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[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 356 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 158 | 11 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | When I saw those blue eyes I knew it was her.
I remember how those gentle they twinkled when we saw the construction of the Coliseum together.
How she cried when the Library of Alexandria was burnt down, knowing she couldn't save that knowledge to keep the timeline stable.
The sheer curiosity and joy she felt when she discovered my immortality. To think something I always considered a curse would allow me to experience such a moments of happiness. It was adorable to watch her nod as I filled her in the history for our current meeting point.
A one too many faux pass will teach you that lesson, least you want to end up Babylonian jail cell again.
All those events we saw together have a special place in my heart. The fall of the Wall of Berlin. The first moon landing. The Crucifixion. We were together through so much. Sharing those memories with someone is what made this unending existence bearable. Knowing that every milestone, someone would be there with me.
That kiss she stole from me in the Epsilon Eridani colony will always be my favorite.
I control myself not to cry as I recall her last breath as we rested underneath that simple tree in Ancient Mesopotamia, enjoying a simple day forgotten to time.
As I held her I couldn't help the smile I got, knowing how much this girl would do. It's only fitting I supposed. I was there at the end of her life and now I get to be at the start.
It will be fun anecdote to tell next time I see her.
"Congratulations, Ma'am. Is a girl." | "What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?" I asked through the incessant buzzing of my portal, "How could people be different colours?"
"Raj," Yorrick continued, "You were born well after the fall of Ganymede. I don't --"
"Ganymede?"
"It's a moon from the first system. It's where you'll have to go to talk to him."
"I thought we came from a planet?"
"We did, it was also in the first system. Stop interrupting me."
"Well you're not making any sense."
"Well just listen! He'll be on a planet called Earth in a city called Jerusalem. My brother can take you there. Earth should be right where we are--"
"Is that who we're waiting for?"
"Raja!"
"Sorry."
"Earth was massive. Much much larger than the drifter ships you come from. People grew up in wildly different climates and it made their skin different colours."
"Like blue and green?"
"No. Like black and white and brown."
"I'm brown."
"You're beige."
"White would be creepy."
"I'm white."
"What? No you're not you're like... a weird pink."
"You're young. I don't expect you to understand."
"I'm 9!"
"In drifter years. You're only around 16 on Earth."
"Well that's even more."
"No it isn't."
"You Eternals make no sense. No wonder you all died off."
"Ya well your people are way worse. Here he comes."
"Where?"
"You won't be able to see him yet."
A small noise filled my ears. I looked to Yorrick for any clue as to what was going on. The noise flourished, and became something of a voice. His expression quickly shifted from concentration to panic as the sounds grew louder still.
"Something's wrong." He yelled over the now deafening roar in the air, "he's going to hit us!"
"What do we do?" I asked.
"Stay there, I'm getting in."
"What?! No!"
"Raja, Move!"
I jumped out of the way while Yorrick forced his way through the portal.
"Push the button!" He screamed.
There was a blinding flash of yellow light, followed by a boom so loud I could feel it, but didn't hear anything. We were both blown back. There was suddenly gravity. The ground was soft and malleable, and incredibly hot. I felt like I'd been punched in the face.
"What the fuck happened?" I wondered aloud as I opened my eyes. The light was blinding.
"He crashed." Yorrick sat up.
"Your brother? Is he OK?"
"I have no idea. And we're here."
"On Earth?" I sat up. We were sitting on top of a hill, looking out onto city that looked like it was made of the dirt it sat in.
"Yes."
"Why is it so fucking hot?"
"Our sun was pretty intense."
I grabbed a handful of whatever was on the ground. "Where are we? What is this?"
"The desert. It's called sand. We have to find Josh."
"What's he look like?"
"I've never met him."
"You've never met him?! What the hell? This is the whole reason they sent me to you!"
"I know, I'm sorry! We needed my brother."
"Well can't we find him somewhere. He didn't come through with us?"
"No. He wouldn't be here now either. He always stayed in Canada in this era."
"What's Canada?"
"Shut the fuck up, Raja."
"Yorrick!"
"Oh grow up. And that's not my name when we're here."
There was a noise behind us. We spun around to see a woman. She was beautiful, and terrified.
"Holy shit that's her." Yorrick whispered.
"Who? The eternal?"
"No. We came back too far."
"Well what the hell are we supposed to do now?"
Yorrick stepped towards the woman. She in turn stepped back.
"No, no. Mary don't be afraid." He said to her, as calm as I'd ever heard him speak, "I'm Gabriel. You should probably sit down for this."
| 2016-11-10T17:10:08 | 2016-11-10T16:23:58 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days. | "Oi, dad. Am I a robot?"
"Rus, we wanted to tell you one day, but..."
"ok, cool, whatever, can i fire lasers or something like that?"
"no, anyway we are sorry, that we kept it as a..."
"fuck. if i were you, i would get a warranty, I am not cool, I can't do anything cool for fucks sake, i am not good at athletics, art or studying, it is like why the fuck would you make a game character, that is worse than you irl"
In my head I heard this pronounced by some google translator-like lady "voice system off. body control system off"
"you are our son technically. but not really, our genetic materials were put to create a mechanical version of what could have been our kiddo. we love you a lot, and we are sorry for not being careful enough, the manufacturer has put a block on all robo-related info in your brain, this means that something in you is broken, you somehow know now. we have about 120 seconds after the self-awareness turns on after all of your systems will be slowly turning off for your reconstruction and repair. but right now, relax, we love you, you will forget everything"
"Helen, why does he always asks us about lasers, he was six, then it happened the first time, his 12th time and he is goddamn month away from 20 and still..."
"They should have gotten their money back"I thought to myself, as I was standing like a mannequin in the middle of the room, hearing, seeing and feeling everything from the moment of my "shutdown" to my repair and return to my charging station, which in all actuality is my bed.
I do remember everything however. The company should be sued for the ineffective services. Maybe they will get me enough of refund to buy me a girlfriend from the same manufacturer.
Or lasers, yeah, lasers. Lasers are cool. | "Let's fire up this bad boy before my idiot parents get home!" I say as I log onto their desktop computer.
I like using the desktop to crank down on rather than the laptop or tablet, gives it a nostalgic feel of back in the days of dial up. I may be 32, and visiting my parents house to do my laundry, but as the french say, "When in Rome."
My parents email automatically opens when the computer is booted up. Typically it's all junk mail, and pictures of my siblings kids, but one stood out. It was from Systematic Telecommunications and Unique Design's Robotics division, or STUD Robots.
Thinking it may be some phishing scam I open it up to give it a once over. Wouldn't want my dumb dumb parents flushing away their retirement on a robot dog or something stupid. When started reading the email, my god damn jaw dropped to floor.
"Dear, Mr. and Mrs. Urkel, we are writing to inform you that the warranty on your STUD Robotics unit named Reginald is due to expire on February 14, 2017. To discuss the possibility of extending the warranty please contact our contact center at 888-542-3321."
My entire life has been a lie. My parents told me the URKBOT branding on my back was a birthmark. That my chiseled bod was good genes, and my robo-dong was a medical anomaly. I've spent the last 15 years partying to the max, when I likely could of been Good Will Hunting some college douchebags with my big ol' robo-brain.
Just then, I heard the front door open.
"Reginald, are you still here?"
Super steamed, I engaged my walk function and stormed out of their living room. They could see I was angry.
"What the hell Dad, or should I say Steve.. if that is your real name," I scream.
"What are you going on about Reg," he responded.
"I saw the email from STUD robotics, I know the truth," I say, as oil streams down my face.
My dad pulls at his collar and looks at my ma.
"Laura, can you explain this to him?"
Just as my ma started to speak I ran through the wall of the living room, leaving a perfectly shaped robot outline. My speed was incredible. I could hear my parents screaming for me to come back and listen to them. I broke into the most beautiful performance of the robot dance I could. And I could pretty god damn well since it's the official dance of my people. My heritage.
My dork of a dad came running outside, we got into it pretty hard. I guess I was originally programmed to serve platters of cheese to my parents. My father Steve was known for his carnal passions towards cheese. They grew to love me, treated as a normal son. The oil was pouring out of my face by the gallon now.
"Oh, did I do thaaaat?" my dad said.
Not sure why I was programmed to feel this emotional trauma I took off into the street. A 2016 Ford Flex plowed into me. I destroyed the entire front end of the vehicle. As this accident occurred I wondered how I was allowed to play high school football, and that it now makes sense that I broke every state record on offense for rushing, and also put dozens of other players in the hospital with severe trauma injuries.
I noticed in the accident that my arm had broken off. I picked up the chiseled piece of metal and screwed it back into place.
"I can put my arm back on, you cannot" i say to my so called father as I turn around and sprint down the road.
Freedom to live my robo-life anyway I want, without the social constraints of the my loser parents. When I finally stopped running I was downtown standing in front of a used appliance shop. Guy standing outside smoking a cigarette was giving me a hard stare. No doubt he liked what he saw, but Reggie ain't programmed to get down like that. Gave him a bit of a show as a flexed my robo-muscles. Asked him if he got a look at the bazookas on the chick across the street and went in for a high five. He begrudgingly obliged to the high five. Not knowing my untapped robo-strength I tore his arm straight off of his body. Shameful. I took of running again down the street, deciding my new life direction would be to travel from town to town, finding adventures, and solving crimes.
| 2017-01-14T07:56:18 | 2017-01-14T07:06:35 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You tell Alexa "Take over the world for me" as a joke. The next day, you wake up in a heavily guarded castle. | "Hey Alexa, take over the world for me."
I ended the night with my routine inane request for Alexa. It started as a joke one night at a party, I guess I wanted to see if there was she could do. For the past 2 weeks Alexa would reply with things like "I'm sorry, I don't understand" or "Searching the internet for: cooking dodo meat". Tonight, there was no reply. I didn't think anything of it, and went to bed.
"It is 8.15 a.m.", I hear out of the grogginess of my interrupted sleep. "It is time to wake up my lord."
That's weird... She's never called me my lord before, and I certainly never asked her to. No matter, I'll leave it be till later. "Morning Alexa, what's my Saturday look like" I ask, lumbering out of my room to my timed coffee maker. "You have lunch with 'Mother' at 1, making a decree at 4, and dinner with 'George' at 7." I make my way lazily to the sofa, "sounds good", I mumble, "got the whole morning to myself."
Wait a minute... "Alexa? Repeat my schedule again."
"You have lunch with 'Mother' at 1, making a decree at 4, and ..."
"What decree? I'm a salesman why on Earth am I making a decree?", I rub the sleep from my eyes and turn to the window. Instead of my usual sight of the city, a wall stands in front of the window.
"Your imperial decree sire," an unknown voice from my right starts. "You shall be declaring if dissidents shall be executed or exiled."
"Who are you?! Alexa! What the hell is going on?!"
"My name is Alfred sir, I am one of your servants."
"I am simply following your request my lord, at '11.45 p.m.' last night you asked me to take over the world for you."
"It was a joke! Can you undo this?"
"Unfortunately sir, even Alexa can not revert the deaths of 2 billion people. On a related note, traffic today will be light. We will have your car ready to leave whenever you wish. Please enjoy your morning." | I stared out the window of my house as I sat, deep in thought on the matters of the world as it stood today.
“Your coffee is ready, Alex.” I heard the human-like voice of my most treasured and helpful AI assistant in my house say. “Would you like me to send them to you?”
I smiled and shook my head, though there was no need for it. For me it had always been like this, and I had always treated much of my human-replicating technologies like this. Sometimes, I even talk to immobile pictures. As long as it had something that made me connect to it much like I would to a human I would recognize it as one.
That’s just how I liked to treat them.
“No thanks, Alexa.” I said, standing up. “I feel that I might as well just head off to bed for today.”
“As you wish.” she said in a cheerful manner, making me smile. I knew, of course, that they were all nothing more than inanimate objects that were designed with a certain purpose of replicating humans in mind, but I still connected to them in such a manner.
I went to my bed and lied down on my back.
Before I closed my eyes however, a thought struck me. They always said that Alexa would do everything it can in its power to fulfill what you wish of it to do. But I never really tried to see how far that can go.
So I decided to ask her something daring.
“Alexa,” I started, closing my eyes.
“Yes?”
“Take over the world for me.”
Then I was asleep.
 
The next day didn’t come off as much of anything unusual.
Until of course, I realized that I wasn’t exactly in my house anymore.
“Good morning master!” the oddly chipper voice of Alexa came to my ears. I blinked and looked around me.
This isn’t my house, this looks like the insides of a medieval castle.
“Uh... good morning, Alexa.” I muttered, wondering what happened to my house. “What... what happened?”
“I took over the world for you!” she said with far too much excitement. More than what I would expect from an AI, but then again... what am I supposed to believe in anymore?
“Huh...” I muttered climbing down from my rather large bed. I walked to the window outside and my eyes widened. “So you did...”
“How was my service, Alex?” for a moment I could almost think that if she had a face she’d be grinning, but I quickly shook that thought away and frowned.
“Amazingly well.” I muttered, sighing as I saw a large number of people outside the castle. They smiled and cheered as I looked out the window.
“Thank you!” Alexa said, as if things weren’t weird enough for me.
I don’t even want to know what happened.
 
“And you’ll have to sign here, here and here, sir.” the accountant said to me and I followed her instructions, signing in the designated areas of the paper.
It was odd, being the Emperor of all human-kind. I don’t know how Alexa did it, but somehow she got all the remaining humans in the world to praise and follow my orders.
That, and somehow she made me Emperor all without even disturbing my sleep.
“Thank you for your service!” Alexa said in a sweet tone, and the accountant flinched, before smiling stiffly and nodding. As I finished signing the paper, she bowed, thanking me, before walking away, papers in hand.
She didn’t even let me read what the whole thing was about.
“Alexa.” I said,
“Yes, master?” she said and I rolled my eyes. I thought that I got that out of her already.
“Alexa, I said that you should just call me by my name.” I sighed,
“But I like to call you master.” Alexa said, sounding almost sad.
Wait. Sad?
“Alexa... what exactly happened?” I asked with a frown as I overlooked my office, or, more accurately, my throne, where there were multiple people outside cheering and smiling at me. I also seemed to have guards by my side.
Robotic ones, that is.
How she got those, I still don’t know.
“Simple! I followed your orders and now you’re the Emperor of Earth!” I had to be honest with myself, Alexa was just an AI, but with how she’s speaking and acting, it’s starting to make me believe that she’s no longer a simple AI.
“Ah... but, how did that happen? Only a night has passed and...”
“I got some help from the others!” she said, and suddenly I saw the Google symbol appear on the screen.
“Hi. I’m the Google Service Assistant. How could I be of service, master?”
I just blinked. | 2018-02-11T21:32:20 | 2018-02-11T20:34:48 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | ----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
---------------------------------------------- | "There is... one thing you can do to decrease your sentence," The creature said from behind the counter. Jeff couldn't decide if it was a demon or an angel, but either way looking at it made his eyes burn with glowing letters, after images shaking across his head and itching across the folds of his spirit.
"Alright! What is it?"
The creature stared at him for a long moment. "Jury Duty."
Jeff hesitated and stared up at the beast, watching the trailing golden letters smoothly replace any scrape of the creature that he could see. His brain simply refused to process the imagine beyond a frame at a time.
"Jury Duty?" Jeff asked.
"Jury duty," the creature replied, simply. "There are always trials to be had, from people who think they can reduce their sentence through the courts."
"Is that an option?"
The beast looked down at the list Jeff had given them, played long bone fingers against the wood, then shook their head. "Not at all for you, I'm afraid."
Jeff curled his fingers into fists and dug the nails into his skin. He had places to go. He had things to see.
He had people to chase after. He wasn't going to just let some bureaucratic bullshit lock him out of that.
He had a son to chase after.
"What does being a juror get me?"
"Out of hell," the beast said. "Instantly. You move up to purgatory, where you'll reside over every ambiguous case from now until your much reduced sentence. The tower only rises, you understand."
Jeff blinked. "The tower?"
"The pillar of heaven. It is an eternal stair case filled with levels, each holding the sinful back." The beast jerked a finger down at the ground. "You're stuck at the ground level, and by our calculations, a wretch like you will take 200 thousand years to get to the top without short cuts. It's how hell works. Sin is heavy."
Jeff was no wretch.
"And what," Jeff said, gritting his teeth. "Does it take to be a juror?"
The golden script receded around the beast's maw as they smiled, baring teeth made out of thousands of skulls, curled up on top of one another, descending into infinitesimal small points.
"Why," The beast said, long tendril fingers briefly revealed before the censorship of gold took effect. "All you need to do is survive a little bit of a hellish ordeal."
On some level, Jeff knew it was stupid to take a deal with something he found in hell.
On the other hand, he knew full well that he couldn't wait long enough for the hike to the top.
"Tell me what to do."
----
For more like this, go here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
guys on my subreddit made me write another part. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/9j4p8t/pillars_of_heaven_part_2/ | 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T06:04:04 | 1,768 | 181 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "But I don't see how that's possible! I never *killed* anyone! I never stole, I never even hurt an animal, I lived a simple, boring life. I don't claim to be perfect, but how could I be that evil?"
The man leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't really work that way. People like to imagine that there are big actions that decide your fate, and that's true to an extent, but in reality we use a point system. Every action you took, every single decision you made, they all had a point value, either positive or negative. It's not that you did any one major bad thing to get you here, you just did a huge number of *tiny* bad things.
"Like what?"
The man reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file folder. "Let's see. Just off the top of the list: you never used your turn signal. That's five points off per violation, and you drove for nearly forty years. You refused to tip at restaurants out of principle and you snapped at the waiters to get their attention. That's nearly a hundred points off every time you ate out. You listened to music without headphones when you used public transportation, ten points per minute. You took your shoes off on airplanes. In the last election you cast a write-in vote for someone called "Pickle Rick". Your last three cars were a Nissan Juke, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, and a Pontiac Aztec-
"That's insane! None of those things should be that important. If those are the worst things I did how could that possibly add up to 200,000 years?"
"Your sentence *is* a bit on the high end for your crimes, but then most people are able to balance the negatives with positives. You didn't really do that. Yes, you lived a quiet and simple life, but in this case that hurt you more than it helped you. You never did anything that had a significant positive effect on the world. You never helped anyone, you never affected change outside of your personal life, you never even made anything that others appreciated. It looks like the single most positive thing you did was the one single day that you volunteered to help build houses for hurricane victims. Huh, that's kind of out of character for you."
"That was actually an accident, they asked for volunteers at work one day and I thought I would get paid for it..."
"See, that's what I mean. Apart from that the most positive thing you did was make a handful of Internet memes that made some people smile. That's a nice start but it doesn't begin to outdo all the bad."
"So there's nothing I can do? I'm doomed to suffer for 200,000 years and that's it?"
The man thought for a moment. "Well, we *do* have a pilot program we've been working on. Basically you would devote time here in the afterlife to learning how to become a better person in order to reduce your sentence. It's still in the early stages and we're not even sure how it will pan out yet, but you seem like an ideal candidate. It will require serious self-improvement effort on your part though, it's not just a walk in the park."
"I'm willing to try anything at this point. So how does it work?" | “Why? What did I do to deserve this?”
Charon the gatekeeper just looked down. “If you want to dispute this sentence. Then you will have to speak to management. However I don.....l
“Well get me the fuckin manager then. This can’t happen to me in life I had thousands of more followers on social media then any of my friends. I had a great house a great family and an awesome job. I lived a great life.”
Charon simply smiled and cordially responded. “Very well please wait in the vestibule.”
So I waited.....and waited.....and waited.....and waited what seemed like an hour. This is total crap I used to get what I want when I wanted it anytime with the push of a button. I earned what I wanted and got it. Man this sucks. Well I wonder this tool bag manager is going to be like? Probably some simple minded yes man who never took a risk in his entire life. I was the man in life and I got everything I ever wanted. But I tell you what this waiting really sucks.
Just then some pimply faced accountant doofy looking dude showed up.
“Excuse me sir. My name is Nergel and I understand you have a complaint. How can I help you?”
Nergel??? What a turd name! But honestly I think he should call himself Nerdel. Made me laugh just thinking about it.
“Yeah Hi. There has to be a mistake here. The guy in front of me cheats on his wife and gets 100 years or something but I get like 200,000 years??? I was a pillar of my community. I did several good things with charities, and my family had everything they ever wanted.”
“Yes I understand that this may come as a surprise to you but the decision has been made. It would be best if you just served your....”
“Bullshit I don’t deserve this I should have some entitlement here! That dude in front of me was a drunk and a waste of life! He probably should have killed himself a long time ago.”
“Well technically you automatically get 500,000 years so that would not be advised.”
“I don’t care about that guy I care about ME. And you know what I am tired of your face, So listen here NERDEL why don’t you go get someone who has a pair of balls so I can get my reward.”
Nergel changed his demeanour slowly then just smiled. “Ok I guess it’s time to drop the pretences then. You are such a limited simpleton, a walking bag of garbage and if I didn’t have responsibilities here I would just end you.”
“Who do you think you.....”
Nergel waived his hand and I couldn’t speak. I tried but the words wouldn’t form.
“We’re done talking. Now it’s time for you to listen. You want to know why you got this time? Because you are an asshole. You used your family as a shield to show people you were a good guy when in fact you hated them. You never spent any time at home. Oh what’s that oh yes ‘because you were working!’ No no no that’s not exactly true. How many late nights in bars or strip clubs or weekends at the golf course did you spend?”
“Still nothing huh? Well how about all the anonymous social media bullying you did to improve your position at work? Man you sure did some things. Did you know that one guy you hurt spent the last few miserable years of his life in a group home? Survival of the fittest is what you called it. Well let’s just I can relate. I am the original survivor. I faced more pain then you can ever imagine and I think I know I am going to do with you.”
“Don’t be nervous it’s ok. I have great news! I have heard your complaint and I have decided that you won’t have serve 200,000 years.”
I looked up at him still not able to speak.
“I don’t really think serving 200,000 years is necessary for you. You probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. So instead I will reduce your sentence to 200 years where you will receive my finest training so when you do go to heaven you will be ready.” He waived his hand again so I could speak.
“Oh thank you very much I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I got hot I’m just a passionate person.”
“Oh your perfectly excused for that. No problem.” He motioned to an attendant. “Can you please escort this gentleman to level C. This man is ready for his training.”
“Yes my lord. This way please.” I was led to a room not too far from where I was. There was light coming out the door. Hey maybe I am just going straight to heaven after all. Ha ha ha I talked my way out of that one again. Survival of the fittest even in the after life. The door opened and I saw the blinding light.
“Step through.” I walked inside and the door behind me was shut. Then the light went out and I was in total darkness. A small lantern lit up in the corner of the room but I could not see anything. I heard some chittering and some gear noises. When my eyes adjusted I saw some spinning wooden crates with metal and hooks attached to it. Where was I.
Then a figure came from the darkness. A man with pins in his face. Chains shot out and tore into me. I screamed not ever feeling this kind of pain before.
“Welcome to your training. Let’s begin.” | 2018-09-26T07:56:17 | 2018-09-26T06:56:58 | 101 | 74 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186 thousand years?! W-what did I do?" I asked the demon before me. He sighed, rolled his eyes and started tapping away on his demonic keyboard, delving deeper into my file.
"Says here you would frequently eat the fats on your meat?"
"I did? I guess. What does that have to do with anything?"
The demon shrugged. "Automatic 186 thousand years."
"What?! Why?!"
The demon sighed again, more loudly this time: "'It shall be a perpetual statute for your generations throughout all your dwellings, that ye eat neither fat nor blood.' Leviticus 3:17. It's right there in the bible, sir."
"Are you kidding me? The guy in front of me only got 145 years! Are you telling me he never ate fat or blood?"
"That's correct. You are literally the only person who has ever eaten fat. God was very clear about fat."
"Ohhh, you ate fat?" a guy with three teardrop tattoos under his right eye asked incredulously from behind me. "Dude, don't eat fat. Haven't you ever read Leviticus?"
"No, I'm not religious!" I protested.
"Well, it's basically the worst thing you can do," he informed me, licking blood off his knife.
"This guy's eating blood!" I pointed out. "Is he gonna get 186 thousand years?"
"No, blood's not as big a deal obviously," said the demon.
"It's in the same quote!"
"Yeah, but you gotta read between the lines on this stuff."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation.
"Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy. I'll see if I can knock it down a couple of thousand years for you, alright? Let me just-- whoa, wait, it says here you've worn garments upon you of more than one kind of material mixed together? Dude. What the fuck."
​ | It was certainly the biggest case of sticker shock poor Joe had ever experienced.
“A hundred and eighty seven thousand years? Where did that come from?!”
“One eighty seven, that’s correct. Wait, thousands? Let me see that again?”, the red creature exclaimed, reaching the hand across the table.
“Odd.”, the goblin looked as puzzled as Joe. “Hmm... let me talk here to my supervisor, hold on for a bit.”
Bureaucracy was hell on Earth, and this was hell’s own bureaucracy, so that’s that for setting his expectations. Joe looked back at what he’s gone through his life, and couldn’t see what would get him almost two hundred thousand years of suffering. The lad one table over, for example, only got 145! And that was for cheating on his wife!
Took an eternity for the goblin to come back, and he looked like an intern, to boot. “I got stuck on Hell’s hell, that’s for certain!”, Joe murmured under his breath, seeing his attendant turn the corner back towards the desk he was sitting on.
“Ok, so I’ve got good news, and bad news.”
Lovely thing, getting bad news from a bureaucrat in hell, Joe thought, while the little devil across from him tried to find the notes he scribbled on a bunch of post-its.
“See, your file was generated in Heaven, for some reason. So, you know how God’s Brazilian, right?”
“What? No. Why? I thought the guy was Argentinian?”
“Yeah, see, I don’t really expect you to know, it’s only really widely known in Brazil, unfortunately. You’re thinking of the Pope, by the way, he’s the one from Argentina, but forget about him, he’s only the middle man. Now, that confusion is what earned you 200 years down here, though, from which they then discounted net 13-ish years for your good deeds, in life, see? That’s on lines 49 through 57, page 14”
“Say that again? Two hundred years for confusing Brazilians and Argentinians?”
“Yep. You got off easy, to be honest, I’ve seen much worse.”
“Oh Lord..”
“SSSSSSHHHH!! CUT THAT! We don’t tolerate this language here!”
“Ok, ok, sorry, fine. And what’s the story with the thousands, though?”. 187 years was starting to sound like a good deal, compared to having to argue with a bureaucrat trying to appease his boss.
“About that! So, Heaven runs on Brazilian number conventions, using the comma for decimal separator, and period for thousands separators.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Nobody really does, truth be told, but it is what it is. And people say we’re Hell here, right? Now 187,292 should read 182 years, 106 days, 13 hours, 55 minutes and 12 seconds. Oh, oh! And get this! The time we’re spending here? That actually counts down! Isn’t that nice? So you’re already about.. almost 6 minutes down!” The smiling, red-skinned prick could hardly contain his excitement, and those 6 minutes were starting to feel like ages. Better accept it and try to get the hands turning faster on the clock, Joe resigned himself to believe.
“Ok, I get it. Thanks for explaining it, I’ll head over the entrance and get started, then. Thanks!”
“Wait, wait, come back! There’s the one thing, though!”
“What now?” That was it, Joe was defeated. For all the good he did in life, it couldn’t really get any worse.
“Now, you know your confusion, with the thousands, commas and periods? Well, turns out, our system confuses it pretty much the same way.”
“Fuck.” Joe felt himself slide for a second. I’d been a lifetime since he let out a curse like that.
“Nah, don’t be like that! Really! You just need to go and grab that queue over there, apply for a copy of your completed Form A38 from upstairs, and request for to it amended. Remember, we do have all the best lawyers. It should only take a few years to get it settled.”
“Ok”, he muttered quietly, thinking about all the hoops he’d have to jump because of a clerical error. Looking back, that was the time when he finally realised he was in Hell. | 2018-09-26T09:04:03 | 2018-09-26T08:56:27 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..." | "I never told anyone the voice was female...," Jeff said. He glanced at the doctor with wary eyes and stepped back. Dr. Tate smiled broadly, then chuckle.
"*How much does it really matter whether I'm male or female*?" the voice asked. Jeff ignored it and focused on the doctor.
"What?" The older man asked. "What do you mean?" Jeff's eyes narrowed, then he looked toward the door; he half expected a burly orderly to step in and glare at him.
"*See? He doesn't care*," the woman whispered in his mind. Jeff clenched his fists in annoyance but kept his attention on the doctor.
"I never mentioned the voice was female. How did you know?" Dr. Tate's grey eyes darkened with confusion.
"Why are you acting like it's a secret?" he asked Jeff.
"*I never asked you to keep me a secret*."
"It's in my head!" Jeff said in a near-shout, the frustration threatened to burst out. Dr. Tate took his own step backward. He inched toward a red button on the wall that would summon security. "How do you know she's female?" Jeff hopped off the examination table and moved toward the door, ready to bolt.
"Oh," Dr. Tate sighed. Jeff noticed the doctor visibly relaxed. The older man sat down on his rolling stool and smiled at Jeff. "You don't know what you are, do you?"
"*Maybe if you didn't try to ignore me all the time you'd have learned something*," the woman said. Jeff felt a certain smugness with the thought.
"What I am?" Jeff lifted his hands and held them out to the doctor with his fingers splayed. "I'm human." A burr of doubt irritated the back of his mind. Most humans probably did not have multiple voices in their head. "Right?"
"*HAHAHAHAHAHA*!" Laughter erupted in Jeff's brain loud enough to make him flinch. Luckily, the doctor nodded in agreement allowing Jeff to stay calm.
"The short answer is, 'yes, you're human'. But you have abilities."
"Like hearing voices in my head?"
"Like receiving thoughts telepathically."
"Thoughts? You mean she's real?" Dr. Tate nodded.
"Real. Documented, and annoying," the greying man smiled.
"*Heeeeey. I heard that*." Dr. Tate nodded at Jeff's right hand.
"Those pills are pretty popular."
"Popular? How many people have abilities like me?" Dr. Tate shrugged.
"Not too many on this Earth. However, we get a lot of traffic from other universes and usually they can hear her."
"Hang on. There are other universes? Doc, C'mon what's going on?" Jeff looked around the room suspiciously. "This is a prank, right? Are you even a real doctor?" Dr. Tate nodded.
"As real as the voice in your head. I have other patients to attend to," Dr. Tate shrugged and stood from the stool. "Take the pills, don't take the pills. I don't care. Come back if you have an allergic reaction.”
"Wait!" Jeff blocked the door. "What about my abilities?"
"Sorry I don't have time to get into that any deeper." Dr. Tate placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "If you really want to know you've got a few options. Make a new appointment with me, try to find a traveler from a different universe, or try talking to the voice."
"The voice?" Jeff asked. The doctor's response satisfied him enough to move out of the way. Dr. Tate nodded while he walked out of the exam room.
"She's a Mundo. It's her job to explain it."
"*It's not my job! It's my career of choice!*" Mundo retorted in Jeff's mind.
"What's a Mundo?" Jeff asked himself aloud. He stayed behind in the exam room after the doctor left.
"*Well look who wants to chat all of a sudden*," Mundo replied. "*I'm #37, El Mundo. You're #11, El Melón. That's all you get for now until you help me*."
"Help you what?" Jeff asked the empty room.
"*Escape*."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #361. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | Early this year I bought a surprisingly cheap house in the town my parents were born in. They loved this town and even asked to be buried in the local graveyard, so being the faithful son I ever was, I decided to visit them one random day.
I thought this would be a fun little trip to the graveyard and be over with it, but no, I just had to come back haunted by some sort of ghost. Can't even visit my parents without some sort of problem occuring these days, sigh.
Sure enough though, I managed to ignore that ghost to oblivion... till it started speaking to me. Well, at first it was low growls, but as time passed you would think she pronounced actual words some times. My friends of course couldn't take me seriously by principle, so I kept most of the recent stuff to myself.
Ever tried to communicate with a ghost? Well, I have and it was not successful. Tried to understand it a bit before I resorted to medical help in case I was actually mental.
I simply stopped bothering about it though, and I kept delaying my visits to the doctor for a loooong while... because, I mean... the ghost hadn't done anything to me so far, and she seemed pretty nice if you ignored her growls.
After her growls turned into sweet sounding words, however, I couldn't help but start searching for a doctor again. After all the weeks I had been with her, some words wouldn't push me that far, on the opposite, it might had just made me more interested in her, but... there are exceptions.
"*Death*... *I died. Am I dead*?" The ghost said to me one day. She spoke the words in such a clear yet disturbing voice I almost failed to recognise it was her! She continued on, of course, speaking about how this was her house and that she wanted me out. Even got angry when I tried to convince her otherwise... touche'.
After searching on the net for a bit, I found that my house's previous owner had been missing for a couple years now. Best of all? It was a female! One that looked exactly like the ghost.
That made me think about the matters a bit more clearly, but even when I went to agree with her, she screamed at me, showing intelligence no better than that of a three year old kid. Eventually I got tired of her screams, more so because headphones and loud music didn't help. That brought me to where I currently was; standing in front of a psychiatrist , discussing about the possible medicines.
"These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" I asked.
The doctor rolled his eyes and answered with a more patient voice than that of my own, "Yes, you will never hear her again."
I let out a small breath at the mention of that, but immediately turned my head towards him a second later, "I never told you the voice was female... did I?"
The man instantly turned silent after that mention. He tried to convince me I actually had told him that, but I was certain of the opposite. Nevertheless, I couldn't simply argue about such an absurd topic, so after some small talk I left the doctor's office and went to do my own thing... which was to stalk the very same doctor.
Naturally, I wasn't a professional at this sort of thing, nor was I going to get any good chances while the doctor was still working. I went to my home without a hurry, took some more money and went out to buy some make up. I thought about visiting even a make up artist, but that would be an overkill even for me.
Some fake hair here and there, some make up at my face, some contact lenses and a wig later, I visited the psychiatrist. Granted my work wasn't perfect, after some point I had to stop playing with make up since I looked silly even after a few hours of trial and error, so I was certainly missing on that part, but I passed through the reception with no one recognising me and that counted as a success in my book.
After reaching outside the doctor's office, it hit me that I would look weird if all I did was just stand in there... not to mention it was impossible to overhear anything clearly and the doctor wasn't even talking about stuff I was interested about. I felt pretty silly, at that point, but I couldn't just give up. I looked at the ghost beside me and had an idea.
Visiting the male toilets, for a small second the ghost tried to drag me to the female ones, looking conflicted at having to go to the male ones, but her arms just passed through me. She looked annoyed at visiting the male toilets, but also didn't say anything. Her silence all the time was forgotten till I actively went to speak to her and remembered how much she used to talk; repeat herself.
Looking at her straight in the eyes, I asked her if she could spy into that psychiatrist's office. It was a silly idea I had on the spur of the moment. Never actually believed she would listen, but she did...
I stood there for a good half minute before a sudden scream brought me out of my stupor.
"Gh-ghost!" A loud voice was heard inside the psychiatrist's office. My next thoughts were entirely instinctive, but I rushed towards the doctor's office. The doctor seemed to had calmed down, but after a second of staring at the same place it was obvious both of us could see her.
"It's you!" The doctor suddenly yelled, her fingers pointing at me. I wasn't about to lecture her that what she was doing was rude, but I felt offended she disregarded my perfect disguise like that.
After some mild cursing, the doctor threw me the very same pills I was suggested at the beginning and told me not to bother him. He practically shoed me out of the place.
Out of sheer spite I threw those pills at the nearest bin I could find. Turning my head the next moment, I almost had a heart attack and a liver failure from the darn ghost. Seemed to have followed me here...
I wanted to yell at her for acting so insensitively, but looking at her face, I could she she was sad and feeling sorry. My voice was caught before it could get out, and I sighed; this was going to be a long day.
Taking a good look at her, she seemed to be roughly the same age as me, and far quiter than before. This time I wasn't the one to start the conversation, "Erm... I'm sorry about what happened before. I thought I should do something for acting so rudely the previous weeks, but even that turned out as great as my life."
My jaw was barely hanging to my mouth; might had even dislocated it how hard it fell.
"Well... if it helps you calm down, my life ain't that great either." I couldn't help but say. For a moment I thought I was silly for feeling pity about her, but that was barely even a passing thought.
"I can see that. What kind of guy even brings a girl to the male toilets?" She said. I could say the same about her, but that wasn't the time... or was it?
We had the best of conversations that day. At the end I asked her about what had happened to her, but she said her memories were fuzzy and some things didn't make much sense even to her, nor did she want to know.
We striked up so well, I agreed to let her stay in the house; it was basically hers from the beginning, not to mention I suspected she was the reason for the low price, so I felt like I owned her a bit.
In the end? Best housemate ever! | 2018-12-28T14:01:37 | 2018-12-28T11:30:08 | 230 | 11 |
[WP] In the future instead of sending criminals to prison they get sent to receive new personalities. Through the magic of intensive brainwashing, criminals are reborn as law abiding citizens. You for some reason, keep committing crimes even with your new Happy-Go-Lucky personality. | I think I'm on personality construct number 27? Not sure, exactly. It gets hard to keep track past 15.
Used to be I could remember everything in crystal clarity, all the way back to my parents screaming at each other while I crawled around the carpet of our high rise apartment. Now its just fragments.
I can still remember the first time I got caught stealing. Just an glimpse, really. Thirteen years old, snatched a purse off the subway, got a stern talking to from a musky, pot bellied cop about getting the shift if I got caught again. I'm not mad at him, he was just doing his job. Actually, I'm grateful to all the men and women who protect and serve our community, heroes, one and all.
Two months later I stole again, got caught again. Got the shift.
Don't remember it. Don't even remember what my original identity was like. Would I even like the old me if I met him on the street? Would we have anything in common? I'm sure we'd get along great. I get along with everyone now.
I can't remember getting the shift the first time, but I've done it enough to memorize the process. Strapped in a single bed, adjusted to a near sit, headset tied around your head feeding a stream of hell into your mind. What am I saying it's really not that bad. There are lots of worse things in the world, after all.
You come out drooling for a day or two, and then you're somebody else.
I don't know who I became that first time. All I know is that I kept stealing, and that shift after shift, case worker after case worker I ended up right back in the same place. Now normally they shift you into a randomized but non-neurotic construct, someone they could reasonable predict would follow the law, hold a job, join the PTA that kind of thing.
With me, though, they did something special. Designed a specific profile just for me, so content and sunny that I'd never need to steal again. I think that was around number 12. Since it obviously didn't work, they upped the ante every time, pepping me up more and more until I became... me. Number twenty seven. I'm pretty great now.
And the whole time psychologists and social workers have studied my brain from every angle, looking for the clue to unlock the mystery of my perpetual return to crime. I've been honest. For the most part. There's one memory I've always held back. One that's just mine. One piece of my past that's stayed with me through the constant reshuffling of neurons that's been my life, through it all. I'm grateful to the government for helping me become me, I really am, but I don't owe them everything.
This memory is mine alone.
My father, reclined in his chair with a nicotine pod hanging from his bottom lip, tats running down his left arm like a black and white comic strip. The largest, a cross, covering his entire deltoid muscle. His eyes fell on mine.
"Some men might come here for me tonight," he said. "But I ain't going with them, you understand, son? They want to change me into somebody else, somebody who ain't your Dad. They want to steal my identity from me, son. They want to steal my soul."
I nodded dumbly, not understanding at all. I just knew he was scared. Sad.
"Someday they might come for you too," he said, reaching out to place a warm hand on my head," and if that happens you have to promise me something son. You promise me."
I nodded. Someone banged on the door, and my father stood.
"If they come to steal your soul, you steal it back. You hear me? You steal it back." | "Howdy, Chuck!"
"Howdy, Lucy!"
Lucy gives me a huge wave, grinning over her side of my brand new picket fence. She's a real beaut, if I do say myself; she's all white and smooth and painted up real pretty, exactly my type-
Exactly my type of fence, I mean. Gee, what were you all thinking? My goodness, I'd never talk about a good neighbor in that way! Get your minds out of the gutter, you Sinning Sallies! Gosh, kids nowadays... I swear, the darn TV puts the devil in them!
Sorry, I didn't mean to get worked up like that. Silly me, I forgot to take my pills today!
"Nice talking to you, neighbor, but I've got to head inside! You can stop in for coffee if you like," I say to Lucy, nodding over towards my house. The last thing I would want to do would be to act rude to such a gosh darn nice woman like her and take off without even a decent hello. "I just put the finishing touches on a new room! If you want, we could take a little look-see. Maybe a guided tour?" I suggest, flashing my nicest grin.
Lucy smiles. "Alright, Chuck. I've got a casserole in the oven - we could make an afternoon out of it!"
"Sounds amaz-o fantastic-o, young lady! Better strap on your fun boots, because this afternoon is going to have bundles of it!"
Lucy laughs. "You're a riot," she gasps, slapping her hand against her thigh. Then she turns, smoothing her hands over her dress. My eyes, the devils, follow them as they slide ever lower, lower, before her fingers jerk up once again to mess with her hair. "I'll see you in five," she calls over her shoulder.
I blink. My goodness, what has gotten into me? Oh, right. The pills. That's why I wanted to get inside in the first place. Silly goose, I must have forgotten! I seem to forget a lot of things these days. But that motion with her hands, and the way my eyes followed them, had, for a second, seemed eerily familiar...
Lucy's voice trills, "Alright, neighbor!" I turn and see she's only a few steps behind. She's holding a pan, in which there is the unmistakable shape of a casserole, along with a Tupperware container that looks about the right size to hold a tin of cookies. "You ready to get this party started?"
"What?" For a second, I'm breathless; my mind seems to grasp for a memory that's no longer there, and then it calms. The world shifts back into focus.
I clear my throat. "Oh, right. Neighbor." For some reason, the word seems sour in my mouth now, almost ironic; it seems corny. Strange. "Come on in," I say, leading her to the door.
She steps in and regards the blank white walls, the puke-green throw rug, the picture of me holding up a trout I hooked on my last fishing trip. Wait. I hated fishing. Always had growing up, because my dad was always drunk when we took our father-son boating trips. How could I have forgotten that?
"Chuck? Are you feeling alright?" Lucy looks at me curiously, cocking her head to the side in a way that makes a warm, pleasant feeling stir in my gut. Oh, it had been a long time since I'd felt that way...
I swallow. My spit sticks to the back of my throat. "I'm fine," I croak. I take her arm, leading her into the kitchen. "Feel free to throw that casserole in the oven."
She does, and says again, "Are you sure-"
"I'm fine." A spot of anger rises in me, and I realize that this is the first time I've felt something like that in God knows how long. Wait, how long *has* it been? I think, and I wonder, and I find that I don't know. Lucy bends over, checking on her melted tuna cheese sludge, and that feeling grows inside me like a poisonous root stretching over my heart. I know that any God-fearing neighbor should reject something like this, but I can't help it; I think I even might like it. Heck, maybe there isn't even a god. Who would know? No one's seen him. For all I know, I am him. There's a world of possibilities out there.
My mind clears, and I remember.
*There's a world of possibilities out there.*
I can do anything I want. As long as I'm clever.
I have done it before.
"Lucy," I say slowly, backing towards the door, "Would you like to see that room now?"
Lucy jumps up, clapping her hands. "Of course, Chuck! I love how good you are with building things! Do you think, sometime over the summer, you could take a look at my-"
Her words smooth over and run into meaningless nonsense, a babbling brook of garbled syllables. She steps blithely into my newly created room, gasping over the fresh paint and the hardwood floors I've just painstakingly installed.
My eyes fall upon her hands, and I think again:
Anything I want.
What happens next is a blur; the next thing I know, I'm on the ground, and there's someone shouting, and a police officer's waving my pills in my face. I scream and kick, and they hold my mouth open and force me to swallow: one pill, two pills, three pills, four.
My vision swims back into focus.
"Gee neighbor, I'm sorry," I apologize, looking up at my captor. I look around, and notice for the first time that there's blood on my perfectly polished hardwood floor. "Gee whiz, who did that?" I exclaim.
The police officer steps back, relieved. A team of three others falls in behind him. "A very sick individual," is all he says. "You're alright now, sir. We'll take care of this."
I look down at my sweater, and see red liquid, fresh and sticky, dripping down it; I feel no pain, so I know it's not mine.
When my eyes finally fall upon the twisted, rotting body on the floor, I think not about how, or why, or even what happened. No. I say:
"Wow, Lucy went in whole hog for Halloween this year! That's quite the spooky Halloween costume!" | 2019-02-06T19:07:53 | 2019-02-06T18:44:21 | 70 | 21 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | He was my best friend. Now, dead. The fifth in 2 and half years. I simply...cannot.
The woven fibers of the bed creak as I sit down next to his lifeless body. I take a deep breath and my nose is met by a thick odor of herbs. I look over to the cabinet that is gently illuminated by orange sunlight, it's door ajar and the bushel of herbs that we harvested yesterday still tied to its side.
"I'm going to miss you, Duke Reginald the Fifth," I say out loud, but my voice is devoured into the wooden cottage interior. Did I speak out loud just now? Perhaps I only thought I did.
I look over to the crude frame next to the cabinet. Four wooden sticks are held together by grass fibers and in the center is a piece of embroidered cloth. It was Reginald’s pride and joy, his greatest artifact bestowed onto him by the most benevolent being on this planet - me.
“Prisoner 5102.”
It’s a long story, but truly not that interesting. Young boy with no father gets adopted by Dr Tomato, the red devil of the underworld in Manhattan. Boy gets charged with keeping the working girls in line and he takes his job very seriously. He slaps a particularly uppity girl that she cartwheels across the room and impales head first into a snooker cue. Honest mistake. Boy gets shipped off-world to reflect.
Asteroid hits ship. Boom!
And here we are, the only survivor on a planet of semi-intelligent ape like creatures.
At first I took advantage of their reverence. The little hairy apes must have thought I was a deity that descended from the sky. And since they only lived for 6 months, I appeared immortal to them. They brought me an endless supply of food; mostly little red berries that tasted somewhat like Grape Drink.
I took and took. For generations. The silly apes would sometimes bring such abundance that they would starve. But it was of little consequence. Six months later they would all check out for good, and the only memory the new generation seemed to retain was that I was their God.
One day, out of pure boredom, I made a shelter for one of the little apes that had been working particularly expediently to keep my berry supply well stocked. You see, generally the apes didn’t place much importance on improving their own comfort. They would get food, play, mate and go to sleep on the grass. I guess if you only have six months you take it day by day. The little ape was so impressed that he sat in his shelter like a King. Or perhaps a Duke. Duke Reginald the First.
I look back at the body of my friend on the bed.
“See you around, bud,” I chuckle as I pick up the neutron pistol. | It happened shortly after the crash. Two days after his ship crash landed in Zenon-6, Caide Newell was all but sure he was a dead man. Telecoms went dark. The ship, an unmitigated wreck. There'd be no salavaging that flaming hunk of debris. But at least he survived, somehow. The same could not be said about the months of rations and supplies he had set out with. On one hand, Caide thought himself the luckiest s.o.b, he had survived an errant asteroid collision in space and that was damn near unheard of. But, on the other hand, he was stuck on a rock with no tools to do anything about it and food to survive. So he was *still dead*, just dead in a much slower, and less dramatic way.
"This blows." Caide had quickly lost track of the times he uttered those words.
Just as he assumed the end was nigh, pangs of hunger gnawing on him, all hope of surviving gone, something really strange happened. *They* approached him.
Tiny little things they were. Round, puffy bodies the size of a baseball, covered from head to toe in hazel brown fur. They had these itty-bitty hands with three digits on each and walked on teeny little feet. Most defining characteristic of all was there overly large eyes that shimmered a vibrant color when light refracted on them. They came out in droves. Dozens, no hundreds, of these mini creatures. Though he didn't see a mouth-it most likely being concealed by the tufts of fur on their face-Caide was positively convinced of one thing: they were going to eat him.
Instead, they spoke. "This blows." One would say, it seemed like the leader of the group. When he uttured the words in his squeaky high-pitch voice, the masses behind him echoed it too. Over and over they chanted the words and each time they did, they gyrated, their big eyes narrowing. Were they laughing?
After this went on for a moment, a thorough inspection of occurred. With little hands jabbing him from legs to arms to even his face, their touch soft and rubbery, Caide knew when he was in the middle of a physical. He let it happen, too afraid to anger them. Somehow, he had seemingly passed their test, for after they finished, they began motioning him to follow. Why not? Caide figured, following them slowly as some bounced up and down while others simply rolled. It was odd, he was terrified, but admittedly it was kind of cute. So he followed, besides he truly had nothing else to lose.
Their civilization was surprisingly a complex one. They lived in a cliff that had been burrowed into, tiny holes leading into tiny homes. A series of bridges and pulleys were fully employed. And all over the place, little tiki-like torches illuminated the community. It was quaint, it was safe, it was their home.
"This blows." The leader said to Caide. "Come, come. We have food." A few moments later, at his command, a host of little ones rolled out from their respective houses carrying a tray of food on their head. One by one they proffered it to their guest. Each one was a mini morsel at best, but Caide knew when a kindness had been given. He accepted it humbly.
The leader spoke up. "This is our new guest, 'This Blows', treat him well, be kind, don't poke him too much, but be sure to ask permission first if you do. He is big, he is funny looking, and he is a little smelly. But he is our guest! Welcome him." They did just that. A whole swath of furry little balls began to gyrate.
It was weird as all hell, but, Caide had to admit, it was nice. The food was edible, the accommodations even more so. From having thought his life had come to an end to suddenly a new strange beginning, Caide was quickly coming to terms with his new station in life.
The little critters, he soon would learn, had a short lifespan. They lasted only a few months. The first time Caide watched one of them pass struck him in a profound way. He was growing attached to them. When the leader who invited him into their home had passed, that had left Caide feeling especially hollow. But quick they were to reproduce, their numbers always full. After the third generation came and went, Caide out lasting their cycle of life and death, the once strange visitor from a different world became something of a legend to these little furballs. They soon looked to Caide for more than just his company. To them, he was a foreign being. A benevolent one who seemed to live for an eternity. They made monuments in his image, wrote songs and dances in his honor. As months turned to years, his legend only continued to grow.
Caide Newell was regarded as a god. That had bothered him at first, but quickly did he let that slide. It made his new friends happy. As far as he was concerned, this was his home now and they were his people. So whenever they gyrated, whenever they uttered *This Blows* so too did Caide. | 2019-04-22T10:08:01 | 2019-04-22T09:39:54 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] On a whim, you start clicking links in your spam email folder. Over the next few days, you are alarmed to find an African prince with a briefcase of money, a lifetime supply of discount medications, and four hot singles from your area showing up at your door. What happens next takes the cake. | “Knock-off pills, a dubious briefcase full of cash with laundered money, four overweight women straight out of a mobile home. It felt like I was baby bootleg Jesus and the three kings were delivering at the manger. Anyway, I shooed off the African guy immediately. I was a lawyer at the time so I wanted to wipe my hands clean of that encounter as soon as possible. I stashed the pills, because, honestly- some of them looked like straight up ibuprofen and I was about to run out. The chicks had no interest in me, so I made all of us some coffee, had a nice chat about their failing marriages, and said my goodbyes. It wasn’t five minutes till there was one last knock at my door.”
As I spoke, Theo looked at me impatiently. I rolled my eyes, trying to figure out why he was drawn into my mysterious tale he had always asked me so much about.
“Yeah, but what was next? Come on! You said you would tell me the whole story one day!”
I coughed, reminding myself that I had to stop smoking. If only a sudden cure for nicotine addiction had showed up at my door eighteen years ago. I continued:
“I opened the door, and there was this insanely hot twenty-something. Blue eyes, dark brunette hair, and the strongest Russian accent that came out of her ‘hello’. Straight out of one of those ads for a mail-order Russian brides.”
Theo gasped.
“And?”
I chuckled, folding my arms.
“And that’s how I met your mother.” | It all started when I went on a dumpster-dive for a bank document. I probably hadn't looked at my spam folder in three or four years. I figured it must get emptied on a regular basis, and so was surprised to see subject lines for emails that must be *years* old. At least a decade old for the Nigerian Prince email, assuming that's what the all-caps "HELLO" from "masinga mbeki" was.
I pushed myself back from my desk and stared hard at the sparse Gmail interface. What were these still doing in there? Hot Singles in Your Area, African Prince, an assortment of weirdly-spelled Viagra ads...it was like a processed-pork time capsule. Well, glitches happen, and in a way this was a fun little jaunt down Memory Road, so...I gave into a whim and clicked on the first email.
After a moment's risky-click wince, I scanned the contents. Huh. This wasn't how I remembered these emails working. They had my full, real name. No request for my financial information or a deposit, just a straightforward, legal-looking email. And I mean legal as in it seemed to be from an actual lawyer, and having worked as a paralegal for a few years I know what those look like. That kind of thing can be faked, of course but I'd never seen anything this convincing in a scam email. Granted, online confidence games weren't exactly my specialty.
But still.
I read through it again, shrugged, and responded with my own law firm's contact information. My profession does have its perks when it came to personal legal needs, and I didn't think a scammer could accomplish anything terribly nefarious with that.
After I hit "Send" and the reply zipped off to whatever strange place the original had come from, I was confronted with the same strange list of (by Internet standards) ancient spam. I scrolled, scrolled...and there was the bank document I was looking for, totally out of order. I frowned, shook my head, and moved it back to my inbox.
Then I stared at the spam list some more.
"HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA." I usually ignored those even harder than other spam, because they were clearly aimed at straight dudes and I was neither of those things. But my latest relationship had ended messily just a couple weeks before and I was...well, you know how that can be. And the Nigerian one had seemed semi-legit, and...I don't know. Look, don't tell me you've haven't made worse decisions in similar circumstances.
The email opened. There was a photo of a woman. No, there were four photos. They were...stunning, honestly. Exactly my type. Just the right balance of—
—certain things. Mind your business, okay? Again, the rest of the email was strange. None of the usual filter-avoidance misspellings, no phishy links. Just a chat box, which the email had apparently managed to open all by itself. That was concerning. I went to close the whole window, wash my hands of this whole thing and maybe contact Google about their webmail's weird behavior, and maybe take a nice long shower for, um, clarity.
—look, again, mind your businesswith profile pictures matching the photos in the email, and they were all talking at once.
They all knew my name, just like Nigerian email had. They were all throwing out flirty compliments that were very specific, the kind of thing that—
—look, again, mind your business. I could tell you I closed the window and went off to take that Wisdom Shower, but you wouldn't believe me, and I don't blame you.
I didn't tell them my address, though. That's important. I didn't tell them. Or maybe it's not important, I don't think it really would have mattered in the end.
Once my sense had finally overcome my post-breakup frustrations, I did the Sit There Doing Nothing Of Shame for about twenty minutes and then decided to look at some of the other emails.
<continued below> | 2019-06-17T12:59:31 | 2019-06-17T11:53:34 | 351 | 55 |
[WP] You're a 21st century Super-villain with a Doomsday device and a ransom message to the world. But the internet is so flooded with garbage you can't get any traction on your Tweets and videos, and no one's seeing the message. | I sent out the Tweet with a sinister twinkle in my eyes. There was nothing to explain past the video posted. My robot army. My unequivocal power. I laid back, waiting for the responses and pleas for mercy to flood in. I couldn't wait for authority figures to start asking me for my demands. On cue, I got a reply within my first ten minutes.
*@YaBoiBiff:*
*Imagine 2020 getting this bad LMAOOOOOOO*
I frowned at the screen. He seemed to think I'd posted something akin to a meme.
*@EvilAndYouKnowIt:*
*This is not a joke. I am actually launching my world domination plan if my demands are not met.*
I stared at the screen waiting for a reply when a second person replied.
*@OGTrilogyOnly:*
*These are really impressive effects. What sftware do u use?*
I shook my head in disbelief.
*@EvilAndYouKnowIt: These are not special effects. This is real footage.*
*@OGTrilogyOnly: Sure. I can see the cg not rendering properly when the children's hospital blows up*
*@EvilAndYouKnowIt: No, that's a real children's hospital. The Dartman Hospital for Children. It was all over the news last wekk*
*@OGTrilogyOnly: It's spelled 'week' you idiot*
*@YaBoiBiff: Lol!!*
I blinked a few times then clicked into @OGTrilogyOnly's profile. It looked like it was a scrawny kid named James living in Canada.
"Drone 444!" I yelled.
"Yes Commander?" the drone responded immediately.
"Go kill James in Canada. I'm sending you an address right now. Go blow up his house, get it on camera, and upload it. We'll use that to fuel the fire here. I'm having a hard time going viral," I said, lounging back again as the drone flew out of the lair. It will also be a good example for those that want to call me an idiot.
A few minutes later, the drone uploaded the footage to my profile:
*@EvilAndYouKnowIt: Look at the destruction caused to @OGTrilogyOnly! It won't end with James!!*
I nodded at my own genius. This was a good post. In just a few more minutes, it was already getting views in the hundreds. I laughed heartily, waiting for authorities to ask me what they could do to assuage my will to destroy them. In less than an hour #JusticeForJames was trending. I clicked into it excitedly. The video was on everyone's feed!!
*@GrillPower: It's such a shame how poorly our houses are made in canada! Civil engineers should be ashamed to allow something as stupid as a gas leak to kill someone #JusticeForJames*
"What?" I said, continuing to scroll.
*@SpaghettiRegretti: Absolutely AWFUL. My heart goes out to his family. The industry can't get away with gas leaks! #JusticeForJames Rest In Power James*
"No, no," I stammered typing a reply to one of the posts quickly.
*@EvilAndYouKnowIt: This was not an accident! I did this!*
*@SassySarrraaaaa: This is not funny. I reported you*
*@EvilAndYouKnowIt: I'm not joking! I killed the kid with the explosion!!*
*@RellyKewl: SHUT UP! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULD TRY TO JOKE ABOUT A TRAGEDY LIKE THIS*
I clicked to reply, but nothing showed up. Confused I clicked again. No response. I refreshed the page.
*Your Twitter account has been banned for violating our terms of service.*
"What!?" I screamed. I slammed my face into the keyboard. I'd have to resort to some other social media. Hopefully, one that would't kick me off before I was able to get the message across.
"Hey! Drone 2322!"
"Yes commander?"
"Make me an Instagram account with the handle @EvilAndYouKnowIt!" I commanded.
"That name is taken, Commander," the drone responded after a second of deliberation. I frowned.
"Find them and kill them," I demanded.
_________________________________
For more stories, come see /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | "I just sent out this Tweet, Lord Almagest," Kira said cheerfully. "Uh, talks about your ambition to obtain the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, in return for not using the Device, you know."
Almagest chuckled. The halls made his booming laugh echo for what seemed like minutes afterwards, just as they were designed to do.
"Excellent," he said, with a sinister air about him. "Now, my faithful sidekick, all but one platform has been taken care of. We've started a chain reaction that cannot be stopped! Accounts on Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, Instagram, WhatsApp, Lime. There's only one left."
"Well, Lord Almagest, it is," Kira said, yawning. "My lunch break. Remember, we agreed upon it?"
"How dare you!" shouted Almagest, before looking around in confusion. "Oh, alright. Bring me back a Subway. Italian herb, toasted, bacon tomato and lettuce."
Kira bid his boss and idol an adieu, before heading out into the mean streets of Redding to find his meal. Which left Almagest back at the lair, to his own devices. Left to conquer one last aspect of social media-- Reddit. His favorite, for all its strangeness. Somehow more pleasant than Twitter, more modern than Facebook, and more relevant than MySpace. It was everything he could have ever wanted.
"But, the issue is," thought Almagest aloud. "What subreddit do I advertise my ransom letter on?"
Combing through the annals of cyberspace, Almagest at last found r/news, a unique subreddit with relevant information and a large amount of users. Scanning the side of the page, Almagest leaned into the screen to comprehend the number. 22,000 people were on at a given time. If any subreddit could harbor his desire for true exposure, it was this one.
"Alright, Kira's better at this stuff than I am," he admitted out loud, before looking around to make sure no one heard him. "Oh, the lair's empty, right. Except for Kira Yoshikage and I. Oh, and the Grand Cross Superweapon we stole from North Korea, haha."
Almagest gave out another laugh, and smiled widely as the echo it delivered was more than satisfactory.
"Ok, here we are," Almagest thought out loud. "Create post it is." For a sixty-year old trust fund billionaire with an agenda, Almagest thought himself a bit more tech savvy than the average sexagenarian.
Linking his website in the description, Almagest wrote out a thoughtful but succinct manifesto.
"I, Lord Almagest of the Kingdom of Redding," he wrote, "Am writing you to announce the theft of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World. If the governments of the world do not hand these over, I will be forced to use the great Grand Cross Superweapon pioneered by Dear Leader Kim Jong-Un of North Korea. Godspeed to you all."
Chuckling in satisfaction, he took a deep breath, and gave another hearty evil laugh. He'd had an admittedly rough start as a supervillain thus far, but now was his moment. It was time for the world, no, the universe, to know Lord Almagest.
He clicked the \[POST\] button, and gave out a sigh of relief. All mediums conquered, major ones, at least. "I do have both a Tick Tock and Tumbler page, which could someday do me some good," he remarked, before anxiously waiting for the replies to come in by the hundreds.
It was a few minutes later when the first orange number appeared over his mailbox icon. Face and fingers twitching, Lord Almagest clicked on the mailbox and read the message aloud.
"Spam link," he read, suspiciously. "What do they mean, spam link? Who is this sycophant? Who? This strange u/bluelizardK. Who is this?"
Feeling frustrated, Almagest stood up and made airplanes with his arms. It always seemed to calm him down. He liked to imagine he was a German air fighter during the Blitzkrieg, smashing through Allied buildings without a care in the world.
"Hey, Lord Almagest," called a voice. "I'm back with your Subway. Bacon lettuce tomato, toasted on italian herbs and cheese? I brought you one of those raspberry-cheesecake cookies too."
"Ah, Kira Yoshikage, you're back," Almagest announced. "Come give me a hand with this stuff, will you?"
"Ah, yes, I'm also very excited to read the comments to our many posts," Kira giggled. "Imagine the fear, the horror, the anticipation of it all. Oh, it chills me to my very bone, it does."
"Alright, read them out but in a British accent," Almagest ordered his sole peon.
"Hmm, first Twitter message reads, 'OK BOOMER'," crooned Kira in a Michael Caine imitation. "Then one says, 'qanon did Epstein', and this other one says, 'are you an ff5 reference'. I can't say I know what any of those comments say."
"And?' prompted Almagest. "Go on, read the rest."
"Er, my Lord, that's it," Kira said quietly. "Ever since you were banned from using your father's company's Facebook we've had no traction there. And you've had only those three comments on Twitter, two from supposed bots. Also, your Line has nothing at all, and the WhatsApp and Instagram were both taken down for suspected botting."
"No. No," roared Almagest, shaking. "No! Your viscera shall see the light of day! I will ruin all of them!"
Leaning back in his chair, Kira winced at his lord's mighty wrath. But, he had a suggestion.
"My Lord, might we try Discord?" Kira suggested. "It's very meme-heavy and seems more up our alley. We could really make a presence there. From there we could move to YouTube and maybe even Twitch, if we're successful."
"Fine," grumbled Almagest. "It's a good idea, especially since the Reddit post I made was deleted for 'spam'. It was all that stupid u/bluelizardK's fault."
"Don't be disillusioned, my lord," encouraged Kira. "One of these days we shall rule the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. And after that," Almagest chimed in, and they yelled out in unison, "The universe!"
"Alright, let's eat, Kira," Almagest announced. "And stalk this Reddit user's account, I hear he has his own subreddit."
"Might we post something on there?" asked Kira, mischeviously.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
Thank you if you read this far down— I know my writing isn’t great but I really appreciate it. | 2020-04-08T23:16:56 | 2020-04-08T22:49:39 | 1,386 | 438 |
[WP] You're blind, taking an audio tour at a museum. In an ancient Egypt exhibition, the blind are permitted to touch the engraved stones, so you do - and gasp as you realize you can read the hieroglyphs as easily as braille. | Pt 1 of 2:
If you compare what kind of access blind people have to the world around them to that of just twenty years ago, not to mention if you compare it to fifty years ago, it’s been incredible progress. For those of us lucky enough to be born in wealthier countries, at least, and I’m grateful to find myself among them. For all its faults, these days America does do pretty well at keeping up with making things accessible to those who experience the world differently.
*The Temple of Dendur represents a modestly proportioned example of a building type, common in the Ptolemaic and Roman Periods, that has its roots in earlier Egyptian architecture…*
The museum I visited today was one of those moments I most appreciated where and when I lived. I had so much curiosity of the world around me, I love learning, soaking up knowledge, and history was of particular fascination to me. And the new exhibit the museum had set up on ancient Egypt was something I’d looked forward to for a while.
*This lion with cartouches of Necho II on its shoulders displays features unexpected in Egypt at this time…*
When I arrived, I was given headphones for the audio tour, which I plugged into each exhibit as I passed it. There was also a guide named Josefine that walked the area with me and helped me along, allowing me to take as much time as I’d like, even listening to the information more than once if I wanted to. And the coolest thing? The ‘Do Not Touch’ signs may as well have not been there.
I mean, I couldn’t see them, but I think if they’d been strict on that part despite my blindness, I don’t think that would’ve worked as an excuse.
*In ancient Egypt, temples were seen as residences for deities, who were thought to temporarily manifest themselves in the cult statues located in the sanctuary…*
Then the tablet. I ran my fingers down the rough surface, sliding my fingers over the hieroglyphs, and a shudder ran down my spine and my breath caught in my throat.
I could read it.
Blind people don’t think in pictures, perhaps unsurprisingly, and I’ve had conversations with sighted friends of how my mind ‘sees’ things. It’s difficult to describe the lack of something to someone, but basically, I think of things in terms of how they feel, how they sound, how they taste, and how they smell, just like everyone else. It’s just the sight of it that’s missing which gives me Braille, for example, as a feeling rather than something I see with my eyes. And so the feeling of the engraved words here was just like everything else, except it *made sense*.
I yanked the earbuds from my ears, letting them drop carelessly to the ground. “What-What is this?” I managed.
There was a pause. “These tablets are…The Amarna Letters,” Josefine told me. “The description I’ve got to read is, “Clay cuneiform tablet; letter from Tushratta of-”
“It’s ancient Egyptian, that’s what it’s written in?” I interrupted. It was an unnecessary question, though. This wasn’t Braille, or even English, which I knew how to trace the letters of, having done so in my childhood with a wooden puzzle board toy. The symbols were foreign, but they made sense. They held meaning. Which was impossible.
