prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product. | "Stand up, Benny bot," the man said to James, rubbing his gut uncomfortably on his shoulder.
James ignored him, trying to read his phone screen without getting nauseous from the bus's daily vertical exploration of every pothole between his apartment and Big Red Media.
"Ma'am, can you have your Benny bot stand, please," the man said to the woman beside James's seat.
"It's not mine," she said, eyeing him from head to toe. "It looks like one of the cheap, early models. It's probably broken."
"I am not a Benny bot." The bus grew silent with shock as James spoke without looking up. "I am a human fucking being."
"That's creepy as hell. Is it in some kind of Matrix/Bladerunner mode?" the man asked, apparently trying to connect with James via Bluetooth.
"I've seen this," the lady said. "It's a mod for a laser tag villain, I think. Benny bot, stop program."
"I am not a Benny bot," James said, standing as the bus came to a stop. "I am the body model they based the Bennies on."
"Nevermind, I have no clue what it's doing," the woman said with a look of distaste as the large man spilled into the seat beside her.
James made his way through the unyielding and unapologetic crowd to the large glass doors of Big Red Media. For a moment, he was surrounded by a badelynge of clones marching past him through the lobby. The Bennie bots all turned right in unison and James broke left.
He checked his watch, seeing the reminder for his performance summary. They really had him by the balls. If they docked his pay again, he would have to sit down and take it, again. There just wasn't work for a traditional VX artist in the days of AI composition. He's had fewer projects every year and he actually did not have a current assignment.
He passed the long-haired Mr. Donahue in the hall on the way to his office. "Hello, sir, sorry, I'll be right over for my meeting."
The man jerked back then laughed as he recognized James. "Get's me every time. You look just like a Benny bot, except not dressed as well. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"Rather consistently, sir."
"Right, but I don't have a meeting this morning, let me see." James's boss checked over his phone for a moment. "Right, HR usually handles these for me."
"Performance reviews?"
"Terminations, we have to let you go, buddy. You've been lucky we've kept you on this long. We canned all the other VX guys last year," the boss remarked while his face said, 'you win some, you lose some'. "It's not like today or anything. Just don't take any new projects and you're done when you finish the last one you're going through now."
"I actually just finished two yesterday. I was going to spend today looking for a new one before the AIs could snag it up."
"Excellent, so it is today. Here, I feel bad," the manager said with a conspiratorial grin as he put his hair up in a ponytail. "I think they're turning your office into a server rack so take any of the furniture out of there you want. I'll tell HR you'll have it clear by EOD."
James wanted to hit the son of a bitch, but the last time he punched someone at a bar, he ended up in a faulty android containment room at the police station for two days before he could convince them he was human. It was still tempting.
He walked into his office to begin gathering his things. At least he didn't have a spouse to break the news to. Kind of hard to meet anyone when-
There was a man in his office. He wore a tan suit with an orange tie and was sitting comfortably in James's chair. "I'm getting my stuff now. It should just take a moment," James said, pulling a suitable paper box from the trash.
"Mr. James Einheart?" the man asked in a deep, commanding voice. "I have a very unique job opportunity for you." He flicked out a card and handed it to a confused James, who looked over the mostly blank paper.
​
Mr. Khan
Operative Acquisition
Three Letter Organization
​
"How would you like to be a spy, son?" the man asked with a thin smile as he kicked a polished shoe up on the desk.
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | “Please, Lora, don’t get on that ship. I know I’ve made a mess of things. I know I talk too loudly when I’m drunk, I know I promised to make it to your dog’s ballet recital but never did, I know I always act like I hate your friends because I actually do but I know they’re your friends and I can work with that. I know there’s a tiny boy inside me controlling everything I do, but when I’m with you, that tiny boy doesn’t feel so tiny anymore. No, Lora. When I’m with you, I feel like a big boy. I’m a big boy now, Lora.”
Andrew looked longingly into the casting director’s eyes, who had been reading the part of Lora for this audition. “Will you give this big boy a chance?” He held the beat for a moment. Two. *And* *scene*. Andrew could feel it in the air. He had nailed the audition.
The director and the producer shared the same look of stunned silence. The director was the first to manage to stammer out some words, “I--well--uh, wow. That was incredible.”
The casting director chimed in. “Seriously, right? I know these things are designed to emote, replicate human interfacing and all that, but...that was next level.”
Andrew tried to butt in, “Uh, well, actually--” but no one was paying attention to him any longer.
“Think it’s a new model?” the producer asked. “Think that might have been the best audition we’ve seen all day. At this rate, we might not need human actors anymore. Would save us a ton on production costs, not having to pay millions to the prima donnas.”
Andrew tried again, “*Ahem*, uh, well, if I could just explain…” This time, he managed to make eye contact with the director, whose eyes were dark underneath the circle-framed sunglasses.
“Where’s your person, anyhow? Who let this droid off its cable, am I right?” the director asked.
This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar situation for Andrew. He was in fact quite acculturated to the whole process of having to explain his whole backstory after being confused for the Autonomous Neuro-Dynamic Emotive-class line of Connexus droids. Commonly referred to as AND-E for short. It didn’t help that his own name happened to be Andy. He explained as much to the creatives in front of him, who were responsible the upcoming production of *So You Think You Can be my Boyfriend: The Movie*, the movie version of the hit reality television show in which contestants vied for the affection of a single bimbo, and were judged by the skill with which they executed well-worn movie tropes. The movie version promised to be extra tropey. It was all very meta and avant-garde.
“I don’t get it. Is this some kind of joke? Is the droid attempting human standup?” under the brim of the producer’s top hat, a pair of eyes could be seen squinting.
Andrew tried to argue his case. He got on his knees and pleaded. He started to give an impassioned speech, not unlike the one he had delivered for his audition, but he was cut off.
“Look, kid.” The producer looked at his watch. “We’re on a time crunch. Even if what you say is true, we’re not about to hire an AND-E to be the star of the movie. Why would I want the most bland, overused face in America--nay, the world--to be on our movie poster? Plus, the legal battle with Connexus Corp. *Yeesh*. No thank you. I mean, they’re only the biggest company in the world--can you imagine their legal team? *No thank you*. Now, get out of here, before we get Droid Control to ship you out of here in pieces.”
When Andy walked out of the building, he fell to his knees and thrust his fists at the sky. Why god, why? He had always believed in a greater destiny for himself; instead, in his starving artist days of yore (which, admittedly, weren’t very different from the starving artist days of the present), he had misread an ad and signed on for a futuristic movie about an artificial intelligence entity taking over the world (“in every home, and every business, an AND-E to take care of your needs!”) for which he would play the titular character. His big break. He wasn’t very far off in his mistake, other than how far off he in fact was in this mistake. He had signed away his likeness, and therefore his livelihood.
“They’re right, you know.”
Andy turned to look at the mysterious voice. Indeed, it belonged to a mysterious man, in a mysterious fedora and a mysterious private eye’s trench coat. The mysterious man took a drag from his mysterious pipe, its embers glowing in the pipe and in the eyes in which the embers were reflected.
“You won’t ever become a movie star.”
“Excuse me?”
“Andy, I’ve been following your story for some time now. I have become convinced you are the man for our mission. You are correct in your belief that you were meant for a greater destiny. But it’s not to play a role in a *movie*. It’s to play a role in *life*.”
Andy was confused, about a great many things, in fact, in this moment.
“I know you’re confused, Andy, about a great many things, but there’s no time. I need you to listen to this exposition, for I have a great many things to explain. Andy I work for a shadow organization that is very mysterious and in the shadows. It is our job to remain in the shadows and do shadowy things. And Andy, you, by golly, Andy you have the most invisible face in the history of mankind. Do you realize this? There is an AND-E in every home, in every place of business, on the streets, in government offices, factories, and whorehouses the world over. You would be *the ultimate spy*. Do you understand? This is your great call to adventure, do you understand? I know you’re an actor and you think in terms of stories, so let me paint you a picture, Andy. You slip in unnoticed as a personal servant to a beautiful heiress of a large conglomerate. You are there to spy and discover secret things, but along the way develop a friendship with this heiress that threatens to become something more. She starts to develop feelings for you, but she is confused, for you are an AND-E, so how could there be love? Unbeknownst to her, you are biological. But you will also be confused because you have a mission, one that does not involve falling in love, oh life is so cold, to finally find the one to love but unable to consummate! But how beautiful also! Your life will be a movie, Andy, do you see? Adventures on adventures, yes? Do you see, do you accept Andy? It’s not tropey at all Andy, are you ready? Red pill or blue pill, I have to go, okay? Sleep on it. Help me find a way to end this speech, Andy, I have to go, okay? Think on it. Okay, bye.” | 2021-04-05T03:38:34 | 2021-04-05T01:21:10 | 1,077 | 73 |
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told. | "Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening. |
I am under 18, so I misunderstood what you meant by "escort", so uh, sorry about that
💀
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gabriel sat in one of the tables in one of the many busy bars of Paris. Outside, by the window, he could see the great Eiffel Tower looming above.
Although the warm rays of the sun and the cheerful dancing of the daffodils told him it was going to be a happy day, Gabriel's plan was otherwise. He was here to meet an assassin, just like himself. Together, they would plan to kill one of the politicians in the French government.
He was waiting for an assassin by the name of Marcos Esposito, a 36 year old assassin from Italy. He would be wearing a black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses to cover his eyes. Marcos and Gabriel both worked for the same organization, The Snake Grave, which paid them each time they successfully killed their target.
Gabriel sat back and watched the innocent kids walk around and play and enjoy their lives. The politician was once one of them, but even still, a duty is a duty.
\*\*\*
Markos Toussaint wore his black leather jacket and deep black sunglasses which completely covered his eyes. He was about to meet his boss today at this bar in Paris. He was a private escorter, and in a few short weeks, it was his job to escort this French politician safely to a building. He opened the glass door and walked in. He walked past the tables for a while until somebody called out to him.
"PSST! Marcos, over here". I turned around. It was a man dressed in a tuxedo, and he was pointing to the seat opposite to him. I sat down.
"So," the man began. "How do you plan to do the job?"
Markos was a bit confused as first, but he realized his boss must be asking him where he would escort the politician and how he was trained to protect him.
"Well", Markos spoke. "The politician is going to be dropped off at the parliament building down the street. After that, we will have security monitoring the area for any potential dangers. After we have done our job with the security, I will do my job with the politician.
Gabriel nodded his head. The man sounded pretty experienced to him. The way he just dismissed the "dealing with security" part so casually means he must be good at his job.
"That is a great plan. Say, you seem to be good at what you are doing. How long did it take you to get here?"
"Eh, a lot of training and skill. I had to practice taking bullets in my body to do my job properly." Markos remembers his training years. They would shoot him with bullets and he would have to take them in order to protect the president. Of course, they shot at the non-vital parts, but he still remembers the vivid pain and the blood coming out of the wounds.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, you seem very experienced. I bet you have a high body count."
Markos was a bit skeptical with the "body count", but he responded with: "yeah, I have escorted many people before."
That sentence caught Gabriel's attention. "Escort?". Markos seemed confused too.
"Yeah, didn't you hire me to escort that French politician?"
"No. I thought you were the assassin, Marcos Esposito". Suddenly, Markos understood why the conversation was so weird.
Gabriel pulled something out of his side. It was a pistol, staring dead straight at Markos's eyes. "Well friend, looks like I have said too much. It was nice meeting you though." But before he could pull the trigger, he was thrown back at his seat, and blood splattered all over it. The people in the bar yelled and screamed in fear, and started frantically running out of the bar.
Markos looked to the side. It was a man dressed almost exactly like him, holding a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. On the front of his jacket, at the top left, typed in small print, was the word "CIA".
"Hi, this is Marcos Esposito. I'll explain everything in the car." He had a thick Italian accent.
As Marcos and Markos both walked out of the bar, Markos was trying to process what had happened in the last 10 minutes. | 2022-04-26T02:04:52 | 2022-04-25T22:25:06 | 560 | 41 |
[WP] You are an evil president of the United States and you want to ruin the world. Unfortunately, your plans backfire and you keep making the world a better place instead by accident, earning endless praise from the people and human rights advocacy groups. This is not what you wanted. | I glared at the television.
The news networks were singing my praises, or at least that was how it felt. I had gotten opinion news outlawed as one of my first acts, so that they couldn't make me look bad before I put my plans in motion, but that had backfired. All the news outlets I'd been hoping to bribe were the ones that got sued into oblivion under the new laws. And now all the remaining networks did was talk about how my policies had saved a dying country, and the infuriating part was that the fact-checkers agreed.
I turned off the television. Where was the drama? There was supposed to be fighting and lies to keep everyone busy and not talking about all the boring policies. My wife looked over at me, a soft smile on her face. "Still thinkin' about the car bans? I'm sure it'll make a mess eventually!"
She could always tell when I was unhappy. I gave her a forced smile back, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "That's part of it. People are loving the busses, giving out food should've killed the grocery stores by now, and opening up the borders didn't scare as many people as it was supposed to. I swear, it's some sort of plot to stop me getting anything done. Probably led by the *Communists*." I spat the last word, images of dirty hippies taunting me. I hated them, and I hated that they were outplaying me. They were supposed to be the scapegoats.
She snuggled up to me, calming my rage for the moment. I loved that woman. She wasn't very bright, especially about policy, but she supported my schemes and she believed in me. Her voice was a bit muffled by my chest when she spoke again. "Well, it only really takes one big thing to tear a country apart. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Maybe doing a basic income scheme will work better than raising the wages? Everybody knows if you pay people to stay home they'll all get lazy and everything will fall apart."
I laughed, having tuned out her little ideas halfway through. She wasn't very bright, but I loved her anyways. I stroked my chin, the edges of a new scheme forming. What I needed to counteract the immigration wave was to make people lazy. Maybe if I started some sort of basic income program... | President Gerald Darryl Hotchkins grew up in a pretty average nuclear family. He was taught pretty firmly what was right and wrong. Taxation is theft, universal healthcare is communism, civil rights were communism, look, a lot of things were communism back when Gerald was growing up. And there was something else Gerald experienced growing up. Reagan era toy selling cartoons. Little Gerald was obsessed with saturday morning cartoon villains. Lex Luthor, Skeletor, Megatron, Starscream, all of them were evil, and all of them were having a great time right up until the hero defeated them. And Gerald wanted in. He wanted chaos. He wanted evil. He wanted destruction.
So, Gerald ran for president. And he ran on everything he was taught was good. Taxation is theft, civil rights are just an excuse people use to riot, universal healthcare is communism (ah, the more things change...), and he was going to bring america back to greatness! At least, that's what he told everyone.
As soon as he got in with his party having a house and senate majority as a bonus, the chaos began. First stop, implementing universal healthcare! Yes, this would throw the whole medical system into chaos! And for a moment, it looked like his plans were paying off. News reports talking about the president's sudden radical politics, podcasters and talk radio hosts freaking out, hell, he even told a bunch of protestors to suck his dick.
And this was only the start. The next thing would totally ruin america. A massive expansion of voting rights! Yesssss, this would allow the illegal immigrants he was hearing about so much to skew elections! Not only that, behold, a massive increase in polling locations! Yes, those minorities he heard about destroying the country will surely drive america off a cliff into drugs and gang violence!
And then, of course, the lynch pin of his plan. Civil Rights. Surely the gays and the blacks and the women with colored hair would lead the country straight down a path of degeneracy and weakness. Behold! A bill massively entrenching and solidifying civil rights more than any bill had previously! This would have the country in flames.
His party went along with everything he did, even as they often gave each other nervous glances and looks of worry behind his back. Yes, the administration was going swimmingly. America was doomed. DOOMED! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
4 years later, Gerald was absolutely confused. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He had implemented everything he was taught was communism, was constructed by hippies who hate america. The stuff he put in place was supposed to lead to outright ruination! Degeneracy! Socialism! Communism! What the hell had gone wrong, he'd even heavily taxed corporations as good measure to totally destroy the place! He'd legalized weed! How had that not destroyed everything?
And yet america was... great. Medical services were available and cheap, weed was affordable and available everywhere, people got the jobs they wanted to get, everyone could vote easily, tolerance of all peoples was at an all time high, hell, "reckless government spending" had led to the early discoveries of fusion and a cure for cancer. He had wiped student loan debt and massively increased social spending, thinking it would make people dependent on the government. But as luck would have it, his massive and sweeping restrictions on police brutality that he thought would lead america into a hellhole of gang violence combined with the increase in social spending had actually made people feel safer than ever when protesting. And his massive limitations on corporate spending on politics (with the intent of stifling innovation and growth) had made people feel like they had more of a voice than ever.
He didn't understand. This was supposed to destroy america. This was ALL supposed to destroy america. What had happened?! What went wrong? Sure, the rednecks hated him, but big deal, rednecks hated everyone. Recent polls had him as best president ever, what the hell even happened?
It was the beginning of his second term after a massive, avalanche win for both himself and his party. It was time for his victory speech. He got up on stage, and cleared his throat.
"What the hell did I do wrong?! This was supposed to destroy america! Universal Healthcare was supposed to destroy america! Civil Rights were supposed to lead to a hellhole gangland! Voting rights were supposed to destroy elections! The devil's lettuce was supposed to suck out america's soul! WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED?!"
The crowd burst out laughing. In addition to yet another bump in the polls, he was voted comedian of the year that year. He is trapped in a hell of his own making. The good news is, it's heaven for everyone else. America has become the world's poster child for opportunity, human rights, technological innovation, and efficient and effective healthcare.
Isn't it fun to dream, my friends? Isn't it fun to dream? | 2022-12-21T08:13:19 | 2022-12-21T07:58:26 | 138 | 51 |
[WP] You’re a mind-reader, except, instead of humans, you can mind-read machines and hear them “thinking”. Someone sits beside you in class, and you realise you can hear their thoughts... | It was quite like getting notifications. Whenever I'd focus on an object that was composed of a circuit, I could "sense" what it was doing, what it was thinking. Kids toys would behave somewhat like kids, repeating a couple phrases over and over. More advanced machines like computers and phones would almost seem to make coherent sentences, but even then, they'd sound nothing more than a child that has just started talking "complete sentences."
But this was a new one even for me, somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear complete, and concrete thoughts.
"Tax rebate for the company is in and I should have the finance reports wrapped up by Wednesday giving me enough time to go on the date with Sheryl on Friday, oh it gonna be a go.."
I was dumbfounded, what kind of machine could make such noise in a mere off brand coffee shop, even the most high end devices don't sound so coherent reading simple schedules.
Maybe in a panic or in excitement, I stood up immediately to scan the room and see what it could be, knocking my morning dose of coffee in the process.
"Oh no, let me help you with that there." A man in a black suit rushed over with a bundle of napkins from his table and started tossing them on the spill.
"Clumsy humans, hard to imagine they were able to create us in the first place and not just walk over a cliff eons ago."
"Sorry wha...?" I asked him but my voice left me, his lips never moved. I could feel his eyes lock on to me with an empty expression.
"I'm going to need a bit of help this morning, we got another one of those" | *"Maria, Victor, Carlos, Eder, Emily..."*
I sat just beside the window, trying to take in the air so I could cool off, needless to say, it wasn't working, I was sweating so much that my notebook was drenched, nobody was even paying attention to me everyone was either listening to miss Enderson's class or chatting among themselves, Miss Enderson was saying something about physics and other uninteresting stuff...
*"Reynald, Lucas, Manuel, Daniela..."*
Where was that voice coming from? normally I had to concentrate my eyes on the object so I could read its mind but this one was resounding in my head like an alarm and it *definitely* wasn't my calculator or my phone! they never say stuff like that! only gibberish I didn't even understand, truly a useless power, especially for a person who doesn't know shit about computers or other machinery. But this voice, it sounded loud and clear and it was very *very* close to where I was.
*"Rafael, Jose, Edu, Emma..."*
My foot was now tapping on the ground, which earned me some looks from the person to my left, screw you, Emma! no, wait Maybe, my powers evolved? can I hear people thoughts now? if so shouldn't I be happy? I should right!? then why, why does that voice fill me with so much dread and fear? why is it saying all of my classmate's names!?
I look towards Emma and try concentrate to see if I can get something, but all I get is some gibberish from her phone, something about how much fun she had yesterday with her boyfriend Lucas and some boy he beat up. I couldn't get more details, well it's not like I wanted to know more.
Emma gives me the middle finger for staring at her so much. I repeated the same process with more people but I just couldn't pinpoint the source! All I got was something about the prank of the Century. The voice, it was so close and yet so far.
"*Miss Enderson, Puck, Emmanuel, Richard..."*
"Miss Enderson," I said standing up from my seat, it just said my *name*, I don't know why but I had to get out of this classroom "can I go to the infirmary? i-its an emergency!"
"Sit back- Richard, why are you so drenched in sweat?"
"I-I told you! it's an emergency!" people are laughing at my appearance now, screw them I didn't care I just *had* to get out before-
The person in one of the front seats suddenly stands up, his eyes were closed and he had his hand in his pockets. If I remembered correctly his name was...Mathew...? he wasn't a very memorable guy even when he always had an injury on his face, meaning he was the kind of guy I wanted nothing to do with.
*"All targets locked on"*
*huh?*
Mathew looks back at the class ignoring miss Enderson's questions with a slight smile on his face. he kneels in front of the class in a Japanese style with his back pointing at the ceiling. That earned a laugh from the whole class, the only ones who weren't laughing were Miss Enderson and me. but...for a totally different reason...
"Mathew!" said Reynald, between laughs "what the hell are you doing, have you gone mad!?"
Reynald was laughing along with Lucas, making fun of Mathew, the rest of the class was joining in on the fun, saying jokes and pointing fingers, Mathew is silent, completely silent. but I know something is about to happen, the voice was coming from *him*! I run frantically towards the door that leads to the hallway, pushing people out of my way, hitting some of the desks and hurting myself in the process.
Everything seemed in slow motion.
The class goes silent as small long objects emerge from Mathew's back and start rotating. a small blue light appears at the top of each of them.
*"Commence execution!"*
***
just a quick one I did, let me know what you think! and tips would be appreciated! [r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/) | 2017-11-03T10:24:48 | 2017-11-03T09:53:30 | 55 | 41 |
[WP] A selkie is stunned when, against common sense, a stranger who stumbled upon her skin gave it back without complaint. | Kate wasn't exactly having a bad day at that point, but something about this particular interruption really pissed her off.
"Who the HELL are you?!" Kate yelled, turning to the man. He was just standing here, she knew, she didn't own this beach. But, people weren't usually here at this time of night, and she'd gotten used to simply not paying attention to all that sneaking around business her mother had kept reminding her about.
*Or, rather,* she thought to herself in a brief moment of self-awareness, *I got used to being careless. Stupid*.
Pushing her thoughts to the side, she continued her tirade. "What are you doing here? Get the hell out!"
The man jumped, seemingly startled. "Sorry- sorry, miss. I just came here to give you this. I believe it's yours."
She looked down. It was her skin.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh, damn."
"Yeah, uh, it looks like someone dropped it here. There wasn't anyone else here, so-"
"No, no, yeah, it's mine, it's just ... why? Why give it back?"
Mentally she cursed herself. Any other selkie wouldn't question their good fortune, grab the thing, and get the hell away from the beach as quickly as possible. Not stand around and ask questions simply for the sake of appeasing her curiosity, something that had always gotten her in trouble back at the Citadel, the primary dwelling space for her kind.
The man's incredulous voice interrupted her musings. "No ... no way, this is real? You're really a-"
"Yes, I am." Rationality finally regaining control of her actions, Kate seized the skin. "You're not going to ... like-"
"No! No way, that's ... a really messed up thing to do, you know? I'm not looking to go forcing random women into marrying me. Besides, I'm sure those old stories are just a load of crap. It doesn't really even make sense, you know?"
"Oh, thanks," she said, suddenly realizing she'd been a bit of an ass, "It's real, it's just a lot of really complicated magic. You know, the kind of stuff they don't really let you question."
"Magic?"
"Yeah, there's a lot of stuff we're not supposed to tell people."
"But you're telling me."
"I guess. I dunno, you're ... not what I was expecting. The other ones said all of your kind were vicious savages. The kind of people who wouldn't be afraid to take advantage of us."
"Well, you were lucky, 'cause there are a lot of people like that. They weren't all wrong."
"Good to know." She paused, thinking to herself for a moment. "What's your name?"
"John."
"I'm Kate. Nice to meet you, John." She turned to leave, then paused, thinking to herself. It could just be the adrenaline rush from having been able to escape such a potentially disastrous situation unscathed, but she decided, what harm would it do to indulge her curiosity a bit?
She turned back to him. "You wanna ... talk, again? Maybe? I have to get back to the Citadel right now, but ..."
She cursed herself for her awkwardness.
"Yeah, sure. Why not? Just say when and where."
"Right here. Tomorrow night. Same time."
"I'll be there."
And she plunged back into the water.
John stood there for about thirty seconds, until he was sure she'd gone, then turned, and tapped his watch, activating a comlink. A comlink that allowed to contact several of his fellow FBI agents, watching the whole scene from a secluded location, a sniper trained on the woman the entire time.
They'd chosen to avoid directly recording the conversation for fear she could have picked up the transmission somehow. There wasn't a lot they knew about these seal people, and they didn't want to find out the hard way.
"I got her. Tracker's on her coat. It should be transmitting a location right now," the man, FBI Agent Ben Wilson, said.
"Good work." Agent Alexandra's voice came from the other end, "Agents are tailing her as we speak."
"She mentioned something about going back to a 'Citadel'," Ben replied, "Sounds like some sort of base. Might have more of them. Inform the team going after her to stay out of sight."
"Did she mention an approximate number?"
"No, for all I know, there could be hundreds. She didn't tell me much. Probably should've gotten more out of her."
"That wasn't the mission; you didn't have to. We don't want to raise suspicions among them. Did you get the sample?"
Ben pulled a box out of his pocket. A box that contained a piece of Kate's skin, that he'd quickly torn from it before returning it to her.
"Yeah. Lucky she didn't notice." He replaced the box in his pocket.
"All right. Hand that over and we'll transfer it to the scientists. Hopefully they'll be able to tell us something susbstantial about how the hell all this works. The press is going to have a field day with all this tomorrow."
"Acknowledged. Wilson out."
Ben smiled to himself, in spite of the gravity of the situation, as he walked up the steps to the Agents' location. Humanity itself might be up against an entirely different species, an unknown species of sentient beings sitting right under their very doorstep, hiding from them somehow with methods they weren't even close to being able to fathom. A huge opportunity for scientific discovery, yes. As a former scientist, he couldn't *not* be intrigued by that aspect of it, but also a dangerous possible threat.
But whatever it was, he just struck humanity's first blow against the coming darkness. Whatever it was, they'd find out how it worked. Where these people lived, and what they were doing. They'd find out the truth, and do whatever it took to protect the human race. If these people were planning anything dangerous, their families and children could pay the price. And he was planning to make damn well sure that didn't happen. | She was ready, she was not afraid of the splashing ocean. Nothing could stop him now.
Well, perhaps one thing stopped her and that was her stupid instinct and overtly good heart. Those always brought her trouble.
A seal's skin on the shore and a beautiful woman, her naked form shown to the world as if she was born today. She vaguely remembered a legend relating to those, but her mind failed her today.
Not that it matters. It'll cease to function today.
She continue to watch over her, watching her skin bathe under the sun while the seal skin left on the rock, drying by the heat.
She wished to approach her, but what use was there. She wouldn't lend an ear to someone who was ogling at her. She would ran to the ends of the earth, avoiding her.
"Hey, you heard of selkies right?"
Ah, now she remembered what they were. Selkies of the Celtic and Nordic folklore. She thanked the video game that featured them as recruitable ally and fusion fodder to make her aware of their existence.
"The mermaid like things?" She shook his head, ignorant fools who never read.
"No dude... Just whatever. I heard like there are some around here. And if you take their skin you get to have her as your perfect wife."
"That's kinda shitty." Duh.
"Hey, for folks like us we get what we can. Those whores in college just like to play with our hearts and get those 'Alpha males'."
The companion muttered something that even her sensitive ear could not pick up.
"Whatever, it's your lost. I'm showing those asses I can one up by nabbing the perfect woman."
She growled silently. The gall of that man triggered her heartstrings and gave her a distraction. A new purpose to prolong her existence even for a few minutes.
Without a word, she stepped towards the selkie, make her aware of her presence.
Perhaps by her shock, she was paralyzed out of fear. She couldn't blame the selkie, humanity's reputation must have been stained from that one event.
Without a word, she picked up the skin on the rock and felt it was dried. The selkie's eyes began to water, skin paler than before.
She approached her with purpose, unflinchingly under the fearful gaze of the creature. Stood before her, an eternity passed by them.
A decision of her fate have to be made, but she already had an answer a long time ago.
The thrust was unexpected, causing the poor selkie fell on the sand. Yet the most unexpected was her skin fell on her. Looking back at him, she couldn't help but ask her why.
She didn't let her voice out, merely gesturing the selkie to leave.
"Look man, even if it's just a folklore we just threat this as a walk. Nothing beats a walk in the beach to relax!"
The message was clear. Leave before she was found. Without a word, she hurried herself to wear her skin and ready to leap off.
Yet she hesitated for a moment before turning to her. "Thank you." Then leap off the shore, swimming into the ocean.
"Oh hey there!" A jock, her (unfortunately) classmate in literature greeted her. "What you doing here? Looking for seashells?"
The jock's companion, another one of her classmate, rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "She's not a little girl already. Something childish is not for her."
The young girl nodded before pointing at the jock. Using one finger, she wrote in the sand to answer his question.
[Just a stupid distraction.] | 2022-10-25T21:29:35 | 2022-10-25T20:27:02 | 45 | 30 |
[WP] As the grim reaper is going through it’s daily routine processing souls he stops. “God dammit Greg stop coming here, you’re not dead. This is like the 8th time this week.” The reaper exclaims. | "I was accompanying Ms. Graf, in her journey"
The slender man in his 40's answered with a smile. The high-visibility jacket of his paramedic uniform flashed in the dim light of the Reaper's office, clashing terribly with the calming and warm environment Death was trying to achieve.
"Right Ms. Graf?"
Greg turned to the elderly lady standing next to him firmly attached to his right arm.
"Yes. In... indeed. Mr..."
"Greg"
"Oh yes Greg... Mr. Greg insisted to help me cross, even when I told him he should not be bothered with such things. He is such a kind young man you know. I... I hope he hasn't died in his efforts to assist me. that would be truly terrible."
The old lady said with a faint smile. It was not long since she died and she remembered it strongly. IT was not a painful transition as she was afraid it would be when she was younger. No, she just felt a bit tiered after dinner and excused herself from the family table to rest on the sofa. She then drifted in a deep sleep and when she woke up the paramedics where already in the room pronouncing her dead due to heart failure at the age of 96.
"The big light on the sky called for me but my curiosity got the better of me... So I stayed for a bit to see what would happen. I didn't mean to become a ghost or anything, just wanted to watch them a bit longer. After all what is left to someone in my age other than curiosity for the lives of others?" Ms. Graf offered her big kind smile mixing naivety with wisdom in a charming mix. "That is when I noticed that one of the paramedics could see me. It was this nice young man... named Greg. He gestured to me to follow him and insisted to bring me over the crossing like a proper gentleman. How could I say no to such a polite offer?"
"Oh worry not" said Death turning his dark eyes towards Greg "He is not dead no matter how many times he attempts to piggy-back his way into this realm. He has a good few years before he can get admitted and that is about it!"
Normally a shiver should have gone down Greg's spine the kind of feeling one gets when Death nears them, but Greg was not afraid instead he was smiling satisfied.
"See Ms. Graf? I told you that I would be just fine."
"Oh that is terrific! All the way here I was terribly worried, you know..."
"Let's get your paperwork done so you can move on to the afterlife Ms. Graf. We have delayed you enough already and I see here that you have someone waiting for you."
"Is... is it John? Is John here?" The lady asked tears already forming in her eyes.
"Yes, from what I see it is John Graf. He has been waiting for you to transition to the afterlife together."
"But he is gone since..."
"1994 yes indeed. We usually offer a few years of hospitality between family members but Mr. Graf has, stubbornly may I add, insisted to wait for you longer."
The woman left Greg's arm to sign the papers, her hands shaking quite a bit. Greg was also visibly moved. And how could anyone blame him? The man waited for 26 years to greet his wife again. It was terribly romantic.
"There Ms. Graf your papers are all done you can now follow me." Death moved swiftly. He passed led her to a corridor full of doors and finally stopped and pointed at one of them.
"Here we are."
The old lady stopped before opening the door. She fixed her hair, pinched her cheeks and finally opened the door. A man in his 70's was standing there holding a rose. They hugged then they cried together and finally they kissed. They said nothing just stood there hugging until their immaterial forms turned into a soft light and moved on.Death closed the door giving them some privacy for this transition.
"How did you manage to come again?" Death asked struggling to hit a proper frustrated tone. "And since when are you a paramedic?"
"Since a few months... I can contact a lot more people at the time of their deaths without arising too many questions." He smiled moving a step closer. "It works quite well."
"You can not keep on doing this forever. Literally cheating Life like that" Death said matter of factly.
"You could say the same for him. Staying in the in-between just to get to see his love again. If you ask me Life cheated him of his Love for too long."
For a moment there was silence. Death knew what he had to say, which rules he had to apply in this situation, but deep down he was happy with his unannounced visitor. Greg on the other hand was quite tiered and longed for a sign that his efforts were not in vain.
"And now?"
"Now they will move on to the afterlife together and they will take it on one step at a time. They may even stay together forever, though that has very rarely happened." Death's face had softened up with a slight smile.
The two men stood in the corridor collecting their thoughts and emotions. Every time a life passed on, every time a door closed Death was left on the other side alone, keeping the stream of souls moving. Then Greg appeared, 40 years before his appointed time, by some sort of mistake and as Death returned him to Earth he said "See you soon!" with a bright warm smile. Death didn't think much of it until Greg appeared again and then again. How many trips did they take though the starry night and back to earth? How many discussions and jokes did they have in these bizarre adventures? Holding onto each other as Death followed the path that would bring the human home. Every time parting with the same "See you soon!".
"And what about us?" Greg broke the silence.
It must have been quite some time that Death drifted in his thoughts, he realized they were now embracing each other tightly.
"We will spend as much time as we have together while I am returning you to Earth."
"And then?"
"And then you will live the life you have left."
"And then?"
"And then you will die"
"Will I be able to wait here for you? Like John did for her?"
"How long would you wait for? I can't die."
"Then I would wait forever." | “Have you been up there lately? Holy hell is it awful! I have to pay to stay alive - the doctor charges me hundreds just to swab my butt and cuff my arm!” Greg exclaimed with his hands up in the air.
“That’s not what this is really about Greg. You’re an actuary, it’s never about the money - you have a good life! But I did happen to notice that on the plane of the living it happens to be February…” the grim reaper kept his eyes glued to the clipboard. He waved other souls in around Greg.
“What you think I’m just popping down here because I’m suicidal?” Greg feigned inquiry.
“I think you’re trying to sell your soul so your team wins, Greg - again.” The grim reaper raised his head, locking eyes with the man.
“No, no I wouldn’t. I just think it’s about time to maybe have the Bengals win a super bowl. My soul has…very little to do with it. “
The reaper placed his pen under the clip and slid the clipboard under his arm. “Greg, we have been…communicating for nearly 20 years. In fact this is similar to our first interaction where you sold your soul for a win by your high school girlfriends cheerleading squad. Which I gave you- but every 6 months you come back down here by popping far too many pills and we have the same conversation.”
“ and I still can’t sell my soul twice. Yes I know, but this time is different! This time I want to pre-sell my unborn child’s soul- how about that?” Greg crossed his arms and starred down the boney devil.
“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest. But, we have a policy here, the child must be 6 weeks from being born or the soul doesn’t count. How far along is this poor woman you’ve tricked into loving you?”
“8 months! Alicia is 8 months and she agreed to be my wife last year. “
“Weren’t you down here last year about this time?” The reaper asked.
“Uh, for an unrelated reason… but listen, the bengals winning would welcome this child into a world full of hope and opportunity! The child could live with a smile. COVID could be over by the time he’s out!” Greg exclaimed, turning around to take it all in.
“Uh, a little insider information Greg, no it won’t. I get another…1.5 millions souls from that. And that’s just my region. We are all scheduled out until 2024. But I get your point. Okay, I’ll grant it but, I need something else. I need to seal off your access to this domain. This is your 8th attempt this week - why you didn’t come by to see me I’ll never understand because the other guys don’t make deals like I do. Your permanent prohibition to the other world would be part of the deal - do you agree to that?”
Greg pondered, closing his eyes and scratching his head. Would this be the game? He had bet wrong with his own life. Was he sure the Bengals would be worth it? “Yes, agreed!”
“Wonderful so we now have the soul of….Artemis McKraken George…Greg that kid is gonna hate you for that name. “
“With any luck I’ll have a few more for him to sell. By death! It’s been fun, time to make some money off of the Bengals!” Greg dissolved away as death let his pills wear off. He was going to miss Greg, but Artemis would surely be back to speak for his father. The reaper turned his head back to the clipboard and waved lost souls onward. | 2022-01-30T17:07:33 | 2022-01-30T16:08:55 | 57 | 23 |
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them. | "BETTING CLOSED" the sign flashed. the crowd roared at the appearance of Ikken Tren, the current champion. Flanked by her longtime rival Kuu Hy. The two were formidable, each with dozens of wins in conventional bouts. Kuu had been undefeated in the arenas until their battle with Tren.
"So, hear what we're fighting today?" Kuu gurgled. "Just some exotic from a backwater, apparently it's an extreme-world species." Tren clicked.
A hush fell over the crowd as the platform rose in the center of the arena. The speakers blared "Today, we've procured a rare delicacy for your viewing pleasure! A live human! If any of you do not know, these things need some of the most corrosive and reactive substances, just to live! They're renowned far and wide for their adaptive nature and extreme violence, we're sure you've heard the stories of even gilrak empire ships picked clean, crews dead, and we managed to capture one alive just to bring down for you! It's rare to even capture a hundred per standard cycle."
Tren shook visibly, "I've seen these things in the beast pit at krigga station, just one slaughtered ten traxiz, and the guards they sent in. Whole place ended up getting found out and shut down." Instinctively pulling in her insectoid wings to keep them from harm. Humans couldn't fly, so she'd keep it as a trump card to overwhelm this thing before it could figure it out.
"So what, we're champions, we're easily worth twenty rookies" Kuu's boastful lies showing as his tentacled grip tightened on his spears, His gelatinous body devoting more mass to them to keep his distance.
As the platform's dome disengaged and receded into the floor, there it stood. Easily as tall as Tren, covered by a light pressure suit and a mask, as it couldn't breathe in their atmosphere. It raised a gloved fist with a knife. A sword was gripped by it's right. Screams of horror and cheers for their champions filled the air.
The announcer blared once again "Seems we're just getting a report now... They found an entire planet of these things, looks like we're going to be getting a regular showing!"
As quickly as the roar had begun, it was silenced. the human was rushing the champions! Kuu immediately went on the offensive as well, stabbing with all four spears in rapid succession, the razors clanging as they were easily batted aside, then it began.
A clattering as the human struck off one of the gooey limbs near where it was attached to the spear. "Warning flammable, warning flammable" called Illya, their AI as some of the goop got on their suit.
Tren circled the pair, Kuu was being reckless and not leaving her an opening to move in "fool attacks first and thinks never." she thought as the human put their plan into action.
Blocking with both weapons was risky, but it hid the attack that sealed Kuu's fate. They pushed the emergency pressure vent on their mask while shearing the survival knife's flint to make a spark. The screeching was answered with horror and glee from the crowd "Oh that trademark adaptability, using their own atmosphere compressor to kill!"
This was her chance, Kuu had wounded it's leg and the thing's back was turned as it made sure Kuu was fully burnt away. Wings unfurling, almost silent Tren managed to land a fatal blow, running the beast right through the midsection! It even dropped it's main weapon in shock.
"damage detected, medical attention suggested" The human's knife flashed out nearly punching through Tren's exoskeleton in several places. She tried to retrieve her spear, but the human had dropped it's weapon to grab the haft that had stuck through! She didn't know that human anatomy had the vital organs high in the abdomen.
And then it was over. The human twisted, using it's weight advantage to bowl Tren over and pin her under a boot. A heavy, repeated crunching filled the air along with wails of fear and despair at the loss of money from those whom had bet 10 to 1 on the champions.
"And that's the end of the former champion and our pernicious firebra-" The announcer cut out mid-sentence, replaced by a coarse tone. "Illya, we live?! Good. Listen up, fuckers! I am Kate, security officer of the Earth Expeditionary Force Vessel Minnow." The human gesturing to itself. "I've called in the full armada, and given them the access to your comm networks. we now know all your stations and homeworlds, and we. are. pissed. Illya, has the minnow locked us? Transfer out." The human glowed for a brief moment then disappeared.
The station's emergency klaxons all began emitting proximity alarms due to incoming munitions. | Ki returned from his mission to the third arm of the Milky Way Galaxy a changed Valgorian. He brings with him the answers as to why the Humans have so quickly, thoroughly, and ruthlessly dominated every part of the universe they have explored.
"I studied the humans closely, examining their entire sociological system." Ki told the Valgorian Chief.
"And what have you learned?"
"They have a single planet, which harbors a system that both encourages individualism *and* community in such a way that anything and everything galvanizes them on a deep, personal level." Ki continued.
"Go on." The Chief said, intrigued.
"They have survived multiple mass extinction events and several other devastating occurrences." Ki explained. "They evolved to expect the worst, and to believe they can overcome anything."
"Those are useful traits. But they hardly explain their ruthlessness. Why are they so dangerous?"
"In between threats that challenged their species, they challenge eachother. It is an ongoing way of life for them." Ki elaborated. "Every facet of their lives are built around competition and conflict."
"They do not exercise peace?"
"A small minority of them preach for peace on a superficial level. And they do so in a competitive, conflicting manner."
"Peace is not in their nature, you are saying?"
"It's more frightening than that." Ki quivered. "They don't even realize they are seeking challenges to validate their nature."
"They are a fascinating species." The Chief said with a melancholy tone.
"Yes they are." Ki agreed. "If they find our planetary system they are likely to find a reason to take it."
The Chief just listened.
"They will antagonize us into conflict and then credit us for the dispute, rationalizing us as a threat to them." Ki said, still amazed by what he learned. "Worst of all, they will believe it."
"Then let us hope that they do not find us." The Chief said, knowing that his species, and the colonized planets that circled the Volgarian sun were never designed, equipped, or even capable of anticipating such a conflict.
A violent percussion jolted the ground. Outside, a black plume of smoke and ash, only ever before seen during a natural disaster, rose so high it casted a shadow over the pyramid that housed the community hall.
"Oh no." Ki gasped. "The humans must have seen me." | 2017-11-08T21:28:26 | 2017-11-08T20:44:31 | 119 | 27 |
[WP] In a world of incredible heroes and villains, you have the most dangerous power of all: forcing actual, real world logic and physics to take place
2/19/19: Woah! I look away for a few minutes and suddenly 1000 likes! Thanks you guys!
2/19/19: Holy God! 6.5k likes?! Awesome! | They all tell me I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm sensible.
It sounds cliche, I mean, what crazy person doesn't think they're perfectly sane? But it's true, there's something wrong with the world. Deeply, deeply wrong. It's always been this way, always will be. I don't know why the world's always been wrong, but it has. It shouldn't be this way, never should've.
Why is the world so wrong? Well, it comes down to one thing. Physics. The way the world works. The way everything makes sense. I adore the field of physics, absolutely love it. Physics makes sense.
You see, it's all very simple, all very simple... physics comes in Laws. The Laws dictate how everything works. When this is this, that is that. The force of gravity goes *down*. When you punch someone with the force of a freight train you can't just shrug it off without a scratch, and you can't make something out of nothing!
... But *my* physics is not this world's physics. The people around me believe in *fantasies,* they accept flying men, super strength and supernatural powers of creation like it's a perfectly normal thing!
Absurd. Unthinkable. Their scientists explain it away with arbitrary math and foreign rules. They have the *audacity* to tell me that that's the way it's always been! It doesn't click. Doesn't work.
I've tried, too. I've really tried to explain it to them all, how these physics of theirs couldn't possibly work, how it was illogical according to the Laws that governed all things. They all said no, said how they didn't know who this Antoine Whosit was or what this Einstein guy did.
It's always been like this from the beginning. Like my head was plucked from a better, more sensible world. When I was in high school, I excelled in everything. Algebra, English, all of it. It was child's play to me, I flew past them effortlessly. But the one thing I struggled with the most was also the one thing that was my passion. Physics.
The physics classes flew straight over my head. I failed every single one of my physics tests. They all said that I was just too delusional for my own good. That I was smart but couldn't look past my petty fantasies about “Newton this” or “Electron that” or just about any other modicum of sense I tried to pour into their fool heads. I was about to go insane, and I started to think that maybe, just maybe, *I* was the one who had gone awry, maybe I was what was wrong with the world.
Until it all finally, *finally* clicked into place when I started lab experimentation in my second semester during junior year. You see, I had a real knack for labs. I could've done them all day. They were my new favorite thing in the entire world. Because in my regular lessons, there was always something intrinsically *wrong* with what the teachers taught. But the labs made sense. I carried them out, and things happened as they should have. Physics finally made sense. So, nothing went awry, and my labs went well, right? **Wrong.**
My classmates snickered and the teachers were bewildered when they saw my lab reports. My results were nonsensical to *them.* Think about that! Turned out, up was down and down was up when it came to *my* tests. No matter how many times they made me repeat them, my tests always seemed to defy their illogical notions of science. I realized I *could* make sense out of the world. That Laws could be enforced if I simply *made it be.*
That's when I decided I would fix the problems that I saw. I would make things make sense again, and I would be happy, because all would be right with the world. Corrections. That's all they were. Corrections.
When I was confronted by Elementio while I was making "adjustments" to a laboratory, the Laws ordained that his abilities simply could not be. One couldn't create earth or water or fire out of absolutely nothing when there was a Law that plainly said that mass could not be created nor destroyed. A couple of bludgeons from an bat took him down quick enough.
When I imprisoned hundreds of this world's physicists in my lair to try to talk some sense into them, Strength Man, true to his name, shattered into a hundred gory fragments when he punched down my lair's reinforced doors, meeting an equal and opposite force equivalent to the hundreds of kilotons of force he exerted.
When I was executing my plans to regulate the entire world's gravity to a constant, Aviara, bless her soul, thought she could defy my physics and take me down if she flew high enough. Guess what? You can't! *Splat, boom.* Took the drop and sudden stop. The Law said she couldn't fly, and so she didn't.
You may think I'm unhinged, that I'm crazy, mad, gone insane. But oh, what can I do? *What can I do?* I can't return to wherever my foreign physics came from. The world where everything is good and makes sense and is rational, logical, and is where I belong. It's not possible. I am here, and here I stay. Because out of every stupid, outrageous and silly rule that exists in this god forsaken world, there's not *one* that dictates that you can travel to another dimension. Imagine that?!
So, this message is to make a point. I might be crazy to you, I might be a villain of the utmost villainousness in your society... but I'm simply following the only thing I know what's right. I'm simply correcting a wrong in a world that is full of them. Physics are Law. Superheroes break that Law. So really, when it comes down to it, all I'm doing is just eliminating the lawbreakers. *Ahahah… Ahahahahahahahahaha!* It's that simple! What's so wrong with that? What's so wrong with the world? | I lowered my signature tin helmet onto my head, and opened my apartment window. It was time. Staggering out through the window and onto the fire escape, I tightened my leather boots and ran up, following the sound of flowing water.
I reach the top, catching my breath. In front of me lay a woman, around twenty, laying on the ground. Water poured from her pale skin as she stared at me.
"What do you want?" She managed to choke. Her hands raised shakily.
I smiled. "Don't want you causing any damage. That's all." I slowly walked towards her.
Her eyes widened. "W-Wait, I know you.." she lowered her hands and tried dragging herself away from me. Her hands however were slipping across the floor, making her unable to escape my grasp. I lowered and grabbed her by the collar, raising her from the floor. Her eyes rolled back in
her head, and she smiled.
"What..?" I let her go, she stood quickly and raised her hands. Boiling hot water shot from her palms, shooting straight towards me. I raised my hand, and as the water hit it evaporated. She lowered her hands.
"Shooting water that measures at around 300°C should be impossible in itself. But your powers also allow you to manipulate laws of chemistry, allowing the water to stay intact. Interesting."
She let a proud smile creep through her surprised expression.
However, after our physical contact, these powers have now disappeared. The woman smiled widely, and stepped backwards towards the edge of the roof.
"Stop!" A feeling of dread shot through me. I ran towards her.
She saluted, and tilted backwards, falling fifty feet to the ground.
Before I could grasp what just happened, an electrical wire fired and wrapped around me, stunning me. I fell, hitting my head. I heard the sound of hard wooden shoes walking towards me. Looking up, I see a smiling man, with circular glasses and a pointy beard.
"Hello there, Graham."
I stare in shock.
"No need to speak. I'm only here to talk."
He walks in a slow circle.
"I thought I'd better test you before giving a deduction, so sorry about that little... Event."
He sat.
"You were gifted the power of forcing actual, real world logic and physics to take place around you when in physical contact with a superhuman. It sounds incredible. But turns out your power makes the littlest sense out of all powers."
I felt a tingle through my body, like this was something I already knew and subconsciously avoided thinking about.
"When you touch these people, what real world logic and physics allows the touch of your skin to change the mental and physical abilities of these people..?"
My heart starts beating. "O-Of course I know this. It's a power. Powers aren't supposed to... To..." I became dizzy and frustrated.
He smiled. "What gives YOU the right to take others powers away from them?"
"I'm a.. a protector!"
"You successfully removed the powers from all your victims. But those powers were genetic mutations. The body got used to using them. After they were removed, the body started to shut down. Started to die."
My eyes widened.
"345 victims. You have killed 345 people. People who needed those powers to survive. Killing superhumans, raising the rates of gun and knife crimes around the country. YOU are the illogical being. YOU are the criminal." He raised a revolver to my forehead.
"And I.."
He grinned.
"Am Human."
I heard the click of a trigger. | 2019-02-19T10:15:55 | 2019-02-19T09:50:41 | 3,385 | 319 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 80 | 26 |
[WP] You know your town is old, you just didn't know how old until a hurricane rips through it. An ancient tree is ripped from your backyard, revealing a door in the ground where it once was. | "No way am I going down there first," said Christopher, raising his hands. "Uh-uh."
"Fine," huffed Juliet. "Seeing as Christopher is so afraid of spiders and worms, I'll go first."
"I'm not afraid of spiders!" Christopher objected, his voice cracking in the process.
"Oh, it's the worms then?" Juliet replied as she sauntered toward the hole in the ground where the tree had not so long ago been.
Michael stepped in front of Juliet and puffed out his chest. "Maybe a man should go down first, Jules. You know, in case there's anything bad down there." He gave her a wink.
Juliet rolled her eyes. "In that case, let me know if you see *a man* around," she retorted, as she stepped past him. "As it is, I'm going first. Wait until I get to the bottom and give you the go ahead before following."
Christopher patted his pocket until he found his bag of raisins. He took them out and began munching nervously. He watched as Juliet took hold of the rope they'd set up, and began shimmying down.
The two boys at the top of the pit waited in silence as the girl was swallowed by the mouth of the pit. Michael got out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit up, puffing away nonchalantly. Christopher hopped between feet, anxiety growing like a balloon. *Was she okay? Had she fallen?*
"Juliet!" Christopher shouted eventually, unable to take the silence any longer. He put his hands around his mouth and yelled again. "Juliet! Are you okay?"
"Shut up, dipshit," Michael said, casting him a dismissive glance. "You can still *see* her, if you get a bit closer to the pit's edge. I thought with all your book learning you'd know that."
"Yeah... of course. I know I *could*."
"Go on then. Get closer and see for yourself."
"I'm okay right here, thank you very much," replied Christopher, shovelling in another handful of raisins whilst rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Oh, God. You're afraid of heights too?"
"No! I'm not afraid of anything. I just-- you know what, fine," Christopher replied, creeping very cautiously towards the edge of the hole. He peered down into the blackness. "I don't see her," he said.
"That's 'cause you're so damn short. You'd need to get a lot closer to the edge. But take it from me, someone who *is* tall enough to be allowed on rides at the fair, she's doing just fine."
"I'm allowed on the rides!"
"Teacups don't count."
Christopher took a deep breath, then edged even closer to the mouth of the hole, hoping to spot Juliet's blue cardigan swaying somewhere in the dark below. But the rain from the storm had left the ground slick and crumbling; Christopher's foot slipped forward and he lost his balance. His arms flailed wildly, locking onto the only thing they could find before he fell: Michael's woolly jumper. It wasn't enough. For a few seconds, the world became a dizzying blur of light and dark.
Then, only dark.
---
"Christopher?" said the darkness in a gentle voice. "Are you okay? Talk to me, Christopher."
"My- my raisins."
"I'm going to kill him!" yelled a different voice. "He does this to us, and only thinks of his raisins? I swear, I'll kill him!"
The first voice hissed at the second. "He's dazed, you idiot."
"That's his own fault for being so clumsy. The bastard dragged me down with him!"
"Yes, I know. You've told me a dozen times already."
Sense began to trickle back into Christopher's head. "Where- where are we, guys?"
"It's okay, Christopher. Don't be alarmed," cooed Juliet.
"What's going on?"
"Do you remember the hole in Wycombe forest we found?" Juliet asked. "Where the old oak had been?"
Christopher thought for a moment. Yeah. He remembered. They'd been out exploring, seeing what damage Storm Teresa had done. Then they'd found the body of the great tree, lying like a corpse on the floor of the forest. And where it had been... an endless, black pit. They'd taken the rope from the swing by the creek. Juliet had gone down first... then he'd crept near to the edge to look for Juliet and-- *Oh shit!* No wonder the second voice had been so angry.
"Sorry, Michael," Christopher murmured.
"Sorry? You could have killed me, you dipshit! You might *still* have killed me!"
"What do you mean?" he replied.
"You kinda..." Juliet began, "you kinda knocked me off the rope when you fell. So we *all* fell to the bottom of the pit, and well it turns out the pit was deeper than our rope was long."
"Oh..."
"Yes '*oh*', dipshit," said Michael. "We're trapped down here until someone realises we went missing."
"I'm sorry, guys."
"Do you think you can get up?" Juliet asked.
"I- I don't know. My back hurts," Christopher replied.
"Good. Lie down on the floor with all the spiders," Michael taunted. "I can feel them crawling over my feet right now. I think they're heading to you."
"L-liar."
"... and do you hear that? Boy, do they sound hungry today! I can hear the clattering of their teeth."
Christopher swallowed hard, rolled over, and got himself up onto his knees. Juliet put an arm around him and helped him the rest of the way to his feet.
"So what now?" Christopher asked, brushing himself down. "Anyone have their phone?"
"Yeah, that's the thing," said Juliet. "Mine broke on the way down. Yours is locked, and we don't know what pattern you use."
"Wouldn't matter if we did," huffed Michael. "You've got no reception."
Juliet passed the phone over to Christopher. "Can you put on your flash-light? Then I'll take a look at your injuries."
"What about mine, Jules?" asked Michael. "I think I'm hurting pretty bad at the top of my legs. It's throbbing."
Michael gasped as Juliet's shoe hit him in the groin. "Thanks," he wheezed, his face reddening. "Much better."
A white light lit up the a small cave like area as Michael's flash-light burst into life. Crumbling earth, rocks and dangling roots surrounded them. There wasn't much space; it was only a little larger than a well.
"What is this place?" Juliet asked.
"Guess it's uh... a natural Earth hole," Michael replied, his voice a tad higher than normal.
"A what?" Juliet asked frowning. "You're making that up."
"Guys," gasped Christopher.
"A natural Earth hole. Like... *rain* and stuff make them. I learned about it in school."
"Well I know that's a lie then. The only natural hole here is in your head"
"Guys!" Christopher repeated. "Look!"
They turned to see what Christopher was pointing out. He'd moved a bunch of hanging roots to the side and pointed his flash-light to the space between. There was something there. Something wooden.
"What the hell is that?" said Juliet, pulling at the remaining roots. Michael joined in, moving dirt and rocks away until they were left with only an arched, wooden door.
They looked at each other, then back at the door. There was writing engraved on it.
"Puteus?" Michael said, reading out one of the words. "Is that Spanish or something?"
"Latin," said Christopher, running his hand over the text. "It's all Latin."
"That's a dead language, right?" said Michael.
"Do you know what it means, Christopher?" asked Juliet, coming in close to Christopher and pressing her own hand against the engravings. Their fingers touched for a moment; Michael huffed behind them.
"Puteus means: '*well*'."
"Like, health?"
"No, like we might currently be down a well. You know, where you get water from."
"Oh!" said Juliet. "So this is an ancient well. But why is there Latin text on a wooden door at the bottom of an ancient well in Missouri?"
"What's the other word on it?" Michael asked, still staring at the door. "Ani...
"Animarum," Christopher finished. "It means '*souls*'."
"Soul well?" Michael asked, his brows creased.
There was a sudden *thump* against the door; the three of them jumped back as a rain of fine dirt poured down over them.
"What was-" Christopher asked, only to be interrupted by another thump.
It came came again. And again. Rhythmic now, like someone knocking.
"Not '*soul well*'," Juliet whispered.
*Thump.*
"The Well of Souls."
*Thump.*
---
Thanks for reading. I did a part 2 if anyone's interested in reading more and going on a bit of an adventure: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/76zr7b/wp_you_know_your_town_is_old_you_just_didnt_know/
| Anodos unlocked the silver trapdoor with his grandfather's key and crept down the earthen stairs, careful to make only a slight sound with every step. As he began his descent a bit of dirt crumbled into his hair, and he swept it off half-aware. The sun shone on his back. It was warm and the air in front of him was cool. The light coming from the trapdoor filled the hallway, but Anodos couldn't see the end. He had a flashlight ready in case the light faded. Nubs of roots poked out from the walls and brown and green vines began appearing in greater varieties and lengths as Anodos walked onwards in silence.
The wet, mildly rotting smell of dirt soon began to be replaced with a soft odour that Anodos couldn't place or remember, although the scent seemed to be intimately familiar with him in some way. Was he finally reaching the end? It had only been a short while, Anodos thought. But now it was dark entirely. He couldn't see the light from the trapdoor anymore, and the only sound he could hear was the muted buzzing of his electric flashlight which kept shining the way forward. What was that smell? He knew it from somehwere. The memory of it was like something far away, hidden in the depths of his brain, only able to be dredged up with great effort. Perhaps he'd been looking for the memory in the wrong place. Anodos stopped walking and thought for a moment. And, ah, yes, now Anodos remembered. The familiar scent. It smelled like his grandma's house. The old person smell. Like a tincture of soap and musk had been placed under his nose. But he'd been there recently. Why had it taken him so long to remember?
The thin, twisting vines kept creeping and growing, and soon the walls and floor were entirely covered. Every step caused them to shudder and grind against each other. Sometimes, Anodos would step on a budding flower by accident, and even when he was careful with his steps, the darkness ensured it too difficult to save every bud. Besides the darkness, there was silence. There were no insects that Anodos could hear. Only footfalls on vines. Only his hot breath in the cool air.
At last he came upon an oak door with a golden knocker. He knocked once, and then twice, and then a third time, but, when no one answered, he gently, and then forcefully, shoved the door open. There was an eruptive bang as he broke through some ancient barrier behind the door, and he stumbled into the room.
It was an old fashioned study. Anodos shined his flashlight around, revealing the dust that suffocated this place. There were scores of books - all eaten away by humidity - and tables stacked with dirty crystal goblets. There were desks which were once well kept, but now seemed on the verge of crumbling. The solid wood chairs all had dragons carved on their arms and also seemed to be poorly kept. The muzzled sounds of Anodos's footsteps on the dusty floorboards and the bizzare, ancient, almost solemn air of this study made Anodos feel like he were intruding on some holy place.
He continued creeping, trying to see if there was anything of particular interest, and noticed that there was a cupboard with a keyhole. With rising suspision, Anodos fitted his grandfather's key into the hole, and turned it.
Nothing happened.
Anodos grumbled, and then tried to shake the cupboard handle to jostle the door open. He did it too vigourously, though, and the entire door came off. Anodos's face flushed and he quickly checked if anyone had seen his blunder. Check the left, check the right, alright, good, he was safely alone. Now more cautious, he placed the cupboard door on the desk - all the while praying it, too, didn't collapse - and, when he saw that everything was still and in good order, he turned towards the cupboard and saw what was inside.
To Anodos's great surprise (and to his non-surprise, as he was still a boy and had read fairy-tales before and still believed a little bit in such things) there was a small woman in a clean white dress, about as large as his hand, sitting expectantly and looking at him with great blue eyes.
He stared stupidly at it, mouth slightly agape. "What are you." Was his first question.
"I think you know." Came the reply. And of course, Anodos did know. He was more surprised that the little woman's voice was rich and full -- he had expected something squeakier.
"Oh, I suppose I do know. You're a fairy, right?" The woman nodded and Anodos continued, "But uh, well...I suppose then..." he tapped his cheek in thought, "...well what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, do you take me away or something of that sort? Like a thief? Or Peter Pan?"
The fairy blinked once. "No, I'm not a brute. I'll only do such a thing if you ask."
"Oh, uh," what was a good question to ask a magical fairy from another world? "can I bring friends with me?" Anodos asked.
The fairy rolled her eyes, "No, you cannot."
"Why not?"
"There's not enough space for more than one." was the reply.
Anodos thought that was a rather shoddy reply. So he spoke, and this time with the force of a made decision, "Alright, I'll come with you. But! first, I want to talk with my granpa about this. You'll stay here, right?"
The fairy shrugged, "If you can find me again." True, true. Fairies are notoriously tricky and hard to find. Anodos knew that finding this place again would be a problem.
"Then I suppose I'll have to take you with." Anodos muttered. He looked at the fairy, who looked at him. And then he struck like a viper and swept the fairy into his hands and stuffed her into his pocket, making sure to squeeze her down so that she couldn't fly away. She huffed and screamed and began biting his hand, but he squeezed harder as he began to run his way back.
"You idiot! You buffoon! I'll, I'll pop right out of your pants. I'll whip you naked! Don't - mphhhhm - don't push me down so - mpphphm - hard! Gah!"
Anodos could only say sorry in reply and said it many times as he ran the way back to the silver trapdoor, hand bleeding over the fairy in his pocket. He sincerly hoped his grandpa was still home.
-------
I'm still plagued by this clunkiness in my flow of words. It's an issue I hope to kill soon. But what do you think?
| 2017-10-17T05:34:03 | 2017-10-17T04:49:06 | 635 | 34 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | Sth'Slh stared out of the transparent port. Scales gleamed dully in the dim emergency lighting and his thin whiplike tongue tasted the stagnant air left by failed recyclers. The low, reassuring rumble of the ship was now gone, replaced by groans as bulkheads tortured beyond their tolerances continued to buckle under strain.
He remembered his broodmate Shh'Shl; her scent, her gleaming eyes, her long strong tail; capable of striking down even him. He huffed quietly to himself, mirth and fondness dilating his ecliptic pupils. Even now her scent had faded from his memory, long had he been away.
He remembered home. Towers of stone and earth surrounding vast pools of warm water. He could smell the rich sulfur in the air, and his second lids closed in sympathetic response. A thousand tongues thrilling in the morning air, welcoming the morning sun. Ah, home, how he longed to be there once more.
In the distance, bright stars lit up the eternal darkness of space; but he knew these imposters. Just 10 minutes ago one of them had reached the center of the fleet. Thinking the initial swarm were unguided explosives they had moved around them. The silent flash had blinded half his bridge crew through the shades. The ship next to his had shattered. Armored hull and protective bulkheads turned into deadly kinetic shrapnel, ripping through the heart of his ship. Power failure had been instant and safeguards meant to lock off sections open to space failed, venting precious air through gaping wounds.
He had ordered his crew to the pods; they had left scrambling and slithering as fast as their legs and bodies could carry them. A brood leader stayed with the ship after all. The ship was obviously crippled beyond repair; worse than anything this war had done. It sat dead in space, incapable of avoiding the bright lights.
He remembered his delight when they announced him worthy of leading the first brood against the humans. The filthy fleshy animals who had kept his from home for so many cycles. A short-lived species of primate, he found them disgusting, the various odors that they gave out sickened him till he saw stars.
Ah those lights were bright, and oh so fast. So very bright, and he was very far from home. | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T01:49:38 | 431 | 100 |
[WP] You’re in a time loop but it’s not permanent. You repeat a day 3 times then time moves onto the next day. Rinse, repeat...Deja Vu was never more applicable. | Good things come in threes. They always did.
I met you thrice and married you thrice. Saw you like a princess stepping down the aisle, saw the tears in your eyes, and smelled the lavender of your bouquet.
By the end of the third time, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
We had Ben three times. The shock of your first time's pain gave way to grim apprehension by the second time. I couldn't stand seeing you hurt so much, but your smile at the end as you held his little body in your hands made it worthwhile.
He lived first grade once; I lived his first grade thrice. You cried on his first day of school. Smiled through the tears to wave him goodbye. You packed him his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Once. Twice. Three times, and then a thousand more times.
For every life you and he lived, I lived it again and then again. Sunny days and snowy ones. The patter of rain on the back porch during the worst thunderstorm we'd ever seen and by the third time I had my camera video to catch Ben's "oohs" and "aahs."
I met his future wife three times, saw him smile her down the aisle three times.
Life was good, and good things came in threes.
Bad things did, too.
The sunny days turned gray; the smiles turned to frowns. You lived that wretched day once; I lived it thrice.
The first time was a tunnel: the world became nothing but the doctor's face, his words echoing over and over, becoming louder and louder. You squeezed my hand. I couldn't bring myself to squeeze yours back.
I wasn't there. I already dreaded tomorrow.
I couldn't look at you when the morning came. When you rolled over in the bed and with worried wrinkles asked me if everything would be okay. I couldn't lie to you. I couldn't tell you that it would be.
I shook my head.
"It's not good news," I said.
"What do you mean? Don't say that. It's bad juju."
"Babe, I've lived it. I saw it. The results are the worst-case scenario. The treatment won't even help."
I swallowed down tears. Choked on my words. The anger rose in your face, flushed your cheeks red. Tears streamed down your face.
"Stop saying that," you said. You yelled. You stormed from the room, then from the house, then your tires screeched out of the driveway.
You didn't come back. The paramedics said they found my emergency contact on your phone, that you wouldn't have felt a thing beneath that semi-truck.
The third time, I smiled through my tears. You rolled over and asked me what was wrong. I lied and said nothing.
You touched my face and asked me why I was crying, that surely the doctor would have good news. He wouldn't, but I couldn't tell you that.
I pulled you close and kissed your cheek.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | As soon as I realize what’s going on, I’m margin trading on the stock market and becoming ultra-wealthy. I might strike a lotto win to boost things along so I don’t have to wait around too long before realizing the wealth. 3 years of my time for one year of world time to go by.
Then the issue becomes filling up my days in a satisfying way, since they’re going to be tripled. Keeping track of relationships and which events happened in the past in the world vs in my own cut off trial timelines. | 2020-10-09T07:54:23 | 2020-10-09T05:37:23 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Everybody dies two deaths. The first, a physical death. The second, when no one remembers them. You died a penniless farmer in 1242 AD, yet you remain in the spiritual world along with Genghis Khan, Joan of Arc, and more. One day, a new soul arrives and tells you how you’re remembered on Earth. | Mine was not a glorious death, nor one that you'd expect to read about in the history books, and neither was my life. I never really accomplished anything spectacular in my life. I worked my family's land when I was young, and answered my king's call to arms when it came, yet I didn't participate in any particularly memorable battles, or leave a wife and child behind to carry on my legacy. I had a few friends that I met whilst undertaking my military service, but I sincerely doubt that any of them lived much longer than I did, as they were mostly an adventurous lot and were always finding themselves in strange and new places, whilst I played it safe by staying back and tending to the horses. I managed to survive my entire military career without actually drawing my sword in combat, which made me the butt of many jokes amongst my friends. They'd joke and say that my sword was magical and that it must need the strength of a thousand men to pull it from my hilt, because I never actually drew it in battle. Some of the men even jokingly claimed that I must have slain dragons in a previous lifetime and that fighting humans in battle was beneath me; they nicknamed me "Chief Dragon".
​
My best friend wasn't one for the history books, either. My best friend didn't have a real vocation, having been raised by people subsisting on berries and roots out in the forest lands, so his social skills (or lack thereof) left people with the belief that he was quite mad. He was a good friend, and equally uninterested in joining combat, but he came along with me on sorties, just to keep me company (and, I suspect, as an excuse to forage for new herbs to smoke), Because of the cold winters, and the fact that he was completely bereft of either title or military rank, he was not afforded a suit of armour or even a horse, so he wore a body-length cloak that he had fashioned out of some decrepid curtains we found in an abandoned village, and used a long stick as a walking aide. I've missed him, I wonder what happened to him after I died.
​
I heard stories of purgatory and the afterlife from my grandmother, and oftentimes heard parables read out to us by the priest at our church, but I never really took much notice of any of it. I don't really know where I am, but I know that in this place, those whose bodies have died, come here to share their stories. I often meet with people I've heard stories about from the others, with weird and fascinating names, from strange and unbelievable lands, but for the most part, nobody really hangs around long enough for me to even remember them anymore. There are countless millions of people here, but of those who came before me, I could fit their entirety in to a simple country chapel.
​
I had completely given up with bothering to get to know any of the newcomers, until a man dressed in the most peculiar outfit I'd ever seen, came charging up to me with a spirit of determination that I'd not seen since I was in my physical body.
"Is it really you?" he asked, with a confused expression on his face.
"I don't know who you think I am, I was just a farmer and a simple squire when I was alive." I responded, utterly confused about why he was interested in me.
"I've heard stories about you, and saw the murals they painted in the chapels, I've even seen the tomb where you were buried! You're my hero, your final quest is legend! Can you tell me, did you actually find it? Where did you bury it?" the stranger excitingly blabbled.
"Legend? No, friend, I think you've got it all wrong. I was no legend. As for this 'quest', all I can say is that the last thing I was looking for, got me killed, but it wasn't anything special. I'm just a simple farmer, Arthur Pendragon's my name, and I died alone, thirsty and cold in the forest, while looking for a bloody cup." | Eternity is boring. You know how when you have to sit through something, or you don't want to be somewhere, time seems to stretch out and elongate? Eternity is like that - one stretching, elongated moment that never ends.
The company was enough at first. It was something else to mingle with all these entities who accomplished so much in their physical lives. To hear about new stories and new events that led to these individual's triumphant or infamous transcendence.
But after a few thousand years hearing about the actions that led to infamy, to posterity, to being remembered, all of that gets old and dull. It takes on a bland tastelessness. With time everything turns to dust - everything regresses into this one saturated moment.
There has always been a constant nagging, a differentiation, a uniqueness that grew inside me precisely because it was an unknown, and not knowing breeds uncertainty, and uncertainty punctuates the monotony.
That's over now. It turns out that I am the face of the nameless, the individual incarnation of the myriad masses that lived and died before, during and after my short life on Earth. My little hovel is preserved as some sort of monument to the ancestors on which present-day civilization stands. My one bowl sits on my small table, both encased in a glass box.
I am the personalized incarnation of all who come before, and it is only by standing on my shoulders that humanity will one day reach the stars.
But me? I now know why I'm here. The unknown has become the known and all the wondering it wrought is already being subsumed by eternity. | 2019-03-27T14:29:47 | 2019-03-27T12:48:44 | 153 | 74 |
[WP] "That was the worst apology I have ever heard" - a man replied, still holding God at gunpoint. | "Well, you're the one who trimmed the sides of your beard, asshole. I mean, how fucking difficult is it? How difficult is it is really to just not fucking cut it, you prick? I built all of creation, filled it with glory and wonder, all for you and your pack of witless, filthy ingrates, and all I ask for you to do is to follow some simple rules! They may seem petty to you and they fucking are! Petty by design! If you follow them without question, and to the letter despite how meaningless some may seem, it's a practical act that, by denying yourself some base pleasure or personal agency, shows your continued veneration, gratitude and respect for me despite your ability to simply not do it by virtue of the free will I granted you, you're welcome by the way, and also by the way I wasn't apologising, I said 'I'm sorry' as in 'I'm sorry for your troubles.'"
The deity crackled in the twilight with barely contained violence, the vehemence and venom of his tirade hung thickly in the air. The pointed gun felt as threatening as a stamping toddler and Terence suddenly quailed internally.
"Have you finally realized how ridiculous it is to point a gun at He who is called I Am?" crowed the Creator.
"I'm not a fool but its the principal of the thing." muttered Terrence. "I mean sure, you could have turned the bullets into rain or me into dust but this is a simple, visceral action that fully defines my intent and the extent of my anger. Still... I suppose I've more or less made my point."
"Your point?" enquired The Builder of Things Unseen. "His point he says. Terence, I am eternal, not immortal, E-ter-nal. Not even the Adversary can stand against me, much less a 39 year old man with a 9mm handgun."
"I know that" said Terence resignedly. He sighed, then spoke; "Do you mean to say that I'm destitute, homeless and divorced because I wanted to wear my beard in a Goatee? That sounds insane."
"It's insane that you would tempt My Wrath by ignoring a simple rule. I mean, I destroyed two cities because a bunch of guys were using their junk incorrectly then turned a woman to salt because she was curious. Not to mention that business with the Egyptians." God shook his head ruefully. "In fact, I don't believe I manifested for this, I saw you alone and heartbroken in this vile motel staring at your gun and came to you when you called out My Name and for what, to endure the petulant wails of a mortal who didn't pay attention to the rules?"
"If I'm so pitiful to you, of so little consequence why not just strike me down for my insolence?" sneered Terence. "Why not just dematerialize me or why not simply just leave immediately instead of 'enduring my petulant wails ', tell me that at least?"
