. And now I was holding in my hands my own journal, but from a version of myself twelve thousand years past. It was remarkable. Each entry was exactly the same, albeit in an ancient tongue. Each translation my own voice, each symbol my own handwriting.
However, something was amiss. I reached the end and froze, terrified at the final passage. This was the "slight variation" in my case; this was the exceptional additional entry in my own ancient journal. Translated into modern English, it read simply:
*For all that is truth, the cycle is real. For all that is good, the cycle must die.* | Andrew had been digging all day without any luck. The desert’s hundred-degree weather was really weighing down on him. It wouldn’t be too long until he would have to head back to base.
“Any luck out there, Andrew?” the voice of his assistant, Sheila, bellowed out from the radio on his hip.
He unclipped the radio from his belt and radioed back in, “Nothing yet. I think I’m going to stay out here for a little while longer.”
“Remember that you have to get back to base before sundown. This desert is the home to quite a few creepy-crawlies that it’s best you don’t encounter.” Sheila was always a bit overprotective of him.
“Roger that.” He clipped the radio back onto his hip and continued digging.
Andrew was already on his third excavation without any discoveries, and the failure was really weighing down on him. After thirty minutes of sifting through the sand and mistaking rocks for potential artifacts, he sat down in his jeep and took a swig from his thermos, beads of sweat dropping from his forehead. He couldn’t help but think that it was about time to start heading back. Andrew pulled out his radio.
“Hey, Sheila, I’m going to start heading back now. I should be back in around 30 minutes or so.”
He started the jeep and began driving back along the pathway leading back to the base. He kept to a slow speed, as the setting sun made it increasingly difficult to spot the path. Suddenly, the floodlights on the jeep illuminated a small hole, slightly off the path. There was a small, leather book in the hole. Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Andrew slammed the breaks, shifted the jeep into park, and ran out to the hole. He picked up the mysterious book and brushed the sand off of the cover. Andrew’s eyes widened as he read the title of the book: “Excavation site 3, desert – Andrew Haxby”. The writing on the cover of the book matched Andrew’s down to the tittles on the ‘i’s and ‘j’s. He began patting down all of his pockets and pulled out a less-tattered version of the same book – his journal. He began to compare the individual entries in both of the journals and discovered that they were all identical, except for one entry in the newly discovered journal, which outlined the events of today.
“I haven’t written today’s entry, yet. I always write the entries when I get back to base.” Andrew thought to himself.
Andrew was left dazed as he read about the exact events that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours. Every single experience that he had was written down in the journal, in his handwriting. At the bottom of the page, there was something written in large letters.
“DO NOT STOP AND READ THE JOURNAL THIS TIME. IT’S EXACTLY WHAT SHE WANTS. BE AWARE. RUN.”
Just as Andrew read this, he felt a sharp, stinging feeling on his back. Blood began to run down his lower back and soak his clothes. Andrew felt all of the air in his lungs escape him as he rolled over to see Sheila’s face. Sheila had a kitchen knife in her hand, the blade stained with her boss’ blood. She had an incredibly satisfied look on her face. Andrew, starting to feel light-headed, began applying pressure to the wound with his right hand. He outstretched his left hand with his palm facing Sheila, as if to plead for mercy. Sheila slapped his hand out of the way and plunged the knife directly into the center of Andrew’s chest.
As he slipped away from the plane of consciousness, Andrew heard Sheila whisper, “Better luck next time.”
---
I started this in the first person initially but switched to third person. Sorry if there are any mistakes in that regard! | 2019-10-17T16:06:44 | 2019-10-17T15:18:35 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] A massive underground cathedral-like temple is discovered. You are one of the people sent to study it. As soon as you enter, the sheer size of everything inside tells you it was never ment for human worshipers.
*meant | When we opened the second set of doors was when we figured that whatever was behind the third, it wasn't built for creatures our size.
The first doors were massive: 22,540 kilograms each and they rolled on a breath of pressure. Less exertion was required to open them than was necessary to put on particularly troublesome gloves. Our resident engineer started having fits, stating repeatedly that the mechanism wasn't possible.
Yet, at the bottom of the coal field's stalled dig, those gigantic doors lay flat on the ground, opened and closed with gentle nudges. No design motifs presented, no bad relief carving, just a huge system for opening and closing.
Sixty meters beneath it we found the first curled metal pipe stuck deep inside of the granite wall, followed by the next two hundred and nine pipes, separated from each other by a gap of exactly fifty meters. And down, down we went, into the basement of the world.
When we reached what we thought was the bottom, that's when we found the second door. It was circular, cast from the same alien material as the first, and bore a single curled ring of metal on the surface.
It took the richest man in the world to fund the creation of the crane needed to pull up the ring and apply the necessary pressure on the cable to see the ring drawn upwards, and the second door was opened.
We expected to see another string of pipes descending into the darkness. What we saw instead was far, far and away worse.
We found a gigantic pit of what tested to be crude oil. More than the entire supply that the planet had consumed. Enough to draw us into five man-made planetary emergencies, to allow us to fuel rockets and missiles and fleets of fleets of fleets of cars and trucks and submarines and aircraft carriers for the duration of the species.
It was a golden day for the talking heads of every news channel, newspaper and news blog, igniting debate and currying vast favors with the powerful folk.
It was a biologist studying the first chamber's unique and glowing flora who noticed something. Something about the oil. About how it was staged in the procession of gigantic rooms.
Then she found the first egg casing drifting in the oil.
After that, everyone noticed when the eggs beneath the oil started to hatch.
We had opened not Pandora's box but her creche, releasing the next champion species into the world. Monsters from before we had legends. Creatures akin to nothing alive.
The new world is dark now. We dare not light fires; the smoke offends them too much. No firearms are allowed anymore; they detest the noise, and none of even the weakest of their ilk can be mildly harmed by bullets in the first place.
We know new gods and live in the shadows of them, scrambling from place to place, hiding in the ruins of our old, diseased spaces.
We have no idea what is going on behind the third door.
We want to open it, just to get it out of the way. To know that we finished the job. Besides, the first thing that the monsters did was immediately leave the area where the doors were found.
What scares the devils so much?
Nobody thinks it's God. | Seven years ago, NASA sent the probe 'New Horizons III' to Pluto. Now, the far-flung icy dwarf grew large in the
spaceship's window. It had been a long and lonely journey, but for all his grumbling thus far, Ron Meyers secretly relished this lifetime opportunity to be one of the first humans to step foot on the mysterious, as-of-yet unexplored planet.
There was a flurry of activity as they approached. The scientists aboard began muttering among themselves, preparing for deceleration, and informing NASA that their years-long mission was on the verge of success. Throughout it all, Ron sat back in a chair, watching and remembering. The landing would be a momentous occasion, but Ron's task was not complete until the scientists sent their final update to NASA. After all, the United States had invested an obscene amount of time, money, and intellect into this project. The CIA was determined that no Russian or Chinese interference derailed the 'New Horizons III'.
A gasp and the scientists' sudden crowding around the view port drew Ron's attention. With a quiet sigh, he took out his tablet and stylus, adopting his persona of a world-weary journalist. "Ruth, what's happening? I thought our landing was already calculated. What's something wrong?"
Ruth glanced over at him, then beckoned him closer. "Look!" she whispered.
Ron's eyes went wide as he stared out the view port. They were circling the dark side of Pluto, one which never saw the light of the sun. By all accounts, the surface ought to be dark and lifeless, distinguishable from the rest of the void only by how it blocked out the light of the stars. However, that was not the case. Stretching across the dwarf planet was a jagged glowing golden light. It shone brighter than the Sun, its light warm and entirely impossible.
"What is that?" he hissed, countless scenarios running through his mind. The Chinese had gotten here first; when they landed, they would die. The Russians were using this planet as a weapons testing facility. The Europeans were mining gold, and that light was their settlement. Or, worst of all, other intelligent life did exist in the universe, and 'New Horizons III', a purely scientific research vessel, was going to make first contact. "How can that exist?
"We don't know!" Ruth's beaming face showed that she, at least, was not perturbed by this sudden wrinkle in their mission. "Jessica thinks that Pluto might have volcanic activity after all, and Nicholas over there is examining what little data we have on the composition of Pluto's surface, to see if we have reason to believe that is bio-luminescent life instead. Isn't this neat?"
"Sure..." With a slight shake of his head, Ron took a step back. "I'll see you later Ruth, I need to talk to Marie."
"The captain? She's on the bridge, as always," Ruth said with a grin. "See you later!"
With a forced grin, Ron left the gaggle of scientists and hurried to the bridge. "Marie, we need to talk," he said without preamble.
She turned to him, a frown on her face. "You're right, we need to talk about your insubordination. Bursting in here unannounced, demanding an audience with me? You may be a civilian, Ron Meyer, but here in space you are still under my command. Come with me at once, we will discuss your flagrant disregard for the rules." She took him out to the hallway, and after checking there was no one around, hissed, "What is it, Agent Meyer? And next time, stop trying so hard to blow your cover!"
"Sorry," Ron said with a grimace. "But have you seen what's outside?"
"Of course! I'm the *captain* of this ship, what do you expect?" She glared at him, then said, "Don't answer that. The point is, I'm aware of the glowing fissure that has appeared when we're hundreds of thousands of *millions* of miles away from home. We're in trouble, Ron, but I can't spare anyone to figure out what it is, not in the first two weeks! We have a mission, and we have to complete that mission. NASA is relying on us to provide that data. Only after that can the scientists go explore that weird glowing thing to their hearts' content." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I just hope it doesn't kill us first."
Ron looked at the ship, then at her. Then he sighed. "With all due respect, Captain, there is one person on this ship who isn't crucial to gathering data. In fact, he is here to keep this crew safe." He knew she knew what he meant. He could see it in her eyes. "Give me a suit and I'll investigate."
"You know we won't be able to send anyone with you." It wasn't even a question. "You will go alone." She paused. "And you will likely die alone."
"I know. But what else can we do? Don't deny it, this is the best option."
She touched upper arm. "You're a good man, Ron Meyer." Then she strode back into the bridge, and Ron could hear her barking orders as she oversaw their landing. With a slight smile, he retired to his room and popped a sleeping tablet. In less than 12 hours, he would be on the surface, the first man to step foot on Pluto.
And with luck, he would not be the first man to die on Pluto. | 2019-11-16T10:09:09 | 2019-11-16T09:48:19 | 1,546 | 21 |
[WP] A massive underground cathedral-like temple is discovered. You are one of the people sent to study it. As soon as you enter, the sheer size of everything inside tells you it was never ment for human worshipers.
*meant | When we opened the second set of doors was when we figured that whatever was behind the third, it wasn't built for creatures our size.
The first doors were massive: 22,540 kilograms each and they rolled on a breath of pressure. Less exertion was required to open them than was necessary to put on particularly troublesome gloves. Our resident engineer started having fits, stating repeatedly that the mechanism wasn't possible.
Yet, at the bottom of the coal field's stalled dig, those gigantic doors lay flat on the ground, opened and closed with gentle nudges. No design motifs presented, no bad relief carving, just a huge system for opening and closing.
Sixty meters beneath it we found the first curled metal pipe stuck deep inside of the granite wall, followed by the next two hundred and nine pipes, separated from each other by a gap of exactly fifty meters. And down, down we went, into the basement of the world.
When we reached what we thought was the bottom, that's when we found the second door. It was circular, cast from the same alien material as the first, and bore a single curled ring of metal on the surface.
It took the richest man in the world to fund the creation of the crane needed to pull up the ring and apply the necessary pressure on the cable to see the ring drawn upwards, and the second door was opened.
We expected to see another string of pipes descending into the darkness. What we saw instead was far, far and away worse.
We found a gigantic pit of what tested to be crude oil. More than the entire supply that the planet had consumed. Enough to draw us into five man-made planetary emergencies, to allow us to fuel rockets and missiles and fleets of fleets of fleets of cars and trucks and submarines and aircraft carriers for the duration of the species.
It was a golden day for the talking heads of every news channel, newspaper and news blog, igniting debate and currying vast favors with the powerful folk.
It was a biologist studying the first chamber's unique and glowing flora who noticed something. Something about the oil. About how it was staged in the procession of gigantic rooms.
Then she found the first egg casing drifting in the oil.
After that, everyone noticed when the eggs beneath the oil started to hatch.
We had opened not Pandora's box but her creche, releasing the next champion species into the world. Monsters from before we had legends. Creatures akin to nothing alive.
The new world is dark now. We dare not light fires; the smoke offends them too much. No firearms are allowed anymore; they detest the noise, and none of even the weakest of their ilk can be mildly harmed by bullets in the first place.
We know new gods and live in the shadows of them, scrambling from place to place, hiding in the ruins of our old, diseased spaces.
We have no idea what is going on behind the third door.
We want to open it, just to get it out of the way. To know that we finished the job. Besides, the first thing that the monsters did was immediately leave the area where the doors were found.
What scares the devils so much?
Nobody thinks it's God. | The golem rumbled behind them as they ran, stones shaking loose from the enormous vaulted roof, dust billowing up from its slumber as they struck the ground. Merwyn shifted to her side as a slab hit the ground where she had been standing but a few moments ago. Its surface was white with a black dappling running through it. Solid marble hoisted far higher than she had ever imagined were possible and carved into the baroque ceiling above.
The golem continued its rampage, barrelling behind her. It was deftly stepping around the columns that held up the unbelievable chamber, trying not to ruin the place it was so clearly built to defend. If this golem was built in the form of whoever had completed the temple, then Merwyn couldn’t fathom such a people ever really existing. They must have, the carved marble above her head, the delicate tiled floor beneath her feet all cried out as proof but her mind was fighting against it, trying desperately to fathom what was going on.