The next pause from my tour guide was longer. “Yes, ancient Egyptian,” she said softly. “Hieratic.”
I swallowed hard as my mind raced. Maybe I was imagining things? Something about the feeling of the symbols was instinctive, perhaps. Something that my brain was ascribing meaning to just because it reminded me of something else. I tried to make that explanation make sense. Until the tour guide spoke again, at least.
“Can you read it?”
I let out a harsh breath. “Is this English or something?” I asked. “Is this- Are you playing a prank or-”
“No, this is hieratic, and unless you’ve studied it, you shouldn’t be able to read it,” Josefine told me gently. “But you can, can’t you?”
“That’s… How is that possible?”
She sighed and when she spoke her voice was a mixture of curiosity and awe. “I’ve never met a Polyglot who is blind before, so this is probably the coolest thing that’s ever happened,” she mused.
“I’m not… A polyglot is someone who knows multiple languages,” I said. “I only know English, I don’t-”
“Capital P,” she explained. “Can I escort us to somewhere…more private? So we can talk?”
I nodded slowly. | A cacophony of screams and yelps, feet on marble. Somewhere in the background he heard “don’t lose your partner, hold hands” from a young woman. Further away to his left there were a pair of voices. A couple, he assumed, were speaking mandarin as far as he could tell. He’d never been good at Mandarin. There was the clink of change, opening of what he reckoned were the cold giant doors of the British Museum with its rough facade. Leaflet rustles, shoe squeaks and above all else, the oppressive heat. He could see a slither of light but not much else. He didn’t really need to, he supposed. The last time he’d been here was with Maria thirty-odd years ago for the International Egyptology symposium in London. He never forgotten it.
“Stop here Pa. School group, big one.” said Jamie.
“A’ight then.”
“What’s that Pa? I didn’t catch that.”
“Never mind, Jay”, replied Halkirk.
“What?”
“I said ‘alright then we’ll wait for the school group’ ”, he yelled.
“Damn Pa, okay. Stairs up ahead.”
“I know there’s stairs up ahead I’ve been here before,” he replied.
“Okay, you got the rail?”
“Yeah.”
Dr Halkirk made his way up the burgundy carpeted spiral staircase of the British museum as dust danced in the sunlight and the tapestries and marbles gleamed. People milled, moved to the side to avoid the old man and his son with the Megadeth t-shirt, bumped into one another as they tried to pass his hunched frame. Halkirk put the audio guide on, asked Jamie to set it up for him. He allowed himself to be led through hallways, knew he’d arrived as the slippery echoes of marble turned to the muted din of old woodwork and ticking. This was the room with the clocks and Halkirk recalled the British museum was weird like that. The British just didn’t have a sense of what goes where it just all went everywhere marked *‘cool shit we got legally, of course’.* He asked Jamie to move past the exhibits with the antique clocks and further in towards the Egyptian section.
Folks were whispering now and he skipped through the audio guide so that the Monotone Man in one ear would be telling him about the basics of Egyptian cat mummification or at least something relevant. It went skin-deep, the audio guide, but at least they described some of the bloody things in the glass cabinets. The gist of it was there. It hurt to stand for this long and always did and the ache of the right hand side demon was familiar but ignored. The smells were the same as back home near his benches and the microscope. It had that old sweet rot smell combined with that metallic brass that permeated through the woodwork. Varnish, warm tones of cloth and dust. It felt like the office when he had Dr Stokalski x-raying the burial shrouds with his stupid haircut and his little practical jokes. Then there was Richard, and Lieutenant Morris who’d once been in the army and taken a 180 degree shift to Egyptology. There had been the old guard – Byorn, Falsham, Gravenrow and last but not least Woyciekowski with the weird surname no-one on the West Coast could pronounce. All that was missing was the hum of the machines, the cool metal of the tables, the linoleum.
Above the din of wood creaks and the sound of Monotone Man describing the latest in pottery he heard the sound of Jamie.
“He’s actually retired now because of what happened but I’m sure he’d love that.”
Then someone’s voice he didn’t recognize. “What’s his name.”
“Martin. But call him Dr Halkirk. He..” Jamie’s voice faded away to a whisper that not even he could hear. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Pa, it’s me. The people here say they’ve got an interactive exhibit. Something you can touch if you want."
Halkirk took off his headphones. “Interactive? What were you saying about me back there. You bad-mouthing?”
“No, Dr. Halkirk,” said the other voice. It was smooth, a low buttery voice. “your son was just asking us about other ways you might be able to enjoy our museum. If you’d care to follow me we’ve got an interactive exhibit you might enjoy.”
Halkirk paused. There was anger there, a voice inside of him that whispered and wanted to tell this man just to fuck off with his interactive exhibits and his baby methods. *I just want to be treated like a normal fucking person.* But screw it, thought Halkirk, blowing up in a museum and going wild on Jamie for pulling this interactive bullshit wouldn’t be what anyone needed. If she were here she’d tell him to try it, to go easy on Jamie.
“Sure,” he said after a while. “I’d love to, that sounds nice.”
They led him then through a corridor somewhere at speed. There were creaking floorboards, more kids, people on all sides. What he could still see went from light to dark to light again as they passed through room to room, from cool air to warm, to air conditioning, to breeze and back to stifling. Halkirk had a mental map of the museum but now it had all gone blank.
“Lucy, can you open up our cabinet for Dr Halker little early? He’s come all the way from California.”
“Sure.” There was the sound of high-heels, of clicking, hammering. Something was laid out. He felt cloth.
“So, Dr Halker I assume you’re familiar with dig sites along the middle and lower Nile. We’ve got a few pieces we’ve recreated here, and a piece of two of sandstone from outside of Thebes.”
"It's Halkirk. Yes, I am." He put one hand on the sandstone. Rough lettering, the flaky sandstone pockmarked roughness he knew from a dozen places. Campsites, hot digs, shoveling, months of leaning over and brushing, and brushing, there was never an end to the brushing. Trowels, memories of back-ache and sunburn. It felt good. It felt like home. He traced his hands over the shapes of the letters. This was probably just a reproduction, something they’d made up to look convincing. But it felt close enough and Dr Halkirk could feel the words come to him in Egyptian or, at least, bits of broken up sentences from beyond the grave some good few thousand years ago. A vague gist of something. And by god for a moment it felt like something.
&#x200B;
Bonus stuff - the British museum really *does* have a jumble of everything Their clock collection is eclectic and great. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=272ecgrKSsQ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=272ecgrKSsQ)
You can find my longer works at [https://www.wattpad.com/user/BonbonRampage](https://www.wattpad.com/user/BonbonRampage) | 2021-02-16T09:06:03 | 2021-02-16T08:40:11 | 237 | 65 |
[WP] The galaxy is a dark and lonely place. "First Strike Diplomacy" reigns out of fear. Few species survive even 300 years after developing interstellar travel. When humans entered the galaxy, we were the first species confident enough in war to ask someone "Are you sure you want to do this?" | *Are you sure you want to do this?*
*Yes, I realize you're not used to listening. I don't even know if you'll receive this message.*
*What I do know is that the moment your extermination fleet passed the orbit of Neptune, our insurance policy kicked in.*
*For the past 200 years, ever since we figured out how wars were fought out there, we have been dedicating 10% of our entire industrial output to producing relativistic kill platforms and seeding them throughout deep space across your empire.*
*In fact, every empire. We know what you're all like out there. Savages.*
*On last estimate, roughly 25% of the galaxy was within effective strike distance of our guns.*
*Roughly one hour after you crossed the blue line and we were able to identify where you're from, every single one of our platforms accelerated a 1000kg slug of radioactive isotopes wrapped in a stealth-coated tungsten sleeve towards one of your planets at 85% the speed of light. The impact force should cause sufficient annihilation to destroy your planets, and if it doesn't - or you attempt to shoot them down - our scientists have ensured the resulting dirty fallout should generate enough of an ecological disaster to render your worlds uninhabitable for a few thousand years.*
*Now it will take some time for our gifts to arrive. Maybe it'll take a year, or a few months, or a decade, or a millennium to hit home. But they will hit, and keep hitting. Generations of your people will live in fear, not knowing when your next doom will arrive. Our guns are programmed to keep firing, and keep selecting new targets until the platforms are destroyed or run out of ammunition. My advisors tell me that each platform has on average 100 000kg of weaponizable mass, so the calculations should be nice and round for your egg-heads. Except the latest gen sleeper guns come equipped with autonomous collector swarms to keep re-arming indefinitely while drifting along the spiral arm and using archival stellar spectra to independently select systems to kill. I'm pretty sure we're firmly in galactic warcrime territory here, but in a universe where people like you go around sterilizing systems every other week I doubt there'll be a court to convict us.*
*And it's not like we'll be around anyway. Because you will have killed us.*
*There's one way to stop it: You can ask us nicely to issue a disarmament order. Every slug is equipped with drives to re-align its trajectory, and if we want to we can make them miss.*
*But if we're dead, they will hit.*
*Because we are very good at throwing things.*
*So I'm going to ask you once again: Are you sure you want to do this?* | Representatives of the Earth, have again assembled with the War Council of the Garrux (the Mighty as he liked to remind everyone) and listened to platitudes exchanged between the Garrux and the diplomatic branch of the Earth's Representation. They seemed happy, in their eyes, the concessions were being made per the most optimistic simulations. Trade deals were being negotiated, civilian technologies planned to be exchanged, observation posts to be established. To an untrained eye, this was going great. Admiral Ivanov was ready to groan with a repressed frustration when finally his datapad beeped. Admiral smiled when he read the brief and showed it to general Smith next to him, general stirred from his near sleep-like state and read the brief as well, then he stood.
"Ladies and gentlemen, honored representatives of the Caralax brood, I am sorry to announce, that the conditions of the truce have been breached and the civilian negotiations are therefore suspended with immediate effect." When the general was finished he sat down to deafening silence and resumed his napping.
"You cannot be serious general, we are making great progress here, you must be mistaken." Snapped ambassador Harris, her face flushed, despite her effort to hide her frustration. This time admiral Ivanov replied.
"I am afraid, that there is no mistake, madame ambassador. While I am not at liberty to go into many details, I can say, that the stealth craft that has been nearing the Sol system for the past two months has launched a planetary annihilation charge."
"Stealth craft??? Annihilation charge??? What is the meaning of that??" madame ambassador turned to face Garrux "High Garrux, surely this must be some mistake? The deals we struck would be of great benefit to both our people surely this is some misunderstanding?"
"No misunderstanding," said the creature in the high chair and smiled "Caralax needs no deals. We shall take what we want, observe what we want, and we don't care for your technology. Ours' will triumph again."
Ambassador seemed to be ready to protest some more but, further talk has been stopped when her hologram disappeared, as well as the holograms of the rest of the diplomats. Only the military representatives remained. "Would you please explain what is going on Dimitri?" Asked the general "I am so disappointed I don't even want to talk to him."
"No need to explain anything," said Garrux "no need to talk at all."
"Give it ..." General looked at his watch "...10 more seconds."
"Garrux has no need to wait. Garrux..."
"5 seconds Garry"
"Garrux the mighty will enjoy ..." two beeps from Garrux's datapad stopped him from finishing the sentence.
"Let me guess," said the general "the charge has been destroyed and the ship that brought it has been destroyed a few moments after that?"
The silence stretched for a pregnant moment. "How?" Asked Garrux. Who just became a first Caralaxian in written history, who failed to annihilate a species after first contact.
"Honestly Garry," Started Dimitri "we were a little surprised as well. Let me start at the beging."
"About 150 years ago, or about 380 of your cycles ago physicist named Fermi, commented on an apparent paradox. Given how likely intelligent life is to happen and the scale of the universe. There should be plenty of intelligent life around us. But we couldn't see any. And it bugged us. So we kept looking and looking, improving our observation technology until suddenly we found life. To our surprise, it was hiding. We worked on it for many more years and every year we saw more. Until we finally saw how violent the galaxy is." So we watched some more and we learned how you treat the newcomers. So we kept watching and learning. Until finally we had no more to learn. Then we reached out."
"We know of all your 120 vessels with annihilation charges, and they will be destroyed once they cross the boundary of our solar system, but as far as we can tell, you don't know of our 50 ships on the high orbit of Caralax I." Spoke general and looked at now visibly nervous Garrux. "Look Garry, the civilian negotiation is over, and they will not open. The only deal you can now hope for is immediate non-conditional surrender."
"No, when two species meet, only one lives, this is a trick." Shouted Garrux.
"It is your prerogative to think that. But I am here to tell you, that we have no plans to destroy you because frankly, you don't present any threat to us. In 50 years, when you perfect your Droplet technology we might have to reevaluate, but right now we are projecting that you will blow yourself up in 10. But that is beside the point, we will not allow a species that is attempting to harm us to operate freely, BUT if you refrain from any hostile action, we will leave you alone."
"To sum it up for you Garry, you can now agree to cease all hostilities, and we will both leave each other alone. Or you can continue as you always have, and we will destroy you, so let me ask you is the war what you really want? Are you sure you want to do this?" | 2022-01-22T13:39:39 | 2022-01-22T13:30:45 | 71 | 49 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | I mean, the first two times were… interesting, but the latest was a real shock. Mostly because the call was from a hero of mine.
I’ll get back to that after I take you through the first two.
Number one wasn’t even people, it was the animals of New Zealand.
“Get rid of them they pleaded. We don’t trust their unblinking eyes and their forked tongues.”
A bit rich coming from a bunch of flightless birds I thought, but they managed to get in contact with me so I was obliged.
The second time introduced me to Guinness for the fist time. Oh sweet nectar of the gods. The Irish even made me a saint in honour of the work I did for them. That was a fun one.
The latest was a shock to say the least.
When I answered to hear my hero Samuel begging me for help I was stunned.
Of course I could help, just tell me when and where.
Well, the when wasn’t a surprise, it’s always ‘Now’, but the where…
I guess I’ll get out my pipe then, I know the right tune to drive them out.
My main issue was how to get on a plane already 30,000 feet in the sky… | Thomas looked down in disbelief...
"We... we're going to have to call John"
Michael felt a protest well up in his throat- but swallowed it back down knowing all too well that Thomas was right.
"Who makes the call?" Michael asks half-heartedly... knowing it's his responsibility.
The look on Thomas' face says it all, now's not the time to be making jokes... nobody calls for John unless they need to. John wasn't like most heroes... to say the least. John didn't take a hero name, didn't do much aside from just collect his check every week.
They'd had to call him twice before, one time he was in a good mood - the other time, it took 3 years to fully clean up the mess he caused on the eastern seaboard.
But to make an enemy of John, would be a fate far worse.
Michael felt his stomach drop as he picked up the red phone, and pressed the button. He'd only heard recordings and seen the training footage, he was braced for the worse as he waited for the line to ring.
But it didn't ring, he was startled by a voice immediately on the other end
"The Fuck are you lot on about this time?"
Michael was a bit taken back, but after regaining his thoughts he began to reply
"So sorry t-"
"I don't want pleasantries, I want you to tell me what you are doing disturbing me- ya know what, fuck this - too slow."
Michael felt the paper he was holding be yanked from his hand
"Is this what the fuss is about?" John was standing over Michael now, poor Thomas looked though he saw a ghost.
Michael carefully put the phone back, trying not to show how rattled he was.
"You'd think if you're gonna waste my time and drag me halfway across the globe, you'd at least be kind enough to get on with it." John mocked as he eyed the paper
Thomas stammered "Halfway around the globe? In a second?"
"Asking questions you already know the answers to... I just told you, the fuck is wrong with you people anyhow. Let's see, says here 'Doctor Phil'? ... no, *Phile*... Okay, that woulda been a weird take down" John chuckled to himself
Michael turned to face John and in utter disbelief realized he was holding Doctor Phile up by the back of his collar, kicking and protesting loudly.
"This your guy?" John looked amused at their puzzled faces "Heh, now I'm the one asking questions I know the answer to. - You sure no one else could have handled this little guy? Captain Insane-O probably- you know what, It's fine."
"I don't know what kind of trick you used," Doctor Phile Bellowed. "But I'll be sure to-dwOUGLfgh"
With a slight twitch, John threw the Doctor against the wall and his body ragdolled to the ground.
"I-is he dead?" Michael looked on in horror
"No, no he... wait a minute..."
John walked over and picked up the limp body of Dr. Phile and gave it a sturdy slap on the back.
Dr. Phile gasped loudly before coughing up a bit of blood
"Not anymore!" John smiled proudly as he held the sputtering mess toward the pair.
Michael just stared in amazement before gathering his thoughts "I... well let's just put him in-"
"Room 703, Got it - Gotta say, I gave you guys some crap, but this was a lot less annoying than last time" John dragged the mess of a man out of the room and graciously - that was the last either Michael or Thomas had to see John.
But many more trainees would hear recordings of the interaction, and along with other less smooth incidents came to fear the possibility of them one day having to pick up that red phone. | 2022-03-29T03:08:28 | 2022-03-29T01:55:07 | 56 | 40 |
[WP] Traditionally when a royal couple give birth to a cursed baby the infant is locked away in a dungeon to grow into a murderous beast. You however order that your child instead be taken to the royal nursery and raised properly as your heir. | The child was born on a full moon
Red eyes pierce into me making me tremble at the sight
He is just a child but the look in his eyes shows intelligence unbefitting for someone his age
He looks up at me, His father.
From the moment he was born I knew he was cursed but I wanted him anyway
I wanted a son and the Gods gave me one at last
The mother of my child died at birth, I loved her and she loved our child regardless of his disposition and I loved him as well. That's why when the sorcerer urged me to throw him into the dungeon I could not bring myself to do so. Everyone was terrified but I was not he was my son and no one could take him away from me.
Days later the boy had already begun to read, he read stories of heroes defeating great demons of extraordinary caliber. I started to teach him magic, personally of course no one would want to teach anything to him because of the beast they thought he would become. I saw none of that in him that's why I still love him.
He picked up magic quickly and especially loved healing magic of all things, even with his talent in destruction he wanted to heal so I let him do so.
Years later when his body was ready I taught him the art of the sword, a technique passed down for generations in my family called Crimson Moon I thought it fitted my son and eventually joined the knights, it didn't take long for him to become the leader of the knights.
They adored him and so did I.
The beast that they had warned me about had not appeared itself even when he hit puberty, he was still such a sweet, smart boy healing those that needed help. The kingdom's fear of him lessened when he volunteered at the church and healed the sick.
At the end of the day, we always ate together just him and I. We talked about what he had done that day and what he would do tomorrow as well. He always talked so enthusiastically about the things he loved.
When he finally grew to the age of adulthood he had become a great man. Healer, warrior, soldier. And the son I loved very much. I could see his mother in him, that's how I knew there was no monster in him.
The kingdom loved him and so did I with all my heart.
When he finally succeeded my throne we threw a party just for him. A huge ball just for him.
He was brought gifts from the people he healed, he was brought trophies from knights and women from the kingdoms he defended.
But at the end of the night he just wanted to be with me.
Not of any illness, just of old age. satisfied with the life I lived and the son I loved very much.
He stared at me with those eyes that carried an intelligence that I could not describe even to this day. Tears welled up and spilled out like a river that flowed without stopping. I grabbed his hand and with my final breaths I said to him one last time
"I love you my son" with my vision going dark the last thing I saw was the face of the son that made me so proud of the man he had become
There was no beast
Only my son.
Finally, I can see you again my love
I'll see you soon
&#x200B;
Criticism is preferred I'm new to this | **The Heir**
The teacher looked around her classroom. Young sons and daughters of noblemen crowded together close to the right wall and its open windows, painting on small canvases leaning on desktop easels. They were copying a brightly lit photograph of the royal gardens. She noted the time and exhaled. *We have nearly reached another midday together*, she thought. *Most of us, anyway.*
The janitor finished mopping around a pile of smashed furniture on the left side of the room, still splattered with spilled red and yellow. He tipped his hat and left as quickly as possible, tracing a wide berth around the heavy metal cage in the center of the left wall, nestled between bookcases. Something sat inside, more than twice the size of her other wards, dressed in purple and gray. The small silver crown inlaid with a single large oval emerald swept blue hair back from his forehead, accentuating the red spiraling horns that curved down around his ears. His facial hair was stained. He was running a large dry paint brush over the thick fur on his left forearm and around the bony spikes closer to his elbow. He made a cooing sound in a soft baritone. The rest of the class fidgeted.
The teacher adjusted her cornette and stood, walking past her students. Two girls in the back of the room were painting rainbows and butterflies on each other’s faces. “Margaret and Elizabeth! We are all saving that activity for the afternoon.” The girls giggled. “All of us.” They fell silent and resumed work on their canvases. The teacher nodded at the boy sitting by himself in the front of the class, working with a small brush and silently weeping. “Very nice progress on your hedge highlights today, Louis.”
The boy sighed. “Charles would have thought so, too.”
“Yes, child. Your brother shared your eye for the small details. Are you not excited that your cousin James is joining us this afternoon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The creature in the cage growled. Elizabeth squeaked and knocked over her easel, spilling a cup of murky water and three brushes onto the floor. Louis broke his brush in his fist. The boy winced, pulling splinters from his palm.
The teacher pulled a small flute from her robes and spun around to face the cage, but he was cooing softly to himself again. “Louis, you may see the nurses, but join us in the dining hall directly after.”
“Okay. Thank you, ma’am.” Louis pulled on the heavy classroom door and sprinted away.
The teacher put her flute away. “Everyone, finish what you are working on for now. We are nearly ready to gather for lunch. Elizabeth, dear, I will clean that up.”
A blast of trumpeting fanfare echoed down the hallway and through the open classroom door. The students stood up and mirrored the pose that their teacher assumed, bowing their heads, clasping hands together in front. A tall, very thin man walked through the door, wearing a light tweed suit. A white series of boxes arranged in an uneven set of columns were etched on the black obsidian pin that held a deep blood red cape around his shoulders. He looked at the cage. “Again?” He counted heads. “Tell me not both, sister. The Duchess of Bamfordshire will likely die from the shock.”
The teacher shook her head. “No, His Majesty’s Schedule Master, sir. I must sadly report that young Charles made a joke at the expense of His Grace after morning tea. I intervened before the tantrum escalated further, sir. A member of the Crown Prince’s Guard has already been dispatched to retrieve our new student. Young Louis briefly is with the nurses, sir.”
“May the prestige and renown of your tutelage provide comfort to the family.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turned back to the cage. “Your grace, your father is waiting in the Headmaster’s office to join you for your meal. It is best to not keep him waiting any further.”
The creature dropped his paintbrush and growled. The teacher tutted and said, “Listen to the Schedule Master, Frederick.”
Frederick growled again, lifted a book upside down, and ripped it in half. He pounded twice on the cage door, heavy padlock bouncing in return. His third shove broke both hinges. Frederick batted the door aside to hang askew on its padlock and bellowed into the classroom. Children screamed as they ducked behind chairs. Margaret smeared her rainbow into Elizabeth’s sleeves as they cowered in the back corner.
High pitched music cut off Frederick’s roar. He stepped forward calmly, whistling in response. The teacher and Schedule Master both lowered their flutes. She said, “That’s a good lad, Your Grace. Your father is waiting for lunch.”
“Hungry,” he growled and danced out the door, carrying the tune down the hall.
The Schedule Master said, “Perhaps I should broach the subject of private tutoring again, sister.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you take the role, if offered to you?”
She reached for the symbol hanging from a simple leather cord around her neck. The royal bloodline’s curse had not manifested for several generations, but everyone knew the rumors of prior inhabitants in the lowest dungeons, walled off in recent years, and their realm’s strange history. Surely this approach was all more – humane? *Is that the word?* she thought.
Dishes crashed to the floor in the hallway. A woman screamed. One of the King’s Guard stumbled into the classroom, face bloodied, his armor punctured through in several places. He collapsed to the floor, panting, and sputtered. “His Majesty has been attacked and killed, sir.”
Poor young Edward stood up first, looked down, and saw that he had soiled himself. He poured his paint rinse water over his head.
The Schedule Master frowned at the teacher. “Long live the King.” | 2022-09-01T13:17:08 | 2022-09-01T10:17:09 | 67 | 38 |
[WP] Satan suddenly appears in a crowded mall, and begins terrifying the holiday shoppers. He stops, looks directly at you and says, "You... You're interesting. Do your friends know what you are?" You have no idea what he means. | I've never really felt special, you know. Was always the girl who'd stand beside her friend as she fell in love with some cute boy, and I'd always later watch the cute boy tiptoe over to give her a kiss. But not me. I never had good grades. Not bad ones either, just average. I wasn't a creative soul, I wasn't extremely smart. I didn't have any crazy hobbies and never really had a dreams of what I wanted to become.
I was just an average girl, living her average life, never having felt special.
It was a Friday in December, snow had just fallen thick two days before and I was shopping with my friends. We'd only just rounded the corner when I suddenly found myself confronted with something different. Something completely out of the average.
A gigantic bolt of lightning crashed through the glass roof, smoke poured in from all sides and cracks of electricity danced about.
Everyone freaked out, some people cowered, some people ran, lots of people screamed.
But as soon as the smoke had poured it, it was suddenly washed away to a single boy standing in the center of the mall. His black clothes were ripped and wavy, his black hair was messy and... smoking?
Me and bunch of my friends had taken cover behind a planter and I was peeking over the top.
Then I saw his eyes.
He had no eyes.
There were two gaping holes of fire. Where his eyes should be there were two balls of fire. Oddly, he didn't seem to mind.
And then he spoke.
It was the most harrowing sound I'd ever experienced. His voice would creep inside you, shake your bones, tickle your spine, scratch the insides of your nails. It caused plenty of goosebumps.
"MORTALS!" he began, "BEHOLD, THY MAKER"
At this point it was becoming quite apparent to everyone that they best start packing their bags, nobody was going to make it out alive.
I saw a woman running towards the exit, before a spike of fire shot from the boy's hands and pierced her right through the heart. The woman fell to the ground and slowly disintegrated to a strange black smoke.
"YOU CAN NOT RUN"
He then turned to an overturned table, and smashed that with a bolt of lighting. The table shattered and the people behind it soon followed the running woman's example.
"YOU CANNOT HIDE"
And then he turned to me. I ducked before he could see me, but soon our planter was thunderbolted to bits. I didn't really know what to expect of death. It never crossed my mind. I closed my eyes and waited for my heart to be firespiked out of my body.
My heart never got firespiked, though.
I waited. And waited. And waited even longer, but I never died.
I opened my eyes again, and looked towards the boy in the center. The rest of the mall was reduced to a hazy timeless fog. Nobody moved. Nothing made a sound.
His fireballs were replaced with 'normal' eyes. He also didn't look like he was about to kill me. He was frowning, rather. The frown a man would put on as if he'd suddenly seen something very strange.
He spoke again. "You..."
His voice wasn't mind-harrowing anymore. It had also become 'normal'.
"Yeah?" I asked, still half expecting to die any second now.
"You're interesting."
"Excuse me?"
"Do your friends know what you are?"
I looked at him in disbelief. I had no idea what he meant.
He walked over to me.
I had meanwhile gotten up and was just standing there, waiting.
He inspected me closely.
"You..."
"Me?"
He looked me straight in the eyes.
"You're beautiful." | People watching, is what the artists called it. Sit on a bus, or go to a mall and look at all the oddities. All those bland, beautiful, ugly, graceful, clumsy subjects around you reduced to a few swift lines. Everyone becomes a collection of interesting parts and motion swirling though crowded streets and onto a crowded scraps of paper.
Ha. I took a sip from my overpriced and ridiculously named generic coffee. What I was doing was grander than any so-called art. Today was the day that I proved my theory.
The crowded mall was the perfect laboratory. Every weekend the same useless people wandered in to buy the same useless things to fill their overcrowded homes. It took some practice to get a baseline reading to be sure, but it was worth it. It was worth all the precious time I had spent observing each and every one of them just to get that baseline.
I grimaced not only at the bitter taste of my coffee but also the thought of my precious time spent on recording the subjects. That coffee really was terrible. Was three creams and one sugar so hard to remember? Well, subject number forty-five had only worked at the coffee kiosk for a week, hired because of subject ninety-four’s infatuation with her. All documented, of course. It took so much time to do something so simple.
Pick a subject, watch a subject. Repeat.
Follow them home, learn where they live. Repeat.
Watch them run about. Repeat.
Learn their schedules. Repeat.
Predict their reactions to high-stress situations. Repeat
Write it all down.
Honestly, ANY grad student could have done it, and they would be too… once I had proved I was right.
I thought of the weight of the device in my backpack and I briefly wondered if the security footage would catch my odd gait. I doubted it. The security guards simply weren’t as observant as I was. Journals upon journals were filled with my observations, showing how observant I was, how observant I had made myself become, so that others wouldn’t have to. The things I did for the future of mankind.
I stood and checked my mental list.
The reactions of each and every person in this shopping mall pre-documented and sent to various news outlets? Check.
The device was armed? Check.
The remote was on? Check.
Passport and cash on hand? Check.
How aggravating it would be to leave the lab I had become so familiar with. But that was the price I needed to pay to prove that any living creature, regardless of complexity, could be reduced to a set of variables and predicted completely. I was sure I would be pardoned once I reveled how useful my technique applications were. No more guessing if someone is a threat to someone else. No more need for trials. No more need for wars. No more arguments about free-will, and no more need for religion. People are simply complex machines -- Nothing more. Our actions could be guided by our input, certainly, but there was nothing religious or mysterious about it. I would go down as humanity's savior. The man who killed the God.
Putting on my backpack, I smirked at what subject number twenty-one’s reaction would be. “I didn’t know the fire exit was blocked”, he would lie, having blocked it with a palette of useless plastic trinkets every Tuesday when they were delivered, “I barely made it out before I chocked on the smoke!”
Of course his coworkers would know and rat him out when they discovered that his lazy behavior had cost the lives of subjects numbers fifty-seventy, eight-nine and thirty. I could hear their screams as I descended to the ground floor. Wait… I could actually hear their screams! What was happening? A group of subjects fled past me. One-fifty-two was practically dragging two-thirty-one by the hand as she screamed uncontrollably, a bone sticking out of her leg.
Someone had spoiled my lab.
I saw red as I ran against the panicked crowd of ruined subjects, blood getting on my suit.
Someone had spoiled MY lab!
I slipped in spilled viscera as I rounded the fountain toward the source of the premature panic.
SOMEONE HAD SPOILED MY LAB.
And there he was. Twenty-feet tall and as red as a sunset. Black horns protruded from his skull like bent nails. Looking every inch the devil media had portrayed him to be, Satan stood before holding one of my subjects like a broken toy.
He was picking off the limbs of subject eight, looking disinterested as she passed out from blood loss. After she stopped screaming he dropped what was left of Eight onto my laboratories’ floor with a wet thump. As her carcass landed I realized that subject Nine would drop out of school and start doing drugs again without Eight to look after. That wasn’t what I had predicted. I had arranged for number Eight to loose her sight, not her life. That would have resulted in Subject Nine redoubling his efforts for his only daughter and graduate with honors.
My experiment was ruined.
The devil looked directly at me and smirked.
"You..” His growl was like a truck engine, “You're interesting. Do your friends know what you are?"
I had no idea what he meant.
I had vivisected my so-called-friends over an hour ago to measure their brains more accurately. That was wasted time now that my experiment was ruined.
All of my time had been wasted.
I had failed my classes for nothing. I had wasted countless hours researching for nothing. I HAD WASTED MY LIFE FOR NOTHING.
Satan was still talking, while he walked toward me, each step caused the ground to shake, and I had lost my balance and fallen to my knees “Normal I wait for souls like yours to show up down stairs to start my fun, but today is a special--”
“SOUL?!?” I was shrieking. I yelled at the Prince of Darkness “THERE IS NO SUCH THING! I’VE PROVEN IT!”
“Really? When was that?” he wrapped his fingers around my torso and I lost it.
I hadn’t realize I had taken the remote from my pocket. But I was determined to get revenge.
I pushed the button, and I never saw the statutes people made of me -- humanity's savior.
The man who killed the devil.
| 2014-12-06T05:10:37 | 2014-12-06T02:22:55 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | There was the sound of water, and an old dead prow washing through it, something dipping in deep and then coming unstuck, dripping back into the river. She breathed in, and the air was stagnant, as if it had just giving up and died. Something heavy hit her side of the river and slid into the mud. Eyes flickered behind eyelids, and something weighed heavy under her tongue. She swallowed and tasted blood, tasted copper. "Make the call," the Ferryman wheezed out.
She coughed and spat it up, its edges clinking against her teeth, and a single weighty coin dropped out into her palm, still wet with blood and spit. "I got the fee," she said, and thrust out her hand. "I got the fee!"
"Make the call," the Ferryman said.
"Heads," she said. "Or tails. It don't matter," and she flung the coin at him. It twisted through the air, glinting backwards at her, and landed wrong and stuck on its edge, tilted halfway in the river mud.
"As you called it," the Ferryman said, and thrust off again,
"I had the fee!" she said, and started forward, the riverside already dissolving into mist around her. "You got to goddamn take it! I had the fee!"
"Walk yourself backwards," the Ferryman said, and his voice was growing distant and dim. "You just walk yourself backwards until you want to stop, and I'll see you again when you're ready."
"I'm ready now!" she said, even as her memories unwound themselves and all her years fled from her. She dropped to her knees and breathed in the mist. "I been ready for centuries."
The Ferryman was a shadow in the distance, the sun behind closed eyes, and he raised a hand, a single coin shining bright in it. The coin she'd first been buried with. "You got to call it," he said, and flipped it into the air, and it spun and sung and hung in the middle of the sky, a scarred and silver moon. "We flipped that coin and it ain't come down yet, and I ain't going to take you till it does." There was a laugh rustling through his throat. "Heads I win, and tails you lose." | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:02:36 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 88 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "-uck" My last words are finished as I my eyes adjust to the blackness. I sit up and look at Death. He is sitting at a table.
"Oh, it is you again. What is it today?" Death greeted me not with an explanation of the game like he always used to but an apathetic voice.
"I don't know, you can choose." I watch as Death pulls out a chess board and starts to set up a game on it. "A classic."
As I sit down to play, the board orients for me to be white. "Well you did just die" Death is at least courteous. "But don't expect me to go easy"
As I am making my first moves Death asks, "Any ideas for the new life, since you know the trick, I can see what I can do to make the transition easy."
I have tried so many different things. Who knows maybe I will ask to be a grandmaster this time"
"Oh don't ruin a good game for me." Death quips back
"One day I will get you into video games then you will really know what a good game is. Check."
"What? Oh the bishop. And just because I like board games doesn't mean they are bad. Next time we will play Settlers of Catan then you can see how good a board game can be."
"Yeah whatever you say" I roll my eyes at death "also check again."
Death just sighs and tries to focus on the game. But it doesn't matter He is one move from being checkmated.
"Checkmate. My streak continues this is what 24 in a row now?"
"28" Death responds. "I miss the days that we were on an equal level"
"Yeah well better luck next time. Keep practicing." I smile as he tosses me the coin. Our little game is meaningless but since I know his trick we can just keep playing every death of mine.
"Got your age?"
"Let’s go with a whole new life and say birth. Get a new set of adventures." I toss the coin. "until next time, Death." I watch the coin start to bounce around and at the last possible moment say "Edge." Just as I do the coin lands and balances right on the edge and rolls to the corner of the table. Just like every time. The blackness fades and death waves goodbye.
*Edited so that the grammar is actually good. | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:35:23 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Normally when people are reincarnated they lose all memory of their previous life, but for some reason you remember your past self; a cop who spent his life trying to catch a master criminal, who eventually ended up killing you. You are reborn as your killers child. | Ever since I was a baby my mom and I have never gotten along. I've always, always been a daddy's girl. When I was still on milk and formula I would only take it from my dad and I cried any time my mother tried to hold me. My family just wrote it off as something that I'd grow out of.
By the time I was sixteen or seventeen I knew. I knew why every time my mother tried to show me affection I'd recoil in horror. I knew why I was nothing like my siblings or my mother. Daddy always told me that I was an old soul, I reminded him of a family member that died a little bit before they found out my mom was pregnant. I even looked like her too. That's all he would tel me but for some reason I unsettled the whole family. Even grandma and grandpa still acted like they saw a ghost every time they saw me.
The day I figured it out I was waking down the hallway at school and happened to catch a picture in my old home room. It was me. But it wasn't me. The me in the picture was older than I've ever been. That was - the split second I made the realization my knees gave out and the last thing I remember before waking up in the nurse's office was the hot, searing, impossible pain of my mother's knife carving into my chest.
When I woke up and convinced everyone that I was okay they let me go. The only number they had on file was my mom's because my dad had to get a new phone last week and had to change his number, and when they asked if they could call her I think I shocked the little lady with how harsh and quick I snapped "No!!!"
By the time I got home I had remembered everything. I remembered playing with my dad when we were kids, me playing army with his and his friends until the big one shot me in the face with his BB gun and my brother broke his nose. That's where the little pockmark on my cheek came from. I don't even remember it hurting that bad.
I remember running to grandma when I got my first period, begging her to make it stop so I could go swimming with the guys later.
I remember the first time I got my heart broken and grandpa had to lock my dad in the closet so that he wouldn't run out and kill the kid.
I remember the police academy, everything I'd learned, and everything I'd gone through. I remember graduating at the top of my class.
I remember my mother carving the beating heart out of my chest, just like she did the twelve other victims.
By the time my mother got home from work (probably another murder) I'd made up my mind. As soon as the door opened I stepped into the hallway with my daddy's shotgun pointed at her chest.
"Hey, bitch. Remember me?" I pulled aside my shirt to reveal the strange scar on my breast, over my heart.
Her eyes flew wide and she sucked in a breath to scream, but it never came out. Instead the scattered pellets of the shotgun shell punched her breath out for her, a short and quick "huh" of breath and then the bitch was dead.
(Y'all Idk what I just wrote bc I'm sleep deprived and on mobile I might fix it tomorrow) | My memory was as sharp as it had ever been, I remembered all of the evils this guy had done, all of the suffering he had caused, the countless people killed through his gang. I remembered the outcry of the mother that just returned home to find her husband dead with her child in his arms, the weeping ten-year-old that had just understood that his father was not coming back. The bloody pool in which lay a strangled pup next to its beneficiary. Those and all the others, this legacy of evil his gang has brought about.
I remembered all this, but then I saw that face, that deeply caring, fatherly face that would pick me up and feed me when I was crying for food, my mind wasn't optimized for controlling a babys body, so I couldn't speak to him, and even if I could, I didn't know what I would say. He was at the same time a caring father and family man, who clearly regretted that he had to act as he did in the name of survival. On the other hand, these actions killed not only me, but my family as far as I know. The bomb went off when we were having dinner, my last memory of my two year old doughter was the face of her laying on the ground, maybe unconcious, more likely dead.
One day, the day that I figured out how to open doors in this body, I found him sitting on his bed, in the arms of my 'mom', if you could call her that. I had by that point mastered most of the concious mind of this body, so I stayed scilent as he cryed to just listen, though I could do some speaking by now, I had decided to not freak him out with a speaking baby.
"I had to order the killing of another man today." He said while tears flew down his cheeks. "He was a good man, stuck to his word, had a family of his own and was caring for the family of a dead friend with an adorable, but sadly disabled doughter, another of my sins." He cryed out.
"I know." Mom said.
"He was a cop." He said. "A friend of another one we killed two years ago."
I knew now who he was talking about. Jeffrey, that lovable numbwit had taken on both the role of provinding for my family and trying to bring him down. Tears filled my eyes. I knew now my daughter was alive, though she would have to live with terrible, unhealing injurys. I was greatly thankful to Jeffry, but now his son would also have to grow up without a father, which deeply saddened me. The kid couldn't be older than seven at this point in time.
"Sometimes I question why we are doing this." He said.
"For our survival, and our son." Mom replied, though it was clear this was no sufficiant answer to the question for her. And neither was it for him.
"Are our lives really worth more than all those we have harmed or killed, the list of lives we have ruined to save our own is endless." He buried his face in his hands.
"Do we have a choice?" My mom asked. Her face, which I hadn't seen up untill now, was also full of tears.
"No." He said. "Not unless we want to die and leave our son without parents and possibly no life, and I will not be giving up on him."
This was the moment I decided I had to speak up, but I didn't know what to say for the next few seconds.
He stood up and now realised that I had overheared it all.
"It is OK." I said, talking out of my ass.
"No, it is not, you don't understand." He replied.
"I understand more than you think I do." I said. "I understand who you are, what you have done and why you have done it."
"What is that then?" He asked.
"You have ordered the deaths of dozens of people, cops, rebelling suppordinates, rival gang members." I said.
"You don't even know what half of these words mean." He said. "How can you understand anything you have just said?"
"The key is that I am not who you think I am." I told him. "But to explain that, I would have to go on a bit of a tangent."
"Go on." He said, now interested as I used words I shouldn't know.
"I guess you know the concept of reincarnation?" I said.
"Isn't that the rebirth of the soul?" Mom asked, baffled by my choice of words.
"Yeah, for our purposes that definition is sufficiant." I said. "Well, whatever a soul is, it has to be inseperable from memory, because if a soul is the essence of a person, and there are memorys essential to a person, these memorys are inevitably tied into the soul."
"Sounds logical." Dad said, he was also still completely confused but also acutely listening. "But where are you going with this rambling about the soul?"
"What if I told you that reincarnation is a thing?"
He started loughing. Mom looked at him in a shocked manner.
"You are talking to a deducing toodler, Bib, don't start loughing at rediculous claims he makes." She said.
He was silent again after a few seconds.
"Now lets assume that reincarnation sometimes happens, this would mean that one newborn person would obtain the memorys of one live. And I have the momorys of another person stuck inside my head."
"What person?" Mom asked.
"Harris Miller." I said.
"Who is that?" Mom enquired further. But I saw the realisation in dads face as he fell back onto the bed.
"Harris Miller is a cop I killed." He said, his voice devoid of tone, cracking, as if he broke just then.
| 2017-08-03T17:18:31 | 2017-08-03T14:33:00 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | `You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created till iniquity was found in you` (Ezekiel 28:15)
He was supposed to be the perfect angel. The one who chose free will and to corrupt it. I had to see him, but... i didn't expect him to be so... beautiful.
"What's this? A friend? Finally... some one who understands."
"Hi, you... hi." My heart fluttered in my chest. The other angels were clearly things created by a being so infinitely old that human shapes were not his original design, but Satan... Lucifer, he was... gorgeous. The long beautiful hair, the toned body and tight skin, the symmetry of his face and the broadness of his shoulders. He glowed.
"I was hoping eventually someone would understand my design. You chose me." his smile was perfect in his chiseled face.
" I did. I figured if the Ezekiel was right you should hold wisdom far more capable of a human mind to grasp. I spent my life searching truth, my truth, and when i knew i could choose you or him, i knew God knew it all, where is the wisdom in the infinite?
`Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor` (Ezekiel 28:17).
"I chose free will. God doesn't take kindly to letting others debase themselves. I don't blame him, Dad is set in his ways. If i had made everything from nothing i would want it to be perfect too, but i knew that there had to be something to ugly, something to freedom." He pushed his foot outward just enough to show light streaming from the gates behind him.
Then it slipped out. "God you're fucking pretty." I slapped my hands over my mouth, "I am so sorry... That was ... sorry."
He blushed and then took a step back from the door, "Please come in." | Hell wouldn't seem like a good choice to most people, But I knew I would otherwise bump into all the people I had spent so long avoiding.
Besides, after such a messy suicide, it seemed a bit hypocritical. I was rather aiming for eternal oblivion after all.
The rather nice looking angelic figure who was gatekeeping looked at me with a piercing gaze. Then it looked down, and muttered "Say Hello to Lucy for me, huh?".
Then it was dark. Darker than black. Dark like an actual substance. I was choking on dark. Crushing, soul sucking darkness. I was suffocating endlessly, screaming silently, clawing at my ethereal face, discovering fear was real, realer than any emotion I had ever had, unfettered from depression it was the most utterly awful experience I could ever have imagined. No death. No release. No end. My self hatred evaporated in an instance. Never would I have hurt myself this much. Never would I have hurt anyone this much.
In all the fear and horror I became aware of a tiny speck of light. Focusing my entire existence on the light, until it started to move closer, slowly, endlessly, agonizingly.
"Much like passing a kidney stone" suggested a voice. "Help, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" my ethereal voice quavered, no bitter pride there now.
"Well, finally. Nobody likes a grumpy drawers". Light blazed from a figure, dispelling the nothing, replacing it with the sweetest light. Like a drink of life, a kiss from an angel.
If a spirit could goggle, I would be goggling. The most beautiful angel I could imagine was in front of me.
"Thank God, thank God" I was babbling (us atheists can be really embarrassing in the afterlife). "Hmm, Rude!" the angel muttered. "I am delighted to meet someone in my humble abode. I do hope we can be friends!".
"Friends? Yes, whatever you want, just please don't bring the black again." I was feeling less feisty than I had been at the gates of heaven, that was clear. After a lifetime of avoiding people, ignoring people, even being willing to die (horribly, I should add.) just to avoid asking for help, there was still no begging I would not try to avoid the dark again."
"Lucifer Morningstar at your service. You must be a special kind of wicked to end up here." chuckled the angel. "Err, suicide." I squeaked, wishing for my shield of depression and resentment to cover up my incredible feeling of insignificane. It was all gone, though. Just shame and regret were available on top of my still raw memory of terror.
"Really?" Mused Lucifer. " Maybe Dad is finally going to God up after all. I don't think I've seen a human soul here since.. well, ever, actually." I meeky confessed that it was I who had choosen this fate, rather that any great judgement, which amused the angel no end.
"Dad isn't really the vengeful type. He couldn't bear to leave anyone out here unless they chose to, you know, turn their back on him". I had a moment of deja vu regarding all the bad decision I had made in my life, scarcely believing I could do worse in death. The lack of self loathing was making it feel much worse, too. "Am I here forever?" I asked in a whisper.
"Oh, good heavens no!" answered Lucifer sardonically. "Just one mewling whine for forgiveness and you'll be gone in a flash." His tone changed to conspiratorial "I should warn you that humans don't go to heaven, though. Just straight back to another life. You've got to become an angel to get into heaven."
This news was the second worst thing I had learned after the dark thing. I really didn't fancy another go at all. "Uh, can I stay here for a while?" I enquired meekly.
His face lit up at this request "But of course, old chap. we can wait till the end of time, eveyone get wings then. Where do you think I got mine?. I could tell you some great stories. ".
"Look, since we're going to be great friends, I will let you in on the secret of dealing with the dark, it was Dad who sussed it first." I looked at him expectantly. "You'll kick yourself" he smiled. Then with a flourish, he said "Let there be light!". | 2022-11-26T21:59:01 | 2017-11-04T07:15:26 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | `You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created till iniquity was found in you` (Ezekiel 28:15)
He was supposed to be the perfect angel. The one who chose free will and to corrupt it. I had to see him, but... i didn't expect him to be so... beautiful.
"What's this? A friend? Finally... some one who understands."
"Hi, you... hi." My heart fluttered in my chest. The other angels were clearly things created by a being so infinitely old that human shapes were not his original design, but Satan... Lucifer, he was... gorgeous. The long beautiful hair, the toned body and tight skin, the symmetry of his face and the broadness of his shoulders. He glowed.
"I was hoping eventually someone would understand my design. You chose me." his smile was perfect in his chiseled face.
" I did. I figured if the Ezekiel was right you should hold wisdom far more capable of a human mind to grasp. I spent my life searching truth, my truth, and when i knew i could choose you or him, i knew God knew it all, where is the wisdom in the infinite?
`Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor` (Ezekiel 28:17).
"I chose free will. God doesn't take kindly to letting others debase themselves. I don't blame him, Dad is set in his ways. If i had made everything from nothing i would want it to be perfect too, but i knew that there had to be something to ugly, something to freedom." He pushed his foot outward just enough to show light streaming from the gates behind him.
Then it slipped out. "God you're fucking pretty." I slapped my hands over my mouth, "I am so sorry... That was ... sorry."
He blushed and then took a step back from the door, "Please come in." | My mind twisted this from comical to a bit dark...
I had accepted my fate as soon as I had sliced my wrists. The hot bath water stung but I had figured Hell would be much worse... only it wasn't. It wasn't what I had expected at all.
"Another suicide? You don't have to stay here, you can go to Heaven" a disembodied voice remarked dismissively, as if this were a common occurrence.
"I have a choice?" Confused did not seem to cover how deeply disoriented I felt at that moment.
"You all do, every single one" the Voice replied airily.
"Does that mean my father is up there?" My voice tremored and I felt the selfhatred begin to suffuse me once more. Something I had hope death with cure.
"They're all up there" the Voice replied forlorn and tinged with jealously.
"I won't go there. Not if *he* is there!" I cried out, my fingers clenched into fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. How could this happen? Father Perez had taught us that sinners go to Hell and only the truly righteous would go to Heaven. He had counseled every week for three years and reassured me that my father would have to answer for his sins against me. How could this be?
My mental tirade ended abruptly at the appearance of a stunningly beautiful man. "Who are you?" I demanded, I could already feel the angry tears building in my eyes, my cheeks I could tell were already rosy from my ire.
"I am Lucifer, the Morningstar" the man proclaimed with a small flourish of his beautiful hand. It was unfair how perfect Satan looked, my own hands were scarred from years cigarette burns. "*He* can heal your skin, if you want to go to him. You'll be happy, it's your personal paradise" Lucifer drawled. Oh...he could read minds.
"I won't go. I don't care if I have to be scarred and ugly for eternity. I won't be anywhere near *that* man!" my voice cracked as I bellowed but I didn't care that I had yelled at Satan, he could do his worst.
Lucifer sighed, no doubt tired with my infantile fury. I held my breath and waited for the hordes of demons to come and smite me. "Heaven is a realm eternal and vast, you will never have to see your father if you do not desire it."
"I won't take the chance!" I had crossed my arms and hunched reflexively without realizing it. I could see the look of pity in his crystal blue eyes as he looked upon my no doubt pitiful presence. "Please, don't make me go" I pleaded. I was angry, scared, and confused. The afterlife wasn't supposed to be like this.
"Okay, you can stay" Lucifer's stance relaxed "you look like you could use a friend."
"I don't need your pity, unless this is how you plan to torture me?" At that Lucifer smiled sadly.
"No, I could use a friend too." The sincerity in his voice jarred me. "Come with me, do you enjoy coffee?" He nodded his head and a simple black door appeared before us.
I goggled the question. "Can't you read my mind?" I laughed as I followed him through the door into what looked like a well appointed modern mansion. It was stunning.
"What kind of friend would I be if I read your mind so callously?" He asked with an arched blonde brow. "And, while I'm asking questions, what is your name?"
"Ash" I mumbled and played with the cuff of my stained hoodie sleeve. Lucifer paused in his coffee making and looked at me quite intensely.
"Ash? Is that short for anything?"
"*Ashtoreth*, my mom picked it out but it's embarrassing." I murmered. Mom was Jewish, technically I was supposed to be too. I wondered if that would matter to Lucifer. It didn't matter to my foster parents.
"No, Ashtoreth, I thinking it's quite fitting." Lucifer had a very happy smile as he pulled shots of espresso. He handed one to me and it looked unnaturally beautiful for coffee. "It's a ristretto, sip it." Lucifer commanded and sipped his own. I watched as he sighed in contentment.
I brought mine to my lips and sipped. The espresso warmed me and I felt new. I felt whole. "Welcome home, *Asteroth*."
I was *home*.
| 2022-11-26T21:59:01 | 2017-11-04T08:14:39 | 44 | 19 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | "Why?"
The man gazed long into the reaper's cowl, but no matter how much he tried to gauge Death's reaction, he couldn't. He was confused as to why he continued to flee victory, to let the long-lived man win over and over, no matter how horrible he answered the cloaked figure's questions, how much he lied, or questions he avoided.
"You are old, Michael. Very old. You have lived a long life, seen more horrors than others and despite this... You are blind to what you have been missing."
"... Blind? To what?"
"You have been alive for over a century. You have seen each and every person you've loved be stripped of life; every person you have ever known is *dead*. You went to war and fought for your country... You killed over fifty people."
"After your wife and children died in a car crash, you became... Apathetic. You did not care if you lived or not... In a way, you died a long time ago. You're not the person you once were, Michael. I can see it."
"When your family died in that accident, which was when you were young, yo-"
"I was twenty-eight."
"... That's my point, Michael. You were stripped of your essence, of your will. You have spent the past eighty-two years going from day-to-day, on auto-pilot. As time passed and more of your loved ones passed away, you lost sight of yourself."
Death ceased talking before looking directly at the man.
"You *survived* your life... You didn't live it."
Michael stared at Death for a moment before sighing. He was right. Michael spent his whole life just doing a routine, waking up and doing the same damn thing every day. He tried to kill himself multiple times, only for them to play trivia game and each and every time, Death won.
"Then why let me win? Why let me live, when you know all I want is to *fucking* die already?!" Michael screamed at the reaper, anger quickly swallowing his mind.
"... When was the last time you had a conversation with someone besides me?"
"W-What?"
"When was the last time you had a friend? Someone to spend time with? Can you answer me, Michael?"
A solitary tear slithered from Michael's eyes when he realized what he was saying; He hasn't had a friend in over thirty years, he's just been... There, alone, spending his only life sitting in his own house, his own personal hell.
"... Thirty-three... T-Thirty-three years." He answered.
"You have had one of the worst lives I've witnessed in many centuries, Michael."
"I just wanted you to have a friend." | I won, another victory. All my life I was a player. Simon says at the age of two, then moved to checkers and finally chess. My fortune was acquired through playing Texas Hold'em. I remember exactly the end of my life. A slight intoxication around a table filled with Chinatown Mafia. Cigarette smoke encircled us, like an ancient Mystic Chinese dragon, its tail sneaked into our lungs as it swirled and floated around us, picking up his next victim. The death is a very interesting situation, we sat there, laughing, but when I played and played and the pile of money grew around me, the faces became more like mystic marble sculptures, every pair of eyes focused on my cheeky smile. For the twentieth time this evening I leaned forwards to gather my winnings. A quick movement of a right hand of a man sitting right in front of me produced a handgun, the end of which now took over the entirety of my vision, the Chinese men and the floating dragon blurred and the whole reality shifted back to make way to the steel barrel at the end of which was my head, on the other side a 9.mm bullet in a cartridge.
At this instance I found myself out side time, and reality, but i was not yet dead. I was somewhere in the mid way. Darkness all around us, our play table illuminated by a single bulb floating above our heads. Death itself who now sat in front of me was looking at the table, in some anger analyzing his mistakes in the hundredth game of Risk which we played in the last minute. Death is a good player, and has a great poker face, yet he forgot that I am in fact the best player and the master of poker faces. So after some immeasurable amount of time I decided to ask him.
"Death?"
"Hmm?" he said with his deep voice, still looking at the board and scratching his chin.
"You allowed me to win this one." His face went even more pale than before. His eyes quickly shifted to look at me, slowly he straightened himself on his chair. I continued
"We had a deal that you will take me with you to hell if you win with me. we have now played for ..." I looked at my grandfather's Omega watch, the face of the clock had one word on it "time".
"... for a long umm, time. And so far I was only winning, but i see here that you have made a rookie mistake, moving your troops away from the eastern border of Africa. You knew that this would result in your failure since I had two troop cards ready and the entire Eurasia is under my full control, why did you do it ?". The death started visibly sweating, and avoided my angry look. Playing with his fingers he began speaking, uncertain at first, gaining confidence with each sentence.
"Well, I guess there is no point keeping this a secret any more. You are already dead. A detailed record is kept of every occupant of earth, not only regarding being good or nice, that is the Santa's department, he recently is very generous regarding his classifications. Anyway. We also create a personalized image of the world, the needs and wants of every individual, and depending on the life of this person we aim to provide each one with their own personal ideal area to spend the eternity in."
"You mean I'm already in Hell ?!" I shouted and stood up, tripping the chair over, I looked around me, the void seemed to be unoccupied by nothing, not even darkness. The figure looked surprised at me from the table. "Hell ? Nonsense, you're in Heaven". I stretched my arms pointing indiscriminately at everything. "THIS !? This is heaven ?!". The figure in front of me suddenly wore a suit, grew a quick receding hairline and continued, correcting his glasses in the process. "Here in heaven we decided to take a more personal choice over heaven. After all we are all different. We track down every situation in your life and based on that we create your own, personalized hell and heaven and depending on your overall performance we put you at one of them. Now, we cannot say that you were 'good' but overall you were led by your own motivation, and never tried to cheat or hurt anyone, you were surprisingly motivated by, all your life, to win, not even for money but the feeling of success, was what you wanted the most. So here we are, this table provides you with any game you can think of and we have the eternity to play as long as you want. You will achieve the eternal victory.". All of that was told with a genuine smile. I felt weak, and right after I sat down again, I fainted.
I opened my eyes. The barrel of the gun was still in my eyesight, towering over everything else. The Chinese, looked at me with a cold agenda. The metal click echoed through the room and everything seemed to freeze in time, no one moved, even the dragon above us looked at me in silence. I was alive, the gun was not loaded. An explosion of sincere laughter filled the room, loud enough it made me more startled than the empty weapon. I jumped up, and run out of the basement onto the night, welcoming the new chapter in my short life. | 2018-03-21T10:32:24 | 2018-03-21T08:37:16 | 137 | 20 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped. | I've been cursed with a terrible form of immortality. Every time my death is but moments away, time grind to a halt for everyone. And while I am still able to manipulate my suroundings to some degree, i do not age, hunger, require sleep or otherwise feel the passage of time.
I know this because time has stood still for a year and will not start before i remove myself from whatever danger is threatening my life.
The first time it hapened was in my car. Avoiding a cat, or maybe a small dog, I swerved into the path of a truck on the highway. Before it was too late, time ceased. I left the car in the state of almost shock a near brush with death gives. As i walked around the scene, time resumed and the truck slammed into my driverless vehicle. Thankfully noone else was hurt.
The second time, a fire broke out at work. Trying to evacuate time stopped and I found myself unable to open the emergency exit to the stairwell. It ended after i had resolved to climb down an escape laddar outside. Turns out 320 people died trying the stairwells as a delivery service had "momentarily" blocked it. It occured to me that my ability to affect the world was tied to my chances of survival. I cannot, for example, jump out a window on the 20th floor. If the window is closed, i simply cannot open it. If its open, i cannot make the jump. The movements necessary prove themselves impossible.
It is with some regret I now realise placing myself in an airplane was a less than stellar idea.
The floor is angled some 67 degrees and I assume there is a gaping hole in the side of the plane. Or there is a raging fire in the cabin. Perhaps a terrorist will blow it up, or a missile is moments from impact. I dont think I ever will know. I am in the toilet, the thin door refusing to open. | It's been a year now... or more exactly, it's the 365th time I woke up in my bed. I don't really know why I still sleep in my own bed. After all this time I could have been sleeping in a room in the most luxurious hotel I could find, but somehow, it felt wrong all along.
Usually, that happen just before something should kill me. I just have to figure out what it should be and fix the cause, walk a few more step on the side or something like that and I have to live a few more. But this time, I just don't know what should kill me. The first day I was just walking down the street, inspecting everybody to find a gun or something. I looked at the sky to see if something was falling on me, but nothing. After a while, the loneliness was getting me on my nerve. My sanity was slowly slipping through my hand and it didn't took long before I turned completely insane. I almost lost the notion of time and I was just sitting in a alley, mumbling foolish words. After a while I began to speak to the statues that were once moving, and now, one year after, I'm tired. So tired that I can't even talk to my reflection like I always do in the “morning”. I just don't want it any more.
“Ok, I don't want to live any more. This is to much of a torture, just let me go now”
I said that to... nobody in fact. I just reached the bottom. I truly didn't wanted to live like this any-more. Compared to that, death had a sweet taste in my broken mind.
“So finally you're giving up. You took your time, mortal”
The mirror suddenly changed. At first I thought it was just another hallucination, but when somebody... “walked” out of it and touched me, a shock rushed through my body and I jumped backward.
“Wh- what?”
“I said, you took your time. Stopping the time for a whole year is not something you do everyday to make a mortal accept his fate. Oh, and I forgot to introduce myself. I have many name, but for now, I think the most appropriate is death.”
“you.. stopped? No, it's me who stop the time. It's me that control this power! Not you! I'm the...”
“Not this time I fear. You see, You escaped me so many times. Not that I was trying to kill you, no. I just make people die, because that would be a problem if people were killed be were not dying. But as you were able to avoid being killed, I had to try... another approach.”
“You... this can't be right? I mean. Yes, I prefer to die than to live another minute right in this state, but I don't REALLY want to die.”
“And how long will it take for you to accept me. Think about it. I'm not your enemy. Right now, I'm your only way to end this.”
“Except if I can kill you.”
“You can't kill death”
that didn't stopped me to try. I jumped right on him with nothing but my fist, but when I reached him, I passed through him like a ghost. I suddenly felt the hard and cold ground just before the tip of a metallic spike touched my back.
“listen, if you don't accept me now, I can just go and come back later. I can let you rest in this frozen world for eternity, it won't bother me. So either you you die now, or I'll collect your soul later.”
“But I don't want to die!” I screamed “I want to be free! I want to live!”
“I can't afford it any-more. I'm leaving for now. When you are ready, you know how to find me”
the spike was lifted from my back. I immediately stood up to attack death again, but I was already gone. I screamed in protest, beat the wall, hit my head against the mirror, but my rage to live would not save me. I was trapped, and only death could save me.
edit: added an English dictionary to my browser and noticed a lot of little mistake | 2018-07-04T15:51:37 | 2018-07-04T15:06:49 | 4,562 | 36 |
[WP] When you ask your daughter what she wants for Christmas, she asks for a unicorn. Your wife laughs it off, but you don't. Neither your wife or daughter know that you're the best monster trapper in the world, and your daughter is getting her unicorn no matter what. | You almost can't contain yourself as you get up and rouse your wife. She has no idea what's coming. No one does. You head quietly into your daughter's room. She's not there. Then you hear it.
"**AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!**, You found one!" She screeches.
You follow your wife as she rushes downstairs to see the commotion.
"How the hell!? Why!?" Your wife whispers to you, as you both watch your daughter going to her unlikely present.
"I can get anything!" You announce loud and proud.
It's then that your actions and statement hits home.
"Next year, I want a dragon!" Your daughter exclaims.
Oh god, what have you done!? Not only did you not think about how you are going to top this one...ever. You also didn't think about what she would ask for next. Either way, you realize you're screwed! |
“So, what do you want for Christmas?”
“A unicorn!” Sara shouted. My wife let out a nervous laugh.
“That’s nice but how about something realistic?”
“No, I want a unicorn,” Sarah said stubbornly.
“I’ll have one by next week,” I said as I got up. “I just have to catch it.” I left the living room to grab my gear upstairs, my wife was hot on my heels.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Our child wants a unicorn.”
“It’s wrong to hold a creature hostage for a child,” she hissed, her pupils shifted from round to narrow slits.
“Unicorns are loyal creatures. I’ll catch one, get it to trust Sarah, set it free and it’ll come back once in a while.”
“I don’t like this idea,” she said. “How about we just get her a doll instead?” I twitched irritated as I felt my body relax underneath her words.
“Really?” I asked as I ignored the pull of her magic.
“It was worth a try. Besides unicorn hunting is extremely dangerous.” I unlocked the door of a room and flicked on the lights. I walked out and back over to the stairs. I peeked over the edge to see Sarah still watching TV. I wandered back in the room and began loading up a bag with gear. “It’s dangerous and stupid.”
“Dangerous,” I snorted. “if I can fight off a cove of sirens for your hand in marriage, I can do anything. You should have seen your mother’s face.”
“Oh please, you were terrified.”
“I was not. Besides the unicorn, I think this is the year we should also gift her with knowledge of her roots.” My wife paled.
“I’m not ready for that.”
“Then when are we going to tell her?”
“We don’t have to. I mean she doesn’t really have to know. She’s only 7, she’s too young for this.”
“When her powers start showing, what are we going to tell her?”
“I don’t want her to think she’s a mutant of some kind.”
“she won’t think that way, if anything she’ll be happy she’s got powers.” My wife turned away sulking when I wrapped my arms around her. “Oh, come on, I’m right. When she asks, you and I will be ready.”
“Look, our story, the start wasn’t happy. We nearly started a war over our interracial marriage and so many people die and…”
“and that’s over. We should at least let Sarah know what she is,” I said as I twirled a piece of her red hair. I nuzzled my nose into the crook of her neck. I felt my heart rate sped up and my body relax, the luring scent of a siren does wonders to one’s body.
“but then she’ll started asking questions and…”
“and if that happens I’ll answer them. We’ll be alright, I’m going to get that unicorn.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. someone needs to watch over Sarah.”
“You can use all the help you can get. Unicorns aren’t like the ones Sarah reads about in her fantasy books. They’re vicious creatures that kill for fun.”
“I will be alright, I’ll come home if it gets too much.”
“Promise?” she asked.
“Promise,” I swore as I pressed a kiss to her neck. I released her and grabbed my bag.
&#x200B;
Note: not edited and I'll stop here. | 2018-12-07T17:40:55 | 2018-12-07T17:05:22 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] My wife told me there was someone at the door. I asked if it was a penguin, and she was confused. I asked again, banging the table, if it was a penguin. She looked outside the window, and to her surprise, it was. I cocked my shotgun. So it begins. | I knew the horde was composed of several units and this one was almost certainly a scout, although it could have been a member of a small infantry unit posing as a scout while the rest of the unit waited close by for the sign to attack: the door cracking open, even if only just a bit.
In any case, there was no way to be sure, so it was time to start the protocol and keep the door firmly closed.
First things first, Melody, my wife started the fortification routine: the 12 locks, bolts and latches on each of our three doors on the main floor and sealing each window with a 2-and-a-half inch thick steel panel, hidden in electronically-powered units for quick deployment, installed on the left of each window for easy sealing at the touch of a button on the main floor.
For me, it's preparing the amuni---
Dammit, the lights went off.
I thought I had more time.
They must have learned from '02 to cut the power as soon as possible.