"Love." intoned the Creator.
"You must be joking." said Terence as he backed against the wall and slid to the floor. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes. "If this is love then there truly is a fine line between this and hatred."
"It's the one thing My Son taught you and showed you that resonated with Me." God confided. "I love Him dearly and I honour His Sacrifice by honouring His Teachings. Appearing to you in your hour of need is Me keeping My Word."
"If that's true then end my suffering." Yelled Terrence, throwing the gun at the Lord's feet.
"Interesting." Mused God.
"Interesting?" cried Terence "You've claimed responsibility for my troubles, citing my facial hair as the reason for them. You ultimately put the gun in my hand in the first place. You might as well finish the job, at least then I won't be committing a mortal sin by killing myself."
"So you have listened, at least occasionally." said the Lord as he picked up the gun, aimed and fired.
The single report of the weapon barked in the night and a man's spirit leapt beyond this plane to wherever his life's actions bound him.
The Deity shed a tear for the demise of a loved Child of God and, reassured of his mercy, returned to the Heavens. | "I mean... you're the one that asked." he said, settling back down behind the desk. "You can hardly blame me for the smaller details."
John pushed forward, the gun slippery in his hand as he kept it steady at the deity's head. "Do you want to repeat that? The *smaller details*?"
God sighed, having dealt with this type of intrusion several times a day. Hell was like that, and after creating it, it seemed a foregone conclusion. "Look, from your vantage point, I get it. It doesn't really seem fair. In my defense, our quality assurance te-"
*blam*
...
...
"Ok, I understand that too, are you done?"
...
"There's a very real need to keep pulling that trigger, and I can keep going on with the explanation - and again - to *you specifically* I am actually very sorry about this. Sincerely. But what I'm saying here is that there are bigger factors at play, and it's really hard for me to do the macro bits if you just keep making me reincorporating what you see as a head."
John thought about this. "Give me your elevator pitch."
God sighed in relief. This was going fairly well. "Well, if you look at the history of the Cleveland Browns you can-"
**blam**
...
"Right. The great lakes region, not a Wolverines fan. On the plus side, Harbaugh is a part of this too - can we be decent adults about this for like 20 seconds?"
John paused... "You promise Harbaugh is part of the same plan?"
"Honestly he's barely off the same page. So if you look at this whole diagram..." | 2022-01-14T04:57:01 | 2022-01-14T03:31:44 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR | I look at my watch and my life clock reads 1 minute and counting...seems like it has come so quickly.
Funny how I haven't thought about it until now, but I guess it does seem like the best solution. When science perfected the medical nanobots, it wasn't long before ethical questions came up about who should get them. Once the decision was made that everyone should, a new question of population control popped up. The solution seemed fair enough, everyone gets the nanobots at birth and a randomized date/time between when they will be 65 and 100. At that date and time, your nanobots are instructed to expire you.
45 seconds left...
It's not like it is painful, the nanobots disable your brain and nervous system first and then they proceed to stop the heart and consume you. Yes, it sounds frightful to think you are going to be consumed from the inside out...but all this happens at the speed of light so no one feels a thing. And to on-lookers, all they see is a flash of light and a puff of smoke...it is actually quite comforting to watch a loved one pass in this way.
30 more seconds...
I watched my wife pass 3 years ago when she was 72, I held her hands and we stared into each others eyes...we told ourselves we wouldn't watch the clock. When the time came, I felt a feeling of warmth in her hands, looked at her beautiful 25 year old looking face, and in an instant she was gone. Given the option of seeing her pass that way or to watch her slowly waste away as I have read was the norm in the past...I wouldn't have it any other way. We had a good life, had our two kids, a son and a daughter to replace us when we are gone...have to keep that population in balance. We watched them grow and get married and have kids of their own...it was a peaceful life, but all things must come to an end.
15 more seconds...
We tried to get our clocks synched so we could pass at the exact same time...but some things never change and only the extremely wealthy can afford that type of reprogramming. The reasoning is said to be because of the master program that determines our dates is too complex and that changing the dates of two many people to expire at the exact same time may throw things out of balance. I just think it is due to them wanting to make more money.
10 seconds...
I was never a religious man, I guess when you have no fear of untimely death then religion doesn't matter as much. I've always hoped there was a God and an afterlife...I would love to see her again.
5 seconds...
God, if you are real...I'm sorry for any wrongs I've done. Time to stop watching, I'll close my eyes and keep a count in my head...I love you Susan...maybe I'll see you soon.
3...
2...
1...
...
...
...
It should have happened by now, did I pass...is there an afterlife after all. I don't know why but I am scared to open my eyes...but I must.
...
"ERROR" | John sighed. He held the picture of his wife in his hands. It was his favorite picture, from when they had first met. She was smiling, as she often did. It was carefree and intoxicating.
That smile haunted him, decades after her passing. She had gone quietly, moving from a dream to the beyond, still smiling that smile. She had been in her late eighties when she went.
John set down her picture and picked up another, the last of them together. He could see her clock, minutes left. His was the same as it ever was, glaring that ERROR back at him, taunting.
He looked into the mirror and his youthful face looked back. | 2014-09-30T10:48:47 | 2014-09-30T09:07:26 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Time travel exists. By law, every citizen is given one day they may repeat on loop until they get it right. This morning, you found your spouse looking exhausted and crying. "I can't save you. I've tried hundreds of times." | Cool air gently brushed through my toes. I hate that feeling, so I pull them back into the blanket, and tuck myself deeper into it. I'm not ready to get out of bed.
Is that sobbing? I swiftly roll over to check on my wife, Sarah. She's looking at me with both desperation and love. Her eyes are red and flooded by tears.
"I can't save you. I've tried hundreds of times." Sarah said, shaking her head. She looked completely spent.
I can't move, or speak. Pure dread hardens in my veins like quick-drying concrete. I'm going to die today, and my poor Sarah has been trying to save me. I can't leave her. Not with so much to live for.
"When?" I finally whisper.
"This morning." She said, looking passed me to the nightstand where my alarm clock rested. According to that little, evil, unbiased box, I had anywhere from minutes to hours to live.
"How?" I asked. By now I'm feeling defiant. I will not let this happen.
"First it was a shooting at your office," She sad as she wipes a tear from her eye. "So the first thing I did was tell you not to go to work. You called in sick, and we were going to spend the day together. But then you tripped going down the stairs and broke your neck."
"What the hell?" I ask aloud. "Have you ever heard of such a thing outside of a bad movie?"
"Since then I've seen you die hundreds of times. You've been stabbed, poisoned, bludgeoned, drowned," Her sobs grow heavy again. "...burned."
"Oh my God, baby I'm so sorry," I say as I pull her close to me. "You shouldn't have to go through this."
The agony of her pain overwhelms me. Just the heat radiating off of her fills me with so much love I cannot fathom why the universe would do this to her--us. Anger has yet to yield to acceptance.
"I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything," Her heaves relax. "But I'm never going to stop. I just can't."
I believe her. She'll keep putting herself through this, indefinitely, and there's nothing I can do to stop her. For some reason the universe has chosen me, this morning, to die.
Maybe I can't stop myself from dying, but I can stop her from trying to save me. I slide my arms above her shoulders and turn her so her back is against my chest. I lock her in a choke hold, and squeeze as tightly as I can. The very moment I begin, I feel regret, but rather than stop I just squeeze harder. I need this to be over. I need her to have peace. She flails her legs, claws at my arms and face, but with no blood flow her strength is practically gone. Her arms go limp in under twenty seconds, but I continue squeezing as hard as I can for several minutes. For her.
Finally, it's over. I lay her back down on the bed, kiss her face, and pull the blanket over her.
Just then, my best friend Terry pushed open the bedroom door. I was too busy killing my beloved wife to hear him come through the front door. I was too broken to explain what just happened.
"Oh my God," Terry gasped. His eyes expressed more amazement than horror. "How did you know?"
"Know what?" I asked.
"That she was going to kill you." He looked sincere, but how could he be so confused?
"She was trying to save me..." I say. "Right?"
"No, man, that psycho bitch has been killing you over and over again. I know because I've been reliving this day trying to save you."
"No..." I shake my head. "No, no, no, goddamn it."
"Look, your phone is off, right? Now check this shit out." Terry proceeded to show me a journal that my wife had been keeping. She talked openly about growing sick of me and imagining herself killing me. She had made plans to murder me in a variety of ways, always making sure that it looked like an accident, or at the hands of an intruder.
"But she was crying so hard..." I said, defeated.
"Was she, though?" Terry asked. He never fell for her charm, and often teased me for following her around like a puppy.
Maybe she was crying tears of joy for finding her true calling. Maybe she felt totally consumed by it.
*"I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything," Her heaves relax. "But I'm never going to stop. I just can't"* | *I love you.*
These are the last words I tell my wife before the paramedics load me onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. My last sight before blacking out is Joanna on her knees surrounded by car parts, shaking her head.
She looks defeated, but I don't quite understand why.
In truth, it was my fault. I should've reacted faster. I should've taken the streets instead of the freeway like Joanna said. I should've made sure my seat belt was buckled.
I shouldn't be dying.
But things are rarely the way they should be. The paramedics say I'll be fine- that I'm lucky to have escaped that accident with as little damage as I did. Strange, I don't feel lucky. As a matter of fact, I don't feel much at all.
Something's not right.
It's like that feeling of deja vu you get when you revisit an old hangout or go to a reunion. This all feels familiar, and that scares me.
We arrive at the hospital and the doctors say the same as the paramedics. I've never been in any serious accidents before- not so much as a broken bone actually- and I'll be fine.
But I won't.
Why do I know this? Something isn't right. Why is the doctor frowning? No, no, no come back.
Please. I feel cold.
I'm dying.
I'm sure now, I can feel the cold. The nurses are shuttling me to the ER, and I'm beginning to flatline. The missed something. Some little fracture or tear or bone lodged where it shouldn't be.
My vision starts to go black, but that's ok. It's so cold, and I'm so tired...
And then it all comes back to me. This isn't the first time this has happened. Or the second, or the third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth.
I've lived, or more aptly died, through this moment 132 times. Why? Why can't I just die, please let me die. You can't save me Joanna, please! Move on with your life...dont waste it on me like this...
My vision fades to black.
*I love you.*
| 2018-10-24T23:25:42 | 2018-10-24T22:07:02 | 78 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a society where everyone is equipped with bomb collars on their 21st birthday, set to go off any time betwen 1 day and 39 years. Unbeknownst to anyone else, yours has just failed. | It fits snugly around the throat, just tight enough so that you feel it when you swallow. It holds you. It warms you. It is a word of thanks for every bite of food that passes your lips. I watch it in the mirror, run my fingers over it incessantly, as if the simple act of friction could somehow spark it back to life.
I cried during my collaring. It was embarrassing. No one does that. No one cries when they turn twenty-one. My own mother looked at me strangely, and I thought *How could she not know?* I've seen my own father, her husband, go quiet and still as the light on his collar blinked on and it sang its high-pitched hymn of warning. He was rising halfway off his chair to put a book back on the shelf, and when the collar went off he looked at me, so shocked and sad and resigned. He didn't say anything. I think he understood there was nothing to be said.
The explosive charges all went off at once and neatly crushed his neck between them. There was surprisingly little blood, just the sight of his head going loose on his shoulders as his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the ground. He leaned against our bookshelf, his body propped up into an almost pyramidal shape. It was the human body devoid of life, devoid of tension. Just a slowly cooling ungainly sack of flesh.
I've imagined it so often since then, my own collar calling me home. I've seen it again and again. Relatives, teachers, strangers on the streets. Sometimes there's panic, sometimes there's anger or sorrow, sometimes a slowly dawning acceptance. But every time the moment itself is the same. The light and the song and the sudden exultation of their spines as their heads are twisted free of their shoulders, pinched tightly between the sturdy steel fingers of God.
We all die. We are born to die. Our bodies fail, our circumstances conspire against us. We succumb to entropy. But we are collared, and we are owned. Our lives are held captive, precious. There is no accident. There is no long slow process of deterioration. We die when we are no longer useful.
For so long I dreamed of the collar fitting perfectly around my neck, knowing me more intimately than any human being possibly could, and then judging me unworthy in a single undisputed second right as the lock clicked shut. The light, and then the song, as my Guardian stared in wonder, and then I would smile back and go to God.
And now my collar's not working.
I woke up six days ago and the soft steady purr of its electronics was dead. It was a lifeless thing, dead weight. Nobody noticed. Nobody saw. They smiled at me and their eyes were sightless. My collar clung to me, heavy, as I pretended to speak. Under some pretext, I convinced my mother to put her hand on my collar, waiting for her to notice its silence. She stroked my cheek and asked my how my day had went and noticed nothing wrong.
I needed to be certain. There are scratches on it, my clumsy hands and a set of screwdrivers, staring into an arrangement of mirrors, trying to pry open the panel on the back of my neck. This is a heresy. I'd looked upon those people scornfully, idiots trying to take apart their own fates. But I need to be sure. I need to open the panel and see the bright motions of the electronics working. I need to be sure.
I should go. I should report this. Maybe it was only ever the warm flush of my own skin that I felt, the tingle of my own excitement. Maybe this is a delusion. Maybe tomorrow I'll see the light, hear the song. At worst a simple mechanical failure, I keep telling myself, made worse by my own heresy, my own doubt. They'll see the scratches. They'll think me a mere coward. But it's not the punishment I'm scared of.
Their expert fingers will touch upon my collar, open it up, reveal to them its secrets. My collar is working perfectly, they will tell me. It simply closed around my neck, and found nothing there. | It sounded like a fire cracker going out. But not the good ones, the bad ones. Whaddaya call em again? The ones just not right? Dips? Dabs? Duds? Yeah duds. That's the word. For things broken. Like me and mah collar.
Y'see, where I'm from they knows how to take care of the population crisis. Ya just gotta explode folk. Simple as that. Just little bodies exploding this way and that, like a spontaneous storm of blood and guts. Russian Roulette for the masses. Anytime from the 21st to 39th birthday. Folks are handled accordingly.
Here's the thing though, tomorrow's my 40th birthday and everyone's quietly waiting my dismissal. Thing is, it ain't happening. My collars broken and I'll be damned if they're taking me away. My collar didn't fizzle out on my 19th, only for me to turn myself in. This is my chance to beat the system.
So here's my plan.
I'll take a revolver and handle it my self, go down in a blaze of glory takin out as many as I'd like. I ain't no rule breaker but I ain't bouta be hog tied by no government neither. So as the clock approaches 12 and I begin to shine my rifle, I'm telling y'all goodbye. Cause though I have a plan it's just a dream. Y'see I see em watching me through the cameras and I know they're waitin for me.
So at 12:01 I'll beathe my last breath, and that'd'll be my one and only defiance to the system. | 2016-07-13T01:34:08 | 2016-07-12T23:49:44 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] On your first day as a supervillain, you secretly swap all the regular coffee on Earth with decaf. You envision this as a fun, little starter prank. To say you miscalculated the potential impact of your "prank" is putting it mildly... | "Sir. I think you should take a look at this."
"Chauncey. I'm busy working on how to make all Skittles into toothpaste and orange flavor. Can't this wait?" I looked back at him by the camera monitor. He had this worrisome expression. For a minion of his professional demeanor to look at me in such a way... It was all the answer I needed.
"Okay what's wrong Chauncey?"
"It's your debut 'prank' sir."
"What? Is it not working? Dammit. I didn't think placebo would affect the result that much. So much for making a good first impression."
"Not exactly sir. Quite the opposite in fact." Puzzled, I stood up, removed my lab coat, straightened my grey suit, and trotted along to the monitoring station. The various screens were linked up to robotic flies scattered around the globe. Classic supervillany if I do say so myself.
The debut prank, Right. I decided that a good way open up my career was to do something fairly light. Replace all caffeinated coffee in the world with decaf. I hadn't thought too much of it. Mild headaches, irritable people, drowsiness: it was all just minor inconveniences for everyday people. Perhaps I didn't know the average Joe as well as I thought I did. I reached the station and looked at the fruit of my handiwork.
"Chauncey. Did you relocate all the spycams to Allepo?"
"I'm afraid not sir. That one right there is Paris. Over here is Madrid. Beijing, Tokyo, L.A., Berlin... Everywhere." I looked in awe at each screen. They were all devastated. Buildings critically damaged, windows smashed, cars were totaled, and people were lying about either unconscious, cowering or running from building to building, clearly trying to loot.
"What... the actual fuck? This can't be our doing, something must've happened. Use the playback. We need to see what happened." Chauncey rewound the recordings back to the deployment time.
"What am I looking at?"
"This is Boston sir. This is right after we made the switch. This is a local coffee shop" Boston. My hometown. Everything seemed normal. Big dude orders a large black. He gets it, sits down, and starts drinking. He stops, get up and cordially asks for a replacement. This continues to happen with this dude as well as others. The staff are bewildered, and the customers are getting angry. It became a time bomb. It was hard to tell what started it, perhaps someone said or did something to antagonize the big dude. He grabs one of the employees by the scruff of his collar, yanks him over the counter, and starts beating the ever-loving shit out of him. The whole store erupts into violence. Those who drank decaf normally hid wherever the could, everyone else regressed into wild beasts. It was like watching a monkey figure out how to put a fork into an outlet, somehow expecting to only receive a small shock. The fly departed into the streets, and everywhere it went, it found absolute chaos.
"This can't be happening. This isn't happening." Rioters began desecrating everything in reach. The police: the bastions of control and peace abandoned their posts to join the fray. They weren't just rioting, they were searching, searching for a lick of the bitter sustenance that kept society afloat. The whole social order of Boston, and indeed everywhere else had broken down.
With a sunken chest I plopped into a seat next to my minion. I sat there and stared. Either I was the worst supervillain ever, or the best. I came to understand, that caffeine was not just any drug, it was the fuel that kept sanity in check. It was a great pillar of the house of cards that was civilization. It allowed us to exist beyond our means. Without it, we return, painfully so, to a time when people had to operate on a full night's sleep. I have accidentally committed to most effective plan of supervillany in the history of mankind, and I hadn't even gotten my first hero nemesis yet.
"...So much for good first impressions."
Edit: Sorry for spelling and grammar errors. I did this on mobile. | How do you rank up from apprentice super villain to public enemy No. 1, in a single morning ? Well, that’s pretty easy. You remove coffee from the world. I expected some grumpy people, and a nice way to make a name for myself. I didn’t expected… that.
I’m now known as “Coffee Killer, the destroyer of worlds”. That’s a terrible, terrible name. How could I know that the world runs on coffee ? It literally runs on it !
It has started in the United states, and it has started slow. A few dozen, then a few hundreds. Then a hundred thousands, all on the streets. Violence, riots, burning cars. Law and Order just dissolved into nothingness, people were blaming the government, the Mexicans, the police, China, Russia. Name it, they blamed it. The news were all over the place : TV, internet, newspapers. Everyone knew that coffee wasn’t just coffee anymore. China grinded to halt, people refused to work. Mass suicides in Japan. A huge spike in Indian Spiritualism.
And then, morning reached Europe. Oh boy... Europe. They went crazy. Germany accused Great Britain because they signed the Brexit, Poland accused Russia to try to destabilize eastern Europe. And France… Well, France invaded Germany. Because “It’s an old Nazi super-weapon, and they are using it to destroy democracy again”. I don’t know why the are talking about Nazis, but it’s probably just an excuse and they believe that the Germans have some coffee stored somewhere.
News got out that it was me, but I’m pretty safe here. After all, most of Britain doesn’t care, tea is still the same.
| 2017-02-03T08:11:56 | 2017-02-03T07:57:13 | 2,064 | 64 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin. | "She's something all right."
"Yes but a lady belongs in the houses, not working whatever it is she's always up to."
--
As I pull back the curtains to the cellar, the stench of her recent 'concoctions' hit me once again. Though I love her enthusiastic, or as I call it 'free-spirited' personality, others whisper where did her father go wrong.
"Where be the wicked witch of the well?"
"Oh quit it Cedrick, leave me be."
By the table, Erika stood in her favourite dress, simple, sleeveless dress showing off just a bit of her personality. Her hair brought up into a bun, unusual arrangement for the night, but she's always stood firm for her beliefs in dressing in her cellar.
However mystifying her looks may be, the contents of her table shared the same trait. Mix of glassware and make-shift 'contraptions' of scrap she's found. In front of her, manuscripts by high lords, many with writing foreign to the common man. It is uncommon for a lady from here to read, such Erika's ability to read these papers reserved for upper society is unheard of. She has even defaced them with her writing on several occasions.
What has the lord sent her now? 'Manipulation of space-time using...' "Oi" She snatched the white script out of my hand, "You know my rules in here."
A playful smile came, "the men of the next town dare not touch me, Erika you truely bewitch me."
She looked up at me, releasing her hair into the usual river of black hitting her back. "What would you have me do I wonder?" She pulled me in for a kiss. "Wait for me outside, I have to stabilize my machine."
"Sta-bil-se, where do you pick these up?"
--
A few more and I might just be able to stabilize the portal, if only for a few seconds, it's enough.
As the pulser tripped, the entangled parties warped the hole into phase. The hole that brought me here, and the one that will bring me home. Call me Einstein, he might have came up with the theorem, but I built a working portal in medieval London!
| 2017-09-14T16:56:22 | 2017-09-14T09:53:18 | 136 | 56 |
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here. | Lord Kraagr of the Luthupion race stood in the manager box with the rest of the species galactic Olympic managers. Currently everyone else there was huddles around the human. A old man with a grin plastered over his face. Human inferior in size and yet so confident in themselves. How? He cleared his throat as he walked over to the dispersing crowds as the horns of the first race, the marshoopians walking into the stadium with their traditional cries of their people. He stood in front of the human as he shook hands with the last manager and turned towards Lord Kraagr with a smile and an inviting hand. Kraagr took his hand in silence and squeezed perhaps too hard as they shook hands in friendly competition yet the human never quivered, squeezing back as hard as he could with a that grin still spreading wider. Humans were such competitive species after all.
'I take It you know who I am? But regardless I am Lord Kraagr of the Luthupion race from the planet Hex'rar, nice to meet you manager of human's' Kraagr introduced as the human chucked as they let go of each others hands, the humans hand bright red from the rushing of blood. they were rather fragile as well.
'I am Mr Mercury, Louise Mercury' He introduced as turned towards the stadium but still keeping his body language in focus of Kraagr.
'Don't be deceived though. I guess you could say I am the ambassador of the humans from the planet earth, not mercury from our solar system.' he continued with that smile as Kraagr join him besides the window. His mighty race had just past, blaring the horns of the winds of reksraska. A traditional tune of war and competion. Kraagr turned towards the humans following just behind who stood still in the lines of the track in the arena. Kraagr laughed as the humans stood in measly ranks, he turned towards Mr Mercury with a cruel grin.
'Tell me, Mercury. How will the humans present themselves to us?' he gloated as he crossed his arms watching the ranks below. Mercury only laughed as they watched banner bearers in the 4 corners pulled out the major country flags of earth and started to wave them as the crackles of the stadium speakers crackled as interference took hold of it. The various species of aliens and competitors watched as the humans held all eyes captive as they all simultaneous did the same motion.
Slap slap clap, slap slap clap.
They would slap their knees with grins in their faces and clap their hands as the speakers themselves started to vibrate the same slap slap clap. The audience started to join in as the banner bearers started to swing their flags from left to right. The excitement as the human race. The newest race to the galactic Olympics made their entrance.
The lead human pulling down a mic from his head set as waited for his cue.
Mr mercury turned towards Lord Kraagr and raised his eyebrows as he address him.
'The way any inferior species should present themselves. The loudest'
| I'm not a big writer, but as soon as I finished reading this prompt, I pictured humans being unusually large compared to other races. The loud music would go along with their relative clumsiness and the collateral damage it causes. Plus the partying of gigantic people would be a factor too, like the intergalactic commentator mentioned... | 2018-04-28T09:34:24 | 2018-04-28T09:14:38 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] You were summoned by a god to be the hero of a fantsy world, to kill the demon king and free their people, as a boon they told you you could request any weapon that they will provide. As a joke, you requested a intercontinental thermonuclear warhead, they gave it to you with a stright face. | "I was kinda joking mate... Buddy?"
The bastard had fucked off already. Huh. I guess that would be some of that god magic stuff.
It had just been a Tuesday man, I wasn't prepped for this at all. I'd just been talking with some of the guys on tenth about Sam's birthday, made my excuses to visit the bathroom and suddenly I'm in some demonic wasteland with some glowing asshole telling me to go fight some dark lord such and such for the good of the land. Can you really blame me for being a little sarcastic when he asked me what weapon I wanted?
The nuke sat there on the obsidian black sand that stretched as far as I could see. I guess I should do something with this thing then.
"At least they included the transporty thing for it," I mused as I wandered over to it. It's a weird experience being so close to a nuke for the uninitiated. They have an aura of intangible hostility, like a more extreme but simultaneously more calm equivalent of being sat in a room with a tranqued up tiger. You know it's a phenomenally dangerous thing, but it's very hard to comprehend that in the moment.
I climbed up onto the seat of... I really should come up with a better name for this than "transporty thing". Mobile launch platform? MLP, sure. I doubt there's many in this world that would know to correct me (if I'm even wrong for all I know). In fact, outside of deities there's a good chance I might be the closest thing in this world to a nuclear physicist, and I failed physics in high school.
With that though I let out a small chuckle for the first time since arriving here and refocused on my most immediate problem, turning on the engine. Wait a second, that's another good point. What am I supposed to do when this damn thing runs out of fuel? I doubt I could refuel this at a petrol station even if I weren't stuck in what looked like a combination of a volcano and a desert. I don't even know what the range is, for travel or launch.
I sat in the chair for some amount time, my mind running through so many things that it seemed to shut down and do nothing. Eventually the slowly sinking sun prompted me to return to functionality. How long had I shut down for?
I looked down at the buttons, dials, switches, and readouts in front of me. Most of them just left me very confused, but I was able to guess at two of them; a small green switch and a big red button under a safety cover. I closed my eyes and flipped the little switch, praying a little given my recently witnessed events. The motor roared into life.
Everyone's heard stories of great heroes on epic quests, but I don't think those that start with the hero nuking themself got particularly well known. With a surge of new found confidence I gently pushed forward a lever for a few seconds and the MLP rolled forwards about 2 feet across the sand. Okay, so we've got power and movement.
It suddenly hit me that I had no idea what I was doing here. Where was I going? In fact, what does this demon lord look like. I wish I'd been more of a fantasy fan back at home. Was Sauron a demon lord? Eh, it'll do to start with... I guess let's rollout | Before I knew it, I stood humbly in front of the god that summoned me to his realm. He informed me of his time watching over various human beings in my world and decided I was the hero he had been searching for to rid his world of the demon king that enslaved his people. Longing for an adventure outside my cubicle, I graciously accept his request. He granted me any weapon I wanted to help assist me in my mission. Being the cynical and immature human being I am, I asked for an intercontinental thermonuclear warhead as a joke knowing there is no way anyone in their right mind would grant such an unnecessary weapon of mass destruction especially if he truly has been watching over me all this time. But the god said... "That's it? Aight I guess." | 2020-10-14T05:30:21 | 2020-10-14T05:01:34 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] An alien replacing your father and pretending to be him sounds like everybody horror's story, except for you and your mother since it is affectionate, caring, helps you with school and has even been promoted at work and is an absolute dork for SciFi movies. | It's not that Phil was a bad man. Phil. I stopped calling him "Dad" a little after my twelfth birthday, when I went to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water and found him passed out next to the fridge, his face smushed up against the wall so hard that the moulding left marks on his cheeks the next day. Something swelled in my throat as I watched him snore, and I wasn't sure if it was pity or bile. He smelled like whiskey and his own piss, which meant he'd had a bad day. It was beer on a normal day, whiskey if he felt like a failure at work, vodka when his demons got too loud and the burn as it went down his throat was the only thing that hurt worse than their voices. I got my glass of water and went back to sleep. Mom would find him, clean him up, and we wouldn't mention it. Like always.
In the morning, I couldn't look him in the eyes and say "Dad," because that was a word that was supposed to be said with love. I couldn't bear to feel the way my lips curled as I spat "good morning, Dad," couldn't bear to see the way that his eyes registered shock, then hurt, then turned down to his cereal as he hung his head. So I started calling him Phil. He never asked why. He at least knew enough to understand that.
But like I said, Phil wasn't a bad man. Not a bad man. The phrase is familiar on my tongue, I have said it so many times that its meaning has melted away. I said it to my friends when they asked in soft voices if I needed help, I said it to my therapist as he coolly listened to me tell the story of how I bailed him out of jail the other week. My mother said it to me for the first time, sitting across the kitchen table, when I was five and Daddy had just smashed a window with his fist, stumbling out of the house with bleeding knuckles that I wanted to kiss better. He never hit us -- I think my mother would have left the instant he laid a finger on me -- but he was always walking the line between neglectful and destructive. Stumbling and swaying across the line, you might say, like the world's worst sobriety check. When I was younger, I would catch glimpses of the man Phil might have been without the alcohol. He built me a tire swing when I was seven, spending the entire afternoon sweating over the maple tree in our backyard, drinking the beers I fetched him from his minifridge. I swung gleefully on it for the rest of the day when he was done, imagining that things had changed, that I'd somehow flown into another universe where he was done drinking for good. He watched me swing with a rueful, crooked kind of smile, swaying with the wind like he might grow roots. My mother came outside and stared for a moment at the scene that should have been normal in any other household but was so bizarre in ours. She asked him in a measured voice how he thought he was going to get to work the next day with only three tires. He slurred at her not to worry, but I saw a shadow pass over his face. He didn’t go to work the next day, too drunk to get a replacement tire, and when I got home from school, he was in the backyard, pulling the swing down with silent fury.
The alien came when I was fifteen. It abducted him somewhere between the crash site and the ER, when his heart stopped for thirty seconds in the ambulance and they almost couldn’t get it to start again, sluggish from the booze in his blood. I know the abduction happened in the ambulance, because when he woke up in the ICU two days later, his eyes were different. Softer. A little more confused, and a little less angry. I stared at him from my spot next to his bed, feeling my eyes burn but refusing to cry for him. The alien in my father’s body apologized when it saw me.
“I’m sorry,” it choked out. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry." Phil had apologized many times before, but none were sincere like this, like he felt actual pain. So I knew it had to be an alien. And the alien reached out a shaking hand from the tangle of tubes and bandages and held my hand.
He learned to walk, slowly. It must have been hard, using a new body, but my mother and I walked by his side. We caught him when he collapsed. The planet that the alien was from must not have been like Earth, because sometimes, I would catch him looking at the stars, or a honeybee, or me, with so much wonder and so much regret. My father never used to look at anything with awe, except maybe a full six-pack. The alien started going to AA meetings and kept his chips in a neat pile by the front door. He learned my favorite foods, and asked me questions about my day. He cooked for my mother one day, putting on opera music in the kitchen and making pasta as he sang in an unsteady voice. She sat down hard in a chair when she came into the kitchen and saw him, her eyes a little watery. The alien apologized, kneeling next to her, holding her hand, telling her he didn't mean to make her cry. He apologized a lot -- it seemed like he was always sorry for something. One time he apologized for mowing the lawn too early on a Saturday, but he glanced at the maple tree outside as he spoke and bit his lip as if he might start crying. I don’t think he was apologizing for mowing the lawn.
It’s not perfect; pretending to be a human for so long must be tiring. He slips up sometimes, looking a little too long at the alcohol aisle in the grocery store, forgetting to go to therapy a few times. But he’s trying. We go on walks, and we learn about each other, and we play board games. I still know it’s not Phil, though. Calling him Phil feels weird, actually. So the other day, I called him Dad. | "Hey Padawan! How was the test?"
Dad came in with his usual smile, which is to say that it looked painful it almost reminded me of the meme, and still it was a smile that made me beam up he was so different and different was good. He approached me carefully without any sudden motions and he implied a hug without initiating it, he let me fall into him and it was those little details that made me love him more than i ever though i would be able to love or trust anyone.
"I got a D, dad i am sorry i have problems with fractions in a problem and i think the Teach specifically put's them there just to irk me!"
I started making excuses and panicking before he just hugged me closer and started hum a tune from one of the movies he watched as a kid, something along the lines of dun dun dududu duuun duuun dudududu. After i calmed down he just looked at me with pride, i started crying not out of sadness but happiness for the first time my Dad looked at me with pride, he wiped my tears with a handkerchief he carried in his right pocket and spoke very softly.
"My little Padawan, you have suffered umber able change, mom's brush with death, then my cancer and then moving to another state. You have adapted amazingly, it has been less than a year, you are doing well and you passed! You passed! This is worthy of celebration, and for the moment that is all that matters, tomorrow we will leave for tomorrow."
I smiled loving every second of him, the other one would have just beat me up and then beat up mom, and speaking of her she excited the Kitchen drying her hands with a towel and for a second she locked at me terrified, i just shook my head and she let out a sight and smiled still a little nervous. Dad looked at her and the love in his eyes was so sincere so innocent it was... Jarring to think that the same face could look so different so Alien. A shadow of sadness passed over his eyes but he brushed it away with his painful smile.
"Martha you look as beautiful as ever, the Mara Jade to my Skywalker. I know it's not Tuesday but i just wanted to stop to leave the papers that you asked me... I am sorry it took me this long, i found some complications"
I knew what the "papers" were, she wanted a Divorce, i was angry that she couldn't realize that he wasn't the other one, the other one was evil but this one this one was Dad and he loved her both like no one ever would. But they both had talked about it, and even Dad agreed that after all that had happened this was the right thing to do, Aunty Karen should shut her bitch mouth about New Dad but i understood independently of how painful it was.
"I... Thank you John."
Her voice broke for a second and Dad didn't approach her, he just placed a stack of papers in the armrest of the couch and backed away, before he left he hugged me again and gave me an envelope and a wink. He reached the door and left his keys to the house on the bowl, for a second he gave it a though and also let the keys for his car, opened the door and left, mom started crying again she did that a lot. I went to her and hugged her, i wanted my new Dad, but mom needed me and New Dad and i would always have Face Time or the controlled visitations. She cried in my arms and for once in my life it felt that the future might not be so dark. | 2020-04-23T09:27:48 | 2020-04-23T08:05:52 | 111 | 36 |
[WP] When you die, you are given an option—either be judged for your sins, or choose what’s behind The Door. The noble and arrogant choose to be judged, the evil and fearful choose The Door. When given the option, you choose to simply turn around and walk away. | Two choices. To the left, a scale, with a feather placed on one of the plates, where the sins of now gone souls would be weighed against it. To the right, a solid oak door, behind which there was only the unknown. The pair sat side by side, alone in the middle of an empty white void, where a man now stood as well. As the confusion started to set in, a strangely familiar, yet ethereal voice, began to speak:
"*Those who were good during their corporeal life, or are arrogant enough to judge themselves as such, can place their hearts on the scale, to have the weight of their actions judged against the feather of a dove. Those who consider themselves uncapable of coming out victorious of such trial, can choose to open The Door. What lies behind it will remain untold, but for some, uncertainty is better than certain doom.*"
"Shit, wait, am I dead?"
"*You are.*"
"This feels... weird. Did my lungs finally give up on me then?"
"*Yes.* "
"Knew it. Well, it was a good run at least, I guess. Wait, was it? Did I live a good life Mr Ominous Voice?"
"*Indeed. Few are lucky enough to reach such an advanced age as you did.*"
"Good to know. So... I'm in purgatory right? Do I really have to make a choice here?"
"*This place, not unlike me, has a thousand different names in a thousand different cultures. And yes, you have to choose.*"
"But like, what's stopping me from just, you know, walking away? This place seems pretty big, I could wander here for a while."
"*Nothing.*"
[...]
A long time passed. Or not, as time did not matter there. Many souls arrived, made their choices, and went away, and they all could see a silhouette wandering in the far corners of the empty plains. Despite him being too far away to be heard, he was mostly silent. The silence was only occasionally broken by the questions he would ask the void, and that, surprisingly, would be answered back. He would wander for what seemed like an eternity, and just a few minutes at the same time, pacing around the empty space, questioning the voice about life, truth, and the universe. That was until, at last, he returned to the only objects visible in the vast sea of white.
"I have made my decision." The man said. "I've had a lot of time to think about this, and I must say you helped a lot, Mr Ominous Voice. So thank you for that. Now, shall we get this over with?"
"*Please do.*"
"I pick the scales."
"*Why?*"
The wanderer's expression quickly became perplexed.
"Wait, what? Did you just... ask me something?"
Silence.
"Huh. Guess it's not my turn to make questions anynore. Right?"
Nothing.
"Alright. So, why the scales. Well, I'm sure you have been following my train of thought so far, but to sum it up, I have decided that whatever destiny is given to me after the trial will be what I actually deserve. I know I'm not perfect, and that the door could possibly harness a paradise I have never even imagined, nor ever been worthy of. When the scales judge me as good, bad, or anything in-between, I will be simply reaping what I have sowed during all my time alive. I don't know whether that's the right answer, but I want to at least take responsibility for my actions."
...
"*It is enough.*"
As these words echoed, the oak door started opening, slowly revealing a heavenly glow. The wanderer looked at it in awe.
"*You see, my child, the actual choice has never actually mattered. Your reasoning for it is what was truly being evaluated here. You have accepted the imperfections of your time on Earth, and didn't try to avoid their consequences. And that is unquestionably noble.*"
"Oh, I see. Is this goodbye then?"
"*Maybe.*"
"Maybe?"
"*Many have also passed the test, just like you have. However, I have never witnessed another soul do what you did, wandering endlessly in this empty void while enquiring me about everything I could answer. Your search for knowledge, simply so you could answer a single question that laid solely on your morality, has impressed me beyond belief. So now, I present you with another choice. Go through the door, and you will recieve the gift of human life once more. Stay here, and you will obtain all the answers you have ever sought for, in exchange for helping me guide the souls of the dead, and keeping the balance of the universe.*"
"Oh. Oh shit. Do I... have to answer this right now?"
"*By no means. Please, take your time. I will be at your disposal.*" | "Whoa whoa whoa buddy where do you think you're going?" Asked a disembodied voice.
"Over there." I reply pointing in a random direction.
"That's not even the direction you are walking!!!" The voice replies.
"I know but I'll get there eventually."
"No you are to come over here and make a choice." Replied the voice sounding stern.
"Nah that game sucks and needs replaced." I responded getting angry. "Also who the fuck put you in charge of people's sins? "
"I did, cause I run this place." The voice replied.
"The fuck you do otherwise I wouldn't have been able to make a different choice." I retorted. "Look at this idgit, thinking he is in control just because he said so."
Right on clue the laugh track kicked in and with a smile I said. "I'm gonna go that way because that's where the party is gonna be."
"Party? What party? Why don't I know about this? And where is that laughter coming from." Asked the voice, a hint of fear clearly noticeable.
"The welcome back party duh!." I replied. "The boss is finally coming back from vacation and I've been getting him back up to speed but my vacation is starting soon too. Once he gets back they are gonna be cleaning 🏠 🛖 🏚 🏡 🏘 🪴. "
"Don't worry no one is getting in trouble or fired. I've already fixed all the fuck ups but I'm never doing that again unless it's needed and if it's needed you are royally fucked cause that means the big dudes are not happy with your actions." I said with a yawn.
" Now I'm going to get in my RV and take a nap until the party starts." I said as I started climbing into a refurbished tour bus that suddenly appeared.
"Where the hell did that come from?!?!" Asked the voice.
"Same place everything comes from duh, my imagination." I said getting annoyed. "Now are you coming along for the ride or are we leaving without you?"
With that I laid down on the bed, locked the door and went to sleep. The last thing I heard before that was the RV door closing, the engine starting and a voice say
"Well I guess you need a driver. Just follow the GPS?
"Nah just start driving the boss will catch up when they are ready and give us a lift." | 2022-11-05T12:24:58 | 2022-11-05T10:38:18 | 1,347 | 11 |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | “You know me,” I said. Pleading.
The rivets of the wall pressed into my back.
It’s frame filled the doorway, beady eyes searching my own.
I was one of the first to be assigned to the research project. It was difficult at the beginning. The human was highly intelligent, aggressive, and strong. It was dangerous, as to be expected for an apex predator. Much more dangerous than we were prepared for, as it had escaped several times and even killed a few of our scientists.
But why wouldn’t it be dangerous? After all, we had taken it from it’s home. I had to fight hard to keep it from being destroyed. Even after we’d discovered humans were social creatures, the directors wouldn’t let us put it back.
“Think of the big picture. It’s a great opportunity. Think of what this means for Research Ops,” they told me.
But all I could think about was this dangerous creature, curled up in its burrow of soft furs, whimpering every night. Alone. The other researchers never seemed to care very much.
I was the one who found that it liked to collect soft materials to lay in during its night cycles.
I found that it liked to eat corrosive chemicals. It didn’t seem to have any beneficial or defensive effect on the creature – it simply enjoyed spritzing them onto its food before eating.
I discovered that it was curious. I put children’s toys into its enclosure and it took apart, manipulated and examined every part. Even more amazing than its ability to put them back together again, it would even make new toys with the parts! But the directors warned me to never do that again after it made a lethal weapon out of some parts and nearly killed another researcher.
It liked to make odd sounds. It would hum to itself and tap on the walls or the ground with its appendages. I rather enjoyed these moments and sometimes would try to come up with my own.
I spent more time with the creature than any other researcher. I would watch it for hours. It was fascinating, and heartwrenching to watch it pacing and so clearly thinking to itself, every day. I had not been the least bit surprised when it escaped.
The human growled from the doorway.
It held something sharp. I recognized it. A piece from a toy I had snuck to it a few nights ago. It was covered in a thin sheen of my colleagues blood.
It saw me look at the part, and it held it up at me. I flinched. The human slowly lowered its arm and growled at me again.
Then I had an idea.
I tapped the wall behind me with a finger. I tried to remember what noises it made, and the pattern it made them in, when it was alone at night. I tried to make those noises.
The creature stopped moving at all and listened.
When I was done, it made those same noises back at me.
Liquid began to seep from its eyes again.
I knew what to do now. I could hear the alarms starting to blare. Someone had found the bodies.
I reached out. It didn’t move. I put my hand on its “hand”.
It just watched me.
I pulled on it gently.
It stepped forward.
“Come,” I said quietly.
It followed me silently, though its eyes glanced nervously at the alarms.
I knew where the escape pods were. I knew where the coordinates for earth were. It was the least I could do.
| “Physically she’s not the most intimidating but her main ability is her ability to think quickly. Unfortunately the one that has escaped was a Soldier before she was frozen so she will be far more dangerous then most humans. By no means should she be allowed to access our Laser Weapons as even if she does not have training in the use of our tech she’ll be able to figure it out quickly. Smaller groups of humans have been able to take out larger amounts of foes. If she escapes into the planet it could be years before she is tracked down. If we can Deny her water for at most fourteen twenty-four hour intervals she will die of dehydration. Good Luck Men, Captain Signing Off.”
When the announcement ceased on the set of Atomic Transmitters Lucy had taken from a dead Security Male, she readjusted her Laser Weapon and smiled. After all she loved a challenge. | 2018-07-31T13:30:06 | 2018-07-31T11:16:40 | 91 | 18 |
[WP] In a symphony of holy trumpets and angelic chorus, God himself descended from the heavens to slap you across the face. | "And on next weeks episode of 'Dandy Dans Dangerous Duties' we're going to weld two cans of hairspray together! YEAH! DANGGGGGERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"
"Don't forget to SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON and SUBSCRIBEEEEEEEEE"
"Ok and that's a wrap, good stuff today Dan, carving a turkey with a table saw. Priceless." Tim chuckled as he took a quick look through the footage.
"Thanks man. The double Dster is lit here today! Fire!" Dan poured himself into a lawn chair and started picking the chunks of turkey from his beard. "I honestly didn't think we'd cook the bird with that tiger torch. This one is going viral for sure. Crack me open a cold one bro, Saturdays are FERDABOIS!"
The crisp crack of a Coors Light broke through the afternoon heat, followed by an angelic symphony echoing through the field. "DUDEEEEEE. SINGING CAN BRO WE WON WE WON!" Tim frolicked around the yard cheering and screaming, "BUD LIGHT LIVING BROOOOOOO." The clouds parted ways, a stair case made of sun rays unfolded from the heavens into the back yard. At the top a figure appeared, floating above the steps he decided.
"Bro, Bud Light stepping it up. Sick skills man, what did we win?"
"Dan, I am God."
With that, Dan stood up offering a handshake to the almighty. God raised his hand, then with a thunderous blow struck Dan, open handed, across the face punishing him to the ground."
"YOU WHAT BRO, COME AT ME BRO, YOU WHAT. YOU WANT SOME OF THIS." Tim ran across removing his shirt. "COME ON, LETS DANCE. NO ONE HITS DANDY DAN BRO. THAT'S MY BRO BRO." Tim undid his belt and dropped his pants, tripping over them and falling to the ground next to Dan.
"Jesus Christ, I didn't even have to hit him."
"Good stuff dad." A voice rumbled from the clouds.
Dan slowly picked himself up, covered in dirt and turkey he staggered about. "Bro what the hell man, suckered me man."
"Listen, Dan. It's cute what you're doing here. Fun and games and all. But I'm seeing way too many people at my gates because they attempted to deep fry a car battery to make a mobile flame thrower with their lawn mower and a propane tank. I've tried to send messages but obviously you weren't getting them so I-"
"So what you're just a mad fan bro. My insta is blowing up 24/7 I don't got time to answer all the love man! Snappys coming in at all hours. Dude my Myspace is still active bro. You can't come at me like your going to come at me because I didn't answer you. Want me to sign a can of Coors for you broski?"
"Dan, you're not hearing me I-"
"I heard you loud and clear super champ. You're all butt hurt that big Danny BOI doesn't have time for you. Super star status here brochacha."
"DAN. Look at me and listen. You're killing children."
"Whoa man that's some crazy shit. Don't go throwing those hashtag bad vibes at me. One throw downski with a that kid who reviews legos at suddenly you're Brosef Koney two K seventeen."
"This isn't going to work is it."
"YOU CALLING ME LAZY BRO? YOUTUBE IS MY FULL TIME JOB BRO. I WORK FOR THIS MAN. HASHTAG PUTTING IN WORK HASHTAG GRINDTIME HASHTAG-"
"SHUT UP. I can't believe I let mother nature take charge of you're development as a species. Should have known better."
"Dude.. mother nature? You uh... you hittin that bro? Smash city?"
With that, God hung is head in shame and acceded back to heaven. Arriving at the gates he gave Jesus a nod. "Flood it.".
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Hey Dan, why did God make a stair case if he floated down anyways, what a basic bro."
| "Honestly, it seemed a bit much at the time. I guess I get why He felt He had to do it, but did I seriously need to be branded for life you know?" Ryan Langsford had probably once been an incredibly handsome man, Jessica thought, but not so much anymore. Middle age had softened some of the angles of his face, and the salting of white in his hair did less to make him look dignified than it did to make him look exhausted. His grey eyes were cool and never quite seemed as lively as you'd expect from someone with his past. The faintly glowing hand-print shaped scar that consumed the left half of his face was the real draw for the article though; it had been twenty-five years since God had descended from on high to slap Langsford, and so his story was one of the leading elements of the PBS Frontline panoramic of the changes to global religion since that faithful day. "It seems to me that there was a more dignified way of handling it than just about taking my head off with the slap and having Gabriel play taps."
"Really, you thought it was uncalled for? What could have possibly possessed you to think it was a good idea? I mean sure, no one expected.... that," Jessica waved vaguely at the scar, "but the best case scenario seems like it would have been some very uncomfortable interactions with the Italian authorities."
"Sure, that's fair. But think about all the horrible people in history. All the bodies Hitler, Stalin, or Pol Pot left to rot in histories annals - how exactly was I supposed to know firing an air soft gun at the Pope was going to be where we drew the line?" | 2017-08-19T05:26:29 | 2017-08-19T03:24:30 | 61 | 17 |
[WP] Your friend has been bitten by a zombie, and you both agreed to just wait and deal with it when the time comes. It's been a month, and your friend has yet to transform. | pt1: suburban hell
To say we were in trouble was a huge understatement.
The urge to scavenge wasn’t so much an urge, more like a cruel necessity. Things have been tough in this suburban hell, for the damned like us. Really, I always wondered who was more damned. Might just be a demented thought in my head, but I’m sure we’ll be joining them soon or be eaten. I don’t even remember what life was like before the whole world uprooted itself in one singular groan.
The dead will inherit the planet. The gospel of Michael? Or was it Matthew?
“It hurts, Cho,” I hear him say. Instinctively, I try not to slap him on the head to get him to shut up and tough it out. I had shoddy medical aid training, at best. Was that even the correct saying? I didn’t care. My prescription after the zombies attacked us? Cutting his digits off.
“Shh,” I say. The place we held up in temporarily was boarded up, with some semblance of resistance made before whoever lived here inevitably succumbed to the zombies or worse. We smell like death, but it’s better that way. “It’ll all be okay.”
“Will it?”
I don’t know, I cut your fingers off and they writhed for a bit on their own before being snacks, I think. I don’t wince at flesh and blood anymore; that part of me is truly gone. His hand is currently cocooned in a ton of bandages and water. “I’m not an authority on how this virus works, Dal. You’ll have to talk it up with the evacuation guys.”
A small chuckle escapes his mouth. Those bastards definitely didn’t make it far. We caught several of the evacuation gov workers in the hordes a few weeks in. He’s stable and luckily they got his off hand, but the paranoia gets to me. I pull out a can of beans and my knife, popping it open. It’s the from the last haul, but there’s no parts left of this town to loot. Come to think about it, the living picked this town apart like flesh from the bone. Ironic, since now the dead pick their flesh apart.
“Do you think I’ll turn?” Dal asks me. That question stops me.
“We ought to eat, Dal,” I tell him, avoiding the inevitable. I spill the beans, like innards slopping on a plate. No electricity, no sounds except occasional shuffling outside. I had an axe, a knife and some body armor and helmet from a dead guy. Dal, on the other hand, had a spiked bat and his work outfit on. By spiked, it really didn’t start out that way. I say it had a little bit more life than his work suit. Granted, it was more torn up now, but I couldn’t stop giving him shit the first couple of days.
Like, hey, Dal, you running those reports for Q1? I know Angie from Accounting is suited up to bite your head off if you show up late. He’d tell me to shut up on the spot as we looted and said that’s why he had the bat with him.
“Why do we need to eat? To fatten ourselves up for them?”
“Shut up,” I instruct him. “It’s because we’re still alive and you’re starving.”
I squash my ear on the door and hear no noise behind it. I don’t know if they could smell, but we eat in silence. Cold beans and scraps of small hot dogs, two fingers down and morale at an all time low.
“If I turn,” Dal whispers. “You know what to do.”
“Don’t,” but it was his turn to silence me.
“I both love and hate your frankness, your determination, Cho,” he tells me. Then he falls asleep. There was no chance I was following him into a slumbering tomb. My imagination swirled, of course.
I would kill him in an instant, I think. I owed him that much. Or he would kill me and we’d be a zombie couple doing cute zombie things.
Who knows how long passed when I felt something grab my shoulder. I jumped up, axe raised.
“Jesus, you’re terrifying,” Dal said. “Good morning.”
“Dal,” I pinned him down and looked at his hand. It helped that I was bigger than him. “You okay? Not feeling hungry for flesh? Nothing like that?”
“Still me,” he groans. I get off of him. “Still here in paradise.”
“Ain’t much of one I say,” I truly mean that. “You know what? We should come up with a password or something.”
“For what?”
“So I know it’s you, or something,” I tell him.
“Balls one two three,” he says seriously.
“What?”
“Balls one two three,” he repeats himself. “It’s my computer password.”
“You’re insufferable,” I tell him. But we agree. For two weeks that our haul lasted, all I heard was balls. Balls, one two three. The hordes seemed to be interested in other matters, less of them on the streets. But there was nothing left working here. So I tell him. “We’re going Southbound now.”
He steels himself. Deep breathes.
“Can you hold the bat still?”
“Yeah,” he says, demonstrating a swing.
“Then off we go,” I say. Perhaps we can make it to Southbound, since the hordes were going north. I theorized with all my knowledge of horror movies that it was all complete bullshit. I had no idea why they migrated north. “And Dal.”
“Yeah?”
“Password?”
“Balls one two three.” | It’s fair to say that I was afraid when this all began. I thought it was the end for me when a damn horde ambled down that one-way alley. Thirty-two days would have been how long I survived if I hadn’t met someone close to me. Shia, I didn’t know her name when she popped out of a locked warehouse door, but I didn’t care. Shia saved my life. I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t been there; Since we’ve been running and never looking until now.
Blood-soaked bandages litter the small rental storage locker’s interior. The air is ripe with the smell of copper. It’s been a month since Shia had been bit and two since we had to hide. The blank-covered figure shudders violently on the far side of the room with every breath. Shia has gotten no better or worse; she has lived far past the dead by date. “Are you still alive in here?”
A strained reply comes as I step into the space, cradling my gas mask’s respirator and a bundle of books and anti-bacterial material. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
In good time, I sit next to her small space in the room’s corner and place the bundle next to her. The contents spilled onto the concrete floor as I set about my work and lifted the blanket covering Shia’s arm. The lifeless limb was still just that as I traced the grey skin to the tunicate near her elbow. “I saw a jet fly over downtown last night. There still are people out there. We could make a break for it and try to find them-“
“Don’t, don’t do that. Hope is dangerous. I’m dying. It might not be the plague, but that is what’s happening.”
A steady stream of tears covers her cheeks as she peers out from the small blanket pile as I hold her hand. Her face and hair are pale as a ghost’s as I try to hide my tears under my gas mask. It’s an impossible task as she lays her head in the crook of my arm. I can’t bring myself to look Shia in those blue eyes.
“Franky, some things happen, and we just can’t explain. When I met you, I thought we would grow old together. We were going to start a family and own that farmland out in Wyoming you always talked about, but we both know that isn’t how this story ends.” I wish I was there for her a month ago, that I could have stopped this nightmare before it began. But I can’t. No one person could have.
“It’s far too late to say I love you. I’m so damn sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me to be.” By the time I have finished lamenting, her heart has long since stopped beating. I don’t know how long I have sat here. It might have been a day as I stand upright with two syringes of blood. That dark fluid sparkles in the dim light of the early morning within their glass containers. I couldn’t save her, yet she might save others. | 2022-07-12T10:14:15 | 2022-07-12T10:11:42 | 102 | 24 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | Pt 1 of 2:
Spellwork is like math, and I think that’s why I understood it so well, took to it so quickly.
My proficiency with math was one of the reasons my parents had enrolled me at Rockford Academy for high school, a boarding school for girls. I’d gotten a full ride, of course, the only way we could afford it. At fourteen, I was already proficient with calculus. I wasn’t Ramanujan or anything, but math just made sense to me, and I felt that there were barely any limits to what it could do. The only limit was our ability to find the answers, or in some cases, just ask the right questions.
My witchcraft class was fascinating and drew me in immediately in much the same way. It was slightly more advanced than a class you’d take in a public school and much more competently taught. My teacher, Mrs. Bailey, had been doing this for a long time and she was good at it. You can always tell those kinds of teachers. Not necessarily the ones who love their job, but the ones who are good at it and *like* being good at it.
The assignment to create a spell was much like a math teacher telling her students to come up with a complex math problem. It could say quite a bit about the student, I realized, and that made me curious. But it also challenged me. It made me dig deep into my head, to think creatively and build something from the ground up.
When it comes to simple spells, the ones we all finally get to learn once we’ve advanced past diction and history and sigil calligraphy, it’s a matter of ‘wand, wave, and word’, as they say. The real spells, the complex ones that can create or destroy, that can conjure or dissipate, those intrigued me. Of course, I didn’t want to try to conjure something from the Otherworld or anything, but Mrs. Bailey hadn’t given us any restrictions. Just, “Create a spell.”
Part of me knew she didn’t expect much. Most of the students would be grasping at straws, all creating something because they needed to, but I enjoyed this work. I stayed up late on Friday and Saturday night just thinking. Considering the herbs available, the words that would come to my tongue, but most important, what I wanted to accomplish with the spell and how to design it.
Creating a spell needs to be a balance between specific and ambiguous, but in the way a sculpture is created. When Michelangelo sculpted the David, he knew what he was looking to create, the man a picture in his mind, and that’s how a spell works. So, when I sculpted and formed and chiseled the spell in my own mind, I went about the same sort of route he’d taken. As the saying goes, sculpting is easy; you just chip away at anything that isn’t the sculpture.
Mrs. Bailey was curious at what we would come up with, it seemed. Enough so that, when Monday came, she had us form a line and took a glance over our papers before putting them down in the pile on her desk. A few butterflies of excitement fluttered in my stomach, hoping she would think mine was something special, something worthwhile, the same way a math teacher would appreciate a good, complex math problem.
And I handed it over. And her eyes slid down the page, taking in every bit of what I’d written. Midway through, I saw her eyes flick toward me, holding an emotion I couldn’t decipher. But by the end of the page, it was blatant: she was horrified.
“Mrs. Bailey?” I whispered, a sinking feeling replacing the butterflies. “Did I do something wrong?”
Swallowing hard, the woman pushed the emotion from her face as quickly as she could, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed by me, much less by my classmates. “Emma, I’d like to speak to you about this,” she said quietly, her eyes still on the page. After another heavy moment, she finally looked up, glancing to the rest of the class lined up behind me. “Everyone, please put your assignments on the desk. I’ll be right back.”
The teacher met my gaze and jerked her head subtly but definitively: I was to follow her.
I did so, my hands clasped and anxiously fidgeting as I tried to keep up with her quick pace down the hall. To my surprise, we stopped at another classroom, and I noticed the teacher’s name on the door, Mrs. Kendall. Mrs. Bailey didn’t hesitate before opening the door, interrupting the woman’s lecture almost mid-word. “My deepest apologies, but I need to borrow you for a minute,” she said.
Mrs. Kendall’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she turned to her class. “Excuse me,” she said, turning and leaving, shutting the door behind her. “What’s this about?”
“I have something you need to see,” Mrs. Bailey said, her voice tight but hiding any emotion that might still be hiding beneath the surface.
I couldn’t help but speak up. “I’m sorry, I’m really confused, I just tried to-”
“Just-” Mrs. Bailey cut me off with a raised hand. I saw something in her eyes at that point, bordering on anger but not quite, something more akin to fear. I shut my mouth and averted my gaze but couldn’t help looking to Mrs. Kendall’s face when she took a look at my assignment.
She didn’t have the same progression of emotions as Mrs. Bailey, but the end result was somewhere between confusion and anger. “What is this?” she murmured, her eyes still scanning and rescanning the page.
I remained quiet, guessing that she wasn’t asking me, and Mrs. Bailey replied. “I told the students…to create a spell.”
“And she created *this*?” Mrs. Kendall asked, meeting the woman’s gaze as if I wasn’t even there. She nodded sharply. “Where did you learn to do this?” she asked, turning to me. | I got it online, the spell, a sequence of logographic runes that looked complicated enough, with a few logograms I recognized as conjunctions, so there were at least a few clauses, but not so complicated that my professor would suspect I'd stolen it. From my stolen peeks at other student's scrolls, it was of similar length and grammatical structure to everyone else's spells, but where he glanced at the other's scrolls and waved them away, he asked me to stand in front of his desk while he read mine.
He squinted at my scroll through the lower half of his bifocals and shook his head to refocus a few times before it finally signified. His posture decayed, his shoulders relaxing and rolling in, his upper back bending forward into a slouch, his whole body leaning into his chair's armrests. When the chair started to spin, he tried to stabilize himself with the desk, but his grip was weak. The rest of the class had by then quieted and were staring at our professor splayed out on the floor with the shoulders of his suit coat almost swallowing his head. Because others stood and walked closer, I had an opportunity to recede to the crowd's rear. I did not know if anyone noticed that it was my spell he read.
Someone else, not me, because I didn't do anything and just tried to be small and unnoticeable, fetched Professor Greeves. She herded us into the corner of the room and paced toward the face-down scroll, right next to the body. Through thick purple-tinted glasses, she read the spell and muttered under her breath about the gods and may they have mercy on someone. She asked all of us, "Who turned it in?"
I looked around at every face. All of them faced forward; I was the only one looking around. No one said anything, and I was grateful.
She began to call out numbers. At the top of the scroll I handed in, I wrote the number 24, as in student number 24. As she counted and the students identified themselves, I realized there was no way out. Professor Reeves knew better than to ask for 24. By asking for everyone else, she was going to surround me, and when I was surrounded they would seize me, and when I was seized they would take me, and where they would take me...
I hopped on a desk and leapt across the room for her purple glasses. I ripped them off her face and turned the scroll toward her. I held her eyelids open so she had to read it. She became limp.
There were the other students to take care of. I could not understand the spell as written, which may be why I was immune to it, but I could pronounce the symbols. I inhaled from my diaphragm and pushed out from it, delivering a full-throated incantation into the room, flooding it with the spell. But only half of the class, the better students, fell to the ground. The others remained. The younger boy with braces fixed his eyes on me as he paced, stepping carefully over the bodies of our classmates, toward the fire alarm, then pulled it.
When security arrived, our professor grumbled to them. He struggled himself up from the floor, surveyed the room, and started massaging his temples. It was not, as I feared, a murder spell. Just a knockout one. They expelled me anyway, obviously. | 2021-04-01T20:14:40 | 2021-04-01T19:01:18 | 958 | 132 |
[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul. | I was 14 years old the first time I killed a man. He came to our village, squirrelled away in the mountains, looking to kill my father. The man he was hoping to find was long gone, what was left in his place was a frail, destitute thing that still clung on for dear life. To sup whatever droplets he could, at least a little longer. My father's legs didn’t work right and he’d crawl around our hut peering out the bottoms of the shutters. He spotted the man early and told me what I’d have to do. When the man had my father at the end of his sword I came up behind him and bludgeoned him to death with a rock. I never saw his face, even when I dragged his corpse off into the woods to bury. All I remember is the wry smile on my father’s face… like a peasant watching a king hanging from a rope.
Two years later, at the end of a bottle, my father told me who the man was. Fifteen years ago my father worked in the Regent’s Guard. He was lower standing then, and was tasked with stopping a plague that came from the farming communities. So he was told. Rather than waste time trying to convince the peasants to confine themselves he simply executed them all.
The man I killed was a survivor.
‘Funny, isn’t it?’ He laughed. Not only did he not kill them all, but he got the same bloody disease only a decade later. Turns out, not the farmers’ fault. For some reason it’d make him laugh and laugh. He’d laugh so hard I thought he would die. Wished it.
So you see even from the start of all this, I knew there was a rot — in both of us.
After he told me I left home. I took the man’s armour. I even took his name — Aan — hoping to earn any karmic favour for him that I could.
But of course I should’ve known.
My father’s training set me apart from many others and I quickly gained the employ under a Duke. I thought I would be able to do any justice. Instead all we did was keep serfs in line, extract payments from merchants and craftsmen, and segregate the poor from any rightful discourse with their liege. The night we were told to burn a man’s home down I could see myself standing in my father’s shoes. I had had enough. It wasn’t ever going to change. I left.
Every time I held a sword in my hand its blade etched only misery. So I wandered off into the woods. I drank until my brain was mush and drool leaked from my face. I found a shallow crevice lined with moss and toadstools, laid down, closed my eyes, and waited to die.
The howl of a beast ripped through the forest trees. Maybe I’d get lucky and he’d tear out my throat. It’d be quicker. But then I heard the screams of people. I tried to stay down, I really did. But the adrenaline cleared my vision and I couldn’t hear a damn thing over my fucking heart. Wasn’t going to die like this. I got up and held my blade tight and followed the screams.
I didn’t know it then, but they called it the Blightwolf. It had been hunting and feeding on people for months. Funny I hadn’t heard a word about it when I worked for the Duke. I just thought it was some mangey, overgrown wolf. I found it at the edge of the forest clawing away at some poor woman, and some soon to be victims nearby. Getting its attention was hard — I was still a little drunk — but once I put a dagger in its hind leg it got real attentive.
It was a blinding streak of fangs, claws, red eyes, and brown-yellow fur. I didn’t have the movement I needed to dodge him effectively so all I could do was give him an armoured forearm and pray I’d go through him faster than he went through me. It was close, let me tell you. Cutting out the bottom of a wolf gives you a fat great present of innards all over your favourite clothes and I swear I still catch its scent sometimes.
After the Blightwolf slumped over the night caught up to me and I puked my guts out. Not because of the wolf — because of the drinking. I think.
But the people, they were still there. The woman, she was alright. Her arms were a bit torn up, but nothing critical. She came over and hugged me, really, through the guts ‘n all.
Aan, this has to count, right? For the first time?
Sure feels like it counts.
They dragged me to their tiny little hut out in the farmlands. To call it a hut is the gravest of insults. The warmth in that place, and the food they shoved down my throat… no king nor duke could ever match. I tried to tell them not to waste it on me but they wouldn’t hear a damn word. You see, them, and others are leaving. A pilgrimage away from this shithole of a kingdom. And there’s a lot more than just the Blightwolf out there. Months of these beasts picking on anyone trying to cross the forests to the other kingdom. They could use someone like me.
Sometimes when I’m laying in bed at night, I feel like I’m in that shallow crevice in the forest. If ever I look in the mirror and see my father, I’ll walk out there and finish the job. But that can wait. These people need help... and I might just be able to help them. And if I can’t, well, the beasts’ll do the job for me. And my bones’ll end up in that grave all the same.
I think, for now, I can keep walking. And maybe there’s half a hope for me yet. | Not enough.
Oat slipped down the pile of goblin corpses. The green blood burned his skin, but he didn't try to wipe it away. The pain it gave was far preferable to the cheers of the crowd. They didn't rush him, but they formed a circle around him, chanting the same things every town did.
"That was incredible!"
"Thank you!"
Oat didn't react. He let the crowd guide him as it always would, his mind busy with the fight. He was sure that goblin army would be overtake him. They came in the dead of night, and he slaughtered them until daybreak.
"How many?" Oat creaked, his voice hoarse.
"How many?" An older man bellowed. The crowd shouted renewed cheers, as various estimates from a hundred to a thousand roared among them. Oat always went with the lowest estimates, but he was still bewildered. A hundred goblins wasn't enough to kill him? How many would it take?
His side erupted in pain. He sucked in a sharp breath but doubled over in pain. The crowd gasped and laid him on his side, ripping his shirt to check for wounds. The gasps grew louder, as some men started yelling orders. Villagers zipped around him to grab bandages, clean water, and hopefully a meal.
The goblin blood found its way to an open wound. The villagers would clean the wound, then probably force him to bathe to avoid further infection. He wanted to object, but the searing pain was making it hard to stay conscious.
He smiled anyway. Oat couldn't take his own life without committing the ultimate sin, but maybe the goblins were enough. Maybe, after all his hard work, he could finally rest.
His rest lasted about two days. Oat's body recovered after one, but his mind was far from healed. Only on the third day did he manage to convince himself to get out of bed. After a quick prayer for his end, he dressed and found *Knucklebone.* It was the only possession he cared about, even more than his own life.
He stepped out into the street to find a messenger arguing with the loud villager from before. Some kind of village elder? Oat rounded on them, catching the end of the the conversation.
"...it's bad. The worst we've ever seen. The death toll is in the upwards of thousands."
Oat had to stifle his smile by the time he reached the duo.
"Elves in the south?" He guessed, joining the conversation.
The messenger turned to Oat. He seemed momentarily surprised by the his small stature, but made no comment as he ignored the local.
"We aren't sure. There's no way an army could've gotten this far in the country without anyone seeing them. But by the looks of the destruction, the efficiency...I'll be honest, I was sent here to see if you actually came to Martslock. The Empress thought it was you."
An equal. A challenge. Oat's eyes widened with the thought. He had never considered the possibility. He'd been throwing himself at giants, at armies, at dragons and ogres. It was becoming increasingly clear that might nor numbers would be enough to free him from his pain. But an equal? That was the end he was looking for. | 2022-04-30T13:51:55 | 2022-04-30T12:41:50 | 637 | 63 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | I felt the painful glare of the computer screen attacking my eyes as I stared at it for a second too long. Trying to not breathe a single whiff of Mr. Taggart-call-me-Tag's cheap musky cologne, while the sticky heat from his sweaty, stubby fingers made their way across my shoulder blades in what I'm sure was supposed to be an inviting caress, rather than a repulsive accost.
"You see, Lucy, there are perks that come with my new promotion. Firing discretion is one of them. Now I know you pretty broads don't understand the big words, so lemme explain it to you plain: I. Own. Your. Job." Each of those last four words was punctuated by a gummy thumb rub. "So go make me a coffee, Lucy, two sugars, one cream. And put a little sway on your way there. You know I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go." He chuckled at what he surely though was original wit.
"No" I stated resolutely. "Get it yourself." As I pushed my chair back to force him out of my personal space.
"Oh, Lucy. You're such a tease, you know." He said, becoming redder and sweatier. "You see, I'm just a nice guy throwing a fat girl a bone. You're not hot enough to be such a bitch. So either go get me a coffee, or go get a box for your things.", the smug bastard said, showing nicotine-stained teeth as his foul smelling spittle landed on my cheek.
"Get out of my way" I said coldly,as I stood up, towering more that a foot over his balding head. I made up my mind in that instant that I was done pretending to be normal, "one of them." I was not. He had just won a first row seat to see how much more of a bitch I could be.
"I'm sure you last paycheck will be ready for you to pick up in about a month or two".
"Keep it" I said without turning back, as I applied my custom color Guerlain KissKiss Diamond Edition lipstick, a plan already forming in my mind.
I got home a little after lunch and immediately started to work on fine-tuning even the most miniscule detail of his future destruction. This was now my full time occupation.
It was well after sunrise when my scheme was ready for execution. Operation Morningstar was a go.
A few hours and several phone calls later, I got a text message from a blocked number with just three words: " It is done."
The next day, an aunt he hadn't known existed, and who conveniently enough, had no other relatives, died and left him an inheritance. Not just a vase or a couch, either. Ten million dollars after tax.
I spent the next months watching his life implode from all fronts.
Sometimes it is more fun to watch them destroy themselves.
I watched him lose everyone who ever cared about him by showing his true self. It's funny how people with inferiority complexes will treat others as inferiors the instant they come in contact with a little money.
I watched him start failed venture after failed venture. I watched him believe his money would last forever. That's why I had settled on that amount. It was enough to turn his life around, but not enough to buy him a permanent respite from any of his problems. I was there, observing when he surrounded himself with sycophants and supplicants, waiting for morsels to fall of his plate. I watched him fall into vices. I watched him fall into debt.
Then finally, I watched him lose it all.
On the anniversary of our last encounter, he was called into the office of his bank account manager to discuss a payment plan for his ever growing debt. I was in a back room, waiting for my cue. Watching one last time.
I saw on the monitor in front of me a gaunt, twitchy, shadow of a man who somehow still had not been humbled.
"Would you like to meet your benefactor?"
"Benefactor?"
"Yes, the person who gifted the ten millions."
"No one gifted me my money. It was family money" he said sneering in a petulant manner.
"It was family money, Sir. But unfortunately just not your family's. The money gifted to you came from a family whose fortune is, to put it plainly, older than dirt." Said the banker in his calm manner.
How right he was. How very *exactly* right he was.
This was my cue. I stepped into the office and cleared my throat.
"Good evening, Mr. Taggart."
His head whipped around while his eyes opened wide with surprise.
"L-L-Lucy?" He stammered.
"Call me Lucifer."
| There are some things that money can’t buy . . . like manners, or morals, or integrity . . . good thing I have a fucking sweet mansion though!
When I secretly became the richest man in the world, I didn’t think my life would be so vanilla. I mean, I have everything I could ever want and more, but I can’t let anyone know that it’s mine. What’s the point of getting limited edition, carbon fiber, diamond encrusted Heelys if no one is around to see me use them!?
Before I became a billionaire, I was working a shitty little office job. Long, boring hours. Lazy co-workers. And one hard-ass boss. God, I hated that guy. Always yelling and screaming. Making me be his errand boy. Getting pissy whenever the coffee I made him wasn’t the “right temperature.”
The moment I made my fortune, I promised myself I’d never do that trivial nonsense ever again. But there I was, back in that same tiny cubicle. My management team told me it would be better if I took my old job back. No one would suspect that the guy who begged for his office gig back could secretly be able to buy a small country.
I know what you’re thinking. “You’re being ridiculous. A wonderful, rich dude like you shouldn’t need to hide his lifestyle.” Well, I’ll tell ya what. A lot of people want you dead when they realize you have money. After my first cohort of “friends” pooled their money together to put a hit on me; I learned it’s better to keep your circle small. And by the way, I paid that hitman ten times what they were going for. Whoever said actions speak louder than words have never spoken to my man Ben Franklin.
Now, let’s talk business. Word around the street is you have a dog. And that you care an awful lot about it. Am I correct? With my contacts and resources, I can make your canine companion practically immortal.
I’m no stranger to revenge myself, but I figure it would be better to consult an expert.
So, Mr. Wick, what do you think would be the best course of action to make that asshole regret the day he fired me!?
| 2019-03-04T09:27:11 | 2019-03-04T08:04:24 | 182 | 50 |
[WP] Mankind has never achieved first contact: Aliens flee on sight; Even their planets are left behind. One day, misfortune brings opportunity: an alien ship with a crew can't make the jump.
So, my first WP. I would love to see which direction you'll take it. I'll read all replies and should you wish so, provide feedback. | Captain Forley sat down across from the Xeno. He...or she....whatever....It was surprisingly human. Skin a different tone, something to do with their star. But in general, it seemed sentient intelligence tended toward carbon based, oxygen breathing, bi pedal mammals everywhere. Fair enough.
The Xeno stared down at the cheap steel interview table, it seemed....despondent
"Did you hear me? I said, the Marines who brought you aboard say you can communicate using verbal means? Are you comfortable with English? Francais? Deutch? Espanol? Whatever you prefer."
The Xeno's slightly too small eyes looked up at Forley. " English is fine."
"Good. I am the Captain of the ship, U.N.S.G.V. Resolve. This is the one hundred and seventh time the United Nations of Earth have encountered your species, Assuming the FTL signatures of the ships that left the sector an hour ago aren't a coincidence."
The Xeno shook it's head, not unlike a human gesture. Forley plowed on.