“Merwyn!” said a voice. It was paired with a waving hand, peeking out from behind a lectern larger than some houses she had seen. “Get in here!”
Merwyn did as the voice commanded, ducking behind a pillar and quickly sprinting across to the hiding place. The golem came to a screeching halt, stone feet scraping across the tile in a long drawn-out wail. Within the lectern, Felix was pressing himself close the cold stone, his cloak wrapped around his mouth to protect from the storm of dust that was being disturbed.
“Next time you tell me you have a lead, I am just walking out of the tavern and disappearing over the nearest hill!” Merwyn said. He was trying to whisper, her anger causing her to hiss like a Sirishi warrior. “Fucking ancient tombs and gods damned golems. Have you seen that thing? It makes an ogre look like a fucking toddler.”
The golem was moving again, talking delicate careful steps, it's head close to the floor like a hound tracking a scent. Merwyn had seen golems before, they were common enough in villages, helping with the harvest or building homes. They were just collections of rocks, held together with a simple binding spell. This one was different, an elaborately carved statue of what looked like a man. Mostly. It had arms and legs, a short robe draped over one shoulder, real cloth filled with gold filigree. It's head though was something vastly different. It had no discernible chin, instead, the neck simply continued, giving it the odd appearance of a giant thumb attached to a body. Its teeth, jagged sharp needles glittered, precious gems carved into daggers. It had eyes, massive chunks of obsidian covering the head front to back like, hundreds of them covering every direction they could. It had no nose, simply two large slits where one would be. The ears were long and pointed, more like a bat's than any elf Merwyn had seen.
“Still, I was right though huh? No-one has set foot in this temple for a long long time.”
"You said that we were asked to come here. That we were being supported by the guild. Where are they, Felix? Eh? No, you got this from some idiot in a back alley looking for some cheap stooges to come in here and set off every trap, right? Again?"
Felix crossed his arms and glared at Merwyn. “Hey, you always get paid right? Plus, the guild really did ask this time. Told me they needed two people to go in and…check for traps.”
“Amazing!” Merwyn clasped the bridge of her nose, eyes shut as she thought for a moment. “So, the guild has such a low opinion of us that even they think we’re expendable fodder. Fuck, I just…let me think for a moment. We need to deal with that stone bastard first.”
“He is weird looking ain’t he?” Felix adjusted his cape, it had slipped slightly as they had been talking. “I wonder who built all this, everything is just so…big. Giant’s maybe?”
“There is no such thing as giants. What have you got on you? Any smoke bombs? Caltrops? Anything?”
“A good adventurer is always prepared,” Felix said, his cloak shifting as he grinned beneath.
“Yes. A good adventurer. This is you we’re talking about.” Merwyn pulled her face close to his, her teeth bared. “So, do you have anything?” She placed both of her hand onto Felix’s shoulders.
“No.”
“Amazing. So, all we have is your daggers, my sword, and whatever rope and rations we have in the bags. Felix. Where are the bags?”
“I dropped them,” Felix said, cowering slightly. “On the other side of the temple. Where we found the golem.”
"Perfect. Amazing. It was a three-day walk down here Felix. Through spiders, grotlings, and that massive troll. We need those supplies, Felix. Here's what we're going to do." Merwyn pulled on her friend's shoulders, straightening him out. She shifted, standing to his side with one arm around him.
“And that is?”
“Well, I’ll go get the supplies, and hopefully maybe work out a way to not die.”
“And me?” Felix said.
Merwyn smiled. It was a wicked grin, a sly sinister chuckle escaping through her lips as she did. "You my friend, are bait." She let go of Felix and with one swift kick placed her boot into the small of his back, sending him staggering out from behind the lectern.
*Find more of my stuff a* r/pwhillardfiction | 2019-11-16T10:09:09 | 2019-11-16T09:58:16 | 1,546 | 17 |
[WP] You are cursed and turned into a statue. Everyone knows you're alive but, seeing as no one could break your curse, of they have all pretty much given up on you. Except for one wizard, who comes back nearly every day to try and free you, as well as holding one-sided conversations. | "But enough about me," she said with a chuckle. "Tell me about your day?"
It wasn't funny the tenth time either.
"I'm just messing with you," she said with a grin, patting me on the shoulder. I didn't really "feel" it, but I knew it was happening. "Do you think I should ask him out? He's very smart. Maybe he can help me get you back to normal."
If I had a functional heart, it would have leapt at the thought. Meredith was a very bright young wizard, but she had been trying to save me for six years, and I had only grown more desperate in my stone prison.
"I decided to try a new thing today," she said. "Essence of Dragon Heart."
I wanted to scream. *No, no, don't waste it. Don't just throw it at me, it's not going to work.* But I couldn't tell her that she needed . She took out the vial, and poured some on me. Predictably, nothing happened. It was a good idea, since essence of dragon heart was known to have restorative properties, but the curse wouldn't allow for that. Not in itself. Perhaps if it was mixed with some sort of acid...
"I know what you're thinking, 'no, don't do it, Meredith! Essence of dragon heart is super important and you're going to fuck it up!', well *ha ha ha* you miserable old pile of rubble, I also brought Tears of Fury *and* a sprinkling of lemon."
She placed both atop the essence of dragon heart, and nothing happened for a long moment.
"Shit," she muttered, then leaned against me with a sigh. "I guess you were right, old fart."
If I could have trembled in anticipation I would have. It would work. I knew it would. It just needed the light of the moon. She would leave, nightfall would come, and the mixture would work.
She climbed up on top of the pedestal and leaned against my shoulder.
"You're a good listener, you know," she said, smiling. "I think I *will* ask him out."
She gave me a soft pat on the cheek and climbed back down.
"This time tomorrow? Okay," she said, and wandered off.
The hours dragged. Dark clouds became darker still, and then made good on their promise of rain. I begged them not to wash away the mixture. Just a few more hours, I thought, just a little longer. At least she'd put it on the large shield that laid at my feet, so it wouldn't run off to elsewhere unless the rain picked up drastically.
The rain thinned out, and the clouds began to part. The moon came out, full as an optimist's cup, and its shine made the mix of Essence of Dragon Heart, Tears of Fury, and a hint of lemon juice, begin to evaporate. A silver steam rose off from it, and began to surround me. Cracks appeared in the stone, and light began to emanate from me. Yes. *Yes.* Finally. Little by little, my prison began to break.
Meredith didn't know what she had unleashed upon the world, but I would be eternally thankful to her. I might even give her the honor of killing her last.
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r/Eager_Question_Writes for more of my stories. | "Day 126. Subject is still in stasis." The wizard scribbles in his journal as he talks aloud. "I wonder if you sleep. It's a long time to be in there and must get boring." The wizard taps his paper and adjusts his glasses as he swallows the last of his breakfast, an apple turnover, again.
I don't sleep. I mean... he's got to know that. Maybe we should get a scientist in here instead? I don't really do anything. I have no idea how I see. He held a mirror up to me once, I can't remember what day it was. I mean none of this makes sense. Am I in a stone casing? My whole body is made of marble. I'm thinking though. Does that mean my brain is in there? I'm not hungry, but I'm not full. It makes no sense. I hope he figures something out soon. The dude mainly draws sketches and makes potions at his workbench. He walks me through them every time so I know what to expect. It's kinda nice. Like when the doctor tells you that you're going to feel a small prick, except his are a little more wild.
"Now you're going to feel a sharp pain in your hand. Have you ever been hit by a flaming arrow? It's kinda like that... well it's exactly like that. The potions weren't working so, we're going to see if this works." The wizard loads a bolt into a crossbow and casts a spell on it. The bolt lights up in a burst of bright red and orange. "This is going to hurt a little bit. Or not at all, I still don't know if you feel pain or not."
I don't.
"Okay Etri, on the count of three." He closes one eye and aims at my hand from about five feet out. He's a little guy, so this is going to send him flying backward. "One... two... three..."
The arrow shoots forward and hits me in the hand full speed, bouncing off like rubber. It hits a nearby fence and the whole thing burst into flames. The wizard, as predicted, is on flat on his butt around a foot back from where he shot the arrow. He jumps to his feet and quickly sprays the nearby fence with water from his magic wand.
The farmer who's fence he hit pokes his head out from an above window. "I swear to GOD Dale! He's dead! He's gone! Give it up! Go the fuck home!"
Huh, didn't picture the Wizard for a guy named Dale.
"Sorry sir! It won't happen again!" Dale nervously hid his wand behind his back like a child who had just kicked a ball into his neighbor's backyard.
"Next time you touch my property the royal guard is going to come down here and kick your ass!" The farmer retorted before slamming his window shut.
"I'm sorry you had to see that Etri," Dale seemed upset, understandably. This failure seemed to hit a bit harder than the others. "I know you're in there but no one believes me. I can't keep this up much longer. This would be huge for my career. If I could free you the King would take me in his court for sure. I could finally provide for my kids. We'd be able to move out of my father in law's house and I'd make something of myself. I know you're in there. I can sense it. You have to give me a sign. Until then I can't keep working on freeing you anymore."
Maybe it was that my last hope was fading away or that he was doing it for his family, but today his words really struck a cord with me. I actually was overcome with a sadness? I never got to process my transformation, and I was far away from those I love. Zari does not even know I'm here.
"Please Etri, give me a sign!" Dale sighed as he closed his journal. "Something, anything, show me you're alive."
He kicked my leg in frustration and began to walk away. I started to tear up. I think he's really leaving, and I'm going to be stuck here, forever. Dale looked over his shoulder one last time, and his jaw near hit the floor.
"A tear!" Dale screamed. "One single tear! Etri, a tear is rolling down your face."
He was right. I felt it, i felt that one tear roll down my cheek, and the skin was free in the air.
"Etri, whatever you're thinking about, keep it up. Sad sad thoughts. Or happy? Whatever it is, keep crying!" Dale opened up his cart and began crafting something at his enchantment table. "If you can free your mouth, I have a potion that can flood you with emotion, causing you to sob uncontrollably."
So as Dale worked, I thought of my mom and dad. They died years ago, and my sister was left to fend for herself when I disappeared. I hope she's okay. Oh and Zari! I kept thinking of Zari. I miss her so much. My mind was clearer now. I was Etri, the greatest warrior in all the land! Loved by my allies and feared by my enemies. No... I AM Etri and I am alive!
My mouth is free. I let out a triumphant roar. Dale runs over in excitement and pours a mysterious elixir down my throat. I burst into tears. All of a sudden my mind flashes back to my last memory. It was the Dark Phantom, turning me into stone.
"You've never known hell Etri. Now you will. It's time you understand my sadness."
I collapse to my knees. I am finally free. Dale embraces me.
"I did it! He's cured! He's alive! Say something, please!"
I laugh. "You mind if I could get some of those apple turnovers you're always going on about? I'm starving."
Edit: Thanks so much for the silver! This is my third time writing in here and I'll definitely keep it up. This made my day! | 2020-02-11T00:07:21 | 2020-02-10T21:41:54 | 1,413 | 217 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | Something changed. The air grew steadily colder.
Nick looked more somber than afraid. “I really wouldn’t do that. Please, stop this, for your sake. Let me help you.”
“For years you lot have used and abused your power. All of the Guardians have. And where are they now? I’ll tell you: they fled Sanctuary. They abandoned us!” The look in his bloodshot eyes is crazed, strained.
Nick remains calm, knowing full well where this is heading. “Listen. What’s your name.”
A scoff. “What do you care?! When have any of you cared about any of us? You only care about your power, the power I now hold!”
As he speaks, Nick feels the last of it draining from him.
But he also knows what that means for its recipient.
“You called yourself Prometheus. Can I call you that?”
No response. The man he addresses now gives his entire attention to attempting to make sense of his newfound power.
“Listen, Prometheus. Please let go right now. It’s far worse than you think.”
Still no word or action in return, save for the worsening strain in his face and his body shaking.
“Prometheus, do you know what happens to a human body when it maintains a constant body temperature of 104 and above? Heatstroke. Eventually cell death. This is not a good way to go. Trust me. The only reason I’m still here is because Solace was able to guide me through it and, well, as you’ve said, the Guardians seem to have vanished.”
“But... you... control... fire...”
“I control heat. I can manifest fire when I concentrate that heat. But it takes a great amount of concentration to regulate my own body temperature as well.”
The air grows colder still, in rapid waves.
Nick gets more impatient, pleading now. “Prometheus, listen. It’s becoming too late for you to give the power back without suffering greatly.”
“At.. your hands? Are... are you threatening... me?” He’s still frozen in place, clearly losing the battle occurring within himself.
“At your own. You’re absorbing too much heat too quickly. Honestly, it may already be too late. If you give up control and let go now, you release the heat into your own body, using it as a conductor. All of the fluid in your body will boil instantaneously.”
He looks back in horror. “I didn’t... I didn’t... ask for this.”
“Neither did I. Listen. Breathe. In, out. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Good. Keep doing that, ok? I can help you but you have to trust me.”
He begins to calm down, his breathing even and steady now. But the mental fatigue is still clear upon his face. Nick takes a step closer with his arms outstretched and his adversary recoils while the temperature again drops quickly.
“Listen to me!” Nick is shouting now, “Concentrate that heat toward one of your arms! You have to trust me!”
He screams in response, wild eyes flashing in all directions, clearly in a lot of pain. Then they focus on his left arm, which is suddenly wrapped in a blanket of fire.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME.”
