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[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you. | I could never be the chosen one, I realized that now. I could never defeat the necromancer in the dark tower. I could never stop the raging dragon at the edge of the kingdom. I could never turn away an army of orcs singlehandedly. I could never find another love.
That's what I thought when Sarah left. We were a modest family, just us two and our dog, living but a stones throw from our parents. We were hoping to have children soon, but money was tight and Sarah and I both thought it best if we focus on our careers. I went back to cutting stones for the expanding castle walls. It was grueling and dangerous and pay kept getting reduced as the king's armies needed more and more resources to defend our borders. We were all desperate for the chosen one. It was finally revealed to be Sarah when she found the magic sword in the river while washing laundry for coins.
She brought it home first. It gleamed and glowed when she held it, just like our faces did when we looked at each other. We set off to the capital together the next day. I had thought we would be welcomed as rays of hope in these dark times. We were not. The guards saw the sword, saw how it shone in the dark when Sarah held it. "Finally," they had said.
Sarah was whisked inside to see the king. I was not. I was just a stone cutter, and the walls needed to grow if we were to survive the invading armies. When I lingered by the gate too long I was arrested. They took me back to my little town and stuck me stockades for three days, only to release me back to my local lord and my job as a stonecutter. Grueling. Dangerous. Bitter.
I asked after my Sarah, and at first I heard nothing. But then news came through. I heard of you, Sarah. Heard of your feats of daring and adventure. I was so proud. My Sarah. My Sarah did that! I'd tell anyone who listened. It was my Sarah who overcame the evil necromancer and threw his corpse from the parapits of his own fortress while I cut stones.
The plague came soon after his demise - the necromancer's. People blamed my Sarah when they and their families got sick. We lost our parents. Stone cutting was suddenly less important. Healers were needed. I will readily admit that I do not have the knowledge and skill of our physicians, even the youngest of them. But I could care for the sick in my own way. Preparing food, cleaning the festering lesions and emptying the putrid chamber pots. It was odd, but I found myself grateful. I was not cutting stones anymore, I was helping my Sarah. It was, perhaps, more dangerous than my work before, but it saved lives. Like my Sarah did. We got through those times.
But the kingdom didn't get better. Not yet.
I thought maybe you'd come back after defeating that necromancer. But of course, there was a dragon to tame.
I don't blame you, of course, Sarah. You tried. We all know you tried so hard. But when you faced the dragon, when you and your gleaming sword finally struck its ruin the fires and chaos of your battle had erased our small home. And the homes of so many. We lost our dog. I - I couldn't save him. I laid down the clean bandages and the washed chamber pots, they weren't needed anymore. I took up a shovel. Like so many others, all the meager and weary survivors of your battle with the winged beast, we too wished to fight. We fought the fires of the dragon for weeks. Not enough pails in the kingdom to douse this inferno, we had to dig trenches, uproot trees, fight for every inch of ground. We fought for you, Sarah, just like you fought for us.
And finally the fires were doused. We had quiet again. But not peace.
The goblins were at our borders. And who could stop a horde of such magnitude if not the Chosen One. It had to be you, Sarah. Me and the rest of our ragged village laid down our shovels and took up our pitchforks. I don't know if you had heard about our fight. Of course, it was nothing like yours. You fought so well, my love. In the thickest of the enemy forces you wielded the gleaming sword and struck down wave after wave of vile goblins and won battle after battle, glory after glory. We did not. Our fight was like two starving rats, picking at the last scrap of corpse. We closed with the goblins and our simple wooden tools and weapons broke. We used the broken pieces until they broke. Then we used stones. Then hands. Teeth. Nails. I don't know how many goblins we slew, but I know that they slew all of us. When the goblin king lay defeated at your feet and his armies we're routed, only I and two others from our town remained.
But peace was won and a celebration was long overdue. My Sarah had done it. Had defeated the necromancer, had tamed the dragon, had routed the hordes of goblins. She was a hero. And heros aren't married to stone cutters. Nor bed maids. Nor firefighters. Nor bitter and bleeding survivors. Your betrothal to the prince broke something inside of me. Like the little window to my soul cracked. That's when I realized you weren't my Sarah anymore. It was selfish of me to think of you as mine for so long. You had spent years now in the company of the greatest members of our society. You had traveled and fought side by side with the Prince for nearly five years. Of course a relationship grew between you. It would be immature of me to think anything else would happen. I tried to be happy for you, Sarah, but my little cracked soul couldn't manage it for long.
Peace was no better to us than war. Castles had been razed. Stones were needed. We had the "honor" of donating our meager wages to the wedding of the Prince and the Chosen One. All of us. All of our wages. My cracked soul shattered.
My parents were gone to disease. My home was gone to fire, my dog gone to ash. My friends were gone to war. My Sarah was gone to the Prince.
It started in a tavern after a long day of labor, all of this. The beaten, bloodied, burnt, sick. The impoverished. The starving. We sat in that tavern, with nothing to eat or drink as the wedding of the decade went on in the capital. In what became *your* capital, Sarah. I stood up in that tavern. I could only say one word. "Enough."
It was a rallying cry for all of us. Enough. We had had enough. Work for no pay. War for no glory. Fire with no rebuilding. Disease with no mercy. I was there through it all. We all were. And we'd had enough.
When we stormed this castle, Sarah, I learned something. I could never fight a necromancer. I could never best a dragon. I could never lead an army against the vicious hordes. But I could fight disease. I could best a wild fire. I could lead our people - my people - against a vicious monarchy. I learned that no one is born a "Chosen One". No prophecy falls upon a person. Only pain and suffering falls upon a person and every person - *every one of us* - that *endures*, that suffers from dawn to dusk and still gets up the next day - every one of those people is great. Everyone who can only do very little and does it anyway! Every one of them is a gods-damned hero! We wear our pain on our faces and we have grown together for it. We have a brotherhood between us all now. All you have is a shiny sword. | The whole party was there standing just beyond the town's gates. All the friends who had spent their whole lives together. Before they left, they were just drinking buddies, going to the taverns making up stories of adventures they wanted to take and the women they would leave their wives for.
It had been their dream and my husband was right smack dabbed in the middle of the group. Right now, he carried himself differently from the tire slob of a man I had married. He was dressed elegantly in his armor and his hair is clean cut, his face shaved, but his eyes were filled with sorrow.
I stood behind the gates and met his eyes. I was also a different person. I held my head high and stood straighter. I no longer struggled with my self esteem, and I could stand proudly before this man.
"My love, I have returned and brought everyone home to their own families, just as I had promised you," the helmet he was holding was adorned with a jewels and didn't who any evidence of the battles he had supposedly won.
"You promised me nothing, you left no letter, no message, not even leaving an annoying companion to give me any information. The taverns and cities have messengers and even wizards that could send dreams to explain what happened, but nothing from you, not even a peep," I looked at the members of the party and they attempted to not meet my eyes.
"I had whispered to you before I left, the kingdom needed me, my love," his voice cracked as he spoke. "I was to fulfill my destiny. I had to comply with my king's wishes."
"It's funny, isn't it? You left three years ago and left me nothing, but your debt. The collectors were willing to attack me when I was at my lowest, they figured that I could be used to paying back your debt because no one believed that you and that party could survive and come home," I pretended to dust off my gown. "You know what? You being gone was the best thing to happen to me. I was weak back then, broken if you will, I awaited news every day, and then the announcement that the princess had demanded your hand in marriage and your marriage to me would be annulled."
"I...I didn't sign the papers," he stuttered out, dropping all the items he had in hand. "It wasn't right for me to do that to the woman who was there for me at my lowest..."
"You don't have to sign those papers for the declaration to have happened," I felt my brow raise and a sneer slowly forming on my lips,"You hadn't even been a full knight yet and she wanted you for herself or that is how the news told it. All those stories you boys talked about and they all came true. The problem is you never thought about those you left behind." I raised a hand as a signal and several women appeared behind me. "We didn't sit still while you went off and played the hero for the kingdom, we..." I raise my arms to show I encompassed the women around me. "Formed our own kind of party. While you all had fun, we took over the debt collectors, we took over the back alleys, we became more fearful and dangerous than any hero."
I opened the gate and took careful, calculated steps toward the man who had now dropped to his knees and was watching me with hope, I gripped his cheeks between my fingers and squashed his face to make his lips pucker up, "I meant till death do us part, my love." I kissed him gently and passionately, it had taken a moment, but I pulled away slowly as I could see a kind of realization in his eyes, "I have become one of the most influential assassins in this country and my love, the king marked you when you rejected his daughter. The problem about your all mighty honor and how you weren't going to leave me story should have been more thought out." I leaned in close and whispered, "maybe you should have thought about rejecting her before you had got her pregnant."
The party of men were now in panic as the rest of the wives had followed me out and now had them surrounded. Their screams of protest echoed around me as I watched the light leave my husband's eyes. These weaklings figured we would be too over joyed to ever stay angry at them for the misdeeds they had committed on their journey. The problem is that they never thought we would come together and support each other so much that we didn't need to ever forgive them.
When the King's request had crossed my desk I had thought about not accepting it, but if I angered the king with the rejection of this job I would be putting the whole town in danger. I couldn't make everyone around me suffer because of a little effect I had for a man three years before. This was the easiest way for me to have any semblance of revenge while making sure that this town could be well taken care of. Thanks to us, trade to our town had increased and we were now able to afford many goodies we didn't have three years ago. Clean water, safe streets, and everyone was receiving education so that everyone could be self reliant.
No one in this town would suffer as I had. My dead husband might have been the hero of this whole kingdom, but I was a hero to my neighbors and friends which honestly was far more important. | 2022-08-12T21:29:36 | 2022-08-12T17:18:13 | 53 | 26 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | —disclaimer—
English is not my first language. And i am purely on my mobile. So any typos and stuff, please report them below. Thank you.
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It was my 18th Birthday after all. Everybody in my whole family has distinctive remembrance of the day they turned that age. It is the day, you can summon for the first time in your life. Some people summon other people and find their Soulmate. Others pull objects out of thin air and they will become their destiny in life. My brother summoned a wrench and got mechanic in the shop down the road. No engine in the world, he can’t fix. My mom had a syringe. Guess what. She is a doctor.
Today it was my turn. Sure, i was excited, but in the same way I was affraid. What or who will it be. There’s no mechanism you can decide what you summon. Destiny decides for you. Or the cosmic realm, or whatever. And you can’t summon something else if you don’t like what you get.
After the fate has chosen what you get to summon, you only can summon this. As much or less as you like.
My mom was getting the dinner ready for the family. My dad, my brother, even my grand dad and mom were there to witness my summoning. We first had my dinner and then it began. I was about to summon for the first time in my life.
In the years this happened we had a kind of ritual for that. You would stand in front of your family, stretch your arm in front of you, perpendicular to your body, and hold up your hand, palm upside. Then concentrate and BAM. There should be your summoning in your hand, or in front of you if it was too big for your hand to hold it. So I got ready. Standing 6 feet from my family (the security perimeter ) in pose and ready. I concentrated my will but for the first 10 seconds, nothing was happening. Most freshmen needed 6 seconds or so. Mike (my brother) can summon his wrench within a second or less. 20 seconds passed. Nothing. 30, 40....
As if the universe had issues to grant me a proper thing to summon. A minute went by. Still nothing in my hand. But I felt a coldness on my fingertips. „I can feel something.... Is it getting cold in here?“
„Not more than usual.“ my father exclaimed, slightly confused.
The cold feeling spread out fast. Within 3 seconds my arm felt like frostbitten. And then i felt it. Pure cold. Dark. So cold it would stop any movement in atoms. So dark it would end all light. I can’t describe it better. Take Vantablack and double the darkness. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw, was my family in Schock. My dad was so pale, you couldn’t determine the borderline between him, and the white wall behind him. My mom was about to faint.
Then I looked into my hand. I did t summon one thing. I summoned 2
The first was hanging over my forearm like I was a dark waiter. The second was in my hand. I summoned a scythe and a black robe.
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Criticism is welcome. My first story in a foreign language.
Edit: some typos | They all screamed as the orange haired president doubled over in pain live on national television as I laughed maniacally in the back of the bar waving his severed member in my hand before throwing it into my drink.
“Steve!!” “what the fuck man?!” Randy screamed at me as he vomited onto the floor. “It’s your birthday but damn dude!? Why the fuck did you summon THAT?!”
“World domination baby, world domination”
Everybody stood far away from me as I walked out the front door blood dripping from my fingers, The Donald’s member flopping on the ground.
Who the fuck is going to dare challenge anyone that can rip your junk off from anywhere on the planet?
Let them eat cake. | 2019-09-18T10:21:20 | 2019-09-18T09:37:18 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity split into subspecies: Alters, who alter their genes, Augmented, who augment flesh with machines, and Ascended, who uploaded their consciousness. After centuries of coexistence, the tenuous peace between the ideologies is threatened.
I swear I corrected that before commit. Sorry.
The Altered, The Augmented, The Ascended. | "Father *please.* We must leave," pleaded Euna.
The chief of the village shook his head slowly as he gazed at his people. "For centuries this has been our home, Euna. But did you know Euna, before this, we had nothing. You do not know because you weren't born yet. Our ancestors fought with their lives to make this forest a home for us. If we leave now, and abandon what we have, then we will be throwing away all that our ancestors have done for us."
Euna turned her gaze to the horizon. Far above the lush green forest, looming over the horizon like a storm, was a fleet of ships.
"But father! If we don't leave, what will we do? We'll be slaughtered!" Euna cried as she tugged at her father's arm.
For a moment, the village chief displayed sadness and pain in his expression as he watched his daughter. But then he turned his gaze to his people, and saw. Unwavering courage and determination glistened in their eyes like fire. They would not yield. They would fight. Even to the death.
The chief spoke, a steadfast voice that carried its way to the crowd that had gathered. "Even if we run now, sooner or later they will come for us. I will stay and fight. Those who will standby me... step forward."
And with those words, everyone stepped forward.
Euna watched in silence as her people began to roar, a warcry that would be heard by the fleet of Augmented. She had heard the stories. The Augmented lived in colossal mechanical cities. Spires of machinery and technology that vastly outpaced the rest. They were, by far, the largest race to emerge from Humanity. Vastly outnumbering the rest. Then came the Altered, who were the epitome of genetic phenomenon. For a time, the Altered were superior. A single Altered was capable of taking on a troop of Augmented. But the Augmented learned, and grew *mechanically*. Devising weapons and defenses that became more devastating and effectual with each fight against the Altered. Then there was the Ascended, but most say they were merely fables. That none really existed. But some say that the Ascended were *everywhere*, that they were a collective of many that existed as a singular, all-encompassing entity. That they were virtually, a god.
For all of her life, these stories were - just that, stories. But now she saw. Beyond the verdant glade that their village had nested peacefully for centuries was now a force of machinery that would eliminate their village with more efficiency than any force of nature.
She didn't understand. What could a village of Altered hidden in the forest for centuries do?
Then she saw.
Her fellow villagers that she had known all her life as simply beautiful and graceful in appearance, suddenly changed into beings of hulking absurdities. Malformed wings of scale and feathers sprouted, as limbs grew into trees. Their eyes shifted, and suddenly they were eyes of crimson and pupils like slits. They were taller than the trees now, but one of them towered above the rest.
It was her father.
A golden mane rested on his shoulders. His lips of stone yawned open to reveal teeth like diamonds. He spoke, an unearthly and unfamiliar voice. "Take flight my angels."
And with that, they flew. They flew into the horizon where they would meet death.
Euna cried as she watched the first Altered fall out of the sky. Wings singed and head incinerated into nothing. The village, her family, they were all going to die. Her heart hurt, and she let anger erase the pain. She let herself *change.* Euna would fight. And she knew that she would probably die the same way.
But a voice spoke. A voice that was many but at the same time, it was one.
'*A Way*' it whispered into her mind.
Her vision distorted. Suddenly, she could see beyond the horizons. She could feel her mind dip into a well of memories. And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
Euna took flight.
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Gotta go to work! if I do write a part two it would probably be tomorrow...
/r/em_pathy
Edit* part 2 done, click the link below!
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/8vimt3/the_altered_the_augmented_and_the_ascended/)
| I looked upon the strewn limbs and streaks of blood. The remnants of a failed Altered attack. A disappointment to their leaders, I'm sure. The Augmented fought bravely against it, the metal and flesh bond providing them with prime offensive abilities. Even a genetic mutation like an Altered would have trouble with creature both machine and man.
I look across the field and I sense despair, regret, ruin. So many of died during this war, that the massacre that happened here today is barely a footnote. 1,500,000 have perished as the three subspecies battle for the possession of Mother Earth. Paris, London, Shanghai, Dubai, all ruins after raze upon raze and bombing upon bombing. Such a magnificent waste. I see death, in the future of the world, of the human race. Death, and the fall of an empire.
I kick a bloody Altered helmet out of my way. Just as this massacre was a footnote in this war, humanity shall be a footnote in the glory of my race. We are the Oracles, brought here not to wither and die like feeble hominids, but to rule, to empower, to thrive. We are survivors.
I look to the sky, and see an Ascended ship. My respect goes to the Ascended. They are the closest to us, the most like-minded. They have chosen to rise to a new height, one never risen to by humanity. A zenith of superior potential. But now, after years, greed has overtaken them. They began this war, this cataclysmic species ending battle. A pity, as I once respected them. I tentatively step over a piece of blood-caked viscera, and gaze upon San Jose.
My goodness, the capitol looks good on a night like this. What a shame, as humanity can create such beauty. But it was they themselves that nurtured their destruction, by their refusal to coexist, to adapt. But every species must die eventually.
Let humanity go out in a blaze of glory. | 2018-07-01T09:37:07 | 2018-07-01T08:29:02 | 1,371 | 110 |
[WP] You've been in this time loop for centuries. You know how to break the loop already, you just want to make sure you've done all you wanted and learned everything you need while you're still here, before returning to a "normal" life. | I'm almost ready.
She smiles at me as I give her the bottle of perfume. It's her favorite, and rare, and I was lucky that there's a bottle here in town.
I've lost count of how many times I've handed her that same box, wrapped in a delicate floral pattern. I've lost count of how often her fingers dance over the ribbon and tape. Sunlight reflects off the mica powders in her nail polish. She bites her lower lip, chewing on a stray piece of skin. I want each moment pressed into my memory, as indelible as tattoos, as necessary as bone.
I'm almost ready.
"Oh, Lee. Where did you ever find it?" She asks.
"Just a store," I say. As if I haven't spent uncountable eons looking, visiting every store that even considered having a perfume counter. How lucky that one junk shop had a half full bottle.
She sprays the perfume on and the scent is heavy and sweet, and it's a scream in my memory and I hate it, and I never want it to go away. When this is over I might spray her side of the bed with it, or put it in a box and shove it into the furthest part of my closet, or set it on the mantle beside all the pictures of her I can find.
When this is over.
When.
I'm almost ready.
She puts the box of perfume away, folds the wrapping paper. Coils the ribbon around her fingers. As she does, I remember the first day. Unknowing, uncaring, her and I walking down the footpath beside the river. Her talking about something (what was she talking about?) and I'm just thinking about the car, how to get it fixed again, and maybe I'll fix her shrimp scampi for our anniversary, and there's a new book I want to read. I'm not thinking about her because I don't think I need to.
Until she stops.
"Lee", she says. "Lee," and I look at her, and the color red is bright as it drip, drip, drips off her chin onto the fabric beneath. It's like roses. Her eyes stare at me, pupils widening, widening, before she collapses like someone has cut her string. A part of me will try to remember the names of the fates. I can only remember Lotho, that first night. The ambulance comes, and I'm willing them to tell me something different, same as I'm willing my hands (one, two, three, four, five, six. Thirty beats a minute, and breathe, breathe, come on Ruby, breathe) to do something useful.
Probable aneurysm.
Nothing we can do.
And I'm walking alone through a night that won't ever end, trying to remember what she was talking about on that walk. I keep feeling her collapse into my arms, and the smell of blood, and I look up at the sky and I wish, desperately, that I could have just one more day. One more day until I'm ready.
And I wake up, and I'm not on the street. I'm in our bed, and she is laying against me, warm and breathing, her pulse flutter-fast beneath my fingers. She stretches, turns to me, opens those eyes of hers, warm and brown like good whiskey, and says, "Good morning, Lee. What will we do today?"
And it was all I could do not to scream.
I thought it would be like letting go of a balloon. You just open your hand and the ribbon flies up. But it's more like the worship at some secret altar, a pagan place of dark magic that runs with the pulse and the tides. Here do I love you, in this place, in this hour.
I tried to save her forty seven times. The fifth time I stood in the emergency room and yelled, *she's going to die. She's dying right now. It's in her brain. Do something, you motherfuckers.* And she collapsed there, right there in the hospital atrium, whispering, *Lee, Lee*, as the roses bloom across her blouse and the blood runs red from her nose.
Probable aneurysm.
Nothing we can do.
Each time, each night, as the red-and-blue glitter of lights fade and those words, those hideous words, echo through my head like the screams I can't make anymore, I walk out beneath the stars and I wait for the one to shoot across the sky, and I think, *Just one more day. One more, until I'm ready.*
I know there won't be saving her. There isn't enough time between when I wake up beside her and her voice says, *Lee, Lee* as the roses bloom. There needs to be scans and a diagnosis and appointments for surgery, and that would take weeks. And I could maybe, maybe, convince somebody to do it...but that's a maybe. And that's just a temporary thing. Because this is going to happen, someday. We're all doomed. A clock ticks within each of us and just because I found a miracle that can turn the clock back one day doesn't mean I can stop her clock entirely. And I didn't listen to her by the river. I still don't know what she said to me before the first time she died.
She laughs at me now, and takes my hand. "What would you like to do, Lee? They're showing a great movie a couple streets over."
We've seen it ninety seven times. I can quote it all by heart. "Maybe. Or we could go for a walk. By the river."
She shrugs. "We can do that any old time, you know. I want to do something fun. Something amazing. I don't get to monopolize your attention very often, you know."
"Alright, Ruby. It's your pick," I say, and it's either going to be the movie or the gallery, and I don't care which.
Because the day will come when I don't stand under those stars. When I don't make that wish. I'll let go, and like the balloon this never-ending day will float away into the sea where all spent days go. And when I wake up alone for the first time, and every time thereafter...I don't want any regrets. I want to have worn myself to heartlessness. I want to be ready to move with the relentlessness of time.
And I'm not there.
Yet.
She wraps her arms around mine. It won't be the last time...but that time is coming.
I'm almost ready to let go. | Reality. Everyone yearns it, right? What's a relationship if not real. What's the truth? Who am I? I want the real deal. The real brand. Real friends. Real. Real. Real.
But it's all fake.
All of it is fake.
None of it can be real.
Everyone.
Every human experiences a different baseline of reality, a different view of the world, a different set of absolute truths, a different hierarchy of values. Maybe a reality does exist, one that isn't comprehensible by the human brain, designed for self preservation, filled with ego and the sense of self.
Yet.
Yet amidst it all, inside of me, I still feel a reality, and it feels as real as yours, and the objective reality, of which hereon forth I'll be calling... actuality.
My reality to me is as real as actuality, and your reality is as real to you as mine is to me.
So I got engulfed. This existential question, eating me up from the inside. My "reality" doesn't exist.
But it's interesting.
A seed.
A seed was placed inside of me, one of curiosity and of insight.
I want to know.
I want to know everyone's reality, experience it all, maybe if I just got to peer into the entirety of humanity, I could...
understand.
But that's ridiculous, right? how would that make any sense at all?
50 billion lifetimes.
an infinite number more.
I told you, I was obsessed. I learnt how to bend time to my will, I learned how to manipulate consciousness, and I learned to make myself immortal.
It was simple, really. Learn to live in every civilization, in every era. Live with a community of people, spend a lifetime with them.
Watch. Watch. Watch. Peering through their eyes and their consciousness and watching, hearing, feeling, as them. The first few times were weird, but they were the most human.
My father. My mother.
I learnt they were completely different from me. If actuality was a huge universal completeness, my drop in the pond of actuality was completely disjoint from my parents. Surely, my sister? My friends? The love of my life? My childhood friend? No, no, no, no, no.
I lived as everyone, knew everyone, saw everything.
No one knew me nearly as I knew everyone.
Serial killers, politicians, rapists. They too, I peered into.
Here I am now, living in my reality, outside of space and time, knowing all there is to know about realities, about actuality. And realizing that I know none of it, because I am human. I have lived as a human, more specifically, I have lived as every human.
Destroyed.
Destroyed now, is my sense of reality. The one I used to call mine.
Me.
Me. Myself, I. I don't know who that is anymore.
Is my reality now the same as the one before I saw through the eyes of everyone?
Is my reality now any closer to actuality?
Am I the most human now, or the least human of all?
What am I?
I had thrown away everything for reality, and I am now left with less of it.
I tried to convince myself, that maybe there is a greater being that had the view of actuality.
There is.
There is a being, who knows everything, who has seen everything there is to see, who has the most objective, most baseline view of actuality.
Really?
No way, right?
And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.
I will experience it all.
Again.
Forever.
"seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable"
- Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus
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Tried a different style of writing, hope people enjoy this! Also feel free to tell me if you spot any mistakes or improvements because I'm way too tired to edit this right now | 2022-01-25T04:46:28 | 2022-01-25T01:39:19 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Your wife is from another time and place, a waitress in a small Irish town from the 1900s. Every night she takes one of your video games and retells it into a grand epic to all the patrons. | It was my first time using the TymeX, I was taking everything in all at once. My interest got the best of me, I sat in the pub just people-watching for a good while before she came to the table.
“What’ll it be for ya then?” She said with a curious look on her face.
It was as if she could see through my disguise... An American on holiday to Ireland? Fat chance. Not to mention I was sporting a freshly pressed set of clothes that the attendant of the TymeX had given me for the trip. Without breaking frame, I gave her my order and continued to watch. Aofie, her name, beloved by the locals as the reliever of sorrows and bringer of joy. It’s fascinating how she’s able to entertain a crowd, regularly telling stories of her adventures around Europe, even throwing in a fairy tale or two from time to time. The details she used captivated all, including myself. Interesting to think of how things *used* to be, people actually conversing using their voice and gestures rather than text on a screen.
The night was coming to a close and the patrons were dwindling away one by one, I knew I had only so much time left before my return.
“Aofie, is it?” I asked her.
The rest is history.
It wasn’t long until I was making weekly trips back. We had fallen in love—it was then when I told her my secret. This was in direct violation of what *would* have been TCC-2.14. Thankfully, the Republic had completed their Time Travel reform proceedings and cross-century travel was now permitted by subjects of the period. She was ready to leave, especially when the riots started after the election – she practically begged me to take her away. Aofie took the transition much like I had when I first used the TymeX; she was astounded by her new surroundings. She absorbed every detail, spoke with every person, but most important of all she continued to be the joyous girl from Carlingford that she was.
The video games was what she was drawn to the most. For every bit of a new game she adventured through, she had an equally exciting story to tell me over dinner about her time in the simulation. Stories of assassins, dragons, princes and princesses – she would go on for hours as I listen, amazed, even though I had played these games many times before.
Years had passed, and the stories continued. She was working through the late 1990’s RPGs. These games had simple graphics, but story-lines that overcame the deficit. We sat on the balcony of the estate, looking at the glow of Carlingford in the distance. The city had grown since she had known it, over 400 years had passed and her pub was still there to this day. We visited regularly, although, it wasn’t quite the same. I turned my head towards her, I felt a sense of emptiness in her words as I listened. Time had got the best of her, she missed home, *her* home.
“Aofie” I said “What’s the matter?”
She paused.
“I wish the lads at O’Hares could hear my stories” She said, letting out a sigh of defeat.
I sprang to my feet, grabbed her hand, and we transported straight to the TymeX station.
“Carlingford 1923, please” I said to the attendant. We changed our clothes and embarked through the entrance frame of the TymeX. We returned about a year after we had left, it was to match our cover story-- newlyweds traveling the world together to avoid the fallout of Civil war.
We stepped out of the exit frame, putting us only a mile from PJ O’Hares. Sheep were grazing in the fields around Carlingford, the sun was setting over the Carlingford Lough, it was as beautiful as it had always been. The frame closed behind us, seamlessly blending into the background as we began walking towards the Market Square. Some time had passed and we found ourselves in front of the pub. It dawned on me at that moment, we had spent seven years in the 2300’s. I saw the emptiness she had being replaced by adrenaline as it rushed through her veins.
“Are you ready?” I said.
“More than ever” She replied with excitement in her voice.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
“Aofie?” A man said from behind the bar.
The room fell silent.
“Aofie!” he exclaimed, as the room rejoiced in her return.
We ate and drank with the patrons of the pub that night. It was like the first time all over again, immersed in a century not of my own, yet feeling equally at home. It wasn’t long until they demanded a story of her, some sort of a legend she had become in the community for her story telling.
“Aofie! Aofie! Aofie!” They chanted, enticing her to give the crowd a story.
She stood in front of the patrons of the pub.
“Well, it all starts with a boy, no younger than yourself.” She said, kneeling down in-front of a child who had entered the pub to hear her speak.
“A boy in the Kokiri Forest, a boy without a fairy”.
Edit: Long time lurker, first time poster. Feedback is appreciated, thanks for reading! | Almost everyone in the town had crammed themselves into the diner again; looking forward to a new story told by Angeline. Nobody knew where she went off to during the day, but she always walked into the diner at 5:58 on the dot. She would work her shift then tell another story.
"Everyone quiet!" Someone close to Angeline shouts. She clears her throat and smooths her skirt before standing confidently in front of the fire, her stage for the evening.
"In the future, but not too far from now, a woman named Laura Croft explores the world, finding lost tombs and artefacts while fighting off wrongdoers and protecting the innocent. She is smart, and uses improvised gadgets to escape from whatever perils she faces." The women in the audience are enraptured, imaging a woman who was free and equal to men.
"She is in a temple in the depths of Asia, trying to find an idol that is said to have the power to control the weather. A group of criminals are also searching for the idol, hoping to steal it and blackmail towns in exchange for not destroying them. She had already escaped a pit full of spiders, a maze with darts that shot from the walls and a boulder that tried to collapse on her. She could hear the sounds of men talking behind her, and she had to find the idol fast!" Suddenly, the clock on the mantle on the fireplace bongs, telling the town that it is midnight.
She frowns and looks apologetically at the disappointed faces around her. "I'm sorry I didn't manage to finish the story tonight! I'll continue it tomorrow!" Everyone smiles and pats her back as she makes her way out of the diner. Heading into a nearby alley, she closes her eyes and waits for the time displacement to come Into affect. When she opens them, her lover is waiting for her in a grungy alleyway littered with trash and graffiti.
"What video game did you tell them about tonight?" She asked, holding her arm out towards Angeline. Angeline smiles as she winds her arm with her girlfriend's and leans up against their shoulder as they walk home to their apartment.
"I was telling them about Laura Croft. I think that many of the women are inspired by her. I'm so happy that we managed to meet, my darling Lily."
Her girlfriend hummed and kissed her as she opened the door to to their small apartment.
"Come on, It's late and we should head to bed." Lily said. Angeline nodded in agreement and went through her bedtime routine before going to sleep, thinking about the adventures she would tell her friends tomorrow.
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Please tell me what you think! This is my second story, that I'm writing at 3 in the morning. Let me know about any mistakes I made. Thanks! | 2017-06-25T04:14:03 | 2017-06-25T03:30:34 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | What eight year-old boy hasn't seen their older sisters having a sleepover and tried to figure out what was going on?
When Kaitlin had her slumber party, she had made a show of hanging the "No Boys Allowed" sign on the door. Since her room was on the second floor, overlooking the cranberry bog, there was no way for a kid who'd rather catch a Lugia than climb a tree to get up there.
In frustration, but not defeat, I went back to my room and found the old silver half dollar. Grandma had given it to me a year before. When this coin had been minted, JFK's face had been double struck by a machine error. Grandma claimed it was a lucky coin.
As I ran my fingers over the two-faced president, I made a wish. "I wish I could be like one of the girls."
This is when everything went weird. The coin flew from my hand, bounced off my DS, rolled over to my closet and started spinning, faster and faster. I could see sparks flying off that coin in all directions, even though it was spinning on a wooden floor.
Terrified of what was going on, I stood up to try to grab the coin, then noticed that the sparks were hitting my clothes in the closet. My school jacket was changing right before my eyes. The public school blue and grey was replaced by a catholic school red and black, and the pants became a skirt.
Next to the new school uniform, my power rangers pajamas shifted as well, changing from mechanical mastodons to soft satin. I reached out to touch this newly formed nightgown, and something told me to put it on.
The minute this foreign invader in my closet covered my body, Kaitlin threw open the door. "Hey, princess. We can't have a slumber party without my little sister!"
I looked from her to the mirror. Overlaid on my own body was the image of a little girl with blonde pigtails and a really cute face. Is that what Kaitlin was seeing?
I was swept up into the world of slumber parties, truth or dare, and makeovers. For that night, I truly was like one of the girls. Maybe it's that qualifier that saved me from a full transformation. Each of the girls saw me as a girl while I was in the nightgown.
When Dad came home, he called me "Jemma." When I went back to my own room the next morning and took off the nightgown, nobody remembered that I was in the sleepover but me.
I had always thought it was some weird dream. I never thought about it until the day twenty years later.
When I was on my way down to the post office to check the PO Box for the lawfirm, I saw something that I shouldn't have. Down in the alley behind the Daily Paper diner and the credit union, an older man, around fifty by the looks of him, was knifed repeatedly. When his attackers saw me reaching for my phone, they started chasing me.
I ran as fast as I could through the shopping district, shouting bloody murder. They were on my heels, and I ducked into a thrift store to hide.
Over by the racks of new arrivals, I got that old feeling of "Wear Me" coming from a blue A-line dress. As if the situation wasn't bad enough, now I was losing my mind. But I couldn't stop myself. On went the dress, and away went my dignity.
The two thugs ran in after me, and saw only a gorgeous woman in a blue dress.
"Hey, missy, you didn't see a mousy little guy run through here?" the one with the tan cap asked.
"Uh yeah, he ran through the backroom to the loading dock." I lied, taking this time to memorize their features. As the killers ran out in pursuit of me, I made the phone call to the police, describing what I saw, who they were and where they were headed.
The court date is in three weeks. And until then, I've got to live like this, looking like a woman until the day I can take the stand as a man. | John's eyelids flutter and he slowly comes to. At first the man is groggy and doesn't take notice of his surrounding - the white walls, the smell of medicine and the beeping of a heart rate monitor. But after a few seconds pass, he realizes where and why he is.
*Fuck* he mutters to himself quiet as not to wake up his mother who is sleeping on the chair by his bed, all snuggled up under her coat.
The clock on the wall shows that it just past midnight and in a way that gives John relief. *At least the worst day of my life is over.*
It started out like such a regular day. Wake up at seven. Go to work at eight. Leave work at five. Up until that point the worst thing that happened was overhearing a fat joke about himself, but he was used to those because he was overweight and had been since his childhood. And then he got home. His wife started to cry and scream and called him a fat fuck, told him that she couldn't stand him no more and was having an affair, and was leaving. This part gets a little fuzzy. John recalls running after her on the street... The dark street, and then impact.
His stomach rumbles.
John removes his covers with the hand that isn't in a cast and glances at his hospital pajamas. The bottoms have pockets.
He takes something out of one of the pockets. After quietly unwrapping the paper, John is chowing down on the chocolate, teary-eyed.
*Fucking Mars bars,* he mutters. | 2015-03-07T04:03:33 | 2015-03-07T01:52:00 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Your superstitious aunt gives you a pretty necklace that supposedly protects you from love spells. You go home to show your fiance but something is very wrong. You don't feel the same way about them at all. | I hadn’t seen my aunt since I was 15. I only have a few memories of her and all involved her being superstitious. When my mom sent her a knife set, my aunt sent her a penny. Whenever we visited, she’d drip water behind us and say it was for good luck. She also said ‘Rabbit Rabbit’ on the 1st of every month.
Despite my aunt’s quirky behavior, everything she did was to bring good luck and ward off evil. So, when I got a package through the mail from her, I knew it would be something to bring good luck or protection. I opened the package to find a necklace with a note.
I admit, I didn’t read the note first. Not because I was ungrateful or anything, but when I opened the package something happened. It was like some sort of energy or aura was projecting from the package that compelled me to grab the necklace first. It was a pretty necklace, a simple silver chain with a black stone pendant.
I slipped the necklace over and walked to the mirror. The necklace looked somewhat out of place on me, a black stone sitting amiss my pastel shirt.
*Wait, since when did I like wearing pastel colors?*
I looked around my room, there were pastels colors everywhere.
*I hate pastels color, why is everything in Easter Sunday pastel colors?*
*Oh, that’s right, Jonathan likes pastel colors.*
I redecorated for him when he moved in. He was so happy when I gave him a key to my apartment, even more so when I invited him to move in. It only made since because we had been dating for so long.
*Wait, how long were we dating?*
I had my first date with him about three weeks ago. No, that couldn’t be right. I wouldn’t be engaged to someone I just met. I thought I was just forgetting things again. I decided to ask Jonathan when he got home. It wouldn’t be the first time I had forgotten something.
I walked back to the open package and grabbed the note.
*To my darling niece Emma,*
I received your wedding invite. How are you marrying someone who you only met a month ago?
Emma, you know I love you and only want the best for you.
Please, wear this necklace and don’t take it off.
It is a protection pendant made of black obsidian.
It will provide some protection, but it won’t work if you don’t wear it.
I know you think of me as a loon, but I ask that you indulge me.
*Your loving aunt,*
Maria
Just as I finished reading the note, I heard the front door open. My fiance Jonathan entered and called me. Usually I would rush to meet him, but I didn’t. He called me again and again my body didn’t feel the urge to answer him. He entered the room and looked slightly frustrated.
‘Didn’t you hear me calling you Emma?’ he asked, his brow was furrowed. He stood before me and I felt nothing. His presence normally made me feel like a puppy finally seeing it’s owner after a long day of work.
‘Emma?’ His face changed from being slightly annoyed to worrisome. His brown eyes scanned me and settled on the necklace. Emotions suddenly flashed over his face, anger, sadness, worry. They all appeared and disappeared so rapidly.
‘Take that off.’ He spoke so eerily calm.
‘No.’ I don’t think I ever said no to him. It shocked both of us. I felt like running. Every fiber of my being urged me to get away from him. ‘I mean, I need to take a picture of me wearing it to post. It doesn’t really suit me, but you know how people always start complaining when you don’t post a gift.’
‘Oh. I was thinking the same. What were they thinking sending you something like that?’
‘I know, right? Hey, let’s do a couple selfie!’ I just remembered something.
I never went on any dates with Jonathan, but I remembered he was there.
I remembered he watched me.
I remembered he watched me for a long time. | Man I swear my aunt is weird, but hey at least I only have to visit her like once a year, and this year to top it off she gave me this pretty sweet necklace, I mean a guy wearing a necklace is weird but this one, well this one just matched perfectly with my outfit.
Supposedly, it's supposed to protect the wearer from "love spells" which in my opinion is just my aunt being superstitious again, but hey it is a pretty sweet necklace.
I was finally going back home, to my fiance, and the three hour ride back home felt strangely freeing. I pass by the sunset beach, which normally would invoke strong feelings of love to my fiance, this time did nothing to my emotions, I felt, nothing...
I park my car on the side of the road and stare into the beach, nothing... I slowly unclasp the necklace from around my neck, suddenly a strong feeling of love enveloped me and I doubled over, once the wave passed over I looked onto the beach to feel the same feelings radiating over me.
With shaking hands I lift the dark beads over my neck and clasp it once more, the feelings subsided then vanished once more, I get back into the car and mindlessly like a drone drive back to who I thought was the woman of my dreams.
The moment he walked in, I could feel someone was off, normally he greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, I look into his eyes to see emptiness and sadness. He stared at me in the eyes and asked " What did you do to me?"
(Thanks for reading!) | 2020-01-01T06:50:55 | 2020-01-01T00:45:04 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] After a Pyrrhic battle defending their homeworld, the defenders detect another fleet. It's the Humans, and they're sending in the hospital and engineering fleets. | Of over 1000 ships that stood by in defence of Acvia, less then 200 returned. Most bore significant battle damage, leaking atmosphere into the void of space. Some were barely held together, others had lost most of their crew. It was a sobering sight.
The Acvians were joyful, but even that rang hollow. With so many ships destroyed, it was only a matter of time before the aggressive Vadrile returned to finish them. The defenders were hailed as heros, an attempt to improve the world's morale.
A warning sounded from the Subspace Monitoring Station as the ships pulled into orbit. Another fleet approached, much larger then the force they had barely fought off. They moaned, knowing that they couldn't stop this new fleet. But still, the barely functional ships turned in defence.
The Subspace ruptured, spitting forth this new fleet. Hundreds of gleaming vessels, much larger then the Acvians ships, appeared. The first images sent back showed a few painted white, with red crosses. Others were painted grey, adorned with what appeared to be crossed tools of green. A few of the grey ships were enormous, sporting immense doors that were far larger then appeared necessary. Surronding them were colossal ships of black.
Half peeled off, heading to the remains of the fight. Of the others, their lead ship deployed a tiny shuttle. It flew into communications range, and broadcasted an open signal. As it loaded up, the Monitors saw a strange, dark-skinned person, with 2 large arms and a small head. It spoke with calm assurance.
"Hail Acvia. I am General Kolin, of the Human Mercy Fleet. We received your request for aid, and offer our services. We have medical and engineering vessels available."
The Head Monitor rushed to set up a responding signal. She rarely used her authority over the Council. However, there was no time to wait. As the link established, she groomed her feathers, and straightened her coveralls. Satisfied she looked presentable, she spoke as the link finally connected.
"Greetings General Kolin. I am Head Monitor Glerth, of the Acvian Council. With my authority as Defence Chief, I accept your assistance. To all ships of the Acvian Fleet. Allow the Humans access."
"Thank you, Head Monitor."
The link faded, and Gleeth sat, scratching her wings with her one central arm. She had heard of the Human Mercy Fleet before. They were one of the few good races, despite their self admitted turbulent past. They offered aid, and took little payment in return, save for a supply restock if possible.
Their ships drew close, and began to split apart. Their black ships linked with the few fully operational Acvian ships, forming a more potent defensive barrier. The white and grey ships headed for clusters of damaged ships. As they did, smaller shuttles were launched of the same colour scheme.
The gargantuan grey ships stopped short, not launching any smaller ships. Instead, their doors opened to reveal piles of raw materials. These mobile supply depots remained in an optimal location, allowing for the smaller grey vessels to easily access the materials they needed.
The outlook of the Acvians changed again. The spark of hope rekindled in them, as humanity's selflessness proved they weren't alone. Whilst the threat of attack still loomed, they knew they could relax a little.
They wouldn't be left to die. | [poem]
We'll rebuild your schools, and neighborhoods. Some medical personnel will stay, for good. We have interpreters, social workers understood...your need for macro-synergy and resources, like wood.
Yes, you've been defeated. But how would we want to be treated? Let us agree to repair collateral damage, when battle's completed. We will let you have wounded, even if you've retreated. Your leaders are beings, we'd like to meet with.
We only want your antidote. You are honorable warriors, and with this gesture, we hope...Perhaps you can read our peace treaty notes.
Our males are infertile, help us replicate a dose...To war, no being should ever be exposed. But if we're faced with dying off, God only knows...where this battle ends, or that bloody path goes. | 2021-01-30T11:31:38 | 2021-01-30T10:37:25 | 329 | 38 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate. | "Tom, we've got to do something."
"I understand, Bill."
"How many?"
"So far? We might as well be handing out Kool-Aid on the streets."
Bill slammed his fist on the table. "Tom, tell me. Tell me how this got out."
"It was the Russians, of all people. They were the first to figure out the algorithm for the subatomic super positioning. Upon reaching the conclusions of their experiments, the scientists were the first to take their own lives."
"But, that doesn't explain –"
"Let me finish. You, me, and all the rest of the US government officials can sit here and debate this until time collapses inward. The only real things you need to understand at this moment, is that the infinite series of moments we perceive as time are already laid out for us, by higher dimensions."
Bill took a sip of his coffee, listening intently. He had clearly not slept, or eaten a proper meal in a very long time. He squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of all of this.
"Tom, I'm the leader of this country. But I'm not afraid to say that this is all going over my head."
Tom scratched his face, trying to think of a way to explain.
"When we live, we are bound by four dimensions. We can move freely in three, but we are forced to walk forward in the fourth. Only death frees us from this constraint. We were once afraid that we would go to hell; the algorithm showed us that nobody can sin. How can we, when our fates have been determined since the beginning?"
Even though he was sweating, Bill started to shiver.
"The people of this country chose me to protect them, goddamnit. We endured, we conquered… exploration, famine, civil war, equality, nuclear war, terrorism… and the thing that finally brings this nation to its knees is it's own goddamn people."
It was in that moment that Tom's complexion changed. Normally stern and straightfaced, his lips curled into an unnatural smile.
"How could you understand? You were elected by the people, but you are not of the people. You probably spent your childhood playing with the sons of billionaires. Do you know what an orphanage in Siberia is like? It's rather apathetic, as are the quartermasters who are tasked with finding little nobodies to turn into military spies. You see, the Cold War is something you learned about in your text books, but for me, it's the foundation for my existence."
Bill became suddenly aware that Tom's accent had morphed. The man he thought he knew as his trusted adviser of over a decade was vanishing right before him. Tom continued.
"You, Mr. President, were given the responsibility of 1000 tasks. I was given but one. God forgive me, but today I cannot complete it. I would much rather let you be the steward of a land of bones, than to take you with me to paradise."
Bill heard the other man make a clicking sound from his teeth; the last sound he made before falling to the ground, dead.
| The world was failing and the bodies were building. There was only plan B.C. left to try.
All of the radio station were set in gear and prepped for the last stand. All tv's were under the government's control.
3...
2...
1...
"Oooooh baby do you know what that's worth, oooh heaven is a place on earth"
Belinda Carlisle had saved the world with her 1987 number one hit. | 2015-02-02T07:18:10 | 2015-02-02T06:43:00 | 206 | 126 |
[WP] You are a superhero without powers. You know a good bit about martial arts and you're resourceful, but the main reason you're so successful? Every time a villain monologues their plan, you calmly and clearly explain to them why their plan won't work. | “Search him. Put all his weapons on the table.”
There was a flurry of activity as the spiderfolk poked and prodded at the white and black robes. A large leather tome flew onto the table, moving it at least three inches as it landed with a thud. A string of beads soon clattered after it.
“All clear, boss.”
Doctor Arachnior clasped together his hands and stamped his six feet in delight. “The Titanic Thomist, scourge of evil, finally entangled in the web of my genius! Have you anything to say for yourself, you pathetic little fly?”
“No, I’m quite thoroughly defeated. What happens now?”
“I’m glad you asked! As you know, soon my decogitator will finish charging. When it is activated, all men around the planet—except for myself and my minions—will become as stupid as worms! Even you, Titanic Thomist, with all your brilliance, will become as dumb as an ox!”