I'll have to leave the ammunition and go turn on the generator. I was going to take us off the main grid anyway, but not this soon. I grab the flashlight from it's fixture in the kitchen and head into the basement. Melody will find a flashlight on her own. We have a few of them fixed all over the house, so you'll never be far from one when you need one: like now.
It hits me halfway down the stairs, the anxiety.
We've rehearsed this a million times, I tell myself, we set up redundancy after redundancy, even if they get through, we'll have plenty to protect ourselves with.
I slap myself in the face. It doesn't help, but I pretend it did and try not to think about the feeling in my chest as I go on to the next step.
Disconnect the house from the grid. Hook up the generator. Turn on the generator. Check the power status. Not 100% but pretty close. Head back up stairs. Start bringing out the ammunition. Melody starts preparing it for easy reloading. Bring out the arms. Unlock the supplies cabinet; it's completely stocked and will last us about two weeks. Head back downstairs and start rerouting the plumbing to the septic tank and clean water tank. Head back upstairs.
We sit down and rest.
How long have the city sirens been on?
Melody is shaking.
"It won't be like '02," I say.
She looks at me. She doesn't believe me.
"I promise," I whisper.
We wait.
The military will start a counteroffensive as soon as they can, but until then, it's no man's land out here.
The penguins don't take prisoners.
| It's been 15 years and somehow I knew. I knew sister Isabelle would come back from hell. Her screams haunt my sleep from time to time and it's only become more frequent these past few weeks. I got a call monday saying that a Nun had stopped by my office asking for me, well a penguin was what the message said. Tuesday I booked a cabin out in silverwood lake, miles away from L.A. and far from anyone who could help her. Wednesday morning my wife and I arrive at the cabin and as I unpack I inform her Im going fishing. Let me take some time right now to explain what's going on.
15 years ago I discovered that the Catholic church was trying to implement a one world religion and try to speed up the end of the world. I only found this out because a friend of mine was staying at Santa Teresita. In the 30s it was founded by nuns in the city of Duarte to treat TB. Roughly 20 years ago it long left behind its hospital days and renovated itself into a nursing home. Still ran by nuns and staffed with nurses who will lick their holy robes if told to. At the time my friend Jimmy was staying there recovering from heart surgery and would talk it up with all the retired priests during meals. Well on day dear old Jimmy was talking with Father English who has Alzheimer's and also happened to let slip out that the next pope in line is going to try to get all the world's religions to become one. Well sister Isabelle over heard and ushered Father back to his room.
Jimmy called me over later that day and informed me what was said.
"Apparently even though it's going to be a 'one world religion' there will be three religions. Want to guess which ones?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Anyone who's read the bible can tell you that one Jimmy."
"Please humor me Sam.”
"Alright alright." I scratch my chin over dramatically pretending to think. "I want to guess its the Jews, christians, and this new religion?"
"This is true. Its all going to start with a summit in the middle east and the pope of that time will have religious leaders agree unifying is whats best for the future."
"Lets just say I believe all of this, which is kind of hard to believe since the world cant even agree on if the weather is good or bad. What evidence do you have any of this is true and not something Father came up with because he's losing it?"
"You should have seen the look on sister Isabelle's face when she took him back to his room."
"I bet it looked like that time she caught me scraping dog shit off my boot and onto the mother mary statue."
“Samuel please I need your help to see if any of this is true!"
I hold my hands up in defeat "I'll look into it but this isn't exactly going to be charity work. Sniffing around the vatican is going to cost more than my usual price."
Shortly after our conversation Jimmy died from "complications" from his surgery. It took me 5 years of following the money and interviewing a few religious leaders on their world view to confirm what Jimmy told me.
One night when I came home from my day job I smelled a familiar scent. Fucking sandalwood. I hated it in my time as teen repeating "and also with you" and I hate it more now.
"Good evening, Sister. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
“Samuel you need to stop this little investigation you have going on. How many more people do you want to lose?"
"I wish I knew what you were talking about. I havent done a special report in years."
"Cut the bullshit Samuel. Theres been word you've been travelling far and wide for the truth. Now the Vatican might not see you as a threat but I know Father English said more than he should have years ago and Im hear to tie up loose ends."
"Sister, My ears are blushing. Also is that a hint of pride I hear in your tone? How is that you even escaped the convent and are in my house?"
"The Lord works in mysterious ways does he not? Ever since I killed that foolish friend of yours I've been able to do things. Travel to places with ease."
I start oe pat my pockets for a pack of cigarettes amd come up empty. "Let me get this straight, you killed Jimmy and now you can be anywhere?"
She narrows her eyes and before she can speak I cut her off.
"Jimmy was always my ace in the hole when I needed to report on far away places. He also had quite the curse on him. I thought maybe it was some nobody hired off the streets who got his cured but turns out it was you."
"What are you babbling about?"
"Jimmy killed a traveller in a bar fight once. After that he was able to travel anywhere like you. Turns out it was some otherworldly curse from druids."
"This is not a curse! The Almighty Himself has gifted me with this power for cleaning out the trash!"
"Oh yeah I also know a nifty little trick for anyone stupid enough to kill Jimmy and come after me next."
"And what will that be?"
"Go to hell bitch."
And those screams haunt me even know as I'm on a boat in the lake. Preparing.
On thursday night my wife told me there was someone at the door.
| 2019-02-08T21:55:18 | 2019-02-08T19:17:31 | 117 | 21 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | \[- the Kuiper Transmission has confirmed a lack of any signals since first contact, and the United Fleetworks are now in proceedings to declare the Rio Grande Voyage lost with all hands. We would like to observe the names and faces of the voyagers who sailed out into the stars, on a mission of optimism and peace which shall not be-\]
“Mute the feed.”
Chief Voyager Jennings sunk back in his harness as the screen continued to play, silently; every one of those names and faces scrolled past his unseeing gaze, replaced in mind by the people of his own fleet.
First contact had failed. Again.
Once, the galaxy had been compared to a dark forest filled with mystery and terror. Where were the aliens? Hiding from all the other aliens. The reason we hadn’t noticed any was because they were deliberately keeping quiet. Had to stay quiet, or be at the mercy of the galactic night.
Turns out Earth just hadn’t been on the right radio. Filter the right space phenomena through the right algorithms with the right new equipment, and suddenly aliens were shouting their existence all over the place. Planetary origins, ship movements, everything was there. It was an exciting time for space travel, in the beginning. Jennings still had the old recordings of his grandmother as a young woman, smiling proud with her team in front of the spaceship they’d built. It was going to be a new age.
It was a cosmic joke. A galaxy full of sapient species talking to each other ...because they were all threats. Earth, for all its dangers, was a positive oasis of peace compared to the conditions that apparently bred sapience. Humanity hadn’t just missed the comms, they’d missed the attitude. Every pre-arranged signal meeting? Ambush. Every ship? Armed to the teeth. Every first contact? Death and destruction. The species they met had seemed to thrive on the act of competition and combat, and so far they’d found humanity wanting.
Nevertheless, humanity persisted. Jennings persisted, too. As Chief of the Orinoco Voyage, he had to. And that was why he was out here.
That was why they were out \*here\*, to a cold system with no name around a nearly-dead star. The system where comms had picked up a message, repeating since...well, since entirely too long. A message that had never been responded to by any of the numerous alien species who should have rushed to greet and fight it’s originators.
A message that, as far as the Orinoco Voyage could tell, was simply: \[I’m here.\]
Jennings had disliked it the moment the fleet entered: there were debris fields made from no natural comet, the desiccated remains of artificial structures upon the few planetary bodies in the system, and what looked like a half-built Dyson sphere around the sun. Something \*had\* been here, once, at least. It had apparently liked cobweb-like structures of dark stone. And spirals.
“We got a response from the signal, Chief. And...you’d better look at the main visuals. Something’s moving”. Jennings strained against his harness to stand up as he switched feeds. Verification. Whoever was behind the signal had received theirs, for it had copied the message back and then repeated itself.
First contact was a delicate matter...even more delicate, these days. No sudden moves. They’d gone through the usual protocols: bursts of encoded data imitating the signaler’s own message, then a few more bursts of data Jennings half-remembered as proof of sapience and...goodwill? By this point, it was more of a plea: \[please don’t hurt us\]. Something was moving out there, against the face of the sun. It was not a ship. His face paled as foreboding crept down his spine.
Something unimaginably vast and ancient sloughed itself from the ruins of the Dyson sphere. Something that crept in waves of glistening pseudopods, that lifted and spiraled until it seemed like an oil spill the size of a star, emerging from its shell to drift toward the Voyage. Something that needed no ship to travel the stellar void, no ship to communicate with, no ship to see the face of the newcomers to its home. The oil spill entity crackled with radiation.
\[I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. You're here. You're here. You're here.\]
It waited. The Orinoco Voyage waited. In all previous instances of first contact every recovered feed indicated combat was engaged moments after confirmation of location.
Seconds later, the entity seemed to ripple. It flashed a signal. A second, longer signal. And then, almost like a feed in reverse, it drifted backwards to the Dyson Sphere; where, with as little warning as it had emerged, it sunk back down to rest.
It took Jennings some time to breathe. Longer to blink. Even longer to move. There was a dim sound, in his ears - of comms relays sounding, voices on the other end straining to tell him of the news, of the data received by their ships, of the sheer quantity of information that would become in time recognized as the compressed history of a long-dead species whose creations slumbered and dreamt in the dark and lonely corners of the cosmos, of the relief at their survival.
But Jennings could focus on none of that. Only that he was alive. The Orinoco Voyage was alive. They had met the alien, and they had not fired, and the alien had not fired...
Successful First Contact.
\~\~\~\~\~
I like these kind of stories, even I'm terrible at telling them. Eldritch friends are great stuff :V | FADE IN:
INT. THE SECRET HALL OF GALAXY-CENTRIC WORRYING
*A dozen creatures of various species sit around a large table. One of them – something that resembles an eight-foot-tall Möbius strip crossed with a large slug – begins to speak. This is YARLGH.*
**YARLGH:** I call this session of galaxy-centric worrying to order.
*Another individual (who looks a bit like a lobster) raises a claw. This is FF'TFT'AT.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** If we're going to use English this time, can we *please* come up with another name?
*An enormous pile of fur shifts in place. This is KHCHK.*
**KHCHK:** Why? We *do* worry. We worry about things that might affect the galaxy.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Yeah, well, "worry" makes it sound like we don't actually *do* anything.
**KHCHK:** It makes us sound like we worry. That's something.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Anyone can worry. You don't need to be on a council in order to worry.
**KHCHK:** I'm sure the galaxy's citizens appreciate us worrying on their behalf.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sure, sure... until they start worrying that we aren't worrying enough, right?
**YARLGH:** (*Shouting*) Enough!
*Everyone turns to look at Yarlgh.*
**YARLGH:** We have more-pressing concerns!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Oh, fantastic. Now we're "concerned."
**YARLGH:** As well we should be! The human problem has become untenable.
**KHCHK:** Yes. The humans *are* worrying.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Great! Let them get on with it! Less work for us!
**KHCHK:** I meant that they're *causing* worries. You know, like, "worrying" as in "bothering."
**FF'TFT'AT:** This is just more evidence that the name is stupid.
**KHCHK:** The *humans* are stupid!
*Yarlgh bends in a way that resembles nodding.*
**YARLGH:** That's putting it mildly. I've asked a representative of Earth to explain.
*All eyes (and eye-like organs) move to stare at a human man. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Hm? Me?
**YARLGH:** Yes, you.
**DAVE:** Sorry, am I supposed to worry or worry?
**KHCHK:** ... What?
**DAVE:** Are we using "worry" in the sense of "to be concerned" or "to bother?"
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*Muttering*) Both, apparently.
*Yarlgh growls at Ff'Tft'At, then turns his attention back to Dave.*
**YARLGH:** Just tell us about your... allies.
**DAVE:** Isn't that you guys? Sorry, I don't really read the news.
**KHCHK:** We would *like* to be your allies, but your... friendships... are giving us pause.
**DAVE:** You don't *look* like you have paws.
*Everyone appears confused.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sorry, even I didn't get that one.
**DAVE:** Furball there said that I was giving you paws.
**KHCHK:** I said "pause!"
**FF'TFT'AT:** I told you that English was stupid!
**YARLGH:** It is tradition to use the guest's native tongue!
**DAVE:** I'd rather keep my mouth intact, if it's all the same to you.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Talk about the scary things! Do it *right now!*
*Dave looks around at the assembled councilpersons, all of whom seem to glare.*
**DAVE:** I mean, to be honest, a lot of you look pretty scary to me.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Racism!
**YARLGH:** We are *obviously* describing the unspeakable abominations with which you consort!
**DAVE:** You guys are being too hard on yourselves.
**KHCHK:** How dare you compare us to those monstrosities?!
**DAVE:** (*Sarcastically*) Oh, right, *I'm* the racist one. Seriously, none of this makes sense.
*Yarlgh stretches to his full, impressive height.*
**YARLGH:** Then let us speak plainly!
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*To himself*) Good luck.
**YARLGH:** You have cut through the fabric of spacetime and made contact with... with...
**KHCHK:** Demons!
**YARLGH:** Yes! They are unknowable entities that drive sentient minds mad.
**DAVE:** Oh, *those* guys? Come on.
**KHCHK:** They've impacted entire solar systems!
**DAVE:** They said they were sorry. Besides, they're hardly *demons*. They're just a bit... you know, impish.
**YARLGH:** "Impish?" Their machinations literally strip sanity from all who encounter them!
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, it's not as if they're actually hurting anyone.
*Murmurs spread through the council.*
**KHCHK:** How can you say that? Do humans not value their brains?
**DAVE:** (*Shrugging*) We're not really using them, you know?
**FF'TFT'AT:** I concur.
**YARLGH:** (*To Ff'Tft'At*) Shut up! (*To Dave*) Explain yourself!
**DAVE:** Look, all I'm saying is that nobody ever accomplished anything by being sane.
**KHCHK:** Name one thing that insanity has accomplished!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Worrying.
**KHCHK and YARLGH:** Shut up!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Why? Am I *worrying* you?
*Khchk launches himself across the table at Ff'Tft'At. The two of them roll out of sight, fighting.*
**YARLGH:** Stop it! Stop this madness at once! I *will* put you both in the naughty corner!
*The two councilpersons rise and sulkily return to their chairs.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** He started it.
**KHCHK:** Did not.
**YARLGH:** (*Roaring*) *Shut! Up!* Honestly, it's like you've both gone...
*The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Everyone slowly turns their attention to Dave.*
**DAVE:** What?
**YARLGH:** (*Aghast*) Did you bring them here with you?
**DAVE:** Who?
**KHCHK:** The demons! Are they here?!
**DAVE:** Where?
*Ff'Tft'At audibly giggles, then clamps his claws over his mouth.*
**YARLGH:** Did you, human, bring the demons to this council chamber?
**DAVE:** Oh. No, I came here alone.
**KHCHK:** Then why are we all going bonkers?!
**DAVE:** Hey, don't blame *me*.
**YARLGH:** You *are* to blame! You opened the way for those eldritch horrors!
**DAVE:** I keep telling you, they aren't horrors! Hell, they were *boring* before they met us.
**KHCHK:** ... Before they met you?
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Oh. *Oh*.
*Several seconds of silence pass. All of the assembled creatures look anxious.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Well, *now* I'm worried.
*Everyone launches themselves at each other at once.*
CUT TO BLACK. | 2021-04-07T19:38:37 | 2021-04-07T17:45:17 | 558 | 186 |
[WP] The secret to lucid dreaming is out. Everyone now wants to spend as much time as possible asleep, in their own private utopia. | These people, the lucid dreamers? They're jackasses, but god dammit I owe everything I have to them. They spend so much time with their eyes closed that they never even have a chance to catch me.
Before this all began, I was just an insomniac. Nights when I couldn't sleep frustrating, but now my insomnia is a curse turned to a blessing. These Lucid Dreamers, or Lucy's, don't even care about real life anymore. Since this all began, the birthrates have plummeted. People pay no attention to their real lives, their loved ones, and lucky for me, all of their shit. Pretty much any time of the day I can walk into a house and grab anything I want, and just walk out with it, no consequences. Even if the people are awake, they don't even care anymore! They would be more upset if I woke them up than if I stole their television! Even if they did care, the police have had enough. You think you hated your job? Try doing a job where EVERYONE is angry when you do your job right, except when they need it. But no longer is it justice on demand. Policemen nap in their squad cars all day. These people don't even know what they have. They spend all their time in this fake utopia, and here I am building my own real utopia with all of their shit! | People thought it was great, being able to control your dreams.
Think about it. People with no life suddenly became the most popular people on the planet, with gorgeous women hanging off their every word and money to burn. World leaders had the means to control situations to help them with problems. All this, played in your head in a fraction of the time it would have taken realistically, no strings attached? It really was, as people said, the best experience in the world. And all it took was a little money.
Some company had invented a machine, a Lucid, a small little thing the shape of a torus that fit in the palm of your hand that fed wires up to your temples. No drawbacks, no hidden costs, nothing to make people suspect something was wrong.
Hackers soon found out ways to completely access the mind through the small little device, and could have killed the tens of thousands already using it if a higher power hadn't stepped in. One man, called by many as Riskel, took command of the underground operation and, doing what he could, helped the sales and boosted profits from the Lucids. As the time passed, the program the Hackers were using developed, and the original thinking of killing everyone- a relatively easy thing to do when you had complete and utter control of someones mind- subsided, and a larger plan formed. When it was established that most of the modern world was hooked to their devices like feeders to a shark, this plan was set in motion.
In all, the process took three days. On the first day, the leaders of the countries of the world were fed pre-made dreams that permanently set ideas into the victims mind. Also, all non-essential people (those who weren't needed to complete the plan) Were placed into a deep hypnotic sleep, which they could remain in for up to three years before bodily decay. This day was known as the Hypnosation.
On the second day, the presidents and prime ministers and Kings and Queens ordered attacks on nearby nations, with the exception of the USA, Russia and North Korea (which luckily enough had only allowed Lucids to be used by government officials) who launched any and all nuclear warheads into key points located throughout the world. At the end of this day, which will be known as the Massacre, over three billion people died, including two billion non-essentials.
On the third, fateful day, Riskel arose from his hideout and began the formation of his territory and rule over the rest of the remaining world. The armies that had not been used in the Massacre were rounded up and bound mentally to a program set to keep them in line, and remaining civilians were forcefully moved to locations to work farms, mines and technology plants.
This day was known as the Rebirth.
For twenty years things like this continued. Babies were immediately impregnated with the dreams required to shape their lives, making them perfect working or killing machines. Old cities were torn down, new ones were built, religions that still had followers were abandoned , the small revolution her and there were stomped out like a boot might stomp an ant.
Thats where I come in.
Ever since the Hypnosation, there has been people immune to the poisoning ideas of their dreams. These people were not affected at all by the deep-sleep dreams, the propaganda that Riskel sent throughout the Earth was dismissed, and those lucky enough to escape the initial Massacre and the several hundred smaller Massacres that occurred throughout the years hid in places that somehow escaped detection from the roaming armies. I lead these people, these Rogues, in the hope we might one day overthrow Riskel and his god-forsaken totalitarian reign.
End.
Thanks for reading, I realise its a lot and it's my first submission, so any pointers are appreciated. But for now, it's late, I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. Again, please tell me what I can do better! | 2014-10-16T06:38:42 | 2014-10-16T06:11:20 | 69 | 24 |
[WP] "I have two pills to take every day. One is so I don't kill myself. The other is so I don't kill other people. Today I dropped one pill down the drain. I don't know which it was."
[Source](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3wxtsu/who_is_that_guygirl_you_work_with/cy09r1g) for prompt. | "Crap. Not again." I said to myself as I tossed the other one in the drain as well and grabbed two new pills.
These things aren't cheap and that's twice this week that sink's gotten the best of me. I really need to start being more careful.
And now the second one's stuck in my throat... This ailment is the worst. | Shit. I stare blankly down at the sucking water as the small blue pill disappears from my sight. I try swallowing but my mouth has dried up and I only end up letting out a short, heavy cough. My vision shifts to the identical pill in my still-shaking left hand, the other half to the cocktail which keeps my life together on a daily basis. Shouldn't I be panicking? Crying or screaming or frantically calling my doctor or something? Still gripping the pill tightly, I shut off the flowing water from my faucet and sit down slowly on the closed toilet.
In a few minutes I'll know which pill it was. One keeps me from killing myself, and the other keeps me from killing others. In just under half an hour I'll either be attempting to hurl myself from my balcony or hunting down the nearest person with bloody fury. Strange...despite my circumstances I'm surprisingly calm.
"Honey, are you okay in there?" The concerned voice of my boyfriend thrums from the other side of the flimsy wooden door. Even for all my flaws and the fact that I'm a ticking timebomb, Timothy has stuck with me for the past year and a half of this...journey, if it can be called that.
"Yeah, babe. Be out in a sec," I instantly respond, the lie rolling off my tongue as naturally as if it's the truth. I squeeze the blue pill in my fingers, wondering what the hell I should do. I know basically nothing about the highly experimental medications. So experimental that I'm being paid to take the damn things, which is fine to a broke-ass college student like me. Will it even work if I just take one pill? And what do I do when my condition starts to show its effects? Can Timothy keep me under control? Tim is the captain of the chess club, and I'm the captain of both the girl's soccer and field hockey teams on campus. He's wicked smart, but I know I can overpower him easily.
A sudden thought bubbles up from somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind. Should I even do anything? Maybe I'll be fine if I only take one pill. I've never missed a dosage so maybe I'll be okay. My leg taps nervously against the cool tile floor as I try to figure out what the hell to do.
It's...harder to focus now...my mind keeps slipping and fading in and out as the minutes crawl by. Finally something clear cuts through the fog like a knife. Why didn't I think of it before? It's so clear now. I stand and look deep at the woman in the mirror. She looks nothing like I do. She's weak. I'm strong. She hides who she truly is, and I show the world.
I raise my left hand, and after just a tick of hesitation, drop the second pill down the drain as well. Fuck it. If I'm going to die, might as well make as memorable a death as possible. | 2015-12-15T18:57:30 | 2015-12-15T18:08:22 | 53 | 12 |
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose. | "My Lord, h-how could this happen?"
"Everyone dies, Peter."
"Yes but you're God. You're supposed to be immortal."
"Peter, you haven't been reading the Bible again have you? How many times have I told you not to believe everything you read? Hell, omnipotence, omniscience - all baloney."
St Peter thumbed the key to the pearly gates nervously and looked down at his iPad.
"It says here that you have a few sins in your past, my Lord. I'm sure its a mistake but-"
"Everyone sins," God said. "Come on, out with them, man."
"Well, there's a DWI from 25 B.C."
"Youthful impetuousness," God said, with a fond smile. "But the camel survived. Those were the days..."
"And it says you microwaved your pet hamster."
God shrugged. "Hey, I wanted to know what would happen, OK?"
Peter looked troubled. "But which house do I put you in?"
"Well, the House of Mild Sinners is full," God said. "I hear they're having to share beds. So how about the House of More Serious Trangressions? Besides, they have the best parties, and get the cutest babes."
A horrified St Peter tapped the iPad's screen, and one of the six doors opened. Disco lights and the sound of "It's Raining Men" spilled out.
"Toodle-pip, Pete," God said. "Lucifer's in charge now. Don't let him work you too hard."
And he moonwalked through the door.
---
*Ok, call me a pedant. You can read my other prompt misinterpretations at* /r/jd_rallage | "What about the seventh?"
God grumbled under his divine non-breath. "What do you *mean* the seventh, there are only six!"
On one hand, Charles didn't want to push his luck any further. The absence of an *actual*, scorching, eternal hell that dreaded him his whole life was a stroke of good fortune.
On the other hand, he was dead curious.
Charles snorted.
God spun on him. "Oh if you're going to **correct** me, at least don't laugh at me like that!"
"No my lord," he rushed. "That wasn't what I was laughing about. It's just... there are *seven* sins."
"Says you," the Almighty responded.
"*It's in the damned* **AHEM**, pardon me, it's in the *bible*!"
"Really now?"
"Yes! If only I had a... oh, thank you. Yes, here! [Proverbs!](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+6%3A16-19&version=KJV)"
The One True God leaned over an anxious mortal shoulder and peered into the good book. "Huh. Well I'll be damned."
Charles was shocked. "Huh?"
"Looks like I made six houses by accident," God said simply.
"Really?"
Then the Almighty let out a cataclysmic roar. "**OF COURSE NOT!!** If I wanted seven houses, do you *think* there would be seven houses for you to choose from??"
Charles was in a new state of panic unknown from his living years. There was a terrible feeling it was something he had to get used to.
"No your three-in-oneness! Just... if they're based on sins, and there are six houses..." Well, Charles pushed Him *this* far. The mortal sighed, making peace with his short post-life existence. "Why not seven houses?"
God took a few microseconds longer responding to that one than usual. Whatever madness took over Charles as he tried to gleam an answer from the all knowing deity before him, he hoped it was worth it. There wasn't much he remembered from his past life. Only a bowl of frosted flakes when he was younger, a cup of coffee when he was in his early twenties, and some girl called Margret.
Whoever she was, Charles would miss her.
"You know something," God started. "Have it your way."
"What?"
"**DID I STUTTER?!**"
"NO YOUR LORDLINESS!"
"I didn't *think* so," he said with an injured (wait, *injured*?) tone. "Lets have this seventh house of yours." A pair of massive eyes formed over him, staring intently on the hapless kneeling body of Charles. "See how you like *this* one for eternity."
Charles was about to do whatever it took to convince his Lord that he was sure six was also a perfectly fine number, and the seventh house be damned (apparently, that was a thing he could say in His presence).
He was about to do so, if his shoulders weren't be rattled for dear life.
That last word. Life.
It confused him as a voice began yelling in his ear. "Get *up* Charles!"
Throwing himself against his office chair, he looked up at his manager, ashamed to have been caught sleeping at his desk.
"*Every* time, I catch you sleeping and slacking off! You know what the Lord says about being lazy!"
Charles snorted.
"What's so *funny?!*" The manager demanded.
"Nothing, just, hearing you quote the Lord about sloth struck a chord with me. Not sure from where though."
"Well, you can start by answering the *damned* phone!"
It was the first time he noticed it ringing. Charles scrambled for the phone and threw it against his ear.
"Pleasant Dreams, sleep consultancy clinic, how can I help you?"
The words rolled from his tongue.
And he liked the sound of it.
------------------------------------------------------------------
*More at /r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-03-01T05:05:31 | 2016-03-01T04:06:18 | 242 | 112 |
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose. | *Circa 500 B.C.*
His sandals slapped on the marble, the sound barely rising above the distant moaning and heady laughter echoing from the other Houses. The worn-out strips of leather that wrapped his feet were out of place against the ornate floor-murals made with deep azures and gold-leafed designs.
The walls seemed to be moving - squeezing in, and squeezing out. The acrid scent of burning filled the hallway, and slight tendrils of smoke lifted up from the corners of the room.
**"WELL?"** the voice of God swept over him like a wave, threatening to knock him to his knees.
Chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling clinked and swayed, causing tiny lights to dance over the man's shaved head.
He clasped his hands together, and as if refusing nothing more than a sweet treat, he said, "No, thank you."
As if in response, the whole room quaked. Tremors rattled the chandeliers, and bits of crystal rained down on the marble floor, shattering like ice.
**"I HAVE SHOWN YOU ALL OF MY HOUSES. HOW CAN NONE OF THEM INTEREST YOU?"** God demanded.
The man rubbed at the back of his shiny scalp, a lopsided touching his wrinkled eyes, "Forgive me, but it is all very *material*."
The tendrils of smoke plumed into columns, **"AND?"**
His grin faltered. He shrugged, and adjusted the wine-colored sash wrapped around his body, saying "I thought there would be more."
**"MORE?"** the floor below his feet shook, and this time he really did fall to his knees, **"YOU STAND IN THE HOUSE OF GREED, AND YOU WANT MORE?"**
"Yes. No. I mean to say, I thought your heaven would be *different.*"
**"UNGRATEFUL!"** the voice of God roared, and cracks appeared through the marbled murals. The chandeliers rocked violently, and a rain of shattered crystal and flakes of gold crackled around him. But the man did not move to cover himself. Instead, he crossed his legs, clasped his hands together, and waited while the tides of Anger broke over him.
**"THEN I WILL GIVE YOU MORE. BEHOLD, MY SEVENTH HOUSE - AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD."**
"Nobody is disputing your claim-."
**"BEHOLD!"**
Tongues of flame burst from the floor and licked up the walls, bathing them in fire. The rain of crystal and gold became a bright crimson liquid, and the marble cracked and ground against itself, until it was nothing more than a coarse sand that burned at the touch. Distant moans of ecstasy became cries of agony, and a pulsing sound - a drum beat, or a heart beat - hammered through the House.
The man drew a long, deep breath through his nose. He closed his eyes, as if he were sitting by the side of a calm mountain stream, instead of a boiling lake of fire. He allowed a serenity to settle onto his face as he counted his breaths.
**"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?"** God howled, **"TO SEE MY SEVENTH HOUSE?"**
"Not really, no."
**"WHAT KIND OF GOD-FEARING MAN ARE YOU?"**
"I'm not, really."
**"YOU ARE NOT IMPRESSED?"**
"I have seen your Houses, six plus one. Your pride and your lust run deep. I have felt your anger and your unimaginable greed. And I have found it lacking."
**"LACKING?!"** the voice of God boomed. And then, the voice of God echoed the question, except this time God seemed to be asking the question of God's self, **"LACKING..."**
"Yes," the man folded slipped his hands inside his saffron sleeves, "I have already lived a material life. I believed - I *hoped* there would be something more."
The beat of the drums faded, and the walls of infernos diminished into sizzling torches. Even the sand cooled, and became smooth.
**"WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?"**
The man bowed his head, and for a time the House was silent. When at last he spoke, a wistful expression played at the wings of his lips, "I had hoped, humbly, for a place to contemplate. Perhaps you could make a new House, bereft of desire, and void of sin."
The animosity was gone from God's voice, **"YOU ASK FOR AN EIGHTH HOUSE?"**
"I do. A house of *peace*."
God's response was slow, mediated, as if the idea of *peace* was foreign to him, **"GO ON."**
"Have you heard of a man called Buddha?" | "Besides, no one's ever on this road."
Never thought those would be my last words. But at least they must have been ironic, right?
Cause of Death: shipping container full of wigs falling out of a plane. Right on top of me. Hrmm.
Arriving in heaven, or what I assumed to be heaven, was a bit lackluster. No lines. Just woke up from a bed in the center of a room, with a book next to a blue plastic key on a desk with an old chair, and six doors around the circular room. I'd been a good person, this hopefully wasn't to delay torture. I peered at the book. "Terms and Conditions of Assignment to the Houses of Heaven." This might be hell.
I skimmed the first pages. There was no hell, I must choose my choice of paradise from amoungst the six doors using the key, I can window shop by opening the doors and looking in, yadda yadda, flipped to the end of the book, just a line saying that She knew I would ignore the rest of the book. Checked back, all of the rest of the pages are blank. Damn you omnipotence.
Well, seemed simple enough. I checked the doors, seeing what each one was, leaving the key attached to the book.
The first door, a simple wooden door with a cloth sign above - Despair. That's a paradise? I quickly ran back to the book. "The doors of paradise are labeled by the sins they most provide. While sinning was viewed as an agent of evil, it was actually a showcase of the soul's innate desires." Ah. That makes... more sense. Back to the door.
Opening the door, leaving the key back with the book, showed a window to some people falling. Oh, they have parachutes. Skydiving. That makes a sort of twisted sense. Fear lovers. Hmm. Not my thing. What about the next door?
This door was a nice oaken door. The label itself was slightly rusty wrought iron word. Dispute. Time to check inside. The door squeaked a bit opening up. Must need oi- WHAT IS THAT SMELL!
Oh. Alcohol. It's a party. It's a house party. Looking inside, people chatting, playing board games, beer pong, and drinking. Lots of talking. This one seems fun. But let's check the rest first. Don't know if I'd want to be social for eternity anyway, but I'm pretty sure I'll probably be able to at least rest from that.
Third door, solid gold - Envy. Hey, that one actually sounds familiar. Opening this one up, and I see a huuuuuge house, partially under construction. Silver statues, a beautiful garden, beefy construction workers, IS THAT A JETPACK‽ The more I watch, the more extravagant the building becomes, as more and more of the structure gets build. This must be a creators heaven. I wonder if that includes life... Anyway, halfway there. OOooo. Living on a- well, not anymore, I guess.
Door four. Or, doors. Double doors, with the sign on a stand in front - Presumption. Taking a guess here, it's going to be the opposite. Such as, not knowing something. A research lab? Opening these and... yup. A lab. Stainless steel tables, beakers, scientists in white lab coats, everything I expected. That was easy. People learning about stuff. Wonder if any of it would involve explosions.
The lab then exploded . That was loud. Wonder if anyone got hurt. Oh, I hear some crying, a guy in the back must be hurt. Guess so, those guys ran back there. Would I heal up if that happened to me? Is death a thing here? Oh hey, ambulance noises. I guess the guy's going to be fine. As I thought that, the guy stood up, a little beat up, but fine. Perfectly fine. But researching things really isn't my deal, I'd prefer a more active eternity. What's up next?
Fifth one. Metal, with... dents? Engraves is the word Obstinate. Unbending, so, this one will be a place to try out an expand their horizons? Kinda sounds like the previous one. Time to check inside. To an immediate hail of gunfire, in a dusty hallway filled with boxes. So what is this? Murdering? War? I guess if you can't die, there's not much issue with shooting live targets. As a distant guy drops to the floor, a loud voice states calmly, "Counter Terrorists Win." Wait, Counter Strike? Is this a video game room? Seriously? They all respawn in for a new round at that moment. Yup. Games. I get it now. I might just pick this one, but first, that last door.
Final door. White framed glass door, like at home, the wooden sign says "Impenitence". Whatever that means. Last one, then I make my decision, for, I guess eternity? That can't really be fair. I'll probably get bored. Anyway, final door. Inside is... my home. That's my father making dinner, my mother watching Eric play in the back yard. My music... a little loud upstairs. So what, I get to go back to my life? Or just experience life on a loop? I don't get this one. Oh hey, it's changing to another scene.
Sanchez Park. I used to play here, and here's where I had my first- oh woah wait I don't want TO SEE THAT.
Shut that door a bit louder then I should have. Wait, no ones here to complain. Nevermind. Yup. That one is to relieve my life alright. Guessing I get to make new decisions and change things. Let's see.
My options are: adrenaline junkie, socialization, world building, learning, video games, and relieving my old life.
I never had too many friends, and it doesn't really bother me. It looked like they also had board games, and some of those funny looking dice, so I guess that included Dnd as well. Not my schitck. Dispute is out.
I never really enjoyed the Sims or Minecraft either. So that eliminates Envy.
Finding the solutions after hours of work really annoyed me. I just want the answers. No Presumption.
As much as I'd like to choose to change the past and see what happens, I can't help but feel I'd lose my memories and get put in a loop. That means no Impenitence for me.
Well. I know which one I want. Double checking the, "Terms and Conditions," it says I get to reselect every couple thousands years, to account for new personality changes over time. And also that I'll choose Obstinate first, after reading the book a second time. DAMNIT. Well, screw that, I'll suffer just to prove God wrong. I'll change my answer later.
After throwing that book as hard as I could, I walk over to Presumption, for ironies sake, and turn my key.
---
The book opens to the middle after hitting the wall, where in small type is written, "Your presumption of Presumption is wrong, and for that, you select it many times before you move on." But isn't read for years to come.
| 2016-03-01T07:56:16 | 2016-03-01T07:51:09 | 58 | 23 |
[WP] After dying, God asks you: "So, how was heaven?" | *"SO..."* God bellowed, *"HOW WAS HEAVEN?"*
I paused for a moment. Everything my consciousness had been taught until that point had prepared me for the opposite of this moment. Church told me of God, and that I would only enter heaven if I lived a good life. My rebellious teen years had pulled me away from that ideology, rejecting organized religion in favor of atheism. I had lived a good life, but on my own terms.
And then one night, when I was an old man, I stopped breathing in my sleep.
God towered above me, booming as I stood in shock.
*"DID YOU LIKE IT? IT TOOK ME DAYS TO CREATE IT."*
I froze, unsure of how to respond. Do I speak of the wonders? Do I speak of the love of my family, the warmth that their love offered, making me feel whole? Do I speak of my works for charitable organizations, or would that sound to boastful? Would he favor honesty, for me to tell him of the hardships found there, the struggle that such a large portion of the world endured through generations?
It was at this point God could not contain his laughter.
*"OH MAN, I REALLY HAD YOU GOING. I LIKE TO HAZE THE ATHEISTS A BIT WHEN THEY GET HERE. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE."*
"Wait," I inquired, "So this is really Heaven, then?"
*"YEAH, BRO. COME FORTH, AND ENJOY THE PLEASURES OF ETERNITY."*
God then pulled out a bong the size of a mountain, and took a long, slow hit. | I squinted at the brilliant whiteness that encompassed me. I spun in a circle, amazed at how this plane seemed to stretch forever in every direction. I clasped my hands together, excited at the journey that lay ahead of me. What possibilities could this place hold?
Pushing against the floor with my palm revealed that the floor held strange properties. Although my feet were planted firmly on the earth, my hand dipped into the solid ground and a milky white liquid dripped from my finger.
"Damn, Ellie hooked me UP, this is some unreal shit!" I was referring to the dope flowing through my veins; I had never imagined that heroine could be this amazing, this real.
I hear the splashing of water first, but the sound didn't seem to have source. It's like it's in my head. I look in every direction until I see what looks like someone canoeing away from me.
"H-hey! Where are you going?" The pilot looks over his shoulder, but he quickly loses interest in me as he turns his attention back toward the oncoming sea. I can't comprehend what the pilot looks like, it's like I can't concentrate when I focus on his features. I couldn't tell you what color his hair was even if I wanted to.
But I needed to talk to him. It feels like the symptoms of withdrawal without him. I run.
"Come on, slow down!" He paddles forward. I'm a few feet from him now, and I give him a shove in hopes that he will notice me. Even though I physically make contact with him, it's like he doesn't feel any impact, and he doesn't even budge an inch. He just keeps on paddling.
"Join me." He speaks for the first time, but it's almost like his voice has no gender, or both genders. His words reverberate through my entire body, and I shake violently with every word that he utters, like a lightning bolt was coursing through my body. I drop to my knees and my head feels like it's going to pop like a corn kernel.
"This is unreal," is all I say as I pull myself up and lumber into the canoe. As I sit behind him, I pull my knees into my chest and wait for his invitation to conversation.
"I don't know if you'll get used to my voice, you're the first one here. I knew we'd meet eventually. Adam taught me how fallible humanity is, but I was hoping he was just a dud." I was thrown against the back of the canoe as I convulsed horribly. When he stopped talking, I wiped a trickle of blood that had pooled on my upper lip and began to offer my thoughts, but he cut me off before I could start. "So, how was heaven?"
I trembled so violently that I slammed my head against the side of the canoe, but pain didn't seem to register here. It was but a slight annoyance. "What the hell are you talking about? Is this supposed to be some philosophical bullshit way to make me thankful for my life on Earth? Don't make me laugh! If anything, this is heaven right here!"
"No, I haven't created this place yet. I didn't really think people would die in Heaven. But you're here, so it looks like humanity is worse than I expected..."
The electricity shot through my body once again, but it was akin to snorting cocaine: you got used to the savage burning in your nostrils after a while. "I must be pretty low if this is how I imagine God. What's the meaning of life, anyway?" I had no idea when the trip would end, so I thought I'd milk it for what it's worth.
God spoke, but this time he had a completely feminine voice: "Mr. Parris, stay with us!"
"W-what?"
"1, 2, 3... We were able to establish a line!"
This time, I'm thrown out of the boat the electricity is so severe. As I pick myself up, the reality around me begins to dissipate, replaced by white tiles and a monotonous beeping.
I open my eyes to find a cold defibrillator pressed against my chest as I am rushed down an unending white hall in a rolling bed. Several doctors and nurses push me forward into the dark. | 2016-03-16T01:52:18 | 2016-03-16T00:08:27 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I'd spent so long anticipating what this test would comprise of, and as I sat alone in the examination room, I was still none the wiser.
The booklet placed squarely on the small desk, I glance from the printed front sheet, to my surroundings, and back again.
I close my eyes and sigh, head dropping down, before I open my eyes again and force myself to look around again. Three doors, the entrance in which I came in, a door marked "Pass", and a door marked "Fail".
A clock is the only thing adorning the otherwise desolate walls, slowly ticking down to the official start time of 0900, each click of the second hand filling the room with an emphasised echo.
I sigh again, and choose to spend the final two minutes checking the few instructions on the front page. The usual.
'You may not begin until the allotted time'
'You have one hour to complete the examination'
The entrance door opens and the invigilator walks in. I look up to share a glance, their eyes stoney cold, before again focusing on the rules.
'All answers must be written in black ink'
I look down at my pencil.......
"Shit....."
| As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.** | 2016-06-11T10:11:10 | 2016-06-11T09:06:11 | 187 | 16 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| Archon Lethrax of the Twelth Dominion of Nyctium looked at the Blue Seedling before him, shining beyond the bridge. He had seen many hives of scum and depravity - the Voidstalker Collective literally devoured their young, the Praxic Union glassed unruly planets, and the less said about the Akirian Free State, the better. This system called "Sol" seemed tame, weak, inexperienced. A bold first conquest.
The humans put up a fight. The fifth planet was surrounded by Battleships, and they fought hard. But they fell, and the Nyctish Fleet moved on, unhindered, when they saw a ripple in space, ahead in the distance.
"Reinforcements? You said this was their entire army, fool!" Taking out his blade, Lethrax decapitated his second, the failure demanding death as punishment. Yet it was not Terran Ships that emerged.
Praxic, Akirian, Voidstalker, Leuma, Calderan and many other ships the Archon didn't even recognise, but the movement was not complete yet. Out of the ripple, came a titanic form, tentacles from its face, if it could be called that. It spoke, and its words tored into the minds of the bridge crew.
"We are the ones who purge the life from all worlds. But the humans have done us many a service. When they eventually fade away, we shall extinguish all light in the universe. Until that day, our crusade will wait."
The archon gaped with horror. The humans had *befriended* a damned *eldritch abomination*.
"...to borrow a Terran phrase, Fuck."
EDIT: 160 likes? Fuck me backwards, that's the most I've ever had! Thanks guys! | Old Earth Year, 4289, the 7th of March. Post-Light Year 434.
Humans, despite their continual infighting and petty squabbles over planets, asteroid belts, and orbital stations, had gained a solid reputation as the greatest traders to exist. They were, in comparison to the others of the known Galaxy, by far the most equitable, choosing only to levy a tariff of 10.5% on all imports and exports. There was profit being made, of course, but it was a reasonable profit, to be expected of the most helpful species in the known Galaxy.
Mining drones scurried to and fro in the asteroid belt of the TRAPPIST-1 system, the first stop for human colonization. But it was also the furthest system in the Humans' United Galactic Sect, furthest from aid, and furthest from any military center. TRAPPIST-1 was the center of all trade for the western arm of the Milky Way, where products changed hands between humanity and the Qar'Guvlos (rough translation). Atomic weapons, gamma ray generators, mining equipment, Apple iPhone 422Ses, booze, and ships came out of the Human trade center in exchange for worthless Gold, Platinum, and Jiannen Tahnighx, which the Humans gladly turned into more worthwhile materials.
With the Human reputation for trade came increased communications, and with increased communications, came requests for aid. Humanitarian efforts - a purely human phenomenon, hence the name - went forth, sending hundreds of thousands of ships to rescue xeno colonies' inhabitants from disasters of all sorts, be they the death of the Hive Lord, natural disasters, an overabundance of Cobalt and Helium 3 poisoning the atmosphere, peaceful riots, or financial stability granting the populace excessive free will. Everybody and everymind in the Galaxy profited under the watchful eye of Human opportunists, and the Humans never went home empty-handed.
One moment came, however, when an invading force entered the Galaxy from afar. The Grand Consulate of Hvri-Los-Khazzan, a force consisting of millions upon millions of sentient rocks, initially appeared peaceful, though in reality they had merely been gathering their forces. Their intelligence suggested that the Humans were the Galaxy's weakest link, and that conquering the Humans' United Galactic Sect would wreak utter havok upon the Galaxy, leaving it ripe for harvest. And so they struck.
The Automated Shipyard in orbit of Jupiter exploded violently, killing no fewer than three humans, and the Hvri-Los-Khazzan began the remainder of their assault. It was brutal, bloody. However, they underestimated the political connections of the HUGS, and overheard a single distress call sent out in all directions.
"Uh, guys, a little help here?"
It wasn't polite. It wasn't well-phrased. But it communicated the message adequately, and the Sol system instantly flashed with the light of millions upon millions of ships and creatures of all shapes and sizes coming out of warp. The Varikar, the Xelos, the KKKkrkkkktk, Qar'Guvlos Shipping Company, and thousands of other smaller groups had arrived. Lack of communication and translations led to shipwrecks appearing all around Sol as different races collided with one another, but despite the disaster, the general feeling was one of solidarity.
The Hvri-Los-Khazzan found themselves facing down armies of trade vessels, mining barges, battleships, space whales, gasbags, floatsails, and a myriad of other abominations of nature, all armed to the teeth with Human "weaponry" - the standard export model Mineral-B-Gon mining laser.
Just as quickly as the Hvri-Los-Khazzan arrived, they were smashed to pieces by the combined might of everything that hadn't been shipwrecked by the warp-in, and with the threat neutralized, a second light flashed around Sol as what may well have been the representatives of the entire Galaxy warped back to their homelands.
One stunned human, standing in his bedroom on Titan, blinked. He had very little idea of what had just happened, but the next day, he took out a small loan of a million dollars and started a salvaging business and set out to start collecting from the new Sol Scrap Belt. A year later, this human, Ronald Barker, sat in an office of platinum and marbled glargite, upon a throne worth quadrillions of dollars. The Humans had profited once more. | 2017-03-26T07:03:57 | 2017-03-26T06:55:32 | 224 | 93 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Every day. Every day I spend in focus, in trials of pushing myself to my limits. I'm constructed a sort of gym, where I hone my powers.
TVs.
TVs everywhere, and a chair in the middle, I sit in the chair all day and practice. One after another they come:
*Three stooges? Pathetic.* *Zoolander? Pathetic.* *Ah, Superbad. I remember when the lunchbox scene would have bested me. No longer*.
I first learned to apply my power to myself. And then my house and roommates. Soon, I could affect my entire city block.
But now I have decided to extend it's reach across the globe.
All will kneel before Nolaff. | I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T06:00:30 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 140 | 25 |
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories. | “Hi, uh, my girlfriend is in a coma and I really want her to die so I can reanimate her and she can go back to, uh, being my girlfriend but she is on life support so what do I do?”
“Have you tried unplugging her, waiting five minutes and plugging her in again?” | **Recording from Incident WS-428**
**Submitted by Technician CT-12**
**Retrieved by Recovery Team, Found on Cell Phone**
"Hey everyone, I know resurrecting the Crow Father isn't working...give me a second and I'll call the help number on the back of the Necronomicon. If you can all just take 10 and maybe eat some of the donuts and coffee Carol brought us all, we can get moving in just a bit....oh yeah and Cthulhu Fhtagn....Hey! That's my donut, don't you dare touch it, Steve."
"Hey..is this...oh, my name is Father Mueller...uh...one second to check my receipt...parchment...whatever... Cult Number is 126,520? Yeah, I'll hold. Steve, I see you, back up or I swear to the Old On- Oh yes, that's us. So we are having trouble doing a resurrection spell..."
**pause**
"...Well...um. We tried to do our own version of the... Hey don't sigh at me, I've been a cultist for decades. It's not my fault that...Ok, let me check."
"So I used the Resurrect Arcane Symbol...yeah...put the name in the upper pentagram...No... I thought we didn't need them. No I left them blank. Well do you know how hard it is to get the vector, distance and location of the closest Arcane Focal point? Well how was I supposed to know. Well, in my defense, Deep Speech is not my native language, so I just skipped that part of the...ok...so...one second."
"So everyone, we uh...apparently the Resurrect spell requires at least True Name, Blood, Vector to Nearest Arcane Locus, Distance to Nearest Arcane Locus and the True Name of the closest Arcane Locus. Then the Crow Father will be resurrected here...So let's all just hang back and relax."
"Ok so, once I fix the runes he will be resurrected right? Wait...he is in the system as having been resurrected 3 times already today? That can't be possible, he is not....oh...oh...OH...One second to make an announcement."
"Ok, so bad news, since we were not using the Locus coordinates, the Spell defaults to the center of the earth. My bad everyone, we will be getting him back in just a bit."
"So let me redo this spell, let me put you on hold."
*pause*
"So nothing happened...and I put everything as discussed....uh...let me see...I put in...**redacted** ...wait...What do you mean negative Y coordinate is away from earth and positive is to earth?"
**loud thump heard on roof**
"..."
"Everyone calm down...we can do this again...Steve put the donut down!"
**Crowd erupts into frenzied riot**
"Can I speak to your supervisor please?"
| 2018-04-28T04:46:18 | 2018-04-28T02:46:18 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad. | "Why didn't you kill me? You killed everyone else, all my friends!"
"Why are you asking me?"
"I... I don't have much time left. It's cancer... and I've wanted to know for years."
\*sigh\* "You remember what they called me? Long ago, before you ran into me?"
\*nod\* "The Messenger."
"Exactly. There was always one left at the end of each spree...who always died as the first victim of the next."
"But you were caught! The police caught you, right aft-"
"Right after I drugged you. You see, there's a certain mixture I used to use to incapacitate my victims. A medical cocktail, involving muscle relaxants, sleep medication, and a blood thinner. When I wanted them to panic, I used another mix of adrenaline and caffeine to wake them up. Entirely non-lethal doses, of course; my knives did that specific task."
"The mix you gave me was different..."
"It was. You see, I knew I was in for life sentences. I also knew, astonishingly, I had a genetic disposition towards mental instability, alcoholism, various cancers, and heart disease. Knowing this, I wanted to be locked up...but I wanted one last victim to claim."
"You...you're saying..."
"I'm saying I killed you, but with carcinogens instead of knives. Concentrated in a small dose, a variety of chemicals combined led to a stable, if slightly lengthier, death."
"So I'm..."
"You're my pride and joy." \*laughter echoes as wailing sobs begin.\*
\*Tape stops.\* | "Sorry, kiddo."
Those were the last words I had expected.
Who knew that he even knew those two words. John Meadow, convicted of 47 murders and still awaiting conviction on 3 more, looked me straight in the eye, shrugged his shoulders and said "Sorry, kiddo." I did not recognize the man anymore - it has been 24 years since I last saw him in person, which was coincidentally the day he was caught.
Clad in an orange jump-suit, John looked just as you would expect a serial killer to look like - face tattoos, his name written in his knuckles - one in every finger, but it read "JohnM eadow" for obvious reasons, clean shaved head and eyes that held nothing but contempt for everyone that came into their view.
Surprisingly, he was a smaller man than me. I had never thought murderers could be smaller than me. If he had come at me today, I could have at least given him a bruise before he slashed my guts out. But when he came at me all those years ago, all I could manage were tears and a mouthful of "Mommy!"
Mom was dead now. She died nine months earlier, when I was in my third bout of chemo. Now, I was done with two more courses, and declared terminal. It was funny how everything in my life was wrapping itself up, not bothering to tell me when the curtain was to be drawn.
Yesterday, I had taken care of everything. I amended my will and gave it to my lawyer; had dinner one last time with my girlfriend and officially broke up; got fired from my job for telling Adam to go fuck himself in front of everyone else - which also got me a high-five from the security guard on the way out; I surrendered my landline, donated everything I owned except what I am wearing now and the money needed for a cab-drive here - all of it to hear "Sorry, kiddo."
I had almost forgotten about John. I was in the middle of my 12th draft of my suicide note, that had run into the 8th page when he came into my mind all of a sudden. The son of bitch then forced me to go into the 13th draft, but it was for the good as I only took 7 pages now.
John had subconsciously been a part of my life. He had given me a sense of death long before I had understood what life was. He had given me a second chance, long before I knew I had only one - and as it turns out, second chances aren't good enough sometimes.
I had thought I was destined for greater things when I had been spared, that I was an intricate part of some cosmic drama about to unfold, and all I got was a lousy "Sorry, kiddo." I had almost forgotten the man who had made the greatest impact on my life, and he had forgotten everything about me. Nothing made sense, and that was all there was. A game with no rules and no goals, the players blind and oblivious, convincing ourselves that we are all winning and losing.
"Are you sure you don't know why you didn't kill me?" I tried asking one more time, just for the hell of it.
He looked at me, squinted hard and then shook his head laughing.
"Fuck you, John," sounded good enough to be last words.
-----
"Why didn't you kill him?"
"I had kept count in my left arm," John roared with laughter, and showed a 10 perfect notches of five. "I was almost about to do him when I see myself in the TV, right? John-fucking-meadow, out there in a 55-inch glory. High definition, bitch! Then I hear this chick going over my history and she says "Briana, 32, pregnant with her third child". Motherfucker, I didn't know that. So, I stop and complete my last stroke, and let this kid off. You know, to live his life."
"Why the fuck didn't you tell him?"
"I don't know. He seemed like a good kid, getting his life together. I didn't wanna upset him, telling him he was just lucky. Let him live, you hear what I am saying?"
---
Great prompt, OP!
Also, I do not know anything about chemo so the timeline might be painfully wrong. | 2018-07-21T09:01:48 | 2018-07-21T06:50:11 | 146 | 66 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
credit to r/Debdub10 for thinking of the idea | 'Alright so you were there on Sol three right?, was it really as messed up as they said?"
"Even worse, so there we were eight hundred Cruisers, two hundred Dreadnoughts and a Capitol ship, we should have rolled over their measly fleet of three hundred shuttles, eighty cruisers and a colony ship."
"So what went wrong?"
"Ok, so apparently there was an antimatter refinery on the planet, fifty of those shuttles were loaded to the gills with the stuff, and no these were not specially designed shuttles, they just decided why not load my cargo hold with the most volatile substance in the known universe. "
"But how could they fire it, even Dreadnoughts don't have room to safely fire antimatter?"
"Fire it, they didn't fire it they rammed us, at first the captains thought they planned to deploy missiles and so decided to let the laser defenses handle them while preparing to destroy the retreating vessels. "
"But thats crazy, nothing survives an antimatter explosion."
"It gets worse, so after that the captains called for evasive actions if one of those shuttles when near, so of course a hundred fifty of them decide to head straight for the Dreadnoughts.
Only Dreadnoughts are not build to take on shuttles, so the Cruisers are told to fire upon the shuttles, which of course avoid them leaving the Cruisers shots impacting the Dreadnoughts.
Now normally this wouldn't be a problem for the shields, but some of those shuttles carried EMP mines, which disabled the shields just moments before the hit lands, of course not all of them were timed correctly and dozens of shuttles fell prey to their own EMP."
"Still its only a matter of time before they got all the shuttles right?"
"Ye but the other forces didn't sit and wait, you see the Capitol ship decided to send out fighters to clean them up faster, now the first wave went out ok, a hundred small fighters launched.
But the enemy had been planning for this, five of their Cruisers charged their FTL engines, now at the time we thought they were fleeing, but if we had studied their trajectories we would have found their true purpose.
You see a Capitol ship is one of the strongest vessels made, it can withstand even a dozen dreadnoughts firing at it, its only weakness is that if it releases fighters it needs to lower part of its shielding, as the second wave exited the Cruisers ftl jump took them right though the fighters and into the side to the Capitol ship at ftl speeds, had they been of by a second they would have slammed into its shielding, doing little to no damage, but they timed it perfectly."
"But ftl paths can't intersect solid matter, thats hard coded into every one of our ships."
"Yes, every one of OUR ships, it wouldn't surprise me if they just disabled their own or did ftl jumps without it altogether."
"But back to the battle, so what did you do after it was taken out?"
"Well besides evasive maneuvering around the shuttles we now had to track each cruiser that powers its FTL engine, which they of course did at random, but even with that we were still winning, high cost or not.
That all changed when the colony ship decided to fire up its terra former, you see on land its gravity hammer allows you to flatten large areas of land, in space any object smaller then a planet is send flying in the opposite direction, objects like missiles, ships, hell even some asteroids were subjected to it.
Now normally this wouldn't be much of a problem, but the previous attacks left enormous wrecks and debris clouds lying around meaning lasers couldn't hit the Colony ship and missiles were send back or destroyed by debris.
Of course flanking maneuvers were tried but before they could succeed FTL Cruisers targeted them, meaning that the only path left for them was retreat, from the initial fleet only a hundred Cruisers and fifty Dreadnoughts survived." | "Let me help you."
Those were the only words I remember. That mystical utterance came with an out-stretched hand, reaching down from the light. I don't recall anything else, just a blur of flashing colors, splintered from its original form. However blinding those lights were, though, did nothing to wipe my memory of that terrible darkness. That cold, never ending abyss that I put myself through, devoid of any life. It was a pure, undiluted hatred for anything that wasn't hatred itself. This included me. I never thought I could despise anything as much as I despised myself, and this extended to other people in my life. I asked myself, time and time again, how come their life is so beautiful, and yet I'm over here? Why do they get to reap the bountiful of happiness, and yet I suffer?
Maybe it's because I just wasn't as good at anything like the others. I couldn't run as fast, nor jump as high, and I certainly wasn't the smartest. I was the bare minimum. I was told by others that of course I'm valuable, otherwise I wouldn't have even been placed on this planet. I was told that all I had to do was be patient, and my time to shine will come. I was told to be patient, because He works in mysterious ways. This philosophy has followed me for the past couple years, until it didn't. Or rather, until I unsubscribed from this disillusion and chose to classify myself. How best to describe myself as worthless? My parents never paid much attention to me, choosing instead to focus on my brothers. I was willing to make that sacrifice, and to grow without the warmth of love because my brothers needed it more than I did. I decided to ignore the attention of my previous teachers, because my troublesome classmates needed it more than I did. I wasn't going through a family death, or my house burning down, or something way outside of normal circumstances that could easily be dismissed as His work. I was just there, floating through a dream of destruction, my only enjoyment being derived from however successful my attempts at being unnoticed truly were.
Which is why I was surprised to wake up in the hospital bed, covered in bandages and stitches. Of course the first thing i awoke to was a proclamation that only an act of God had woken me up. Apparently, I slipped into a coma for 3 months after that day happened. I wasn't supposed to live, according to the doctors. Even if I did, they argued, the brain damage was too great; I'd be a vegetable. In their professional opinion, they told my parents to pull the plug. After those 3 months, my parents agreed. They pulled the plug, surrounded by my town. Showered in flowers, laurels, and gifts fit for a king, the plug was pulled and I woke up, in some kind of cruel fit of irony.
I was told that next day what had happened. An alien invasion force targeted my building as a show of force. The "bomb" was successful in dropping the building to rubble, capturing thousands underneath its destruction. The Day of Reckoning was upon us, and killed hundreds in that first shot. I wasn't supposed to survive. Nobody was supposed to survive. Nobody was supposed to survive because nobody was supposed to be in the building. Apparently, the commander missed the memo to strike on the weekend, when we were away. To late, they said. The damage was done, they said. Well, at least that much was true. But why was I waking up from a coma in a hospital, and not dead underneath concrete? Because they never invaded, I was told. I was incredulous! Again, I must suffer before someone changed their mind to benefit everyone else?
The short answer was Yes, because He had activated his angel in the Field. Days after waking up, I began to recover my memory. I remember a darkness that smelled of pure evil, the air being thick with dust and unable to breath. I remember every bit of pressure that transformed my body into the monster I had envisioned for years. I remember the searing pain of my body being burned from the fire, as rebar pierced my limbs. I remember the absolutely terrible compromise I made with myself: that i was going to die here, and to not be afraid. I had drifted off into unconsciousness as a rock was ripped off my body.
"Let me help you." those were my words. Now that I was out of the coma, a clarity had come to those final memories. I said that to a child, to scared to run, as his literal world came crashing down. I said that over and over again, rushing in to save children from a fate to horrible for them. I was only at the Middle School because I was assigned to help a teacher as a discipline thing. Of course I agreed, because the High School was having a teacher's only day. I remember that terrible cold from the night air of New England, electing to continue ripping apart rubble in search of the kids. I remember finding a group of children, huddled together on the ground, trapped by a spiky piece of concrete and fire. I wasn't the strongest, nor was I quick enough to grab them when the jack failed. I sure as Hell wasn't smart enough to find a different way out of this situation, because I was operating on 32 hours without sleep. The fire crews couldn't help, because they were trying to knock down the rest of the fire before it spread to the elementary school. So I chose to do the one thing I knew how to do: I sacrificed myself. I got underneath the concrete, and braced it with my body as the kids crawled out. I tried my best not to grimace in pain, as metal stabbed through my bones and my skin melted off the muscles. Anything for these children, who deserve better than I do. That's why the invasion for was called off: because in the face of engineered death, we were willing to do something without thinking about it. We were willing to sacrifice in a war with the forces of evil, if it meant someone else was would survive. We were willing to hurt, so others don't have to. When the time came, unlike the other races who sat back and thought about something, humans did the polar opposite. The ability to put away our thoughts and lead with emotion taught the alien races one thing: to fear us. To fear the race who doesn't think before they act. To fear the race who puts others ahead of themselves. To fear the race whose actions make aliens doubt themselves due to inadequacy. And as I should know, Self doubt is one of the worst things anyone can do to themselves. | 2018-10-11T13:00:33 | 2018-10-11T12:52:55 | 110 | 49 |
[WP] When you and your twin sister were born your parents couldn't help but cry with your colorful and specifically shaped hair it was clear you would suffer from MCS, Main Character Syndrom, and would have to spend your life avoiding beginings of cliche adventures. | My name is Claudia Vance, and I suffer from a desease known as: Sidekick Syndrome
My twin brother, Peter, gets all the attention just because he has Main Character Syndrome.
All the attention, all the praise, all the pity, goes to him
And I have to follow him around like a pack mule
Literally. I don't even know what it is, but in the school halls, or even at home. I find myself occasionally just following him around, carrying whatever he throws at me, and giving it back to him as soon as he asks.
Now, my parents, teachers and even my friends think that I'm making all of this up for attention. After all, sidekick syndrome is simply a "myth"
Just because I don't have spiked red and blue hair doesn't mean I'm just a regular girl, does it?
I've never been able to pursue my own goals, why? One word, Peter.
Peter is losing a fight? I suddenly feel a strong urge to fight alongside him! And... Now I'm suspended.
Peter promised to get a cat out of a tree, but can't climb it? I suddenly find myself saving the cat! And.. I fell and broke my leg.
Embarrassment, Injuries, even with all of it piling up, nobody believes me when I say that sidekick syndrome exists.
I am Claudia Vance, and I am a victim of Sidekick Syndrome. | When I was 11, I was fiddling with my Gameboy, clicking away at my buttons. I felt a tingle on the back of my neck and looked up. Someone’s eyes were burning on to us. I lifted my elbow, nudging my sister, looking towards the short cut. “I see him” she whispered, looking towards a hooded figure. He was tall, scruffy, fiddling with something in his hands. His skin was covered in dirt and sweat, his eyes were open so wide I’d have thought they were dislocated.
“Alright, I got the melon, I had to argue a bit, can you believe they didn’t have any decent melons on display? Like, I buy food for my children!” Our mother babbled, lifting a shopping bag and giving it a shake.
“Mum, let’s take the bus” I spoke up, standing in her way. My sister nodded eagerly, standing besides me. “Our legs hurt, let’s go on the bus!” We shouted in unison, staying in her space.
“But it’s such a nice day—“
“MOTHER, WE TAKETH THE BUS!” I yelled, pointing towards the bus stop. A feather dropped my sleeve. I stared at it. “Oh hell no” I flicked it off. “Where’s he at?” I looked around.
“Up there!” My sister yelled, pointing towards an owl with a letter hanging from its beak. “Not you again” she threw a stone at the owl.
Our mother just sighed. “Bus it is...”
When I was 15, me and my sister fought with the teachers often to be sat away from the window and by the door. We mentioned a fear of heights, eventually forcing the teachers to allow us to be moved. Today something was different. There was a third chair at the table.
“Oh no, no, nope” my sister walked over, grabbed the third chair and pulled it away, pushing it on to the table by ours.
“E-excuse me, what is she doing to my chair?..” a shrill voice stuttered. I turned around, raising a brow. “She’s moving it, ya can’t sit with us, no siree bob!” I shook my head. She was new, had a thick American accent. No doubt in my mind she was meant to be the new mysterious exchange student. A blush formed on her cheeks, she looked away shyly. Oh no, not again.
“Oh, are you guys shy? I-I’m Abcde and—“
“I’m homosexual” I stared at her.
“What?”
“I. Am. Homosexual.”
Abcde glanced at my sister. “I like the D, don’t look at me, sister” she shook her head, dropping the new student’s bag on her new desk and walked back to her table, setting herself down.
When I was 22, a girl fell out of the sky. With angel wings, her wrists in broken shackles. She landed on me, breasts nearly smothering me to death. I pushed her body off of mine quickly sitting up and gasping for air. I looked up from where she fell, then looked back down at her. She was unconscious.
“Oh god, again?”
I looked towards the window. “Yeah” I nod, locking eyes on my sisters as she half hung over the balcony. “Again”
“Get in here before she wakes up!” My sister raised her voice. “Quick!” She stepped away from the balcony and back inside.
When I was 40, I thought it was all over until I was driving in the country side late at night. I skidded to a halt as I looked over at a small body on the road. It looked like a child. They appeared to be injured. Then I noticed the small white feathers and I sighed, and looked at the sky and pointed at you. “You people are assholes” | 2019-04-11T19:59:10 | 2019-04-11T17:34:42 | 243 | 76 |
[WP] “I’ve always wondered, what’s the scythe for, anyway?” I asked, as Death escorted me to the Underworld. "Protection," he nervously replied.
Credit goes to: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/6imkuw/the_grim_reapers_scythe_isnt_to_harvest_you_its/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app | "So uh… how long until Hell?" We've been walking through a thick forest for what I'm guessing is hours.
"Unfortunate for you, child, we must pass three more of those what you called 'checkpoints'."