“You did this to yourself. Listen. Focus, it’s more important now than ever before. It’s easier now that it’s mostly in one place. Concentrate on releasing the heat into the air around you.” Nick takes several steps backward as he speaks.
“No.” he replies, the malice dripping from his voice. Prometheus points the flaming arm in Nick’s direction, already numb to the pain.
Suddenly, the flames upon his arm envelop his entire body as the human inferno falls to his knees.
A guttural scream seems to last forever until the body finally crumples to the ground.
As the air returns to the natural warmth from before, Nick feels his power returning to him. With a wince, he sits down to meditate, both to stabilize his own temperature and to pay his respects to the smoldering corpse before him. | You see me, a superhero, walking down the NYC deserted streets in winter. I’m a slightly overweight, balding, 40-something white guy, 175cm tall. I kick an empty can which is picked up by the wind, rolling down the street.
Miserable, that’s what I’d call it. There are nine superheroes in the world, and I’m supposed to be the tenth. If you only look at results I suppose it makes perfect sense; I’ve defeated four of the most powerful ones when they were corrupted by one of the supervillains last year, all by myself. The other five were defeated by those four in the first hour of battle.
Why miserable, you ask? Well, let me explain.
The scene turns slightly sepia, indicating a time jump.
Children are seen playing in the distance.
When I was growing up, nobody really cared about being my friend. Some of the kids tried, mostly because our parents forced us to out of pity, but none of them stuck around for longer than they made us play together. Which was often limited by the amount of time their parents could stand to be around me.
Rumors have it that even my own mother tried to not be there for my birth. At least, that’s what the kids kept reminding me. My nickname at elementary school was “Butter”. Some ugly girls were named “butter-face”–as in “everything looks nice, everything but her face”–except in my case they couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong with me; I wasn’t fat, nor ugly, nor athletically handicapped, I was not even a good or bad student. They just didn’t like me.
The name stuck around for my entire life, and I took the moniker as my own when I decided to become a superhero. “Butter”. Superpower: Who knows? Who cares, really?
The screen transitions back to me walking down the streets of NYC.
An explosion on the far right, 400 meters ahead of me, on the right. That’s where a bank is at. I raise my right eyebrow slightly. I’ve crossed more of a distance while lost in thought than I thought. I sigh. Well, this is going to be an interesting one. This villain has the ability to steal superpowers. I hope this bitch is ready for what I have to offer.
I stand in front of the bank when she comes out and looks at me with a big shit-eating grin. Dame Doom is her name, newspapers aren’t very creative I guess. I would’ve gone with something like Sexy McSexface. I snicker at my own humor briefly as she starts to make noises at me. Right. Time to do this.
“If it isn’t the LAST of the ten!” She giggles. “I’ve stolen nine powers, yours is next!” She’s quite beautiful, stunning actually. Her voice sounds like a cadre of angels pissing down her tongue, which she uses to lick her lips while looking at me from a safe distance. She knows that I’m powerful, she just doesn’t know exactly why.
“Come on, Butter!” she mockingly demands, “Make your move! I’ve always wondered how you fight!”
I light a cigarette.
“Ohoh! Let me guess, Butter, a toxic and flammable buttery breath that you can ignite? You need innocent-looking tools, do ya?”
She whips out a whip and slashes my cigarette in half, barely touching my lips with the tip.
I frown. Only one cigarette left…
“Not today! Now I know! NOW! I KNOW!” she shrieks like a dumbfuck redneck banshee who doesn’t know what’s about to hit her. Do it, do it now. Take this misery away from me. I don’t care you’ll become the most powerful villain the world has and will ever see.
She stretches out both hands and a navy blue glow of energy escapes my body. Whoa, it actually feels quite nice. It’s like a dark cold that has forever been present in the deepest of my bones is being pulled out. I wish it were more gentle; I wish it lasted a tiny bit longer so I could enjoy the feeling a bit more, but it was over in about 12 minutes of her yanking this wretched curse out of me.
The dark blue energy surrounds her and slowly finds its way into her bodily openings. Heh, this is fun. In Marvel movies, they sometimes show that kind of energy going into the mouth and eyes, but in reality, it also enters her more private parts.
I light another cigarette with a genuine smile on my face.
She just stands there. She looks confused.
“Nothing…? Did nothing happen? What the hell is going on…”
I turn around to walk away from her, having lost all interest in her being there. Hey, that’s the effect I suppose! Interesting. What will I do when I get home? I feel like making some croissants and inviting over that lady next door who has been eying me for a few months now but was always reluctant to even look at me for longer than two seconds.
The next few months were somewhat interesting. For the first time in my life, I actually started to build a social life. People liked being around me. People started to care about me. They remembered me. They brought me gifts for my birthday and I’m actually getting calls back. I’ve been dating the girl next door for a few weeks now, and it looks like she might be the one.
My psychologist thinks I might have abandonment issues, seeing as how I’ve been abandoned all my life by everyone, but even that isn’t on my mind anymore, really.
Once in a while Dame Doom, now equipped with ten superpowers, is in the news. She blew up another city somewhere, or lead the invasion of demons into the human realm. Whatever, nobody cares. Not even her demons give a damn about her and they voluntarily went back to wherever the hell they came from. A blown-up city? Well, shit happens. We’ll mourn the dead and work on rebuilding what we can, and we’ll ignore Dame Doom.
She could turn invisible, fly at the speed of light, teleport, have the strength of 10,000 men, was bulletproof, could mind-control anyone, had the ability to duplicate herself infinitely, summon demons and angels, and steal the force of life itself. And the tenth…
The tenth superpower is making everyone you face simply not care about you. To the extreme. Sure, you can do everything your heart desires, but nobody will be scared of you for it. Or, in my case, nobody will be thankful for it, either. They’ll actively avoid dealing with you regardless of what you did.
It took 14 months of terror, after which Dame Doom decided to fly herself into the Sun. | 2020-12-02T07:40:36 | 2020-12-02T07:33:44 | 999 | 324 |
[WP] You are an elder god taking a vacation on Earth when aliens invade. You teleport to their capital ship and explain them that if they don't leave you will wipe out their entire species with a single thought. They dont believe you so you wipe out 10% of them to show you're serious. | A lone girl stood in the center of the mothership, in front of the captain. A few moments ago this irregularity made us hesitate in our attempt to take over the planet we so desperately needed. Even against stronger foes, a single individual infiltrating a ship of this size would be impossible. Yet, out of nowhere, there was a human girl here. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about her. Our scans showed that she was 100% human in terms of her biology. Yet, the mechanical tendrils and tubes protruding out of her back were enough to notice that something was... Off. The endpoints of the aformentioned unusual parts was unkown as they just seemed to dematerialize, turning translucid at some point after reaching the floor.
"Please check the other ships in your fleet." the voice spoke, that of a girl overlapped with many others, some of which could not even be described as human. The words etched into the whole crew's thoughts in the same instant. Even though there should have been a language barrier, for this being, there was no such thing.
"What fleet? We've come to invade... with... just one... ship ...?" The captain slowly started to realize. That there was no way that they would try to take over an entire planet with just one mothership.
"Ah, I also sent a distress signal in your place with a raport of what happened. This has happened way too many times by now, so I am just trying to speed things up."
"Too many times? This has been the first time that we've came this far into this galaxy!"
For the first time since she came before them, the girl showed an expression. She smiled.
"While I don't have the accurate data, this is the 138th time I've personally remade this universe. There were others before me, so this encounter was surely done more than that. I just decided to just finish this quickly this time and get back to my vacation."
There wasn't enough time for the captain to think, let alone think. In an instant he wasn't looking at the girl anymore, but before the displays of the ship, a red mass encapsulated all his view. Now, he could remember. There were close to a thousand ships in his fleet. All of them equiped with the latest military grade armaments. He... realized. That now he must have disappeared from that world.
The red mass before the ship moved and writhed around it. It was an unusual thing, filled to the brim with both organic and mechanical parts alike. It was... deconstructing everything it touched. The captain didn't dare to turn on transmissions with his other ships. He had his orders and he only followed them to the end. He never would have expected to be met with the wrath of the universe for his actions however.
----------------------------------------------------
"So, are they absorbed?" the girl said to no one in particular as she blow-dried her hair. The ship was messy and filled with a weird humidity, almost in the consistency of fog, but it was clear. That was the main reason why she decided to use telepathy. Because she didn't want to open her mouth.
From within the girl’s subconscious she knew that they were gone and integrated into the machine god.
"Being a proxy for an eldritch god is pretty tyring." she smiled as she lounged on the king sized bed in her room. "I'm still amazed that even with all the changes in the universe's structure they are still able to find us at the most inopportune times."
Looking outside of the window she caught a glimpse of a flash of light. Then another. And another. It wasn't bad enough that the shooting won't stop, but now they decided to use bombs as well.
"How long was it again? Until this side of Europe is wipes as well by the nukes, I mean."
"About 20 years, huh? Well, there's nothing I can do, really. My job is to save humanity, but what can I do if they decide to have another world war? Third time's the charm, I guess." she kicked her legs on the bed as she watched the endless conflict in front of her.
It was always like this, and it will always remain as such. The aliens would only distract humanity for a little while anyway. Their deaths by her hand was more humane than what would have happened otherwise. | [Part One]
I had crawled from a black hole in some backwater, middle of nowhere spec in the universe. I spent several billion years trying to figure out where the fuck I was. I knew many secrets, secrets that would break the minds of those I found myself living amongst.
Did you know there wasn’t a Big Bang? There wasn’t a ‘God’ neither- and this wasn’t the first version. Sometimes I remember the times before, sometimes I don’t.
I try my best not to, however.
When I first came to this small, low gravity marble, I possessed the body of a primate. I thought my choice to be quite witty, since I retain all of my intelligence in any form I possess but I still wanted a strong body to sell the part. After having three hairy babies, I was clawed apart by starving leopards at the base of a mountain. Turns out, gorillas are quite powerful but quite literally lack the thick skin required to tangle with moderately powerful animals. I could have killed them, but they needed the meat and that was the way of things here. Where I came from, I remember we were all ‘carnivorous’ and would absorb one another. The older your prey, the more powerful you became. It often left you confused until you were a mess of memories with enormous power, like me. This desire to pretend to be something else helped me forget the other bickering elders in my soul. Having a physical brain allowed me to be in a moment rather than all moments and no moments simultaneously.
My second life, I chose to inhabit a man who passed away in a coma. I didn’t absorb his soul- partly because inhabiting his body would give me all of his memories, habits and so on but...also, partly because I felt a bit of a fondness for these weaker but smarter apes after I had been a stronger but dumber one.
Suddenly, at age 34, MY Michael randomly joined into policing forces- then ended up as a paramilitary infantrymen. We said it was a sudden change in perspective- quite the change indeed. Truthfully I had mistaken the way the wilds worked and the realm I hail from to have universe truths. The strong preyed upon the weak. At first I got to do that. But that lingering part of Michael made me feel guilty- made me realize that these ‘occupations’ didn’t exist to eliminate the weak of ‘our’ species...but to protect them. At least, in theory. True evil was that of the human trophy hunters, the war criminals, the war lords and dictators. How easy it could be for me to just vaporize the leader of North Korea...but, that could make things worse. His sister would come into power. I could kill her too...and the rest of the successors. Then I would be a mass murderer, and the people may end up in a governmental no-mans land just as bad as the horrific regime....or they could be annexed by South Korea and learn how to live more positive lives.
I may be an Eldritch Deity, but most of the humans on this planet had been humans longer than I had been. How could I deem myself all knowing?
My Michael was puppeted into the swamps of mid Florida. A beautiful area with very interesting wildlife- I find alligators fascinating- when, about five hundred and sixty three days into living in our self made cabin with our wife and child, now my forty three year old eyes of Michael reported to our brain that an actual alien vessel was floating between the earth and the moon. He could see a vague shadow with our eyes, but mostly it was the image from the television that resounded to me.
I stepped out of the cast I had tucked myself away in- and created a spectral form of Michael using about a quarter of my souls. Our body and family would be invulnerable should the aliens attack while I tried to diplomatically dissuade them from attacking my vacation spot that I had poached for the next six million years.
I teleported into the ship- no response or reaction from the aliens. Odd. Oh, yes...I am not Michael.
I used some of my power to create a astral projection of my Michael.
The aliens were startled at first- but after they realized their weaponry, they became cocky once more. I used my invasive soul abilities to invade their minds. They weren’t an invasion force per say- they were a government backed mining corporation that would crack planets open and rob their resources. All natural radioactive materials would be harvested, turned into even heavier metals, and the waste elements would be deposited within przybylski's star- which was always a radioactive star, but was now about thirty percent Plutonium, Einsteinium, Moscovium, Polonium and plenty of elements that humanity hadn’t officially named yet that were just a variation of “unobtanium” with an extra “un” attached for how many atoms away from the first labeled “unobtanium” they were.
These aliens were interested in the Earths elements, and had been studying the planet extensively. They had created a preserve on their home worlds that housed exactly 60,000 human beings and had almost a thousand individuals from nearly every animal on earth as long as they were ant sized or larger. They reckoned that by preserving aspects of our planet, strip mining MY blue marble into a lifeless rock was okay. They could always terraform Venus which was ‘close enough’ to absolve them of their sins. Yet, the hypocritical species inhabited four planets, all very close to one another, all naturally habitable. Their populations were insatiable locusts- undoubtedly a byproduct of always having the resources, the space and time to help their solar system out.... were humans much better?