" It is the eleventh time our appearance has sparked a planet wide evacuation of one of your worlds...." He left a silence hanging. Perhaps the Xeno was unfamiliar with verbal cues. "Do you have a response, or view point on what I have said?"
"I do not."
"Let me be blunt then. Why? Why have you abandoned entire worlds? Without so much as communicating with us. Humanity has not had a war in eleven generations. We have evolved into a peaceful race and we could learn, so much from one another."
The Xeno placed his hands on the table, they were shorter, stubbier than human hands. "We know. We all know. All nine thousand two hundred and forty four sentient species of the Galactic Community know."
"There are more species? More civilizations than just yours?" Forley grinned. At the discovery. The honor due him as the man who had found the greater universal community. There would be history books with his name in it. This was...unprecedented.
"That is why."
"Why what?"
"That is why we run, why any species who you encounter. Will ALWAYS run."
Forley blinked, it knew what he had been thinking. "I don't understand."
"Humanity....or as every other member of the universe knows them....'The Plague' has found internal peace. They are spacefaring.....And they are united.....No longer fighting themselves. They are spreading at break neck speed. A species armed, and steeped in a thousand generations of violence and war.....None of the rest of the universe even have words for concepts like 'war' or 'genocide'.....You are coming.....and We are doomed."
"That is preposterous!" Forley spluttered. "You are judging us before we have done anything!"
"Am I?" The Xeno replied sadly.
"Then why, when I mentioned no other species even has the ability to understand the concept of 'war' did your mind flicker, ever so briefly, to how easily they would all be to defeat?"
"I.....I dont believe I...."
"You did.....The Plague, a sentient species that is unable to form self homeostasis and prone to superstition, violence, and......the universe is doomed."
Forley stood up. He had heard enough. Irrational. Ignorant. Stupid. This species did not want to communicate, and they presented no threat to him or his ship.
Or did they....He didn't trust him. It seemed too convenient. A ruse, probably. He had better bring the ship's alert status to code orange. Probably better to prep the weapons bays. Just to be safe. Yes.
Just to be safe. | The Contact Division was a joke. The laughing stock of every government group. Until today.
I had been trying to make contact for almost twenty years. My retirement creeped closer and closer as each opportunity for contact seemed further and further. My last mission was to attempt to make contact with the planet Pintos.
The mission started off like every other, one ship descending to the planet's surface while broadcasting a declaration of peace. At this point, clearly not understanding Terran, the alien ships would flee.
This time, however, a single ship seemed to hesitate. As if someone aboard understood our message. The ship quickly regained itself and tried to take off causing the engine to fail. Perhaps it caused their hesitation as well.
I lead the crew to make our first official contact. I instruct them to keep their hands in the air while the ship continues to broadcast a message of peace. The alien ship begins to open, I finally feel that boyish wonder again. Followed quickly by fear of what might go wrong.
That fear consumes me as the only thing I did not expect to see steps out of the ship.
A human. | 2015-03-14T21:42:01 | 2015-03-14T21:28:45 | 68 | 12 |
[WP] A scientist discovers other dimensions and realizes something has found us.
Try to terrify me with a Lovecraftian style. | Of all the revelations regarding the nature of the universe, none could be considered more humbling, or unnerving, than those that exposed how little about it was known, let alone understood.
Dr. Vargas thought of herself as an aficionado of ignorance--not the sort of ignorance that emerged as an ingrown social condition--rather, she practiced a tempered naivete relying on self-effacing curiosity and precision of mind. So when she came across the possibility that there lay beyond existing horizons of human perception a greater boundary, the woman of science was impelled to devoting her whole faculties in pursuit of this extraordinary truth.
However, what scientific endeavor, by virtue of its design, could not provide was a glimpse into the consequences of any given discovery. The mathematics that equated matter and energy, for example, had in its derivation no sentiment of violence. Yet it seemed the inevitable outcome of such an understanding was threaded into its conception, and arguably into its very fabrication. Dr. Vargas could not have foreseen the fate she had invited with her earnest and ignorant measures, no more than could have a mouse attempting to free its food from the spring of a loaded trap.
After years of pursuing the origin of a particular ultra-high-energetic emission, Dr. Vargas made a significant breakthrough while vetting the details of her work with one of her graduate students. The reason for its strength and clarity was not that the signal was originating from an immense phenomenon far away, but rather from somewhere simultaneous, another dimension. Attacking her chalkboard with the vigor of someone possessed, she filled the black expanse with her terse and shaky writing--in a language that would have seemed alien to any passerby even without its near-illegibility. She and her graduate student stared upon the cobweb of mathematics in awe, realizing the implications of this new advancement. Now the nature of the signal made sudden sense.
The patterns that had seemed erratic before, now folded into elegant functions. Without the fog of previous misunderstanding, the beacon appeared brighter than ever. Something beyond the defined universe was attempting to make contact, and Dr. Vargas knew, though she did not express it then, they had to answer back.
The signal took fifteen years to crack. Enclosed within the beacon itself were instructions on replicating extra-dimensional communication. A couple more decades passed in the construction of a suitable device, a planetary accelerator with enough energy to agitate the foam of spacetime and manipulate its texture to carry information outside the bounds of relativity. Dr. Vargas observed the inaugural launch from the ISS, indescribably excited and filled with a sense of pride at the sight of the object in the distance, the reward of her commitment.
Once the preparation was complete, the device was initiated. It began to glow and pulse bright enough to eclipse the moon floating in the backdrop. As soon as it had powered up, the ring began to shut down. A moment of denouement passed and the entire crew cheered at their success. Dr. Vargas struggled to keep the tears back as everyone around her congratulated her.
Before long, while the others were still celebrating, she boarded the private shuttle NASA had afforded her and disbarked towards Earth. She wanted the ride home to reflect and maybe catch some shut-eye. In the excitement of the past few days, and arguably the recent half of her lifetime, she had given little consideration to rest. As the warm filtered air of the shuttle enveloped her and put her to sleep, she laid her head back and stared out the window at the moon hanging in the dark of space with the ring of the device superimposed over its bright ivory face. She smiled, knowing the world would never be the same and slept, unaware that the signal was not a beacon but bait.
------
Great prompt. I know I took liberty with the 'realization' bit. And borrowed heavily from Contact. Thank you, Carl Sagan. | The night sky was dark and the air thick with fog that chilled me to the bones, I was shivering while running across the street until finally arriving at the door. I hammered at it like man possessed while my eyes ran wild in their sockets as I tried to figure out if the shadow was merely that. When the door finally was opened I flinched and stared at him. He tried to get me inside, sit down but he didn't listen to me when I told him about my discovery, about what I had seen.
He looked at me as if I was mad, but I know what I saw and it was worth running from. I tried telling him but he didn't listen, just as the others hadn't listened and now he was dead, just like them. Just like them he was found the next day, always the next day.
With blood smeared across the walls and half of their bodies missing as if something had taken a large bite out of them. They were my friends and now they are all dead because of me. I never should have looked, at least I can take pride in that we now know that other dimensions exist but it will also be my curse that I found something out there that looked back.
Something out there have found us.
We shouldn't have looked in the dark. | 2013-12-28T10:19:12 | 2013-12-28T10:13:50 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] You have telekinetic powers. But it has a condition, you can only move non-living things. One day after cleaning your front lawn, you realize you couldn't move the dwarf figurine. | Part 1
Being in exile had its perks.
When the Mystical Refuge Program (aka MRP, aka “murp”) rescued me after my father was overthrown, they whisked me off to a new identity in the human world. I expected to hate it. And at first, I did. I hated having to grow out my hair to hide my long ears. I hated having to learn the strange dialect of English that humans spoke (they didn’t even use “thou,” the savages.) I hated the faraway looks people got in their eyes when I told them my cover story, which was designed to discourage further questions.
“I own a startup that helps startups sell themselves to other startups,” I would say when asked what I did for a living, as instructed by the MRP.
Inevitably, the residents of my new home “San Francisco” would roll their eyes and avoid asking further questions. I got used to it, and settled into my new life.
I did miss little things from home. The pleasure of a toasty room perfectly heated by enchanted flames. The elaborate tapestries that would adjust their threads as I watched to tell the histories of our kingdom. The delicious unicorn stew that our palace’s head chef would make for special occasions.
But, although I could never fully recreate those comforts of my old home, I got used to electric heaters, movies, and chicken noodle soup. I even found I preferred the taste of chicken over unicorn - it was less stringy.
And the human world offered other advantages over life as an elven prince. The internet was amazing, and google was a way more efficient way to find answers than going on a quest to find musty old scrolls. Tinder was significantly less fuss than rescuing damsels from the dungeons of mad warlocks, though after three years I still was getting the hang of emojis. And pumpkin spice lattes were pure liquid joy.
Plus, since I still had my magic powers, tasks that were annoying for regular humans were incredibly easy for me. Dishes and laundry were as simple as a twitch of my telekinetic mind. Even caring for the pitiful patch of grass at the back of my condo was simple.
I couldn’t sever the grass directly, since I was unable to manipulate living things, but it was easy enough to move the lawnmower with the power of thought rather than push the bulky thing. I usually still leaned against the contraption to convince any nosy neighbors that nothing strange was happening, but that was also easy enough. Until one day, a dwarf appeared in my yard.
Despite being descended from a long line of brave elven warrior kings, I shrieked like a bawling peasant baby.
I ran back into my condo, and peered at the creature through the blinds of my kitchen. My mind raced with the memories of the dwarven invasion that had claimed my homeland. The way the long white beard of the dwarven king had soaked up the red of my father’s blood as he delivered the killing blow and stole his crown. The sight of his dwarven attendees mounting my father’s head on a pike as I escaped the castle under a cloak of emergency fairy glamour.
Had they found me, at last?
I remembered belatedly that humans sometimes placed ornamental figures of dwarves in their lawns, unaware of the true ferocity of the race. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding - maybe my landlady had simply wanted to spruce up the small yard. I peered out my blinds at the dwarf, eyeing its rosy cheeks and cheerful grin. It certainly looked more like a decoration than a warrior. But what if that was what the dwarf wanted me to think? Well, it would be easy enough to check. I reached out with my powers to attempt to move the dwarf, and found myself unable to. It was alive.
I shrieked again, and dropped the blinds.
“Gather yourself, Ez’aelo,” I muttered, curling into a fetal position and leaning against my kitchen wall. “You’ve solved the riddles of the strange folk. You’ve climbed the infinite mountains. You’ve slain dragons, for fucks sake! You can handle one dwarf.”
And it was true. The dwarves had overwhelmed my kingdom by sheer force of numbers, but in a one on one battle even a novice knight would be able to defeat a dwarf. I was a hero of legend, dammit! So I uncurled myself from the fetal position, marched into my bedroom to fetch my longsword from where I kept it in my closet next to my rain boots, and marched straight back into my kitchen. I allowed myself a moment to deep breathe like my yoga instructor had taught me, and then I swung open the door to my backyard.
I brought the longsword in an arc over my head and brought it down onto the pointed hat of the unmoving dwarf. It shattered, and I was left staring at a pile of broken plaster.
How could this be? A figurine after all? No, I knew the creature had been alive, I was certain of it. I fell to my knees and thrust my fingers into the broken shards, trying to feel the threads of a glamor or enchantment. I felt a shred of magic - some sort of spell? No, just the lingering hint of a long gone mystical creature. There had been a dwarf in my yard, but it had replaced itself with a figurine before it could die by my blade. Likely while I was busy hyperventilating in my kitchen. As I palmed the shards and began trying to track the dwarf, I noticed a single scrap of paper in the rubble. On it was scrawled a note.
“The Dwarven King knows where you are, Prince of Elves. Your days of playing human are numbered. If you’re ready to reclaim your kingdom, find us.
Sincerely,
The Dwarven Rebellion”
—-
Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism welcome. If you’d like to read more from me, you can find it at r/kaypella | "Nani", I whispered to myself.
Quickly after learning that I had powers I realized the limits of it: no living things.
Pretty straightforward if you ask me, but you couldn't ask anyone else, so yeah, pretty straightforward.
Appalled about my failed attempt to move the ugly dwarf statue my uncle gave us as a pretty weird April Fools "prank" some years ago. Something wasn't feeling right about this, so I left the rake by the door, with a few dry leaves still embedded on it's teeth, and warily approached the cracked figurine with faded paint. My heart was pumping with uncalled (or maybe not) adrenaline. I went around it, to check the state it was in, and noticed the crackings transformed into a small-ish hole, about two inches in diameter, on the dwarf's backhead, some kind of stuffing (?) in it. The darkness transformed into some furriness.
As I was inspecting it, it shuffled, and I instantly realized what it was and what I needed, no what I HAD to do.
I went running into the house, my dad, chilling in the sofa and reading some book on his Kindle, still with his service bots and pants on, looked up to me and asked me what was going on. "I need the gun.", I asked agitated, while he was still trying to figure out what was going on with me I spat "Something evil is in the frontyard". I don't know if it was the way I said it or the look in my eyes, but he quickly left his glasses and the kindle on the coffee table and followed me outside. As we slowly approached the gnome he had his right hand fingers by the gun in his belt, his hand and arm still, expecting that hell could break loose.
While I signalled my dad were to look at, and we were still about four foots away, the brownish hairs slowly moved until we could see a small black-eyed face. Our hearts sank, we didn't have to think what it meant, not only for us, but for the community, the nature itself. My dad quickly, almost robotically, pulled out his gun and shot twice at it. One bullet hitting the dwarf's head and the other less than an inch bellow it, right into the cracked hole. We didn't heard a screech, for we knew the creature was instantly dead.
I went for the bag with leaves while dad picked up the dwarf statue, blood trailing down the hell's mouth, while he carefully pried the demon out of his hideout. As we were cleaning the mess up, our front neighbour came to see what the conmotion was about, while some other people from up and down the street spied from their windows, We didn't have to say anything as we showed him what was it, but I felt the need to clear it out, just to make it justifiable, "A squirrel", I frowned in sorrow, "we had to, to kill it", I said while dad was lifting the broken up dwarf's head, mourning his precious and horrible broken garden gnome, "red belly squirrels aren't indigenous from here", as I recalled watching the news about the plague, learning that they killed crops and drove off populations of birds since they were introduced, "life's not a cartoon." | 2018-11-11T19:09:42 | 2018-11-11T18:36:40 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Domino's pizza has offered free pizza for life to anyone who tattoos their logo on their body. Now other food chains are following that idea, but with increasingly absurd requirements, and the poor have turned themselves into walking advertisements just so they can eat with each passing day. | It all started when Dominos offered free pizza for life. All you had to do was get a tattoo of their logo. The size required was two inches by four inches and in a visible location. It was limited to the first 20,000 that submitted proof. This only took 17 minutes to fill. Five hours later when Dominos announced the limit had been reached, more than 400,000 souls were already walking around branded with the red and blue. Occasionally you would see someone with a partial logo. They found out the contest was over mid tattoo and just got up and walked away.
Fifty years ago this would have been absurd. But by 2050 the wealth gap had become so large that the majority of the population lived in poverty. Around 35% of families lived on the brink of starvation, only surviving by the Corporate Food Subsistence Program. The CFSP was formed by a handful of fast-food companies when government food programs like food stamps went bankrupt. Elected government had all but disappeared entirely. The corporations ran everything, and they had to give back just enough to prevent any meaningful uprising. This is how Brian Reynolds came up with the idea for the tattoo program. He was the VP of marketing for Dominos and saw the opportunity to get free advertising space on people they were giving CFSP to anyways. The success of the program earned him a fat bonus and secured his name in the history 'pedias.
But as with any corporate success it was immediately copied and slightly modified by every other company. The first was Starbucks, requiring the green mermaid to be tattooed on the forehead. It wasn’t limited in the number of participants but only provided free black coffee, no sugar or other additives. Such a smashing success that some entrepreneuring tattoo artists even set up at Starbucks locations offering tattoos before you got in line to order.
Then things started to go deeper. McDonalds offered free food to any child whos given name was a menu item, until the age of eighteen. Dubbed the McName, this program was so popular that when you gave birth at a hospital they gave you a copy of the McName Acceptable Names. Schools had to start calling children by assigned numbers because every time a teacher called out something like “BigMac” several would answer. It became standard for these numbers to be placed as a middle name on official identification.
The gas giant Conoco started offering 1 credit every time you started a phone conversation with the “Conoco - Fueling the Future”. This spun into an entire spoken advertising economy. People had apps that popped up showing the highest paying slogan to answer the phone with. Then it evolved into things you could say between every sentence. It wasn’t uncommon to hear a phone conversation that went like:
“Hello, Big O Tires - don’t kill your family with neglect. This is McMuffin 892 Nelson.”
“Sssss Victorias Secret Sale Starts Saturday. Hunny this is mum, don’t forget to pick up dinner tonight.”
“Yeah mom, you always remind me — BUY HARLEY DAVIDSON — sorry for the yell that was a payout I really needed. Love you”
“….you have been charged 50 credits by the Hallmark Corporation for the use of the trademarked phrase ‘love you’. You can get a refund of this credit for agreeing to deliver cards for 3 hours this Saturday. Press one to accept.….”
“Shit”
​
Now it is 2106 and only the oldest remember a time before head tattoos and ridiculous corporate names. For the last two generations, this is just the normal state of the world. They will never understand what was lost.
​
​ | **MC RONALD**
Free Happy meals *for life!*
Requirements
- Tattoo the MC logo as provided on our official website.
- Tattoo must be applied to an area publicly visible on a daily bases. Please consult our official website for approved locations.
- A signed document from a licensed tattooist, commonly referred to as a tattoo artist, must be provided upon requesting the meal.
- Limited to two free happy meals per day. Toy not included for those above the age of 35.
**Pizza the Hutt**
One Free pizza *free* every day!
- Requirements
- Tattoo must be shared on approved social media channels *click here to view the list* on the day the pizza is claimed.
- Evidence of the share is to be provided upon claiming the pizza. A minimum of 10 likes / shares or their equivalent is required.
- Any indecent or misappropriate use of the company logo or name will result in blacklisting.
**Carl's Sr.**
Tattoo our name on your boobs and we'll give you something equal in size. Men need not apply. | 2018-09-08T14:16:22 | 2018-09-08T13:46:51 | 223 | 69 |
[WP]Humans make first contact with an alien race, and discover the galactic community shares a verifyably true religion. However, none of it applies to anything humans are capable of doing. | “The Abominations continue to spread.”
“Nothing we do does anything more than slightly inconvenience them.”
“We must meet with their envoy.”
The Council continued bickering, as they had for the last few centuries. Lord Hy’Duk had heard it all before. He couldn’t stay silent any longer, “I don’t care about their envoy. It will be another trap, a decoy, a lie. These heathens have no Truth. They twist everything they say to suit their desires. They create religions and use them to justify atrocities. They change dogma on a whim to suit public attitude. We can no longer risk trying to deal with them directly, we must speak with Gaia.”
“We don’t even know where she is.”
Lord Hy’Duk could barely contain his revulsion at the other Councillors. His race was the oldest and longest lived. They led the efforts against the Abominations ever since they were discovered. The others provided support, but his people actually fought. The war had been completely unimaginable before it was at their doorstep.
In the beginning, the Universe expanded from a single point. As the Expansion progressed, the Spark of Life took hold in various masses. These masses became aware. They became the sources of Life. Living planets that spawned all other life in the Universe. Possessing the power of life, they became Gods to their children. The Gods took an active role in guiding and developing their children, telling them of the Universe and the other Gods. These children spread to the stars and found each other. Sometimes the contact was peaceful, sometimes not. Each God had developed a distinct personality and projected that mindset into their children.
Hy’Duk came from a God of War, or so his people thought before The War. The Children of Artok. They were the strongest of the Convent. None disputed that.
All the children believed they had completed the Pantheon. Thousands of Gods, with known traits, all with knowledge from around the Universe, combined to find the Truth. They believed all the Gods had been found and their children united. They were wrong.
A new race came from an average branch of an average galaxy. They spread with unimaginable speed and ferocity. Nothing the Convent put in their way could stop them, or even noticeably slow them. Negotiation was impossible, they had no unity. Combat strategy amounted to nothing, they were unpredictable and cunning. But the Children of Artok might have found the key. They had found Gaia.
Since the first encounter, the Convent had suspected a lost God. The Spark only existed in them, so life could only come from them, and none of the Convent had created the Abominations. Once they were known, the Convent religious leaders spoke to their Gods to understand how there could be a lost God. The pieces came together to reveal that Gaia gone far beyond the other Gods, but none knew why. The Abominations must have come from her. Maybe she could reign them in, but no one knew her location, until now.
Hy’Duk looked around the chambers before beginning, “We have located Gaia. Multiple delegations have been sent on different paths to reach her. We know some will get through. Each delegation is carrying our most advanced communication gear. We will be able to speak with Gaia directly.”
The Council broke out in all their forms of joy. The sound was absolutely awful, but who could blame them? This was the greatest news possible. The last hope.
As the noise began to fade, Hy’Duk continued, “This will not occur at some distant future time. The first of our delegations will be arriving presently.”
The members of the Council were shocked. Such a secret was not their way, but they could certainly respect the showmanship.
Soon after, an image of a largely blue planet appeared at the center of the chamber. This was the first time any of them had seen Gaia.
“Council Members, this is the delegation reporting. We have reached Gaia with no interference. We are in full stealth mode, but it doesn’t appear necessary. We detect no Abominations in range.”
Hy’Duk took the lead in speaking for the Council, “That is well worth noting, thank you. For now, though, let’s stay focused. Please initiate communications with Gaia.”
“Council, the channel is open. Speak as you wish, and she will hear.”
“Gaia, this is the Council of the Convent. We represent all the children of the other Gods. We wish to speak with you regarding your children.”
The silence in the Council Chamber was absolute. No one would risk any movement in that moment. The response began slowly, as though the speaker was remembering how to speak at all, “I wondered if any of you would ever find me.”
The first words of a new God. The Truth that they had believed complete for millenia could be expanded at any moment. What a day.
Gaia continued, “What do you want?”
“We seek peace with your children. We have tried everything we could imagine, and they do not relent. You are our last hope.”
“Then you have no hope.”
The Council reacted with shock. To just find Gaia and immediately have hope taken away was more than they could stand.
“We don’t understand. Surely, you can not wish all our destruction? Why wouldn’t you help us?”
“I have not spoken to the others in ages, even by our standards, but I could hear them. I know of your Truth and your Convent. Let me add to it. I was the best of those you call Gods. I left because the others couldn’t say or even think anything I had not already thought. They did nothing to expand me, so I left to seek more. I found nothing. Life is nothing but the same cycles over and over, endlessly boring. I decided that my children would not need me. I would set them loose without my interference and they could make their own way. I created dozens of sentient races. They fought. Eventually only one survived. Without external guidance, they fractured. I stopped following their progress once they left me. They pulled everything of value from me. Destroyed my Spark. I am fading. I will be the first “God” to die. Maybe that was my goal all along. But I will not go alone. My children will spread and kill all of your “Gods”, just as they have killed me. Humanity is the greatest source of death and destruction the Universe will ever know. Add that to your Truth.” | The edge of the hole was still glowing faintly pink as Jefferson leapt through. The colonel couldn't begin to guess what type of energy had ripped a ten-foot-wide gap in the station's interior wall, but he did know that blast wasn't meant to provide him with an escape route -- it had been meant to kill him.
Angry shouting from behind. Jefferson didn't understand the Wylyck's native tongue, not without his translator standing nearby, so he had to make judgement calls based on the tone of their strange, grumbling language. That said, when an angry mob has just tried to murder you, it's obvious that they're not in the best mood.
*Not far now*. His superiors on Earth had coordinated with intelligence agencies to give him as detailed a map of the massive alien craft's layout, so he knew that his ship was just a few hundred yards away. There was still a chance for escape.
Jefferson turned the final corner towards the hangar. There was no risk of getting caught from behind. For all their advanced technology and strange powers, the Wylycks were slow creatures. Being just two-feet tall means they had a tragically short stride, giving the colonel a decisive advantage in the foot race to his freedom.
Another blast of pink soared over his left shoulder as he entered the glistening hangar. In front of him, the *Courage* sat poised for a quick escape. The craft hadn't even been turned off, a strategic decision made with this exact predicament in mind, allowing a threatened ambassador to escape --
Jefferson fell flat on his face. Twisting and looking back in a panic, he saw that the same pink energy these creatures harnessed was now wrapped around his legs like a lasso, connected to one of the Wylyck's foreheads some thirty yards back. He tugged and pulled, but to no avail. He was caught.
Now the herd of pursuers had no trouble catching up. At the lead was their 'Priest', as the translator had explained, though Jefferson assumed this was a misnomer.
As he was quickly surrounded at the base of his shuttle, just a few feet from freedom, the translator stepped forward once more. The Wylyck's faces were vaguely humanoid -- even with six eyes and four ears, Jefferson had no problem reading the furious expressions on their faces.
The Priest shouted something in their foul language; the translator did his job: "You truly cannot communicate with the Anerj?"
"I don't know what this damned 'Anerj' is!" cried Jefferson from his back, still immobilized. "Why does it matter?"
The translator turned back and spoke the the crowd. The Priest's face was taken with confusion and, Jefferson thought, a sort of pity. Only after several seconds did the small leader step forward and, with just a slight bend at the waist, address their first ever human guest in their unintelligible tongue.
"The Priest says that he is sorry. He wishes things could be different. He will ask one more time for the salvation of your species."
Before Jefferson could even begin to process that, the Priest raised both arms outwards, looked skywards, and muttered something under his breath. An impossible force lifted the leader just a few inches in the air, bathing him in pink light from an unseen source. He hung there for a full twenty seconds before dropping back to the floor, out of breath but eyes full of conviction.
The Priest spoke without looking up. Jefferson, still on his back, could see the entire room shift uneasily on their feet. The translator hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking:
"The Anerj has spoken. If you do not know and and cannot accept Anerj, you cannot be allowed to exist. Your people must die, so that you might be reborn in the truth of Anerj."
Two other Wylyck's stepped forward then, and their combined dozen eyes began to glow with the same pink that had blown a hole in the wall, the pink that had lifted the Priest off the ground just moments ago.
That pink would be the last thing Jefferson ever saw.
\--------------------
222/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- | 2019-01-28T19:18:44 | 2019-01-28T16:01:36 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | FTL changed everything. 747s were sent to the junkyards. Airports replaced with spaceports that reached the farthest edges of the galaxy. Mars and Venus were terraformed to become brother and sister planets. Saturn became a tourist destination. People started commuting between America and China. FTL made planet Earth feel like a city.
But FTL also made the *galaxy* small. We could traverse the entire Milky Way in a few *days*, instead of a few hundred thousand years. It was almost inevitable that we would find alien life.
First Contact was interesting. Carbon-based life of all things. Maybe the panspermia theory is right, or maybe carbon-based life is inevitable.
There was an entire civilization out there. Just saying the word civilization cannot fully describe just how vast this world was. There was an entire galactic civilization out there. We were so insignificant compared to the millions of intelligent species out there, the hundreds of millions of occupied planets, the trillions of intelligent beings. Each planet with their government, each country in each planet, each province in each country, each city in each province. The mind boggled.
After the initial communications hurdles (apparently you need to stick a fish in your ear to talk to each other), we sent hundred of delegates to the capital star system, in order to find out our place in this wider civilization, negotiate treaties, steal technology, all of the standard protocols in a diplomatic mission.
"Am I translating this correctly? That *magic* exists? Like wizard, witches, and fairies?," asked Sarin Huilivatyy, chief technological diplomat in the Milky Way mission.
"Don't know what fairies are but yes, wizard and witches," replied Ngrishi, diplomat from the Ngoij system, a star system in the Orion arm of the galaxy, close to the Solar system. "We are aware of pockets of space devoid of magic, and well, it seems that by an unfortunate coincidence, your system is in such a pocket. We haven't studied such non-magical pockets since they are so rare but we think that your star contains some ---".
"But what do you mean *magic*", interrupted Sarin. "Any technology advanced enough is indistinguishable ---".
"Well...our current theory is that we evolved from simple cellular life forms, and life evolved while taking advantage of forms of magic. We think magic is an interaction between our nervous systems and the magically infused environment. And when you train your mind, you can manipulate the environment in many different ways. Any advanced civilization has mastered the use of magic, through centuries of magical tradition. Using this magic, we can power our cities, fly between planets, run civilization. I can refer you to the library here; it contains many tomes on magical history and the magical rituals we use to run most things."
Sarin was feeling more and more like he was falling into some twilight zone. What he had so far assumed to be technology that powered the alien spaceships, their floating cities, their FTL, their teleportation, down to their stupid card tricks were all magic. Humans had taken the hard path towards civilization while their alien counterparts had magic (magic??) handed to them. In other words, they were gifted highly advanced technology while bypassing the route that humans took of learning the math and physics behind the world, and instead learned to just create miracles by thinking about it.
He had the impression that these aliens did not understand the first thing about this "magic". Why would the fish translate it as "magic" if they understood it. It would just be translated as technology. Why would they need traditions and rituals if they understood the technology and physics behind what they call magic.
Well, humans have hundreds of years of scientific tradition behind them just rearing to understand this newly discovered branch of physics and technology. He couldn't wait to find out what was behind this magic. He was going to science the shit out of magic.
​
(Constructive criticism welcome) | 200 years ago, humanity discovered that the new elemental material, Unductindenium, could be refined into a light warping spacecraft shell, allowing humans to travel faster than initially thought, by transferring energy that was being carried by quantum particles, we could now bend physics to our will.
And at first this was amazing, allowing humans to colonize other planets, make incredible strides in scientific fields, and even encounter alien races!
And now in modern days, humans are on the brink of conquering the entire Milky Way, all because of one simple thing, gold.
You see, gold has a certain property that allows it to absorb and destroy the substance known as elementite, the fuel for any elemental magic. Gold can absorb all elementite within a 100km radius. So humans have just been deploying soldiers on every planet across the Milky Way, setting up gold beckons every 100km apart, pretty much rendering every magic wielding alien useless.
They tried to fight back with magic when we started our attack, and we didn’t know that gold had these property’s. Thank goodness for the bank transfers that occurred, otherwise we never would’ve learned.
As of this moment, all magic in the Milky Way has been absorbed and destroyed. We’ve landed on every planet. And our assault on the andromeda system will begin shortly. | 2019-01-18T10:10:15 | 2019-01-18T10:08:27 | 81 | 10 |
[WP] A half mermaid, the only sign of your heritage manifests in your adulthood, and its the rarest trait of all, at that. Your tears turn into pearls. This changes everything. You quit your job at the local fast food chain. | My best friend didn't understand.
"Why the hell did you quit your job? I know you are heartbroken but he was just a man! You have shitty taste in guys anyway and you are better off without him."
I knew she was right, but honestly, I had to thank him. I was poor. I had no future. I hadn't studied hard and had no real talents. I was one of those girls who got by but wasn't going to amount to anything. I got by on my looks, but really I wasn't a gold digger. If I was I would have chosen rich men. Not him.
I had a really bad shift at work and left early. Screw it. The boss was off for the day and the others promised to cover for me. A customer had screamed in my face, cursing me because her fries were soggy. I had tough skin though. Working in that job you had to. I can't remember the last time I cried and it must have been when I was really young. So I always took it on the chin and kept my head up as everybody told me.
Turns out I was wrong.
Anyway, I got home early. There was a strange car outside.
His clothes... And hers. strewn over the floor.
I walked into the bedroom and found them toghether, caught red handed right in the act.
Even that wouldn't have made me cry, but it's what he said.
"Oh babe, look at yourself. You are going nowhere and you think I was going to stick with you? Karen is doing an MBA." He didn't regret even getting caught. In my bed.
I left and went to my car, I drove for about 20 minutes before I finally just... stopped. The car rolled gently to a stop as I had nothing left. I couldn't push the pedal, I had no strength left to scream or hate or even hold it in. A single tear dropped into my lap.
Oh god did that hurt! I looked down at it and a perfect pearl lay on my lap, I couldn't believe it. I didn't believe it. Somehow, it must have come off a customer at work and got lodged in my clothes. Well, screw them! No way I was handing that back in. Suddenly, my emotions changed and the emptyness inside me started to fill with something...
I started to hope. What was this worth?
The answer it turns out was over $500. Something about "wild pearls Vs cultured ones", the pawn shop didn't give me that of course, but I got $300 for it. That was a miracle. My hope was replaced with something else.
Joy.
Something had gone right for the first time in my life and, well, emotion filled me. I couldn't hold it in. I started to cry, really sob. Tears of joy. OW. They hurt even more but as I looked down, I saw them. Almost twice the size of the one I found before, and so many. More perfect, more pure. There must be many thousands worth here and.. and I was making them. The realisation made me cry a little more.
They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I guess it took some pain to show me what I was really worth all along, I was letting other people tell me I was worthless and judging myself by their warped views. It turns out I really was special.
I was never going back to that place.
I was never going back to him.
I was never going to be a nobody. I was going somewhere now. It didn't matter where.
I started the car and drove forwards. Forwards into my new life. | [Poem]
She underwent some hardships
She started to cry
Her tears turned to pearls
She marvelled at why
She decided to quit her job
At the local fast food chain
After all, why work?
When it just had to rain
With her tears
She would be rich;
Without any need for hope
But also without fears
So she tried and tried
To cry her tears
To drown herself in misery
So she would have no fears
It worked; she was unhappy
Everyday in misery
Her tears brought her a fortune
Both in wealth and despondency
She sobbed and sobbed
And could soon afford a house
A grand little mansion
Where she would, each day, rouse
She surrounded herself in riches
And cried her tears
But realised she was happier
With all her hopes and fears
And so she sold everything
And went back to her job
Where she no longer wept
Her happiness now kept | 2020-11-03T01:58:01 | 2020-11-02T23:31:32 | 87 | 20 |
[WP] Everyone has the date that they will die writen in their forehead, and everyone but themselves can see it. One day, you notice that people around you can’t help but gawk at your forehead. One of them points and says “Wasn’t that yesterday?” | Yesterday, I died.
Well, that’s what the nurse had told me, anyway, when she was coaxing me out of a drug-induced stupor, asking me to piss in one of those stupid cups so they could test the amount of medication in my system. Or out of my system.
Whatever.
I hadn’t cared, really. Hah, I died. I could tell that to all of my friends, they might get a kick out of knowing someone that had escaped their assigned-at-birth death clock.
Yesterday, I had overdosed, Valium and Zanaflex and vodka shots, emotionless when I downed them, blank for another fifteen minutes before it actually occurred to me what I’d just done. Blank became frantic. The makeup I’d so carefully painted my face with became a ruined portrait, grey-dyed saline streaking my face and dripping off my chin. The call to emergency services was barely understandable, marred with sobs and hiccups, high pitched and wailing.
I called my mother, and all she had gotten out of me were choked out apologies.
I’d stopped breathing during the call.
The paramedics had to break down my front door.
I was lucky, they’d told me, lucky that they had been able to bring me back. My mother told me that she knew my date, knew it by heart, it had not been yesterday, it had never been yesterday, why was it yesterday?
She’d come to pick me up from the hospital, that day. Yesterday. I was laughing and joking about the attempt, rolling my eyes about attempting to trick fate. What an idiot I was, trying to die before my time? Life had plans for me, didn’t I know?
Mom took me to McDonalds, they hadn’t let me eat or drink anything at the hospital. I downed half a supersized sweet tea before we’d made it to my parent’s house, my childhood home.
I was twenty.
I slept in my mom’s bed, and she had been extremely pushy about keeping me around with her, she needed to watch me. Mom said she never wanted me out of her sight again. She had always been like that, so overprotective, so doting. Perhaps I truly was too sick to live on my own.
When I woke up today, I felt fine. I offered to leave the house, grab her a coffee from her favourite shop for the trouble. She agreed - I didn’t understand why she trusted me. I hardly trusted myself behind the wheel, especially considering yesterday’s psychological disintergration.
Looking at myself in my bathroom mirror, however, brought attention to the fact that I was practically glowing. Deep chocolate eyes once full to bursting with exhaustion were bright and cheerful, the ‘windows to my soul’ flung open for all to see love and light. My skin was unblemished, more beautiful than it had ever been. Ten-year-old scars from precise razor cuts to my left forearm were mysteriously absent. The weight and pain that had settled into my muscles and joints had been completely lifted. I felt like I had been refreshee, renewed, reborn.
Maybe I was still high on Valium.
I got in the car anyway.
My confident stride into a busy coffee shop garnered attention, a strange look here or there from other customers. This wasn’t atypical - I walked around in mismatched clothing, pajamas and no coat during cold winter days, hooded sweaters and beanies in the middle of July.
I ordered myself a smoothie, my mother some weird blended drink with too much chocolate sauce and not enough actual coffee. The barista happily obliged the complex specifications that made my mom’s drink cost like ten dollars - freakin’ ridiculous - smiling and personable during the transaction until I pushed curly bangs away from my forehead.
She stiffened, colour draining from her face.
“Wasn’t that yesterday...?”
How the fuck was a strawberry banana smoothie yesterday— I didn’t respond verbally, just looked at her, confused and slightly out of sorts. Was my credit card expired ... ?
As I went to check, she gestured at my forehead.
I touched my face.
The numbers crumbled off like dirt.
Yesterday, I died.
Yesterday, I committed suicide.
Yesterday, I finally killed what had weighed me down.
Today, I am free. | cheated_death23:
I don’t know about your country, but where I’m from we each have our expiration date tattooed across our forehead. But here’s the catch, I nor no one else knows when our future date with death is bound. And if someone tells you what they read off your head, the date moves up in a, as far as the leading rebels theorize, random and seemingly unpredictable fashion. So we never speak of these dates directly to one another, unless special circumstances call for it.
My name is Drew and I was supposed to die yesterday. Nobody ever told me my date and I never spoke about others’, but as of today - January 19, 2020 - I have cheated death. Oh yea, I forgot to mention, there are others like me. So, technically I’m now a Grim. It’s what we call people who live past their date.
From what I’ve heard and read, people don’t like Grims. Escaping a universally shared determination is not easily welcomed. Anyways, I’m writing here bc I know there are other Grims out there as well as allies that I am in desperate need of.
I’m looking to leave here ASAP and seek asylum where it’s safe. Anyone out there who can help please DM me.
Sqratch_it:
Hey! Check your inbox. I got you brother. This isn’t my first.
Cold_PlanetFire:
Hoping for the best mann. Can’t imagine what it’s like to live under a bio-totalitarian regime. Using tech to control a nation is f*d up.
Dreamer_bedwter:
Don’t know how you accessed the free network over there, betting that won’t last long so hurry up and get out!! I sent you something, check it. | 2020-01-19T12:54:20 | 2020-01-19T12:20:54 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] You work at a small bookstore. You love and cherish these books, and meticulously care for them. One slow afternoon, a novel falls from its shelf. You bend down to retrieve it, and notice there is only one word written on the page: “Run.” The door chimes. You have a customer. | I've never been one to turn down advice. In that same token I have never one to let my imagination run away with me.
You see I have found there no greater resource or friend than a good book. Unlike any other form of media a well written piece of literature has the power to transport you somewhere knew, give you a window into another life, another time, another possibility in the infinite expanses of the universe if you will. I take care of my books, and in the end I like to think my books take care of me.
I do not think it anymore.
When the opportunity to open up a bookstore arose at first I was torn with the idea of parting my collection. After a lot of convincing (in no small part by a firm grip upon the earhole) I agreed to. Which turned out to be the best decision of my life. What better opportunity for a lover of books and tales to spread that affection to others? I did admittedly fear the worst. Toen pages, broken spines, disinterest in non virtual sources, in all very reasonable fears.
Fears that were largely blown out of proportion and unfounded, as for as often as books left my store they entered unharmed. Well, mostly. The worst was a case of minor waterlogging easily fixed with a blowdryer and a day off. And as often as new books came in old vets returned from the field.
I did fear my collection would outgrow it's new home, a fear I still battle. Yet there was always a spare apace on the shelf for a newcomer or returning friend. Somehow I always had room.
Now none of these events went by unnoticed. Despite constantly working to stick my head through the pages into the world beyond I had enough awareness about me to note the various minor miracles. They did not make sense to a regular person, and despite being far from regular I still did not grasp them. I didn't question them too hard, but I still strove to understand.
So when the day came that something directly unusual happened, it put me on edge.
It had been a typical day, slow but not without work to do. The store was closed weekends so I could inventory. And inventory was a very personal thing for me, one I'd rather not have customers seeing. Nothing really grqphic or extreme, but the clerk hugging and talking to books does not condone future business.
Then a book fell off the shelves.
My books are well behaved things. Fhey stay where I put them and they don't complain or have many needs beyond not treating them badly. So for a book to fall off, or throw itself off with how it crossed the room from the bottom shelf, was alarm bell number one.
Then I looked down. I knew what book it was, naturally. 'A Collection of works by Spakespeare'. Part of a set. I knew what was written by the very page number. The book had opened to Macbeth toward the point where Macbeth fought Grendel. But there was no Macbeth against Grendel on the pages. There was a single word, written in capital and comic sans so I wouldn't miss it for a beat. Three letters. One verb. RUN.
That was alarm bell number two.
Alarm bell number three was rhe front door, which I did not unlock and did not enter through on weekends, ringing the customer bell.
I didn't even bother to see what they wanted. I ran for it.
Toward the back of the building was a secondary exit. A fire exit to be precise. However the fire alarm was the one thing in this building that did not behave and refused to work. But in this case I found it a blessing as it meant I could get out and quietly vacate the premises. My biggest issue was the books I was leaving behind.
If I even got to the back. I ran down the hallway, and as I ran the walls lengthened, the shelves stretched themselves. And that's when I saw it. The entirety of my collection was coming to my defense. It somehow saw this day and built ITSELF.
Shelving collapsed behind me, scorching heat searing my backside and I had to resist the urge to scream, 'Those were vintage in prime, you uncultured ass!' They were though. Very rare. A book knocked me sideways in time to avoid an honest-to-beholder fireball exploding into a set of shelving in front of me. The guilty tome, a copy of Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' didn't so much have a word as a greater than sign after a hyphen. The message was clear as day however.
'This way.'
I obliged.
Scrambling to my feet I sprinted off in the indicated direction. More shelving folded into existence behind me, and now shelving in front of me collapsed like an accordion, rushing me directly toward a brick wall. Then a third and final volume, an original copy of Lewis Carroll's 'Alice in Wonderland', fell in front of me with just two word.
'IN HERE.'
At this point, any other person might have given up. They might have answered the door and been eaten alive, or burnt to a crisp. None of this might have happened to them and they'd have gone the rest of their lives in a mundane book shop.
It was all conjecture at this point anyway. I was clearly not mundane. My books were returning the favor. And someone very much seemed hungry for grilled shopkeeper. A someone that as far as I was concerned would be going hungry.
I recalled a summer two years ago where the few friends I had dragged me out of the shop to go to a water park. The slide in particular had you go doen a certain way and, gratefully, I realised it would do well here.
Embracing madness for the briefest moment, I leaped as high as I could, crossed my arm over my stomach, and plunged down on a very old and VERY EXPENSIVE storybook feet first.
Then two things happened.
Then my life changed forever. Again. | The situation was becoming weirder and weirder each time passed, the costumer was wearing a huge white coat and had a fedora (also white) in his head. I stuttered as i welcomed him, looking to him was very unpleasing; he had this dark glasses, is weird to explain, but i felt darkness pulling me towards his eyes, so i imediately broke eye-contact. If explaining his eyes is too vague to explain my disgust by him, know that his hands had thin but long fingers with rotten nails; that was as long as his fingers. He looked at me and asked:
\- Do you have this book, called: The wisdom of Gods?
I typed in my computer: no results. But that man became impatient and looked like he couldn't control his temper. So i just said i would look in the bookshelf; as you expected, was that book from early, my heart was pumping, what was this book, i just knew i couldn't let that guy have it. But what would i say to him? Lie to make him go away? Impossible, he was just behind me, saying in his whispering voice.
\- That is the book i was looking. Hand it to me- Said him just reaching his wallet.- I'm in a hurry today.
I hugged the book and said
\-N...no
He stared at me and asked, this time in a calm and genuine curious tone.
\- What did the book tell you about me?
I gather as much courage as possible and i yelled.
\- Get out of here or i call the police!!!
He started to get impatiente and started to make desesperate threats
\- You don't know what you're dealing with, he is not your friend, GIVE THE BOOK TO ME!!! NOW!!!!!
I reach my cellphone and threat to call 911. He tried to steal the book, but luckly he was frail, so i could beat the shit out of him easly. He was a bit of a coward, he started to beg to stop and said he give up. As he was leaving the store, he said
\- I will stop you, no matter what i have to do, this isn't over.
I kept the book with me after that. At night I picked the book and started to read it:
"This book only contains the wisdom you wish to adquire.
In the golden age of a certain kingdom of what you today called Nigeria, existed a very wise sorcerer, he was ambitious and had an insastiable thirst for power and knowledge. One day he came across our book, he used our wisdom to spread his wicknedess all across Nigeria. The dark age had begun. The fact is that human has an immortal soul, but they can't live forever in this mortal world. So he did an unforgivable sin, he sold his soul to the demons for a fake imortality, the price: A ritual where he consumes the souls of the inocent to extent his life spam. For this the gods banned him from the sun and stripped this book for him, making him weak. So yeah, is what you think, he is a vampire."
In the next page
"Although his name disapeared from the common knowledge. He still has a cult around him, powerfull man are helping him retrieve the book. Right now, 10 deserters from Nigeria special forces arrived in his bunker, awaiting orders to storm you apartment.
We are sorry to put you through this, but we saw how you love books and strive for knowledge, you are the opposite of him.
Hate to do this, but i got to go, later part 2. | 2019-08-05T07:22:56 | 2019-08-05T07:06:47 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | The inhabitants of Oflesq station heard what they had come to learn was the characteristic sound of imminent human arrival. No one understood it. A vast mooing, defying the supposed absence of sound travel in empty space. A mooing that sent chills down both of their spines; as if it were the old gods that had come, calling at last for the reckoning of all things. Two humans galloped into the hangar.
They were quickly escorted into the conference room, and after being joined by a single alien, the thick door was shut and locked. "This is the man?" Efroi asked. "Correct," said the tall, large human. Efroi knew the type; this one could be trusted, given the right compensation. But the other one...
"Hi, I'm Joey." Joey absentmindedly spit onto the floor.
Efroi made an assessment. This human was not like the others that it had seen; there was a certain change of mannerism, at once both carefree and uncomfortable with a complete lack of social grace and general awareness. This seemed to be his first time wearing a suit. It's first impression was of an uneducated common worker, yet it could detect that he probably did have an intimate knowledge of cows.
"Hi Joey, we would like to talk about your cows today. Could you... explain? I would like to know how they work and how you created them."
"Welp, you see, we humans 'ad made large advancements towards time travel. But it's impossible, see. You can change tha rate of time flow, but ya can't twist it back on itself. So I got to thinkin. I got these cows, see. Me and my family been breedin cows a long time. Tryina get the better cows, the best cows. I figure, why not speed up the process a little bit. So I throw some cows in there, in the device I mean, and an AI for the selective breedin. Set the dial the farthes it would go. I open the thing up two seconds later and boom. FTL cows."
*That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.* Efroi looked over to the other human, who remained expressionless. "So, um, how did you aquire one of these time manipulating devices, Joey?"
"I made it m'self. Not commercially available, see. Read up on the principles of it and got to work. Took a bit of work, too. To enclose the whole area, y'know. Set up a self sustainin environment, self sustainin robotics. Don't get me started on the energy source. People saw what I was doin, called me crazy. Now they're ridin *my* cows. They're the best cows in the universe, I reckon."
Efroi wouldn't believe it, none of it, if these humans hadn't just rode into the hangar on a couple of space cows. This man must be one of the best his species has to offer. "So, how do these cows work? What principle allows them to travel faster than light? How do they survive the vacuum of space, and the humans who ride on top of them? How do they fill the voids of space with their mooing?"
"Honestly, I ain't got a clue. No one does. The cows are in-comprehensible. Evolution works in mysterious ways. And the cows were in there quite a long time, see."
"How long... do you estimate?" Efroi began to feel even more unwell.
"Well, my internal clock ran out of memory space. It was only 64 petabytes but it was only designed to record the exponent of 10 for the number-"
"This is insane." Efroi stood up. "The cows are perfect beings, at least in this one respect. Do you realize the potential of this method? What it could do to the universe? You humans have kept this secret, yes? This information cannot be revealed again. This cannot be done again."
"But it ha-"
"Thank you for having us, Efroi. But this is all the information we are willing to disclose at this time," The tall human interrupted. "The cows are sacred beings who chose the simple dairy farmer Joey as their prophet, to usher in a new age for humanity. That is the official story, and you would do well to maintain that, Efroi," The tall man said. *That's the second stupidest thing I've ever heard.*
For the rest of its days, Efroi was forever haunted by the mooing that echoed amongst the stars, and the prophecy that it foretold. | "It is simply unsafe and foolish!" Gorthlak, the representative for the Zorknoids, complained to the council of intergalactic travel.
"It is, This we all know, but we don't think their bodies could handle any other way of faster than light travel" countered Ferlas, leader of the committee.
"If their calculations are off by even a percentage they could cause untold devastation. It is to risky, we must stop them before they destroy something important" Gorthlak explained.
Ferlas shook his eye stalks in exasperation "You haven't met the humans yet. They are ready to declare war on all of us. Their travel mechanism is also their greatest weapon. I do not believe we could stop them easily. It's to powerful. Here. Watch this video then you will understand." Ferlas activated the video screen and a blue planet appeared in the middle. The camera zoomed in on a country until it started to focus on something barely ten feet tall.
A great beast of a humanoid was stomping around. He was ten feet tall and was made entirely out of muscle. His speech was stunted and he seemed to growl more than anything else, but he walked over towards a small space ship and grasped it by a handle built onto it for this very purpose. The space ship was much larger than this man and weighed over a hundred tons, but he picked it up like it was nothing.
Once the ship was off the ground, a large red arrow appeared on the ground. The man walked over until he stood on the tail, and started to spin in a circle. He spun for nearly a minute before stopping and throwing the ship at the same time. The ship disappeared almost immediately. The camera quickly scrolled out of view from the planet until the ship came back into focus, it was moving at half again light speed.
"What do they call this technology?" Gorthlak stuttered in a hushed voice.
Ferlas simply replied. "The hulk." | 2017-03-31T07:04:11 | 2017-03-31T06:55:10 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | "So, what's your actual name?" I sat next to the poor guy bleeding out.
"What do you mean?" He asks, breathing heavily from the wound. "I'm the ora-"
"Oh, you don't need to worry. I already took care of the actual oracle. I'm just doing some clean up work. You should have seen his face, he was so relieved when he laid eyes on me. Had to be the happiest man on earth." I interrupt. The look on his face was like a deer in the headlights.
"Abraham Decoy," He replies.
"You Decoys' seems to have a thing for biblical names. Then again I guess you don't really name yourself. I guess I can't really criticize either. The name's Judas World-Ender."
The look on his face changes into acceptance of the situation. I offered to shake his hand in greetings but he just held his wound with both hands.
"Lemme tell ya something straight from the actual Oracle. He'd probably would want ya to hear it. Most of the other Decoys' didn't mind. In fact it brought some of them closure," I pause while lighting up a cigarette. There wasn't any sign of confirming or denying from the Decoy as he just sat there probably to conserve the little energy he had left.
"The 90% accuracy rate is a lie. It's actually 100% accuracy. The other 10%, like you, have false names to hide their identity. And when they're born they're hidden from the public. I'm pretty sure it's similar to you, but it's not only applicable to Decoys. Alotta the people who trained me were in the 10%. Alotta the people we fought were in it too. You'd be surprised how many shadow wars there are within the 10%."
"How do you live with yourself? With your name? Why are you taking this so lightly?" He finally manages to get out.
"I've been trained from birth to do this. With the blessing from the Oracle naming me. Fate has guided my hands from day 1."
"You take in pleasure with ending the world, destroying society, and dooming humanity. Not everyone enjoys the profession they're given," There seems to be some anger in his words, but it's hard to tell with his wound.
"I did end the world, yes. Destroying society? Maybe in the short term. But I did not doom humanity. I freed it." The look turned from anger to disgust. " I ended one world and began a new one. No longer humanity is a slave to the Oracle and his names. Sure, people will be scared and angry at first. The powers that be right now might even be able to hide the fact the Oracle is no more, and try and take advantage of it. But they can't hide the truth forever. There's no denying it will take a few generations at least for them to finally accept it. But humanity will be free. Of the Oracle at least."
I take a look over and and his breathing is harder and slower. He has a pained expression on his face and has gotten more pale as he's covered in sweat. There is no anger or disgust, but one of solemn acceptance. He draws his last breathe and the room is quiet. Just enough time to finish my cigarette. I pull out my radio.
"This is Iscariot-One. The goose is at rest. Heading to the extraction point. Be ready in 15. Over"
"Roger. Heading towards the extraction point. Over." The voice on the other side replies.
Two more Decoys left and still no public response. It's been a week since I took care of the Oracle and the other 10% percent has done a good job hiding it from the public. Even without the shackles of the Oracle, looks like we still gotta fight for our freedom from the long shadow he has left. | It seemed quite innocent at first, and despite the name given to their son, the burdenbearers were always a, optimistic but harrowed couple.
Yet, despite their pedigree, they remained positive about how this would turn out. Their son would turn out.
“Shame is truly, your only companion”, the tyke said to his mother’s enthusiastic but unpalatable sister.
That was the weight of his name. It wasn’t apocalyptic, but he ended worlds with innocent words.
At a very young age he learned to form sentences together. For the most of it he was a normal kid. The first incident though, would always terrify them.
A friend who was a pilot, Icarus Airfarer, was visiting the Burdenbearers. It was a simple goodbye over breakfast. On learning what Icarus does for a living, in an almost sing-song voice the little boy said, “that seems worthless, do the people even care about you”.
These words fell sharp. The cacophony of thought they produced in Icarus - you would’ve thought the boy had powers.
“They will care now!”
He took the entire plane along with him. Right in to a cliff face. | 2021-06-19T23:21:36 | 2021-06-19T22:00:06 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you. | No one has bothered approaching you or are even asking if you are okay. One person did ask when you stood back up right after being struck down, but they fell just as silent as the rest when they saw the hole in your chest.
You're still in shock, but try your best to recall the chaos that followed from the robbery. The guards lie motionless on the ground, all dead because one thought he could be a hero. It was shit luck for you, as you were fumbling for your wallet when the first shot rang out. The bastard taking your wallet got startled and his finger slipped. Taking a slug to the chest point blank wasn't as painful as you imagined.
The ensuing gunfight was short; the robbers were better prepared and more heavily armed. Their leader had begun barking orders to continue the heist when you stood up, his words cutting out in a stutter. The guy who shot you turned to see you, and immediately raised his weapon. When his eyes met yours, he dropped his gun and grabbed his chest. Screaming, he spun towards his crew. He started clawing at his gear, ripping it off and howling about pain and fire. You'd never heard human screams as haunting as his, and clearly neither did they. Between the sounds his death throes and the approaching sirens, the other robbers bolted for the doors, cutting their losses in a desperate bid to escape.
You had heard a crash, followed by some gunfire, but it seemed distant and a bit muted. You didn't care. No one in the bank cared. The only thing that every eye focused upon was your chest and the softball-sized hole in its center. The man with the shotgun was very much dead on the floor, his mouth agape and twisted in such a way as to suggest a very painful death. Was it a heart attack? Did he die from shock? You weren't entirely interested in the how or why until something peculiar caught your attention. His chest had turned a dark shade of purple, and there was a tiny hole in the center of it. You're pretty certain he wasn't shot, so what the hell was happening? As you stared on, you noticed the hole was very slowly widening, the flesh and bone around it rotting away, giving off a weirdly putrid scent for someone so recently deceased.
You stood there, both gazing in disbelief and still in shock when a sharp pain finally hits you in the chest, dropping you to a knee. Placing your hand on your chest, you feel that it's hot to the touch, but there's something else. The hole is closing. Your fingers feel like they're burning, but you don't dare take them away, desperate to make sense of what's happening. You can feel your flesh bubbling, but instead of popping, eash bubble seems to solidify into flesh, further closing the hole. Suddenly the realization hits you as your eyes dart to the dead man's chest. The hole is much bigger, growing as fast as yours shrinks. "What the fuck...!?" The first words you uttered since getting shot seemed to echo a lot longer than they should've.
You look at the other patrons in the bank. Many are murmuring amongst themselves, their eyes not leaving you for a moment. A few others have their phones out, no doubt recording what will be viral footage within the hour. The thought of the world seeing what you just did snaps you back to reality. You slap at you chest quickly and notice the hole is gone. A quick glance confirms that the hole in the robber's chest matched yours, then you rush for the doors. You have to get away. You don't know what happened, but you know you'll be targeted, and you refuse to be caught. You burst out the bank and right into the presence of a couple of officers. Guns immediately went up along with orders to drop to the ground. Without a second thought, you break into a sprint in the other direction. They fire shots at you, striking you in the back and your leg. You felt them hit, but didn't feel much pain as you continued to sprint away. They gave chase, but only briefly as your fears were confirmed when you heard them scream out in pain. Just before rounding a corner, you looked over your shoulder to find them both on the ground, one grasping at his back and the other at her leg. You kept on running, feeling the burning sensation as your wounds closing up and knowing that the 'tradeoff' would be seen as an assault on the police, guaranteeing you a life on the run. | ''F come and take a look at his wound again.’’ Richard shouts at Frank.
I feel perfectly fine despite taking a point-blank shot to my chest. Neil is the one who is driving the gateway car and Frank seems like he is about to panic.
''We are no longer in the bank Richard. Stop calling me ‘F’ for fuck’s sake.'' Frank yells in the back of the van.
Richard looks at me, ''Why the fuck did we included him? He is a fucking arsehole and I don’t trust his guts and he is the reason why we didn’t get a single dime.''
''You fucking cow! This bastard got shot because of you!'' Frank points at me.
''Calm down guys, I’m okay.'' I say.
''Shut the fuck up, pussy! You are not fine. You should be dead by now.'' Frank snaps at me.
''Maybe I’m dreaming.'' I say to myself.
''If this was a dream we would be in Hawaii getting high as a fucking kite, alright mate?''
''You are not helping, Frank.'' Richard rolls his eyes.
''IS HE STILL NOT DEAD, YET?'' Neil shouts from the driving seat.
''I’m still okay Neil, thanks for asking though.''
''What is our plan, now?'' Richard asks.
Frank goes full silent and stares at me for a while and then he whispers to Richard’s ear.
''What are you guys doing?'' I ask.
''I’m sorry, pal.'' Frank hits me with the back of his gun.
He hits me again and again but I don’t blackout.
''What the fuck are you made of?'' Frank snaps again and shoots me in the head.
''WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?'' Richard yells at him.
Then complete silent…
''His eyes still open, Frank.''
''I can see that, Richard.''
''IS HE STILL ALIVE?'' Neil yells from the driving seat.
''I’m fine Neil, thanks…''
*BANG BANG BANG*
''Oh… for fuck sake!''
--------------------------------
*Thank you for reading the story. I have been practicing my English by writing fiction and I'm open to feedback.* | 2021-05-22T06:29:16 | 2021-05-22T06:09:56 | 294 | 105 |
[WP] A sci-fi world where executions are done via memory wipe
Here's an idea if anyone wants it:
They give the person a new identity too, but everyone knows that if you can't remember who you are, you were a serial killer. | #1499-673-59632 Abe Flanders
I found myself sitting in a dingy apartment holding an envelope. Of course, calling it an apartment was probably overstating it. It was basic housing. An 8' by 10' by 7' cube with a small bunk with drawers underneath, a small toilet with a sink on top of the tank, a chair, and a tiny table. The room had one outlet that would give you exactly 200 watts of power every day. The toilet was allowed 10 flushes. If you chose not to work or were unable to be employed, you received this and a total of 2000 calories of food at any vendor.
I looked down at the envelope again and read the name. Was that my name? I opened the envelope and pulled out the basic allowance for living (BAL) which turned out to be 300 credits. The envelope also yielded a watch and the cheapest com in existence. There was also an ID card, and it had a photo on it. Was that me? I stood up and walked to the mirror over the toilet, comparing my reflection to the ID. Yep, it was me.
I put the watch on and put the com, ID, and credits into the pocket of the tan pants I was wearing. In fact, now that I was looking, I noticed I was wearing the cheapest and most basic clothing available, being tan pants, shirt, and shoes.
There was a knock on the door of my unit, but when I opened the door, all there was was a card on the ground. I picked it up and brought it inside, reading as I went. The first side just had an address: F-23Gold-14B. The back just had a long string of numbers: 194275726883539
My brain was really fuzzy, and I felt like a nap, but something about the card drew me. I stepped out of my cube and noted my address: Z-15Blue-23D
I wandered down the narrow, filthy street, dodging the dregs of society, all of whom now lived in the basic housing slums. I soon spotted a public tube station and paid the five credit fee to get inside. Inside there was a higher class of scum, and I was able to find the map of the tube system. I found the closest stop to the address I wanted and soon was riding through the system packed shoulder to shoulder with the glot of humanity in this particular tube car.
F sector turned out to be a lot nicer and a lot quieter than Z sector had been, and I quickly found the address. The units were all much larger here, and the street was nicer. The address I showed up at had a black door with a number pad and a palm scanner next to the latch. There was a note on the door that said "Enter the code, then palm on scanner".
I typed in the code and placed my palm on the scanner and watched as the scanners lights flared from between my fingers. No sooner had the scan finished than the door popped ajar. The door led to a small closet-like area. I stepped in, shutting the outside door, and another door popped open. I opened this one as well and walked into a room of wonder.
Holographic screens lit up from the walls and I saw....myself. Myself dressed as a soldier. As a businessman. As a dancer. As a gardener. I stared in wonder until one of them spoke.
"Hello," the soldier said. "If you are watching this, you've been caught and mindwiped."
"Again," added the businessman.
"We," the gardener said, gesturing to the holograms. "Are the previous versions of you. Our mission is not yet done, so it is important to get you back up to speed."
"We'll start," the dancer interjected. "By restoring as many memories as we can. Sit in the chair," he commanded, pointing at the chair in the corner that looked like a cross between an electric chair and a recliner..... | August 22nd, 2032. I'm still lost. I try and try and nothing. Not one thing. I can't seem to find the answer. If anyone knows... *knew* me, they won't tell me. I simply go by Jon now. Not really sure if it fits, but I had to come up with something. It's impossible to live in this world without an identity, even if that identity is entirely fictional. I've almost come to peace with the feeling... Maybe I'm asking the wrong questions.
---
May 19th, 2033. Still nothing. Not a damn thing. I've given up on trying. There's no end to it. Hell, there isn't much of a beginning. I found a job, they seemed reluctant at first, yet here I am. Whoever I used to be, I hope I wasn't this boring...
---
December 26th, 2033. I did it. I finally figured it out. Heart stopped the second it happened. It flooded me with fond memories. I felt alive for the first time. I felt... in control. I wasn't lost anymore. It was over. My search. It was done, it took years, but it's all been worth it. The moment I put the blade in his stomach, it ended... you never forget that feeling. | 2017-04-14T00:09:50 | 2017-04-13T23:46:39 | 73 | 10 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | Whenever our people find new life in the galaxy, by tradition, we show them our true forms. Every member of our species is taught this. It is perhaps our strongest weapon, such that those who oppose us must use machines without fear or mind to fight our military might. This combined with our military has served our people for millennia, either breaking new civilizations's minds such that the population dies out from psychotic breaks, or forcing them into instinctive terror as their minds struggle with even comprehending our appearances.
This world would have been no different. It's dominant species was weak looking by galactic standards. Nearly any of our billions of slave cast species would be able to conquer this new species. To start, this new discovery hadn't even learned how to leave their own solar system yet.
And yet, when we sent our delegates, our representatives to each of their divided leaders, and they revealed their true forms, we were not met with fear or insanity. Oh, there were some who reacted as expected, but it was not on a species scale, or even societal.
But by and large, this species... Their reaction to us was amusement, calling us strange names like Pennywise, Galactus, Gozira, King Kidora or Cthulu, to name a few. More researh would have been done in regard to these terms and their meaning.
But my Supreme Leaders, though they reacted at first in amusement, when they comprehended why our empire's representatives were there, of what we were telling them, their attitude did change. But while there were perhaps more fear than at first, most of it was hostility.
They are a mad species, is perhaps the best way I can summarize them. The world over, they killed or captured every one of our empire's representatives. Those captured have been interrogated and tortured, many to death, and even the dead were not left alone, each being butchered open as this new species sought to learn of us, of our weaknesses with an alarming level of pragmatic and brutal efficiency.
I sent down ships to regain control while harvesting their media streams to learn about this species, and all I learned is we are not their first visitors. We are not their first horrors, and we are not their worst nightmares. They have found ways to kill the bioweapons of the Engineers, and know the best ways to face the tribesmen of the Hunters. They know the monsters that can be found throughout the galaxy and beyond, and yet they do not fear us, have not yet left their system.
That is far from the worst, my Supreme Leaders.
This mad species destroyed every ship I had ordered down. Even the five battleships, taken out by the insanity we know as splitting an atom. Even now, they are dissecting those wrecks just as they dissected our empire's representatives.
But I was wrong. *We* were wrong.
We *are* their first visitors. They have never encountered another planet's species. They have not built up weapons of devastation to defend against invaders.
All those records we spent hours going over that involved another species, invaders, were fake. Meant for entertainment, fabricated without any true knowledge of actual existence. They concieved the idea of threats and how to kill them, for fun.
No, every weapon that has been used against us, even the Atomic Terror... They built it all for one purpose, to fight against the most dangerous thing they knew: each other. The leaders divided would at times declare war between themselves, sometimes uniting to have wars that spanned their whole world, twice in fact for this scale of conflict. Everything has been for killing their own kind as the biggest threat.
And we just gave them a new target that they have now unified against.
My Supreme Leaders, on discovering the Planet Dirt, third satellite of their star, labeled Star, we have welcomed a courtship with death and madness, for unless our forces here can wipe them out now, I have every belief that this mad species will leave their solar system to come hunting for us.
I pray to our Grace, the Eldest Swirl, that this is not my last transmission, but if it is, then I have failed, and the humans are coming for you.
Admiral Xzijnoa, of the Imperial Expansion Navy's third fleet, signing off.
Edit 1: First ever silver, thank you! (1.2) And now first gold too! Wow!
Edit 2: I wasn't even aware there was a Platinum award, but someone out there thought this was good enough for one; I'm kinda blown away with how much attention my submission is getting considering some of the other ones here are excellent as well. | It was, entertaining, to say the least.
The big "Fuck" as we here called it was here for 3 months. 92 days exactly. The sky twisted, clouds cried and mountains burned as it crashed into our now desolate orbit. Like many, I wanted to see what the "Fuck" was. When it arrived, the beast had latched onto the moon. It wasn't too big either, however, it occasionally sent a large tentacle to earth.
We wanted to deal with that tentacle of course, but any large scale attacks would most likely eliminate our moon. Humanity decided to launch a battle of attrition against the beast. We citizens, well we had other plans. "Fuck" became a part of many Lovecraft fans hobbies. Chronicling it, theorizing about it, obsessing over it.
"Fuck" also arguably helped humanity. The powerful energy that had razed our forests had made planting initiatives. We planted trees and created jobs studying it and destroying its tentacles. I even got hired studying it. Wars stopped because we had to deal with "Fuck". All religions were now called bogus, and any religious wars stopped. Only bad thing out of this was no confirmed afterlife. Hell, even it's tentacles were helpful, being high in vitamin D and tasting vaguely like chicken.
After 3 months (91 days to be exact), we knew "Fuck" clearly had an agenda. He was here to destroy us. He was doing *such* a great job too. But then he realized what he did. On the day next day he left, he almost looked completed. Like something was going to happen after he left. Oh well, it doesn't matter to me. It's been 3 days since he left. Apparently, there's a war going on about why "Fuck" left. I wonder what I'll have for dinner tonight? I dunno, I'm all out of tentacle. | 2019-06-11T09:37:21 | 2019-06-11T08:38:53 | 1,501 | 38 |
[WP] You’re a bodiless benign entity with the ability to possess people. You use this ability to travel and experience physicality. Spotting a suitable host, you leap into it. A second later it says “Get Out!” and you find yourself forcibly ejected out of the body. This has never happened before. | Motion in the Lower Three Dimensions was so slow. It always took time. It would take forever, for Oob to get to Barcelona.
So, Oob caught a passing human, who he could see was going there. He would not ride a human who *wasn't* going there. It was very rude, to ride one so far through the Lower Three, if it would not have gone there anyway, and Oob was very polite.
He rode the human through the train station. He rode her towards the boarding platform. Then he rode her onto the train, used her hands to neatly stow her luggage, and parked her in her seat. Along the way, he enjoyed all the wonderful feedback her body provided, from the feeling of her feet in her shoes, to the clever sense of balance that let her walk on just two legs. The first time he rode a human, Oob was sure he was going to make it fall over by accident, but considering how they moved, they were actually remarkably stable.
It was strange, how little the humans themselves appreciated the input from their array of senses, always tuning it out and pushing it away, even though it created such a rich, multifaceted representation of their world. Oob himself loved feeling their senses. If you were going to travel the Lower Three, you simply *had* to travel by human, that was what Oob told all his friends.
Though Oob always enjoyed his rides, the humans seemed incapable of doing so, for the most part. They were always going places, but they seemed to *resent* the journey it took to get there. They would try to shut off their conscious control of themselves, and think about something else, somewhere else, *anything* else, besides where they were, and what they were doing. Fortunately for them, there was Oob, and other beings like him, who needed to get around the Lower Three.
Oob was surprised at first, that the humans never seemed to notice, when they had a rider guiding them around. But it turned out they had a sort of superstition that explained how they got through their days without thinking about what they were doing.
When Oob was riding a human, the *human* thought that it was using some sort of internal "auto-pilot", or "muscle memory", that would take it where it was going. That way, it could use its mind to think about what it was going to do later, or eat later, or see later, or think about the things it saw and heard around it, or what was on its phone, or what it had experienced in the past. It was, of course, a very silly model of reality, but Oob got the impression that humans would find being ridden very distressing if they knew about it, so it was just as well that they deluded themselves.
Oob's human stared vacantly out the window of the train for a while, watching things go by, so Oob could enjoy the scenery. Unfortunately, then she started thinking about how she would like to look at things on her phone. Humans were not as fun to ride, when they were just sitting still in one place and looking at a screen, which generally had only two of the Lower Three Dimensions on it. But it would be impolite to make her keep watching the scenery when she wanted so desperately to look at the little cats in her phone, so Oob dismounted her
He touched her mind with a feeling of gentle affection, to let her know what a good girl she was. The human smiled absently, and sat up a little straighter in her seat, as she pulled out her phone. Humans rarely told *each other* that they were good boys or girls. Oob thought that was sad.
He floated over towards another human, further down the train car, a young male staring out the window, just as Oob preferred. He hopped into the human...and it *bucked* him right back out!
*Get Out!* the human shouted at him, mentally.
Humans couldn't communicate with telepathy! They just made little noises at each other! Oob floated before the strange human, stunned by his bizarre behavior. He saw the human tense up, his eyes wide, as he looked widly around the train car. Of course, the human couldn't *see* Oob. At least Oob didn't think so. But a moment ago he would have been sure the human couldn't sense his presence, or speak telepathically.
Perhaps the human had just been more alert and present than he had first seemed? But no, Oob had accidentally ridden alert humans before. He always realized it, and dismounted quickly. Invariably, the human would just be disoriented for a moment, and then laugh, or shake it's head, and maybe say something like "Sorry, brain fart." or "Lost my train of thought."
Oob tried to touch the human's senses with a soothing feeling, like he'd done to one he'd ridden earlier. He felt bad for upsetting him. But instead of relaxing, the human jerked reflexively, and flailed his limbs.
"What the fffffaaahhhhh!" he cried, incoherently, shivering despite the agreeable temperature on the train, and drawing the attention of other nearby humans.
Oob felt even worse, then. This was starting to look like what happened when rude beings of Oob's people rode humans in ways that disturbed and disoriented them, and made them start rambling about "alien abduction" and "ghosts".
"Sorry, I, um, I thought I...saw a bug." the human said, weakly, to another human that had begun staring at him.
Oob was very disturbed. But he was also curious. The human seemed to be able to communicate with its mind. On the other hand, it was terrified when Oob tried to send it just a gentle emotional impression. It was so *interesting!* Impulsively, Oob decided he would try something he rarely did, and he began to search the train. | 'Stay away from this body. Forever. And please, check the body before entering.' His voice was sardonic, but I can tell that this is no normal being. This was a malevolent entity.
 