The Thomist smiled in spite of himself. “That much I already knew. But what happens after that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Then I shall be free to rob every bank, plunder every vault, pilfer every jewel! I shall become the richest bug on earth and live like a god for the rest of my life!”
“Ah, I thought it was something like that. I see two problems, though.”
“What problems?! I’ve already won, you insufferable blowhard!”
“Well, do you want to hear the small problem first, or the big one?”
The doctor shook his head and sighed indulgently. “A pathetic attempt to distract me, Thomist. But since my victory is so complete, I’ll humour you. The small problem.”
“Well, what good is all the money in the world when all the men are too stupid to want to trade with you?”
“Ha! That’s simple! It—I would—hmm. Hmm. Hrmm! I see...you know, I was planning to buy out this nice resort in the Bahamas. But with no one to serve me...and the spiderfolk make terrible margaritas...oh dear.”
Dr. Arachnior simply stared at his archnemesis for about five minutes. Then, his head hanging low, he skittered over to the control panel, pulled on a switch, and the machine powered down.
“You know, all of my life savings went into that decogitator...oh, you said there was a second problem? May as well hear it too.”
“That one is a bit harder to explain...you’re aiming too low.”
“Too low?! I was going to rob the entire planet. What are you talking about?”
“Well, all of your schemes are about getting more money. But money is really one of the lowliest goods there are.”
“Thomist, you’re as stupid as you are ugly. Everyone wants money. What could be more valuable than it?”
“Open that book you took from me to the page with a bookmark sticking out.”
Dr. Arachnior crept over to the table where the Titanic Thomist’s confiscated weapons lay. Batting away the beads, he glanced at the cover: *Summa Theologiae*. With an exasperated sigh, he turned to the marked page, and began to mutter to himself as he read:
“Whether happiness consists in wealth...mm...natural wealth and artificial...hmm...only sought for the sake of something else, that’s true...the more you have the less satisfied, yeah...and of course you can’t take it with you. You know, Dr. Dominator thinks I’ll probably develop cancer in a few years with all this gene splicing. What good would money do then? There’s something to think about.”
“I’m sorry to hear—“
“Shut up, I’m still reading.” He began flipping pages randomly. “If the desire for wealth is infinite...form of the desired in the desire...ergo there must be an infinite good...what’s this now?”
Dr. Arachnior’s eyes began to light up, turning pages rapidly. He began to cackle triumphantly, slamming the book shut. “Of course! OF COURSE! You were a fool to let this book fall into my hands, Titanic Thomist! Spiderfolk! Prepare the arachnocopter! Release this pest!”
The stunted spider minions leaped onto their master as he grabbed onto a silken thread dangling from the ceiling. The noise of propellor blades could be heard overhead as Dr. Arachnior rose into the sky, clutching the book.
“You’ve not beaten me yet, Thomist! With this book, I shall learn what is the Summum Bonum, the infinite Good which all men desire, and then, nothing will stand in my way: it shall be MINE, MINE, MINE! Ahahahaha!”
The Titanic Thomist stooped down, gingerly scooped his rosary off the ground, crossed himself, and murmured, “I pray that He shall.” | Equal yet Opposite
Why hello there! You see the villains there, giving their monologue? Their plans and grand act? I know what it is, I know what the flaws are. I’ll tell them why it won’t work, I’ll tell them where it’ll fail and how they’ll die from that plan. But for now…you’re probably wondering…who am I?
I am Eugolonom pronounced Ee-you-Goal-o-nam. Yeah yeah I know I didn’t put a lot of effort into it but I single handedly tipped the scales.
It happened slowly at first and then accelerated exponentially. A mad scientist villain Dr. Fear was the first of them, to thwart him the smart but street savvy Supe Dr. Calm. She was locked into a perpetual battle with him. Soon they were everywhere. Heroes battling villains. For every bad, an equal but opposite emerged. There were 4 grades of Heroes and villains. While Grade 4 were dime a dozen there were only 4 Grade 1 heroes/villains.
But something strange happened. More villains started popping up. The heroes couldn’t keep up.
Then I bloomed. The process of becoming a hero or a villain was called blooming.
I was 14 when I bloomed. I was a hero. I just didn’t know I would be THE hero.
It was just like in the movies. I had seen it in movie critics’ analysis, seen it in comics…almost always when the villain is about to strike they stop and monologue. I could almost sense it before it would happen in the movies but now, I could force ANY villain, to monologue. It didn’t matter what Grade they were. For the first time a Grade 3 hero like me could take on any Grade villain.
My power, get the villain to monologue. Divulge their plans. Here is where I came in. I had the power to look at any plan and find out what it’s flaw is. I am able to determine where they’d make a mistake and give them probabilities. I could tell them where they’d go wrong and where they’d die.
I cou…wait...wait hold on! How are you getting me to monologue? Are you…NO WAY! You’re the new Grade ‘0’ villain Wham-Bham aren’t you? Getting me to monologue my plans? | 2020-09-27T10:12:32 | 2020-09-27T09:35:45 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock! | @OP: love the premise! I'm going to take it in a bit of a different direction.
I felt Jennifer's hand tighten in my grasp as we waited. I glanced back across the desk at the official. This wait was awful, I figured the reports would be instantaneous like credit scores.
My wife and I are sitting in a case worker's office in the Department of Public Welfare, waiting for the final decision on our application. We are two years married and decided it was time to take the next step, to have a child of our own. Call me old fashioned, but this is the only time I've cared about my Compatibility Score. I've always been vocal about how people should decide for themselves if they love someone by getting to know them, not by some arbitrary numbers.
Up until now I've had no use for my score, I was never one for dating clubs, and the score was only a minor weight when applying for loans. I had never bothered to check on the scores of the few women I dated, though this had come back to bite me. I was relieved when I met Jennifer, her values were similar to mine. We had the same outlook on life, the same goals, the same hobbies, the same drive.... it was like we were made for each other.
Despite all this I can't help but be nervous. I know that I have at least one black mark on my record. Melissa. Looking back on that train wreck of a relationship still brings a scowl to my face. I'm not proud of who I became by the end. The constant drama and stress left me a wreck. Walking on egg shells, timidly approaching everything, worried about what would set off the next argument; it is little wonder I had found myself flip flopping between spineless debasement and red faced screaming.
I was jerked from my memories as the official stirred and faced us.
"Mr. and Mrs. Resnick," he began, "I'm sorry to inform you, but your application to produce offspring has been denied. As you know it is this office's responsibility to evaluate and certify a household's ability to ensure a stable and psychologically safe environment for future generations. Unfortunately your aggregate score falls below the minimum requirement."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach, I was going to vomit. I turned to Jenny and saw her pale face.
"I'm sorry babe. I should have dated more, padded my reviews after her. I never thought that one relationship would continue to hurt us..."
"Actually Mr. Resnick," the official interrupted, "Your history and profile scores are perfect. You had one negative review on your record, by a Ms. Melissa McAdams. Given her history of giving all negative reviews, and the reviews given against her, all of her input is flagged and ignored."
I froze.
"But..." I turned to look at Jenny. Her eyes were downcast, silent tears streamed down her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"We have multiple negative reviews on record," the official continued. "Her score is well in the negative. We have multiple accounts of 'pushy', 'demanding', 'controlling', 'dismissive of others achievements', 'obsessive', 'intolerant', and 'emotionally distant'. I'm afraid any child raised in this environment will be a neurotic mess, prone to depression and anxiety, with near crippling self-esteem issues. Additionally, the score forecasts divorce to be very likely, further causing psychological strain on any child conceived."
"You don't understand! It sounds worse than it is," I argued. "She's not any of those things! She is driven to succeed, sure, but that is one of the things that makes her great. She expects the best from herself and motivates those around her. She isn't 'emotionally distant' she just isn't gushy like..."
"Sir," the official cut me off. "I realize you love your wife and see her in a positive light, but that doesn't change the score. However there are various programs in place to rehabilitate low or negative scores. Reviews can be disputed, you can improve your score with a monitored pet. The two of you can undertake couples counselling, at the end of the program you will receive a certificate of rehabilitation. On your way out be sure to get a pamphlet from the receptionist." He motioned towards the door.
Slowly we stood and I took her hand.
"We'll get through this," I promised. | “You sure this is the name?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve dated the guy for like three months now.”
“We always have a grand time. I think he’ll get a high enough score,” I added.
Gus looked at the dark alley behind me then pocketed the crumpled piece of paper.
“Let’s hope he does,” Gus muttered under his breath. “Wait here.”
He entered the back door of a Chinese restaurant. As far as people are concerned, he’s just a busboy there.
I hugged myself as the door closes in front of me. It’s really dark. I wonder why all the lightposts are busted.
Tick tock.
Rats were scavenging inside the large trashbins, I can hear them go through the day’s loot.
Tick tock.
The door opened. The light from the kitchen shone on Gus’ face. And that’s all I needed to see.
I held my breath.
“Here take this”, Gus said as he shoved the paper on me. “Get out of here fast. You don’t have to pay me.”
He went back inside. I hear the click of the lock.
It was dark again.
Tick tock.
I know it’s bad but I have to see. I took out my phone and held it over the paper.
I screamed inside.
-500?
How? I was in a daze. It doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly the bin cover opened and two rats stood.
“Wait, why would rats stand?” Nothing makes sense.
-500?
The posts suddenly blazed with blinding lights.
“Freeze! NYPD! Drop the paper on the ground.”
My heart stopped.
“Matt?”
*****
My first time. I would appreciate your comments. | 2016-09-24T11:47:42 | 2016-09-24T11:40:10 | 405 | 21 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | “The Red Phone” was a joke. My wife had bought it for me as a prop when I had told her I got elected President of the book club.
“A President needs a red phone!” had been her gleeful cry when I had opened the mysterious parcel. It was a cheap plastic thing, garish and bright. A child’s toy.
And I loved it.
It sat on my desk as I wrote, a comforting reminder to stay humble. Long years it sat there, til the fake dial on the front yellowed in the sun.
I wrote of worlds beyond our reach. I wrote of ages long past. I wrote of times yet to come, detective stories and thrillers, action and adventure.
And in each, I mentioned a red phone. Tucked away in a disused room, or on a busy street. Never central to the plot. Always in the background.
My fans would eagerly search for it when a new book came out. There were pages of analysis on the locations of the phones, and what it could mean.
I always just smiled when they asked. Some mysteries, I thought, are better unexplained.
But the phone had rung.
I had stared at it for long drawn out seconds.
It could not ring. There was no ringer. There were no electronics. It was an empty shell. Was I dreaming?
I had picked it up, and the voice had been cold and demanding, “Don’t let Diana die.”
I had recognised the voice immediately, for it had rung in my head for months now. The Finnish detective hero of my latest novel in progress, “The Darkest Hour is Midday”, was a genius who was due to suffer incalculable loss, and become a vigilante to hunt down his enemies.
It was hard writing a genius. A man is limited by his own intellect, and writing outside those bounds requires hard work and diligence, so the book was slow going.
The voice had continued, “I can see you weaving the threads of the world. You are changing it, and if you succeed, I will count you, personally, as one of my enemies. Do not do this evil thing.”
He hung up, and the red phone was as silent as it has always been, the cheap plastic handset empty as ever.
I took his warning to heart, and abandoned the fate I had almost chosen for him. I did not know what would happen if I destroyed it, and so the half-finished manuscript sat on a shelf and gathered dust.
Year after year.
I no longer wrote dark stories, instead making them light-hearted and happy. Full of wholesome tales of bravery and strength.
Sales went up. The furnishings in my room became more ornate. More lavish. But I kept the phone to remind me both to stay humble, and to remind me that somewhere, somehow, I was affecting the universe in unexpected ways.
I had several manuscripts in progress. The fear of wronging someone high in my mind.
And yet the second call was as unexpected as the first; but this time I did not hesitate before I answered.
I had practiced and planned what I would say to the characters if they became aware of me, and I was eager to find out who it might be.
“You need to finish my story. We’re all trapped here.” the voice was croaking and exhausted.
My Finnish detective. I hadn’t decided on his name.
“My name is Trent.” he snarled. “You don’t decide that.”
“What do you want, Trent? A happy ending?”
“We need an ending. Everything is freezing here. The people just stop as the walk down the street. When we intersect one of your plot-lines, they cannot cross. They cannot go back. They just stand, frozen.
I thought I could fix it. Change what you did. But your written words are like an unbreakable law.”
His voice sounded desperate, “Please just leave.”
I stood up and took out the old manuscript from the too of the shelves, and blew dust off it.
“I’m going to try something. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Be careful. Those are real people’s lives you are playing with.”
I scanned the first page. It had his description on it. The jacket he always wore.
I crossed out the line.
“What are you wearing?”
He understood instantly what I was doing. He’s cleverer than me. The sound of a man removing his jacket, and a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. You’re going to rewrite it to be a pleasant description of an eclipse one midsummer day, aren’t you?”
Much cleverer. I hadn’t thought of the eclipse until he mentioned it.
“Make sure you write it when a real eclipse happens. If you mess up the planets orbit, I’m going to be seriously unimpressed.”
I turned slightly pale. Another point that hadn’t occurred to me. I managed to get out a stammered “Yes. I will.” before he hung up.
——
The manuscript is done. I have sent it off to the publisher.
And the phone is ringing again.
It has been ringing for seven hours straight.
But I lack the courage to pick it up. I am sick with fear. I am pale, shaking and crying. What calamity have I wrought this time?
God help me, for I am weak.
I inch towards it, as I have done countless times since its strident tones ripped me from my peaceful slumber.
But this time I manage to pick it up and, trembling, hold it to my ear.
“Thank you.” says a familiar voice, and there is a click as he hangs up the phone for the last time. | In the middle of nowhere sits a small plot of land, trees on all sides, no road leading to or away. On this plot of land there was a house. It does not exist on any deed or map, one day it simply appeared complete and whole with plumbing, furniture and electricity. This is where he lives.
He is no farmer, though he keeps a few chickens he likes to pretend that he cares for while in truth he simply feeds them and ensures their water is kept clean and full after checking for eggs. The water comes from a well that never runs dry, the power from a battery bank connected to solar panels and single wind turbine, and the internet from a satellite that belongs to no company or provider yet has access to all non-classified information currently known to humankind.
He enjoys the solitude, but does allow for one guest a month. Currently his home is host to a famous fantasy author who has suffered from writer's block for the past few years, last month it was an astrophysicist turned entertainer, the month before that was a child with bone cancer. She's cured now.
A discussion on the cultural ways of middle-ages society when magic is thrown into the mix is interrupted by the insistent ringing of an old-fashioned rotary phone. The item stands out with the modern rustic aesthetic of the rest of the house, just as the computer and home entertainment system do, only without having such a garish colour.
"Is that...?"
With a sigh the host stood up. "I'm afraid so." He walked the few steps across the living room to the small table resting against the wall and picked it up, the phone still ringing madly.
"Hello?..... Yes..... Power absorber, eh?..... How many?..... Sure, can do... Okay, bye."
With an reluctant expression he turned back to his guest and spoke apologetically. "Sorry, we'll have to cut this short. The chopper will drop you off afterwards but for now make yourself at home, just don't eat the cheesecake please, there's only one slice left."
Within minutes the cosy home was buffeted by the winds of the world's fastest helicopter, leaving the house silent apart from the disturbed clucking of three hens and the soft footsteps of a man making his way to the fridge to get himself a beer. with his refreshment he ambled back to the lounge and turned on the television, quickly finding a channel showing what looked like a live news report of a partially ruined city. He cracked open the beer and waited.
Two things went through the author's mind, the first was that the poor fool causing trouble would soon cease to be a problem and the second was how good that cake looked. He shook his head, scolding himself for the thought. When The Unmaker tells you not to eat his cheesecake, you DON'T EAT the cheesecake. | 2022-03-29T02:39:22 | 2022-03-29T02:26:11 | 609 | 81 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | Erryn relished the moment. There was something cathartic in holding between his tendrils the terms of surrender, in knowing that you hold the only hope for a dying race. In that moment, he held the power of life and death for the fifteen billion humans on the planet below, as well as the one who sat across the table from him now.
The two of them sat alone on a station that had been prepared exclusively for the purpose; only the two negotiators and the cameras that would broadcast the surrender to the Universe. Beside them, the wall was filled with a viewport that showed the surface of Earth spinning away from them, as well as the tremendous fleet that floated menacingly above.
The human negotiator took the treaty from Erryn and began to read. The terms were simple: humanity would submit to Tallnian authority in perpetuity, yielding all valuables within a solar cycle. It was a method that had worked for them many times before; all throughout the arm of the galaxy, Tallnian planets could be found, constructing the great fleets that would go on to expand the Empire.
The negotiator carefully placed the treaty on the table and sat back, his eyes closed. From his training, Eryn recognized this as defeat. The man who had been so pure in the House of Diplomacy, who had insisted that every conflict could be solved there even as the Tallnians slaughtered his people on the Plutonian Outpost, was silent.
Erryn placed a pen on the table. He took special pleasure in making the defeat feel as familiar as possible.
The negotiator sighed, then spoke. “I remember you from the House, Erryn. You always told me that war was beyond law. That the strong would rule, and the weak would deserve it.”
Erryn laughed. “And I was correct, so it would seem.”
The human leaned forward. “You said that peace was a weak race’s game, and that only a coward would waste his time with its rules.”
“I did.” Erryn was getting impatient now. “And I do not see how this exchange will benefit us.”
“I just wanted you to understand something, before this is all over.”
“Oh?”
“Rules are not for good races to make themselves feel better. Good races, ones that are truly altruistic, don’t need rules.” He took a deep breath. “Today, you’ll understand why humanity has so many.”
At that moment, a blinding light stabbed through the viewport. Erryn shielded his optic spots, surprised by the sudden brightness. He thought that their star would rise on the other side of the planet…
The light faded, and Erryn looked back outside. The Tallnian fleet was gone, replaced by a rapidly-expanding sphere of rubble. He fell back into his seat in shock.
The human was already on his feet, halfway to the hatch to his ship. He looked back at Erryn, the pain evident on his alien features. “I am so sorry that it came to this.” Then, a moment later, he was descending back to his planet.
Erryn sat there in shock. He hadn’t moved when, an hour later, a piece of the Tallnian flagship’s great cannon tore through the station, incinerating the treaty and the Tallnian who had brought it | The Orak believed the war with humanity would end in blood and glory. Instead it ended in a white flash while they struck the outermost colony of Elysium. Humanity attacked their home planet Orakus. Citizens on Orakus felt no pain or suffering as the humans on Elysium did. Instead it was a white hot mercy that the Tsar unleashed from hell itself. The results of this repisal were almost instantaneous. Orakian warlords upon seeing their homeworld reduced to ash surrendered their weapons some even began worship of humanity as they had mastered a level of war they had never considered. | 2020-02-07T14:00:31 | 2020-02-07T13:21:46 | 106 | 18 |
[WP] You made a deal with something incomprehensibly powerful and ancient, sealed outside the material universe. You expected it to demand something like your soul or servitude in exchange, but it turns out the eldritch abomination really just wants someone to talk to after aeons of isolation. | "There are plenty of people that are capable of incredible things."
While the statement is all encompassing and frankly speaking, quite unclear, it's carved upon the everlasting tree that stands at the center of the world.
While not unlike the myths of the human world which refer to it as, Yggdrasil, the world tree, it's appearance as I gaze at it is unlike anything in their records. Well, I say records, but it's most likely a tale spoken by somebody that travelled from this world to theirs. After all, no humans are here. No humans can inhabit this place.
"Why is that no humans can come across this plane of existence?"
I casually speak to myself, yet even so, I receive an answer directly into my head, as if I'd thought it myself, yet the way it's formulated could never be my own.
"Humanity... huh? Haven't heard that word for a while."
"Define a while."
"Time is a hard concept to grasp, more so when silence is the only answer that you receive, even to your own thoughts. It feels like a couple of years have passed since someone asked me that, right now, but it might have been an aeon or two ago when I was alone." For but a second, the pause it made felt unsettling, but it eventually regressed into a more cheerful response. "Humanity has been banished from this place that you inhabit for the power they possessed. It happened way longer than you might imagine. So long ago that if they were to return to this place as they are, they would be crushed under the presence of mana."
"You speak of power, if it's so, then how would they have been driven out."
"There are powers that aren't necessarily tied to strength. Just as how you can speak with spirits but other Sylvians can't, their individuality was what had driven them to a corner in the end."
She smiled as those words seemed to reflect on her lips. It would rarely happen, when what the being said and what she believed was in sync.
"They possessed what you already have. Curiosity."
"Just... that?"
"Do you see any other people speaking with beings from other planes of existence? What did you think when when you tried to make a deal with a being such as myself? Knowing you I bet it was something like I want to know what's on the other side." I mouthed over the words as they were exposed.
"I see..."
"Yeah. There you have your answer. More importantly, why did you actually want this power? Didn't you think ahead if you actually managed to pull it off?"
"Well, I did, but right now it seems rather stupid." I sighed as I stood atop the tree that no one should be able to even touch. "To change the world."
"Like..."
"To make people try and understand each other... but I might have to give up on it."
"Oho, and why is that?"
"Doing so would only bring me happiness. It's something for my own enjoyment. A world that I would fit into... but now that you've gone ahead and told me all that, I guess there won't be any reason to do that." I smiled as I looked at the multicoloured petals that floated on the small river coming from the top of the tree. "I have no reason to change this place I hate so much."
"So, you're going into exile by your own hands?"
"No, no. After all we have a pact. Exile isn't really something you go through with others, is it not?"
There was a tinge of silence until the being laughed in my own voice.
"That's true. It's been a while since I had such a human response."
I gently smiled as I broke off a branch of the tree and used it to create a portal. To a world without magic. I wonder, how would their world look like? | The summoning ritual was done, now, it was just time to wait.
Hours and hours, as his sacred soul transferred across the border, but just his soul, only his soul, never his body.
And finally, a small shiny blob punctured the air.
The mighty şika had finally come to make sure I honored my side of the deal. To talk.
I said a bit scared, "Hello?" Not knowing what might come.
"I haven't heard a voice in eons... Am I speaking? Do you hear me? Are you real?" His babbling continued for a short second before he was interrupted.
"Yes, I can hear you. And I believe I am real."
"I've been wondering, as my first question,
Who do they worship?"
"People worship gods," I replied.
"What are gods?"
"Creators of the universe. Rulers of the world. You know."
"***I*** made the universe by tearing off a piece of my body and crushing it and exploding it."
"That's a surprise."
The tiny glowing, floating blob rippled.
"You promised the summoning ritual would last longer than 20 minutes." He yelled, and finally, the voice dissipated.
"Welp, I'm dead." | 2020-03-11T10:03:43 | 2020-03-11T06:07:23 | 72 | 37 |
[WP] Abstinence-only education just means that teenagers are going to experiment by themselves and get hurt. The power of dark magic is all too tempting in today's stressful society, vote yes on giving our children comprehensive hex education. | The Elder Representative slammed his fist onto the table with surprising strength, making the quills rattle.
"Hex education? For the children? Have you gone mental?!"
The whole hall jolted awake after nearly dozing off from the day's discussions, and murmurs filled the room. Nobody seemed to mind this highly unprofessional behavior in a formal meeting, save Druk and his fellows. Nobody wanted to object, or even meet their gazes for that matter.
Druk gulped. This hot summer day was not helping. The shade from the Great Tree could only do so much at the height of Midsummer. It was a stupid decision to bring this up as the day's discussion closed. He had though that the other Representatives, and especially the elders might be more amenable after a whole day of discussion and senseless adjustments to the primary and secondary education curriculum.
Well, the table still rattled from the Elder's punch, putting those delusions to rest. It kept rattling, in fact. For quite some time.
Druk waited. The Elder loved to do this. It gave the Elder time to calm down, and gave him time to think.
The table stopped. Druk cleared his throat. The representatives eyed him apprehensively.
"Sorcerers and sorceresses present, I did not bring up this subject merely to cause sensation. It is my firm belief that our young spellcasters and our society as a whole would benefit immensely from structured and comprehensive hex education at an early age. Indeed, I cannot fathom why this hasn't been implemented sooner.
"Today's children are much smarter, much more eager to question, and have much more knowledge to draw power from than before. They have access to documents, ancient texts that outline the darkest of arts, which most of us hadn't even heard of till our Day of Completion. They can peruse whatever codex they want, be it correct and rigorous or full of errors. It is much better that we give them the correct manuals, which would lead them slowly and in a more systematic manner into the arts, without filling their impressionable kinds with potentially dangerous information.
"Of course, you may ask why would they even want to know about hexes. My answer is, why wouldn't they? Surely no one at this table has forgotten about those days of Maturity, even if it happened hundreds of years ago? The boys and girls, they start their maturation process, and end up with all this Dark Potential, with no answers from us adults who they turn to! If we keep shunning them and pretend that the hexes are some perverse knowledge that no one should talk about, where else can they go?"
Druk felt his throat drying up with every passing syllable. Thankfully, Erik stepped in, letting him catch his breath.
"Of course, we've all tried hiding this knowledge, pretending it doesn't exist, haven't we? But how will you hide something so ubiquitous in our lives? When all the merchants sell their wares alluding to the Dark Potential in their advertisements, when all the plays and poetry inadvertently lead you on to the charms of hexes? The children will find out, and they will experiment without Twilight-After Potions, without Wand Coverers, without even knowing that they exist. This is not wild speculation; we have statistics showing the rise in experimentation among youth, with very unfortunate results. We need hex education, and we need freely accessible Malignment Control for everyone."
"And let's also teach people to not shame young witches trying to get Malignant Removal as a last resort, while we're at it," Krysta murmured under her breath.
First time writing here, novice, any criticism appreciated | A man sat on a chair, coughing into his hand as he read from a book of spells, "Ah, hello, wizard and wizardlings. My name is Kaledo'oun Ivurian, and I'm here with an important message from the Mage's Guild of America."
He'd once again cough into his hand, licking his finger and flipping the page on his tomes, "Hex. Parents, Guardians, and Familiars understandably want to protect our youth from teen curses, but hiding or keeping negative stigma on the dark arts will only result in a lack of knowledge." He'd cough once more, a spittle of black goo coming out of his mouth. The man would pause before taking a handkerchief, wiping his lips with it, "In the new generation of spellcasters, curses laid upon others by rivals, practicing magicians, and even jokes by friends are at an all-time high. It is our duty as the elder magi to teach the wizards below us how to practice safe Hex. So please, vote yes for hex education." | 2018-07-17T17:27:16 | 2018-07-17T13:32:53 | 183 | 79 |
[WP] In late 2014 a website which provides weather forecasts is discovered on the deep web. Its predictions are never wrong. On a day in February 2017, temperatures everywhere on the fifth day of the five day forecast read in the thousands. | Kevin wasn’t your stereo-typical hero. All his life he had been just below average in so many ways. He was short, but not noticeably so. He was chubby, but not fat. Girls didn’t pay much attention to him, his friends were milquetoast and forgettable, he was neither creative nor brave nor witty. Just about the only thing about Kevin of note was his intellect. He was just smart enough to see what he was missing, he could feel with profound clarity all the ways his life could have been better if only he were a hair taller, a bit more charming, a bit more confident.
The one break life had ever granted him was his wife. Inexplicably gorgeous, generous, and kind. When she walked into his life it almost made up for every time he was picked last for dodgeball - every party he wasn’t invited to.
And that why, after five years of marriage, he was trying to find someone to kill her.
Jasmine had been using him. She had married him to get citizenship. Now that she had it, she dropped him like the forgettable creature that he was. But Kevin wasn’t going to take this lying down, not this time.
The Tor client wasn’t hard to set up, instructions could be found all over the internet. It was finding what you needed on the darknet that took some doing. You couldn’t google “tor hitman forums”. He had to do some digging. Quite a lot of digging.
It was in this digging that he stumbled onto the most singular website in the history of the web.
fsad789fs.onion was the most beautiful website he had ever seen. Looping skyscapes of clouds, sunrises and sunsets, rain bursts and slow, intricate snowflakes.
The forecast was a time-lapse of the coming days weather. You entered a location, the number of days, and the speed of the animation. That was it. If you wanted the next days forecast, you entered the pertinent data and watched an amazing procession of sunrise, clouds, and sunset.
It was after playing with it for a few hours that Kevin began to feel that something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the website felt strangely familiar. A thought struck him.
In the forecast day field he entered - “Today”
In the location, he put his address.
In the “Forecast Speed” box he clicked. “Real Time”
Kevin was thrilled. Somehow the forecast was clever enough to switch to a live stream of the sky outside his area - it was so seamless!
Curious how it would handle the transfer from life images to animation, he sped up the animation speed by 100%
A cold, sinking feeling settled in his stomach - there was no transfer, this site somehow knew not only the exact temperature it would be in an hour, it perfectly predicted and rendered every cloud shape - as cleanly as a video feed. He sat staring, flabbergasted, and then he saw it. On his 5th replay of the days weather, a plane flying across the sky, headed north; five minutes later, a contrail appeared in the sky outside his own window - headed north.
Lost in contemplation, he continued to manipulate the settings. 5 days, London, 45 seconds. A procession of days and nights flew past his screen - fog banks moved in and out with startling speed.
10 days, Cairo, 2 minutes.
Clear sky, day following night, not a single cloud.
1 month, Seattle, 30 Seconds.
A permanent sky of twighlight, the days passing so fast that the brightness of day and the darkness of night blended together. Not a terribly useful tool at this speed…
What was that?
A flash, in the muddled half light of the sky.
He slowed down the animation.
1 month, Seattle, 5 minutes.
On the 28th day of the forecast, it happened again. Only for a second - he tracked back the animation slider and held it. February 12, 2017 at 3:01pm.
The sky was only white. No definition at all. That wasn’t what kept his attention. What held his attention was the temperature. There in white Helvitica, the number stared at him.
1435 F. For about 15 minutes, the sky burned.
Kevin closed his Tor client, and hopped over to his normal browser. He opened google maps.
“Abandoned Silos Montana”
Then he booked a plane ticket.
Jasmine could burn in hell.
| The President of the United States of America was making a speech, a speech about how we should live our last years in dignity. Resources were considered irrelevant, Economists were trying to work out the best way to deal with the situation. Researchers studied. Philosophers debated. Many spent their time spending all of their money since, hey, no point saving for retirement now. They knew, or they thought they knew, that they would die in February 2017. On one day in February, the earth would burn up.
Unfortunately, the results weren't properly vetted. As Newton said, *"If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."*. As Kelvin should upon Celsius and Celsius should on Fahrenheit. Scientific scales for temperature were changed, at some later date, it is assumed we would find a better scale than the boiling and melting points of water. Perhaps we would find a maximum temperature, clearly defined, Planck temperature, an Absolute Hot to match the Absolute Zero.
Such a scale would be invented in 2017. A scale without boiling or melting points, but one that simply divides temperature into 1 unit, a Blane. Named after an upcoming scientist. The common unit being something like Nano-blanes or Pico-blanes. In short, you cannot exceed 1 Blane.
It turns out the website making predictions must have relied on such a fact and been using Pico-blanes instead of Celsius. Due to a change in scale the temperature would probably be no different. 1000 Pico-blanes may equal 23 Celsius.
At first, the Scientists were relieved. They thought this mistake would mean that there was nothing wrong. A big mistake had been made, it may cost some of them their jobs. But at least the earth will not boil.
The scale had to be invented for a reason, maybe there was an underlying problem. Maybe temperature was rapidly decreasing and they wanted to find out why, why the temperature was decreasing everywhere, and not just earth.
Oh no, the Earth will not burn.
Earth will freeze. | 2014-10-24T15:50:58 | 2014-10-24T15:45:24 | 109 | 18 |
[WP] “Hell has Satan, Heaven has God, and Purgatory has me.” It reached out to shake your hand. “Welcome to my domain.” | The creature was perfect monotony. There was no lilt, no detectable inflection in its voice; no feature in its face that evoked emotion; no flaw or harmony in its gray and translucent being that drew attention. The creature was and that was it.
"Thank you for the welcome," I said and observed my surroundings.
Purgatory was a vast plane of blurry, foggy grayness. There were no trees, no constructions, no nature, only a low sky covered in slow-rolling gray clouds that in the distance hooked down to cover the horizon.
"What am I to do here?" My gaze drew to the creature. "Rove for eternity? Were our mortal assumptions correct?"
The creature didn't move. It simply stared at me. "Yes and no. You will rove, and perhaps you will do so for eternity. Or perhaps you will find one of the two gates. They're identical, and no soul knows which one leads to where. I don't know either. All I can tell you is that one leads to Heaven, and the other leads to Hell."
Again, its voice carried no tune. It was a humdrum of nothingness. It was odd, I felt as though this creature could follow and speak to me for eternities and I wouldn't feel unnerved nor calm. I couldn't explain it.
"You don't judge our souls then? To see where we belong?"
"No, I am not one to judge. Neither are you, God, Satan, or any other soul. Bias exists even in otherworldly beings. Chance is the only fair judge. Heaven and Hell are the two sides of a coin, and Purgatory is where you flip that coin."
I nodded. "I see. Is that it? Should I just rove now?"
The creature stood in silence for a moment too long. "You can do that or you can remain without here moving. It's up to you. You can roam with your consciousness, or you can ask me to strip you from that consciousness as well. It's up to you."
This time the staleness of my emotions crumbled and something akin to fear lodged in my bones. "Strip me from my consciousness? Why would I want that?"
The creature looked around. "Purgatory is a vast place. Many souls have spent eternities looking for the gates and have not found them. Others have found them in hours. If you find one, and it leads you to Hell, you will suffer. If you never find one, you will wilt and grow desperate, for an eternity of wandering is akin to eternal torment. If you find the gate to Heaven, perhaps you will find peace. Two of the three possible outcomes are better traveled without conscience."
I drew a deep breath. If I had a heart, I'm sure I would've skipped a beat. "Will God give me back my consciousness if I gave it to you?"
"Perhaps. I do not know. But if God can give it or build it back, so can Satan. I do not know, I can only speculate." He stepped back. "What will you do?"
"Can I decide later?"
"Yes, if you ever find me again."
Many thoughts sprung into my mind. Strangely enough, I knew there were no more questions to ask the creature. The picture of Purgatory was clear and overwhelmingly simple. It was a vast, unwalled maze with two possible exits. And I was not certain I could ever find any of those exits.
Giving away my consciousness was tempting and statistically sound provided God couldn't build back my consciousness. I would not suffer in Hell and I would not have to bear the endless monotony of Purgatory. But at the same time, I would become an empty wandering shell incapable of rejoicing in Heaven.
I drew a deep breath and stepped forth. "I like my odds."
When I looked back, the creature was gone, and nothing but grayness encompassed me.
Eternity awaited me, but I hoped for it to be a short one.
\-----------
/r/AStoryToRuleThemAll \--> Come, I have candy. | "Where... Where am I? Am I..."
"Dead? Yes. Yes you are my friend." The pale white of the ferryman's skull stood out against the dark hood which he wore. From within, a bony hand reached out, offering to me... Something. I glanced around, looking at the desolate land which I stood, the bright light above shining upon the blackened ground below. No hellfire. No smell of sulfurous brimstone. No clouds or choirs of angels. No Saint Peter waiting the pearly gates.
"You are between. Between the most holy salvation and the most sinful torment. You lived a life quite similar, it seems." The ferryman continued, "Neither a sinner nor a saint; A passenger on the river of time, betwixt the skies above and the land below." The thin wooden boat upon which the ferryman stood seemed unaffected by the rushing, tumultuous currents below. The river appeared to fill in a great chasm, appearing almost bottomless as I peered into its void. The outstretched hand before me waited in a subtle anticipation.
Grasping the skeletal hand firmly, I slowly stepped onto the bottom of the canoe-like boat, helped on by the deathly ferryman. As I sat down upon the simple boat, he turned away, and passed me a facsimile of the long oar-paddle that he himself had.
"Welcome sailor, upon the river Styx." | 2022-11-26T08:18:43 | 2022-11-26T07:37:26 | 500 | 70 |
[WP] start your story with a sentence that is upbeat and happy. Then end it with that same sentence but this time is dark and chilling. | Her eyes are beautiful.
When I first saw her, walking through the school corridors, I knew that she was the one. I couldn't take my eyes off her. It didn't take me long to figure out her class timetable. I started to watch her from afar, making sure that she wouldn't notice me watching her. In fact, I had to make sure nobody saw me. People... complicate things. People talk. I couldn't be having that. Nobody is going to stop me. It's been a few months now, and I'm reasonably certain I know all that I need to know. I've been following her home the past couple of weeks, so I know her address and I know her parent's schedule. I know when she will be alone. I know the best time to make my move. I was waiting outside of her sociology class, my mind wandering as I consider how I'm going to do it. I didn't want it to be long and drawn out, that would just cause unnecessary pain for everybody. It needs to be done quickly. As I was weighing my options, I realised that she had seen me. Her eyes lit up, as she walked over to me. I panicked, trying to get away, but it was too late.
"Hey! I'm Lucy. I don't think we've been introduced properly."
"Uh..." I stammered, feeling the heat in my cheeks, the sweat dripping from my forehead. "I'm Peter. How are...?"
"Of course I know who you are, silly! I was wondering, would you like to come over my place tonight for a meal? I've been wanting to get to know you for a while."
It was Friday night. Date night for her parents. I almost started laughing, as I realised the perfect opportunity that had landed in my lap.
"That sounds wonderful, I'll see you tonight!" I said as I turned to walk away.
"Hold on, you don't even know my address yet!"
I laughed. "Of course, how silly of me! What's your address?"
...........
Tonight's the night. I was getting everything ready, preparing my kit. I had planned every detail of this night meticulously. I wasn't expecting this opportunity to arise tonight, so things were slightly rushed, but I was ready. I arrived at Lucy's door at 8pm. She answered quickly, her red dress complementing her beautiful figure. It took my breath away. She took me to the dining table, said that dinner would be ready soon. We sat and drank some red wine, laughing and getting to know each other. Things were going well. It was almost time. I started to feel a bit drowsy, I think the wine was getting to me. Idiot, why did I drink this so quickly? I needed to stay awake to enjoy the moment... to enjoy the look on her face when she realises. She left to go and check on the food and I realised now was my chance. I reached my hand into my back pocket, swearing as I pierced my hand. I knew I should've had something covering it. I pulled it out of my pocket as she walked in, her eyes widening as she saw the rose I had brought for her.
"Lucy, I wanted you to know that I really like you, and I... I..."
I began to stutter, finding it difficult to speak. My head became cloudy and my eyes started to close involuntarily.
"I..."
Lucy walked closer to me, as she pulled out something from her pocket. Had she brought me some flowers too?
I couldn't think straight, my eyelids were becoming so heavy.
As she approached, I realised she didn't have flowers at all.
"Are you okay?" she giggled, "are you feeling a little bit drowsy?"
Her face was now inches from mine and I could feel something sharp pressing against my neck.
"Don't worry, I'll look after you."
My world began to fade into darkness, I could hear manic laughter. The last thing I saw before everything faded to nothingness were her eyes, staring intently into my own.
Her eyes are beautiful. | the sea is beautiful.
thats the only thing i could think about this whole trip. three weeks of travelling on the shoreline spending each day in a different fishing town. my friends stayed close to shore, always, but i found a new fisherman or boat lender to take me into the deep sea even if just to see the sun sinking beneath the waves.
i couldn't stop thinking about it. the crimson red wavesspreading like fire over the horison with white foam like a snowy crust over each wave.
i had to keep going day after day town after town fisherman after fisherman. all too see the buitifull crimson waves.
thats why when we got to innsmouth i ignored my friends warning about the strange inhabitents of this half empty town. they were men, after all. and that day just before sundown i set sail with a local over the devil's reef.
twighlight blazed around the little boat and over the sea whe i heard the man calling: "itry'et! ia floe rly'e battar esgriv'a!"
i didnt care at first. then claws emerged from the deep cutting into my arms and pulled me down under.
i could tell you abou the horrid fish-people thadid horrendous things to me.
but i won't.
beacuse, at least at the start, the only thing that mattered to me was the sight of the crimson waves above me. blazing with my blood.
the sea is beautiful.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
hey there its me ya boy h.p lovecraft back at it with the fish people. | 2019-09-07T06:54:50 | 2019-09-07T05:38:28 | 76 | 23 |
[WP] You are reincarnated as a voice within a schizophrenic's head. | When I woke up I was in someone else's head. It took me a while to realize. At first I thought it was a long and vivid dream. I was following a little boy around as he lived his life. I could see him wake up in the morning and go to eat his breakfast. I could see him being driven to school and playing football in the breaks. I was content to watch, and to wait for me to wake up. I had often experienced these long dreams before the addiction, and I kind of liked them actually. That I was experiencing them now had to mean that I was getting better.
But the dream did not stop. Day after day I could see the boy, whose name was Peter as I discovered quickly, live his life. Can dreams really last this long, I wondered again and again. After about a month I decided they couldn't. By now I really felt like I knew Peter. I was with him the whole time, observing, and was used to all his quirks. The way he would wash his hands before going to bed. How he loved to lie under the covers and read long after his mother had told him to go to bed. Which girls at school he followed with his gaze.
So one night I decided to speak up. Something was up with Peter. He was trying to pretend nothing was amiss, but I could feel he felt something was wrong. During dinner, he talked a lot less than he usually did, and his eyes seemed to zone out while watching TV. In the evening he lay awake not reading, but simply focusing on the ceiling.
"Is something amiss, Peter?", I asked cautiously. He twitched immediately. "I'm sorry Peter, I didn't mean to disturb you.", I continued. "Who are you?", he asked. The funny thing is, I didn't really remember who I had been before I had woken up in Peters head. I simply didn't know who I was. "What matters is that I am with you now", I answered. Suddenly the door was yanked open. Peters mother was standing there in her night gown, looking alarmed. "I heard you talking. Is someone in here with you?", she asked, frowning. "No, I don't think so... I was just...", Peter stammered. His mother started to smile. "Talking in you sleep? Ah, I see. Good night then, Peter."
"You're not real!", Peter whispered angrily. "I am just as real as you, Peter", I responded. "Well, I don't want to talk to you ever again!", Peter said, upset. "So be it", I responded and shut up. I started observing again, and did so for a long time. Some years passed. Peter was growing up quickly. Mostly I was content just watching his life unravel. Sometimes, however, I would tell him things he missed. Once, for example, Peter did not know the answer for an exam question. I whispered it quietly. He nodded and wrote the answer. Once I encouraged Peter to go talk to a beautiful girl. He would never have had the courage to do it normally, but I was there for him.
After a while, Peter started answering me, asking me for clarifications or just thanking me. It felt like we were closer than ever. But all good things must come to an end, and one day Peter slipped up. He was being berated by a teacher for being late again, and I comforted him. Peter responded, thanking me for the support. Suddenly the class room was deadly quiet. Everyone was looking at Peter. "Who were you talking to just there?", the teacher asked suspiciously. Peter shrugged. "No one." The teacher looked confused. "I will talk to you after class", she said.
During the whole class, I was just as nervous as Peter. He tapped his foot and failed to focus, I was talking about what this meant. Did they think my Peter was mentally ill? I could not bear the thought of him being put away. I wanted to protect Peter. So I convinced him to bolt after class. And he did. Just as we were walking out the door, however, the teacher turned around and locked his eyes on Peter. She began to follow him. "Run, Peter!", I shouted. Peter took the nearest staircase up, but the teacher was close behind. "Peter, they are going to put you away for ever!", I exclaimed. I could feel Peter panicking, his breathing was quicker and quicker. "You need to escape, Peter!", I pressed on. But he was to tired. We had reached the roof of the school, a place usually empty. I could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of the teacher, and others. There were hundreds of them. "Don't do it, Peter!", they were shouting.
Peter, meanwhile, stumbled towards the edge of the roof. It dawned on me what he was going to do. "No, stop, Peter! This was not what I meant!". But Peter just sighed. "I do not want to be put away", he cried. He closed his eyes. All turned black. And he never opened them again.
EDIT: Fixed spelling mistakes. Also, please note Peter does not have Schizophrenia but an actual person stuck in his head. :) | "Hello?" The darkness is strange and all around me and I am filled with the most terrifying feeling of emptiness. "Hello, is anyone here?" My voice seems to echo.
At last something comes back to me, faintly at first but growing. I can't quite make it out, but as it gets louder (closer?) I can finally hear it. "Go away!"
It sounds like a child and I wonder if I have scared them. "Please, I'm just lost and a little scared myself. I don't know where I am or why I am here."
There is a long pause and finally the child's voice is back. This time loud enough that it could be beside me, but I can't see myself, or anything else. "Please go away. You're in my head and mummy says I can't get better if I speak to you."
I try to work out what the voice, a girl, means. I'm in her head? "Look, I just got here and I don't mean any harm. If I knew how to leave I would, but I don't."
The second voice startles me with it's deep bass. "We're *all* stuck in here brother."
Another voice cuts across this one and I immediately label it 'junky' voice, as it sounds desperate and gibbers slightly as it talks. "Look man, we, we, we just have to get along and hope that it all works out okay? Don't push it man, or things get done and we get the meds again."
There is a rush of voices, dozens maybe hundreds, all shouting about the meds. I try to shout too but my voice is lost and it goes on and on. Time doesn't mean much here but it seems to last for hours before eventually it just, somehow *fades*.
Another voice now, but this one is different, somehow more substantial. It's counting, not conversing but planning something, a meeting perhaps. I decide to try again. "Hello? Look I don;t mean to interrupt but I don't know where I am."
The voice stops and when it finally speaks it's angry. A young furious man, yelling at me in the dark. "Go away, you're not wanted. I can't take my Seroquel until tonight, but I *need* to be clear. Please just go away."
He sounds desperate and I feel sorry for him. I stop talking and listen to him as he plans out the meeting. I don't want to interrupt him, but in the distance I can now hear the voices again, just as muddled as before and incredibly faint, but they're getting louder. | 2015-03-23T06:37:44 | 2015-03-23T05:16:21 | 1,040 | 112 |
[WP] You wake up in a room with someone else, no doors, just a a paper taped on the wall that says "One of you is the A.I." | "What's the difference?"
I held the paper tightly in my hands. It read, *One of you is the A.I.* I looked at the man sitting across from me, watching me intently.
"W-what are you talking about?" I asked nervously.
"What's the difference between me," he pointed at himself then at me, "and you?"
I frowned.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm human and your an A.I."
"Really?" he said, "How do you know? How are you so certain? Have you checked if you've got a brain in that skull of yours?" he asked. "Cause I haven't," he added.
I laughed. "I have a family, a husband and kids at home. A twin sister that I have known all my life and she's finally got her first kid on the way," I said and felt conflicting feelings well up in me. I was happy for my twin sister but at the same time I felt a heartbreaking sadness knowing that she was going to be a single mom.
It was my turn to question him. "What about you?" I asked.