....actually, they are. Humanity benefits, at least morally, by only having one planet. The unity they have is...far greater than anything these aliens have ever experienced. They ruled their society with an iron, Darwinian fist. A mother bears a brood of one to nine with the average delivery of five children per pregnancy. The young ones would compete violently before puberty- the two siblings to slay the others in martial combat got to live. Their lives were based around subjugation of their own, and seeking others to take resources from much like an even more dystopian and aggressive Imperial Britain. If I had found them, I may not have ever grown as a Deity.
I raised our hand, and spoke within their minds- each imagining the most confident and authoritative voice they could imagine within their own heads speaking their own tongue:
“You may leave this planet- but if you do not, I will use my infinite pool of wisdom and power to remove the soul from your entire species immediately before safely landing this craft for humans to study and evolve with. You will be a mere stone to leap from for humanity- yet a footnote in their history. What say you?” | 2021-05-04T23:49:48 | 2021-05-04T21:15:08 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] A small unassuming tavern is run by a retired superhero. The janitor used to be the biggest mob boss in the world. The chef is a monster hunter. The waiter is the head of a massive cult. They don't know each other's identities. When the tavern is in trouble, all four thought: "I got this." | The demons burst through the front door of the tavern. Four of them snarling menacingly, talons as long as knives and teeth dripping black ichor. Their black skin was stretched over bodies of muscle and bone. Behind them a dark hooded woman stood, cackling quietly to herself.
"Mortals!" She shouted, raising a dark nailed hand draped in silver bangles. "Cower before me, for I am..."
"Making a big damn mistake," A voice said followed by the loud click of a heavy revolver being cocked. The tavern's janitor a older man with salt and pepper hair held a massive sidearm pointing it toward the demons. "I'm Alessandro Marcone, the most feared Mafia Don in..."
"Ach, yer a fool," The pudgy chef said as she stepped from the back. The once powerful woman's frame still held hidden power and in her right hand was clutched a knife that glowed with crimson light. "I am Brigid Breathnach, and I've slain more demons than you have men Al... Now stand back and let me and my trusty..."
"And destroy half the tavern in the fight?" The head waiter scoffed. "I think not. Stand back and let Damien Crawley, High Pontiff of the Ebon Circle bind these foul..."
"Have no fear my allies!" Interrupted the barkeep and owner as he pulled off his smock. Beneath it was the white and gold of a hero of legend Aperion, strongest hero that the world had ever known. "I shall vanquish these foul beasts in the name of truth, justice, and..."
"Oh for fuck's sake," An old tired voice said and everyone stared in shock at the old hound dog laying by the fire. It spoke again. "You woke the damned cat..."
"ENOUGH!" A voice ancient and terrible spoke, shaking the tavern from ceiling to foundation. The calico stretched lazily as it stood from the stool it had been curled on. "NOT AGAIN."
There was a sigh that was unfathomably tired, and slightly annoyed. Then a burst of golden light engulfed the intruders. When it faded there were five black mice crouching where they once stood.
"FORGET." The cat commanded as she pounced pinning two of the mice under her paws.
"Awwww... Mrs. Fluffybottom caught a wee mousey!" Brigit said with a wide grin. "Extra tuna for her tonight!"
"Why is a few mice the most interesting thing that ever happens here?" Said Al as he leaned on his broom.
The old hound by the fire just huffed and rolled his eyes. | The robbery was taking longer than anyone would expect. The scene stretched for extended moments of silence punctuated by uneasy glances between the participants. There was an odd lack of urgency from the tavern’s owner, Gunther, despite the presence of a loaded shotgun aligned with the bridge of his nose. Gunther had not moved in the slightest since the culprit entered the building.
The one holding the shotgun grew continually more impatient. His large scales and reptilian features did little to hide his human emotions. Anxiety and anger were clearly boiling closer to the surface with each passing moment. Every third moment his tail would flick back and forth.
Something else was there too. A slight tingle of confusion as if he had misplaced something very important but was too embarrassed to ask the question. A milky, gray cloud shifted in the corners of his eyes.
“Echk.” The lizard-man cleared his throat. “Open de vault now! Echk. Money!” He waved the handle of his weapon toward the empty leather sack he had previously tossed onto the bar.
Behind the bar, to Gunther’s left, was Emigold, the tavern’s chef. Had the bandit known that Emigold’s specialty was hunting and trapping evolved lizard species, then he might have chosen a different tavern. Emigold was such an efficient hunter in his time that he drove the evolved lizards to extinction more than three decades passed. It was only one of the “pesky predators” he hoped to exterminate in his time.
The waiter, Sivin, was the only victim responding with a reasonable measure of emotion. His hands were raised in a submissive posture. Sweat was visibly pooling above his lip and across his forehead. Even the towel draped across his shoulder wouldn’t be enough to dry away his fear.
Beneath the towel and his uniform, branded into the flesh of his left shoulder, was a triangle enclosing a cloud: A symbol of the cult he once led. A personal reminder of who he was and who he could become. It burned as though the hot rod had only just been pressed into his flesh.
There was a fourth employee, a janitor, not currently in the room. His name was Logan and he was once the head of an infamous crime family. Dishonored and disfigured by a significant failure, he was forced to sink away into the shadows. He now lived his years in the oblivion of nothingness waiting to be forgotten. Logan preferred to stay out of the room when any customers were present.
“I say de vault now!” The lizard snapped his jowls and when he snapped it was impossible to ignore. His mouth was massive, wide, and filled with dozens of razor sharp teeth. Each time it snapped closed it sent a sharp echo through the room.
Gunther did not move at all. At first, it was bizarre, but as moments stretched into seconds and those seconds closed in on a full minute, the atmosphere morphed into something more strange. Sivin and Emigold both let a sigh escape into the room. It was a strange sigh. Almost, a sigh of relief.
Only two weeks prior, the employees of Gunther’s Tavern learned the truth about their glorious boss. Gunther was a superhero known around the world. A hero who had taken down cults, eliminated crime families, and fought for sentient animal life across the globe. And the source of his power was a strange artifact he kept concealed in the tavern vault.
Gunther was indestructible. He could not be pierced by bullets or burned by fire. He would not crumble beneath the weight of the world itself. But he did have one weakness: fear.
As a young boy, Gunther and his family were set upon by evolved lizards. They were hungry, ferocious animals. They consumed his family over the course of a week. Gunther, as the youngest, was left for last. During that time, he was seasoned with torture and grief so that his meat would be as tender as the day he was born.
The very sight of another evolved lizard caused his body to lock with fear. He was instantly transported back to that time and there was no escape. Not as long as the lizard-man stood where he could see. The death of his family repeated itself in his mind over and over again.
After a full minute passed, Logan entered from an adjacent room. He looked to Gunther, the lizard-man, and then his two associates. “I can’t believe it worked! This fuckin’ guy!” He made motions towards the lizard, who now appeared even more confused.
“Echk! You bet’ be here to open de vault!” Mr. Lizard spoke to Logan, though Logan did not respond, nor even acknowledge his existence.
Logan instead aimed his response to Sivin, “Will you shut him up!?”.
“Pleasure.” Sivin raised his arms higher and squeezed his fist together. The mark on his shoulder burned and more sweat beaded above his brow. An identical mark could be seen illuminated on the shoulder of the lizard. The gray clouds spread over his slit pupils. Mr. Lizard grew completely quite and began a slight drool.
“This guy!” Logan repeated himself with a spark of confidence. “Can’t believe you found one of these scaly fucks!”. This time his comment was directed at Emigold.
“Now one of you twos come help me open this vault” | 2021-05-19T17:03:25 | 2021-05-19T16:54:21 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. WMDs. | It’s been a century since we entered the galactic stage. The face we’ve shown the galaxy has been peaceful and friendly. We’ve appeared thoroughly non-threatening. It’s even seen as laughable that we maintain a military at all. Our weapons are seen as primitive, still using cased chemically propelled projectile weaponry, and limited use of directed energy weapons.
We’re seen as artists, diplomats, and musicians of the highest caliber. We’re not warriors.
But the galaxy doesn’t really know us. Millennia of warfare, thousands of years of skill and killer instinct doesn’t just disappear. The rest of the galaxy doesn’t understand that it is our warlike nature, our desire to avoid the unpleasantness of war, which makes us what the galaxy sees.
The old wisdom holds true for us, *si vis pacem, para bellum*. If you desire peace, prepare for war.
But we haven’t needed war. It’s been extinct on our world for two hundred years, ever since first contact. We realized that we were children, squabbling amongst ourselves, and as the old passage goes, “When I was a child, I thought as a child and acted as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” We put away childish things.
Things went well for us. We gained respect from the denizens of the galaxy, we gained power and influence, not through conquest, but our skill at diplomacy.
All that changed when they came. We called them Dracs. They looked like dragons in the shapes of men, and they never introduced themselves, they just attacked. They hit our colonies. Our allies warned us, they offered to help. We told them we didn’t need it.
We knew where their homeworlds were. Before the galaxy could come to our aid, we mobilized.
Our retribution was swift. Our fighters, armed with thermonuclear missiles, annihilated their fleets, the kinetic bombardment systems on our ships bombed their cities from orbit. The Dracs did not relent. So, we unleashed thermonuclear devastation upon their homeworld.
Three days. It took three days for us to defeat them. They had waged war for hundreds of years, burning across the galaxy. And we ended it in less than a week.
Our troops eventually landed, clad in their power armor, safe from the fallout, and we cleared the surface of their world.
Now it’s ashes. The cradle of the Drac civilization, nothing but a charred glass wasteland, a monument to their sins.
Those three days taught the galaxy the meaning of fear. The galaxy had war, now it had human war, Total War.
“Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds…” | Lord Dunbar could not believe his eyes. The Planet Lo was there a moment ago, a loud bang, a shockwave felt in space and blinding flash, the entire planet was gone.
3 billion lives, extinguished... but how?
This was not the Lothrax's homeworld, it was a long established colony world, just on the outskirts of Lothrax territory, close by not to close. Lord Dunbar thought it strange that the human diplomat would request to meet here for surrender negotiations, but those would have to take a back seat until an explanation for this tragedy could be discovered.
"My lord, the Human Senator would like a word"
Tell him I am busy Thran, incase you hadnt noticed.
"Yes of course my Lord, its just.."
What is it Thran?
"The Senator just told me it was quite the pity what happened with Lo"
Lord Dunbar paused at this. How could the human know what happened? Hes been sequestered since his arrival....
"Thran! Send him in now!"
"Yes of course"
With that the Human senator walked in, he was a slender being Average human build and wildly unintimidating, and he was smiling.
"Lord Dunbar so good to meet you at last! I am Senator Davis from Earth as you know Ive been tasked with working out the surrender details, lets just get down to brass tacks shall we? Did you enjoy the matinee?"
Senator, I am not sure I follow? Matinee?
"Yes, the early show, it's a saying where I am from when something happens before a larger event its called the Matinee, in this case the total destruction of that piss bucket your people called Lo"
The rage that Dunbar was feeling was unbelievable, how dare this creature come into his chamber and mock the dead who havent even been dead an hour.
Who do you think you are Human? After all weve done to your people, you have the gall to come in here and mock our dead. You are lucky I havent ripped your head from your shoulders yet....in fact I have half a mind to call this whole thing off!
At that moment the Senator put his hand up. "Lord Dunbar, over the last 20 years your people have fought valiantly and true enough, the war for us is as good as lost, however I think I have an offer that may stay your hand at killing me.... at least for the moment."
Lord Dunbar nodded slowly
"Outstanding, you see Lord, my people have a troubled history. One we tried hard to escape from when we ventured into space. We purposely under armed our ships, to give the appearance of peacefulness, we stayed away from conflicts, always tugging that pacifist line. And yet some how, we still ended up in a war, as you know.
Well over the years we noticed a trend with your people... on the planets we conquered there was no apocalypse protocol, you all just fought, died, surrendered and that was that. Where as we fought and died, and destroyed everything. And thats was when our planners realized something...your species has no march to the sea."
March to the Sea Senator? Is that some folksy Human phrase?
"I suppose it is Dunbar, let me regale you with some of our history... several Hundred years ago a Human General called Sherman began what we call his March to the Sea during a civil war. Essentially, his strategy was to destroy every possible thing and kill everything that moved. Total destruction of the land, nothing left for the conquered or conquerors."
The hair on Lord Dunbars neck began to rise..."And this means what to me Davis? In a few months, maybe a year, there will be no humans left to care about your history!"
Senator Davis chuckled
"Well you see Lord, this is just one example of a tried and true human tactic, when the end looks likely, its best to just kill everyone and everything, either you win or you go down swinging. Lo, well whats left of it over there, was our test run. Weve been working on a new weapon, one that destabilizes the core of a planet and causes an irreversible chain of events that results in the cores implosion. A real planet killer"
The Lord couldnt believe what he was hearing.."this type of warfare is unheard of Senator! Its barbaric... devilish even! No one in the Galaxy has ever dared to unleash such devastation!?!?"
"Yes Lord, we know, infact we were delighted to realize that. You see we knew if it came to this we had a monopoly on total destruction. Right now on Xena, Lothra, Gall, and Basilica the same type of bomb sits, ready to detonate and end your civilization...permanently.
Lord Dunbar sat in silence... he has seen what this weapon can do...he just cant believe the Humans had pulled off this deception.
"Anyway, you see back on Earth the finals for my favorite sport are starting, so I really must be going. If youd be so kind...go ahead and contact your King and the Galactic Senate, let them know the war is over and the Lothrax will be unconditionally surrendering"
Lord Dunbar sat in stunned Silence...He had lost | 2021-07-04T22:03:04 | 2021-07-04T14:51:29 | 137 | 99 |
[WP] You are powerful... but too powerful. You shake the floor when you try to walk softly, you break steel hinges off when trying to open a door with the tiniest amount of force. Everything is so laborious. Everyone wants to be mighty and strong, but you just want to be weak. | Most of the rules I had to follow as a toddler sounded normal.