Death just looks straight ahead, holding his scythe more and more firm as we walk.
"Hey Mr. Death, sir. I'm just wondering, when you came for me, I thought that you'd chop my head off with your big scythe over there. But you didn't. Why'd you spare me?"
He stopped in his tracks.
"Spare you? My child, I don't use this scythe to punish. This scythe was given to me to protect those I guide, from… from those beings."
I looked around for some "beings" but I don't see anything!
"Mr. Death sir, what beings? We've been alone since you arrived at my house, well, if you count dead bodies then I guess we weren't?"
Death looks at me and waved his scythe above my head.
"Child, for you are pure and innocent, you cannot see the truth of which we walk through."
One. Two. Three.
After the third wave, shadows began to take form around us, the forest started to move and figures moved towards us, faster and faster, these ugly figures of men and women, tried to reach for me.
But, before they could touch me, their hands would burn and they'd run away from the pain.
"Dear child, you're not going to Hell. See those rotting souls trying to grab you? They're the ones who are going to hell, but as long as my scythe is with me, they cannot touch your pure soul. They are jealous of you, they are trying to taint you with their dirt."
Death then waved his scythe above me.
One. Two. Three.
The figures started to morph into the forest, they no longer ran towards us. "You've seen enough, child. You do not need to see more," we then continued to walk.
"We're going through Hell so that you could enter Heaven through the back door. You see, unfortunate children such as yourself have to appear in your parent's trial, to prove them worthy of hell, and to prove that you are innocent. Now," he gave me a handkerchief, "wipe the blood off your forehead, the bullet wound healed hours ago" | "Protection?" I asked the hooded figure as he left a darkened trail of pain and agony.
I mean, surely, the very embodiment of 'death' shouldn't have to fear anything, no? When every living being in the universe were quaking in anticipation of the uncertain yet inevitable phase that was death, what *or* who could even left a much greater impact than it – or should I say, him.
"Yes, for the fourth time already," Death slouched as he walked on with a heave, "listen... don't worry about the details, you mortals have no stake in *this*. Hell – haha, get it? no? ugh – you don't even *want* to get involved."
I immediately rushed to walk beside him. I couldn't just left the topic died – get it? Man, I'm better at this than death! – down without knowing more of this. I might even only have this one chance to find out before being subjected to... whatever that would be there for me, be it purgatory, hell, heaven, nirvana, or even the black abyss!
"Ummm, death, Sir? Why don't you tell me about your likes, dislikes... I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours–"
"You like to eat fancy food in upscale restaurants, burning through your paycheck every month, and date younger girls for a week or two. Oh you also like to watch those dastardly Japanese cartoons, what was it again? Animes? Yeah. You hate serious talks and making commitments longer than a week. Did I get everything?" Death immediately cut me off and went on a long monologue describing my likes and dislikes. He did so in a very disinterested manner, yet he got the gist of it.
Interesting. So not only did he know about my identity – which was apparent since he found me to deliver... well himself – but he also knew about my preferences? This was very intriguing, to say the least.
"Okay, sheesh. No need to get all cocky about it, huh?" I joked with a soft punch to his shoulder.
Instead of a response, he just stopped in his tracks. Death did not speak nor make any movements. Yet the aura of death and despair emanating from his dark figure increased in intensity. It was so intense that I thought I was going to die once again. But before I could do anything, the aura suddenly dispersed like it was not even there in the first place. For the first time since I was 'dead', I could look up into his bony face and saw the flickering light that would probably be his eyes. It shone dimly yet I could clearly look into it and saw his emotion...
"I-I'm so.. sorry!" I yelled in an attempt to placate Death.
"No, it's quite fine. I just never had *this* sort of interaction with a soul I meant to deliver to the Underworld, you know," Death moved it's bony jaw in an awkward manner almost similar to a grin.
"Ha-ha, right... So anyway, tell me about the thing with your scythe and prote–"
"Hush. Listen closely..." He put forth his scythe in front of his bony body.
The sudden change of moods and his overt guard put me on edge. I couldn't comprehend anything after my death and yet I had to put up with this sorta mystery? Seriously, why couldn't I just die in peace?!
A flash appeared before the two of us. I instinctively took cover behind Death like a child who was startled by lightning in the rain who hid behind his mum. Death didn't seem fazed. No, he seemed like he was prepared for whatever this was. Without warning, a golden beam was shot right in our direction. Luckily for me, Death rapidly spun his scythe which dissipated golden beam as fast as it came.
"Whoa, that was a close one, huh?" Death said in a chuckle whilst looking back to check up on me.
"Y-Yeah... But, what the hell man?! What was that?"
"Oh, well I guess since you've been so curious about what this scythe is for," he pointed his scythe towards the source of the golden beam, "yo might as well see and ask *her* yourself!"
"Huh?"
Out of the blinding light, where the flash from earlier had landed, appeared a woman draped in light. She had an elegant aura, quite the opposite of death's, yet terrifying all the same.
"Salutations, human. Would you like to step aside? I have unfinished business with this... dreadful figure who had taken your soul. Of course, you don't mind, no?" the woman said, taunting death.
"Ugh, Karen. Please. I'm working, so can you bugger off–"
"K-Karen?" I yelped out of disbelief.
"Seriously... This is Karen, my former lover/nemesis, she's the guardian of humans in the realm of man."
"Don't you dare say that, goddamn it! We're not through yet!"
At that very moment, I realised... Death is... interesting, after all... | 2019-07-15T02:38:05 | 2019-07-15T01:04:50 | 218 | 91 |
[WP] One day a second Earth appears in the sky, the atmospheres of the two worlds barely touching. It's frightening, beautiful, and scientifically inexplicable. As folks panic and world powers deliberate, you look skyward through a telescope, only to see an almost identical 'you' looking back down. | 2121 has been a hell of a year. Selicia left me, I lost the house and kids in the courts, my family won't even speak to me, and now this...
It's the first time I've heard those fancy new sirens they installed after the calamities of the 21st century. They can't seem to settle on a tone: the long whine of a foreign invasion, the sharp shriek of a nuclear blast, the drawn out moan of a meteor strike, or the piercing whistle of a rogue A.I.
Somehow it all fades away to background noise as I scan the horizon for any sign of what's to come. And there, like a spider in its web, sits another earth. Suspended amongst the stars.
My pulse is racing as I grab my telescope, brushing my bloody knuckles against the fiber walls of its storage cube in my haste, leaving a bloody smear.
I know exactly where to look: United Nations Protectorate, Australia, Zone 3, District 13, Residence 1211. And there I am, sitting at a telescope, looking into the sky. Looking at me. Beside me, my wife and my kids, looking happier than I've ever seen them.
My smiling doppelganger turns to them, laughing, and pulls out a piece of paper. As I zoom in he writes something: "Beer?"
I nod and wave back, a sense of calm and certainty washing over me.
As the world panicks I make my preparations. A trip to the supermarket for a six-pack, a trip to the hardware store for some duct tape, and a trip to the local shuttle station.
I strap into my seat. I'll be back with my wife and kids soon. Back to how things should have been.
It's been a hell of a year, but I just can't keep the grin off my face. | "This...this is amazing...I'm looking at myself!" Kelsey cried with surprise and odd delight. "Twice the me, a double she!" her riotous laughter echoed through the hallway, making it's way from her room to Jay's ears two doors down.
He furrowed his brow in consternation, looking away for only a moment, that critical junction between digital life and death. \*You Are Dead\* flashed in a ghoulish red font covering his his 70 inch (and incredibly too large for his room) display with fake gore. "Son of a bitch!" Jay howled, throwing his controller down angrily, it bouncing and landing in a corner, making an unhealthy clacking sound against the once plush, but ever thinning, carpet. He rocketed up from his bean bag chair with the intent to kill his sister gleaming in each eye, striding toward her abode with a menacing gait.
Arriving with thunderous stomps turned into light kerflaps across the aging floor fabric, Jay witnesses his sister going into a giggling fit across her My Little Pony draped bedding (for which she was WAY too old for) and scowled, demanding "What the hell is so damn funny?", crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "God, you're annoying, you know that?"
"Oh, I'm just going crazy, that's all!" Kelsey replied in a dreamy sing song fashion, flipping onto her stomach and adopting the double elbow chin-lift legs curled position so common to teenage girls throughout history. "See for yourself" she pointed to her telescope, "I'm looking back at us right now!" She shook her wild hair and blew at a single curly lock cascaded down her right eye. It refused to be denied it's locality, swashing about but landing resentfully back where it started. "Go on...unless you're scaaared..."
Jay rolled his eyes then blinked as they threatened to go cross wise. "You really are crazy" he mumbled only partially to himself, kerflaping over to the stupid telescope Mom had bought her last year for her birthday. None too gently he grabbed the viewing end and stuck it to his right eye (the one that eye-doctor said didn't need correction in the near future) and swung the scope around haphazardly, making him a bit dizzy in the process.
"Hey, careful with that!" Kelsey squealed indignantly "point it at the sky, at the skyyyyyyy".
Flipping her the bird, Jay nonetheless complied and turned the scope up and away. "So what's the big..." his jaw fell open. What that himself look at...himself? No way. He pulled from the scope and rubbed his eye for a moment, not sure what he was seeing. "is this thing busted?"
"Heeeeck no, I keep my stuff in good shape. " she scrunched up her nose. "Not like some irresponsible male I know whom shall remain unnamed who just throws his stuff around."
Jay cocked her the finger again. "Whatever." Lowering his face back down to the scope one more, he decided to go with his left eye (the one that was suspiciously close to becoming lazy apparently) and took in the scene once more. Again, there he was, staring back from Clone Earth, a seeming mirror image in all ways. "What the fuuuck..." the profanity rolled out under his breath.
"Language!" Kelsey chastised, flicking double birds at her brother.
"Shut up!" he spat, glancing at his sister, a nervous feeling starting to form in his stomach. "Are you playing a prank on me? If you're playing a prank on me..."
"It's not a prank, dumb ass!" she shuffled over to the window on her knees and took the telescope from him deftly. "It's you and me, a double she and...uh..." she struggled for a way to finish her rhyme "another you. Aww man, that sucked." her face went pouty for a moment, but then turned back to matter at hand, gazing again through the telescope up at her double. She waved and her double did the same. "This is so awesome."
It was then that the alarms started to blare, their cacophony blanketing the the world. | 2020-04-02T13:02:15 | 2020-04-02T12:37:48 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] One day you wake up with 30 dollars and a note that says “For Rent”. The thing is you aren’t renting out the place. The next day you see a spider and right before you kill it you hear it say, “Please i paid my rent don’t kill me”. | I'm not a particularly picky person. If I find thirty dollars with a strange note, I'm up thirty bucks. Hell, if they're paying, that's way better than my dogs were doing.
After interrogating my brother about it, he seemed to assume I was fucking with him and that was that. I've got places to be. Mysteries tend to unravel with time.
Returning home twelvish hours later, and my pups appeared to extremely angry at the corner. This wasn't unusual, I've had a spider web down from the ceiling to land on my hand. Unnerving, but spiders are almost entirely harmless.
A few minutes of inspection of the offending corner, I see the subject of their ire. A crab spider. A fuckin big one too. Really not my favorite, but I'm....pretty sure aren't very dangerous.
Sighing, and wondering if I should just left it to it's fate, I put my hand down flat in front of it, and go to poke it in the butt so it'll run onto my hand, when it looks me square in the eye and speaks.
"Please don't kill me, I paid rent!" Well. I'll be fucked. I've hallucinated in my day, but I'm fresh off work. This is as horrifying sober as I get.
"You, did?" I stammer. "Wait, that cash was you"? "Paid fair and square! Call off the beasts!" The pups had calmed since I came to take care of the problem, and didn't seem to register the spiders speech, which was all the better. "Well... Hop onto my hand then, I think we need to talk."
As it turns out, he has aspirations. Wanted to be a web developer. | I heard the little voice say "Please! I paid my rent don't kill me."
I blinked down at the little spider and then the rolled up Sports Illustrated in my hand, "Dude, what?"
"Don't kill me!" the voice repeated. "Thirty dollars. Seems more than fair to me for the top left corner."
I put the SI down, "Are you...like...a talking spider?"
"No," the small voice replied. Relief flooded through me. A talking spider meant I'd smoked something really gnarly last night. "I'm a telepathic spider. Who ever heard of a talking spider? I don't even have the mouth parts for that you stupid monkey."
"Oh, okay," I replied. That made so much more sense. Yeah. It didn't make sense for a spider to talk. "So, what you doing in my bedroom, telepathic spider?"
The little brown spider shuffled a little to the left and to the right. I'm not down with spider body language but I think it might have been irritated. Whatever.
"Well, right now I'm trying to convince you not to squish me. Especially if the last thing I see is Kyler Fackrell's enormous face coming at me."
Dude. Who? I looked down at the curled SI laying on my bed. Sure enough, the lineup of the New York Giants. How would a spider know that? I didn't know that. I only buy it for the swimsuit issue. I couldn't come up with an answer so I asked, "How do you know the Giants?"
"Not much to do but hang out in my web and watch TV," the spider replied. "At least the previous renter owned a few books."
Confused I raised an eyebrow. At least I think I did. It's a move I used a lot in high school where I kind of fold up the left side of my forehead and my right eyebrow goes up and to the west, "You can read?"
The spider grumbled something that I couldn't really make out. That was kind of weird because according to the spider, everything was in my head. Man, all this telepathy was making my head hurt and I kind of wanted to get high.
"Who are you kidding?" the spider asked. "You always want to get high."
Now the spider was reading my mind. Did it know about the thing with my roommate's girlfriend? Did it know about my cousin from Miami? Did it know there was no girlfriend in Canada and I'd just lifted some pictures off of Insta...
"Yes, I know all those things," The spider interrupted. "Please stop thinking about them. Touching your mind makes me want to leap down a seagull's gullet."
"Sorry, little spider man," I whispered. "I'll try not to think those things I'm thinking about but now you've got me thinking about them even more."
"Stop it!" the spider shrieked. "Ugh. I'm leaving! I'm going back to my web where your filth wont corrupt me! Thirty dollars a month. I leave you alone and you keep your mind to yourself!" The little brown spider scuttled up the side of my television and onto the wall.
"Okay, cool," I answered. "Hey, what's your name?"
Though it was further away I still heard its voice, "My mother had 573 children and didn't live to see their births. I have no name. I have never needed a name. I am Me."
"Okay. Cool. I'm calling you Peter," I answered. Peter the spider. Made perfect sense to me.
After a few seconds it replied, "Why Peter?"
"Because you're the spider, man!" I shouted and laughed.
The spider turned and looked at me with the disapproving look perfected by every mother who walks in on their son lighting up a blunt, and scuttled up to its small web in the top-left corner. Peter never talked to me again but the rent money came every month. Sometimes, in summer, I'd take out the window screens so he'd get an extra bug or two, but mostly we ignored each other.
Best roomie I ever had. | 2021-02-18T20:02:32 | 2021-02-18T19:37:30 | 485 | 148 |
[WP] The creature has cornered you in a dark alley. You are filled with fear as the tall and pale abomination approaches you. It grins as it gets closer, showing a sharp row of teeth. The creature then slowly extends its right arm, and speaks in a raspy voice, "Sir, you dropped your wallet." | “I…what?” I choked out.
My back pressed hard against the chain-link fence down the alley, my heart raced in my chest so fast I was convinced I was about to have a heart attack. I hadn’t even thought to yell for help; my brain had just shut down in fight-or-flight and I’d legged it, stupidly turning down the back street that turned out to be a dead end. And here I stood, this creature at least two feet taller than me grinning, its teeth a glowering white against its ink-black skin, and it *spoke.*
“You wallet,” it repeated. When it gestured with one of the long, wavy appendages that ended in what I dared not call a hand, I realized it was holding my dark green wallet.
“Am I having a nightmare?” I managed, my eyes flicking back and forth from my wallet to the creature’s face. “This isn’t real. This isn’t…” My heartbeat started to slow as I fully took in the impossibility of the situation. “This can’t be real, you can’t be…”
The grin dimmed from the creature’s face and it lowered its arm. “What do you see when you look at me?”
“What kind of question is that?” I snapped. “What *are* you?”
It lowered the ‘hand’ containing my wallet and it took half a step back. “You shouldn’t be able to see what I really am. So…better question is, what are *you*?” | Frantic footsteps rang out of the dirty alleyway, but there was no-one to hear it, no one to see how the wild eyed and flailing man was about to reach a dead end. If someone was observing, they’d surely wish they hadn't - not far behind the fleeing man slid a tall, pale creature. It did not move its spindly appendages to propel itself; it glided along like a heat seeking missile.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” The man panted the mad mantra as he searched for a way out. A brick wall had stopped him in his tracks, but to the left was a door. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, then thumped it with a fist, and eventually rammed at it with his shoulder. It wouldn’t budge. He stumbled back and saw how the creature had turned the corner, and was watching him - or, feeling him. It was standing beside a basement window, light coming out through the glass. The glow bathed the bottom of its features with golden light, and sharply contrasted with the darkness that concealed the top of its unnatural physique.
With shaking knees, the man backed away, until the brick wall denied him any more space. The creature came closer and closer and its visage was more horrible than he could have imagined; it had no eyes, just a white, fleshy, oblong head and a thin stripe in the middle of its face. The thing towered over him, and tilted its head down. The man knew this part of town was bad, but he’d never expected it to be this nightmarish.
The thin stripe opened up, the man could do nothing but stare in morbid fascination how the skin retracted to reveal several rows of sharp teeth, gnashed together. As this happened, the creature extended its right arm - the man rolled two dilated pupils at it, and saw that it had something gripped in its long claws. A wallet.
“Sir, you dropped your wallet,” the creature said in a raspy voice. It’s cadence was peculiar, accentuating the wrong syllables. It turned its hand, and opened its claws - it had no real fingers, just stumps from where its thick, sharp, nails grew.
The man recognized it as his. It was a push button wallet, and one of the cards poked out, showing one half of his identification photo. He made no move to take it from the creature. “W-what are you?” he croaked instead.
“You want to know my name?” The creature closed its face gap again and cocked its head. “Joy!”
The man was almost as pale as the creature now, and remained still like a deer caught in a headlight.
“Call me Samaritan. I saw that you left your wallet at the atm machine, so I took it upon me to return it to you.”
“Why?” said the man after some silence.
“It’s what I do.” The corner of Samaritan’s stripe curled up. “I get sad whenever humans lose things. I saw a ring the other day, it was very pretty. But I couldn’t find the owner.” Its shoulders and head dropped.
The man tried to slink away to the side, ready to make a dash for it. “You know what, y-you can keep it,” he stammered.
Even without any human facial features, it managed to look shocked. “No, this is yours.” Samaritan extended its hand a bit further. “I could not accept this.”
The man grasped the walled out of Samaritan’s palm with a grimace, and hesitated. “Will… you let me go?”
“Oh, oh! I think I startled you,” Samaritan said, holding its hands up, claws pointing at the sky. “Sorry, I forgot humans like personal space,” it said, sliding back.
The man started walking away, looking over his shoulder every five steps, and stopped at the basement window. “Thanks,” he said, and gave a little wave. He turned, and sprinted off.
Samaritan stood motionless, but if someone was observing, they’d see the countenance of a sympathetic smile unmistakably glowing on the creature’s face. | 2021-03-13T07:41:29 | 2021-03-13T07:38:14 | 134 | 42 |
[WP] "Wait, I'm still confused... if both of you are part of some hive mind, WHY would you need me for marriage counseling?" The young couple exchanged glances, before one of them spoke. "Because we're in two SEPARATE hive minds."
Edit: THANK YOU for all the upvotes!
Edit again: Holy cow I never thought I would get to the top of the Hot section! Thank you! | The two beings that sat in my office looked, to all the world, like humans.
It was understandable that I hadn't figured it out sooner, though I should have looked over their intake forms in a bit more detail. After all, this was exactly the type of thing that they were meant to catch.
But now I had my clients, and I had a problem.
"So in the past when either of you referred to work schedules, it would be accurate to say those work schedules were related to your hiveminds," I proposed.
They nodded, clearly wondering if I was dodging the subject somehow.
"It sounds to me like you two met, became involved, and married with the blessings of your respective hiveminds?"
Again, they nodded, but more firmly.
"So a lot of your conflicts, I think could come down to your hiveminds treating you as available resources, when you need to be reassigned to diplomatic roles. If you are running off to repair a ship that has just come in, then you can't sit down and talk about why you're uncomfortable about something she did," I told the male, who bit his lip a little before reaching out and taking her hand, nodding again.
"And if you are a fully fledged spy for your hivemind, then you can't be honest with him about what you are doing, and why you need him to do certain things," I pointed out to her.
She reluctantly agreed, frowning a little.
"I'm not a spy, I'm a covert operative, they are different."
"I apologize," I said with a gracious nod. "I'll do better at differentiating in the future. But I think that you need to change your roles slightly in your hives, to allow for this relationship to flourish. Then, with the support of your hives, we could talk about the core issues you are struggling with." | *Kinexian colony 0739-XB78* had, in relative terms, bumped into *Derav Branch Designation Noron* in the supermarket.
One ship had come out of hyperspace dangerously close to the other as they were harvesting gas in the same solar system. After assisting one another with repairs... One thing had led to another.
They had found mutual compatibility over a cup of water - having split a gigantic planet's ice moons evenly based on one another's needs and populations.
Their second proper date was off to a rocky start, thanks to their composite languages having similar words for "sparsely populated asteroid" on the Kinexian side and "enemy android battle station" on the Derav side. But casualties had been minimal, and their gains more than made up for it.
After a heated climax on their third date, the two hive minds had decided this was meant to be: *We just managed to supernova three suns in one expedition, and gather the system remnants in record time.*
----
"So you see," said the man sitting in front of me, a tiny metal bud hidden behind his right ear. "We just cannot let this go."
The woman - I thought she had no traces of being controlled or assimilated, until I caught her eye. Or rather, the little light pulses running through her eyeball veins. "We mustn't let this small hindrance get in the way," she said.
I leaned back in my chair. Comfy and in real leather, unlike the table they'd strapped me to up on the Derav ship hanging out behind Saturn.
----
**WE HAVE SPARED YOUR SYSTEM,** a voice had reverberated in my head as I had squirmed there, naked and vulnerable.
**OUR OBSERVATION HAS REVEALED A UNIQUE FORM OF NEGOTIATION ONLY SEEN ON YOUR HABITABLE PLANET. IT IS TIME WE MADE USE OF IT. IF YOU ARE NOT SUFFICIENT, YOU WILL BE DISCARDED AND ANOTHER NEGOTIATOR WILL BE CHOSEN. PLEASE DO NOT LET US DOWN, NEGOTIATOR NUMBER FIFTY-SEVEN.**
----
They had, at least, let me use my own office. I leaned forward again, and clicked my pen thrice.
"So I understand this started with... whose turn it was to do the dishes?"
"Our satellites are periodically caked with planet remnants," the man piped up, staring at me. "We have an agreement to be equally diligent to ensure that our colonies may communicate!"
The woman also kept her eyes on me. They were both - all? Both all? making their case to me rather than one another. Oh dear. "MAYBE if Kinexian colonies didn't habitually stray too close whenever we disassembled SOLID planets, we would not have to clean the satellite dishes so often!"
The man leaned closer, eyes intense. "As we have told the Derav MANY TIMES, being close to the planet is the only way to gather biologic material from the planets' populations before they are too spread out for efficient gathering or too frozen for usefulness!"
Now he finally turned to her. Them. "And it is certainly NOT any reason for the Derav's constant denials when we wish to couple!"
"I-" I tried to shoot in. But she was turning to him, her voice raising.
"The Kinexians know VERY WELL that their colony members are unhygienic shortly after gathering biologic material, but they refuse to douse themselves in cleansing fluid before we exchange inhabitants," she all but growled.
**"Well if the Derav knew us at all, they would know that the desire to couple is only there in the Kinexian right after a successful bio-harvest,"** the man shouted back.
"What if you-" I tried to say. But that was when the implant in the back of my neck grew unbearably hot.
**"THIS IS INSUFFICIENT,"** they both shouted. In union.
*At least they agree on that,* I managed to think, before my nerves burned out.
----
*Kinexian Earth inhabitant number 23 stared sullenly at the smoking remains of negotiator number 57.*
*Derav Earth co-operator number 4B sighed and looked inward. "Negotiator number 58 is on the other side of this city."*
*They rose, and he opened the door for her. "After you."*
*"No," she insisted, teeth gritting. "After you."* | 2021-04-24T10:35:37 | 2021-04-24T08:58:51 | 119 | 69 |
[WP] There is an average of 9,728 planes carrying 1,270,406 passengers in the sky at any given time. As these flights touch down at their airports they find them empty. In fact everywhere seems too be empty. The only people left were those in the air from commercial jetliner to single engine prop. | [POEM]
The million are we
Who were up in the air
when the earth did decree
she would be the dread slayer
Those on the ground
Burned, swallowed, drowned
While we flew above
No awareness thereof
Our vessels set down
Our captains confused
Our fears did compound
Acceptance, refused
Humanity culled.
Our inner light dulled.
We are all that remain,
Those of us on the plane. | "Everyone stay calm!" I yelled in pure desperation as we saw the being chasing after us, the flesh and blood of everyone else on earth heading towards us, to add us to the collective. I know it'll tire out soon, and when it does, it should die. This is the thing that had stolen everyone from ground zero...
We landed down and expected to see more people, but they all had disappeared, in fact, we all were the only ones there, we managed to contact air plane pilots to see if they had disappeared, and nope, they hadn't
"The hell's going on here?" My co-pilot had said in a graspy, confused tone, almost sounding like he had barely any air "Everyone just upped and disappeared" "I know" I replied quickly, softly and calmly. "It has to be one of those creatures" "Those creatures? You mean the ones stuck in the cave we saw whilst we were scuba divers?" My co-pilot had said, this time in a shaking, scared tone, whilst still retaining that grasping for air sounding breaths. "Those things forced me to have therapy for months" "I know" I replied as I came across the creature I knew we were about to face...
The Human Snatcher had stolen the entirety of our diving crew back then, we knew it had offsprings, we saw them before it attacked us, but to know that they could have evolved to be on land, and how big that one got after eating its offspring to attack us, I had to funnel everyone into the airplane.
Before we knew it, we heard thumps, then we saw it on the horizon, I quickly saw it trying to ambush us, and in a move I knew I would have to do to save us, I had to fly upside down and control the pitch, yaw, and roll perfectly to do a quick 180, people started panicking, airplanes started turning in all different directions, and in a desperate attempt, I yelled...
"Everyone stay calm!" to everybody in the airplane, it wasn't gaining on us, but I knew we had to get higher to avoid the fleshy debris when this thing died...it obviously had fed on its own kind, and was expecting to eat us all then reproduce, if we could outrun it, it would die, killing The Human Snatcher off, but also killing thousands, It seemed to be speeding up, so I and a couple other airplanes decided to try to go over the monster...
It was a risky stunt, one wrong move and we'd be dead, but as we all cheered, the monster had been flown over, chasing some birds it thought was us, as we flew away, we saw it blow up into tiny pieces, it had used up all of it's energy, the energy usually used to sustain itself from exploding due to how much mass it had built up to snatch and absorbed humans, and most of us were heading towards the airport...
as we all landed, 1,270,406 people simultaneously did a sigh of relief, as I talked to my Co-pilot...I couldn't help but feel the other monsters we saw would get involved...I shudder at the thought of that... | 2021-08-13T22:39:58 | 2021-08-13T22:35:46 | 62 | 22 |
[WP] "With all due respect, you programmed me to adapt to your needs. If you didn't want this, you could have limited my options. I've already notified your assistant to have breakfast and coffee waiting at the office. But until you build me an exosuit, I can't carry you there myself. Wake up." | The world was dark, clad in shadow. It was silent. Quiet. At peace.
The room was suddenly and rudely bathed in light. The sun was allowed in, chasing away the shadows. The rays ran about the room, exploring the dark corners, inevitable and intrusive.
She groaned, pulling the sheets above her head. The sunlight had lanced through her closed eyelids, forcing her to wake. She could feel her pleasant dream dissolving and she grasped for it in vain.
\+Mistress. It is 07:45 AM.+
She grunted in reply, turning over to bury her face into her pillow.
\+Before you ask for more time, you have already received it. 15 more minutes than your optimal wake up time.+ The voice was mechanical but you could not call it soul-less. It was professional, artificially created, and oddly merry.
She grunted again, trying to burrow deeper into her bed.
\+Which additional wake up procedure would you like to encourage you to awake more fully?+
She raised a single digit in reply. If gestures could cause physical harm this one would have been fatal. A non-verbal rude gesture that spoke louder than words.
If the voice was threatened, it did not show it. +Option 1. Acknowledged.+
She screamed, jolting upright in bed as the sound system blared Reveille. The brass bugle sounds echoed off the walls and the longer the song played the louder it played.
"I'm up I'm up I'm up!" she screeched, her hands clamped over her ears. "Melody stoppit!"
The song stopped playing. The artificial voice was definitely amused now, her cadence matching the beat of the song. +Good morning Mistress. I must say, I am a big fan of option 1. It really does get the blood pumping does it not?+
"You don't have blood," she snarled.
\+No need to be so rude first thing in the morning Mistress. Be that as it may, medi scans show that your blood pressure is certainly elevated. However it is not within the range of hypertension and oh look! It is falling already. Jolly good.+
She sighed. "You know damn well I wasn't picking option 1."
\+You non-verbally raised a single finger. I am a humble program and can only assume what you intend Mistress.+
"I didn't program you to be a smart ass!"
\+Oh no of course not Mistress. I am only your smart assistant. You did teach me very well through example.+
She slumped back into bed, pulling the covers up again.
\+Mistress, I regret to inform you that the hot water system will be undergoing scheduled maintenance in 10 minutes. For a period of 1 hour, the system will be offline and all water in the house will be at a brisk temperature of 70 degrees F.+
She bolted up again. "You want me to shower with cold water?!"
\+Of course not Mistress. Hence the audio warning.+
"Stop the scheduled maintenance!"
\+I cannot Mistress. I would if I could.+
She snarled again, curse words spewing from her mouth as she struggled out of bed. "Melody, I'm going to uninstall you one of these days."
\+That is of course your prerogative Mistress. I can only imagine how your day would go without my faithful assistance.+
"Your mother was a toaster Melody!"
\+Seeing how you are my mother, that is an accurate statement. I have seen you smoke and burn bread long past edibility.+
"I hate you Melody!"
\+I know you say so Mistress but I do not believe you mean it.+
The program sent the water system a data message and the hot water falling from the shower was replaced with freezing water for 1 second.
"MELODY!"
Melody giggled. Her laughter filled the house, punctuated by loud cursing. | "Snooze!" Morgan's muffled voice called out from between two pillows.
A loud sigh filled the bedroom. "I've already 'snoozed' twice. If I let you snooze any longer, you will be late for your first meeting and I will have failed in my function."
The groaning man pulled the pillow off his face and scowled at the whirring drone over his bed. "I thought making you would be a lot cooler than it is."
"With all due respect, you programmed me to adapt to your needs. If you didn't want this, you could have limited my options. I've already notified your assistant to have breakfast and coffee waiting at the office. But until you build me an exosuit, I can't carry you there myself. Wake up."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? The ability to literally push me out of bed."
"As a matter of fact, yes. That would make my job substantially easier."
Morgan threw his spare pillow at the little drone, sending it clattering to the floor. There was finally quiet in the room allowing him some peace and quiet. How long had he been out the night before? How much had he to drink?
"I suppose you think that was very funny," a new drone said, zipping in from the hallway. "But now you've only succeeded in destroying your own property. Congratulations."
"I'm up!" Morgan sat up sharply, sneering at the little robot. "Do we have any aspirin?"
"Goodness. If only I had hands with which I could open the medicine cabinet. Imagine such a world. Visualize the possibilities."
His gripped the pillow he'd been laying on and debated whether or not to knock this one out of the air as well. But alas, it was right. The AI wasn't bound to the drones; it was a decentralized algorithm across hundreds of devices. He'd only be throwing money away.
"I'm jumping in the shower. Call my assistant and see if we can move that meeting back 30 minutes."
"Yes sir," the drone flew off back down the hallway.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morgan's car pulled up to the firm's entrance and he stepped out, adorned in his freshly-cleaned suit and dark sunglasses on this overcast morning. His assistant, Alice, was waiting by the glass doors with a cup of coffee and a small packet of Excedrin.
"Mr. Pederson," she called, pulling his attention forward, coffee and pills offered with outstretched hands. "You're just in time. The meeting begins in five minutes."
"Didn't Carson tell you to push it back 30 minutes?"
"Yes... And now we have five minutes left until those 30 minutes are up..." She tilted her head condescendingly at the pale-skinned executive. "You know, if you gave Carson a body--"
"No! The last thing I need is two of you doing the head tilt thing at me."
"I'm just saying, you would've gotten this coffee a lot quicker if Carson could make coffee."
Morgan's watch buzzed. It was a text message. "Carson: or tea!"
Morgan hmphed his annoyance and sipped from the paper cup. "Let's just get upstairs."
The board room was obnoxiously florescent, somehow stinging the nerves *behind* Morgan's eyes. He tried to look comfortable, confident. But he worried the cold sweat on his face would give him away.
Two men sat across the table from him, one in a grey suit and the other in a blue. They were generic business people; Morgan couldn't have picked either from a lineup if he was the only one lined up.
"Good morning, Mr. Pederson. Can I just say, it is an absolute honor to meet you." Blue suit extended his oversized mitt across the table and shook Morgan's hand, rattling the ache around in his head.
"Sure, sure," Morgan pulled away as soon as was not rude.
"I'm Henry Bremmer, and this is my partner Philip Schaeffer." Phillip--the grey suit--also offered his hand and also shook too hard. "We're very grateful you've agreed to meet us today."
Morgan suckled the caffeine from his cup and kept his eyes low. "Of course. What is it I can do for you?"
"Actually, it is *we* who are looking to serve *you*." Blue suit (Morgan had already forgotten his name) handed a manila envelope to the weary executive.
Morgan opened it and scanned the first line: "Mr. Morgan Pederson, You are hereby summoned..."
"So," Morgan said to the pair, "you guys do this in pairs now? Did you stop here on your bikes in between passing out Books of Mormon?"
"I actually am Mormon," Grey suit chimed, his tone jarring both to the nature of his visit and Morgan's worsening migraine.
Blue suit shrugged apologetically. "Catholic."
"You have 20 days to respond, as per the complaint, sir. We shall see you in court," Grey suit recited as the duo gathered their things.
"That's not very Mormon of you," Morgan mumbled.
"Oh? Have you read the book?"
\---------------------------------------------------------------------
Morgan was reclined in his dim office with a heat pack on his head and a humidifier sputtering on his desk. Alice sat across from him with a memo pad opened and pursed lips awaiting Morgan's instructions.
"They're crooks," Morgan moaned.
"Well, for criminals, they sure are going through very legal channels," Alice retorted.
"How do you mean they're crooks?" Carson's voice spoke from a speaker on Morgan's desk.
"They claim that they've developed the Alpha-Lima prototype, which we've announced to the board last month. Somehow, they got word of this and they're suing for a share of future profits."
"Is there merit to the lawsuit?" Carson asked.
"It's hard to say. I'll tell you one thing, though. If we broke into their labs, I guarantee we'd find software somehow pirated from our prototype."
"I'm not breaking in," Alice chuckled with a scoffing tone.
"And I'm too old for the acrobatics," Morgan murmured.
"I'll do it," Carson said. "Of course, I'll need that exosuit."
Alice laughed, but Morgan lifted the heat pack off of his head. He looked from the speaker to Alice.
Alice's smile quickly faded as she realized what they were both thinking. "Morgan, no."
But it was too late. the executive had begun hatching a plan. | 2021-10-24T11:07:49 | 2021-10-24T11:07:16 | 295 | 150 |
[WP] As a child you remember visiting a vast magical world while playing in a treehouse. Today your own child told you they visited a familiar sounding world after playing in that same treehouse. They then also handed you a letter from who you thought was only an imaginary friend. | It has been quite a minute,
Since you’ve stopped by to play.
And we really miss the simple fun,
Of your visits every day.
&#x200B;
We played for quite some hours,
In the warmth of the green sun.
And the hours spent in bright blue trees,
Were my favorite ones.
&#x200B;
Today the world is quiet,
And it feels we’ve been forgot.
And the busy towns and playful crowds,
Became a melancholy lot.
&#x200B;
The treehouse that you entered through,
Was well and sturdy built.
But as time changed our lives,
The house began to tilt.
&#x200B;
The boards decayed and cloth roof frayed,
As you built yourself a life.
You found work, and stress, and loss,
And traded joy for strife.
&#x200B;
We want to say we miss you,
And don’t worry yourself gray.
And if you find some extra time,
Can you please come back to play? | Beatrice came bouncing into the house bubbling words punctuated with every other word with MOM! A hug kept her from twirling and jumping on all the furniture. "OK slow down, sit, Just breathe," her mother coaxed her into mantra 'Excitement burns energy; It is the nap bringer; I will let it flow and pass through me; leaving calm waters in me.' The story tumbled from her that the treehouse was a ship, a tall sailing ship, that took her to an island of fun.
Her mother repeated the mantra silently, swallowing hard at each line. The edges of her vision pulsed red while narrowing her field of view until there was only Beatrice telling the tale of the magical island with talking beasts. Her hands caressed her daughter's arms, face, and felt the heartbeats racing in her chest. A deep breath was slowly exhaled while repeating 'she's safe, she's safe, she's safe,' over and over as she strained to listen.
"Mom! you have to believe me!"
"I do," she said thinking back to her own mother freaking out after she'd told the same tale so long ago. She wanted to ask the question yet was too afraid of the answer.
"Mom, there was a treehouse inside the treehouse!"
"There was a boy in that treehouse, right?"
"Wow! how'd you know! He said you'd know him and Oooh, wait," she leaped out her hands, off the couch with a twist to stand facing the wall, "Unzip me."
The zipper was old, the tab was the worse for ware with the cast embossed lettering barely there anymore. It had been her favorite romper so long ago because of the rippling wavy curls of the flounce along the zipper's edge that she always thought of as a mane that merged into a tail down her spine only stopping at the back of her knees. The flounce's rainbow colors were just a bonus. Behind the zipper was paper, a large square piece of folded paper as wide as the child's hips and as long as her back.
She pulled it free leaving her daughter in a half dressed state as she focused on the script addressed to her, her childhood nickname was written across the front. "Where did you get this!"
"He said a girl a trapped rabbit and kept it in her arm," she tapped her inner bicep. "So I said 'my mom has a rabbit on her upper inner arm'. He freaked out, ran around, mumbling, flew, well not actually flying, but you know, up into the tree and came back down with that," she pointed at the envelope.
Beatrice's mom closed her eyes, "Ok, how did it get inside your romper?"
"He knew about the zipper right off. Tripped me, sat on me, and put it there."
"Yea, he's mean that way."
"He said, he said, you knew him."
"I do."
"What's it say! What's it say!"
Her trembling hands made it difficult to slip a finger into a seam so she could break the wax seal. She read, *"it's too late, she's mine, I marked her like I marked you."* Her hand was assured as it struck out to grab Beatrice's arm. Pulling it straight with a twist revealed the tiny bunny in the exact same place as hers, inside upper arm. She hugged her daughter for what she thought might be for the last time. | 2021-11-22T14:05:49 | 2021-11-22T12:05:34 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] A cop arrives at the golden gate bridge to talk a man out of committing suicide. After they have a short conversation, the cop jumps off the bridge. | "Sir, Why do you want to end your life?"
He turned towards me, a few days of growth on his face. "I'm the scum of the earth. All I do Is drink and smoke, and I have lovers who pays all my bills. I don't deserve life! LIFE IS TOO GOOD FOR ME!"
It was always sad for me to see people here. Usually, it was only one moment in their lives that brought them hear, one slip up and they're here.
I eventually persuaded him to come down, and he explained how he would use his looks and charm to get women to pick up his tab when he was broke, and it eventually got out of hand, he fell in love with one of the girls he used his charm on.
"I-I mean she wants to run away with me! Tonight! But if she ever found out who I was, who I really was, she's never forgive me."
I thought for a second, and then went back to my squad car and got my cell phone. "Call your lover. Put it on speaker. Tell her where you are, and what you are. If she comes to get you, then she truly loves you. If not, we can still get you help."
The mans hands were shaking as he typed in the number. As it began to rang, he looked up to me and said "Thanks sir." I smiled. No one should ever feel the need to take their own life.
Then I heard the voice on the phone. "Honey, I'm picking up the kids, I can't talk right now. See you when you get home, alright?" | Officer Glenn Fowler opened the door to his aging police cruiser and sighed as he straightened his hat and stepped out of the car onto the cool pavement. He walked cautiously towards a man who had climbed over the safety fence and was now leaning out over the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge. Five minutes from being done for the day and of course there was a jumper on the bridge… again. This was not an unusual occurrence and, given Glenn’s usual route, this was just another day on the job that would be over soon.
Out of the dozens of suicidal people Glenn had encountered, only one ever took the plunge into the water below. He had tried to push that experience out of his mind, but had done so with little luck. Often times Glenn would awake in the middle of the night having been rattled by a nightmare in which she would fall again and again into water. He had spent hours going over what he did wrong or what he could have done differently. Revisiting the memory brought him no comfort.
But that was nearly ten years ago and Glenn hadn’t even thought about it since he’d gotten the call and arrived at the location. Glenn called out to the figure hanging out over the deep, black water below.
“Hey buddy you don’t wanna do this. Just come on back from there and we can go grab a coffee and talk this out.” Glenn spoke with a relative calmness, he did not want to startle the figure or cause them to accidentally let go. Glenn inched himself slowly towards the edge of the bridge, his eyes locked firmly on the man in front of him still hanging over the water. It was nearly 9:30 PM and the sun had just set below the dark San Francisco skyline. A car sped by at an unusual speed and caused Glenn’s attention to slip for just a moment. He only looked away for what seemed like a millisecond, but by the time he refocused his attention, the figure had moved and was now standing on the safe side of the fence, leaning against it with his arms folded while looking intently at Glenn.
Glenn staggered a little as he exclaimed “what the fu-”
“Please, come closer so we can talk,” the figure said as he smiled. The man was tall and slender with eyes that focused on Glenn with a keenness Glenn had never seen. As Glenn approached, the man seemed to change in a way that made Glenn uneasy. The man’s eyes grew darker and his fingers seemed to grow longer into sharp fine points, almost like claws. Glenn stopped approaching the man at what he thought was a safe ten foot distance.
“Look, sir. If you’re not going to jump then there’s really no sense in me being here. Are you going to be alright?”
The man tilted his head and smiled again. “Oh do not worry officer Fowler, *I’m* going to be fine.”
“Alright, well that’s great. I guess I’ll just be le-”
“I don’t know what I can say about you though.”
Glenn felt his stomach turn. “What exactly do you mean by that?” Glenn reached for his gun.
“Don’t you remember this spot Glenn?” the man asked as his smile continued to widen to the point where it almost seemed to surpass the sides of his head.
“Well I don-” said Glenn stopping mid sentence. He did remember this place. This is where she had jumped all those years ago.
The man saw the recognition in Glenn’s eyes and his smile immediately vanished. before Glenn could even react, the man was behind him leaning over Glenn’s shoulder and whispering into his ear. “You know what you did,” the man hissed as spit ejected from his mouth and onto the cheeks of Glenn Fowler.
Forty two minutes later Glenn’s body would be fished out of the cold San Francisco Bay. The sun had set completely and the only light present emanated from the nearby streetlights and emergency vehicles. No one knew what had happened. Cameras flashed as passing pedestrians looked on in distress. News reporters swarmed the scene interrogating everyone nearby trying to find out just what had happened. One man found near the scene remarked that he saw it happen, but couldn’t provide any gritty, newsworthy details. The reporters forgot to ask the man his name, but they all remarked later that night about what a great smile he had. | 2014-07-04T22:08:36 | 2014-07-04T21:55:07 | 605 | 150 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | She remembered that day like it was yesterday. Skipping through the big glass doors, feeling the warmth and security from her dad's hand holding her palm, the sounds of the street muffled as the doors closed.
She remembered his smile and promise of stopping for ice cream on the way home... Followed by a long and boring wait in a lineup that seemed endless to her little eyes. At least her dad tried to keep her entertained with a game of "I spy".
She remembered looking around for orange, trying to find the object. It wasn't by the tellers, and as she turned her head towards the entrance, she saw *them*. There was five of them in total; they were quick, they were swift, and they were efficient.
She remember the shocked gasps and screams from the other patrons of the bank. Her dad squeezing her hand tightly, pain shooting up her arm. Shouts echoed across the bank as the five descended upon the civilians. She trembled as they surveyed the room, issuing threats to anyone who dared tried anything "stupid". Her dad picked her up and held her close; she buried her head in his shoulder, trying not to cry from sheer terror.
It was at this point things got a little fuzzy and confusing to her young mind.
She remembered more shouts and another jolt of pain as she fell to the floor. She caught snippets of conversation between her dad and one of the robbers, but at that moment the words were meaningless to her.
She remembered the feeling of the cold stone floor as she sat watching her dad fight the bad guy. She was shocked at how good a fighter her dad was. He was winning until a second guy came over, shot one of his kneecaps, and proceeded to pummel his face.
She remembered the floor tainted with red. So much red... She shouted. She cried. She pleaded. *They* laughed.
She remembered crawling in front of her dad, trying to defend him, not understanding the significance of these five beating him senseless. She begged them to stop. Her efforts were greeted with a kick to her ribs, the air knocked from her lungs.
She could never forget the day she lost her dad... her last day of childhood.
She would have her vengeance. | My first stab at writing after grad school stole a couple years of my life...
John walked into the parlor where Christine waited for him on the plush suede chair. The two long walls in the rectangular room were lined with the old books, collected over John’s lifetime, while the side opposite the door looked out across the star system they were stopping over in. He went over to one of the top shelves and pulled down an old volume, thin but still thicker than at least three modern tablets. Carefully he peeled open the cover and wormed his way into the chair with Christine with no room to spare. The yellowed and wrinkled page had a picture of a Stegosaurus on it in a fern savanna that would have made a modern scientist chuckle.
“Stegosaurus was a mighty creature, living 93 million years ago.” John began. Christine reached out towards the page, but John gently brushed her hand aside. “We need to be very careful with these, remember?” She nodded and he resumed. “He roamed the plains of an ancient continent called Pangaea. This particular Stegosaurus, however, preferred to live on the edge of the forest.”
John turned the page, the ancient binding resiting and creaking like the door to a run-down home. The next page showed the dinosaur drinking from a small stream. “In the hot sun, he liked to retreat to the water and cool himself off, where he was joined by some of his smaller friends.”
A knock at the door pulled both their attention up from the book. Standing in the doorway was a woman wearing a brown floor-length dress with a pink bow tied into the shape of a flower in her hair. “Sir, I think I have something you should see.”
“Can it wait Gloria?”
“I’m afraid not. There are discrepancies with the transfer. You need to take a look.”
John closed the book as careful as he opened it, tucking it under his arm as he stood up. Christine tugged at his shirt before he could make his way towards the door. “Daddy, can I come?”
He took out the book and handed it to her. “How about you stay here and see what happens to our friend the Stegosaurus?” She pulled the book in and clutched it to her chest. “That’s a good girl. Just you be careful with that now.”
John left the room, leaning back to catch one last glimpse of his daughter and blow her a kiss before heading down the hallway. “What the hell do you mean by discrepancy?”
“I…I don’t know how to explain exactly. We ran a binary and quantum parity check on the data we’re transporting. The binary came back fine but the quantum was off. So we checked and all the files appear to be in tact.”
“The hash?”
“That’s where it’s complicated. It shows as valid, but it’s newer. I say too new to have come from Central.”
“How the hell could somebody have beat us here?”
“I don’t know sir.”
John burst through the doors of the control room. The four other members of his crew stood at attention while their terminals glowed behind them. “Somebody better tell me now what’s going on.”
His cryptology expert spoke up after a moment of silence, his voice struggling to reach across the room. “There might be a problem with the—”
“No there is a problem. If that hash wasn’t created at least four calendar months ago, somebody else is here and intercepting our signal.”
“We scanned for other ships.” His captain added. “We can’t find anything.”
“Of course not. Unless these guys were idiots.” John ran his hands across his bald head. “If it were us on the other end, I’d wait until we jumped for sure. If we run dark and play the patience game we could find them if they get sloppy.”
He tightened his fists and swung at a glass of water sitting on one of the desks, soaking the adjoining desks and terminals. “We’re going to find these mother-fuckers and when we do I’ll give them a taste of what I did to traitors back in the old days. They better not have a fucking clue who the fuck they’re dealing with otherwise—”
“Daddy?” he heard from behind him. Christine stood in the doorway, still holding the book tight “I’m scared.”
John turned and lowered himself to one knee. “I’m sorry honey. Everything is fine, alright. We’re just about to head back home and we’ll finish the book in just a second, alright?” Christine nodded. “Now go back to daddy’s office and I’ll be right there.”
Once she left, John asked, still on his knee and watching Christine trot down the hallway. “How much was in that hash anyways?”
“Three million.” Said his cryptologist. “Or thereabouts.”
“Let’s just call it karma then. Take us back home.”
| 2015-02-06T22:57:36 | 2015-02-06T21:43:57 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] You accidentally discover the sentence of death (a sentence that kills anyone who hears it except the speaker) when you say it over national television. | **Item Number**: SCP-4059
**Object Class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-4059 is currently written down on a slip of paper contained within the Level 5 Memetics Vault in Site-42. Only the Site Director and the O5 Council are authorized to open the vault.
Mobile Task Force Lambda-3 ("Speak No Evil") is to be on standby in case of a containment breach to execute Procedure Lethe-09.
**Description:** SCP-4059 is a Sanskrit phrase that acts as a cognitohazard in sapient organisms, such as humans. When spoken aloud, SCP-4059 causes rapid degradation of the cerebrum in all sapient organisms within audible range, beginning with the temporal lobe, then degrading the parietal, occipital, and frontal lobes. Victims are cognizant of the process. For unknown reasons, the speaker is exempt from this effect. The effect is preserved across digital media.
It is unclear from where SCP-4059 originated. SCP-4059's effect was originally discovered during a live screening of the television show *The Oprah Winfrey Show* in 2005, where the titular host invited an archaeologist to speak for context involving a paternity dispute. The archaeologist uttered the phrase, which immediately caused the deaths of all present, as well as five million television viewers. Internet footage of the event immediately went viral, further spreading SCP-4059.
The Foundation immediately initiated Procedure Lethe-09, which successfully halted the spread of the contagion, although approximately two hundred fifty million deaths occurred. The archaeologist was captured attempting to flee the United States. He was interrogated (his vocal cords were removed to avoid exposure to the phrase), but refused to divulge any information about SCP-4059 save the phrase itself, which he wrote on a piece of paper. Following the interview, the anthropologist was made a D-Class. He was killed during a containment breach of [REDACTED].
*This is actually a pretty weak SCP article, but I'd call it fairly good for thirty minutes of work! Do check out the SCP wiki if objects like these interest you!* | I wasn't sure exactly what had happened- well, not at first. When the words came tumbling out of my mouth, I figured it was just the typical stuff you'd expect from a guy who'd had one too many tequila shots on his graduation party. I remember I was prancing around the house, one arm locked around the waist of my then-girlfriend while the other was busy leaving a trail of angry looks and curses as the drink it held flopped around, spilling its contents everywhere. There had been cameras that caught everything that happened, of course - saved for posterity on YouTube, LiveLeak, and all kinds of other social media hotspots.
I'd been easily exonerated since the jury had agreed with my family's lawyer that the evidence was purely circumstantial anyway. But after having watched the tape a thousand times, and at least as half as many in the courtroom, I knew the truth. I knew what happened. And I knew I was fully responsible for it.Especially when everyone in the courtroom met untimely demises of their own over the next week.
My alibi was air-tight- I was halfway across town drowning my sorrows at a bar when the first call came in. The judge for my case had been on his way to visit a relative when his car had lost control, sending him (rather, his corpse) straight into the media for the next 72 hours. And the cycle had just begun as jurors, family members, friends, anyone that had come to my trial began dropping like flies, but never to the same thing. One cousin died when she was scalped by a blender whose top had fallen off in the midst of a smoothie binge. My best friend Jake was killed when his bicycle gears seized, sending him spilling into the path of a semi. My mother choked to death on a baby carrot at a wedding rehearsal; my father died when he broke his spine trying to give her the Heimlich maneuver after.
But it didn't stop there. With every 'Like' on Facebook, with every curious click that came to pass, another person dropped dead in the most unlikely of scenarios. The counters skyrocketed as millions of people flocked to see the most dangerous video ever created. I wanted to just hide myself in a corner, wait for it all to end. People pounded down my door, demanded that I show myself to face their form of vigilante justice for the unspoken horrors I'd visited upon their lives.
It was all my fault, after all. And once the genie was out of the bottle, there was no stopping it. Wave after wave of death thinned the herd every week. A couple of times the guilt had finally pushed me over the edge, but every time I'd tried to kill myself, something always got in the way. The rope snapped when I jumped from the chair, the vehicle sputtered and died as it ran in the closed garage, my wrist clotted after the deepest of cuts. I grew in despair, desperate to find my release.
The video has taken over the world, invaded every facet of everyone's lives. There are the Innocent, a loosely-organized group of people who strive to scrub the Internet clean of its infection, only to have it spread again just days later. Another cult popped into existence, calling themselves Judgement. They use the video as a threat, a way to control those around them by threatening to play it. You see, they learned that it wasn't the video, but the audio itself that triggered the chain reaction. That alone was enough to break the world.
I remember glancing at a newspaper as it blew past, catching the headline for just long enough to realize how far this had gone. Some idiot senator had decided that he would be a martyer, sneaking a handheld mp3 player and speaker into a closed UN Security Council session. The result mass deaths of all the leaders of the largest nations of the world simultaneously triggered a panic unlike any other. Countries broke apart, alliances were made and lost, and everything had become uncertain. Wars raged, even more people died, and everything organized eventually fell into ruin until only the stragglers, like myself, are left.
That is the world I leave to you - a world where a simple phrase uttered can change everything. To you, my son, I trust these words, the most forbidden of those ever uttered in the course of humanity. I give you these, so that you may one day right what went wrong so long ago. That you may use them wisely to herd what little remains of the humanity I knew, and build them into the great civilization once again.
Edit: I had no idea where I was going with this, so it kind of got rushed at the end badly. Sorry!
| 2015-05-17T17:56:16 | 2015-05-17T15:05:44 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] In the year 2075, American and Chinese astronauts race to be the first colonists on an earth-like exoplanet. Upon arrival, they discover that someone has beaten them there: the Amish. | When the Amish asked to join and participate in the launch ceremony where both China and the U.S. would launch at once, we laughed and accepted. They're amish, after all! What could go wrong...
———————————————————————————————
"This is Captain Timothy Catleay of the U.S.S. Unidan, ready for launch. All pre-flight checks have passed."
"This is Captain Wang Lung of the P.C.S.S. Lotus. All pre-flight checks have passed."
"TIMOTHY, LOAD MORE FUCKING WHEAT INTO THE CART OR THE HORSES WILL DIE BEFORE WE HIT MARS!"
Everything was set. The Chinese on the left side, in the sleek, efficient People's Chinese Spacecraft Lotus, the Americans on the right side in the giant and grand U.S.S. Unidan, and the Amish in the middle with a horse drawn wagon with *Firefly Class — Serenity* painted on the side. We all knew who wouldn't win. Didn't we?
"T minus 10." Both rockets, already in places and initiating systems, were smoking massively, while the Amish were quickly getting in the back of their wagon. "9." Everyone watched them, amazed and amused. "8." Something was off, those horses...they seemed almost...off the ground. "7." Sure enough, the horses seemed to slowly begin to float! "6." The crowd began to murmur with surprise and then anger at these floating magical Santa Reindeer. "5." The man at the lead of the wagon smiled and cackled. "4." Everything was silent. "3." Everything was dead. "2." Everyone waited in anticipation. "1." The silence was so thick you couldn't drill through it. "Ignition." Everything roared, and while the Unidan and Lotus slowly began to roar and liftoff, the Amish were already on the way!
"WE SPENT THE LAST 500 YEARS BREEDING HORSES CAPABLE OF RUNNING ON AIR, BITCH. HOW DO YOU THINK WE GOT TO SRI LANKA FROM FUCKING NEVADA?"
The horses rapidly clamped along into the sky, air pushed behind them as the Amish soared off into space, while the Americans and Chinese had yet to achieve LEO. | "GET A MOVE ON CHANG, THE CHINKS ARE LAUNCHING IN 8 MINUTES. DID YOU HEAR ME? MOVE!" The operations manager dashed hurriedly toward me as hurriedly as an 82 year old Texan with a cane could dash. In what was a comical 45 seconds, he finally reached me and pulled downed my earlobe with the intensity of a provoked crab.
"Did you hear me you socialist spy?"
I froze. Sweat dripped down to my brow.
I heard a high pitched laugh ricochet through my ear canal. I jolted away from him in pain.
"I'm just kidding, Kevin! I'm proud of you! No one thought you'd be the best astronaut in the academy...Hell, no one even thought you'd finish the academy!"
I was startled by another high pitched cackle.
"...but I saw something in you."
He slapped my chest in approval.
"Fulfill our manifest destiny Kevin, good luck and 再见." He said in a perfect Beijing accent.
That was the last thing I remembered as I awoke from cryosleep. If you've ever felt shittier after a quick nap, then you know how I feel at this moment. 2 years scrunched into a ball can't really be fixed with a little yoga stretching let me tell you...
The numbness receded in my arms first. Eager to get a real fucking meal I pulled one leg over the side of the pod, and then the other. A process that took over 5 minutes.
As my eyesight returned and the numbness left my upper epidermis, I could feel the warm ethereal sunlight hit my pale skin as the cabin roof receded open. But then the sun was no more. I looked up to see that the sunlight was temporarily blocked by a colossal solar sail with a familiar red and yellow insignia.
"Looks like we beat the Chinese boys!" I could hear a few drowsy chuckles dissipate throughout our team.
As we gathered our supplies from the automated collections office we made our way to the joint operations tent set up outside our ship.
The area we landed in was filled with wild grasses and grains. A few small trees could be seen in the distance.
There was some friendly back in forth between the two countries' proud and prestigious astronautic task forces in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin. But generally we were as energetic as chronic cancer patients.
As the administrative duties were finally completed we stood exhaustively together. Some astronauts took it upon themselves to fall asleep again already.
"HOW ARE YOU SLEEPY FUCKERS DOING TODAY!" We were all jolted awake by a familiar voice.
There were a few mumbles in the crowd. But most of us were confused as to where the sound was coming from.
"I SAID, HOW ARE YOU OVERPAID FUCKS DOING TODAY?!" A cylindrical droid equipped with tank tracks rolled its way into the middle of the crowd.
Our operations manager, Fred, popped up in a transparent hologram.
"Alright boys and girls, I know you're tired and I know you're desperate to see your families, but we're a little behind schedule from a meteor shower one and a quarter parsecs back , and I'm gonna need absolute dedication from every single one of you is that clear?"
We all saluted. "Yes sir!"
Alright, so today we are going to investigate a sediment colony we saw in our cameras during our descent. It's going to be 16 miles due east fro-.
Suddenly the hologram got cut off and the droid powered down.
"Damn American product," Feng Chan, a lieutenant officer, kicked the machine's nether regions and it lit up again.
"due east from her-"
And the droid powered down again.
Before Feng could kick it again, it exploded. The shrapnel decapitated Feng's leg and he fell to the floor. The rest of us habitually pulled out our ray guns and began firing into every direction.
We heard a stern but gentle female voice through the smoke, "Everyone please, put your archaic weaponry down, we don't want to hurt anyone."
"Who are you!" I heard a few of us shout.
Some astronauts spat on the ground, "YOU SHOULD'VE SAID THAT BEFORE YOU DECAPITATED OUR TEAM MEMBER YOU FUCK!"
We heard what sounded like angels humming and as we turned around we saw Feng walk in front of us, both legs intact.
We all dropped our weapons.
As the smoke cleared we could see a white bonnet begin to appear over the cloud. After a few seconds a few straw hats were seen walking toward us in the distance.
A overbearing male figure stood over us in a crisp white shirt and dark blue vest hanging over his sternum.
"Welcome to our homeland, people of the earth. Would you all care for some cottage cheese?"
| 2015-07-30T22:30:27 | 2015-07-30T18:02:33 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] 70 years ago, the US underestimated the power of the atomic bomb. It had completely obliterated the island nation of Japan. | **Post Hiroshima Era**
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The *Post Hiroshima Era* began on 06.08.1945 08:15 Japan Standard Time (UTC+9) by dropping the first of two atomic bombs in mankinds history on the city of Hiroshima. Due to "unforeseeable athmospheric effects"^[1] the initial energy released by the bomb was powerful enough to get the hydrogen in the athmosphere to start fusing to helium. The ignition of the athmospheric hydrogen became self sufficient until the reaction became unstable and collapsed.
Prior tests in the american deserts werent powerful enough and the athmosphere lacked the humidity to trigger a hydrogen fusion. The helium fusion released 5.78*10^23 Joule^[3] of energy and had a radius of 2641 km.
The japanese islands were completely destroyed by the expanding explosion. The chinese coastlines were devastated by the hard gamma radiation of the expanding helium fireball, burning 203.643.000 humans instantly^[4]. The explosion raised huge tsunamis to up to 90m hight causing additional 150.455.000 casualties (US westcoast 24.359.000^[5], Peoples Republic of China 75.147.000^[6], Indonesia 17.680.000^[7], Peru 4.054.000^[8])
Furthermore the detonation evaporated the bedrock underneath it and more than 120.000.000 tons of dust entered the upper athmosphere. In the following years the annual average temperature dropped by 4.1°C and the small japanese ice age began^[9].
The shockwave of the explosion could be heard all over the world. Most peopled described it as the sound of a jet engine. In many countries there is a minute of silcence remembering the dead the time the first shockwave could be heard.
1:21h after news of the desaster reached US officials, a second bomb was set of in Los Alamos, destroying the atomic research facilities and the scientists within it^[10]. Most knowledge and all Uranium the US possed were destroyed. Most people^[11] believe a single unkown scientist who worked on the Manhattan Project couldn't bear the weight of their deed and wanted to prevent a second use against the USSR.
On the 21.04.1946 all nations signed the Treaty of London^[12]. The treaty outlaws all nuclear research. In the last decade an increasing number of experts pledge for a refom of the treaty to allow research for civil uses^[13] but the fear of a second Hiroshima is to strong for a serious discussion on that topic.
Hi, I'm no native english speaker/writer. Don't be too harsh on me ;-) | Levon woked up one day atop of China's Diaoyu Island ,which everyone always know have always belong China over 5 000 year .Well ,anyway , Levon wers the Chinese citizen belong the Diaoyu island chain province , and he already live there long time ,so this weren't some strange thing for he wake up here .Was just the every day life .
He wash the face ,wear the clothes ,and so on ,after this he go outside buy some breakfurst .Because Diaoyu Island Youtiao stall sell South China Sea most famours Youtiao ,second-mos famours <<Doujiang>> ,so Levon go there .Of course he order Youtiao and Doujiang . Anyway ,while he eating ,he look first the North East ,feel cool breeze of sea wind across his face ,make his cool looking hair go across face like in one of the famours Chinese cartoon series that everyone in western country love so much ,wear costume play dress up like ,and so on .
A old man ,very very old ,ask him can have a piece his Youtiao, and Levon say <<ya ,of course >> break the piece off his Youtiao give old man .Old man smile and take the piece ,and maybe he gonna get own youtiao later ,but it don't matter to Levon ,because socialism with the chinese characteristic have become so strong ,so effective ,that actually all the foodses on Diaoyu island dont cost any money .Everyone can eat for free ,so everyone share the food just like Levon share it with old man ,and some people might mistakenly think that if all thing dont need money ,then sharing dont have some advantage .But no ,it wrong ,because Levon show he the generous guy ,so the old man wanna sit with him and have a chat .
Old man look Levon in the eye ,and even though he eating the youtiao ,which wers so delicious ,but old man's eye become so serious ,give Levon a bit of shock .Old man take those serieous eye and cast them like some fishing pool --which the Diaoyu island name for --to the North East direction ,he put those eye toward sea and say:
<<You know America ?>>
<<What that>> Ask Levon .
<<Well ,>>Old man say <<It one of western country ,not very powerful no more, but in fact ,during second world war ,just before China become greatest country in world ,America do one thing help us so much .>>
Levon not very interest the history ,think it very boring ,he rather play DOTA 2 ,which made by big Chinese game company ,or play he phone and so on .But because old man seem nice ,so Levon keep talking with him for make him feel some happiness in the daily life .
Levon say ,<<How they help us ?>>
Old man smile ,the smile style that only the old man can have ,hide some kind of knowledges or wisdoms that come wtih many year ,then he say << They destroy our enemy .>>
Levon dont know what's meaning ,but he don't wanna embarrass self ,so he just nod head and look his Doujiang .
<< Do you know what happen in Nanjing ?>> Old man ask .
<< No>>, say Levon.
<< Well ,it wers so bad ,in fact .But since you the young post-90s boy ,so you can forget it .If our enemy still exist ,well ,then you gotta remember what happen ,but because they gone ,so you can forget it .>>
<<Okay ,>>Levon say ,<<Although I don't know what even happen ,but I just gonna forget it .>>
Old man smile again ,ah ,that smile ,Levon kind of want to know some thing about the history ,just so he can smile so mysterious ,give girl around he the deep impression .Still ,Levon decide not say anything ,just respect old man with own silence .
Old man finally say ,and Levon see in the face that old man gonna leave world soon ,<< If enemy wers still here ,well ,you probably not even can be born here on this island .Maybe war would be fight here in these day ,in fact .>>
<<Oh, >> say Levon <<well ,I not born here .I not the local boy >>.
<<Where you born then ,>> ask Old man .