"I've got a family too just like you," he said quietly, then paused. For a moment it looked as if he was in pain. "But how do you know they're real, that your family actually exist outside this room? How do you know your memories weren't fabricated?"
I frowned, and thought for a moment.
"It's obvious-" I stopped. I realized that I was simply falling for his ploy. "I'm not playing this game with you. At this rate we'll never get anywhere."
"What game are we talking about here?" he asked as he gestured to the room. "Are we talking about this room or the world outside it?"
"W-what?" I stammered. This man was insane.
"Think about it. How do you know that we aren't just in some fictional universe?" he gestured around him, then to himself, then to me. "What if we don't exist?"
I twitched involuntarily. "You're obviously not human..."
"Hmm, you see, I don't disagree with you..." he scratched his graying beard. "I don't think I'm human either, I think human is overrated. I think I'd rather be an A.I. to be honest."
My eyes went wide. "W-why?" I didn't understand. "Why would you want to be an A.I.?"
"Well that's obvious," he said and stared directly into my eyes. "Think about our conversation so far. What's the difference between me and you? Have you figured it out?"
"Yes," I stood up from my seat and approached the man. "I'm so sorry, but I don't want to die."
I held his frail neck in my hands.
The man only smiled. "No, it's not your fault. It is only human to want to live."
I squeezed until his body went limp. I glanced at my bloodied hands.
The answer? There was none.
----------
/r/em_pathy
| I'm still groggy as I read the paper and slowly turn around to face my roommate. Surely I can't be an AI, can I?. I see his face and the trepidation melts to the floor around my feet replaced with a schoolgirl giddiness. "Holy shit, Allen Iverson! Can I have your autograph?"
"No." came the Answer's reply. I wish I were a robot. | 2018-02-22T17:08:17 | 2018-02-22T15:09:55 | 106 | 34 |
[WP] You wake one morning and find your reflection in the mirror is gone. A few seconds later it rushes in mouthing the words "Sorry! Sorry I'm late. Let's get started. You ready?" | And as suddenly as it happened, my reflection synced with my own movements again.
I stood there a moment, motionless, staring at my own expression of disbelief. *What the fuck just happened?* I thought. I continued to stare a moment, then:
"I saw that, you know. You can't just pretend that didn't just happen."
Still in sync. I continued to stare him down as I thought of my next quip.
"I mean, all the crap happening in my life and now *my reflection* of all people decides to get lazy? Jeez, I can't rely on anyone anymore!"
"Maybe you should think about what *I've* had to go through so far." Jackpot. "I'm as freaked out as you are. This is the first time *my* reflection has beaten me to the mirror."
"Huh. I didn't think of that." I paused. "Wait, if we're just mirror versions of each other, we should have the same personality, yeah?"
"Maybe. What's your favorite color?"
"Red."
"Mine too. How about soda?"
"Root beer." My reflection nodded. "Wow."
We continued back and forth, slowly confirming that we were in fact essentially the same people. Finally, I caught something different.
"...Yeah, and I bet you went to Carlson High School, just like I did."
"Yeah, I -- Wait, Carlson?"
"Yeah. That's what the city's called. The school's only a mile from here." Realization crept onto his face. "Your city isn't called Carlson?"
"No."
"Then there *are* differences, just not with us." He paused. "*Very* interesting."
"Quite," I concurred. "I wonder -- what's in the news lately?"
"Just a few days ago, there was a failed terrorist attack. Couple guys were spotted in Paris carrying sketchy equipment and were almost arrested. They shot themselves before authorities could bring them in. They were successful in several other places, though."
"Incredible. The attacks weren't stopped here. Looks like no one saw it coming."
"Ouch. But never mind any of that! There are differences after all, just not with us specifically."
"Wow..." I trailed off. I could only imagine the possibilities. A new, slightly different world lay beyond this mirror -- a concept I had briefly thought about as a boy. It looked like my 5-year-old self was right after all. But the very concept of a new world...
My reflection interrupted my thoughts. "You don't suppose there's a way for us to travel between our...'mirror dimensions', do you?"
Nodding, I recalled the thoughts of my young self. "I have a feeling that all we have to do is walk through this mirror."
"Okay, then let's do it! I can't wait to see your world!"
We moved at the same time. I put my hands through the mirror, and...oh.
I was touching his hands.
We each backed off. "How about we decide who's going where before we get hasty?" I suggested.
"We'll take turns showing off each other's worlds. I'll go first."
*Perfect*, I thought. "Alright then. Give me some room."
My reflection anxiously stepped backward. I took one last look at the black frame of the mirror and braced myself.
I took a step towards the mirror, positioning myself directly in front of it. *What are you waiting for?* I thought, and walked through it.
-----
This was my first response to a prompt! I'd love some feedback and will write more if people are interested. | I blinked. Just as quickly as it had happened, the reflection snapped back into place. I shook my head gently, trying to clear the morning's fogginess. I'd never been a morning person. Years of reliance on caffeine to start the day had done nothing to aid my early morning perception. I snorted, my initial shock giving way to slight embarrassment.
Then I froze. I stared unblinking, at the corner of the mirror. I hardly dared to breathe. After what seemed an eternity, I turned slowly from the reflection. Nothing in the room behind me was extraordinary, and yet, as I turned back in mounting horror, there it remained in the reflection.
There, sitting on the bookshelf of my childhood books, it stood tauntingly. My unblinking eyes watered as I read the title again, and again, until the letters swam before my vision.
"New Neighbors", it read. And just above, in ornate writing, stamped firmly and indisputably, "The Berenstein Bears". | 2015-11-16T11:07:05 | 2015-11-16T09:13:58 | 86 | 25 |
[WP] Music is a dangerous weapon, if not careful entire species can fall to madness upon discovering it. It has been theorised that any race with more than a thousand songs could wipe out all intelligent life, which is why Humanity is so feared in the galaxy despite no human really ever knowing why | Oh god dammit, a space orcs one and I'm six hours late!? Why do I only ever see these at the dead of night dammit?
Steve was the last one.
The last of his platoon on the desolate moon whose name he couldn't pronounce, they were only one of the many sentries that got hit that night, the Grol'Naaks attacked in droves, sending in horde after horde of their suicidal kin.
By all accounts, he should've been crying, bawling, mourning, begging the gods for forgiveness, all that jazz, but no.
Steve lost his tears long ago when he saw his sister torn apart right in front of him.
He lost faith the moment he first saw the horrifyingly disgusting visage of the Grol'Naaks.
All he had left was the anger and angst of living in fear for most of his life.
That, and he still had his salamander rifle on him.
The model that fired only once before needing to rest for half a second before it can fire again, just like the rifles of old that shot out iron and fire.
But his only discharged a small ball of fire. A concentrated, armor piercing, organ melting, ball of molten fire that far surpassed the automatic model's ammo in sheer firepower alone.
"Might as well go out in style then, eh girl?" Steve whispered to his rifle.
It did not respond.
"I really should've sprung for that companion AI." He said with a chuckled.
And then the barricade keeping the Grol'Naaks away from him exploded.
Steve sighed.
And quick as lightning, he sprang up, bringing his salamander rifle up, and with practiced ease, blew up the head of the leading skinless bastard, along with the five Grol'Naaks behind him.
"And another one bites the dust." He said, ducking back down to take cover from the retaliatory hail of gunfire.
He counted the shots in his head, comparing it to the rhythm he learned through experience in his heart.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Predictable, but it was hard as hell to time when literally everything around you was exploding.
Steve focused again.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
**BANG!**
"And another one." Steve said.
But he could already feel his cover being whittled away by the gunfire.
Nothing but numbers and brute force, absolutely no finesse. Those were the Grol'Naaks only tactics, but they outnumbered humans a thousand to one, they had the numbers to spare.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
Ba bum, bum, bum, bum.
BabumBumBumBumBabum.
**BANG!**
"Great, one more round of this and I'm going to be shredded." Steve muttered, looking at the chunks of his cover that surrounded him.
"Just wish I could've at least listened to the classics while I go out." He said with a sigh.
And so, he listened to the rhythm one more time...
And then it hit him.
He *knew* this rhythm.
"Shit... Is this why I was so good at staying alive?" Steve chuckled, if anything, at least he would die with a grin on his face, and one of his favorite songs in his heart.
Tapping his foor to the beat, Steve got up for what he knew was going to be the last time.
And he sang.
His favorite song, in his horrible off key voice.
With his gun going off in rhythm to the beats.
"And another one gone!"
"And another one gone!"
"Another one bites the dust!"
Steve was grinning like a maniac now, no more care in the world, only his gun, and his off-key song.
It wasn't until he found his voice hoarse hours later, that he realized he was still alive.
Surrounded by the corpses of the Grol'Naaks.
Some had the telltale mark of being shot in the face with concentrated fire, but most.... Most just look like their heads imploded.
"... Either my voice is worse than I thought, or I'm about to get a promotion." His grin was back, just as manic as ever.
Needless to say, Steve was going to go down in history, with his brim pulled way down low. | In a small house in the countryside, with the paint peeling off the shutters, a man called John lived alone, having been divorced for quite some time now. John was retired now, and was someone you might not really pay attention to if you saw him on the street. He wore glasses and had a slight hunch. His favourite black turtleneck was always tucked in and his hair combed.
John had a very simple routine that he followed everyday. He got up at the same time everyday, washed his clothes at the same time in the morning, and would read the newspaper around 11am. He left home precisely once a day, around 2pm, and this was to visit a tea shop in the city.
His car, an older Toyota, did not go very fast, but was reliable and good, and that was good enough for John.
The tea shop was called "Lindy's", because the owner was a former 1950s Lindy Lop dance champion and had used his lifetime savings to setup the restaurant. The decor hadn't chnaged much since the 50s either.
Just after 2pm, there was usually a bit of live acoustic guitar music, and John liked to have his tea in the corner and listen in. The place was getting a bit of a reputation and it was nearly full today, but the elderly waitress, Lisa, had saved him his usual spot in the corner.
As he sat down in the corner, he could see the band setting up on the stage. A two-piece group this time, with a guitarist, and, for the moment, an empty miced-up chair next to him where the singer would presumably sit.
John picked up the newspaper, and started to read the headlines, only to be interrupted a few minutes later by a small "ahem", and then another, louder "AHEM. Excuse me?", and then another, very, very, quiet whisper. "Excuse me, Mr. Lennon?"
He put down the newspaper. It was the guitarist who had come right up to him, with a very amiable smiling face. John vaguely remembered his name to have been Paul.
(to be continued. galactic missions to ensue). | 2019-09-28T09:19:53 | 2019-09-28T08:13:14 | 59 | 24 |
[WP] This morning you found a note in your own handwriting, glued on the bathroom mirror and dated nine months in the future. “You suffer short-term memory loss and you are sueing the surgeon who caused this by operating on the wrong side of your brain; check your diary under the bed .” | Consciousness edged slowly into my mind as the sun peeked through the blinds, insistent that it was time to be awake. I laid in bed a while, torn between rolling over for a little longer, and my body's aching reminder that the bathroom is required. It's difficult to tell how long passed before I gave in, sliding out of bed in a groggy, zombified slouch as I made my way to relieve myself. Bleary eyed, and feeling quite relieved, I turned to the sink to wash my hands and force myself to start the day.
But where my face should be was a note. Paper from a notebook, ripped along one edge glued to the mirror.
*Glued!* The torn edge is bad enough, but why couldn't it be taped? Upset by this defacing of my mirror, my mind flared to alertness, determined to understand the cause for such blasphemy.
"You suffer from short-term memory loss and are sueing the surgeon who cause this by operating on the wrong side of your brain; check the diary under the bed."
I stared at the note as the gears in my mind creaked to life, rusty from a long nights sleep.
That... Didn't make sense. Short-term memory loss? Impossible. I had exceptional memory. I could name every meal I'd eaten for days. I'd rarely used a calendar because I always knew the date off the top of my head, and remembered events planned months ago. I even could *remember the names of people I just met*.
My eye flicked to the top of the diagonally scrawled writing. "20210502"
May 2, 2021. Odd, 9 months from now? *Someone must've gone to pretty immense lengths to mess with me. I mean, come on, a note from future me?*
But curiosity at the odd note, particularly at the curious cross between print and cursive I recognized as my own writing, got the best of me. I made my way back to the bedroom, and sure enough, much to my surprise, tucked into the bars of the bed was a diary.
~~July 6, 2020~~
September 6, 2020
*I've only just realized what's happening, so I'll document it before I forget again. I'm forgetting something. It keeps happening. It's super important, tip of my tongue I can* feel *it. Maybe if I keep this diary I'll remember this time...*
~~July 13, 2020~~
October 14, 2020
*Something is very wrong. I only just remembered this diary. It's getting worse. I still can't quite put my finger on what I forgot. But I remember forgetting. Oh God. I remember forgetting so much. Days. Weeks. Months. Its like nothing happened, but then I remember and it's like... I've lost a part of me.*
~~July 19, 2020~~
November 21, 2020
*No time. There was a surgery. Something wrong with my brain. I'd had seizures, or something. Easy procedure they said. Just have to remove the intrusion.*
(The handwriting gets sloppy here...)
*Remember, Doctor Schwartz. July 1st.*
~~July 24, 2020~~
December 27, 2020
(There are wet smears on the page, tears maybe?)
*Oh God. I... I had a wife. Please... I just want... To remember...*
~~July 28, 2020~~
February 1, 2021
(The writing is rushed, sloppy and barely legible)
*Every time I'm a bit more lucid. The dates are wrong. The date I* know *is right, and the date my phone says when I wake up, they're different by months.*
*It's malpractice. He operated on the wrong side. The tumor is* still in there. *I don't know what he removed but it's affecting my memory, who I am even. The headaches are getting worse every day. I need evidence to sue him, then we can pay for another surgery.*
(Headaches? I never got headaches.)
~~July 31, 2020~~
March 5, 2021
(The writing in this one almost doesnt look like mine. Extremely neat cursive, definitely my twist to it, but... Precise."
*I amended the dates, as close as I can gather. I don't have time to list all the memories you will lose over the next few months. Time is short, this may be the last entry in this diary.*
*Dr. Dominic Schwartz on July 1, 2020 operated on me to remove a tumor from my brain. The operation failed due to malpractice. However during recovery I showed no symptoms of brain damage or injury and reported all clear of any symptoms. The files are in the safe, under the car title in an envelope. Contact this number to speak to an attorney: xxx-xxx-xxxx*
(something scratched out the number...)
*Do not trust what you feel. Something is incredibly wrong.*
August 2, 2020
*Check your phone.*
I stopped reading, re-reading some parts trying to make sense of the dates, and recall any evidence of any of this. It had to be a joke, right? But that was my handwriting, wasn't it?
I had to be stupid to believe any of this, but again curiosity demanded I check my phone. Sure enough I had a text.
"Your move, got you!"
~John
I threw my phone in the bed.
*You can't be serious, I fell for one of John's pranks?*
Frustrated at my own gullibility I trudged to the kitchen to make myself breakfast, but stopped in the hallway, catching the note on the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Something felt odd.
I returned to the bathroom and inspected the note more carefully, annoyed that I'd have to clean the mirror off. On the left edge of the paper, half torn off something was written in the margin
"-ck the
-ain"
After several guesses, and a paranoid mind begging that I figure it out in case John actually messed with something important, I "checked the drain". Some mistakes and a bit of water later, I had the u-pipe off the sink drain, berating myself for doing any of this.
But with a soft clink something tumbled out of the pipe, followed by an onset pounding in my skull; a headache like I'd never had before. It was a gold ring, with a name inscribed on the inner side, too small to fit my finger. | “I was out with my daughters the other day, we were getting some ice-cream, yea that’s it, ice-cream. Lilith loved cookie and cream ice cream. I wanted to get her some... yea I remember, I wanted to get her some because I accidentally threw Mr. Teddy in the trash because she wrapped him up with some used wrappers in one of her games. I took my other daughter, what was her name again? How can I forget? Damn my head hurts” is what Mr Jekelson said to himself after every morning, trying to remember; always on the verge of remembering how that metal spike entered his head when he was walking down near the construction area, thought entered his head is putting it too vividly, it merely struck his skull and grazed a part of his brain. Thus removing his filter and speaking out his thoughts always.
He moaned for a bit, wondering why does it seem like his body is betraying him much like how his mind is. Though he managed to get up, pulling, and if you were to look at how he walks you would very much describe it the same way, his slender figure across his bed room to his bathroom, where there, was a shattered mirror. He would not know this but a few days ago he saw himself in the mirror. Might it have been madness in a sheer realization or shock we wouldn’t know though him breaking the mirror made it so that he never would have figured out what tormented him on that day.
You see, my dear reader, is by the time the realization struck him it also became clear to your. On the mirror there was a sticky note simply stating that he had short term memory loss because of a mistake that the surgeon who operated on your brain has made. There is a dairy under your bed.”
He searched under the bed and found nothing. But his scrawny arms with strange grey hairs coming out of it surprised him. He felt trapped in a skin that wasn’t his, and house he had no business being in. He went through out the house seeing it a mess. Like a whirlwind passed that only destroyed every mirror and calendar that was in his spacious apartment. Pages and notes from what he can only assume is his book have been torn beyond recognition and laying every where in his apartment. He looked outside his window but it was the regular river flow of a busy human ecosystem.
He felt mystified more than defeated but the fact that there is no way to figure out why the journal is ripped up is a looming pressure on his shoulders that force them to sink. My dear reader, I am not usually inclined to start a story at the end but in this case I thought it fitting. You see the reason he had fits of rage is because he realized he was stuck destined to relive the trail because in the last page of the journal it simply said: “wife said we won the case.”
Yet he had no perception of time. If I were to tell you how many years ago was the case would you believe me? Well I guess I have nothing to gain from lying. He won the case twenty years and one hundred and seven days ago. The true reason he had a fit or rage is that he recognized he was trapped in a purgatory forced to realize that he skipped his daughters’ entire lives without being there for them. For they must hate him now!
It’s a bit grim yes but there are two candles emitting the lights of hope and humane comfort. One: his daughters don’t hate him, in fact they love him as he never ever wronged them and his condition made it so that he was kinder as he realized that all the actions he was doing was truly only for his daughters. And the other candle is that his daughters will come soon as they usually do, every month on the second Saturday. Once they see the state he is living in they will take him to live with one of them in and help him escape his loop of torture. Or may-haps he might snap or have a heart attack after seeing his little angels transform into fully grown people with their own families. Who knows, certainly not me.
I guess I didn’t stick 100% to the thing, sorry op. Loved the idea though | 2020-08-03T00:30:55 | 2020-08-03T00:19:23 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] You're offered the chance to stop the death of your Mother's first true love, and avoid ever getting with your abusive Father. But, of course, the consequences for this are you not existing.
. | At the funeral, a little girl I'd never seen before grabbed my hand in the line and said, "How come you ain't cryin'?"
No one else looked or flinched or did anything, so I suppose they couldn't hear. I wanted - very much - to be angry at the implication. To squeeze her little hand harder than any adult should. But she wasn't wrong, and she was curious. I suppose I was, too.
"I guess," I said, slowly, collecting my thoughts carefully, "I guess I'm just glad she's at peace right now."
The line seemed to have stalled. It wasn't as though the others were frozen, or that time had stopped, but simply that everyone in that moment was utterly, intensely focused on the conversation in front of them. And so the little girl lingered.
"How'd you figure?" she asked.
"She...she was in a lot of pain." It hurt to say it. I suddenly realized that that's where all my sadness had been hidden away. In memories. In regrets. "She's not in pain anymore."
"What kin'a pain?"
I looked around and felt the stillness of the moment. It was as if time had struck a barrier. Nothing would really happen until that barrier had been breached.
"My father...is not a good person." How much should you say to a little girl? I didn't have any practice. "He hurt her. Badly. Often."
"He kill 'er?" The little girl's face was twitched to the side, like an confused puppy.
"She killed herself. To get away." I shouldn't have said any of it. I only realized that as the last word slipped out. "I'm sorry. That's...you shouldn't hear stuff like that. Who's your mom?"
She shook her head. "Nobody you know. How come you didn't save her?"
I felt that anger flash again. Rise up, like vomit in my throat. And I wondered - as I always did - if this is how it happened with Dad?
"I didn't...I don't know." I didn't. There was no good reason. No excuse. I told myself, over and over, that what I saw wasn't happening. That reality wasn't real. And my mother and my father supported that lie. They laid the foundation.
*It's nothing, baby. It's fine.*
*Just a little accident, baby. It's fine.*
*She's just clumsy, slugger. Always makin' a mess of her face like that. But we still love her, don't we?*
Maybe I could forgive myself for the first 15 or so years, but eventually I became an adult and I ran out of ignorance to swaddle myself in.
*It's fine, baby. It's fine.*
"I didn't know what to do," I said to the little girl.
"D'you know she use'ta have a boyfriend named Jeff?" said the little girl. "Nice guy. Loved her a lot."
I shook my head. Part of me started to realize I wasn't talking to a little girl. But if not that, then what? I wasn't prepared to really ask myself then.
"She coulda married him. Lived with him. Forever and ever. Would that have been better you think?"
"Married Jeff?" I said. "Well, I mean...if he was nice to her..."
"Real nice," said the little girl. "Treated her like an angel. Course, you wouldn't be if that happened, right?"
"Yeah. I guess." *Jeff.* The name was familiar. I think maybe I'd heard my mother talk about him once or twice. Maybe seen his name on Facebook. Somewhere. "Why? Why are you...?"
"D'you think it'd be better if your mom married Jeff and you didn't exist?"
I didn't think. The answer seemed obvious. "Yes. Definitely. If she'd be happy. If she'd be alive."
"Hmmm," said the little girl, very thoughtfully. "But what about Jeff's daughter?"
"Jeff's...*daughter*?"
The little girl nodded. "She can't be if Jeff ends up with your mom, can she? You wouldn't be and she wouldn't be."
"I..." I felt increasingly disconnected from that moment and that place. It felt like I was taking a test in a subject I'd never studied before.
"And what about Maryann?"
"Who's Maryann?" I asked.
"Your father's other wife. The one he married because he never met your mom. What happens to her? She's got three kids right now. Ben, Julie, and Abby. They wouldn't be. Something else would. And Maryann'n be dead. Like your mom. What about all that?"
"I don't understand." I didn't. I didn't at all.
The little girl poked me gently in the sternum. "And what about your kids?"
Now I shook my head. "I don't have..."
She sighed, cutting me off with a hand. "You won't ever feel okay about what happened to your mom. About what he did and about what you *didn't* do. But that's done. Cry about it if you want. Hate yourself a little if it helps. But when that's all wrung out, you'll still be here. He'll be here. Jeff'll be here. Jeff's daughter'll be here and your future'll be here. I'm sorry for your loss."
And just like that, the barrier broke. The world was movement and sound once more. The little girl disappeared into the sea of subdued black. Cousin Ross was patting my shoulder and saying words. The funeral parlor smelled of lilac and disinfectant.
And I was still there. | "Look at them," says the seer, and I open my eyes.
Mother's hair shines in the moonlight; it ripples like silk as she laughs. Her toes look pale next to the young man's. Together they draw ripples in the water. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, leans in and kisses her cheek.
I blush a little at the intimacy.
"I recognize this dock--Grandma's," I say, because I can't think of anything else.
"Tomorrow he will die."
My mother smiles, takes a swig of her beer. They're laughing at some unheard joke. The seer must sense my hesitation.
"She will be happy. Fulfilled."
"But I won't exist."
The seer stoops down, looks me in the eyes. He's a strange creature--sort of a blur. Look too hard at his face and I go bleary-eyed.
"She'll have three children, souls who otherwise wouldn't exist. They'll buy this lakehouse, bike to brunch on the weekends. She'll drink coffee in the mornings with a good book in her lap. Nobody would have ever laid a hand on her."
I shuffle on my feet.
"And your Father will cease to exist."
"He what?"
"The scales must be balanced. You say yes, and your Father dies tomorrow instead of him."
My father's face plays in my mind--his deep furrowed scowl and sharp cheeks. An anger roils inside, deep in my gut. It pricks at my throat like I've swallowed a bur. The seer's still stooped to my level. His head bobs in this slow rhythm that makes me wonder if he's the one behind the images.
I see Father's belt, uncoiling like a snake. Hear my mother's sobs dulled by a locked door. The acrid scent of cigarretes and burnt flesh fills my nose.
On the dock, Mother and the young man are waltzing awkwardly. Waves lap in the moonlight, rocking the dock. They stumble this way and that, and my mother sounds happy.
"Can I choose how Father dies?" I ask.
"I suppose."
The anger's reached my fingers. It tingles, so I clench them into a tight fist. I look the seer dead in the face and say:
"Make it painful."
The seer nods.
"Let it be done."
He stands, begins unraveling something from its thick cloak.
"Wait! one question...before. Why me? Why not anyone else?"
The seer pauses for a moment before saying slowly:
"I told you, my child. I see everything. Just as I have seen her past-"
He gestures towards mother.
"I have seen *your* future. You'd be surprised how fundamental cycles are to Life. Past, present, future. All concentric circles."
He's pulled out an ovular apparatus. As it rotates, my eyes become heavy.
"Sometimes," he says. "I feel obligated to make certain cycles stop."
---------------------
Hope you enjoyed. You can check out my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritersCryWhiskey/) for more weekly stories!
| 2017-06-13T06:43:49 | 2017-06-13T06:32:12 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Shirley enjoyed a pleasant stroll down 14th Avenue, as screams and death filled the air.
The piercing screech of metal-on-metal as cars collided into each other up and down the avenue.
People sobbing in pain, crying out for help. A panicked roar as a frightened mob surged the streets and trampled each other.
Shirley grinned at the sound of it all, as she gazed ahead. Nothing on the horizon but mountains and forest. No buildings or streets or people to be seen. And yet, the sounds. The unholy wail of the dying, the cacophony of destruction and chaos.
She nimbly dodged a fumbling pedestrian, who fell onto a fire hydrant. Shirley could not see them, but she could *feel* them. She had always been able to tell the presence of one marked by her ability.
Fade. That was what they called her. The Legendary League had deemed her a Support Tier hero. That was the ones with powers that may be of some niche use here and there, but who were otherwise unsuited for combat and disallowed from active field work. "For your own safety, Shirley". Feh.
The entire **city** was Shirley's "field work" now. Brash Blaze had been the first to go, when an unseen airliner crashed into him. The Furies had crashed through a window and fell to the street below. Hound, the blind ninja, was unaffected; that didn't stop Thundering Tom from failing to see that a bystander was in his thunderbolt's line-of-fire.
Shirley "felt" ahead. The mob of screaming people was denser further down the way. She paused, waiting for an opening to continue her stroll. Wails of sirens abruptly ending as vehicles crashed blindly into ambulances and firetrucks. Bodies falling with a sick wet thud on the ground as more and more people accidentally fell from broken skyscraper windows. All this chaos happening under the canvas of an open sky and mountains ahead. The sounds of their screams and cries and the crash of stampeding footfalls the only evidence that any of them existed.
Support Hero Fade. Gifter of invisibility. "What use was that?!", the League had said. "We need fighters, people who can handle serious threats. Not mischievous party tricks." Oh they found occasional use for her, rendering powerhouses invisible to surprise crimes in progress. But never good enough for the field. Never good enough for Shirley to save the day in her own right. Just spending her life enabling other people to get all the glory while they snubbed her power as a "party trick".
But with all the buildings and streets, every car and person, every stray dog and bench and lamppost invisible all at once... Madness. Chaos. A party trick, indeed. The entire city would destroy itself by the end of the week, while Shirley listened to every terrified scream.
Shirley set her gaze on the mountains ahead, enjoying a pleasant stroll under a bright afternoon sun, as she listened to the beautiful music. | I was powerless. I was disowned by my superhero parents. Everyday I suffered with the bullies giving me the worst wedgies in school.
The day the gift came really made me happy. I immediately folded people in half --- crushing their beloved spines. 70% of the people of the city are now dead.
"Who's useless now?" I said and continued giving wedgies without remorse. | 2017-06-12T09:57:10 | 2017-06-12T06:49:33 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] Every baby is taken away by the government and returned when they are ten years old. They never remember what happened in those years, but they always recognize their parents. You, however, remember everything. And those aren't your parents. | "Joey! We've missed you so much!", the strange woman said to me, but I've never her? "Me and your mother have are excited to start our lives as a family together!"... What? My mother? Family? These aren't my parents.
Exactly 10 years, 8 hours, 7 minutes and 50-51-52-53 seconds ago I was born. 9 years, 2 minutes and 20-21-22-23 seconds ago I was taken away. I was taken to a government compound, ripped away from my mother, her blue eyes and blonde hair, full cheeks and bright smile. I wouldn't see again until this day. Or so I thought.
I never saw my father but judging from my blue eyes my father probably had either blue or green. Unlikely I'd have a recessive eye color if they were brown, like this man's.. And this woman with her dark brown hair and eyes. I was obviously lied too during my time at the school. That's what they called it. School. You know that already, since you are me, but I have to run through it again. At school I wa-
"Is he okay? He seems a bit.. Off." the man whispered to my caregiver. I didn't realize 2 minutes and 43 seconds had just gone by. I was just sitting in silence, whoops. "Oh he's fine! He just keeps to himself a bit. No need to worry Mr. Stevenson." Mr. Stevenson? That's not my birth last name. They never called me by my last name in school, but that isn't it. " Oh that's quite alright! I'm just used to him being a noisy little infant! HA!"
This is a joke. It has to be. The school knows what my "mark" is. Oh right. The school. When I was taking the first 3 years I lived like any normal child. I was cared for and had play dates. Had toys and games. You know, the normal clichés. But once I turned 4, well all of us really, when we turned 4 we started schooling. Given pills, and had mental exercises. By age 6 the "mark" would start emerging. They thought I was a late bloomer. The other kids were strong, crazy strong. Some could run up to 30 mph. It just depended on your genes. But me, I was starting to be able to remember things. Everything. Exactly when it happened and how it happened.
By the age of 9 we had full control over ourselves, and for the following year we would hone our abilities. We were isolated from each other. Which is why you are here. You were my company, you were my peak ability. You were my rebound, bouncing ideas back helping me remember and helping me think. Once we turn 10 our abilities and memories are buried deep in our minds. Or they are suppose to be. They didn't tell us that before hand. However, it didn't work on me fully. I thought maybe they knew that, sure I lied, but I thought they were smart enough to know. My current situation proves otherwise.
"Alright well, Joey it's time for you to go with your parents now!" I heard as I was picked up by my new dad and put in the backseat of a blue van. "We know you don't remember us Joey, but we promise you're going to love your new life!" I still haven't said anything. Should I? I doubt it. I'll pretend like everything is just dandy in the morning. But I need to think about how I'm going to find my real parents. And what the last 10 years were really about. First, I need to remember those 6 hours of repression in their entirety.
Thankfully you'll be helping me, I'm only 10, but we can do anything.
EDIT: Had to add a bit of detail about the 6 hours. Seemed kind of out of context.
EDIT 2: I'm not fixing my typos or missing words. I typed this out on my phone and if I start proofing it I won't stop lol | They call me an anomaly. They say that I'm resistant, and that I need to be cured. But the fact is, I know that I'm fine. I guess I am an anomaly, though. I think that I was the first kid to forcibly cover his eyes during the "cartoons".
Maybe I should backtrack a bit. Back at the facility, the food was good. We were allowed to play all we wanted. And from 6-7 every night, we got to watch TV. Not low-quality, poorly animated crap, either. It was truly the finest, most amazing TV.
Every day there felt like the first. I don't say that because there was something new every day. I say that because we honestly thought that every day we spent there was our first day. I'm not positive that I was the first one to figure out why. One day at around 6:05, I was tired and fell asleep during the TV hour. A short while later, one of the doctors came and woke me up, reprimanding me for sleeping. I don't know how long I was asleep, but it was enough. I remembered everything.
I have scars on the backs of my forearms, now. That's from when I fashioned myself eyecovers for TV hour from my own skin. And that's why I know that these people aren't my parents. That's not to say that I don't recognize them. I do. They brainwashed me every night from 6-7. | 2016-09-26T18:30:43 | 2016-09-26T16:02:32 | 161 | 72 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | So you're in line getting tacos, right, like you do every Friday for lunch. It's a beautiful day, the sun is out, not a cloud in the sky. Seventy-five degrees, light breeze, absolute perfection. You order *dos de pollo* in your shitty Spanglish, hand the man three bucks through the dingy frosted window, and pause a moment to breath deep -- that salty, burnt, fatty goodness that smells like angels fuck -- that sulfurous, rotten-egg -- wait, what?
This shit again.
So then you're standing in a circle, alone, with your tool belt, your hard hat, your cell phone, a tamarind soda and absolutely no fucking tacos de pollo with onions and crema. Fuck. This. Shit. You resolve for the umpteenth time to be less good at your job.
*Remember your protocol.*
"Oh, gracious master," you bow, making obeisance before the thin-lipped, bearded asshole standing in front of the circle and the book and the candles looking inordinately pleased with himself. "How may I be of service, most gracious one?"
Sniff sniff. Putrid, acrid. Tallow, not beeswax. A fucking newbie, or worse, a goddamn cheapskate.
**"I am thy master now, demon!"**, thin-lipped shit booms. **"Thou art ensorcled by the hand of Dextrogast the Mighty! First of his name and first among the Leaden Ring!"** Newbie. Fine, whatever.
You remove your hard hat and straighten up. They like it when you remove the hat. Your arms, wide.
*Just roll with the punches, it will all be over soon.*
"I grovel before your magnificence, good Might. To what end my I pledge my service to the ends of the Leaden Ring?"
**"Thou hast been chosen, demon, for a task of great import, one uniquely suited to thy devilry! Thy master the Mighty hath scoured long the Books of Perdition and at last deciphered thy name! I bind thee to my will, Michael Thompson of Airmax Technologies, Rochester, New York, 14623!"**
When will they stop printing the Yellow Pages?
*Just say the words, do the thing. Faster. You might be able to break the bonds of a weaker sorcerer, sure. But if they can bring you in, they can send you back just as easy. Better that way. Let them do the driving. Pay it forward. Go home happy.*
"My will is yours, good Might, your wish my desire with utmost certainty. Pray tell the nature of your need."
Thin-lipped shitfuck draws himself up to his full height, chest swollen with pride. Wonder if you're his first. **"This Infernal Machine was created for my grandsire by thy demon-kin. Its power wavers. Fix it for me, or ne'er be free!"** He's pointing... at a... refrigerator?
Sigh.
*Even wizards make mistakes.*
"Oh, good Might," a deeper bow. "But in this I am unworthy to be your servant."
**"Does thou defy me, demon! My wroth is great and my punishment most -- most severe!"**
"It's just -- you see, good Might, I'm an air conditioner technician. That's a refrigerator. I mean, I can take a look at the wiring diagram and troubleshoot it if the problem is electrical, but if it's mechanical or the coolant you're going to need an actual fridge repair guy with the right stuff to recharge."
Thin-lips falters. **"So... so what am I to do with The Infernal Machine?"**
Sigh. The smoke from the animal-fat candles is burning your nose. "Let me see the pho-- the Book of Perdition you summoned me from." A suspicious look. "I swear upon my name not to leave or break the circle until I have shown you the name of a demon who can fix your Machine."
Gingerly he hands over the book. Flip flip flip. Refrigerator repair. "Do you have a pen?" Blank stare. "Um... charcoal stick? A quill?"
He seems to understand and hands over a well-sharpened number 2 pencil. You circle the name and number of a fridge tech.
"Great. Okay, just summon this guy next time your Infernal Machine needs work. And make sure to do the full summon between 8am and 4pm local time so that you can get all of his equipment in too. He might need some of the big stuff." You offer the book back to the sorcerer.
*Pay it forward.*
"Oh, and try not to summon between 12 and 1 pm local time, okay? I don't know what time zone you're in, and I know the cross-dimensional conversion is kind of hard, but no one likes being summoned on their lunch break."
He takes the book silently, glaring suspiciously.
"Also, uh... this line work is a little shoddy. See the edges of the pentagram bleeding a bit here? I really wouldn't have any difficulty at all breaking out of this summoning, even if I didn't know what I was doing. And a newbie demon getting out of the circle is the last thing you want. Try to keep the lines as clean as possible."
**"Thou came well-recommended, I see, for good reason, demon. You have the thanks of Dextrogast the Mighty."**
"And use beeswax next time, that smell is awful. Are you fully satisfied with your summoning, good Might?"
**"It shall suffice."**
A blink and a stink, and you're back in the real world, the rotten-eggs-stench lingering. Wonder how long that fridge had been out.
In the distance the taco truck rolls out of the parking lot, kicking up dust as it goes.
Typical wizard shit. | It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T08:58:50 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 1,714 | 10 |
[WP] You can’t kill a god, but you can erase it. Bound in enchanted chains weighed down by cold iron anchors, followers slaughtered and your temples burned, for all intents and purposes you don’t exist. You’re cast into the ocean, hopefully never to be heard from again. You are the drowned god. | Lungs inhale water until they break, then grow anew. The pain of drowning no longer affects me, for I have suffocated a million times yet I still not die. Though a lesser god might. Those Gods on the North Rim who brag of their resolve yet flee at the sight of their own blood, who send followers to fight in their stead, they would succumb to the depths of the ocean. Would give up and let the weight of the deep overtake them until they were ruined. I was no such god.
Though possibly I underestimated them, at least the resolve of their worshippers. They had sent me here, after all.The last thing I witnessed above the cresting waves was the burning of my place of worship. They held my head above as they killed my most loyal, then buried them next to me so I may watch the creatures of the sea feast on their corpses. In the moment it seemed the worst punishment imaginable, but I cannot say I didn't wish worse upon them now.
They would not be forgiven. If these chains would break, these anchors would rust, they would see how thin my patience had become.
With a mighty heave up my feet left the ground, carrying up the chains that weighed me in place, then all falling back down with a muted thud and cloud of sand. Today a bit more than yesterday, and tomorrow more than today. At this rate in a few thousand years I may crest up beyond the waves, and if the North Rimmed worshippers still idolized their false kings I would be sure they no longer had the breath to.
After a few more angered jumps I let myself fall back in the sand. Most of my days were spent here, trying to brush off barnacles and keep away hungry sea life. Trying to convince myself that I was still a god despite everything. Letting my throat fill with sea water again.
*But today would be different.*
I felt it earlier, in the morning I think. The tinges of my lost power returning to my fingertips. It started in my chest and spread faintly to my hands, the feeling of godhood that I once bathed in. Power that I hadn't tasted in what must have been hundreds of years. Somebody was praying for me, and though one beings prayers would not be enough, I knew more would follow. Loyal worshippers had a way of converting others; I just needed who praised me to keep that loyalty until I could prove my strength. With the last bit of my power left over from the years before I had been tossed to sea I called to them.
"Be faithful and you shall be rewarded. I will give you the world, just have patience." To my surprise the voice of a young girl replied, the sound was welcoming in my head.
"Hello?... I- we need help. Whoever you are can you help us?", her voice was frantic. It seemed the North Rim would have to wait for my one and only follower needed me more.
Just a little more and the sea would be but a memory. Just a little more and I would no longer be a drowned god. I jumped again, this time with a drop of godhood at my feet, and flew higher than ever before. | In my domain, none may challenge me. All look upon me and rejoice, for I am merciful and full of strength. The land brings forth a bountiful harvest, the seas and rivers offer up their fish freely, and all live in peace and joy. I watch them, my subjects, and know that I am good.
But the dreams always end. I have watched these worlds slip away into darkness thousands of times, the inhabitants crying out to me for help as they are consumed, and each time I weep for them. I am weak, I am bound, and all worlds I create are doomed to drown with me.
I am the drowned god. | 2022-07-09T12:31:40 | 2022-07-09T12:24:13 | 199 | 17 |
[WP] your entire class was summoned to another world and told after death you would be sent back to the exact time you were summoned. The average time everyone else was in the other world was only 3 years but you lasted a whole 90 years so you are unsure of what to do in you “normal” life now | The Long Lives. That's what they call us. The five who stayed the longest. We are... Different. All 40 people woke up where they were at the same time, but you can tell we didn't sleep, nay, we did not *live* there for the same duration of time. Ugh, English is so difficult.
The dozen or so early deaths adjusted the fastest, especially Louis, the guy who died on our first outing. He kept pestering everyone about their lives on the other side. The brat couldn't shut up about how he would have lived much longer had he not been unlucky and died early. Mourning for him seemed like a distant memory. He just feels so immature now.
Jessica was captured by bandits 3 months in. She hated all mentions of the other side, and tried to act as though it was all a bad dream. Most of the class understood her pain. They usually meet gruesome ends at the hands of the monsters that plagued the land. I buried many of them, at least those who got bodies left behind to bury.
Seeing some people with all of their limbs is odd. We have been through much together, through which many of us lost parts of our own body. I myself never suffered that fate, but many did. A lot of us were killed in the Final Battle, due to the existence of a mole among us. The traitor Zack had to be rescued by those who died before knowing and those who lived long enough to forgive. Ironically enough, he was a Long Life. He died on the 50th anniversary of the Final Battle begging the rest of us for forgiveness. I granted him that much.
Andy, my old friend, tried to buddy up to me as we used to. To him, the memory of us in our youths, horsing around must have been fresh. I barely remember his name, and asked for it in Daelkyan, a language he never learned. It was confusing, and slightly upsetting, for both of us.
Claire... It was hard seeing her. She was the first of the Long Lives to die at 50 years old. We were married, for a while. Until the Kingdom soldiers came for us. For me. She was old, but I wasn't, and the current King was not doing well with the people. The people started whispering about someone else being on the throne. One of the heroes who vanquished the Demonic Invasion. The King caught wind of the plot and did not like it. He sent for us. She died stalling for time to help me and our son to escape. We did, and our son spent his whole life getting revenge for her. It took us thirty years, but we overthrew the King. I spent the rest of our son's life assisting him, and I was there by his death bed. For a human life, that was plenty, but my life was so, so much longer than that, that even a human lifetime was too short.
I was not the only one of my classmates to be turned into a different race upon summoning, but I did end up being the only Elf. Quickly achieving physical maturity, but with a longevity second only to true immortals, I lived for much longer than any of those whobsit in this classroom. Much, much longer. I have lived beyond the human notion of living, and experienced wondrous and hard to describe things. And I found a deeper love than anything that could be experienced in a human's lifetime.
Her. Even now, it is hard to even think about her. The deal is simple. Live until a natural death claims me, and I will be returned to the other side in death. That's why I must hold out, no matter how painful it gets. That is all there is to it.
---
Part 1 of maybe 2 or 3, Idk yet. If you want more, follow me directly as I don't have a dedicated subreddit to post these as of yet, since I don't actually write that much. | It's not unusual to be squeamish at the site of a fresh corpse. Blood oozing from their wounds, eyes glazing over. Some lose their stomachs over it, and most try to forget about it.
But it's these moments I crave. Seeing death up close never fails to disappoint me.
I can't tell you how many lives I took. I was doing a service, you see. They wanted to come home after all. I was more than happy to give them their ticket back to this world.
There's surprise riddled on your face, but how could you be? Can I be blamed? I was thrust in a world where bloodshed is considered a ceremony. We didn't have laws to prohibit us from committing murder. It's encouraged. So why should you impose on me then?
You'll never understand. Not until you've experienced it first. You see that pencil over there? Do you know it can be used to kill me? Try it out. You might like it.
A chill ran up your spine. I know. But I can guarantee you an even stronger cathartic sensation if you simply were to do so.
Where are you going? Did I scare you? Surely you have a few more minutes for your little interview. Don't you want to learn more?
Oh well. I guess people are too frightened to revel in the glory of taking lives. | 2022-01-17T16:29:01 | 2022-01-17T15:24:35 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] To get in Heaven, you have to confront the person who you hurt the most. You were expecting an ex, your parents/relatives, or a friend. You didn't expect to see yourself. | “It’s going to be mom, no – dad.” I kept telling myself repeatedly. I fidgeted and tried not to immediately see who was walking towards me. The footsteps were deafening.
“Please let it be mom..” I pleaded lightly. But I knew who was coming. The person I had actually hurt the most.
To my surprise I found a younger man walking towards me. An adolescent, maybe 16 or 17. More attractive than me, wearing black jeans and a shirt I forgot I had. He smiled at me in a way that I never smile now. Naturally, and genuine. Ten years ago this was me.
For what was either 2 seconds or 5 minutes we stared at each other. How do I explain myself? I just wanted to tell him how sorry I was. What I had done to this kid. But before I could speak he started.
“This was a point in life where I could have branched off into a dozen different directions.” His demeanor was so casual. I was standing in silence, holding back tears.
He didn’t seem sad, or distraught. No, he wouldn’t have been those things. Not yet.
“Heh. You know, I was told in one of those alternate paths I could have been married, and working our dream job. How crazy is that?”
I don’t know how my face reacted, but he tried to make me feel better “..but then again I could have also overdosed at 21 had you continued being friends with Eric Meyer. So it isn’t so bad when you think about it” he smirked. I hadn’t heard that name in forever. Last I remembered, Eric and I had grown apart after high school for some reason.
“Why aren’t you upset at me? I’m so sorry. I-I wanted better for you.” I jumbled my words, and tried to say so much more but tears were streaming and my voice felt paralyzed.
“Hey… don’t cry. So you made some bad decisions? It isn’t --”
“I fucked up so much. Wasted so much time. Alienated people who love you. Did things I could never take back. You know, things have never been the same with mom and dad? This isn’t what I wanted for you, none of it.” we both stood in silence and his demeanor changed to serious.
He started softly, “I might be standing here. But I’m still a part of you. We did go through a lot. And I’m sorry too for how things turned out.” He stepped forward and hugged me and then whispered, “but now it’s time to make things better.”
I was confused. “What do you mean? What happens now? Aren’t I dead?”
“Well… *technically* no. Maybe half dead? You’re not conscious. But for whatever reason it's been decided it’s time for you to go back." He paused, then started more seriously. "You’ve lost sight on the things I wanted, old man. It’s time for you to finally take them.”
“Old man? I’m only 27!” I wasn’t sad or crying anymore. I understood now. Why I was here. This wasn’t the end. Only the beginning.
Younger me looked off into the distance. It was white everywhere. But far away on the horizon you could faintly see green mountains. I had never seen anything like it. I guess neither had he. He looked down at his feet. “We'll be over there some day, just not now... But hey, don’t forget about me, alright? And jeeze don’t text and drive anymore, you asshole.”
He looked at me almost eagerly, clenching his fists. “I’ve seen a future for us. A good one. You can do it.”
Before I got the chance to reply I blacked out along with the sensation of falling. In a hazy dream I could feel the air and smells around me change. I felt heavy, sore, and dizzy. I could hear the sounds of the hospital. The beeping, muffled noises, nurses hurriedly walking.
“Was it just a dream?” No, I knew it wasn’t. I looked at a dry erase board with information scribbled on it. I studied it for a moment before seeing my name and pausing.
“I won’t let you down this time.” Not this time. Not again.