No throwing toys. No slamming doors. No hitting or head-butting or biting.
But there were other rules I had to follow that always gave outsiders pause. No hugging mommy or daddy. No holding hands. No playing tag. No piggy-back rides.
It must have sounded cruel to people who didn't know about my condition. What kind of mother tells her toddler he's not allowed to hug her? What kind of father won't allow his son to hold his hand?
"It's cold," said my aunt Victoria. "Unloving. It'll mess him up. You should teach him to be gentle. Not keep him at arm's length."
"Like trying to teach an avalanche," said dad. "He's a force of nature."
"He'll learn over time," said my mom. "But for now, it's better safe than sorry. Once he's older, we'll loosen up with some of those things."
\-
I remember it vividly. The day I learned, *really* learned, just how important the rules were.
I was three years old, and Dad and I were walking down the paths near our house. It was early autumn. The gold and red and orange leaves were falling one or two at a time, here and there.
But dad let me go up to the bigger, sturdier trunks and shake them. He would stand back and marvel as I, a little kid who stood hardly higher than his knees, shook showers of leaves from the branches. I laughed as they fell all around me, all the warm colours dropping and turning in the air.
It was awesome. A kid out with his dad, playing in autumn leaves. Who doesn't have a fond memory like that?
And then, out of nowhere, this Great Dane bounded down one of the paths, barking at us, baring his teeth. I could hear his owner calling from a distance, "Don't worry! He's harmless! He just wants to play!"
But a kid has instincts. Fears. It doesn't matter how invulnerable that kid is. And I had mine.
I ran to dad and grabbed his right hand and it collapsed in my grip. In an instant. Like his fingers were sponges. Like the bones were popcorn. And his shouting only made the dog bark louder, which only spooked me more, which made me squeeze harder.
The surgeons couldn't do much.
"But it's only a hand," he used to joke, when I got glum about it. "I got at least one more to fall back on. *At least*."
\- - -
It was a mixed bag for me at school. Obviously, the second grader who can pop a soccer ball with a single kick, or bend the metal bars on the playground, gets a certain amount of respect. I was a freak, sure. But I was treated with a kind of reverence, by kids and adults alike.
Finding a way to write was tough. Just like kids don't have the dexterity to make their writing look nice, I didn't have the dexterity to stop pens or pencils from snapping in my hand. In the end, I started using a thick steel cylinder, sharpened at the end, as a pen. And instead of "paper", I engraved my schoolwork on inch-thick sheets of particle board.
"Worse than working in a sawmill," the elementary janitor used to say, shaking his head. Because at the end of each day, the floor around my desk was always littered with piles of wood shavings. "You're a pain in my ass, little Hercules. You know that?"
It was probably inevitable, but that was how I got my nickname. From my butthurt janitor.
Hercules, the demigod of Greek myth. Known for his incredible strength and his legendary labours.
But there were no legendary labours for me to perform. No mythical monsters for me to defeat, or magical objects for me to retrieve. Those things didn't exist in the modern world, if they ever existed at all. And besides, this Hercules didn't want to win eternal glory, didn't want to impress Zeus and get fast-tracked to the peak of Mount Olympus.
I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be a normal kid. I wanted to play the guitar.
"But you're not a normal kid, bub," said my dad. "No matter how much you might wish it. But that doesn't mean you can't be happy. That doesn't mean you have to go way off the rails. It just means your path will look different than other people's. But guess what? Everyone's path is unique."
"But why am I like this?" I complained. "Why am I the only one? Why can I lift semi-trucks over my head? Why can I throw tractors into orbit? What the hell am I? You say *I'm your son*. But it's not natural. It doesn't make any sense. There has to be some reason behind it. Right?"
As it turned out, there was a reason. And on the night of my twenty-first birthday, I finally found it out. . .
... | They sat at opposite ends of an abandoned train tunnel through the mountains, whispering sweet nothings in each others’ ears.
For people born on opposite sides of the planet, Henry and Tala couldn’t have been more alike. True, he’d never heard of her favorite singer and she thought his was terrible, but being born from the same black lab genetic engineering program had a way of bringing people together.
Henry also thought that the train tracks had something to do with it. And perhaps his abiding love for poetry, Yeats in particular, though he would save those lines for later.
“I love you like the sun loves the moon, chasing her till all is black and the world is frightening and different,” Henry said, his voice a boom through the mountains. Nearly a mile away through the pitch black length of the tunnel, Tala would hear it as the barest, most intimate whisper.
“I love you like a dolphin loves the waves,” she said. Tala’s words, the whisper of them, ran down Henry’s spine and into the soles of his shoes, dissipating as a shake in the earth.
“I love you like you love pizza,” Henry said, chuckling.
“I love you *almost* as much as I love pizza,” Tala fired back.
And then, as always, Henry brought out his favorite line. “I love you like a sailor loves the stars. All of them at once, the North Star and the Southern Cross, and any point of distant light a man has ever found home by.”
Distant light. It was bittersweet. In the ocean of pure, abject sap they’d thrown back and forth across the train tracks, Henry always came back to that. He and Tala had known each other for nearly a year now, and she’d remained just that: distant light. His North Star, his Southern Cross, the whole range of brilliance the night sky had to offer.
Henry looked up, to where the moon and the stars rose. They were nothing compared to her, but they were the best he could do.
“I’ll think of something too,” Tala said after a while.
“You don’t have to.”
“But I will.”
Henry laughed again, and tried to distract her. “Hey, did you hear about—”
“I’m thinking!” she snapped back, and this time her voice was a boom.
It was painfully loud to Henry’s ears. He stumbled and fell in surprise, and he knew that she heard every bit of it, every choked off curse.
It was, in a way, their curse. They were the only two known survivors of the most remarkably malfunctioned genetic engineering program of their time. They were stronger than anyone had ever dreamed. Faster, more nimble. They couldn’t leap a tall building in a single bound, but it was a near thing, and that power extended to every aspect of their lives. Including their ears, and their voices.
It was difficult to interact with normal people in the best of times, when even a whisper at close range had the volume of a deafening shout. And that was to a person with normal ears. To Henry and Tala, people at the extremes of everything a human was, to speak to each other was agony.
So they used the tunnel, buried love under a mile’s distance, the closest range long distance relationship mankind had ever known. The extremes of everything a human was, even in love.
“I love you like…like…like…” Tala worked the word over and over. English wasn’t her native language, that was Tagalog, a language wherein her name was, fittingly, the name of a Goddess of Stars. She struggled with the sentence a while longer, frustration building to its breaking point.
“You really don’t have to—”
“I hate this!”
Henry heard Tala’s shout as a collection of a thousand things. There was the break of distant glass, perhaps some poor, hapless farmer’s window. There was the crack of a tree and the rustle of the leaves. There was the mad echo of the train tunnel, reinforcing her voice until it was a many times removed from human sounding cacophony, like the shout of the goddess he thought she was. There was pain, for him.
And beneath that, there was pain for them, because Henry, too, hated this.
“I know,” he said, when the echoes in his head subsided.
Tala let it all out with a long sigh. “I hate this. I hate coming up here alone, I hate being in love with a ghost. I even hate this stupid pizza!”
In the distance, Henry could hear cardboard rip. Through moonlight and starlight he saw the remains of a pizza spinning off over the mountainside, pepperoni if he had to guess.
“You don’t hate the pizza,” Henry said.
“I know, I regret that already,” Tala said, her voice returned to a whisper.
They sat in silence for a time, beneath the stars. Eventually the calls of the wildlife returned, nightbirds and crickets and the distant howl of a wolf.
“I don’t hate you though,” Tala said. “I never could, not really. I promise. It’s just sad, you know? There’s one person in the world who gets me, exactly one, and you’re all the way over there, and anytime we try to get close speaking is just torture…I don’t want it to be torture to talk to the boy I love!”
“Neither do I,” Henry whispered. He didn’t want it to be torture for her to talk to him, but if he had to, he’d take torture to talk to her. Perhaps soon he could convince her to try again, to close the distance more than this last, torturous mile. Until then, all they had were sweet nothings and a pitch black train track.
“Will you read to me?” Tala said.
“Yes, if…” Henry said.
“If?”
“If you turn on your light. Just for a second.” She was silent, painfully so. “Please,” Henry whispered, his voice ragged with desire.
On the other side of the tunnel, nearly a mile distant, a single point of light came on. It was a flashlight, a big one, but not big enough for anyone but him to have seen her.
Henry saw her. He saw her as well as any eye could ever see someone. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Tala was just like any other girl in the world, only a thousand times more beautiful.
Henry turned his light on too, and they stared at each other until the staring was too much and Tala turned off her light. Without a word, Henry reached into his backpack and pulled out a well thumbed book of poetry. It was their favorite, and his favorite beforehand. The Collected Works of William Butler Yeats.
Henry began to read aloud.
"*Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,*
*Enwrought with golden and silver light,*
*The blue and the dim and the dark cloths*
*Of night and light and the half light,*
*I would spread the cloths under your feet:*
*But I, being poor, have only my dreams;*
*I have spread my dreams under your feet;*
*Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”*
"Tread softly," Henry whispered again, so quiet he thought she might not even have heard him.
In answer, Tala turned on her light. There were tears in her eyes, but she smiled through them. Together, beneath the starlight, they wiled away the hours to the sound of poetry and the calls of the nightbirds, voices filtered through the long dark of a tunnel through the mountains.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, out I'd love to have you! | 2021-08-23T18:27:39 | 2021-08-23T18:13:14 | 108 | 41 |
[WP] An unconventional healer uses death spells and harm spells to heal patients. “Symptoms? The symptoms will just disappear when the parasite inside you is dead. Now stop moving, don't make me miss my death-to-all spell.” | I was naive to think that lives could only be saved through healing and to think healing was a noble art.
Ever since I was a child, I wanted to save lives. I grew up at the wrong time. Before I could learn healing magic, many healing temples had been put under scrutiny by the government. Healing had been used for evil.
The most feared mage in the land was not a pyromancer, nor a necromancer, but a healer. He regenerated parts of the body to the point of excess, causing malignant growths and cancers. He had a hoard of prisoners which he kept alive for harvesting, removing their organs, and regrowing them over and over. He multiplied invasive plants to ruin harvests, was a master of pain, and had become a message for others not to underestimate healers.
One day, my future was bright, the next, it was all but a fantasy. I could not learn healing magic, but I promised myself that I would find a way to help people.
Few forms of magic lend themselves well for healing. Not charms, transfiguration, or energy manipulation. But death… death was the opposite school of magic of life. I soon realized they were one of the same. It was the only type of magic I hadn’t tried, the moment I cast my first death spell, I could feel the reversal of life magic, the same magic twisted to its corrupted counterpart. If a healer could harm, perhaps a death mage could heal.
Spells meant to share pain between two people could also be used to share healing. Spells meant to kill warriors could also be used to kill diseases. Spells meant to manipulate spirits could be used to help them find peace. Finally, I had found a way to save lives.
Though in recent days the most feared healer has been increasing their carnage. All of my spellwork has been simply to try to undo his vile deeds. I must wipe out the source of this hurt. So now, I stand before the dark healer’s tower, prepared to use death magic to snuff out life. I will heal this land by curing it of its plagues. Even if I must kill a healer to do it. | “Avakeem! Avakeem!” The shouts came again, louder. I heard them when they were miles away, now I could see the little boy scampering up the hillside, his older sister not far behind. My ears had become tuned to the sound for I knew the weight it bore with it. The kids always made it through first, I wondered if the adults even bothered making the climb this time.
“Avakeem!” the boy shouted again, now upon noticing me outside my cabin. It was a name, but not mine. It was that of a god the villager’s worshipped. They bestowed it upon me after I first demonstrated my craft to them. They worshipped several gods and had named me after the one they admired, but perhaps it would have been more fitting if they had named me after the one they feared. Either way they had surely forgotten my true name by now.
“Who?” I demanded once the boy was in earshot. I could see dried tears streaked on his face. He had pushed himself so hard he couldn’t muster a name without first catching his breath. He collapsed on the only pile of snow in sight, among a sea of yellow grass.
“Mela,” he panted at last, as he squinted up at me. The grip on my walking stick slipped, as if to bring the appropriate climax to the sweat I had slowly worked up in anticipation. Though I suspected they were starting to take advantage of me I was glad I had prepared my cloak with the necessary supplies. Mela was worth it.
I started hurrying down the slope, grabbing the boy by the hand on my way.
“How?” I asked as the view of snow-capped mountain tops disappeared behind a tangle of branches and needles. The boy didn’t answer but one look at his face told me he didn’t have the words. Sap smeared across my palm as I grabbed a low branch to slide down the partially eroded basin, my stick in front of me to help propel me off the incoming stump.
“How bad?” I persisted, just as we reached his sister.
“Most you ever see here.” Her english was better than his. Though I had traversed it countless times, I threw myself down the path with an abandon I hadn’t before. Mela was crucial to me, and I realized now how foolish I had been to think her safe. She may live in the center of the village, but she had a fierce stubbornness about her, not unlike myself, though her motive was immeasurably more pure.