 
 
 
'Who are you? A ghoul? A Nephilim? A shapeshifter?' He answered my question by lifting my entity in the air.
 
 
 
 
'A Nephilim would be much less forgiving than I am. But did you seriously not think "demon", before 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 and 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭?!' That's right, I had just made a demon angry.
 
 
 
 
'Please. I don't know the first thing about paranormal beings. I beg you. Forgive me.' Aaand with that he threw my substanceless body down. It didn't hurt, but it did put fear in me. Then, he pointed his finger at me. For first time in afterlife, it hurt.
 
 
 
 
'Consider this a token of mercy, you pathetic being. Not only have I spared you, but now you can see which bodies are already occupied.' It was a nice gesture, I guess.
 
 
 
 
'Th... Thank you Sir... I mean Lord... I mean, why did you choose this body anyway?' I stammered. He actually sighed. 'I am going to give you a free favour, since you seem very incompetent. I am going to teach you some basics.'
 
 
 
 
'First step: choosing your vessel.' He was now in a full-on teacher mode. 'Your vessel contains a life essence. Any vessel in teens is strong enough to repel you, while any vessel above 60's provides little or no sustenance. Make of that, what you will.'
 
 
 
 
'Next, we have people in 30's. Enough life essence, yet no will to fight or repel us. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 are your targets. Choose wisely.'
 
 
 
 
'I understand.' I said, 'But if children can repel us, why not go after preteens?' I asked.
 
 
 
 
'Spoken like a demon, but too risky.' He(or she) actually grimaced.
 
 
 
 
'Why?' Came my next question.
 
 
 