Note: Sorry, I never write and so am not the best at it. But I had to write this one.
| Eyes narrowing in confusion, she stares at the person before her. Moments of silence balloon to fill the space between them before she finds her voice: "I...I'm sorry. But there must be a mistake. I don't know you."
The other girl tilts her head, ringlets of brown hair cascading onto her shoulder. "You do, Claire. You know me better than anyone else. But this is the first time you're really seeing me." She pauses. "Not a reflection, not a photograph, but me."
Processing the information, Claire feels her chest tighten. "But, but you're so pretty," she finally manages, voice tainted with tears.
Other Claire sighs quietly. "Because you're pretty. You've just never believed it. And you hurt yourself so badly because of that."
Lowering her head, Claire protests, "It wasn't that bad," but there's no real conviction.
"Those summers you spent eating 500 calories a day to lose weight you didn't have? Or clawing at your face whenever you saw a blemish? Or all the time you spent in front of a mirror, finding more and more flaws?" Other Claire is crying now, softly. "You hated yourself for so long, you didn't believe it when people told you otherwise. Until you sunk so low that you finally ended it all."
Claire flushes and stares at her wrists, at the long, thin cuts the extend from her palm to half up her forearm.
"They miss you," Other Claire whispers. "Your family, your friends. You whole life was ahead of you. Of us. And you just...just gave that all up."
She wants to respond, to justify herself, but she's sobbing too hard, and besides, she knows there's no justification for what she's done. "I'm so so-sorry," she finally chokes out.
"I know," Other Claire says gently, pulling her into a hug.
"Do...do you forgive me?" she barely even breathes, too afraid of the answer.
"Not right now. But I will." Other Claire takes her hand and leads her across the misty landscape. In the distance, a city glitters gold. "We have all the time in the world." | 2016-08-15T07:45:18 | 2016-08-15T05:36:25 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | "Here you go, sir."
Her voice was one of the finer variety, not all too sweet nor insufficiently warm. I could basically hear her name in the way she said *sir.* It was a strong pronunciation, and I knew her name, as I know everyone's name, before even seeing her.
"Thank you, Circe" I said, moving my hand to accept the jar of peanut butter she had proffered. Before I could claim it the jar dropped to the floor, rolling to my feet. I reached for it, wondering what I said to cause a reaction like that. I lifted my head and my eyes caught her name tag. It read "Ashley."
My insides curled up. I had never been wrong before, but now wasn't the time to be nervous. Cir-Ashley's face was a nice shade of off-white. Now was the time for damage control. "I'm sorry, Ashley. I'm not sure why I called you Cir-"
Her hand flew to my mouth as she nervously looked around the aisle. Her eyes were wide and shining. "Don't say that name. Never say that name. Not near me."
My heart stopped. I wasn't sure what to expect, and me being wrong about a name was unsettling in itself, but the way she looked over her shoulder was more than I can handle. She released her hand and I asked the first question I could. "Why? What about your name?"
She ignored me, rambling to herself "Nobody has called me by that name in *centuries.* Not since-"
Ashley's head snapped to me. Her eyes were no longer wide or shining, they were narrow and absolutely terrifying. "Who sent you?"
"I- What?! Nobody! What's going on?"
"Is Nobody a code-name or something? Some kind of a trick? Well I've heard of that one before. Get a new one. How did you know my name?"
How on Earth was I going to explain *that* question? "Well, I-"
There was a crash in the supermarket. Not the sort of crash you hear when a kid is allowed to maneuver a shopping cart. It wasn't even the car-crash variety of crash. It was like the audio-equivalent of a stock-market crash type of crash. Then came the screaming. It was dark, and the sprinklers were activated. I was soaking wet, confused, and lamely holding a jar of peanut butter.
"He's here." Her voice was flat. Defeated.
It became very quiet. And I felt absolutely pathetic as I whispered "who's here?"
"The asshole who's taking me back to that stupid island." She slammed her fist against an unsuspecting group of SPAM cans. "I'm not going. Screw that. Not without a fight."
She stood up and flexed her fingers. Light crackled between them. "No point in not using magic anymore since they found me anyways." Circe looked my way. "Will you help me? Seeing as you got me in this mess in the first place, it's only right."
Life was getting too not-real. I just wanted a sandwich. Regardless, I resisted stuttering. "I'm not sure how much use I'll be against...what are we up against, anyways?"
The roar made it perfectly clear. Not human. Fantastic.
"You knew my true name before even speaking to me. Some type of ability, yeah?"
"Sort-of."
She nodded. "Right, well, clearly you aren't one of Zeus' lackies. I figured it was some ability. You can know anybody's true name, no exception?"
*Did she say Zeus?* I nodded. "Animals, too."
She smirked. "Perfect. I'm going to banish him. But the spell takes a little bit of time. You need to distract him."
"*Where* is he? *What* is he?" She didn't offer me much. Just a flick of the wrist towards the end of the aisle as her fingers began to glow purple.
My eyes followed to where she pointed until my eyes landed on a figure in the darkness. "Oh."
"Distract him!" she snapped. "But stay close. I need you to tell me his true name when the spell is ready."
My palms were sweaty. I threw the jar of peanut butter at the figure and began collecting cans of SPAM as ammunition.
​
EDIT: WOW!! I was not expecting such a good response to my first r/WritingPrompts story. Thank you so much. As of right now I'm not sure if I could continue this particular story as I'm trying to save up my creative juices for my novel. But this feedback has convinced me that I *should* write. Because, honestly, I was doubting whether I should. You guys are the best.
​ | The building began to shake. The produce the man shelved fell onto the floor and he stepped on it as he began to walk towards me.
"It's a shame, I have found enjoyment being among you humans for the past 500 years. I guess that I must relocate again."
"Wait, what? I didn't mean to say Dracula, why would I say Dracula? Mr. Dracula." I fell to the floor and covered my mouth.
"Look you can't even stop yourself, you discover who I am then confront me so boldly, the fall to the floor and piss yourself".
I looked down and saw my own shame mix with the berry juice beneath his feet.
"It's really not like that Mr. Dracula, you see since I was young I've been able to know people's names just from looking at them and recently it's gotten really bad, I can only call people by there names. You see my gift has turned... turned into a curse."
The building stopped shaking. The patrons continued to stare at us. I could smell my piss and Dracula rolled his eyes.
"Fine, look get up... my wife will be here in two hours to pick me up, you're coming with. Go sit in the employee lounge. I have a change of clothes in there... they should fit you. Throw your pissed stained underwear away before you put on my good jeans."
He looked down at his feet, then at me. His nose then wrinkled in disgust and he frowned.
"You know what fuck it." He looked at the patrons. "Everyone vampires are real , I'm Dracula the dumbfuck who pissed himself is probably a second generation elf and none of you are going to remember any of this when he gets two miles away. Don't mind taking any photos of me they won't work. You'll just have a photo of a sad young man on the ground in a puddle of shame and disappointment. "
"What do you mean they won't remember?"
"When elves shit themselves in fear they release a toxin that wipe human memories. It's how they've survived persecution for the past 5,000 years."
"What I didn't"........ "oh".
"Change of clothes in the break room"
"Thank you mr. Dracula"
| 2018-11-05T20:38:03 | 2018-11-05T20:03:44 | 1,434 | 794 |
[WP] World Peace has been achieved and the first crime in centuries has been committed.
EDIT: I've been reading a lot of these prompts throughout the day and they have all been really good, sadly I don't have the time to sit and read them all :( | Dale was a Walker. It had almost become a derogatory word: a person whose job was so menial and filthy that it couldn't be done virtually. Not programming new games or creating new objects for the virtual marketplace. No; a walker had to actually leave the simulation tank to do the job. And there were so few Walkers left. Most jobs were left to automated drones nowadays. Growing food, maintaining the world's infrastructure, sim tank repairs... all done by robots now. Dale was one of the few remaining humans who still saw the sun every day.
He was the sole human mechanic for Dewitt Sims, makers of the world's most popular sim tank. The best connections, the highest resolution, the fastest neural implant network. They were the absolute best, and that's why Dale had so little to do. They almost never broke down, and when they did, the bots went and fixed them. But the law required at least one human overseer, so that's what Dale did. He'd been called into the home of Ms. Powers when the robots couldn't identify exactly what was wrong with her machine. Understandably so: no one had ever seen a case like this. They hadn't been programmed to understand what a murder was.
He stared at the body still sloshing about in the sim-tank. The fluid was not the normal milky white, but was a deep crimson red. He'd never seen a corpse in real life before. No one had, though. The tanks were all equipped with vital sign monitoring, and would summon a whole different team of robots upon a natural death. No Walkers required for body disposal. But this young woman's sim-tank had been unplugged, ripping the victim out of the virtual world. And the same blade used to slash the wires connecting her to her peers was buried deep in her chest. Her coworkers had become concerned when she missed the deadline on an important advertising campaign, and her boss realized that she hadn't signed in in over two days.
How long had it been? Dale tried to think back to his classes way back in school to figure out when the last murder was. History hadn't really been emphasized very much, and he'd never had an interest in it anyway. Just one bloody war after another that all blurred together into all of bloody human history. And the killing had only stopped once machines had been invented to supply humans with everything necessary to live out their lives peacefully in sim tanks. There was no more fighting over material goods when they could simply be copied. No one ever bothered to leave their virtual lives anymore, so nobody was ever murdered. It had to have been centuries!
He logged the entry for Ms. Powers' error message. There was no checkbox for "Murder" on the form, so he just went with "Human error." Even that one wasn't used very frequently, since no one ever bothered to physically mess with their machines anymore. But checking that box got Dale thinking: there was someone else out there. Another walker. Someone else going around from building to building who had just entered this room and stabbed Ms. Powers in the chest and then left. Robots in the real world were probably passing him by without even a glance, with no way of knowing what he'd done. This person could be on their way to someone else's home, ready to kill again. He knew that many of the police stories often featured 'Serial killers,' who killed multiple times.
*Who the hell do I call about this?* Dale wondered. He knew that there used to be something called Police. There were all sorts of programs out there where you could play as a detective and go around solving crimes. He'd played a few of them, and had been quite good at finding all of the clues. A faded footprint here, a smudged lip print on a glass that gave DNA evidence... Dale blinked and tried to bring up his HUD; maybe this was a game and he'd just forgotten that he was in his sim. But nothing came up. This was *real*. A *real* murder. And there were certainly no police anymore.
The conclusion was inevitable. Dale would need to be the police. Other people could be hurt, and there was no way to warn them. Sims could only be mass shutdown in case of a catastrophic power failure or something equally massive. One man didn't have the power to wake up the rest of the world over one dead girl. He needed to find the killer, and he was on his own. | When I killed Sam, I didn't know what I was expecting.
I spent the many of my hours the following day waiting for incredible torture to arrive.
I spent most of my hours the day after that waiting for unimaginable punishment to arrive.
I spent some of my hours the day after *that* waiting for punishment to arrive.
Then I realised that the world was completely unprepared for my crimes. For over a century there had been no murder, no theft, no trash-talking that was not in jest. There had been no wars and no great and violent arguments. The introduction of The Drug in our Water system was for the better. No-one claimed it was immoral.
The Drug told us that The Drug was good. It needed to. It brought utter Peace and suppression of violence. Was The Drug not good?
My name is Thomas Reckenmorth. I am a chemist who was searching for a less painful way to insert anaesthetics by formulating a liquid drug that could do replace IV anaesthetics. Because of this, I had access to water.
It was not Water, for The Drug was not there. After months, the curiosity got the better of me. I drank water. It tasted quite despicable. There was no taste! Imagine Water without taste! Not even the tiniest hint of starch or vitamins in it!
I was curious if I was mistaken and kept drinking water without the uppercase W and The Drug
And so that is how I came to be where I am right now. I am pleading to the world to stop drinking Water and for governments to supply water. The Drug is good, but has side effects. It suppresses our free will, our opinions.
Killing a man is horrible, killing an idea is atrocious, but killing humanity is unforgiveable. | 2015-11-01T08:22:37 | 2015-11-01T08:20:20 | 1,397 | 992 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | We smiled at each other as my heart sank. I sat at the dining table as the guy I was used to handing me cash and envelopes was standing in front of me, wearing a kiss the chef apron.
I steeled myself for what was about to come. I had to maintain my focus and keep my fear in check. I ran my hand over the familiar contour of my gun. It always helped me relax.
"Mr Smith. I'm so glad to finally meet you."
I had to give him one thing. He could hide his emotions. He was probably a terrific poker player.
"Kevin. Same here. Though, after all I've heard about you from Cathy, I feel like I'm meeting you for the 50th time."
Cathy walked in from the kitchen carrying some plates. "Well, I'm proud of him. Of course, I'll talk about him."
"Ah, yes. She mentioned you're a vet."
"Yes sir."
"Lose the sir, young man. Just Victor."
"Thank you Victor. So Cathy tells me you are a computer repairman." I already knew he was good with technology. He even gave us our special untraceable cell phones.
Cathy walked in with some more dishes. "And a great one at that. Remember I told you how my hard drive had crashed and I lost everything. Dad was the one who recovered all the data for me."
"You never told me it had been your dad who fixed it." I was taken aback. This wasn't good.
"It was me, Kevin. I'm good with computers. Really good."
Cathy finally settled down and we all sat down for dinner.
"So Kevin, how did you two meet." Victor was staring right at me. Did he know?
"Oh it was the most amazing thing." Cathy didn't give me a chance to answer. She was nervous about this meeting, I knew. "We ran into each other in the train back to the city. I was returning back after visiting you. And then we again ran into each other at a museum. And would you believe it, I again saw him at a bar. It was as if the universe was putting us together. As if we were meant to be."
My heart sank. Surely he knew.
"Ah, the universe. It's a powerful thing. Isn't it, Kevin?"
"Yes sir."
"Call me Victor, please."
"It is, Victor. Sometimes things are just meant to be."
"Change. The only universal constant."
Throughout our entire conversation, he kept his eyes on me. The time for backing out was obviously gone. He knew what I was there for. "It is. My granny always used to say that life is nothing but a set of ups and down. What is up must eventually come down. Be it people. Be it one's situation. Everything."
"What are the two of you even talking about? Kevin, you just have to try the Chicken Tikka. It's dad's special recipe. He's never even shared it with me."
"So Kevin, what are your intentions for my daughter?"
"Dad!" Cathy protested.
What were my intentions? I hesitated. I hadn't thought about it. At the beginning it had all been about getting close enough to Victor to strike. But lately, it had been pushed to the background. Nowadays, spending time with her felt more and more like an actual date than a recon mission. I thought about what would happen after tonight. I would never be able to see her again. My heart felt as if a whole piano had been dropped on it. I looked at her as she put a few strands of stray hair behind her ear. I wasn't sure when it had happened, but it had.
I was in love with the girl whose father I had been hired to kill.
"Hush Cat. Kevin, answer my question, please. What are your intentions for my daughter?"
"I..." I couldn't look at her. Or him. "I love her, Victor. More than I thought it was possible to love another human being. I intend to make sure no harm ever comes to her. I want to take all her sorrows from her and take them on me, leaving her with only joy."
He smiled as Cathy looked at me lovingly. "That's not possible, Kevin. Let me tell you what my granny told me. She said that everyone in this world was unhappy. The world is about who can try to reduce the unhappiness in your life. If you have a good partner, it helps. You can never protect her from her sorrows, but make sure you're there with her in time of need. Promise me, this."
"I promise, Victor."
"Cat. Look, I'm getting old now..."
"Dad! Stop."
"I can stop, but time won't. Look, there will come a time when I won't be here. Soon enough, I'll go and join your mother up there, if they'll have me. If not, I'll be sure to escape from hell and meet up with her in heaven. But having a partner helps. And I can see that you have a good one here. I just want you to be happy, Cat."
"I am, dad. I love Kevin and he loves me. I've always dreamed of having what you and mom had. I think I've found it. It just feels right. It feels like we are two parts of a jigsaw that complete each other. When I'm with him, I'm happy."
"Good. Say, Cat. Do you think you can run down to the basement and grab a bottle of wine. Get the good stuff from all the way back. I think this calls for a celebration."
She wiped a tear away and walked silently to the basement.
"How do we do this, Kevin?" He looked surprisingly calm.
"Do what?"
"Cut the bullshit. I know what you're here for. How are you planning to do it?"
"Gun. I was planning on shooting you."
"Don't. Not in front of my daughter. It's obvious she loves you. I don't want her to see you as her father's murderer. Come back later tonight."
"So you can set a trap?"
He laughed. "A trap? You know I have three way I can kill you in the next five seconds from where I sit? I know you. Once you have a target, you always get your guy. My daughter loves you. So I can't kill you. I'm not going to give her that sorrow. Come back tonight and kill me. Be there for her when she grieves. But take my advice. Make lots of money and then get out. When you get to the top, people are constantly gunning for you. Sooner or later, someone will hit."
"Victor, I..."
"It's the job. I understand. I won't set a trap. I'll go peacefully. I won't even go after Jacobi."
"You know?"
"I monitor everyone's phones. If someone takes a job from someone other than me, I know."
"I thought our phones were secure."
"From the cops. Not from me."
"Victor, your daughter loves you."
"She does."
We heard footsteps coming towards us and we stopped talking. Cathy walked towards us carrying a bottle of wine.
I heard some glass shatter and I noticed an object lying in the living room.
"Flashbang!" I ducked under the table and closed my eyes.
I blinked a few times and saw a man standing in the living room. Jacobi. I looked towards the stairs. I noticed Cathy had fallen down the steps. Luckily, it was only a few steps to a turn. But she looked out of it.
"What's the hold up pretty boy. It was supposed to be done already. I figured I'd come by and check on both of you, myself." Jacobi had a gun pointed to us. "Guns on the ground please."
I looked at Victor. "Three ways, huh? Care to share?"
He smiled.
With a swift motion of his arm, he took out a knife he had up his sleeve and threw it at Jacobi. He ducked but before he was even back up, Victor already had a gun pointed at him. Four shots later and Jacobi lay on the ground.
I looked at him, suitably impressed. "Last thing, boss."
"What's that?"
"How the hell are we going to explain all of this to Cathy?" | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T14:11:34 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 750 | 10 |
[WP] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is (for the most part) much better than it was pre-apocalypse. | You know, except for the goat-rabbits, life in America after the global nuclear apocalypse wasn't all that bad. I kind of enjoyed it, actually. I'd never been much of a people person, and it was nice to have some time to myself.
Basically everybody who didn't die to the Ebola X pandemic wound up perishing in the nuclear firestorms that followed. I had two great strokes of luck: first, I was backpacking in the depths of a Canadian forest when the bombs went off, and second, I had a one-in-a-million immune system that shrugged off Ebola X like it was a bad cold.
By August 2022 I was, as far as I could tell, the sole human resident (and therefore the Supreme Emperor) of Madison, Wisconsin. I had a whole network of tents set up in a grocery store parking lot. Turns out a person can live like a king for years off a single supermarket's stock. Once I ate nothing but Fruit Gushers for six days straight, fulfilling a lifelong dream and giving myself a truly nasty suite of digestive issues that took another six days to sort themselves out.
I spent most of my time trying to get seeds from Home Depot to grow into plants in the abandoned lot next door. That's where the goat-rabbits came in. Bastard creations of the nuclear bombardment, they were fuzzy, horned herbivores that stood two feet tall on their hind legs. Each morning they woke me with their unmistakable call -- something between a strangled toucan's squawk and a stuck pig's squeal. Good luck sleeping through that.
The goat-rabbits were my greatest nemesis. No matter what I planted, or the fortifications I erected to protect the crops as they grew, the voracious critters always found a way in.
One morning I decided enough was enough and took hold of my rifle to teach the goat-rabbits a lesson. There were three of them schnuffling around the spot where my carrots had just recently broken through the earth. When I approached, the rifle raised, they lifted their bleary-eyed heads.
I shot one.
The surviving goat-rabbits examined their dead fellow, curious. One of them gave the body a nudge. They looked at me. They looked at the body. They looked back at me. Then, giving the goat-rabbit equivalent of a shrug, they returned to their schnuffling.
I shot a second one. Despite the rifle's harsh retort, the surviving goat-rabbit appeared unfazed. If anything, it seemed happy to have the pasture to itself.
I couldn't bring myself to shoot another one. It just seemed cruel.
It would have been different if they were edible. But no, goat-rabbits tasted exactly the way they looked, which is to say stringy, dyspeptic, and extremely tough. That made shooting them feel like kind of a waste, especially since my canned food reserves could last me another sixty years, assuming I could come to terms with three meals a day of creamed corn and green beans.
So it was me and the goat-rabbits who watched every sunset together. The sun still melted into the horizon the way it always had, a scoop of orange sherbet slowly flattening against a purple backdrop of brightening stars.
I never got tired of that.
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there. :D* | My kids will never read it, but I can distinctly recall a book from before the war written by some French guy centuries ago. I was forced to read it for some class or another and I can’t remember the title to save my life, but I sure as shit remember its ending. I remember how all of the characters settle down on a farm and cultivate their garden.
Now even then I knew exactly what the story was talking about. Working day-to-day, living a simple life focused on hard-work with few complications was the happiest way to live. I thought about doing that sometimes, saying to heck with it and moving out to the countryside. I could never bring myself to do it though; there was always something to draw me back. I couldn’t give up movies, or games, or TV, or this that and the other.
Then the war happened and made the choice for me. Now here I am, spending the days with my kids and the night with my wife, and every once and awhile the thought pops into my head: That damned French guy was on to something after all. | 2016-01-19T22:08:08 | 2016-01-19T21:44:49 | 902 | 35 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there. | The trees were huge, comically huge, video-game huge. They sprouted from beneath the clouds under them and
blossomed in huge umbrellas of green, yellow and red leaves over their heads, casting cobweb shadows on the sunlit path under their feet.
Henry walked carefully. There were no railings on the edge of the path – just the fall, the endless fall that
disappeared in the thick clouds below.
"If you fall, you don't die," Amy said, with a smile back at him. "The clouds hold you, like pillows."
It was something out of a fairy tale. The pink sky. The grass and gravel path that snaked through the giant trees,
suspended mid-air like a street lane held up by magic. The smell of honeysuckle and roses and rain in the air, the bird chirping. Everything all almost a caricature of perfection.
"Here," Amy said, and she made a sharp turn with the path and soon they were climbing down ancient-looking
stone steps coated in vine and dry leaves, the faint sound of a waterfall reaching them from somewhere out of
sight down under.
"Careful, don't slip," Amy said, and she took Henry's hand and he followed her. "Over here."
The wide open space with the giant trees gave way to a more enclosed environment, with smaller but denser trees surrounding the stone wall they were climbing down. Soon they climbed straight down through the thick white clouds and reached the ground and Henry realized they were in a forest. A lush forest of green and brown. The smell of wet dirt and fresh wood invaded his nostrils, and he followed Amy to a little path on the ground that snaked towards a house in a clearing, a wooden house with a chimney coughing up smoke like some drawing in a children's book, some feverish fairy tale dreamland come to life in front of his eyes.
"It's…"
"Unbelievable," Amy completed. "That's what I thought when I first saw it too."
They stopped in front of the porch. Henry looked around, then down.
"We can have kids here," Amy said. "There's time and space to have kids here. To grow old and raise them and be
happy. Forever."
"Amy…" Henry climbed the steps and sat on the suspended bench on the porch. Amy followed. "I don't know."
"What don't you know? This is literally magic, Henry. We can live forever here."
"Yeah, but… do you want to?"
Amy laughed. "Henry, who *doesn't* want to live forever? I mean, I get not wanting it in that shithole that we call real life, but here?" She motioned around her, encompassing with her hands the whole idyllic scenery surrounding them. "It's perfection. Forever."
"People were meant to die one day, Amy. People weren't meant to live for pleasure forever, we're not… orgasm
buttons."
"Henry," She knelt in front of him and took his hand on hers. "People were not *meant* to anything. We are
accidents. We weren't even supposed to be sentient, we're like… an abortion of nature. Our self-awareness is an accident, a side effect. We shouldn't know we exist. But we do. We know we are alive and we know we must die and this place… this place takes all of that back. We live forever here. We are *happy* forever here. The scenery, it's always changing, there's giant futuristic cities, there's ancient medieval castles, there's magic forests, interesting people, all new, new, new, never a boring day, and forever! It's everything a person could ever want."
"It's not… natural," Henry said. "It's not… what's *meant* to happen."
"Henry, what is meant to happen is you and I and every other human being ever will die and then the universe will
die too and it will be like nothing ever existed!" Amy was getting angry now. Even the pink sky and the golden
sunlight around and behind her seemed to be gathering an ominous hue, like mirroring her emotions. "What is
*meant* to happen is the source of all human suffering. We are insignificant outside of this place! We are absurd!"
"Maybe we're meant to be insignificant."
"STOP SAYING MEANT LIKE ANYTHING IS 'MEANT' TO HAPPEN. IT'S A MADE UP WORD." She calmed herself. She
put her hand to her heart and breathed deep. "Nothing is *meant*. There is no order in the universe save for the one you put there with your own eyes. There is only chaos, Henry, chaos and forgetfulness once everything blows away and dies. Is this what you want? For our love to have meant nothing? Our life? Because when we're both gone, that's what it's going to be like. Nothingness."
Henry didn't say anything. He was crying, but he didn't say anything.
"I love us," Amy said, taking his hand again. "I want us to last forever. I don't want our love limited by the
indifference of the universe that bred it in the first place." She sniffed her tears too. "I want you and I… for longer
than reality permits. And this is how we do it. This place. Whatever it is. Real or not. Insanity or not. It's here. It's
forever. And I want to share it with you."
Henry looked down. Then he looked up, and the sky was gray now, and a soft rain was trickling down between the
leaves of the wall of trees behind and around the house.
"I'm sorry, Amy," he said. "I'm sorry, I can't."
She got up. She stepped back. "I'm staying," she said. "I'm not leaving here."
Henry nodded. "Okay."
How could he blame her? She was the one who was dying. She was the one with months to live, in the real world. He thought she was wrong, but how could he judge her from his position? From his place in life, his healthy body, his healthy mind. Deep down he'd like to think he'd be different, but would he? Didn't he too, like everyone, harbor the illusion that he would live forever? Didn't he make plans and live his life like he wasn't going to die one day, despite his 'logical' mind knowing it fully well? Didn't he too bury this truth? This truth that Amy had to dig up from the ground and stare at, that morning the doctor gave her the news?
No, he couldn't judge. He could disagree, but not judge.
He got up and started for the path, then he turned back. She was crying, her arms dangling by her body,
powerless, weak, fragile.
"Why do you have so much love for this universe that brings you nothing but pain?" she said. "This reality that doesn't love you enough to even let you in on itself and its truths. That's not even honest with you. This world that keeps you in the dark and then kills you -- is that the world you love?" She cried harder, then she stopped. "Is it worthy of it?"
Henry shook his head. "It's the only world I've ever known," he said. "And it was good enough for my fathers before me."
He climbed the stone steps alone, and alone he made way back through the giant trees under the now pouring
rain and the heavy skies, and then he crossed and emerged back into their house, alone now.
The portal closed behind his back and she disappeared – her and her memory together. Her parents, their friends,
no one remembered her anymore after that, just like she said it would happen. Those were the rules. That was the price you paid for that perfect universe -- no coming back, no footprints left in reality. She disappeared from his reality completely.
And Henry carried on without her for sixty-two years, and when he died, it rained for the second time over her
house in the woods in her lonely, perfect world, but she didn't know why.
_____
/r/psycho_alpaca | The musky smell of sweat covered him as he pulled me into the bathroom. I had never seen his eyes so filled with life in the eons that had passed.
"It's right there honey, come follow me." He pointed at the mirror. I decided to take the bait, wondering what prank awaited me this time. He touched the mirror, and to my surprise his hand dipped through. He started to walk through it holding my hand. I let out a scream. Either he was serious for once or the budget for his prank would ruin us financially.
I opened my eyes to a new world, clean water shimmered down fertile banks with birds breaking out in heavenly song as a yellow sphere of gas warmed us. Fauna: lush, robust and vibrant walked the grounds in hues I had never thought possible in life.
I turned to him shocked. "You did all of this?"
He was almost bursting with pride. "Yes I did, and there's more." He held my hands, and guided me to the East. In the distance I saw structures, similar to what we had. There was a city. It's inhabitants were exactly like us. They filled their cities with our images and when I closed my eyes, I heard it: Prayer. The beautiful dedication and supplication that fueled me, and it came in an ocean strengthening me, making me soar higher and higher until I radiated with the life force that oozed as sparks in the air.
"How did you?"
"I just found it here and got to work." he said. He took me to my temple where my pre-made throne of silver sat. Then he vanished to our home to gather the rest of our things.
It must have been months of madness before the first loose string appeared. In the month of harvest a barn was set on fire. At first we thought it petty rivalry, but then a circle with 4 lines etched across made us think otherwise. It was a group. A group with a symbol, was a group with a belief.
I was promised it would be taken care of, and sure enough it never happened again. Until it did. 5 months later a building in the city was set on fire. This time he wasn't there, the reports came to me.
"Who is this?" I inquired. The answers did not come as I wanted, so I waited until night to conduct my own search. I floated through the city streets, through the outskirts, finally, in a back alley at the limits of the city wall I found it. A door with the same circle etched on it. It was so faint many would have missed it, but for me it glowed with belief of those inside. I didn't materialize, instead waited until the people inside would walk out.
It was almost dawn when the first figures walked away. Some shifted their gaze around making sure they weren't seen as they walked their way home. Something about them looked odd, I couldn't pinpoint it, maybe it was their noses or eyebrows. They didn't belong.
I followed one to his home, a small hut in the outskirts. Materializing in his home I nearly killed him with fright when he saw me appear.
"Who are you?"
"Oh my Great Realis!" He scampered around looking for something. Probably a blade. I pinned him to the ground, and raised a stick to his eye.
"Who do you worship?" I asked.
"I follow Revi," he said bravely. I could sense his resolve. He followed Revi with all his heart. It had been a long time since Revi was mentioned in the celestial circles.
"Why would you follow Revi? Have we not provided you with everything?" If the god was trying to create a name here after all our work, he would have another thing coming.
"You? You left us to die, killed us, called it a cleansing so that you could take everything that Revi had done."
It was my turn to be confused. "Revi? You believe Revi did this 1000 years ago?"
"No 2000 years ago before you came along and took everything, I am not afraid to die, I will finally see my maker."
I decided to let go of him. He stood up, adjusted his collar and gave me a defiant look.
"So what do you believe happened?"
"Not believe, know."
"How can you know?"
"because we have the truth, from the old books that we hid." For a minute man and god stared at each other.
"Show me." I said.
"What?"
"I said show me."
"What is there to show? How can you not know? Are you not Realis?"
"I do not know tell me."
He started to dig beneath his bed. "Revi made this world, but other gods, jealous of his work they stole this world of his and try to destroy everything. Only a few of us survive. Only a few of us know." He produced tattered parchment but even I could see the glow of the supernatural that held it together. It is written in our text. The true text of history, and the true story of this world and us, how we had our parents and older siblings killed to be adopted by barren assassins.
One look at the page and I disappeared from his site. I'd need more than a warm heart to argue with the image on it. It showed Revi in a fight with my husband and afterwards the destruction that the god of water had brought.
I'd wait for my husband. Noah had a lot of explaining to do.
***
/r/pagefighter
| 2022-10-29T18:50:12 | 2017-02-20T20:51:41 | 510 | 59 |
[WP] You are a successful artist who has a condition where you randomly black out. When you wake up, you see that you have created beautiful masterpeices that you don't remember painting. Lately, all of your paintings have been more and more disturbing. | I stood aghast before the dark canvas. My god, my god. What had I done? My hands were covered in cracking black paint. There was no doubt I was guilty of the crime that towered above me.
A woman lay surrounded by a jabbering crowd at the top of the painting. Their faces were twisted into hateful broken things, pointing at her with sharp angular fingers. Towards the bottom of the painting, the crowd gradually shifted from looking at her to looking towards the world. At the floor, they were pleading and almost kind, welcoming you into the scene.
The woman was dead. Her body was rent open as dark clawed hands mindlessly scrambled against the wound's fearful edge. Behind the writhing mass was a single deathless eye. Ashen and askew, it peered out from the vile flesh, a diseased thing searching for some escape from its sepulchral prison. I could not imagine what ancient monster lay behinds its baleful gaze.
I had to destroy it. I had to burn it like all the others. No one else could see what madness I unleashed during my spells. But this painting was nearly double my height. It would be difficult to drag into the yard this early in the day. What would my neighbours think?
I stared at it.
No, I had to burn it right away. I kicked away empty cans of black paint and tipped it over and jumped on the taunt canvas. It broke easily under my weight, and I began snapping the thin wooden frame and ball it up as best I could. I dragged in the garbage can from outside, and stuffed it inside the best I could. My hands felt heavy and wrong, but I dragged it back outside and drizzled lighter fluid over its broken remains. A few spent matches later, and it was alight.
I waved cautiously to Mrs. Wilson. I could see her peering from her kitchen window through the thick black smoke that curled up from the can. She just stared at me. Well, it would be gone before the cops could get here if she called them. I might have to pay a fine. Worth the cost of destroying what had been ripped from the blackouts.
They had been ongoing for some weeks. Artist's block had kept me from painting anything for months. I was still comfortable after my gallery show last year, but I desperately needed new work. The pills were supposed to induce creativity, at least that's what Donovan had told me. It was opening your mind up to new worlds, he had said when he slipped then into my wine late one night. I had woken up to an empty home and an incredible work of art that I had no memory of making.
It had been amazing the first time. It felt like cheating. Like I could just go to sleep and wake up to work that should have taken me weeks or months to complete. By the third and fourth time I realized how little control I had over what I created. It was variations on the same scene over and over.
Then it had started happening without taking the pills. I had burned them all.
But now I couldn't stop.
I turned on the hose and watered down the sizzling pile of ashes. I left it there, and returned to the house. I could put it in a bag later. I didn't want to appear too anxious before my neighbours' open windows.
Instead, I walked in a daze to the kitchen. I was tired and felt stretched thin, like a single step would break whatever meagre existence I had left. I knew cereal went in the bowl, and milk went on the cereal, and the spoon was to eat, but I found myself staring at the three things on the counter instead. I shook my head. I had to leave the house. When was the last time I had done that?
I couldn't remember, but before I could think better of it, I grabbed my jacket and went to the garage. I flicked on the light, and gasped.
An old camera was on the workbench. On the far wall above my car were polaroids of each painting I had done. I shuffled over to them. I was in each one, standing next to the canvas looking frail and spent. I could see myself in the most recent one, wearing the clothes I still had on. Each canvas was nothing but black paint. Just a thick layer of black paint. How could that be?
But then, seeing them all together, I noticed the cadaverous eye was growing bigger in the woman's form. And it was seeing me. It was staring at me, here in this garage. I could feel its remorseless focus and my hearth clenched and I knew I had to burn it all down. I turned towards the cannister of gasoline, but I walked past it into the house. I walked back into my studio. The can of black paint bubbled with a congealed thrashing liquid.
I had to prepare. Pulling out another canvas, I set it up carefully and set the paint beside me. It was coming. I had to show the world. | Eloquent and endearing, each stroke carried a vibrancy of colorful congruence. Her mind’s eye had already visualized it, but seeing the brilliance gradually materializing on the canvas was something else entirely.
Like a stiff coryphée on a private stage of white ice, the brush swayed and pirouetted, leaving trails of flamboyant pigment in its wake. Red like the lips of a stalwart opera singer; maroon like the royal cape of King Arthur; violet like the Damascus sky at sunset – color was merely a vessel for ideas, and the canvas a province for expression.
Whenever Fiona painted she entered a trancelike state – it had been like that since her childhood. It was an unwavering place in the storm of life’s uncertainties. More importantly, though, it cured her briefly of her disease. As weird as it might seem, the shapes and forms were an antidote to the chronic poison in her veins. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time, and the byproduct was a broad range of beautiful paintings.
Fiona felt the strange sickness slowly shrinking away. It was as if each touch and dip drained her face of fever spots, and every sweeping arc replenished her strength. Soon all trace of the depression had disappeared. Once again she felt young and healthy.
She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the brush to produce arrays of tranquil innovation on the smooth surface. This right here was every painter’s wet dream – to let go of inhibition and self-doubt, and just let the image craft itself – measured but casual; ardent but soothingly invigorating. This right here was art in the purest form. Fiona smiled and opened her eyes.
Something was not right. At first, her mind had a hard time comprehending the visual input. This had never happened to her before. Normally the first impression of her finished work was exclusively positive.
“No, this… this is all wrong!” she cried. “This is not what I painted… this is…”
Her voice trailed off. The ghastly face that glared up at her from the canvas was like nothing she had ever seen before. The size and shape resembled that of a small child, but that was where the similarity ended. Glowering eyes of hatred, hollow bony cheeks, and a demonic mouth that nullified the meaning of innocence.
She felt her heart hammering distantly. The canvas was a sacred place – her sanctuary. How had this horrible face managed to encroach on her painting without her consent?
| 2017-04-16T07:23:44 | 2017-04-16T06:34:53 | 166 | 58 |
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants | "Those were totally tubular moves there dudes."
"Oh god, not this guy again..."
The kids, gathered in a circle with their helmets on their heads and skateboards in hand, were approached by a tall black man in unkempt clothes.
"That was a sick heel flip there Jimmy. And Chad, great form on that 50-50, it was totally rad." He said.
His hair was long and wavy, that of a beach bum in Hawaii. His wrinkled shirt sported the logo of some irrelevant, low quality surf shack. His cargo shorts awkwardly collided with his long legs, and ended just above his knee pads.
"Look, can't you go bother someone e-"
"Easy Chad, we don't want to get kicked out of the park," Jimmy whispered, "Thanks Mr. Obama, we appreciate it."
"Please, call me Barack. And don't mention it dudes. Seeing the youth of this great nation totally shred up the asphalt is why I took this job in the first place. I used to be the President of the United States you know."
"Uh, yeah... sure, thats cool man, good for you." Jimmy replied.
At that moment, the skate park grew silent, and filled with the sudden vibe of danger. In the distance a large group grew nearer and nearer.
Teenagers.
Their ripped skinny jeans and large black shirts with bizarre graphics only matched their raw, unchecked demeanor. They approached the kids while making a bunch of noise and nonsense amongst themselves.
"What the hell are you losers doing here? Shouldn't you be at day care or something?" The tallest said, his long dark hair covering most of his face.
The group erupted in laughter
"Huhu, good one Derek!" Shouted someone from the back of the group.
Chad's fists shook with anger as he shouted," HOW ABOUT YOU SHUT YOUR FAT FA-"
"Wow there, chill bro. Calm your waves," Obama interrupted, "listen dudes, can't we all just get along and tear up the concrete in peace my man?"
"Shut up old man, why are you even here? Won't you break a hip skating or something? Derek said with a grin.
The crowd erupted in laughter once more.
"Careful there now, I don't need a declaration of war to kick your ass." Obama replied, with no shift in personality whatsoever.
"BRING IT ON OLD MAN." He retorted.
"All right all right now how about this, a skate competition. Just you, me, and some gnarly tricks. Loser takes a hike" Obama said
A whisper came from the back of the group, "Why is he talking like that?"
"Ok old man, deal! Loser never shows his face around here again!" Derek cried.
The teenagers shifted away from the kids to go prepare for the coming battle.
"But Mr Obama, this is YOUR skate park. You love this place so much, why would you risk it all for one stupid competiton?" Jimmy asked.
"Listen, little dudes. If there's one thing I learned from being president, besides negotiation tactics and foreign affairs, it's how to shred up a half pipe." He stood up, put his helmet onto his head, and headed for the other side of the park.
The teenagers were waiting for him.
"You ready to do this old man?" The teenager barked.
"I'm definitely ready to take you kids to school!" He replied, "After all a good educational system is the backbone of any great nation."
"What? Whatever, let's do this!"
Back and forth the two swept around the half pipe. The constant sound of wheels clapping against the smooth wood of the ramps. Beautiful synchronized flips came one after another, as the crowd stood in awe. In the end, the clear winner emerged from a wicked 1080, the holy grail of all skate tricks.
Derek stood at the bottom of the pipe, half angry, and half amazed.
Obama slid down the pipe, dismounted his board and took off his helmet. He shook his glorious wavy hair about, and whipped his face to the crowd in slow motion.
"Radical."
The younger kids exploded in cries of joy. They all rushed to Obama as the teens left with their heads hung low.
"THAT WAS AMAZING OBAMA!" Chad yelled as the kids settled down, "where did you learn to do that!?"
"Thats classified. But let's just say old Putin lost a bet back in 08 thanks to that wicked move."
"So what happens now?" Jimmy inquired.
"Now, my fellow Americans, we carve up this park in peace. It's imperative that we always protect this right from those who try and take it from us."
He got back on his skateboard and dipped back into the pool, grinding along the edges and sailing over the bumps.
"Who IS that guy?" Asked Chad.
Jimmy smiled, then fought back the tears as he stated, "that used to be the president of the United states." | January 21, 2017, Obama's first day as not being a president. He decided to create his own construction firm. Him, along with actor Tom Hanks, founded T.Hanks Obama Construction. Because of Obama's credentials as the former president, he was able to get government related projects. It wasn't the best client though...
 
Donald Trump's the president.
 
But since Obama has a passion with construction, he decided to stick with Trump. Trump was very impressed with T.Hanks Obama Construction's performance and one day invited Obama for dinner. There, he discussed with Obama his greatest project: The Great Wall of USA.
 
It's all over the news: The Great Wall, used to deny any non-American entrance to the country. People hated it, some left America to go to Canada, and rallies by immigrants were frequent. But Trump still continued with the project.
 
"You can't Stump the Trump." he proclaims.
 
Surprisingly, T.Hanks Obama Construction accepted Trump's Great Wall of USA Project. The whole world was in shock. Of all the people to help Trump, it had to be Obama. Even Obama's employees were in complete disagreement with him. But Obama doesn't like Trump, he has a plan.
 
Construction of the wall proceeded as scheduled. Trump has given Obama complete control in the project. He didn't even asked Obama anything, he let Obama do his thing. Little did he know that Obama was using materials that would make the wall stand for less than a day.
 
The wall is completed and a grand ribbon cutting ceremony is held. Outside the wall, millions of people rallied against Trump. It didn't bother him though, as he stood in a platform to cut the ribbon. Then, the wall suddenly collapsed...
 
Trump was shocked. People outside started rushing through the wall, rejoicing as they have felt that a change is coming. They were able to force Trump out of office, and appointed Sanders as the new president. He gave the position to Obama though and settled as Vice President, as Obama's eight years of executive experience made him much more qualified for the job and because of what he did for the country.
 
And that's how Obama became the President of the United States again.
Thanks Obama. | 2016-02-23T03:32:48 | 2016-02-23T02:16:34 | 75 | 34 |
[WP] Create a fictional mythological race, (werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, etc) and the legend behind it | "The grengrams got my shoelaces again," little Rick Leon said to his mom. "So I can't tie my shoes. Not today."
"Oh...my god, come on, again?" his mom said. She was clearly angry with him, possibly even frustrated. He had learned that word from his father.
"It's okay, I don't mind."
"Your shoes are going to fall off and get ruined, so I mind. Let me see if we have any of the velcro kind left..."
Sure enough, they did, although they were a size to small and Rick was sure to get made fun of when he got to school. All the kids who didn't know how to tie their shoes wore the velcro kind.
At school, no one made fun of him, and Rick was thankful for that. His dad had bought him new shoelaces on his way home from work. Rick took them out of his shoes and hid the laces in his pocket before he slept.
That night, Rick woke and felt something moving around under his covers. He lifted his covers. "Grengrams," he whispered. They were little creatures. They way they looked made Rick think of a worm that tried to be a human, but couldn't, and so it was sad all the time. "Why do you want my shoelaces?"
There were four of them tonight, more than usual, perhaps because he had hid the laces in his pocket. One of the grengrams bounced and Rick thought it might be trying to speak. The boy leaned closer so that he could hear.
"We need the laces for the monster!" the little grengram said. "It grows with each day, and we must tie it down."
"What monster?" Rick said, shaking and suddenly scared. "Where is it?"
"It lives inside your mother's belly. Every day, it grows a little more until it will make your mother hurt and bleed. We try to go inside and tie it down, but it will come out eventually, anyway."
"That's not good. I love my mom, how can I stop it?"
"Give us laces."
"But that will just hold it down. Don't we need to destroy it?"
"Only you can destroy it. You have to jump on your mother's belly while she sleeps. Jump as hard as you can."
"Okay," Rick said and left his room, such was the importance of his mission. He opened up his parents' bedroom door and realized something: the grengrams had never told him why the monster was bad. If there really was something bad there, his mom was sure to know about it and see the doctor. That's what had happened with his aunt's cancer. Something grew in her boob until the doctor had to take it out.
Rick turned and walked back to his room. The grengrams were waiting. "What's bad about the monster?"
"It will come and disturb us. It will cry and smash us."
"Then leave. It's my house."
"Give us laces."
"No, leave."
"You will give us the laces! We'll give you anything, anything you want."
"I want you to go away."
The grengrams didn't say anything, and left. Rick put the laces back on his shoe and slept with them on his feet. The grengrams never came back.
***
Grengrams are small, wingless wyrms that attempt to induce miscarriage in the hope of a feast. Typically they use ropes to achieve this by literally pulling the fetus from the womb, but they will enlist the help of others if they can. If you encounter one, tell it to leave three times, just like Rick did, and it will never come back.
| The thing about a myth is how it defies logic. All reason and analysis go out the window. Those are things for the cold light of day! For men to discuss over tea, reducing the world until it is nothing at all.
But myths, well, they slink in the shadows. Dance around the edges of your mind where the spirits and demons play. Boisterous arguments in the town square give way to whispered tales on chilly nights, huddled around campfires. Science points at a myth and says that it cannot exist. It marches out its principles, its theorems, its proofs. The myth merely smiles, nods, and remains.
This one shouldn't exist. Its shape cannot hold organs, or any other method of sustaining life. It should die instantly to the cold. The thing glides and swings from tree to tree, hiding in the dense foliage, in the cold wilderness.
All I know, my dear friend, is that every so often, a traveler wandering the Canadian wilderness will fail to glance up, to check the sky for all manner of beastie and monster. Then... BAM! the drop-bear pounces. | 2016-12-16T09:14:56 | 2016-12-16T08:22:56 | 122 | 30 |
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect. | “Bring out the wretched Human!” The voice boomed from all angles. “Let the council decree his fate.”
Steve Stevenson was dragged from his cell by two exceptionally large Moroxi. The Moroxi had an unnerving similarity to the long extinct Kangaroo from earth, but with four arms and scales. The guards sneered at Stevenson, one ripping off his patch of bravery from his uniform, before throwing him into a large circular chamber.
The chamber was pure white and so sterile it stung Steve’s eyes if he looked at one point for too long. He looked up to see five ridiculously dressed Moroxi leering down at him. They were wearing hats that looked like traffic cones.