At last I came upon the scene, and the sister had not lied- it was a gruesome spectacle. Two hyenas lay dead in the ditch, one with a blood-soaked muzzle, the other with its hind legs severely mangled, its mouth agape in what appeared to be a strange smile, almost mocking. Both had the same black markings around their eyes, same as the others before them. And there was Mela, hunched over face down, with gouges so deep on her back you could see more than just flesh. I grabbed a vial from my cloak as I stumbled down towards her, taking notice that she didn’t appear to be breathing. But when I flipped her over the face I was met with was not only dead but unfamiliar as well.
“Who is this!?” I spat up at the siblings. Their recoil from my words told me that this had been an intended deception. I tried to swallow my anger, after all how could I blame them? They were just trying to save someone. They did not know what it cost.
“Who?” I asked again, though with less intensity.
The sister looked at me with eyes that pleaded mercy but appeared too fearful to speak. She instead pulled her brother in close to try to settle his shoulders from heaving with his sobs. That’s when I finally found my senses.
“Mother?” I said softly, and I placed a hand on the body. The girl still hesitated to tell me the truth but her eyes did not. I fell against the dirt wall of the ravine, exasperated. Now I faced a choice. Never again I had promised myself. Not unless absolutely necessary. I gazed upon a face of compassion, and yet I could not deem this necessary, not by the terms I had set previously. I might appear a monster for hesitating, but I was trying to avoid becoming one.
They did not know the price my craft demanded. And yet they lied to me, to get me down here. They must have known that I was likely to decline, despite that I have yet to refuse them.
And she was dead. Did they know I could bring them back from this stage, or was it mere hope?
I have performed numerous healings for them, but always when there was some breath of life. I looked back at the siblings. Their eyes were wide and pleading, but also searching. They did not know. And there was my way out… | 2022-05-23T22:35:38 | 2022-05-23T19:23:25 | 117 | 46 |
[WP] Turns out wishing on a star does work, it just takes about 81,000 years for the wish to get to the star and back, and for the future civilisations of earth, its pure chaos.
Thanks for the amazing story responses on this. ❤️ | *Nothing* is faster than light.
Certainly not new information. We... sorta knew that already? But never has it been more evident than when, well... wishes made for falling stars came true. It just takes a few thousand years for the wish to travel *to* the falling star and then *back* to Earth.
Let me tell you; this *certainly* threw a wrench in the world's religions. No one really knows how to explain the fact that wishes are actually going true. I mean they all try to put a spin on it, but it's hard to convince someone that a wish tied to your religion was divine intervention while a wish tied to someone else's religion was a freak accident.
Apart from that though? You'd be surprised how little has happened. A ton of wishes were straight-up conflicting while a ton were outdated. Wishing someone was dead is a little redundant when that person has been dead for 40 millennia. Prophecies made in relation to falling stars - which turns out are a form of wishful thinking - would often just cancel each other out due to different interpretations. One day we all woke up with boils since someone thought a falling star meant plague. Three hours later, everyone was healthy because according to someone else, it was a sign of fortitude. And I'm talking 'terminal-patients-running-around' healthy.
A lot of ponies running around now. Someone really should have stopped all those children.
So, you may be wondering - now what? Well, I'm gonna run a little experiment. Surprised no one thought of it yet.
***Ahem***.
*I wish quantum entanglement affected wishes, making them instantaneous regardless of distance.*
See, *theoretically*, this should only kick in in a few millennia, right? But in itself, the wish would defy that rule, making it happen instantly. I guess I'll see soon if people's wishes come true instantly. Oh, and if it does work:
*I wish for a bucket of popcorn.*
So I have something to munch on while I watch the world **burn**. | "I've found it! It's the right distance and everything!" Doctor Redux collapsed into the bunker where the presiding Head of Supernatural Defense, Peyton Pine, spun his chair around, watching the monitor to see how many disasters would fall upon the planet today.
"Found what? What are you babbling about, Redux?" Pine asked impatiently, plugging in orders to his console to destroy the three super ultra killer dinosaurs coming up from behind the moon.
"The wish center! I found where it goes! Where it *still* goes!" Redux said, gasping for breath and tossing a dozen screens down that emitted different images to Pine.
"I am not filling in the gaps here Redux, break it down for me," he said, then suddenly put his palm up to silence Redux as he flipped a communicator on his wrist. "Looks like clouds are gathering to rain money over Old Europe. Send in Omega Squad. I bet it's physical coins that could hurt someone on the way down."
Pine lowered his hand and nodded to Redux.
"We figured out that all these anomalies are wishes being granted from ages ago, but we didn't know why. People would speak some wishes to asteroids and the answers came now. I figured out why that's the case," Redux explained, tapping on one of the screens to show Pine a picture of a planet. Pine kept his focus on his communication screen, sending out a legion to disarm to magic unicorns that were forming out of flowers in the Panlantic Ocean.
"What does this have to do with anything? I don't think we particularly care about the wishes except to stop them from being granted," Pine asked sternly.
"Wishes get caught up in the asteroid until it either fizzles out in our atmosphere, collides with the Earth, or flies by. Once the asteroid dies, the wishes collected in it are sent," Redux continued quickly, showcasing more screens and holograms that Pine continued to curtly ignore.
"Again, why do I care?" Pine spat.
"Well, I found that all the wishes head to a certain direction. They head to this point of the universe and once they are received they are immediately granted. Only, that spot is over 80,000 lightyears away from us, so it takes a while for the wish to arrive. But when they arrive, they're granted," Redux said.
Pine hesitated with his finger over a button. He looked at Redux, his face taut.
"The wishes go somewhere? Where?" Pine asked.
"It's a planet we haven't gotten around to naming. I called it Wish-1," Redux answered, showing Pine a tablet that he picked up and took interest in.
"So... this is the source?" Pine breathed.
"It all checks out. No matter where the asteroid was wished on in the past, exactly 81,002.5 years later, it gets answered. Give or take a few minutes, in case an asteroid dies in the sun or something," Redux replied.
"We destroy this thing... And wishes have no where else to go? This all ends?" Pine asked, red lights blaring from the console behind him.
"So far as I can tell, but... do you really want to do that?" Redux asked, scared.
"Why wouldn't we!?" Pine yelled, spinning around and answering half a dozen distress calls in the span of two seconds. "We wouldn't have to live in 24 hour surveillance of anomalies worldwide! Heck, most of North America might still exist!"
"Sure, but... what's answering the wishes. Do you think firepower can overwhelm it?" Redux asked, his voice small.
Pine spun back around, his face in shock as he took anther look at the tablet in hand. His eyebrows furled, as if trying to find a specific item in the holographic image floating inches away from him.
"We have to... We have to!" Pine said, sounding as though he was convincing himself over Redux.
"What if it retaliates?" Redux ventured.
"WE HAVE TO!" Pine exploded. "We're going to be torn apart otherwise! We rip the planet apart and hope that whatever was living there granting wishes dies along with its planet!"
Redux lowered his head, having come to the same terrifying conclusion. He shifted in place uncomfortably.
"Do you have any better ideas to stop this madness?" Pine sighed, turning back to the console and stopping a gold wave from crashing into the bunkers of Newstrailia by using a horde of ships to block the water.
"I don't have any better suggestions," Redux admitted. "I just wish I did."
_________________
r/Nazer_the_lazer is where I wish for you to go | 2022-12-08T21:22:36 | 2022-12-08T19:44:01 | 638 | 315 |
[WP] Write a suicide note from an established fictional character
Has Dr Eggman had enough of being bad? Did Woody just see too many toys thrown in the trash? Can Han Solo not take any more of Leia's nonsense?
Sorry if this seems inappropriate, I just thought it'd be interesting, to get in the mindset of someone odd in a strange situation. | I have lived for over 1200 years and I just don't want to do it anymore. Wandering desperately through space and time for centuries. I have always felt alone, though I've often had companions with me; horrible things eventually happen to most of them. I have been the cause of so much grief, loss, and disappointment, and I am so sorry.
I have no family left. They were all killed and cut off from me forever, and that of my own doing. I have the blood of millions on my hands. Everyone I have ever loved, I have lost. My own selfish desire for company leads innocent people into danger.
I'm leaving behind a widow named River Song. Someone tell her I love her.
I am going to Trenzalore again. I am entering my own timestream. And this time, no one will come to save me.
~ The Doctor
*I feel completely terrible now.* | I feel like I should leave this here.
I've pretty much had it with my life. I mean look at me: I work at a low-end restaurant that pays less than minimum wage working with an annoying person and a cheap, frugal boss. I live in the cheapest neighbourhood possible with shitty neighbours because it's the only place I can afford. I can't even enjoy my hobbies and values anymore because they've lost their meaning to me, and I have no supporters. I haven't found love, nor have I done anything to look for it in the first place. I have no more purpose in life because of what it's already become. A heaping pile of nothing. It's something that I need to escape, and suicide is the only answer.
I thought moving here would be a start to my new life. New house, new me. But after countless years with annoying neighbours that weren't my type, I just couldn't handle the loneliness. I tried to fit in with them, but...
But it's just me. I'm too depressed to do anything. I was constantly rejected by other establishments for work because of my attitude, and I was forced to work with my neighbour at this shitty restaurant. Why did I work there? Because it was my only choice. It was a pity job: we were both probably hired for our mental illnesses just so we could feed and clothe ourselves. I thought getting home was the best part of my day, until I realized I had nothing to do but sit there and cry. Even my favourite hobbies have left my life cycle.
I remember when my clarinet was my only escape to temporary happiness. It was the drug to my brain. I would play for hours with it. Composing my own music and playing it was just another one of my values. However, after constantly being ridiculed and harassed, and even out-shined by my nemesis, I just have to throw in the towel and give it up. After my fans left, I knew I was slowly losing everyone in my life. Not even my mother loved me anymore, ever since I stopped calling her. And ever since Dad passed away, he's probably been looking down on me as well, for not being as successful as he was. Depression has been eating up my life from the inside-out.
I felt no love, and therefore I loved no-one. I can no longer make any connections with anybody because I don't care anymore, and I don't connect with people. I have no reason to live anymore, and now I have a reason to die: it's because the world without me would be the same. I have made no difference in this world, no matter how hard I tried. Every situation I've been in somehow led me back to square one.
I even tried moving again, to a place where people who were "just like me." I don't know why I ever thought of that. They hated me even more there, and the cycle of life there was so monotonous that I'm surprised people there were able to handle this. I moved back. I don't know why I returned to the same place, but I did. So many ways I've tried leaving, but I end up coming back to where I started.
But death is a journey where I can't come back. It's my only way out. And I'm taking that trip.
To anyone out there who finds this, I'm sorry. I just can't carry on.
#I'm going (and probably already gone) to grab the end of a hook.....and I'm not floating back down
Squidward Tentacles. | 2013-06-11T20:48:22 | 2013-06-11T19:54:33 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You're an exhausted paramedic. You just finished a 48 hour shift and you stumble into the hospital elevator to head home. You hit the button to head to the first floor and as you turn, you see death standing in the corner. What do you talk about during the elevator ride? | We stared at each other for half a minute. Thirty seconds of unbroken eye-to-eyesocket contact. I should have been terrified, but... it had been a long one.
It was difficult to tell, but he seemed... surprised. Or, at the very least, a little chagrined.
As smoothly as I could, not daring to look away, I reached over and hit the emergency stop button. My mind is, oddly, as clear as it's ever been.
"Who?" I ask as casually as I can.
**NOT ONE OF YOURS, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE ASKING.**
I feel a little swell of relief, then a little trickle of adrenaline. "Then, who-"
**IT'S TOO LATE.**
"*...Oh.*"
I press two fingers to the base of my neck.
"I still have a pulse. Not me?"
He nodded, slowly. **NOT YOU. BUT, YOU WOULD EVEN IF YOU WERE. YOU WOULD... REMEMBER IT.**
I sighed, but not in relief.
He looked at me for a a bit. **THEY DID EVERYTHING RIGHT.**
Hm. "Thank you."
I bit my lip. I knew he wouldn't, but, "So, when will I-?"
**DO NOT.** He said in a warning tone, pinpricks of blue-white flaring briefly in those empty holes.
I couldn't think of anything else. The elevator dinged. I was delaying someone, somewhere.
I pushed in the stop buton, and the lift lurched back into motion.
We rode down in silence.
We reached the first floor, and the doors opened up, not, to the lobby, but to a dark, long hallway.
Death stepped forward, walking without the clatter of bone on bone that I was expecting.
This would be the second to last time I would ever see him, I was certain.
Before the doors closed, he seemed to change his mind about something, placed the end of his scythe between the closing doors, and turned back to face me.
**WHAT YOU ARE DOING...** he began, his words not words but the immediate memory of words said. I had the feeling he didn't often talk to anyone. He was considering carefully what he could say, in this brief time he had...
**WHAT YOU DO.**
**IT IS WORTH IT.**
He might have been grinning, but how could you tell?
Before I could respond, he pulled the handle out, and the door closed.
When it opened again, it was the lobby, crowded, so loud it shocked me. It quenched me, like cold water, and I shivered in the warm air.
I was alive, and that was something.
| Must get home, so tired. Good thing I just got that place down the street. I wouldn’t be safe behind the wheel of a car in the condition I’m in. Two whole days off, it will be amazing. I can’t wait.
I hit the call button on the elevator and rest my head against the wall as I close my eyes. My body, hurt. I listened to my own rhythmic breathing. I felt myself drifting off already.
I struggle to lift my heavy eyelids as I hear the ‘ding’ that signifies the arrival of the elevator. Head down, I trudge in to the suspended cube with my hands buried in my pockets. In the upper part of my vision I see the end of a dress and begin to follow it up. You always have to say hello to a lady. By the time I reach eye level with the figure, it’s apparent that what I had mistook for a dress was most certainly a cloak of some sort. Its model was a pale skeletal figure.