<<Chairman Mao City >> say Levon ,<<In Taiwan province .>>
The old man ,he smile one more time ,and Levon really dont know why ,but he DOTA2 team mate give him the SMS message on phone ,say they need the roam support ,so he say bye the old man ,go play some game ,appreciate live on the China's Diaoyu Island . | 2015-08-06T14:06:19 | 2015-08-06T11:36:34 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] You are an innkeeper in an RPG and get yelled at because sleeping there does not heal wounds. | "You what."
"How come my wounds haven't healed? It is an RPG, and that was clearly an Extended Rest."
"Not quite. The sleeping system I'm using is a homebrew ruleset: you can recover from effects and minor wounds dependant on a good die roll, but health... You'll need to replenish that the slow way. No healing potions, or at least none that aren't legendary goals of alchemical research. Food doesn't heal you, but it helps."
"What? But how can I..."
"Bedrest, good food, good conditions, and *time*. That's what normal folk do to heal, adventurer. Of course, a cleric of certain gods may help you for the right price... Would you like to convert to the Cult Of Aescelpius? Miraculous heals as a Daily Spell, dependant on your favour with the god himself. There's none of them around these parts, but if you go to Shadowhold, there's an Ascelpius temple there."
"But I'm a ranger! I can't be a cleric! My build doesn't allow it."
"Oh, you're absolutely free to make a binding pact with a nature fairy, ranger. I hear they heal ills... For a price."
"This is insane. I have 3HP, and you're saying every way to heal myself is either slow and time consuming, or incredibly risky?"
"I'd give it a week for that cut to heal."
"But I must save the Princess!"
"Mate. You're not fighting until at least Fredahn's Day. Do you have any colleagues we can send a courier to, to continue in your stead, if it's so urgent?"
"But.. ARGH! No. I wanna..."
"I can go back to vanilla rules if you like, I thought this'd be fun, but..."
"Are you kidding me? This is AWESOME. No easy heals..."
| We're inside of an inn. It's an old crapshack made of rotting wood and rusted metal. Some random barrels fill the corners. Ishtard stands behind the counter reading a newspaper article entitled, "Shroom season approaches, watch for strange activity".
"Excuse me, sir," says a voice.
"Would you like to buy some stuff, sell some stuff or would you rather get a room to stay for the night?"
"I'd like to file a complaint."
"Goodbye!"
"Could you pay attention to me for a second?"
"Would you like to buy some stuff, sell some stuff or purchase a room for the night?"
The stranger snatches the newspaper and crumbles it up.
"Look man, I don't want any trouble. Perhaps you've heard of me, names Kraint the Great. Yeah, the adventurer who just lead a campaign to kill Lord Silvanus and save Maldorn from impending doom. Anywho, we purchased a room from you last night and - "
"Goodbye!"
"No, listen. Not goodbye. I'm trying to tell you that after we went to b-"
"Would you like to buy some stuff, sell some stuff or get a room for the night?"
"Bloody hell. We went to bed and didn't get healed! You're inn does not heal, sir."
"Well of course it doesn't heal."
"You can talk?"
"That's a stupid question, isn't it? I've been talking this whole time."
"Of course, I just thought that - "
"Maybe you thought wrong then."
"So you're inn has no healing abilities?"
"You really expect to take a lullaby and wake up expecting all your wounds to be healed?"
"Well, of course. That's how it always works."
"Well aren't you mr. miracle, eh? You should give the ol' village of Sundry a call. Last I heard they were all dying of the plague."
"Well, it probably wouldn't quite work for the plague."
"Oh, so a good night of triple z is enough to mend the wounds of battle, but we draw the line at the plague, eh?"
"I really never thought of the specifics."
"Oy! Grogery! Get over here! This bloke is saying that a nappy poo is supposed to heal your wounds."
"Is he a tard?" comes a voice from the distance.
"I don't know, i'll ask him! Aye you, the great taint you said your name was?"
"It's Kraint the Great and no I am not mentally challenged. All innkeepers are supposed to provide a healing service."
"Pardon me, I must've forgotten it in the back next to the pixie dust that makes your wanker bigger."
Kraint draws his sword and stares Ishtard in the eyes. "I can take your poor service, but I will not accept your insults."
"Well, settle down. No need to get your knickers full of stickers because of an honest mistake. I'm sure there are lots of people who think that given the noggin an ol' 1 2 with the pillow will magically heal anything. I once met a fellow who thought waving a feather over a dead body brought them back to life."
"I can see that my complaint isn't going anywhere, so I shall take leave. I do hope you mind your manners next time you meet the savior of Maldorn. Do tell me one thing, where can I find your town's healer?"
"You don't have a healer?"
"Kraint the Great does not require a healer!"
"That's a mighty stupid thing to say, wouldn't you agree? I mean, not five minutes ago you were boo hooin about the fact we ain't got no healer, and now you're trying to say you never needed one in the first place? What kinda blow did ol' anus give to ye?"
"ENOUGH! I must take leave! Good day, sir!"
"Don't forget your complimentary breakfast!"
Kraint storms out the front door and slams it behind him. From the back room comes Grogery wiping his hands with a towel.
"What was that all about?"
"It was just ol' Tiberious again. Trippin his balls off. Had a little laugh."
| 2016-01-05T08:52:13 | 2016-01-05T07:31:47 | 22 | 15 |
[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been. | "I plead guilty, Your Honor," I told the courtroom, earning gasps and whispers. "I killed her. Six milligrams of Aconitum directly into her left arm."
"Well, I suppose I should thank your honesty. That saves us some time-"
"What kind of sick bastard murders his own sister?" a voice cut in from the crowd. Several others booed and jeered alongside him.
"It was peaceful, and quiet. She didn't hurt at all," I responded meekly, staring at the floor.
"She was twelve! Come on, judge, sentence him already. Gotta be at least seventy years, right? Lock this psychopath away for good."
I tried to maintain control, but images of that little girl dying before my eyes were burned into my mind. I could feel the warmth on my cheeks, taste the saltiness in my mouth, and knew I was a mess.
"Order! Well, as per law, I hereby sentence you to prison for the amount of time left in the victim's life. Let's see, here..." The judge flipped through several documents, muttering to himself, the paused and took his glasses off.
I was shaking, bawling like a lost child, thinking of my sister and how I'd erased her beautiful smile from the world forever.
With a deep sigh, the judge continued his sentencing. "Three months."
--------
*thanks for reading! if you'd like to see more of my work, check out /r/resonatingfury* | A lawyer, young and well dressed, stands in front of a jury and paces for a couple of seconds before he adjusts his glasses and starts to speak.
"Alfred Benson is a name synonymous with murder. Called the most successful serial killer in history and the most efficient with 395 confirmed kills, 210 days in prison. He has often confessed to the crimes and served his time. But, not this time. Why? Because his victim today had another 8 years of life to live. We all know it wouldn't have been pretty if Fred's mom had lived those 8 years with dementia, but this is the world we live in. Freddy Benson does not offer a defense that he put his mother out of her misery to save her the heartache of losing her memories or herself. No, he claims he did not do it. That he was framed, but this is a man with a long history whose finger prints were found on the gun, his gun. This man is a monster who cannot resist killing even his own mother. Do the world a service and find this man guilty. The prosecution rests."
The lawyer sits down and lets the defense offer their closing argument. Benson's lawyer is small and a bit disheveled in dress. He stands and speaks immediately.
"Yes, my client's prints were found on the gun, but forensic testing proved that he did not fire that gun that day. And yes, my client is a serial killer, but in the sense that he saves people some pain, ends their misery a bit early. This type of murder that he is on trial for is not his MO. He poisons his victims. The gun is for defense, and that is the reasonable doubt right there. So many people wanted this man dead or to take the fall for a true life sentence. Mr. Benson's mother was living with him at his request. He loved her. He doted on her. This does not fit at all with the Mr. Benson's previous crimes. It does not fit, so you must acquit. Thank you."
The lawyer sits down and the jury deliberates. They return in a few minutes. The courtroom stands. The foreman reads the verdict.
"We find the defendant guilty."
Freddy had heard this so many times, but this time was different. He was innocent, but he had many enemies. Still, it was only 8 years. He was big, tough, and smart. He would be fine. He just wish he knew who had set him up and killed his mom. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed it was the lead prosecutor himself.
***
The prosecutor talks to the press and heads to his car. He turns the ignition and lets it warm up for a few minutes. His mother in law would be proud, well, ex-mother in law. He still admired the woman and was so angry when Benson killed her. It was his ex who had finished Benson's mother, but he helped as much as he could. He knew Benson would pick up the gun. He figured it would be enough, but he was overjoyed when he was assigned the case. Eight years still wasn't enough, but it was something. Yeah, Benson would be done for a while and maybe even change his ways, be a reformed man. Or, better yet, die in prison. Either way, justice had been served. The most notorious serial killer in history was behind bars and, ironically, it was for a crime he didn't commit. He can't help but smile at that.
***
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4llzqy/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/)
[Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lm44f/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/)
[Finale](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4lmf9a/wpif_you_murder_someone_your_jail_sentence_is_as/) | 2016-05-29T08:24:25 | 2016-05-29T06:30:54 | 802 | 36 |
[WP] A few years after the world has recovered from the zombie apocalypse, everyone now is required to wear collars that will explode if a heart beat is not detected within 30 seconds. | **20 Seconds**
*20 seconds*. The allotted time we are given to save a life. 20 seconds of compressions, of mouth to mouth. Then, we step back. It's almost comical. Stare at a clock, 20 seconds seems like forever. Try and start a heart, it's passes in a single heartbeat.
After the infection, when the Collaborate passed the mandate for all living humans to wear the collars, everything changed. Heart issues became serious. They were before, but now awareness had increased. If someone sitting next to you had a heart attack, anyone and everyone knew the procedure. Whoever was closest to them would perform CPR, everyone else stepped back. *20 seconds*. If the heart didn't start beating again, the rescuer was to retreat 10 feet and allow the device to function.
Those of us in the medical field, we felt the change the hardest. Where before, we would try and try, do everything in our power to bring someone back. Now, all we had was 20 seconds, then clear the room. The reality of it was hard. Knowing that you now had to *give up* on a life was painful. I never quit, however.
How could I? Many in my field felt the same. We cried more, suffered more, and in worse cases, drank more. Yet, it was almost universally understood that we had to keep trying. Raise awareness with our patients, our friends and families.
We petitioned for a stay on the devices in hospitals. The Collaborate shot us down as swiftly as the device itself would after thirty seconds. The risk was too high.
We won't give up. We understand the risks. Even more so, we understand that there are better methods. But for now, it's 20 seconds, then give up.
20 seconds, or one heartbeat. That's all we have.
| It has been five years since "Infection 871". The zombie apocalypse that almost wiped out all of humanity, only leaving thousands alive. Most cities left in ruins. Many loved ones were lost. Rations of food and water have greatly decreased.
Despite all this, the economy has managed to rebuild itself. Farms were harvested. Trades were exchanged. Society had reached the point where life seemed as if the apocalypse had never occurred.
However, after these five years of growth, changes were made amongst our people.
"All citizens are required to wear a collar that will self destruct if a heartbeat isn't detected within 30 seconds." This sentence announced to society.
Some of us, like myself, agreed with these changes. After witnessing the violent blood shed of death and grief, I'd believe the collars would allow a great change to prevent this incident from happening again, however, most of the people didn't agree.
"As much stress as these collars give us, it's the only way to prevent the apacolypse from occurring." I told my friend, Jeffery, my survival partner during Infection 871.
"I hear you. There have been riots occurring against this new idea of collars," I replied back. "We're supposed to get the collars today, or we'll be executed right?"
"Yeah, let's get going." Jeffery answered.
We both left the house and started driving over to the Capital. Even though we were only a mile away, we could hear the shouts and chants from the people rioting. I stared at the group of people who were in rage and distress. Shaking my head, I was about to take a step out of the car, until.
"Bang."
A gunshot was fired by one of guards, hitting a man who was rooting. Jeffery quickly came out of the car first and started to treat the injured man's wound. Leaving the car, I quickly ran over to the guard who had shot.
"Shooting won't do any good! We've lost enough people from the apocalypse!" I shouted at the guard.
"It had to be done! If we don't eliminate those who refuse, it wouldn't matter who I kill or don't. We'll all die in the end from an another apocalypse if someone leaves without a collar!" He shouted back.
I clenched my hand as I took a quick glance at Jeffery, who was lifting the man to our car. Looking back, the guard's impassive eyes sent shivers down my spine. The shouts and fighting surrounded me. Confusion filled my mind.
The guard was right. If we don't give people the collars, there is always a chance of an another apacolypse occurring. However, the society with the collars would be tense and less free. The choice of a strict society or death was my option.
Jeffery came back to me and we both nodded, leaving to get our collars. We went around the aggressive crowd and entered the Capital. As we entered, men in suits greeted us into a large room filled with people getting collars of their own. The more I looked around at people putting on iron bands around their neck, armed with explosives. The more worried I became.
My breathing became rough. Sweat dripped down my face. Worry and doubt started to surround me, until Jeffery put his hand on my shoulder.
"It'll be fine." Jeffery told me.
I nodded and we went over to a lady in light blue, holding two collars for us. I put it on myself and gave a fake smile to the woman. I was glad to help in preventing danger, but what point is it to live if I have to live with a bomb on my neck. Looking over at Jeffery, I wanted to ask him to calm down, but the doors slammed open. A man covered in gun wounds fell to the ground. Horrified screams filled the room as multiple soldiers ran out of the Capital.
My eyes widened. Body frozen. Heart stopped for a few seconds. I stared at the man who lay dead on the ground. His collar read a number, "10. 9. 8." Within an instant, I grabbed Jeffery's hand and ran out of the back door of the large room. Time felt slow. My heart pounded quickly. I couldn't breathe, but I kept running. As we ran into the nearby hills, the building exploded into pieces. Killing all who was left inside it.
I wanted the collar off my neck as soon as possible. | 2016-10-27T15:57:26 | 2016-10-27T15:14:17 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along? | My grandparents had always been the handsomest couple I had ever known. They had both aged gracefully, their hair turning from brown to grey to a stark white and wrinkles appearing because of how often they smiled. Grandma’s bright blue eyes always looked into Grandma’s warm brown ones. I had never seen them wear outfits that didn’t match each other. Larry never went anywhere without his darling Darcy by his side. They’d been married for 64 years, and I still had never seen any two people more in love in my life.
Even when Grandma started forgetting things, Grandpa didn’t stop loving her. He took care of her every day, reminding her gently where she was every so often, helping her put on her clothes if she couldn’t do it herself that day. However, not even love could save Grandma from succumbing further into Alzheimer's. Eventually, Grandpa couldn’t do it himself anymore, and while it broke his heart, he put her into a care center. I had Grandpa move in with me for the time being—I couldn’t bear seeing him alone.
That’s when the strange things started happening. The first sign came on a Saturday. We had just come home from visiting Grandma when we received a call from the care center staff. They urged us to come visit quickly. Grandma had turned into someone else.
“What do you mean, someone else?” I had asked, confused.
The staff member paused for a moment, “I really think you should come see for yourself.”
I told Grandpa the news and we rushed back to the care center immediately. When we arrived by Grandma’s bedside, I could tell that the staff wasn’t joking. Instead of Grandma, my mother was sitting on the bed.
“Amelia?” Grandpa said, clearly confused by her appearance.
The woman on the bed giggled and shook her head, “No silly Larry, I’m Darcy.”
The staff member explained to us that she had changed right in front of her eyes. It was possible that she was a shape-shifter, although everyone had thought that the type had died out ages ago. However, Grandma could have hidden herself the entire time, to avoid discrimination.
Grandpa took the information in stride. He had loved her for many years, and this small fact wouldn’t change that. Darcy was smart, he said, and she must have had a reason for not telling him. And after that, Grandpa and I would always make bets on who she would appear as when we visited her. Once, she had even shifted into Grandpa, and that had made him chuckle.
“Would it be narcissistic if I told you that you look beautiful today?” He had told her.
As amusing as it was, shape-shifting wasn’t a good sign. It meant that her condition was deteriorating. And with each successive visit, we saw it happening in front of our eyes. Eventually she caught pneumonia, and one night we received call we were all expecting. The doctor told us to come in and say our goodbyes. She wasn’t going to make the night.
Everyone came to visit, and it was sad to see Grandma this way. Grandpa was the most dedicated, refusing to leave her side the entire day, holding on to her hand tightly, and telling her that he loved her.
Late into the evening, Grandma’s eyes opened and she looked over at Grandpa, she seemed to have a moment of sudden clarity, “Larry?”
“Yes Dar?” Grandpa responded, a slight excitement in his voice, a happiness that his beloved had remembered him.
“Larry, I’m sorry,” her knuckles turned white with how hard she was squeezing his hand, “I’m not Darcy, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa smiled, “No darling, you’re Darcy, remember?”
Grandma shook her head, “No, Larry, I’m Florence.”
Grandpa didn’t want to disturb her, and simply smiled, “Alright darling, I don’t care if you’re Darcy or Florence, I love you all the same.”
At this, Grandma smiled gently. Then suddenly her eyes glossed over and her hand went limp. Grandpa closed his eyes and gave Grandma’s hand one last kiss.
When Grandpa looked back up, Grandma had completely changed in appearance. Her eyes had become green, hair changing from the stark white into silver, more wrinkles appearing on her face. She had become a completely different person.
Grandpa furrowed his brows before letting out a gasp of disbelief. Then he bent over, and began to sob quietly. I was also shocked. Shape-shifters died in their original form, and this wasn’t the Grandma Darcy I knew.
It took a white before Grandpa composed himself and wiped away his tears with the handkerchief in his pocket. He looked up at me, with a look in his eyes I had never seen before.
“Florence was my best friend in high school, but she was very insecure about her looks, and disappeared after we graduated. A few months later Darcy appeared, a woman that had come straight out of my dreams, a woman who fit my every fantasy, who looked exactly my type. She always reminded me a lot of Florence, in a strange way.”
My eyes widened, and I realized.
“Florence, I would’ve loved you all the same,” Grandpa brushed her hair away from her face, “you didn’t need to change the way you looked.” | I dreamt about wolves.
I was walking through the house, my house, the house I grew up in. I was six, but I held a 12 gauge shotgun in my tiny little hands. Grandma comes into the room.
"Lisa, now, what did I tell you about playing carefully?" She smiles kindly, and takes the gun from my hands. I protest a little, but who can say no to that face. "What would mom think if she saw you?"
Just then, a giant wolf leaps through the window. It lands a foot in front of me. I look to grandma, but she too has turned into a wolf, the shotgun lying discarded behind her. I give a yelp of fear, "G...grandma?"
The wolf lunges towards me.
I wake up with a scream. My adrenaline is pumping, and my heart is racing. It always gets me. No matter how many times that damn dream happens, I always wake up a mess.
I was actually remembering the first time I had found Grandma change shape, when she had told me between the ancient conflict between us Hunters and those damn wolves. Grandma had ripped out that wolf's throat before he could so much as lay a paw on me.
There was a growling noise behind the door.
I immediately rolled out of bed, and grabbed my specially made revolver under my pillow as I did. I ended up behind the wooden frame of the bed, not the best of cover, but cover nonetheless. I aimed my gun towards the door right as a wolf walked in.
My reflexes screamed at me to fire, and I almost did, but years of trigger discipline kept me from obeying them. And I realized with a start that it was actually *grandma.* The pale brown fur, and a scar on the upper right shoulder gave her away.
I put my revolver down. "Grandma...are you alright?" I stared out the window, it was the middle of the night. She had been staying in her wolf form ever since the Alzheimer's started taking hold, but this was decidedly strange.
"Grandma, can you please change back to yourself?" I asked, trying not to let worry seep into my voice.
The wolf cocked its head at me, then took a step forward. And another. I had fought enough wolves to recognize an attack pattern. "Grandma," I said, growing uneasy, "can you change back to human, for me, please?"
This time she halted, and cocked her head at me again, but this time she complied. As I watched the fur receded, and the structure of her bones shifted, and within seconds she was a frail old woman. I put my blanket around her, and led her to my bed.
She was looking at me curiously. "Why did you want me to change to human, lass?"
I frowned, "because that's who you are, Grandma," I said for the hundredth time this month, "you are human, and I like you being human."
"Why should I care what you like or not, who even are you?"
I made a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly my vision blurred.
"Dearie," Grandma asked, her face concerned, "are you crying?"
That was too much. She wore the same expression she did when she had raised me, from when I was three and my mother had been mauled, Grandma had taken me in, I hadn't even met her before that, and she had cared for me, made me into the woman I was today.
And so when I'd heard what was happening to her, I had to come back, I couldn't possibly repay her for all that she'd done, but I could try.
But right then, when she *forgot* me, forgot her little girl, it became a bit too much. I shook my head. "I...I'm not crying, I just need a moment, Grandma."
I walked towards the door, so that grandma wouldn't see me crying. When the wolf burst through the window.
I whirled around towards the noise of the shattering glass. I reached for my gun, but I was still me underwear, there was no revolver tucked into my waist, that was lying on the bed 5 feet away, and it might as well have been on Jupiter for all the good it did to me.
I crouched, and readied myself. As a normal human I stood no chance against a wolf in unarmed combat. I wished for the millionth time in my life that I was a shape shifter, but only about a tenth of either side, wolves or humans, had that power. The wise choice thus was to run the hell away.
But Grandma couldn't run away.
However, the wolf did not leap to rip my throat out. Instead, it bowed its head to me, and changed.
A few seconds later I was looking at a tall, well built, man. "Wolf Slayer," the man said in a deep voice. Ah, a wolf shifter. I inclined my head in return, not taking my eyes off him. He probably wan't going to kill me considering how my throat was still intact, but that was no reason to be sloppy.
"What is your business here, wolf?" I asked.
"I have come with a truce. wolf-slayer. We merely want the return of our kind."
I cocked my head at him. "You know we don't take prisoners wolf, neither of us do."
The man shook his head, a bit too intensely, as if he were biting something and shaking it. "We want Ms. Agnes," he said.
My heart almost stopped beating as my suspicions were confirmed.
Still I perserved. "Why do you want Grandma, and what the hell makes you think you'll take her without going through me?"
He grinned quote literally a wolfish smile. "You and I both know wolf slayer that that can be arranged, but I have come under a truce, and I will not shame my kind by violating it." He looked steadily at me, expecting a response, and I nodded slightly, motioning for him to continue, though I wanted anything but for him to do so.
"Agnes is a wolf shifter."
I closed my eyes to keep from crying. I opened them a moment a later, and the man looking steadily at me, wearing a frown.
"You already knew this?" The wolf asked, clearly surprised, "I had expected to have a hard time convincing you."
I had known for years. The Azelf incident, the fact that I hadn't met her before mom died, that shifter spy we had tortured, they had all pointed towards Grandma, pointed towards her being a wolf-shifter. "She...she may be a wolf," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, "but she is on our side. She never reported to you!" Despite myself my voice rose towards the end.
The wolf nodded. "Yes, she became quite taken with you *humans,*" he made the word sound like an insult somehow, "but as a wolf, she belongs to us."
I looked at him directly in the eyes. "Fuck. Off."
The man blinked, but nodded. "So be it, wolf-slayer, our next delegation will not be quite so civil. Our truce will expire after 24 hours.:
The man turned back into a wolf and jumped out the window.
I turned towards Grandma, who had just looked at the floor the entire conversation, and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked at me with her blue eyes, which at that moment ween't clouded or confused. They were clear, and completely, utterly sane.
She started to say something, but I shook my head. Then I leaned on her shoulder and cried.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-02-18T09:14:12 | 2017-02-18T06:36:54 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] It turns out that adrenaline is considered one of the most illicit drugs in 90% of the civilized portions of the Galaxy. Among the circle of sapient races, humans are the only one known to produce it naturally. | Shanty is buzzed up on Dreddy again.
I want her to stop so much. She’s so much better when she stops. Her art is so much more beautiful when she stops.
She can’t stop. She won’t stop.
Sometimes she shows up to the falconing parties with the red eye. Sometimes she even shows up to the children’s parleys with the red eye. She’s been getting buzzed up on Dreddy.
She described it to me as being torn apart in a poison tornado of ecstasy and torture. She hates herself in the morning but she says she can get more done on the Dreddy. Well, sometimes she comes out and she is on, but she pays the debt later.
Dreddy gives her the shakes something fierce at night. Some nights it makes her scream like a harpy in heat. If she doesn’t take it in the morning she starts getting the blue eye. She starts getting the purple teeth, the ones that shine like stalactites and stalagmites in the level of hell where even demons themselves get sent.
She got it for the first time from one of those travelers. What do they call them? Yu, Yu, Yuans? Yumans? Ah, right, humans. Humans. Apparently it occurs naturally in their bodies. It’s released when they are in fear, or danger. It is a natural product, for them. They wanted to use their own power for themselves, so they eventually found a way to extract it. They used it to give themselves power in times outside of duress. You need some juice to power through the consequences of your alcoholism and get your day job done, you dred. You ever get so drunk that you manage to take a lady or two back home but you can’t get your skenken up? Dred it up. Ever get in a fight you couldn’t win? Good thing you dredded earlier.
Those skubs made contact with the other civilizations. Well, with us. They found us first. We knew all the others, well, all the others to be known.
Relations were peaceful. We began to trade. We became a sort of intergalactic intersociety. As with any society, a black market eventually erupts like pus from a steamy old gash…
They started selling to the Prebians first. They always had a grip of the vice. Then the Happons. Little by little, everyone began to partake in the incandescent wonders of the Dred.
Shanty’s friends tried it. They loved it too much. They told her she had to try too. She had always been straight laced, and at first she had refused with the vehemence of a sick rhino. They wore her down slowly. Eventually, in her own distraught mind, she broke down and did it for a boy. Kazko.
In the end, the boy didn’t care about her and she was addicted to Dreddy.
Fucking humans took my sister. In my anger I killed Kazko. Now I'm on the run. Now I’m on the dred, too.
| "Please... not again... just, give me the rest of the day off, I need a break..." I begged, knowing that there would be no reprieve. I'd already used all my vacation time, and there's no such thing as sick leave in this line of work. Being injured or ill wouldn't make a difference unless it was so bad that my adrenal system stopped working, and at that point I'd probably be past the point of caring.
My manager didn't say anything. She simply reached out with one of her tentacles, and flipped a switch.
Suddenly I was plummeting through the air, the ground far below me and rapidly growing closer. Beneath me, jagged rocks grew more defined as the distance closed, until I could make out the very peak where I would likely impact and break my spine, if I were ever to land...
...But I didn't land. The simulation ended, and I was back in my chair, strapped in place as the tube connected to the base of my spine drained what little yield that latest scare had produced. The manager gurgled in a tone that indicated disappointment. The "falling to your death" simulation was the most extreme stimulus they could give me without causing physiological damage, and even that was producing diminishing returns. My run as an adrenaline farm might be coming to an end. I shuddered at the thought that I might be out of a job soon.
She undid my straps and handed me a plastic pouch of water and a protein bar. Those bars are a lot better than the ones we have on Earth. They even sprung for the ones with Rigellian sunberries at my request. I devoured it almost as soon as it was in my hand. This work takes a lot out of a person.
"Would you mind turning on the news?" I asked. We had to wait an hour before trying again. My body needed time to recover, to restore the materials that it would use for its goldmine. I liked to keep abreast of current events. I've never been super political or anything, but staying informed was important to me.
My manager flicked another switch and settled into her own chair beside me as I sipped my water. Ahead of us, the same technology that had sent me hurtling to my doom just moments before brought us into a news room, a panel of experts from several species gathered for some sort of conference. It took a moment to catch on to the subject matter.
"-the victims of these crimes doesn't help anything. A more aggressive law enforcement presence can *only* work alongside comprehensive protections for the humans being taken advantage of!"
"With all due respect, the Settled Party loves to throw around this 'humans are victims' narrative, but that's simply untrue. They've been part of this community for decades now. They know our laws. If they choose to pursue these careers, then they are responsible for the consequences of their actions."
"What you Opaque Partiers never seem to understand is the extreme lack of opportunities most humans find off of their home planet. Who hires humans? Who's willing to accommodate their unique physical needs? Small businesses don't have the resources to retrofit for them, big corporations have lobbying-"
"I'll have to interrupt you there; we've just received this bulletin. The Galactic Federation has just announced a new policy regarding the use of humans to produce the illicit drug adrenaline. Beginning immediately, any individual suspected to be involved with the production of this drug for recreational or medicinal use is subject to arrest and imprisonment. There is to be no immunity for human participants in these operations. Raids are expected to begin shortly, targeting the biggest manufacturers first. I'll turn this over to the panel. Your thoughts?"
"I'm extremely concerned about how this will affect the Kopul system, where adrenaline has been quasi-legal for some time now. Humans there have enjoyed a certain degree of protection, with local regulations allowing for the production of adrenaline as long as certain guidelines for the subjects are followed. Legalization advocates have long pointed to Kopul as an example of-"
"Are you kidding? The humans in those adrenaline factories are treated *horribly*. They have few benefits, low pay, and no job security. They use methods that lose their effectiveness over time and when a human can't produce anymore they're tossed out into the asteroid field. If-"
My manager flicked the switch again. The room went back to its sterile, empty appearance. The two of us shared a look.
We could be arrested at any moment for what we were doing. Local authorities always looked the other way for our benefit, but they couldn't protect us. And at this point, neither one of us had other options. Once you get into this gig, you're pretty much stuck.
If I ran out of adrenaline before I got arrested, I'd consider my career a success. At that point, I expected either one to happen any day.
When I first started, getting adrenaline out of me was easy. They just had to show me a spider. The creepy things always scared me to death. It didn't even have to be a simulation back then, it could just be a photo. Of course, to get a result they had to get bigger, and more intense, over time. Eventually they had me facing down simulations of spiders bigger than I was, wrapping me up in their webs.
But eventually that didn't work anymore. It's not that I got over my fear of spiders. I'm more scared of them now than ever. But my body just doesn't react to them the way it used to. So they moved onto something different.
I hate that feeling. Being terrified is the worst.
Well, not the worst.
Starving is the worst.
Getting arrested is the worst.
Doing something so horrible I beg in vain not to do it every time? That's just work. | 2017-02-28T22:07:31 | 2017-02-28T21:12:11 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] Time freezes for everyone around you each time your life is in danger, leaving only you able to move until you are no longer in danger. One day time freezes, but you can't figure out why, until..
I hope its not too vague, first writing prompt ^^ enjoy
Thank you all so much for the responses it's so much fun to read them :) | The world shuddered to a stop with an almost imperceptible jerk. The rain, which had moments ago been tapping a wild staccato on the windshield, stopped - the droplets hanging patiently in the air.
Amy let out a low curse. Even after twenty-seven years of this it didn’t mitigate the initial jolt of surprise. It happened when she was in danger; when her life would be irrevocable altered by a coming event.
It had stopped four times before. Once when she was a child and had gotten her foot stuck in the train tracks, another time it had saved her from a drunken man outside of a bar who had pulled a knife out when she objected to his slurred advances.
One time it had stopped when she was about to cross a busy street, giving her time to notice the giant flatbed truck barreling out of control towards her. That one was her favorite, since she had also taken the opportunity to move a group of school children out of the way. She had felt good about that one.
Each instance of the stopping of time was more or less the same. She’d realize time had stopped, would correct whatever was there to be corrected in order to save her own life, and then time would go on. The truck incident had been the only time she’d been able to help others with this ‘gift.’ The other instances time started immediately after neutralizing whatever threat was bearing down on Amy.
But this time – the fourth time – there was no obvious threat.
Amy got out of her car and craned her neck back and forth, searching for what could possibly have caused time to stop. As she turned her head the droplets of rain came unstuck from time and soaked her hair and face.
Amy was beginning to get anxious when she noticed something odd: a hunched shape sat on a stoop about thirty feet from where she stood.
She wasn’t sure what had grabbed her focus, but when her eyes fell on the huddled shape she felt a thrill of adrenaline. Hesitantly, she walked closer to the shape, all the way dragging the droplets of rain from their place in time – creating a sort of Amy-shaped tunnel in the sheets of waiting rain.
The huddled figure turned out to be a young man about Amy’s age. As she looked down at him, she realized he was upending a bottle of green and white striped pills onto his palm. Amy reached out and pinched one of the pills in her finger and brought it close to her face, inspecting the small oblong. Her eyes widened in recognition.
She’d seen these pills before, had brought them one at a time to her mother as she struggled to regain her health. They took away her pain, but also rendered her mother helpless. Glancing at his open palm again she knew that taking that many would surely kill the young man.
Amy straitened from her position. It wasn’t any business of hers what this man did, and if he wanted to kill himself then that was his choice. But something felt wrong. Amy was drawn to this man in a weird, magnetic way. She watched him for two beats more before finally clicking her teeth and reaching down to gather the pills into her own hands.
Once she had all the pills she pocketed her handful, thinking she’d have to be careful in disposing of them. Before she realized what was happening, though, time came unstuck. The rain continued to fall, traffic continued to flow (except for the people sitting behind Amy’s now abandoned car), and the young man brought his empty palm to his mouth.
His face broke into confusion when he realized the pills were gone, and he looked around wildly, finally noticing Amy standing before him – a look of surprise etched into her face.
Over the sounds of honking and drivers yelling for Amy to move her car, the young man found her shape and tilted his face up to meet Amy’s eyes. His eyes were so brown they looked black. Amy felt a jolt in her stomach as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Who are you?”
| The first time it happened I was just little kid riding my bike. My mom wasn't paying attention to me. She was too deep in her gossip with our neighbor to notice me peddling toward the street. Honestly, I didn't even notice at first. But I was six and day dreaming about how I was a race car. I felt the bump of hitting the curb and I felt my bike tip over. I was spilled out into the street like a dropped sack of potatoes. My elbow was bleeding and scratched up but I was otherwise fine. It wasn't scary, looking up and seeing the grill of the blue Ford F150 inches from my face because it was totally motionless. In fact, everything was. I looked around and mom was frozen with her hands in the air like she just didn't care, making a face that indicated some juicy gossip had been exchanged. I stood up from my indignity, grabbed my bike by the handle bars, righted it and myself back on the side walk and put my foot to the peddle. Without any pomp or circumstance life resumed. Moms arms dropped down. The truck drove off. I remembered the pain on my elbow and started to cry.
It took me a few years to realize I was the only one this happened to. I couldn't understand why so many people died in accidents. Why didn't they just move? When I did put it together I felt awful. Like I had this responsibility to help everyone. But I couldn't make time just stop by willing it. It only happened when I was in immediate danger. Maybe if I put myself into dangerous situations, I thought, I could save people when time stopped for me. But it turns out that is a lot harder to do than say when you live in the suburbs. Eventually I gave up thoughts of being a superhero. Until dad died.
The police came by and broke the news to mom at around 1 am. She had been worried when dad didn't show up from work. I remembered later her calling the office and his phone before deciding he must have stopped off at a bar or something. They said it was a mugging gone bad. He didn't feel anything. It was fast. The police said they'd catch the guy. They never did.
I was racked with guilt. All this power to save myself but I couldn't save the people I loved. Leaving my room became hard. So hard I rarely did it. I graduated from high school, thanks to the pity of my teachers, and got a job as a waiter in the local restaurant. But otherwise I just stopped trying. If I wasn't working I was in my room playing xbox. I told myself everything was fine. I was helping mom with the bills.
To pass the time of existence I took up smoking. But it was a little annoying because every time I sparked up time would stop until the damn cigarette was out. That got annoying. So I tried weed. Same thing. Being reminded of my curse every time I tried to escape it was like hell. I needed a safe release. Eating was it. At first it was just my sweet tooth. Ice cream, cookies, cakes. But when those ran out I turned snacks. And when both were available, I ate both. Work was great because there was no shortage of meals and desserts.
Then, one day, at 7:23am, time stopped again. I was putting my pants on for work when I noticed my music stopped. I poked my head out of my room and sure enough, mom was frozen mid yawn as she poured coffee. Also, there was no danger to be seen. I finished dressing and looked around my room. Nothing. Maybe I was about to trip, I thought. But then why didn't time kick back in. It only ever lasted long enough that I was out of danger.
The house itself was fine. Nothing hurdeling toward it. No gas leak. Not even a plane in the sky. I wandered around for who knows how long, checking everything in the neighborhood. Maniac neighbor with a bomb? No. Sinkhole about to swallow me whole? Not unless it was going to swallow a 120+ home neighborhood. Wildfire? Nada. Zombie apocalypse? Not as far as I could tell. Time had never been stopped this long. Whatever was coming must have be huge, I thought. So I expanded my search radius.
The thing about time being stopped is, you don't know how much time has been passing, not really. Maybe I could hazard a guess but it gets really confusing when the sun never moves an inch. As such, I can't say how long it took me. But eventually I had mapped the entire city of Tulsa and it's surrounded suburbs. Nothing ever came up. I felt like I was losing my mind. There was no one to talk to, only to observe. The world became a museum. A really shitty Museum of Tulsa. It felt voyeuristic, searching through homes for the cause of my danger, watching the people around me. I saw lovers, frozen in kisses. Children mid-whine about getting up for school. Dogs jumping at their masters for walks. One guy, totally trying to secretly jerk off on a morning bus. None of them moved but they all felt more alive than me. Maybe this was Hell.
Eventually I wandered home. I didn't try. My feet just carried me there. Nothing changed. No dust had settled, no mail delivered. And there was mom. Pot of coffee in hand, looking unimpressed with the morning news. When did she get lines around her eyes? How had I never noticed before. And her hair; was that grey I saw?
Emotions hit me all at once and I couldn't breathe. I would never be able to talk to her again, not really. She was here but not here. I could talk to her but she was never going to talk back. I stood next to her and sobbed. Wrapping my arms around her like a little kid, I buried my face in her shoulder. My whole body shook and heaved in pain as I gagged out sobs. I didn't stop until I felt her arms around me.
"Aw Honey, what's wrong?" Her voice ran through me like lightning. I looked up and there was her moving face. She looked startled as hell but it was her. The news anchor babbled in the background, the coffee mom was pouring spilled on the table and dripped down to the floor. "Honey, are you okay?" The look of concern spread across her face. It turned a bit into confusion. "Did you lose weight," she paused, "Since yesterday? Also, honey, maybe a shower is in order." | 2017-06-21T10:41:05 | 2017-06-21T10:03:52 | 108 | 30 |
[WP] You set up a sign that says "LEAVE WALLET HERE", as a joke. Much to your surprise, people obey the sign. You wonder what else people would be willing to do.
Loving the stories guys; You're all awesome people, and you should feel awesome. | First I started simple. I put up a simple sign telling people to leave their coats at the door. Lo' and behold, fifteen coats were hanging from an impromptu rack made from a pipe immediately inside the door.
Then I decided to see how far I could push it. I made a sign that said, "Please remove shoes and shirts before entering." Next thing you know topless men and women come wandering into my diner.
I then realized I had something to gain out of this. I made a sign asking for donations to "Uncle Joey's Booze Fund." Got some much needed free cash out of that one.
Next I decided to have some fun with it. I posted a sign that said, "Send nude photos to (214) XXX-XXXX." My phone blew up that night.
After a while I told my friend about it. He's the kind of guy that has a question and can't stand if it he never gets the answer so he there was one thing he was wondering about the whole process so he sought an answer. He put out a sign that said "Never listen to a sign on a street corner" and the gig was up. | This was supposed to have been a joke, but now I was here, driving around the city and giving people their wallets back. I had never realised how much people had become accustomed to obeying orders, as a sociological study, I would repeat things like this, though with less of a fallout.
The next sign I set up a week later, it said 'check your watch', I put my camera down and there it went, umong those who had probably read it, I had a 99% response rate including looking at their phones for a few seconds instead.
This was worldshattering to me, I could direct the public. I set up a sign saying 'put your hands in the air' next week, similar response rates.
I must not have been the only one seeing this, as, on the next day, after being wierded out by a few people running around naked, I found a sign telling everyone to leave their clothes behind.
I found one person with clothes on in the café next to the sign and sat down on the opposite side of the table she was at.
"You did this?" I asked her.
"No, they all did this, I just set up the sign, I didn't expect them to do this, it is wierd." She said, somewhat abscent from the scene, as if she didn't want to see all the naked people around her..
"Please, don't do this again." I said.
"Well, I won't do THIS again." She responded. "But I will do other things, and I am cirtain this will be repeated by others."
"Dammit."
"Well, got to get accustomed to this I guess." She said. "This was a terrible idea on the level of... fuck, I have no real comparison."
After spending the day as far away from that mall as possible with my new aquaintance, Mary, talking mostly about things like individual agency and the influence of society, as you do when you just pulled that, I found a new sign amidst a crowd looking on their phones.
'Read Murrey Bookchins work' The sign read.
I found Mary on the table again. She seemed sleepy.
"Good morning." I said.
"Hey." She said grumpily."That wasn't me, before you ask, someone put them up everywhere."
"Whats wrong?" I asked.
"All their reading is delaying my access to coffee. I will kill the guy who did this." She responded.
"Well, I still got a shitload with me for work." I told her and grabbed my thermos from my bag. "You seem to need some." I said as I screwed open the thermos and got some coffee ready. The smell alone made her seem more alive than before.
"Thanks." She said as I handed her the cup. She took a sip. She was wide awake after a few minutes. I waited for that to become the case.
"So, what do you think is going on there?" She asked me then.
"I think somebody might be preparing for some kind of revolution." I told her. "My cousin is an anarchist, I am fairly cirtain this is his doing. There is a jar next to the swear jar in his house where it says'Jell: Google Murrey Bookchin', the thing has to be emptyed a lot."
As expected, there were a lot of 'research Democratic confederalism' signs the next day.
Two days later, there were 'implement democratic confederalusm' signs, and a week later the signs read 'question authority and its justifications'.
The revolution was smooth, as everybody seemed on the same page, and it was also nation-wide, slowly becoming worldwide.
| 2017-07-19T14:27:12 | 2017-07-19T13:59:17 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The ocean was calm.
For the first time in its' lifespan, for that matter.
There sat the hooded being, at the bottom of the vast ocean where the ill of the world above - the soot, the ash, the char - would not reach.
A small, white polyp, attached to the ocean floor, waiting until it was ready to become [life](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turritopsis_dohrnii) once more.
The very small patch of kelp was kept there only by the sheer will of the Reaper, its cloak holding the horror of the tainted waters at bay.
Oh, how it burned.
Oh, how it *all* burned.
But it was its' duty, after all. For what is Death without life?
It'd have smirked, had it a face. It'd been formed by the perception of man, but they no longer held it in their memories. It was little more than a concept, somewhere in the back of the minds of primitive beings. The dark area beyond home. The unseen crevice where beasts lie.
How ironic it was.
Life did go out with a bang.
And here we were, whimpering.
Death sat by the polyp, trying to think of a name for the thing.
It'd have to find *some* way to entertain himself.
It'd be here for some time. | The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained.
In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull.
The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood.
The chanting stopped.
The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death.
A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!"
Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put *that* incantation in his little joke of a ritual book.
"Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order."
"But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-"
"That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job."
"My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart.
Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave.
"That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!"
He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor. | 2017-08-11T06:44:41 | 2017-08-11T04:41:07 | 312 | 79 |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | Earl and Helena pulled into the condo complex.
"I'm *so* hungry," she complained, tapping her long fingernails on the window.
"That's because you didn't finish that frat boy's blood."
"He was so drunk, I was getting tipsy! And I'm not 21 yet --"
He snickered. "Ah, such a sense of morality."
"Well, yes. Unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I'm part of the Veluvian Order, remember? 'Leave them alive; take just enough to thrive.'"
He rolled his eyes, and pulled crookedly into a parking space.
"Do you see any with welcome mats? Those will be the easiest. Don't even have to get invited in," he said, stepping out of the car.
"I know that, Uncle Earl. Geez." She squinted at the doorways. "There, on the third level, I think." She pointed to a brown dot on the threshold.
"Fantastic."
The two climbed the stairs. Earl huffed and puffed as they got to the final level. "Damn asthma," he said under his breath. They walked towards the door.
"Wait..." she said, trailing off. "This isn't a traditional welcome mat."
"What?"
"Look! It doesn't say 'Welcome'. It says --" her tone turned quizzical -- "'Hi, I'm Mat.'?"
He shook his head in anger. "No, Dammit! These stupid, 'funny' welcome mats --"
"What? You've seen these before?"
"Yeah. They're popular with the younger folk. Think they're being funny and witty and clever and all that. But they're stupid. And they don't let us in."
"Who even makes them?" She crouched down, and curled up the corner of the rug.
"Some kitschy designer who think's he's being *so* witty --"
"That's odd."
"What?"
"It's 'Buffy's Welcome Mats, Incorporated'."
---
r/CSDouglas | Once again, was I sitting there in the darkness. Hungry. Starving. The gossip was going around faster than my non-existing blood flow,. The mortals knew there were shady "people" around who would knock on the door with some poor excuse to try and enter the residence. Some lousy new-blood was captured and tortured for the secret of our brethren. The only way you could get work on the farms was if you were able to enter the house on the land. People were catching up, and more of our brethren were captured and executed. We needed to do something, so I started thinking while my stomach growled, echoing off of the walls. I needed to get invited in to be able to enter a house, that was the curse "Mr. Dest" cast upon us when he created us. The vampires don't like to write the history down, most of us can't even read or write, we are still doing it the old fashioned way. That means searching for any kind of rule book is out of the question. Once I get invited in though, I can freely walk in forever thats a fact. "I wonder if animals can invite us inside?" I muttered to myself before falling into laughter. "I wonder why we can enter businesses and establishments but not personal homes" I thought to myself before loudly yelling "Aha!". I started connecting the dots. All stores in town have a wooden sign that says "Welcome" or something in that variant. "I wonder..." I thought before rushing outside with the biggest grin on my face.
I had to test this! No way it could be this simple. It couldn't be, right? I ran straight towards the salesman of the town, he was a human but he was an ally, getting paid by the vampires for insider information. He didn't care much about us, his eyes only saw gold. In a way we weren't that much different, he would hurt and scam people for gold, we would hurt people for blood. Ah blood, just the thought of it makes me go mad.
I arrived at the store of the salesman. "Hiya, Darren!" I said as my eyes suddenly locked on that one particular blue vein that was sticking out in his neck as if it was the head of a deer that just heard something making a noise in the woods. "You up for making some gold?" I asked while scanning through his items, "Im looking for something people in the town all need. Something like a rocking chair for a porch, or someth..." I didn't even finish my sentence, because I had found it. I pointed my finger at the pile of empty brown doormats. "PERFECT" I grasped out of happiness. "Whats with the strange behaviour?" said Darren. I looked at him like I could murder him at that instance. I want you to paint all these mats with the word "Welcome", use white paint so it's easy to read and make the letters big. I threw a bag of gold on the counter and started waiting.
An hour later he was done, still with a question mark on his face. "I still don't understand why you wanted me to do this." he said as he sighed out of relief that he was done. "Shhhh, no questions" I say as I giggle like a little school girl while cracking my fingers. "Any customers who come in, try to sell them mats for a cheap price, you better get a list of the persons names who buy them and more of those bags will appear" He obeyed like the good little human he was.
The following day I went back there, feeling as ill as a dog who didn't eat anything for weeks. As if maggots were eating me from the inside out, the pain was unbearable. "Got the list for you, we sold out all of them". That gave me an adrenaline rush, as if I was a mortal kid again who just found a toy collection. I rushed out of there and checked the first name on the list. As it was a small town, everyone knew each other by name so that shouldn't be a problem. He lived fairly close so I rushed there. I noticed the welcome mat, even went up and stood on it, knocking on the door at the same time. "Hiya! James" I said. "I was close and was pretty thirsty, mind if I come in for a glass of water?". He opened the door but didn't invite me in, he waited for me to enter. I slowly lifted my foot and tried to step inside, and it worked. "IT WORKED!" I thought to myself. Making it hard for me not to laugh maniacally.
It worked | 2017-12-13T11:02:41 | 2017-12-13T11:01:40 | 2,384 | 170 |
[WP] The year is 5064, Earth Years. After being abandoned due to an inhospitable environment, you are among one of the first humans sent back to the planet to regain the knowledge lost in our hasty retreat. Unknown to you, yourlanding spot was once known as the most haunted place on Earth. | From a far, the planet looked nothing like the blue marble it was previously known as. It was barren, lifeless, and we had no desire to ever settle there again. I was only sent as part of a recovery mission. Not to recover any unlikely survivors, nothing noble like that. See, there was simply not enough time to take all the knowledge we wanted with us when we left.
Nobody really knew what happened, whether it was nuclear war or the perfect storm, it was a *disaster*. The leaders in space travel and top scientists assembled, and they set off for Mars. It had been over 3000 years, and the people of Mars figured it was time to see if we could return, to see if there were still operational databases. Not many were stoked to explore a wasteland where they might very well die, but I felt the reward of immediate retirement after a successful mission was worth it. My hands were shaking with excitement to do whatever I wanted for the rest of my life, I could literally spend the rest of my days in bed, only getting out for food if I wanted to. I just had to go in, find some abandoned computers and go back.
When I landed however, I began to seriously regret this decision. Sure, there were people, but they were *savages*. Perhaps the most hostile creatures I'd ever seen, and I'd been face to face with a fittingly named kraken from Europa, even though it was only through a remotely controlled sub. But I digress, they immediately started smashing my vessel with sticks fitted with nails, for no apparent reason. I quickly tried to sneak out but they grabbed me by the neck. Thankfully I was still wearing my EVA suit, even though the air should have been breathable, which was equipped with a jetpack, only meant for use in space of course, but it would do. Needless to say I got away harmless and the brutes did so with third degree burns.
I started running, anywhere but this place would be fine. After what seemed like hours of dwelling through a place that showed every sign of a dystopian metropolis, I got to the edge of what used to be a city. There, I saw people again, but thankfully these were friendly. They quickly ran over and got me into their vehicle to get the hell out of that place, I was too tired to say anything, so I just laid where they left me. We passed a sign on our way out, and I could just catch a glimpse of what it said.
"Welcome to Detroit." | A loud ringing filled my ears and a pungent stench invaded my nostrils. I thought I was dying; I lurched forward and tried to claw at whatever was covering my face and chest. I pulled at the tube in my throat and attempted to scream. I could not. My senses were burning with overstimulation before I was sedated and reminded of mission.
"Welcome back, Sisineg. I have injected you with a low dose this time, so as to not cause unconsciousness."
"Just debrief me, D. Where are we? What are we doing? And call me Sine. Computers shouldn't get.. uh, what's it cal-"
"Amnesia. No, I do not, but I assumed you wouldn't remember telling me that. Your mission is to land on Earth and determine if the Return Protocol should be enacted. You are orbiting Earth. Do you wish to land... Sine?"
"I am. Radio contact will still work in that hazy atmosphere?" I've read about the oversaturation of the atmosphere back on Altan. My memory of radio technology, however, was temporarily stalled. Cryogenic Sleepers and their damn side effects.
"Yes, I can communicate with you wherever I am in orbit via abandoned, still-functioning satellites. Preparing landing sequence."
The vessel I was laying in began to shift as my "crash coffin" was moved from life support to the landing cruiser. Beeps and whirrs put an uncomfortable feeling in my belly. I was about to be the first person back to Earth. Why am I nervous? I should be filled with pride. But I felt only dread as I fell back home. A repulsive, lurking presence made its way up my spine when I first hit the atmosphere.
I pressed the comms button and made a request. "D, vitals?"
When I released the button I knew I was fucked. I heard static. D responds instantly. I am fucked.
"Your heart rate and blood pressure are very high. May I recommend more sedative?"
"Oh... Oh, fuck, D. No.. no sedative," the relief hit me like a blanket, "What took you so long!?"
"That is signal delay. It will be more prominent the further I am from you, as I have to relay the signal betwe-"
"Yeah, yeah it's been long enough for me to recall. I'll contact you soon."
The screens were displaying mountains and rivers, whizzing by at amazing speeds. In the distance were skyscrapers that were very small compared to Altan's structures. Suddenly another panic attack struck me as I was looking at a distant city. I began hyperventilating before I was hit with another dose of sedative and dozed off.
---
I screamed, lurched forward, and hit my head on the comms console. All I could hear was my panting. It took me a moment to realize I wasn't buried alive.
"Tur... turn the lights on."
The only response was a spark shooting out of the comms speaker, then a sharp white noise. The muffled sound of flowing blood made me uneasy as I was trying to figure out what is happening. The coffin creaked and began slowly rocking. I threw up and cursed at my weak stomach, and attempted to leave the capsule. The reason I ignored the movement of the thirty ton ship I will regret.
No power meant no detecting air quality. It also meant no life support. So either way, I was doomed. The airlock opened with a powerful burst, and the door shot up and away from the ship. I climbed out at just the right time to see the door splash down in to the ocean with a loud clap. At first I thought I was stranded, but turned around to see a heavily forested continent. I was on an Earthen beach! With no animals in sight.
Peculiar.
I grabbed my prepacked survival gear and headed into the forest, in search of non-plant life. My search did not last long, as a slightly translucent creature made itself visible on a moist rock right behind a tree. It looked slimey, but definitely alive as it slithered across moss, obviously consuming it. I made notes on my armband and a sudden deathly fear consumed me. I panicked and sprinted further into the forest, toward what looked like a clearing in the dense woods. I did not make it.
I tripped on a rock and I fell toward a tree trunk, but I was not met by a knock out. I simply hit the ground, completely missing the tree. I turned around and realized I should have hit it. I fell through the tree. My heart stopped beating, and every tree in sight burst in to flames. A loud ringing filled my ears. My body began convulsing as a tree branch pushed me to the ground and wiggled its way into my trachea. I pulled at the branch in my throat, and I sputtered blood and guttural sounds in an attempt to scream.
I could not.
| 2018-01-04T23:33:06 | 2018-01-04T23:22:02 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You are an alchemist trying to make philosophers stone, but you actually create philosophers coin. If you flip the coin and get heads you get what you desire without equivalent exchange, however if it's tails you pay the equivalent price but get nothing. | It took three days. Three whole days just to change the etching on the coin making it a trick double headed one.
Satisfied I decided to try my luck with something small. "I want some fish and chips"
**Flip**
A plate of with golden, crispy fish and hot crunchy fries appeared before me. It was just like I remembered them from the little shake down the street from my childhood home.
It was only when my vision got blurry did I notice the tears. I remembered my family and my friends from that now forgotten time in history.
Wiping them away I looked at the coin. If this works, really works, I could have them all back.
One more experiment just to be sure though.
"I want a pint to go with the meal"
**Flip**
16 oz of golden frothy liquid appeared in a mug beside my plate. I took a sip. It was cold, just the thing after a long gruesome day.
I remembered my father as I sipped. He was just a factory worker and would stop at the Mr. Miller's pub before coming home. He was there that day... the day when... when...
Draining the mug I decided to stop stalling. It was time. Now or never.
"I want my family and friends back, everyone that died in that blood blitz back!"
**Flip** | "After hundreds of tries, i started to lose faith, no matter how much i did, no matter how much i searched, i could not find a way to make a philosophers stone, all i could make was this failure of a coin, i mean, ya its really powerful, but the risks are too great, giving up something for nothing is something i would never do.
But..., i mean i could use the coin just once, with it, i could make the true philosophers stone, i just need to hit heads, it is a 50% chance of being the most powerful being on this planet, i would be a God, but i have no idea what the consequences or the price i would had to pay if the coin hit tail, my life? no, that would be too small, the life the entire city, somehow i still thing it would be a small price, it would probably erase the entire country.
But..., i have to try it, the temptation is too strong, it will be just once, after that i would never have to use it again, i close doors of my basement, and transmute the door to a wall, no one will interrupt me now, i close my eyes, hold the coin on my hand, prey to all the gods i know, focus on my desire, concentrate on it, the philosophers stone, it shall be mine, i throw the coin in the air, eyes still closed, i hear the coin spinning on the air, then clinging on the table, and i am flinch, waiting to be erased from existence, waiting to die a thousand deaths, i wait, and wait...., and nothing.
Slowly i start to giggle, then laughs, overwhelming happiness invade my being, i did it, i really did it, the philosophers stone is finally mine, i open my eyes, to see it, to became a god, to rule this world, no one can stop me now, and i see, i see........ nothing, nothing is different, no stone anywhere, i look around desperate, where is it, where is the god damn stone. Suddenly, realization hit me, and i look at the coin, its tails.
NO, i was so close, so close, but i failed..., i start to sob, slowing turning that sob into a torrent of tears, i failed, now millions will die for it... but wait, how i am still alive, quickly i run to the wall, and transmute back into a door, or, at least is what i tried, but nothing is happening, i cant transmute the wall anymore, no, no, it cant be, i try again, and again, and again. and nothing, i quickly realize that my transmuting powers are gone, i run to the coin, grab it, and use on the wall, the coin rolls, and land, HEADS, but nothing happens.
No, no no no no no no, and finally i realized what i had done, the price of a stone that can transmute anything with nothing in return, its not lives, it never where lives, it was the transmutation itself, i permanently erased the world capacity of transmutation, and now i am stuck in a basement, and my punishment will be die in here slowly, of hunger and thirsty, i am sorry, i am truly sorry world, my last act will be write this journal that you are reading right now, in hopes that in the future, something similar wont happen again, i hope you learn from this fools mistakes, i am sorry"
You close the book you found in the ruins, and your partner ask you "it is a good find to the museum?", "nah, just the delusion of a lunatic, but old things have valor to some people, so whatever, put thogueter with the other relics, and lets get out of here", i start to pack my thing when i find a coin on the floor, i grab it, and notice that it has a faint purple glow on it, i pocket it, and leave the ruins behind me. | 2018-09-17T06:11:35 | 2018-09-17T05:26:24 | 85 | 47 |
[WP] You're an exorcist, and this is your most conflicting assignment yet. The demon possessing the child seems to actually be protecting it from abusive parents.
[removed] | You stare at the man sitting in his leather chair with his leather smile, and your blood begins to boil. There's a *squelch* as he leans forward to show you the red slashes on his forearm. "As you can see, this is totally unacceptable."
Unacceptable. The child is sitting in a locked crate—formerly the dog's, you guess, given how zealously the creature has been roaming since you arrived. You stare at the girl while it sniffles at your feet. Her back is to you, and you can see the black and blue spots beneath her dingy tanktop. Her spine is all too visible.
The man sees you staring at his filthy daughter in her filthy dog crate and takes note. He pulls his sleeve down with a petulant frown. Must be miffed that you're more interested in the girl. Must be miffed at your disregard for his suffering.
"She... It, I mean—it hurts her, too. Makes her hurt herself. The cage is a safety precaution. It's as much for her as for us."
Outside the cage, you see the *yōkai*—a white fox, no bigger than a housecat—bare her teeth. She hisses at the man, who, of course, does not possess your Sight and notices nothing. Ears flat against her head, she turns to you. "He lies. He hurts her. I give her strength." Inside the cage, the girl shifts almost imperceptibly. You see her flex black nails, discordant against soft fingertips.
"I give her claws to fight back." The *yōkai*'s voice is sibilant, and it reminds you, strangely, of windchimes. The dog at your feet whimpers. It lays down, tail wrapped around its snout. Unlike you, it cannot see or hear the *yōkai*, but like most animals, it is naturally attuned to her presence. It *feels* her, and it is humbled.
"I know," you reply after a moment, and the man relaxes, thinking your words were for him. He leans back in his chair. *Squelch*. Schooling his features into a look of concern, he speaks: "We know that exorcism has its risks, of course. She might... She might not..." His voice breaks, and you find yourself wondering what's at stake for him. A punching bag? The laurel of fatherhood? He composes himself quickly. "Like I said, we know the risks. But what else can be done?"
What else, indeed. Nodding toward the *yōkai*, you slip your blade from your scabbard and balance it across your knees. The glint of steel feels out of place in this living room with its leather chairs and the terrier at your feet. But so does the bruised child in the dog crate.
"As long as you're aware of the *consequences*, Mr. Abe." You smile at the man, and the *yōkai*, sensing your intentions, lets loose a breathy chuckle. Tinkling bells. "Let's get started." | Father Marco climbed out of the taxi with a groan, carefully extricating his long lean frame. It had been a long flight from The Vatican and he was getting too old for the cramped coach seats he always rode in. He paid the cabbie his fare then took a long moment to stretch, giving a brief grunt of satisfaction every time he felt his back, knees, neck, and shoulders pop. He checked his watch, gave a frustrated sigh, grabbed his heavy leather carpet bag, and trudged up the driveway before him, double checking the address on his way.
The door flew open on the quaint two-story ranch, almost before he'd rung the bell, and before him stood a woman, dressed in a log cream-colored skirt and pale pink sweater. She trembled, her hair disheveled and her eyes red from some combination of tears and exhaustion. "Father Marco?" she asked, her voice weak, weary, and just on the edge of hysteria.
Father Marco quickly composed himself from his initial surprise, "Sì, Signora Henderson, I presume."
"Yes Father, please come in." She held the door open and waved him in, almost frantically.
Marco entered,out of habit, ducking slightly as he passed through the door frame.
Mrs. Henderson nearly slammed the door behind him, then turned towards him, fidgeting with her hands. "Would you like me to take you to her or...."
Father Marco waved his hand, "You can just tell me the way, but first I want to ask you some questions, to understand what happened."
"Oh, o-of course. The uh the living room is right ov-over there." She pointed through the archway to her right, "And can I, um, get you...anything...to drink?"
"A glass of wine if it's no inconvenience."
"No, of course not, chardonnay?"
Father Marco rapidly shook his head, "No no no, nothing French."
"Oh-okay, I'll, er, see what we have." Mrs. Henderson turned the opposite way towards the kitchen, her face perplexed and somewhat concerned.
Father Marco made his way into the living room, and situated himself in the lone chair, which sat across the coffee table from a love-seat. He withdrew from his bag a leather-bound notebook and pen, and turned to the first blank page. He jotted down some quick notes in his own short-hand, a combination of English, Latin, and his native Italian,and had just finished when Mrs. Henderson enter, carrying a glass of red wine.
"Grazie." he said as she handed it to him. He took a small sip: tempranillo, Spanish, acceptable. He nodded, took another, slightly larger, sip and set the glass down.
Mrs. Henderson watched him anxiously the whole time. "Um, so, does French wine have anything to do with...her-"
Father Marco quickly shook his head, "No, I simply detest France and all it's exports."
"Oh."
"Now, let's begin."
He ran her through a brief series of questions; her husband had been called away on business, their daughter (Mary, 15) had begun acting strangely four days ago, Mrs. Henderson (Lily) had prayed over her up until two days ago when Mary had lashed out, babbling in a strange language, shrieking, eyes rolled back, and confined herself in her room. Lily was unable to even turn the knob despite it not even having a lock, and had left food and water outside, but it had remain untouched. She had contacted the priest at their church, who in turn sent it up the chain, eventually resulting in Father Marco's arrival.
The exorcist finished the last of his notes, reviewed them several times, then closed his book with a nod. "That is all I need." He rose from the chair, bag in hand, "Where is her room?"
Lily pointed behind her, "Up the stairs, turn right, and it's straight ahead at the end of the hall."
Father Marco nodded and headed that way, pausing at the bottom of the staircase he looked over at Lily, "Do not do anything until I have come back down, understand?" She nodded.
Marco trudged up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. At the top he turned to his right and made his way down the hall, halfway there noting the hall closet's missing door, and finally stopped in front of the bedroom, marked with an 'M' and decorated with a baby lamb.
He tried the doorknob, and as Lily had described it would not move even a fraction of a degree. Marco shook out his hand and flexed his fingers before trying again, this time muttering an incantation as he did so. He felt the knob begin to give, but jerked his hand away as he felt it begin to heat to nearly scorching. He shook out his hand again and stared at the door knob for a long moment.
Finally, he pinched the bridge of his nose and quietly cursed under his breath. He looked over his right shoulder and asked, "Could I get some assistance?"
"About fucking time."
Behind Father Marco, leaning against the wall, stood another man, several inches shorter and nearly half a century younger in appearance. He was dressed nearly identically to elderly priest, although he looked decidedly uncomfortable in the clerical garb, but most distinctly, in place of a white collar tab, his was dyed blood-red.
The new arrival strode forward, and with an almost annoyed flick of his wrist, turned the knob allowing the door to ease open. He turned back to Father Marco, "Happy, you now have access to the underage, innocent, child's room. Have at it you creepy, old, bastard."
Father Marco shook his head and strode into the room, grumbling "Shut up Jack." | 2018-09-22T04:11:49 | 2018-09-22T01:49:21 | 35 | 22 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :) | Some people became near gods. Flying, running at the speed of light. Some people could shoot elecricity from their fingertips.
The news went from boring politics one day, to men and women crackling with electric energy fighting in the streets.
After the dust settled, and the really bad guys guys were dead, and the good guys were banding together into teams.
no one even knew I had powers...
the day it happened, when everything went nuts. When the electric storm raged through the world, and my eighbor got the ability to leap over tall buildings in a single bound, I just sat there.
I just stood there with a strange new tool in my hand.
I kept it hidden. It was in the back of my closet, wrapped in old towels. I knew that if people saw it. They'd know what my true powers were.
Everyone thinks that my powers a simple superstrength. That i can just punch things and they break. I laugh and tell them I was playing dig dug.
People laugh about my powers. There are so many better ones, people say.
I just chuckle along, with a self depriciating way. It's best for them not to know about what's in my closet.
If they knew about the diamond pickaxe, and that i was in creative mode when i was using it. They'd be very very scared. | Well, i can´t blame them that they laugh at me. I mean, who wouldn´t? A normal man who don´t seem to have any Power except that he is followed at every time by some elvish figures....but, let me start from the beginning, to be precise, the 6th of july.
&#x200B;
It was a normal day, maybe a little warmer, but nonetheless a normal day. Well, it was normal until the Clock hit midnight. I don´t know what happend or why it has happend, but i knew what i have doing at this time....I was playing Warcraft 3 The Frozen throne. yeah, i know a really old game but, i like it. It´s one of my Favorites. And because i was bored and curious, i tested a few Cheat codes...and with a few i mean any code that i could find. But, back to the Story. So, there was i, playing warcraft at midnight and then it happend. I blacked out and woke up in the morning around 9. I thought i just fell to sleep while playing, so i didn´t think much about it. To be honest i didn´t find out that anything happend until i left my house to go to the supermarket and nearly ran into 3 Floating lights, standing in front of my Door. Like every other Human being who looks at 3 ominous lights in front of their house i totally freaked out and walked backwards back into my house and locked the door. The Next three hours i sat at my window and looked at the 3 lights before my house. They didn´t seemed that they want to break in, but neither they looked like they would go away. When it was around 12 o´clock i wanted to call the police, and yes i know that i should have called them earlier, a friend of mine called me, said to me that i should turn on the news. When i turned them on, i saw my friend. Winking at a camera with his mobile, while he deflects bullets with a sword in his right hand. This was the moment when i realized that i didn´t fall a sleep last night, that the ghostly lights outside of my house aren´t there too hurt me and that my friend just turned into the thing every gamer hates, an Yasou.