Steve shuffled forward a step, “There must be some misunder—“
“Silence!” The voice boomed again. Coming from everywhere but nowhere. “This is no trial, this is an execution!”
Steve blinked away the tears forming in his eyes from the psychic assault the Moroxi Council was inflicting upon him. That damn crystal, it was always a stupid crystal. If I make it out of here alive, Steve thought, no more crystals. But deep down, he knew he had no chance.
“Administer him . . . The haze of death!” The mouthless voice hissed.
Steve stiffened, waiting for some searing pain to send him tumbling down into the dark abyss of death. Then, he smelled it, some of the dankest kush he ever smelled. So dank in fact, that Steve already felt a little high.
“What’s so funny? You find torturous death amusing human?” The Moroxi council scoffed at him in unison.
Steve coughed a couple times and giggled, “no it’s just, your hats. They’re like, funny, you know?”
“No we do not know! These are our symbols of office! They distinguish us, the regal—“
Steve was laughing, “stop doing that! It tickles!”
The Moroxi council looked amongst itself, “the mind-voice tickles?”
“The mind-voice?” That’s what you guys named it?” Steve was still laughing, his eyes glazed and redder than the devil’s delicate appendage. “Hey, wait.” Steve stopped laughing and looked around, “do you hear that?”
The Moroxi council leaned over as one, “hear what?”
Steve unleashed a massive fart that echoed throughout the chamber and doubled over laughing. “My ass-voice!” He was crying and slapping his hand on the ground. “This is some good shit!”
The Council huddled together, communing as one and instantly deciding one of them, Alparox the Younger, would delve into Steve’s mind in order to discover the miraculous manner in which he survived and even enjoyed the most lethal gas they had ever discovered. After an instant of quiet solidarity, Alparox flung his consciousness into Steve’s and began opening it like a book. The mental prowess of the Moroxi Council plain for all to see, for who could stand against a mind so mighty—
Alparox was rolling on the floor laughing. His eyes already tearing up. He was pointing at the hats and nodding, “you’re right, you’re so right!” He said while tears streamed down his cheeks.
The council turned away from their fallen brother and back to Steve. Perhaps they had underestimated this Human. He was truly an impressive foe. In unison they knew what had to be done, they needed different hats. But after that, they would unleash the ultimate punishment on Steve: the dark mushrooms. Oh how they pitied him. | From within the smoky dome could be heard the human prisoner shouting "Dude, start the gas already"
This wasn't the way death sentences normally went, the prisoner was placed into the dome. The smoke ascended, which doubled as a descency filter, and justice could be heard to have been achieved by the screams. The prisoner was supposed to dissolve within a few minutes.
"Can I have another last meal?, I'm hungry", laughter swiftly followed
The dissolved prisoner was supposed to be washed away through the floor grating. No mess, just justice, efficient and clean. No species had ever lasted more than 10 minutes.
The smoke was now so thick that the prisoner could have stood against the dome and still not be seen.
After an hour the shouting had stopped. All that could be heard was the sound of laughter. Laughter, some people just don't know how to die with dignity.
Maybe in another hour there would be silence. | 2020-05-20T10:46:26 | 2020-05-20T08:01:56 | 3,523 | 1,403 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | Society was broken up into blocs. Since individual skill was easily determined based by point allocation, and point allocation was something you could easily access, things became caste like.
It wasn't so bad as caste systems you might expect; after all, belonging to a given caste was voluntary, and indeed, people being mismatched for the job or life they selected was unheard of; after all, you put the points in, you selected what you wanted.
The construction workers chose to work in that field just as much as the geniuses in the universities chose their field; whatever training was given to them was locked under the burden of prerequisite point allocation; after all, it would hardly be just to give someone information or training that they weren't specced into using.
Thus, mankind became palatable and a product that could be shipped and shaped according to higher directory; we lost what made us special and interesting, because, as a whole, we had shaped ourselves into being identical products, demarcated by a handful of points we were willing to spend.
I stared down at the spread of points before me, and raised an eyebrow lazily at the person across the table. "You have a spread with five points in strength, three in Int, and 12 and wisdom. The actual hell are you trying to get into?"
"Science science," The intern said. "I want to study scientists."
I stared at him for a long moment, cocking my head to the side.
As the only idiot who had maxed out wisdom in the last century, I took on a particularly awful role.
Figuring out point distributions for roles; and slotting outcasts.
And studying scientists wasn't actually a stupid idea, in the end, my thirty points in wisdom told me. The bit of me that wasn't thirty points of wisdom spoke up about the absurdity of the situation but...
"Yes, we could improve the efficiency of research if we had someone studying the interpersonal interactions and challenges that scientists face when applying for research grants and putting forth applications to allot points, couldn't we?" I asked, idly, leaning back in my chair.
"Uh, yeah," The intern said, scratching the back of his head. "That's about what I was thinking. Well, thinking recently. You know how it is when you hit twelve wisdom, you go through a few paradigms."
I remembered that distantly. I remembered how my whole life switched about and I realized how fantastically stupid it was to max out wisdom.
That was the burden of wisdom, after all; nobody appreciated you unless you were kept caged up and away from anything delicate.
Interpersonal relationships decayed fast when you actually had logical solution to problems. Nobody actually wanted to be solved. Everyone clung to some bitter nuance and ache; the quiet pains and suppositions of a system that failed to provide leniency.
Though research was being done into the wide spread ramifications of 'respeccing' as a concept, the technology wasn't quite there, and the busy body meritocratic government feared reprisal if the elderly were unshackled from their ledges of maxed out stat pools.
The brainless and those who had not dipped into the four levels of intelligence or eight level of wisdom in order to get into university might find their caste to be unpalatable if given the option, after all. The arranged marriages and grouping of traits in the large scale test populations might discover their contracts were not nirvana when they realized the invisible strings that complete whole scale surveillance tied to their secret actions.
Wisdom maxed out was truly a stupid decision, I considered.
"So... what do you think about putting more points into wisdom on my birthday?" the intern asked quietly.
I laughed. "Stick around in wisdom until at least 18, it's fucking amazing."
I signed the paperwork and stuck the bastard with me. I'd live at least long enough to see him turn to alcohol.
----
For more like this, click here. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ | Nobody else believes in me, laughing at me and telling me I've wasted my life. They just don't understand. They look at me and think, 'There he goes, writing prompter. He'll never amount to anything.' But they just don't get it. I've devoted my life to inspiring others. It's not so simple a thing, to be the bedrock of creative expression itself. I am the muse!
I have spent so much of my life practicing my craft and honing my skills in order to give others the opportunity to break out of their shells. To see that they are capable of so much more than what they think they are. I am the inkwell of the heart of the face of the internet and it is my duty to never run dry.
They don't understand or believe, no matter how much I wish they did. This is my life's work and my duty to humanity. The legacy that I will leave behind is to support the legacy that others will leave behind. The power that I have is to empower those that need that small nudge towards greatness. Creation is a collaborative process and I devoted myself to that ideal.
Never forget, that though you may doubt me... I will never doubt you! | 2018-09-12T08:04:08 | 2018-09-12T07:01:42 | 108 | 20 |
[WP] After realizing you are in a work of fiction, you immediately rush to the person you think is the protagonist in an attempt to get plot armor as their best friend. But when the "protagonist" dies, you realize you may not have thought this completely through. | "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" It's all I could say as I stood over Derrick's body laying in the street. He was the protagonist - he couldn't be dead. Tall, good looking, square-jawed, charming, ladies-man Derrick couldn't be dead. My brain had gone into some kind of loop. I was supposed to be either the comedy relief or plucky sidekick (I'd been working on my wisecracks, but to be honest most of the just didn't land).
We had been swept up in some sort of grand quest. Derrick lead us from our small tow to fight the bad guy. That's what we started calling him - "Bad Guy". I think his real name was Robert. Anyway, when we started calling him that, I realized we were following a very old script. Derrick didn't want to go at first ("Hero denies the call", right?), then he met an old man who everyone thought was crazy and lived at the edge of town. Nobody understood why I called that crazy bastard Obi-wan. He convinced Derrick to heed the call.
Derrick then gathered us up - the jester, the rogue, the thief, and the bard. Tara was the thief - she got busted for shoplifting from Walmart a couple of months ago. Gary was the rogue - he had gone off to college, dropped out, and came back to start up a wed design company that hadn't flamed out yet but which we all thought was probably a money laundering operation. Roger was the bard - he still lived with his parents and played in a band that he was sure was going to make it big. That left me as the jester. Or maybe I was something else. I don't think I was a barbarian or any of the magical creatures. I certainly wasn't a paladin, monk, or ranger. I would have liked to think I was a wizard, but I had to be honest and admit I wasn't smart enough for that.
Bad Guy, or Robert or whatever, was buying up the aluminum plant in town and was planning on shutting it down. If that plant shut down, the town would die. Over half the population of the county worked at that plant. Everyone we knew either worked there or had a family member that did. The five of us in our little group were never getting out of this town. If that bastard closed down the plant, we'd end up cooking meth behind Denny's.
It turned out that Bad Guy played rough though. We started by appealing to his humanity, which was in short supply. We got a spot on the news in the city. Bad Guy made a statement that while he understood our concern, he was trying to protect the jobs of tens of thousands of other people at the parent company. Finally, we resorted to spying. None of us were exactly strangers to the wrong side of the law but this was a little more serious than we were used to.
We broke into his house one evening when he was away at some fancy dinner party. We thought we could find something in there that we could use to blackmail him. Maybe he had some embarrassing porn on his computer or maybe he had a girl chained up in the basement.
What we didn't know is that Bad Guy had an alarm on his house. The alarm didn't go to the police though. The local cops weren't too friendly with him after they found out he was closing the plant. So he had his alarm sent to a private security force. They showed up without us noticing. They didn't have any lights on and they slipped in quietly through the front door. They spotted us and we ran.
The guards were a little too anxious to prove how good they were at protection and started shooting at us. It was dark and nobody could tell what was going on. Derrick was to my right as we cleared the yard. I heard him scream and turned in time to see him spin around and hit the pavement. The bullet had torn a hole through the left side of his chest the size of a dinner plate.
The guards caught up to Derrick and me in no time. The others got away. The police came. I spent the night in jail. The next morning my parents showed up with a lawyer. He told me about "felony murder". It seems that if you commit a crime and someone dies while you're doing that, they can charge you with that person's murder. If say, your best friend got shot while you were breaking and entering, they could put his murder on you. Even though those rat bastard guards are the ones who shot him in the back. The lawyer told me I should take the plea deal so that I could be out in ten years. I told him to stuff it - no way were they laying Derrick's murder on me.
I sat through my trial like it was a waking dream. I never told anyone about Tara, Gary, or Roger being there that night. No sense in dragging them down with me. The judge won't let us talk about Bad Guy trying to shut down the plant. In fact, he says if I bring it up, he'll hold me in contempt and move the trial so far away no one I know will be able to come support me. I keep my mouth shut the whole time so he can't hold anything against me.
The jury acquitted. I learned that word the morning they came back and said "not guilty". I went home for the first time in eight months as my nightmare ended.
When this all started out, I thought Derrick was the protagonist. I thought there was no way he could be harmed because he was the main character - the true hero come to vanquish the evil in our midst. I now realize I was mistaken about that. He was my backstory. I'm the tragic anti-hero who now must avenge my fallen comrade. My plot armor kept me from being shot that night and it kept me out of prison. I am invulnerable until my story ends. Maybe it'll end with a noble sacrifice, maybe it'll end with the good guys triumphant, maybe it'll end with me defeating the Bad Guy only to have him replaced by an even more terrible foe. Doesn't matter. I carry the plot forward on my shoulders and it protects me from harm. We have a beautiful relationship - right up until the plot no longer needs me. | Thick whites crags stretched far ahead, craning over a large gulf. I shook my head vigorously, only to collapse and dry wretch from the throbbing pain that drove from skull to neck. My mouth scratched itself like sandpaper, and in swallowing I had the sensation of choking on air. I pushed myself up, drying needles from the landscape's prickly green brush scratching my hands terribly. I wasn't in Kansas anymore.
I imagined this is what amnesia felt like. That I *knew* what amnesia was suggested some sort of concrete past. With no better option, I trudged forward, keeping the ocean to my left. My legs screamed with every step, sending spasms of agony through my pelvis and into my chest. Had I not been so distracted, I would not have been caught unawares.
I heard them before I saw them. It began as a low, tinny rumbling and then graduating to a pounding crescendo as the first soldier appeared from around the ridge. Even at distance, the noonday sun reflected sharply off his bronze shield and tip of his spear, which stood taller than him. Dozens of columns followed in tow, each man marching in precise formation.
For a moment, I considered hiding. It may have been possible to tuck and cover in the surrounding shrubbery, but I was in as much danger from the elements and my own body's neglect than the tip of a spear. So I stood with my hands hanging loosely at my sides, as motionless and docile as I could bear. An eternity passed and as the thundering grew closer and the ground shook, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. *Who was I praying to?* The pounding ceased abruptly. I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a golden demon.
He was wearing a bronze mask that covered his face entirely, and though I could not see his eyes, I felt them boring into me. He was easily half a foot shorter than me, though his presence sent shivers down my spine. *This was a man born to lead*, I thought. We must have stood at odds for several minutes, though to this day, I remember it as the longest moment of my life.
He spoke in Greek, and I understood it. Another small piece of the puzzle, it seemed. "Are you a citizen?" he asked, his tone suggesting a genuine bemusement at the ragged giant in front of him. I caught my tongue, choking on it several times before murmuring a response, also in Greek. "I am lost. I do not remember," I said.
The soldier's posture visible relaxed. That we spoke the same language had been enough to assuage him. "You should go back," he said, pointing past the columns of men. "We will do battle here. It is not for you." I felt surprised at my panic. A second ago, I had been quite ready to find my own way, though now I dared not abandon the only safety in sight. "Please," I replied, dropping to my knees, "I have nowhere to go."
He must have heard desperation in my voice, as within a moment I had been given a hunk of dark bread, a wedge of hardened cheese, and found myself marching awkwardly beside the general, his army shaking the ground behind me. Within several hours we stopped. The road had narrowed to almost an impasse, with the columns having switched to only three men a breast to fit through. "Where are we?" I emboldened to ask.
"This is Thermopylae," the general replied. "We fight here." | 2016-09-05T11:20:34 | 2016-09-05T10:50:48 | 313 | 14 |
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final" | "Este es el examen final - Señor Chen" read the note. Attached were what I counted to be 1000 mexican pesos. I'm sure "BANCO DE MÉXICO" means Bank of Mexico.
Gaining a little bit of confidence in my Spanish, I did my best to Interpret the note: "Este es el examen final"... East exam final. Well, it's clear Señor Chen's Idea of a final Spanish 101 test is to leave me stranded in the middle of what I hope is Mexico with a thousand pesos and instructions to go East. I sure wish I hadn't skipped the orientation course at the Boy Scouts.
There's a sign on the road, reads something I can't pronounce but it's followed by a "2", I really hope it's a town that's two miles away.
I've never walked two miles so fast, maybe the hot Mexican sun is having a positive effect on me. unpronounceable name town is there. Lucky for me i recognize two of the most beautiful words ever: "Restaurante bar".
I enter the venue, approach the bar, put on my best question face and ask: "Este?"
The man behind the bar looks confused and asks: "¿Te puedo ayudar con algo?"
Trying to improve my international questions skills I ask again, now also using my finger to point. Hopefully that way he'll know I'm talking about directions. "Este?" I say again. The man turns and grabs something from the back. He brings a bottle of yellowish liquid and he asks back "¿Este?". I think he understood me. I say "Si, Este". I'm finally getting somewhere.
He tips the bottle and pours me a shot glass of the yellow liquid, he also gives me a sliced oranger. Then he says "Son cuarenta pesos". After a couple seconds of no response from me, he points at a menu on the wall that reads "Mezcal $40", I realize then that I had purchased a drink. I drink it quickly, it burns, but nicely, it's like tequila but nicer. I might not know Spanish but I know how to drink, so I knew to chase it with the orange slice. It was really good.
I paid the man and asked for another one. This time I drank it slowly as I planned my next move. My tummy grumbled and it became clear to me that my next move should address that. Luckily my Spanish knowledge also included the word "Taco". That the bartender understood and pointed his finger across the street.
I have had tacos before, but this was different, in a scary good way. The shop was full of people eating tacos. The deliciously smelling chaos invited me to step in. I looked for a line to order some tacos. There was none, people just approached the bar yelled something and after a couple of seconds and what seemed like a very synchronized performance of flying tortillas, meat chopping knives and and spoons full of colorful liquids, the yelling person would be presented with a plate full of soft tortilla tacos.
I approached the bar and a man behind the thickest mustache I've ever seen asked me: "¿Que te sirvo güero?". I know taco and I know pointing works, so I yell taco and point to where my nose tells me to. "¿Cuántos?" he said. He reads my lack of understanding and starts gesturing with his hand, "Uno, dos, tres". I get it he wants to know how many. I raise two fingers, tacos are not that big and I'm starving, but I want to get a chance to point at different things. "Con todo?" he asks. Anticipating my response, he starts pointing at different colored dishes some, some with salsa, others with onion, I say: "Salsa no picante", a must a foreigner should know while in Mexico, even I knew that. He greened and less than five seconds later, I had the first two of many tacos I would eat that night. Ordering drinks was way easier as you could just asked for American branded ones.
After my meal, when I offered him money, he pointed me to a cash register with a huge line of people. I got in line. This place is so chaotic that it would be easy to dine and dash. No one would know, yet everybody gets in line. When it was my turn, I was not shown a bill. Instead, a little old, but strong, lady asked me "¿Que fue?". I couldn't respond, and I looked at mustache guy. That man is on everything, I think I take back the dine and dash idea. He yells back a huge chain of words to the lady, she nods and writes on a paper: $120. I pay gladly. While I walk back to the street I can't help but to feel impressed by how beautifully the taco stand was. Such a quick service, you can see how your food is prepared, paying is based on honesty, In the States I would've had to pay $120 American dollars for that.
It's getting late and I still don't know what to do. I know 200 pesos will buy me food and two drinks but that's about it. I still don't know where East is, and I'm doubting "Este" means "East". Yet I feel fine. The bar I was earlier seems to have something cool going on so I go back. I sit at the bar and ask for a "Mezcal".
After the next mezcal I realize this is a Karaoke bar. I approach the stage to realize that maybe one out of every three songs is in English. I approach a girl who just sang "I will survive" and started speaking English to her. To my relief she understood me. I told her my story and she started laughing. She agreed to help me get back home, but only after I sang a song in Spanish.
While on stage the song was meaningless to me, but it felt great to sing it. At least to me. I saw some faces in the crowd that were not quite satisfied with my performance, although most were just having a laugh about it.
After Karlita left me at the border, she kissed me softly on the cheek and asked me, with just the slightest Mexican accent. So what do you think about your Spanish 101 Final Exam. I answered: "I may not have learned much Spanish during class, but now I know I want to, because I have to come back".
After listening to my story, Señor Chen failed me for getting assistance in English.
Esa fue la última vez que reprobé una clase de Español. | I woke to a pounding headache. The money was ominous the note worse. When I got home, I was going to murder that Spanish bastard, even if I kind of deserved it.
In my first, bleary-eyed survey of the landscape, I nearly tripped over a small pack. It contained a towel, a trowel, a hat, a sheet of mostly clear plastic, a pipe with Sioux carvings on it, and a pillow. So he had read my paper, but not the bibliography. Bastard.
In my second, frustrated circuit, I found the staff and my phone, dead of course. If Señor had been trying to convince me that there was no God, he was doing a good job. Fortunately, my comparative world religions professor, aside from being a bastard, had an overdeveloped sense of irony. I'd stared at enough maps of Ixitlan while writing the thrice-damned paper that I knew the area instantly. This was either going to be awesome, or fatal.
Being among the very whitest of the white men, I was going to need cover in a couple hours, but for now I made my way South, smashing a button here and an herb there, until I reached a hill with a rock overhang that would shade me from the sun through the most UVtastic part of the day..
I drank just a tiny bit of the prickly pear juice I'd collected, just enough to let me swallow without pain. The rest of the siesta was spent pounding, grinding and generally making a sticky paste out of most of the plants I'd grabbed. With the glob drying on a cactus paddle I'd collected at no small cost to my hands (Bastard could have left me some gloves), I sat back under the overhang and slipped the button under my tongue.
I'm going to skip this next part. Suffice it to say, I got sick, just like everyone else. Keith Richards I ain't.
The sun cleared out of the way, rising back into a verdigris sky to start the afternoon. I put her behind me and walked on, moving carefully as I got used to sperating the terrain that is from the terrain that might have been. It's not easy, when the differences are often so tiny. Fortunately, there was a low hillock nearby that had the last ingredient I needed. It was on the unreal side, but that was ok, since at least 3 of me were sufficiently fictional to make the climb. No great alien flower, no mystic mineral, just another kind of cactus that normally grew a couple days walk to the north. I guess that's what the money was for.
While I was finishing the recipe and packing the pipe, the overhang had gotten bored and left, so I needed another place to hang out. I followed a pack of spectral dogs back to their den, and crawled my physical self inside to bed down. I stuck the pillow under my head and lit the pipe, stretching out in the home barely bigger than a capsule-hotel room. The entrance was on the downhill side of the chamber, so it was only a few minutes before the little smoke filled the air all around. I closed my eyes, set the pipe aside, and began running through Erase the Body, which isn't really part of Dreaming, but it really helps when you need to go to sleep fast.
I'm going to skip this part too, since there are some childhood memories I don't want to share.
"Madre de Dios!" shouted Señor when I appeared, covered in dust, sunburn, psychedelic smoke, and nothing else. His 4:00 appointment turned bright red, dumped me off of the chair we were both trying to occupy, and ran out, screaming. After a moment, he blinked and said "A+ for using the technique, successfully, -1 for appearing naked in a female student's lap, -3 for raising uncomfortable questions about the nagual at a Catholic University. You get an A if you leave now, find some pants, and tell no one.".
"Deal"
Multi-edit: Mobile cleanup | 2017-06-29T10:13:16 | 2017-06-29T09:51:13 | 79 | 26 |
[WP] Sometimes, anomalies are born. Beings whose power can flare brighter even than the true Gods – all of it for a fleeting instant of time. The eternally living Gods are wary of such might, and try to ignore these beings. Until an old and wise, but relatively weak Goddess visits one such anomaly. | A knock at the door brought the attention of the parents; mother cradling child, and father looking with protective fear. He picked up a sickle, his only protective weapon, and approaches cautiously.
"Who goes there?"
"Only an old woman, Child. An old woman seeking help, with the promise of a gift."
The returning voice sounded like it's answer; a deep, croaking feminine voice, caked from the damage of age. Through the door, the father could hear the haggard breathing, steady but loud. As he opened the door slowly, he saw exactly as he heard; an old woman, covered in furs and rags, with a knarled cane supporting the haunched frame. He looked around to ensure that she was alone, before carefully ushering her into the shared hovel. "Inside quickly, Mhamó."
Once inside, the old woman greeted the mother with child, ensuring to keep a cautious distance from the nervous duo. Once the father ensured no tailing the old woman, he spoke to her. "We do not have much, Mhamó, but we can offer some soup. A place to stay, if you need it, though I would not stay long."
"Very kind of you, Child. But I do not come for food, or shelter. I come for a different kind of help, with a promise of a gift."
"What would you ask of us, Mhamó?"
"Your child carries the Flare." She held up a calming hand as the two stiffened up at her words. "Worry not, I am not here to whisk them away, nor do terrible things to them. Much the opposite. I wish to put blessings upon your child, at the cost of syphoning some of the Flare for my own power. In a sense, you could say I wish to be the child's *God* mother."
The old crone chuckled, as if at a pun.
"But draining the Flare would kill our child. I will not be tricked by...whatever you are, Mhamó."
The crone sighed, before whispering in a beautiful language neither mortal understood. It sounded like the babbling brooks, the croaking oaks, the low howl of the winds. As she spoke, the hovel croaked and groaned as a flower weaved it's way through the floorboards, the flower seemingly closing and coalescing into a fruit, going through the seasons in a few short seconds. The crone offered the fruit as she continued.
"What I *am*, Child, is Gaia. And I do not take you for fools, nor do I intend to take your child's life. Indeed, I wish to *extend* their life, through the syphoning of the Flare. *Syphon*, not drain. Such a temperament of the Flare will allow your child to live a much longer life, a much happier life. And I will bless them, and you as well. You will never lack in your survival needs. Your farm will be fruitful, the forests will be filled with plenty, and the waters will be clean and clear."
"And what, Gaia, do you gain from this?"
Gaia chuckled knowingly. "Power, Child. While I control much, many have abandoned me. There is a loss in faith, in me. Even though I do not *need* the faith of my Children, it hurts. And, it is my hope, with the power I syphon from the Flare, I can bring more Children back to faith."
The two looked to each other, before nodding in agreement. "We would wish to see our child live a long and fruitful life. We accept your offer, Gaia."
"Please, call me Mamó, makes me feel included. Now, introduce me to my godchild." | "For once! Why you just turn around and don't helped the elf?! She needed the help and it would become into something more, probably, and an adventure would be in front of us!"
"Sheesh, don't scream Venus. I am not in the mood to go fight the demon lord."
"She asked help to find her son!"
"Who got caught in an accident at the road between Terravysta and Vilanova by the assassin guild, that was contracted by the Baron of Pantagron, which have act into a cult that worship the Lord of the Flies. The leader is a demon who is making plans to bring the King to this plane."
"How do you even know it?!"
"My power is literally knowledge. I use it to live the way I want."
"For the gods sake, tell me what is it?!"
"Oh goddess of love, how don't you know? I want to live a lazy life with you."
The goddess pass walking trying to not destroy the city by her magic powers and the anger she is feeling.
When he were laughing, giving a teenager a paper note. It could not be his desire to fight, but he knew someone that could deal with it. | 2022-10-15T21:19:46 | 2022-10-15T17:45:46 | 98 | 11 |
[WP] You don't know how or why, but since birth you knew you were given an antagonistic role in life. Every chance fate got, it made sure to remind you of your place. No good deed gets to anyone as intended, instead it filters through as an offense somehow. You still hope to break the pattern. | Do one good deed a day and soon everyone will start to notice just how special you truly are.
Those words from my late mother still echoed in my mind as I passed through the bustling streets, tucking my hands into my sides so I didn’t hit anyone. At first, I thought I just had bad luck. No matter what I did, it always seemed to affect those around me negatively. If I tried to offer someone a snack, they would choke on it. If I tried to help someone up, I would end up dropping them and then they would blame me for whatever misfortune came because of my help. Well, everyone but mom. She never blamed me for it. Perhaps if she did, she would still be around.
It was only later in life that I realized that my life wasn’t just a case of bad luck, instead, I was a victim of fate. I was destined to be a troublemaker, the sort of person who lost at the end of the day. That face on the news that everyone sneers at and thanks whoever they believe in that their child didn’t end up like me. That was who I was, and I hated it.
“WATCH IT IDIOT, YOU NEARLY KNOCKED ME OVER.”
“Huh?”
“HUH? Is that all you have to say? No apology or nothing? I have a bad knee, you know; you could have caused me to fall and crack my head.”
I hadn’t even realized I bumped the man; too lost in my thoughts to even notice we had collided. I did my best to look small, tucking my chin into my neck as I mumbled a small apology to the man, hoping that would be enough to get him off my back.
“Speak up. If you’re going to apologize, do it right.”
I mumbled another apology, this time moving to step past him, only for my shoulder to catch the man throwing him onto his back. There was a gasp from the forming crowd as the man reached for his knee, letting out a howl of pain. I didn’t stop to help him, just keeping my head lowered as I walked towards the train station. I could feel the crowds’ stares following me, so I picked up the pace, wanting to avoid another confrontation.
Once I had created enough distance, I slipped back into the swarm of people heading to the station, hiding myself amongst them. I wiped my sweaty hands off onto my jacket as I got onto platform two. “Good. Made it with a few minutes to spare.” At least it wasn’t all bad. I hadn’t missed my train this time. I found a spot to lean against, pressing my back to the wall while waiting.
“Spare change, sir?” An older man asked, waving a half-filled can in my face. I listened to it jingle with the various loose change it had before reaching into my pocket. I knew it was a bad idea. Things like this always went bad for me, but what could I do? I wanted to make everyone notice how special I was, even if it killed me. I couldn’t let mom down, not after all she did for me.
I gave the man a nod as I fiddled with my pocket, searching for whatever change I had. As my fingers clawed at the fabric, I found my notes missing. Maybe I had put them in the other pocket? The man only scowled, jingling his can with more urgency, trying to hurry me along. My fingers dug deeper, eventually stumbling on a few pieces of lint and a decent sized coin. I opened my palm, showing the man my findings.
“That it? You made me wait for that?” Reluctantly, he held his can towards me, letting me drop the pitiful amount of change in. My fingers slipped, dropping the coins onto the ground before him. I went to pick them up, only for the loud horn of my train to sound as it pulled into the station.
“Um, sorry, can you pick them up?” I went to hurry past the man as he crouched before me. My leg bumping his elbow, spilling the contents of the can onto the ground. A few notes floated past my feet, landing underneath the train as I climbed aboard. My last sight before leaving the station was the man desperately trying to scoop the remains of his money into the can with the help of a few passersby. Hopefully, they would give some money to him and repay my debt to him. I would have given him some money when I returned as an apology, but with how today was going, I already knew that would only cause him more pain.
I didn’t take a seat, just gripping a metal pole as I waited for my stop. I knew better than to sit. Sitting always led to an awkward encounter where I would try to offer my seat to someone that needed it, only to make their life worse. Standing was safer, sure I might bump into someone or fall onto them, but it worked out better than the alternative.
Thankfully, fate had given me a break, perhaps satisfied it had already reminded me of my place enough times today. When the doors to my station arrived, I left as soon as I could, marching my way through the people crowding by the train’s door. It was a simple walk from the station, just a five-minute walk-through a nearby park until I arrived at the Nesting Hollows cemetery.
It was nice being out of the crowds. As depressing as it was to visit a cemetery, there was something nice about how empty it was. I felt like I could move without earning a glare or a harsh word from someone nearby. I felt free. Making my way past the graves until I arrived at the one I came to visit, crouching before it.
“Hey mom, I tried again today.” I gave her grave a smile, trying to wipe off some of the dried pieces of dirt that had stuck to it overtime. I wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to tell her just how awful everything was and yet, when I went to speak, I felt myself struggling to get the words out, so I sat in silence, just staring at the tombstone. Eventually, I felt my throat clear and could get out a few quick words.
“I made a lot of progress. It’s getting easier.” I lied. I didn’t know why I felt a need to lie. She wouldn’t hear my words; I could be as honest as I liked, and still something made me choke up at the thought of admitting the truth. “I think I’ll change my fate, just like you said I would. Soon everyone will see how special I am, and you will get to be proud. All your sacrifices will be worth it and Dad will regret ever leaving us.” It hurt to smile now. Sure, I could lie to her, but I couldn’t lie to myself.
When the tombstone wobbled, I stopped trying to wipe the dirt off, careful to avoid another mistake. “I should get going before I mess anything up. I would have bought flowers, but I heard the ones I bought last time made someone sick. Not sure how, but I don’t bother asking questions anymore. Love you mom, I’ll come back next week. Hopefully, with more good news.” I dusted my clothes off before returning to the station.
“Do one good deed a day and soon everyone will start to notice just how special you truly are.” I said to myself, preparing for the trip home, trying my best to keep my hopes alive of changing my fate.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | It was getting darker and darker, I buried my head into my hands. Why did I need to do this? All I ever wanted was friends! But I'm the bad guy... My eyes burned as the water poured out. I was being pathetic, crying on the street after another fight with Iced- the Hero- I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it, but my whole life was miserable.
I heard soft steps approaching me but I didn't look up. "Death Wish?!" I knew who was it, and I didn't want him to see me cry. "Are you.. okay?" Iced asked, kneeling in front of me.
"Fuck off." I grunted, he must have been deaf or stupid. Or both, because he sat down next to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shake it of, but the feeling of someone being here for me had me on tears again. "I said get the fuck away.." I mumbled, but he didn't move an inch.
"No, not until you tell me what is wrong." He stated, I looked at him from corner of my eyes, pity was presentable in his pretty icy blue eyes.
"And why do you care?" I asked, "we are enemies, you shouldn't care about me. In fact, you should be happy." Plus, you don't know what your presence does to me..
He shook his head, making the golden hairs on top of his head messy. "I'm not a monster you know, I care about people's feelings, even if we are enemies." He sighed, "maybe I don't want to be your enemy.." As soon as he said that, he covered his mouth with his hand, his face was burning red and he looked embarrassed.
"Yeah, yeah whatever.." I rolled my eyes at him. "But no, really, get away before someone's sees us." I looked at him, he smiled softly. "And leave you alone on the streets sobbing? Nah, I'll stay."
The salty water was rolling down my cheeks again, and pair of hands wrapped around me. "What- what are you doing?" I asked harshly, not wanting to be seen with him like this. "It's called hug, you don't know what it is?" He asked, eyeing me like if I was some sort of an alien. I shook my head no.
At that, Iced pulled me close to his chest. "You poor thing.." He whispered in my ear. I never realized how tall he really is. "This is weird.." I said, trying to free myself, but he just held me tighter than before. "Just wrap your hands around me, it's nice feeling." He smiled at me.
I sighed and tried to fit my hand around his body. It really was nice feeling, someone was finally here for me, even when he was my enemy. I felt my eyes getting heavier that before, I closed them for a minute, and the world passed off. Maybe this my chance, chance to become something better.
Something grabbed my legs and picked me up, I didn't protest, because I felt safe. I just pretended to be asleep, I wondered where will I end up, so I snuggled against Iced's chest and let him carry me away.
After like half of an hour, we came to stop, and it may sound weird, but I enjoyed it when he carried me around like that. My back made slow impact with something soft and soon enough, a blanket was thrown over me. I took this opportunity to pretend I just woke up.
"Hmm.." I hummed, opening my eyes. "Where in the world am I?" I asked, scanning over the room. It was pretty and cozy. I spotted Iced right beside the bed I was in.
"Oh, umm.. You- you fell asleep and well- I- uhmmm... I didn't want you to sleep on the street.. so I took you to.. uhmmm.. my house?" He finally finished. He seemed a lot more nervous than before.
"Wait, you took me to your house? Why? You know I can attack you anytime now, because I practically know where you live." I said, looking at him. He passed me shy smile. "I didn't want to leave you alone on the street, and I have no Idea where do you live so-" He looked me into eyes.
He was really cute from thin angle.. Wait what? "Oh, cool.." I said, returning him his smile. "Also, shouldn't we tell each other our real names? It's kinda weird calling you Death when you are my guest now.." Iced looked at me with hope in his eyes.
"Okay, you first." I smirked, wondering if he'd actually tell me his real name. "It's Charlie.." He says sweetly. "Nice name, mine is Xander, but Xane can go just fine." He smiled at me.
"Nice to meet you Xane." I returned the smile. "Nice to meet you too Charlie."
And doneeeee another part of their relationship doneee | 2022-07-20T01:23:21 | 2022-07-20T00:38:17 | 148 | 18 |
[WP] An alien race encounters the most terrifying predator imaginable. A lone, unarmed human. | We shouldn’t have attacked.
The humans had established one of their “Research Stations”, a facility designed for science. Within its walls, they had tested many different species of the flora and fauna present on distant Xel’ji-5, a planet that was still ours, still under the dominion of the Korlan Empire despite it not being actively colonized yet. We sent a full company, nearly a hundred fifty Korlani soldiers, to purge the infestation of twenty humans.
We should have sent a full armored corps.
After we burned the laboratory to ash, ensuring that no human escaped alive, we left. What we didn’t know was that a pair of the invaders, one a scientist and one a security professional, had been away gathering samples. The scientist immediately fled to their ship to request assistance. The guard had other plans.
We did not know how important to the humans this laboratory was. We did not know that the security professional was better trained than most of our entire military. Our records indicate only his name, which has become a wraith to our people and the source of nightmares to our children. His name was “Spetsnaz.”
He came the first night after. Mere hours after we watched all the humans die, one merely appeared in the middle of a squad’s overnight position. We did not know of the extreme gravity of Sol-3, nor of the extremely thick atmosphere which provided extreme resistance to movement. His blows came so fast the survivor swore that he was an eight-armed demon.
Survivor.
Only one soldier, out of the dozen that had been present, survived. The human had literally punched *though* the first Korlan he attacked. From there, he used a combination of punches, kicks, and at one point a Korlani soldier’s rifle sling to devastate the entire squad.
And with their deaths, he knew more about his enemy that we did ours.
And now he was armed. A dozen plasma rifles, machetes, concussion grenades, light spheres, he became a one man army.
The rest of the company immediately began running. We fled directly to our ship, which was nearly [fifty miles] away. He followed.
Humans, apparently, evolved from pursuit predators. They literally chased down their food across tundras, through forests, across rivers. They would run and run and run until their prey was so exhausted they would collapse, ready for the killing blow.
We became the prey.
Without food or water, the human followed us. Every time we needed to stop to rest, more would die. He would engage from our flanks, herding us towards the grenades he had place in our paths for us to trip and die from. He was actually able to outpace my whole company enough that there were booby traps *ahead* of us. And we tired.
For a Korlani, a [fifty mile] foot trek should take about [3 days]. This human pushed us at a pace that was nearly half that timeframe. He did not sleep, did not slow, did not relent. He drove us into sleep deprivation, as our homeworld’s day/night cycle completes in about [13 hours].
Every pause made us lose another squad. Every turn brought another fireteam down. Every time we took contact, another soldier was wounded. Never killed, but wounded.
He knew us. He knew we would slow to keep our wounded with us. He shot to maim, to impede, not to kill. He made us choose between leaving our comrades and living or slowing, and dying ourselves.
Then the contact stopped. For [seven hours], we heard nothing. We continued to push, despite nearly falling asleep on our feet. When we could see our ship, we knew why he had broken contact.
The communications gear was destroyed. The engines had been entirely removed with the selective placement of concussion grenades, and the controls had taken a full plasma magazine charge, rendering them beyond useless. We were stranded, and both we and he knew it.
The human approached. He came out of the wood line, weapon pointed directly as Sergeant Gapin’s skull.
“You are dead. You vill surrender to face human justice, or you vill die here without a marker for your grave. Choose now.”
We surrendered. We marched back to the burning remnants of the human research facility, where a full company of humans stood, waiting. After the Counsel of Species heard the human’s story, and their testimony, and our confessions, the humans declared war on the Korlani Empire.
Now, my species is considered endangered. There is barely enough of us to inhabit a single moon, when barely a [decade] ago we controlled over a hundred worlds.
I write this as a warning. Do not attack the humans. The will out run you. They will outlast you.
They will be at your funerals and they will forget you ever existed. | "Jac'que, it just killed another drone!"
Jac'que rubbed his mandible, it had been a long day.
"By the Great Queen... how is it doing this?! That was the third one! What does it want?!"
The worker clicked on its pad which showed a series of graphs and what seemed to be hieroglyphs to the untrained eye.
"Our research shows that it is saying something about 'coming cold.'"
"So you're saying it is cold."
"No sir, we threw some warm jelly at it and it just ate it."
Jac'que was stunned, "It ate it?"
The worker nodded in stunned agreement, "We're dealing with a monster."
Jac'que rubbed his lucky leg, it was the last one he hadn't need to replace with a machine.
"By the way..." Jac'que sighed embarrassingly, "Which drone died this time?"
"It was Clyde sir, he was one day from retirement." Replied the worker.
"And by retirement you mean-"
"Eaten by his offspring, yes sir."
Jac'que curled his tentacles into a fist. "Now his children will never experience the shame of your father being too weak to defend himself and the pride of surviving the final conflict before being worked to death."
Jac'que turned from the worker, as was custom after discussing the death of the weak.
"So did he die the same way as the others?"
The worker nodded, as was custom to see if the Pilot had suddenly developed psychic powers and needed to be killed.
"Well?" The pilot continued.
The worker sighed in relief, "Yes sir, it used its cannon to shoot a biological weapon at the dron-."
Suddenly, in colors human eyes could never witness, but let's pretend it's red for this tale, the room is flashing with that pre-named color.
"Great Queen! It has breached the perimeter! We're doomed!"
Suddenly, through the bars of the small window on the door, on the far side of this white room with soft walls, a young redheaded woman peaks her head in, dressed in a white blanket and a hello kitty nightgown. With a nasal pronunciation and a sniffle behind every word she meekly admits:
"Hello? I'm sorry to be a bother but I've got a bit of a cold... do you have some more of that tea-a-A-ATCHOO!" | 2014-08-06T12:53:08 | 2014-08-06T12:08:26 | 353 | 21 |
[WP] It's the end of the universe. You're the last soul to appear before God and Lucifer to be judged in the end times. Unbeknownst to them, you are Death and have come to claim them both. | "Well this is a peculiar one." Lucifer scratched at his horns. "Remarkably clean, considering everything."
"Yes, Morningstar," God groaned, "I would like to go at least one day without you mentioning the mess you made of my world."
"It was quite a brutal end." The man confessed.
"Well, congratulations man! You're the last soul to be judged. As in ever!"
"I hate to say it, but Lucifer is correct. We have judged all of mankind before you."
"Fantastic." The man shifted under his robe. "I confess I was worried some wouldn't make it here."
"Nothing to fear, every soul has made it's way to us. I've made sure of that," God smiled.
"Have You? You, personally, sought to their collection?"
"Ha! All He did was snore behind this desk and let his precious little boy do all the work!" Lucifier growled. A few extra cuts stretched with his scowl.
"Jesus was far too inexperienced for the ordeal you burdened him with. Surely You must know that." The man's bony fingers scratched at his arm.
"You are here to be judged, young one." Gid crossed his arms. "My familial matters are of no concern to you."
"Of course they are " The man's hood fell from his head, with nothing but a skull underneath. "Any proper uncle should have concern for His nephew."
God jumped from his seat. "Death?!"
Lucifer looked confused. "He's real?!"
"Of course I am. How do you think those souls arrive at your gates in the first place?"
Lucifer remained dumbfounded.
"What are you even doing here?" God finally asked.
"What else? Finishing the job."
"Sorry what?" Lucifer chimed back in. "Everyone is already dead."
"Not everyone." Death extended two fingers, pointing directly at the two of them.
"You cannot take Me." God spat, a holy fist slamming upon the desk.
"Quite the contrary. I have to." Death stepped closer. "This iteration is over, Life. And You have made it a very nasty endeavour. Mother is quite displeased."
Lucifer stared. "M...Mother?"
Death grinned, as best as he could. "Yes, all things come from something else, my nephew. Even the two of Us."
"You have a Mother?" The devil asked God.
"Unfortunetly."
"Incredible."
"It is not so hard to believe, Lucifer."
"It is, though. They all had mothers, didn't they? Of every soul to come to my gates, do you know the one thing they had in common. They begged. Not just for God, but for their mothers too. Usually more so. I had always wondered what that was like. Even Christ had a mother. My fellow angels and I merely came into being. We never had a mother. Even Eve didn't, and I admired her for that. Before You took that friendship from me."
"Save it. You shouldn't have been there and you know it." God growled.
"Life, there is nothing left here. This universe is dark, cold, and empty. Entropy has claimed all, as I have always said it would, for billions of years now."
Lucifer sunk into his seat. "So what now?"
"Now, you will come with me. Both Heaven and Hell have both been destroyed, You are all that's left."
Lucifer grew concerned. God screamed.
"You did what?!"
Lucifer finally rose from his seat. "And what about the souls?!"
Death rose a bony hand, hushing them. "The occupants have since emigrated. Everyone is safe. Angel, demon, and soul alike."
Lucifer sighed, slinking back into his chair. "At least there's that."
"You had no right!" God yelled, ripping the table out of reality.
"Correct. It was Mother. She has watched over this iteration and found it... disappointing. Your reign is over, Life."
God only stared.
"Ended? So... this universe is over?" Lucifer asked.
"Yes, a new one is to be made. But I will be in charge this time."
"That's not fair..." God whimpered.
"Neither was your rule."
"So where do we go?" Lucifer spoke softly, rising from his seat like an uncomfortable child.
"Outside for now. Home." Death extended his hand. "Now come."
God merely sat, tears falling from his face. Lucifer carefully extended his hand to Death.
"Will... I get to meet this Mother?"
"Of course," Death said calmly, "She has been so excited to meet her oldest grandson."
Lucifer gripped tightly. "And the others?"
"They miss you dearly. I hear even Jesus wishes to see you. To reconcile."
A smile snuck it's way onto the devil's face. "I suppose I do owe him an apology." He turned towards God, trying desperately to ignite a star in his hands. Only to have the cold universe rip it apart in seconds. "And Him?"
"I'll be back for him. He knows nothing of grief. It's only proper I'm the one to teach him."
Death and Lucifer turned to the edge of the universe. "You mentioned you'll be in charge of the next one..." Lucifer muttered.
"I will be. And I assure you, it'll be better this mess. I hope to even give you and Jesus a brotherhood, this time around."
The devil looked up. "You can do that? Give me a life? You promise?"
"Of course. I always keep my promises, nephew." | *Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True....*
----
"I'd like the soup," Tom said, "and can I get some of the extra crackers?"
"We don't offer crackers anymore," Tom's waiter, Satan, said.
Tom frowned. "I mean... they're crackers. How expensive can they be?"
Satan sighed and rolled his eyes. "The restaurant business is already on pretty thin margins, and this place has been doing horribly. We really can't afford the crackers."
Tom looked around the rest of the dining room. "I see what you mean," he said, "I'm the only one here...."
It was then that God arrived from behind the counter. "Hey, Lucy," he said, "Death called a full staff meeting, right now."
"I'm with a customer," Satan said.
"He doesn't care," God said. "Right. Now."
"Seriously?" Tom asked.
Satan shrugged. "The boss is patient, but when your time is up, that's it. Guess I'm getting fired."
"Worse," God said. "The reason it doesn't matter if you're with a customer is because this place is going out of business."
"Oh, man!" Tom said. "I mean, again, I realize that I'm the only customer here and so you're not getting a lot of business, but this is the closest restaurant to my bus stop. I'm a regular!"
"You were the only regular," God said. "And it wasn't enough, sorry."
"It's probably the theme restaurant thing," Tom suggested. "I mean, Satan and God waiting tables, Death cooking up the food in the back? It's a bit strange."
Satan chuckled. "You think that's a theme? You really are a regular here, or at least you've never been to any other restaurant."
"People write about Me and him and Death," God gestured to the back room, "all the time. All. The. Time."
"Not a single solitary day goes by without one or more of us getting a prompt," Satan said. "Or, worse yet, someone *reposting* a prompt about us, like there was a dearth of content and it was the only way they could get their fix."
"The point is," God continued, "there are so many God and Death and Satan in this town that the only jobs we can get are minimum wage things like waiting tables at a restaurant that's going under."