I would have been more frightened if I wasn’t so tired. Frankly, the figure wasn’t too intimidating anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I could feel his power, his aura. But he didn’t even seem to notice me. The monster was simply playing with his phone, seemingly uninterested my presence.
I thought that I had better speak up.
“Okay, I get it. Make it quick.” I said, dully.
For the first time, his head moved, and he looked me direct in the eyes as he muttered one word.
“What?”
I wasn’t sure what I should say, not that it mattered. Fear had choked out my words and buried them in my chest. Courage found me.
“I just don’t want to suffer. Just, make it quick, please.” I explained.
He put his phone away and peered at my with those dead cold holes where his eyes should be. I could feel him looking through me. His gaze stole the warmth from my body. He opened his jaws and spoke.
“Huh?” He said?
These games made me sick. I was too tired to wait to die. Impatience overwhelmed my fear, smothered it. I grew bold.
“What, are you gonna drop the elevator? Maybe some kind of gas leak? Oh my god, I’m going to die of a heart attack, aren’t I?”
The figure straightened his posture and raised his mighty hand.
This was it. I thought it was interesting that my last feelings would be of frustration with the slow pace at which death worked. Honestly, I thought it unprofessional.
I gazed at his hand, holding my breath, expecting a scythe or maybe, a more modern symbol of death to materialize in it.
His hand reached up, ever slowly, and rested behind his skull. Then he began scratching the back of his head. As he continued to scratch, he adopted an apologetic tone and responded.
“I’m sorry, sir. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
I had reached the end of my rope. To hell with this man, I couldn’t take it anymore. My voice was fueled of frustration and incredulity.
“But, you’re the hand of death! I mean, I can see it. You’re standing right next to me!”
He somehow betrayed a look of shock, even thought he had no eyes.
“Oh! Silly me. Yeah I forgot do my cloak thing. Sorry, man. That has to be pretty unnerving. Wow, I can’t even imagine.” He replied.
“Excuse me?“
The figure was clearly embarrassed. His body language slumped in on itself as he started scratching one arm with the other.
“I mean, uh, normally I activate this cloak deal. It sort of, I dunno, makes me appear as if I am just a normal person, right? So whenever I have to travel around in this particular plain of existence I just sorta click it on and forget about it.” He explained.
The figure continued. “Anyway, I forgot. So, thanks for reminding me.”
“No problem.” I responded, meekly.
An awkward silence filled the space we occupied.
The specter spoke up.
“Goin home huh? That was a long shift, dude. I mean, not as long as mine, but still. For a mortal that’s pretty good.”
“Yeah, thanks. It was, uh. It was pretty tiring.”
“I bet. Anyway, keep it up. You pretty much cleared my whole afternoon chore list, you know? The more lives you save the more free time I have.”
“Thanks, I…. I appreciate it.”
I was beyond confused at this point. Surreal fails to describe what I was experiencing.
The elevator dinged at the third floor. That’s the Cancer treatment ward.
“Hey, this is my stop. Nice chatting with you. My name’s Gary. I’d shake your hand but, you know, that wouldn’t be good for you.”
I gazed at him and responded, “I understand. My name’s Erik.”
Before I had noticed, he had taken the form of a doctor and was sauntering through the elevator door.
As he walked on, without turning back, he exclaimed “Have a good one, Erik. See you in 3 years.”
My response was both hurried and panicked.
“What?!”
As the door closed I heard only one word.
“Aneurism!”
| 2014-05-15T11:32:46 | 2014-05-15T11:32:42 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] The Apocalypse began six years ago. Nobody has noticed until now. | “Goooooood Morning! This is the 6:15 AM Morning show with Scott and Lisa. Today’s weather will be in th….”
Another day. Same as yesterday. Scott and Lisa starting off the day with the weather report. I suppose I should get up and put on some pants so that I can get the coffee started. Arms reached towards the sky in a vicious stretch that seemed to last for ages. Nothing rivaled a good morning stretch fresh out of bed.
The back of his hand scratched his eyelids as he rose up from lacing his shoes. Pinstripe pants with drab leather shoes were the normal attire for the workings of office men. Everyone had the same dress code now a days. Suits here. Dresses there. Jeans with a bandana as a top over there. All seemed normal.
It was 6:29 AM. His hand reached for the door as the knock came.
“Morning Jim.”
“Morning Tom.”
“Wife doing good?”
“Yep, chipper as ever. Say, would you want to come out to dinner with us tonight? I can get reservations for that joint up on Mills Ave. that has a waiting list for days.”
“Yeah man that sounds good. I’ll let you know the schedule.”
“Great. Great! Oh and by the way here’s your paper. I know how you enjoy still reading it. Even though you can get it sent to you on that fancy new company phone you have.”
“Thanks man. See you tonight?”
“Oh before you go. You got this too. It seems kind of old so maybe it got lost somewhere along the way.”
Jim handed over a small dirty brown envelope addressed to his friend. They both waved as Tom stuck the paper under his arm and flipped the envelope over twice. It seemed to be addressed to the right place. There was a small red stamp on the back that said read immediately. Kind of pointless now since it was dated six years ago. Odd…why would it just be making it here now?
He shrugged and opened the letter. It was but one piece of paper. Very much as dirty if not more than the envelope. The writing was almost all faded away. It looked like it would have been a good read if there were any ink left over. The only thing he could make out were four words.
*Tom. Sunglasses. Remove. Miss.*
“Is this some kind of prank?” He said out loud. Not noticing that the time had ticked over to 6:44 AM.
With a sigh he set the letter down and walked over to the counter to pour the coffee that was finished brewing. He poured a steaming cup full of the black liquid, set down the pot and gulped deeply. His feet moved in rhythm as his hand reached out to grab the jacket on the back of his chair. The clock ticked over to 6:45 AM. He strode towards the door.
*Right on time.* His hand reached for the doorknob and out into the street he walked, coffee in hand. His mind re-read the four words from the letter this morning. His name. A pair of sunglasses. Remove what? I miss butterfingers. His mind raced between the words again, not paying attention to where he was going. Without noticing it, he was walking down familiar stairs towards the dog park on the opposite side of his office building. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon now. The time read 6:58 AM.
Tom walked a few more steps towards the cross walk and stopped a few feet away. There was something different today. The button to press for the cross walk was green instead of yellow. It had always been yellow. Did they replace it overnight? No matter. He took a right turn. His right hand brought up the coffee mug to his lips. He blinked. No. This is different too. His coffee cup was green instead of yellow as well.
“What is going on…” His eyes moved upwards towards the awning above.
Sunglasses Hut. ***NOW OPENING***
Tom took the cup away from his mouth now to realize it was empty. His name scrawled on the bottom.
*Tom. Sunglasses.*
He felt a slight weight on the top of his ears.
*Remove.*
His hands reached upwards and grasped the side of a thick frame as he pulled slightly as his vision began to blur. Harder now. His vision went completely black. His arms felt weak. Too weak. Could this be a dream? He slid one eye lid open. A blinding flash of gold caused him to close his eye tightly.
“Tom. It’s ok.”
His eyes opened up again This time he was ready. The gold flash was actually the morning sun. It felt like he hadn’t seen it in ages. There was a girl there. She looked to be about his age. Tears welled up in her eyes not soon to stop. She reached down and embraced him tenderly, as though a lover would after a long time apart. His arms crept up to reciprocate the hug, it felt right.
“Wh…” his throat burned. “Wha..” he winced. “What...here...date” was all he managed to get out.
“It’s 6:59 AM Tom.” A familiar voice said. It was Jim.
Where is here? He couldn’t articulate words. They physically wouldn’t come out. He turned his head to the right. Row upon row of white beds were placed equal distances apart. Few were empty. Nearly all had a person on them with a giant visor resting over their eyes.
“Look here.” Said a voice. “It’s a document dated...no. This can’t be.”
“What can’t be?”
Jim looked over towards the group. “Today. Six years ago. The title says, ‘Experiment 346. New York. Success. Full control.’”
“It looks like other’s are waking up. I’ll be right back.”
Tom looked around the room again. All these emaciated people laying on beds with this visor thing over their eyes. His eyes scanned the walls to see a message.
*You’re not the first to wake. You have friends. Spread around and wake up anyone you can. Stay out of the open. They will find you. Stick together. We were all indoctrinated. Welcome to reality. Day 12, Year 6, AA.*
“What does AA mean?”
The door broke off its hinges with a horrific twang. Three men moved into the room looking panicked. They carried semi-automatic rifles and were donned in concrete colored camouflage. The first one pulled down his mask and spoke to the group.
“After Apocalypse. We have to go. They found you faster than we expected.”
They collectively gasped as an explosion shook the foundation of the building. It was time to go. | **Climate Change** **World Cup** **Snowden A Hero** **Assange's Wikileaks To Release More Documents** Headlines screamed impatiently across the bottom of the television screen.
"I don't know how nobody realised... I knew the second I heard that Chinese government had shut down industrial areas in the weeks ahead of the 2008 Beijing Olympics that the western world was heading for a crash, but why did nobody else realise? Or why was it a case of those who knew it was coming, *allowed* it to happen? M. Night Shymalan isn't even close to this good of a story teller." Sighing, the 93 year old world war 2 veteran sat in the tired old pleather armchair, bathed in morning sunshine. The elderly lady - gently drooling out the mouth of her palsied left side - shifted unevenly in her chair, trying to form words but making only rasping grunts.
He sat up again, thoughts bursting from his mouth before they were filtered into the politically correct crap he knew his Esther preferred him to use.
"The glitz and glamour of a few thousand athletes winning a handful of medals blinded the greedy west, to the crash speeding in its direction from the east. Sub-prime mortgages, NINJA approvals, bank bailouts, trillions of debt... How on earth is this mess going to be unravelled? Just thinking about it, to be a parent in this time, it's heartbreaking. It's like Tank Girl and the Great Depression all rolled into one, and 99% of the world hasn't noticed. How are future generations going to read the history of now? For a start, they are going to wonder why so few people reacted, and why those who knew were treated like crazy people... Well! I am glad I had my children in a time where the baddies got their arse handed to them." He harumphed, and sat back in his chair. He scowled at the floor, at the age spotted hands trembling slightly on the garishly coloured lap blanket his Esther had crocheted him, before the accursed stroke stole her from him.
The lady, Esther, sighed heavily, relapsing into the resigned silence her stroke condemned her to. She wished it had taken her life, she couldn't bear this tedious, helpless life she was cursed to continue. God damn those euthanasia laws! God damn those pro-life do-gooders! If only her Jack would stop rabbiting on... "shack" she breathed heavily, the closest she could get to forming his name in the deceptive mouth that once sang sounds like honey.
He jumped, flicking his eyes to her. "Esther" he asked, hopefully. "Esther!" he said forcefully as he compelled her eyes to stay with him. Oh, her eyes were the same, always had been. Deep pools of dark chocolate. He smiled at her, as one side of her face lifted in elation.
"Where have you been my girl?" he leaned forward. "I've been so lonely here. Without you. I am so happy to see you my love!" He beamed. "These damn colours! I'll never know what possessed you to knit me such a hideous cacophony of colour!" He harumphed again. "Yes, I know! Don't say it! It's crow shay I know" He grinned like the devil and the cheeky, spirited and oh-so-gorgeous man he was seventy years ago shone through. Just for a brief moment. But she saw it. She saw him. And her face lifted in that lopsided way she only found six years ago.
Oh, she was a looker. He had always thought so, as did anyone who crossed her path. And by all that was holy and unholy, anyone who dared look at her... well. He wished he was the kind of rumbler that other men were in their youth, but he'd seen too much pain and death and loss to fight for what he knew was always his. Even if some days he swore the minx in her was begging him to arc up, just once.
But, why couldn't he get up? He could move in the seat easy enough, but to get up... Why couldn't he do that?
Esther looked at him, sadness creeping in behind the edges of her joy.
"Morning, lovely!" A bright, middle aged *male* nurse chirped as he entered the room. "I'm afraid I have some strange news for you..." He paused, looking perturbed.
"Well, you see, things have gotten a bit strange." He sat himself down on the coffee table between the two chairs, facing Esther. Suddenly he turned to Jack. "Sir, you know how things in the stock exchange have been off since the GFC in '08?"
Jack nodded curtly.
"Well, sir, thing is... your money is gone." Jack's eyes opened in alarm. "Hey, settle there, sir." The nurse reached out a reassuring hand, giving Jack's arm a gentle squeeze. "I didn't want to alarm you earlier. I didn't see much point in it you see..." Jack was frowning at the nurse, what was his name again? Tracy? Shannon? Jody? Jody! That was it! Jack smiled in relief, he wasn't losing his mind after all.
"Jody!" he barked.
Jody jumped. "Sir! You remembered my name! Well done! 10 points for Gryffindor!" Jody grimaced, remembering how he'd been reading the Pottermous tomes to Jack, one day finding them in a bath full of water. "Oops, sorry sir. I forgot. British fiction. Sir, I have to talk about your money. I can't find your trustees. I think they took it all. I have contacted the authorities, they won't step in. Say that it is all legal." Jody paused, allowing the gentleman to absorb the bad news.
"Sir, we aren't without options." Jack glared at Jody, saying nothing. Waiting for Jody to continue.
"There is option C. I know we have been operating under Plan B, since Esther... Since August '08. I know you wanted to go with Plan A at that time, it has been an honour sir, to care for you since that time sir. I know what you planned to do... after Esther..." A tear leaped down his face, betraying how evenly he was speaking. Did Jack know, how much caring for both him and Esther had meant to him? Jody suspected Jack did. Which was why Plan A was suspended.