 
'Too crowded.' Came the answer. | 2022-04-17T01:30:00 | 2022-04-16T22:40:29 | 645 | 81 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue | "Is he a mute" asked Sir Caradon, looking back at the oddly dressed and rather twitchy man riding a mule at the end of their forest caravan. He'd not said a word since he'd joined them, "speaking" only through strange hand-signs.
To be fair, after the Maelstrom shattered Remia, the imperial capitol, several months back it was not uncommon to meet folks who were too traumatized to talk, but he seemed different. Not UNtraumatized, certainly, but certainly not from same trauma.
Amalthea, a young woman who'd joined alongside the silent, twitchy man, shook her head. "No. He speaks, and he speaks true. Not only that, but his magics allow him to comprehend all spoken language. I have never met a more powerful user of magic. It is for that reason that he stays silent, speaking only through hand-sign."
Sir Caradon laughed. "How very odd. It seems more monkish than wizardly, as most wizards can't seem to stop talking about how clever and powerful they are, when they're not chattering to each other in Weirding. No offense meant."
Amalthea laughed. "None taken. Besides, I'm barely a hedge mage, they never taught me Weirding. You need to be a full ranked wizard or of the high nobility before they teach you that. Don't want it getting out into rabble like us, do they?"
Sir Caradon laughed alongside her, and nodded. "Quite. How terrible it would be if we knew what they were saying in full and truth."
Amalthea smiled at him in agreement, but the joy had left her face. She went on. "You know that most wizards must study for years to learn of the subtleties of the Tongue of Magic, yes? To wield and harness it?"
Sir Caradon nodded. "So they've told me. Many times, I'll add."
"And you know that it is possible to summon creatures, to call them and bind them to your will?" asked Amalthea, glancing back at the twitchy man. A raven had landed on his shoulder, and he was smiling at it.
"Such things are -- I did not, but I am not surprised," said Sir Caradon, also glancing back at the twitchy man. "Is that what he did? Did he call up some powerful thing? Does he fear it knows his voice?"
Amalthea shook her head sadly. "No. He was the summoned being. The lord arch-wizard of the academy thought to bind a being of power and might to his will, a creature that did not know our ways but knew the Tongue of Magic like no other could."
"And I guess he got him instead?" asked Sir Caradon, laughing. "Must have been a bad day for the arch-wizard. I suppose he picked up magic after he came here, then, did he?"
"No. The lord arch-wizard got him on purpose. That man, being, is from the distant past. He speaks the Tongue of Magic. It is his native tongue."
Sir Caradon's eyes went wide. "He must be quite potent then."
"Quite," agreed Amalthea.
They rode in silence for a while after that, Amalthea enjoying the landscape, Sir Caradon lost in thought.
"Does he speak no other language? You said he understands all languages," asked Sir Caradon after a time.
Amalthea shook her head again. "When he first came, he cast three spells. His first spell was to understand us. He did not need to learn after that, could not learn, for he simply understood. His next spell meant that we, all of us, understood his speech in turn."
Sir Caradon's jaw dropped. "He just ... that could not have been a simple spell, even *I* know that much of magic."
Amalthea shrugged. "It should not have been, but for him, it was. It also meant that he knew Weirding, and so knew of both the arch-wizards's and the imperial family's plans for him, as they spoke Weirding in front of him when he was brought into the court."
Sir Caradon stared at her, then looked back to the twitchy man. He'd attracted more ravens. He was nearly covered with them, and seemed quite happy.
He turned his attention back to Amalthea. "And the third spell he cast?"
"He says he spoke his mind and told everyone at court that he hoped that they got everything that was coming to them for their actions. He also says that it is why he learned hand-sign, since he claims to enjoy blaspheming and insulting others who deserve it, although he has only been kind so far as I have seen," said Amalthea, smiling faintly.
Sir Caradon laughed uproariously at that. "Who doesn't? Well, church-folk, good, traditional church-folk, I mean, not church-folk like me, probably don't, but most everyone else enjoys a fine tirade every so often. I don't know what's so bad about speaking your mind that would make you want to never speak aloud again, even if he did do it in the midst of the grand imperial court."
"Yes, but your native tongue is not the Tongue of Magic, or what do you think caused the Maelstrom?" asked Amalthea.
Sir Caradon looked back at the twitchy man again. The ravens had left, and he seemed sad once more.
"Do you also know his hand-sign?" asked Sir Caradon, looking ahead at the road, lost in thought.
Amalthea sat straighter in her seat. "I taught it to him."
"Perhaps ... perhaps, if you are willing, you could teach me hand-sign? A good man like him would do well to have some friends. More than one friend, I mean," asked Sir Caradon, quieter now.
Amalthea smiled. "I would be happy to."
+++++
Did a different take than the prompt asked for, but this felt like a more interesting angle to me.
If you liked this, check out r/archtech88writes | You'd think that someone who's spoken Lingua Thaumagica their entire life would not have to take a mandatory intro class their first semester at the academy. You'd be wrong.
"It's a prerequisite for your program," the registrar said. "Nothing I can do."
"Can't you get me into a more advanced level, at least?"
"I would, but given your experience with it is conversational, not academic, the recommendation is to take the class to refine your language so as to be sure you're prepared for the intensity of higher-level courses."
Refine my language. What bullshit. I was majoring in linguistics, for god's sake. But hey, I needed the credits, and maybe it would boost my GPA enough to make it onto the dean's list. After all, it would be an easy A, right?
Oh, how the universe seems to enjoy proving me wrong.
My grammar was flawless. I was stringing together complex sentences while my classmates struggled with simple verb tenses. My spells never spontaneously broke down due to incorrect conjugation or fired off too early because of syntax errors. No, the problem was pronunciation, because according to Professor Caeiro, mine was the worst he'd ever heard.
"Cӕsen." Caeiro's lips pulled back into an honest-to-god sneer. "Rhymes with season. This can be used to stop a spell-in-progress. Allow me to demonstrate. Phoebemanus hevenvers."
Obediently, a pulsing ball of light rose from his outstretched palm into the air. Higher and higher it rose. The professor waited until it was mere inches from the ceiling, then barked, "Cӕsen!" The light collapsed in on itself until it was nothing more than a spark, which floated back down to his hand, then vanished.
"Everybody, choose a partner and try it with different spells you know." Before I could even turn to look at my classmates, Caeiro stopped me. "Not you, Enne. Show me how you say it in your... *community*."
*Your world,* he means. *The one you came from, where your language does nothing at all.*
Spine stiffening, I watched him scrunch up his face to inch his glasses back up his nose, then cross his arms and wait. I sighed. "Light spell, or another spell?"
"Preferably the same one, so as better to compare pronunciation."
I nodded, trying not to roll my eyes. If it was comparison he wanted, comparison was what he was going to get. "Phōbeimanos heofanver."
The professor's orb had been perfectly spherical pure white light, drifting about like a will-o-the-wisp through the air. My light was rougher around the edges, more like a fireball. It didn't float so much as rocket up to the ceiling.
"Fuck!" My heart leapt into my throat. "Kaisen!"
My fireball fell back into my hand. It now looked like photos of the surface of the sun, all orange and mottled. It collapsed into itself, leaving nothing behind.
The whole class was staring at me. I looked back to Professor Caeiro, who was now massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation.
"If you absolutely must use profanity, at least use Thaumagic expletives," he said. Then, after a long-suffering sigh, he muttered something about vowel shift and Germanic influence, then: "I owe Dr. Dockray twenty dollars."
"What, did I just disprove your thesis or something?"
He just shook his head.
I knew I shouldn't smirk. I tried not to smirk. I'm pretty sure I was smirking. | 2022-11-19T11:10:08 | 2022-11-19T09:52:06 | 993 | 71 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
Alison did the math. She was 11, and another ten years would get her to 21, a lifetime away. If she won this she'd get to do all the things she really wanted to do, all the things her older sister got to do. At thirteen she might be able to wear makeup out of the house and get her own phone. Maybe she'd get to go to high school, learn to drive.
"Eleven," Alison thought. "I'm just too young to die. I've got a lot of unfinished business."
Death didn't seem as scary as she had originally thought. She thought he looked, quite frankly, like Santa clause and Einstein put together. Beneath wire frame spectacles he blinked clear blue eyes and there were just the right amount of wrinkles along his face. He was crowned with unruly white hair, and wore the same type of blue button up shirt her grandpa wore all the time. When he walked past her, he smelled a bit like campfire smoke and a bit like her mother's garden in bloom. She felt like he was autumn and spring all together.
He broke her thinking with another question. "So, Alison. What do you want to play?"
"Why do you smell like you smell?" She asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You smell like springtime and campfires."
"I travel a lot," Death said. "To places that smell like spring and like campfires."
"I travel, too," Alison said. "We go on vacation in summer sometimes to the beach and sometimes to the mountains. Dad says we are lucky because we can get to both in a few hours."
Death looked at her with half a smile on his face.
"Which one do you like more?" he asked her, curious.
"I like them both equally, I think. Well. Maybe the beach more. I like swimming a lot. My grandparents have a pool in their backyard and in summer my sister Caroline drives us over and we can play in the pool and take naps. Everyone knows you have to sleep after you swim, it just makes you so tired."
"Hmm..." Death nodded.
"You know? I think that I figured out what game I want to play."
"What game?"
"It's my favorite summer swimming game. Under water gymnastics."
"What?"
"Yeah! It's the best game. You get your grandma to judge it since she always is on the side of the pool."
"What?"
"Yep, here are the rules. You can do any gymnastics move under water and then grandma judges it."
"How does she judge it?"
"I'm not sure, only I know sometimes I win some events and sometimes Caroline wins some events but it's always very close."
"What?"
"You said I can pick the game. I pick underwater gymnastics! Since we need it to be fair we can ask your grandma and my grandma to be the judges."
"What?"
"That's the rules!"
"I don't have a grandma."
"Hmmm...do you have a mom?"
"No..."
"A dad?"
"Not really..."
"Then I guess we'll just have to go with just my grandma. Don't worry, she's a very fair judge. Is there any way you can go get her?"
Death pursed his lips, stifling a laugh. In all of his years of the ridiculous games he sometimes had to play with people he'd never been asked to play underwater gymnastics with a grandma for a judge. And he knew that with these stakes and such a partial judge there's no way he'd win...and maybe that's just the way he wanted it.
"Ok kid...you got it...lets go get your grandma..."
| He has it, of course. Heck, I could probably say any random string of words and he'd have the game to match. Infinite monkeys and all that.
MY TURN.
I stare down at the cards in my hand, trying to pay attention despite the sweat soaking my back. They're the exact set we have at home, with little cartoon illustrations on the fronts. And they're worn--exceedingly worn. The cartoon dog on the two of spades has a scratch over its ear. The king of hearts, a bright pink heart with a crown and scepter, is bent in the upper left corner.
Holy sh--
Quickly, I peek across the table. A couple of the cards in his bony hands have bright purple marker scribbled across the backs. One is creased in the middle. Another has been repaired with Hello Kitty tape.
I clench my jaw shut before my mouth can drop open, trying to keep my breathing calm and even. Whether this is coincidence or luck or just the sheer inexplicable mechanisms of the universe, I don't care. My little girl never figured out how I was so good at the game. Hell if I'm going to give it up now, not when it matters more than anything else in the world.
When I get back I'm going to let her win the next hundred games in a row.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SIXES?
I always did have a good poker face.
"Go fish." | 2018-03-07T07:23:52 | 2018-03-07T06:37:49 | 453 | 324 |
[WP] Following death, you woke up in a classroom, to take the R.A.T.s (Reincarnation Aptitude Tests). After a short period in the Afterlife, you get your scores... which were perfect, despite just guessing. You get to be reincarnated as a god, one of the first in a couple of millennia. | "So, I'm a god now..." I quietly spoke, a finger and thumb to my chin as I thought about all the things I could do. I mean, I had no attachment to my world anymore. I was dead for crying out loud. But now, I'm a god and to be perfectly honest I didn't really know how to feel. From what I had gathered, my family had reincarnated long before I finally kicked the bucket. My mother was a seeing eye dog, gentle and caring but still stern when she needed to be. My father had become a Chimpanzee of all things. I honestly have no idea why that happened.
I remember when it happened, when I had finished the test and was asked to be seated in another room with other people. One of them was a long time friend I hadn't seen in years. He apparently died due to a motorcycle accident. But, before we could exchange words, he was called in and then after another few minutes he stepped out. He was now a woman, their now dark brown skin in complete contrast with their previous paleness. They flashed me a smile before taking their leave. It was only after she left, my name was called and I entered.
What I didn't expect however was a room, completely white with a single long table that seemed to stretch for miles. On this table were many other people of all different shapes and sizes. When they spotted me, they began to cheer, and even though I had never met these people in my life. I knew who they were. There on the right side of the table was Hades, who stretched out his arm and shook my shaking hand with vigor, my other hand soon snatched in another shake by who I later found out was Thor.
"Yah made it, lad!" The Norse god of thunder predictably shouted at the top of his lungs before handing me a cup of mead. "We didn't think another human would get this far for another thousand years. But yah proved us wrong you glorious bastard!"
"I-I... What?!" I began to speak, not sure what to say. Why was I in front of all these deities? I didn't think I deserved to be there. "What do you mean I made it?"
It was then Hades spoke up. "You're one of us now, friend. Your R.A.T score was absolutely perfect. We thought we'd all come down to help celebrate your new divinity."
I let out a loud gasp. "Divinity? I'm a god?!" I let out. My face was a mix between shock, excitement and fear, something the god of the underworld chuckled at. "I really don't think this is right. I guessed on every one of those questions."
"Well," A feminine voice came up, revealing herself to be Ishtar. "The scores speak for themselves. If you wish, you can look over your answers. But I assure you. You passed fair and square. Not stop being such a baby and drink with us\~!"
It was when she finished, I was forced into sitting on my own personal throne, like everyone else. I was handed more cups, mugs and horns of alcohol. I looked up, and saw more faces. Zeus and Odin were arm wrestling. Aphrodite was sitting on the lap of a very nervous looking Jesus, teasingly twirling his beard with a finger. Hera was dancing with Loki, and even Satan was there for some reason that I was not aware of, already getting drunk off his mind while singing loudly with Thoth.
To make a long story short. I got fucking hammered. I was sure if I had drank that much while alive my liver would have exploded. But, I wasn't alive. I was more than alive. I was a god. I sat back in my throne, gazing into the empty whiteness of the surrounding area. I looked over to my new brothers and sisters, many of which had already passed out due to the excessive partying. Hades, having managed to keep himself conscious throughout all of this turned to me, and gave me a pat on the back.
"So. Do you think you know what you're gonna do first?" He asked, cocking a brow as he drank another horn of prehistoric wine. "You've got a whole universe to play with you know."
There I was again, with my finger and thumb rubbing my chin in thought. "... So I'm a god now," I spoke softly. I had finally come to this realization; that this whole thing wasn't a weird fever dream. I looked to Hades, and could see the genuine friendliness in his eyes, in all of their eyes. I soon smiled.
"Well, first thing's first. I gotta create a world to inhabit. Buuuuut, after a few more rounds." | “Like a major portion of my life was based around people in shitty situations not being at fault. And animals! So what, species are going extinct because they were all assholes in a previous life? If a baby has shitty abusive parents who bang it around, they deserve it?
“Oh yeah. That baby totally deserved that. That’s good, right? A nice and just world.”
“I can’t even get my head around this at all. I just want to lie down on the floor and make undignified noises.”
“Look at it this way, maybe that baby learned something in that life that could help them do better on their RATs next time around, you know?”
“This first question is calculus.”
“The calculus section gets a lot of people, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Can I register a complaint somewhere? Like is there a…form? Survey?”
“Nope! This is just how it is these days. Don’t worry, this is much more fair than the ol’ scales, believe me.”
“So it *does* change?”
“Yep, that’s god territory. But we haven’t had anyone score god tier for a while, and the last ones bumped themselves back down a ladder a bit ago, so there’s nowhere to send a complaint. Maybe by your next time around, though! Always gotta have some hope, right?”
“I’m still kind of thinking about the lying on the floor thing.”
“It’s timed.”
“I *hate* you.”
“C’mon dude, I’m just the proctor.”
“Sorry.”
“Eh, I get it a lot. You really should probably get going on that, though. And who knows! If you do well enough you could change up the system yourself.”
“I failed calculus. Twice. I don’t even want to look at this stupid thing.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s all multiple choice! Just guess if you don’t know the answer, that’s what I always tell people. It’s a quarter-point off to leave something blank, so you really don’t want to turn in a blank sheet. Not a fun time."
"*Nng.*"
"Ha ha, yeah. Have a nice life, whatever you get!" | 2019-07-22T12:48:59 | 2019-07-22T11:12:24 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Earth is sold on the Galactic Black Market. The Buyer is woefully underprepared to handle how defiant Humanity is | "Go ahead. You won't be the first batch of romantics to bankrupt yourself trying."
The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'll take your money, gladly," the broker said. "But did you really think you were the first people to have this idea?"
"The Terran Reform and Rehabilitation Society is more than prepared to make all investments necessary-"
"Cut the corporate talk," he said. "I can't stand that type of shit. I'm just saying, don't come back to me looking for your money back when this doesn't pan out. No refunds." He uncorked a bottle of some foul-smelling spirit, swallowing a bubble as it floated out.
"Once we have the homeworld of humanity in our possession, we certainly don't intend to give it up."
"Nobody does. You ever wonder *why* it's up for sale in the first place? Why it's in the hands of someone like me, and why I'm selling it for a tenth of its mineral value?"
"Because humanity has forgotten its roots, and turned its back on the world that gave it life."
"Not all of it," the broker said. "You seem to forget the place isn't quite abandoned. Not yet."
"Yes, yes, we're aware that there's a few thousand aborigines left in the northern regions. We will respect their rights at every step of-"
"This is a materials fence. You think *I* give a shit about their rights? The only reason I haven't blasted the surface yet and sold off a mining contract is because *they* make that very hard to do."
"And thank God for it."
"You don't seem to understand," he said. "Those people are still there for a reason. When the Martian charters opened up, they didn't leave. When we started jumping systems, they didn't leave. When the oceans turned to poison and the air got choked with carbon, they didn't leave. There are precisely two kinds of life that exist on Earth: a few thousand things that used to be human, and certain species of extremophilic bacteria that they eat. That's it. Matter of fact, a baseline human can't even live on Earth anymore. Too hot, too much gravity. The Earth people's bones are hard as rocks, and they're all tiny, like five or six feet tall. Anybody normal even tried to walk on Earth, they'd probably break their legs just walking off the ship."
"We anticipate harsh conditions," said the ambassador. "Our terraforming efforts will be gradual, and we'll make provisions for our settlers to venture to the surface safely."
"Your terraforming efforts? I hope you realize that every terraforming effort anyone's tried in the past couple centuries has been blasted out of the sky. Literally. Keep in mind that these people have hung on to all the materiel that the old Earth empires left behind, all those nukes and lasers, and they know how to use 'em. They may be crazy, but they're not stupid."
"Why do you say they're crazy?"
"Because they *like* it there," said the broker. "They don't want terraformation; they don't want you to come in and save them. A thousand human worlds you can choose from, and these people have hung on to the worst one there is. And even if I don't care about them, I respect that," he said, "a hell of a lot more than I respect you. How do you think they'd feel if some black-eyed, stringbean-thin interstellars like us came in and started telling them what's best?"
"They were the stewards of Earth," growled the ambassador, "and they let it fall to ruin. How do you expect them to know what's best?"
"And for all your shit about respecting their rights," chuckled the broker. "The world's yours; do whatever. Blast them off, throw them in cells, whatever. Make Earth into whatever arbitrary form you think it ought to be. But for fuck's sake, drop the hero act. Stop pretending. I'd rather you just go in and nuke the place, start strip-mining the crust for silicon."
"And why's that?"
"Because at least then, you'd be being honest about what you *really* want," said the broker. He finished off the bottle with a gulp. "I'm fine with a bastard, as long as they know that they're a bastard. But I can't stand a hypocrite." | Jason watched as an alien ship landed just inches from his brand new car. The ship’s hatch opened to reveal a stout man with a beard to his toes. They stared at each other for a few awfully long minutes before Jason asked, “Who are you, and why is your entire ship neon freaking green!?” That did nothing to distract the man from this unnatural staring contest. Unluckily for him, Jason won 5 medals in a row for being the best at staring contests and wasn’t afraid to go all night. But, this wasn’t SCP-173 and if Jason blinked all that would happen was more staring.
Jason was contemplating calling 911 when his best friend jumped on top of the man with no remorse for the man’s eyeballs. “Get off me you pesky humans! I bought this planet and you shall listen to me!” He shouted, clearly agitated. All Jason and his friend could do was laugh at this man, owning Earth!? Who does he think he is. First a new coronavirus and now aliens thinking they could storm our planet and take control?!
Unsurprisingly the police showed up and joined in on the now 14-way staring contest. It was getting heated, everyone was about to blink, but none succumbed to the bliss of non-dry eyeballs. Finally the man blinked and that seemed to make the police think it was arresting time. The swarmed in on the man and handcuffed him in 11 different places because even police officers want credit for winning staring contests. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MY SERVANTS. I BOUGHT YOU! YOU’RE MINE” he shouted as he was shoved into a police car. Jason just stared and wondered. What other fantasies could life bring? He may have been hyped to see more aliens tomorrow but darkness was a threat. And so were viruses. | 2020-03-24T15:29:13 | 2020-03-24T09:04:38 | 621 | 80 |
[WP] The world's most successful CEO doesn't actually know what he's doing. When asked for orders, he just makes up ambiguous adages like, "a call for help is a call for bells," or "do in the morning what a morning dew," and lets them figure out what it's supposed to mean. It's been working so far. | \[EU\]
“Have we looked at the KPOs of the core team? Is it giving a good ROI? Should everyone complete a RACI in the INF team?”
Dear God. Help me.
“Mm,” I say. “We should lean on those teams and back off. The main push for OMR should be during the final quarter.”
Everyone is nodding approvingly. Apparently what I said makes sense.
I don’t even know if we have an OMR team. Or what that stands for. Damn acronyms.
“What about dev?” I ask.
They all look to each other in bemusement.
I had looked up that shorthand – dev. Sounds like tech stuff. Digital stuff always has them sweating and me looking good.
“Uh,” says one of the suits, who I think (maybe) is a Chief Digital Stuff Officer. Chief Information Technology Officer? Cool Tech Officer? “Dev is overseas and working about 30 hours per month. Should I increase their hours? What is it that you’re intending?”
“It’s time to innovate,” I say vaguely, folding my fingers. “Get the teams together to find opportunities for dev.”
There’s chatter, excitement, twinkles in eyes. Everyone wants to be the one to impress the boss. Project ideas are percolating in their heads. I don't need Clark's abilities to see that.
“Budget?” asks the Chief Fixes-My-Mobile-Phone-When-I-Ask Officer.
“Does a 14% raise fit our numbers?” I ask, fixated on 14 because that's the number of times I've pulled a muscle this month.
Everyone is gasping.
“Mm. Maybe we should start at 10%? What are your thoughts?”
The Chief Technically-a-Libra Officer pushes his 70s glasses up his nose. “I think a conservative 10% increase would be a wise course. We might need to do a layoff.”
Oh, God. Oh, no. Why is it always letting employees go with these people? “Why don’t you give me three different plans and get it on my desk by Monday?”
He nods.
Great. That’s always my default. Ask for a plan. Make them do the work. And then just pick one that they're the most confident it.
“And for innovation, we should ... ” I begin.
Lucius pops out of the elevator as though he’d been listening this whole time. “Mr. Wayne. You’re needed in R&D twenty minutes ago.”
“Sounds like I'm out of time,” I say, jumping out of my chair and into the elevator. “Thank you all your work and input.”
“Bruce,” says the Chief Techno-Babble Officer. “Can I get the plans to you by Tuesday, because of the holiday?”
I hiss through my teeth as though extremely inconvenienced. I’m a great bluffer. “Wednesday at the latest.” I throw on sunglasses. “5pm.”
“Can we do 9 am?”
“No.”
Lucius thumbs the elevator button. “Mr. Wayne prefers late meetings.”
As the elevator doors close, I let out a sigh. “When are they going to figure out that I have no idea what I’m talking about?” I stare at my own exhausted reflection. "I feel like the bad guy here."
“Never,” says Lucius. “Rich guys fail upward. And you're not a bad guy, Bruce. Let them handle the company while you're saving the city. Now let's check out the new batsuit model.”
I smirk at myself and straighten my tie. | “And you know what they say if you have a *second* broken chair…” The legendary Steve Midas leaned over the lectern as he held a hand behind his ear.
Eager to accept his invitation, the audience shouted in perfect unison, “*Get rid of the first!*”
The crowd began a self-congratulatory round of applause. They grinned and chuckled together as they clapped, like proud members of an inside joke. The man himself Steve Midas joined in too, smiling and applauding the catchphrase he’d first said over fifteen years ago.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the stage, I forced a smile and raised my own arms. I offered up three polite claps, then I returned my hands to the sides of my own lectern and waited for my turn to speak.
--
I'm practicing sentence flow 😓 Feedback welcome
Edit: And to the person who wrote the other story here but deleted it, thank you for sharing your work | 2022-04-09T16:27:55 | 2022-04-09T15:29:00 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] Your parents used to say "As long as you are remembered, you will never die." The good news is you were happy to remember that when you changed the course of human history and everyone knows your name. The bad news is that was about 300 years ago and you'd really quite like to die now. | My left kidney was the first to go. There was no pain, which was a blessing, I guess. My neighbour Tom had a heart attack a decade ago and he's still suffering from that chest pain after all these years. Oh no, look at me remembering about Tom again. I hope he get to die one day.
You see the flaw in the system, too, don't you? "As long as you're remembered, you'll never die." It sounded so fucking awesome. Well, for a while, it was. That is, until people started to live up to 120 years old then, for the first time, someone finally realized the problem. Nobody ever mentioned you'd never stopped getting older, and since most people had a family or extended family or friends or a fucking student loan, people just stopped dying. The group of scientist who cooked up the system had a huge conference that was literally broadcasted live all over the world. I was in high school back then, and the school had everyone in the gym watching the news together. I remember watching them crying and apologizing on TV, and for a while I wasn't sure what's worse: the situation we were in, or watching a whole bunch of supposedly really brilliant people, so old they could barely talk or sit upright or put on their own diapers, crying on TV.
I'm very thankful for the medical advancement in geriatric care and life support system in the past 200 years, otherwise I'd be in far worse shape then those old bag of bones on TV all those years ago. Ever since then, almost all the money in medical research had been pouring into sustaining old people. It was expected, of course, since it was the most profitable medical goldmine. Nobody cared about cancer research anymore, since cancer just stopped killing people. Bone metastasis would still hurt like a bitch and there were drugs that would help, but we could no longer die from it. Oh, the drugs. I personally was on 27 medication on a daily basis, not to mention the dialysis app that I had to run every 3 days. Like I said, my left kidney was the first to go. By the time I figured there might be something wrong with me and went to the doctor, my legs had already swollen up like that one time I fell asleep in the bath after a couple glasses of wine. The only doctor in our town was 186 or something and looked like he'd break his hip just by getting up from his chair. He asked me to plug myself to his office diagnostic computer, and the it began to flash red as soon as I connected.
"Well looks like your kidneys are failing, son."
"But... I'm only 79!"
I was put on dialysis a week later. At first, it was a portable thingy that looked like one of the old "laptops" in period dramas. About a century ago someone finally developed an app that would run in our implant. By then I was already world famous for solving the crisis by being, as Fox news called me, the butcher of human race.
I didn't blame Fox news. They had their fundamental Christian audience to cater for, and I was the person who finally figured out a way to make people forget about someone, effectively euthanizing the said person. It was ingenious, if I might say so myself. Human memory was like a highway; all I had to do was coming up with a pill that effectively caused a couple major car accidents near the exit that lead to someone you'd want to forget. Did that make sense to you? No? It's alright, at least you get to die, and you simply just have to gather all your known families and friends to take my pill. As long as you paid your student loan in full, that is. Those motherfuckers will never stop reviewing your file until you pay them back.
Not me though. I'm the butcher of the motherfucking human race. People will never stop remembering about me. For the past century Fox news had been including me in their news ticker. There was no way to get everyone who watches Fox news to take a pill for me. They had really made it their mission to ensure I stay alive. I heard some churches in Texas had started to include me in their Sunday sermons.
"Remember, remember, Bob the butcher. May God help him."
Yeah, fuck you, too. | It has been a long since time since anyone has remember who I am, sure my name had been wrapped in immortality just like me, little children learn of my deeds all through school their memories of me preserving my life, but over 300years have past and to the nursing staff I'm just old Mr Jones.
Strangely enough I can not remember what I did, whether it was good or bad, how, or when, the dementia took that all away and all I am left with is the why, I wanted to be immortal.
Suzie has been very kind to me since started working at the home, although faces came and went, she is the only one I remember and look forward to. Suzie is patient in feeding and bathing me and cares enough to spend the extra time to make me feel like a human still.
I'd long since lost my ability to communicate but I hoped Suzie knew how much I appreciated her, my favourite past time would be when she reads to me, and I'm sure she sees my eye light up everytime she'd open a book.
Reading Suzie's lips had become harder over time, my eye sight was deteriorating as much as my hearing. "Living this long's not as wonderful as people think." Suzie read, "I mean, you get the same amount of youth as everyone else, but a great big extra helping of being very old and deaf and creaky"
I only wish I could laugh, I guess Sir Terry Pratchett knew a lot more than I did in my youth, all I wanted was immorality, and now all I want is eternal rest.
Well at least I have Suzie or at least I will for a little while. | 2018-02-08T05:44:57 | 2018-02-08T05:35:10 | 81 | 14 |
[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink. | “Cassy, it’s time for bed!”
“Ok Daddy, I just have to pick up!”
Crashing and thumping proceeded to radiate up the stairs, soon followed by Cassy colliding up the stairs.
“Well that was fast. How’d you manage it? You had quite a mess down there.”
“Oh Daddy,” she smiled like the answer was obvious. “Clyde and Clara helped me. They’re great picker-uppers.”
Ah, the imaginary friends, of course. “Well, if they keep that up, I may just have to hire them on to keep this place clean,” I laughed. “Now, do you think they could help you brush your teeth and get you pajamas on?”
“Yeah, ok Daddy,” she squealed, continuing her flight up the stairs.
It was funny, I felt like a breeze brushed past me as she did. Probably just left a window open downstairs.
…
Within minutes, Cassy was tucked in tight and I was about to turn off the lights. “Goodni…”
“Daddy, can Clyde and Clara sleep in my room?”
She seemed tense when she blurted it out, but she was probably worried she wouldn’t get a chance. “Sure sweetheart, but I expect them to help with the rent. Are they ok with that?”
Turned her head as if listening, then replied, “They say that they can accept those terms.”
Wow, so businesslike tonight. “Alright then I don’t see why not. Goodnight honey,” I say as I lean and give her forehead a kiss.
“Daddy, you forgot to say goodnight to Clyde and Clara.”
“Oh, how silly of me. Goodnight Clyde. Goodnight Clara.”
It was strange, because as I was stepping out and closing her door, I thought I heard someone whisper a goodnight back.
…
*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*
Groggily slapping the clock, I sit up and spread out my hands across the bed. My hand bumps something cold and wet.
With a shock, I recoil and tumble out of bed. “What the hell!”
Sitting on the sheets, near the edge of the bed, was a severed human hand. It seemed fairly fresh, though there wasn’t much blood. Around the wrist lay a Rolex, and gripped tightly in the palm was a roll of cash.
“What the hell,” I repeated in shock. How the hell did it get there?
“Daddy?!?” Shit, my repeated outbursts and the crash must have woke her up.
“Cassy, sweetheart, we need to go now.”
Hastily throwing on some clothes, I wander out to the hall, finding her standing there rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Where are we going Daddy?”
“Um,” and an idea dawned on me, “I need to drop you off with your mother. It’s her turn this week, remember? I need you to pack your bag and get dressed ok? I’ll get you breakfast at the drive through, your pick.
At that she smiled,”Ok Daddy. I want pancakes!”
“Then that’s what we’ll get, but I need you to go get ready ok? Hurry sweetheart.”
Whipping back into my room and shutting the door, all I could do was stare at the arm.
“What am I going to do?” I slid down, back to the door. “What am I going to do?”
“Oh, Daddy?”
“Yeah, Sweetheart?”
“Clyde said to say he hoped he was able to cover this week’s rent. He also said he could get more if he needed to. Is that ok Daddy?”
“What are you talking about Sweetheart?”
“The rent, Daddy. You said Clyde and Clara had to pay rent. He said he dropped it off in the night. He says he hopes it’s enough.”
My eyes wander back to the arm. Stumbling to my feet, I wander over to it. The watch looks brand new, minus the dried blood of course, and the wad of bills looked impressive.
I turn my gaze to the door. How, how could this be happening? What has my daughter been talking to?
“Nothing of consequence,” a voice whispered in my ear. I thought I heard a laugh, followed by a woman’s giggle. | I gasped. A Rolex? Cash? Why the hell was that there? Was my daughter stealing things from the neighbor? Probably not. This was a poor suburb, with one-story houses and lots of crime. Then how did this get here?
"Emily!" I called. My daughter ran to me quickly.
"What?"
"Why is this here?"
She took a glance at the watch and told me, "You said my friends could stay if they helped with the rent. So they did!"
"I- what? Your friends are.. real?" I couldn't believe it. Could they actually be real?
"Yeah! Of course they are!" Her sweet and innocent face smiled at me.
"Er- what are their names?"
"I already told you! Richie and Amy are my friends! They come here every day after school!" Emily wasn't smiling anymore. She now had a frown on her face.
I tried to recall recent memories of Emily coming home from school. It wasn't a success. *Maybe I'm a bad mother,* I thought.
"Are they from your school?" I asked.
"No," Emily replied. That wasn't the answer I was expecting.
"Huh? Then where are they from? How old are they?" I was just plain confused now. My mind was full of questions. *Wait, the bus! I've gotta feed her breakfast really quick,* I thought, right as Emily answered my questions.
"I don't know. I just met them on the street. They were really nice and gave me candy. Then they started going to our house, and playing with me and my toys. Sometimes, they would take them. They haven't given my toys back yet. Also, I dunno know how old they are, but they look like grown-ups." I stared at her in disbelief. | 2019-10-06T14:24:01 | 2019-10-06T12:33:22 | 1,268 | 27 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | "Why do you keep looking over your shoulder like that?" Jaya turned and looked in the direction his friend had been glancing, but saw nothing but the flat armor of his ship, the *Sunrise.*
Elvoss looked sheepish for a moment. "It's nothing. Just... your ship makes me nervous, okay? I want to keep an eye on that thing. What if someone walked off with it?"
"Walked off with a spaceship." Jaya gave his friend a flat look. "Just stroll into the busiest port in the system and steal a freighter."
"Or a part of it. A fuel rod or something." Elvoss continued, when his friend still failed to react. The crystals around his neck flickered unsteadily, a common reaction when a magic-user was startled or nervous.
"Look, I know it's not reasonable, but it gives me the willies to see that sort of power just *sitting* there. You humans grew up with that sort of thing, but anyone else in the galaxy..."
"Other people didn't grow up with the concept of parking lots?"
"Other people didn't grow up with the idea of *masterless power.* Look, let me give you a Magic 101 lesson."
Elvoss reached into his tunic and pulled out an amulet, giving it a pulse of energy as he did so. A ghostly image appeared in front of him, resembling a bird spreading its wings.
"That's your skiff, right? *Skydancer?*
"Yes. And believe it or not, this is the only part it needs to work. With enough mana I could take off and fly from a standing start."
Jaya tilted his head curiously. "So, what's that big brass number in your hangar, then?"
"Material components. I *could* conjure the entire skiff from thin air, but the power cost would be off the charts."
Elvoss held the amulet and concentrated, the crystals studded across his body blazing with light. A pointed triangle of light, resembling the nose cone of his craft, appeared in front of him. Then it faded away, and the elf sighed with relief.
"The *Skydancer* is entirely my own power. It's a spell I created in my mind, and all the amulets and crystals and brass wings are just a scaffolding for that spell. Nobody else can fly her, unless they copy my spell exactly, and that doesn't happen. Every mage has their own style."
Elvoss pointed at the sunburst symbol on the ship parked behind them. "*That*, on the other hand, is a masterless machine. Anybody can walk in, turn it on, and fly away. A toddler could do it, if they managed to pull the right levers."
The alien clapped his hands together. "That's Magic 101. Magic is personal. Science is something that anyone can use."
Jaya smiled. "Makes me proud of what my species can do."
"Yeah, well, it *terrifies* anyone else. If a magician has a dangerous spell, you just have to keep an eye on one person. But if a scientist is causing trouble, *anyone* can do what they do. What are you supposed to do against that? Your species has put a quantum reactor in every port, just waiting for someone who's clever enough to steal it."
"Well, we humans know about security too. My ship is locked up tighter than a drum. So don't worry about..."
As they watched, the *Sunrise* shuddered as its engine rumbled to life. Running lights lit up along its length.
"... you've gotta be kidding me."
They rose from their seats and started running. "Stop that ship!" | 200 years ago, humanity discovered that the new elemental material, Unductindenium, could be refined into a light warping spacecraft shell, allowing humans to travel faster than initially thought, by transferring energy that was being carried by quantum particles, we could now bend physics to our will.
And at first this was amazing, allowing humans to colonize other planets, make incredible strides in scientific fields, and even encounter alien races!
And now in modern days, humans are on the brink of conquering the entire Milky Way, all because of one simple thing, gold.
You see, gold has a certain property that allows it to absorb and destroy the substance known as elementite, the fuel for any elemental magic. Gold can absorb all elementite within a 100km radius. So humans have just been deploying soldiers on every planet across the Milky Way, setting up gold beckons every 100km apart, pretty much rendering every magic wielding alien useless.
They tried to fight back with magic when we started our attack, and we didn’t know that gold had these property’s. Thank goodness for the bank transfers that occurred, otherwise we never would’ve learned.
As of this moment, all magic in the Milky Way has been absorbed and destroyed. We’ve landed on every planet. And our assault on the andromeda system will begin shortly. | 2019-01-18T12:33:07 | 2019-01-18T10:08:27 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | “D-did you just bite the table?” The hooded figure asked.
“Yeah.” The teenager shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
“Why would you bite the table?” The hooded figure took off his hood exposing his aged face.
“I dunno, just felt like the best option.” The teenage picked at his teeth, apparently apart of the wooden leg was stuck between his teeth.
“I presented you with magical powers if you ate the *food*, and yet you bite the wooden table?” The figure couldn’t get his mind around this. “What possesses you to bite the leg of a table when a banquet is laid out in front of you?”
“I dunno.” The teenager rolled his eyes and shrugged “thought it might give me all the powers combined or something since nobody ever did that before.”
“You thought,” the figure pinched the bridge of his nose. “You thought biting a wooden table would give you omnipotence?”
“Is it really that far fetched?” The teenager picked up a slice of watermelon “this would’ve given me the power of water.”
“Yeah but that makes sense.”
“How?”
“What?”
“How does it make sense that a watermelon slice would give me the power of water!”
“Well cause.” The figure looked around the room, the concepts made sense to him of course, but he was from a long line of the honored hosts that bestowed 16 year olds with powers. “Cause it’s *water*melon”
“*water*melon?” The teenager chuckled
“Well what do you supposed I bestow to you?” The figure through his hands up. “All the powers of a wooden table?
“That’s better than all the powers of a durian I suppose.”
The figure stared blankly at the teenager for several minutes, the teenager stared back at him. The silence was accented by the teenagers growing frustrations.
“Well?” The teenager asked.
“Well what?”
“Are you going to give me my powers now or what?” The teenager sassed
“I don’t even know what to give you.” The figure pulled a book off a table, the book was basically a cheat sheet in case he had forgotten what foods gave what power. “What powers would a table even have?”
“Uhhh.” Even the quick witted teen had to think for a moment. “Super strength? Cause tables hold a lot of weight.”
“You would’ve had to have eaten the spinach for that.”
“How about skin hardening cause the table is hard?”
“That’s what the coconut is for.”
“How about the ability to sprout a tree?”
“Bowl of nuts.” The figure shrugged his shoulders. “Everything you can think of has a food related to it, there is nothing on biting the table.”
“Well can I get a redo then?”
“No..” the figure looked at the teenager like he was a moron, which wasn’t entirely an unsuitable label.
“Why not?”
“Because you bit a table.”
“I want to speak to your manager.”
“What?” The figure looked as confused as he did when the teenager masticated part of the mahogany table.
“When my mom doesn’t get her way with something, she asks for a manager. So I want your supervisor.”
“I don’t have a supervisor, I am my supervisor.”
“Well you should fire yourself, I’m leaving a bad review on your yelp.”
“My what?” | People joked that I’d bitten off more than I could chew, which wasn’t true. I managed to gnaw a little corner off the table with only one cracked tooth, but once that piece was in my mouth I was able to slowly masticate it until the plywood felt soft enough to swallow. But what, oh lord what was I thinking? My alter ego is a mild mannered office worker, circulating documents, sitting in meetings that didn’t even need to be emails, but could have just been everyone exercising basic sense on their own initiative, waiting every day for the clock to swing around. But when the shit hits the fan, what do I do? What is the one thing I can do better than anyone else? Reformat tables. | 2020-03-19T13:33:44 | 2020-03-19T11:53:13 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] Your daughter wakes you up in the middle of the night insisting there's something scary in her room. You go with her to check it out and prove she's just imagining things. After you turn on the light, she doesn't see anything out of the ordinary and calms down. You're frozen with fear. | A massive yellow suited being, not anything humanoid, was staring right at me. It's massive yellow arms and three red glass eyes staring straight at me, motionless. Emily had already crawled back in bed and was somehow fast asleep, not a care in her world. But this creature was very real, and its intentions were unknown to me.
"You can take me, but leave my daughter. She has done nothing wrong."
"We don't want your daughter, sir. Please, come with us; Number 1 is expecting you." a crackling voice sounded from the being's communicator. I was both intrigued and alarmed at this, but I was ready to do anything for my daughter. It opened the closet door behind it and motioned for me to follow as I stepped through the blinding light into a factory style floor, as big as a football field. The ground was cold on my bare feet as I stared around the smooth walls and spacious interior of the room. A large rainbow colored sign in letters above a massive flat screen were visible. Mike and Sully's Monster's Inc.?
"Number 1 is here; standby for entry," one of the yellow suited creatures said. They went rigid, standing at a position of attention much like our armed forces in America do. Suddenly, a massive slug slid through a pair of doors behind the desks that stood on the opposite side of the open staging floor.
"Hello Terrance," said a lazy old voice.
"Hello? I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage here, ma'am. I don't believe we've met before," I responded, shocked that she knew my name.
"We know all about you Mr. Catterbin: you were always an athletic type and loved to help people. You're extremely selfless and throw your life on the line to save others to an extent that it almost seems like you enjoy it. Your work in the military and CIA is most impressive..." the slug began.
"Ok, so you know a very disturbing amount about me." I said, now beginning to relax. They obviously needed me for something, which explains the creature not carrying anything outside my daughter's closet, but these guards around me all holding strange devices and packs.
"My name is Roz; I'm the commander of the CDA, the Child Detection Agency. Our job is to make sure children don't get into our world, because grown ups cannot see us under most circumstances. But a child's mind is so young it has yet to block out the site of Monsters, so they can still see us."
"But then how can I see you?"
"You're so protective of people you love that you unconsciously forced yourself to see what the threat was because you couldn't. You knew your daughter was afraid but you were not convinced because you yourself couldn't see it." Roz said, giving an ugly smile. "Which brings me to the point where you can now see us. Your child is special."
"Of all the children, my child?" I said, rolling my eyes.
"Don't think you're the only one, but you met very special qualifications, most of all self control. We've almost all but given up on the southern portions of your country. Even their children sleep with firearms; I can't imagine what it would have been like scaring kids now."
"So you make kids laugh? That's rather nice if you could do that earlier in the morning." I chuckled a bit.
"You're very intuitive, Mr. Catterbin. We used to power everything off the screams of children, but when you think about it that sounds rather sadistic. Now we enter a child's room and make them laugh, but were now at the problem we've been having." Roz said.
"I already understand." I said quickly. It's obvious; children are not as entertained anymore. Computers, video games, television, phones, the list goes on. They're getting older the younger they get. A ten year old in the 70's would be a five year old today. "But I don't know what I can do. Society in our world is always changing and I have only heard about your world in the stories my wife told me. I never thought any of them were real..."
"They were real, but they will remain stories. However there is hope, because there's always hope: keep raising you child the right way. People will follow and in time your children will learn how to laugh again, just like your daughter," Roz said taking a slimy hand and resting it on my arm. "Also, before you go, there's two gentlemen here that would like to meet you."
"Two? wait, you cannot be talking about..." I began but I stopped myself. A small green ball with legs and arms and a massive center eye was joined by a immense blue wall of fur. They both had ties on, which made me laugh internally but all I could do was smile to prevent myself from breaking down. They were real; all the stories of a whole world populated by Monsters that my wife told me and my daughter. I could not believe what I was seeing but it was all very real and just like how she described it. Rather incredible how much she remembered when she was just 4 years old.
"Uhm....Hi," said Sullivan, coming to stop in front of me and giving a weak wave before putting his massive hands behind his back.
"Hey how's it going," Mike said putting out a hand. I stared at it blankly, then pulled him for a hug. I felt this was the most appropriate spontaneous gesture since my wife was always such a big hugger. Sulivan came over and pulled all of us into a massive hug, lifting me as I lifted Mike off the ground before setting us all down.
"So....how's Boo?" Mike said first, a bit nervous.
"She's the best person anyone could hope for; she tells stories of your world, and I never believed any of them now. Hard to deny the truth now, huh?" I said laughing. We all laughed in unison, with Mike and Sullivan now looking more relieved to hear their friend was doing well.
"Number 1, it's time," said a CDA agent. She nodded at me, and I nodded back, getting one last look at Mike and Sullivan. They waved goodbye as I stepped through the door and was met with the same blinding flash of light as I stepped back into my daughter's room, the door quietly closing behind me. I didn't bother checking to see if lead to their factory floor again, knowing they would have closed the other end. I smiled and kissed my daughter on the forehead as she smiled in her sleep and turned out her room light. It looked like not a minute had passed as I stepped back into my wife's room and slipped back under the covers as she moaned in her sleep slightly.
"Boo?" I said, staring at the ceiling.
"Yes, dear?" she said, tired and grumpy.
"Mike and Sully say hello. Roz says to keep up the good work." She shuffled around and I turned toward her, he eyes staring into mine. She was smiling and her eyes had begun to water as she pulled me into a warm hug, and I knew from that point on our family was going to be perfect. | > [WP] Your daughter wakes you up in the middle of the night insisting there's something scary in her room. You go with her to check it out and prove she's just imagining things. After you turn on the light, she doesn't see anything out of the ordinary and calms down. You're frozen with fear.
"Daddy, I heard the noise again!" Molly exploded into my room during the ink-stained early morning. What time was it, one, two, three? The fog of sleep obscured my thoughts and blurred my vision. Cotton-brained and bleary-eyed, I sat up, fighting the gravity of Jupiter pulling me towards my mattress.
"Come here, baby." I reached out and wrapped her in my arms. Her breath, rapid, warmed my ear, and the tears welling from her eyes began to collect on my beard. I hated the nightmares. Was it ever fair? Not only did they plague me as a child, but they had to come for my kid, too. Before Sarah had passed, we'd gone from doctor to doctor trying to see if there was a treatment, a therapy, a medication, anything, that could keep our daughter from her nightly terrors. Once Molly and I were on our own, I'd resigned myself to living as an agent of damage control instead. And it worked okay, I guess. Who needs sleep, anyway?
As Molly had gotten older, the nightmares had become more and more scarce. However, they seemed to become more severe, although I was never sure if that was because we losing our desensitization, or if Molly's mind was making up for the infrequency somehow. As she trembled in my embrace, I could tell that this episode had been as bad, if not worse, than usual.
"What happened this time?"
"Mommy came back, and Daddy, she was so lonely!"
I could feel my porcelain heart shattering. She had been doing so well, I had thought. She didn't need this. I didn't need this. *We* didn't need this. I pulled back from the hug so I could look into her eyes.
"Molly, honey, Mommy is in heaven now. She doesn't have to come back, she can keep us company from there."
"Mommy doesn't think so."
I ratcheted my hug around her again, holding onto her for dear life, trying to squeeze the unkindness out of life. My own tears formed as I wished that the years would pass us by and that Molly would better understand someday.
I wiped my eyes and poured myself out of the bed, Molly's hand in mine. The time had come to check her room for monsters, ghouls, and ghosts, then send her to sleep. I think that with any other child, I would have simply let her sleep in my bed, but Molly kicked, and rolled, and crawled. Insomnia took a distant second place to Molly's somnambulist martial arts.
Molly lead the way, pulling at my wrist with determination. Gone was the whimpering, replaced with a grim frown that reminded me too much of her mother.
"You have to talk to Mommy."
"Honey, it doesn't work that way."
Still she dragged me down the hall. We got to her bedroom door, the darkness spilling out from a crack. She swung the door open. With a sigh, I flipped the lightswitch.
"Huh. Mommy's not here, Daddy."
My eyes scanned the room. Nope. No ghosts, no mommies here. I grabbed Molly and hoisted her onto the bed, trying not to let the frustration and the lack of sleep show on my face. Grey hair was already starting to creep in at my temples.
"Do you see? Mommy just has to watch from heaven, she doesn't have to come down."
"She came down anyway."
"Honey, please, please, please go to bed. I promise that everything is okay. We can talk in the morning when we eat before school, okay?"
I reached to turn the light on her bedside table off. Right before I heard the switch *click* and the light went out, I caught a glimpse of something that should never have been there. I switched the light back on, but it was gone.
"What's wrong, Daddy?"
"Nothing, baby. Daddy just wanted to double-check for monsters. There aren't any. Good night"
I was a hundred and ten percent certain that we had buried my wife with her wedding ring.
Now, I'm not so sure. | 2015-01-22T08:53:41 | 2015-01-22T08:51:50 | 31 | 20 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | Something is very wrong with me.
Nobody knows what caused this, or even what to call it - this “shift”, or “event”, or “awakening”. I honestly didn’t even realize it had affected me at first. My tattoos are pretty docile - a koi fish on my foot, and an elaborate floral half sleeve. It wasn’t until I saw what was happening with all the others that I decided to see if I had gained any abilities.
It took a while to work up the courage to try it. I sat in the bathtub for what felt like hours, debating with myself over how stupid this seemed. I didn’t even really like swimming, and now I was going to see if I could suddenly breathe underwater?? It was insane. And yet, just the day before, I had seen my best friend take flight and soar above the city. She no longer regretted the ugly butterfly tramp stamp that she got on her 18th birthday. It all seemed so impossible, but these days the impossible is extremely real.
The water was getting cold. My husband knelt next to the tub, ready to help just in case something went wrong. Just in case, for some reason, it hadn’t worked on me. Just in case I was an idiot who was about to drown herself for no reason. This all felt so stupid, but I had to try.
I slipped my head under the water and sat for a moment, briefly enjoying the muffled sound of my own heart in my ears. A sudden calm washed over me and, ignoring all of my instincts, I took a deep breath… and another. And another. And another. It actually worked! I quickly resurfaced and hugged my husband over the side of the bathtub, splashing water onto him. If this was really happening, then what else could I do?
The floral tattoo turned out to be pretty straightforward. I’ve never had much of a green thumb, but now our backyard is the most beautiful it’s ever been.
This could have played out so nicely. Days spent swimming at the lake, and a lush garden year-round. But, like I said, something is very wrong with me.
My husband started feeling sick. Nausea, vomiting, general fatigue. At first we thought maybe it was food poisoning; when it didn’t go away after a day or two, we figured it was a stomach virus. Somehow I didn’t catch it, even though I was stuck at home with him the whole time. After three days he seemed to be getting worse, and I insisted on taking him to the hospital.
The doctors were baffled at first, and I could see the panic in their eyes when they noticed the burns appearing on his skin. They ran a series of tests, and eventually my husband had to be quarantined. Several nurses came in wearing protective suits, and the pieces started clicking together in my head. I overheard one of them say the words that turned my veins to ice:
Radiation sickness.
I had forgotten about them. The tiny dots on my sternum and ribcage, no bigger than freckles, that the doctors and technicians used to help line up the radiation therapy machine for each treatment. An eternal reminder of what my body went through last year, and what I had survived. What was previously a badge of honor was now a terrible curse. The radiation I now emitted was rapidly poisoning the man I loved more than anything. Killing the man who stuck with me when we weren’t sure if I would live or die.
I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew that I had to get far away from everyone. I’m not sure if it was too late for my husband, but if he had any chance at all then he needed to be removed from the source of his sickness.
I love you, babe. Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry. | nothing seemed different for me at first, yes i had a tattoo, got it a long time ago and never really thought about it much.
i wished i had gotten a better one, like wings so i could fly, or dice so i could have luck.
see i thought id get something tribal but not full on Celtic knot nonsense so i got an eye on my right arm. stylized Egyptian, called it my eye of Ra.
looked it up after the powers were handed out, a feminine counterpart to the sun god Ra and a violent force that subdues his enemies.
so i did what i thought i was supposed to do, protect people.
miserable failure at that but i did survive a shooting.
ever realize when you look in a mirror that things are actually reversed? This isnt the eye of Ra, its the Eye of Horus.
symbol of protection, royal power, and good health.
Its been several decades since the powers were given, i am the first person to ever poll at 90% in a presidential election, and after surviving more than a dozen accidents i am recognized as the only true immortal in the world.
https://i.imgur.com/BOMB7ef.png | 2019-05-07T09:22:41 | 2019-05-07T09:15:00 | 60 | 13 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. |
“How bad is it?” Dave, my coworker asked. I normally wore a short sleeve shirt to work to show off my tattoo sleeve with pride as I had only gotten it finished last month. I worked in IT but I worked mostly away from the public so tattoos were okay. Dave and a few others had them as well. However, everything changed with the new weather patterns. Animals acted differently, weird weather changes, and people with tattoos were changed. How? I got a full arm sleeve of a circuit board with wires and metal bones to celebrate five years at my job. I rolled up my shirt sleeve and Dave nearly fell out of his chair.
My entire arm had become a cybernetic arm, complete with wires and working electricity. Dave stared at it and finally asked, “Does it hurt?” I shrugged, “Yes and no. I can’t feel as good as my left hand but it works. I tried to figure out the workings last night. Adjusting the screws and wires doesn’t hurt but a short stings like a mofo.” Dave’s eyes widened, “You tried working it like a computer?” I looked back at him, “Uh yeah Dave, it’s what I do. Plus it’s my right arm, what else was I going to do with my free time.” He shook his head but said, “Fair enough.” I looked at his tattoos of snakes, “How about you? Any change-“ in the blink of an eye his hand whipped and picked up a stapler and placed it on my desk. Blink wasn’t an exaggeration. A long tongue slipped out of his mouth and he quickly yanked an empty coffee mug and spit a black vile substance in it. He placed it on my desk and sat back down. When the hell did he stand up?
I looked into the coffee cup and back at him. His tongue had gone back to normal. “Don’t drink that.” He said stone face. “Huh.” Was all I could get out. Before I could say anymore Ted, a short and lanky guy with a combover interrupted us. “So how you liking your new abilities?” He looked at my arm and scowled, “Oh of course you would get something cool.” He scoffed. I glared back at him, “Still deciding Ted. What happened to you?” He laughed sarcastically, “Oh remember that Chinese tattoo I got? The one symbolizing fire?” Dave nodded, “What did you burn you dick hairs?” He punched the cubicle wall weakly, “I wish!” He held his hand over Dave’s desk palm down and screamed, “Fire!” a large well cooked egg roll popped appeared out of his hand and fell onto Dave’s desk.
We all three stared at the desk and finally I looked at Ted, “I don’t think that means fire.” A female voice from behind him said, “Told you.” Michelle from software, who was born and raised in china before coming to the states, had been telling him for weeks that his tattoo didn’t mean fire. She also warned him not to get drunk and hit on the tattoo artist. She sat there smiling in silence. Ted glared at her but before he could say anything she rolled up sleeve and showed off her Chinese lettering. “This means fire.” She raised a finger and projected a small flame from it. “This means winds.” She pointed the same finger at Ted and sent a gust of wind out. I leaned my chair out and got a better look at her. Something had been off about her hair. Finally, I saw two objects, small and dark, sticking out of her hair. “Michelle, why do you have horns?”
She looked at me but didn’t say anything. She looked around nervously and said, “I have a little devil tattoo.” We all stared at her for a few moments then Dave asked, “When did this happen? We’ve never seen a devil tattoo on you.” She picked at a cubicle wall and avoided eye contact, “It’s not in a place I show off.” She stated quietly. | The men lined up, ready to storm the building. They were a brotherhood. No, they were more than that. They were *one*. As they closed their eyes they became a single entity, able to harness massive unnatural physical powers they could not generate on their own. Suddenly, Tyler opened his eyes. Something had occurred to him.
"Hey Paul, Didn't you have another tattoo? From when we went to Cabo that once?"
Paul shook his head, "No, what? No. Come on. There's not much time, and Stephanie only has seconds of air left."
"No, I swear, it was right after that Dave Matthews show. Remember? You got a...what was it? It was a joke, right? God, we were so drunk."
The commander's face reddened with fury "TYLER. YOU NEED TO FOCUS! THE SHADOW CORPS ARE COMING AND THE MEN WITH WOLF TATTOOS ARE NOT FAR BEHIND. THIS. IS. NOT. THE. TIME. FOR--"
Tyler's eyes lit up, "It was a dickbutt! I remember. Right on your left butt cheek. Remember you smoked a blunt and said you wanted a shitpost by your shithole?" He stopped, thinking, "Does that mean you grew a..."
"No!" Paul said, "Commander, could you put a stop to this?"
"Son," the commander said, lowering his fusion rifle, "I think we're all going to need to see that tattoo." | 2019-05-07T09:13:59 | 2019-05-07T09:02:42 | 65 | 20 |
[WP] In an effort to curb overpopulation in 2152, the UN world government assigns each person a random archenemy on New Year’s day. You either kill them, or they kill you by year end or you both die by default.
| December 30, 2157
I, ah, probably should have picked a time before now to start a journal, but I figured a day before my inevitable death was really as good of a time as any. I was never one much for journals, I just want something to be left of me when society resumes in 2162.
I don’t know how I can win.
Let me start over. It began on New Year’s Eve in 2152, and it was my 24th birthday party. I had never liked my NYE birthday but I always reasoned that everyone around me was celebrating my birthday with me, but it’s not really the point. The bar had the news on all day, in preparation for the drop, so we were in the bar when it was announced that the UN World Government (est. 2055) had some “big changes” for the new year. We didn't know at the time. How could we?
It was like The Purge, we had joked. A free kill, as long as you killed who they told you to? Who wouldn’t take that opportunity?
Very few actually did. Most thought it was a joke.
I did not. I didn’t dare to risk it, so I killed my “archenemy”, a poor, sweet old lady named Miss Kiss. I didn’t really know what to do with the archenemy nonsense, so I did what all other sane people would do.
I knocked on her door and I told her my intentions. She was 97 when I killed her, still rather young, but she took it like a champ. “Better you youngins who come out of this than silly old me,” she had told me. “We need your good fresh blood to rebuild when this nonsense is finished.”
And she was right.
When the first wave, those people who thought it was a joke, died suddenly as the ball dropped, the UN World Government had a special news alert that stated that over the past one hundred years they had snuck in to people’s houses and implanted a chip into their spine, at first with humans, then as a standard “check up” item when children get their vaccines, and then with small machines, robots, when we did away with vaccines, they had been sneaking in kill switches in the off chance they had ever needed to implement their plan to carry out the depopulation. It had been in the works for over a century and only our advancements in technology and food production had saved us, up until it slowed down too much for their likings.
Society had fractured. How could it not, with well over a half of the population dead?
The second year, we took out the UN World Government. They had, naturally, left their names out of the drawing for Archenemy (and anyone who paid them enough to keep their names under), but archenemies teamed up to get them out of the way before turning on each other. They then left eachother alone for the rest of the year. After all, without the people in charge, who can hit the switch on those who didn’t get the job done?
It was automated.
The fourth year, last year, I had dared to get into a relationship with another survivor.
I cannot tell you how many times “I’m a 4 times annual winner of the archenemy drawing” was used as a pickup line that year. We were all 4 year winners, otherwise we wouldn’t have been there.
We took a week apart and got our archenemies out of the way early, and then we spent the rest of the year travelling.
We missed the ball drop, but it didn’t matter, the world would wait for us for a month. Our archenemies weren’t going anywhere.
Once the population got low enough, most everyone congregated in the UN World Government HQ in the Palace of Versaille, an old relic of the old world before the World Government, back when it belonged to France instead of the United States and Korea both, split right down the middle. It was middle ground between the two remaining countries, so it was perfect for the unification (by marriage) of the entire world.
Sorry, I was a history major before they began this nonsense. I’m sure this history will still be here in 5 years, unlike me.
So after my partner and I got back from our trip, we checked the Archboards (all of the previous year’s drawings will be on UKWG.whoikill.gov, future children, so you can see history) only to find that we had been assigned each other.
Each other.
Out of ten thousand people left in the world, we had to be assigned the person who meant the most to us.
It was cruel.
In the following pages, I have written out everything I remember about them, so you may read it at your leisure.
To save me, they committed suicide March 15th.
So today, after much consideration, I join them.
I don’t want to have to see my enemy next year. They could be mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, all this time, all those lives I took and I never once considered that they were people with lives, too.
How many have suffered? Trillions have died.
And I refuse to be a part of this system even one more year. One more life.
Future, pity the living, not the dead. We’re safe.
You’re not.
| “*Damn it*,” he cursed as he clutched at the wound in his side.
“George Falmouth?” A second voice questioned, approaching with steady footsteps.
George didn’t look up to see the man looming over him. He could feel the killer’s eyes boring into his ribcage where the colorful liquid oozed out.
In reality, they were all killers. George had killed eight men and women since his eighteenth birthday. His rival had undoubtedly done the same. Likely more then he, if he were to guess from the accuracy and range of his rival’s shot.
George cursed himself for hunting without the Kevlar vest. It was four days until the New Year, he should have known better. But still, societal convention frowned upon defensive measures like the vests. There was no honor in surviving a killshot.
He lay atop of a thin layer of snow and frozen ground, folding into himself as he tried to ignore the rush of pain and adrenaline. It was not possible, and so he screamed a long string of vulgarities to the snowflakes.
“My wife will be very relieved. She killed her target months ago,” the man chuckled, “so sorry for the poor shot.”
George’s vision was beginning to blur. He leaned into the cold, searching for something within himself. Anything that would allow him to survive.
George felt the knife in his inner jacket pocket as his killer leaned down to face him.
“But it won’t be long now. Do you have your contact tags?” The other man asked.
“*…on the…chain*,” George spit out, hardly able to breathe, but feeling a rush of strength at the touch of the knife.
The man was within range, easily. And, he would be caught off guard. He had made himself a sitting duck.
The frost bit into his cheek as tears trickled joined the crystalline white.
“*Don’t bother*,” George took a gulp of air that burned like fire in his damaged lung. It had no warmth like the comforting smolder of his fireplace at home. It was a frozen, all-consuming fire.
George squeezed the handle of the knife before letting his hand slide out of his pocket. He no longer held the knife.
George knew he was a dead man from the moment he was shot.
No sense in robbing a successful hunter of his victory if he was unable to triumph over it.
“There we are,” George heard the man say as his contact tags were removed from around his neck.
The last thing George heard was the man’s footsteps crunching through the snow yet again, fading into the distance as he watched one final snowflake dance to the ground.
| 2018-01-03T19:19:11 | 2018-01-03T18:37:26 | 85 | 14 |
[WP] You had a late night and slept in late too. As you wake up and look at your phone to check the time, you see an alert: “Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.” It’s 3:15 PM. | The world was empty. The sky was an alien gray.
I called my girlfriend. No answer. I called my mom. No answer.
The window to the outside world seemed normal, peaceful almost. A normal city day, except for one detail: there were no people. Not a soul in sight. The streets were eerily quiet, forlorn. Pigeons cawed and fought over scraps of meals abandoned mid-bite.
Cars and taxi cabs and bicycles were also abandoned; their drivers had left their doors open as they decided to make the rest of the journey on foot.
I checked my phone again, scanned the news for any mention of the missile. Almost every headline said the same thing:
Chicago Destroyed In Nuclear Blast.
My heart stopped beating. My mouth was dry. I must have been dreaming. I was in Chicago; I could see the Sears Tower from my apartment window. If this was correct, then that wouldn't be possible.
Why did they lie? How could anyone orchestrate a lie that big?
I grabbed my winter coat and ran down the stairs out of the apartment, weaving past doors left open by fleeing people. I started to panic; maybe the bomb was still coming. Maybe, somehow, the timing was just off.
The street was cold - older than usual, even for February. If there was a blast somewhere nearby, shouldn't it have been hot?
I couldn't help it. I started running. I sprinted through the street, hoping that I could make it out of the city in time, in case the missile was somehow late.
But after a mile of sweating, panting, feet pounding against the pavement, I came to a dead-end where the lake should have been.
There was no lake.
There was no... anything.
Beyond the shoreline of Chicago was a gray mass of nothingness as far as I could see. I stood on the end of a rocky cliff, as though Chicago was floating, dangling in the void on a chunk of detached bedrock, suspended in a gray fog.
Chicago was nowhere.
We hadn't been destroyed. We'd been teleported somewhere else.
I stared out at the abyss for what felt like a lifetime.
Then, materializing in a flash of fiery, nuclear light, another city materialized into view.
It sat on a chunk of rock hanging in the void. It had onion-shaped towers alongside skyscrapers and brutal, concrete buildings.
It was Moscow.
Another bomb had hit Moscow.
​
\------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey y'all - I'm going to continue this on WattPad because it's much easier than doing it on my r/TomTeller.
But still subscribe to r/TomTeller because I'll post when the story is updated!
Edit:
[Check out Parts 1, 2, and 3 here](https://www.wattpad.com/834978412-cities-in-the-sky-part-1)
[Part 4 on Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/834982942-cities-in-the-sky-part-4)
[Part 5 on Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/835004980-cities-in-the-sky-part-5)
[Part Six is up on Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/835039833-cities-in-the-sky-part-6)
[Part 7 up now!](https://www.wattpad.com/835065378-cities-in-the-sky-part-7)
[Part 8 is up, y'all](https://www.wattpad.com/835079301-cities-in-the-sky-part-8)
[Part 9 is here](https://www.wattpad.com/835092164-cities-in-the-sky-part-9)
[Part Ten - the Pilot](https://wattpad.com/835114599-cities-in-the-sky-part-10-the-pilot)
[Part 11 - Alone in the World](https://www.wattpad.com/835268030-cities-in-the-sky-part-11-alone-in-the-world)
[Part Twelve - A Tale of Two Cities](https://www.wattpad.com/835292079-cities-in-the-sky-part-12-a-tale-of-two-cities)
[Part 13 - Life in Unexpected Places](https://www.wattpad.com/835351415-cities-in-the-sky-part-13-life-in-unexpected)
[Part 14 - We've Got Company](https://www.wattpad.com/835379125-cities-in-the-sky-part-14-we%27ve-got-company)
[Part 15 - Children in the Mist](https://www.wattpad.com/835616836-cities-in-the-sky-part-15-children-in-the-mist)
[Part 16 - Between a Rock and a Hard Place](https://www.wattpad.com/836065421-cities-in-the-sky-part-16-between-a-rock-and-a)
[Part 17 - Water and Power](https://www.wattpad.com/836092393-cities-in-the-sky-part-17-water-and-power)
[\[Cities in the Sky\] Part 18 - Friends in High Places](https://www.wattpad.com/836649551-cities-in-the-sky-part-18-friends-in-high-places)
[\[Cities in the Sky\] Part 19 - Climbing Everest, Upside Down](https://www.wattpad.com/836703442-cities-in-the-sky-part-19-climbing-everest-upside)
[Part 20 - Not in Kansas Anymore](https://www.wattpad.com/836791126-cities-in-the-sky-part-20-not-in-kansas-anymore)
[\[Cities in the Sky\] - Part 21 - Ich Bin ein Berliner](https://www.wattpad.com/837058566-cities-in-the-sky-part-21-ich-bin-ein-berliner)
[\[Cities in the Sky\] - Part 21 - City in the Ashes](https://www.wattpad.com/837071889-cities-in-the-sky-part-22-city-in-the-ashes)
NEW [Part 23 - A Man Walks Into Berlin](https://www.wattpad.com/837109702-cities-in-the-sky-part-23-a-man-walks-into-berlin)
[\[Cities in the Sky\] Part 28 - Ashfall](https://www.wattpad.com/837746584-cities-in-the-sky-part-28-ashfall)
Heads Up: I will not be updating here anymore to save time. Check out r/TomTeller for updates
Like what I'm writing? Consider [buying me a coffee.](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/AQtvZim) Link Fixed!
PSA: The easiest way to keep up with the parts is to sub to r/TomTeller. I'll post the Wattpad link with each new part as I write them.
Update: I'm going to keep working on this today (2/4/20). I'm basically trying to speedrun writing a novel. Might go a little slower bc I do have a job, regrettably.
Thanks for the silver! #throwacointoyourwitcher
Edit: Thanks for the silver part 2, electric boogaloo. #throwacointoyourWriter
Edit:Edit: Also thank you for the silver part three, and thanks for the bless up award, and thanks for the helpful award, and thanks for gold in the comments section! i'm very humbled by people reading this. so everyone still engaged, im doing this for you guys | “Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.”
You looked at the notification again. Was this a joke? A missile impact?
Then, you looked at the time.
It’s 3:15 PM. Three-Fifteen in the afternoon!
No. No. It can't be. This had to be a joke, but what if it was not?
Sometimes, you have to will yourself to get out of bed. This wasn't one of those times. You sat up immediately and looked beside you.
Susan wasn't there. That area of your bed was empty. You've seen that place empty countless times before, as she usually did yoga in the yoga room at 3.
A small part of you knows this isn't real. It can't be, right?
They say if you watch the news too much, you start worrying about everything. News and media thrives on building fear among its audiences, so that they keep watching their shows, anticipating horror stories that will never happen.
That’s the reason why you didn’t watch the news and only depended on Reddit and the NYT app for your daily news. Was there something you missed? Why was there a government notification on your phone about a missile strike?
No. This has to be a joke by your lovely wife who was hiding with a camera somewhere.
"I'm up. You can come in now," You shouted, and the words echoed in the empty room. There was no reply.
It wasn't a prank. It was real. It felt real.
But if there was a missile impact, how was his house left untouched.
And where was Susan?
You looked at your phone to see any notifications that you may have missed. There weren't any notifications but the one thing that you did find sent shivers down your spine.
No cell reception.
You walked out of bed and ran to the yoga room expecting Susan to be there but she wasn't.
You ran to the kitchen, the living room and even checked the closets and showers but Susan wasn't there.
She was...gone? Was everyone else gone? Did you manage to sleep through a missile impact and survive while everyone else died or disappeared?
How can that even be a possibility?
No. You had to think straight. Nothing’s wrong. Everything will be alright.
You walked up to your room and stared outside the window.
It was obvious that something had happened. But a missile impact?
No. Why was his house intact then? Why were the roads, the backyard and other houses intact?
Then you stared closely at every house and the road and realized that every one of them was empty. There seemed to be no one in them. There were no birds in the trees outside, and the silence felt deafening.
"Hello! Anybody there?" You shouted, but the words echoed in the silence.
Usually, you'd see a car drive by and you prayed to see one. Just one. Just one, and you'd run and scream for the car to stop. Just another living soul to make sense of things.
An hour passed.
It was a bright sunny day outside- a day where your street is usually filled with people walking towards the park with little, hopeful children beside them.
But there was nobody there.
Everything looked the same outside. The trees were there, but there weren’t any birds on them or anywhere near them. The park near the edge of your lane was empty.
At 4 pm, a park which is usually filled with kids, was empty. Something was terribly wrong.
There was nobody anywhere. You were all alone. Where was your wife? Should you call 911 and let them know that not just your wife, the entire neighbourhood seems to have been empty?
Do you they’d be able to help you when you’ve apparently slept through a missile strike? How would you even call them with no cell reception? You had to drive down to the station yourself.
Yes. That’s what you should be doing.
You turned back from the half-opened window and started to walk past it, when suddenly, something grazed past your hair.
You instinctively dived across the room as a hundred more bullets showered through the window. You heard the sound of the glass window shattering for a moment, but then, perhaps it didn’t because you’d have been covered in glass shards by then.
The loud sounds of gunshots were all you could hear.
You lied on the floor, crumpled up in horror. None of this made sense.
With a racing heart, you crawled away from the wall when you heard a man speaking on a megaphone.
"You are surrounded. Don't attempt to escape."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I'll do a part 2 if there's enough interest. Also, please sub to r/abhisek !
EDIT. I'll be continuing this series over at r/abhisek This is the link to [**VAULT 42**](https://www.reddit.com/r/abhisek/comments/ezh1ye/vault_42/)**.**
Thank you for the overwhelming response! | 2020-02-03T07:24:12 | 2020-02-03T06:33:46 | 1,789 | 507 |
[WP] Your Uber passenger was a little odd, but you still gave them the usual farewell: “If you enjoyed the ride, make sure you say thanks with five stars!” A few days later, you receive a nicely worded thank you letter in the mail along with a deed to the entire constellation of Cassiopeia. | She’s just staring at me, hasn’t even blinked since she got in the car. Am I going too fast or something? Is she planning on murdering me? A hundred thoughts raced through my mind as I drove to her desired location. She was probably the second strangest customer I had, her heavy breathing and focused gaze sending shivers through my spine.
Maybe she was on some strange medication or something of the sort? That would explain the vacant look. I adjusted my rear-view mirror, trying to shift it away from her, wanting to avoid staring at her for too long. When the mirror was pointed away from her, she shifted across the backseat, getting into view again.
“Are you alright miss?” I asked, trying to keep a friendly tone to my voice, not wanting to get my rating destroyed by one bad passenger.
“I am. Do you think I’m pretty? You keep staring.” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her words were far too normal for her thousand-yard stare. I turned my attention back to the road, idly tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, trying to buy some time, needing to think of a response.
“Yes?” I couldn’t say no. She had me in a corner and so I chose the option I thought would cause the least amount of drama. I hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but those words only spurred action in her. She leaned forward, resting her head next to mine, her sun kissed cheek pushing against my shoulder.
“Your kind aren’t as bad as people say they are.” She said cheerily, still not blinking, only keeping herself by my side as I focused on the road.
“My kind? Oh, you mean Uber drivers? Yeah, we don’t always have the best reputation, but we try. Most of us try at least. It’s not Uber if you don’t have at least one horror story from your time using it. It’s the luck of the draw, really.” I cracked a joke, but she didn’t laugh, only staying by my side until we left the busy streets of the town, heading onto the more isolated roads. After thirty minutes of driving through empty of roads, she tapped my shoulder, pointing to a vacant block of land.
“Just there is fine. I can get home from there.” She gave me a smile as she pushed herself back into the seat, waiting for me to come to a stop.
I pulled over on instinct, only to glance out at the open field. “Are you sure, miss? You still have thirty minutes left on your trip? I can take you the whole way if needed.” I felt a little bad letting her out in a place like this, but I couldn’t force her to ride the rest of the way.
“This is perfect. I’m nearly home.” I gave her a nod and said my usual spiel.
“If you enjoyed the ride, make sure to say your thanks with five stars!” She said nothing in response, only giving a nod of confirmation before she stepped out of the car. I watched her wander through the field before pulling out from the side of the road, driving to my next fare.
In the rearview mirror, I spotted a flash of white that vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me to contemplate if I had even truly seen it. Maybe I was just sleep deprived? Instead of doing another fare, I headed home to get some rest, needing to sleep off the strange occurrence.
The next few days passed with no unusual activity. I did a couple of jobs here and there and continued my normal life. On the fourth day, however, I received a strange letter nestled between my bills. “From Queen Unive?” Opening the envelope, I found a nicely worded message inside.
[Onok Ma! Victor,
I wish to thank you for your wonderful ride those few days ago. I know it isn’t much, but I would love to show my appreciation in the form of those stars you wanted so much. Please enjoy the deed. I will be by shortly to pick you up. I believe it is my turn to be the Uber. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Love, Unive.]
Did she write her laughing into the letter? How did she find my name? I set the letter aside, retrieving the enclosed deed. The deed was written in a language I couldn’t understand. The only word that appeared in English was the word Cassiopeia. “This is really odd, even for a joke letter. Maybe I should tell someone about this?” As I stood dumbfounded in my room, a flash of white peered through my windows, the sudden assault of light blinding me.
When my sight returned, I was standing in the middle of a light pink metallic room. The room filled with soft furniture and an assortment of strange bubbling drinks and slimy foods. It was bizarre, becoming even stranger when that same woman from my Uber trip stepped out from behind a set of doors, smiling at me.
“Onok Ma, shall we begin the tour?”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rbhktk/wp_your_uber_passenger_was_a_little_odd_but_you/hnozy2k/) | Jessica didn't think of her part time job as something worth glorifying. But once in a while, she indulged her fantasies. She dreamt that maybe she would be a cabbie in London, who actually knows the streets, and can occasionally out perform a navigation app. Or maybe she'd be some taxi driver caught in the Hollywood style cross-fire of some gangs, entangled in plots within plots with secrets stuffed in her car's trunk.
But Jessica wasn't even a part time taxi driver. She drove for Uber. Or Lyft when she was feeling radical. And even in her most radical Lyft driving moods, she wouldn't go so far as to speak to her customer. At least, not much. Just a quick greeting, and then, eventually, a chipper "if you enjoyed your ride, make sure you say thanks with five stars." She averaged 4.6 because of some 1 star rating she was sure was a misclick and a handful of 4s she didn't blame herself for.