Death appeared, an impatient scowl somehow on his skull. "Are you two done talking? You need to start clearing out the inventory so we can close this place forever."
"Yeah, yeah," God said, wandering around back with Death.
"Hey," Satan said to Tom, "you want to help?"
"Why on earth would I want to help?"
"Because," Satan said, "I'll let you take all the crackers you can carry."
"... deal." | 2018-12-10T10:05:29 | 2018-12-10T08:36:41 | 41 | 16 |
[WP]: Being thrown back 200 years in time sucked. However, making a living as a freak circus attraction turned out to be pretty sweet. | Never listen to a Tallahassee drug dealer when he says “trust me, the high is worth the come-down.”
The air in the tent was hot and thick with the smell of horseshit and watered-down beer. The nearest city was 3 days away, and the nearest room with AC was 170 years further.
“Still, isn’t the worst gig I’ve ever had” I thought to myself with a smirk.
You take a lot of crap jobs when you’re a dueling pianist. Sure, you get the odd bar show, but I wasn’t the only one in the field desperate enough to take a children’s party to make ends meet…. Still, what I wouldn’t give for an hour of screaming brats if it meant I could go home in a car, on a paved road, to a home with indoor plumbing.Through the tent flaps I could hear an anxious crowd whispering amongst themselves.
“Fucking Chris…” I muttered as I dusted off the beat up old piano that had become my bread and butter.
He’d been my partner for years. Sure not every night was easy, but we got along and we made enough to keep us feed and high. Playing any song upon request may sound amazing, but honestly it gets mind numbing after awhile. The best response we ever got was mild surprise we could come up with the tune at a whim, and honestly that’s about all we deserved.
“Ladies and Gentleman, step right up, the shows about to start. You’re not gonna wanna miss this once in a lifetime opportunity!” John the barker… barked. I always felt like John oversold it, but he was a good guy, except for the racism. To be fair he wasn’t especially racist, he was just living in 1816; everyone was, is, kind of racist. At least I’d finally made friends here.
I remember waking up on a dirt road in the middle of a cliché western town. I figured Chris had just dumped me somewhere as a prank after I had too much of that stuff his sleazy friend had sold us. Assuming everyone around you is an actor WAY too committed to a theme-park role isn’t the best way to meet people. Being naked didn’t help much either.
“You ready?!” John asked, poking his head through the curtain and grinning that big crooked toothed grin.
“Yeah… why not?”
“Ladies and Gentleman, introducing the Maestro of Maestros, the only man who can invent an entire song off of just one word!”
As the crowd of dirty faced settlers pushed in, I thought to myself the only difference between a parlor trick and true magic is timing. Well, might as well give the people what they paid for.
“I need a word, any word will do!” I shouted, the practiced phrase rolling off my tongue with ease.
“Love!” Shouted a young couple in the back
“Passion” murmured an old woman up front.
“BUTTS” bellowed a particularly uncreative clod from the middle of the room… Meh. Might as well run with it…
“I believe I heard a suggestion from the suave gentleman in the cowboy hat” and with that I started tinkling the keys with a dramatic flourish.
I took a dramatic pause before speak singing “Oh my God, Becky look at her butt…”
Hey, it’s a living.
| Time-traveling sucked, Mary thought, but at least the pay was sweet.
Mary smirked at the crowd, trying to make her expression menacing as possible. It seemed to work, as the crowd hurled back mocking jeers and taunts at her. She'd been thrown off at first by all the negativity directed at her, but she'd learned soon enough that in nineteenth century-speak, it was basically the same thing as cheers and applause. At least, she hoped so.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," boomed the announcer. "May I present to you today, the terrifying, three-hundred pound Mary Baloney!"
Who knew that having a few extra pounds was considered a freak circus attraction back then? | 2016-09-27T14:53:24 | 2016-09-27T10:38:23 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You're a god. It's pretty sweet, being immortal and stuff. Only problem is, you've fallen in love with a mortal, and now they're sick. Like, really sick. Your devastated, and your trying to convince the other gods to make them immortal so that you can be with them forever. | I didn’t think they’d make me climb Olympus on foot. Sure, it wasn’t that much work, but Sierra was a heavy gal, and she tended to shiver when she got cold. I’d gotten her a sweater, but she still shivered in my arms as I made my way up. The walk was fine, and she enjoyed the sights, I think. I’m never really sure with her.
When I got to the top, bursting through the clouds with conviction I didn’t know I possessed, I was exhausted. I put Sierra down at the entrance to the main temple and gave her a pat, telling her I’d be right back. She stared at me with her giant dark eyes and shivered a little more. She didn’t look so good. She never looked good these days. Leukemia, they told me. It was going to make short work of her mortal body if I didn’t do something.
I knew they’d be waiting for me, but it was a tad more dramatic than I’d like. Zeus had gathered the other eleven Olympians around a massive table. On it lay a feast fit for, well, the gods. He motioned for me to take a seat at the other side, the tail. The other gods sat after I did. There was silence as they all waited for Zeus. I never imagined they could be quiet. I’d spent many nights with them being mischievous, devious, and then fixing our mistakes as best we could. I considered them kin. At least, until I had to ask for this.
“Let us eat,” said Zeus, picking up his fork.
Immediately, a roll flew from Dionysus’ hand towards Ares. The God of War caught it in one swift motion and launched it at Hermes; it hit him on the forehead and sent him backwards, falling flat on his back. Zeus let out a hearty chuckle.
“So, Cairn, tell us of your request.”
I was mid-sip with my wine. I quickly finished and cleared my throat, “It’s Sierra, my companion. She’s very sick.”
“I can heal her,” offered Artemis.
“I appreciate that, but this has been a painful reminder of her mortality. I am here to ask she be granted immortality, so that we may live together forever.”
The utensils stopped clinking. Hermes had righted himself. He let out a loud laugh, “You want us to grant her immortality? I’m unsure if that’s wise.”
“Why?” I asked; I was prepared to walk to Hades and spit in his face if need be.
Athena looked at me solemnly, “To grant your companion immortality would be open the door to more requests of this sort.”
“A bureaucratic nightmare,” Hera snorted.
“I understand your hesitation, but she is the world to me.” I thought of her smile, her warm breath.
Zeus looked sad, “Cairn, I’ve loved many mortals in my time,” Hera ribbed him but he continued, “so I understand. But they’re right. We don’t want to have to field these requests constantly.”
Ares was winding back to launch a roll at Dionysus, who was too occupied with his quail to notice. “My boy, why not ask Hades?” He let the roll go. It hit Dionysus with surprising force, splattering bread on his carved forehead. The Wine God sputtered.
Dionysus wiped the crumbs from his face, his voice level and cool, “I think it’s a fine idea.”
“Thank you.” I said.
“Besides, what’s one mortal? Who would know?”
“We would,” Artemis cut in. “We really can’t be flippant about this.”
“People are going to notice if a god has a new companion,” said Aphrodite. She batted her long lashes at me with a ripe smile.
Zeus sighed, his suckling pig cut half-eaten. He took a long drink of wine while the Olympians watched him. He finally said, “I am inclined to grant it.”
There was an exclamation and then laughter from the other room. It was the baby of Olympus, Hercules. He came tottering in, riding on Sierra’s back. I could see her laboring at the effort of walking, the way her eyes drooped. “Doggy! Doggy!” He cried.
Hera lit up and then ran to him, scooping him up. “Oh, baby,” she cooed, “where did you find that?”
Hercules pounded his tiny shining fists against her chest, crying. “Doggy! Doggy!” She wrapped him in her cloak and sang to him softly.
I patted the side of my chair, “Come here, girl.” She plodded over to me and then laid down in an almost involuntary motion. She looked tired beyond belief.
“Is that your dog, Cairn?” Artemis asked.
“It is. This is Sierra. She’s the one I ask for.”
The table went quiet. Not a single fork or roll moved. Even Demeter had stopped weaving her basket. Zeus let out a loud, raucous laugh. “Well, my boy, why didn’t you say it was a dog?”
I blushed, “I’m sorry, I thought you all knew.”
Athena stood and came to Sierra, petting her. As her hands flowed over Sierra’s dull coat, I watched her perk up. She looked young again. The goddess looked up to me, “She’s healed. But I wish you luck in this endeavor. We all deserve someone to love, someone who loves us back. Animals are unconditional in that respect.” She bent and kissed Sierra’s forehead.
I looked down at her. She’d been my companion for years. She looked back at me with her dark eyes, now glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the clouds. Zeus clapped his hands together, the sound thundering. Sierra didn’t seem to mind it.
“I’ve decided. We shall grant immortality to your companion.”
I reached out to put my hand on Sierra as she glowed the same brilliant color as Hercules. She floated above the cloud-floor for a moment before letting out a loud bark, the sound echoing as Zeus’ clap had. I wiped the tear away from my eye and stood, hugging her now-indestructible body against mine.
“I love you, girl.”
She licked my face with renewed glee and the gods at the table let out a cry of joy.
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams for more! | “We’ve all been there,” Zeus said to his grieving daughter. “When the finite meets the infinite, the finite will always wither.”
“But why father?” Persephone cried. Her black tears spoiling the ground where they fell.
“We are the sun and they are the rose. It is through our light that they grow towards their potential, but like the beautiful rose, it must die so others behind it can grow and be fertilized by it. If we were all immortal, then the world would lose meaning. There would be no growth, no striving. Like the mortals we would stagnate and wish for death, but for us, death wouldn’t come.”
Her jaw ached from tightening it. As the goddess of seasons she knew of the importance of the ebb and flow of the crops and how birth and death were necessities. It did not make it easier.
“If you won’t change the rules for me, then I’m going to your brother,” Persephone said with renewed resolve.
Zeus sat quietly, sadness etched in his marble-esque face.
“Hade’s will tell you what you want to hear. He will make you guarantees that will comfort your heart, but his gifts are twisted. They are never whole wishes.”
Zeus said no more. He knew his daughter, same of temperament as he, was going to go to the underworld.
The months based and from Olympus Zeus watched the mortal waste away and eventually die.
The day Persephone went into the underworld the sky became overcast, the fields wilted with blight. All this was to be expected as the goddess of the crops left the world. Human suffering was an unfortunate side effect of the passions of gods.
“You should go to her,” Hera said stirring Zeus from his thoughts.
“Let her grieve. Let her spend some time in the underworld and she will choose to come back to the light. No one wants to be in that dark place, it’s why unpunished Hades to live there in the first place, as a form of torment.”
Seasons passed. In the spring nothing grew. The people starved.
The other gods and goddess gathered around Zeus to petition him.
“You must go to the underworld,” Apollo said. “The people are starving too much to make war.”
“Or art,” added Athena.
“Or love,” said Aphrodite.
“It is time, my husband,” Hera said offering him a hand. “I’ll walk you as far as the gates.”
Zeus knew it had to be him. He was the one who could tame Cerberus and ferry unharmed across the river Styx.
His brother was waiting for him when he arrived in his domain. “Zeus, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure.”
“You know why I’m here. I want you to release my daughter.”
“Release her?” Hades said mocking hurt, “She’s not a prisoner. Come, see.”
The brothers, one tall with gleaming skin and flowing blond hair, the other bent, skin and hair blacked by the darkness walked side by side along an idyllic river. Zeus saw his daughter sitting next to the river, a man resting his head in her lap.
“Persephone, it’s time to go home.”
“No father, she replied. Hades has given me what I wanted, an eternity with mortal lover who you allowed to die. Now dead in the underworld we will never be apart.”
“The world is starving without your light, my daughter.”
“As you’d said, things live and die, it is the way of the world and no longer a concern of mine.”
“You see my brother,” Hades said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “she is content.”
“I am not,” Zeus said, his voice raising as he tightened his fists.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hades laughed, taking Zeus’ fist in his hand. “You see the scales are tipping brother.” Zeus tried to strike his brother, but found his hand firmly held in place. “With Persephone here there are more dead than living, increasing my power. This is the end for humans. This is how your reign ends brother, with your denial of love death won.” | 2021-02-23T07:42:07 | 2021-02-23T07:39:14 | 89 | 11 |
[WP] You've been magically gifted the ability to speak all languages. Anything you say comes out in the first language of whoever you're looking at. One day, you try to greet someone on the street and they gape in horror as ancient, unknowable eldritch sounds exit your mouth. The ground shakes... | The ground shaking was the first warning, the first sign, the first intimation that somewhere, somehow, the boon I had been granted was unmaking something vital within the realms outside of normal reality. I pursed my lips and watched the reaction of the man in front of me with bated breath. If this truly was his first language, he would recognise me.
His eyes widened, and he turned back, staring at my hair, my face—a body that was not truly mine. My boon, such as it had been explained, would allow me to commune with anyone—any*thing*—that I might see. What had not been spoken of was the transformation I had been forced to endure. For anything that knows so much could not remain of simple terrene matter.
But still, he saw me for who I used to be. What I used to be. He recognised the authority behind my words. Another syllable and the ground shook again—but only for us. Passersby shied away, searching for the source of their sudden discomfort, unable to fathom why so many others gave myself and my companion such a wide berth.
His voice was low, replying in English. "Natalya?"
I nodded, it was one of the many names I had used throughout the countless years. Centuries. Millennia. Eons. Always seeking power, seeking a lever which might do more than unmake a single seal. A craft, a spell, a deodand that could shatter the eldritch bonds separating this body from my master's. Perhaps it was something as ephemeral as a chance meeting.
Tuning myself back to the *lingua franca* of this time and place I replied. "The web between the worlds has not forgotten you, Gregor." The knife was in my hand and buried in his heart before he could take another breath. I spoke once more in the ancient tongue, the facade beside me crumbling further with each horrifying syllable. "Neither have we forgotten your betrayal."
A little push, just a finger's worth of effort, and he fell to the side, crumpled against the sidewalk. Blood stained his jacket, but I left him the knife, kneeling to whisper in his ear. "Finding you for him has cost too much…" I ripped the dagger from his heart, blackened blood splattering across shocked bystanders.
"You will thank me," I palmed the dagger, fixing it in the scabbard at my back, under the light coat I was forced to wear to hide the worst of my transformations. "Watch his face. Watch it closely."
On the pavement the skin of Gregor's face was pulling taut, as if some invisible force was attempting to scalp him. His jaw lengthened, distinctive fangs growing from within his canines. From around his midsection something uncoiled, hitting the ground with an audible thud, stretching as his corpse lost the magics hiding it in plain sight.
I had already climbed halfway up the facade, the crowd so fixated on the ophidian silhouette before them. With my legs the slacks I had worn were torn to shreds. Each of my four true arms slashed through my jacket. Eight spined and bladed limbs grasped at the facade, and my human form everted, turning painfully inside out. My head emerged between my true legs, and my back breasts swelled to the great, furred abdomen of which I was so accustomed.
That my pedipalps so resemble human arms is truly useful for camouflage. That my body can still shift between realms even when I cannot. For who could fail to be terrified by a half-human spider with limbs and spine in all the wrong places? They may think me monstrous.
But Gregor—which, as one may have guessed, is not his true name—he is something worse. A mother must protect her children. A father should care for them. But Gregor… he is the true monster. He and his kind, an entire brood of my children… mere snacks for his serpentine kin. My own kin cast me out for *his* betrayal. They sealed me away in this drear and mundane place.
The sign is cracking… I can feel a freedom from long ago. A call above the inconsequential lives below. I can spin the web between worlds again and return to my master. The one who's broodling I am. I will return to his embrace, and one day I may foster another brood. But not with those ophidian monsters.
Never again.
All spiders hate the snake. | " You, do you have any idea what you have done ?"
The breathtakingly beautiful woman says as she glares at you.
You quickly look down out of embarrassment and shock .
"What, what is happening..."
You mutter as you look at the ground then your hands as if you didn't even recognize yourself anymore.
Speaking others languages never felt weird ,it always came so natural and was actually quite fun but this was different. This was dark.
But suddenly your thoughts are interrupted by the woman grabbing you by the arm and pulling you into a nearby alley.
Looking you up and down she grabs your hands and turns them over , studying your palms. Then with no hesitation she reaches down and pulls a small dagger from her boot and points it at you while yelling
"Stick out your tongue".
"What , n" you begin to say but before you get out another sound she sweeps your leg , knocking you to your knees ,grabs your hair with her left hand and pulls it close to her body.
Looking up you see her holding the dagger and feel her immense grip restraining you. You try to fight it ,but you can't break free. But you can hold your mouth shut,she can't hold you still and pry it open.
"Please let me go , I didn't mean to do anything wrong."
You begin to beg after you realize no one is coming to help and you are completely at this strangers mercy.
You feel her hold loosen and start to fight back harder. Suddenly she let's go and you fall to the ground, face first into the dirty city street.
But you are relieved, at least she let you go, your plea must have worked..
Suddenly you feel a sharp blow to the back of your head and everything gets fuzzy.
As you lose consicousness you look up to see her one last time. | 2019-01-11T15:55:30 | 2019-01-11T12:49:48 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | The Humans were sort of a 'middle-of-the-pack' species as far as technology goes, their AI's were mediocre, interstellar space flight basic, and weapon capabilities abysmal, they were deemed a class 5-E species by the Hierarchy's research teams, 5 being their current technological standing, and E being their likelihood of aggression (very low). However, the research teams did find one thing interesting, and even a little frightening to those that understood, it seemed the Human's rate of technological advancement was the highest out of any known species, including the Turyp themselves, who have led the Hierarchy for 9000 standard years. Some on the council believed that to be no surprise, considering a class 1 species has a lot less room to advance than a class 5 species does, and that is more or less true, but extrapolating the Turyp's technological advancement back to when they themselves were a class 5 species (though they had a B at the end of their 5), they found that the humans were advancing at almost twice the rate they were. Unsettling news for the council indeed. Further, and more intimate research would need to be done.
Though not aggressive, the Humans were a private species, preferring to stay out of the political landscape and *in* their own territory, only ever venturing out to trade, and usually with only two other species at that, the Senc and the Hiratii. Needless to say, the council's research was frustratingly slow. The only thing they found out was that the Humans mostly traded for medical supplies, which the council found odd, considering they were a passive species and were not currently dealing with large scale disease or internal conflict. After much debate, they decided a spy of sorts would need to be commissioned to gain any further useful data on the Humans. Something which the council didn't like to do, but at the same time an act which presented no real risk to the Hierarchy. With the Humans being a class 5 species, they were utterly incapable of retaliation. In fact, the risk of not knowing the Human's reason for such a sharp technological advance greatly outweighed the risk of their animosity.
The spy was sent, just one, a member of the Hiratii species, Kiri her name, deemed capable of long term espionage by the council and the standing military general. She was actually a doctor on the her home planet, and had an extensive understanding of countless species anatomies and medical intricacies. She was made to spend two full standard years on the Tyrup homeworld studying the Human's specific medicinal needs and how to treat any known ailment the Humans had. This was more of an educated guess as to how to get the information the council needed out of the Humans. They apparently were hoarding medical supplies for decades, making Kiri the prime choice for infiltrating the core of whatever the Humans were doing. The hope was that they would find an important use for Kiri's capabilities, and luckily for the Hierarchy, they did. Kiri spent the majority of five standard years on the Human homeworld, the first two largely spent earning their trust and proving her capabilities, but the last three... the last three were spent at the core of Humanity's medical conquests.
Kiri now stood in front of the council, looking as if she had aged far more than the five standard years since the council last saw her, but her eyes spoke more than her haggard appearance, an unsettling, slow, shallow vibration was perceivable even from the podium where she stood. The council waited eagerly for her report -- they had almost no contact with her for her entire deployment, as even class 5 species had extremely advanced forms of data transmission and detection. She stood for a moment, staring down at her orange-grey Hierarchy uniform, finding it odd not to be wearing the Human's thin white medical garb that she wore for the majority of the last four years. She raised her head with a piercing look in her eyes, aimed right at the head of the council, but individually turning her gaze to each of the thirteen members before speaking. "They are genetically modifying the DNA of approximately 90% of their newborns, of which 73% survive, and physically augmenting 90% of the survivors, of which 50% survive." She stared blankly and with no emotion, running through her head was every stillborn baby born with it's skin inside out that she had helped give birth to, or every screaming child with an overgrown bone structure that caused intense and excruciation pain every waking hour of their lives, children who she had to continue research on, and continue to inject with a myriad of chemicals designed to propel humanity into a new age of knowledge and understanding.
Most of the members had actually been quite excited to hear what the Human's "great mystery" was, and had spent the previous two weeks giddily discussing it amongst themselves and placing friendly bets on what they believed the reason to be, but now they sat in a cold silence, half of them contemplating the statistics of what she just said, and the other half unable to focus on anything but her dead eyes looking back at them, almost as if she was the embodiment of the cold silence they now sat in. "The Humans that survive their processes, which last from 2 months-13 years of age --varying in intensity throughout--, are extremely adept in both mental and physical capabilities. Far beyond even those of the Turyp in both areas. It is these capabilities that have been increasing the Human's rate of advancement so quickly over the past 100 years. A lack of moral values and a deadly efficiency. Each generation, the methods and chemicals used are improved upon. At the Human's current rate, they will be a class 1 species in one thousand years, not the five thousand years that was previously projected." Another long silence, no one wanting to be the first to draw attention to their insecurities regarding this matter. A class 5 species making a class 1 species nervous is/was preposterous up until now, but nevertheless was the truth. "A thousand years.." the head council-member finally muttered. Obviously more concerned with the Human's technological advance than the atrocities they were committing. "In your educated opinion, Kiri, what is the best course of action?"
"Exterminate them." | Jak'tur stood on the command bridge of the galaxy's most massive Dreadnought, The Bastion. His suction-cupped hands continued to subconsciously wipe at his scaled combat suit, and his black, bulged eyes continued to scan the screens around him for any activity. The entire crew was on high alert, for they had just trespassed into human space. Though humans had not contributed to any major, or minor, galactic conflicts in the past millennium, they still struck fear into the hearts of all the species of the "Milky Way," as humans were fond of calling the galaxy.
"Admiral," his second called out, "we are approaching the rendezvous point but have not received any pings from fleet main."
"Do not ping, we might alert the humans." Jak'tur was to meet the main battle fleet of the Coalition of Independent Races a half light year from Sol 13, but had not been contacted even though he had just dropped out of jump. Something like this had been attempted before on the Human Home system, but had been met with fierce, unending resistance. The old Galactic Imperium had finally taken notice of the humans, and invaded the Sol system as well as launched minor offensives against their colonies.
The main Imperium fleet jumped into orbit around Earth and began its invasion. Before long though, the Imperium was on the run from the might of the Human military. Envoy's were sent, but the Human's would not abate until the Emperor's head was sent rolling.
And now, Jak'tur was to lead another assault upon the humans for his leaders had seen them to be weak. It was true that they did not possess a fleet such to rival the Coalition's in size, but Jak'tur knew that would not help them now.
"Admiral, radar is picking up faint signals of the fleet just on the other side of the planet."
"Bring the screen up and decrease engine power to half. Divert all remaining power to shields. Keep weapons at one quarter." Jak'tur knew what was about to happen.
The holoscreen came up just as soon a Jak'tur sat down in his command chair and showed utter carnage. The entire battle fleet lay in shatters as if stricken with some sort of great hammer. The Delphius, pride of the Corcians, was blasted in half and still spewing the fur covered, bipedal Corcians out.
"Take all power out of weapons, launch drones and power up the Jump Drive."
"Admiral Jak'tur," a familiar human face appeared on the screen. It was Admiral Cintal, a young man of immense tactical genius tasked with the safeguarding of Earth and Mars. In person, he was only about six feet tall, much shorter than the average Jintiil, but he had eyes that could pierce your mind. "Your people have come to my home, and risked open war with my people. We humans have done our best to remain peaceable and kind, but it seems that we must show our military might once more. This is Admiral Cintal to Sol Fleet Prime, you have my clearance to disengage cloak end open fire on The Bastion."
The transmission ended and Jak'tur readied himself for death. The radar lit up with a thousand red dots and death came swiftly to The Bastion. Meanwhile, a Human Battle fleet had assaulted the Coalition shipyards and destroyed the Secondary Battle Fleet that had been dispatched to cut off trade with the Florids. The Humans had once again proven their military might and silenced the voices of their foes. | 2016-03-13T19:19:26 | 2016-03-13T18:23:49 | 46 | 18 |
[WP] You're a college history professor. You realize that your textbook has gotten a part of history completely wrong, and you know it's wrong because you're immortal and lived through it. | The last day of class is always my favorite. Earth History 101: four and half billion years distilled into a semester. When we wrap up the course, I like to kick off a discussion about historical What Ifs. What if there was no Moon? What if the Oxygen Catastrophe never happened? What if the development of mammals had branched differently?
It's honest work for honest pay. This term's kids are unusually bright for their species. Sometimes it's hard to remember they evolved from scavenging little nocturnal proto-rodents.
The weather has been warming up lately and I'm starting to feel feisty. Maybe that's why I decide to say something a little more controversial.
"What if it wasn't an asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs?"
A wave of murmurs ripples through the room.
"But you told us they found the impact crater already."
"Off the coast of Mexico, right?"
"And there was the weird layer of iridium all around the world, it doesn't occur naturally in the Earth's crust but you find it in asteroids."
"And the iridium layer dates to the same time as the mass extinction. So it has to be the asteroid!"
A teacher's pride. These featherless monkey children are actually embracing an evidence-based worldview.
I say, "Well done. You're all right, of course. Those are the facts we have to hand. But what if another narrative could fit these same facts? What if something different happened, but produced the same evidence?"
The first brave objector: "Is it the simplest explanation? Occam's Razor."
"It's not the simplest, no. But," I add, smiling, "it might be pretty rad."
"Nobody says 'rad' anymore, Professor. FYI."
"TYVM. Let's start with a hypothesis: the asteroid didn't fall on the Earth. It was thrown at the Earth."
This actually gets me some groans from the audience. To be fair, this conversation is the last thing standing between my students and their summer vacation.
"So it's aliens then?"
"Evil ancient aliens."
I hold up my hands. "More information. The asteroid was made to fall on the Earth by some of the ... inhabitants who lived there. Come on, work it out. How could it have happened?"
"OK Professor, I'll bite. Collective suicide wouldn't make sense. So, let's see ... that must mean they didn't know the effects would be so bad."
Another student chimes in. "Or they knew, but thought they could survive it."
"Right. And the only reason to drop a huge rock on the Earth on purpose is as a weapon. Which means there was a war."
"A dinosaur war? They didn't even have technology."
"They must have, to make the asteroid fall. They had space travel at least. Rockets. Orbital mechanics."
"Dinosaurs weren't intelligent. Prof said the story has to fit the evidence."
"How do we know? What signs of intelligence would be left from humans after 65 million years? Everything would have turned to dust."
"And there was plenty of time, right? Humans went from animals to space flight in 2 million years. The dinosaurs were around for, what, 165 million years?"
"That's enough time for multiple civilizations to rise and fall. Maybe dozens."
If I wasn't wearing this mammalian meat suit, my feathers would be positively bristling right now.
"Wait. One thing doesn't make sense to me." It's a quiet boy from the front row. "If they were smart enough to get to space and change the orbit of an asteroid, they must have known the effects would be planetary. As a weapon of war, it doesn't make sense."
"Don't we do the same with nukes? The next nuclear war could end humanity."
"But nukes are a deterrent. They're meant to prevent war."
"Maybe the asteroid was the ultimate deterrent."
Five minutes to go. I can see the kids have given it a good run. I'll just leave them with one parting thought. Besides, I'm starting to feel a molting coming on.
"Class, this has been a great term. Your grades will be online and I'll have office hours as usual for the rest of the week. As for our speculation today, I think you've raised a lot of great ideas and I hope you've enjoyed it. I certainly have. Keep this spirit of inquiry. Challenge what you believe. Use your imagination to widen the potential narratives that fit the facts. These skills will serve you well.
"Here's my take on one such possible narrative. Around 200 million years ago, dinosaurs developed their first civilization. Records from the time would have shown an organized society, art, abstract thinking, and a roughly bronze age technology. But the world was a tough place back then, and civilization was gained and lost over and over. Maybe hundreds of times. They had a hard time staying organized, and they teetered on the edge of progress for over 100 million years. Reaching for the light before always stumbling back into the darkness.
"Eventually, they conquered their inner demons and founded a stable society. They developed technology. Spaceflight. They explored the galaxy but found it devoid of life, a senseless wasteland. But civilization on Earth flourished for millions of years. Imagine a million years of art and literature. A thousand millennia of exploring the boundaries of the soul and mind.
"As you've already guessed, there was a war. It was deeply acrimonious, waged over the deepest beliefs. You see, one group of dinosaurs had found a path to biological immortality. Eternal life. But because of the genetic diversity of dinosaur society, only a select few could benefit. It was the velociraptors -- not the big scary Jurassic Park kind, but the real ones that were around the size of their distant descendants, turkeys. They thrived for a hundred thousand years, trying to integrate into society. They tried in good faith to pass on their genetic bounty. But they couldn't. They were persecuted, cast out, hunted down.
"They fled to the stars. But not before receiving this vendetta: *You are an abomination, and wherever you go, we will find you and destroy you.* As they left the solar system, one of their scientists proposed a plan to ensure their survival. It was controversial, unthinkable. But in the end, it was agreed. The fleeing dinosaurs redirected a medium sized asteroid rich in metal ores so that its orbit would one day intersect the Earth's. They knew what would happen. They were refugees from a civilization bent on their destruction. They had no choice.
"Think of it. Millions of years roaming the empty stars. Finding nothing. Carrying the last of their culture and kind like an ark. And always watching that distant, pale blue dot, waiting and wondering if the home they destroyed could ever welcome them back."
There is silence in the room. We're over time. No one moves a muscle. To be honest, in all my years at the university, I've never told my students this story. Not like this. Maybe I just wanted to say goodbye as myself this time.
"Professor, that story was dope. Really dope."
"You have a great imagination, Professor."
"Yeah, you should put that on Reddit or something." | SANDWICH! A BLOODY SANDWICH!
The professor roared across the small lecture hall compelling his students to attention after reading the first paragraph of the 678-page textbook titled Chapter 9: The beginning of the World War.
Let me tell you sonny boy, I was there! I remember how it was. It was the hottest summer of the year back in 1914. I was taking leisurely stroll to Moritz Schiller’s delicatessen on Franz Joseph Street. You kids won’t recognize him today, not with your Billie Ellish and your Kim Kardashian, but Franz had the greatest beard of history. That white ivory mustache combined with those bushy mutton chops. His chin and neck perfectly shaven like a baby’s bottom! It was the hottest trend in Austria-Hungary for 68 years even if it wasn’t exactly popular.
Nowadays everyone is all clean-shaven thanks to the gas masks we had to wear back in those foul-smelling trenches. For anyone who is wondering if mustard gas tastes like mustard, I am here to disappoint you. It does not, I know first hand spend a couple of weeks in the hospital I did.
So my friend Ljubomir wore what is most famously known as the toothbrush mustache, the Chaplin special it was called after the war ended. The man knew his vaudeville. Never laughed so hard in my life in the theater on my first date. Then a decade later it was ruined by an Austrian-born German no one liked.
Now, where was I? Oh, right!
Well, I was taking a leisure stroll to Mortiz Schiller’s delicatessen to get myself some Pljeskavica. Unlike your wimpy American burgers like the Fatman, the Triple XL, the Gronk, and the Shaky Bakky. One Pljeskavica is as big as Shaquille O'Neal’s hand. I can get two Pljeskavica at the cost of one Big Mac combo. Nowadays is called a Balkan Burger because of its tendency to break apart instantly in your mouth and fight with your tastebuds into a delicious crescendo but to me, it will always be the pride of Serbia!
As I was crossing the street to get to the cafe I came across the Archduke, his wife Sophie, and his chauffeur Leopold having limousine troubles. Back in those days, we didn’t have GPS or MapQuest. When we made a wrong turn we had to stick with it despite all the odds and try to save face.
You may be thinking well why couldn’t he reverse the engine? Cars only had two options back in 1914, go and stop which was also a popular game among the foundlings as they threw marbles at each other. Attempting to reverse the engine before the three pedal controls of the Ford Model T were introduced caused the engine to stall or backfire if you weren’t careful. It caused a lot of accidents back in 1911 from this design flaw.
That is why I prefer to take the horse and buggy which my neighbor Dženan found antiquated until we started racing each other which caused problems with the authorities when they didn’t get their share of the profits from all the bets our neighbors made over the years.
Let me see where was I again? Oh, right!
As I was crossing the street to Moritz Schiller’s delicatessen to get myself some Pljeskavica the chauffer started honking at me. In my anger I shouted back, "watch where you are going gollumpus! Can't you see I am walking here!" Of course, the Archduke had to get involved immediately and shout from his limousine as well. Let me tell you the man knows his insults, never make a royal angry at you. Their insults are so powerful even your great-grandchildren will feel it. Being the gentleman that I was I kept walking to the cafe until I reached the front door and wished with all my heart for him to be gone. That’s how the war to end all wars started.
“Sir!”, the student exclaimed, “But what about the sandwich?”
Oh yes, the sandwich.
The truth is it never existed. It came from a Brazilian book called Twelve Fingers by Jo Soares where the protagonist Dimitri meets his friend Gavrilo eating a sandwich.
Now, which of you can guess what happens next? I hope you all paid attention because we will be having a last-minute pop quiz on everything I said. | 2022-09-06T01:11:52 | 2022-09-06T01:06:24 | 587 | 15 |
[WP] Your gimmick is the ability to jump back in time 10 seconds. You're in a pub trying different pick-up lines with this one girl and resetting with each failure. As you walk up for your next attempt, she tosses a drink in your face and says "How many times do I have to say no!?" | Since I was young, I've always had this weird phenomenon happen. I would throw a ball, then suddenly I would have to throw it again. I would be talking to someone, and then I would have to repeat a sentence, because they hadn't heard it. At these random points, time would suddenly jump back ten seconds.
It was completely beyond my control. I remember this one time on New Years Eve, right as the countdown to the new year ended, I was vomiting into a toilet. Bile and cheap vodka were being ejected through my mouth, and I felt like absolute shit. Then it happened again. And again. I lost count in the end, but there was a good 10 minute window where I was terrified that my life was just going to be that 10-second loop of me vomiting for eternity.
It's not always bad. I worked out that occasionally, there's sometimes a couple of time jumps at exactly 8 in the evening. Ever since I worked that out, I've always had my once-a-day treat at that time. When I'm lucky, I'm able to have it a large amount of times, without any extra calories. If my coworkers knew, they would be so jealous.
When I was younger, I got into such big arguments with my friends and family about the jumps. I insisted that they were real, that they were happening. But as I didn't have any control over the jumps, it was impossible to prove it. Sometimes someone would be talking to me and then a jump would happen, and I would say everything they said in perfect unison, but that would only piss them off.
In the end, it became this strange little quirk that I had become used to. I would try and do all the disgusting parts of life as quickly as possible, to make sure that I didn't have to repeat it. I stopped drinking, so I didn't have to worry about vomiting. I began obsessed with my own personal hygiene and health, never shaking hands and always cleaning, to make sure I didn't get infected with anything, to stop myself from looping through the coughs and sneezes. It basically took over my life.
Which isn't to say I didn't have a life. One of my few friends had invited me to a local bar, to celebrate a proposal, or a promotion, I wasn't really listening. I was too focused on the bartender, trying to see if he was washing the glasses properly, if I could maybe enjoy a drink of water without having to worry. He wasn't. Anyway, I was in the middle of talking to a friend of a friend when this guy came over.
This guy wasn't too bad looking, but he had almost this aura of smugness and arrogance over him. "Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" He asked.
I smiled politely. "I'm a model." It was true. And this sort of thing happened a lot. As I turned from him, I saw the smallest change in the way my friend-of-a-friend sat. It was like a game that had just skipped a few frames, a classic sign of a time jump. Great. I was going to be hit on again.
The guy walked up to me again. "I seem to have lost my number, can I have yours?*"*
I smiled politely. "I'm a model." Before returning to face my friend again. Wait, something-
Another skip. Another jump. Before I could get my thoughts together, the guy came over. "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"
"Wha-" Before I could finish my sentence, I was looking at my friend again.
Again. "See my friend over there?" I briefly looked to where he was pointing. There was no one there. What the hell? "He wants to know if you think I’m cute."
I put on a confused face. "Uhh..." I started, as I started moving my hand towards my purse. Before I could open it, my arms and hands were back to where they had been ten seconds ago. I was looking at the friend-of-a-friend.
I started to feel sick. What was happening? Was I stuck again? Was this going to be the rest of my life? I didn't even hear the next line, didn't even react to it. I was jumped back again, my look of concern turning back into a polite smile as I spoke to the friend-of-a-friend.
"Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?"
"Fu-" Before the words could even leave my mouth, I was back to silent. Back to smiling.
"Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?"
"Fu-" Again, before I could react, I was back to where I was.
"Hey you're pretty and I'm cute, together we could be pretty cute!"
"Fu-" Again.
And again.
And again.
My brain wasn't ready for this. My fight-or-flight instinct kept on kicking in, before being reset to normal, human conversation mode. My brain was literally incapable of processing what was happening to me in the amount of time I had before a reset. That sickly feeling I had kept coming and going, getting worse and worse each time. I... I was stuck.
Until I stopped listening to my brain.
Another jump. "Are you weari-" Before he could even finish the line, I had grabbed my friends drink and thrown it in his face, fully on instinct.
"How many times do I need to say no?!" I screamed.
The pub became silent. The friend-of-a-friend looked at me like I had just eaten a baby. My friend gave me a look that I was all too used to seeing on friends and family, a mixture of pity and disgust. And the guy... Well. He just looked shocked.
All these faces looking at me, judging me. I could see it in their eyes. I was just some crazy chick who couldn't take a joke. I was a killjoy. I was insane. It was too much. I grabbed my purse and ran outside, managing to hold back the tears until I was outside. | Having a time travel power is pretty great. You can do a lot of things. Experience events of your life at complete perfection or simply have fun with it without interferences. To make a long story short I had numerous experience with my powers. For exemple, I cheated death numerous time.
After some time experimenting with this quirk of mine I discovered that I could improve it, and improve it I did. I’m now proud to be able to rewind the time for a full week and only needing ten hours of rest afterward. I work hard these last 18 years (without counting my numerous rewinds of course) to get to where I stand now. Of course I’m not done training. I don’t think I’ll ever be done training with it.
Of course it had it’s downside. I could only rewind ten second in the past, I couldn’t choose to be more precise in my rewinds and I need extreme concentration when I try to rewind to a long time. I am also not an exeption for my rewind, meaning that I too go back at my original position when I use my power. It had been difficult to adapt to this but I managed it.
Anyway, today I decided to make another little experiment with my power. A simple one that will surely be more long that anything else. I never was one to have good charisma and talking to girls was really not my thing. But this was also to see how many times one may rewind before a ‘normal’ human could feel something wrong. Plus it might be fun to see each change with each rewind.
That’s why I entered this bar. I had to find a cute girl. The cuter she was the harder it would be to charm her. One girl caught my attention. She was sipping her drink at the counter, great forms and seemed pretty sportive. Just my type. Perfect.
I decide to go directly at her and start the conversation.
“Hello Miss-”
“Not interested” she answered before I could say anything else.
Welp… Rewind time.
“Care for a drink?” I asked her.
“I have a boyfriend” She said.
Ah, progress. Now any ‘normal’ person would have backed away since it would be morally wrong to have intercourse with someone already taken. But I have lost any moral I could have many years ago. For me this was simply a bigger challenge. How can I be able to get her?
“I’m sure this is not a problem.” I answered to her.
She then proceed to throw her drink at me. A fine response.
“Get out of my fa-” I didn’t let her finish and rewinded.
Okay let’s go for the third try.
But as I started moving she gets up and throw her drink at me.
“How many times must I say it! No is no! Now get out!” she screamed at me.
I was taken aback for a while. Then I understood and sighed: of course, the first girl I accost had to be one to remember the rewinds.
I rewind time one minute in the past. I was now in the streets before I even got inside the bar. I looked around and found what I was searching: a little dark passage between the bar and the building next to it. Perfect.
I walk to the passage making sure I wasn’t seen by anyone. I then took the mask, the gloves and the gun I always had on me. I didn’t like it, but having a power such as mine wasn’t a simple game. I learned that when I killed the first one.
​
I'm sorry for all the errors that I may have made. | 2020-05-30T07:34:00 | 2020-05-30T07:22:25 | 102 | 11 |
[WP] Your significant other is possessed by a demon. Soon after; you realize you love the demon and not your SO anymore and it's actually mutual. Now the exorcist has arrived. | You had always wondered if a chair propped under a doorknob would actually keep a door closed. Now you knew it did, but you wished it was under better circumstances.
At first you thought that Stacy was just hung over; it was a wild night, after all, and you both had spent entire mornings just groaning and eating everything but the kitchen sink. This morning, though, was definitely different. It started with her endless screeching, which you ignored because quite frankly you wanted to screech, too. Then it was the tossing and turning, the kicking and crying. A bad hang over, then. You decided not to give her a hard time about it.
The line was crossed, however, when you offered to feed her some breakfast and she bit your hand.
The chase around the house was brief and ended with you trapped in the guest room, chair propped under the doorknob, listening to her kick and scratch at the door and walls.
You calmed down enough to be thoroughly terrified, and used the landline to call the only person you could think of: your mother.
You explained the situation to her three times before she stopped laughing.
"This is serious!" you barked, "I think she's possessed or something!"
"But she bit you!"
You let her laugh for a moment, still distraught that your own mother found this amusing. "But, mom, there's something wrong. I don't know what to do!"
"I'll go ask someone at the church, alright?"
"Alright, thanks, please hurry!"
You sat in silence for two hours. You left your cellphone in your bedroom, you and Stacy had just moved the desktop out of the spare room last week, and you had decided against putting a TV in here. Once the panic had subsided and Stacy had stopped violently assaulting the wall, you grew rather board.
You were shocked out of your self-pitying by a knock on the door.
Stacy's voice was rough and soft, "Hey, Anna? That's your name, right?"
That caught you for a moment; Stacy's voice, but without Stacy speaking. "Um, yeah. I'm Anna."
"I was looking through the scrapbooks in the living room," her voice explained. "This is Stacy's body? Yeah?"
"That's right . . ."
"I'm sorry that transition was so rough back there," she chuckled. "It's just, I really need to feed, when I first take over a body? It's rough."
"Take over a body?"
Stacy's voice sounded sad, "Oh, yeah. You're going to want Stacy back. Right?"
"I mean, it's her body, I live with her, yeah." You're both quiet for a moment. It sounded like Stacy, or rather Stacy's body, sat down against the wall in the hall. You sat on the other side of the door, listening for any signs of something entirely demonic. "What's your name?" You ask through the door.
"Lilli."
"Lilli? That sounds awfully normal for a, um, well, uh . . ."
"A demon. Yeah. It's a nickname, for Lilith."
Your eyes widened, "Like, THE Lilith?"
"No," she laughed, the sound so much deeper and richer than Stacy's. "There are, like, a few thousand of us. All named after the first one, but yeah. That's why I go by Lilli. Lil, if you're feeling friendly."
You find yourself smiling, but then check yourself. You're not supposed to be smiling with Lil, short for Lilith.
"What are you doing here?"
"It's kind of nicer, wouldn't you think? With trees and grass and quiet. There's always screaming, back home. I like the quiet."
You looked towards the somewhat busy street that lead into town. You never thought of it as quiet, but you supposed it was nice. It wasn't too noisy, no screaming at least.
"If I open the door will you try to eat my hand again?"
She laughed again, dark and rolling. "No, I found something else to eat."
You don't think about that sentence too much and open the door, for a moment eager to see what she looks like before you realized Lil is possessing Stacy's body. You're disappointed.
She smiled when you open the door, and you can see dried blood on her face and neck. It's Stacy's body still, but she stood differently, without fidgeting or swaying on her feet. This is Lil.
"So, you found something to eat?" you gestured to the mess she made uneasily.
"Oh, um, yeah, sorry . . ." she stepped to the side and you could see more blood in the kitchen. You peaked in and saw Stacy's cat dead on the floor. "It's just. I need blood, in whatever capacity. I'm not super picky about the source. I hope you're not upset." You could see something like genuine remorse on her face, even as she tried to justify herself. "I know a lot of humans like their pet things, but I don't see the appeal. I am sorry, though."
"It was Stacy's cat," you replied, heart suddenly warm. "I never cared for it, and it hated me. Say, do you like plants? Like gardens, growing things?"
Lil's face lit up, smile bright, "I love gardens! I always look for them when I'm on Earth! We don't have interesting plants back home."
The landline rang and you almost ignored it, but second thought ignoring a call.
It was your mom again. "Dear, I'm at the church with Father Welch. He said he can perform an exorcism for you."
You guess Lil could hear the conversation, as her body tensed up.
"Actually, Mom," you say slowly, improvising on the spot, "I don't actually need that priest actually? Um, thanks for your help?"
"Did you get the demon out of your girlfriend?"
"Um," you hesitate, looking at the demon possessing your girlfriend, and lied. "I did, yeah, I did. Thanks Mom!"
You hung up before she could ask anymore questions.
"Right," you said, bouncing on your feet, leading her outside toward the backyard, "to the garden!" | Arthur knocked on the door, and waited.
This case was right up his alley. Woman reported a sudden change of personality on her husband, started seeing lights around the house and was sure she heard the man speaking tongues. She was worried he had been replaced , and wanted an investigator to come take a look.
Of course, rest of the folks on the PD laughed it off. Arthur didn't blame them. He was, as far as he knew, the only one on the precinct aware of the existence of the supernatural. Also, the only one who could summon and control thunderstorms. And fly.
That usually helped.
These sorts of calls were usually pranks. But Arthur knew what to look for when it was the real thing. Her statement was too coherent, the traits clear. That was either demonic possession by a being from the Abyss or a very drawn out stroke.
The door opened.
The man who opened it was not himself.
To the untrained human eye there was nothing wrong with him, other than the pornstache and the vest. But to Arthur's inhuman eyes, the deep thrumming of a not insignificantly powered demon's energy formed arches around the man's figure.
Arthur immediately outstretched his arm, pointing it directly at the demon's face. The air crackled with electricity, and energy arced through his fingers.
"This idiot won't be able to take all that, Conduit" the demon said.
"Sorry if I'm a bit overkill. Not keen on you and yours getting too near me".
"If you would please point that thing somewhere else, I imagine you'd be engrossed by my tale."
"As if I could forget. The woman is terrified, mate. You should be back at the Abyss. I know what happens to a human's soul after prolonged demon exposure. Is he even still there? Or you've had your fill?"
"He's not leaving" a third voice said.
The woman was young, pretty, and directed a terrifying glare to Arthur. She quickly put herself between the two of them, directly in front of a gigawatt of energy. Her aura was interacting most strangely with the demon's when they touched each other.
*Great, I'll have to call Rhea to wipe her* Arthur thought.
"Ma'am, your husband is about as dead as he can be. This one here is taking his body on a ride. You should probably back away."