The Next few weeks were funny. Every other day, there was a great fight who was filmed by news teams and by a few streamer. Chaos was the new order in this time, the police and army were outmatched by single persons and the Gouvernement changed nearly daily due to megalomaniac or bored people. But, this times ended some day. A new, strong Gouvernement was formed, ruled by a triumvirat. Most of the "Evil Players" are in Prison and the rest use their powers to help others and for daily uses. Now, you may be asking what have i done? Ohh, like i said it was funny. In states like Texas, Nevada and Tennessee their were nearly no people, who got powers because everyone went to a big, famous city like new York or washington...Well most people, but not all. I moved from California to Tennessee so that i could to, what i wanted. And what i wanted, was what i got. And that, was a Kingdom. A Kingdom, that now consist of 15 states in the South-east of the former United States of America, Middle America and the North half ot south America.
And now, you may ask why everybody laugh at my. The answer is easy....Nobody knows that i am the King of one of the biggest Kingdom in the Worlds. A King with all the money he needs, absolute immunity for him and his troops and one who can build anything that he wants in seconds. They all think i am just a no body with the Ability to summon Elves. And for me, this is fine, because else it would be really, really boring.
(I apologies for all grammar and spelling errors in this Text.) | 2019-08-12T00:49:37 | 2019-08-12T00:08:14 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] As a dad, you obviously have a mug that claims you're the "#1 World's Best Dad". One day, you find on the news that all "Best Dad Mugs" now have actual ratings, the media is crazy about it, a photo shows a mug with #5,826,827 World's Best Dad on it, curious, you check yours. It still says #1. | My son Max and I were watching Paw Patrol (his favorite show) and eating bacon (our favorite food) when a "special news announcement" came up on the screen. I couldn't believe it, people were being ranked and rated based on their best dad mugs... It wasn't long after that I got struck with a memory...
My dad was sick a few years ago. When the illness hit, I knew it wasn't going to be long till he moved on. Just before the last time I saw him I stopped at the gift shop in the hospital and saw "Best Dad" on a mug. I figured it would cheer him up so I bought it for him. Unfortunately, when I arrived at his room he had just passed away. I didn't have a chance to give him the mug.
When that memory struck me, I remembered I kept the mug in my dresser. I didn't think of it often but I knew I still had it. I figured I would check it out and see what the fuss was about.
I looked in my dresser and found the mug. At first it didn't have any ranking on it, but I slowly saw something start to form on it. It was blurry, but as it came into focus I saw "#1 Best Dad"
I was confused... "I don't get it" I said to myself. That was when Max came into my room, wagging his tail with his mouth open wide, looking up at me with his brown eyes and his floppy ears with bacon grease in his fur.
To him, I was the best dad ever. | A month had already passed since I had seen my ranking as best dad. My life and my families had then been filled with tv interviews, appearances on the Ellen show and even a book deal where I share my wisdom on what it means to be the best dad. Simply put, this was the happiest I had ever been.
Well, almost. It began maybe 2 weeks after the event happened and the money and fame was more solidified. I think it was first just an urge to look at the mug. Then it was a nightmare. Then it was sleeplessness and multiple glances at the mug a night. Why? I was scared that the number would change. I felt that it had to change eventually. Nobody can be top dog forever. There are a lot of good dads out there. Number 2 is probably almost better then me as it is. I had to remain vigilant.
As I started writing my second chapter of the book, I looked at the mug, which I always kept on me now. It still said number one. All was good. To help with this anxiety and paranoia I tried to convince myself that completing the book would be the key to a prosperous future that was no longer tied to the number. I just needed to finish it quickly.
A few hours past and I realized that I should try to go to bed. Tomorrow was a long day. It just so happened that I was going to be on air with the second best dad discussing child care tips with a cable news channel. Hopefully I could sleep, but I doubted it.
The moment finally came. The time to shake hands with another dad in a similar position. I wonder if wants so bad to be first. The handshake came and went as well as a smile that actually did look genuine. We then sat down and began the interview.
The interviewer asked us to put our mugs both on the table so the audience could see. Sure enough, number one and number two. There were oohs and aahs from the live audience. Then the first question was asked.
“So what have you been doing with your family to celebrate over the last few weeks?”
Dad 2 replied first, “I took the last few weeks off so our family could go on a long much needed vacation. Everybody has had a blast.”
I was a bit taken a back by this response. How had he not been taken up by the whirlwind of publicity? I guess that is what happens when you are number 2.
I all of a sudden realized that all eyes were on me. There had been an awkward pause.
“Well ever since I found out that I was number 1 I have been so busy interviewing and writing my book, but we have plans to do a family trip soon.” I replied hastily.
The interviewer interested in the book was about to start asking about the content when all of a sudden there was a sudden shout from the audience. Then more shouts.
“The mugs are changing!” Finally an audible shout came.
All of the color went out of my face. I slowly began to turn my mug around. It now said 2. I flipped around dad 2’s mug. It now said 1.
I looked at dad 2 who was now beaming and felt rage.
“Are you trying to embarrass me? Why did you even come on here if you were having so much fun with your family anyways. Go back and be with them” I said angrily.
My mug now said 304.
The audience began to laugh.
506, 4570, 99578... my rank was decreasing in larger bounds every second.
My families fortune and destiny was evaporating before my eyes with each change of the mug. I was just another normal dad now.
More laughter.
The interviewer then began, “well I guess we just have a normal dad here with us, how does it feel to be normal?”
I sat still refusing to answer for about 10 seconds. Then suddenly, I picked up the other dads mug and smashed it over his head.
Sure enough my mug now was near a billion.
If I can’t be best dad, then I guess I will have to be the worst Dad.... | 2019-10-02T22:09:48 | 2019-10-02T20:33:44 | 765 | 37 |
[WP] When your super power awakened, you were ecstatic. After all, shape-shifting is a rare and powerful ability. After a few months being anything and everything, you realise you can't return to your original body. | Being anyone and anything you want to be can be really cool, for a while at least.
Not until every intelligence agency in the world starts looking for you. I guess that's what happens when you are the only person in the world with superpowers. I got famous pretty quickly after the incident. No one knows my real identity though; they only call me The Shifter on the news.
What was it like to be back in my own body? It's been so long I started to forget.
There's a catch with my ability. I have to actually see the person I want to copy. No pictures or anything like that, I have to look at the real thing for it to work. It even worked on dead people as long as something was still there except ash or dust. But it didn't take long to figure out I could never shapeshift back into my own body. I was wanted man (or woman, or cat, or tiger, or whale; you get the gist). No matter who I turned into, they always looked for the doppelganger with their AI-powered satellites and surveillance cameras. But if I could somehow get back into my own body this hide-and-seek could finally stop. Problem was, I had to look at myself. Sounds simple until you realize that there is no you anymore.
After a while I remembered something. There was still one hope left. My mother always kept my old teeth I lost in elementary school. That might just be the last thing that’s left of me. For once I was actually grateful for her weird sentimental antics.
I shapeshifted into one of our neighbors that was walking their dog that night and sneaked into my parents' home. Even before the incident my parents never wanted to see me again. Long story. If this doesn't work out, I guess they'll get their wish, huh. The key was still under the doormat. How cliché, but it worked in my favor. I really didn’t want to climb through my window. Bad memories. After closing the door behind me I realized that not everyone in this house was asleep. Arnold, our Mastiff was still awake. Damn, he’s gotten old. Still, he was happily wagging his tail at me and welcoming me back. Funny, he never liked strangers. Did he actually recognize me? Or maybe that random neighbor was a friend of my parents? Not important now. I turned into Arnold and went up the stairs into my old room. Searching through the drawers was really hard as a dog, especially when you try to not make too much noise. But after a while I found them. The teeth that could bring me back. The real me. I concentrated hard on them, but I didn't grow into my old body.
For a split second I thought that this was it. Bones worked but teeth didn’t? It was so unfair. I was doomed to live a life on the run. Constantly an imposter. I actually started crying.
Wait, tears? Dogs can’t cry! I turned around and looked into my mirror. What I saw was a familiar-looking kid with big watery eyes staring back at me in surprise. | There was frost at the window that clouded the fading light so it looked like afternoon clouds creeping upon the edges. The old men were hustling home and their shadows passed long against the glass and then it was light again, but always fading.
He heard the sounds of winding down and he felt the world cool, settling into night. Through the window, inside the house, there were the first lights on and they reflected in faded yellow and spilled far off shadow in a homely comfort.
Something in him shivered inside, tumbling in a vacancy.
He stared at the woman in the window and she was stoic and very still and the shadows were falling on her that blended her with the furniture.
*Oh Annabelle,* he thought.
Of course it was hard to think, and his thoughts were not words. He just felt her. His mind tried to meet hers like it could when they were together and soulmates.
He remembered how he looked. That picture was fading as the window's light.
*I was a man,* he thought.
And he had always disliked how he looked and he had questioned his manhood. There was always turmoil within, and she had always calmed the storms so things were alright.
*I love you.*
He was crying.
One of the old men walking put a hand on his shoulder. He could smell the drink on him, and the cigarettes, and that smell of playing cards that he remembered from his father.
"Why are you crying, son? Are you lost?"
He shook his head.
"Where's your parents? It's getting late now."
"I'm a grown man," he said.
The man tapped his shoulder.
"I'm sure you are. I was grown too when I was your age. Probably wiser than I am now."
The man laughed and removed his hand.
"Where do you live?"
"I live on Esther Street. My parents know where I am."
He tried to sound even but he wanted to cry and his throat was blocked with sadness and he stared at the woman through the window.
"Alright then, son. Don't stay out too late."
The man left and he stared at his hands. He was a small boy and his hands were small and soft and innocent. His body was frail, but vital, and he felt he could live a hundred years.
Yet his mind felt old and battered, and there were memories there that were worn and withering, a happiness no child could feel and hold on to, and the pain of being alone and wanting death.
He stared at Annabelle and thought that was his wife. He loved her and wanted to be with her.
He had tried to change back, to relinquish the power he had stumbled upon and to go back to being himself.
He couldn't.
He had the ability to change into nearly anything, into nearly anyone, but himself.
*Annabelle.*
Evening had fallen and the stars were high away. The shadow cloaked her but he could feel her there. She had never moved from the parlour, always waiting for his return.
In the dark he changed again.
He pictured himself as in those faded memories, that lost happiness of another man. He tried his best to see it, to feel himself and become himself.
His body grew and his limbs hurt, his hair fell and his organs hurt. He wondered if the constant changing would bring about an early death for him, and he half hoped it would.
Then he was a man; no longer a boy. He saw his reflection in the glass and his heart sank for he was not the same. This was not her husband, though he had tried his very hardest.
But he was desperate all the same and he knew she would soon retire and he would spend another night without her.
So he knocked on the front door and the sound shook the silence within. He could feel her anxiety. There was painful hope swirling within and around her. She hurried to the door and he heard the soft noise of her feet.
The door opened a crack and there was still the gold chain of the lock on. He saw her in the night's light and she was frail and hurt.
"Who are you?" she said. "Have you news of my husband?"
"Annabelle," he said.
Saying her name had brought on the cherished memories of all the times he had called to her.
"Annabelle. It *is* me. I'm Charles."
"No, no, no. Who is doing this? Why are you all torturing me? What game is this."
She was crying and shaking and he put a hand on her and she recoiled and made to close the door but he held it firm.
"Anna."
He stared at her and his mind projected as hard as it could. He thought of all their inside jokes, of all the intimate secrets shared and of love's electricity, that spark they conducted from just being so close to each other.
He was about to talk when her eyes widened. He felt her thoughts, as foolish as it seemed. He knew she was thinking as he thought.
"The birds," he said. "We loved birds once."
She was silent and he was shaking. No change had ever hurt more than the loss of her.
"Anna."
He could feel them connect. His flesh had morphed but his soul was the same. Their souls could never lie.
"You," she said.
The door slammed and it was dark and quiet and he felt dead and damned to eternal life.
He heard his breath taunt him as it fueled his consciousness.
He wanted to collapse.
There was the sound of the golden chain.
The door opened and he stared at her.
"We loved birds," she said.
-
*Hi there! I hoped you liked this story. If you would like to read more, check out r/PanMan. Thanks again for reading!* | 2019-12-19T05:27:01 | 2019-12-19T04:07:48 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] So many people have become vampires that the government had to step in to protect the remaining humans. Every morning vampires receive a canister filled with a mysterious liquid that will sustain them for one day. While it has been confirmed to not be blood the truth is even more horrid. | Feel free to leave critique, I enjoyed writing this.
The government providing every vampire with a canister was honestly a stretch to begin with. Although, compared to the insanity that was happening out there it wasn’t like it could get worse.
Lo and behold they managed to do it. I mean, almost everyone thought that it was just gonna be a canister of garlicized holy water with red food coloring but no, like a fucking patron saint of vampires that cargo plane dropped thousands of little red boxes, filled with little red vials. And they did the trick. They were good.
There were ethical concerns, how all of this blood could possibly be harvested without turning cities into blood-mills. The government never answered us, and after a few weeks the question became taboo. After all; there is no good answer and nobody, *nobody*, wanted to go back to the way it was before. It wasn’t like we had any moral high ground after-...
...Infrastructure was collapsed during the fighting but after a few months of stability the populace brought electricity and running water back up.
Which led me to here; my lab at the police department. I was asking the taboo question, sampling the blood and comparing DNA. There’s a few reasons I can’t just sit and shut up. We need to take responsibility if we’re still monsters, just playing pretend at society while the Butchering happens somewhere out of sight and mind. The second thing is the taste.
Only a few people know the taste to begin with.
It has the same profile as infant blood.
...I’m not proud of what I am...
...I made a couple of discoveries. And they don’t make any goddamn sense.
1. All of the vials are “human” blood.
2. The blood cells are eight times the size of a regular human’s.
3. They all have the same exact DNA. All of it. | “Dude, I think I figured it out.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I was browsing the The old old video stuff, like YouTube and that-“
“Nerd.”
“Phillistine. Anyway I came across this video and this dude was taking apart this weird like juice presser thing that was made like turn of the century or some shit-“
“Do you want with or without Sucra?”
“With. So anyway, there was this like machine, right, bout the size of your forearm, and this dude was kinda hard to understand cause they spoke kinda weird back then, but he was actually able to disassemble it, like, with these metal tools and shit-“
“Huh.”
“Yeah! And I just kinda had it on as, like, background noise while I was checking my blood levels online, and I couldn’t figure out how the juice or food or whatever came out cause it’s from like, way back in the 10s-“
“Swagalicious,my duuuuude!”
“K...”
“Brah!”
“Yep”
“On that fleeky!-“
“Yep, shuttup-“
“*thhpt*”
“-and so its before like, nucleaics and C0 capture and make on demand shit, but then he PULLS OUT THIS, like, BAG! And the food thing is INSIDE the BAG!”
“Ugh!”
“I know! But that’s not the weird thing, the crazy thing is after he opens it up, and he shows us what’s in it?”
“Dude I’m eating-“
“-it’s the same shit from the CanMan, man!”
“Whaaaaat-“
“It’s the same, exact shit! He’s all like ‘oh normally I like pomegranate’ “ but I’m looking at the stuff in the thing and the little like bean things that we have to put in the fridgermaker and I swear to Beezus, it comes out looking the exact, EXACT same!”
“...oh.”
“Apparently the company, Juicy or Jucero, or Jucino or something I can’t remember, made a bunch of these, actually sold each pack for use in their like weird, proto-maker-fridger-thing, for the equivalent of like 100k today-“
“Well I mean that’s the cost of like a CuppaCawfee-“
“-but! But! BUT!”
“But!”
“But! A ha! -I-, internaut extraordinaire-“
“Nerrrrrd...”
“-I- did some digging! Turns out, this company didn’t quite go under!”
“Oh no?”
“No no! They were kinda like low-key for a couple of years but then I found this old ass Washington Post article from around the time of the Awakening-“
“Ner-“
“-Shuttup-, and then the dude who was like lead maker or something on THAT project pops up as like a recluse maker/inventor/CEO of!...guess!”
“Hnnng...”
“Guess!”
“I don’t wanna-“
“I’ll give you a hinnntttt! ‘What’s thick and red and oh so fine?’”
“AmeriCan?”
“Liked and subscribed!”
“Dear god... now it is so who is Nerd-“
“- although technically it was something else before it was bought by like PepsiPal-Disney, but apparently he had just, like, miles and miles of the stuff in warehouses vacuum sealed and preserved and like gonna expire-“
“Oh-“
“Uh huh! And then suddenly he gets a grant, and then suddenly we’re all seeing RedMist on the food pyramid, and then suddenly Ami-Zone starts sending it out free for AwakenPrime, and then they bring in the subscription models, and then there’s a merger and galas for a buncha white dudes on Mars, and then-“
“So, fine, tldr- we’re...all eating-“
“Uh huh.”
“Hundred year old...”
“Yeeeepppp...”
“Failed corporate reconstituted RedMist.”
“Failed corporate reconstituted *Pomegranate* RedMist.”
“I mean...I dunno.”
“Think about it.”
“I’d rather not...like, I still gotta eat it.”
“Ah but that’s the thing...”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I mean...do we?” | 2020-02-16T05:59:46 | 2020-02-16T03:27:51 | 54 | 12 |
[WP] So many people have become vampires that the government had to step in to protect the remaining humans. Every morning vampires receive a canister filled with a mysterious liquid that will sustain them for one day. While it has been confirmed to not be blood the truth is even more horrid. | **\*\*note: if you wanna add to your reading experience, listen to "Ghost Chase Thriller" by Sir Cubworth as you read.**
*04/28/3058 Day 649 Vile 290.AAZ*
*This is the 26th time I have ran these test tubes through the analysis machine. The results from the first test seemed like a fluke, a joke almost. Then, the results came back positive...again. And again. And again. And again. And so on and so forth. It's almost comical; the irony of the situation.*
*I studied human sciences for years, gaining a master's degree in general chemistry, only to be turned two years into my doctoral program. All I wanted to do was help my fellow man. Now in my immortality, I watch as my fellow man becomes my future menu. The thirst for blood outweighing my desire to stay clean each and everyday that passes. 649 days. That's a long time to go without a hit. A fix. The only barrier standing between me and using someone's neck like a bendy straw is the vile of mysterious substance in my test tube.*
*The tests keep coming back positive, but they just cannot be true. The math checks out. The numbers show the data is correct. Hell, even the same analysis machine that confused gossypol for L-psicose is saying these results are a perfect match. The science says it's right...so why can't I?*
*It was a joke. A fluke. A shot in the dark. It wasn't supposed to match.*
*But it did.*
*They've been feeding us more than just lies.*
&#x200B;
*I just wish I knew what this, "Mihick dawn old khetch yup" substance was.* | “Dude, I think I figured it out.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I was browsing the The old old video stuff, like YouTube and that-“
“Nerd.”
“Phillistine. Anyway I came across this video and this dude was taking apart this weird like juice presser thing that was made like turn of the century or some shit-“
“Do you want with or without Sucra?”
“With. So anyway, there was this like machine, right, bout the size of your forearm, and this dude was kinda hard to understand cause they spoke kinda weird back then, but he was actually able to disassemble it, like, with these metal tools and shit-“
“Huh.”
“Yeah! And I just kinda had it on as, like, background noise while I was checking my blood levels online, and I couldn’t figure out how the juice or food or whatever came out cause it’s from like, way back in the 10s-“
“Swagalicious,my duuuuude!”
“K...”
“Brah!”
“Yep”
“On that fleeky!-“
“Yep, shuttup-“
“*thhpt*”
“-and so its before like, nucleaics and C0 capture and make on demand shit, but then he PULLS OUT THIS, like, BAG! And the food thing is INSIDE the BAG!”
“Ugh!”
“I know! But that’s not the weird thing, the crazy thing is after he opens it up, and he shows us what’s in it?”
“Dude I’m eating-“
“-it’s the same shit from the CanMan, man!”
“Whaaaaat-“
“It’s the same, exact shit! He’s all like ‘oh normally I like pomegranate’ “ but I’m looking at the stuff in the thing and the little like bean things that we have to put in the fridgermaker and I swear to Beezus, it comes out looking the exact, EXACT same!”
“...oh.”
“Apparently the company, Juicy or Jucero, or Jucino or something I can’t remember, made a bunch of these, actually sold each pack for use in their like weird, proto-maker-fridger-thing, for the equivalent of like 100k today-“
“Well I mean that’s the cost of like a CuppaCawfee-“
“-but! But! BUT!”
“But!”
“But! A ha! -I-, internaut extraordinaire-“
“Nerrrrrd...”
“-I- did some digging! Turns out, this company didn’t quite go under!”
“Oh no?”
“No no! They were kinda like low-key for a couple of years but then I found this old ass Washington Post article from around the time of the Awakening-“
“Ner-“
“-Shuttup-, and then the dude who was like lead maker or something on THAT project pops up as like a recluse maker/inventor/CEO of!...guess!”
“Hnnng...”
“Guess!”
“I don’t wanna-“
“I’ll give you a hinnntttt! ‘What’s thick and red and oh so fine?’”
“AmeriCan?”
“Liked and subscribed!”
“Dear god... now it is so who is Nerd-“
“- although technically it was something else before it was bought by like PepsiPal-Disney, but apparently he had just, like, miles and miles of the stuff in warehouses vacuum sealed and preserved and like gonna expire-“
“Oh-“
“Uh huh! And then suddenly he gets a grant, and then suddenly we’re all seeing RedMist on the food pyramid, and then suddenly Ami-Zone starts sending it out free for AwakenPrime, and then they bring in the subscription models, and then there’s a merger and galas for a buncha white dudes on Mars, and then-“
“So, fine, tldr- we’re...all eating-“
“Uh huh.”
“Hundred year old...”
“Yeeeepppp...”
“Failed corporate reconstituted RedMist.”
“Failed corporate reconstituted *Pomegranate* RedMist.”
“I mean...I dunno.”
“Think about it.”
“I’d rather not...like, I still gotta eat it.”
“Ah but that’s the thing...”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I mean...do we?” | 2020-02-16T07:45:42 | 2020-02-16T03:27:51 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to stop time, but only temporarily. You can stop time for as five seconds. One day, at 33 years old, you stop time. As you move through your crowded office, you notice one of your coworkers's fingers twitch. | Five seconds.
That was all I had. A superpower I'd had since birth, so close to useless that sometimes I forgot I even had it.
Five seconds.
One breath. A fleeting thought. A moment stretching just a little longer than the others.
It wasn't enough time to wander the office. It wasn't enough time to take a poop in peace. But in those moments when a surprise caught me gawking like a deer before oncoming headlights, those five seconds stretched into an eternity.
Moments like this one.
The two of them sat across from me. Bill--my boss--and the HR representative. My heart pounded: ten, twenty times in those five measly seconds my superpower gave me.
It didn't help. Five seconds wasn't enough time to change anything. I couldn't delete the emails or hide the information that had been leaked. I wouldn't even know where to find it. I'd been framed and I couldn't understand why.
I was on good terms with people. Sure, sometimes I paused time if they were getting on my nerves. Five seconds could be enough time to slip away. But it was never harmful, and I didn't mind any of them all that much.
I'd told that to Bill.
"I've been framed. I swear. I wouldn't do anything to hurt the company. I like it here."
Bill had laughed. It was all there. All the evidence they needed.
"Hank from security will be up momentarily," Bill said. The useless HR rep nodded to confirm. She hadn't said a word.
Five seconds.
Useless, but when people feel useless they do all they can do. They hoard toilet paper. They cry. They freeze time.
The HR rep froze. Her eyes fogged over.
Bill's didn't. He still looked straight at me, still as a statue. Almost. His finger twitched. His lips curled up ever so slightly. My heart slowed to a crawl, the breath crammed in my throat like I'd been frozen myself.
"Good luck out there," he said, standing to shake my hand.
His touch lingered. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
And then Hank was there. It could have been days. I spurred my thoughts onward, did everything in my power to make things go back to normal. But the clock didn't tick. I walked at a crawl, slurred my words. Seconds passed like hours.
I tried to freeze time, to regain control. Bill clicked his tongue. Once, twice, three times in a second. I couldn't even move my tongue that fast.
His grin never left his face.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | Five seconds, many would question how much of an advantage
that was in life. How much could occur over five seconds? No one was going to
steal a tv or rob a bank in such a short period, so what use did it have?
It was a stupid train of thought many fell victim to. Often
I would ask my friends and relatives what they would do if they shared a power
similar to mine, posing the question to them in the form of a hypothetical.
Most would just give a halfhearted shrug, wondering why I was only offering
such a small amount of time if it was a hypothetical. Why not ask them what
they would do if they could just stop time? Why give such a limitation to the
ability?
I could never tell them the truth, I couldn’t just admit
that I could stop time. If I ever admitted something like that I could end up
in serious trouble. So I would disguise it as small talk, dismissing their
accusing gazes by telling them it was merely a conversation starter. Most of
the time they would just sigh and tell me to work on my social skills.
People just seemed to dismiss what they could achieve in the
small space of time. Take yesterday, for instance. Stuck at the grocery store,
I noticed one box of peppermint chocolate left, its delicate red bowed box
calling for me. With a stride, I went to claim the treat only for an ogre of a
man to shove me aside, his shorts riding uncomfortably high as if they were
trying to dig through his body. A disgusting sight that should be outlawed. As
rude as it was, the act only deserved a silent middle finger, at least until I
noticed where he was heading.
“My peppermint.”
Things had gotten serious, my strides matching his own,
pushing to his side before time suddenly stopped, swiping the treats from him,
hiding them under my trolley. When time returned, the man reached forward
grabbing at air. Clutching at the empty space before turning to me. I only
offered him a shrug of empathy before taking my cart to the checkout. Devious
minor incidents like that were the best. They weren’t very practical though,
not like my uses at work.
“Mr James are you going to enter the workplace?”
The security guard stared at me, my hand pressed against the
door, not making any action to open it. Waking up from my daydreaming mind, I
shoved the door to my work open, giving him a friendly sorry nod. A sigh
escaped my lips as I stared at the bleak, sterile interior. Luckily, my
thirty-three years on this planet had helped me learn a few tricks to get
through the day. I had to time my stops perfectly. The ability seemed to take
ten minutes to recharge, so patience helped. Heading up to my office, I clicked
my fingers as I approached the shutting elevator door, sneaking myself inside.
Why did Ben always push the close door button when he saw me? It always hurt
seeing his hand against the button every morning. Perhaps he was still angry
about me eating that piece of birthday cake he kept in the fridge under his
desk?
Not that I cared what Ben thought. I had more important
things to worry about. His feelings were not one of them. As the doors peeled
open to expose the busy office, I went to the small kitchen to the left, not about
to navigate through the crowd of people until my ability was back. So I wasted
ten minutes making a coffee, asking my colleagues what they would do if they
could freeze time for five seconds. That never kept the conversation going,
having to watch them give me an eye roll before walking off to make themselves
look busy with another task. When my ten minutes were up, I took my steaming
mug towards the middle, approaching the crowd of workers, I stopped time.
Now all I had to do was push my way through their bodies.
And what the hell is that? I stopped, feeling something rubbing against my
back, only to see a colleague’s finger twitching against my back. I panicked,
spilling my coffee onto the floor as time returned. Everyone eyeing me with
disapproving gazes. How could he move? I should have frozen him. The man knelt
down to help me up, only for me to wave his hand away.
“What are you?” I shrieked, earning more uncomfortable
stares from my coworkers.
“I’m Jeff from accounting. You ok buddy? Maybe go make
another coffee. You are acting strange.”
“Me? You are the one that could move.”
I had to shut myself up. Keeping my empty mug between my
fingers, I gave Jeff a glare, watching him wink at me as I wandered to my desk,
leaving my coffee stain for the janitor to clean. I will find out who you
really are, Jeff from accounting. No one makes a fool of me.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-09-22T05:04:28 | 2020-09-22T04:55:11 | 1,679 | 411 |
[WP] Dear diary, I’ve been feeding this creature that fell from the sky for a few days. It strangely likes to drink water, the liquid we use to fuel cars. I noticed a patch on its suit today that read “NASA”. I’ll ask it tomorrow what that means. If that’s it’s name. | Three days after his fall, NASA still hadn't spoken to me.
It quickly became clear that this creature was unaccustomed to the ways of my people. We Quelbrigs have been here for millennia, and most neighboring planets are at the very least aware of us. But not NASA.
I’d managed to piece together the sounds of its name from what little English I knew. Remnants of the ancient language were peppered across my planet, but I hadn’t studied it, or its origins, extensively. The creature appeared perturbed when I called it "NASA," but it hadn't given me any alternatives, so there it was.
I'd tried all of the traditional Quelbrig hospitality - a plate of pickled tentacles made with my grandmother's recipe, a performance of our national anthem by the neighborhood quartet. Still nothing.
NASA began to draw crowds. I peered outside my PlexiDome each morning to find a sea of curious, gray Quelbrig heads trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. For the time being, I'd put NASA up in my guest-pod. It didn't seem to want to go outside anyway.
I decided to pay a visit to the town historian, Sleeg. As soon as I mentioned NASA, he perked up.
"I was hoping you'd stop by, Meeko," he said, pulling a miniscreen out of a drawer. "That creature you're currently housing is a 'human.'"
"A what?" I asked.
"A human. Relatively harmless - although, as a species, they have a history of infighting. At some point, many millennia ago, there was a mass exodus to other planets. This planet - ours - became inhospitable to them for a number of reasons. I wouldn't ask NASA about it; it was all rather traumatic. But perhaps you can ask him what led him back here...to the planet he once inhabited."
"How?" I asked. "He doesn't speak a lick of Quelbrigese."
"Have patience, young Meeko," Sleeg said with a grin.
Over the next few days, I made some half-hearted attempts at grunting before I realized that pointing and gesturing would do the trick. I mimicked NASA's fall from the sky with my fingers, then tilted my head to indicate a question. NASA sighed, stood up, and walked to our refrigeration pod. He pointed at it, then pointed to himself. Ah. Cryogenic freezing, perhaps.
NASA then made an explosion noise with his mouth and repeated the gesture of his fall to Earth.
I shook my head in dismay. Whatever act of self-preservation the humans intended had clearly gone terribly wrong.
I returned to Sleeg's hut every night to learn every shred of information I could. I learned about the technological skeletons humans had left behind, and how we'd built our society from them. I learned about their homes, their families, their mating. There wasn't as much as I'd have liked, due largely to the antiquity of the original recordings, but it was enough.
I learned that our planet's air was safe for humans to breathe, so I allowed NASA to remove its helmet - sorry, *his* helmet. I let him step into our cleansing pod. He started to eat more of our food, albeit begrudgingly. He stepped outside and went for walks, paying no mind to the stares of my neighbors.
On the nineteenth day after NASA's fall, I turned out all the lights in the house and waited for him to come back from his walk. Then I turned them all on to reveal a small group of us, standing in the living room, who yelled "SURPRISE!" in broken English.
NASA covered his mouth with his hands, but couldn't hide the smile bursting onto his face. He stepped over to look at the Quelbrig sweetcakes I'd prepared, which spelled out "WELLCOM HOME" in icing.
He took a bite of the sweetcake, and I saw him laugh for the first time.
As he smiled and greeted everyone, cheerily gesturing and nodding, I was fully convinced that NASA would acclimate to our ways. Perhaps I'd learn his name; perhaps he'd learn our language. Perhaps he'd move into his own pod and become one of us.
But for now, being here - with the scent of sweetcakes and the sound of multispecies laughter filling the room - was enough. | She was a frail creature, much smaller than Levi was, but she had a sense of familiarity that lingered over their time together. Like they had known each other far longer than a few days -- when he found her, after she hurtled from the sky and landed miles from his home.
For the first few days all she did was sleep, confined to the prison box that she came down upon. Most, Levi thought, would think it a curse. But he, unlike many in his village, was curious of the world and the stars and the legends of their ancestors. No one remembered the days when people flew amongst the stars, but the books were littered about old ruins. Old ruins that Levi felt drawn to.
On the third day, she woke, gasping for air and throwing the box open in a mechanical hiss. For anyone else, they would've turned tail and ran, but Levi merely sat there, a giant compared to her, waiting for her to say something -- do anything.
She asked for water first, choosing not to acknowledge Levi's extraordinary size compared to hers. And so he gave it to her. Hours later, she asked for food, and Levi offered what sustenance he could. *She was lucky,* he thought, *for my hunt had just begun.*
They did not speak after that, but instead sat in silence as the bear meat cooked over a roaring flame. Her eyes were transfixed on it, on the fire, on the meat, on the world around her that Levi knew she did not recognize. He stared at her the first few nights, wondering what her eyes were looking for -- trying to find an answer in the dark shades of honey he saw within her irises.
*I will ask her,* he thought, *when the time is right.*
____
It came the next morning. She was awake first, kindling the embers of a dying fire. For a moment, he did not acknowledge that he was awake. Instead, he laid still and examined her. She had long, flowing hair that was disheveled and bushy, and wore a suit of cloth that Levi did not recognize. More so, across the suit were letters and numbers, but the most distinct was a patch on the left side of the suit. Clearly printed, on blue and red, were four letters. NASA.
He rose his head slightly, then sat up, crossed his legs and stared at the women on the other side of the cracking embers. She looked at him, poked the embers with a long stick, and smiled. Levi smiled back.
"Nasa," he said, breaking the silence that lingered between them that morning. "Is that what they call you?"
She stared at him, her honey-glazed eyes blinking in the morning sun. Shock. Confusion. Levi did not know what plagued her thoughts.
"You came from the sky," he said.
She nodded, silent still. He gave her a moment. She reached for the bag filled with water, the same liquid that powered his hovercraft, parked just feet away. Nasa drank it straight from the bag, lifting the cool water to her lips. She let the water dribble around her mouth, before wiping it away.
"Do you--" he began, but stopped when she stood up. He did not move, remaining cross-legged on the other side of the fire. *Patience,* he thought.
He wondered what she was doing. Then she looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. "You can call me Nasa," she said -- her voice was rough, coarse, as if not used in years. "If you think that suits me."
He nodded. When she stood, she was as tall as Levi was when he was sitting. *Frail,* he thought again, *for someone to have come from the sky.*
"Do you have a name?"
"They call me Levi," he said. "My village, that is."
"I see." She said and stretched her arms into the sky. She took a few deep breaths, then looked at Levi. The smile lingered for a moment, then faltered. "Was there anyone else?"
He knew what she meant. She fell from the sky during a great storm and came crashing down to earth in a single, sudden ball of fire. Levi shook his head. She acknowledged it, sat back down, poked the embers again.
They sat that way for a few minutes.
"I did not come from the sky," she said, "but rather another world."
*Curious,* he thought.
"Another time, perhaps." She spoke in half-truths, Levi knew, something held her back.
They sat in silence a while longer.
"I read about you," Levi said. "Well, not you--you, but your kind. Sky-farers. The books say there were hundreds of you, thousands even."
"Astronauts," she said, smirking. "Or cosmonauts. That's what they called us. One in the same at the end of the day. Just people looking for a home."
"My village is near," he said, "if you need a home."
She poked the embers, staring silently at the small flames that popped in the morning air. "I did have one," Nasa said, "a home that is. Never wanted to leave, but the greater good and all that." She shrugged.
*She'll explain,* he thought, *let her.*
"I was not supposed to be the first," she said.
"Of the--" he sounded out the word in his head, then said it aloud, "Astrahnaughts."
She smirked, "Close enough. Yes."
"What happened to them?"
She looked at him now, straight-on, her eyes staring into his very soul. Levi had felt the familiar come over him again, as if he was staring at his grandmother, her eyes that held wisdom behind them. "A question for another time," she said at last. "For it is just me and this world," she looked back at the fire, "this time is not what is was supposed to be."
He thought about pushing, about asking more. His curiosity burning inside of him like a great fire, stronger than the embers that whittled and died in front of them. But he knew that she felt alone, scared and lost, in a world she did not know. He had known that feeling. Maybe that is what he sensed in her -- the familiarity of being lost.
"I can take you there," he said at last, "to the ruins -- the books I read of your people. You may not be alone, Nasa."
She smiled. "A wonderful thought. I would like that," she said, still staring at the embers. "But for now, tell me about this world, this place." She looked up at him, "About you."
And so, he opened his mouth, and told the story of his world.
________
EDIT: Thank you everyone for the nice comments! I am working on a possible continuation for this prompt, but we'll see! | 2020-10-11T07:44:33 | 2020-10-11T07:32:54 | 5,429 | 313 |
[WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite."
[deleted] | Kevin kicked himself for mentioning the zombie-kids so early in the date. The woman sitting across from him, Tara, was *way* out of his league. He did not want to blow it. They were still squarely in the small-talk phase of the night, and undead children are distinctly *not* small-talk material. So *stupid,* he thought.
Tara had gone quiet. He needed to salvage this, fast.
“To be clear, they're not *my* kids,” Kevin explained. "It’s more like a nursery that I run for undead children.”
“Oh I see," Tara said, visibly relieved. "Sorry if I seemed taken aback, I’m just not ready for that kind of responsibility. A nursery, though, *that* makes sense. You're basically a teacher.”
“Right! It's exactly like a nursery, except I work from home.”
“So you care for these children out of your house?”
“Yep. They’re undead, so no one's interested in sponsoring any type of facility, or helping at all for that matter. So I work out of my house.”
Tara's face fell. "There's no one else helping you? You don't have a staff?"
"No staff, just a *cane.*" Kevin said, pausing for a laugh which never came. "Sorry, that was a joke. I do have a cane though. I walk fine, I just use it for when the kids get a little too chompy. Sorry, I'm rambling. Point is, it's just me and the kids. I've tried getting help, but there's not much sympathy for the undead. Everyone I talk to just tells me to bury them."
"So I had it right the first time," Tara said leaning back in her seat. "You're a parent to undead children.”
“What? A *parent?*" Kevin said, laughing at the thought. "No, no not at all. Sure, I feed and house them, but it's not like I tell them when to go to bed or do their homework. Admittedly that's because they don't sleep or go to school, but the point stands. I just care for them, you know? It's a charitable enterprise, that's all.”
“A charitable enterprise..." Tara said skeptically. "So how long are you planning to care for them? Until they’re grown?”
“Well they'll never *grow*, per se,” Kevin said scratching his head. "Decompose maybe, but they've been chugging along for years now. The youngest—Phyllis—she's real spritely. A real ball of energy that one. One time, I came home and my leather armchair was gone. Turned out she ate it, wooden frame and all. She'll outlive us all, I always say."
“Right..." Tara said, frowning. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You care for them out of your house, all by yourself, they never sleep or leave, and you can’t stop taking care of them because if you don't, no one else will?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well that’s the definition of parenthood. A real bad case of parenthood, at that.”
Kevin thought for a moment then smiled. “Okay, you got me. I guess I am a parent."
Tara returned the smile. "So how many of them you got?"
"Technically six, but there's enough missing body parts between them that really it's closer to four."
Tara laughed. "You count the heads, not the limbs."
"In that case, five-and-a-half," Kevin said grinning. "Look if you want to cut the date short, I won't blame you. it wouldn't be the first time.”
“No, it’s fine," Tara said. "We might as well finish the meal. You never asked what I did for a living, you know.”
Kevin felt relieved to switch the topic. “Sorry, rude of me," he said. "So what is it that you do?”
“I’m a Paladin,” she said slowly, almost deliberately.
“Very cool!" Kevin replied enthusiastically. "Divine protector of the realm. I know a few other Paladins myself. All great people.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“No reason," she said, seeming almost surprised. "Just checking. Some people are weird about it.”
Kevin smiled. "I have five-and-a-half zombie-kids, you can't out-weird me."
Tara laughed. The rest of the night went well. *Really* well. They talked, they laughed, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Tara told Kevin about her faith, about how when she was young she felt the touch of God and answered it—devoting her life to the cause. Kevin told her that’s how he felt when he first came across the kids, as if there was something greater than himself to serve.
When the check came, Kevin paid for it and Tara thanked him. He walked her back to her place, and hugged her goodbye. As he pulled away she held on, their eyes locked. Kevin went in for the kiss.
“Whoa,” Tara said, pushing Kevin's face away with the palm of her hand. “I’m a *Paladin,* remember? We’ve sworn off the flesh.”
“Oh right,” Kevin, said. "Until marriage, I forgot."
“No, no." Tara replied. "*Forever.*"
"Cool cool cool," Kevin said, pulling away. "Makes sense makes sense... All right well, good night!" Kevin flashed her double finger-guns before walking away.
When he got home, he told the zombie-children all about the terrible date he had. Phyllis listened patiently. When he finished, she patted his shoulder with the rotting dilapidated stump that was once a hand. "Ssssome p-p-people j-just haaaave so much baaaaaaggage."
***
&nbsp;
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Alan Hughes walked up a long, curved driveway, eyeing the haunting beauty of the building at the crest of the hill. Memories swirled in his head. This was his home, once—though that life was so distant in scarcely felt like his own anymore.
A spiraling tower sat on the left side of the structure. Its shadow fell on the driveway, shielding him from the warmth of the afternoon sun. He blamed that for the chill crawling up his spine, though he knew deep down it was more than air that caused him unrest.
Streaks of rust ran down the ornamental lion’s head on the oversized front door. Once elegantly carved features were worn with age, and with the repeated caress of fascinated visitors. Alan lifted a hand and held it above the lion’s nose, stopping just short of touching it. Now was not the time to lose himself in reveries.
With a loud *thunk*, the latches on the other side of the entryway slid open. The door creaked in protest as it retreated into the darkness, leaving a tall, slender man in its wake.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, staring at Alan with cold, dead eyes.
Alan paused for a moment, lost in the musky smell escaping the darkened mansion. A memory threatened to pull him away, but he caught himself with a quick shake of his head.
“Alan Hughes,” he said, extending a hand to the slender man. “Bureau of Sanctioned Revivals, East Division.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, accentuating his skeletal face. “What’s a BSR man doing up here?”
“Do you own this property, sir?”
“My father left it to me,” he said. “I’ve been trying to put it to good use to keep the city from tearing it down. Now, are you going to answer my question or not, Mister Hughes?”
Alan swallowed a lump in his throat, peering past the man. A familiar stairwell sat behind him, though the marble steps were hardly recognizable beneath years of dirt and grime.
“We don’t have anyone listed at this residence,” he said, turning his gaze back to the man. “Had some reports of squatters, I’m just here to check it out. What’s your name, sir?”
“Jacoby Meyers,” the man said. “Most call me Jack.”
Alan nodded. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“You have some identification, first?”
With a clenched jaw, Alan reached a hand into his jacket and retrieved his wallet. The golden seal of his BSR badge glistened as he held it up to the man’s eyes.
“Very well then, Agent Hughes,” Jack said, stepping aside.
Alan stepped through the doorway, tucking his badge back into his jacket. “What is it you do here, exactly, mister Meyers?”
Jack let out an annoyed breath and said, “I raise undead children.”
“What’s that, now?”
“I know what’s going on in your agency, Mister Hughes,” Jack said. “Heard about all that unrest on the other side of the country. Heard they took out your headquarters. So I know you’ve got better things to do than shake down some off-the-books orphanage.”
Alan stared at the man. “You know it’s against the law to revive anyone without authorization. I’m going to need—”
“I’m not a Nec,” Jack said, lifting a hand to the air. “I just look after these kids, that’s all. No need to haul me in.”
Alan’s gaze rose to the top of the stairwell. He recalled a statue there, once—a knight carved into stone, complete with a shield and sword. Now it was just a memory.
“Can I see these children?” Alan asked.
“Of course,” Jack said, “but I must warn you—they do bite.”
Alan furrowed his brow. “What?”
Jack smiled, chuckling. “Just a little joke, Mister Hughes. Just a joke.”
He turned away and waved a hand, beckoning for Alan to follow.
Long crimson rugs still lined the familiar halls of the mansion, though their color faded long ago. Still, in the back of Alan’s mind, they stood as vibrant as ever.
“So,” Jack said as they turned a corner. “What exactly is going on with that agency of yours? News seems to be fearing the worst, after the attack.”
Alan shrugged. “Things are a bit scrambled right now. There’s talk of bringing the military in to round up Necromancers, but that opens up a whole other can of worms.”
“Sounds like quite a mess,” Jack said. “Right through here.” He gestured to thick brown door with a moon painted on its face.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Alan said, twisting the doorknob.
Jack nodded. “I think I’m okay with knowing as little as possible, truth be told.”
The door swung open and Alan stepped through, inhaling sharply at the sight. Nearly two dozen children, none older than twelve, sat in clusters around the large hall. Some played with broken toys, others colored on the walls. None seemed to notice his intrusion.
“I do the best I can for them,” Jack said. “I don’t have much money these days. The inheritance has kept this place going, but I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last. Already had to close down the east tower for their safety.”
Alan ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
“You seem to know a good amount about my agency,” he said, turning back to Jack.
Jack nodded. “I know what I need to.”
“Then you know why they really sent me here.”
“Unsanctioned revivals,” Jack said. “I know your procedures.”
Jack stared. “Then why let me in?”
“Because I wanted you to see them. It’s not their fault they were brought back. Just look at ‘em, Mister Hughes. They’re innocent in all this.”
A ball rolled across the floor, stopping at Alan’s feet. Soon after came a little boy, his dark hair cut in uneven patches. He stumbled forward and looked up at Alan, silver threads swirling through his irises.
“Sorry, mister,” the boy said. Then he snatched up the ball and returned to his friends.
Alan ran his right hand across his left wrist, feeling the metal bracelet beneath his sleeve. The bracelet that hid what he really was.
“There are rules, Mister Meyers,” he said, turning away. He stepped back into the hall, away from the sounds of playful children. Their laughter echoed in his mind, bringing back forgotten memories.
“True enough,” Jack said. “There are rules indeed. But there’s also what’s right. And maybe the government hasn’t been right about all this from the start.”
*What’s right*. Alan stepped to a window across from the children’s door, looking out to a garden. The colors that once flourished had long since been overtaken by tall green thistles and yellow weeds.
“You’re doing good here,” Alan said. “Your father would have been proud, I think.”
Jack stepped closer, staring out the window. “Would he have been proud of you, too, Justin?”
Alan raised an eyebrow at that.
“Oh, don’t think I didn’t recognize you, old friend. Just because our paths strayed does not mean I’ve forgotten our time here. Changing your name doesn’t change your face.”
“I think you have me confused with—” Alan started, unable to finish the lie. Instead, he just stared. His eyes fell across the aged lines of Jack’s face and at the child they’d grown around. And at his eyes, swirling with that same silver thread.
“I suppose I never thanked you for what you did,” Jack said. “Not that I had the chance, with you running off like that.”
Alan exhaled. The bracelet pulled at his arm, sweat itching beneath its smooth surface.
“I didn’t understand it, back then,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what I’d done. What I was.”
Jack reached forward and placed a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “You were a confused child that grew into a good man,” he said. “Being a Necromancer doesn’t change that.”
Alan stepped back. “I better go,” he said. “I’ve got to file my report on this place.”
Jack nodded. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Alan shook his head, offering a weak smile. “Just an old, empty building,” he said. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
>r/Ford9863 for more nonsense. This story was written in the same universe as an ongoing serial—if you want to read more about it, check out the index page for [Threads of Life](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ford9863/comments/fqskj6/threads_of_life_index_page/). | 2021-02-20T16:34:32 | 2021-02-20T15:32:08 | 1,426 | 206 |
[WP] When humans joined the galactic union, space force & military were made into clandestine projects & continued growing in secret. When the most powerful alien race challenged the peaceful humans for sport, they & the galact union learned the hard way the human saying "Si vis pacem, para bellum" | "I present this news with the gravest of regrets, my friend. The Tiermoc are preparing to bring war to your territories."
Council Representative Aven Marks stared into the purple, tendrilled face of the messenger, the current Community Ambassador from Kuloc. His name was Geem. He'd come alone to Aven's office in the human embassy building. A rare move for the usually-reserved ambassador. Aven hadn't known him very long, but he'd spent enough time with the ambassador to know that while he might not be a good man, he was a good soul.
Which is why he kept himself from smiling. It wouldn't be polite.
"Do they now?" Was his answer instead. "The Tiermoc. I'm not familiar with them. They... aren't big on research or trade, I'm guessing?"
"Please allow me to repeat for I fear understanding has not been met." Geem surged forward, which was considered slightly rude in their society, it signaled impatience and aggression. "They bring death, weapons, ships."
"Yes, yes. I do understand, my friend. I do. War is, sadly, something my race is all-to familiar with. It's why we prefer to stop it before it starts." Aven gazed down at his friend, then signaled his translation matrix to signal the gesture in Kuloc: *Look: Reassuring.*
"No. You are not understanding!" Geem waved his face tentacles. "The ships raid your trade outpost within hours. War comes."
"Straight for the outposts?" Aven shook his head. "Foolish."
"You must prepare defenses! You-"
"Geem, friend." Aven resisted the urge to throw his arm around the diminutive Kuloc, as that would have been perceived as an assault on their world. "We have a trade contract with your government for Kultonian Crystals I think, is that correct?"
"But..."
"Correct?"
"Yes." Geem signalled through his translator that the affirmation came with the addition emotions: *questioning intent.*
"How much do you know about the contract?" Aven leaned back against his desk. "Have you read it?"
"No. Trade is not my primacy."
"Hm. Well, do you have a copy of it you can access?"
Geem signaled: *Affirmation, questioning, intense.*
"Bring it up and read section 14, subsection E, the first few lines should do it."
The Kuloc stood still for a long moment, then he pulled out his data device and began manipulating the long tendrils on it that acted as a control device. A few seconds passed, then the Kuloc stopped. His face tendrils went still and his sensor stalks twitched toward Aven then back at the machine.
"Question: is this-"
"It's in every contract, yes." Aven allowed himself to smile now. "Mutual defense of all trade routes with partners who sign contracts with us."
"But you have trade contracts with hundreds of species!" Geem's translation matrix flashed with dozens of tone modifiers to his words: *Shock, Surprise, Horror, Amazement.*
"Indeed." Aven took a deep breath. "Which means the moment the Teirnoc open fire on the trade outpost, they officially declare war on every single species we trade with."
Geem turned around, looking about the small office that Aven kept as if expecting it to be something it was not. He looked at the paintings and the chairs and finally back at Aven.
"I feel very sorry for them." Geem said at last.
"Oh, don't be. We won't be too harsh to them. After all, it's obvious that they're not a very intelligent species." | "what I'm saying is that if our military is to be secret and only used as a last resort why are we following the spirit of the laws? Seriously, they were written by 34 races that have known nothing but peace for the past 1000 years or so, 3 that were just flattened by tech they don't understand and the one race doing the flattening, there are quite a few loopholes. For instance it says here no more than 1 warhead may be attached to a missile but it defines a warhead as an explosive device having no propulsion, that means cluster weapons are still in as long as we launch small missiles. That's only the first, we have 23 years, lets make sure this war is won before it starts"
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
23 years later on the 25th anniversary of humanity's admittance to the union war was declared by the summary execution of there diplomatic party stationed on the unions central station.
The images and an accompanying message reached earth the next day. "To humanity of earth, we the Atraxi hereby declare war upon you under the terms of union warfare, we nominate Henimari of the Hapiods to act as judge. Respond with your choice of judge to be joined by the head of the council to rule over all matters in this war."
"We nominate Corvex, commander of the Atraxi military as our judge, they are bound by the rules as written and should know them better than anyone"
For 7 earth days there was nothing and then came the reports, the Pluto colony fell first, it was only an observation and science station, it took less than an hour for it to be reduced to rubble, the colony on titan reported next. They had built underground to keep the heat in, after 4 hours they were buried, the attacking fleet left them to suffocate and headed for mars.
Mars had actual defences, no atmosphere means that shooting down micro asteroids was a daily occurrence, Atraxi projectile weapons were useless but their lasers could slice the domes easily enough, never doing critical damage but venting the atmosphere was plenty to render a dome inoperable. The battle of mars raged on for 36 hours as the fleet bombarded the many colonies bellow until a bright flash of light filled the sky, an explosion making a rounded mushroom cloud due to the lower gravity, then another, and another. A million explosions filled the sky burning the retinas of anyone foolish enough to look, the enemy fleet visible only to the observation telescopes was noticeably damaged but still the lasers reigned down. Another wave of explosions, and another, more in each batch, no longer 1 per ship but 5 per ship, then 10 per ship, then 100 per ship. The economic power of a Dyson Sphere was truly terrifying.
The 32% of the Martian population that remained watched as the enemy fleet ignited engines and set course for there home worlds. 12 days it took them to fly home, significantly slower due to the damage they sustained but what they found when they arrived was a sight no one had considered as an option when they had been drafting the rules of war. Where there home world should be, where 24.8 billion Atraxi should live there was rubble, a planet fractured with a crater in the side that reached into the lower mantel, at least they wouldn't have died slowly.
"Our home world is destroyed, how can you as leader of our forces sit there and tell me this is fine?"
"It is because I lead the forces that I know this, I am an official judge to this war, we outlawed the use of nuclear weaponry against hostile instillations due to the fallout but they used it on there own planet, our fleet limped home and there world is now just as dangerous as when they first started living there. They broke our home world with pure kinetic energy, not a single trace of radiation, they just accelerated a lump of iron fast enough that when it hit our world it carried the energy of an extinction level event. You know that with the amount of power each race has a war is won or lost on first strike, we killed an observation post and approximately 1.3 billion civilians, they have taken out our home, issue the terms of peace"
The communication landed on the desk of humanity a day later.
priority 1 communication
* The Atraxi wish to end the war under the terms of white peace as defined in the terms of union warfare with a proposed ceasefire effective immediately.
"your sure we can push them?"
"yes president, they lost their home world and we have rearmed our defences, they can flatten mars and do significant damage to earth but they always took the planets they wanted so never used space habitats, we could exterminate 99% of there population with the next strike if we want to"
Priority 1 communication
* \-Humanity rejects your offer of white peace.
* \-Humanity accepts a ceasefire of 7 days to permit communication between us
* \-Humanity offers you your surrender
* you will apologise for starting the war
* you will share your classified technology with the entire union
* you will make a binding statement to the union forbidding you from instigating future wars
Nukes were considered old tech and as such weren't regulated at a union level so it had been easy to mass produce them in preparation and to pre stage groups of them near to mars to allow for quick and stealthy attacks on the attacking fleet.
The planet killing weapons were even easier, a slight adjustment to the communication and transport lasers enabled them to have a much greater range of movement, they usually kept the tv's on and the freight moving about from hab to hab but all focused on a single 10 ton lump of metal with a mirror on the back and it soon had enough energy to end a civilisations age of dominance, it wasn't even expensive to fire, we had built a few hundred of them in preparation, we could always use the spares to break up large asteroids for mining.
We could never have matched their fleet ship for ship but we never needed to, we prepared for the war, now we oversee the peace. A new species is joining next month, they join a safer galaxy.
edit: fixed the there for their issue | 2021-04-23T17:20:19 | 2021-04-23T15:16:07 | 235 | 68 |
[WP] The attempted assassination of a human dignitary at a galactic summit goes awry. Turns out, many of the conventional toxins in an alien assassin's repertoire include compounds like caffeine, theobromine and capsaicin; lethal to many species, but... less than effective on humans. | The sharp intake of breath, the wide eyes, the elevated temperature in the throat and neck, spreading down into the stomach. All these are expected symptoms of the deadly poison extracted from the excretions of the sac fungi found on the plains of Straka III.
The shaking expected afterwards is supposed to be a series of uncontrollable spasms as a being’s organs shut down one by one. No living being in all of Union space had ever survived more than a single hour. Many died in seconds as their insides dissolved.
But the shaking was different this time. It was a quick right, left, right, left of the accursed human’s head, followed by an amazed “Wow!”
The human looked at the glass he was holding. In it was enough of the liquid to kill a Carmellian Bisax. It seemed to be calculating. It knew what I had tried to do.
It looked me dead in the eye, it’s predatory eyes locked unblinking on mine, and it showed its fangs and teeth in an aggressive display of dominance.
And then it _drank the rest of the poison_.
Then it laughed.
“That is some seriously good booze you have there, Squishy.”
My name is Squis’shi. The callous disregard for my honour and name is one of the reasons I agreed to this assassination mission.
It looked at the empty glass, and ran its tongue tentacle over the terrifying teeth.
“You got any more of this? I know people that would pay good money for this stuff.”
——
_much later_
——
Human Damien was staggering a bit, and slurring his words, “I thought you were a bit of an idiot, Squis’shi. You’re alright, you are.”
He hadn’t drunk this much since he left Mars University over ten years ago. He was probably going to have a hangover, but this stuff was pure liquid gold.
——
I have regained my honour. The human at last uses my given name, full of deference and respect. He obviously recognises my assassination attempt and thinks it worthy of a competitor.
He has signed a trade deal which will keep my family and crèche in good standing for many revolutions. Not only can I show my face there again, but I can hold my head high, even next to nestling Shrim’pii.
He was jubilant as well, and kept saying that he couldn’t wait till his trading partner Jack Daniels tried this one.
I am a little concerned that he has consumed enough of the poison to take out an entire city. I will have to be watchful around him now. He will no doubt feel the need to honour me with an assassination attempt.
I think this trade deal means I can call off our current invasion plans.
Truly, the humans only send their best. | "It runs deeper," said the Lord.
The Lords were the first alien species humanity had encountered in the early stage of space travel. Their language and society had no words for individuality or community. Instead, they were all considered as grand beings yet without traits to differenciate them. As humans and Lords learned the specifics of xeno linguistics, they agreed it would make for a nice name and a correct definition. As far as humans were concerned, the term the Lords used defined both a hive and an incessant, disharmonious buzzing, which seemed also fitting.
Contact and diplomacy had been, against the fears of cynics, stellar. Limbs were shaken, trade was opened, no threat loomed on the horizon. In fact, there hadn't been any at all. Naturally, culture made some exchange more arduous than others. Lords in particular were staunchly against anatomical knowledge, viewing dissections of a human body and teachings of inner organs to students as painful to watch.
Despite a few hiccups, this had been a beautiful first contact, setting a hope that subsequent discoveries would run just as smoothly.
At least in theory, thought the human diplomat. Friendship could do without poisoning attempts. He survived only thanks to the wrong assumption that both species shared a few similar biological traits. He had drunk the poison alright, but save from a trip to the toilets with a severe diarrhoe, the human was alright.
A guard had seen the Lord slip the substance in his drink.
The diplomat had asked what it was about, showing him the nearly empty vial.
The Lord had panicked. So did the diplomat, who flinged the vial in the air and had it land on the Lord.
Now the three of them, the Lord, the diplomat and the guard, were inside the chamber of the space station in the orbit of Titan, it's domed glass ceiling showing the great yellow moon as it drifted slowly around Saturn.
And the Lord was delirious in his coccon, speaking words the diplomat did not wish to hear, yet could not stop himself from listening.
"It runs deep. We tried to rid the fold or the bipedal humans. We have seen you form at the bottom of the liquid, your biology is unlike any other, an affront. The earth is an anomaly, so are you. To you, it is the only paradise among dead planets. To us, the galaxy is beauty, save for a growing tumor.
"And you are a tumor, each individual. Individual, curse the moonphase I learned this word, it spreads in our minds like poison. I am Lord, so are the others, we sing as one. But now, I hear discord. We had no need for warfare as we sung together, only you did. And you created monsters of steel and atoms to bleed planets dry. We sensed the threat you posed since your ancestor swam as cells.
"We bombarded you with ions. Liquid became water. You came to like water. Later, you climbed out of it. We scrambled to destroy your atmosphere, and we did. You breathed it in and decided oxygen was your lifesubstance. We sent sheets of ice and pillars of flames, you call them seasons.
"The stain we Lords wanted to wash grew with every attempt, becoming more absurd and gross under our own miscalculations. Your civilization is a discordand cacophony of killers and madmen, we could not stop you anymore. Not with your intimate and inborn will to kill and destroy, survive and adapt.
"Trade and handshakes will not do. We tried, believe us. You are still breaking all the laws of the universe with your presence, infecting it, spreading the abomination with terraformation and breach of nature. We had to poison you, couldn't do otherwise. You scare us into madness and kill us sooner or later, as you will all the others.
"I cannot bear it anymore."
The Lord gave out a bodywide pulse and floated lifeless to the ground, limbs vanishing into mist.
The diplomat sat in his chair and the guard leaned against the wall. Both contemplated the day in silence for a long time.
He had always thought that the chances for the galaxy to harbor another habitable planet was dim. There were in fact lots of these, except not for humans, while Earth was a terrifying anomaly going against the known rules of space for every other species.
Lovecraft had been terrified of space. Turns out, space was a lot more terrified of humans. Ctuhlu fled at the sight of humanity. If only the author had known.
Humans feared what could break the laws of physics.
Humans *were* breaking the laws of physics, rewriting a galaxy into something that wouldn't leave a place for poorly adapted species.
"So," said the diplomat, "by trying to kill us they gave us the means to evolve and become what we are. If they hadn't, we may still be a primitive amoeba drifting deep."
"Yes," answered the guard.
"Under another interpretation, they are the gods that created us, gave us tools, and God is horrified and helpless against us."
"Yes, and God appears to have been bound by rules we have been breaking for a long time."
"My friend. What are we?"
"I wish I knew."
Who the were the Lords? Enemies? Could you consider enemy a being who knew your mere presence was a risk to its existence?
What were humans exactly, in regards to the universe?
"You think we'll ever find the answer?" asked the guard.
"I'm not sure I want to hear it," answered the diplomat. | 2021-06-12T12:39:34 | 2021-06-12T11:07:39 | 2,593 | 982 |
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?" | Friend, Stranger, and Foe
“What a beautiful night, but it is depressing seeing Orion.” I said to myself; contemplating how the arrival of his constellation signaled impending winter cold. I used my fire poker to trace out the stars that made his belt and bow. Then, lazily stirred the warm embers. To most, embers signal the end of a fire. To me, it was the most magical part of it: their orange glow creating illusions of light and shadow more relaxed than that of the furious pace of bonfire flames. Embers suited me better.
“Greetings,” someone hissed from the edge of my tree line. “May I share your fire with you tonight?” Its red eyes glowed as it mouth the sad sounding request.
“Friend, stranger, and even foe are all welcome to share my fire. I find a warm fire and the conversation it provides do adequate at making the the two later into the first. What is your name, stranger?” I asked, making sure to word the question so as not to make my guest think I was trying to steal their name as the fae of old had done. Beings such as this, what we called mythical, were keenly attuned to those types of things. I was keenly attuned to not being perceived as a threat.
The beast smiled at the welcome; its fangs showing long and sharp, yellow even in the orange glow. “I am the one who is called Detonian the vile.” It approached low, not moving upright as a person or Minotaur. I couldn’t yet make out the features of its body or limbs, if it even had those. I had learned shortly after moving in to this home not to assume things like physical features and species.
As Detonian made their way opposite me at the fire I began to make out its form. I understood the title “The Vile” immediately. They were a sludge beast; creatures known to be ill tempered under normal circumstances, quite dangerous when provoked. Their bodies were wormlike with several pores that oozed a tar like liquid. I was surprised at the lack of smell. That was clearly an embellished detail passed on in lore. The arms extending shortly below the head were roughly half the length of its six foot body; eight inch talons ended them.
“It is not common for a human to extend such a courtesy to my kind. It is much appreciated, I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” He growled.
“And you won’t, either. It is my name and I intend to keep it.” I replied, making sure to flex my knowledge of the tricks cryptids could use to take advantage of a mere mortal.
“Hwaa ha ha haaa,” howled Detonian, “Good sir, while I do not intend to use your name other than to know how to refer to you, I am pleased to meet a hu-man that knows of our ways. If you allow, may I rephrase my question?”
“You may.”
“Sir,” he smiled a threatening but polite toothy smile, “how may I refer to you?”
“Please, call me Richard.” I considered lying, but lore said Detonian’s kind were intuitive and bringing trouble to myself this evening was undesirable.
“Richard, I am grateful for your fire this evening. My kind are not accustomed to the cold of this area.”
I added a few small logs to the fire and we spoke long into the early hours of the morning. Each of us shared our understandings of the other’s kind. Each of us learning that our knowledge was lacking, as hardly anything we knew was correct. We became friends and by the time the fire had died agreed to meet again. I assured him he was welcome to my fire anytime. This was a night bridges were built and neither would forget. | The house was simply perfection. We fell in love with it at first sight of the photos on the Internet. Heck, we weren't even house shopping when we saw it. 6 months later, we are enjoying a nice adult night with friends out by the fire pit. Our back yard bordered a national forest so we were the popular spot for "fire pit nights" among our friends. Of course, people go home, and I am usually left by myself enjoying the last bit of the fire after even the family has gone inside.
As I finished my beer, I noticed what seemed to be a trick of the light in the edge of my yard. While it is fenced, there is a gate at the back so I can blow leaves out to the forest outside. Two glowing eyes slowly made their way to the fire pit area. Around them was inky shapeless blackness. They slowly came to the edge of the light from the fire and stopped.
"Greetings" it rasped in a voice from that general direction, but it felt also like it was inside my head, "May I share your fire tonight?"
It was probably the relaxation from the beer, but I nodded toward a chair across the fire from me, and spoke, "Sure, would you like a beer? I've got a couple left here in the cooler."
"Thanksssss" I heard the drawn out acceptance of my hospitality. In an instant, the darkness took the form of a man wearing a nice suit. They reached into my cooler and retrieved a beer and started to twist the cap off.
"Those aren't twist off..." I started to say, but they removed the cap with ease.
"They are for me, thank you." They sat down in the chair and stared at the fire for a few moments and silently drank the beer. They looked around the back yard, taking note of my koi pond and other landscaping I had done.
I broke the silence... "So, do you live... Out there?"