"Sir, you have shown me the error of my ways, I can't imagine you know how. But, Option C. Option C is where you and I go. Together sir. Now sir." Jody held Jack's gaze. It felt like an eternity, really only seconds.
A mere hint of a nod. That's all it would take. Jody had the syringe and the cocktails ready. He knew that Jack would do this. Esther's will spelled it out in black and white, exactly what it would take, and this was it. Nothing left to live for. Jody waited.
The ticking of the grandmother clock on the bureau sounded slower and louder than ever before. The tick became a thump. Jack's head bowed once. Jody handed him his last Shirley Temple, laced with the appropriate chemicals, and sipped his standard unlaced glass. Jack smiled as he savoured his last cocktail. Leaning gently back in his seat, Jody waited for his breathing to lull, then checked his heart beat - or lack thereof. Silence. Stillness. Jack was gone. Jody placed the urn of Esther's ashes in Jack's lap, then took a seat next to Jack's slowly cooling body. Tears silently streamed down his face. He readied the syringe, wrapped the tourniquet around his right arm. Flexing his fist as he bent down, striking his beloved zippo - inherited from Jack himself, he touched the flame to a slow burning fuse, that trailed out of the room, down into the cellar, where the explosives impatiently awaited.
When the flame took, he leaned back in the seat, inserted the needle into the vein, loosened the tourniquet, sank the plunger. He died with a smile on his face and waves of bliss expanding throughout his body. The flames crept to the cellar, and erased all traces of the occupants of the house in a white hot blaze. He kept his promise to Esther. And to Jack. Especially to Jack. He hadn't had to watch the world burn again. But it was coming, and no one had seen it but Jack, sixty eight years earlier. He'd known, he had told Esther. Begged her not to leave him while it all burned and the masses admired the glow, then never spoken of it again. Esther made sure he hadn't been alone, Esther made sure he had Jody, who made sure Jack wasn't around to see it.
Beyond the walls, people saw the smoke. People ignored the smoke. They turned back to their portable screens - desperately hoping that the world wasn't collapsing under the weight of a new, unbeatable scourge. Not realising how foolish they had been, how many signs they had ignored. If only they had listened to Jackass Jody's tales of CrazyOldJack. If only... if only.
| 2014-06-25T09:52:37 | 2014-06-25T09:13:04 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] You die and go to Heaven - only to discover that you are the first human being who has ever been able to do so. | "I'm the only one?"
**Yes.**
"Out of everyone? Everyone ever?"
**That's right.**
"*WHY?*"
**You followed all the rules. All of them. You shaved your beard right, you never spilled semen on the ground, you cared for others, yo-**
"What about my parents? My neighbors?"
**They're being tormented for eternity in Hell.**
"What about all those priests? The prophets and teachers and so forth?"
**They're being tormented too. The whole lot.**
"And you thought I'd be okay with that?"
**Well... yes.**
"Aren't I supposed to be eternally happy here? How can I be eternally happy with the knowledge that people I love are suffering eternally?"
**Fine. I'll bring your family here. Will that make you happy?**
"*NO!* How do you expect me to be eternally happy knowing *ANYONE* is being tormented for eternity?"
**So you want me to bring... everyone?**
"Yes. Everyone."
**And that will make you happy?**
"I don't know how I could be otherwise."
**Jesus, you're hard to please.** | Day 1 after death-
I stop, in total disbelief of what I've just heard. I get that I died. I'm surprised I still exist, but it's a nice surprise, I rather like existing. But as I stand in front of the gates to heaven, what the angel just said to me makes no sense at all.
"Really?" I say to the angel "The first one? I'm the first person to get into heaven, out of all the people that have been alive? That can't possibly be right"
The angel in front of the holy gates nods.
"You are the first person to follow all the rules" she says calmly.
"Wait what, what rules?" I ask and regret the question as soon as I do. What if not knowing the rules is a bad thing.
"The rules every person is born knowing?" the angel says, looking worried and confused.
"You... you think that humans are born.."oh man , we may have a few issues here."
the angel stared at me wide eyed.
day 3 after death-
It a long time to get through to the angel. Turns out that no one had been checking on human kind from... well the start. Earth was a small planet far away from most other life, and no one had bothered to check how things where going. All of human life is the blink of an eye in cosmic time and all that.
So this whole time humans where meant to get help. We where meant to be born with knowing things to help us, teach us. The angels couldn't believe we have any good at all with all this fighting us. Even races that DID have help did figure out things about psychics human have, and they had MAGIC to help them.
day 6 after death-
I made my case to the angels, saying those that didn't know the rules can't be expected to follow them. I only followed them because of dumb luck and getting hit by a car when I was still young. That drunk speeding jerk may of saved me from hell. When he dies I may have to thank the jerk... or punch him. I'm not sure yet.
The other people that have been dying have been stuck in limbo for now. They have been backing up my case, as well as the angels that went to check on earth. Apparently people noticed them even with invisibly, I guess human tech is better then I thought
Day 15 after death
So it looks like everyone in hell right now is going to get a free pass to heaven. There is only one issue. Humans aren't the only thing to use this heaven and hell, so someones going to go have to pull the humans out from the non-humans to save them.
The issue with that issue is that angels can't going into heaven. Some stupid thing about them turning into demons as soon as they step foot into hell. I'm not sure if that means demons would turn into angels if they went into heaven, the angels where to busy to answer that question.
That leaves means a team of these newly dead humans are going to go into hell to save them. Guess who gets to be their leader?
Me.
Day 25 after death-
Me and my team are as ready as they can be. I don't know if we can do it, but I can't let people suffer any more then they had to. The angels gave us everything they could, more then I could want. I even got to go back to the mortal world for a while and get some weapons.
I'm stalling aren't I? I just don't want to go into the belly of the beast. But every second I wait is a second of suffering of untold beings that did nothing wrong.
It's time to go to hell. Wish me luck.
------------------------------
It honestly might be stronger with just the first bit, I don't know.
| 2014-09-04T11:55:59 | 2014-09-04T11:37:20 | 129 | 14 |
[WP] Far in the future, parents now purchase the traits of their perfect child. They decide everything from intelligence to looks. Better qualities cost significantly more money. Tell me about the imperfect life of the most expensive child ever born. | A tiny speck of dirt marred the perfection of the mirror in front of him. The urge to wipe it off presented itself to Adam, and he obliged. He didn't know whether his cleanliness was a learned behaviour or a part of the expensive pack of genes which his parents had assembled for him. He had never asked them exactly what it was they had paid for, or how much they had paid. All he knew was that he was the most expensive baby ever bought, and that eighteen years ago his newborn form had graced the front of every newspaper in the world. Even as an infant he had been extraordinarily beautiful. A few kids had been close to beating his price tag during recent years, but as far as he knew, no set of parents had yet been able or willing to pay a price as high as the one his parents had paid to get their perfect child.
Now that the mirror was clean, he allowed himself to see past the glass and into his own eyes. They were perfectly placed, symmetrical, and blue like the Mediterranean. His cheekbones, nose and jaw came together to make a very handsome face, and he had never once in his life had a pimple. His exceptional ability for rational thinking said that he should be happy, he had everything he could ever want in terms of intelligence and good looks, and his parents were kind and loving. Still there was something sad deep inside those blue eyes. He couldn't bring himself to tell his parents that there was something wrong with him, that the perfect son they had spent so much money on wasn't really perfect after all. His kindness, no doubt a purchased trait too, wouldn't let him hurt his parents like that.
Adam could lie to his parents, but not to himself. He saw the gorgeous young man in the mirror, but he hated him. He shifted uncomfortably as he glanced down at the body in the mirror. Yes, it was a perfect body, but it wasn't his. It was the body of the perfect son. But in truth, all his life Adam had known that he wanted to be the perfect daughter.
| sorry for the length...I'm wordy and this is my first time. Be gentle
I glanced down at my doodle in progress while professor Gaul prattled on about one number or another. Every circle perfect, not a single smudge marred the penciled shading, and every flaw perfectly calculated. Da Vinci himself would envy it. Surely someone would buy it for a few bucks at lunch. Three more just like it and mom could stay home from work that night…maybe.
“EDWIN.”
With an annoyed sigh I raised my head to face the front of the class. Professor Gaul had always been a problem. In English I flashed my winning smile, in ethics my BS prose could sway any debate, in science I just had to spend one lunch a month helping out in the lab, but Gaul wanted my attention. Something I simply refused to give. I knew more than he ever would, why should I waste my time with him? Another needlessly complicated problem awaited on the board.
“Glad that you're still with us Edwin. Now would you mind solving the problem on the board since you obviously already know it seeing as you’re not paying attention.”
“Obviously.” The kids close enough to hear snickered and Gaul glared. I knew I had mumbled too quietly for him to be sure, but he knew. He just couldn’t do anything about it. For the first time this month I scanned the board. Chapter 4! How had he only taught to chapter 4? He wanted me to do his job. Not this time. In my mind I built the problem, saw the models and graphs, and bit by bit I whittled down to the answer. Not even complicated. “3 plus or minus 2i.”
His nose crinkled and his brow creased, but you can’t punish a kid for being right. Even if he thought I cheated he couldn’t prove it. “Well smart ass why don’t you show the rest of the class how you came up with that.” He extended the chalk and waited, impatiently tapping his foot.
I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to show a step by step method that would get you to the answer, but completely miss the point. Why parrot the cold methods of the old and dead when the answer held so much perfection and beauty? I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead of the line by line step ladder expected I started to draw the concept from my head. Not half way through the first curve he pushed me away from the board. The cloyingly sweet scent of his cologne filled my senses. No man should ever wear that scent.
“I’m sick of you cocky attitude. I want you out of this classroom. I don’t care what the Dean says I’m failing you.”
I stood in shock and anger. It didn’t really matter. I could test out of this class, the next class, and the next class. The doctors gave me the ability to memorize entire textbooks in mere days and the artistic mind to visualize concepts with ease. That perfect memory allowed me to speak six languages, to debate politics with senators, to handle complex problems and their solutions in my mind, it allowed me to remember the first argument my parents had when their fixed loan rate hadn’t been so fixed, to recall the faces of every agent that dragged my father away to work off his debt, the exact brand of whiskey on my mother’s breath before her first night in her new job, the ability to match each scent on her the next morning to those that called themselves my mentors, and the sense to know it was all my fault. Tonight marked the second Tuesday of the month; the day before that cloying sweet scent would linger in the kitchen while mom made my breakfast with her head hung in shame. She shouldn’t feel that way; she did what she could, what she had to. She just wanted me to be happy and to bring my father home.
Not tonight. With a quick flick of my wrist I turned that line into a middle finger before mirroring the image with my own hands. Professor Gaul turned a new shade of red and charged me; just like I planned. With ease I side stepped before burying my knee into his groin. I couldn’t hide my sneer when he slumped to the ground. At least he would be icing it instead of using it tonight.
The class cheered as I walked out the door. Why wouldn’t they? I helped them cheat, I made them laugh, and I got them in and out of all sorts of mischief. They loved me. Everyone loved me. Everyone except myself.
Edit: typo fairies
| 2014-09-10T07:07:52 | 2014-09-10T07:05:46 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. | My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
| I've known about my power since I was 8.
Early bloomers don't do well these days. No one knows when it started but it started here, in Los Angeles, and spread throughout the world. Some powers were benign; talking to squirrels, manipulating telescopes, etc. But even the most subtle, unassuming power can have devastating consequences.
The old world, the world of my grandparents, was a safe place. Our governments were strong, our neighbors were friendly. And it was safe because every way we knew for a lunatic to abuse the system was more or less handled. In their daily lives, people forgot there was a government. People didn't need to worry about protecting themselves.
But power is like a drug; it only takes a little bit to get you hooked. It's not instantaneous, but it's damn fast. At first you notice it all around you -- something's odd, something's off, something's not right. It almost feels like you're being watched. And then you begin to realize that you do have a power, and for however long as you like you're the only one to ever know about it. And that's a remarkable feeling.
People who never imagined themselves as great, as destroyers and conquerors, whose powers could not be predicted and could not be safeguarded against, tore the old world down. They were unremarkable folk, ordinary people who'd pull the trigger if you put a gun in their hand. If you could see radio waves, you could intercept classified information. If you could manipulate electronics remotely, you could hack a bank. If you could talk to animals, you could kill any pet owner.
And today we have rubble. Los Angeles was one of the greatest cities in the world.
I was an early bloomer, and I didn't even recognize it at first, but being early it was 'weak.' I simply knew where my family was at all times, then my friends, and my neighbors....one day I realized that I knew where someone was from a brief description. Maybe I could see their picture, or hear their name, recall a memory. Eventually I could just imagine them, I could imagine where they were and there they, without fail, always were.
No one was impressed with my power. It was a disappointment I was so early, so weak. My family didn't try to hide it -- "Are you sure, Davy? Are you really sure? You have a great imagination Davy, you're just imagining it." I won no awards at the Power Olympics in our cooperative, my name was even misspelled on my participation medal. I garnered no attention, I was not respected, and I was not loved.
So I left. I would see what the world's become, what power's truly worth. Three years on the trail, today, I heard word of a sort of world record. A man, 100 years of age, remains powerless and unaccounted for. He will be the most powerful weapon in the history of mankind if his power develops before his death. What remains of the old world governments, and the saplings of some new ones, is on the hunt for the most important man in history since Jesus Christ.
And I know exactly where he is. | 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T11:01:55 | 32 | 23 |
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