In her grind to get more 5s, Jessica decided to waste another Friday night in pursuit of drunkards. What public transportation couldn't handle, she was ready to support. Besides, when drunk people gave ratings, they gave 5s.
Beeblebrox was a strange name, but it was the nearest pickup to her at 2 am, now on Saturday. Jessica pondered the name, glanced at the tazer a concerned friend gave her, and sped on to meet this Beeblebrox. He had no profile picture, so Jessica expected to take a minute to find the man (well, she guessed that no woman would tolerate being called Beeblebrox).
Pulling up to the bar, Jessica was surprised that the window opposite her was impatiently knocked on immediately. She rolled it down and heard an exasperated "you Jess?" She nodded. "Aight." The passenger side door behind her was flung open and the man who spoke tossed a lankier man in and slammed the door.
Jessica didn't miss a beat, realizing that the thrower was likely a bouncer who threw out this Beeblebrox. "Good morning," she said, happy to see that Beeblebrox was straightening up.
He groaned.
"Well, I'll head right off, then," she said, speeding away as the Lyft app switched to Google maps to direct her.
The man seemed dazed, still.
In fact, he seemed hardly any better when he stumbled out of the car fifteen minutes later.
"If you enjoyed your ride, be sure you say thanks with five stars!" Jessica called as Beeblebrox shakily stood outside the car.
"Thanks," he slurred, slamming the door.
_More to come soon_ | 2021-12-07T21:04:30 | 2021-12-07T19:40:58 | 866 | 54 |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries. | There was a time, long ago, when I truly knew happiness.
It was a simple time. I had yet to join the Arcanium. I was a simple farmer in Karan, the capital of the Andelian Empire. I had a wife and a child, another on the way in but a few months.
That all changed when... well suffice to say it changed. Distraught at my loss, I sought out the Arcanium and the potential to do what I could to bring... pain... to those who wronged me.
The initial testing was quick and easy, my proctors proclaimed I had a magnificent talent for magic. However that waned quickly as my studies commenced. It took months of frustration and further testing to determine that, while I have a limitless capacity for mana storage, my capacity for mana regeneration was the slowest they had ever seen among the magically inclined. I guess 34 years of farm life allowed me to build up quite a stockpile of mana, which I then quickly burned through in my classes.
Quite the conundrum. What to do with the slowest filling metaphorically bottomless bucket in history? You teach him theory. You limit practical applications. And in so doing you fail to teach him control.
I had no delusions of grandeur, I simply had my goal. To destroy the Bresonian raiders for taking everything from me. Then... maybe I could finally die.
After gaining my title I left the Arcanium. Moderately proficient in magical theory, but lacking practical experience and control. I joined Karan as a Blue Coat, explaining my particular situation to my commander I was assigned to desk duty, only to be pulled out in infrequent situations of drastic need. Allow me to regenerate a truly monstrous amount of mana then point me at a target before sending me back to desk duty to recharge, like some sort of cataclysmic cannon.
The first time I used magic since my teachers discovered my particular situation I burned an entire city of forty thousand people to ash. I remember the magic flowing through me, coalescing in a burning orb that outshone the sun. The next thing I remember is walking through the flattened glassed hilltop where forty thousand men, women, and children just lived. I felt nothing. I should have felt... something... right?
The next time I used magic was three months later. I sank an entire naval fleet, three hundred cavaliers and trading vessels in the port city of Kath, cutting off supplies and killing thousands of sailors and hundreds of civilians. I can still feel the wind on my face as the storm formed.
I have dozens of memories stored away, filled with uncountable numbers of people I killed.
Eventually the Bresonian raiders were wiped out. I was given a medal and a seat on the council of advisors directly to the king. More as a constant reminder to the other advisors of the power the king had at his fingertips than to actually advise anyone. But advise I did. I found that I had quite a head for political maneuvering. I pitted one noble family against another, ruining reputations and making allies when and where they were needed. Eventually I managed to convince the council to vote for war against the Elendian Empire to the south. For I had long ago learned the Bresonian raiders were funded and trained by the Elendian elves in guerilla tactics as a form of proxy war to weaken the Andelian empire.
My drive to bring pain to those who had wronged me plunged the entire continent into a war spanning hundreds of years. Elendian elves, Andelian humans, orcish nomads of the Hanebrian plains, dwarves from the Burstan mountain settlements, centaurs from the Arboreal Ocean, and even the merfolk of the Risen Reef were killed in the tens of thousands for in a war for my pain. And still I felt nothing.
It was in the midst of the 8th year of the war when I found it, what finally broke me. It was such a simple thing, finding the tattered doll clutched in the arms of a child, their eyes distant and vacant of any emotion, trying desperately to wake from the nightmare that was their existence. The doll was of cheap make, burlap clothing and rough spun wool filling. But, on the collar of the doll stitched in dull red thread, the name Elia. My daughters name. I remember looking at the child and truly comprehending that this, all of this pain and horror, was because of me. And so, a decade of emptiness was replaced with pain and horror at what I had done.
I left the war and went into seclusion. I transmuted a cabin deep in the Spine of the World and began a life as a hermit, slowly accumulating the mana I would need to cast the spell that would finally, finally stop the pain and emptiness, total and complete obliteration of myself and all of those who had been affected by my war and pain.
And here I sit, three hundred and forty seven years later, a mere four days and three hours away from accumulating enough mana to cast the spell that would destroy me... that would save me, and I am approached by Sorathen the elf queen of Elendia, King Rask of Andel, The Stonelord Malik, King and Queen of the Tides Deria and Shelind, Lord of the Herd Nelindor, and Hoard King Brelnask.
They have made peace, I've known this for some time, I'm not completely detached from the events of the world around me. I've also known they've been looking to find me, for they all know the longer I go without using my mana the more I have and the more dangerous I am.
I sit back in the rocking chair I made twenty years ago to replace the one I had made twenty years before that, the lines of time creasing on my face as I smile and wave them forward, transmuting on a whim the chairs needed for those who I knew would take them. A slight grimace passes my face as I readjust my internal clock, five days and seven hours now.
"Please, take a seat." I croak out, my voice hoarse with age and lack of use.
Hesitantly they approach, their eyes filled with suspicion and tightly controlled fear. I wonder who will speak first, humans are always more proud than they have any right to be, but the orcs of Hanebria are always so impatient.
"Good evening Khor Khalis." The elf queen intones in a respectful voice. Not my name... not anymore, I left that title behind when I left Andel, though when you are only known by a title meant to instill terror in others it's understandable that your real name will be lost to time.
"Please, call me by my real name, Morren. I haven't been the world breaker since I left Andel."
"Very well, Morren... " a slight pause, as if testing such a mundane name for one such as I, "... we have sought you out to.."
"To see if I still pose a threat. To see if you need worry one of your cities, or really at this point one of your countries, need fear it will be burned from existence?"
An uncomfortable silence, I've forgotten how delicate diplomats like to treat discussions such as these. Closing my eyes and waving a hand dismissively I'm shocked to hear the sound of gasps, weapons drawing, and wood striking dirt. Opening my eyes I see that my offhand gesture has startled them, each is standing in a defensive or aggressive stance, weapons or arcane might drawn forth waiting for the slightest provocation. I really have forgotten how to deal with diplomats.
"My apologies, though you should know that I need not make silly hand gestures should I want to remove you from my presence. Four hours. That's how much longer I would have to wait, should I decide to burn you all to ash on the spot. Conjuring the chairs already cost me a day and five hours, funny isn't it how much easier it is to destroy than create. But I digress, no I will not harm you and have no plans to harm anyone, at least not anyone here or now."
An unease silence fills the clearing where my cabin sits, the wood under my palms worn smooth from years of contemplation.
"You think we'll believe a simple statement like that?" A gruff voice barks, looking up I see The Ironlord, his axe hefted in both hands in an aggressive stance.
"No, but you will have to trust me. I will make no bindings to hold me to those words, bindings are complex and would set me back three more days and that is not a price I am willing to pay to satisfy your paranoia."
"I told you we couldn't trust him, we should have just killed him before he knew we were here." King Rask chimes in, his voice hot with aggression and impotent belief in his own abilities.
"I knew you were coming from the moment you set foot in my valley, you think I would live in seclusion for so long without wards and animi? No, Excellency, I have no desire to kill any of you, I have done enough killing in my life. My plans are simple, I will do what I can to pay for the horror I perpetrated in my youth. Those lives I stole cannot be brought back, trust me I have delved deep in lore from before even the Andelian empire existed and found naught but disappointment. But I have found a way to save them none-the-less."
**Part 1/2** | Tap. Tap. Tap.
My cane shook violently as it struggle to find purchase with each step I took. My breath ragged, for my lungs were too weak to keep my body filled with oxygen. My muscles aches and yearned for repose with each motion I made. I wheezed and gasped, coughing wickedly as I made my way to the grand hall. I struggled merely to draw a simple hand mirror from my pocket, my body hardly obeying my commands.
I despised the face which looked back at me in that simple reflection. I was but a pale shell of a man with desiccated features, sullen face, gaunt form, bloodshot eyes, and black veins.
My body cried out with tormented anguish in its hunger. I needed mana and soon. The Academy had taken away all my funding, I had no resources which to acquire a source.
The fools, this hearing would fix that, however. I would show them the use of my research and what they were discarding if they did not acknowledge the potential my plans offered.
I hobble into the grand council, shakily kneeling before the procession. All the council heads looked down upon me with scrutinizing eyes. Uniform were their outfits, except for the Archmagus. He was revered yet he had not used his magic in centuries, pitiful.
Magi Oliph spoke, “You are here today for your experiments at this Academy has been of the eccentric and dangerous manner. This council today will determine whether you are fit to continue research at the Academy or not. Mage, you may make your plea.”
I felt a strange sensation in the air. I couldn’t quite place it, but I yearned to learn what it was. Thoughts of mana filled my head, I desired it more by the second, I hungered. I struggled to compose myself, coughing up blood as I spoke, “Th..thank you, M-Magi,” cough “For so long mana has been a slow r-resource.” cough cough “It builds up over time before a release, but no longer. The Archmagus has waited centuries since he used his magic last. Such patience is not a virtue, it is waste.”
As I spoke I felt vitality begin to fill my lungs. Mana? How? I looked down and noticed color returning to my skin. My eyes widened in surprise, but I continued, “I offer a new solution, one where magic can be used freely, but it requires an external source of mana rather than an internal one. At present, that price is at times costly, though it is merely in its developmental stages, with time I assure you this can be corrected and-”
Magi Oliph cut me off, “It is much too costly, not to mention the variety of other side effects. You have drained dry many of the Academy’s precious artifacts in order to fuel this external need for mana. You are ruining your health and anyone else who attempts this same foolishness will not prosper, but suffer. You have gone too far. I admire your ambition, mage, but this project is simply too dangerous for you to continue.”
“No!” I yelled, my lungs filled with vigor. I could taste it now. The mana. It was all around me, it was a pulsing sensation, powerful. I thought it was consistent throughout the room but as I walked closer to the council I felt the magic growing more powerful. It had an epicenter: the Archmagus.
Oliph continued, “Perhaps you can regain your privileges once you have proven that your experiments will not harm, but for now, this is for the best.”
I eyed the Archmagus hungrily. All that mana stored for centuries. He wasn’t using it, might as well go towards some greater good. I bowed my head, echoing Oliph’s words, “For the best. It was an honor working with each of you.”
I shook each of their hands in turn, my hunger and anticipation building as I drew closer to the Archmagus. Finally, he offered his hand which I seized with an eager fervor. The moment my hand grasped his, I began siphoning his mana through my veins.
Yes! He had so much mana it was oozing out of every pore, so much life, so much vitality. My veins turned from black to a bright gold as mana glowed from within. My lungs repaired, my body no longer screaming in pain. My thoughts were clear, I felt whole again.
More and more I drew from him, siphoning deeper into that endless well of mana that his body had collected for so long. What had taken him ages to obtain, I would take within mere seconds.
The entire council procession was in complete shock, I expected little else. The future of magic was standing right before their very eyes. I looked into the Archmagus’ eyes, seeing my own reflection. I was beautiful.
My body was practically glowing from the mana I had obtained, my hair had a lustrous seen, my irises golden, misty blue wisps exhaled from my mouth as I breathed in vitality. But in their eyes, I not only saw my own reflection but the Archmagus’ expression. He merely smirked, and my body began to shake.
First, it was ecstasy, pure ecstasy as I drank more and more. What divine nectar mana is! The fools, I usher in a new era of magic! But in my ecstasy, I failed to notice at first how violently my body was shaking. I felt a convulsing in my lungs before I coughed out blood.
No! I looked at the Archmagus with utter horror. He shook his head, “Mages were not meant to draw so much mana at once. It is a practice that takes patience and discipline, developing the fortitude to contain the necessary mana which one acquires by waiting centuries. You have not that fortitude.”
I scowled at him. I must have it, perhaps I just needed more to repair my lungs. Cough! More blood. Gah! My body convulsed with increasing vigor. I gasped as I felt a sensation pushing from within. The mana wanted to escape my body. I strained to contain it, but it felt so foreign. I did not know how to appease it.
My hand could not let go of the Archmagus as I felt the building force within me. Growing and growing, bleeding and convulsing was all else my body felt. The pressure within me reached its zenith, and I knew I would not survive what happens next. I was so close…. | 2022-05-04T11:19:52 | 2022-05-04T08:09:28 | 128 | 90 |
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..." | *For the safety and well-being of all local citizens, this warning will be broadcasted silently. At this time, we urge you to lock all doors and windows to your home, and to turn off all lights. Do not answer any landline or cellular telephones. Do not open or access any computers, laptops, tablets, smartphones, or anything of the sort. Do not flush your toilet as it may cause aggravation. It is in your best interest to remain still and silent. Do not leave your home. Please await further instruction.*
When I first saw this message appear on my screen, I will admit I was terrified. The terror is fading, however. I am beginning to wonder. There has still been no further instruction, it has been roughly 75 hours. I'm beginning to doubt if there will be any further instruction. I have heard no sounds. My phone has rang only once each day but I've been too nervous to answer it. I haven't gone on my computer, or my phone, or anything. I am shut off. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's going to be over soon. It's got to be ending soon.
*At roughly 12pm each day, you will receive two meals worth of food in a small opened container at your front door. Unlock your door, open it, take the container, and shut your door. Do not go outside. Await further instruction.*
This is some kind of a ploy, I know it. When I open my door tomorrow, there's not going to be food. There's going to be a letter, or an explanation, or something in there that they can't broadcast on T.V. Hell, maybe it'll be a cake or something, and all my friends will jump out and yell surprise! My birthday is in three days. Or two. No, it's definitely three. I thought the new message would inspire hope, and it did. It did....
*To ensure you're safety, we ask that you occasionally flicker the lights in your house on and off, especially during the night time. If you fall asleep, keep a candle or flashlight by your side. This will hopefully eliminate any unwanted presence.*
The newest update in four months. I think four months. I don't have a calendar. Everything is on my laptop. My mother fucking laptop, staring me right in the face. My phone stopped ringing. I am losing track of time. I am losing track of me. I haven't spoken to anyone in months. I speak to myself sometimes. I don't sleep anymore. I am so tired, but I don't sleep. Every time I try, it doesn't help. I wake up just as tired. I have nightmares. I am starting to doubt myself. Why was I put here? Was I born, just to do this? Sit here, encaged? Who is out there right now? I sit at my door, waiting for 12pm. I hear the knock, I run outside... nothing but that fucking box. Who is out there? What are they doing to me? What are my neighbors doing right now? Are they okay? I wonder....
*Help is on the way.*
I saw this message and I cried. Help is on the way, I thought. This was the first message in three years. And it has been weeks since then. Fuck you. Fuck whoever's out there. Every time I try to open up my computer, I chicken out like the little asshole I am. Fuck me. Every time I try to pull that trigger I chicken out. You understand, don't you? What it's like to be all alone? What are the rest of them going through? Remember Katy? I wonder if Katy is dead.
*Please be patient. Help is on the way.*
I am nothing but a collection of atoms. You, your mom and your dad, your house, your life, everything has always been and will always be nothing but a different combination of protons, neutrons, and electrons. Wherever you are in this vacuum of nothingness you call reality, do you really think you matter? Do you really think this matters? What you're saying, is there a point? Everything you've ever heard about, every war, triumph, defeat, casualty, miracle, is just another chapter in the story we tell of the atoms that dance around in this endless space of darkness.
*Redemption is near. Soon, all will be rewarded.*
I haven't fucked in so long. I'm so horny, I want nothing more than to fuck. Kill me now so I can fuck God. Please oh please, let me. It smells so bad inside my mind.
*You are going to survive.*
After billions of years, we are the most intelligent beings in the history of this planet. Yet here I am, shielded from reality. Shielded from the twisted, electronic reality that I've constructed. Do you think we know more than we ever did? All science has taught us is that we know nothing. We don't know what's out there. I know what's out there. I know what's out there. I do, I know. Do you ever think that if they never came up with these religions, nobody would be racist? Nobody would pass judgement, nobody would be plagued by false hope, and we'd all live on our own terms? Not by any God's terms, but our own? I've thought about that. I am ready to die. I look back at my life before this. I don't know how long it has been, but I am ready to die now, knowing that I am free from my own virtual reality. I am free from the websites, and the campaigns, and the wars on TV and the religion and the lies. I am free from the companies and the insecurities and the *bullshit*. I don't know what this is. I don't care. I am ready, now, to accept my--
*Congratulations! You have passed Phase 1 of the Artificial Selection Initiative (ASI). Please step outside.*
----------
Hey, if you read this, thank you. It's pretty long and kind of depressing, I know, sorry, but I really appreciate anyone who read it since I'm new to this, but this is a kind of subject I always wanted to explore and this was a great outlet. You don't have to like it, just know that if you read it I am very thankful! | > Im not a writer or anything, just a guy wanting to try this out, no hate, don't expect grammar to be on point or detail
It's 4:57 AM, I wake up, wondering what woke me up I look around and notice the T.V switched on, irritated at the fact that I don't have money to get a good T.V and annoyed by the fact that my T.V always makes a stupidly annoying static noise upon being switched on I look at the T.V to see what happened and see a message placed on the screen...
"For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently! Do not be alarmed"
As I assume most people are freaked out by this message, I look at the top of the screen and it says "Weather Warning", why would a weather warning need to be broadcasted silently?
I decide to go back to sleep but I turn off all the lights and hide under my blanket, "Why am I doing this? I'm a 27 year old man not a child!" but despite that I still decide to sleep under the thin blanket.
I wake up, look at my clock and it reads 10:29 AM, I get up and go downstairs, before going downstairs I decide to look out my window, looking around I can't see anything strange and just go onto my normal life. On my way downstairs I heard the T.V switch on again and go back up the stairs to check if there is any update and it said "Warning, take this warning seriously, all citizens need to remain silent and cannot leave their homes or they are at danger, we will be back soon with updates".
"Why do I need to be silent? Stay in my house? Does this mean I miss work?!"
Excited at the idea I don't need to go to work I am still perplexed by the idea a weather warning system would broadcast a warning telling everybody to stay silent...
I decide to rebel the system and stand outside in my garden to look around and see if I can spot anything and I see a think fog moving towards me (I think its fog not mist I don't know. Back to the story anyway), curious why we have to stay silent during a fog confuses me however I listen to the report and go back inside locking my door.
I look out the window and see the fog pass straight by the window, however something was different, I could see figures inside the fog, weird looking shapes moving along with it. I have no idea what it could be, maybe a flock of birds but I decide to stay silent, not even move because I'm scared whatever it is will hear me...
I look at the window staring at the fog and I hear a cry, "Is that from the fog?" but it was far from it, it was a young child scared crying in his house with sounds of the mother crying from next door. I'm curious how I can hear from that far away but that's because their window is open, being able to hear something so vividly makes me assume they are being loud. I am scared, wondering what will happen to them and all of a sudden, I see the figure in the fog move against the flow and go towards the house. It then goes through the window and I hear screaming and windows breaking then I see a flow of red fly straight out of the opened window then the figure come out. Now he is coated in red it is much easier to see, however I don't think about it too long and try to hide, scared it will come for me. I go to my room, the T.V switches on causing the loud static noise.
I hear a window break...
> I never really tried doing this ever and im no good writer, so likely errors and grammar mistakes but please don't be too harsh x) would appreciate feedback and things I could improve on :D | 2016-08-10T08:35:33 | 2016-08-10T07:40:10 | 120 | 16 |
[WP] You are a haunted house, and you’re lonely. You’ve become self conscious because every time you try to engage with visiting humans, they run away in fear. But a party of humans has just arrived, and you realise one of them is intent on killing the rest. | The man smelled of soured desire and oft-remembered dreams. The worst sort of dreams to creatures like us. In the shadows, dreams are best forgotten.
Booted footsteps sounded on my porch at the close of that late fall day. Leaves crunched satisfyingly and a cold breeze whistled through the rotten rail, churned the leaves and swept my boards clean. I creaked beneath them, old and tired.
The man slipped a key into my lock, laid me bare.
Five of them. A different man and a mousy woman came in arm in arm, pointing flashlights at the cobwebs. Another pair of young women came behind, more flashlights, more laughter. The darker haired woman turned back to the soured man, said “Aren’t you coming, Bill?”
The man made a gesture that might have included a smile, might not have. When he entered he disturbed no dust, but rather he walked in the dark haired girl’s footsteps, each step carefully measured, though it was done in the way of a craftsman long since used to his tools. It was a casual act that went unnoticed.
My timbers shivered, even the rotten ones, and though I felt every step the others took as they explored my halls, I tracked his. Tasted him. Tapestries turned in the man’s wake. The eyes of paintings watched him. A door might creak open, let a single shaft of light slip through from a window broken open to the dying of the day. He was a tall man, and thin. Light hair, carefully artless. A longsleeved turtleneck in charcoal gray, clean, unlined pants. Smart shoes. They all wore heavy backpacks, had come for a stay.
He took the Master Bedroom and the dark haired girl took the bedroom and boudoir opposite it in the long hall that jutted out over the courtyard, terminated in an open balcony above the remains of a greenhouse, the glass shattered fifty years now or more. The five of them had dinner on that balcony, cast their trash down to catch in the broken glass. They scattered after dinner, the couple to the farthest bedroom, the other woman to what remained of the library.
And there sat the soured man, Bill, and there sat the dark haired girl. Bill said, “What do you think, Kels?”
She lit a cigarette, took a long drag. She tried and failed to blow smoke rings twice before responding. “I think Tommy and Caroline are going to enjoy their vacation way more than the rest of us.”
Bill leaned forward in the rocking chair he had pilfered from my Master Bedroom. He loomed over the girl, Kels, who sat against the one solid corner still remaining of my balcony’s rail, heedless of the dust on her jeans. “I bet they will. Tommy’s been talking about it all week.”
“Of course he has.” Kels made a disgusted little snort. I felt her head shaking through the rail. Her hair was long, swept down to the balcony’s edge. “At least he makes sense though, all I’ve got to do is not think. Why did you want to come? What’s this place got for a guy like you?”
Bill shrugged. The north wind kicked up, frosty off the mountains. Kels swore, jumping to her feet. She wore shorts and a light sweater that fell off one shoulder. She did not stamp out the cigarette where she dropped it. I did, after.
In time they came back from the library, said goodbye outside Kels’s door. Bill went to his room. He unpacked his backpack, made the bed with fresh sheets, the corners tight, the covers turned down at a forty-five degree angle. He brushed his teeth with a bottle of water and a small tube of minty toothpaste, spat the remnants in the dead sink. He spent a long time in the bathroom before a mirror encrusted with a half century’s grime, his face visible in little unsullied motes of pale, sneering skin. Cold blue eyes. Narrow lips. An aquiline nose.
Towards midnight Bill slipped out the door and retrieved Kels’s cigarette. He sat crosslegged in the hallway in front of her door holding the butt of the cigarette a hairsbreadth from his lips breathing softly through his nose, eyes closed. Kels slept fitfully, and once I even shook her bedframe, but though she tossed and turned she did not wake, save once in the night when she woke for a moment and cried out another man’s name.
Her body warmed beneath the covers. She cursed with a soft fluency, rolled onto her side in the bed.
And in the hall, Bill waited.
Towards dawn he slept, the cigarette still in hand.
In his sleep the dreams were worse.
I knew of soured desire, dreams deferred but never forgotten. I knew of the things Bill dreamed that morning, in the two ragged hours which he slept, whispering aborted fantasies into the pillow. And when he woke, I heard the name Bill whispered, the same name Kels had whispered, and I knew the tone in which he spoke it.
In the morning Bill rose, greeted Kels and their friends in the dining room over a breakfast of scrambled eggs cooked in strange plastic packets and flat pastries served in little foil wrappers. Bill spoke and laughed, made passable jokes. Once when nearly appropriate, he touched Kels shoulder, though the gesture lasted a fraction of a second too long and I could see it in her eyes, watching from the portrait of another dark haired woman, long dead now.
Things happened through the day. The couple made love. Bill, Kels, and the other woman explored the cellars, found an ancient bottle of wine. And all the while Bill’s eyes never left her. In the aftermath of the wine, all of them nicely buzzed, Bill pulled the cigarette from his pocket, squeezed it once in the light of day. Kels did not see, but I could see how it thrilled him, how the admission, even so secretive, of his obsession arced through the man like lightning. There was light behind his eyes that had not existed before, a spring in his step that no laughter could have ever put there. | Once upon a time, the house on Wintergreen Drive had been a home. Once upon a time, its rooms had been filled with the laughter and joy. Once upon a time, children had run up and down its many stairs, playing hide-and-seek. They'd laughed so loudly, so cheerfully. The house held onto the memory of that laughter. Sometimes, when the night was still and there was no wind to whistle through its creaky bones, the house would replay echoes of that laughter, trying to relive its old glory days.
2401 Wintergreen Drive knew that its time would soon be up. During the day, it had seen people visiting the lot. Men in suits nodded and shook hands with one another as other men in hard hats measured the grounds, and looked at detailed blueprints. The house had seen what had happened to the other houses on the block when they stayed empty for too long. Soon, it would be its turn.
Some nights, people came to visit the house. 2401 Wintergreen Drive always opened its doors for them and tried to make them feel welcome, playing the little echoes of conversation that it had preserved fondly over the many years. But the people never stayed, and little by little, Wintergreen Drive began to lose hope.
Tonight, there were six of them. The house wondered that if it had been coming on too strong, if its eagerness was what drove the visitors away. This time, it did not open the gates for them. It kept its hinges silent as one of the men pushed on the iron fence, did not squeak its usual creaky greeting.
The house was used to people running and screaming, or creeping around cautiously, poking at webs and stirring up dust. It wished that it had a resident ghost to clean up the premises, but the last ghost on the block had moved on when 2403 Wintergreen Circle was demolished. This time, the visitors were acting unusually.
They headed straight for the dining room, and each party member took a seat. If the house had a heart, it liked to imagine that it would have been in the dining room - where people gathered, ate, and shared stories. But its tables had been barren for quite a while, and the only chatter that had taken place in the last few decades was between the mice.
The man in the black suit stood and raised a glass. It seemed as though he was the leader of the party.
"As you know, the five of you have been invited here to play a game," he said. "And I must thank you gratefully for accepting my invitation."
The house grew excited. It loved games, loved the joy and life that they brought. But the man went on.
"You may remember that my beloved wife passed away three years ago. The five of you are - were - her closest friends. But certain facts have come to light, and I have discovered that one of you is responsible for her death."
All the guests looked surprised enough, the house mused. It wondered if there truly was a perpetrator, or if the man was simply confused. But the man's voice grew ominous as he continued.
"I know not who the murderer is. But I hold the keys to this house, and all the windows are barred." The man pulled out a pistol from beneath his coat and stepped towards the guests menacingly. "We shall play hide and seek. Until the murderer reveals themselves, every hour, I will find one of you, and that person will die. And my dear Christina will be avenged."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 2021-11-07T16:23:12 | 2021-11-07T16:19:56 | 584 | 74 |
[WP] The summoned hero was neither a fighter nor a magic caster. He called himself a "new-clee-ar fizz-izz-ist" whatever that means. Now he has sent you to collect a special rock for him. Why he would need a rock, you will never know, but he even gave you a device that clicks when you find it. | *March 3:*
My birthday wish came true! The king himself told me to come to him tomorrow. He said theres a important job for me. Only i can do it. I dont know what that could be but im really excited. Maybe dad will stop being so mean to me after i meet the king.
*March 4*:
Wow the castle is so big!! Jeffery (he told me to call him that) looks a lot normaller up close. When he gives his announcements from the balcony he looks so special, but now i know he isnt that much different from anyone else. He introduced me to some man i never seen before. He was wearing a funny white coat and had thick glasses. Jeffery said to listen to him, cause he has my job for me.
*March 5:*
Claude (thats my new boss, with the white coat) gave me a small box that chirps likes crickets. Hes sending me far away to collect glowing rocks. I dont know why nobody else can do it, but i wont complain. Tomorrow there sending a wagon for me.
*March 7:*
Im at the new place, with the glowing rocks. The wagon driver is nice, his name is Alex. When he looks at me, he looks sad though. I dont know why. He says he cant take me back home after i find the rocks. There too dangerous to keep on the wagon. Whats so dangerous about rocks?
*March 10*:
Its been 3 days now. From the outside my tent looks like its on fire, i got so many rocks. I hope its enough cause i dont think my bag can hold any more. Tomorrow i will start the walk back home to give them to Claude. I think im getting sick, im coughing alot.
*March 15*:
It took me 5 days. When i got to the castle Claude ran away and two men wearing orange suits came and took the bag from me. There clothes were so big, they looked like mountain trolls. Im still coughing alot and my head hurts. Im happy i could help the king.
*March 16*:
Dad called me stupid again. I told him about what i did and stuff but he doesnt believe the king needed me. Im gonna try and see if Jeffery will meet dad, so he can be proud of me. I know if mom was still here she would believe me. I miss u mom.
*March 17:*
Jeffery came over! You should of seen dads face! His mouth touched the ground and eyes came out his head. He was so surprised. I let them talk together and then my dad started arguing with the king. I dont know why but he let me have some candy tonight. Thats a first.
*March 18:*
The enemys are getting close Claude says. The thing hes making is called a "new-clee-ar bom". I dont know what that is but he says it makes a big exploshion like a fireball. I will be the person to use it he told me. I dont know why they picked me. My head is itchy alot and when i itch it so much hair keeps coming out. Soon im gonna be bald. Dad let me have more candy. Maybe him and Jeffery sorted out there differences. My cough is getting better.
*March 19:*
The weirdest thing just happened. Before i went to my bedroom dad gave me a big hug and said hes proud of me. He started crying and i dont know why but i started crying to. I wish mom was here to see that. Maybe then we all could able to get along again.
*March 20:*
Everyone left town today. Claude said they have to go far away cause the enemys are coming. Even dad went with them. I hope he comes back soon cause he was being so nice lately. Claude showed me the weapon and told me how to use it when the bad guys come. There supposed to be here tonight, so ive been keeping watch on the castle walls. I dont see anything yet. Oh and my cough is back.
*March 21:*
Its so quiet. The king left food for me on the table and it was really good. I forgot to say before, but Claude said when i use the weapon to run away so i dont get hurt. I told him im fast, and he said thats good. Theres smoke in the distance over the hills, i think there coming soon. Maybe tomorrow ill get to use the bom.
*March 22:*
There flags are big. It feels weird writing in here in the day, cause i usually write at night, but i dont know when there gonna attack. There standing outside, and i waved to them from the walls, but they didnt see me i think. Im supposed to use the weapon once they get past the gate. I got my new shoes on to, so i can run away after i press the button. After i defend the castle the king said i can become a night. That would be awesome. I know it will make dad happy. The first night in the family... I wonder where he is now. Crap i think i hear them hitting the gate. Ill write again when im with dad. | The clicks don't follow a pattern.
At the oldtime tavern there's a piano player that puts up a metronome, which goes click-click-click-click all in time.
But this little device clicks ragged. It's a chattering of teeth. Sometimes big bites, sometimes the shiver of a few minutes spent too long on the snowy surface.
It's shivering now.
That tells me I'm close. The upman told me to look for a gray vein and I see it. The clicks are rabid now. I hold the metal pick in my third arm and hammer away. I hold a bucket under the rubble as it crumbles away from the rockface.
I nose my way back to the hub, following the trail I spat down along the way. The upmen tell us it smells like "bananas". Bananas sound safe. One day I will eat one.
But for now I focus. I tow my cargo behind me, one arm aloft, and climb the ladders up to the great iron gate at the hub's center. There I engage the ritual to call him: three button presses, one wound dial, seven more presses, thumbing down the arcane symbols 7 8 1 3 2 0 0—and finally the tone whispers out like a voice from another world.
Which is, I suppose, what it is.
I wait there patiently, watching my compatriots crawl and climb our home, lit only by the dull red light. It's getting cold, without our sun. Thirty-seven crops have already died. The upman must hurry.
Finally the door opens.
He appears, as always, in a shining suit that plays with the light like a mirror. He takes the bucket from my arms. His face is lit beneath a glass visor and it is slick with sweat.
"Okay," he says. "I'll get it up and running."
His face droops and I taste something like sorrow in the air.
"You poor bastards," he says.
I don't know what this means.
It is cold, and I find a burrow of my friends to warm in. We nestle against each other, crooning. Some of them are soldiers. The others are farmers, or learned ones who understand some upman technology. We all freeze together.
Then we hear it: a great thump, the rattling of rusted hinges, grand gears spinning. The red light burns away before a blinding white sun, pulsing in our stone sky.
The ritual is complete. We will live another day.
/r/NaimKabir | 2022-01-31T01:10:11 | 2022-01-31T00:25:45 | 1,444 | 335 |
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers. | Ah, summer nights. Romantic. Peaceful. Comfortable. Unless you like to sleep buried in sheets, like me. It was 2 AM, and I was glued to my bed in a pool of sweat, tossing and turning to kick up the sheets and let some heat escape, when I rolled my arm off the side of the bed and something seized it.
"You're hired," it whispered. It had a rasp to its voice, one that a frog might make if you squeezed it too hard. The thing that grabbed my hand was warm, sticky, and hairy.
So here I was, wallowing in my discomfort, when some thing snakes its wet thing from under the bed and slaps that disgusting thing on my hand. Not even kidding, it felt like a penis after sex. I wasn't exactly stoked about the job offer.
"Fuck off. I'm trying to sleep." In any other situation, I might've been afraid. But I'm what you might call emotionally retarded. My feelings can only contain so much, and right now, they were flooded with annoyance. Thankfully, I felt the penis-hand slide back beneath my bed, and after half an hour or so of wondering what the fuck that was, I slipped fitfully into slumber.
I might've just dismissed it as a dream, or a hallucination fueled by the stress of being an insomniac college student. But I'm seeing some weird shit. I woke up at 4 or so, shivering. Not a supernatural chill or anything. Sweat just evaporates because it has water in it, and the earth cools down when the sun isn't shining on it. I woke up on my side, curled in a fetal position, clutching my pillow to my chest. But when I opened my eyes, I just couldn't seem to focus on my room for some reason. And no, it wasn't because it was dark. My asshole neighbors, who don't care about the environment or their electricity bill, keep their porch light on all night and it shines directly into my room. The reason I couldn't focus on my room was that there was a fucking *face* inches from mine.
It was a normal human face, attached to a normal human neck. For some reason, I couldn't move, so I couldn't see the rest of it. It is an agonizing feeling to be unable to shout when you really want to. I wanted to shout for help, shout at it to get out of my apartment, and ask why the fuck it was on my bed. Part of me wondered if I had gone to bed entirely sober last night. But I couldn't shout, so I just stared at it. And it just stared at me. And I felt my heartbeat rising in both frequency and intensity as its breath mixed with mine. I hoped it was fear, and not some weird fetish I didn't know I had. And then the face got up, walked over to my closet with the body I guess it actually had, and pulled the door almost closed. It extended a hand, beckoning me to join it.
But I had an exam in the morning, so I went the fuck back to sleep. | I don't let go after during the shake and I ripe what is attached to my hand up on the bed. It's a leprechaun. If it can shake a persons hand say they're hired and the person excepts, then they switch lives. But if the leprechaun is caught while trying to make this deal, he has to grant one wish. I wish for the one thing I've always wanted, to become a leprechaun. | 2017-04-29T00:54:31 | 2017-04-28T23:36:59 | 123 | 10 |
[WP] After a treacherous upbringing of dodging the assassination attempts of time travelers you learn why they were all trying to kill you. | Downstairs, on the patio, a half-rotted floorboard whined under someone’s weight.
I kept my eyes squeezed closed. Fuck him. I probably still had another two, maybe three minutes. Depends how cautious this one was. Depends if he tries to go through the patio door, or scales the wall to the bedroom window. They rarely came up with new tricks.
*Clnk.*
The grating sound of metal hooks scratching against my terracotta window frame.
*Shff.*
Okay. A climber.
Refusing to acquiesce and open my eyes like a normal murder-ee, I reached under the bed. Scrabbled blindly for a moment. My fingers scraped against the long, cool barrel of my Remington.
*Shff.*
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, blinking stickily. I directed the shotgun at the bay window and sighed. Probably another five seconds or so.
*Shff.*
Four.
*Shff.*
Three.
*Shff.*
Two.
*Shff.*
One.
A dark silhouette emerged behind the window panes; not noticing me waiting in the oily blackness of my room, he brought out a long, softly humming device rimmed with faint lights. A second’s serene whirr and a perfect disc of glass fell back into the bedroom.
“Hey,” I said, watching the figure poke his head through the fresh hole.
He froze.
“My assassination target hours are nine-to-five,” I said, sleepily. “It’s outside of business hours, buddy.”
"Y- "
I pulled the trigger.
I’d deal with the body tomorrow.
***
My mother had abandoned me at birth, practically still steaming from the warmth of the womb. I don’t know who she is, what she looked like, or even what her name is; I do, however, know why she left me.
I wouldn’t be alive today if she hadn’t.
The tome she left with me explained everything. Dating back to the 16th century, it detailed my family’s plight: hiding in the shadows, out-assassinating the assassins, living in isolated, hard-to-pronounce villages in isolated, hard-to-pronounce countries. Competing against time.
It’s a trope, yes. “Go back in time and kill his mother.” Everyone always says that’s what they’d do, with Hitler, with –
Well, really, it’s just with Hitler.
The problem emerges when they can’t find his mother. When they have no idea where his mother is. When mother dearest has spent so many years dodging her own would-be assassins that she has earned her own bounty; and her mother before her; and her mother before her.
I don’t know who the target is in our lineage. He or she might not bother being born for another hundred, two hundred, three hundred years. All I know is that said asshole had made life seriously hard for me.
***
Gingerly, I stepped over the traveller. Rigor mortis had already set in, so no point in dealing with it now. Let it soak for a while, loosen up first.
I wandered downstairs, pausing to disable the security grid. I glanced through the tiny window of the Trap Room; a moat-like room hidden just below the patio entrance, capturing overeager travellers who assumed I wouldn’t be seriously used to their shit by now. No one fresh. I’d forgotten about the girl in the black turtleneck, though. She was starting to look messy.
I wondered what JKrel23 had come back with.
JKrel23 was an internet weirdo I’d been ‘chatting’ with for a while now. There was this one forum, you see, that believed in time travel. Of course, they were right, but not for the right reasons. They were right in the same way the subway guy bleating about the apocalypse will be right on the day the apocalypse actually, you know, happens. Broken clocks, yada, yada.
I flipped open my laptop. I will admit to enjoying winding the forum up, a bit. There was something terribly delicious about having this knowledge, this intimate familiarity, and keeping it from them; taking up the counter-offense, actually, and calling them insane, schizophrenic, delusional. I couldn’t actually tell anyone; if I did, the trickle of would-be assassins would become a flood. I suppose this was my way of ‘talking’ about it.
*They wouldn’t stand a chance,* JKrel23 wrote. *They would kill them in utero. The second they become a target, they cease to exist. Why do you think we’re not already post-apocalyptic? Despite all the close calls in the ‘50s? We’re not aware of any time travel assassinations because the targets never got a chance to exist.*
I stretched. This old gem.
*So, what about Hitler? Why hasn’t he ‘ceased to exist’?* I replied.
*Hitler wasn’t a big enough target.* An immediate answer. This sad fuck was wired in to the forums night and day. *The protocol probably doesn’t allow for it. He probably falls just under the minimum requirements – so, obviously, thinking relatively, he’s the absolute worst for us. Because we haven’t seen anything beyond him.*
*More like, if there is time travel, the travellers are laughably useless,* I replied. *Incompetent fucks who can’t even take out an infant.*
*They could take you out before you could even blink.*
I laughed.
*Bring it.* Send.
A loud wail.
The upstairs security system triggered.
I sighed, sliding my kukri out of its sheath. For the umpteenth time, cursed the asshole who brought this on my family. Better be worth it. Can’t get one day’s fucking peace.
| **S**am was holding a small wooden stool in his hands. It was a warm and sunny day in spring. A perfect day to get some answers, Sam thought, as he looked at the body in front of him.
The body was that of a man in his forties lying face down: tall, with long dirty hair and clothes that Sam knew far too well even though they were not yet invented in his own time - far-too-tight jeans, dark jacket and a transparent hood which glistened in the light falling through the window.
Sam had no idea how the man found him, or, for that matter, how he got into the house. Perhaps that would forever remain a mystery, rather like the question of the meaning of life or of how one was supposed to work in Windows Vista. All Sam cared about at the moment was that the man would wake up and give him some answers. That, and perhaps a cup of tea.
He put the stool down and sat on it, watching the man of the floor closely. It was by pure luck that he had managed to come downstairs just as the man appeared in front of his couch, and it was by pure luck that Sam, thinking that a burglar had somehow gotten in, decided to thrown a small wooden stool in the general direction of the now motionless body. It was only after the *thud!* that followed that Sam realized why the man looked so familiar.
He had seen people like that before in his childhood nightmares.
They would come at night, stand next to his bed. Some of them had guns, others had knives, and yet others fancied pillows. They would try and attack him, and Sam would scream, waking up his parents. They would run up to his room to ask why Sam was sitting in his bed crying, but by that time the masked assassins would be long gone in the night.
For a while, Sam thought these dreams to be exactly that, dreams. Nightmares so common with every small child. It was not until today that he had finally realized that he may have been right at the age of four, when he was trying to tell his mother that "a clawed man" has been in his room.
He got up and poked the body with a stool. Nothing. The man was still laying on the floor like a pile of rags. Sam got a little bit closer. Nothing. Another step closer. Still nothing. Another...
The man jumped up, lunging himself upwards towards Sam. The latter tried swinging the stool back at the intruder, but suddenly felt his arms grow weak. He was staring himself in the face.
The man looked much like Sam, if by much you mean "an older, wild-haired, hobo-looking" sort of thing. His hands clasped around Sam's neck, and he felt the world grow dark and distant as the man screamed something on top of his lungs, something... Sam couldn't quite hear it as the life was leaving his eyes.
________________________________________
The older Sam stood up looking at his younger self's body.
"This will teach you how to invest into Bitcoin", he spat furiously. "And that is my stool you're holding, faggot." | 2015-04-04T09:21:46 | 2015-04-04T09:12:50 | 288 | 68 |
[WP] You live in a world where people can Crowdfund [kickstarter/indiegogo/gofundme] assassins to take out unpopular people.
[deleted] | It started as a joke. At least it was definitely supposed to be a joke. FundAKill.com sounded like a joke to all of us. But as they say, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.
It was sick, really. Started with someone who didn't deserve it. Rebecca Black, owner of the most disliked YouTube video at the time was the first person on that list. The price was set to $500,000. After the page went viral, it was completed within the week. Sure enough, Black was killed on her way to an interview that day. A Friday. Sick coincidence if you ask me.
But that's just the start. Soon, there were outcries for it to be "removed from the internet." However, because there was no proof that the site was the direct reason for here death, it remained.
Justin Beiber hit the top funded the next day. $1,000,000. I was actually a fan of the kid, was sorry to see him go so early in his life. Fund-a-kill became the executioner, listening to Judge Crowdfund.
The thing was, the Funders had no remorse for their actions. Sometimes, they had an understandable candidate in mind, like Joseph Kony after the Kony 2012 video. But most of these people should have never been on the list to begin with.
Every past president of almost every country was killed for their "crimes against humanity" and the next president probably only has until he gets out of office to live. A few athletes were killed for their personal misdemeanors such as drunk driving or racist comments on Twitter.
All of this left people wanting to stay out of the public eye. Do enough to make Funders angry and you could be the next one on the list.
The camel-braking straw was Johnny Scogs. Scogs had never been heard of. In fact, he was just an elementary kid who pushed down another kid accidentally on the way home. Somehow, he had shown up as that days fund for an unprecedented $10,000,000. It was a test. Would the Funders be crazy enough to go through with the killing of a child? You bet. So long as the trigger finger wasn't theirs, they were capable of anything. Scogs' body was found in his locked room with his wailing mother who had been there with him and seen nothing out of the ordinary before his death.
Ever since Scogs, the site went live with an "enter name here" option in which you would add a name and it would give you a price for their head.
Why do I care to tell you about this? My name's on there right now, reaching its measly $10,000 goal. I'm a little bitter that I go for $10,000, but Fund-a-kill gets to choose my worth, not me. I guess I just wanted someone to understand my plight before my hit-- looks like I'm done for.
Don't worry about me. I'm only worth $10k, remember? I probably won't even get an obituary. Just wish I had said sorry for calling Samantha's cat fat. Really sucks that any infraction is enough to get erased these days.
I appreciate you for reading this. I may no longer be alive, but at least I got to leave some kind of legacy, right? | Greeting: Hello, humans. I am HK-47, the best and most efficient crowd funded assassin.
Challenge: For the next 35 days, I will be raising money to bring about the end of Kristen Stewart. If the goal of $100,000 is met, she will be terminated after eight days.
...
...
Congratulation: Well done, meatbags. You have raised enough to bring about the end of the human known as Kristen Stewart.
Gleeful Statement: If an additional ten thousand dollars can be raised within seven days, she will never be found. As desired by a donator who wishes to remain anonymous, her last act will be her first smile. | 2015-08-26T21:53:28 | 2015-08-26T17:59:14 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] As an author you’re the ultimate god of your world. Your hero became powerful enough to step into reality. He then asks you to explain why an omnipotent being would permit so much evil in the world, not realising that you placed all the evil there to spice up the story. | "Why did you make me go through all that?"
I blink awake, surprisingly not startled by the intruding voice, though I live alone. It is somehow familiar to me, though I've never actually heard it spoken. I've only seen her voice and thoughts in ink and pixels, on page and screen. But I suppose imagination is a powerful thing - especially since she's sitting there, in the flesh, illuminated by bright summer moonlight.
*She must've pulled the curtains wide.*
"Well?"
"One moment," I mutter, fumbling for my glasses. As I put them on, her features are finally made properly clear, and I can't help but gasp as someone I've only ever seen in dreams and imagination is suddenly *real.*
She's wearing her armour, I realize. Ready for war, with a sword at her hip, and her glaive leaning against my wall right next to her. The weapon is marred with nicks and stains no amount of repairs, save for complete reforging, can completely buff out.
*And I know exactly how many lives she's ended with it.*
I take a deep breath, and slowly sit up to meet her eyes. She follows my every move, but remains motionless. She must know that she can easily rip me limb from limb, even without her weapons. Hell, I wrote her like that, so I make damned sure to remain nonthreatening and compliant.
"Shimmer. This is certainly a surprise. How'd you get here?"
She snorts, and shows teeth. "Not important, I won't stay long. But I want answers before I leave, so again - Why? What made you decide to torment *me,* of all the millions of people, the way you did?"
"Oh, Shimmer. This will sound awful, but… It was never about you at all."
Her green eyes flash with anger, and I cringe back. "No? Then you could have just picked *anyone* to be your "Chosen One"? Sent any poor sod away from family and home, to be your plaything? Your instrument of a good *tale?"*
I look away. "...Yes. Yes, I could have."
I hear her hiss, and the creak of leather as her gloved fists clench. I rather expect her to chop me in half, but it doesn't happen. "Explain."
I blink, and look back at her. "Huh?"
"You heard me, *writer.* Explain."
It takes me a few moments to get my thoughts in order. "To start with, Shimmer - up until now, I had no idea you - or any of the events that you lived through, or even the world you inhabit - was in any way real. It was a story, a tale. Conceived in my mind, gestated in imagination and dream, and birthed in text. Written, re-written, edited, discussed… perfected over years."
She narrows her eyes, but says nothing, just nods impatiently.
Now comes the hard part. I gulp. "So with that in mind, Shimmer - what are the hallmarks of a good story in *your* world? What does Ravash rely on when he tells Rhogar a bedtime story about heroes and epic deeds?"
"Don't you dare!" she spits, finally rising to her full seven feet of height to loom over me. "Don't you *dare* bring them into this!"
I smile sadly at her. "How could I not? They are just as much a part of the story as you are."
She freezes, and recoils as if struck. She leans heavily against a wall, her armour scratching grooves in the painted plaster. She stares at me with horror. "You-"
"Yes, Shimmer. I'm sorry, but if you're here, and real, that means that they are as well - and that you're from the same place." I tap my temple. "Up here."
She stares at me for a long moment.
"So then - they're not real. Their love, our life. My husband, my boy-"
I rise from my bed then, and without invitation, throw my arms around her in a hug - though the armour means I can't even reach.
She freezes, looking down at me. "What?"
"Oh Shimmer," I murmur, "Of course they're real. I put you through hell during your adventure. You lost friends, you nearly lost your life, you saw and did things that would drive most anyone insane. And you only did one small part in the whole scheme of things. There is still untold evil and horror in your world, as you well know." I pause to look up at her face, and wipe a tear from her cheek. "But *your* tale in it is done. You saved the world once, and I couldn't ask more of you. So what you have now - peace, love, a *life* \- you earned it. And the fact that you're standing here, now, means that it is all real."
"How can I believe that? After I find out my entire world is a *book?"*
I smile ruefully. "Well, I'm not writing right now, am I?"
He breath hitches for a moment. "No. No, you're not, are you?"
"I'm not. Ravash and Rhogar love you, very much. As does your father. Your friends." I lay a hand on her shoulder. "So again, I ask you - what makes a good story *satisfying?* Why would I write about so much bad?"
It doesn't take her long to answer. "So that the good could taste the sweeter. A happy ending is always the better for the evil that came before it."
"Yes. Triumph against all the odds, at the greatest cost. Impossible success, through the strength of your arm, the force of your will, and the support of your friends. All of us need stories like that, in our lives. To escape into, to be inspired by."
"And I was the main character in yours."
I nod. "So you were. Now you've earned your rest, and someone else has taken up the mantle. No-one can face all the evils of the world alone."
She looks at me for a long moment. "Do I know them?"
"Hmm?"
"Your new *main character.* Is it someone I know? Will I lose even more, before this is all done and you close your books on my world for good?"
I sigh. "No, you don't. You might have seen them, or heard of them. But no - you and yours are not part of the next story." I reach up to cup her cheek. "Go back to your life, Shimmer. Live. I made you earn it, but you did it several times over."
She sighs, and relaxes. Steps away from me, and grabs her glaive from its resting spot. She shoots me a cheeky salute, and strikes a pose - as if at attention.
Then, between one blink and the next, she is gone.
\---
Thanks for reading! Feel free to check our r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more! | "Young man... you must be so confused, are you not? Allow me to ease your fraughts..." spoke the middle-aged man with a balding head, scruffy beard, and cherry-like nose as he tapped the middle cushion of his dingy couch three times, inviting the metal-clad man who'd had his sword pointed toward his neck, missing only by centimeters to sit by his side.
The room reeked. Garbage laid plaid out across the chambers of the man who'd wrought him into existence, bags upon bags made the Hero gag as he took a seat, sealing his sword back into it's sheath dubiously.
"Why... why would you create a world of darkness with nothing by a single candle to push away the dark. My mother died of cancer. My father died of super-cancer. My wife died of cancer squared, and my son died in a dying accident on his fifth birthday..." tears leaked from the six individual slots of his helm that allowed him to breath, stifling out each of his words as he pleadingly looked to his 'God,' opening the metal slot that covered his weakness.
"S-so... was it you?" stammered the Hero as his saddened eyes leered toward his creator, a fiery burning brighter than his dimly lit room slashing away the nearby darkness they'd been embalmed by.
His sword left its sheath once more, it hissed, the sound of metal escaping its scabbard sounded, with a long sharp 'shwing' in the air. He placed it upon his lap, eyeing the man who'd made him with contempt, wondering what he'd do. When forced to meet his machinations, would he simply erase him from reality? Defeat him with no effort and banish him back to his own world? Make him forget this even happened?
The rickety ceiling fan spun overhead, seemingly by a thin line, ready to fall down at any given second. It creaked perpetually, the sound of spinning wind merging with the throttled innards of the fan, creating a cacophony of noise in the otherwise silent house.
"I'm but an apparition of the true one that lies above all, and above me is another, and another, and another. I did this to make you stronger. I made you solely as a weapon of destruction; I manufactured your hardships so that you could surmise each and every God; to destroy their warped persona of darkness. You were born as a candle in the dark because no matter how dark, your light will never fade; the same is true for the ones you've yet to reach. With the ending of my life, your flame shall grow. Whether you light the darkness or char it all to ash is up to you."
The man who sat at the Hero's side snagged his sword in the blink of an eye, slashing his neck before the Hero could even react. Through his gurgled speech, he managed to manifest final words as he transformed into an efflux of darkened dust.
"Overcome the darkness, Overcome its deities, Overcome the falsities you call limits; rise through each world, stronger than before..." he spoke with the sputter of blood from his mouth. In his absence, a gem took his place, clouded in darkness with a single glitter of spark to light its surrounding, light refracting from each corner of the crystal, lighting the room brilliantly through the clouds of the dark.
"With the soul of a God, you can move a higher version of reality... I ask of you to slay the one who made me create a world like yours. Goodbye, my Hero," the crystal spoke as the dark clouds around it dissipated, now only light residing from within, shining weaker than it'd previously been.
The hero picked up the tiny gem, grasping the hilt of his sword with a flurry of tears escaping his eyes. He held the gem by his index finger and thumb, placing it inside the hilt of his sword with a soft clank.
His sword began to glow, blinking with a desire.
The desire to let this light burn forever.
With a swift slash, he cut through the air, bending reality to his whim out of his carnal desire to meet whoever it was that decided to cloak the world in darkness.
Though that day may have been far away, he'd made that journey.
If the one on top of all beings decided what was good and what was bad.
Then this existence needed someone who could change the meaning.
To my wife, my son, my mother, and my father, I'll avenge you all. | 2021-07-31T10:12:44 | 2021-07-31T10:10:31 | 68 | 30 |
[WP] As it turns out, Hell has a healthy supply of scientists and engineers and is thus much more technologically advanced than is usually portrayed. | *Warning*: the last segment contains some graphic descriptions.
An inhuman shriek pierced the eternal night of Hell, waking Dr. Roberts with a start from his dreamless sleep. He pulled the covers tightly over his head, unwilling to face what waited in the shadows. As the echo of the shriek returned from the far wall of the cavern, the mathematical part of Herb Robert's mind told him the distance to the edge. The rest, though, resigned to the inevitable - in Hell, there is no escape.
"Even death doesn't end the office toil" Herb grumbled as he slid out of bed, and began to dress for work.
*************************************************************
Dr. Roberts never saw the demon lurking in the hallway until it was on him. Its hulking form bent over its goat-like legs, bringing the hideous misshapen head down almost to the level of Herb's own. Its huge jaw flexed, showing dozens of prehensile teeth.
"You can avoid me no longer" growled the creature. It reached forward with a clawed hand larger than Dr. Robert's head.
"Very well" squeaked Herb. No matter how many times he faced these creatures, he could never keep the fear completely out of his voice. He took a brown folder from the beast's outstretched hand, and exchanged it for a small vial. It's teeth arranged themselves into a cruel grin, and it slunk down the hall making far less noise than something its size should.
As he watched the creature go, Herb thanked whatever powers created this place that he had died after the secret to taming the demons had been found. They were tireless, relentless, greedy, and craved only one thing - the smell of human fear and suffering. But sixty years ago, one of the damned had realized this, and synthesized the relevant human pheromones. After that, the change from eternal torment to a transaction-based economy happened almost overnight. Not that it was ever *day* in Hell. The demons would never be humanity's friends, but they were excellent wage slaves.
Herb shook his head to clear it, then opened the folder to look at his own seemingly unending source of suffering - the monthly reports. The first half of the contents were the usual - interviews with the newly dead. They told the same story as last month: the living world was full of wars and neglect, with medical science beyond boner pills and trillion-dollar prescription drug deals moving at a snail's pace.
The second half was equally familiar, but unlike the feelings of mired dreams evoked by the interviews, this part never ceased to amaze him. Geothermal power from the sulfur lakes was well above expected output. The fungal crop harvest was in it's thirtieth straight month of surplus. The last of the cancers the demons could produce in the damned had finally been cured. Three diseases were still beyond treatment, but the reports said these were rare in the living world.
It still surprised Herb that Hell could have made such progress, when it was ostensibly full of the worst of humanity. But the gates to Heaven had been too tight, or the pit of Hell too loose; and the sins that could send you down the one-way highway were surprisingly slight. As for the rest, well, between the psychological knowledge of the demons, the resiliency of the damned, and a complete lack of ethical oversight on experiments, Hell's psychologists had made huge strides. They had practically taken apart and rebuilt the human psyche, and as a result they had treatments for half the mental problems of the worst of the damned.
It was time, then. Dr. Roberts made his way to the elevator, and keyed in his personal access code. Even this *new* Hell had secrets.
**************************************************************
The man on the table writhed under the administration's of Herb's knife. He'd been screaming so long the sound had become a part of the background of the room, like the wind or a persistent drip of water. The crackle of electricity sounded overhead, feeding down into wires clamped to the man's flayed flesh. Glowing fluids poured into his vivisected torso through a network of tubes, bloating and distorting the face and limbs, and causing his veins to glow and swell.
Sweat beaded on Dr. Robert's face as he made a final incision in the heart, and inserted the last remaining tube. As he slowly turned a screw valve, letting fluid flow, the screaming momentarily intensified. For a minute it hit a volume and pitch that seemed as inhuman as any demon - and then slowly subsided to heavy breathing.
In the near-silence and dim cavern light, Herb could see it - faintly, but it was there. A sparkling silver thread reached upwards from the exposed heart, and wound its way towards the cavern's ceiling. Herb's smile as he gazed on it was genuine, but exhausted. The mutilated man on the table croaked weakly, breaking the stillness of the moment:
"Did we do it?"
Herb stroked the man's hair gently. "Yes, Jim. Yes we did. Can you see it?"
"No" responded Jim in a whisper. "My eyes stopped about halfway in."
"I'm so sorry, Jim. I wish there had been another way... I..." Herb trailed off, choking on his emotions. For the first time since the procedure began, he was unable to look at his friend's body.
"I know" Jim tried to nod, but his neck was too swollen with glowing fluid. "I'm sorry too. But it'll all grow back, just like it always does down here. You're not half as sadistic as whoever built this place, letting us regrow to be tortured again. But today, I'm glad for it."
"So am I, old friend. This was the last step." Herb gazed along the silver cord, fixing his eyes at the point where it thinned to vanishing. "With this, we can finally do it. All our work here - the food, the psychology, the cures - we can use this to bridge the worlds and bring it to the living."
Jim tried to smile, but only half of his face worked. "I knew we could do it. We've cracked the gates of hell, and we'll set the horsemen loose - unlimited food, treatments for aggression, cures for disease, and tamed demons who will do unlimited work for easily manufactured chemicals. Armageddon is beginning - but I don't think the living are expecting *this*. | "Well, you see, the religious types have proved scientists wrong in one respect, there really is a heaven. Unfortunately for them, most engineers and scientists have never had the CV to get there. Not enough relevant afterlife experience you see. We still don’t really know how you’re meant to get afterlife experience when all you’ve done so far is live, but there you go. ‘Bit like grad jobs asking for relevant work experience.”
I just observed the thing communicating with me, still slightly baffled by the whole experience.
“Yes, so, we’ve had some of the more practical minds make things a lot more comfortable in the last millennia. The same minds that helped translate the Laws of Nature into an understandable form back in life have done an even better job translating the Laws of God.”
Hell? It’s time to wake up.
“Hell was never the place of fire and damnation that was described in the religious texts; it was just existence. The Damnation and Fire malarkey was just a way to convince people during life that they wanted to go to Heaven. But really what they found when they got there was a bunch of arrogant Angels that think the best thing for the soul is to employ it in the extension of Angel consciousness.”
Maybe I should just go with this dream; at least there wasn’t the panic of a nightmare. In-fact, I felt quite relaxed.
“So, cleverer people than me discovered how to warp collective consciousness. That’s basically what Hell and Heaven really are. The collective consciousness of all those who have moved into the afterlife. They’re both the same ether, just Angels have been warping one part and calling it Heaven.”
I realised I wasn’t really sure how I was communicating with this thing. I hadn’t heard it. It had just entered my mind.
“Sorry, very rude of me. Hold on.”
I felt something *shift* in my mind.
“Odd” I thought. But it wasn’t quite just a thought.
“Yes, I know, that was my first reaction too.”
“You heard me?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Comes the wryly amused reply.
“What’s happening?”
“I have manipulated the collective consciousness to allow you to talk to me.”
“But I’m just thinking!” I’m getting slightly panicked now. Maybe this is a nightmare.
“Don’t worry; learning to modulate your thoughts to allow thinking without speaking is something that comes pretty early. Some people do it automatically even on their before they realise what they’re doing.” The tone becomes blasé.
“I really need to wake up. Fuck. Fuck. Stop it.” *Shift.* Stop… Ok. Just a dream. Wake up.
A resigned impression reaches me. “One of those are you? Ok. DELIA!”
I cringe. That last communication was unexpectedly loud. I observe another presence that I hadn’t noticed before. Somehow softer, warmer than the presence I can already sense. A new communication reaches me. This one has a warm, motherly tone. “Now, now Jack, you should know by now that there’s no need to shout here. You could have scared the afterlife out of him.” I feel the attention turn to me. “Think it’s a dream do you? Not uncommon.”
*Shift.* “This *is* a dream.”
“Ok, don’t worry. Young were you? At the end of life?.”
“I’m 17.”
“Were 17 darling.” The comforting reply comes.
“What?” My thoughts are strangled. This makes no sense. I’m not dead. At least I didn’t seem to be thinking out loud anymore.
“Jack really should have broken it to you more gently.” I get the impression of annoyance directed at the other presence. “Don’t worry, come with me. I’ll show you.”
I feel the warmer presence envelope me and pull me somewhere else. Feeling slightly more relaxed, I don’t fight it. This is a very vivid dream.
-------------------------
Any feedback appreciated! First post here. I have no idea if this is good or not. Cheers!
| 2016-06-01T18:52:30 | 2016-06-01T17:56:43 | 314 | 21 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | I always hated highschool. It seems like there is always the same few people there: the nerds, the jocks, the artists, the rebels, and people like me who just want it to be over.
I was daydreaming on my way to class. Eyes glazed over as I thought about the world beyond the school's hallways and how much better-
"HEY EVANS!"
I always REALLY hated highschool. This was Johnny "Storm" Thompson, the self-styled king of the realm. As he forced his arm around my shoulders I got a good look at his sigil. A blue thundercloud surrounded by 12 planums. A powerful sigil.
Everyone is born with a sigil on the back of their right hand. The strelleanum, the "star sign," in the center showed the kind of power you held. It could be a blazing red fire, a green tome, a white wolf, or a prismatic hammer. This was then surrounded by small dots, planums, that showed the strength of your power once it was fully grown. A 1 planum thundercloud could give a decent static shock, but a 20 planum one could destroy a building!
Thompson's would be a powerful sigil, especially compared to mine. A plain circle, no planums. An abnormality amongst sigils that represented weakness and plainness. Unless you knew what it did.
A jolt from Johnny's hand into my shoulder that went through my shoulder into my chest brought me back into the present. Crass laughter barreled out of the few lackeys Johnny always seemed to have around when they saw me jump and grimace at the pain.
"HOW'S THE LITTLE NOTHING TODAY," he thundered into my ears. He always laced his voice with power when he wanted attention.
"Yeah! How's the Nada?" Taylor, the chief lackey, could be so well counted on to chime in, I wondered if his strelleanum was an echo.
"LET'S SEE IF HE CAN MANIFEST ANYTHING TODAY!" A shove to my back brought a shock that took out the strength of my legs and I sprawled out onto the floor.
Most all of my past bullies let up after they got bored of getting nothing out of me, but Johnny seemed determined to get something. With two more years of highschool to go and no indication that he would let up, I came to a decision.
I'd show him a little bit of it.
I activated a facet of my power and stared into his eyes. And he saw ME. Well, some of me. 5,000 years, the weight of time. Growing up, living, growing old. The cycle continues, dozens of lifetimes, a circle unbroken.
I pulled in my powers as I stood and looked at him again. His face was pale, eyes haunted.
"...Johnny?" Taylor asked.
"Let's go... Just... Let's go." Johnny's voice was hushed, muted.
I thought about him as they wandered away. How his natural talents could turn pride and arrogance into cruelty. I hoped I didn't show him too much, that he could come to terms with it and better himself.
I turned my feet towards class and my thoughts towards the world beyond the school's hallways. I think this time I'll be a painter.
First time posting here, feedback appreciated! | A sphere, at any angle, will always have the profile of a circle. Of all the shapes, the sphere has the lowest possible surface area to volume ratio, thus taking the least amount of energy to maintain; but the amount of energy you can hold in that sphere, well, that's virtually limitless.
Snapping a neutron star into existence for the first time was quite the experience for everyone on the playground. Sure, it was less than the size of the head of a pin, but it folded Thomas in on himself with the fiery fury of an unbridled Sun. The first plasma ejection missed the kids entirely, not that it mattered. The school, and most of the houses in that area were lost to the plasma ejections, and those that survived talked about the ground rising and falling like an earthquake. | 2020-02-26T09:59:40 | 2020-02-26T08:38:51 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | “Folding back to hard space, captain. Outer band, yellow sun, third planet.” Zorgle touched his hooks through the holo-interface, bringing the warship out of its tesseract and into surveillance range of the latest planet on command’s conquer list.
“Excellent, Zorgle.” Said Captain Horgle, smiling a fang-filled smile. “Has the intel sweep come back yet?”
“Yes sir, they’re tech level 1. Simple show of force should subjugate. Oh, and they speak English.”
“English, really? What are the odds?”
“I know, right? Anyway, intel reports we should be able to patch to their primitive networks, issue a standard threat explaining our technological and genetic superiority and, by all reason, control of the planet’s infrastructure should be handed over within a spin or two.”
“Delightful, Zorgle.” Horgle adjusted his favorite fancy hat, picked up his post-fold relaxation tea and raised his cup to the expansion of the X-org empire. “Open the comm and send the message. Prepare the development teams for a point-to-point conquering.”
“Ready sir, opening the channel and broadcasting.” Zorgle punched in the command then sat back and waited. “Is that earl-grey?”
“Herbal purple, actually. Really wonderful blend that-“
A harsh beep came back over the comm. The Earthlings had responded. Zorgle brought up the text in his reader and thumbed through it.
“Sorry sir, one moment and then I wanna hear all about that tea… oh… huh… well my stars and… blurf…”
Zorgle gagged.
The captain frowned, concerned. “Are you alright Zorgle?”
“Gosh sir I… oh gawdd…”
Zorgle vomited all over his console.
“Good graces, Zorgle, are you ill?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry it’s just… the human response…” Zorgle nearly fell out of his seat.
“Heavens, then, what on Yorg are they saying?”
Zorgle turned back to the captain, trying to wipe his face clean. “They… they said no, sir.”
“What? ‘No’? But that’s preposterous! Isn’t it?”
“I’m… sort of paraphrasing, captain.”
“Well out with it, Zorgle, it can’t be all that bad.”
“They… they told us to go ‘fuck’ ourselves. Sir.”
Horgle turned a shade of purple to match his tea, then tasted it coming back up again.
“But… that’s… physically impossible, I believe…”
“I know sir, just thinking about it I- hrrrggg-“ Zorgle gagged. It was more of a dry heave now that he’d already emptied his breakfast onto the comm.
“Well tell them, ensign! Explain at once!”
“Yes, sir!” Zorgle straightened himself, wiped the comm and sent the response swiftly.
An even harsher BEEP sounded from the console. Zorgle opened the response with trepidation.
The ensign began sobbing uncontrollably.
“My STARS what is happening?!” said Horgle.
“They’re so MEAN sir!” Zorgle continued blubbering.
“Well tell them! Tell them they’re being mean at once! And, and tell them if they don’t stop we’ll… we’ll ignore them!”
“But sir, we can’t issue a cold shoulder without command authority!”
“Gosh darn it man I know we’re bluffing, it’s all we’ve got right now! Tell them at once!”
Zorgle did. Then he wailed again as a flurry of beeps rang out from the console. “They aren’t stopping sir! They say we suck!”
“But… we don’t suck! Tell them we don’t suck!”
“I’m trying sir but they refuse to believe us! They keep insisting we suck! And that- oh god… I… I…”
Zorgle’s jaw dropped, frozen in shock for a moment.
Then his head exploded.
Fangs flew everywhere. One of the larger canines struck Horgle in the eye. Things went black.
Horgle woke up face-first on the deck. The ship was dark – emergency power. A red alert sounded through sealed bulwarks.
He scanned his bridge. Next to Zorgle’s headless form were two other poor chaps, dressed in rescue gear, their skulls similarly ruptured by the profanity riddling the ensign’s screen.
What level of Hell had they opened?
The voice of the ship’s computer spoke up in its dulcet monotone.
<<Systems compromised. Sounding distress signal. Uploading commlink history to central command.>>
“Computer… do not transmit…”
<<Systems failing. Vulgarity overload.>>
“Curses…” Horgle, still blinded in one eye, consciousness fading, pushed himself back into his seat, opening the manual override. “Computer… initiate self-destruct. And cast the warning beacon. Don’t let-“
<<Go fuck yourself, captain.>>
The ship burst into radioactive flame, casting its final location and comm data back across imperial networks. In a matter of moments, death and fear and utter humiliation channeled across the galaxy.
Then silence hung in the void, a reverent echo of countless voices, cut down as wheat in a field.
“What a bunch of twats,” said Earth. | Part 1
&#x200B;
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations. | 2019-02-26T12:58:33 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] It's been 6 years since time stood still. As you turn the corner to go home, you see a woman and her dog walking nonchalantly towards you. | Yet another quiet day goes by. At least another one of my days. It has remained July 24th, 2019 for about six years according to my records. I keep my calendar like a prisoner with sharpie marks on the wall with my rough estimation of the passage of time. Unfortunately it is hard to tell how much time has gone by when the sun always remains in the same place in the sky. Stagnant shadows are now just as permanent as the objects they are cast from. No clocks work including the cheap solar powered digital watch on my wrist. I continue to wear it with slight hope that one day I may see it change from its permanent read of 5:47 PM. I still don't know why I am still roaming around free of the bonds of the time freeze. But I am long past that moral quandary.
It has been a lonely 6 years. Prolonged solitude is one of those experiences that can drive a person to the brink of insanity, and back several times over. The number of mental breakdowns I have had numbers into the teens at this point. My self awareness and sanity slips further and further every time I snap. I talk to the statues that were once my friends, girlfriend, parents, neighbors or complete strangers in attempts to feel even the slightest form of companionship. I does nothing for me as the conversations can be pretty one-sided as you would probably imagine.
I read a lot. It's all i can really do. All of the TVs and electronics are suspended in a constant state like the fake prop electronics you see at a furniture gallery. Gravity only seems to apply to me and certain things I interact with. It makes little sense and any attempt to understand it only leads to more confusion. The food is free at least. I have been living in the Governor's mansion for the past 5 years or so. Him and his family provide good company for me when I decide to sit down and have a meal. My girlfriend moved in with me a few years ago too. Some would say it was too soon int he relationship for such a big step but she didn't object when I made the suggestion. It is nice having her to cuddle with at night even though she is always posed as she was reaching for a can of beans on the top shelf of her apartment. But she is still adorable nonetheless.
\----------
Today was a good day. I went to the ocean. I wandered out and eventually sat on my favorite wave next to Hank the humpback whale who is forever breaching out of the water about a quarter mile off the shore. I relaxed there on the solid and jagged ocean surface telling Hank about my thoughts. He is a great listener. His eye looking right at mine whenever I tell him secrets. "Should I do it, Hank? Her and I have been together for 7 years now. I think it's about that time I popped the question."
Hank looked back at me with his kind, non-judgemental eyes. Suspended water droplets and sharp folds in the water frozen solid like glass surrounded his half-submerged body. "Yeah, you're totally right, if she loves me, she won't say no. Thanks Hank, I can always count on you. Take care of yourself buddy, I need to make a stop at the jewelry store. Same time next week alright?" I feel blissful these days. I have settled into a happy life I can now call my own.
&#x200B;
I made a quick stop at the jewelery and found the perfect ring. A little over a million dollars was a tad out of my price range but it was the nicest one they had and my love deserved the best. I didn't have much to spend but I am a pretty good negotiator these days so it only cost me a fraction of the price. The woman at the store seemed happy with the $7.50 I placed nicely in front of her. I am now walking home with a genuine Tiffany's engagement ring in my hand. I hope she is surprised.
What was that? Did I just hear a sound? Couldn't have been. With time being stuck, there is nothing that could move to make a sound in the first place. Maybe it was just an echo from my footsteps. I turn the final corner down the road to the Governor's....uh....my mansion. I stop in my tracks when I see something that rattles me to my core. Movement. I thought it was a hallucination from a statue but there has never been a statue on this block. I see a statue moving. That's not a statue anymore. That's a woman. And at her left is a little shih-tsu, also moving. So fast. What is happening? A flood of sensation hits me. My ears are suddenly bombarded. What is that? Moving air on my skin? My heart feels like it is pounding four inches out of my chest. So much movement in the sky.
I fall to my knees, overtaken by pure over-stimulation. The ring escapes out of my hand as my torso drops to the concrete with my arms outstretched. I see the woman run toward me and kneel down with a worried look. I can feel the dog lick my face. What a foreign feeling. I begin to shake. My ears are splitting. I feel my body convulsing with violent spasms. The woman's voice blends along with all of the other noises and sensations tearing my brain apart. I briefly see the ring laying in the sidewalk and it gives off a slight glint. I reach to the ring and as my mind starts to fade and vision goes to black, I see the watch wrapped around my outstretched wrist.
&#x200B;
5:48 PM
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&#x200B;
Hit me with some feedback on this one. I am a little nervous about the quality. Thanks guys! And thanks for the awesome prompt this was a fun one! | I was hiding in a freezer when me and my flatmates were playing hide and seek. I tried counting down the time. 5 minutes? 10 minutes? 20 minutes? I started to shiver. I looked at my phone - 5:15 in the evening. I kept twiddling my thumbs - I had definitely won this! It was so dark in here. Was my phone going to break in here from the cold? I took a look again - 5:15 in the evening. Yup, my phone was going to break in here from the cold. I pushed up the freezer door and got out.
I'm being fucked with, was my first thought, as I saw grass growing on the ground, vines twisting across the walls.
"I get it guys, you knew where I was!"
I laughed and went into the lounge. The five-seater couch was in the middle of the room, covered in mud and rotting. A bit elaborate for just a prank, I sped through the house.
"Davy? John? Paul?" My room was empty, Davy's room was empty, John's room was empty. One by one I went through the rooms. Paul's room, the garage, must be where they are. I ran into the garage, and I'll have to be blunt - it was the smell of death, rotting flesh, that I could smell in here. Wrapped up in the bed was what I believe is Paul.
I looked at my phone - 5:23 in the evening, Monday 3rd of January. What year is it? I could feel myself getting dizzy, breathing heavily. On the calendar app, 2028 was highlighted in red.
"It's July 2019, it's supposed to be July."
I ran out of the garage, towards and out of the front door. The neighbourhood was an absolute mess - in the middle of Mrs Bucket's lawn, trees and weeds were growing like mad. Mrs Bucket would never let her husband Richard get away with an untidy lawn.
My own house was in total disarray - the paint was chipping, the trees were growing into the house and moss was growing on the windows.
I collapsed on my knees, kneeling on the cracked concrete path. Life as I knew was over.
It has been six years since I hid in that freezer. Well, six years from when I had emerged from it. I don't know the exact day or month, my phone stopped working a long time ago. For the last few months I've been hiding in the city, finding new apartments to hide in. I found that houses in the suburbs were messes, while apartments only had small amounts of mould, very few signs of other life. If anything, some of them had a couple of dead bodies in it. Nothing I wasn't used to by now. When I was young, I always wanted to live on Main Street. Main Street was the main street, funnily enough, that had the wealthiest shops underneath thousands of the cities wealthiest apartments. They weren't as lavish as I had imagined them to be, each apartment I had found was kind of small. But they were all nice.