"I know" she said " and please, if you see the ghost of Andrei, tell him to stick it. Bastard was going to kill me and claim insurance, before Azlral took his body. He saved me."
"If it's anything, I didn't get in him voluntarily" the demon said. "He was rummaging through the attic.and touched my soulstone. It wasn't my design. And me and Lily are getting quite close now that I've saved her."
"I tried to kill him" she said " and it turns out he... Enjoys that. After the third time I stabbed him I just thought to myself 'you know what, why not just talk to him'. We have a lot of common interests. And he's better than Andrei ever was at almost anything. He is NOT hurting anyone. Don't take him away" she added, voice cracking the fearless facade, "Please".
"You're marked" Arthur said, lowering his arm. "I'll be back for a deeper chat. Wait for me tonight at the rooftop, demon. There is enough trouble on this city."
"Yes, I could quite see that. The Night Queen, is that how she calls herself? We'll see what can be done."
Arthur grunted, and left.
This could be interesting. | 2017-10-10T02:01:46 | 2017-10-09T15:40:03 | 1,140 | 23 |
[WP] You live in a world where the repetition of certain acts grants special abilities. Someone who does 10,000 push-ups will gain super strength, someone who runs 10,000 kilometres will gain super speed. You are the first person in history to drink 10,000 litres of alcohol. | They often asked me what I am or what I can do.
A good question, a common one. Most of the time asked by oneself in front of the mirror or the silent hours after sundown whilst lying in bed, but before sleeping.
Answers vary, but hearing them as an outsider, someone who isn't involved, is always worth the time.
"A banker", some may say, "an acrobat" you hear another one proudly proclaiming. "A master" being the most common one.
In a world where most things being done 10.000 times grants you abilities beyond what you could normally achieve, most abilities have been mapped out, so to speak. We all have 10x the strength of a normal human from doing 10.000 push ups, or gained immense speed after a certain time of running. Some people can attract gold by concentrating on it, others don't need to breathe under water or in space anymore. We are even teaching how to get certain abilities in school. Nowadays even some kids answer "I am a master".
Me?
I am nothing.
I grew up telling stories to people whenever they were willing to lend me their ear. Entertained lots of them. Countless hours invested.
Deep down I was hoping 10,000 hours of storytelling would give me the ability to have them come to life.
But no such thing happened.
I continued, telling myself "maybe it's 10,000 stories" or "maybe it's 10,000 characters invented", but no, nothing.
Many people have tried achieving something similar. Repeating a certain activity their whole lives for a chance to see their names in history books as the one who discovered 'it'.
"Did I do it for glory?" I ask myself, while emptying another bottle into my glass.
No. I never even thought of myself during my pursuit.
Else I probably would've tried to live a healthier life, but you know how they say "In vino fabula".
At least that's what they say at my local gin mill, where I can trade my stories for another bottle. Probably the only thing keeping me from ending it all. By the time my depression kicks in I am too tired or drunk to end my life.
Am I a local attraction? That would be stretching it. I am nothing, not worth the dirt under people's nails.
I don't even know why I keep going, but I feel like even if I'm nothing but a minor attraction to some people, I still have the chance of motivating them to find their own '10.000' through stories of glory and perseverance.
My glass is empty.
"ROLAND, IN VINO FABULA", I grunt loudly, proclaiming I want another bottle before I start my story.
"TODAY, WE'RE GOING TO A PLACE WHERE THE GODS MEET TO DISCUSS EARTHLY MATTERS"
"You've had enough wine, mortal." said Zeus.
I gulped, audibly.
My story had finally begun.
*[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8whpmc/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_the_repetition_of/e1vzelm/)*
*[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8whpmc/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_the_repetition_of/e1w40rr/)*
*[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8whpmc/wp_you_live_in_a_world_where_the_repetition_of/e1wclaq/)* | My life is ruined.
This morning I did what I always do as the very first thing when I wake up: I opened a new bottle of vodka and drank heartily, but this time it went differently.
First a nice burning sensation, then came the warmth and the relaxation, but then something started to happen. I very quickly got immensely hot, sweating profusely, and then came the worst hangover I have ever experienced. It was a mind-numbing, throbbing pain right behind both eyes. It made me fall down and blinded me.
So I grabbed the bottle and chugged the rest. The headache went away immediately, and the sudden change from pain to relief made me initially unaware of the change in me. After maybe 20 minutes though, I realized: I'm sober!!
So I ran into the kitchen, tore open a new carton of vodka, opended a botle and gulped down almost half a bottle. Nothing.
I had become immune to the effects of alcohol. Guess I'll have to try weed now. | 2018-07-06T03:01:45 | 2018-07-06T01:02:41 | 545 | 341 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water." | We were told our first experience with a "Heyumin" was to be dealt with caution. A lifeform from the planet the heyumins called "Erff," though they pronounce it a bit differently than I am able, was considered a forbidden territory, as ordered by the Hazard Treaties of year 12903. A cruel planet with skies of oxygen that rusts technology, leading to crashes on anyone approaching, and the main topic of the treaty, water.
Our biosystems require imbalances in chemicals to create motion, and then life. A fully neutral substance with such tiny molecules of just two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen such as this quickly seeps into our bodies and halts reactions, killing of organ failiure, suffocation, and brain damage within 15 seconds, a horrifying experience. The planet even held massive flying bodies of this water in its atmosphere, as well as amounts in usual air.
The planet held Chlorine-Sodium chemicals, known as salt, which quickly absorbs our vital bodily fluids through our digestive system's walls on digestion, causing improper flow of nutrients to all parts of the body, crippling or killing.
There were no known immunities to any of these, until one day a ship illegally landed with a stolen advanced, oxygen-resistant, watertight ship, and they discovered something no one expected: civilization. These heyumins quickly became famous, and our new crew member was the first one we met, Arden Johnson.
I pilot a chemical research ship, used to test properties of hazardous materials. Our heyumin's first impression was of fear, as they promptly got arrested for holding several unsafe containers of water and salt, but were mysteriously approved when they found he was a heyumin. We were forced to wear our protection suits to prevent harm to ourselves.
The heyumin spoke in a voice of much higher pitch than ours. "What is wrong with fese \[these\] people! I haven't gotten an edible meal or a good drink since I left Erff! I'm parched!" They spotted one of our tubs of water in our poison lab, opened the lid, and despite our rush to stop him, he said "Finally," and dunked his face in to drink. I even shrieked in horror, but quickly thought of sorrow.
I went over to a control panel to write an accident report while my assistants went to take the obvious corpse away and decontaminate the water. But the human stood up again, carrying the empty tub of our water supply, and said, "Fat's \[that's\] so satisfying, I really needed a drink of fat \[that\] water." My assistants gasped, and their eyes showed clear surprise. We now knew what my boss meant about dealing with heyumins.
Now the heyumin lives in a section of our hazardous materials section, the only place where they are allowed to take off their isolation suit, in the place where we wear the suits anyway. We had to sterilize the place because they produce a mix of the poisons salt and water, to disperse into the air, when they get too warm.
Though, they have been a very valuable crew member, keeping our systems running, keeping our containment systems secure, and handling our materials in the hazardous materials section with more speed than one can with the suits, and have saved my assistants on multiple occasions against material leaks.
Once, our ship was raided for its poisons by the Ernin. they had no isolation suits, and the heyumin was there at the time. He took off his isolation suit, and managed to fight off the intruders. Though, it wasn't that long of a fight, because he just grabbed and spat at them yelling Erff curses as they died from water contact. End entry. | "Bro! What the fuck?!!? We've been collecting that shit for 50 centuries! My father died in a war over 4 ml of it on Archon 9, that was enough to wipe out the entire Andalin sector of this galaxy, how are you still alive???"
"What? You mean that glass of water? What else was I supposed to drink? That green ooze with the chunks of hair in it?"
*Alien slaps him across the face*
"Ow! What was that for???"
"That "green ooze" is my great-grandmother's remains"
"Oh, Im sorry...h-her hair must have been lovely, what a nice shade of brown"
"Nah she was cremated with the dog. Forget that though man we got to get you to the doctor before that poison reaches your digestive tract, if it touches the lining suction cups on your third heart they might created a singularity in your chest and destroy everything within an 11 million mile radius"
"Bro, relax, I drink that shit everyday, we're gonna be fine." | 2020-05-18T13:04:11 | 2020-05-18T12:24:02 | 216 | 70 |
[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?” | My heart pounded relentlessly as I took the angsty act of rebellion and chomped down on the polished oak surface.
At first, nothing happened. The eyes of onlookers glazed over in mild disappointment.
And then, my abdomen began to extend, stretching disproportionately to my flailing limbs.
An ominous CRACK resounded, followed by three more, as my limbs bent backwards and straightened to rigidity.
Two things occurred to me at that moment.
1. You are what you eat.
2. At least students could employ social distancing strategies and stretch around the second newly formed table as they nibbled on their snacks. | 2020-03-19T13:33:44 | 2020-03-19T10:30:18 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | "So what exactly are your powers, Lin?"
I looked up from my desk at the speaker. Bill Ferrar, born on Earth, super-strength and super-stamina. The professors and higher-ups have fancier names for the powers, but none of the students used those terms.
Bill was smirking down at me. "I mean, you got to have a power if you're *here*, right, fringer?"
*Fringer*. I grimaced. Kids like me from outpost worlds are looked down upon by kids from the more populous and more sophisticated sovereign systems. Never mind that we all live, study and practice on the same world. Bill have been particular obnoxious about it, being an Earther. Why do people care about that? We're all humans.
"I don't know my power yet," I replied, hoping he'd go away. No such luck.
"Don't know? Bullshit." Bill got right in my face. "You're the same age as us. Everyone in this classroom got powers but you. You know what I think?"
"I don't care what you think."
Bill frowned at that. Some students, well most students were intimidated by Bill. After all, he could pick up and hurl a sky car across several football pitches. I've seen him do it.
Bill glared at me. I glared back unwilling to back down. To his credit, he didn't back down, either. Some iron beneath that fragile bully facade.
"I think you don't have any powers, period," Bill said still glaring.
I heard a couple of other students gasp. Bill wasn't trying to keep quiet.
One thing you don't do at this academy, indeed any academy on this planet, is belittle or call into question another's power. Or apparent lack thereof.
"I was tested, just like you. All the genetic markers are there," I said, trying to keep calm. "All twenty-seven, just like everyone else. Just like yours."
That really pissed him off. "I'm nothing like you!" he yelled slamming his fist on my desk. The desk split in two with a loud crack.
"I don't know how you tricked your way groundside and into this academy, Lin, but you don't belong. I'm going to make your life a living hell until you beg to transfer, either out of this school or off-world all together."
I had no idea why Bill was targeting me or why he was so fixated on my being there. But I did know that desk was my responsibility and Bill just...
"...Fucked it up," I finished the thought out loud.
I guessed Bill thought I was insulting him because that's when he threw a punch. A few of the onlooking students rushed forward to stop him, but what could they do? No one can match Bill's strength. At least he didn't aim for my face.
I felt his punch connect right in my abdomen. The air rushed out of me. "Ooof!"
But it wasn't too bad. Hurt, yes, but I expected to be flat out, or even embedded in the back wall with a broken spine. Instead, I was still on my feet, catching my breath. "Fuck... ing... ass... hole..." I gasped and straightened.
Bill looked perplexed. Another student had grabbed his other arm and was yelling at him, "What the hell, man!. You could have killed him!"
"I pulled my punch," Bill said, absently and effortlessly shrugging him off, sending the student reeling. Bill walked up to me, raised his hand to my head...
And flicked my forehead.
"Ow! Fucking asshole!" I said again, rubbing my forehead. I needed better insults.
"Huh," was all Bill said, any semblance of rage or annoyance gone. "That's interesting." And then he walked away.
Some of the students approached me asking if I was okay. A few were concerned about the punch, that I should go to the infirmary, though in truth the forehead flick hurt more.
After that, Bill seemed to ignore me, not making good on his promise to bully me constantly. Until a week later.
"Excuse me, Lin?"
I looked up to see Bill, standing respectfully by my new desk.
"What now?" I said. "Still trying to make me leave?"
Bill just smiled at that, then looked faintly embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry for that. But I have a request."
"What?" I asked, suspicion flooding through me.
"Let me try to lift you up."
I saw some of the other students approaching. One of them started making her eyes glow, readying her power. If she unleashed it here trying to "save" me then we'll all need to go to the infirmary.
"Yeah, okay, sure. If it will get you to leave."
Bill just nodded. I stood and waited. He grabbed my shoulders and lifted.
He got me several centimeters in the air, but was clearly straining. "How much do you mass?" he grunted.
"Just 56 kilos." Why was he struggling? Bill can lift nearly 20 metric tons.
Bill then put me down with obvious relief, gave me a smile, said thanks and left.
I'll never understand bullies.
​
​
More at r/DaviparsWrites | "You shouldn't be here, powerless freak." Growled John, the new kid at the school. He's been harassing since he got here. He really hates people without powers.
"Back off John"
"And what if I don't? What are you gonna do about it?" And he flicked me in the face, causing me to fall backwards into my locker with a bloody stream falling from my nose.
I shove him away and yell "I'm going to the principal, you're gonna get expelled!"
"WAIT NO!" He yelled, and I felt something hit the back of my head, and then it all went black.
I shot up out of my bed with a jolt. "I can't believe John knocked me out! He's super human, it could have been a real mess!" I thought, rolling out of bed in the morning. "He's definitely expelled though."
Regardless of the previous day's happenings, I wake up feeling refreshed and ready for the day. I comb my hair quickly and head to school.
I'm running late, so I move quickly past people, barely registering the small coned off section of the hallway. Barely registering their confused faces. What, never seen a guy late before? I pop open my locker, grab my history book and slide into class and into my seat. As I do, I drop my book, I reach out to grab it but its too late. It smack the ground with a loud THUD
This frustration was enough to make me grunt in anger and throw my hands down. As I do, every single textbook in the room shoots up and hits the ceiling, knocking down foam tiling and causing the teacher to whip around.
"What was that?!" She exclaimed, searching the room with narrow eyes. "Who did that?"
I raise my hand, "It was me! I think. I'm not really sure, but I think when John hit me, it gave me some sort of power!"
"Really? No one's responsible, huh?" She peered out the window to check for anyone outside.
"What?" I say, my frustration peeking. "It was me!"
"Okay okay, everyone gather your books, check the name in the back, make sure it's your's"
"It. Was. ME! ME ME ME!" A cold wind blew through the room. And the teacher, Jan, finally heard me, I think? And looked me right in the eye.
"L-Luke?"
"Yes, who else?"
She approached me, ran a hand over mine, and I jerked back as her hand passed straight through me. "Hey, what the hell?"
I looked around the room, everyone was frozen in fear. I looked at my own blue, transparent hands. I looked over at John's seat which was distinctly empty. I recalled the corner off section, the place where John struck me.
In horror, I put the pieces together.
I couldn't have ever survived a strike from John. I'm a ghost.
I look up slowly and ask, "Do ghost powers count as a super power?" | 2022-11-02T07:22:45 | 2022-11-02T03:58:00 | 2,213 | 476 |
[WP] *Knock on door*, "sir have you found Jesus?", "uh No. Goodbye" *shuts door* Jesus steps out from behind door with gun and said "good answer"
Taken from a post in IMGUR. Work your magic. | A heavily bearded and bedraggled Jesus kept his gun pointed at me, and signalled towards the sofa. I sat down and groaned at the hopeless absurdity of my situation. Jesus put his handgun down on my glass coffee table with the barrel aimed at me. He proceeded to pull a box of smokes from his top pocket of his flannel shirt, drawing a cigarette from the packet, he lit it up and breathed in heavily before plumes of grey smoke snaked from his nostrils. Jesus grabbed the gun and relaxed into the old armchair opposite the sofa.
"Could you get me a glass of water?" He asked.
"...Sure." I answered, I scurried to the kitchen and grabbed 2 glasses, and filled a jug up with tap water. After placing the glasses onto the table, Jesus reached forwards and placed his hand around the vessel. Briefly closing his eyes, I was certain I heard a celestial choir briefly as the water turned a deep red-brown.
"Did you just turn my water into scotch?" I asked. Jesus grinned at me.
"Congratulations, Charles, you just witnessed a miracle." He chuckled, before downing a half.
"My name's not Charles, it's Chris. And I have scotch. It's in the cabinet over there." I pointed towards the corner of the room. Jesus shook his head and handed me his glass. "Jesus Christ, that's good stuff."
"It's taken me a long time to perfect a 60 year old malt whiskey, Charles. At the beginning I could only do wine. Dad would be proud." Said Jesus, looking up at the ceiling.
"Jesus..." I said, finally building up the courage.
"Yeah."
"What's going on? Is everything okay with you?" I looked at Jesus and he sighed, before staring at his feet.
"There's no point in lying to you, Charles. I can look into people's souls and I can tell you're a good judge of character. And that you occasionally still think about Zoe even though you broke up 3 years ago and keep telling yourself that you've moved on." At the mention of Zoe I choked on a mixture of water and panic. Jesus looked up, with a grim look on his face. "God's gone, and he's been gone for about two thousand years. That's why I had to get back to heaven to run things."
"And why... why do you have a gun pointed at me?" I asked anxiously.
"Because I'm a fugitive, they're looking for me. And they could be ANYONE."
"Who's they, the forces of evil? Satan?"
"...No, worse... It's the next ones, the new batch of moral arbiters. I don't know what's going on but we're being phased out. Good and evil isn't "relevant" anymore, apparently everything needs to be ambiguous and edgy. And they want to call me in and take away my powers."
"What can I do to help, Jesus? Anything to stop you aiming that gun at me."
"Alright... I think I can trust you, Charles." Said Jesus before pulling another, smaller, handgun from his ankle and placing it on the table beside his. "We're going to find Dad and Uncle Lucifer... to you it's God and Satan, and then we're going to find out what the hell is going on."
I picked up the gun anxiously, before quickly pulling back the hammer and aiming it at the Messiah.
"You're getting old, Jesus. When are you going to learn that you shouldn't put your faith in people. You're obselete." I pulled the trigger, before hearing an empty click. Jesus smiled.
"Oh, faith doesn't always have to be blind, Charles." said Jesus pulling himself out of the chair. "Now tell me, where are you keeping Satan?"
"I'll die before I tell you, Jesus" I spat, before a mumbled shout emanated from the basement. Jesus' grin widened. "...Shit". | He breathed a sigh of relief and went and sat down, finishing the coffee I'd made him that should no doubt have been cold by now, but was miraculously still warm.*
I smiled at that. These things just happened around him. His shirts came out of the laundry one time already pressed. They just happened. His brilliance and clarity were stunning. His certainty. There was simply no doubt. So he wanted warm coffee, he might not have even known he wanted it, and the universe pours energy into his coffee molecules. Who knows how it happens?
He kept speaking of "A Course In Miracles." Seven years, he keeps repeating. Seven years. How he had come back to our minds, but so very few listened. Even in the reading groups. They only wanted to take up time ignoring the book and extolling their egos about how it makes no sense. Read, he said. Just keep reading. If you could understand it, you wouldn't need to read it.
Oy. So here he was. I asked him what he wanted for breakfast. He said Chicken. This seemed puzzling, so I asked "Chicken or Egg?" He looked up weary, steam rising opaque from the "RTFM" cup, and said, "You're telling me."
* bippity-bip-bip's first sentence. | 2016-07-28T06:00:39 | 2016-07-28T04:12:39 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Legends of Dragons "Breathing Fire" are actually referring to their incredible rap prowess. | Bodies were strewn about the streets of the village.
Mothers were weeping as their sons lost all street credibility
The Great winged beast they called 'Drake' sat atop the castle, bumping the new 2ChainMailz just waiting for a fuckboy to step in for battle.
I was at the shitting hole when i first heard the beat drop.
It was a quiet summers eve and the town was easing into the night to rest.
As the last bell struck 8, it echoed and and transitioned into a nasty bass drop followed by a hi-hat flourish and a disembodied, otherworldly voice that proclaimed "Ooooh it's Smaug on the track."
And then Suddenly
**Hear yee, hear yee, all the village folk fear me// I'm only here to spit a thousand year long tyranny**
**Immortal i am, but the lifestyles a hassle// I'll only be defeated by an epic rap battle**
**I heard of one among you worthy of fame//So i'm pillaging ya village with a lyrical flame**
**Tell em he can get it with these hellishly hot flows// I named drop hoes: FUCK SAVANT LEGATO**
Oh *heeeeeel* naw
I Put on my robe and wizard hat and stepped out side
And with a rebel yell i proclaim:
**Say what you want about my village, but don't disrespect my steez boi.**
EDIT: I stopped there because i've never written a prompt and aren't too confident in my formatting skills.
EDIT2: Not too bad, so here i go.
Drake turned towards me with a gleaming wicked smile and i heard his voice deep within my soul:
*So, you finally decided to meet your daddy in person eh?*
damn, good one
*Well i'm waiting.. whenver you're ready to get roa-*
**Boi Shut cho ass up cause you killin my vibe// Stealin my shine when i'm the illest villian alive**
**Chiller than ice, but i'm still willin to fry// Any little dick lizzard in the hood i reside**
**Look in the eyes of rappers as i eat em alive//Leave em to die, laughing like a thief in the night**
**You thinkin you fly buddy but im clippin ya wings//Takin ya hoes and showing em some different things**
**Im taking you down clown, cuz ya life is a joke//Ima roll you up and burn you like the kush that i smoke**
**The shit i invoke is magical, go get merlin// bitch i rap around ya head, i aint talkin bout turbans**
**but you know im hella Sikh, please call me a medic//Better dip the fuck out or you're gonna regret it**
...
after a moment, i realized i was surrounded by wenches.
Drake simply sat there with shock in his eyes
**I..** he stammered
**You WHAT!?!** i yelled back
**I rip and i rhyme//I rhyme and i rip// Cause this da way da dragon spit**
A tremendous chorus of 'Boooos' permeated throughout the village, much like B-rabbits first battle
**The people have spoken!** I yelled **You have been thoroughly roasted!**
and with that, the winged demon drake burned away atop the castle and i rolled his ashes in a fat blunt.
the end | The portly group of knights dismounted before the cave
Twelve heroes in all, well trained; nary a knave
The dragon within had terrorized these lands
But these knights came prepared, with rhymes in hand
They belted out stanzas, cantatas, and scores
Arrangements, verses, setups, and more
They each shouted rhymes to entice the beast from within
To dare show its hide and be slain like its kin
Their efforts taxed and strained them all day
Until Gallahad exclaimed, “The beast comes, make way!”
Towering above them the scaled creature snorted
While the knights arranged ranks, as Arthur exhorted
They were preparing for any rhyme it could derive
But with a wall of fire, it cooked them alive
They should have asked for directions from Merlin the wizard
For they had spit fire at what was really the wrong lizard | 2016-04-07T09:12:48 | 2016-04-07T08:47:11 | 102 | 24 |
[WP] You are secretly an alligator posing as a human to infiltrate their society. One day, someone says "see you later, alligator!" and you think your cover is blown. | “Why are you here?”
I can’t look into his eyes as I respond: “I blame myself, really.”
“Go on.”
The mid-30s, dirty-blonde man across the table from me is exactly what you’d imagine a TV personality with high ratings would look like. He is all-professional, possessing that gleam in his eyes that most people probably can’t look away from even if they tried. His deep voice carries a certain weight, draws you in, makes you want to hang onto every word he says. I would probably fall into that same trap if I didn’t feel so *ashamed*.
After several beats, I stammer: “I think…I think the biggest thing…I’m sorry—“
The reporter—I can’t remember his name now; probably Tad or Chad or something like that—lowers his gaze, trying to meet my eye line which is now attempting to bore a hole through the oak table in front of me.
“Hey,” says Tad-or-Chad in a low, almost soothing tone, “the people at home just want to understand, okay? If it helps, just pretend that it’s me and you. None of these cameras are even here.”
But they are.
He concludes: “We’ll edit this part out, yeah?”
I take a deep breath, and with every last ounce of dignity I can possibly muster, I lift my head and look into his deep blue eyes. He smiles and says something like “welcome back”, except my mind is elsewhere, desperately trying to piece together a version of this story that people might sympathize with. Up until now, the only version that anyone has ever heard is the “official” one as told by the police officers who responded first on the day of the altercation that landed me here. I ask Tad-or-Chad if he would mind me smoking and he shakes his head. I can tell that he wants me to feel comfortable, but entirely for his own sake. The more relaxed I am, the better chance he has of getting some TV interview-of-the-year award, and the more likely he is to go home tonight in one piece.
Taking a chance on his name after exhaling a dense cloud of smoke, I begin: “Tad, I think the biggest thing—“
“It’s Chet,” he interjects. Goddamnit, *Chet*. Where did I get Tad from?
“Sorry, Chet,” I continue, “As I was saying, I think the biggest thing is that I just got lazy after a while. You spend so long learning about a species, trying to essentially *become* a member of that species, yet at some point you forget to pay attention to the little things. The one-off things like eyebrow raises, or subtle hand gestures. In this case, my downfall was the result of completely misinterpreting what turned out to be an embarrassingly common turn of phrase.”
“See you later, alligator.” He says it so nonchalantly that it almost makes me lose my lunch. This stupid little phrase, seemingly so innocent. How could I have ever expected that something like *that* would land me in shackles, spending the rest of my days in a prison cell?
“You know what’s so ironic about that sentence, Chet?” I ask.
“What’s that?”
“Now *no one* will see me later. No one will see me ever again.”
“Let’s get back to the point, Al.” I think he’s avoided calling me that for most of the time he’s been sitting there across from me. Once my cover was blown and the people who knew me understood what I really was, I imagine most of them probably felt strange thinking of me as “Al” anymore. They probably felt silly, like somehow they should have known all along.
“Take me through the events of that fateful day,” says Chet.
“I’d been at this lifestyle for years now,” I begin again. “I had a job, friends, a home. I had…” my voice trails off and I choke down what must be a piece of my heart. When my voice comes out again, it’s broken and weak: “I had her.”
“Annie.”
When he says her name, it feels like my whole world has come crashing down on top of my big, scaly head. In that moment, every single image my brain has stored of her comes rushing back. The way she smiled at me when I came home from work every night. The way we made love under that big oak tree out in the backyard after our picnic on our first anniversary as a couple. The way her eyes lit up when I had finally found the courage to take the plunge and asked her to marry me.
But more than anything, I see her face when, as I turned to leave for work that morning, she said something she’d never said before.
*“See you later, alligator!”*
Had I heard her correctly? Had she known all along? My family back in the waters had made it abundantly clear that no one—and they meant *no one*—could ever find out what I really was. Before I left on this journey, I had sworn on all of my ancestors who came before me that if anyone ever found out, they would have to die. There was no other way. If our species was to learn more about the humans so that we could one day co-exist on the land, it was imperative that I kept my secret. If just one person ever knew, even if that person was Annie, everything that I had worked for would be destroyed.
So I asked her, “What did you just say?” I had to be sure. With everything in me, I prayed that I had heard her wrong. But she repeated it, and I knew right then and there, that she had known what I truly was all this time. She’d betrayed me. She’d lied to me. She’d told me she loved me but she never meant it. Without hesitation, I morphed back into my true form, and I devoured her.
As I look around and remember where I am, I realize that I’m in tears. Chet, still sitting there across from me in his perfectly-pressed suit, looks like he’s just dying to say something.
“Al,” he says through a heartless snicker, “are those…crocodile tears?”
It’s the smile that does it. This man doesn’t understand what I’ve been through. He thinks that I’m just a big joke, and that this interview he’s conducting with me will change his life and career for the better. He thinks wrong. He’s about to die.
As darkness engulfs my heart and soul, I say through bared teeth:
*“I’m an alligator, you motherfucker.”*
| “It’s been 4 days and I’m starting to be able to walk. Cooping myself up in this hotel room is starting to get to my head. But it must be done. I can’t use a walker forever. It draws too much attention to myself but it’ll draw more attention if I crawl on my belly. It’ll all be over. I need to get accustomed. That son of a bitch is on to me. I know he is. I can’t wait till-“
An explosion at the door causes him to jump to the ground, sprinting on all fours to a running shower stall. “Housekeeping!”, says the man on the other end of the door.
“He doesn’t sound threatening”, he thinks to himself.
“I can’t be quite sure. It feels like I’ll never get used to these customs. I used to be the one making the noise. Everything would run from ME. He would be running from ME if he knew what I was capable of. What I AM capable of. I’m the fucking king-“
“Hello?” the staff calls out again. “What would be a good time to come back?”
No answer.
The wheels squeak down the hall. It’s safe again.
He crawls back to his bed for another go. Starts on his belly and pushes himself in a push-up motion. Halfway through his body recoils. His arms wobble and his head feels as though he’s being attacked. Falling back on the bed, he frantically looks across the room in defense position.
Nobody’s there.
“What’s going on?” He thinks to himself. “It feels like I’m going in for a kill, but I think I’m alone. Though I can’t be too sure. My eyesight is narrow and I can’t gauge my surroundings without letting my backside guard down. There’s nothing to protect me, it's all in front of me”.
Getting in push-up position, he again tries to stand. The more he rises, the more his arms start to shake. Never has he been so far from the ground. Never has he felt so helpless.
The morning after was a breakthrough. Hours of failure and frustration payed off. He grabbed the walker for safety and left hotel for the first time since the transformation. As he steps in the elevator tension begins to build. Water slowly drips down his skin and the familiar sensation gave him confidence. Today was huge. Everything he worked for can be taken away with one phrase. “There’s nothing to worry about”, he thought in the elevator. “It’s an outdated phrase. Nobody says it anymore.”
The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slowly open. Everybody is preparing to exit. This is it. He can’t contain his excitement. Sweat is billowing down his body. Almost too much. Looking around the elevator, everybody is dry. Already a sore thumb. The doors are almost open. Heards of people scurry around the hotel lobby. Small vibrations jab him in the torso. In a panic, he almost collapses to the floor
“Sir, are you okay?”.
Only able to groan he has no response. More heads turn to him as he is now a spectacle. His stomach feels as though it’s going to vibrate out of his body. Harsh, high pitch shrieks fill the air from all directions. Trying to keep it in and pretend like everything’s fine, he starts to lose control. Nobody prepared him for this. His senses were not made for this environment.
Quickly spiraling, he lets out an ungodly screech. The vibrations from his vocal chords tear through his own ears as the grit of the deathly scream was menacing out of his control. It was the sound of pure pain. He recognized the sound. It was the sound of prey as he sunk his teeth in for the kill.
Cycling through feelings of empathy and suffering, he could not bear it any more.
“SEE YOU LATER ALLIGATOR” He screamed in a tone as if he was struck by lightning.
In an instant, it was over. He was back in the swamp and everybody was laughing. “I told you not to take too much!” cried a familiar voice peppered with laughter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how you do when it’s your turn” he said out of embarrassment. Full of regret and loathing over his instincts.
| 2018-05-07T13:25:55 | 2018-05-07T12:28:30 | 88 | 10 |
[WP] MacMiller's Pub, a place where superheroes and super villains alike can sit for a drink, so long as they leave their feuds at the door. | At the sound of MacMiller clearing his throat, the hubbub in the cozy pub died faster than a civilian at the hands of Dr. VonDoomenstein during a drunken bender. Even the doctor himself, currently on a drunken bender, suddenly straightened up and felt almost sober, possibly saving a few lives.
The existence of this pub was the worst kept secret amongst superpowered beings in the solar system. The fact that mere mortals just couldn’t physically attend made it a reprieve for the heroes from their daily slog, and a place for the villains to meet and do business without worrying about whether the other guy was secretly planning to rip their face off and eat it, which, to be fair – they probably were in some cases. But not here. Oh no. MacMiller’s pub was the one place in the world where there was no conflict. None.
Nobody would dare.
And thus there they were, all frozen in place, as the old man limped out from the old bar, the crowd of superbeings parting before him with awkward shuffling of feet. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of MacMiller. Oh no, that way lay madness. That way lay death. Or worse, having your picture put on the little corkboard behind the bar, the one with the ominous heading – “Banned for life”.
As the crowd had parted enough his target became obvious, and aware of his attention. Lyra she was called, not that anyone had an easy time remembering that over the lacking skin coverage her outfit provided, as was par for the course for beginning female heroes. The girls eyes went huge as the old man limped closer, and her bottom lip trembled. Somehow she found herself looking up at the man towering before her, despite him being barely taller than she was seated.
“Give it,” he said gruffly, his accent that of inscrutable ancient pub keepers all over the universe. Everyone leaned in, suddenly noticing the tiny barely visible earbud that Lyra had neglected to leave at home, the connection to the dispatcher of whatever organization she had managed to get accepted by. It was one of the most basic rules of the place, after all: leave work at the door. You can socialize, you can even negotiate deals, but you can’t in any way mix the two worlds. MacMiller’s pub started where the real world ended, and vice versa. No connections allowed.
“Bu…” she started with trembling lips, the entire pub gasped as one, and the people nearest the two scrambled backwards almost trampling over each other to a chorus of apologies even from the worst of the worst. Nobody wanted to be close enough to be caught in the blast if she finished expressing that sentiment, nor did anyone want to accidentally leave a slight without apology in here. A fight would condemn them all. Nervous glances to the two pictures on the board of the banned clued the girl in just in time.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, and hurried to hand over the earpiece. The old man took it between wrinkled fingers and removed it from existence. He glared at Lyra for an uncomfortable eternity and then gave a single curt nod before returning to his post behind the bar.
The din of the pub slowly rose again, if at a more somber note, and a few more shots than usual of the hard stuff was drunk that night. MacMiller… Nobody knew who he was, but everybody called him by his name… and that was more than could be said for those that had crossed him.
| Yoooooooooooooooo
Welcome to my pub, and here's the deal
This is a place where blood don't spill.
Heroes and villains both get a pass
This is my place, so drink and relax.
Superman, we got the beer for you
Kryptonite infused in a brew.
Just a bit, to get you blitzed, not even enough to affect your dick.
You'll still be pulling all the girls,
Where's Wonder Woman, having a hurl?
She drank too much, but it's still all good,
Even lex Luther is in the hood.
He's having a shot with my boy Roy Rodgers,
Having a moment, they can't be bothered.
Thanks for stopping and dropping and popping by
Remember not to drink and fly.
Inspired by: (Mac Miller)[https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2UkrJ0YjjUY]. Not specifically that song, but it is a good one. Also I'm clearly not a good rapper lol. | 2017-02-04T00:39:36 | 2017-02-03T19:21:16 | 116 | 22 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | The once great city of Torsaval now sat in sad disrepair, the people living within slowly becoming poorer with each passing season as the weather destroyed crops and ravaged the city in the storm seasons. The dilapidated homes had slowly emptied, as the population either died off from starvation or left in the hope of finding better luck in another town or city.
Those that were left behind were those too old or weak to travel, or had simply given up on life and were simply waiting for the end to claim them, refusing to leave their place of birth. Thus it was quite the surprise to them when one of the few remaining children came running through town, yelling as loud as their squeaky voice could about a horde of some sort on the horizon.
The few that cared to go look found themselves facing an encroaching wave of shambling horrors, undead by the thousands slowly making their way towards the town without pause. None moved quickly, and the town curiously if defeatedly watched as they grew closer over the course of the day.
By the time the sun had set, the army of the dead still had not reached the town. And so the towns people all gathered in the one church that remained to them, barred the doors and windows, and prayed for salvation they knew was not coming.
All through the night, the moans of the dead could be heard. The doors were pounded upon, scratched at but to the relief of the gathered crowd, held and kept out the horde. Though none could see, they could all hear the sound of their town being torn apart. Pounding and sawing, which the people could only postulate as the dead punching the buildings and chewing at the doors to gain access filled the night, leaving few the ability to sleep.
Thus it was that the light of the dawn finally broke across the church and bringing with it the cessation of noise. The undead no longer made any noise, and the horrible racket they had emitted through the night was finally over. The bravest of the town folk, against the urging of the others, unbarred the doors and peeked outside. Their initial silence spoke volumes to the rest, that lowered their head in grief at the loss of their town.
It was a short lived despair, as those that were looking outside finally let out words of wonderment, pushing the doors of the church open fully and stepping outside. With hesitant steps the rest of the town folk followed them out, and their eyes opened wide at the scene before them.
Rather than destroyed remnants of their town, in it's place stood a beautifully painted and clean city. All of the buildings had been repaired skillfully, and colorful paint applied to brighten the town up. Roofing, once sagging and leaking, had all been repaired with fresh tile and wood. Even windows, the few buildings that could afford them, had been replaced with fresh panes. The interiors had received the same treatment, and it was if the people were walking into a fairy tale of what their homes could be.
A yell from the walls drew the town outward, to see the landscape entirely changed around their town. Fields had been tilled and watered. Nearby a huge mound of dirt sat, next to a newly dug reservoir that was fed from a river that was miles away from the town. It had been set up to feed the fields water, and thus able to withstand the harshness of the dry summers they had been having.
The town grew prosperous after this, slowly filling as old residents returned to once abandoned homes, tending to fields that had been prepared for them by the unknown horde of dead. No one knew why it happened, but rumors passed along that more than one town had received their help, and all were grateful after the fact…though none would want to meet the zombies that had done the work.
---------
I have not written a story of any kind in many years. Forgive my skills and I hope it is readable.
*edit* Fixed a few words. And thanks for reading! | The street conmen and their dark magic - the few that choose to specialise in things like shadows or eldritch included, as much as they think they're being clever - might give you the wrong no impression, but in the diamond trade, Dark Mages are more often than not the good guys protecting the jewel.
There's something to be said about the most subtle school, especially when it can completely obscure a target from prying eyes, or set up barriers of pitch darkness to confuse a trespasser.
That's not to say Light magicians are untrustworthy, or that the other elementals are never hired. Water is pretty popular, Fire has its charm, Air is always known for invisibility (though it's easy enough to detect) and of course people have buried things underground for millennia.
Hell, Light magicians are associated with the church for a reason. Priests are drawn to it like moths to a candle, and many sub-schools of Light involve rituals and prayer rather than incantations and alchemy.
But nonetheless, I feel Light is the school best-suited to less-legal pursuits.
Specifically, my school of Light magic, of which I am the only practitioner.
My name? Well, I'll not leave you with my reap name, but in the trade I'm known as Gary Glitter. Think on what my school might be while you rub the stars from your eyes. | 2016-11-12T10:08:11 | 2016-11-12T10:00:09 | 756 | 18 |
[WP] The hero was too afraid to commit to the ultimate self sacrifice at the climax of the story which costed many lives. Everyone turns away from the hero and calls them a coward. The villain seems to be the only one that sympathises with the hero. | I was tilling the blighting soil next to the victorious Demon Lord's castle, the plow strapped to me as I furrowed the lines, when the Demon Lord herself came out of her castle, guards flanking her as she approached me.
"Good Morning, Hero." She said that last part hesitantly. She held a well lacquered box in her hands.
"Hero is not my name anymore," I responded. "I am coward."
She flinched. A gaze that was absolute steel when her armies massacred the kingdom's now held pity.
Her fingers gripped the box tighter. I didn't miss that, but I closed my eyes, sighed, and continued tilling.
She followed, her armored guards following despite the churned soil that sullied their boots along with their mistress's hemmed dress.
"Go away," I said.
"Or what? Will you cease you tilling then?" she asked.
I took several more labored stepped before before I sighed, took my yoke off, then turned to meet her.
She was beautiful. Slim with black curved demon horns that elegantly circled around her long white hair like a cursed halo. Her red eyes perfectly fitted into a angular visage just made her all the more alien in her grace.
But she also murdered my friends and had enslaved the mortal kingdoms to her whim.
And she was offering me breakfast, or what else would be in the box.
She opened the box, and held out an intricate dagger.
That wasn't what I was expecting.
She gave me the dagger.
And then she lifter her hair, exposed her neck, and made her guards point spears at me as she craned closer for me to strike a mortal blow.
I threw the dagger into the dirt.
"You won't free me?" she asked as she put her hair back into place and lifted herself regally again, her hand waiving for her beleaguered guards to stand back.
"Free you?" I spat. "You are the one who should free my people!"
"As you can free yourself?" she asked. "You know that you are not my captive. I did proclaim you are free to everyone in the kingdoms and beyond. Not to be touched."
I spat again, this time truly into the dirt, missing the dagger by inches.
"It is my penance," I explained again, tears welling in my eyes. "I chose this because in my defeat, you had to insult me further by letting me live! I should have died fighting you!"
She folded her arms, disinterested by the same story she heard every conversation with me. "You are too rare a creature to let die. You are...different."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, don't tell me. Is it because I'm gifted? That I had a divine blessing against evil? Was it for the blessing I was born with awesome strength beyond human limits?!"
"No," she flatly stated.
"Well, then why let me live?! Why conquer my home and then let me see you put it in chains!?"
She stood there, a finger tipped to her chin, weighing her response.
"Tell me, what do you see when you see me?" she asked, honestly.
"I see a conqueror. Someone who took what wasn't theirs. That is wrong," I stated.
"And?" she asked, asking for more.
"That's it. You must give back what you took. Everyone should be free."
"And what about my people?" she asked. "If they were oppressed, should they be set free too?"
I scratched my chin, having to thing that one for a bit.
"If they were enslaved...yes...they should be free too..." I answered, not knowing where this was going.
A smiled curled on her lips.
"You understand then," she said.
I was confused, and she continued as she clearly saw my frustration.
"You don't think of me as evil because of who I am, but for what I have done," she declared.
I nodded.
"You don't think of me as an evil *demon* overlord, correct?"
I shook my head. "You are a demon, but what does that have to do with being evil. Your actions speak louder than words."
"And that is why you are free," she said. "Your kingdom does not have such...free thinking. They think of demons as evil because of what we are, not who we are."
"So...why did you enslave my people then?"
She sighed. "They are prisoners of their own hate. Demons were persecuted by them. In turn, we needed to defend ourselves. That is why I do what I must. I made myself stronger so that others of my kind could flock to that strength. And when the humans were not content with a demon protecting their own, they struck. But like iron, they struck and struck us until we were wrought from their hot, molten hate, and we made ourselves weapons so we make strike back.
"And now, we are bars of iron, cooled by the dissipating heat from war and now coldly doing our jobs to ensure we are no longer prosecuted."
I stood there, following the logic, but not in the results.
"It is still wrong to do what you do," I said.
She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes. I agree with you, Hero. Much like you chain yourself to the perception of being a coward because you failed, I must chain myself to the duty of keeping your people under my iron fist, lest they rise again to try and destroy my people..."
I thought long and hard on that.
I left the yoke, the dagger, and the Demon Lord behind that day.
I didn't need others to tell me what to do to make things right.
But I will find a way to come back and not be chained down again to what others think of me. | I sat at the bar of a diner with a newspaper in my hand, my fingers brushing over the embossed text as the diner's noises buzzed around in a soothing cacophony of chaos.
*Headline: Mark "Super Savior" Shannon Missed His Bus; 350 Die in Car-tostrophic Wreck*
"Jeez, this guy really screwed up. Good timing though, I hadn't got to feel a newspaper in a few years now. You can feel the subtle ink, like a tattoo."
The boy sat next to me and continued to hold his head in his hand.
"Psst, Double S, it's me." I whispered through the side of my mouth.
The boy slowly looked up, with bloodshot, puffy eyes. I don't think he's stopped crying for the last day.
"Doctor...Vallance? Look I can't-"
"Shh." I said, darting my eyes around. "I'm trying to keep both of our covers here."
"What the hell are-what are you doing?"
"Calm down kid, there's not much I can do to you that hasn't happened already. I've seen unifying hate but, this is on an intergalactic scale."
A young woman walked up with a small notepad, noisily smacking gum in her mouth. "Hey mistah, what'll it be?"
I put the newspaper down and smiled at her warmly, she reminds me of my grandbaby, Zelda Grace. I'm digressing, even in my own head. "Y'know what, I will have a slice of apple pie, and can you find me a hunk of sharp cheddar to go with that? And can I also please have that to go?"
She giggled nervously, unsure of how to process what I said, but politely and determined, she wrote it down. She looked at Mark with a concerned expression on her face. "And what about for you? I can come back if you need me to."
Mark shook his head. "Thank you."
"Thank you." I said to her with a 'white person' smile, as I've been told. I turned back to Mark and patted him on the back. "Congrats kid, your cherry is popped."
"What cherry?"
"Everyone hates you! Even your parents, watching that was rough."
Mark stood up and grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt, pulling me closer and raising a fist. "What did you do to them?"
The young woman returned, pale as snow while holding my to-go box. "Um...hello?"
I looked at her and smiled as gently as I could, speaking to my toddler granddaughter in my head. "He'll be fine."
I smirked at him. "I haven't done anything you haven't. Read the room, and follow me 30 seconds after I get up." I shoved his arm down and away from me, to see the entire diner staring at us. "Stay here and wallow, or come find me." I say, getting up out of the stool bar and grabbed my food.
"Sir, you have to pay for that!" The young woman said.
"He'll cover it for me." I say, walking out the door, chuckling, thinking about how this is one of my new favorite dine and dashes. | 2022-10-17T19:53:47 | 2022-10-17T19:25:36 | 157 | 25 |
[WP] You are born without emotions; to compensate this, you started a donation box where people could donate their unwanted emotions. You've lived a life filled with sadness, fear and regret until one day, someone donates happiness. | "It hurts," I mutter to myself and clutch my chest. "Oh god, how this hurts."
I close my eyes, and I see it. A husband, happy, a pregnant woman by his side. Then, a truck. It runs them through like a bullet to bone. Scattered and ripped, torn asunder like the man's soul, once so complete and bright, now floating inside a tornado of red. It surges into me, and I just want to die. I want to join them. I want to hold a daughter I never knew, her face, her laugh. Her everything. I want the love of my life back.
God, I want it all back.
A rustle from behind me emerges into existence, bringing me back to my surroundings. I open my eyes. I'm sitting in a nearly empty room. A screen is in front of me, and a projector behind, along with a hole in the wall.
A note, quite like the one before, falls through the gap between me and those who wish to donate. It descends onto the projector and becomes lit up on the screen, the words dancing to life in front of me.
'I lost everything in my job.'
The words embed themselves into my mind, and the feelings soon follow. Bitter, like ash, burns over my tongue. Seething rage encompasses my soul.
I blink and get a glimpse of an empty office and a bottle of scotch in my hand. The anger boils and grows, and I clench my fist. A clock in my mind rings, 12, midnight, again. Always, every night, the same. I wake up there, having never left, a voicemail from a husband expecting his partner home last night singing on my phone.
Fury booms from my throat, and it echoes into the world around me. I open my eyes, and I gasp for air, my chest inflating and deflating repeatedly. I rub my face and shake my head, knocking the note off the projector.
"Too intense," I whisper to myself. I sniff and wipe away the spit from my mouth. Pain is pulsating in my lower jaw; it having been clenched shut these last few minutes.