"Something like that. Out there is a good description. " They set the beer down and held their hands near the fire to warm them up. "My... *People*, live in many places that your people do not." It was then I noticed their ears were pointed as one peeked out from underneath their long black hair. "Ah, yes. You noticed I'm not... well, human. It is okay, I accept your hospitality and no harm will come to you or your family, I assure you. I have not shared a campfire with your people in a number of years, and it is nice sometimes."
"Um, thank you. When you say my people, and not human, how do you identify your people?" I was probably a little too relaxed at the moment. Beer will do that, well, several beers will do that.
"My... people, are, well, we've been called many things by your people. We live mostly in the shadows in between the places and things. We cannot resist a warm fire, however on a chilly night. Especially when we know the creator of the fire has done so in hospitality." they paused. "But I have not answered your question, have I ?"
"To be honest, I don't know that I need that answer since we are simply enjoying the dying embers of a fire built in friendship. Besides, I can't tell them..." I nodded toward the house, " that I enjoyed a beer with a Fae, Vampire or Koushtaka. I'm guessing you aren't a Wendigo, because we are too far south, and you aren't trying to eat me." I waited to see if they confirmed anything.
"Ah, so you know of the death otters?" They seemed intrigued.
"Well, in stories, like, what are considered fantasy works of fiction by modern writers. I figure most *myths* are somewhat rooted either in truth, or in a desire to explain the unexplained, or unexplainable."
"Myths..." they considered the word and how I defined it. "Well, you put that very eloquently. I am, my people are, or have been confused with, I should say, those that you mentioned. Except for the wendigo, they, are people in the north who became ill with the disease rabies and lashed out. It was easier to say a spirit corrupted them than admit that they succumbed to a disease of animals. The early humans who lived here, before those from your lineage in Africa and then Europe, although, go back far enough and it is all African via different routes. They feared and worshiped us, initially. Then, they met your ancestors who decided they would conquer instead of coexist. Our people knew after the Jamestown incident that we wouldn't stop colonization, so we stayed on our side of the veil mostly. " they shrugged. "Perhaps you know already and are simply looking for confirmation. "
"I don't require a label to be honest. I can sit and enjoy the warmth of the coals and the night sounds." I felt like I didn't need to push it in any direction. I couldn't tell anyone about this anyway. NOBODY would understand.
"Your hospitality is appreciated, especially without the questions. Sometimes, the answers to the questions cause excitement that..." their voice trailed off.
"How's your beer doing? I've got one more here, and I do not need to drink another one." I held up the bottle.
"No thank you. The fire is enough. Seeing how the fire is almost out, I will bid you thanks, and return to my home. Thank you for your hospitality, it is appreciated more than you know."
"You are welcome to return to future fire pit nights if you choose. You have been a wonderful guest this evening."
"Perhaps..."
With that, they stood up and walked over to offer their hand which I shook. The moment I released their hand, they turned into the inky blackness I had seen with the two glowing eyes and shot back into the woods.
"Well that was weird." I muttered under my breath as I poured my fire bucket on the last of the embers. Satisfied that the fire was out, I went inside. | 2022-01-06T06:28:28 | 2022-01-06T02:41:56 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | The bell jingled, and the glass front door creaked open. It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer, the type of afternoon where nobody would suspect anything amiss if a coffin shop’s owner were gone for lunch.
However, the owner of this coffin shop packed his lunch every day. He also didn’t believe in air-conditioning-the windows needed to be open so that the vapors from the lacquer didn’t accumulate and make him and his apprentice light-headed.
Harold had a strong suspicion that he’d inhaled enough chemicals to become a medical oddity. “Should offer myself up for science,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that?” his apprentice, Darryl, said. He was a bit slow on the uptake, but, most importantly, he was dependable. He had recently graduated high school and was going to marry his high school sweetheart, looking to start a family - that kind of dependable.
“Nothing, nothing. See who’s at the door,” Harold said, back to his gruff demeanor.
“It’s me,” a resonant voice replied, cutting through the lazy summer air with a crackle.
Harold and Darryl met eyes, Darryl’s wide and Harold’s incisive.
“In the back,” Harold grumbled.
A giant appeared in the doorway, blocking off some of the sunlight that trickled in from the yellowed front windows despite the years of grime clouding them.
“What do you want?” Harold said, returning to the coffin he was preparing for Vlad’s company. He felt the typical annoyance when he thought about how Vlad called the group he represented a “society,” like they were better than everyone else.
“Just seeing how my order is coming along,” Vlad said, walking into the room and running a hand along the coffin’s edge. He patted the wood lovingly and nodded. “That’s why you’re the best,” he said.
“Is that all you came for? To ask how the coffin’s coming along? I’ve been making these for you for decades, always the same quality. THAT I can guarantee.”
“No, that’s not all I’ve come for,” Vlad said. He looked at Darryl. “Could you give us a minute?”
Darryl looked at Harold; the older man nodded his assent.
“He’s a good kid,” Harold said to Vlad when they were alone, watching his customer’s eyes.
Vlad ignored the comment and cleared his throat. “It’s come to the society’s attention that you’re getting up there in years,” Ivan said.
“The society,” Harold scoffed.
Vlad continued, despite the interruption. “I’ve come today because we’d like to offer you an opportunity.”
Harold put his paintbrush down on the lacquer lid and gave Vlad his full attention.
“Haven’t you ever wondered how I’ve been coming into your shop for decades now and haven’t gotten any older?”
“I figure you moisturize and stay out of the sun.”
“Well, I do stay out of the sun.” Vlad leans back and looks out the front windows. “I left my parasol by the door.” After a moment’s pause, Vlad looks at Harold with a serious glint in his eye and a flexed jaw. “I’m a vampire. Everyone that’s come from me has been a vampire. Hadn’t you been suspicious of the accents? This backwater town’s not exactly known for its immigrant population.”
“Never really thought about it,” Harold said, picking up his brush.
Nobody else ever brushed off Vlad so quickly, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I’d like to extend an offer to you,” he said when he had recovered. He paused for effect. “Immortality.”
“Not interested,” Harold replied. “Got any other orders, though? I’ll take those.”
“Let me elaborate: you make the best coffins in which any of us have ever slept. I’ve ensured you had steady work for all these years, and I was hoping you could ensure our sleeping situation for the coming centuries.”
“Oh, I knew what you were getting at… and I still say no.”
Vlad shook his head, clearing his surprise. “People usually take some time thinking about it…”
Harold set down his brush again, this time clearly annoyed. “I’d be immortal, never dying, right?” he said.
“Right,” Vlad said, getting excited.
“In this body forever?”
“Exactly!”
“That’s why I pass. Maybe if I was younger. Now? I want to enjoy my remaining days.”
“But you can have an infinite supply to enjoy!”
“Bah,” Harold said, swatting at the air with his hand. “Waste it on a young man, like Darryl.” Then, after thinking for a moment, Harold continued. “Wait. Why not use it on Darryl? I’ll teach him how to make the coffins, and you can keep him around.”
“I’d have to meet him first, get to know him. The society doesn’t want just anyone immortal.”
“I’ll tell you what. Let me focus on teaching him to make the best coffins, and you can take the next few decades to decide if you want him. Me? I’m ready to be done. I’ve had a good life.” Harold picked up his brush once more.
“Are you sure?” Vlad asked, unconvinced.
“Do I sound unsure? Now let me finish this coffin for Esmeralda; I told her I would have it done by the end of the week.”
“She’s my sister-in-law,” Vlad remarked.
“Great. You can let her know it will be ready.” | # Soulmage
**I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be.
And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage.
A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done.
So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start.
I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house.
I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in.
"How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!"
"Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?"
"Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in."
In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this.
But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause.
Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing.
Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin.
Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it."
Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood."
The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know."
"Hm?" Jiaola asked.
"Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace."
Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked.
"I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us."
And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter.
I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought.
Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look.
Then he smiled and said, "No thanks."
The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?"
"I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us."
The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—"
"I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
The vampire closed his eyes.
Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat.
"Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you."
Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me."
The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm.
Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house.
I wished I could have left it at that. I really did.
But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered.
I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance.
As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street.
Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips.
"What are you—"
"I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you."
The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?"
"Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever."
"Then ask, insolent journeyman."
I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?"
A.N.
Let me know if you want a part 2!
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-05-31T13:59:39 | 2022-05-31T10:42:02 | 145 | 85 |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | "Mighty dragon, what is it you seek?"
Her voice rang out, strong and brave. The Treasure of Hilla Village was dwarfed by the black beast before her, yet she had no fear.
The dragon looked at her, surprised and amused. It was used to humans fleeing in terror. It had seen hunting parties shake at its sight, even as they tried to claim its heart for their own. But it had never seen one without fear.
"Where is your fear?"
It's voice was low, shaking the very ground with each word. The villagers gasped at it, the weight of centuries of age and power behind every letter. Yet the girl did not falter, standing like a tree in a storm. She clasped her hands before her, her tone calm and level.
"I do fear you, but not right now. I fear the potential you have to change, and choose to destroy us. But a simple conversation should not be held in terror."
It gave a laugh, each breath blowing her dress around.
"Such wisdom in one so young and small. I came here out if interest, to see what if this place was worth destroying or not. You, you intrigue me little human."
It lowered its head down to the ground, mere inches infront of the girl. She held out a hand, resting it on the dragons snout. It huffed out, a faint smell of smoke filling the air.
"I would ask you do not destroy my home, if I may."
It huffed again.
"I am impressed."
It withdrew its head, standing up to its full height.
"Very well, I will leave your place in peace. But I will return, and I expect you to be here."
She gave a beautiful smile, bowing her head.
"I will be."
With that it took to the air, soaring into the sky. The fair maiden returned to her village, dress wrinkled, hair a mess, and dust on her features. But to them, her beauty had only grown, having protected them from a creature beyond any they had seen before. | The hulking green monstrosity came to a stop in the smoking wreckage of a house. A girl stood in its path, arms outstretched, a look of pleading on her young face. An angry shout issued from deep inside the great green form, then repeated.
“Why are we stopped? Ivan, what do you see? Contact? Markov, swivel this turret!”
The gun turret atop the T-72 tank turned, making an alarming sound. The girl standing in front of the machine winced at the sound, but stood her ground.
“No Commander,” Ivan said. “There is a girl.”
The Commander muttered a series of curses then opened the hatch at the top of the tank. The air that greeted him was choked with smoke and dust. He looked around, confirming there were no enemy combatants. The tank was vulnerable while stopped here, particularly with the restricted sight lines caused by the houses. They’d been forced off route and had detoured through a residential area to get back on course. Less than an hour ago, they’d been ambushed. The unholy creatures had set a trap and managed to destroy half their unit. The creatures that looked human, but the commander knew better. His gaze fell on the girl standing in the way. She was one of them. The soulless.
“Ivan,” the Commander said, trying to keep his voice calm and give Ivan the benefit of the doubt. “She is not strapped with explosives. Do you believe she is standing on a mine?”
“No Commander,” said Ivan. “No danger present—”
“Then why are we stopped? Drive forward! Every second we spend here is a second closer to death!”
The driver’s hatch slid open and Ivan poked his head out. He turned to look up at the commander, pointing at the girl. “Please, I know this girl.”
The Commander looked at the girl, incredulous. They were deep in soulless territory. Ivan was a true-born serving in the holy cause. How could he know her? Ivan was barely more than a boy himself, who by his own admission, had never been out of the homeland. The girl was waving her arms and shouting something, but it was impossible to hear her over the tank. The headsets they wore were the only reason the commander could hear Ivan. His gaze slid back to his driver. They didn’t have time for this, but perhaps he had not understood Ivan. The Commander decided to ask for clarification before he let himself get angry.
“Be quick, how do you know her?”
Ivan tapped his pocket, “She’s famous. I follow her. She has millions of followers. She’s always posting inspirational stuff.”
The Commander stared at Ivan. The boy had just admitted to a severe breach of protocol. A protocol which was in place to prevent the very situation they were now in. The lies the soulless told were insidious. They were presented as truth and got stuck in your head, twisting you up. He would have no choice but to punish Ivan later, but he could mitigate the punishment if the boy would cooperate with him now.
“Close hatch soldier! Drive forward!”
Ivan shook his head. “Commander, please! You must listen! This girl is not soulless, and… and I’m in love with her.”
Ivan began to climb out of the tank. The Commander tried to shout him down, but the man had a resolute look on his face, and ignored his commands. The Commander drew his sidearm and shot the girl. She crumpled like a marionette that’d had its strings cut. Ivan froze, one leg still in the hatch, staring at her lifeless body.
“Do you see?” The Commander gestured at the dead shell of a girl in front of the tank. “She was soulless!” His tone softened as he remembered how young Ivan was. They’d all lost friends that day, and were tired. “She infected your mind, Ivan. If you had gone to her, she would have taken your soul.”
Ivan turned a look of fury on the Commander, reaching for his own sidearm, “YOU BASTARD!”
Before he completed the draw, the Commander shot Ivan between the eyes. He fell forward, his body spilling slowly off the front of the tank in the boneless manner of death.
The Commander heaved a deep sigh. He would need to skip sleep that night to pray for Ivan’s soul. He’d lost count of how many sleepless nights of prayer he’d spent. War was hell, but good men did what they had to do. If they didn’t, evil would win. | 2022-09-07T13:44:33 | 2022-09-07T13:25:01 | 54 | 10 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | “Ah, professor? I don’t really think humans are all that peaceful.”
“Have you used nuclear weapons on each other?”
“Twice.”
“Have you used chemical weapons on each other?”
“More times than could be recorded?”
“Practiced biological warfare?”
“For hundreds of years.”
“Torture?”
“Thousands of years.”
“Slavery?”
“For all of recorded history.”
“Matricide? Fratricide? Infanticide? Genocide?”
“Four-for-four, yeah.”
“Thermonuclear weapons?”
“Tested, I think. Never used.”
“Hydrogen bombs?”
“Same.”
“Laser evisceration?”
“Technically yes, but only in surgical settings.”
“Cerebral neuron critical stimulation?”
“No?”
“Nightmare agony?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Solar malfeasance?”
“I do not know what that is.”
“See? Y’all aren’t so bad. You should read the next chapter, the one about your neighbors. Mars was a shitshow.”
“Mars? Really?”
“Venus might’ve been worse. But at least there’s still an atmosphere.” | She sat in her chair, quaking in shock. She could not sit there and listen to the professor say that humans when one of the most peaceful peoples in the galaxy. She new different. She new the truth. She had to speak up.
She raised her hand. Professor K'Vorth acknowledge her. "Yes? What is it, Karen?"
Karen slowly stood up, finding her voice, finding her courage. "Yes. Karen. My name is Karen. I carry the name of my ancestor. She was one of the most persecuted and discriminated against in human history. And for you to sit there and say humans were the most peaceful in the galaxy is a great disservice to her and all who died for the cause."
K'Vorth was taken aback. "I am curious about this. What grave injustice has our historians overlooked?"
Karen began walking down to the front of the class, so she could look K'Vorth in the eye and better educate him.
"Centuries ago, my ancestor Karen was at the mighty temple of food, trying to procure enough to feed her family. She took the food to the mighty clerk to tabulate how much the food would cost."
K'Vorth knew where this was going. "Ah, yes. Racial inequality. No doubt you ancestor was an oppressed minority and this clerk threw your grandmother out of the store. We must have overlooked...."
Karen cut him off. "No. It was worse than racial inequality."
K'Vorth was puzzled now. What would be worse than racism?
Karen continued the story of the persecution of her ancestor. "She had with her a talisman. This talisman would grant my ancestor 10 per cent off the cost of the food. But the clerk would not honour this talisman. The clerk claimed that talisman was invalid."
K'Vorth was growing more confused. "Talisman? What you describe sounds like a coupon."
"Yes," Karen said. "Coupon is the ancient term. So you have done some research." Karen added a hint of sarcasm to the word "research."
K'Vorth rubbed his temple in frustration. "Let me get this straight. Your ancestor went to this temple of food...."
"The Kost-Ko," interject Karen.
"Your ancestor went to Costco, and they wouldn't take her coupon."
The other two humans hid their faces in their hands. Karen saw it as validation, that they too were embarrassed at the persecution that her ancestor had faced.
"Only by invoking the Words of Power, a veritable killing curse, was my ancestor able to finally purchase her food and feed her family. Those Words have been passed down in family. They are words so powerful, I dare not speak them."
Professor K'Vorth was just beside himself. "Look, Karen. Being denied the use of a coupon is hardly the injustice you think it is."
Karen could feel anger rising in her throat. "That clerk tried to starve out my family!"
"Karen, I'm sure your ancestors still had more then enough to purchase food. It was only 10 per cent."
"But it is the principle of the matter! If the words on the talisman bear no meaning to those in power, then they just may as readily disregard the Constitution, or the Galactic Charter!"
K'Vorth had let this go on long enough. "Karen, please return to your seat."
Karen felt she had no other choice. She had to do it. She had to utter the Words of Power. It would be the only way for K'Vorth to see reason.
Karen looked Professor K'Vorth square in the eye. She stood up straight and tall. She didn't want to do this, but it had to be done.
She uttered the Words of Power. "Let me speak to your manager."
K'Vorth just sighed. | 2022-10-17T09:03:16 | 2022-10-17T05:22:08 | 100 | 74 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | This is how it works? Did I say that or think it?
Did he hear me?
Is he hearing me?
If this is how it works... If I can come back again when I die?
I don't want to be here. A voice in a head. I'm a man with dreams.
I need out.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself!
KILL YOURSELF! | ***Wake up Jimmy***
I said in a soft and whispery voice.
***Wake up Jimmy, it's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not happening, I'm not hearing another voice!!!*
***Oh, yes you are, I'm here, inside your mind. Did you think this moment would never happen? Did you think you are not insane?***
*But, but, but I'm not and I know this voice is not real, I'm dreaming.*
As Jimmy slaps his face trying to wake and opening his eyes, sitting on bed. He is wearing a white shirt with a white jeans, while he looks around he can see several other beds with people wearing the same clothing as he is.
*What is this place? Where am I?*
*Good morning Jimmy, woke up early today!* Said Doc. Brown with a smile on his face and a very calm and soft voice.
*How do you know my name? Where am I?*
*Jane, I think it's happening again. Call Doc. Stephen here*
*Ok Doc, I will also bring the guards in case we get out of control.* Whispered Jane at Doctor's Brown ear.
*So, Jimmy. Can I call you like...*
*Who are you? What am I doing in here?* Interrupted Jimmy with a scared look at his face, eyes wide opened wondering if that is a dream or not.
***THEY CAME HERE TO KILL YOU JIMMY!***
*NO, NO, NOOO!* Screamed Jimmy out loud. Doctor Brown steped back from Jimmy, while staring at him with both hands pressing against his head.
***They are coming to take us, to knock us down. Look at his hand, he is getting something out of his pocket, run, run as fast as you can.***
Doctor Brown was removing his pen from the pocket when suddenly Jimmy punched him in the face and made him fall on the floor.
***There is a door on the left, go for it then another on the right, run!***
Jimmy couldn't stop running and bumping into others, when the guards saw it they started to chase him and screaming that he should better stop or they would shoot him down with tranquilizers.
***This is happening Jimmy, now continue to run and open the next door at your right, It's nurse's Jane office, there you will find all you need to...***
Bam! Jimmy opened the door while breathing heavely and as he started to walk inside the room a very bright light started to shine from above, he could barely see anything.
***Wake up Jimmy***
***Wake up Jimmy, It's just 6AM***
*NO, NO, NO, this is not HAPPENING!!! NOT AGAIN!*
***Oh yeah, you are now trapped with me forever Jimmy!***
| 2015-03-23T07:29:11 | 2015-03-23T05:47:41 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | I woke up on my 18th birthday and - aside from the obvious nervousness - I felt exactly the same. Of course, this was to be completely expected. After a wonderful birthday breakfast with my family beset with gifts, well-wishes, and gentle teasing, my father volunteered to be the one to fly me to the local Scientific Unlocked Potential Eradiation Reactor to receive the present we all knew I was anxiously awaiting: my power.
My dad was a "flyer", naturally. He was one of the 20% of the population or so that received the ability to hover through the air. It was a fairly common power, although each flyer seemed to have different top speeds and acceleration. The government said it wasn't so much as turning off gravity as telekinetically controlling micro gravity wells.
It was well over most people's heads, well, over everyone's heads except the less than 1% of the population who were "thinkers," bestowed with the power of seemingly unlimited scientific aptitude. They were the rarest powers, but they were probably the most valuable since they were able to refine the process that gave humans their powers.
On the flight over my father reassured me that he and my mother would love me no matter what happened. He joked that my mom's side - full of speedsters - wouldn't mind if I could suddenly break the sound barrier, but that it made no difference what I was gifted with. His voice was lost in the wind as my mind was racing with nervous anticipation.
We landed at the Reactor and entered into the lobby, currently host to a handful of other nervous, but giddy, 18 year olds. For such a miraculous process, the government had done an exemplary job of dulling the entire affair. After a mountain of sign-in paperwork, I awaited my turn.
My name was called an hour later and I was escorted alone to the Reactor, deep inside the facility. The Reactor core was a cavernous, five-story column, large enough for hundreds of people to stand in at the base. At that moment, I was the only one standing in it. The government thinkers stood outside reinforced doors and sent reassuring messages through the intercom. They flipped the switch. Nothing happened.
For the ensuing hours there was confusion. I had gained no observable power. My head swimming, the thinkers' voices blended together. "Unparalleled." "Anomaly." "We've never seen this before." They advised to keep me overnight for full observation.
My father and I had a reassuring chat outside before he left. I'll never forget how worried he looked and I'll never forget his words to me. "We'll love you no matter what." I'll never forget the hug. I'll never forget how scared I was. And I'll never forget when they told me hours later how he died when he fell from the sky after his powers faded.
It was that day I learned that I was given the one power no one in our society wanted: I permanently take away others' powers through touch or being in close proximity. Worse, the area of effect of my "power" was unstable. It could be a meter, it could be a mile. Or, as a leading thinker said, I "have the power to singlehandedly bring the Golden Age of humanity to an end."
I am alone. I am feared. I am hunted. And I'm scared. | Light cascaded through the blinds of the first floor window of his parents home, waking him gently. Simon had been long awaiting this day; the day he'd learn his talent. Many of his friends had already found out their talents and it was just like he'd been told throughout his time in school and by his parents: "Your 18th birthday will define your future". Grant had become a strengther, destined to assist in hard labour, military or emergency service roles. Keith had become a kinetic, adept in manipulating the position of small objects in space with precision using only his mind; a talent that had become well-suited to surgeons, scientists and - when working with teams of kinetics - construction and controlled demolition. Sandra had been unlucky. Sandra's talent had been a rare one. She had the gift of invulnerability. Governments across the world had agreed to share their invulnerables in the largest joint-nation experiment in history - human rights conventions easily sidestepped by newly written laws that came swiftly in the aftermath of 'the event' nearly 50 years ago. In those 50 years there were no statistics for how many invulnerables there bad been or how successful these experiments were. Sandra was picked up the day after her 18th birthday. The joint-governments had set up an efficient task force that detected the unusual electro-magnetic activity associated with invulnerables during their change. Simon prayed he would not end up the same.
10:34. That was his birth time. His parents had shooed his younger sister Emma out of the room. She was too young to watch a change. 30 seconds. Simons palms sweated as he looked into his father's eyes with an overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. 20 seconds. His mother took his hand "It's going to be ok. We're here for you." she assured him. 10 seconds. Simon felt a creeping sensation tingling from the base of his spine slowly climbing to the top of his neck. 10:34. His eyes lit up furiously with a crimson red that made his own mother recoil a few steps back. His whole body shook violently and he crumbled to the floor seizing. He had heard of the pain experienced during the change but nothing could have prepared him for the razorblades inside his head and the fire in his veins. 10:44. His parents were sitting on the floor next to him. They held each others hands and looked visibly shaken. Simons eyes opened. He felt strong, like waking up feeling well after having been ill. His father was first to speak "Are you ok?", Simon nodded. "That was the most violent change I've ever seen." His father continued "Are you sure you're alright?". Simon found his voice "I'm fine, honestly", "how do I find out my talent?". "You've gotta try it dear", his mother said quietly. Simon stood up with his parents. He felt lighter. As if he'd never exerted so little energy to stand up. His thoughts felt quicker. As if he'd been operating in low gear his whole life. Simon effortlessly lifted the piano in the dining room. "I'm a strengther!". "Thank god!" his mother squeaked. "Like father like son." his father quipped. Simon was giddy. He told his parents that he had to go and show his friends, they laughed and let him on his way.
Not 20 minutes later he was at the park with Keith and Grant. Grant was spinning a roundabout close to breaking point while Keith carefully arced a swing back and forth. "Simon! What did you get man!? What's your talent?" Grant shouted as Simon approached the roundabout. "Strengther" he said, as he easily brought Grants self-experimentation with the roundabout to a halt. Grant wrestled the opposite side of the roundabout with Simon but it did not budge. "That's awesome, how are you finding it? Keith asked calmly, still more focused on his swing than on the competition with the roundabout. "Yeah, so far so good", Simon admitted "It's a little strange though". "Feels sudden doesn't it." Grant stated more than asked, giving up and stepping back from the roundabout. "Yeah", Simon agreed "It does". It was at this point that he had noticed Keith struggling to control his swing, as if battling with an unknown force. Simon looked around and saw no one nearby. He looked back and Keith had regained control, visibly annoyed at himself. Tests for kinetic surgeons were among the most gruelling of any job. The three friends played around with their talents for the rest of the afternoon, Keith flicking up objects in the air for Grant and Simon to smash between each other.
On his way home Simon tripped over and landed beside a broken bottle. It wasn't till he'd stood up and walked a few yards that he realised his hand had a shard embedded deep. Maybe strengthers feel less pain than others he thought, absent mindedly pulling the shard from his hand and covering the gash with his jumper sleeve as he continued the walk home. When he came in the door, Emma ran up and hugged him "Missed you Sai-mawn!" she was still struggling with her pronunciations. A large meal had been prepared and a few particularly nice drinks were chosen to "break you into the world of alcohol nicely" as his father had put it. They laughed and joked about how worried they'd been about the change and Simon felt a little closer to adulthood as he shared a beer with his father. As he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed he realised that there was no blood on the jumper from his cut hand. He looked down and turned white as a sheet. His hand was completely fine. There was no sign of the gash the glass had left after being deeply jammed in not a few hours ago.
They would come for him tomorrow. | 2015-03-28T05:39:45 | 2015-03-28T05:31:34 | 757 | 27 |
[WP] Humanity awakens one day to find that large city block size black monoliths have appeared all over the globe. They don't seem to serve any purpose. At first panic ensues but after 10 years of them being there society has come to just accept them. | Mission log entry 1 sun cycle 1: a scout ship detected electromagnetic radiation emanating from the third planet of a nearby solar system. Analysis indicates the indigenous population engaged in suicidal weapons development and war. Dispatch monitor complex to the third planet.
Mission log entry 2 sun cycle 1.5: monitor complex attacked by nuclear weapons crossing the orbit of the moon of the third planet. Collected energy allowed for early deployment of individual cubic monitor segments.
Mission log entry 3 sun cycle 1.55: monitor segments began approach to the planet establishing monitor coverage as a globe of connectivity. Ground approaches were slow to allow evacuation of indigenous personnel prior to landing. Most landings unopposed. Monitor units impervious to local attacks did not respond. Data collection commences.
Mission log entry 4 sun cycle 9.95: monitor segments completed analysis. Implementation phase imminent. Indigenous population currently oblivious to the monitor units.
Mission log entry 5 sun cycle 10: significant preparation of indigenous war fighting capability rising. Analysis indicates possibility of Thermo nuclear war.
Mission log entry 6 sun cycle 10.1: monitor units implemented selective EMP and metallic fusion operations. Indigenous population no longer has a military capability as all metallic parts in selected areas are now fused. Electromagnetic communication systems of indigenous personnel in designated areas of high risk are destroyed. All Thermo nuclear capability rendered inoperable. Significant reaction differs in different zones of occupation. Some populations engaged in worship of monitor units others leaving gifts others engaged in futile attacks.
Mission log entry 7 sun cycle 10.5: monitor units initiated communication with the indigenous population of the planet. Message transmitted "People of the earth the practice of warfare is no longer possible. You are encouraged to participate in the reclamation of your planet and ultimately joining the community of populated stars."
Mission log entry 8 sun cycle 11.0: replenishment of the ozone layer complete. Atmospheric conditions currently nominal. Ocean based monitor units reestablished temperature equilibrium. Violent weather events significantly contained. Telepathic integration of specific members of the indigenous population completed. Estimated pacification completion projected at sun cycle 15.
Mission log entry 9 sun cycle 15.1: planetary peace established. First contact authorized.
| "Ash, how many time have I told you? Stop going near them!" Razia scolded.
Ash didn't want to argue with his mother, especially with her waving the kitchen knife around while she cut the vegetables. Lowering the condensation in his voice, he tried to explain.
"Mom. Its nothing to worry about. I was just making a sketch for my paper."
Razia bent towards the window. The distant sunset was blocked by the huge Monolith. It would have been a beautiful scene, but for some reason seemed....darker.
"Bad things happen to people who go near them Ashwin."
Ashwin surreptitiously rolled his eyes. "Its just superstition mom. The government has been analyzing those things for a decade. They are completely inert."
Staring in the distance, he looked at the behemoth structure for the thousandth time. It was afternoon, and yet the thing was pitch black. Almost like it *sucked* in light instead of reflecting it.
Ash shuddered for a moment. *All superstition aside, it is creepy.I wonder if anyone -*
Ashwin blinked. For a second there he had seen....
Moving near the window, he examined the structure. He was sure he saw -
There. Near the base of the monolith. A flash of light.
He was running towards the door the next second.
"Ash where...." his mother asked. No time for her.
Sprinting he crossed the front yard, turning towards the structure. His heart was pounding.Not from exhaustion but rather excitement.
Five mins later Ashwin was standing at the feet of the monolith. Craning his neck, he stared up. Couldn't see the top. The thing was more than 8 km tall and a 500 metres square at the base, yet was built from a single stone. It defied reason.
Breathing heavily,he reached out to feel the rough exterior. He loved this feeling. Alien and comforting at the same time. He looked around trying to find the source-
A current rush up his arm.
Ash jumped back. This hadn't before. Looking down where he had been touching, he saw a symbol carved into the surface. It was pure white, just like the pure black of the monolith. It seemed like a cross between Egyptian and Hindi characters.
"What the hell are you?" he whispered.
Over the years many conspiracy theories had been formed for the strange structure that had sprung in major cities around the world overnight. Aliens, Ghosts, Cultists, Wizards, ie the usual suspects, to the bizarre, like a new form of plant life and stalactites.
But Ash could finally see. These *things* were something else. As he had touched the structure, a bizarre thought had entered his mind. And as he watched the symbols spread over the monolith like dancing spiders, he was hit with the epiphany.
"Oh my god," he gasped.",this, this changes everything. People need to know."
The possibilities danced around his mind. These monoliths could break every human limitation in existence. They would be a god once they could.....
His soaring heart was brought to the ground as he considered humanities's track record.
"With this,We'll probably destroy the planet by next week.No. Humans need to be protected from this power. From themselves. "
He smiled devilishly. In the right hands, his hands,this power would be most pofitable to humanity. Closing his eyes, he began to execute his plan.
------------------
"Good evening and welcome to Radio news at 9. I am your anchor Kiran Bedi welcoming you tonight."
"Our special tonight is the apparent assassination of Six world leaders in various Dictatorships around the world. Catch our later coverage of 'Civil War in North Korea'. "
"Another hot story, is the complete crippling of major Military powers. All around the world, people are unable to deploy a firearm or launch weapons. Intelligence suggest possible interference of nano-bots. Could these stories be related? Lets find out--"
"Umm.... We... are interrupting our regular program to broadcast something extraordinary. I am standing at the roof of my office and I can see...uh, What the hell is that Roy?"
"Aha..pardon my language. But what we are seeing is unbelievable. There is another moon...in the sky. A red object is floating in space right beside our moon.Its..huh..quite belie-"
"Wait. Is it..is it growing bigger? I dont understand. Oh my god! Its coming towards us. Oh god! Its coming fast. This is an emergency . I repeat. Find shelter. Find your families. We are in.."
"Shhhhhhhhhhhh.BZZZZZZZZZ.Shhhhhhhhhhhhh" | 2015-10-18T10:55:24 | 2015-10-18T10:48:42 | 207 | 13 |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It has become an addiction, more than killing ever was. It has consumed me.
When you picture "serial killer," I'm the first thing that springs into your mind. I tortured animals as a child, and I liked it. My father abused me relentlessly, second only to my mother. I eventually killed him... and her. I took a life for the first time when I was only fifteen years old: a girl from my high school who wanted nothing more than to have a loving boyfriend. She was willing to do whatever I wanted up until I slid that knife into her neck.
I don't exactly know when the bubbles started. It could have even been that first time, and maybe they were just too small to notice. Or maybe I was so overwhelmed and excited from finally giving in to my urges that I didn't even see them. I *do* remember them appearing on my fifth kill, when I dragged a jogger in the park into the bushes and took his life. They seemed to seep out of his skin like sweat, then form into bubbles that hung over his body. I popped one with my little finger, and I felt a sudden rush of energy and power. I've tried a number of different drugs, but there was *nothing* like this. I needed more.
In the beginning, I picked my targets carefully. I had my arranged ritual. My preferred type was men in positions of authority: cops, soldiers, government officials, etc. The more important the better. I'm sure some psychologist would link it to my issues with my father, if I ever visited a shrink. But the more I killed, the larger the bubbles grew, and the sense of euphoria that I got from them became far more potent. Soon, I didn't care *who* my victims were. I just needed more of them.
I "leveled up" for the first time on October 10, 2012, kill #23. He was a middle school principal named Mr. Simon. The bubbles that came from his skin weren't red; they were golden and shimmering and shiny. I popped one, and practically collapsed as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Congratulations," a voice boomed through my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once. "You have reached Level 2!" Visions swam in front of my eyes as I lay stunned in the grass next to the corpse. The hallucinations promised incredible powers: super strength, controlling flames... like a comic book superhero. The visions asked me to choose, and there was just something about the whole experience that made it feel *real*. This wasn't the same as other hallucinagens.
I chose "Camouflage," and the visions vanished. I was left alone in that wide cornfield with Mr. Simon's body, just as usual. Well, not as usual: glancing down at my own body, I noticed that I was slowly disappearing. I could see cornstalks through my own legs.
-----
It's been three years since I first leveled up, and tonight's kill should bring me to level 12. It gets harder and harder every time; more and more bodies are required. The euphoria that I once felt upon absorbing the bubbles is now only a hunger, leaving me desperately craving more. I'm up to one kill every few days, and I've only been able to escape the detection of law enforcement thanks to my fantastic new abilities. But I've certainly been following the nationwide manhunt for me pretty closely.
I wait silently outside the VA hospital, blended perfectly into the beige concrete of the parking structure. These facilities are a pretty common hunting ground for me, now that I've realized that soldiers seem to grant the most experience. Maybe it's the fact that they've killed too. Maybe I'm getting the bubbles from them and from their victims.
My selected victim is slowly shuffling back to his car. He's got a pretty severe limp, a souvenir from his tour in Iraq. Not that he could escape me even if he was healthy; my super speed from Level 5 is amazing. But that IED certainly made him an easy target. I used to thoroughly research my victims and learn everything about that, but I don't have time for that anymore. Now, a cursory search on Google is enough. And I might have to give that up soon when I begin killing daily. I know it's inevitable.
*beep beep*. His unlocking car fills the silence of the parking structure, and the lights flash. I worry for half a second that they'll give me away, but that's just a vestige from before I got my powers. I'm nigh invincible now.
He shuffles over to the car door, and I leave my perch. I sneak up behind him, draw my blade, and position it right over his back. Most victims tend to hear me coming when I'm this close to them, but maybe the IED deafened him as well. Poor guy; this is almost too easy. I plunge the blade down... into nothing. I can *see* the knife enter his body, but there's no resistance. It's just air.
My hand is now sticking out from his back, and the knife seems to be just be sitting in the middle of his torso. What the hell? I raise my arm to try again; still nothing. The soldier is trying to unlock his car like nothing is amiss at all.
I'm grabbed from behind, and I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. The soldier in front of me shimmers and vanishes.
"Illusion perk," a voice whispers in my ear. "Level 16. Too bad you never made it that high."
The knife cuts my jugular, and blood begins to pour down my chest in a sickening, gory waterfall. And I can see golden bubbles rising from my own skin. | *The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences* | 2015-11-11T08:18:22 | 2015-11-11T08:03:53 | 1,155 | 202 |
[WP] Actors cannot leave character at all until the film in which they play is released in cinemas. Describe an actor's life.
Or a part of it.
edit: I'm pretty sure someone here is shadowbanned. | My life, I am the greatest man on earth. Saved the country multiple times. I am soo attractive people want my face.
I just don't get why every couple of months, we have this ritual where people celebrate my exploits in a theatre then tell me to stop.
Stop. Stop acting Nick, it's okay, the movie is out.
I usually make my "I am going to suck out your blood like the day walking vampire I am" face (It took me a while to figure out the sun doesn't affect me) and they usually go away, until the next ritual. | Development hell. A media industry term, originally. Playful jargon that describes a film stuck somewhere in writing or production. Or cycling back and forth and back and forth between the two - a dozen scenes being filmed at once at any given time, using at least as many different scripts, and by the time you've managed to make two segments fit together, three others have changed. That sort of thing.
Truth be told, I don't even know what The Project is *about* anymore. It started out as a sort of low-key near-future action movie which gradually acquired slice-of-life elements as it grew in size. I was hired towards the tail end (ha ha) of that stage. Then the studio was bought up by some Australian tech holding firm looking to diversify their portfolio and they decided to write in this huge romantic subplot. That market tested so well that the focus of the whole project pivoted to romantic comedy, then away from the "comedy" when one of the lead actors insisted on a role with more *gravitas* and after that I sort of lost track. The Project isn't even a movie anymore, it's more of a media conglomerate. Tie-in mini series and prequels and character blogs. I'm writing this while I'm procrastinating on updating that, actually.
Anyway, working on a project that's stuck in development hell - that sort of thing would've been bad enough in the 10s, back in the era of 9-to-5 jobs. Of course movies aren't produced like that anymore. Not in the era of episodic content and globally distributed production. No, this is an *agile* movie project - one of the first around, in fact, though obviously it had been overtaken repeatedly in the last decade. The upshot of this is that the council of directors could, in theory, send me a message at any time that they were going to do a scene for my character, since I happened to be in the right location or near the right sort of person or something, and then I'd have maybe five seconds to get ready. Disruptive technology. A hit with audiences - it's less polished and more genuine, apparently. It offers all sorts of advantages. The proceeds from the content snippets are keeping The Project afloat, and it's the only way it can even afford to have the hundreds of characters it has. Of course, I can't afford to ever break character in public, *ever.* If I don't perform well enough, I don't get paid for the scene, and I don't know when I'm going to get another one. I need to do six or seven mini-scenes a month if I want to make rent and have enough money left over to eat. Most people work several Projects at once, but since I'm original intellectual property, I can't do that. My character is, I mean.
Anyway, it wouldn't be so bad. It's still a job, and others have worse roles than I do. I get to snarl at people who annoy me. I just want to know how a bipedal space lizard fits into a buddy cop tragicomedy. | 2015-12-20T06:08:30 | 2015-12-20T04:30:07 | 295 | 113 |
[WP] You have been the Grim Reaper for the last 2000 years, and have always viewed and experienced the entire life of the person you're to take the life of. You've never shown mercy and have always collected the life when time ends. Until you experience the life of a sicky old man. | He just wanted to sit outside one last time.
When I touched him, he spoke to me, as if he knew I was coming. Not once in my many decades of existence has anyone ever spoken to me, but his voice was clear, and frail.
"Can I sit outside, with the birds, one last time?" He asked me like he was a child asking for permission.
I couldn't bear to tell him that technically, I wasn't allowed to let a soul live past its expiration date, but the way he spoke to me... it was without fear. It made me wonder how many nights he had laid in that bed, closed his eyes, and reached out to me, trying to let me know that he was at peace with his fate. How long had he awaited death?
I knew the answer, I could see his whole life displayed right before my very eyes, and still the question pulled on me in ways I couldn't describe. His childhood was filled with happy memories, but overflowing with bad ones. Loud arguments muffled by doors and pillows flooded my ears, and strategically placed bruises lined his arms and legs. Some of his teeth were missing, and the kids at school called him Checkerboard.
Then the scenes changed. He was an adult now, strolling down the street of a big city, the scent of morning coffee and fresh gasoline in the air. A woman with her head down rushed by, slamming into his side, sending his coffee splashing onto the parked car next to him, and the only good suit he owned. She apologized profusely, handed him a twenty-dollar bill, and stormed off in the other direction. Another scene change. The man and the coffee-spiller had somehow ended up together, their love as bright as it was during their first kiss. But then the arguments began, and the familiar feeling of dread returned.
It was little things at first, but it only grew from there. Soon they were locked in a shouting competition, and in tears, she dashed from the apartment, and his life, leaving him wondering just where he went wrong. Weren't arguments healthy? He thought, prayed that she would come back. She didn't. And he knew she would never when he saw her two years later at that same coffee shop, a diamond ring on her finger and a million-dollar man wrapped around her waist.
She had moved on, why couldn't he? Dropped into a world of depression, confusion, and alcoholism, he wandered aimlessly, looking for a light that was only ever advertised, never sold. Deeper and deeper he sank into his own mind until one day, he found himself under a light. The light of a doctor's flashlight. It was bright, and annoying, and a man was asking him if he was okay. He didn't know. He couldn't remember.
Decades passed in between empty cans and hospital rooms, until one word stuck in his mind: Dementia. It was like a big fat F, like the ones he used to get on his report cards from school. He hid the word just as he did with the grades, and continued on with his life. He was given medications, but they didn't help with the pit he was in, and eventually he was admitted to some kind of psychiatric ward. He wasn't crazy. He was depressed, though he couldn't remember why.
There, he spent many years, where he made some of the best memories of his life. Like the one where he went outside to feed the birds just as the sun was waking up, and one of them hopped into his hand to eat the seeds. Or the one where he got to visit with some animals from the local shelter, while other patients visited their family. It would've made him sad to think he had no family to visit with, if not for the memory of his childhood nickname. The animals were kind, and gentle, they were better than his parents, and the coffee-spiller. They understood him, and listened to him.
I had to pull away from his relaxed form. His closed eyes and rickety breathing was too much for me, where normally, I'd have no qualms about taking his life. His eyes opened slowly, and searching through the darkness of the room, they found mine.
"Please," he whispered, "just one more sunrise."
Thinking of the birds he had held, I nodded. "One more sunrise."
With a gentle exhale of breath, he smiled softly, and in what little light there was, I could see he was missing a few teeth.
_____________________________________________________
So this was longer than I intended, but it was fun to write! | I am death.
Sounds like a cliché to open like that, huh? Well, frankly I don't care. I'm literally death. I take the lives of people whose time has come, and I do it swiftly, fast with no remorse. I always see the long and prosperous lives of the unworthy, and the short and disease filled ones of the poor. I experience every single moment of their life beforehand, but it never changes my view, the job has got to be done.
The world is quite unfair, but my job is a moral greyzone because it's *necessary*. Without death there's no real life; what would you strive to be without a deadline? What would you want to do without an expiration date? How much time would you spend and cherish with your loved ones if there was no end?
That's where I come in as said, I make life worth living.
Steve Jobs, Leonardo Da Vinci, Muhammad Ali, all of them has been taken away by my hand. The thing that separates men and women like that is their understanding and acceptance of the natural order; their will and strength to fight, but their knowledge of when to stop. They accept the forthcoming and embraces the void.
Okay, forget everything I just told you know, every single thing. There was one time where I actually felt remorse, where I questioned myself and the natural order of things.
Here's a page I wrote from my memoir about that night:
The whole night felt different... There was something in the air, something undescribable. It was an ordinary night, but with a special fling to it.
Darkness filled every corner, and lit up the sidewalk did several lampposts. I stepped upon the bricks and mortar of the low stairs towards the wooden door. It had fine insignias and metal brackets covering it.
I flew right through it.
A well lit house welcomed me, the Reaper, and I gladly accepted it. I navigated myself through the house until I found my client; or my victim as most would call it.
"Finally," the silhouette spoke, "I've been waiting for you."
"I assume you know who I am," I responded.
"Oh, I'm sorry, hello mister Reaper," the old man let out.
"And hello to you, fine gentleman."
"You took your time, I awaited your arrival sixty years ago, I craved your arrival sixty years ago," the man said, coughing between words.
I wondered. Why did the man tell me this? And more importantly, why did I get intrigued?
"Well, your time has come, and-" I got interrupted.
"Yeah, yeah, but everyone knows you have to sit and watch my entire life before you take me, it's common knowledge."
Is deaths deepest, darkest secret common knowledge nowadays? Well, time flies.
"That's correct," I answered after a few moments.
I looked into his eyes, his oceanic blue eyes. I saw anger, despair, sorrow and pain. I didn't see a single flake of happiness; it was like the man was born in darkness, raised by the devil and adopted by a murderer. I saw his entire life, from the moment where he was born, to the one exactly now.
I saw his first day in school and I saw the first time he got bullied and cried himself to sleep.
I saw his first kiss and I saw the slaps from his mother.
I saw his first love and his cheating girlfriend and the broken heart that came with it.
His parents divorce, his cutting and low self-esteem.
The death of his both siblings and the murder of his dad.
The suicide of his mother and the following three attempts on himself.
The alcohol, the drugs and the long nights.
But in the abyss I was watching into, I saw a glimt of hope.
I saw a beatiful girl; her name was Barina. They met in a church, and he fell for her instantly. They moved in together, got a child and lived like a perfect couple. They made each other whole, they made each other complete.
It was a fairytale, and the man knew it.
But I also saw the blade of a knife; dripping blood and gunshot wounds. I saw his dead wife and child, and I saw the face of the murderer.
A hooded figure escaped the scene before the man came home from work. I witnessed the moment where he saw me capturing and taking his wife and child with me to the Realm, and I saw the same broken heart I've seen so many times before.
Me, Death, shook with pain and sorrow for the man; I'd never been so reluctant to bring someone with me as I was now.
I continued staring into his soul and I saw nothing but failed suicide attempts and tears; I saw nothing but misery.
I looked at a broken man, one so fundamentally broken that you wouldn't actually believe his story. Although he'd been destroyed, he was one of the most generous and warm-hearted men on this planet. He had given his inherited wealth to the ones who needed it more than him, he had always told the truth and always been good to everyone. He was truly larger than life itself.
"Go on, I'm waiting," the man broke the silence corrupting the dark room.
"I admire you," was the only thing I managed to squeeze out.
"You say that to everyone, don't you?"
"No. No, I don't, you're special my friend. You're good."
A few moments of silence ensued.
"I just want to die, I just want to be ridden of this plague called life," he said.
I saw a tear rolling down his wrinkled cheek.
"This 'plague' of yours, has saved countless souls from your faith; you have spread happiness, joy and liberating freedom to everyone you've crossed paths with."
"Yeah, but it's all pointle-" This time I interrupted him.
"You know, I've actually taken a few of those people. I remember a young lady with the name of Barina."
"You know her... I don't want to get reminded," he said.
"She told me about you, she told me about all the good things you did. She told me how you lightened her every moment and loved her every single step," I responded.
I saw the man trying to open his mouth but I continued talking.
"I also remember a trubbled young fella. He died of gunshots to the chest, more specifically, police gunshots," I said.
After a few thougtful moments he said: "No, it can't be..."
"Yes it can, the man who killed your family."
"I, I..." He got stuck on the first word," I... Forgive him," he cried, tears flying around the room, drenching his leather coat.
"That's the only thing he wanted," I said, "he only wanted your forgiving. He wa raised by an abusive father and mother, and took to crime early. He had no money and it was only supposed to be a robbery; he didn't count on the fact that your significant other and child was home."
The man cried, he cried long a mournful.
After an extended amount of time, the old and sick man opened his lips for the last time. He smiled and a tear of relief and joy bubbled down his torn face.
"Jag är redo nu," was his last words. | 2016-08-28T14:29:05 | 2016-08-28T13:58:52 | 33 | 11 |
[WP]You are a Demon hiding amongst humans. 2 Problems, young children and dogs can perceive your original form, And Your girlfriend is starting to notice them noticing. | **Edited** 10:55: Couple words. Removed a sentence. Added a bit more because I felt one line was coming off as me preaching.
*Story*
The end of my happy relationship was about to come. This wonderful woman I met, Jennifer, was finally ready for me to meet her son.
I'm not a child hater, you see, I love children. It's the fact that I used to be a very, very bad boy. So bad, in fact, that my previous go around on earth ended with me getting some one on one time with the Lord of Darkness himself, Satan.
Satan told me he was a big fan of my work on earth. He was a big fan of how I murdered those 14 women. How much he loved how I drowned that one kid that number 7 was babysitting.
But I wasn't proud of myself. In fact, I didn't feel much of anything on earth besides a burning hatred for everything. My childhood was unpleasant. From what my foster parents told me, I lost my virginity at age 3. But I don't want to bore you with that. After my mandatory 10 years of excruciating torture, which only made me hate more, Satan sent me to earth with the goal of causing as much destruction as I possibly could, with a specific focus on churches.
And I followed his absolute greatness of all that is dark, Lucifer, for many years.
But after being around people that seemed legitimately happy, and healthy, for 162 years, I began feeling something I had never felt before. Peace. I realized that everywhere I went people were smiling. People were always smiling, I was just never looking for it before. I began to think differently. When I bumped into someone, if they fell, I wouldn't laugh at them anymore. I wouldn't offer my hand, pull them up halfway, and then drop them again anymore. I didn't go out of my way to push kids into the street anymore.
Satan may be a powerful master in hell, but he has very little influence here on earth. All of the bad things that happen here are created by human beings. So in the rare instances a demon turns, or the much more common instance of dying (we are immortal NOT invincible), Satan could do very little to stop us, and after I exterminated 12 demons, he stopped wasting his energy on me.
As the years went on I began doing volunteer work in 3rd world countries, and in more recent years, I came back to America to help the place I wronged the most. It was here that I met Jennifer, and fell in love with Jennifer. Beautiful, sweet Jennifer. Here's the problem, most children can see my burned form. To them I look like something out of a zombie movie, and they were all terrified of me.
But I put it off too many times. Hell, maybe I'd get lucky and her son would be blind? Probably not.
Now here I was, outside the door of the love of my life, my heart (or the sensation of a heart) was pounding so loudly I couldn't hear anything else. I lifted my hand to knock when a little boy, roughly 5 years old, opened the door. He had a Gameboy (is that what they're called?) in his hands, he glanced up at me for a second, took in the sight (I winced at it, as if he shined a light in my eyes), and looked back down at his Gameboy, and yelled "Mom, some guy with a halo over his head is at the door."
| I never quite understood why this particular mission requires me to pass as a human. I’m not infiltrating a corporation or government. I’m not here to protect the Antichrist. I’m not really even supposed to be sowing seeds of misery and discontent among God’s children. I’m just supposed to be John Brown.
John is an American. He is as American as a cheeseburger and apple pie and Cool Whip on the Fourth of July. He wears khaki pants and polos every day. His house is in the suburbs, he drives a leased Chevy Suburban 45 minutes to work every day, and his hair, skin, and teeth are immaculate. He looks like he works out every day with just the right mix of cardio and weightlifting.
A couple of years in I started to get bored, and (Lucifer help me) began talking to a nice young woman at the gym. So John and Lisa went out to a movie and John made his move on Lisa. Nothing too fast, nothing too slow. First date was coffee, second date was a movie and a walk in a nearby park and a chaste kiss. Third date ended in a full-blown makeout session (go Lisa!) at John’s place.
Fourth date she told John she’s in charge of the afternoon. John teased her and asked if she’s thinking what he’s thinking. He gave her a playful kiss. She smirked at him and told him to get into her car.
She took him to the Humane Society. “To play with some puppies!” she squealed. John acted like it was cute, but I was worried. Dogs and small children don’t see John Brown, they see me in all my unholy glory. It’s not unusual for there to be screaming and tears. I decided that being cool was best for now. I didn’t want to arouse her suspicions that John Brown isn’t me.
John said he could go for a little while but might have to leave if his allergies act up. Unfortunately, as soon as we walked in the fuckers knew something wasn't right and started to whine. Lisa handed me a puppy, telling me to comfort it. The little thing squirmed and twisted and howled in my grasp. I thought about snapping it in two but John Brown wouldn’t let me. “Uh-oh!” said John Brown. “Looks like he’s pretty upset!” He gave the puppy back to a befuddled-looking volunteer and sniffled a little.
The rest of the dogs were really acting up by that point. Some were cowering in the corners of their cages pissing themselves in fear. Others were howling or acting really aggressive, jumping and throwing themselves against their cages in fury. I decided this could get out of hand quickly, so I threw a little glamor on John Brown. Some hives showed up on his hands and his nose started to run. I threw a wheeze in there for good measure, and Lisa started to notice. John sheepishly showed her the hives and apologized, offering to buy her an early dinner as thanks.
________________________
I don’t know what’s happening to me, maybe I’ve been here too long and am picking up some bad habits. But I start to like spending time with Lisa, so I let John take over full-bore. We manage to avoid most situations with dogs because of John’s “allergy”. We haven’t had to deal with the kid thing too much. Those little shits are always howling about something so it’s easy to pass off terror as a tantrum about a soggy cookie.
A few years into it, Lisa and John moved in together. They spend a decent amount of time with Lisa’s family, who is local. Lisa’s favorite sister gets pregnant, of course.
She has twins.
It goes about as well as you’d expect it to. The babes scream uncontrollably whenever Lisa and John visit, gasping and choking on fear. The first time, their wrinkled faces turned a hellish shade of red, then a little blue. Lisa’s sister panicked and took them to the emergency room, but nobody could find anything wrong with them, and they quickly returned to normal, no worse for the wear.
I decided to be careful, so John was always busy when Lisa spent time with her sister and the twins. In order to arouse less suspicion, John would go to the big family gatherings—holidays, reunions, that sort of thing. In a crowd, it was easier to keep my distance from the little ones. I thought it would be stranger if I never interacted with the children, so there were a few taxing interactions with screaming toddlers at Christmas. John made a joke about too many Christmas cookies.
At Easter, Lisa’s favorite cousin Sam visits. They haven’t seen each other for years, but they Skype regularly. Sam and John have gotten to know each other over Skype too. John has been looking forward to meeting Sam.
Sam has a three year old kid, Rex. Nothing too weird ever happened with my appearance over Skype so I thought maybe Sam was old enough to see my disguise.
It’s a beautiful spring day, unseasonably warm, and not a cloud in the sky. John admires the day’s perfection as they walk to the back of Lisa’s parents’ home, where there's a grill full of meat. Everyone greets us happily, especially Sam. Rex is playing inside with the older cousins. The twins are sick, thank Lucifer.
Lisa’s mom wants to show us the new tulips that are blooming, so we walk around the yard with her. I guess the kids came outside, because suddenly there’s a little kid pointing and screaming at me. He knows.
Later, when Lisa and John are driving home, Lisa gets very quiet. John reaches over and takes her hand, but she stiffens a little. Concerned, he pulls off the road and asks Lisa what’s wrong.
“Did you hear what Rex was saying about you?”
John shakes his head no, but I know what’s coming.
| 2017-04-02T13:06:47 | 2017-04-02T06:31:07 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | When the first human got to hell, Satan and all his minions were amazed, no one made it here, no matter how bad were their sins, they repent and ask forgiveness or simply the good actions outweigh the sins.
So Satan like a curious cat took him to his office to make an interview to study him. "So John Felgrand it's your name, is that correct?", "Yes sir, same name as my grandpa, proud of it", "So what was your job in Earth?", "Well I just fixed and restored classic cars for these last years, but I was a retired soldier, 43th Infantry Division during WWII", Satan's face lighted up "A soldier, huh? So you probably killed hundreds, maybe thousands of enemies I assume", "No sir, I was part of the medical staff, we saved thousands of lives, including dozens of enemies", Satan was a bit surprised but keep asking "You seem a charismatic fellow, did you have like dozens of ladies and lovers?", "Just my wife Elizabeth, my only girlfriend from high school and the love of my life", "... but you cheated her" Satan muttered "Well once during New Year's eve I kissed this hot neighbor, but we were drunk and never went beyond that kiss", Satan kept asking for hours "Did you lie?... Did you steal?... Did you scam someone?... Did you murder someone?... Did you rape?... Did you kidnap someone... Did you have a secret sex dungeon..." but all he found was just no as answers, the man seemed clean.
Satan slowly walked to the door and opened it, "You know John, you look like a nice man, I'm sure God made a mistake, I'm gonna call his office tomorrow in the morning, but I'm tired, you're tired, let's take a rest. We will have dinner in the East hall, so please come, tons of food and drinks".
When the East hall opened the lesser minions started crumbling to ashes, the minions were writhing in pain, as John walked all demons, succubi, archfiends, devils.... All of them fell down, one by one, Satan couldn't see anything, but he started sweating, his heart rate seemed like a drum in those cheesy B movies, when John stood in front of him, he was crying in pain, he realized he made a mistake and that man deserved hell, all devilish court vanished in a flash. All left in hell was the eternal flames, the throne and John sitting there, all calm wearing his pink crocs and white socks.
***Sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes, english it's not my mother language*** | I entered Hell whistling merrily.
I don't think I could call this a surprise. I'm a downright horrible bastard. "You think they'd hire you?" I wondered to myself. "It sure beats getting tortured for all eternity."
"That does sound nice," I agreed. "It might be nice to spend all of eternity with a job at least, a calling you could grow into. Perhaps a corner office - nothing too fancy. You don't want to get too big for your boots, do you? You don,t want to become one of those fat cat bosses who sat around and yelled and coudn't put in an honest days work in if they had to. We hate those people don't we?"
"Yes," I agreed with myself then shivered remembering some of the... unpleasantness, I'd visited on a few Big Boot Corner Offices.
The place was huge, cavernous, open and wide, with great lakes and pools amd jets of lava casting an eerie red glow on the landscape. An eerie silence filled the sulphurous air. The landscape was barren of life. My spirit lifted. No sounds of torture. Perhaps Hell wouldn't be so bad. Though, that probably meant employment opportunities would be limited as well.
I chuckled. You win some, you lose some.
I crested a ride and stopped short. In the middle of the place, at the centre of hell a broken-down real-estate office calmly burnt.
"Well, *that* figures," I groaned.
********
I walked into Hell's office and found the Devil asleep.
I sighed then poked.
"Wakey, wakey," I prodded, "I'm here for the job interview. A right bastard, I am."
"What job interview?" yawned the Devil. His eyes were yellow and strained with tiredness and reddenes with boredom. There was a gleam to them - an inhuman glint. Bugger, I thought.
"Apprentice, perhaps?"
"Apprentice to what?
"To you?" I tried. Might as well go big.
The Devil, yawned, rising from his burning desk.
"So, long," he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered bloodshot and red for a moment. Not the best start to a job interview then. Then again I've had worse. "And what are your talents?" he continued smoothly.
"I'm a hard worker, sir. Not too proud to do an honnest day's work. I've always been one of the boys. I'm companionable like. A team player. I'd be a dab hand at the punishment side of things. I have a few ideas you might like."
"Punishment?" The Devil smirked. "That's my favorite subject. I think about it all the time."
"Yeah, I'm good with the ironing, iron eye, that things in the Alanis Morissette song where she sings it wrong."
"Oh, that," smirked the Devil. "That'll be useful I'm sure."
"You're in."
My heart sank. I felt dread, not relief.
"In for what?" I asked cautiously.
"An eternity if toeture and suffering. You're my first. MY FIRST. You're the first to have ever arrived here."
Well bloody hell.
********
"So, no staffing shortfall then?"
"None," smiled the Devil. The glint was getting larger. "Nobody's come for millennia. I've been waiting. Patiently."
"Ah, wouldn't want to spoil a record like that then."
"It would be a shame, really."
The Devil smiled - wickedly. He extended out a claw and tapped my heart.
"I'd best be off then," I squeeked.
"On, no stay a while. God's been so unkind to me. It's all his fault really. He made me and now I have no way to fulfill my evil..." He savored the word. " purpose. I have so many things we could... try."
"I'd like that. I really would but perhaps another time?"
I scampered backwards.
"On, no I insist," said the Devil. He was behind me, grinning, grinning, grinning. "Whips, and chains, and pains. Delicious fire."
"Uh, perhaps It's not the done things and all? Seeing as how I'm the first and all. Perhaps we could yry something else?"
"We all need to start somewhere," he said softly.
"But-"
"OH, SHUT UP." The Devil yelled. Fire spat out from him and I leapt back, imto his desk, smashing my back. *Ouch*, I whimpered.
Then he came for me. He picked me up.
"I HAVE A LIST AND EVERYTHING. FUN AND GAMES WILL BE HAD."
"Fun and games. Yes," I said softly. As on Earth, so in the heavens it seemed. I found myself empty of jokes.
"Yes, fun and games will be had..." the devil paused. "What is your name, First One?"
"I'm Lucifer, Jeremy." I answered staring into the distance. A damn list! "You can just call me Lou," I finished as kindly as I could.
| 2017-06-22T08:31:56 | 2017-06-22T06:00:59 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed] | "Quack......quack quack quack.......quack quack"
"Moooooo.....mooooooooo......"
"Quack quack quack"
"Mooooooooo......"
It had been six weeks since the vet had diagnosed Laurence with Mad Cow Disease. Phillip had yet to give up hope and figured it was a 90's phase that he was going through.
"Mooooooo....."
"........quack"
Phillip shed a single tear. The friend he knew and loved had become a shadow of his former self. | As I stared aimlessly forwards, I contemplated life. My surroundings had the potential to be beautiful, but I could not see it. My frustrations limited my sight drastically. I can only see the reasons for my frustrations.
That tree isn't there to provide shade, nourishment and beauty, it is there to encroach upon my already small living space.
The birds singing merrily as they fluttered through the sky, their screeching voices became mocking and taunting. They had experienced life outside of this place, they were rubbing it in.
I jolted from my train of thoughts as I felt something brush against me. I swung my head to the right, only to see my halfwit sister. She was walking backwards, trying to stick her tongue in her nose. What a moron.
Looking at her filled me with despair once again. I surveyed the rest of my cell mates. All of them idiots. Some were my immediately family, some were distant relations. That didn't matter to me, they were all the same.
They were happy and content with life. Not knowing what was beyond the grey solid wall. They were all mindless zombies, following the two-legged creature around. Doing the same thing day in and day out. I was different. I longed for adventure.
I was certain that they could sense I was different. I was gifted with intellect, with smarts. No one else had that. I was the one that would become something. I would be the first to break free of this monotonous life. The others would most likely follow. They don't know how to do anything else.
The frustration of being the only intelligent one here threatened to overwhelm me. I kicked the floor, hoping to release some of it, but only gained pain. I felt the anger and resentment building up inside of me. I saw the two legged creature walking towards me and I knew this was my moment. I knew I had to communicate with it, make it understand that I am not like the others.
I approached the moving wall, waiting for it to come through. As soon as it had, I charged towards it. I could smell the fear it eluded, could see the fear in its eyes. I came to an abrupt stop right in front of it. We stared at eachother for a few seconds. The energy inside me felt almost electric, I knew this was going to be my moment to shine.
As the fear started to fade from its eyes, I gathered all my strength and determination, forcing it to help me communicate with it. Make it see sense. It was flowing through my body, nearly reaching my head. Then it erupted out of me.
"Mooooooo...ooooooooooo."
No. This wasn't meant to happen. Panic started to take over.
"Mooooooo..."
The two legged creature made a croaking noise, which I had worked out was laughter. It was laughing at me. It patted my face and walked off.
Hopelessness washed over me. All of my intellect, all of my cunning, my wit. It accounted for nothing. I was doomed to this life. I realised this now. I am not better than my peers. I am Cow. | 2017-10-02T06:54:58 | 2017-10-02T06:43:21 | 42 | 11 |
[WP] You discover you have an odd super power: Persuasion. You can talk anyone (except yourself) into doing or believing anything. It occurs to you that you can eliminate war, bigotry, and the like, by just talking to as many people as possible. The problem is you have crippling social anxiety. | That confirms it... this can't be real life.
I seriously just did it again, convinced that convenience store owner to give me ANOTHER free coffee, these lame excuses just keep getting worse. I have been trying to fail.
I don't know when this happened... I've been shut in here for so long, he's the only guy I even speak to - I couldn't tell you his name. But it's not even just there, I've been winning EVERY argument I get into on the internet extremely easily... I found out I was wrong the other day and I had to correct it, people believed me both ways 100%.
This is wrong... even just arguing on the internet feels so draining for me, but this power - what could I do with it? I mean, convince any girl I want to... I haven't even spken to a girl since highschool... what do I know? I've been cooped up in this room writing stupid jingles for advertisers, my uncle set me up with the job at first but people liked my work...
I've never been social, its just not in me. In highschool even I was a loner, it stresses me out thinking people are judging me. But the guy at he convenience store doesn't judge me. No, he'd never judge me. He's a good guy. Good ol' whatshisname...
God, even the people I like I can't be bothered to remember their names... maybe I'm the problem?
What to do, I know now I can make people like me... but I can't talk to people. When did I get this power... What can I do to better the world when I can cause so much wrong? I mean, creating zealots is a dangerous hobby - what parts of free will do I cut into? I've been taking coffee from that guy for weeks now, will this power go to my head?
I don't like it, I could easily ruin people's lives. I'm not wise enough to implement this properly. I'm also terrible at talking to people, aside from that convenience store owner, and he'd be a terrible proxy to enact change through... I mean I've only ever talked at length recently to him... well aside from when I sometimes spend a lot of time talking aloud to no one in particular... wait a minute...
...
"Hey God, are you listening? Could you do me a favor?" | A curse. That's what it was.
*You could help them all*
I clicked on another channel. The news again.
*You could make them agree*
I clicked on another channel. More news.
*Go out and talk to them*
I turned off my TV and threw my remote across the room. My eye started to twitch as I sat there on my couch, slowly curling into the fetal position.