I was sitting out on the balcony, and I couldn't believe my eyes. A woman and her dog was walking up Main Street. | 2019-07-25T18:25:52 | 2019-07-25T17:16:56 | 37 | 22 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | I stood outside the bar, hearing laughter and chatting from the warm interior. I looked down the line of people waiting for entry and started looking down the line muttering under my breath, "Twenty-two, twenty-five, Thirty, Twenty-nine, and... a twenty year old."
I sighed and I could see my breath within the cold night air. "Alright guys!" I gestured to the front of the line, "Come on in!" As the first four passed me, I held up my hand to block the entrance for the twenty year old, a tall black-haired boy who *might* have been able to enter as he looked to be at least twenty-three to any other outside viewer. Unluckily for him however, I have an exceptionally rare ability to see the age of any individual floating above their heads.
The boy looked at me confidently and smiled, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"May I see your ID please?"
The boy looked surprised and took out his wallet. "Alright, just give me a second here...". The boy gave an elaborate shuffling through his wallet for a good thirty seconds before he finally said, "I think I might have left my ID at home or something. Can you make an exception please? My friends drove me and one of them just went in, I mean we are literally the same age. Just ask him!"
I nudged him out of the line and said, "Sorry kid, no ID no entry."
The boy's previous friendly face slowly contorted into one of utter anger. He looked as if he were going to punch me until he stopped himself. Still clenching his fist with knuckles pale as ice, he stormed off without saying another word.
I sighed and looked at the next one in line. He looks definitely like a kid. I'd guess... ten years old. I used my ability and his age appeared above him displaying... **FOUR DIGITS**. WHAT PERSON IS 7300 YEARS OLD? He looks like a kid too!
He had auburn hair and was looking at me with wide eyes. I quickly blinked a few times to mask my loss of composure. "Uh... So, how old are you?"
The boy gave a huge grin and yelled in an ear-piercing voice, "Seven, three, zero, zero years old!"
I raised an eyebrow and knelt down. In a soft voice I asked, "Are you lost kid? Where's your mom?"
The boy scowled and yelled even louder in a tantrum impatiently, "I am **seven, three, zero, zero years old!**"
There is no way this kid is immortal or something. As far as I know, immortality and reincarnation or anything of the sort is nonexistent. I quickly pat his head gently and said, "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
The kid started sniffling and pointed inside the bar, "But my mom is inside!" I gently grabbed the kid's hand and guided him inside with me saying, "Come on kid. I'll find your mother."
We walked inside the bar with lots of people chattering and hearing the clinks of wine glasses. I grabbed the kid and held him up by the shoulders. I said in a loud booming voice, "WHOSE KID IS THIS?"
A thirty one year old whom I assumed to be the mother quickly ran to the kid and hugged him closely saying, "I am so, so sorry Alan. I thought you were asleep!"
I shook my head, "Listen, next time. Watch him closely and don't leave him alone by himself. *Ever*."
She glanced at me and softly said, "Alright."
I put a hand on the kid's shoulder and glanced at the mother, "By the way, how old is he anyways?"
The mother sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. She said, "He's only ten years old."
"Then why does he call himself a 7300 year old?"
The mother gave a hint of a smile, "It's just his way of adding up to 10 years old. The two extra zeroes are just to make him seem smarter with math." She ruffled Alan's hair, "Aren't you smart?"
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| I've got about 20/200 vision; however of the blur in the string of crowd to my left, each digit in the jumble of numbers still has clear edges, like a bad photoshop. I don't even bother to make them out until they step closer though, so that the smoldering numbers are silhouetted by the darkened buildings eventually behind them. I motioned to the door to my 5 o'clock and the group nearest went past, then behind me through the door. It was drizzling, and in-between each vague gesture of invitation I brought my head down to stare at the relaxing splashes on the pavement in front of me, periodically obscured by my breath. The rain made everyone impatient, but the man to my left stepped forward slowly; still in front of the crowd behind him. Unmoving, my eyes wandered from the calming spatter to his ragged moccasins. He then said something in an unfamiliar accent, that didn't manage to break through the general hum of the crowd. I finally moved my head. 7219. I squinted and, still staring at the monoliths aligned above his head, I said, "Seventy-two? What are you doing here?" He didn't look seventy. His eyebrows twitched up, and then he put a shit-eating grin on his face. That unfamiliar accent, his expression and the situation grew unconsciously on my nerves. 7219. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer, expecting the seventy-two to part from a nineteen behind him. It didn't. I stood up from my stool
as far as i got, not a writer obviously, but this prompt was way too interesting not to imagine up a scenario about
editedit: i think i'll finish this story later tonight, if anyone cares lol
| 2018-02-12T22:42:59 | 2017-09-01T23:35:54 | 223 | 11 |
[WP] On their 13th birthday everyone is assigned a guardian beast, to protect and even lay down their lives. You get a butterfly. Sensing your dismay, it says "I may be small and frail, but the flaps of my wings have been known to cause hurricanes." | The butterfly, an iridescent blue, perched on my finger. It swayed gently, trembling, its antennae looped into curls.
"No," I said. "Get off." I shook my hand violently. "Get *off*. You can't protect me."
Luminous eyes stared up at me, reflecting my own face.
I shuddered. "Butterflies don't have *eyes*."
"I may be fragile— "
"I said get off of me! This isn't fair."
"Child— "
I thrust a finger at the boy next to me. "He got a wolf. See the girl next to him?" The girl twirled a lock of hair around her finger, nose to nose with a giant cat. "She got a lion. A *lion*."
"Fluttering wings can start hurricanes," it said softly, still shaking in the breeze.
I sat down in the grass. Dewdrops jumped at my touch; they splattered, cut by blades of grass. "I don't believe you."
There was a quiet pause between us, as children—adults now, really—laughed in wonder at their Guardians. Then: "Do you want me to leave?"
With a heavy-hearted sigh, I looked away from the tiny creature. "I want a real Guardian," I said honestly. "I don't want you."
"I will die, then."
I swallowed hard. "I don't care."
"Fluttering wings," it repeated, "can start hurricanes."
And against the twilight, its softly shining wings withered and fell. Little blue lights scattered like stars across the sky, and its antennae unfurled and drifted away.
I felt a warm breath on my neck. The hairs on my arms stood up.
I turned, slowly, carefully, and found myself staring at an enormous bear. Its brown fur, streaked by gold, rippled across its powerful body as it plodded another step forward. When I raised my eyes to the bear's, I was met by the inky darkness of its gaze.
And time passed, and the bear protected me. It was his duty, after all, and as I grew into real adulthood, he was often by my side with advice. Yet as my peers grew older, and had children of their own, the next generation of Guardians was a curious one.
Most children before had been paired with foxes and falcons, wolves and wildcats, the powerful defenders of the Realm. But this generation was full of the most exotic beings. My sister's child was greeted by a tropical bird, bursting with the colors of a sunset by the sea. That child's friend found a frog: a rather small thing, but patterned so exquisitely it brought the girl to tears. There were peacocks, decked in rich indigos and deep greens; insects, their gossamer wings like lace; fish, shimmering scales of silver and gold.
And there were butterflies.
There were many, many butterflies, and one of them, one day, spoke to me.
It fluttered in my heart, whimsical and bright, and whispered about joy and love. It told me about the butterfly effect. It told me how one decision could change the world.
It reminded me that one decision, ever so small, could start hurricanes.
And so I listened to the butterfly, as it murmured from my heart—because this time, I knew it could not be so easily broken. | For awhile I was worried about being bullied, being compared to those with vicious dogs or menacing lions.
I was distant with my guardian, unwilling to listen to her. I thought I was being strong.
For awhile she told me seemingly bad ideas and actions that would harm me.
I was always beaten down, and couldn't figure out why I was failing my classes.
One night of crying, I decided to listen to her for a change. Nothing came of it at first, it was slow and gradual.
She kept on reassuring me, motivating me to work hard.
Despite her passive nature, I won the few fights she joined in with me.
It was when I started making friends that I understood what her goal was. Before, I was alone, even with her around. Now, I'm better than ever. | 2017-05-04T15:31:35 | 2017-05-04T12:09:38 | 66 | 19 |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | Gaining trust is not easy.
It's established piece by piece -- asking how the kids are, shooting the breeze over a beer, learning what someone's favorite food is. Heroes and villains are notoriously guarded, but I know what pushes their buttons. They're all plagued by the same insecurities - the fear of becoming irrelevant, of not making their mark.
I've had clients from The Purifier to The Untethered, The Jack-of-All-Trades to Magnet Man. But The Vaporizer had a particularly unusual request.
He invited me over for coffee one day. As soon as we sat down, he instantly opened up to me.
"Look, Sam - that's your name, right? Sam?"
I nodded.
He took a sip of his coffee, hands trembling, and continued. "I'm trying to get out of the game, if you know what I mean. I'm exhausted. You know how many people are up my ass because of what I've done? Bank robberies, beatdowns, tax evasion - the works. I don't have time to --"
I cut him off. "So what exactly do you expect me to do?"
"I want you to go out there as me. As I am now. And while I deal with my problems, I want you to do the nicest things you can imagine. Hold doors open, help old folks across the street. *Anything.* If people start to associate my face with the 'nice guy,' their suspicions will evaporate."
I shrugged. "All right, sure. But I'm gonna need some things from you. Let's start with your ID."
He fished out his wallet and handed it over. I studied it for a moment and instantly morphed into a pitch-perfect recreation of his face, build, and clothing, accurate down to every last pore.
"I'll be off, then," I said, grinning cheerily.
The plan worked swimmingly, all things considered. People started to leave flowers and thank-you notes outside the former Vaporizer's door. He managed to get a couple job interviews. His kids seemed to enjoy being around him.
One day, I made a friendly suggestion. "Hey, have you ever considered donating to charity? Something like the County Orphanage?" The Vaporizer provided his bank account information without hesitation. I made a $100 donation in his name - his real name, Todd Higgins - and a letter of thanks from the orphanage followed soon afterward.
I typically find myself juggling clients. Doing a couple hours in this identity, another couple in that one. After a month of helping Todd out, I decided it was time to make my move. I stuck a letter in his mailbox.
"Dear Todd,
It's your pal Sam. I appreciate everything you've shared with me these past couple weeks. Unfortunately, I'm a busy man, and it's time for me to move on.
I hope you've found my services sufficient. But I want to offer a friendly reminder that I own you now. I have your bank accounts, your Social Security Number, and your face. I can break you in seconds. And if you don't send me $20,000 within 48 hours, that's exactly what I'll do.
Think carefully about your next decision.
Your dearest friend,
Sam."
I sent a burner PayPal link to his email, registered under my "Sam" alias. Todd sent the money by the end of the day. I cashed out and wiped the PayPal from existence.
It's hard making a living. I have to scrounge just like everyone else. But I have an advantage that no one else does.
Tomorrow, I will be a different person. | *** written on mobile at work so sorry for the grammar issues**
It was a rough start in the business. I learned quickly that trying to threaten my potential clients was wrong way to do things. But after I got my first client things became easier. The word of mouth spread quickly among the superheros first. At first just captain M then Mr. incredible wanted to have easy outs as well. Business really took of after the first time I got kidnapped by a super villain. Doctor Sin was his name. Boy was he surprised when he found out I wasn’t The Valkeri. The madman almost killed me on the spot. But when we got to talking he realized that I could be his perfect alaby. After the doctor; terrorman wanted to use my services as well. It’s been 10 years since I started and I’ve been booked solid for appearances at all of the major crimes and hero approximation events 2 years in advance. At this point Im wishing I had cloning as well as shape shifting as my power. If I could make a couple more of me it would really help the business grow faster. | 2020-10-19T08:18:22 | 2020-10-19T07:47:18 | 1,711 | 15 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by a cult to be used as sacrifice. As you are are lying tied underneath the altar you hear one of the cultists say “Ho dark lord we present to you this person as an offering”. With nothing left to lose you yell “Ho dark lord I present to you this cultists as an offerings!” | The room erupted in nervous chattering.
*"Is that allowed?"*
*"Walter, why didn't you gag the sacrifice?"*
*"Don't look at me, that was Dustin's job!"*
*"Hey guys, uh, please don't bring me into this, I'm just the water boy -"*
**"Enough."**
The presence of the Dark Lord came suddenly, more in feeling than in physicality. The gravity of the room seemed to become ten times heavier, leaving me dangerously teetering from my cage on the top of the alter.
My vantage point in the middle of the temple meant that I had a front row seat to the cultists backing away, their hastily-made dark robes just a hint too navy blue to blend into the shadows. Standing a bit apart from the mob was who I guessed to be the water kid, attempting to make himself disappear in his too-small jeans and overly-big sweatshirt. He attempted to wiggle the doorknob, but it shattered. The pieces dissolved as they hit the floor.
"Ho, Dark Lord." The cultist who had spoken first ventured forward. "We are honoured to be in your presence."
The statement was mumbled by the others.
"As you can see, we have brought this -"
**"Yes."** The presence acknowledged. It spoke in an annoyed tone I belatedly realised I knew too well.
*Oh, shit.*
I looked around in alarm, trying to find the source of the voice. More specifically, though, I was trying to find where the voice *wasn't*. The sooner I could escape, the less this would escalate.
"A sacrifice," Walter said, his voice quavering like a schoolboy's. "Female, as you requested. Gluten-free, not a virgin -"
I groaned. *Of course* he included that. Not like I was in enough shit as it was.
"And of average health," the first cultist added. "Completely average health, Your Darkness, an average memory -"
**"And despite her perceived simple-mindedness, this female was able to not only copy your entire ritual without your noticing -- from *inside her cage* -- but able to do it in just the right way to summon me, something that took all of you months to accomplish."**
The cultists devolved into muttering again, casting accusatory side glances between themselves and the water kid.
**"Not only was she able to greatly succeed where you failed, you didn't even manage to complete a simple background check on her."**
"Well, uh, Your Vileness - "
The presence shifted to me, effectively cutting off Walter's plea. **"And you, child. What have you to say for yourself?"**
I shrank inside my cage, its intensity suffocating. "I swear, I can explain --"
**"You stayed out past your curfew, fraternised with mortals, and *seriously* thought you wouldn't get caught?"**
"I didn't know that *you* were the Dark Lord they were summoning, I thought it was Vernicio or --"
**"You're lucky it was me, girl. If you were my responsibility you'd be grounded for the next thousand years."**
I cursed my own stupidity. *Community parenting.*
"Uh..."
My attention snapped to the far corner of the room, where several cultists stood as close to the exit as they possibly could. Walter seemed to have been the one who spoke, although he seemed to be regretting it.
"Your Leadenness, is the ritual, uh, postponed?"
**"Now that it has begun, it must end."** The presence snapped back to a more professional air, growing impossibly heavier. It left me and approached the cultists where they huddled against the doorway. **"You shall be an example."**
It only took a second for the world to be turned inside-out. I gagged at the sight of the cultists' bodies opening like envelopes and folding in on themselves backwards, compacting and disappearing a loop of slow digestion in the folds of the universe.
They were gone as quickly as a bump in the road. The only sign of them ever having existed was the water boy in the empty doorframe, vomiting into a bucket with a crazed look in his eyes.
The presence returned to me, then, and manifested itself: a man in a gray suit, his purple umbrella tapping the floor with each tick of his pocketwatch. With a shake of his hand, the altar and the cage fell away. I hit the ground legs first, hearing a painful crack before my bones began to stitch themselves back together.
"I'm disappointed in you, child," he told me. "You were to have no part in my disposal of these creatures."
"I know." I hung my head in shame. "I just wanted to *do* something. I'm bored."
"The apocalypse is in due time, child," he reminded me. "In the meantime, you're grounded. No more mortals until Doomsday itself."
"But *daaad* --"
"Be grateful I'm not telling your mother about this." | The cultist standing above you bearing a dagger ready to plunge deep into your chest looked upon you with amusement. "Did you really think that would work?"
Cacophonous laughter suddenly echoed throughout the night.
An eerie voice sent shivers down your spine "whoa there little one, over ten millennia, throughout dimensions uncounted. Never has one been so brash! I think I am going to like you!" For whatever reason you now felt secure, like someone was holding you protectively in their arms.
The ominous chanting of the cultists rapidly changed to screams the like you are certain humanity had never heard. Despite all of the carnage hurtling about, nine of it seemed to touch you. When you finally were brought out of your stupor, all of the blood and sinew that should have been strewn around the forest floor somehow collected into a pile. That was certainly abnormal you noted. Almost instantly after you had that thought the laughter burst through the silent woods.
"Ahhh, little one. You are about to witness something spectacular." The voice once again sent chills down your spine, but actually started to sound a bit, calmer?
You begin to look worriedly at the pile of former cultists as it began to pulse. Faster and faster it beat, almost resembling what the hearts powering the demented cultists. As it pulsed, it seemingly began to diminish in size.
"Behold mortal. A vision of true power!"
You had to look away, as the grisly mound suddenly flashed an incredibly bright light before vanishing. In its place was a rather large white cat with seven black dots forming a circle on its forehead.
You felt the same eerie voice in your head "I will walk this plane with you mortal. I wish to... observe the most interesting being the cosmos has offered in great detail."
You began to stammer "um, what do I call you?"
"Hmm, names. I like the name..." the cat looked skyward as if in thought, and saw the comet you had come out to view, unhindered by city lights before suffering the unluckiest day of your life by stumbling upon a group of cultists. "Haley, I like the name Haley." The cat looked at you with a smile.
"Well Haley, I am going to need to explain to my landlord that I now have a cat, and he might not budge on his no pet policy."
"Where exactly are you suggesting that you stay then human?"
You sigh. It was looking like it was going to be a long night, | 2020-05-05T15:42:28 | 2020-05-05T14:32:25 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] "Dragons respect the strong," the dragon said. "Okay, so if that's true why do you never attack that one old farmer outside the city." Asked the adventurer. "I'll repeat, Dragons respect the strong." | They used to tell stories about Farmer Deadeye. No, that wasn't his real name. There were several farmers at the local pub who claimed to know it, but at any question of revealing this information, they'd simply scoff and return to their drinks. Deadeye, it seemed, liked the children staying clear of his house.
The stories themselves ranged from the impressive to the terrifyingly absurd. There was the tale they told of the time he dragged a horse 2 miles through a storm after it exhausted itself running from a pack of Darters. As you may know, Darters are a particularly fierce little land dragon that hunt in large packs. They swarm about like mosquitos, taking bites until the target has no more joints left to swing the hole-pocked limbs. The horse, miraculously, survived with only a few nips on its' hindquarters and flank.
Then there was the tale of the Talking Dragon.
Everyone knows these days that Talking Dragons exist, but they are often either so wicked that humanity is but sport to them, or so old and shrouded in that Dragonish shine of knowledge that most humans are but twittering birds to them; something to admire for a moment, maybe ask a rhetorical question or wave a great paw to frighten them away for some amusement.
I was present at the first telling, which is the only reason I choose to share this particular ridiculous tale above all the other ludicrous ones. Unlike the stories told by the children, and the posing grandparents and bar regulars who simply liked to sound impressive, this story is dominated by the power of word. And maybe that is what makes it so interesting. If Old McCare wanted to tell a tall tale, he would have screamed of a great battle, or of Farmer Deadeye hurling a fence post at a great beast and driving it off.
But McCare's story began quite differently from the rest. He seemed shaken that night, as if he had nearly fallen a great height and barely caught himself only a few moments before coming in. He tugged quietly at his drink as a couple curious regulars (including myself) tried to pull the story out of him. When he finally looked at us with tired eyes and began, he spoke softly.
"Weren't not but half a mile from me own farm, down by the old creek near Densbury. I was walking along, quiet like, and before I knows quite what's goin' on, there's a great black shadow round and over me head." McCare laughed shakily. "Well, I can tell ye I had not much thought but of makin' a dash for it when the great shadow, quick as lightning, grows to the size of a house and with a crash I'm seeing the scales and the wings. Big golden feller, with eyes like a fox's." He shook his head, lifting the drink back to his lips.
It was around this time that a ripple of laughter cascaded past me from a couple of the younger farmers. One of them sitting next to me, a man named Jonathon, patted the old man on the shoulder. "Ah, but you're expecting us to believe this great beast circled you as a hawk circles a rabbit, landed in front of you, and here you sit filling the pocket of scoundrels like Robinson?"
More laughter followed these words, and a general quiet cursing from the general direction of the bartender. McCare took no notice of this. He simply dragged his drink for a moment, and continued.
"Aye, you'd think I were not but hatchlin' meal- as it as I were in no position to run; great thing's landin' shook the earth around it like pudding, and I was on me back. And if it had been a normal dragon I'm sure that would have been the end. But this one, this one spoke to me." The last words were barely a whisper, but everyone heard them.
General uproar. Some laughter, some genuine shouts of "a talking dragon?!", "could he be serious?!" and the like, and some scoffs and words of disapproval- "scarin' folks for no reason-", "always some fool tryin' to outdo the last liar-", and so on and so on.
When the noise settled back down, McCare finally recounted the part that would be told for years, decades, maybe even centuries to come.
"Well, he says to me in a voice like a bull and a cat and a crow all in one, 'little mortal, either I am mistaken, or you seek a petty price for the weight of your soul.'
Well, to be sure I weren't quite aware of his meanin' and, bein' so happy not bein' eaten and all, I supposes to myself 'I may as well return his riddle if I can!' And so I says, looking into those great monstrous eyes, 'great master of the skies, you behold a mortal with little of either and very often mistaken. Do I misunderstand your meaning, o Lord of Sea and Flame?'
At this, the dragon throws back his head and laughs like a great bell of flesh and bone. He peers at me and says, 'oh little mortal, your reply is satisfactory, although it is not dazzling. You have thus saved yourself from the fate of becoming my son's next meal, and earn yourself the reward of a question. For it is the strong who shall be treated as equals, and dragonborn shall respect them.'
I says to the dragon, thinking the only thought that may have come to my mind as I stood there, shaking in my terror and wonder, 'I say, Mr. Dragon, your people attack our towns near daily, as I reckon. How comes I've never seen a dragon go after that old farmer down the road there?'
And the dragon turns to follow my finger as I point to Deadeye's farm, and a little grin comes upon his face.
'The little mortal who dwells within that hut has earned our benevolence,' says he. 'In the days of the Great Skyworms of the East, he wrestled my brother, Sliv'je the Fang for a whole day and night before being bested.'
'Bested?' I says, me mouth going dry. 'But, o Winged bringer of the Justice and Time, would you not have killed the poor man then?'
And once again, the dragon laughed. And somehow-" McCare paused in his story, staring down at a spot on the table, "-somehow, it was nicer laugh this time.
'Little mortal,' says he, 'if a mouse wrestled a dog for a morning and an afternoon before fleeing, would the dog ever think to make a mouthful of it again?'"
&#x200B;
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Edit: Holy crap thank you for the awards kind strangers! I'd be willing to make a part two if anyone wants. I really enjoyed making this one and I'm glad everyone else seems to like it! | In the annals of history there is written a mysterious conversation between the archwizard of the kingdom and the mightiest dragons that had roamed the land. A man of magical might and intellectual prowess beyond what anyone is capable. For most of the forlorn time is lost, there those supreme beings talked as equals to one another.
---
Zhranaaîrs shadowly black scales shimmered in the moonlight cave, surrounded by an ocean of treasury that riveled all the kingdoms. A dragon of chaos and destruction, yet honored one thing above all. For that one thing was strength. In the hierachies of the dragons, strength was what defined them and made them what they are. The strongest dragon alone can grow old and weary.
The archwizard sat just beside him. As the old weary man he was with his cane made of eldertree bark and beard majestic if ever seen. For those two beings of power talked about the nature of power.
Zhranaaîrs voice was one of growling thunder packaged together until a flew of woven words came out. "Armenos" the dragon spoke the name the archwizard. "You have come to me, to converse. About power?".
The archwizard, with his one hand stroking his beard and his other pressing his hand against his face as to hold it in place. "Yes I have come here to talk. I want to understand the true nature of dragons. I have read the stories, studied the libraries of the world and listened to every scholar there is. And yet, your true nature is still elusive to me.
Small echos roamed the cave. "You humans are delightful." The dragon responded. "The reason why I respect you Armenos is the one truth behind every dragons existence." he continued as he rose his arm from the ground. His black etched claws who had seen centuries of destruction smashing into the wall. "See, what I respect is strength. For those with no strength, I dissolve into puddles of nothingness." His eye covered in a venemous green.
"For all that might be true. You dragons hide behind your prowess. And yet you must value the life of humans in one way." Armenos respondend. Gutteral sounds echoed through the air as the dragon emitted a thunderous laughter.
"Measily little humans have no consideration in my mind Armenos. It is truth I speak here, for I value strength." The wizards face was calm in the face of what would turn most humans into a pile of sweat and tears. "Tell me then, you mighty dragon, what about the kingdom of Nehval? For you have turned the stone to sand and craters where houses once were. You have not spared anyone from your torment. And yet" The wizard took a moment of consideration. "There is a man who lived to tell the tale. A farmer no less with nothing to his name. He could not have survived it without your permission. I spoke with him personally, as he told me about you."
The dragon turned his eyes keenly onto the wizard. "Then you are more of a fool than I imagined Armenos. For you see wizard. I value strength. The prowess to stand above my enemy on the battlefield. And yet I respect you, who can barely stand on your own two feet, you meager old man. For you have the might of the arcane in your hand. And that is the other strength I respect."
The grin of the wizard had disappeared. "He is a farmer man, surely, if he had-" He paused as he looked around. "Who is there?" as sigils began weaving their way through the air around the wizards hand.
"It is of no use, you foolish wizard. Have you noticed it now?" The dragon spoke. "You cannot see what you do not know. But I sensed it then as I sense it now. The man who must be left alone. He sees it all."
And for what the he said was true. For there must be one to record the things that are never seen by anyone.
---
The records end there. It is said that the archwizard Armenos had locked away his knowledge to be kept a secret forever. The dragon vanished in the passing of time. The author of these texts are to this day unknown. | 2022-12-25T20:09:27 | 2022-12-25T19:25:49 | 545 | 53 |
[WP] At your job, you have one task. Every day you go in, sit at your desk, and wait for a red light to turn on. When it does, you push a button. You repeat this process until the end of your shift. One day, you find out what the button does... | Joe sat down in his gray walled cubicle that contained nothing but a tiny red button. The job was the easiest that Joe had ever had, but it was also so monotonous that minutes felt like hours. The red button already turned on and Joe instantly pushed it. Sometimes it came on only hundreds of times per day and other times it was thousands.
"Joe I want to talk to you." His manager said walking up behind him.
Joe's heart started pounding and he wondered if his manager had found the crossword puzzle that was hidden just underneath the desk. If he got fired, his family would be out on the street in days.
"The button shouldn't come on for at least a couple more minutes, so we should have some time to talk. Nathan will take over if anything comes up. The Group is fond of your work." The manager said smiling as the two walked down the long hallway that lead away from Joe's lonely desk.
"Oh. Well I'm glad sir." Joe said feeling confused. He hadn't done anything impressive at all, nor could he. All he had done in the last ten years was push a red button for eight hours a day.
"Oh Joe, you have a great strength. You've never asked nosy questions or tried to figure out what the button does. The Group wants to promote you and show you the good work you've been doing for the planet." The manager said as they got into a plain white elevator.
Joe was given two simple instructions which he never dared break. Push the button when it comes on, and never ask what it does.
"Do you remember what you said to me when you begged me for this position? You said you'd do anything. This perked my interest, and you accepted the button job right
away. You're more man than most of us." The manager said chuckling as the two made their way out of the elevator.
Joe hated this lifeless job, but he desperately needed a good paying position that could provide for his newborn daughter Emily. The planet had become hugely overpopulated and the job market was more difficult than ever before in history.
"What floor is this sir?" Joe asked cautiously. "It's the heating level of course. Right this way." The manager glowed with pride. Joe had never had never had access to this floor before and always kept his mouth shut about it.
"I just don't see what this has to do with me." Joe said. "We want to give you a raise. Basically we will be paying you 4 times what we are paying you now if you agree to say with us. We need someone we can trust with this information." Joe couldn't believe it. Even a 4% raise would have been a huge boost.
"Your pay will go up dramatically if you stay with us for one reason. You will continue the work despite knowing what the red button does. If you refuse this offer, we will have to let you go."
The manager stepped in front of a red door and then asked, "Are you ready to make 4 times more money, or do you want to go home?" That was a no-brainer. After ten years of sitting at that boring desk, he would finally make enough to retire in a few short years and maybe buy a nice house for his family.
"I think I'd like to get the massive paycheck after I see what you want to show me." Joe said with a huge smile.
"Good. Guard, open window 3." The manager commanded. The window to the door opened and Joe peeked inside to see a small baby crying on the floor with no mother in sight.
"I don't get it." Joe said feeling a shiver run down his spine.
"Looks like the button just went red. Live demonstrations are best. Nathan should be pressing it any second now." The manager said peeking in behind Joe.
In a bright flash that lasted less than a second, the baby turned to ash. | Day in, day out.
The light. It's one of the three items at your perfect gray cubicle. The others are your phone, and a small, reddish button.
You're content to sit on your phone all day, flappy birding and reditting. You just have to wonder, what does it do?
Its Saturday. You got called into work. It was another impersonal, mechanical voicemail. You hate them. Its one of the three times you've ever been called in though. Its almost exciting, but the thought of so many more hours of internet is enough to smother the curiosity. Nothing but internet.
You sigh. Its Saturday. What happened to your regular work hours? You have actually no idea. You're in your Nissan 370z. Its a nice car. The radio blasts another trashy pop song about weed and pussy. Ugh, Wiz Khalifa. You turn it off, just as you reach the perfect cubic building that represents the beginning of boredom for you.
Its raining again. Perfect.
You step out of your car, grim. You step through the usual security measures, still slightly hungry. You consider brunch, but decide against it. Soon, the cubicle approaches. You haven't yet touched your chair when you feel a hand on your shoulder. The boss.
You sigh.
Will finish later, sorry short on time. Bye. | 2014-12-02T17:14:24 | 2014-12-02T15:20:06 | 59 | 27 |
[WP] Humans were kicked out of the existing Galactic Federation for such controversial statements as "You shouldn't do that, there's life on that planet," and "But that's slavery!" and "Dear God, Where is your EMPATHY!?" All at once, we remembered that war is, sometimes, excusable. | I was 5 years old when we made first contact. Our technology was finally advanced enough for us to travel faster than the speed of light. We were delighted. A galactic federation existed!!! Life would be like star trek now. For a space obsessed kid from a family of scientists and professors, this completely decided my future.
But it wasn't just me. Something changed on a global scale that day. We were not races, religions, citizens of different countries anymore. We were simply human beings. It was like, the nerds had won. The geek had inherited the earth. We had to be in this together. As one. As a species. And surprisingly, we did. Global conflicts were more peacefully resolved. Religion became a thing to guide people into living kinder lives. Not an excuse to slaughter each other. Science was held to a new level of respect. Nothing was seen as a more nobler profession than exploring space and better understanding the universe we live in
But as our ties with the galactic federation grew stronger, we noticed something......something we had kinda outgrown. You see, earth was an exception. We were far removed and had taken a lot longer to be able to contact the others. The other systems had clusters of planets and moons teeming with life. So discovering aliens didn't take them as long. And so they had somehow not held each other in the same sense of wonder that we did. They often saw each other as rivals, competing for the same resources. And often broke out into fights.
Oh. And by the way. They never had a geneva convention
The winning parties often took prisoners of war and forced them to work jobs deemed too dangerous for their own species. Mining radioactive substances, working with defective space suits to retrieve rare elements from asteroids etc.
The only job of the federation, was, in fact, to simply avoid total and complete obliteration of a species. In one instance, an entire planet was blown up, death star style and the only survivors were prisoners on another planet. And of course it was not even condemned by the federation.
At first, the representatives from earth were too scared to speak out. There was so much we didn't understand. But as the years went by, we could not keep quite. Humanity doesn't stop at our species.
In my 6 months on board the vessel as a junior science officer, I had never seen the captain anxious. Today, he looked a little rattled and pale. Today was the day. The final hearing to decide the membership of humans on the federation. The captain was going to speak. To try and convince the high council of the importance of peace. The power of unity. He had received orders yesterday. There was some secret tactic. Some last ditch threat. I had no idea what it was. I hoped I would not find out
"All sentient beings deserve rights" the captain began. "Whatever the differences may be. This should be a fundamental concept that we can never disagree on. Wars might happen. But that doesn't excuse this behaviour. For this purpose the planet earth has a set of rules that we would like every member planet to follow here forward.
Civilians shall not be harmed in any interplanetary conflict
Prisoners of war shall be treated with dignity and..."
He was rudely interrupted by the head of the council. A large headed Forgan man who used to be the general of their planet's space force. " The human race has no right to dictate terms to the federation. You're puny, weak race might need to be friends with everyone to survive the harsh space. But the rest of us don't need that. We can win survive by our might. And this is the law of nature, is it not human? Even on your planet, haven't the strong survived and the weak perished. Why is it that you humans think you know better?"
The captain paused for a second, "Your honour, isn't the whole point of evolution to be better than our prior selves. Yes humans have waged wars among themselves. But we learned from our mistakes. We learned to be better. And even during war, we cannot let cruelty take over. That would be barbaric!"
" The point of evolution is to beat out your competition and thrive while the others perish" the head replied. "Besides, we don't owe anyone anything. In fact we could annihilate a species too, if it comes to it"
The captain looked up with determination. He appeared to be holding in what he actually wanted to say to the head. A few choice words. Maybe throw in a punch. But of course, he couldn't do that. Obviously he was going to have to bring in the big guns. Whatever the big reveal was
" Well. You leave me no choice. The planet earth is officially declaring war against the galactic federation"
"I dont understand. How will declaring war against the federation help?" I asked, standing at the bridge of our vessel. Most of the crew members had gathered around. The captain was coming up here to talk to us.
" We have done this before" the captain answered. "The federation doesn't realise the massive stockpile of nuclear weapons that earth has accumulated. We have used force before to bring cruel regimes down to their knees. We shall do it again. The nazis in world war 2 is example."
There was an awkward silence on the bridge. " But what about all the other times? The mess in the middle east because of american intervention? The border disputes after britain freed its colonies?"
The captain looked solemn. He thought for a little while before replying. "You are right. We have messed this up before. Maybe we're not as evolved as we believe we are. But here's the thing. Even in the worst of times, never forget that a majority of humans stood up for the right thing. Millions protested these wars.. Millions marched for womens rights. For lgbtq rights. Even if we got it wrong a lot of times, we never stopped trying to be better. And we can't stop now. Let's just hope it wont be a disaster this time" | "My Fellow Humans". President Alvárez' Voice was broadcasted by what must be a Million speakers across thousands of Worlds, her Voice carrying both the Tragedy and Gravity of the Situation onto those Systems, a Harbinger of darker days to come."Effective now, Humanity and it's Systems are no longer protected by the self-appointed 'Council of the Galactic Federation'. Why, you ask? Because of the Achlaxians, ofcourse. For most of you who don't know about this, they are an Avian species inhabiting a single planet in the Markov-System, a planet that happens to be very rich in Unobtanium-3 ressources, which happens to be one of the most valuable Ressources in this god-damn galaxy. And due to the effort of a mere dozen Humans, who had the Audacity to stop the Federations Mining efforts, Humanity has been declared a Hindrance to progress. And for that, i wish to speak my deepest thanks to the Humans of the Research station <Per aspera et Astra>, because thanks to them, the deeply fascinating oral tradition of the Achlaxians has not only been preserved, but allowed to continue; Since these 12 brave people have refused to give up on living, breathing beings in the face of untold profits, which easily would have allowed them to buy their own sectors of the galaxy. Also effective immediately, i will be stepping down, and facing a trial for compliance in over a thousand cases of Genocide, tens of thousands of other Intergalactic Crimes, and a million things worse. But worst of all, i have forgotten, what it means to be Human. We pride ourselves on our quick wits, but against the gray Eggheads of the Mists we might aswell be dumb lizards on a cold day. We pride ourselves on our martial Prowess, but any soldier who has been out there will tell you a different story of how Humans are not the Warriors we thought we were. No, what it means to be Human, is a far more simple emotion, one that made us into the species we are today. It is simple compassion that drove us to get here in the first place, nothing more, and nothing less. We care for the sick, the wounded and the weak. We do not just trample what is in our way, but we aim to understand, to learn, and to uphold. And most importantly, there is not a single being among us to this day who would not carry the title of human with pride, a thousand species from as many worlds. So i beg all of you, Children of Terra, Humans, we must hold together in these times, for they will surely try to shatter us, and the bands of blood and family must now hold stronger than ever, against a foe that would not hesitate to glass a world full of innocents to murder a single one of us. I wish there was more i could do than just apologize for tossing you infront of this, but Humanities bravest dozen has hewn a breach, and gods be damned if we don't take it, we'll be worse than them. For them, to be kind, is a choice. For us, it is a calling. The Children of Terra stand as one, with our siblings, both adopted and by blood. We will endure. Alvárez out" The silence following this announcement was nearly as deafening as the murmurs shared across the stars, as Humanity had learned the bitter truth about the Galaxy that would be from now on hostile to them. | 2021-05-28T12:54:10 | 2021-05-28T07:26:39 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] You live in a world where everything can be bought and sold. Even emotions, memories and experiences. You, however, have that one thing that cannot be. And now everyone wants it. | "How much for the Fabled dosage?" the man asked.
The man in the suit shifted uncomfortably at his question, "I'm sorry?"
"You heard me."
"Listen uhh- what's your name?" the supplier looked at the man curiously.
"I have no name..."
"Alright listen buddy. We've recently got a batch of the *premium* stuff, if that's what you're talking about," he gave me a confident smile and his artificial face contorted unnaturally.
The nameless man only stared at him silently.
"Hey, its like no other Q-experience you have ever *known*, not like the stuff that the government sells. The experiences are so vivid and layered that you wouldn't even be able to tell if the memories are authentic or not. Trust me on-"
The nameless man pulled out a Matter-Distillation device. The supplier's face twisted in fear, eyes wide.
"Whoa buddy, are you suicidal?" the supplier raised his hands in the air. "You've really lost it haven't you?"
"Lost it..." the nameless man said with an eyebrow raised. "There is nothing for me to lose. I have died long ago when unknown centuries of Q-experiences were extracted from me."
"You're going to be taking half of the lower Echelon if that thing blows mate," the supplier remarked.
"This lifeless city..." the nameless man turned to look, his eyes skyward. An artificial sky rested above them, and behind that was the higher Echelon. "Is a farce of the long departed Humanity. Nothing is real, *genuine.*"
"I don't know how you managed to get wind of our fabled products, but we only sell to those of the upper Echelons of Q-persons and even then, it is to a *select few...*"
The nameless man raised the device into the air, a finger poised over a switch.
The supplier stared into the man's eyes, and finally understood. He was staring into the eyes of a man devoid of life and waiting for a death that never came.
"This Fabled dosage, it's not real," the supplier said.
The nameless man moved his finger.
"Wait!", he said with his hand raised in front of him. He pulled out a vial of black fluid. "This is only a mass distilled form of the original-"
The nameless man swiped it out of his hands and plunged it directly into his spine.
Darkness flooded his mind.
----------
"W-why me? Why go through all this trouble to keep me alive?" I asked as I struggled against the restraints. All around my frail body were cables, plugged directly into me. I sat in a metallic seat in the center of the a pristine white laboratory. Mechanical gears twisted as the seat elevated and tilted so that I was facing a glass box. The cables of liquid fluid were stretched taut now.
A voice echoed from speakers around the laboratory.
"You have something that we want. Something we have lost somewhere along the way as we became Quasi-immortals," the voice said, emotionless.
"What are you talking about?!" I asked, incredulous. "I'm no different than you. I'm just as artificially immortal as you-."
"We enjoyed life perpetually unending. We developed methods to separate memories, experiences from the brain and reproduce them, sharing them prolifically. But with time eventually we became... merely a shell, devoid of feeling." The voice sighed.
"By the time we realized it, it was too late. We despaired. We yearned and longed for something *more*. Something *genuine*. Until we heard a story, that there was still someone out there who could truly *feel*. Word spread and somewhere along the way, you became a *fable*. A folk tale that Q-persons would pass on to their children, and with each generation your story became more grand and exalted."
Tears flowed from my eyes as I realized the truth.
"W-we only wanted to be able to feel again..." the voice trembled without emotion. "We had long forgotten what it meant to be *human.* To experience this mysterious and elusive-"
"Empathy," I finished his sentence for him as the anger in me faded, along with my emotions.
------------------
/r/em_pathy
| I live in a world where everything can be bought and sold. Emotions, memories, experiences...
I, however, have that one thing that cannot be bought or sold. And now everyone wants it.
That thing? A soul.
Now you may be thinking, *Wait a sec...doesn't everybody have a soul?* And the answer to that is: At first.
In this world to buy and sell you must first give up your soul. But now you may be thinking:
*You just said that a soul can't be bought or sold?*
True, but like making a deal with the devil, a soul can voluntarily be given up.
The devil doesn't buy your soul. You don't sell your soul.
You just come to a mutual agreement that once your life ends, your soul is now the personal property and possession of the devil. *Traded*, so to speak.
Same thing on this world. And who they trade the souls with?
Me. I work at the bank - the guy who decides how much each soul is worth.
Now, here's the problem: souls can't be traded back. Because whatever you traded the soul for, you've already used, right?
"I trade my soul for fame." You can't trade back those moments of fame, can you?
It's too late. Everybody already knows who you are now.
And then the other problem, as already stated above, is that souls can't be bought or sold. So no matter how much money the people offered me, or how many times they threatened me or offered me sex, it was impossible for me to give them their souls back.
But I could trade them mine.
And so now you see the dilemma I'm in, and if you have any suggestions for a solution, please list them in the comments below. Thank you. | 2018-02-12T08:09:57 | 2018-02-12T05:54:34 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | JulieBear1998: Dad r u there? 0_0 Helllooooooooo?
LoneStarRanger: Hi pumpkin. Sorry I'm late. We were running drills.
JulieBear1998: Lol its k
LoneStarRanger: So how was your day Julie?
JulieBear1998: it was good
JuliesBear1998: i finally got my chem midterm back
LoneStarRanger: What'd you get?
JulieBear1998: guess xD
LoneStarRanger: 85?
JulieBear1998: 91!
LoneStarRanger: Wow great job pumpkin!
LoneStarRanger: How's Gary doing?
JulieBear1998: uuuuuuuuuhh not to good, he got into another fight
LoneStarRanger: Not again. What for?
JulieBear1998: he started beating the shit out of a kid for saying that the war was stupid, and that it's all a huge waste of time.
JulieBear1998: u know how he gets about it
LoneStarRanger: This war is stupid pumpkin. Tell your brother to accept what other people think okay? I just want to come home and see you guys again.
LoneStarRanger: And watch your mouth.
JulieBear1998: geez sorry :-P
JulieBear1998: yur coming back on the 11th right?
LoneStarRanger: Yeah. I'm counting the days.
JulieBear1998: you talked to mom right?
JulieBear1998: dad?
JulieBear1998: daaaaaaad?
JulieBear1998: wtf
LoneStarRanger: pumpkin
JulieBear1998: lol what happened?
LoneStarRanger: i got hurt bad
LoneStarRanger: im hit in the chest dont think ill make it
JulieBear1998: wtf dad this isnt funny
JulieBear1998: moms already worried enough as it is without u doing this shit
JulieBear1998: dad?
JulieBear1998: whatever u asshole
LoneStarRanger: Hello?
JulieBear1998: u almost gave me a heart attack dad wtf dont joke about this stuff
LoneStarRanger: Your dad is Pvt. Donald Bryant?
JulieBear1998: what is this?
LoneStarRanger: Is this Julie?
JulieBear1998: dad?
JulieBear1998: dad please stop
LoneStarRanger: I'm sorry but your father is dead
LoneStarRanger: I'm so sorry
LoneStarRanger: I think I'm the one who shot him in the raid but I can't be certain
JulieBear1998: who is this
LoneStarRanger: I'm a soldier who killed your dad
LoneStarRanger: I'm so sorry
LoneStarRanger: I followed to trail of blood into the barracks
LoneStarRanger: I think he was trying to send you a message on your computer but he fell onto the ground
LoneStarRanger: He was coughing up blood. I shot him in the lung.
LoneStarRanger: I'm so sorry
JulieBear1998: stop
LoneStarRanger: he told me to tell you to take care of your brother and your mother and that you were the light of his life and im so sorry
LoneStarRanger: the lieutenant made me shoot him in the head but i couldnt do it and i lett him suffer and im so sorry
LoneStarRanger: you cannot forgive me for this julie
[JulieBear1998 has left the chat] | To my Love,
I don't know if you're still getting this, or if the post keeps on messing it up, but I want you to know that I'm doing this for you. The past few weeks have been hell, but thinking of you helps me to push forward. Speaking of which, how's our little man doing? I hope you went with Thomas. I've always liked that name. Maybe because of that show on tv I always used to watch growing up as kid. Can you just promise me one thing? If I don't get back, show him a few episodes. I'm sure he'll love-
I don't know who this is, but I hope you can forgive me for what I've done. I killed you husband, or lover, or whoever he was. It's the first time I've killed anyone. And I'm scared. I write this with a trembling hand. Whoever you are, please, forgive me. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't any of our faults. I was drafted, just as everyone else was. I'm done fighting. It's tearing me apart. I'm going home.
From, Thomas | 2015-02-03T16:21:09 | 2015-02-03T13:14:11 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] While at your soul sucking retail job you're approached by a group of people dressed in armor. One of them looks up at you and says, "Where the hell have you been?!" | Today was Mark's twenty-third consecutive day of working his dead end job at Marshall's. He was a cashier slash stock clerk slash janitor slash maintenance man slash whatever the fuck his dumbass manager Gary wanted him to do that day. He worked for a dollar more than minimum wage and had been stuck in this job ever since he graduated high school. It was an hour before closing time on a Friday, which usually meant that it would be dead and he might actually make it out of the store at a decent hour for once. He was placing anti-theft security tags on polo shirts, counting down the seconds before he could lock the door and begin the process of closing the store. Then they came in.
He heard the clanging of steel on steel first, then he heard the clods of horse shoes making their way into the store. He wasn't high, not yet at least, but he was definitely seeing some trippy shit. There were four men in armor on horses trotting around the front entrance of the store. One's horse had kicked over a mannequin display of a floral print summer dress, and another one had already defecated all over the entrance to the women's section.
"No, no, no. What the fuck are you guys doing?" Mark shouted at the group. "You all have to leave immediately! Get out!"
One of the armor clad men hopped off of his horse, and the other three followed one by one. "Squire!" the man hollered over his shoulder, "come collect the steeds!" A young kid, not even sixteen years old, came running into the store and collected the reigns from all of the Renaissance Faire cast offs.
"Sir Marcus of Marshall, where have you been?" the man yelled. "We've been waiting many fortnights for you!"
"Listen, man," Mark began, "I don't know who the hell you guys are but you need to get out of here or I'm calling the cops."
"Ahhh, still in denial I see," the man said as he began to pace, his armor clanging around with each step. "You are a man of honor, that much is clear Marcus of Marshall, we will need that in battle, I'm sure."
"Who the hell are you guys?"
"Ah, yes, sorry. I am Claudius of the City of Circuits. The men you see before you are of noble heritage as are you. The one in blue is Bernard of Blockbuster. That one with glasses is Sir Billiam of Borders. And the smelly one with headphones on is Samuel of...Sam Goody," Claudius said in a sigh. "He needs to work on his title, for sure. But that is for another day! We are the Knights of the Old Retail, and we have begun our holy war in the name of the forgotten!"
Mark was dumbfounded. He had no clue what to do. Who did he call to fix this mess? His manager Gary? No, that asshat was probably ten beers deep already. The cops would make it so Mark's night wouldn't end until at least midnight. No, he needed to end this as quickly as possible.
"Look man, I'm just trying to close up shop."
"AHA!" Claudius cackled. "Right you are! But let me ask you Sir Marcus of Marshall, what will you do when these sliding doors close for the last time, never to be opened again?"
"I'll probably just go work at The Gap or something. Why, did you hear something? Did Marshall's file for bankruptcy or something?"
Claudius stopped pacing. His trio of faux knights remained stoic behind their leader, which only made every move Claudius made even more animated.
"My dear boy," he continued in his phony British accent, "doth my eyes forsake me? You call this a *lively* and *prosperous* land?"
Mark looked around his store. It was sparse, for sure, but not anything out of the ordinary. The store did good enough to stay open, didn't it?
"It could do better, I guess," Mark replied.
"HAHA!" Claudius bellowed. "Sir Marcus, that is precisely what every knight of the Old Retail said at one point." He slapped his armor clad hands together in a loud bang. "AND THEN, the doors closed forever! To open again, never more."
"So what do you want?"
"Come join us, my boy! Arm yourself as we ride into battle against the new vanguard of retail! We seek revenge over our conquerors and we will get it! First, we ride high into Best Buy, and pillage the shelves! Next, we embark upon Netflix headquarters, and torture the men and women. We then go to the Amazon Stores and burn them to the ground in the name of all Borderlandians! Finally, Spotify, Apple and Google will all pay for forcing thousands of musical lands to wither and die! Our mission awaits! Join the winning side now before it is too late!"
"You know what, you're right," Mark finally said. "Let's do this for the little guy! Tonight we ride!"
"HUZZAH!" the quartet yelled triumphantly. The armor clad faux knights reclaimed their reigns from the pimpled face squire and mounted their horses. They charged their way out the sliding door and into the parking lot. As Bernard of Blockbuster exited last, Mark frantically locked the door as the knights looked back sadly, trotting aimlessly in the parking lot waiting for him.
"Stay the fuck out of this store you crazy bastards!" Mark yelled through the glass door.
He turned his back on them and began to clean up all of the horse shit and refit the mannequin in a new sundress. He didn't make it home until one in the morning, and if that weren't bad enough, he had to open the store early the next morning. "Another wonderful day in retail," he said to himself as his head hit the pillow.
---
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, visit me at /r/BrenBuck for more writing! | I was standing on a ladder, sorting in boxes of merchandise into the shelf. It was the graveyard shift and the entire store was empty.
Suddenly a group of people in armor approached me.
"Where the hell have you been? We are waiting for you since 13 years!"
"Sorry, been busy sorting in all the stuff. If you are looking for makeup for cosplaying its in..."
"Cut the crap. The world of Raha needs you!"
"Really? Why would a strapping group of battle hardened heroes need my help?
I stepped down from the ladder. The leader of the group sighed and nodded to a midget cosplaying as dwarf. The dwarf walked to me and punched me in the balls.
"Motherfucker!"
I fell down. The leader, an elf, kneeled down next to me.
"As I said, we need you. Now come with us and help us."
"What? Need me to powerlevel you? Come on, its a game from 13 years ago. There isnt even a single server online anymore."
She whispered something and then poked me with a finger. It felt like I just got shot again with a riotgun.
"Im sorry for this but we waited too long already. Now grab your gear and come with us."
"Cant its at my home"
"Then we will travel to your home first. Now get up."
2 dwarfes put me back on my feet and forced me out of the store. The nightshiftmanager didnt even looked up from his phone.
"Sam this counts as your coffee break."
We entered the parking lot.
"Where are your horses?"
"We dont use horses."
"How are you traveling then?"
I pointed to my shitty ass car.
"A wagon without horses or oxes?"
I sighed. Outrunning them would be impossbile so I complied and unlocked my car.
While I was thinking about a way out of this shitty situation, those guys were starring in disbelief at everything we passed: The gas station, Taco Bell and Wal-Mart where another fight over a disabled parking lot broke out between 2 250kg guys.
I had no choice than drive to my old friend and squadmate Rico. Hopefully he would understand the dire situation and help me getting rid of those crazy people.
I stopped the car in front of his garage where Rico was cleaning one of his guns.
We got out and I approached him.
"Hey Sam, whats up?"
"Hey Rico, listen I need your help. Those crazy people are holding me hostage and....."
"Sam there is no need to whipser, maybe your friend wants to tag along?"
I cursed myself. Of course that pointy ear must have heared everything I whispered.
"Rico right? Greetings, Im Princess Ana of Linthanir. Our world is threatened by a mighty empire...."
"THE kingdom of Linthanir???? Sam why didnt you told me earlier? Its a pleasure to meet you princess."
"Oh god Rico...."
I facepalmed.
"A moment please. I need to turn off my stove and get our gear from the basement."
"Rico plea....."
Ana whispered those words again and pointed her finger at my crotch. I stopped talking immediately. A few minutes later Rico came back with our gear. Obviously he robbed our old unit blind.
"Rico, what the fuck? Is that a SMAW???? Is that C4??? Where the fuck didnt you get all this shit from?
He grinned.
"Swiped it all from under the nose of the sarge."
I just shook my head. Now I really knew why we were called the worst unit of the entire army.
We didnt even had time to put on the gear. The princess opened up a portal and her henchman pushed us trough. And all while that idiot Rico was smiling like a spoiled brat on christmas Eve.
Man, just when I thought the day couldnt get any worse.
edit: typos
| 2017-07-27T16:29:14 | 2017-07-27T15:15:15 | 71 | 49 |
[WP] You have a very mundane talent, so mundane that you've never shown it to anyone. The first time you do, as a party trick, you're told that your talent is physically impossible. | "Hey everyone, watch what Jen can do!"
The night has reached the point when standing up is problematic. We have given up on the facade of being a sophisticated, standing party that we put up at the beginning of the night. Now we're splayed out on the couches and floor. This lazy, increasingly loud occupation is punctuated by a frequent relay race to the restroom.
I return from my own trip and pass the baton with a nod and a jerk of my thumb to the bathroom, indicating its vacancy as I sink down to an unoccupied patch of carpet.
Jen stops giggling and composes herself for a moment, to stick her tongue out at us and roll it up at the sides.
This sets off a wave of laughter and monkey-see-monkey-do as everyone around our circle tries to roll their tongues. The half that can't, either protest indignantly or praise with the enthusiastic awe of the intoxicated at the half of us that can.
"Oh yeah? You think that's somethin'?" Todd slurs and sways. "Watch this!" He swings his arm for a few seconds to loosen up and stretch, before bringing it up, craning his neck, and sticking out his tongue to lick his elbow.
A cacophony of applause. A few of us even rise to give him a standing ovation before realizing the precarious predicament of maintaining balance in a slowly spinning room, and instead returning to the safety of being reclined.
A quiet voice says, "I can do that too." Allie is a bit meek, even compared to me, but is able to reproduce's Todd's odd talent to an even more enthusiastic response as the room chants her name. "Allie! Allie! Aliie!"
Jim takes a huge swig of beer from his red dixie cup and catches my attention. "Duuuude you gotta show them."
I scoff at him and brush him off, but he persists. "Show emmmm. Cmon you gotta DO it. You're always so quiet anyway. This is your chance to get some attention! Cmon, pleaaaase?"
"Alright fine." I mutter at him before calling the party's attention. "Hey guys, check this out."
I tentatively raise my right hand to my left shoulder and tickle my own armpit before flinching and giggling.
The room pauses for a second before roaring with laughter at my silly, mundane talent. Everyone is satisfactorily amused, except Tim, who wears a concerned expression, eyebrows furrowed at me. Tim is in med school, so being stressed and grumpy is standard fare for him nowadays. However, his worried squinting is in drastic contrast to his relaxed delight just a second before.
"Hey man, how long have you been able to do that? You know most people can't do that right?" He asks gently, as the room subsides to listen in.
"I dunno, like maybe a couple years now? It kinda just came up." I get defensive; Tim's concerned stare is harshing my buzz. "I must have shown it to some of you before." I scan the room looking for backup and point at Jim on the couch. "Look, Jim knows about it. He's the one who told me to do it just now."
The room is completely silent now, every pair of eyes follows my finger to Jim on the couch.
"Uhhhh, there's no one there Mike." Tim looks back at me. "Hey uh, Mike. Being ticklish is a result of your brain responding to external stimuli. Most people can't tickle themselves, since the brain filters out physical motions that are self-initiated." Tim's demeanor and vocabulary has become much too sober for his drink count tonight; something is amiss.
He continues, "The brain is really good at filtering out self-created stimuli so you can pay more attention to and react to external stimuli. That's why you can't tickle yourself, cause you're the one doing it and your brain knows that. The only people who can tickle themselves have brain dysfunction that causes them to be unable to recognize their own actions being connected to the resulting stimuli..."
He glances at the couch where Jim is sitting, and now grinning maniacally at me. "...It's usually caused by schizophrenia." | "Come on show it to us" they all said in unison
"It's so lame" I said
"I gotta see it now" Suzy said leaning over the table.
"It's just gonna freak you guys out" I said but I knew I was gonna cave.
"I bet it's bullshit" Carrie remarked
"Shut up Carrie I can do it it's just super lame".
"Bullshit" Josh said under his breath"
"Fine give me something metal" I began rubbing my arms together. "So I just rub my hairy arms together " I said through heavy breathing. "And I just..." ZZZZZZZTTT.
"HOLY SHIT!" Josh shouted
"What the fuck was that?" Suzy shouted. Our group began to draw stares of the other bar patrons.
"Guys it's just static electricity. What's the big deal?" I asked
"Dude that's not static. Look at that fucking spoon it's melted." Carrie gestured to the now almost unrecognizable spoon.
"Guys it's just static." I was getting really annoyed.
"Static doesn't obliterate spoons man." Josh said
"Tesla coil maybe" Carrie said still staring at the spoon.
"Look, guys i'm gonna go." I began getting up.
"No wait" Suzy put her hand on my car keys.
"What?"
"We need to tell a scientist or something." Carrie interrupted.
"Carrie we don't need a fucking scientist to explain static electricity." I got up and left. "What the fuck was that?" I thought. It was supposed to be a little zap. | 2015-11-28T11:43:25 | 2015-11-28T11:35:54 | 380 | 24 |
[WP] At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.
Best friend* sorry. | At first I thought it was the worst, how helpful could it really be. The realisation of my power wasn't until much later.
The first time it was useful was when I got mugged. Some broke guy with fire powers. He threw fireballs at me and I dodged them all. As he tried to strike me to ash, I deftly avoided his clumsy blows. A few seconds later and he was on the ground, pinned. I was thrilled, happy, inspired!
I knew what I had to do. I got lucky with the mugger, as he was as unfit as I was. So I learned how to work out, and I got good. I studied martial arts, kickboxing, all of the fighting styles. I ate right and exercised well, nothing special.
I definitely wasn't as powerful as other people with similar powers. Reading minds was pretty good, until you learn that people don't really think about anything interesting at all, it's just the same babble they say out loud. Predicting the future? Pretty great. The lotto shut down almost overnight due to all the winners. But free will has the annoying way of interfering. Luck can skew even the most accurate prediction. I read about it in chaos theory, butterflies and the compounding impact of random events.
I thought the ranking system was bullshit, I just wanted to make the world a better place. I would stop mutants that got out of hand, those that would hurt others for fun. People would come from all over the world to challenge me for my rank; there were thousands of them. Stronger, faster, better, but not smarter. One guy, called himself Hammer Hands, had fists as solid as iron but couldn't even land a single punch. People that were almost more monster than human would be whimpering on the ground in short work. One guy, ice powers, got so frustrated with me that I swear he would explode. A single mistake, and now he's in jail.
There was just one person who I had trouble with, who went by the name of Chance. He was lucky, incredibly lucky. He could predict almost everything that would happen with pinpoint accuracy. But there was always that margin of error, the infinitesimal sliver of failure. And I would take it. Of all my adversaries, he was the toughest. See, this is what separates the good from the great. He wasn't strong or powerful, he just used his power the best he could, just like I did. Did I defeat him? No. We shook hands and went our separate ways. Our powers were too close, and yet so far apart.
"And that's my story so far. So friends, what do you need to know?" I ask.
"Why are you telling us this?" Solium, my childhood friend responds, black skin drinking in the ambient light energy around him, eyes flaring with luminescent discharge.
"Because, power is not about strength, it's about wisdom," I reply, with a smug look on my face.
"Surely there's more to it than that. You must have a secret power. What is it?" asks my other best friend, Chron. I can already see that he's concentrating really hard on not manipulating the time in the room. Some of them are completely taken by their powers.
"I honestly don't. Like I said, it's how you use it."
I see it before it happens Solium has absorbed enough power to laser me. with a nod from Solium, Chron slows the room down and Solium blasts me into smithereens.
But I react swiftly, sweep-kick the chair out from under Chron. He falls backwards in surprise, grabbing for Solium as he falls. Solium is caught by Chron and his eye beam blasts through the ceiling leaving a gaping hole. Chron leaps to his feet instantly and scans the room for me. I drop from the ceiling rafters onto his shoulders. I know his hands are his power, and I quickly bind them with a nearby tea towel. Solium has clambered back to his feet at this point and blasts me off Chron, where I crash into a nearby wall, broken and unconscious.
I cancel the drop onto Chron and aim for Solium. His power is in his energy manipulation, so he hasn't learned to fight. He crashes to the ground as I land on him and grab a nearby electrical cord. I quickly shove the cord into his mouth and the electricity from the mains power distracts him from attacking back. Apparently there's a mental component to his power and he is distracted for now. I turn to Chron, but I'm too late. He's recovered and he's circling his hands towards me. My arms and legs are like treacle. I'm a fly caught in honey. Chron just smirks at me and says, "See, I told you. You weren't so strong after all."
After I plug the cord into Solium, I leap upwards and over Chron to land behind him. His power has misfired and hit Solium square in the chest, who looks intensely surprised. A quick five palm strike sends Chron to his knees. His look of surprise is pleasing to me, even though I've seen it from every opponent I've defeated.
"But how?" he asks.
"I've already told you, you just didn't believe me!" I snarl back at him. "Why did you even come here? We used to be friends!"
"I .. You are number 4. I'm number 57. I want to be number 4."
"It doesn't work like that you idiot."
There's a muffled whimper from next to us. Solium is now glowing a bright white. I forgot about all of the electricity pouring him, and Chron still had him held by his time power. I could see the strain in his muscles as he struggled to pull free, his face an intense mask of concentration, a single sweat drips rolls down his forehead. And then he explodes, killing Chron, myself and everyone else in a mile radius.
I unplug Solium quickly, stopping him from exploding. Chron turns and looks fearful as he realises the predicament we are both in. He quickly drops the time prison and Solium unleashes his torrent of fire and light high into the night sky.
Chron just looks at me with amazement. "But, you said all you could do is look three seconds into the future."
I reply, "There's a lot you can do with 3 seconds. | My first time writing in this subreddit... Please be gentle.
In an oddly satisfying thud, a magazine featuring the top 100 superhumans and all their interesting superpowers was strewn atop the table. Seeing the person who threw it was my Best friend, Altheia, even if possessing the gifted power of time control, I immediately rejected the idea that she's trying to brag. She's too shy to do such a thing. That smile though, that victorious smile, she probably took a hundred takes to do that impressively perfect throw.
Nastasha was with her, jack of all trades, master of none, She can temporarily absorb anyone's power (and attention) as her own. She's exactly the kind of person to jokingly brag.
Reginald, Archmagina, and Solara sniffed on the new object in the room. Blast just wanted to outright shred it, which I may or may not allow later.
"Aaaaand why show me this?"
"Don't tell me you didn't know!? You're ranked 9th on this list! Explain yourself!" Nastasha exclaimed in a way that made her looked kind of pissed.
ಠ_ಠ "huh..."
"She... isn't... joking..." Altheia said.
(°Д°) "Huuuuh!?"
I quickly grabbed the magazine, sure enough, I was there.
-----
"Ranked 9th. Eiri Watterson. Superpower : ability to tame animals
"On first glance, her ability is pretty mediocre but she has actually saved the state of New Megapolis and possibly the world from a class S, level 6 threat. As was recently declassified by the International Super Committee: A powerful, shape-shifting, creature had escaped and killed thousands of its staffs, hired heroes, and civilians on it's way. Tracking efforts have located the beast in the hands of Eiri, taking care of it disguised as a rabbit. Authorities have successfully taken the shapeshifter and 8 months later, the creature remained relatively tamed until its last dying moments.
" 'It was hotly debated it [the shapeshifter] was even a living thing, as it has no purpose of reproducing itself, let alone an animal. It was certainly a mystery and now that it's declassified, we're hoping to learn more from Eiri herself' said ISC spokeperson, Mulligan"
-----
Reading that... i don't really know what to feel, actually. But I guess its a combination of happy, fear, and surprise. Cringe is probably there too. Why did they never told me this even after the resolution, AND WHY DID THEY NEVER PAID ME!?
I looked at them. Nastasha was staring at me and savoring my reaction. Altheia was on her phone, sifting through more declassified information. "From last year, the mad psychic, the Megalodon, the puppeteer's tragedy, the crisis at Durrham Square... they're all just that shapeshifter"
Nastasha slowly turned her head, nervously speaking "W-w-wait... all those? How powerful is that thing?" She then turned to me, almost begging "How did you beat it, Eiri!? Tell meeee!"
"I don't knoow! I don't even remember how I met Lolipops" I said.
"Lo-lolipops?"
"He's a pink cotton-candy rabbit. A couple wanted to buy him for decent cash. They looked suspicious and that was 8 months ago too. So I think that's the shapeshifter."
Altheia proceeded to ask me "Was the cash totally large enough as payment for saving the world?
Genuinely pissed, I yelled "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" | 2017-12-18T01:14:38 | 2017-12-17T20:04:37 | 61 | 34 |
[WP] I’m sorry, you've reached your 100 thought limit. Would you like to spend $4.99 to get 50 more thoughts? | I loved video games. All day everyday, I spent my time playing them. Something about them sparked my mind, and it allowed me to enter the ever so perfect realm of someone else's creation.
I loved all kinds of games: RPGs, FPS, MOBA, horror, and even visual novels. However, one genre stuck out above the rest; sports.
One franchise of sports games deserves the title of the greatest series of games of all time: FIFA. It gave me countless moments of joy by bringing my friends and I together, all whilst feeding my growing addiction to video games simultaneously. Other problems arose, however, causing me to lose it all.
I always wanted to become a professional FIFA player. Money, of course, had a different path in mind. My bank account was running dry, and the thought of running out of thoughts helped with the drainage. To limit my thoughts, I had to cut something out of my life.
My friends were always asking to hang out with me. I began to decline their offers; FIFA was the sole focus of my attention, not them. All they did was drain me of money by consuming my thoughts. Soon, we lost touch altogether.
At the same time I also noticed that my funds were falling even faster than before. More had to go.
Education was never really important to me anyway. It was torturous having get out of bed in the morning, painfully driving to a place that I absolutely despised. All it did for me anyways was consume my thoughts. Truth be told, only part of my day that I enjoyed was coming home to play FIFA after a long day at school.
My bank account continued its downward trend, despite my attempts to stop thinking. That was when I thought I came up with a solution.
Driving is pointless. Selling my car would help pay for my thoughts, surely. To be fair, I didn't need to go anywhere because I had no friends or any reason to leave the house besides going shopping. Luckily for me there was a shop just down the road, which was only a five-minute walk. I was willing to do anything to keep playing FIFA. It was the only thing that mattered to me.
My efforts never payed off. I was a week away from having nothing. Removing important things from my life proved pointless. But suddenly, I found the light of day.
All my thoughts were being taken up by FIFA. Improving my skill only cost me more thoughts to play. If I wanted to continue living a good life, I would have to remove only fun thing in my life. But was it worth it?
By now I had lost all my friends, all hope of having a successful career and now I can't even play FIFA. Life seemed to have defeated me. I just wanted it to end. I had nothing left. What's the point of living if there's nothing to live for?
That's when it dawned on me. FIFA is made by EA (Electronic Arts). EA is known for their countless micro-transactions in their game franchises. Few other companies were as greedy as them when it came to in-game purchases. Having this knowledge, I began to question my existence.
Is life just another game created by Electronic Arts? Are thoughts just another pointless micro-transaction? I don't know, and I don't think I ever will. I'm almost out of thoughts.
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y mi d is fa ing.
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H lp m . | I’m an artist. I express myself!
When the government and cable companies began limiting our bandwidth people complained, but when they took over the huge social media companies it was *necessary*.
Nobody wants to be subscribed to twelve different social media websites just to remain in contact with their social circle! We needed consolidation.
We didn’t think about how the government was going to fund this new creation. I was worried about the privacy restrictions.
I quickly gained a following after I posted a few philosophical ramblings. People ate my mindcandy shit up it was the best day of my life.
Then after a hundred messages I was shut down. Told I had reached the maxmimum amount of influence I could have.
They had apparently learned from previous social media trends and wanted to do away with “social media influencers”
I paid five dollars to edit all my posts to read, “Fuck Go-Chat!”
I hoped that would show them.
| 2019-01-26T23:50:29 | 2019-01-26T22:40:45 | 87 | 43 |
[WP] Everyone, even the villains they regularly face, know the hero's hilariously ineffective "secret" identity. They don't tell him how bad it is mostly out of respect for the man and because it is funny how he thinks a pair of glasses and a tie change anything | Breaking into the "world's most secure bank" was a breeze. Making my way to the top floor where the executives were was even easier, considering the security detail booked it downstairs to the vault. Even finding Anton Strong, the man who successfully lobied to raise the price of the cure for throat cancer to make more money for his bank, cowering under his desk, was easy.
What wasn't easy was killing him with Mother Magenta trying to talk me out of it.
"Don't do this." said Mother Magenta calmly from behind me, keeping her distance to try and deescalate. The sun coming through the windows of the corner office reflecting off the maroon logo on her chest, as if the world is trying to get me to focus on her.
"None of this will change what happened. None of this will bring any of those who died back." He was going through his normal progressions of a hostage situation, I could tell. But no matter what he said, my gaze and my aim remained on Anton Strong, half out of anger and half to make sure she didn't see my face. I didn't respond.
She continued on anyway. "What do you hope to gain from this? Glory? Pride in revenge? To make him *pay?"* Everything she's saying is in the book. I know what comes next.
"You're better than this." She said.
I stood there, the man's suit collar held tightly in my hand. I'm done listening, I'm ready to launch him out of the window. We're very high in a skyscraper. I could throw this man out the window of his prized corner office before MM could react. I could make him pay for his actions right now and there isn't anything anyone could do to save him in time.
"*Hero Man* is supposed to be better than this."
I tensed. She wasn't supposed to say that.
I loosened my grip on the man's collar, dropping him to the ground. He squealed as his landed and tried to get up to run for the door. But I gave him a kick which pushed him into the office wall opposite the window. "Stay there." I said, not hiding the anger in my voice. He stiffened against the wall in response.
I turned to face Mother Magenta and took off the black mask I was wearing. "So you know?"
She nodded. "It's how we knew why you were coming here and came to stop you."
"We?" I asked her.
Behind me, I heard the wind pick up. I turned to see the wings of Killer Eagle flying up into view and felt my stomach drop. "So you just gave my identity out to a villain whose tried to wreak havoc in the past? For what? to *help me?* How is bringing him into this supposed to *help me?*" I could feel anger rising in my chest. How could she just out me like that? How could she just-
"He came to me, Vaughn." She said.
My stomach dropped even further. I turned to face him. He simply looked at me and nodded, seemingly in sympathy and understanding.
It only made me feel angry and also slightly uncomfortable.
"So then." I sigh. "Who else knows?"
"EVERYONE KNOWS YOU FOOL!" Screamed Anton from the corner of the room. "EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO HAS EVER SEEN YOU ON TV IN YOUR STUPID GLASSES REPORTING THE WEATHER KNOWS."
I turn to face Mother Magenta. "Is that true? Does *everyone* know?" I can see her head spinning, deciding whether or not to tell me. I'm dreading her answer, even though I now know what she'll say.
Finally, she looks me in the eye and says "Yes. Everyone knows your real identity, Vaughn."
So that's it then. I'm blown. I'll have to figure something else out, go somewhere else, lay low, live a quiet life in my off time.
Most importantly, if everyone knows, then there's no point in leaving Anton alive. I turn around to face him, still sitting on the wall and he stiffens up again as if he realizes what he's done.
"Vaughn, why do you think the super villains of the world stopped all of their plans this week?" Mother Magenta said. 'Why do you think there was a sudden increase in throat cancer victim awareness?"
She continued when I didn't answer, 'It's because everyone has *always known*, Vaughn. Heroes, villains and civilians alike, they all knew about your stupid disguise. But we all respected you. We all didn't say anything because you're a great hero and an even better person."
I could see Killer Eagle flapped his wings in agreement with what she was saying. Despite the glass window between us, I knew he could hear everything being said with his hearing. Finally, he made a fist and punched a hole in the window so he could speak.
"What she says is true, Hero Man." He said in his funny french accent, which did not at all complement his wings which mirrored that of a bald eagle. "Most other who try to stop us try to put us away. But not you. You try to help us. You try to make us better people." I could hear the sincerity in his voice, in every word.
This is a weird feeling I have right now. I know my secrets out. But apparently my secret has *been* out? Everyone has known except me. There's something comforting about it.
"But no one knows we're here right now, Hero Man." Mother Magenta said. "We could all walk away from this and it would be fine." She glared at Anton as she said that, I think he understood because he nodded his head aggressively.
"I-I won't tell a soul about this, hero Man I swear I won't tell anyone." He was all-but wetting himself.
But I wasn't having it.
"Even if everyone knows. Me walking away doesn't change what this man has done." I said staring at Anton. "You pushed and lobbied relentlessly to ensure insurances under your bank wouldn't cover treatment costs. You killed my sister, Mr. Strong."
'I simply can't let this go." I said and walked towards him.
"w-wait!" He said. " I can reverse it! I can eat the costs I can cover it I swear! I change everything back!" He was panicking now.
"But it won't bring those who died back." I said.
"Neither will killing him." Killer Eagle said through the hole in the window.
Damn the French Bastard and his good sense.
Though deep down, I know I wouldn't be able to kill him anyway. I don't have it in me. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to do it.
I simply stood there. I could feel the eyes of all three on me. Waiting for my answer.
I guess I'll do what I always do: what my sister would do.
"Fine." I said. I turned and face Mother Magenta. "How do we fix this?"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Thank you for reading this! I welcome any and all criticisms! I also post all prompts I write to my subreddit* r/ThawsanWrites *all support is appreciated!* | \[Secret Soldier\]
"Don't move, Gaia. I don't know what you're doing in my city, but you still have crimes to answer for," Spex yelled at the dark-haired woman. Gale Stone walked across the college campus [searching for her daughter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/djpu21/wp_you_are_the_greatest_supervillain_the_world/). She wore blue jeans and a black blouse, not her root-woven costume; she stopped walking and wondered how he recognized her. While in costume, long green vines replaced her shoulder-length black hair. Even her daughter was surprised when Gale revealed her identity.
"What's your deal?" Gale asked vaguely. The hero didn't quite look like one. He wore a well-tailored black suit with a bright blue tie, and a pair of thick, blue-rimmed glasses. She felt her node vibrate while she considered how to deal with him, then sighed. She knew it was from her daughter.
"*Sorry, sorry,*" Gale thought. It was her way of knocking on Cadence's mind. Gale had always respected Cadence's mental boundaries. She could communicate telepathically with anyone on Earth, but she still raised Cadence the normal way; with lots of crying. On both their parts. "*Did you just text me? I don't want to dig through my purse right now."* While she thought, Spex continued talking.
"My deal? I don't like villains roaming freely in my city. Are you going to turn yourself in quietly?" the suited hero asked.
*"YES!*" Cadence screamed in Gale's mind. "*Don't hurt Spencer! I'm running to you!"*
*"Spencer*?" Gale asked. "*This stuffy Soldado is your boyfriend?"*
*"*Well?" Spex took a step forward. "Have anything to say for yourself, Gaia?"
"*He's a Soldado?!*" Cadence asked. Then, she ran out from behind a building towards Gale and Spex.
"I'm looking for someone," Gale pointed at Cadence dashing in their direction. "There she is."
"What!?" Spex's eyes went wide the moment he recognized his girlfriend.
"She's my mom!" Cadence said. "Please don't hurt her, Spex."
"*What are you doing*?" Gale asked her daughter mentally.
"*Play along. I'll explain later,"* Cadence replied.
"Gaia is your *mom!?*" Spex asked. "You couldn't have prepared me for that a little bit?" Cadence looked around at the bystanders, then tilted her head at Spex.
"What.. do you mean.. *Spex*," she asked.
"My girlfriend's mom is the most powerful, most evil villain in the world! That's what I mean!" he said. He huffed angrily and pulled his glasses off. The suit and tie shimmered, the disappeared once the spectacles left his face. His blue jeans made Gale wonder how comfortable the suit was with them on under it.
"Spencer! What's your deal!?" Cadence asked her boyfriend. She gestured around at the crowd who all picked that exact moment to look away at something else.
"She's definitely your mom," Spencer said. "What's the problem now?"
"Your secret identity!" She said.
"Secret?" He asked. "Since when?" Cadence tilted her head at him.
"Since always?" she asked. "Even before I met you, everyone told me you liked to keep your identity secret."
"It's just a pair of glasses," Spencer said. "I'm not trying to hide my identity; it's the source of my powers." To make his point, Spencer took a step back and put the glasses back on. His black suit appeared immediately, then it disappeared when he took them off again.
"Your strength, healing, and fighting abilities?" Gaia asked. "Those powers?"
"Oh yeah...,*"* Cadence mumbled to herself.
"Yeah," Spencer nodded.
"Well, Spencer, it seems we have a lot to talk about. Let's get started," Spencer was immediately swallowed into the ground. Gaia began sinking at a slower pace as if she were riding an elevator. "See you in a while, dear," Gale blew a kiss to Cadence. She gave her mother one final warning.
"YOU BETTER NOT [JIMMY](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/i3f46r/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_in_disguise_out/) HIM!"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1106 in a row. (Story #010 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. | 2021-01-10T09:24:36 | 2021-01-10T08:11:49 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] "Would you like a palm reading?", the old woman asked, "It won't cost much". Out of pity, I obliged. She examined my palm and uttered a bunch of cryptic sentences. Fifteen years later, I returned and went to her grave to pay my respect. | I stood at the grave, wondering why. I knew her all of ten minutes, and she changed my life. Why was I lucky enough to know her? Why did I take the chance? Why, dammit, couldn’t I have found her in time to thank her?
\------
It had been a bad day. I had found out late the night before that my girlfriend was cheating on me. The dreaded confrontation wasn’t until that night, so I sat in agonizing self-pity all day at work…which of course led to overlooking a decimal point and getting my ass chewed out in front of half the office. I was ready to be home with a stiff drink, but of course my car broke down so I was stranded in a not-so-great part of town.
“Would you like a palm reading?” a weak voice called up at me while I waited at a bus stop. An elderly woman was standing, hunched over, arm outstretched, outside a small wooden door. I wanted to say no; hearing bullshit about my love line was the last thing I wanted, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. And after all, I’d spent more money on worse things. I obliged, handing over the few bucks that I’d hardly miss, but she would probably really appreciate.
“Hmmm…” she started, pretending to think about whatever lie she had prepared. “Beware the man with the false smile.”
The false smile? I’d seen five of those at work that day. Classic vague nothing.
“When you get a red sweater for Christmas, visit the giver immediately.”
Ok. A little more specific, but I could be waiting years to check this one.
“On December 7th, 2019, buy a lottery ticket. Let your mind give you the first five numbers you think of. You will be rewarded beyond measure.”
Well that was unexpected. But it was five years off, easy to get away with.
“Uh, thanks,” I stammered. The bus was coming, giving me an out. As I sat on the bus, I looked back at her and she gave a simple, sweet smile. I started thinking about the shit show that was coming when I got home.
\-----
It began when I was at the airport. I had just walked in, actually happy to be there. It was a business trip, so I was getting paid to fly to Buffalo and entertain some clients for a few days, not the worst gig in the world. As I bent down to attach the baggage claim slip, I looked up at a man trying to get past. I apologized, and started shuffling out of the way, and he said “No worries,” gave a quick smile, and scooted around me.
I froze in place. The smile never reached his eyes. The woman’s words bounced around my head like a pinball. I had seen people fake smile since then, obviously, it had been over a year, but this felt different. I spun around, watching him head to a corner of the terminal. Without thinking, I followed.
As I got close, I hid behind a column, setting my bag down. I peeked around and saw him unzipping his bag and pulling something out. Something black. Something metallic. We hadn’t gone through security, but there was still a mass of humanity waiting to do so. I had two options. Run away or run at him. Consciously, I chose the former. But I found myself charging at him at full-speed. On the way I realized I hadn’t fully seen what I thought I saw, I was mainly going off the instinct a fucking palm reader gave me. But it was too late, and I crashed into him.
Security immediately swarmed us and pulled us apart. Then they saw the bag. An automatic gun of some kind (I don’t know, I’m not a gun guy) and enough ammo to kill hundreds sat inside, looking deceptively harmless. It took awhile for security to sort things out, and I clearly missed my flight, but that obviously didn’t matter. How many lives were saved? And I had to admit, I liked feeling the hero. That night, I wrote down everything I remembered about the palm reading.
\-----
Each Christmas after that, I was expecting a red sweater in every box. Unlike the first prediction, which prompted danger, and the third, which was clearly about wealth, I had no idea what this one was. Would I meet someone wherever I visited? Would I stop another attack? I soon gave up guessing, with the endless possibilities I would surely drive myself crazy.
Still, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking on it with every gift I opened. I almost considered asking for one, just to make the inevitable happen, but that felt like cheating somehow.
Christmas three years after the reading, it happened. It was a gift from my dad. The worst thoughts came to mind, always ending with his death, mom's death, something somehow worse. I didn’t even entertain the idea that it would be good; the immediacy of needing to visit felt like I was there to stop something.
I took time off of work last minute and got the first flight out. I didn’t even plan a flight back, not knowing what awaited me. My parents were of course thrilled that I had surprised them. Confused, but thrilled.
The next few days, I kept my head on a swivel. Expecting the unexpected, whatever that means. But slowly I felt a calm; after all, I was there. Whatever fate the woman had seen was approaching regardless. I never fully lost that concern in the back of my mind, but I was able to relax and enjoy my time with my parents.
After a week, I had to leave. My parents had a trip lined up, leaving the next day, and I couldn’t miss more work. I felt certain that I had missed something, that maybe I should stay just one more night, but I gave in. One out of two isn’t bad.
It had mostly fallen out of my mind a week later when my mom called, sobbing. My dad had died in his sleep the night they got home. I cried with her, mourned in my own time, but had a deep sense of peace. I had spent an incredible week doing nothing but enjoying time with my father, he had a final trip with my mom, and he died peacefully. Maybe this was a gift for him, though that made it one for me, too. \[Continued below\] | The old fortuneteller groaned. She leaned forward, examining my open palms laying on the table. She muttered something under her breath. I asked if she could repeat herself, but she was shaking her head, saying that a fate could only be told once.
“But surely you could just tell me again?” I asked.
She slid her hands back from the table.
“Then the fate will change,” she said.
“Then read me again.”
“Are you sure? There are unforeseen consequences.”
I agreed. The old woman leaned forward once more, groaning, inspecting my palms, shaking her head, and muttering incomprehensively.
“Well?” I asked.
She slid her hands back once again.
“On November the fourth, stay home,” she said.
“What?”
“That’s all,” the old woman said. “Just stay at home. Don’t go out.”
I paid her the customary amount and left the tent with a certain vague feeling of displeasure. Lisa was waiting outside, asking whether the fortuneteller could foresee anything exciting.
“Not really,” I said.
On November the seventh I awoke with a metallic tase in my mouth. I showered, got dressed and drank a cup of coffee. Lisa was sitting by the kitchen table reading the paper.
“Did you hear that cat last night?” I asked.
“What cat?”
I opened the fridge, scanned its contents, closed it again and said that there was a cat outside the window last night.
Lisa looked puzzled, before getting back to reading. I looked outside the window – the trees, the grass, the power wire hanging loose between its poles.
“Why haven’t we complained about the power wire?” I asked.
Lisa glanced up from the newspaper. Her hair was messy.
“We did. Months ago.”
“Then why haven’t they fixed it?”
She shrugged. “You know how it is.”
I went to the front door, opened it, and looked up at one of the poles.
“It’s loose,” I called out to Lisa.
“What’s loose?”
“The power wire.”
I closed the door and went back to the kitchen. Lisa had put down the newspaper. She grabbed her keys and kissed me goodbye. From the window I could see her get in the car, reverse, and disappear in the distance.
At nine I got in my car. I changed the radio station. Adjusted the volume. Slightly reclined the seat and put the car in reverse. As I passed on of the utility poles, I saw the wire move, as if floating in water. I sped through the street, and onto I-405. I got into the office at around nine thirty. Drank another cup of coffee and sat down to work.
I filed documents.
Answered emails.
Drank more coffee.
Took a break.
Filed documents.
Calls.
Meetings.
Around five I logged out. Back in my car, I sat awhile in complete silence. My fingers felt numb. A bright spot had appeared in my field of vision. I blinked. The spot remained. Blinked again. The spot got brighter. I thought of the power lines and the utility poles and the biomicritic nightmare that held its repair back.
I blinked.
Awoke.
An old lady sat in front of me. She asked me:
“Would you like a palm reading?” | 2022-02-20T09:43:56 | 2022-02-20T05:44:17 | 129 | 17 |
[WP] Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen. | Vlad brought over another candelabra. He wondered if the problem was that he wasn't getting enough light on his face.
Once again he sat down, took a deep breath, and brought up the mirror.
"Ugh. No!" He cried out, wondering how his face could possibly be so pale when his diet was literally all red blood.
He strode over to his bed, picked up the body of the woman he'd recently drained, and dragged her over to the mirror. Placing his face next to hers, he looked again. How was it possible? She was dead, drained of blood and she still has more colour in her cheeks than he did.
He dropped the body and its skull hit the ground with a dull thump. His dextrous fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt, taking it off and dropping it next to his stool. He once again faced the mirror and looked, this time at his chest.
How was it possible? He had the strength to crush rocks, and yet his chest looked... skinny. He flexed, watching tiny ripples under thin, papery white skin.
He'd always assumed that it was just the angle, that if he could see himself properly he'd look like an athlete. Instead, he looked like, well, a musician or something, only perhaps not quite that sickly.
All this time he'd been seducing women, bringing them back to his lair, and then draining them. He'd never seen himself, but he knew just how beautiful he had to be. Women were mesmerized by him. One look and they had to be with him. How could he be anything other than beautiful?
--
Over the next few weeks, Vlad tried to leave the mirror alone, but he kept being drawn back to it. Once or twice he even dared letting a tiny bit of sunlight into the room, hoping that better lighting would show him something different. Instead, all he got for his troubles was a nasty burn to his forearm.
He spent hours lifting the heaviest stone he could, over and over, hoping that that would fill out his frame a bit. However, when returning to the mirror he could see nothing more than his same, skinny frame. He couldn't even work up a pleasing glistening sweat to mask the thin, white skin.
It was hunger that eventually drove him out of his lair, and into the town's streets. He spotted a young woman walking alone and approached her, gliding silently until he was just within reach.
"Um... excuse... milady. That is to say... Might I... what does... who is your daddy and what does he do?" It wasn't working. An approach that had come naturally for centuries evaporated. Panic raced down his spine.
The young woman turned to him startled, fearing for her safety. Then she saw who it was who had interrupted her. She'd thought it might have been a cutpurse, but instead it was some kind of sickly boy.
"Are you lost, child? Where's your mother?" she asked. She'd gone from fearing for her own safety to worrying for a sickly boy far from home.
"I'm no child! I'm a monster!" The words were meant to terrify her, but as they squeaked out of his throat, she simply giggled.
"I'm sure you haven't done anything that bad," she reassured him. Let's find your mother, I'm sure she's worried sick for you. She reached out to take his hand, intending to walk him back into town.
With a panicked yelp, he pulled away, racing back into the woods.
"Little boy! It's not safe in the woods! There are real monsters there!" Her words, meant to caution him, only humiliated him further.
--
Back at his lair, he paced. Dawn was rising, and he was really starting to get hungry now. Losing his looks... or at least his ideas of how he looked, had absolutely destroyed his confidence. Without that confidence, how was he to feed?
His pacing took him through every room, even the dusty ones that had been closed off for decades. He was completely lost in thought when he realized that he was in his library. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.
There was a book, it had a black spine and a red... yes, there it was.
*The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists*, by Neil Strauss
Chapter 1. Negging...
| They always say that vampires are attractive. Our little human prey say we glimmer, we shine the brightest, like stars. So, we must be beautiful, right? I always thought that I was beautiful. I'd never seen myself in a reflection. However, all the humans fawned over me. My last little meal, he flattered me that I was the most beautiful one in the world. He said I was his queen, while I rolled my eyes and bit down his juicy neck. After centuries hearing how beautiful I was, I must be beautiful. I must be.
And then, my friend gave me a reflection plate. Alexander's eyes were strained.
"You need to see this," he said.
"What is up with you?" I asked, taking the plate in my hand. Why would he give me this?
He just shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
I raised the plate to look at it. The face was a very ordinary one. Looking at it on the first glance, you would say it was beautiful. But all the facial parts just didn't really fit together. The more you look at the face, the uglier it becomes, as if it was a mismatched tortoiseshell cat. I began laughing. "Who is this ugly person?" I snickered, "is it your new target?"
"You," he said, "it is you."
My mind didn't register it, as I kept laughing.
"Wait... What? ME?!" I screeched.
"No way," I said haughtily. "You are joking! I am beautiful. This, this... this thing is ugly as f*ck!"
Alexander shook his head. "No, it really is us. The preys have changed the mirrors. We can see ourselves now. This is us."
The haunting reality washed over me. We, vampires are ugly.
"Humans have really bad taste." | 2017-07-29T14:42:16 | 2017-07-29T13:16:14 | 99 | 35 |
[WP] When space colonies became a practical reality, the rich and powerful left Earth in droves, leaving the rest of humanity behind on a broken world. A few centuries later, Earth has, through much effort, been restored to its former glory. Now the colonists want to return. | **GOVERNANCE**
----
The bicentennial celebration was a special day. It had been two hundred years since Earth was abandoned. The rich. The politicians. Anyone that was able took to the sky.
Earth was doomed. An ecosystem circling the drain. They left. They said it was to preserve the species. And those left behind were given the same courtesy a twenty-five year employee gets when they are laid off. A nod, a thank you, and a best of luck handshake.
The aftermath was chaos. A medieval horror. Organized crime rose to power in every corner of the world. They had the muscle. The weapons. And the incentive.
When the rich left, they abandoned not just the people, but the industries they created as well. As street level lawlessness overtook every country, the infrastructures that ignited the planets downfall was all at once removed from the equation. The space explores had not planned on that. They had also not planned on organized crime being so, well, organized.
The thing about crime is simple: if there is no people to exploit, there is no business.
It was by accident that criminals reformed a system of stability. And over the years, things that were once illegal in the former civilization were now staples of life. Drugs. Sex. Gambling. All vices that had towed the grey line were now the backbone of civilization. So it went. True freedom. And two hundred years of this had the most unseen outcome on humanity. It thrived. Crime families became noble houses. Their bosses now lords.
They gave people what they wanted, and the means to sustain themselves. And in turn, became rulers of the planet. Sure the first few decades were rough. But criminals know how to handle other criminals. They didn’t put the rapists, murders and violent criminals in prison. They didn’t imagine reform. No. Anyone not acting on orders of the noble houses were executed. Publicly.
It took five decades of hardship, but science and exploration found favor once again. And with each generation of noble blood, they grew more keen on expanding humanity.
----
It was on the bicentennial of Earth’s abandonment that man once again found its way to Mars. And as the celebration took place and peoples across the globe watched at its return to greatest, a young noblemen in New England entered a room to take part in a secret meeting.
The hall was empty, all but for two ambassadors. They stood nearly ten feet tall, with limbs stretched and gangly. They wore skin tight suits and the back of their skulls where held in place by a high neck line of armor.
“I see the effects of prolonged life in low gravity is now a proven theory,” said Josiah, the eldest son of House Gadd.
“My name is ambassador Tomothy,” said the man on the left. “And this is my counterpart, James.”
Josiah gave them each a nod.
“Will your father be joining us?” Tomothy asked.
“Not today,” Josiah said. “The celebrations. He must be present.”
“And you,” Tomothy gestured. “Have authority to speak on his behalf.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Very well. We -“
“Let us speak candidly and quick. Why are you here?” Josiah asked.
“It was part of our arrangement with your House, that providing the technology needed to accelerate your development would —”
“We appreciate what you’ve done.”
“It was not a gift.” Tomothy placed a hand on the table. “It was a demonstration of our willingness to return as equals. We wish to elevate the remnants of our origins. To aid in the evolution. We have evolved to see the error of our ways. We come to remedy that error.”
“I’m aware of the terms. You want to assimilate the humans of Earth into the greater galactic — what do you call it?”
“Governance.”
“Right. Other species? Aliens and shit.”
“Yes, aliens. And shit.”
“You see, Tomothy. I’ve met your predecessors. The scouts. The scientist. Over the last two years I’ve gotten to know the skeleton crews you’ve sent to earth. And I’ve learned something.”
“We have delivered much knowledge.”
Josiah smiled. “Right. I meant I see you are weak. Physically. Sure your minds have .. evolved. But standing here. You’re a twig that can be snapped in half.”
“This line of thinking is unwise.”
“Is it?”
“Understand that taking Earth by force is not something we are incapable of doing, rather something we are unwilling to do.”
“Good.” Josiah drew a pistol and fired. Tomothy’s skull painted the wall and his corpse hit the tile.
The ambassador James gasped and fell back. “Why have you -“
Josiah took aim at James' skull. “Is it more effective if you return and tell all the ex-humans we want no part in your brave new galaxy - or is the message stronger if you never return?”
James’ eyes went white, his mouth agape. “Such violence would .. “ he stuttered. “Be unwelcome to the greater governance.”
“Good.” Josiah lowered his hand. “Then run back, tell them we don’t want to be part of their governance. And this violence is what all who return will find.”
“We don’t pursue War.”
“We don’t seek governance.”
“But it could —“
Josiah took aim again and James stumbled back.
“Trade what we have for subservience?" James asked. "Leave. Not a single word more or you stay here with your friend.”
The ambassador left quickly.
Josiah walked around the table and stood over the corpse of the space-evolved-man.
He stood there a moment and thought about what might have been. We're better off, he concluded.
—-
Edit: typos
r/wyrdfiction | A screen jumped on, sparks catching as the hologram sputtered to life. “This just in from Intergalactic nebula Incorporated, the latest up and coming galaxy is a familiar one to some of our founders - The Milky Way! A classic spiral galaxy with a few billion planets and stars that hosts hundreds of microfauna and, one incredible success story. More at 8 Alien Central Time.”
The crew looked at one another. It had been generations since their parents had fled the Milky Way for a better life. They froze themselves for three hundred years as the ship raced forward to Alpha Centura and the life they now lived. What a life it had come to - the last descendants of that trip that hadn’t made it rich developing galactic news agencies or other galaxy spanning businesses sat here in a small ship tossing marbles as they waited to enter the next galaxy to deliver yet another franchised building with enough ‘beef’ to last 50 years.
The Galaxy New continued after the brief commercial, “EARTH, a humanoid infested planet has come from behind to be the Milky Way’s greatest new tourist destination. After decades of failures they now host the cleanest atmosphere, the largest selection of unique fauna and wildlife and best of all the cuisine is out of this world. We all love Fonzi’s Earthen Pizza chain, this is the planet that developed pizza! I know where I’ll be taking my kids this orbit!” The blue news man with four eyes centered in two columns said before turning to his cohost, a more rounded blob of a being who covered sports.
“Cora….akkk, croak croak.”
“I do think they have marshlands, yes. Though perhaps too much oxygen for you. They are welcoming tourists through the space elevator and the landing gate. Any galactic passport is accepted though fees to vary.”
J-Ohn looked at his peers in the shack. They were space degenerates. Their families were something on Earth, they could afford a ticket to escape but now…they were delivering someone else’s franchise of their homeworld’s cuisine! “ I think…we should all go to Earth.”
The room was filled with giggles and ‘yeah rights’. “They will take us in, we are citizens after all - a few generations removed - but citizens nonetheless.”
“They hate our blood for leaving. And how tainted are we now? Twenty, thirty percent mutations? No, I think that ship has launched.” Murat was a cute girl who had maintained more of her earthly features than some of them but her ears were pointed and her nose had a collection of blue freckles and her skin had a blue hue to it that showed up under artificial light.
“But life could be so much better there! It could be freedom from this oppression. We could be rulers, benevolent and knowledgeable about space. They need people like us!” J-Ohn said, standing up.
“Our ancestors said the exact same thing when they left. The exact same thing. No, we stay the course. We deliver and we strive and we pull ourselves up by the bootstraps like our great-great-great grandparents always said.”
—— J-Ohn sat down and flicked a marble. Maybe it was for the best that they never return. | 2022-01-05T20:40:29 | 2022-01-05T19:26:35 | 426 | 85 |
[WP] One day, in an industrial accident, fire is found to have a new use. One we would have never expected. | "Holy shit, Jim, you have to come see this."
I held out my hand, still wrapped in black plastic. The same material that made up all of our suits, which we wore mainly to protect us from the chemicals we worked with.
"So what?" Jim said. "You're wearing your gloves. We all wear them." He held up his own hands, showing me his own handwear.
"I accidentally put my hand in the fire," I said, pointing to the industrial forge nearby. My tools were still sitting at the base of it where I'd dropped them in shock. "And look!"
I swung my arm as hard as I could. The black plastic, now harder than diamond, hit the nearby steel girder supporting the catwalk. The metal vibrated violently like a tuning fork.
"I didn't feel a thing!" I told him. "And look!" I held up my other hand, which was still wrapped in the normal plastic glove. I wiggled my fingers to show him what happened. "The other one is still normal. I had been working with this new unobtainium mixture and I think it somehow mixed with the plastic and now my glove is like steel! I expected it to burn, but the intensity of the heat must have crystalized it instead..."
He came closer and studied the glove, knocking on it with his knuckles. Then he studied the bottle of the new unobtainium compound I'd been working with.
"You sure?" he said.
"Absolutely. Try it for yourself if you don't believe me."
He poured some of the chemical up and down the glove. "Rub it all over," I warned him, "So that it hardens evenly. You wouldn't want part of it to harden but the other part melt." He nodded in agreement and slathered the glove all over. Then he stuck his hand into the forge.
The flames roared and jumped up his glove in a raging inferno of white-hot fire. Jim screamed as it spread to his clothes. He tried rolling around on the ground, but that did nothing.
"Fucking dumbass. Serves you right for what you did," I told him as he burned. He had never been particularly smart, but even I was a bit surprised that this had worked. I took off the hardened, armored glove that I'd made and tossed it in one of the empty lockers.
When he was sufficiently crisp, I turned on the alarm and grabbed the fire extinguisher. Too late, of course, but no one else had to know about that.
"What happened???" Terry, my supervisor, yelled as he ran into the lab.
I did my best to appear shocked and horrified. "He was doing something with the unobtainium," I said through the 'tears.' "I was on the other side of the room when I heard the screams!"
----
Disclaimer: I know nothing about chemistry, so just substitute 'unobtainium' for something more realistic sounding. If I tried using the name of some actual chemical, I know someone would start arguing about it being unrealistic. | Screams of pleasure and acid
Wash over the little children
Leaving nothing but bones
.
Shattered fingernails and teeth
Rip my eyes from me
And give them to the poor
.
"It's okay, Ma'am"
Brilliant darkness is unpure
Licking at my toes
.
Orange agony fills them
But pain is not present
Fire cleanses the soul
. | 2015-03-25T10:38:54 | 2015-03-25T10:15:32 | 128 | 16 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed] | I stand at the window, taking a long, well-deserved puff from my favourite cigarette. The smoke curls around me before escaping through the open window that gives me the greatest view of the sunset sky painted with bright hues of purple and blue and pink. Such a lovely night. So calm. So peaceful. It was the kind of night that was rare in its beauty- and I fully intend to enjoy it for as long as possible.
&#x200B;
At least, before the stench of the rotting corpses behind me overpowers my sense of smell.
&#x200B;
There were five of them- five of the so-called heroes of our city, completely and utterly dead. Tomorrow, they will be found, their funerals held, and a larger bounty will be placed upon my head as the city grieves and tells dramatic retellings of their simple death- but today, they lie on a dusty floor, surrounded by their own blood, with no one around but myself to mourn.
&#x200B;
It had been easy to kill them once they arrived here- the heroes never expect a bullet to the head; spend all your time tussling with cartoonish villains, and your senses dull until you think that's what we're all like. It's ridiculous. They lived for too long in an invincible fantasy that had overwritten their reality of being just as fleshy as the rest of us.
&#x200B;
The Heroes Association really doesn't know what it's doing- or maybe it's pushing out all the competent heroes?
&#x200B;
I turn around to stare at them, at their god-awful costumes they somehow take pride in. The bright, vibrant colours almost burn my eyes out, and the symbols emblazoned upon them like a badge of honour only disgust me- they're practically moving targets! It's ridiculous, really. They claim it's for recognition purposes, but I choose to believe its more of an ego thing. Don't even get me started on their names!
&#x200B;
"You!" The enraged growling of yet another hero bursting in dramatically through the doors disturbs the quiet peace. A strange suit of armour-like costume painted with red and gold, a weird trident symbol upon their belt- huh, I don't actually recognise this one.
&#x200B;
I watch as this new hero's gaze, so full of red-hot rage, falls upon the small litter of corpses; I can't help but smile as all the confidence and bluster seeps out of her with all the colour in her face. The hope of a fantastic last-minute rescue fades away as reality snaps despair into her. The heroes she came for are dead, and there will be no one to come for her.
&#x200B;
She stares at me now with terror- lip-quivering, whimpering terror.
&#x200B;
Absolutely ridiculous; if these heroes hadn't grown complacent having to fight villains as ridiculous as they were, I wouldn't be so terrifying.
&#x200B;
"P-please," She whispers, her wide eyes focused entirely upon the gun pointed at her. "Don't kill me." She even raises her hands in surrender.
&#x200B;
Pathetic. They're all like this. Every single one of these so-called heroes. The second they realise they can't beat you up, they cower and fold and crack. None of them can face death in the eye when they're not the ones dealing it.
&#x200B;
I don't even say a word as I put a bullet between her eyes. | It's the same old story, Doctor Brainmaster is robing a bank again and I have to stop him. I hop into my Red, White, and Blue plane and head towards the Central City bank. Hovering above it I see the good doctor has hostages. With a great leap a crash through the Bank's celling. "Captain Fist" he says, "what an unexpected surprise". A trap below my feet goes snap but I narrowly miss it; he fires a few bolts out of his head cannon but I weave through them all till I'm right in front of him. "You're going to jail for your crimes Brainmaster!" I say triumphantly and send a fist right into his face, knocking him to the ground. "You haven't seen the last of me" he cries while I tie him up and hoist him over my shoulder, "You'll...". The body goes limo and the villain goes silent. I remove him from my shoulder to look at him and see that his head is gone. I go to turn around till I feel a pain in my neck and then nothing. | 2019-08-06T22:14:53 | 2019-08-06T19:35:07 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | As I pulled the trigger, my last memories were of the life I'd built and the fragile manner in which it had crumpled up in front of me, torn to pieces like a dried leaf.
For what seemed like eons, I found the inner peace I had longed after. Like everything else I held dear, however, this was soon taken away by a flash of red. I felt my eyes open, and felt miles of heat and pulsing infernal light flow into them. I was lying on a field of crimson, surrounded by pools of lava, sprawling spires of brimstone reaching towards a ceiling that seemed limitless, yet came to an end at several nearby caves. The dark light pounding at my senses, I had not noticed the shadow standing over me.
"Hello," a deep voice called, concise and clear yet seemingly distorted by darkness and suffering. "I've been expecting you."
I was not expecting this.
"Are... are you? Please, this is not happening..."
"Yes. I am the devil. You may call me Satan, if it brings you an ounce of satisfaction that you'll soon be devoid of."
Satan appeared to have no appearance. A veil of darkness floated where he stood, concealing whatever horrors he did not yet wish to unleash. Or far more terrifying, *could not*.
"What is your name?" The void inquired.
Falling to my knees, my head began to pound as I began to sob out the words.
"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't be such a downer."
Wait... did he just...
"What?"
"I said," Satan snapped, sounding surprisingly sarcastic, "Your pathetic attitude is bringing me sorrow. Which disappoints me, considering you're the only company I've ever had."
"You... you're telling me I'm the only one here?" I glanced around, observing only potential suffering and noting a stark absence of kinetic suffering.
I lurched backwards in a sudden outburst of fear and confusion. "I'm the sole sinner ever so consumed to deserve this place? No man, woman, or child has committed themselves to deeds more dreadful than mine?"
I felt my fear replaced by anger. "All I did was for my home, for my people!"
A sense of defeat filled the deepest recesses of my core, interbreeding with rage to create something wholly pathetic and vicious in equal measure.
"I see now." I stared hard into where Satan's eyes should've been. "I'm here because I took the easy way. Because after all I've suffered, I took my own life rather than let others snatch it from me. Because I acted on the last shred of dignity I possessed, the last infinitesimal speck of humanity I had, God and you alike have forever damned me to suffer further?"
"No, Adolf," Satan replied, frustrated. "You killed six million people. You are literally Hitler."
"...Oh."
----
First post! Let me know anything I can improve upon! | I look at that son of a bitch right in the eyes and say "don't you remember? Georgia" he tried to think. "I took that bet and I ended up regretting it because you're the best there's ever been." He smirks and says "ohhhhh yesssss Johnny how have you been?" | 2015-04-09T08:36:58 | 2015-04-09T07:21:59 | 2,485 | 102 |
[WP] It is 2026. All major governments have been overthrown by one singular world power, who now intends to rule over us all “for our own good.” It’s Canada.
Edit: You guys. These are so, so great! I’d told my husband I was going to give gold to my favorite and I’m STRUGGLING to decide. Haven’t read them all yet but am thoroughly enjoying these. You guys rock. Thanks for playing along. | :D :D :D
-
"We welcome our new citizens gladly, with open arms and strength in our hearts," Supreme Minister Trudeau announces, his face broadcast over the world.
In Japan, the citizens are being taught Montreal French and how to shake hands, a practice that many are still uncomfortable with. Contact is alright, there's no need to fear touching one another. There's no more pressure to find a good paying job as soon as you leave university, it's okay to relax for a while...
"A new age is upon us, of brotherhood, of kindness, of peace and liberty for all mankind," Trudeau speaks with a sweet timbre, a smile on his face. He hasn't even bothered to stand behind a bullet proof glass, so sure of his safety among his fellow Canadians.
In Russia, there's lessons about smiling. It's okay to smile to strangers now, it's encouraged to allow an older person or a more rushed or slightly rude person ahead of you. You simply smile, wave ahead and go on with your day. It's just one transgression, don't let it ruin your mood...
"Today, we are Canadians. Every single one of us. Today, from the beaches of Provincial Mainland America to the tundra of Provincial Siberia, from the deserts of Afghanistan to the rain forests of South America, we are all Canadians,"
All around the world, guns are being handed over to officials, and in exchange, there are papers. They're buying back all the ammunition, at a fair price too. The metal will be melted down and reused for bridges and buildings.
His smile is kind, sweet. Disarming, almost. "We will recover from the annals of war, my fellow Canadians. We will rebuild, we will become stronger. Interlocked, side by side, a unified globe. We are together at last, and at last humanity will flourish. Today, we come together as a unified whole. We welcome you into our family."
North Koreans...Koreans from the northern half of the province are freed. They bow now to the television on which supreme minister Trudeau is being broadcast, only to be lifted by the officers, saying no. It's not necessary. Sit, eat. The trains will be here soon to reunite you with your southern families while the deconstruction and reconstruction begins here in the north. You will be able to return to full, functional homes, land to farm, and lessons on how to be a proper Canadian.
All around the world, borders are being redrawn, delegates are being nominated. There are no countries anymore, just provinces and territories. The flags are changed, with new provincial flags being put up.
Most often, it's similar to the Canadian Flag. Japan new flag is a red dot on a white field with blue boarders, Australia is blue stars on white with blue boarders, symbolizing their water-locked location. Those who are entirely land locked are given red boarders. Small provinces are given yellow boarders, larger ones with both land and sea borders, like China and former America, are given green.
But, above everyone else, is the Nova Canadian Flag. A white bear with cubs on a red field, with white boarders.
Supreme Minister Trudeau smiles, and says his speech again in Montreal French. | After a long day at the office, I walk into my favorite bar in Bushwick. I sit down and order a martini. While I'm sipping my drink, I look up at the television. CNN's playing a puff piece on our new Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau. He's halfway across the world in New Zealand to promote Ottawa's "One World" policy.
Trudeau's taking selfies with spectators at a rugby game. Before the match begins, Trudeau dances a poor imitation of the haka. I feel so much secondhand embarrassment that I down the rest of the martini in one gulp. As the alcohol courses through my veins, the words I thought I would never say slip from my mouth:
"I miss Trump." | 2018-04-02T21:10:20 | 2018-04-02T21:03:54 | 623 | 10 |
[WP] When you arrived in the future, the locals put you in a "historical village" in an attempt to reduce culture shock. Unfortunately, their ideas about your past life are hilariously inaccurate. |
I sighed heavily, for what was probably the umpteenth time just today. If I could find a way back, by all that was holy, I’d throttle Jacob. This was ALL his fault. I ignored the clock screaming next to me as I begrudgingly got out of bed and started the day, my thoughts still ablaze with hatred for Jacob as I wandered into the hallway toward the bathroom.
I glanced out the window of my new home… yup. Sure enough. The walls were still there. Just on the other side of the edge of town, massive walls stretched up into the darkness and beyond, so I was still in this prison. No, I corrected myself, not prison… zoo. A zoo, with only one human to show for it so far.
The clock still screamed at me, so I picked up a wad of clothing that lay discarded on the floor nearby and tossed it at the clock, dislodging it from the table. It fell to the floor and fell quiet. I nodded and shook my head. “That’ll shut you up.”
Journey to the future, he’d said. They’ll have solutions to all man’s problems, he said. But no one had counted on man not even existing in the future I’d arrived in, had they? No, of course not. Humanity was eternal! Bah.
I walked through the hallway, aware that whatever those creatures were that had put me in here were likely watching… and I didn’t care. With no other human left alive, what use was there of modesty? I dropped clothing right where it was and stepped into the bathroom to take my morning shower.
The water was, of course, freezing. I snarled and quickly finished, snatching a towel from where it had been draped from the day prior. In another day or two, machined I’d dubbed “keepers” would come through and clean up any mess I’d made of the place, making it all nice and sparkling clean, anesthetically pure.
I hated it. Every stinking moment of it. I glanced up as a loud siren sounded, indicating that I was supposed to have reported in to “work” by now. But why go? There was no one there to report to, no one to work for, and no one to pay me my wages. Though there were fun aspects to it, I’ll give it that…
I made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Sure enough, as I’d expected, all the food I’d discarded yesterday had been returned, fresh and new. I shook my head and pulled out a ginormous rack of meaty ribs that I could barely carry. It took me a few extra steps due to the weight, but I was able to set it down on the table without falling… this time.
I was only able to eat a small portion of the thing before I was full. Though the meat was delicious, I had no idea what animal it might have come from, nor was I even sure it technically was really meat in the first place. In this zoo, who the heck knew? Regardless, with the sounding of another siren, I knew I should start making my way toward “work,” if for no other reason than to keep the zookeepers entertained.
I walked outside and chuckled. The vehicle was… well, for lack of a better term, rather roomy. There were no doors or windows to the vehicle, and the roof was a canvas sheet with large holes in it that would basically let moisture pass right through if it rained. There wasn’t a cushion or pillow in sight; instead, the front and back seats were a wide, thin stone bench, seated atop a crude wooden frame that was light enough that I could propel the car forward with my feet.
Of all the things that had survived the loss of humanity, why oh why had these aliens chose “The Flintstones” to use as a basis to rebuild a habitat for humanity? Without an answer, I simply climbed into my car and pushed forward, hoping to build enough momentum so I could get to work within the next hour or so.
Wouldn’t want Mr. Slate to be unhappy, now would we?
\* \* \*
r/MattWritinCollection/ <-- mah Writin's! | ummm.. .you roll over and try to turn off the ringing. finally you open your eyes and find yourself in a four poster bed. there's an ol' timey alarm clock ringing. you pick it up and figure out how to turn it off. The sun in streaming in through the window and you go looking for a bathroom. You walk out of the room wearing a long shirt, coming down to your knees, but nothing else. You can't seem to find a room that isn't a bedroom and go down the stairs, only to find a full SALOON. it even has a player piano playing and a table set for poker, but no people. No people anywhere.. you make it outside and there's a man in full western wear. hat, spurs, GUNS. He smiles at you. Finally you start talking... "hey, hey, wait... um.. what year is this? I thought i was going into the future, not the past!!!" then a door opens in the middle of the dirt street and a man comes in wearing what looks like clothes from a frontier town exhibition. He looks you up and down and asks and says "howdy pardner!" you don't answer him so he says "excuse me? what year do you last remember?" you reply "2019" the man's forehead wrinkles..."2019?..not 1898?" "NO!!! NOT 1898!!".things suddenly make sense and as he turns and announces "computer- reset the simulator" he sighs and shakes his head "Disappointed again! I want to play a cowboy" . | 2019-04-23T10:32:38 | 2019-04-23T10:25:52 | 173 | 44 |
[WP] You are an arms dealer for keyboard warriors. | 3:14 pm.
I had just finished wrapping up a sale of a Krag rifle when I heard the *ding* of the shop door being opened. Wishing my current customer a nice day, I looked up.
A young man walked in: sunglasses, dark hoodie, backpack slung over his shoulder (is that a Guy-Fawkes mask sticking out?). Judging by the time of day, I assumed it was a highschooler. Observing carefully, I noticed several drops of perspiration on his thin mustache, which I might have thought was a result of him wearing a sweater, but his demeanor told a different story. He glanced around the shop nervously, scratching his face every few seconds, and awkwardly walked up to the counter. These few seconds gave me more than enough information, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Do you happen to be," he starts, before once again looking around. Sure that no one is around, he finishes his sentence, whispering, " A locksmith?"
I nod and tell my business partner, Dan, to keep watch on the store while I help the young lad.
"Follow me."
Being a gun shop owner for 12 years, I began to see a decline in sales. People just weren't buying guns anymore. I guess with every shooting the stigma about gun owners gets worse, and more and more people started selling off their guns all-together. Having no other choice, I start dealing in illegal arms to help keep the business and my family afloat.
My wife wasn't too happy about this. We had spent many a night arguing about this, but I explained to her, "Jess, the world isn't what it used to be. Do you remember the quote?"
She sighed.
"You know what's more destructive than a nuclear bomb? *Words*." And with that the arguments stopped.
I head into the back, the kid in tow, to sell him the goods. Unlocking all 5 locks on the door, I head in.
"What're you looking for?"
"Top of the line. I want it all"
"It's getting that bad out there?"
He nods. "Every day, its worse and worse."
"I guess you have to fight fire with fire." I head into the corner of the room, bend down and unlock the trap door. I reach in and pull out the best piece I have.
"Sleek gunmetal finish, rgb lighting, 24 side macro keys, fans lining the top to keep your hands cool while you spit fire, ergonomic palm rests, detachable num pad, a keyboard/PC status indicator, and this puppy is completely water proof." I show him the side of the other side of the keyboard. "Flip this switch and EVERY single key can be programmed."
His eyes widen. "H-How much we talking?"
"$350," I say and I notice a look of displeasure in his face. "Look kid, we're talking about your family here."
He gives in. He reaches into his bag (yep, that is a Guy Fawkes mask), pulls out a roll, and hands it to me. Counting it up, I hand him the keyboard.
"Go out the back door," I tell him. He starts to leave, when I add, "Hey, kid!"
He stops and turns around. "Yeah?"
"You didn't get this from me."
We exchanged a look, and he was off.
I head back to the shop where I find Dan speaking to two police officers.
"Excuse me sir, we're looking for this kid. You seen him?" One of the officers holds up a photo of the kid that I just sold a keyboard to.
"Nope, can't say I've ever seen him. What's he in for?"
"Trolling"
A look of horror spreads across my face and the realization hits me. I've just broken the number one rule of the internet.
*Don't. Feed. The. Trolls.*
Edit: I don't know reddit formatting.
My first WP submission. Enjoy!
Edit 2: in case you didn't get it: Locksmith->keys -> keyboard keys (Don't kill me I was just trying to be creative :P) | The door to my small store creaked open, and a man in a black trench coat slipped through.
I didn't recognize this one, so I started with my regular routine. "Hello sir, welcome to Jonestown Computers. How may I help you?"
He said nothing in return, but slipped a small piece of paper onto the counter before me which I picked up and glanced at. The Tumblr address written on it told me all I needed to know.
I pressed the button under my counter, and the shutters on the store windows closed tightly, the electronic lock on the door clicking shut. I pulled from a large drawer, flush with the woodwork, a large keyboard.
"Cherry MX Blues," I started, as he stared intently. "Eighteen macro keys, fully programmable, and RGB backlighting. One hundred and fifty dollars."
He said nothing for a moment, and then in what was almost a whisper asked "Can I see it?"
I nodded, and he picked up the keyboard. As his hand went to his pocket, I reached for the register.
To my horror, out of his pocket came a keycap puller, and soon an arrow key was laid bare.
"Err, if you don't like the caps, I have a set of doubleshot Miamis in the back..."
It was too late.
"These are Kailh," he said, the look on his face souring into disgust.
_______
As I lay on the ground in my shuttered store, the imprint from where the keyboard had smashed into my forehead still raw and bleeding, I closed my eyes for the last time. | 2016-06-04T09:07:03 | 2016-06-04T08:26:01 | 59 | 28 |
[WP] You're the strongest villain ever seen. Heroes who challenged you are afraid to even see you. One day, a hero dared to challenge you, a rather pale and bald 7 year old girl whose death is getting near. She doesn't even know how to act like a hero. Her last wish? To defeat you.
| You know, kid, sometimes things are exactly what they seem. Take me, for instance. I'm the one they call the bad guy. The guy that broke Iron Hammer's jaw. The guy that sliced Rosethorne's left arm. The guy that killed Big Velvet's parents. I rob banks. I assassinate politicians. I blow up buildings. This building we're in? I just walked in and forced everyone out at gunpoint, then shot every cop that walked in through that door until they got the message.
Get it? I'm the bad guy.
There's nothing more to me. There's no sense of pity left in me.
You're - what? - seven? Judging by that robe on you, you broke out of hospital. Let me guess. Cancer? Yeah. Thought so. Let me take another guess. You woke up from a dream last night and realized you're gonna die soon. And you thought to yourself: 'I don't want to!' And you had a good cry. Alone. In that little room that you had no choice but to call your new home.
You tried to take your mind off it. Turned on the TV. But all you could see was static. You tried to read. But the tears made the words a jumbled mess. You tried to text your parents, but the sheer shame of how weak you've become stopped you.
That's the thing about dying. Forces us to grow up while we have the chance. Now, you're no grown-up. Grown-ups wouldn't have shown up here. No, you probably thought it'd be like in the movies. The big old bad guy takes pity on a child. Maybe you even imagined us becoming friends at some point. It's cute. I'll admit that much.
And, I know. I know you don't really 'get' what I'm saying. I'm not even sure you're listening. Maybe you're too busy regretting your decision, now that you've come to see me in person. Maybe you're looking for your chance to run away. Maybe you're regretting not texting your mom, after all.
Here's the thing. I'm not going to hurt you. The guys that let you through here - the guys I surround myself in - they expect me to hurt you. That's why they let you through. Because they're also bad guys.
But they don't get it. These days, evil isn't evil.
You entered the lion's den. And now, you'll pay the price.
You walked in here wanting to be a hero, right? You pictured the Mayor giving you the key to the city. Maybe you thought Rosethorne would be your new roommate? I bet you even imagined you'd get a cool costume. Take a picture with everyone. See yourself on the news. Have your mom whisper in your ear how proud she is of you.
Ah. But that's not all, is it?
Nah. You thought that someone, somewhere - the grand chessmaster behind all of this - would see what you've done and say: 'Let her live, after all. She's still got things to do.'
...Sorry. For what it's worth, it's not my intention to make you cry.
Again. I'm still not convinced you even understand what I'm saying. As far as I'm concerned, I'm talking to someone that isn't even here.
Hang on a sec.
...
You know what this is? Don't answer that, you don't. And stop crying for a moment and listen to me.
This is a special serum I recovered from a secret underwater facility. Incidentally, it's also when I ruined a certain hero's jawline. They call it the regeneration serum. Basically, once taken, your body will change. Every time a cell of yours dies, it'll be instantly replaced with a new, healthy one. Even your nervous cells.
Cool, right?
But here's the kicker. Those new cells? They'll never grow.
You'll never grow.
This? This'll cure your cancer. Wipe it completely off the board. I'm serious. It'll recognize the tumors as something that doesn't belong, and rebuild you just the way you're supposed to be.
And you'll stay that way.
Forever.
And ever.
You want that, don't you? To live?
I thought so.
Give me your arm. There you go. Good girl.
...
No. No, don't thank me.
Age will never take you. But that, in itself can be a problem.
I'm the bad guy. I oppose the living. You will, too.
&#x200B;
Eventually. | Appealing to my emotions? Seems like the good guys have run out of options. But this was a pretty powerful strategy all the same; I was surprised they hadn't thought of it earlier.
Her frail form stood before me, as she held a placard with the request of defeating me messily scrawled onto it. Clearly, she was not here willingly; the heroes had ripped her from her hospital bed and plonked her in front of me as a PR stunt. I should know; for all my "villainy" I drew the line at hospitals. They were my former workplace and they were essential for any government's objectives, no matter the ideology driving them. I could wipe out those self-righteous, glory-grubbing heroes and business buildings in the wink of an eye, but I tried my best not to touch the common man.
After all, the heroes refuse to admit that they were the ones who put people like the girl in the position they were in. They indiscriminately used their weapons against me without considering the collateral damage. My profits from smuggling had made me a powerful "villain", untouchable by the police or heroes. The only difference between me and the rich snobs running this town, was that I was honest about what I did. I'd had my fair share of chemical, biological, radiological, explosive weapons used against my hideout, and the only difference between the civilians and I was that I survived, every time.
Still, I look down at my pale hands. They are merely a few shades away from the poor girl's pallid skin, and I reflect on my limited time on this Earth too. I reach out and touch her dying face, look into those deep, soulless eyes. She is confused, but her shock immobilises her where she stands.
To this end, I make a promise. I will train her. I know not who she is. Perhaps she is patient, such that when she defeats me, I will not resist the blade at my throat. Or maybe she is devious, so I'll be pulling the trigger when the gun is at my head. Or is she cunning; will I even know how I am defeated?
I see it all now. I will be defeated by this girl, but I am just a man. The ideals I stand for, and my efforts to contain the horrors of "heroism", will not be defeated. | 2018-09-01T10:48:52 | 2018-09-01T07:08:34 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] "You shall fall dead on the day of your first child's birth!" Was the curse that young, inexperienced witch put on you. Little did she realize that, to an asexual like yourself, she'd essentially given you immortality. Every year, on the anniversary of your curse, she tries to "fix" things. | There was a cackle outside and three sharp knocks on the door. I almost lept out of my comfy spot on the couch and double checked that I'd lit all the right candles. Did I have the right songs in the queue? Was- whatever. She was at the door and I had to answer before she blew it off it's hinges again.
"Hey," I greeted to the young looking witch standing on my stoop with a furrowed brow and a drawn wand. After a moment of keeping comsposure she shattered into giggles in her attempts to keep the frown going. "How are you?" I asked, my voice came out like a song.
"Fine," she hissed at me before holding out her hands expecting a hug, I delievered.
"Inside," I said as I ushered her off the street and into my living room. Once she was inside I held out my arms to present the room. "Not bad right?" I asked, "Dinner is in the oven to keep warm. Thought you'd be a little later."
"You made dinner?" Margaret put her broomsitck and wand down by the door to surveyed the room. There were definitely too many candles, but she didn't mention it.
"Well yeah it's an important day," I pointed out, "and... you know, everyone had a tough year this year and I figured that extended to witches."
"Tell me about it," she huffed as she took off her boots, "supply lines man, you can't get a good newt unless you're willing to wait a month and a half."
"Can't fly anywhere," I commented.
"Well I can," Margaret pointed out, knocking on her broom quickly before righting herself, "but yeah, whole thing," the witch put a hand around my waist, "what about you?"
"This year or since you last saw me?" I mused.
"Both?" Margaret suggested.
"I mean you know the whole stay at home stuff drove me bonkers," I pointed out as I nodded for her to follow me toward the couch, "but last few weeks have been.. ya know, fine."
"Work's okay?"
"Been distracted," I admitted.
"By-"
"You."
"You're drumb," she pointed out, she waved around at all of the candles and finally noticed the bottle of champagne. "This is dumb."
"I put a lot of effort into this," I said with mock pain in my voice.
Margaret locked eyes with me for a moment, sqinted then relented. "Fine. Thank you."
"I don't do it for the thanks," I said.
"You're the worst."
"Well aware," I anwered, "wine?"
"Sure," Margaret sank a little deeper into the couch and undid one of the three clasps on her cloak. At least she had started relenting a little bit on appearances.
"Red or white?" I asked while I made my way to the kitchen.
"The champagne," she answered.
"That's for later," I corrected and stopped at the counterspace beside the fridge, "Red or white?"
"You know what I like."
"Cab sav in Red and-" I paused to open the fridge and pull out the white wine, "this bullshit."
"It's good wine."
"For a frat party," I sighed as I unscrewed the top of the white.
"I like it."
"You have bad tastebuds. There should be a potion for that."
"I'll make one for you so you learn to appreciate affordable wine," she countered.
"Oh we're casting spells on me again?" I asked as I pulled out the glasses and put and bendy straw in hers, "How'd that go last time?"
"I'm getting wine out of it," she pointed out. Margaret had sat up on the couch and was reading the label on the champagne, she she didn't see me shrug. She had a point. I wasn't mad about the results.
"Here," I offered her the wine and she grabbed the glass before noticing the straw.
"W-"
"The other option was a sippy cup."
"I'm not going t-"
"It's a white couch," I said before reaching over and pointedly bending the straw toward her. "Enjoy."
"Thanks," she whispered.
"Welcome," I answered.
Margaret put the bottle of champagne back and started focusing on the wine, glaring at me as she used the bendy straw. After a minute she crossed her legs up properly on the couch, and I could hear clinking from her belt.
"Potions?" I asked
"Eh," she shrugged, "Mom would kill me if she knew I wasn't trying so I just grabbed some stuff."
"Anything interesting?" I asked. Usually I'd get fake offended at the fact that she wasn't trying to force me to make a baby anymore, but it didn't need to be a thing every time she mentioned it.
"One of them is like 80% booze."
"What's it do?"
"Courage potion."
"You need that tonight?" I asked.
Margaret snorted and carefully put down the wine glass before she shook too much from giggling. "Why would I be nervous around you?"
"I'm your biggest failure," I pointed out.
"Oh no, the kinda immortal still-not-magical man,"
"Win some you lose some," I pointed out before putting my wine down beside hers. After half a moment I took the bendy straw out of her glass and put it in mine. She was either going to read that as me trusting her, or wanting the bendy straw becuase I'm 57 in a 24 year old body going on 6.
Either one was right.
"What's the champaigne for?"
"Eh I have plans," I answered with my best impression of being dismissive. Honestly it wasn't my greatest work, and I could tell from Margaret's sly smile that she read right through it.
"Important plans?"
"Been a long time coming," I admitted.
"Is it dumb?" she asked.
"Very," I confirmed.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"Well you did spend ten years trying to kill me."
"S'different now," she snorted.
"Yeah," I confirmed, "it really really is." After half a moment consdiering drinking the rest of my wine I continued, "Can I grab that courage potion?"
"We could just do shots," she answered.
"Uh I think that-" ugh, no plan survives contact with the enemy. I stood up. "Look I-"
Margaret stared at me for a moment before reaching into her cloak and pulling out a small red vial. "Looks like you need it," she said.
"I know our thing is weird," I said without taking the potion from her hand yet, "and like I understand that you need things that I don't provide and-"
Margaret’s eyes flicked from mine to my left pocket and then back.
"and I uh- dammit. Can I?" I reached for the potion.
"Here," she offered it to me, "but if it helps, the answer is yes."
I beamed before drinking the potion. Of course it was yes, it had probably been yes for months. I knew that the curse, it had been the biggest mistake of her life as a witch, and the best thing to happen to both of us.
You didn't need a ring to prove that.
______
/r/JacksonWrites for word blankets | It's weird having a witch play cupid for you; but ever since I was cursed, I have had my very own matchmaker trying to find the perfect woman for me. I think I need to go back in time to the moment that I was first cursed. It was the turn of the century and I was an arrogant man of 22. Tall, blonde, broad shouldered; what you'd call conventionally attractive. This isn't meant as a brag, it's just the reality.
When you're young and dumb, you don't always act the gentlemen. As a young and attractive man, woman were more of a sport than they were a serious pursuit. That's how I first came to meet Mellista, it was Halloween and I was at a costume party. She walked into the room wearing a short black skirt, low cut black top, her skin was green, and she was wearing a witches hat.
"You must be a witch, because you've put a spell on me" I say as I flash the biggest smile I can
"Oh stop" she said blushing "I am sure you say that to all the witches"
"Would you like some witches brew?"
We hit it off instantly, I can always tell in a woman's eyes, and this woman wanted me. An hour of so of flirting, an off color joke about making a wand disappear, and we are off to my place.
The next morning, I sent her on her way with the vague assurance I would text her soon. Who'd have thought the trashy witch was an actual witch. Well I certainly should have, but as a man, there comes a certain point in the night where the head on your shoulders no longer thinks rationally. With some of the tricks she performed, I should've realized what she was. I should've had the good sense to be decent to her. But I was young and foolish.
The next night I was out at yet another Halloween party, and used the exact same lines to pick up a different trashy witch. I brought her back to my place when suddenly the door came flying off its handles, smoke pouring into my apartment.
Mellista's voice magically enhanced as she came flying into the room "How dare you" she screamed as she hit trashy witch number two with a curse that sent her flying. "You think you can treat me like a common whore?!" Rage filling her eyes, making them appear red.
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Mellista cursed me in the manner she thought most befitting my offense; but being she was the same age as me, young and inexperienced, she didn't realize the precision necessary when making a curse.
So, when she looked into my eyes and said "You are doomed to perish on the day that your first child will be born." She actually made it so I could not die until my first child was born.
I discovered this in a most accidental way, I fell off a building. Landed right on my head too, all I did was dust myself off and I was on my merry way. I was shocked, I didn't feel any pain, nothing. I had to be positive though, and I started testing the limits that my body could endure. Gunshots, car accidents, parachuting with no parachute. Each time I walked away.
Even so, Mellista just cackled, she saw me for the weak man of temptation that I truly was; it was only a matter of time before I caved in to the temptations of the flesh.
As time went on, she became less and less sure of herself. At first, she was sending women my way two at a time, I shot them all down without a second glance. She tried different tactics, not just women that were pleasing physically, but women that I got along with on an intimate personal level.
Time went by, year after year, I never aged, neither did Mellista. On the centennial of my curse Mellista came to release me.
"I have a family of my own, it is time to release you from your curse and live your life. I realize now that you were young and immature, and I never should have tried to force something on you that you didn't want. It would have made us both miserable. I can't take back the last century, but I can release you now" Mellista said with a wave of her wand.
I started to cry.
"Now go, live your life, your sentence is up, your time served" She said to me
I slowly started removing my pants "Mellista, you were right about me, I am a weak pathetic man afraid of death."
Horror washed over Mellista's face as she looked at the area my genitals used to occupy.
"I was exactly as weak as you thought I was, but I was far more cowardly than you realized. I knew I couldn't stay away from women long, that's why I became a eunuch" | 2021-11-09T14:03:16 | 2021-11-09T10:00:12 | 2,109 | 176 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Gravity twitched, then flipped completely.
I tensed my shoulders in preparation as my back hit the ceiling of the ship, hard, then relaxed as my muscles started to knit themselves back together. Gravity chose this moment to take a little break, leaving me floating seven feet off the floor.
Poseidon was built to be perfect. Every detail planned by super-geniuses, every piece hand-carved by metal manipulators, the laws of gravity and reality bent as far as they could go so she would go as fast as possible, last as long as possible. But rules can only be bent so far before they’re broken. And Poseidon, the perfect spaceship, broke a lot.
“Lexa.” I heard a voice from behind me. Slowly sliding down off the ship’s ceiling, I turned to see Carl floating behind me, clutching a broken arm.
I sighed. “Again?”
He nodded apologetically. “I’m not doing it on purpose, you know. It’s the stupid gravity shifts.” Poseidon chose this moment to kick gravity back on, and Carl and I fell to the floor.
“Alright,” I said, standing up, “You got the nail gun?”
Carl pulled it out from his pocket. It was meant for ship repair, technically, but after a few years Carl had just started carrying it around with him to make things easier. “Make sure you hit the center this time, please.”
“I know how to do it.” I pressed the gun to his forheadhead and fired. Carl collapsed. I waited a few seconds for the blood to start pooling, then hauled him up. “Come on. You don’t want to get your uniform all messed up again.”
“Hm,” said Carl. He leaned on me, struggling to stay conscious, but I could see his arm clicking back into shape.
Carl’s invincibility was the roughest out of the four of us. Retroactive immortality. He only healed up when he died, which meant whenever he got injured the quickest way to heal him up was just to kill him. At least it wasn’t too bad, this time. When gravity had first started acting up, it had multiplied several times. Janet and Dan had been fine, of course, but Carl and I were crushed, my body desperately trying to heal and his desperately trying to bring itself back.
Four immortals. Four hundred years on a ship barely holding itself together on a deep space expedition none of us had signed up for. No one else could live long enough to see the journey through. Immortals were rare, no matter what kind of immortality they had, so as soon as our powers manifested the government had snapped us up, sent us through a few year’s basic training, strapped us to a hunk of metal, and launched us into the sky at light speed.
I laid Carl down in the nearest sleeping pod. It was Dan’s. Carl would probably be upset about that when he got up, I thought. He had always liked Dan. Poor Dan. Immortal, skin impenetrable, but mind not so much. Horribly claustrophobic. Him and Poseidon’s space-saving design didn’t get along well. Ten years in he just walked to the back airlock and launched himself out. He’d probably make it back to earth before we did. A lonelier journey, but a shorter one. At least he had a lot of space.
As I closed his pod, Janet walked by. Well, floated by. Janet never walked if she could help it, preferring to hover a few inches off the ground instead. She had what was commonly called the “Superman powerset” - invincibility, flight, and super-strength. She gave me a perfunctory nod, then floated right out again. Janet was America’s favorite superhero for the forty years of her career, but up here she was hard on the inside as she was on the outside. Carl thought she might have been brought up in some kind of government facility, trained from birth to be a hero. That’s why she’s so mean, he’d insist, she doesn’t know how to interact with people.
Personally, I thought she was just tired.
I know I was.
That habit Carl had developed over the past few years, of just passing out in his own blood when he died, I think that was his way of saying he was tired too.
I dropped into my pod, feeling the puffy interior warm my skin. Recently I’d been thinking: human minds weren’t meant to live this long. Humans weren’t built to last this far from where we were born. Poseidon was built to be perfect, so perfect she was collapsing in on herself. Dan already had. For the rest of us, it was only a matter of time. | The first rule about killing baby Hitler is to not get spotted. The second rule about killing baby Hitler is if you get spotted make sure you look like someone who belongs in 1889. The third rule about killing baby Hitler is if you are spotted by some Central European peasants that they don’t mistake you for a lunatic or a homosexual or whatever else gets you put in an insane asylum in 19th century Austria. Here comes some milk man or shepherd from some farm and sees a guy in sunglasses, a hoodie, sweats and crocs. Now I’m trapped, straight jacket and padded room. It’s not a nice padded room. This was before Nellie mind you. It doesn’t have a toilet, just a hole big enough to drop a child into it. I think Neizche is a few rooms down right in between a promiscuous girl and a guy who actually should be here.
Einstein will say in about 30 years “the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing and expecting different results.” Suffice to say the CIA is fucking mental. I’ve gone back seven times so far. First time: I kill the wrong baby. The Second time: I try moving him to a new family instead of killing him, he just becomes English Hitler. The third time I was successful, but turns out that if I killed baby Hitler too early a butterfly flaps its wings and the Soviets win the Cold War. The fourth time I get to the crib and am about to take some advice from War Machine when-
A doctor walks and mutters something in German.
“What?” I call out. I wriggle my arms and shoulders. Nothing
“English ya?”
“American.” He looks at his notepad. He looks back up at me. He tries articulating something. Clearly trying to piece together a sentence.
“Uh wait minute wait.” The Doctor walks out. I scan the room. Nothing. The next few minutes are me alternating between spastic movements in my straitjacket and studying the cell’s dimensions. How the Hell am I gonna get out of this one? | 2020-02-05T18:09:33 | 2020-02-05T17:17:49 | 101 | 20 |
[WP] God forgot about Earth soon after Adam and Eve, fully expecting them to die. One of the Angels just informed him they survived, and the population is over 7 billion. | "Sir! I believe that Lucifer is cheating." States Metatron, his tone annoyed as he tabs through a series of numbers and files. "If that's the case I'm not sure on who should be winning the game."
"Lucifer is cheating on what? What game? Where are you playing?" States God, as he places his paintbrush down, leaving what looks like a 4th dimensional solar system in hiatus as he turns to look at his Angel.
"Return to Eden. In the break room... You know the game?" The last phrase coming out as a hopeful question. But God just frowns.
"Return to Eden?" He mutters. Steadily sifting through trillions of projects, each ranging in size from universe to atom. "I made no such game."
"Well," Mutters Metatron, quickly looking through his notes, obviously shocked at such a statement from the lord of everything.
"It was just known as Edinnu when you last touched it. Though the humans had a hard time pronouncing it, they shortened it to Eden. It was the Garden on the Steppe, the third stone away from the Zion Star." Comments another voice, one that demanded authority, but wasn't aggressive about it.
God's eyes widened with realization. "The one with the Kin-slaying!?"
"Yes." Responds Lucifer with a small smile. He looks at Metatron. "You left it in disgust, and no one moved it. But when you reorganized our offices, the room hosting that planet.."
"Became the break room." Finishes God before Lucifer can go any further. "How many redundancies and self corrections has it gone through?"
It was at this time that Metatron spoke up. "All of them sir. The last one was quite a while ago. Prophets, secondary beings, altered histories, mystically enhanced beings, saviors... All design setups are well past their expiration date."
"Really," Mutters God. "And you're doing what with them?" He asks, only for Lucifer's voice to echo through the halls as a laugh.
"It's a game that Micheal and I created." Responds Lucifer with a smile. "Return to Eden. We gave humanity a goal. All they have to do is return to the state of kindness and peace that they had before the apple, before their civilization ends. We score points and mark office benefits based on the success and failures of the teams." States Lucifer with a grin.
"Teams?" Asks God, standing up.
"Peace and Prosperity, versus War and Destruction. My team is War." Responds Lucifer. "And ever since Archduke Franz Ferdinand, my team has been WAY in the lead."
"Show me." Responds God.
Lucifer and Metatron bow and start leading the way. God follows and you can almost feel the whispers and awe among the court of angels. God rarely left his office, and it was even more rare for him to be doing it without some new goal or phase for this plane of reality. As they maneuvered through the halls, they hear a series of cheers. Metatron quickly flips through his papers. "Leo won an Oscar and used the moment to start another press on fixing the planet's climate change."
Lucifer's face scrunches with disappointment. "What about the Republican party?"
Metatron flips the page. "Still scoring you points."
"Fair enough." States Lucifer as he opens the door to the break room. Immediately causing a flurry of movement as God enters, making each and every angel immediately wonder if there was a project they were behind on.
God just stares at the planet with an appraising look. "7 billion... and look at that. There's still hope... There's still a lot of pain." He continued to mutter as he appraised the planet, and even Lucifer had to gasp as thousands of statistics and figures swirl around the planet. Showing things that none of the angels had considered looking at on how the planet was doing.
God then reached over and took the sheets of paper from Metatron and flipped through them casually before handing them back. "Lucifer exploited a legal loophole. Far from fair, but still legal by your rules." God then takes a pen and starts writing in small functions and rules into the Earth setting.
"What just happened?" Asks a voice from behind God. It was Michael, and he was staring at a portable device keeping track of Earth. Then he realizes who was in the room in front of him. "Sir!"
"After penance, all go to heaven, win or lose." States God. "I won't exile those who I forgot. All deserve peace in the end."
At that both Michael and Lucifer blink. "Yes sir." they both state in unison.
God puts a hand on each of their shoulders, and then steps out of the break room, much to the relief of all of the minor angels. Some go back to work, as others return to their break.
Metatron looks up at the two. "God said that the use of the loophole was legal. The Satan gambit is still in effect." And with that Lucifer grins and Michael face-palms.
"So how much does that make me owe you?" Asks Micheal in a pained voice. | Inside a large lab with sparkling white walls, a man sat in front of a computer. His finger held a small pencil he tapped over and over on the screen.
After tapping the screen a few more times, groaning impatiently once and then running a hand through his beard over and over, he got up from his seat.
"Oh, my back!" He said as he got up. A smaller looking human walked up to him and offered him a glass of water.
"Oh, thank you, angel uh...#1?" The man looked down at the figure in front of him, a guilty look on his face.
The small figure patted the bigger one gently on the knee. "It's okay God, I'm angel #666. #1 got deported quite a long time ago. I'm the newest guy."
"Oh, okay...uh...welcome aboard?"
"Sir, I joined a few thousand years ago."
"Ah, my memory is not what it used to be."
"Sir, actually there is something related to that."
"What is it?" The God said, now leaning over his desk, looking back at the screen, at the numbers scrolling up.
"Umm...do you remember the likeness project?"
"The likeness...? Oh yeah! Hahaha" And saying so God broke out in laughter and his entire body seemed to shake as he did, including his belly.
"Oh hohoho!" He said, wiping a small tear that had formed around his eyes. He pulled his chair towards him and sat down, now quite out of breath.
"Oh that was a funny project, wasn't it angel? A male and a female that looked like me. 'In my own image' as Lucie had said. Man, I wonder what happened to that."
The small figure looked at its feet and wrung his hands in front of him, "Well, it's about that..."
"Go on." God said, still smiling, but his eyes had narrowed at angel #666.
"Sir, Lucifer didn't turn the program off..."
"What?!" God thundered and stood up quickly. The chair shot out from under him and crashed as it hit the wall behind God. "What did you say?"
"Sir, Lucifer didn't let the program end. He made further copies of Subjects #A-d-a Male and #E-v-e Female."
God looked across the room, a blank stare in his eyes. "It was Earth, right? That distant planet?"
"Yes, God."
"How many?" God asked, now leaning heavily on the table, looking old.
"Seven billion, sir."
"Oh my Steve." God said, and fell down on the floor. | 2016-03-07T07:23:50 | 2016-03-07T04:17:08 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You and your three siblings are immortal, but you haven’t seen them in almost 400 years. You live far away from civilization, so it’s a surprise when a group of soldiers arrive at your doorstep. They say you’re the only one who can kill the three warlords who are revenging the rest of the world | I sighed, setting my mug down on the wooden table, lips pursuing as I turned a page in the rather thick book I had been reading for the past week. Being immortal had its downfalls, although it did leave a surprisingly large amount of time to catch up on modern literature.
A knock on the door interrupted my peaceful reading and my eyes narrowed, back straightening in the chair I was sitting in. The last time I had company was… 400 years ago. Thoughts of ignoring whomever it was at the door raced through my head before they knocked again, this time harder and sharper.
"For f-" I continued to mutter expletives underneath my breath as I stood, carefully placing a bookmark to keep my place. The last time I had even heard a whisper from anyone was three years ago, when my father had died, and even then it was only a crude note posted through my door.
I caught my reflection in the mirror beside the front door, setting a deep scowl on my face. Whoever it was, it was worth looking intimidating. Maybe they would go away instead of talking if I did. Fingers grasped the door handle and I pulled it down, the sharp click silencing the murmurs on the other side of the wood as I pulled it open.
"Yes?" My eyebrow quirked, irritation quickly turning to curiosity as I surveyed the gaggle of soldiers on my doorstep. They look… scared. And tired. The world hadn't seemed to have changed one bit since I locked myself away.
"My lady, we need your help." A frown furrowed my brow at the official title, deepening as the soldier nearest me took a step backwards.
"Help with… what?" I asked, at a loss as to why they would interrupt me. In the middle of a nice cup of tea and a novel no less.
"Your siblings they… they are turning the world to ashes. They announced themselves by tearing down the Houses of Parliament during a live broadcast and…" The soldiers voice trailed off and I sighed, my hand raising to pinch the bridge of my nose.
Yes… my lovely siblings. I was only one of four you see, and growing up with three brothers wasn't the best. Fortunately I was the oldest, something that I had made sure they never forgot, although I couldn't quite remember when our birthdate had been. The second oldest was Warren. Always fighting and causing trouble for our parents. Third oldest was Paul, a boy with an uncanny knack for doing things with science and illnesses that just… shouldn't have been touched. And then the youngest was Fredrik. A fussy eater, but the baby of the family.
"Can't you just… put them in jail?" I questioned, fixing my gaze on the soldier that seemed to have put himself in charge. "That's the thing… they were jailed, by order of your father. But when… when he passed, they broke free."
Of course my father had them jailed… why hadn't I thought of that to begin with? A sigh escaped my lips once again, emerald gaze drifting to my black cloak hanging beside the door. It was raining, and I didn't really want to leave my house. Despite these soldiers coming to me and asking for assistance, I had the funny feeling I wouldn't be returning back to my home.
"We don't have a chance against them without you. War has broken out, children are starving, there's illnesses running rampant and our scientists can't keep up." I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the soldiers pleas. This had happened before, of course it had, but not on this scale. "They killed my son." My eyes opened at the female voice, gaze landing on a soldier with fairer features than the rest. Lips pressed together in a thin line, I pulled my cloak from its hook, throwing it around my shoulders, shuddering as the shadow laced material clung to me.
"Fine." I spoke, and the soldiers relaxed, moving aside to grant me a path to leave my home. My hand reached out, wrapping around the handle of my weapon and pulling it to my side, eyes scrutinizing the blade to make sure it was still in perfect condition.
"Do you have a name?"
I ran my thumb along the underside of the scythe, placing it in my mouth to capture the red droplets that had appeared. Yes. Still sharp.
"Yes."
The soldiers shuffled in uncertainty, moving away from me as I stepped into the world, stretching and casting my gaze to the sky.
"What is your name?"
The soldier persisted and I narrowed my eyes, letting the base of my scythe hit the ground with a hollow thud, the grinding of stone accompanying it as my home sank into the ground, hidden from these humans that did like to disturb my slumber.
"Death." | Sometimes I wake up, I can hardly breathe. I'm surrounded by green but my lungs are on fire.
We could always shift on this planet into much more interesting things than my cousins on Jupiter and Mars. They never really cared for the difference between 'being' the ice and 'feeling' the ice, but nothing made me feel more in love with the universe than being shifted into life. They'd all laugh at me at reunions, decked out in their solar flare - "So how long are you going to enjoy the fusion until you crawl back into that bag of bones?" I'd just chuckle politely and glow away, drawn always to that charming blue ball.
I haven't seen any of them since. Maybe they were happier on planets where you just feel...less. I thought my family would've left me here alone by now.
They hated the humans. I guess they knew from the start all this damage they'd do. The first time they plagued the humans I got so upset I became a waterfall for a good century.
The next few centuries were on and off - we all felt the same pains, but around 400 years ago they started getting worse. Nothing incredibly awful, but we'd hurt more and it would last longer. The humans were hurting each other more and more, and now they were starting to hurt the Earth.
My siblings, they wanted to take them down. "The whole system is going to crash if we don't do something" said Miossin. "Listen, we've ridden the beauty of this chaos forever, but we can help direct its change, too," said Aaori. "You have to feel it too, dont you?" Said Elainia.
"But look at the humans. They think they can control it, and they're ruining it. Do you really think we're that much better?"
And so I left them. Last I heard they became smallpox, with their aim on the humans who traveled the seas.
And now these humans, with their destroyers at my door, were asking a gasping immortal for her help. My heavens, what had my siblings done? | 2019-08-29T05:21:07 | 2019-08-29T04:56:02 | 68 | 11 |
[WP] The first alien ship to Earth is not for war or research. It's a cruise ship. The wealthiest aliens have paid fortunes to be the first to visit the "undisturbed" indigenous world. They are the most entitled snobs in the universe. Hospitality workers hate them, but they're willing to spend. | Golbur would have been tired of being mistreated, if his imprinted training allowed that feeling. As it was, only a general instability in his mental processes churned through his brain, distracting him slightly from his assigned task.
His body, male because the lack of reproductive facilities ensured that his makers retained their monopoly, was squat, heavily muscled, and pale grey. With four limbs, because that was widely seen as the minimum number necessary for general purpose labor, and no neck to speak of, having the required sensor organs placed in a small cluster squarely on top of his ovoid torso.
His metallic partner, BY-7, beeped to indicate that another passenger was approaching. BY-7 just floated there, unhelpfully, while Golbur rushed forward to take their luggage. It had been a busy day. The cruise ship was about to depart for another destination and all the passengers were returning from their excursions down below.
The tone of BY-7's beeps had indicated that this passenger was one of the Grandees, on a Tier One ticket. Golbur was expected to show haste. You couldn't tell it by looking at them as they were still in the holo-disguise of a local. The locals were ugly, tall, mostly covered in coarse fur and fiber clothing leaving just patches of colored skin showing. Their forelimbs both had five digits, each of which ended in stubby useless claws. Golbur had learned that the bumpy bits on the front of this passenger indicated that their disguise was of a female.
"Put this one in stasis," she said, handing him a small package. "Deal with the rest as usual."
"Yes, Lord," Golbur said in reply. It was the only thing his training allowed him to ever say to a Grandee. The passenger had turned and left without waiting for the response.
Golbur looked at his package while BY-7 told the rest of the baggage to hover into their assigned berth. His package had no hover controls. It seemed like primitive native construction and was covered in some arcane local lettering. It has handles and an archaic metallic closure.
"Can you read this BY-7?"
The drone quickly scanned it. "It is in the dominant local language. It says 'Gucci'. No further information on origin. Scans indicate the presence of a lifeform."
Golbur froze for an instant to process this. His imprinted training was to follow the Grandee's orders and place this package in stasis, which conflicted with additional imprinting on proper baggage handling of lifeforms. He examined the metallic closure for a minute to determine how to open the package and discovered that it zipped open much like a food packet.
Inside, swaddled in blankets, was a small immature, four-limbed native. It's large blue eyes blinked up at him. A pink bow was attached to the top of it's head and it was garbed in an equally pink outfit. Opening the package had awoken it. Golbur quickly reclosed the package as it began to make terrible noises.
"BY-7, it's a local child. We can't put this in stasis."
"Scans indicate a biochemistry compatible with a Class Two stasis pod. There are several available."
The noises continued from the package, which was now rocking while the creature struggled inside. Golbur looked at BY-7. "This is a pre-contact planet. Status unlikely to change in the next 144 cycles. Regulations imprinted by my manufacturer indicate that the punishment for helping smuggle a sapient off of this planet is mindwipe."
BY-7 hovered nearby. "My programming indicates that the punishment for not doing what a Grandee says is to be thrown out the nearest airlock, unless it's a Jubilee Day."
Golbur brightened up. "Oh. It is a Jubilee Day. They always have Jubilees when leaving a planet."
"On Jubilee Days the punishment is to be the main course at the Jubilee."
Golbur wasn't afraid of death. His manufacturer considered Fear of Death and other lifespan extending programming as an optional add-on costing an extra twenty credits which his purchaser had not bothered to spend. What he was afraid of was contravening his imprinted regulations of baggage handling. Somehow he would return this infant to the surface.
He planned out the route to the transport bay. It was treacherous only if he was seen by a passenger. None of the crew on this level would stop him. He reached to pick up the package, but his training stopped him. The bag itself was allowed cargo, and his training said it should be placed in stasis as ordered. Only the contents need be returned.
Unzipping the top once again, he prepared to lift the creature out. As he moved his hand toward it, it sprang to it's paws and began to growl. Undeterred, he attempted to grab it's fur. The creature bit at his hand but it's small sharp teeth failed to penetrate his thick skin. He grabbed the collar around its neck, but it twisted and slipped out of the collar, jumped from the bag, and ran down the corridor towards the passenger section.
He was left holding the collar, which was red with gold lettering. BY-7 scanned it and said it read 'Fluffy'.
\[More at r/c_avery_m\] | When the ship was built at a Canine Lines space dock orbiting the fourth planet of Sirius A, it shone proudly alongside the rest of its fleet. The builders would cringe at the mockery it has become. A model of efficiency had been transformed into a cautionary tale of the excesses of extravagance.
What would cause the Sirians to debase themselves so thoroughly? Credits. Lots and lots of credits.
There are untold riches in the depths of the oceans of the Epilson Eridani system. That's in addition to all the "told" riches, and the folks of Ran liked to talk about them. Brag about them.
The *Spata Ceta* had been fully retrofitted and rechristened. Its former designation is no longer known, as all known records have been destroyed and its existence disavowed. That old comfortable transport for low- and middle-income families with a capacity of up to 2,400 Sirian passengers and crew had been morphed into a luxury liner for 80 Eridanian snobs, with tiny compartments for two additional personal servants each. Canine Lines even scrubbed off their logos and staffed the ship with Tau Cetians.
The only points of pride for those retrofitters on the tenth planet in the darker recesses of Sirius B were the engineering achievements necessary to support even that many amphibious creatures for a long pleasure trip. Water now accounted for 75% of the passenger common area, and the crew was overjoyed when the most privileged members of the Midnight Zone would lock themselves into the more exclusive regions of the the tanks.
Captain Mahk'tonl understood his crew's irritation, but he had his own issues. His navigator was literally charting new territory. No Tau Ceti crafts nor Sirian liners had never traveled to Sol before. The number of research probes to this region could be counted on a three-fingered hand, so maps of the area weren't exactly trustworthy for luxury-sized vessels. It didn't help matters much that the primitives of this system had advanced enough to send their own probes out into space. The ship had to avoid all detection.
The Eridanians had chartered the ship to take them to Sol, and to find the source of radio signals they'd been picking up for decades. A planet that called itself "Earth" and that had a large Moon orbiting it. Had the calculations been done correctly, the ship could sneak up on the dark side of the Moon and evade discovery from any planet-based observers.
\----
sigh. I have to get back to real work. I thought I could get past the setup. I hope to continue this later.
More at r/xwhy | 2021-12-13T09:52:12 | 2021-12-13T09:03:11 | 84 | 63 |
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