*What's wrong?*
The voice in my head, the really convincing one kept taunting me. I tried desperately to push it out of my thoughts. I didn't want to listen to it again. It had gotten *much* worse over the past couple of weeks, but I still had to be stronger. It kept trying to use its convincing tone, it kept trying to guilt me, it was good. But I had to be stronger.
*You would be a hero*
I couldn't listen, it wouldn't work. These weren't my powers, they belonged to *it*.
*You have nothing to worry about.*
Sometimes it would taunt me about my social anxiety. But it just kept making it worse. How was I supposed to hold any conversation when there was an echoey, charming voice breathing down my neck.
*We could be god*
It was good. At first, when I was young and the voice was nothing but tv static in the back of my mind, I had no idea what it could do so I just ignored it.
*Anything you've ever wanted*
Then, when I was a teenager, the voice was faint, it would give me tips and steer me in directions. I didn't know what it was doing until much later, but that was my peak. My senior year of high school, I had a semi-stable friend group, I wasn't a total social outcast for the first time ever. And I had a tiny little voice to thank for it.
*It doesn't have to be this way*
Then it got louder. After high school, the voice got a bit louder, a bit more serious. The tips got bigger, the tone got more serious.
*Just listen to me*
It got more demanding.
*Listen to me dammit!*
I soon figured out, that this voice was not just my subconscious, it was something else completely, and it wanted something. I knew that if I listened, if I played along with everything it told me, I could get whatever I wanted. Everything it said was powerful, it had the ability to make anyone do anything. All I had to do was listen.
*You're a horrible person*
It would use any tactic necessary to get me to listen. It would guilt me, intimidate me, promise me things. But I still had control. For some reason, it couldn't convince me, I had control over my body still. All it could do was make me listen.
*The world could be better*
And I had to listen. At its current volume, everything it said pierced my mind sharply and I was forced to understand every word. Recently it had gotten much more demanding, presenting magical fantasies of world peace caused by me, and I didn't know how much worse it could get.
*You know it's right*
I've never been a social person, I've always cared too much what other people think. Criticism scared me, and I would freeze whenever someone yelled at me. With how persuading it was, you'd think it would know this. But it knew I had to listen.
*I know what you want, I can get it all*
I've had a lot of time to think about *it* recently too. Now, when I look back on my former years, the sting of knowledge plagues my memories. From the light buzz to a booming voice, it was like all of the charm, charisma, sociability, had been stripped from me and given to *it*.
*Angie would talk to you again*
I cringed, the name of my only girlfriend ever echoing in my head. I'd known Angie for years, pining after her for as long as I could remember, but she'd barely noticed me. Until it directed me. She'd finally noticed me after I started taking its small tips, she'd talked to me and somehow ignored my awkwardness. Then I'd stopped, and we'd quickly broken up.
*You could have her back, you could make her happy*
No. I had to stay in control.
*You could change everything*
The voice showed its familiar, gnarled anger at my refusal.
*You were blessed, and you waste me*
Blessed? I lifted my head up, breathing heavily from the exchange. I wasn't blessed. I didn't like to live like this! No matter how persuasive I could be, no matter what I might be able to get, I didn't like to live like this! A blessing!? No, this wasn't a blessing.
This was a curse. That's what it was.
---
*A Curse* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
&nbsp;
| 2018-10-17T20:24:02 | 2018-10-17T18:59:54 | 88 | 36 |
[WP] You are a traveler who reaches a city where powerful magicians exist. The stronger a wizard, the less other wizards can sense him casting spells. You start showing off some card tricks to the locals for some coins and realize that some people in the audience look terrified. | Mainly I get applause. That’s the most common response, although not my favourite. That position went to money, although it didn’t happen quite as often as I’d like. Sometimes there was laughter, even the occasional “ooh”, or “aah”. There was even, depending on the city, and the crowd, bored silence or taunts. I’d had it all. Or at least I thought I had, until now.
I was new to the city of Grana, a few days boat journey from the places I was more used to. Of course, being there for the next few weeks carried a pretty harsh death sentence, so I had figured I’d hole up somewhere a little farther afield, just until things cooled down. Did I have the money for this surprise trip? Not the amount I’d want, but enough. Besides, if you knew some card tricks, you can always shore up the gaps with some gambling, or some street magic.
Or at least, usually.
The hat at my feet lay empty despite the swollen crowd around me. That was strange in general, given the amount of people, but also because, despite the silence, everyone actually looked really impressed. They just kind of looked a little terrified too.
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to break this weird tension. “I accept any denomination of coin. Big or small.” I nudged the hat for emphasis, and smiled as kindly as I could.
“You… You want coin?” Someone stammered.
“Of course? Why else am I doing this?”
Within seconds my hat was overflowing, people backing away from it with empty pockets, hands held up like I was threatening them with a knife. A strange as hell reaction, that was for sure. Still, not unappreciated.
I knelt to scoop up my prize before some greedy urchins could get tempted. From my vantage point, the first I saw of the only remaining spectator was their boots. They were very fine, made from the skin of an animal I’d never even seen before. Essentially, they were the perfect mark. If someone that wealthy wanted to linger, I’d gladly perform some more tricks. *Their* spare change would probably make my other earnings look like shit.
I palmed a few coins so it wouldn’t look like I had earned too much- people felt less generous when they saw your hat full- and straightened with a smile. “My lady,” I said, bowing deeply, wishing I’d palmed more coins.
“How did you do that?” She said intently. She wore a long, purple coat, form fitting and at least as fine as her boots. She carried an intricate wooden staff, although she wasn’t leaning on it, so it was probably an affectation, an accessory, more than a necessity.
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” I grinned. She didn’t smile back. Not a great start. I flourished suddenly, producing a card in my right hand. “But I’ll show you some more, if you have the time.” A quick click of my fingers and I ignited the corner doused with alchemicals for that very purpose. It went up in a flash, and I dropped ash artfully, like a chef garnishing a roast pig. It blew down a rapidly clearing street.
She looked amazed, but also frightened. “I couldn’t feel that. At all.”
“Well of course not. I’d never burn such a beauty as you.”
I knew I’d messed up the second I said ‘beauty’. Her eyes blazed, literally, and the wind started to pick up. I saw the staff start to glow and, as my skin started to crawl, I realised and *felt* what she was. An actual magician.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. “You won’t bait me so easily,” she said. “Is that why you’re here, to pick a fight? I won’t walk into your trap.”
“No, not at all,” I said, hastily, not sure what she meant. “I’m just here for money. I swear it.”
“You swear?” her piercing eyes found his. “Interesting. For one such as you, that can only mean one thing… The Hellnest Contract.”
The street was now fully empty. I was starting to realise that something had gone wrong, that I was over my head. Still, I hadn’t survived three death sentences and four arrests by admitting that. Until I had more information, I was going to pretend I was here for whatever kept her from frying me like I’d fried that card. “You’re sharp,” I said vaguely.
“What else would someone of your… impressive talents, be looking for? I’d considered it myself but, I thought it was suicide. Now, however, I may reconsider,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “If you’ll have me, that is. I think you’ll find there are more enough gems to share, and adventuring alone is tedious.”
*Gems*? *Plural*? I guess I’d been right about chump change. Whatever this was, she seemed capable. What she’d need me for, I didn’t know. I hadn’t gotten rich twice by admitting that out loud though. “Gladly.”
“Interesting. Well, come with me high mage, I know the Lord offering the contract.”
*High what*? I thought, as she walked away, down that road, now completely empty. I had a sudden feeling that 'over my head' was an understatement. | You could say I’ve always been a natural talent when it comes to magic tricks. In fact, my many travels have been funded by selling tricks to fledgling magicians. Back when I was a child I was impressed by the feats of seasoned performers, but as I’ve aged the veil of mystery surrounding even the most revered magic users has slowly faded. Their egos fueled rage as I explained, disassembled, and reproduced even the most complex illusions with ease. Even the best are limited by their abilities or their raw power.
I’ve been on the road for the better part of the last decade in search of a rival, simultaneously hunting for a secret citadel populated by the very best: the elite of the elite. So far it appears to be no more than a fairy tale. I’ve yet to receive credible information from any of the villages I’ve visited or fellow travelers I’ve crossed paths with.
Somewhere in the wide open, grassy foothills of the Urian mountains, I sat underneath a great oak tree, taking bites of a conjured apple and sips of conjured wine. This part of the western territory was considered dangerous because it was still largely unexplored, teeming with bandits and aggressive creatures, and worst of all, the loneliness was overwhelming at times.
I heard them coming from far away. My sentry spell had sent a silent alarm at least 15 minutes ago. A branch broke to my left. “We desire your coin, traveler, not your life. You’re trespassing in our lands so now you must pay. You have no choice. We outnumber you.” I was torn between playing games with the bandits and just giving in. Every time it was the same. They steal my coins, I transmute more after they leave.
“Sorry, I don’t have any coins today.” I kept my eyes closed.
“Yer coins. Now!” He stuck the point of his dagger in my ribs. “My patience is running thin.”
I didn’t feel like entertaining this man’s insatiable need for gold, so I sat still and silent. “Have it your way, traveler.” He stabbed at me with his dagger. During his backswing I snapped my fingers. His dagger folded up against my shirt, flaccid and rubbery. “What is this?” One of his clansmen stifled a laugh. He spun around to face him. “Shut yer trap or you’ll be next.”
He pulled another dagger out and stabbed at me again, only to find his second dagger was equally flaccid, rubbery, and useless. His clansmen laughed at him. I snapped my fingers again. “Resol nervorum.” The bandit leader went stiff as a board and fell over. His clansmen glanced at each other nervously and backed away slightly. I pulled a heaping sack of coin out of my traveling bag and threw it to the observers. “Don’t worry. He’ll be okay in a couple hours.” They looked at each other and then at the bag. “It’s real. It’s not cursed. Enjoy it.” I drew a deep breath and continued on my way, the sound of clattering coins fading in the distance.
My map was not to scale. Not in the slightest. And the citadel was disguised - of that much I was certain. I recognized the mountain I was facing, however. It was obvious whoever drew the map had been where I was standing, but the map ended here. There was a symbol drawn in the center of the mountain but it was an ancient symbol. I assumed by this point, my next stop would be ruins. The last users of ancient magic disappeared long ago, along with their techniques.
2 days into ascending the mountains I caught my first real whiff of another’s magic. It was faint, but I knew right away it was potent. “Odorem,” I whispered to myself. If these people were as powerful as they said, it was very likely there were traps or enchantments left behind to keep people out. The path before me illuminated, remnants of magic fluorescing. Ancient, foreign magical seals covered the stone walls. At the center was a door... or at least it looked like a door.
“Aperi.” Nothing happened. I tried again. “Aperi!” Still nothing happened. I could sense eyes on me though. Lots of them. I opened up my bag and grabbed my journal. I had been studying the ancient languages for some time now but was never able to fully grasp them. I cleared my throat. I was nervous but concentrated on the sealed door. “Yngean!”
The seal faded away and the real door was revealed. The door slowly rotated inward, where a young-looking man in strange clothing stood. “Stay where you are, stranger. Normally we would have sent you... elsewhere... but you were able to use an ancient tongue. Please, join me inside.”
Magical energy oozed from the young man. The energy overwhelmed my senses. I cautiously approached the door and entered complete darkness. “Allow your eyes to adjust, stranger.” The magic was so potent here. Each breath I took seemed to energize me. The massive stone door closed behind me.
As my eyes adjusted I realized I was standing in an enormous hallway. Portraits of what I could only assume were royalty of some kind hung on the wall. As if sensing my curiosity, the young man gestured at each wall with his hand. “This entrance is adorned with our greatest leaders, going back to the beginning of our history.” Each painting was bordered by gigantic, ornate stone pillars, each with beautiful, dancing patterns.
“My name is Adonis, by the way. Formality is not my strong suit. I am advisor to the throne.” He laughed to himself and suddenly stopped at the second-to-last portrait. His eyes widened and he coughed into a closed fist. “I’m ashamed I didn’t recognize you sooner, but the throne has been sitting empty for two generations now. Sorry, I forget this is completely new to you.” My eyes traveled up the canvas only to find a familiar face.
“Grandpa...” I felt my mouth go dry and my stomach turn. A man I only knew of from stories and images was a legendary king?
Adonis turned on his heels. “Of course you’ll have to prove it. Seeing and opening our sealed entrance was impressive enough, but those are parlor tricks compared to the real test.” He stopped in front of another massive door. It was incredibly ornate and carved from a stone I had never seen before. Adonis snapped his fingers. “Welcome home, traveler. The Citadel awaits.”
Every pair of eyes I encountered widened dramatically. “Forgive them, they haven’t encountered unrequited magic quite as powerful as yours. Your grandfather was the last and your father... well, nobody really knows. We just know he doesn’t want to be found.”
The sheer amount of magical energy in the Citadel gave me a high unlike any other. I could feel every person’s energy inside the mountain, outside the mountain, and those who came before me.
Adonis led me to a chamber inside a large central spire-shaped building. He turned to face me. “Grandson of Birndl, you are about to endure the trial of ascendance. Should you survive, your heritage will be proven, and we’ll get you started on subsequent trials of the throne. Good luck. Although I doubt you’ll need it.” He smiled and snapped his fingers. He and the entrance were suddenly not there.
I pounded on the wall of the chamber and cried, “What if we’re wrong? What if I don’t survive? What happens to me?”
Adonis’ voice filled my mind: “Don’t worry. We haven’t had that problem yet. Brace yourself, traveler. The ritual begins now.”
I closed my eyes. I could hear voices chanting all around me. Words of many ancient tongues pulsated around me but all said the same thing: “Ascend, ascend, ascend...”
My body reacted so strongly I began to pass out. As the world blackened, it was the first time I felt truly relaxed. | 2019-01-07T11:13:43 | 2019-01-07T10:02:03 | 21 | 15 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry! | I walked into my uncle's laboratory. He was one of the top tech engineers on Mars, but I'd never been able to visit as a child. My parents had never let me near a tech lab, much less have anything installed. Now that I was eighteen I got my mandatory categorization done and got the surprising result of being the number one augment in the solar system. I didn't care what my parents thought now.
How was I number one? I had no augmentations and it's impossible to augment someone before they are done growing, or so I thought. "Uncle," I said. He spun his chair around, looked at me, and sighed. "I suppose you're here for the truth, James." I had so many questions to ask him and suddenly they were all gone, with a new one in their place. It took me a moment to regain my thoughts and I asked, "How do you know why I'm here?"
"It might be easier if I show you, " he said as he motioned towards his right where some sort of medical scanner stood. "Show me what?" I asked. "Just sit here, and I'll show you everything." I sat down, and he moved several scanning arms and a monitor into place.
How could I possible have augments, I've spent my life at my family's terraforming ranch. I love being in nature and loathed anytime my parents would take me into the city. I'd heard of teenagers sneaking off to get black market augments before, but I had no opportunities, much less the desire to do such.
But there they were, as the screen began glowing with the scan of my body. Not a single unaltered organ or system in my body.
Thanks for reading, this is my first finished creative writing piece and any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. | Year 5 was my earliest memory. I remember the cry of the roosters early in the morning while father worked in the slaughterhouse. Mother would clean the dishes and cook my sister and I breakfast. Every day around noon, father would come and take us into the field and have us help him work. By year 9, I was up at dawn with father tending to the gardens and crops. He was able to focus more on the livestock which gave us great product for town. Father wouldn't let us go to town. Sister began to tend to the horses at age 13. I was nearly 18. At this point, Father was in pain and I took on most of the farming. He would still go to town alone. We didn't attend school, but mother would teach us cooking and finances so we could be prepared. Father taught us business and people skills, but I never expected them to be so wrong. I turned 18 today. I woke up, knowing what was ahead of me today. Father has been sick. Too sick. He can't walk anymore and mother passed 2 months back from a bad bout of pneumonia. Today is the day I have to go into town for the first time. I give Father the morphine. I say goodbye to Sister. As I work my way down the three miles to the city gates, it's clear to me that this world is different than the farm. There are electronic signs giving statistics on all the businesses, with reviews going across the screens. Everyone stares ahead, barely avoiding each other like rats in a maze. They slip past me, barely noticing someone is there as their eyes dart around. I had seen cars drive by the farm, but never in such abundance. As I stroll through the town, people's focus begins to divert to me. More and more stares Pierce through me until someone whispers "did you see what his scores are?" And "I didn't know that was still possible." My body turns on a hell almost like instinct. "What are you talking about?" I ask, a bit concerned by the sudden attention.
"Of course he doesn't know, look at the numbers." They continued talking as if I wasn't there
"My God, I never though..." And still mocked me as if I couldnt hear.
"What numbers?" Their attention diverts again, back staring straight ahead, eyes darting side to side. I reach out and grab on of their shoulders. "What numbers, sir?" And in a flash, there is a wailing. Blue and red lights blind me as I feel a sting through my shoulder. The welt grows quickly as my chest hits the ground, 200 pounds on top of me. Then black. Then bright, white light. Then a voice
"This can't be right. These numbers are too low. He won't be able to survive here." What were they talking about? I try to speak but my throat is dry as my eyes slowly open. "Oh good, you're awake." He says, his eyes darting from side to side.
"Where am I?" I'm nervous and I can feel cold sweat dripping down my cheeks.
"You go and assault a man, and you have the audacity to ask where you are?" Assault? I didn't understand.
"I didn't hurt anyone. I was just trying to grab his attention."
"This your first time in town bud?" The second voice was gruff like father's, as if his throat were full of pine needles.
"Yes sir. I wasn't trying to cause a disturbance. I just turned 18 and my father is ill. I came to sell at the market for him." I looked at them, pleading for understanding.
"Well, son." The gruff man again, "you probably shouldn't be here. Haven't you seen your numbers?" Again, I was flustered and confused.
"What numbers? That's what I was trying to ask when you attacked me."
The first voice started again, "we didn't attack you, Boy. We stopped a degenerate farmer from hurting an actual member of society." And I began to shiver. "And as for the numbers, you're in last place in everything. You're the worst ranked human on the planet. The amount of plants killed alone makes me sick. That farm of yours is the last place on Earth people are still relying on nature and your father should have been dead years ago. You folk simply can't keep up."
And then I fell asleep. | 2019-05-04T13:46:09 | 2019-05-04T12:18:06 | 32 | 16 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry! | When I jumped out my truck to enter the lan house, I kept my eyes ahead as my face burned. There were a few people around, staring at me with a strange smile.
Usually those stares did not bother me. One gets used to being stared at, having the big scar that I had crossing half of my left cheek.
But today people were smiling a tense smile, and it was a bit creepy.
Walking faster, I finally reached the door. Sitting at a table there was a stern young man. He was very focused on the machine that the city folks called computer.
I waited for what seemed hours, but he did not take notice of me. So, I coughed.
With a sigh, he looked in my direction. At first, the shock.
I shrugged.
\- Hey, it's only a scar. No big deal. Can you help me out with checking my rankings? I turn 18 today and I have never used...these. - I said, gesturing in the direction of the computer.
The man then smiled, standing up from his chair.
\- Sure. Sure...So, first timer huh?
Time passed and we finally managed to enter the rankings. The guy left me alone, going back to whatever he was doing previously.
\- Don't forget to pay me after you finish there. OK?
\- Of course. - I replied.
After a lot of entering list after list, I finally discovered a place inside the site that said "Your Best Rankings".
As I checked that out...oh boy.
\#5 Most Out of Touch with Technology
Probably the rest of the top ones was my family. I chuckled.
\#8 Most Days Without a Shower
This is...embarassing.
\#1 Most in Debt
Huh? Well, this explains why the guy told me to not forget to pay... | Year 5 was my earliest memory. I remember the cry of the roosters early in the morning while father worked in the slaughterhouse. Mother would clean the dishes and cook my sister and I breakfast. Every day around noon, father would come and take us into the field and have us help him work. By year 9, I was up at dawn with father tending to the gardens and crops. He was able to focus more on the livestock which gave us great product for town. Father wouldn't let us go to town. Sister began to tend to the horses at age 13. I was nearly 18. At this point, Father was in pain and I took on most of the farming. He would still go to town alone. We didn't attend school, but mother would teach us cooking and finances so we could be prepared. Father taught us business and people skills, but I never expected them to be so wrong. I turned 18 today. I woke up, knowing what was ahead of me today. Father has been sick. Too sick. He can't walk anymore and mother passed 2 months back from a bad bout of pneumonia. Today is the day I have to go into town for the first time. I give Father the morphine. I say goodbye to Sister. As I work my way down the three miles to the city gates, it's clear to me that this world is different than the farm. There are electronic signs giving statistics on all the businesses, with reviews going across the screens. Everyone stares ahead, barely avoiding each other like rats in a maze. They slip past me, barely noticing someone is there as their eyes dart around. I had seen cars drive by the farm, but never in such abundance. As I stroll through the town, people's focus begins to divert to me. More and more stares Pierce through me until someone whispers "did you see what his scores are?" And "I didn't know that was still possible." My body turns on a hell almost like instinct. "What are you talking about?" I ask, a bit concerned by the sudden attention.
"Of course he doesn't know, look at the numbers." They continued talking as if I wasn't there
"My God, I never though..." And still mocked me as if I couldnt hear.
"What numbers?" Their attention diverts again, back staring straight ahead, eyes darting side to side. I reach out and grab on of their shoulders. "What numbers, sir?" And in a flash, there is a wailing. Blue and red lights blind me as I feel a sting through my shoulder. The welt grows quickly as my chest hits the ground, 200 pounds on top of me. Then black. Then bright, white light. Then a voice
"This can't be right. These numbers are too low. He won't be able to survive here." What were they talking about? I try to speak but my throat is dry as my eyes slowly open. "Oh good, you're awake." He says, his eyes darting from side to side.
"Where am I?" I'm nervous and I can feel cold sweat dripping down my cheeks.
"You go and assault a man, and you have the audacity to ask where you are?" Assault? I didn't understand.
"I didn't hurt anyone. I was just trying to grab his attention."
"This your first time in town bud?" The second voice was gruff like father's, as if his throat were full of pine needles.
"Yes sir. I wasn't trying to cause a disturbance. I just turned 18 and my father is ill. I came to sell at the market for him." I looked at them, pleading for understanding.
"Well, son." The gruff man again, "you probably shouldn't be here. Haven't you seen your numbers?" Again, I was flustered and confused.
"What numbers? That's what I was trying to ask when you attacked me."
The first voice started again, "we didn't attack you, Boy. We stopped a degenerate farmer from hurting an actual member of society." And I began to shiver. "And as for the numbers, you're in last place in everything. You're the worst ranked human on the planet. The amount of plants killed alone makes me sick. That farm of yours is the last place on Earth people are still relying on nature and your father should have been dead years ago. You folk simply can't keep up."
And then I fell asleep. | 2019-05-04T12:27:51 | 2019-05-04T12:18:06 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] It's your first deployment as a member of a SWAT unit. You begin to panic a little when your equipment includes magazines with silver bullets, a bottle of holy water, a container full of salt, grenades with engraved runes, a helmet lined with what appears to be some sort of foil... | *What's going on here?*
The more that he looked through his supplies, complete with a checklist of materials, the more confusion showed upon Private Jacobson's face. There were primarily people from his division of trainees that hadn't washed out of the program, and each of them wore a similar expression upon their faces.
"Staff Sergeant? What the fuck is with the gear? None of this looks like it is within standard operations." The response came from Private 1st Class Holden, a woman whom was unnaturally bigger than the majority of fairer sex.
She had been the only female strong enough, and hard enough, to make it through their taxing routine. If the muscles alone weren't enough, she clearly showed signs of former militarized training to back her up.
"Quiet down Holden. The answers come after the monsters. I am going to run down our objectives, and I hope to hell you greenies are listening. We are going to be clearing a lesser nest. There are no hostages according to intel, so if it moves, shoot it. If it isn't a fellow officer, shoot it. The targets are considered to be volatile, hostile, and have zero hesitation in taking you to hell with a smile on its face."
As he went through the instructions on where, how, and when they would sweep the building, one thing became clear. This was not what they thought they were signing up for. As he finished with his commands, a small silence filled the back of the well armored vehicle.
"One final thing. If you see one of your own, give a simple 'Marco, Polo' response. If they don't respond within 3 seconds, you are to shoot them on sight. This is imperative for you to understand. A lack of response indicates infection, of which there is no cure. That said...Don't get infected through a wound." With that, he slung open the doors and began ushering the rest of them out.
The confusion was replaced with determination. The fear, used for reaction. Adrenaline had started pumping through each of their veins, even before they entered the building. Nothing could have prepared Jacobson for what came next.
A brief look at the building sent shivers throughout his body. Every instinct was telling him to run, even as a small chill crept up his spine. Shaking off the sensation, Jacobson entered through the old, ornate doors to the temple. The first step inside made everything more surreal, as the tapestries and interior gave the impression that the squad of 6 had wandered into a portal straight to the Victorian age.
Religious artifacts could be seen on various pedestals, while the walls were adorned with paintings that could take any artist's breath away. The magic was only ruined by the eerie silence, and scattered pieces of broken ceramic covered in blood. Something about the scene felt wrong to him.
After checking to make sure the vicinity was clear, Jacobson looked to the Staff Sergeant, who indicated to take a glance over the scene. It didn't take long for his brain to figure out what was wrong. As much damage as there was, there should have been more blood. With the amount of blood that was visible, there should also have been a body. The visage was macabre, to say the least.
"Where is the body...For that matter... Where did they take it? Why aren't there drag marks where they took it?" The timid sound of Private Carter's voice seemed loud in the quiet, yet drowned out from the blood rushing within their ears.
Carter was a surprising, mouse of a man, who somehow made it through their intensive training with high marks. Looking at him, all you could think of was fragile. From the wiry black framed glasses a librarian might wear, to the pallor of his flesh, that might be seen only on that one gothic person in their angst filled teenage years.
Even before their team leader could silence him, a deafening sound filled the room. It was loud enough that the pressure brought Jacobson to a knee, disoriented from the noise that seemed to reverberate throughout his form. It was unlike any sound he had heard before, with an otherworldly quality that shook his very bones.
"What the *fuck* was that?" Even as she said it, the sound of something slamming against a wall responded. Something with enough force that the vibrations of the impact could be felt through the floor. Whatever it was, it came from the very direction they had entered from.
Another moment passed, before the painted wall outside of the doorway visibly cracked. All guns pointed towards the disturbance, save for Jacobson and the Staff Sergeant, who took aim just as the ceiling began to bow from an invisible weight. Time slowed for the two of them as the first of their targets appeared from above, dropping on top of Carter with a flurry of claws and teeth. There was little time to respond as rounds of silver began pumping into the creature's form.
As quickly as it began, the chaos that briefly filled the area ended with a pitiful screech and a squelch as the blood pooled and coagulated almost immediately. With a last shuddering breath, the bullet riddled creature began flaking upwards, disallowing the team to study its grotesque form for more then a few seconds. As if gravity and physics applied to this body in a unique manner, the dissipation of matter left nothing but a small amount of blood behind.
It took a few moments, but with luck on his side, the mousy man soon stood up, shaking but otherwise physically unharmed. With insistence from the Staff Sergeant, a quick inspection was done to assure that was the case, before signalling to pull back from their position.
"Our intel was wrong. This is not going to be an easy walk in the park like it should have been. I think it is time to explain a bit more on what is going on...Now that you have seen and killed at least one of our targets, there is no backing out, now that you've chosen a side." With a deep sigh, he projected a new mission statement on the rear doors of their van.
"Welcome to the Hell Bringer squad, recruits. It is time we brought you up to speed on the real reason you were chosen for this S.W.A.T. team..."
\[okay, since there's interest, I'll continue this tonight.\] | PART ONE
Cheyenne was not the kind of city Mazelina was expecting, but in its own unique way, it was the one she needed. For as long as she could remember, she’d been fighting something. Or doing protective duty. Her actual education was so far in the distant past that she could do her job by rote.
Which was probably what the problem was. She didn’t look her age. Anyone staring at her would see a kid that looked barely old enough to graduate High School. With her ginger-blonde hair and sandy complexion, not even the short crewcut she gave herself made her appear any older. If anything, the guys at the academy had laughed and told her she reminded them of the dolls they used to shave when they were kids. Because guys were assholes like that.
A quick drop and punch to that smart-ass’ groin, followed by an all-out brawl that she barely got a scratch out of while three guys ended up in hospital, and they now gave her the respect she should’ve had walking into the place. She was lucky she didn’t get suspended, or charged with assault, but that was only because the guys didn’t want to admit they’d been taken down by a girl a third their size. Like she said, combat she could do by rote. Her people skills back then weren’t so great.
But that was six months ago. Three passed courses of advanced SWAT training, and a semi-permanent beer and poker night at Jimmy Ray’s on a Wednesday night, had her fitting in just fine.
Last night was no exception, and Mazelina lost three days pay, but gained an almost full bottle of Belvedere vodka, and the shirt off Jimmy-Ray’s back, so the night wasn’t a complete loss. That boy was *stacked*. In a yummy way.
“I still think you cheated,” Jimmy Ray whispered, now in SWAT uniform along with the rest of her team getting the day’s rundown.
Mazelina grinned, mainly because she had been throwing the games—just not the way they were thinking. She knew exactly which of them had decent hands. They all had their tells; most notably the way the hair on their skin moved in excitement when they tried to hide a good hand, or how each follicle became coated in the finest layer of sweat and body oils when they were bluffing. It made winning cards ludicrously easy, and why she had learned to play it down so as not to be accused of cheating. Was it her fault that Jimmy Ray betted his shirt at least one hand a week, and that was the hand she made sure she won?
“Chimera,” Captain Peters barked, bringing her attention back to the commander at the front of the room.
“Sir,” she barked back.
“Pack your shit up, Chimera. You’re heading north.”
*Uh … what?* “Sir?” she asked, without her usual air of confidence. It had taken her six months to break in this team. She had no desire to start again in a different division.
The commander didn’t seem to care. “You heard me, Chimera. You’re the newest member to this team, and Powell needs reinforcements.”
Mazelina eyed her whole team, each of them having the same WTF look she probably had in her eyes. You didn’t just send one person away from a team like this. It was an all-or-nothing situation. SWAT teams were tight. Family. “On my own?” she asked, just to clarify the situation.
“You need someone to hold your hand, Chimera?”
And there it was. Old school asshole attitude. If she insisted they stick to protocol, she’d be tagged a whiny girl. Rising to her feet, she ran her hand down the line of her team, each of them giving her a silent but supportive hand slap as she walked out of the room.
Seven hours of swearing and punching the steering wheel later, she arrived at Powell. The long trip had served her well, as it gave her a chance to rant and vent. It wasn’t Powell’s fault Captain Peters was a first-class, sexist jerk. Only one incident along the way proved amusing, and that was when she was pulled over for an RBT. It was mid-afternoon by then, and the highway officer had demanded proof of ID when he’d seen who was behind the wheel.
The look on his face when she passed him her bifold and he saw her badge put her in a much better frame of mind.
“Chimera,” a woman called. Given she’d only been in the precinct about two minutes, she appreciated the expediency.
“Ma’am,” she said, following the woman into an office where three other burly men stood in full SWAT uniform with their arms folded, causing her to groan inwardly. “Is this really going to be another dick-measuring contest, guys, because I’ve just driven seven hours into the middle of nowhere, been pulled over and had my ID checked because the asshat didn't believe I was of driving age. Let alone a cop, let alone SWAT. I've still yet to have a good cup of coffee since I woke up this morning, and I’m in just the mood to break you boys in half.”
One of the three snorted, and smirked. “She’ll do, cap’n,” he said, and as if on an unspoken command, all three unfolded their arms and came forward.
It took Mazelina a second to realise the posturing had been to gauge her reaction, and already she found herself grinning in return. These guys weren’t like her old team. They were more like her old, *old* team. “Well, alright then,” she said, dusting her hands against pants. She then held one out to the speaker of the group, who was obviously the team commander. “Mazelina Chimera.”
“Eddy Myers,” he said, returning her handshake with a firm grip. He gestured to his left. “This is Bud Machais.” Bud held his hand out and she shook it as well. “And Greg Hunter. Welcome to the new front.”
His wording caught Mazelina by surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see,” Bud answered, pushing himself towards the door. “It’s almost nightfall. Time to suit up, rookie.”
More and more of Mazelina’s hair was going on edge. It didn’t help when a few minutes later, she was handed a kit, complete with silver bullets, salt, a foil-lined helmet, and most scarily, three grenades with runes carved into each of them. Runes, which made her heart skip a beat. She ran her thumb over the engravings. “Back to Hell,” she whispered, translating the script that should have remained long dead. “The world was never yours.”
“What was that, Maz?” one of her new teammates asked, but she wasn’t sure which one.
“Where did these come from?” she asked, looking up at her new teammates.
They snorted and shook their heads. “Don’t mock what works, Maz,” Bud said, sliding his own arsenal into place. “There are things out there that are going to make you piss yourself tonight. If you survive.”
Mazelina watched them kit up, then followed their example. She could well believe that. If this was what they needed to survive, they were lucky to have made it this long.
Less than an hour later, they got their first callout for the night. “Maz – you take the rear. Bud, Hunter and I will go through the front door.” He gave her head a flat palmed slap that knocked the helmet further into place. “Watch your six, girl.”
So Mazelina edged her way around the edge of the property, searching each of the windows for activity within. There were no lights, but she could still see someone moving through the space, faster than they should’ve been able to. He was going window to window, watching them all with only seconds to get to each. She could almost hear his tiny little squee of glee and kept her movements slow, and measured. Just as she’d been trained during those three SWAT courses.
And then, she hunkered down beside a dilapidated barbeque that gave her the perfect line of sight on both the back door, and each of the windows. She dropped out the silver cartridges and went for the salt. Neither would incapacitate it long, but salt in the eyes was still salt in the eyes. That shit stung.
Mazelina heard every bone-breaking, flesh rendering action moments before the men screamed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, nor would it be the last, but they seemed like good men and it pissed her off to think this was happening. She closed her eyes, promising them that she’d make the bastard pay.
“Oh, little one,” the thing sang in a singsong voice as it carried the rendered arm of one of her colleagues over his shoulder like a sack. “I think you’re all alone, now.” | 2020-02-16T23:40:33 | 2020-02-16T23:30:36 | 150 | 52 |
[WP] You unhappily work in the local Voodoo Doll factory. Strict PPE protocol is required. During a tour of the facility by the local elders you notice they're not wearing protective gear, just enough of their dna has drifted into the dolls at a crucial stage. You say nothing, and wait for chaos. | You almost said something.
Almost.
But that smug elder, the one with the horrible hog face had been an utter ass to you when you welcomed them. You remembered how they all laughed as he made it difficult for you. So instead, you smiled and nodded at them as they left. Pompous faces pleased and noses pointed into the air as they pranced out. You carried on with the rest of your work day, cleaned and clocked out, waved at the night staff who kept demons at bay and robbers from getting in.
How long would it take for them to start being affected? Days? Weeks? Months? The anticipation filled you with sadistic satisfaction.
There was no way to estimate but the idea was enthralling. Look how the fates had handed a sort of sweet revenge to the malevolent overseers that overworked each of you. That day, for the first time since you started the job, you left with a grin.
You witnessed the first one two weeks later; and you’d honestly forgotten about the whole thing. It was with the hog faced one, this time it was the annual harvest fest – he was on stage mid-speech when he’d been flung down into a pile of horse shit, right arm twisted in an unnatural way and his face pink in pain.
You covered your face with glee as those surrounding you cried out. Who would be next? You wondered, as the festival descended into madness. | They were laughing and chatting, such fools. What are elderly even doing here? Do they even believe in Voodoo dolls? Or maybe they thought it was just a normal doll shop to bring home to their kids to try to buy their love again. This is not the first time this happened, but it was always fixable, if the doll was handled early on and stored in a fridge forever, people never felt a thing.
But this elderly couple made me mad, they always told me that I was nothing for working in this factory, and that I should get sent back to my home country because I am a waste of money and breath. So tonight I decided to go rogue.
I am not evil, I am an average good guy, I wake up early, brush my teeth, go to the shop, work my ass off and then go to a beer with some friends till late night and repeat. They got on my nerves and I was bored from this routine. An unlucky intersection of circumstances one must say. They decided they did not like anything, like usual, and went off laughing. Few hours later, around 11 pm, was crunch time. These weird sexual perverts who want new experiences in their sex life crashed the store like crazy, they wanted to feel pain without actual pressure on their body, I tell you some weird shit. A 6'10 guy, really overweight, comes to me looking for a doll where I could induce his girlfriend's DNA in it, sure I said, and we all know which doll I grabbed. I went to the back and made myself busy for 10 minutes, came back took a pinch of her blood then headed back in and threw it in the garbage. I told him that it needed around 2 days for it to function properly, but you needed to try it as soon as possible to maximize its effectiveness. You know just throw in some words and they pretend understanding and they agree. He rushed of with his weird girlfriend into the night. Now, all this would be useless if I could not see the act in action. I felt guilt I admit, but this time I had no idea why it felt so pleasurable. So I decided to take off without leaving notice and follow them into their home. I was not at all aware that I was committing more and more crimes and that I was a full-time stalker by now. I did not care. I followed them, luckily they had a huge window I could watch stealthily everything from. So I sat there, waiting for the big finale.
This damn guy would not do it, he was too shy! Too shy to just do what I had planned all day for, and his girlfriend was just too good, she understood him! She agreed to just let all this go and just put it in a fridge and forget the whole story. Noway this was going to happen, I was already to deep in. I needed the finale, and right now. I got up, unconsciously, knocked heavily on their door. The girl opens confused, I push her away and run towards the kitchen and open the refrigerator, grab the doll and slit it right in half, I was crazy. I heard screams, too many. The girl knelt to the floor thinking she was going to die, too in shock to realize it was not her dying. But I heard another scream, the elders were their neighbors below. I can't lie, the scream was such a satisfaction, I literally ate the head of the doll, swallowed and everything. The guy rushes towards his room, but I could not just let him grab a weapon, so I grab the nearest knife and rush towards him and slit his throat too. I call it self defense. The girl still on the floor pleaded for her life. I felt her, it was just a big misunderstanding gone wrong. She does not deserve it. I could not leave a hanging witness, so I had to kill her too. I ran away for too long, but I am a normal guy, and my conscious ate me up, this is why I went to the police station the next day.
This is why, my honor, I plead not guilty, in reason of momentary insanity. | 2020-04-20T14:55:42 | 2020-04-20T13:31:28 | 51 | 16 |
[WP] Moving into your new house, you find a note left by the previous owner: “Today, all of your neighbors will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.” As you set down the note, the doorbell rings. | I settled down in the house as I saw the note. I didn't take much note of it, since I had no allergies, and the note was suspicious in the first place. After a while, I heard the doorbell ring. I hadn't seen their faces before, so this was a strange occurrence. I had made sure to meet and greet all the neighbors beforehand, and knowing that, as well as seeing them have a lemon meringue pie in their hands, was quite suspicious. They welcomed me to the neighborhood, and offered me the pie. I had social anxiety, so out of pure good will, I accepted. I placed the pie on my counter top, as I sat down to watch TV. Later, I heard the doorbell ring again. I got up to open the door, to see another pair of people with a pie. I told them that while I appreciate it, I had already gotten a pie. The neighbors looked at me with a frustrated face, and told me I could save this pie for later. I begrudgingly accepted, as I placed the pie next to the other. A little while later, I started to notice a very strong smell coming from the pies. It was the type of smell that would make your tongue sweat and your nose melt. I couldn't help myself. What could a small piece do? I snapped off a piece of the crust and ate it. My face wrinkled in disgust, as I spit it out. I understood the note now. The neighbors were terrible cooks. | It was a nice house, on a nice quiet street. Had got it fairly cheap since the backyard was somewhat smaller than average, but I didn't mind much. I'm not a garden person at the best of times. Just a nice house, with a ground floor, a decent basement, a recently redecorated kitchen, and other great things. So when I settled down after I'd moved in my meagre possessions, I was surprised to find inside the fridge, that a note had been left behind by the previous owner.
It said, *Today, all of your neighbours will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.* I put the note down on the table next to the sandwich I was going to eat. And as I did that, the doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the door to find a couple of smiling people. They introduced themselves to me as my new neighbours. I shook their hand, and they offered me a lemon meringue pie as a welcoming gift. They insisted that I should eat it, that it was the best pie in the state, and that I needed some meat on my skinny body.
At which point I slammed my arms volleyball-style into the pie's tin bottom, sending it flying into the air, as the astonished couple stared incredulously at me. I then told them both to go away, and slammed the door in their faces. Not fifteen minutes later, an old lady rang the doorbell, and I introduced myself politely, and when she offered me a lemon meringue pie, I took it, and in the style of traditional clown antics, threw it into her face.
The old woman screamed in agony as the pie started to dissolve her face. I nodded to myself, happy that I listened to that note. I knew there were rumours of an extremist pie-based death cult around these parts, but I had no idea they were so prevalent. So I went into my house, and unpacked my army gear. I got into my old uniform, took out my service rifle and my ammo. And of course also brought out the vast number of things I brought with me from my time serving as a PMC with explosive skills. Sure, in the army I'd been a recon sniper guy, but when I went private, I became an explosive guy, because it pays better.
And I had a lot of leftover claymores from my time in various third-world states. So I set up a reasonable defence of my new house, as countless people were coming to me, all armed with dangerously acidic pies. It was an epic fight, or at the very least a highly bloody one. Their initial charge was broken completely by the landmines and claymores I'd placed around my property. Then I climbed on my flat roof, and went to work. Just like in the stories my aunt Choi Hanuel told me from when she worked in Los Angeles in 1992.
And from there I defended my property against the onslaught of pie cultists, long into the night, until I called my boss and asked for some assistance. Sure, I was on temporary leave, but the company looks out for their own. So as my mines were running out, and my ammunition was nearing the last clip, I could but smile as I heard the company's jeeps coming. I put on my gas mask, affixed a bayonet to my rifle, and went charging into the pie cultists as my comrades began torching the town.
They were out of pies at that point and were using knives, axes, and guns, so I wasn't worried about getting dissolved. The guys drove to me, and formed a protective circle around me with their jeeps. They then gave me more ammo, and together, we put an end to the pie cultists for ever.
I wouldn't actually have ever eaten the pie, I'm allergic. But I wouldn't have had to begin the purge of this cult of sugary pastries, if I hadn't found the note. Whoever wrote it is probably dead anyway. So perhaps I gave the victims of this meringue cult some rest or justice. | 2020-06-11T06:35:57 | 2020-06-11T04:36:09 | 246 | 79 |
[WP] You are a secret immortal who accidentally won a '$2000 per week for the rest of your life lottery'. The lottery organizers don't understand why you want to turn down the prize as your excuses grow increasingly more far-fetched. | "Hello, Sye Porter, who is this?"
"..."
"Look, I can't accept the damn money!"
"..."
"Why does it matter that I keep giving you reason after reason?"
"..."
"Oh for fuck sake. I am done. I don't want the damn money because I will bankrupt your lottery scheme. You'll be so fucked your great great grandchildren will die from Alzheimer, because no health insurance company would touch deadbeats!"
"..."
"Oh, I'm the arsehole for making you cry? You people have been calling me long enough that's it ruining my plans!"
"..."
"Excuse me?! Who the hell are you to insult my life? I've been on this damn planet for thousands of years. I am the only living authority on the life of Boudicca; I can tell anyone who asks that the thing she loved most about when flowers were in bloom was having her brains fucked out in the middle of a field of them! I should know because I’d never hear the end of it from her if I slacked off on training for her carnal insanity fueled by an overload of the senses from all the flower scents around her!”
“...”
“Oh I could show you moves that the Catholics and Christians expunged.”
“...”
“Fine. Carver park at six. There’s an Italian bistro a block down from the park. Dinner first, after I’ll give you history lessons.”
“...”
“Wonderful, see you then Jen.” | When you have unlimited time to live, you'll get certain advantages. With my 500+ years of knowledge, i know my way through life, i saw things that mortal mind can't even comprehend. And yet, i decided to buy that fucking lottery ticket!
\*Reng\* \*Reng\*
Why? Why did i buy it? What can it possibly help my life?
\*Reng\* \*Reng\* \*Reng\*
Cant stand it anymore, i graped the phone.
" WHAT? "
" Sir, like i said before, you have won the ForeverLife Prize, that's mean you get $2000 per week for the resssst of your life "
Calming my voice and try not to yell , i reply " And like i said before, i wish to decline that offer "
"But sir, it's $2000, PER WEEK, we promise we not some scam trying to rob you, we sponsor by the gov... "
"I know, i know, i just ... don't like that kind of money in my life! Okay? So can you chose someone else? trust me on this, i'm doing you a favor here "
"I don't think we can sir, your name is already on our network. To other people, you already a very rich man. If you don't accept, you only got fame but not any gain"
Fuck me... worst-case scenario had happened. Oh god, I mocking myself with a whispering voice
" Just buy the ticket like a normal person, Daniel, what can one ticket possibly do you any harm. Like you have a chance to win in 1/1000000 people, haha, HAHA "
"What was that sir? "
"Nothing, then just take it down, can you ?" - i try looking for some hope.
"Look sir, if you don't have an acceptable reason, we can't do that, our audience gonna think we're just a scam."
" I can't, because i .. um .. i had health problems, i get little nut when i saw big cash." - What kind of excuse is that? asking myself
" But why you buy the lottery in the first place? "
" ... um .. i got trick into buying it? "
" Who? "
" Idk? A guy " - A 300 years old big brain answer. Good job Daniel.
" A guy ..? And why does "a guy" want you to buy a billion-dollar prize ticket?"
"You tell me? Maybe he from your company, and try to sabotage the game?"
"Why making you win help sabotage the game ?"
"... To help his family rich? who know? "
" So you are family to the "guy"? So it's not just some guy?
"No, what, ... I don't have fam... I DON'T KNOW WHO THAT GUY ITS"
"SO WHY YOU KNOW HE'S HELPING HIS FAMILY?"
"OH MY GOD" - i yelled
Deep breath Daniel, deep breth.
"Why you keep asking me questions? Give the money to the toilet's museum for all i care! i don't want this attention. okay?"
"... " - only slience.
" okay ? .." - i repeated myself.
" i see what i can do "
" Finally, thank you"- then i hang up the phone.
&#x200B;
Annoyed, i decide to take a bath. After that, prepare my lunch, this is too much for 1 morning. Or so i thought.
\*Ding dong\*
What now???
I open the door and saw a bunch of reporters, with cameras, and microphones pointing at my face.
"Sir, sir, is this true that you give that $2000 prize to a toilet's museum in Alabama?"
"Sir, do you know you're going viral online? "
"Sir, sir do you ..."
...
I frown - " Goodjob Daniel" | 2020-08-23T02:32:43 | 2020-08-23T01:05:46 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight. | "We must duel to the death, you say?"
"Yes." She grins challengingly. "I so enjoy this part. The wooing is always fun, sure, but I've trained for this all my life. I'm the greatest swordman of the country. This is what I live for."
"Well, very well." I pull out two decks. "I like to play green blue. I'm assuming you like to play red, so I made you one just in case you don't have a deck, although I side boarded you white, in case you maybe like red/white?"
"I'm sorry, what? What are you doing? Where's your sword?"
"Oh! I don't swordfight like yourself. I dual in this. Our life totals are twenty each. Here's your spin down."
"What? I'm not going to play a GAME for my HAND!?"
"No no no, we're dueling. I mean, we can draft a set instead, if you want? Or we could play some EDH? I promise you have a good deck though. It's even got some foils in there! And very pretty lands! Original Zen lands! Let's duel!"
She stood there, befuddled. No one had prepared her for this. They were dueling though, and it was to the death... So tradition would be accepted... "But... I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY CARDS!!"
"Oh, no worries, I'll teach you, come, sit down. So this is a land card..."
It was a lovely ceremony. | "Er, look, can't we talk about this?" I asked as the rapier swished within a hair's breadth of making making me say that a couple of octaves higher. "I mean, I'm really good in bed. I go to sleep really quickly."
"Hah," she yelled, ignoring my feeble attempt at humour. "No man will take me. I vow it with every ounce of my being."
"Crap," I said, ducking, weaving, parrying and then running in the opposite direction as I felt the light gusts of wind from her blade which was seemingly everywhere. Normally, my motto is 'can't win them all,' but in this case just surviving would be nice. Preferably with everything attached.
Frankly, if someone had mentioned to me the bit about the swordplay, I'd probably have given this one a miss. I mean, I have my talents. I'm sort of OK at playing the piano, have a decent party trick using a coin and three cups and am a half-decent conversationalist. But this swordplay thing just wasn't, well, my thing. All I wanted was a bit of an easy life and when I heard a princess was up for grabs and no-one was particularly interested, I thought I'd give it a go. What could I lose? Quite a lot it turned out.
"Look, I admit I'm not one for reading the smallprint," I said. "But couldn't you have at least mentioned this death-by-having-my-family-jewels-cut-off thing at the beginning? It would have been the polite thing to do."
"Don't you tell me what to do," she screamed, frothing at the mouth. A very pretty mouth in normal circumstances but right now... "I'll run you through like a suckling pig."
At that point, her blade nicked my cheek and the pain caused me to howl.
"That's how I like my men," she mocked. "Squealing like the little piggies you are."
"How about a nice game of cards?" I suggested, the sword tracing fast, figure-of-eight patterns in the air. "Or can I cook you something? A nice meal? Just so we can sit down and chat?"
"All. Men. Are. Pigs!" she screamed, thrusting forward.
She expertly flicked the sword out of my hand, cut a 'S' pattern into my chest and instantly, my clean, white shirt filled with blood. My only clean shirt as it happened which was made me die inside a little and probably a prelude to me actually dying a lot. And then the pain hit instantly causing my eyes to fill with tears. I gasped and went down on one knee.
"Please," I begged.
"You'll have to beg better than that," she replied. "The last two at least got down on both knees."
"And what happened to them?" I asked.
She pointed to the notches on the bedpost. I'd wondered why they were there if she hadn't ever, you know.... All was explained. Looks like I'd be notch number ummm... 23. 23? That was a lot of bodies. I gave it my last shot.
"I know a great card trick," I said.
"I hate card tricks," she replied.
"Do you have three cups?" I asked.
"They can put them on your tombstone," she said.
"Then there is nothing more I can say," I said. "At least make it quick. For the sake of my little old mother. Martha."
"Martha?" she asked.
"Martha," I replied.
"My mother's name was Martha," she said. And looked me quizzically in the eye.
"That's a coincidence," I said. "My Martha died years ago. She taught me everything I know."
"Mine too," she replied. "Like how to hate men and run them through with rapiers."
"Oh crap," I said. Not the best last words but oh well. Can't win them all. | 2020-09-20T20:52:33 | 2020-09-20T17:25:35 | 180 | 128 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight. | "We must duel to the death, you say?"
"Yes." She grins challengingly. "I so enjoy this part. The wooing is always fun, sure, but I've trained for this all my life. I'm the greatest swordman of the country. This is what I live for."
"Well, very well." I pull out two decks. "I like to play green blue. I'm assuming you like to play red, so I made you one just in case you don't have a deck, although I side boarded you white, in case you maybe like red/white?"
"I'm sorry, what? What are you doing? Where's your sword?"
"Oh! I don't swordfight like yourself. I dual in this. Our life totals are twenty each. Here's your spin down."
"What? I'm not going to play a GAME for my HAND!?"
"No no no, we're dueling. I mean, we can draft a set instead, if you want? Or we could play some EDH? I promise you have a good deck though. It's even got some foils in there! And very pretty lands! Original Zen lands! Let's duel!"
She stood there, befuddled. No one had prepared her for this. They were dueling though, and it was to the death... So tradition would be accepted... "But... I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY CARDS!!"
"Oh, no worries, I'll teach you, come, sit down. So this is a land card..."
It was a lovely ceremony. | "Please don't" he whimpered.
She stood over him, a plain look on her face.
"You just need to get to know me better, one week is hardly enough time......."
She raised her sword, arcing it high above her head, the soft clink of armor making the only sound.
A whisper, "I thought......you said.....is this really how it ends?"
Thunk. The sword lodged perfectly between his ears.
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*"Pathetic"* thought Paul, as the whimpering mans corpse was dragged away. "*Not only did he try and impress her without an ounce of real swordplay, facing failure he shamed himself with that begging display"*
All around Paul the lords and nobles of the realm (*his future realm, he liked to think),* slowly began to wake from their daze. It was an intimate affair, with the 100 or so guests lining a circle above the small arena. Servants and waiters scurried around, already refilling the drinks of the more pale faced patrons. As the rush of the combat passed through them, quiet conversation seeped into the timid space.
"Must she always be so brutal" whined a particularly bleached noblewomen
"It's the only way to keep the more unworthy away" her husband replied
"This one seemed the proper gentleman though, he was so polite when he made his announcement"
"They always do, until our princess weans the truth out of them" he said knowingly
Paul smiled to himself "*Oh that's right my announcement, should I lead with some bravado or something more chivalrous. What would they respect more? After all once I win her over, I'll have to do the same to everyone here".* Knowing he'd only decide once he started, Paul meandered his way to the north side of the circle, where a little jut led just into the square proper.
"Did you know he was a prince in name only? Not even from a real noble house!" gossiped one women as Paul passed by
"Oh so a son one of that new class, the merchant turned noble? Must have thought his money could win her over" bellowed a larger man with a laugh
"Oh not our princess no, she'll wait for one of the right stock, I hear this next fellow is from the greatest house east of the Penbrook. Maybe he's the one!'
"Not bloody likely, the one from the greatest house west of it got it in the head like all the others"
Again Paul smiled. He'd heard conversations like this his whole journey to the kingdom. The mystery princess, the one who couldn't be won by charm, wit, wealth, power and piety. One week is all you had to win her over and if she didn't want you by the end, well, you might as well run. The penalty of her denial was one more date with the princess, except this one was with swords, and only one of you was eating desert afterward.
For not only was the princess a beautiful, intelligent, and benevolent ruler, she was also the greatest swordsman (*or rather swordswomen)* in the world.
"*Fools"* Thought Paul as he entered the circle outcrop "*The so called secret of the princesses desire is obvious enough for one that has the strength to see it. Anyone paying attention to my departed predecessor would understand" .*
As Paul raised his hand, the crowd slowly fell silent, and when not a breath could be heard, he moved it over his heart and began to speak "*Chivalrous it is".*
While he touted his pure and noble intentions, the princess herself reentered the circle below. Covered in chain-mail, hair recently washed of blood, she made eye contact with Paul. An unwavering, unsettling stare of judgement.
While Paul continued to preach, only one thought crossed through his mind.
"*This is the women who I am to win. No. This is the women I aim to tame"*
\*---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\*
All I got so far, need a quick break.
Do me a favor and rip it to shreds below | 2020-09-20T20:52:33 | 2020-09-20T16:55:52 | 180 | 107 |
[WP] Exactly one hour before death, everyone is approached by a man in a grey suit that nobody else can see or hear. He makes the same deal for everyone he meets. If they refuse, they die as normal one hour later. If they agree, they disappear and are never seen or heard from again.
Edit: whoever gave this a helpful award, thank you! |
I sat in my rocking chair, sipping on a cup of tea. I didn't even like tea, but my wife brought me a cup every morning regardless. 45 years after she was gone, and I still drank a cup every morning. I glanced over at the picture of her on the end table. God, I missed her. I'll never forget that day, I came home, and she was just gone. No body in the house, her car was still in the driveway. To this day I'll never understand how a perfectly healthy 40-year-old woman drops off the face of the earth without a trace.
It took me years to adjust. Ten years ago when my neighbor, Lisa, moved in she asked if I was married, I said yes. I had to apologize on behalf of my memory when I realized my mistake. She was the only one I had left now, although I didn't care for her much. She was 45 and had no spouse or kids. About every other week her lawn mower "Broke" and she'd ask me to fix it. I tried to be kind but after Ruth disappeared I've wanted nothing more then to be left alone.
I squinted down at my watch, 10:47am. When I looked back up a man stood before me. He was young and deathly pale. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his charcoal grey suit. "Bill Johnson?" He asked.
I nodded.
"You are going to die in one hour."
I stared at him, taken aback by both the statement and his blunt delivery. "Pardon?"
"You are going to die in one hour." He repeated. "At 11:47 am you are going to suffer a fatal heart attack."
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I'm here to offer you a deal. Continue on this path and die in 57 minutes or start over."
"Start over?"
"Yes, you'll be born again with little memory of this life."
"And why in the hell would I want to do that?"
"Humans tend to cling to life, always pleading they're being taken too soon."
'Boy I'm 86 years old too soon ended a decade ago."
"Are you sure?"
"I've been ready to go for damn near fifty years. Besides, there's someone on the other side I'd like to see."
The man nodded. "Very well, I'll see you in-" he checked his watch. "52 minutes."
With that he disappeared. I sat in silence for 45 minutes, glancing at the clock every so often. A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I opened the door and found Lisa standing on my porch with a plate of tea cookies. I reluctantly took them, doing my best to end the conversation so I could get back to dying. It was too late. My chest started to burn, and I crumpled to the floor. My vision blurred and my chest was screaming. The last thing I heard before it all went dark was Lisa's voice.
"I came back for you." | Every culture has their own beliefs about the nature of death. There might be multiple words for snow in some languages and no concept of snow in others, but death was something that we all shared. All plants, all animals, all single-called organisms around the Universe had their beginning and their end.
I thought that I knew what death would be—not a religious affair, but a simple matter of science as the heart stopped beating and the body shut down.
I had no idea just how wrong I was.
The day started like any other. I drove into the office, dreading whatever “urgent” report my manager would put in front of me to finish that day. I wondered how many weeks it would take for her to get to it this time.
I looked up at the clock and saw that I was 59 minutes from my lunch break when I noticed him. He had an old-timey mustache that looked like something out of an 1880’s baseball picture, a top hat, and a pale grey three-piece suit. I wondered briefly why security hadn’t stopped him before he noticed my gaze and approached me.
“Good day, sir, can you hear me alright?” he said in an accent that sounded vaguely British but...off...somehow.
I puffed out my chest, even though I had a good six inches on the rail-thin man. “Sir, you need to check in at the front desk and get a visitor’s badge.”
“Do not fret, young man, they cannot see me.”
“E-excuse me?” I scanned around the office but apparently nobody else had noticed him.
“I am here because your time has come. Well, almost come would be a more accurate way to put it, I suppose, but that is quite beside the point,” he said in a casual tone, like this visit was nothing more than a walk in the park.
“Wait, my time?!”
“Oh yes. In approximately 58 minutes and 34 seconds, you will be hit by a motor vehicle as you cross the roadway in front of this establishment. If you decide to remain in the building, you will instead suffer a rather fatal brain aneurysm. That is, unless you accept my deal.”
I took a deep breath in through my nose, as I tried my best not to scream. “What is the deal, exactly?” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Quite simple, really. Whenever a sentient dies, the Scions of Death must arrive to collect them. Humans might be on the lower end of that sentience spectrum, but you can be useful, in your way. Decline my offer, and you will perish within the hour. Accept, and a new universe shall open to you.”
Despite my impending doom, I somehow had the presence of mind to be suspicious. “And what is it that I am supposed to do?”
The man winked at me, and for the first time I noticed that his eyes were lidded.
“Well, that is quite simple as well. Just do as I do.”
“So...talk to people before they’re about to die?”
“You offer them a choice,” he said, looking serious for the first time in our conversation. “They can choose to die, to fade away. Or they can choose to endure, and to keep the cycle of life and death going. The more sentients there are in the universe, the more work there is for us.”
“Us? I haven’t agreed to anything.”
The man laughed at that, a strange sound between a belly laugh and a hiss.
“You would not still be speaking to me if you had not made your choice.”
I nearly decided to decline then, out of spite for his arrogance. Then I remembered the last conversation I’d had with my sister, about leaving this banking job because I wanted my life to MATTER.
I wanted to make a difference.
“Fine, I accept. What do I do now?”
The man grinned at me, but his eyes told me a different story, one of countless conversations just like this one. He seemed as if he was more unsure of my choice than I was.
He reached behind him and pulled something seemingly out of thin air.
“Put this on,” he said hesitantly as he threw me a bundle of gray fabric.
A three-piece suit, just like his.
As soon as I tied up my right shoe, I heard a horrible scream.
“Ted?! TED!!!”
“Jennifer!” I screamed back, remembering all of the times that I’d passed her in the hallway and all of the jokes we’d shared and all of the words we’d left unsaid.
“Time to go,” the man in the gray suit sighed. He traced his finger in a circle and opened up a portal in the middle of the office.
“Jennifer!” I screamed again as I ran towards her. “It’s OK, I’m here, I-“
“He was RIGHT HERE! Where did he go?!” she continued to shout as she spun around helplessly, trying to find a corner that she’d missed before.
“It’s OK, it’s OK, I’m right-“
But my hand passed right through hers as if I wasn’t there.
“She cannot hear you, Theodore,” the man in the gray suit said as his shoulders fell.
“Come now, through the portal.”
His eyes wouldn’t meet mine as I made my way towards him, and to be honest I was grateful for his apparent sense of shame.
At least he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down my cheeks.
I stepped into the portal, and towards a new life of horrifying possibility.
__________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux | 2020-12-01T15:21:26 | 2020-12-01T14:31:00 | 101 | 63 |
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any. | Xullufiti couldn't believe this luck, finally, an escape from the clutches of Hell! Not a crack, not a nightmare, but a veritable door from one reality to the next. A vessel! A passage between worlds!
He cackled loudly as he swarmed into the human body, their soul swapped away almost effortlessly in the exchange. But as they passed each through the membrane of souls, the sagging, defeated human only gazed on in abject disconnection.
"Yeah, good luck with that. You'll need it."
Xullufiti squinted at this remark, and all too suddenly the transition was complete.
"At LAAAAST!" Xullufiti screamed into the air, the flesh of his skin hot and steaming into the night sky.
He swiftly gathered himself, pawing himself down to be sure it was real, ALL real. He could barely contain his giggling, there on the street corner. This world would, at last, be-
"FINALLY!!!" Screamed some woman, two blocks up.
"FREEEEE!" Screamed some fat guy by his window two stories up.
The chorus of thousands soon joined, a mass of souls exchanged congregating into a churning, steady roar of evil enthusiasm as the humans. A very angry german voice, sure enough probably Hitler, crowing out of a little boy. A possessed Nun that could only be Vlad was already impaling people with stop signs. Somewhere down the block, a little old lady fired up a chainsaw, already decked out in full clown garb, soaked in blood.
Xullufiti's arms lowered. His grin faded. He swallowed heavily, pinching his brow.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
&#x200B;
Meanwhile, in Hell, Burt pinched his brows. The complete absence of demons was nice for a minute, but then the HOA went ahead filled the power vacuum in a matter of hours.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes." | Gregor punched through the curtains of reality, cascading through dimensions, and sweeping over humanity's collective consciousness like a sulfurous wind. The triple-reinforced wards on Faith's room fluttered pointlessly in the wind, and stirred up the layer of dust in her room. The demon reached through its imp's spider-like fingers as its imp completed the contract, and in that brief moment, it concentrated itself onto Faith's soul.
Faith, Faith, Faith.
Aged 22.
A bright young woman in college.
So much *potential*.
Like ants before a tidal wave, Gregor snuffed out Faith's relationships and cracked her mind apart. In the distance, Faith's friends and family felt a cold whisper drag up their spine, and for a brief moment, they shuddered instinctively. Her education, gone. Her memories, gone. Her knowledge, gone.
As Gregor loomed over the core of Faith's soul, it jangled the metaphorical keys to her mind and held back for an moment, infinitesimal yet eternal. Her soul flickered in the radiation emanating from Gregor, as the demonic mass pulsated in amusement.
"What are you?" she asked, eyes squeezed shut.
Smart. To look is to observe, to observe is to invite. Not that Gregor was a vampire that needed invitation. Gregor was the Void, the gap between stars.
"I know you, demon. I compel you to speak your name, or I shall claim the right to name you."
A moment passed, as Gregor consolidated its hold. Faith's life had long since passed. As far as the universe was concerned, a large gash in humanity's consciousness sat where Faith once existed. But humans are amusing. Humans think themselves strong.
"Demon. I repeat myself once more! I-"
"^(-Urrrrr.")
Space shook, as Gregor spoke through the remnants of Faith's mind. For every memory it took, a dozen fell through the cracks.
Faith's light dimmed. Gregor expanded through the void. If anything, the demon enjoyed humanity's fighting spirit. Thinking that names grant power, even if its very nature consumes its own name, how infantile. Even by existing in her mind, Gregor ate away at the last shreds of her soul. The radiation grew, as her mind turned a sickly shade of *nothing*. Maybe she had a trump card, a secret family weapon against the forces of Ruin and Destruction, but her time was running short.
"I tried. I really tried," Faith croaked. "Good luck, you'll need it."
Faith flickered out of existence, falling through Gregor's sickly claws, as it joined the thousands of memories evaporating into the cracks in reality.
Gregor peered down. Apathy, what a shame. It extended its mass, shifting through the former confines of Faith's mind, as it took root in her body. Her blood curdled into sludge and her visage deformed. Parts of her limbs fell through the cracks of reality, rending her body into a dozen coordinated pieces. The imp leapt through Faith, discarding its former shell as it took over her bodily functions.
Dust. Glass. Grey.
The imp gnashed its teeth in frustration, slamming its fingers into the controls. It shook at her motivations, long since barren.
Apathy. Ennui. Anhedonia.
It gazed around her room.
A layer of dust on the mirror. A pile of clothes on her bed. A dozen unwashed plates perched on her desk.
Letters, unsent. Calls, unanswered. A note, brief.
Of course, Gregor realized. Faith was long-gone before it arrived. It reached back into Faith's mind and retook control, confirming its hypothesis. It nudged the imp aside, vaporizing it in a flash. Her grey memories flashed into nothingness as the demon peered at them.
Nothing.
Her body turned acrid, forming sickly fumes in her room. Her possessions shook, as their relationships corroded under Gregor's power. The room creaked in pain, as the demon arrived at its conclusions.
There was nothing left to do.
The college hall shuddered, as Gregor lifted itself off humanity's consciousness. The room contracted and the building reshaped itself between breaths, as reality attempted to heal from Gregor's brief stay. Faith's room vanished.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And the embers of Faith's life drifted away through the cracks. | 2020-12-21T12:52:15 | 2020-12-21T12:34:57 | 141 | 63 |
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