Another note falls through the hole. I prepare to read when I feel it. All through me. I let out a small giggle for the first time in my life, and a shutter runs down my spine. Is that how that feels to laugh? Like your vibrating? Oh, it's beautiful, so magnificent, I never want this feeling to end. It bubbles in my belly, and courses through my veins into my toes. My feet feel funny, like their fuzzy. I look up and read the first line of the note.
'First time I kissed a girl,'
This is so strange; I'm sweating, and it feels so lovely. I'm laughing again, I can't help it. I close my eyes, and I'm sitting in a park. A girl, no older than 16 is sitting next to me. The feeling explodes once again, and all my thoughts escape my head. What do I do? Christ, what do I do?
"Wooo!" I yell, opening my eyes and staring at the roof. A massive grin is sitting on my face, and a small murmur of laughs slips my lips. With a shake of my head, I look back at the screen and read the last line.
'A little bit of happiness for Pandora.'
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff. | And there is so much! Its glorious! You find the donor a few hours later because you have to know: van everyone have this? Why did they give it away? How could they bear to let it go?
The man who donated looks at you with kind slightly sad eyes. He is wearing the uniform of the homeless: layers and layers of dirty clothing. One of his fingerless gloves is unravelling. His wrinkles are packed with dirt.
'mate, you never been happy before?'
You shake your head.
'well, I sort of gave the happiness to you, for me.'
You frown.
'the thing about happiness is when you give it to someone else, you get more back. I gave you happiness so I could have happiness: try giving it to someone else. Let them know their hair looks good, hold a door, pat the puppy. You'll get back what you give!'
He nods and walks away, whistling.
Am on a phone sorry for grammar and whatnot | 2017-04-05T06:14:33 | 2017-04-05T06:08:33 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] The color of people's eyes are based on what that person has seen in life.
This is a fairly open prompt that I thought could be very fun to write about! There are several ways this prompt can go and I am very excited to read what you come up with!
| Waves pounded the bow of the longboat as it navigated the choppy waters off the coast of Ireland. But the strong winds beat the billowing sails, and the crew of the *Njal* was making good time. They'd be sailing into Dublin before any of the coastal watchtowers could even send a rider. Hopefully the Irish had grown fat over the long spring, and there'd be goods aplenty to take.
"I bet I can kill twenty of them," Dagr boasted. "My father taught me everything he knew, and trusted me with his stoutest ax. Cleaves through weak armor like butter, he says." The ax strapped across his back glinted in the candlelight below deck.
Haraldr snorted. "You wish. You'll probably pee yourself the moment you step foot off the boat and hide behind a rock at first sight of an Englishman. You'll be coming back to the boat with your eyes still green." Everyone knew that your eyes would turn blue after your first kill in battle, so returning green was a great shame. And it took some boys three or four raids before they finally turned blue. Haraldr wasn't really one to talk, though: his eyes were still green too. It was the first raid of the season for many of them, and all of the boys in the village had volunteered. As was traditional, the older men who were already rich from reaving let the young ones go in their places.
"Will not!" Dagr shouted. He blinked rapidly, like he could cover up the emerald color of his irises.
"I bet I can kill more of 'em than you!" Haraldar challenged. "*And* I'll be coming back with more treasures! Maybe I'll bring back a special treat for Álmveig." Most of the other boys perked up upon hearing her name; they'd all had a crush on the village beauty at one time or another, and she'd yet to give her favor. Most guessed that she was waiting to see which one would be the most successful warrior with the deepest shade of blue, which certainly raised the stakes of the raid.
"Quiet, both of you," Ingimarr growled. There was a terse silence in the cabin, and then all of the boys burst out laughing.
"Ok, Old Grey Eyes," they called him. "Why don't you go settle in for a nap before we arrive?" Most vikings didn't get grey eyes till they were old, too weak to man the ships anymore. The only other Grey on board was the Captain, and rumor had it that this would be one of this last runs. Ingimarr's irises had been the color of a stormy sea as long as he could remember, even before he came to the village as an orphan, half starved and feral. Some said that your eyes became grey when you were close to death, and that Ingimarr's had turned because he'd nearly starved that winter.
Ingimarr ignored them and went back to sharpening his blade with fierce determination. No one wanted to come back to the ship with that piercing clear blue more than he did. Maybe he'd even impress Álmveig. *That* would show the rest of them.
The captain's bark came from above deck. "Ingimarr, up top!"
The other boys "Ooohed," thinking that he was in trouble. They would take such pleasure in seeing the Captain join in on their abuse of Old Grey Eyes. He sheathed his sword and stomped up the ladder to the sound of laughter and more boasting as the other boys went back to predicting what would happen upon landfall.
The captain was standing at the edge of the deck, looking out across the choppy seas to the green fields in the distance. Ingamarr came and stood by his side, awaiting orders. "Don't let them get to you, boy," The Captain said finally.
"I don't, Sir," Ingamarr answered with steel in his voice. The captain had taken a great risk in allowing a boy so young to come on the raid, and Ingamarr was determined to prove that he had what it took to earn his blue eyes.
The captain nodded and sighed. "It's not age that turns your eyes grey, you know," he told Ingamarr. "My own father lived to the age of seventy and still had his blue eyes when he died. He was a blacksmith, you know. Only went raiding for two seasons as a boy. Me? This will be my twentieth year out on these ships, and my eyes have been lightening since my first raid." He gave a heavy sigh. "It's war, boy. That's what turns you grey. When you learn that all of this killing and pillaging is chiseling off chunks of your soul."
Ingamarr stayed silent. That sounded like something that those Christians would say.
"That's why yours turned so early, boy. When they burned your village." Ingamarr didn't talk about it often, but everyone knew how he had come to be an orphan. He was the only survivor from a group of attacking Danes, who'd killed the men in his village and taken the women back to their own island. "You lived through the horrors of war, and it broke you in half. Just like it's done to me. The rest of those boys don't understand yet. But if they live long enough, they'll be grey someday too." | The dark green colour of Phil's eyes was bred by countless summers spent running around the Georgian forests. Exploring, climbing, playing pretend. Constantly looking up, around seeing the green leaves in the trees, the grass, the moss. Everything. The fresh air. The humidity. Coming home just in time for dinner, with countless scrapes and bruises. Those were his eyes.
The stormy grey of Jen's eyes came from living her entire life in Toronto. Bumbling around the city, staring up at the big skyscrapers, the CN Tower. The cold, grey clouds that winter brought. The dark grey of the rain clouds. Visiting the ROM, the AGO. The smell of hotdogs by the Rogers Centre. The cold air coming from the lake. The smell of the city, completely unexplainable unless you've experienced it. Her eyes were intelligent.
The dark black of Punarva's eyes was created living her childhood in India. The crowds of people, the hot sun, the sand. Going to a prestigious private school, where a monkey once broke in. Her parents reprimanding her for not doing so well at school, being helped with homework. The smell of curry in the streets, the deliciously spicy food. Her eyes were wise.
The hazel of Sid's eyes came from multiple things. His childhood in Nova Scotia, rooted with the exploration of forests, beaches and cold weather. The dark green of the grass, the bright green of the buds in the spring. The time spent on the pond in the winter, surrounded by trees. The dark, wooden hockey sticks he'd use. The black puck, dropped at a whistle. His adulthood in Pittsburgh, playing hockey, living in a home with dark oak floors and surrounded by tall trees. His eyes were liars, switching from green to brown and from brown to green.
Ryan's blue eyes were from growing up by the lake. Spending days fishing, dipping his legs in, underneath the blue sky. Running around on the shore, skipping stones. The constant smell of water, seeping into everything around him. The tall weeping willows surrounding it. Making sandcastles on the shore, having his first kiss in the water. Diving deep down and pulling up seaweed. Swimming to his heart's content, not caring if the water was cold. Running down to the riptide and back. His eyes were clear and alive, always telling a story.
The dark brown of Greg's eyes came from his childhood in London. Spending winter days playing in the forest, surrounded by leafless trees. The dark brown of his father's guitar, playing warm tunes and melodies for all to hear. His mother's special hot chocolate, sweet, perfect after a day spent out in the cold. The dark brown of his *own* guitar, given to him on his fifteenth birthday, producing crisp sounds. His eyes were warm and kind, with little crinkles around them from smiling so much.
| 2015-09-03T13:20:14 | 2015-09-03T12:34:49 | 69 | 38 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..." | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 1,321 | 585 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "I'm going to hide in the shadows and prepare for a sneak attack," said Mark.
"Alright," said the GM. "I need you to make a luck roll."
Mark picked up three D6, shook them in his hand, blew three times for luck, then gently rolled them across the table where they bounced around for several seconds before stopping with a six and two twos face up.
"Ten," said the GM, before turning to his notes and his campaign book. "Mark, I've got your luck score as 10, correct?"
"Yeah," said Mark, nervously, "is that good?"
"It's not good, but it's not bad, either," said the GM. "The doorman and a taxi driver do see you in the shadows, but neither of them is concerned enough to do anything. Okay, John and the succubus are approaching. Make a perception check now, please."
"Perception? What for?" asked Mark. "I already see her! Shouldn't I be making an agility roll for the sneak attack?"
"Roll for perception, please, Mark," sighed the GM.
"I don't know why I'm rolling for perception," said Mark. "That bitch is right there in front of me."
"Just roll, please," said John. "Come on. You're my only hope now."
Mark grumbled some more but picked up three more D6, shook them, blew, rolled them across the table, then groaned when they came up two fives and a six.
"Your perception is only 8, isn't it, Mark?" said the GM, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah yeah," said Mark, "so now what? Does the succubus see me?"
"Now you can roll for the sneak attack," said the GM.
"But he failed the perception roll," said John, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"Just roll for the sneak attack now, please, Mark," said the GM. "You've got five rounds loaded into your revolver. How many will you fire?"
"How many *can* I fire?!" asked Mark, angrily.
"You can fire all five rounds if you'd like," said the GM.
"Then I'm doing it!" shouted Mark. "For John, and the rest of the party!"
"Okay," said the GM. "For the sneak attack, I want you to roll five D10, one for each round you're firing."
Mark grabbed up the five, oddly\-shaped dice, and shook them inside his hands.
"Come on, Mark, you can do it," pleaded John.
Mark blew on the dice then almost threw them across the table.
"A one, two 5s, a 9, and a 10," read out the GM, as the dice stopped moving. "Your first round misses and flies over John's head..."
"Wait?! What?! My head?!" cried John. "What the fuck?!"
"What do you mean 'John's head'?" cried Mark. "I'm aiming at the fucking succubus that's *controlling* John!"
"No," sighed the GM sadly, "you failed your perception check, you only *thought* you were attacking the succubus. So, your first shot missed, two of your shots hit John in the shoulder," he gestured to the two 5's, "and your last two shots strike John in the back. John, can you make a Fortitude roll, please?"
"No! Fuck this!" screamed Mark, standing up and throwing his chair backwards.
John, resigned to his fate, picked up three dice, shook them, then tossed them on the table without looking. The GM read out the result then reviewed his campaign notes. "A three, and two fours. Good roll, John. In spite of being shot four times you find the strength to climb the steps to the front door of the hotel before collapsing." He rolled two D10s himself then referred back to his notes again. "Unfortunately your wounds are very serious, and you will succumb to them before help can arrive. So George, Paul, and Ringo, you'll have to continue without John."
George playfully nudged Paul. "And here I was thinking it'd be you that would die first." | "A runner arrives with your orders. Would you like to read them out?"
"Sure." Katie unfolded the paper that Danny, the DM, just passed her. "It says that the Ruskis are carrying the guns away, and want us to stop them."
"So we charge those guns? That sounds ... dangerous."
"There's, like five-hundred guns. What are the rules on volley firing like that?"
"I'll look them up."
"It's got to work. Danny wouldn't TPK us, would he?"
"I will if you keep metagaming."
"Fair. Okay... well, we charge the guns, cut them down as they retreat, and take them. Yeah?"
"Katie, are you sure this is a good idea? I've only just rolled this character up. Couldn't we refuse?"
"Orders are orders. It's not for us to reason why."
"No, just for us to do or die."
"HEY! That rhymes!"
"Well done, Alf. Write a poem about our heroics later."
"Who brings a bard to a battle anyway?"
"We do: sound the trumpet to face East."
"Wait," interjected the Danny, "East?"
"Yeah, that's where the guns are right? So East."
"Guys..."
"On my mark, we charge."
"Are you sure about this guys?"
"Get 'em."
There was a horrible terrible silence.
And then Danny said, "can you pass me the rules on volley firing?"
"Sure."
"Oh ... it does not look good for you guys." | 2018-05-29T08:01:06 | 2018-05-29T07:34:04 | 326 | 104 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | The Prime Minister walked into the cell and stopped short as he first sighted the prisoner. "Bloody hell, they do look like us," he muttered. He'd read the reports, of course, but nothing beat good old fashioned eyeballs.
The prisoner turned at his voice. Its skin had a bluish tint, and its frame was smaller than his -- maybe a little larger than a child -- but its head was decidedly much larger. It was vaguely reminiscent of what American conspiracy nuts thought had been dissected in their Area 51.
"Are you here to execute me?" it...seemed to ask. Its lips hadn't moved.
"Come again?" the Prime Minister asked back. "I don't think I, ah, quite heard you. Is that some telekinetic nonsense?"
"I am communicating directly to your mind, yes," the prisoner confirmed. "If you are going to execute me, please make it quick. I do not wish to die in agony, like the rest of my contingent."
The Prime Minister frowned. "The good people of Australia are not in the business of executing people, I can assure you," he said. "Now, what's this about your mates dying in agony?"
"It was terrible!" the prisoner emoted, grief flashing across his face. "We chose this part of the world to establish our base, given its remote nature. When we emerged from our craft, we were almost immediately beset by your foot soldiers."
"Our foot soldiers?" the Prime Minister asked, puzzled. He hadn't heard any reports of a direct confrontation between the extraterrestrials and Australian armed forces.
"Your fearsome beasts!" the prisoner said. "My craft landed in a watery area. Upon stepping out into the water, some great predator with many teeth and scales seized our leader and pulled him underwater."
"Crocodiles, I suspect," the Prime Minister remarked. "Wild animals. Been on this planet a lot longer than human beings, if I remember my Steve Irwin."
"Those...those things evolved naturally?" The prisoner shuddered. "I suppose you will tell me your bioweapons are naturally created, too." The prisoner sent an image of several of his kind, moaning in agony as they clutched blackened patches of skin with their three-fingered hands. A second image of a smashed insect, one with eight legs.
"Oh, spiders, sure, mate," the Prime Minister confirmed. "Australia happens to be home to some of the deadliest species of spider. Bad luck, those bites."
The prisoner nodded uncertainly, detecting nothing but truth coming from the Prime Minister. "Maybe so, but most of our losses came from direct combat with a truly terrible beast." It proceeded to send the Prime Minister several different memories of vicious combat, in which the extraterrestrials -- armed with what could only be described as muskets -- fought valiantly against a creature with two long, narrow legs, a long, curved neck, and a large, feather-covered body. The creatures, after being harried by the musketfire, charged the extraterrestrials and managed to kill a few of them.
The Prime Minster tried to hold it in -- it was tragic, really, it was -- but he failed to repress the laughter that bubbled up from inside him. "Those...those bloody things?" the Prime Minster gasped out amidst his outburst.
"I fail to find any humor in the situation," the prisoner said.
The Prime Minister finally found it within him to calm down. "I'm sorry, mate, I really am, but..." He shook his head. "Those bloody critters are emus." He clapped a hand onto the prisoner's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't feel bad, right? You're not the only ones to lose a damned war against those things." He turned away and gave a little rueful smile. "Maybe the rest of the world will stop giving us shit for it, now."
"So, most of my contingent were killed by...wildlife." The prisoner shook his head in disbelief. "If only we'd attempted to colonize another part of this planet."
The Prime Minister shook his head. "Probably would have been a worse move, to be fair. If you'd come down in America, they would have just nuked your ass."
"Nuked?" the prisoner inquired. The Prime Minister furrowed his brow, then attempted to think of several different images of nuclear explosions and 'send' them over. The prisoner's eyes grew wide. "Such...such horror!"
"Yeah," the Prime Minister acknowledged. "Look, here's what's going to happen. Your ships have mostly been impounded by our armed forces -- some university kids happened to find one, figured out how your little faster-than-light thingy works, uploaded the schematics to the Internet, and are now joyriding out around the solar system -- but so far as we can tell, besides scaring the piss out of some farmers out by where you landed, you haven't actually injured or killed any citizens of Australia. So, we're willing to send a diplomatic mission back to your home planet, in hopes of fostering a more peaceful relationship."
"That sounds acceptable," the prisoner permitted. "What...what if our elders back home do not wish for peace?"
The Prime Minister grinned savagely, showing all his teeth. "Well, mate, then we send in the bloody emus." | The scouts had a fairly easy time going undetected, their crude translation of radio signals making them appear as blips on radar and forgotten in an instant. Very rarely did they encounter any other air-fairing species of this planet that would approach and inspect, though only the smallest of them would attempt attacking and often in pairs, leaving scratches on the shields.
They had landed in a dry strip reminiscent of their home, to collect some samples from this arad wasteland, turning their sights east and taking off with little more than a puff of dust as they silently stalked the plains. They were headed to the site one of their own vanished not long ago, more out of curiosity than concern, they had numbers on their side what was one scout worth really?
Cresting the mountains the scenery changed to greener lands, taller bushes and even trees had sprouted, and soon approaching another large settlement when alarms triggered warning of incoming fire.
If only Bob had not disabled the warning for the hundredth time after so many bird strikes, it was but a flash in the sky rocketing towards his ship, piercing though the shields with sheer kinetic force before exploding, the Bob rendered a fine mist as its craft engines erupted in a second explosion, falling to the ground.
A few hours later an armoured four wheeled vehicle with a white and blue symbol on the side approached.
"Second one today, never seen anything like it."
"always thought the rumors were just that, but after this I think we have some aliens after all. Might allow the press to take some pictures and spread media about-"
Another rocket exploded above their heads and not to far off another pile of rubble fell to the ground. This one was much larger, and very much not anything seen before, and what remained looked too advanced to have been any other nation to attack.
2 days later a report was filed to Bob, every scout that wasn't on a return had been destroyed and every gunship sent with elete Bobs returned no calls, no vitals, didn't even fire a single round.
Bob shook in their seat, no other planet had held out an hour nevermind the endless barage! And after the first two scouts vanished anybob sent to investigate died. It was like fighting an invisible enemy under an invisible dome, an iron dome, Bob thought to themselves until the ship lit up with warning sirens, the engines too cold to shift them out of the way in time.
The bobs screamed trying to flee to any escape pods, chaos erupting as the patient monitor filled the deck with information on their impending doom, three ICBM on intercept with a ship carrying thousands of civilian Bobs waiting to move into their new home, unaware their species was only dominant for interstellar travel.
All doomed for a single dead scout over the iron dome.
(maybe I should have had breakfast before writing and posting but I'm out of time to rewrite it) | 2021-01-21T21:32:31 | 2021-01-21T18:50:40 | 130 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become. | **The Will of Ożwei**
----
_Legend has it that the Gods were once mortal._
The Gods are not cruel. The Gods are not caring. They simply exist. I imagine prayers gather at their feet like mail at a the door of a dead man.
Legend has it that they were once like us. Men and women of mortal life. Walking the world, searching for power to change or power to conquer. And yes, some seeking destruction for no reason other than they preferred the smell of char to the spring bloom.
Elders say the Goddess Ożwei came to our island a hundred years ago. Those old enough, claim to have seen her landing with their own eyes.
They say she came in a storm.
Hurricane winds ripped the tide and broke trees, and in the destruction a calm radiated on the horizon and from a growing pinpoint of light she appeared, gliding in on rays sun. Her foot touched the sand and since that day no storm has ever found our shores.
Ożwei made her home on the highest peak. Before her arrival that peak was were the villages of the island held joint council.
She ascended the cliff and rose above them and gracefully floated down in the center circle of old island men. She was bare and holy and from first sight the men tried to not indulge a glance of her flesh, for their soul told them she was no mortal women. And without the smallest acknowledgement to those bearing witness.
"I am Ożwei. You are safe now,” she said as she brushed the grass with her fingertips and took rest in the green blades, curling like a child into the bosom of the Earth.
In the weeks that followed a shrine erected around her. The finest jewels from the tribal chiefs of the island were gathered and placed in a circle around her naked body.
The conflicting native religions of the island merged and unified in worship to Ożwei, the restful watcher that manifested peace.
Weekly, people made the trek to fall on their knees ten feet from the Goddess and pray. The grass around her was always green and never grew.
Direct prayers were never answered. But everyone kept praying. There was no storms. No invaders. No tribal war. The small prayers for personal health and favor never stopped, and were never answered, and peoples faith solidified all the same.
“It is Ożwei’s will,” the elders preached.
----
I was fifteen when I started to doubt Ożwei’s will.
Every night I prayed to her.
Every other week I walked to the mountaintop to fall on my knees before her.
And what did she bring? Clear skies. Peace. How could we know those were her doing?
“Don’t talk like that,” my mother would tell me. “Don’t even think like that. It'll bring darkness, that line of thinking."
Even as she fell ill, my mother prayed to Ożwei.
Even as she lay dying, she prayed to Ożwei to watch over me, her only son.
In those final moments I fell to my knees at my mothers side and I prayed. I begged Ożwei to spare her life. To bring health back to her.
But she didn’t.
The sky was blanketed with stars that night. In my rage I climbed the trail to Ożwei’s shrine.
There she lay, starlight illuminating every inch of her skin. The rings of worshipers offerings littered the earth.
“Why?” I pleaded. “Why do you do this?”
I was distraught as I kicked aside stones and broke the rings of worship that spiraled out from her. I cursed the name Ożwei as I marched to her.
It was said the hand of any man that touch a goddess would turn to stone and break off. “Worship from a distance, do not touch, do not linger eyes on her breasts,” mothers had spent years whispering to eager children.
I stood over Ożwei. And for the briefest of moments I hesitated - I had never seen anyone get this close to her - _what was I doing? - step away …_
_No._ I resolved and leaned over her face.
“No.” I shook my head. “No!” I erupted and put my hands on her throat - “WAKE UP!”
And she did.
All at once I was paralyzed - a fly in a web.
Ożwei’s eyes, as legends said, were a deep green - the green of the Earth, the green of life itself.
But that is not what I saw.
They were a transparent yellow amber. Like the sea during a calm sunrise.
My hands fell to my side and she sat up. Her head titled and she examined who I was. With a raised hand she guided me back and I sat in the grass.
“Why do you wake me mortal?” Ożwei asked.
As I parted my lips I tasted tears - I nearly forgot I was still sobbing, tumbling in grief and anger - _what had I done?_
“My mother,” I said. “You let her die.”
“The mortal perish?” Ożwei asked geniualy perplexed.
“We do,” I said confused. “It was too soon for my mother. You didn’t listen - you’ve never listened! You’ve never helped us!”
Ożwei looked past me and gazed on the blanket of space overhead.
“I am not here to help you,” Ożwei ran her hand through the grass.
“What?” I was in a daze.
Ożwei waved me off dismissively - “leave me and do not return.” And with the flip of her wrist the wind took me into the sky and over the cliff.
But I didn’t plummet down.
I propelled outward.
Faster and faster I broke through the sky and the sea below me rushed by until I lost consciousness.
When I awoke I was on a beach I had never seen.
The sky was cloudy. The waves were in a turmoil. A storm on the horizon.
“Hey you!” A women’s voice yelled. “Boy!”
I brushed sand from my face and turned back. A fisherwomen stood on a nearby dock, fastening ropes of her sea-ship to the wooden pillars.
“What are you doing out there?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Best get your ass out of the sand unless you feel like taking a dip - that water is rising,” she said just as a wave crashed at my feet.
I was cold.
“Where’s your shirt?” She squinted at me. “And what are you wearing?”
My grass skirt was tattered. And for the first time I felt exposed. There was never a need for shoes or a shirt on my island. But this place - this cold and dreary land - felt like impending death.
“Where am I?” I yelled through the wind.
The women laughed. “Come up here boy, I have an extra coat.”
As I trekked through the sand and up the dock my body ached. The women tossed me a coat as I approached.
“Name’s Kinnie, but you can call me Captain Kin,” she stuck out a gloved hand and I shook it.
“I’m Gesovi,” I said.
“What’s your business Vi?” She asked.
“Oh,” I averted my eyes and put on the coat she kindly gave me. “I have to kill a God.”
The Captain froze. Then grinned. “Well. Don’t we all.”
----
Edit: Apologies for typos, wrote this on a break at work, will edit later :)
Edit 2: Small word changes and sentence tweaks as I reread on mobile
Edit 3: Final round of edits / clean up and world changes
Edit 4: Title
----
r/wyrdfiction <--if you like my writing | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Interlude 3: The Once-Child Named Awe)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, if you want further context, check out [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mimo4u/wp_i_dont_know_i_think_my_superpower_is_a_bit/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mskuaq/wp_a_voracious_monster_stalks_the_city_at_night/).)
**She would have wished upon a star, but the burning city's smoke obscured them at night.** Some foolish part of her was still hoping that things would go back to how they were, that her hometown of Sacrament would be restored to order. That the looting and violence would stop.
That she could stop participating in it.
The woman who had once been a child pushed the thoughts away, at gunpoint if they wouldn't leave. She had a job to do. A mission that trumped all else. A calling passed down through human history for so long that it was almost holy.
She had to find food to survive.
She'd tried to limit herself, at first—trading protection for goods. All she had was her mother's gun and a willingness to shoot it, but that was more than most. And as time went on and the people she shot went from citizens to criminals to monsters, that willingness became an eagerness, and that eagerness became a numbness, and there was power in that. Power in the ability to shoot knowing you were going to kill.
Power in the knowledge that if you were going to take other people's lives anyway, you may as well take their possessions too.
There was nothing supernatural about her newfound powers. The most terrifying powers never were. She simply had the ability to *choose*, to look someone in the eyes who was begging for mercy and put a bullet in their head as she searched their house for food.
And the power to choose was a terrible thing.
Awe stepped over the still body of a man who was old enough to be her father. Once upon a time, she would've waved to him as she skipped down the street. Now, he was simply in her way.
Her stomach growled as she stepped into the man's home. She hadn't eaten in days; the group she'd once protected had ran out of goods and collapsed, and she'd taken what she could in the chaos. She passed a fractured mirror in an ornate frame as she walked.
She was grimy, emaciated, scowling, and covered in dried blood. None of it was her own.
No wonder people shot at her on sight. No wonder she had to strike first.
She stepped further into the dead man's house. A tin of half-eaten meat laid on the floor on a small foam mat. For a moment, hunger surged through her—but she reined it in, caution taking over. Who left valuable food lying conspicuously in the middle of the floor? Was it a trap? Were there snipers peering through the window, waiting for some idiot woman to blunder in and take it? Was this—
"Mew?"
She blinked.
A black kitten, tail curled, looked at her from atop a nearby bookshelf. Reflexively, she aimed her gun at it, expecting it to flee or scream or swear at her.
The kitten, unimpressed, arched its back and curled up, tail flicking over its nose.
Awe swallowed, gun wavering.
Then, voice sore from disuse, the little girl whispered, "Kitty?"
The kitten cracked open one lazy eye.
Awe went over to the tin of cat food, lying on the ground. A hard lump formed in her throat. Hunger clawed at her belly.
She picked up the tin and offered it to the kitten.
Gratefully, the cat licked the tin clean, and began to purr.
And something broke inside the girl named Awe.
All at once, she collapsed to the floor, gun falling from her hands. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
The kitten, heedless of the blood on her hands, leapt down on little cat feet and nuzzled her cheek.
It felt soft.
Awe grabbed the kitten and held it close, deep, shuddering breaths wracking her body as that terrible numbness burned away like mist in morning sun.
She knew, then and there, that she had lost the power to kill.
And she knew that she would never regain it.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-27T08:04:10 | 2022-01-27T07:47:56 | 173 | 25 |
[WP] A man moves into a haunted house from (insert scary movie here). The demon in the house doesn't realize how dangerous the man really is. | The old Russell residence stood abandoned years after the horrendous murders that Tim Russell had committed. Its lawn had overgrown and the pavement leading up to the house was cracked. The paint on the walls had succumbed to the elements and had fallen off in most places, revealing the wood underneath, yet, for a house this old, the windows and the interior looked fresh. The front door still stood in its hinges, which was unusual for abandoned houses, as most had already been broken into. This perplexed the odd man in the brown overcoat.
“How peculiar.” He said under his breath, taking a screwdriver out of his pocket and fidgeting with it on the door. A few seconds later, he gave the door a push and it opened, revealing the rather pristine insides of an abandoned house. The plants inside had wilted, yet nothing else looked anywhere near the age of the house.
The man wasted no time and went to scout out the surroundings. He flicked a light switch and, to his surprise, the lights in the house turned on. “Peculiar indeed.” He muttered under his breath again. There were still visible blood stains on the floors where the bodies of Kaylie Russell and Michael Dumont where found, and those looked rather fresh. Glistening even.
The man noticed a mirror in a side room and went to it. It was in perfect shape, much as the house. He approached it, looking over his brown overcoat and adjusting his red bowtie. He turned on his heel only to find the door to the room now closed.
“Oh, very good.” The man said, this time not muttering. “So this is where you reside. The infamous mirror behind all these murders. Now, what makes you tick,” the man exclaimed with hearable excitement in his voice. He started fidgeting with the sides of the mirror, knocking on the frame a few times and listening to the wall behind the mirror. He was reaching into his pocket when he noticed something in the mirror. A shape he had not seen in a long time.
“Oh dear, oh dear. Mental projections, nasty ones at that,” he muttered, still looking at the image the mirror was showing him. The image was of a young, red headed girl who later on had joined the man on his adventures. The man looked away from the reflection and produced an object from his pocket. It looked like an ornate screwdriver, yet for the tip there was a green bulb. He pointed it at the mirror, clicked a button and the bulb lit up, emitting a loud sound. The image in the mirror distorted for a second, then calmed and the reflection of the young girl was gone. In its place stood a now older version of the girl, looking straight at the man, yet her eyes were different. Her had been replaced by reflective surfaces.
The man turned around and there she stood, in the flesh. The red headed woman that the man had the pleasure to call a companion once. “Oh, I wonder if that’s a hologram or a deeper level of the mental projection” the man said with glee, uncharacteristic to a situation like this. He turned back to the mirror, pointed his screwdriver at it again and activated it. The woman now started to speak “What are you?” it said with a metallic voice.
The man looked back at his past companion, produced a smile and simply said: “Hello. I’m the Doctor.” | This idea is stolen from the greatest line in the watchmen, so I'll set it up like a trailer:
Lightning crashes and illuminates the old house as a seemingly normal man walks in from the rain...
Cut to black scene
A low rumbling begins on screen where you only see a glimpse of a horrific monster instantly flooding the screen with light and everything then falls back to black and the sound cuts out...
7 seconds pass before you see the man again, eerily smiling into the camera, neck muscles protruding out and a sinister look in his eyes...
He speaks slowly and methodically....
"You fail to realize...I'm not locked in here with you....
*the man demonically rushes the camera and says without a hint of lost breath*
You're locked in here with me....*
*the man then makes an upward swing toward the camera and fades back to black* | 2015-03-10T09:39:27 | 2015-03-10T04:24:13 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You and your identical twin are constantly getting compared to one another. They are described with “shiny raven black hair, and strong intelligent eyes”. People dislike you for your “dirty black hair, and shifty narrow eyes”. It’s starting to bother you, since you look exactly the same! | I trudge down the stairs from my bedroom. Today is no ordinary day, today is my birthday, and that means the torture will be redoubled. The only bright side was the potential for gifts, like a new dog, or a laptop.
“I don’t want to throw a joint party but I’m not sure who would show up for Amelia’s if we separated them.” The tug on my heart is barely perceptible any more. Just a slight twinge really.
“Don’t mind me, just the less favored daughter, coming through,” I announce loudly.
My old slippers slap loudly as I pose in the kitchen doorway. As usual, my parents cringe at the sight of me. I clench my fist, the smile frozen on my face.
“Happy birthday, honey! We were just making you pancakes. Why don’t you go take a shower and get ready?”
“But I am ready,” I say, and I swear I can see my mom actually wince. I only thought people winced in books. Or when they pulled out a splinter.
She exchanges a look with my father. His says ‘go easy, it’s her birthday’ but my mom has always been bad at taking orders.
“I’ll see you later kiddo,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of my head and giving me a wink before bowing out.
“Now if you would only run a brush through that bird’s nest...” my mom mumbles, and I grunt, pulling down a mug for coffee. Before I’m able to lift the pot, I find myself pinned to the counter.
“Mom!” I yell, but she’s furiously yanking a brush through my hair. I’m unable to throw her off, so I endure the hard brushing. It wouldn’t be painful if she’d just stop pressing into my scalp so hard.
“Had enough?” I ask through gritted teeth. My mom’s hand slows, and I take advantage of the hesitation and duck around her, holding the mug of coffee I poured during my torture session. It was times like these I missed the family dog, Chester, who used to pounce on my mom when she grabbed any of us in a confused attempt to play.
“Morning, Lia.” My sister, Emma, is grinning at us from the door I just came through.
“Happy birthday, runt,” I say, cheerfully punching her in the arm. She cheerfully kicks for my knee but I’m too fast for her.
“Do I smell pancakes?”
“Mom’s birthday special,” I say, sitting on one of the barstools that crowd our kitchen island. Speak of the devil, mom still hadn’t greeted her favorite daughter. I look over at her.
She’s examining the brush. “Looking for something?” I ask. She pinches the two strands of hair caught in the bristles between her fingers, frowning. She looks from the brush, to me, and back again.
I raise an eyebrow, and look to my sister, Emma, who’s taken over pancake duty. I twirl a manicured finger next to my temple in the universal sign for “crazy.”
By the time breakfast ends, we’re running late for our shifts. Emma and I are usually scheduled together since we have one pair of wheels between us.
A situation my sister clearly despises at this moment. Emma is drumming her nails, her arms and legs crossed as she stares out the side window.
“we’ll make it in plenty of time,” I lie. She continues her silent treatment. I slow to a stop at a red traffic light. Emma groans and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I can’t control the damn traffic.
“I’m sorry,” Emma says.
“You, sorry? I’m shocked.” I’m only half-joking. She sighs.
“I just... hate being late.”
“Sure, because someone had to be the boring sister.”
“Shut up. You know Jack works the shift right before us, and he’s always rushing out.”
“Awww, Em, that’s so cheesy and cute,” I tease, and her face flushes a deep red. She reminds me of her six year old self when she gets embarrassed like that. I look around. There’s no one coming, the light is still glaring a bright red.
“Oh, fuck it.” I run the light. Much to Emma’s consternation, I stop almost immediately.
“Lia, don’t.”
There, in the road ahead of us, is a beautiful, black, skinny kitten. A mangy dog, something that might have been a blonde, terrier mix of some sort, hops on three mud-covered legs nearby. I reach a gentle hand out, and the dog hops closer, nose extended, tail wagging. The kitten is mewling, and quivers when I place it in a makeshift swaddle using my hoodie.
I open the back car door, letting the dog hop into my old, tiny, grey mom-car, and deposit the kitten into my sister’s lap. She squeals, but I ignore her protests, driving on toward our destination with our new buddies.
“I’m going to call you, Butterscotch,” I tell the dog, grinning as it pants in appreciation.
“These could be carrying diseases,” my sister says, and she’s probably right.
“I’ll get them shots.”
She glares at me.
“You thought of that just now didn’t you.” I remain silent. “You never thought about the diseases wild animals might carry? Do you ever think ahead?”
“I guess that’s why I’m lucky to have you,” I croon, poking her arm.
We arrive at the pool, and surprise surprise, Em has plenty of time to flirt with Jack. Jack cringes when he sees me, so I opt to leave them alone - My birthday gift to her I suppose. Between the animals and the life-guarding, my day flies by.
“You guys don’t think I look strange, right?” I ask the Butterscotch and the kitten, both of whom have been fed and watered. Butterscotch licks my face which I take as a positive sign.
I look in the mirror, staring at my reflection, and pull up a photo of Emma. I wonder if I’m being gaslighted, not for the first time. I turn away, jamming my phone into my pocket. It’s not worth agonizing over.
Our shift ends, but Emma wants to hang out with Jack, so I lay out, enjoying the sunlight and warmth. I fall asleep and finally wake to Butterscotch licking my hand. My sister and Jack are gone.
I had a guess.
My sister had already lost her shirt when I found them in Jack’s car.
“I am so not your chauffeur - get a ride home from lover boy.”
Emma shrieks, covering herself, but my eyes are drawn to her make out buddy. Jack looks embarrassed, but also a bit pale and sickly.
Well I wouldn’t be sharing any food or drinks with Emma for a few days.
I pack up the animals into my silver mom-Jeep, and wait one minute for Emma to stumble to the car, glaring daggers.
“You couldn’t let me finish having my fun,” she snaps.
“Grouchy horn-dog,” I chide.
That night was birthday cake and celebrating with only our family. My parents put up some resistance, but I think they were secretly pleased to have Butterscotch and Diva (the name my mom gave our kitten). They’d missed having animals since Chester. He’d died young from cancer, and it was hell to watch a dog go through that.
My mom gives me longer looks than usual at the dinner table.
“Yes?” I finally ask after she’s zoned out on my forehead for the third time. She straightens and laughs.
“Nothing, love,” she chuckles, running her fingers through my hair a few times. I sigh. It’s nice to not be fighting for once, although again, the majority of the fanfare is centered around Emma. All my carefully applied makeup is just to get my parents not to wince, and it seems I’ve succeeded. Maybe they’re right when they say teenagers have vanity issues. | "This is the sixth time this month we're out here." Shania gesticulated at the shriveled cacti and dusty expanse around us. "Nothing! No unicorn!"
Catching sight my expression, she rolled her eyes. "There you go, scowling again. It's no wonder people say you're the foul-tempered one."
I adjusted the strap of my rifle as I fumbled for the binoculars hanging off my belt. "You ever stop to think I'm like this because of those people?"
"So I'm one of 'those people' to now to you?" She sat on a flat rock and used a handkerchief to mop her face.
"No, you're just the more annoying twin." I jerked my head at the horizon. "Come on, we gotta hurry. Only three hours 'til sunset."
Grumbling, Shania got up again. The contents of her backpack squeaked and thrashed. I took up the march again, cursing the heat and our luck. Privately, I agreed with her—this excursion, like all those before, would be a waste of time.
"Did you know, Lany had set me up for a date today?" Shania said. I glanced over my shoulder. She was tapping on her phone in irritation. "No signal, really? We're only twenty miles out from Odessa, but it's like zero-century BC or something out here. Can't. Text. Johnson!"
"Forget Johnson and focus, please," I said.
"Pfft. When was the last time you've even been on a date? What would you even do this weekend if we're not looking for your stupid unicorn? Volunteer again?"
I ignored her jibe. The orphanage had told me last month that they no longer wanted me around. Some of the parents wanted someone a little more "trustworthy-looking", the director had apologetically said. So long and thanks for all the hard work, Karen.
"We're not coming out here again next week," Shania muttered. "I've got dance class."
"Yeah," I mumbled. "There's a blood donation drive I'm going to. Wanna come?"
"If we don't find a unicorn today, your ass is getting—"
A shrill whinny interrupted her. We froze and carefully turned about, to see a white horse larger than any Clydesdale. It bore a gigantic spike of ivory upon its forehead, and was blinking four scarlet eyes at us in a sleepy fashion. Its hooves seemed to be stained with some kind of dark fluid, and were giving off copious amounts of fog.
"Uh, nice horsey," Shania said.
"Back away, slowly now," I said, holding a hand out to the unicorn in what I hoped was a calming manner.
The creature snorted, bending its head. Lightning crackled around its horn. I took my rifle, just in case, but didn't release the safety. "Shania, quickly."
She squatted and from her backpack took out a small cage containing a brown rabbit. It squeaked and thrashed when it saw the unicorn, which took a step closer, flashing blocky teeth.
"Sorry, bunny," Shania said, opening the latch.
The rabbit sprang out and was immediately speared by the unicorn. Arcs of light furrowed its body and set its fur instantly alight. Shania yelped and leaped behind me. We watched in morbid fascination as the unicorn shook pieces of rabbit free and ate them.
"You're sure about the rumors?" Shania said.
"Y—yeah," I said. "Verified attempts."
"From bloggers and tweets."
"Look, it's worth a try. Nobody's died yet."
"Except those prisoners of war in that one story, didn't you hear?"
The unicorn snapped upright, its attention on us again. Blood dribbled from its mouth, splattering on the dry soil. Its ears flicked back and forth in a hypnotic fashion.
"Okay, I think ... I think this is the moment." I stepped away from Shania. "Oh great unicorn, who sees into the souls of people for their true value. As you can see, we're twins, but people seem to think that she's the good one—"
"Because I kinda am?" Shania said.
"Shut up." I turned back to the unicorn. "We've given you your tribute. Now, choose between us your fair maiden."
The unicorn narrowed its eyes. It definitely was deliberating, swinging its head to regard us in turn. My heart was pounding, my fingers slick with sweat. All it had to do was stand beside one of us, and the other would post the photo onto Instagram for validation. And we'd know for sure and I would find closure.
With hesitant steps, the unicorn cantered toward me. My face split into the broadest grin I'd ever mustered, while Shania looked on, dumbfounded.
"Get your phone ready," I shouted as the unicorn drew near, filling my nostrils with its rank odor. "What did I tell you, Shania? I knew—"
The rest of my words were deluged by horse snot when the unicorn sneezed into my face. The force of it knocked me onto my ass, and there I sat as the unicorn turned and trotted the way it'd come, while Shania erupted into laughter.
"Smile, Karen," she said. "I think this is your best look yet."
<>
*[Thanks for reading! More stories on my sub!](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker)* | 2020-10-24T19:39:50 | 2020-10-24T19:26:20 | 590 | 158 |
[WP] You were told to never stay up passed midnight. You went to sleep at 12:04am, it was still 12:04am when you woke up. | When he awoke, the clock shone in bright red numbers that cast shadows around the room 12:04. Gregory rubbed his eyes, still clutching the teddy bear he’d fallen asleep with, and looked at the clock again. The number hadn’t changed. Surely he’d been asleep for longer than a minute. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and fell back to sleep.
He woke up a few hours later, or so he thought he had, but still when he cleared the sleep from his eyes, the clock hadn’t changed.
He slid out of bed, readjusted the Toy Story pajamas he wore, then checked the plug for the clock. He hadn’t considered that if it weren’t plugged in, the lights wouldn’t be on – the mind of a tired child didn’t work that rationally. He just knew that something was wrong with the clock, and that the first step was to usually check the plug. Nothing at all was amiss in the cord or the power outlet.
He stood up and padded to his mother’s room across the hall. She slept in her bed peacefully, but when Gregory tried to wake her up, she wouldn’t do it. He called her name and shook her shoulder, but all she would do was roll over in her bed and continue to sleep.
Eventually, Gregory gave up and returned to his bedroom, where the clock taunted him with the same time – 12:04. He sat down at his bed and stared at the clock. How could that be?
He’d just about decided to go back to sleep when he heard the knocking at the window. He turned around instinctively, not thinking about who or what could be at his window on the second story past midnight, but simply reacted to the noise.
When he looked at the window, he saw nothing at all. There were no tree branches to knock nor an incredibly tall person trying to gain access to his home. Nothing at all.
He stood up and opened the window, remembering to bring his teddy bear along for protection, and peered outside.
The wind was cold, but not uncomfortable. He looked around for the source of the sound, and saw nothing. He went to close the window when he saw it – a dark shape sitting on a swing in the yard. It looked no bigger than a child his age, maybe even younger, and it was back and forth on the swing, making a metallic creak as the chain rubbed against the frame.
Gregory called out. He wasn’t sure why he did, but he called at the child on the swing to come over and talk to him and tell him why the clock wasn’t moving forward and his mommy wasn’t waking up.
The dark shape stopped swinging and stood and ran toward the window. Even as it grew neared, Gregory couldn’t make out many distinct features of it, except he thought it was a child – it had to be. It was the right shape and size and only children played on swings.
The shape stopped just below his window and Gregory called out. “What’s your name!”
“Gregory,” the shape said in a familiar voice. “What’s yours?”
“My name’s Gregory too!” He was excited to meet someone with the same name. “What’s going on? Why won’t my mommy wake up?”
There was no reason for him to know that the shape would have any information on the current state of things, except that Gregory had the wise mind of a child, and children know things that transcend logic and understanding.
“Her shadow’s gone,” the shape said simply.
“Her shadow?”
“Yeah,” the shape said. “She fell asleep too soon and her shadow had to leave. You fell asleep too late and now you have to stay.”
Gregory didn’t understand. “Stay where?”
“Stay here,” the shape said simply. “You have to stay here cause it’s MY turn finally.”
***
Gregory’s mother woke him up at 8AM and made him breakfast. He wolfed down the pancake like a starved shipwreck survivor and thanked her profusely. After his chores, which he did with lightning speed, he asked his mother if he could go outside and swing.
She allowed it and watched her son run outside and jump on the swing set and listened to it creak metallically as the chain rubbed against the frame.
r/DoverHawk | I knew that a night out with friends was a bad idea.
I have been told since I was able to understand it that I couldn't stay up past midnight. I was never told why, never given an explanation. But every night I followed that simple rule.
One night, I was out with friends from school. We were blowing off steam because our exams were finally over. In all the excitement, I didn't notice the clock slowly ticking to midnight.
At about 11:52, one of my friends gathered his coat and said he was going to go home and get some sleep. We bid him farewell, and kept talking a bit.
At 11:56, my two other buddies got up and went to their respective cars. Since they were leaving, I decided to go home as well. I walked to my car and got in the driver's seat. I started the car, and noticed that the clock read 11:58. I felt my stomach drop a little. Nevermind, I thought, I was just going to have to get chewed out when I got home.
At 12:02, I arrived at my house. I quietly snuck in, hoping that my parents wouldn't notice me slipping in after midnight. Luckily, the house was silent. I walked to my room and shut off the lights, flopping into bed. As I dozed off, I noticed the clock reading 12:04. Only 4 minutes over, I thought. Seems reasonable.
After a very restful sleep, I woke up. It was still dark out. My clock still read 12:04. And the house was still silent. I got up and walked over to the clock, which innocently hung on the wall.
"Damn clock." I hit it a couple times, and the screen refreshed to reveal that it was actually 5:07 AM. Relieved, I walked back to my bed and fell asleep for another 4 hours. | 2017-05-25T11:36:11 | 2017-05-25T11:08:28 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake. | The TV was always on, buzzing against the back wall of the homely living room, volume up loud. Ray could hear it through the door as he fumbled with his keys. He punched out a sigh as he opened the door and stepped in. The volume multiplied without the barrier of the door to protect his ears. His feet hurt. His back was damp with sweat. His mind was tangled in a tight knot.
“You’re not deaf,” he said. He dropped his keys on the low standing coffee table. Sitting on the couch was Marilyn, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The had a book in her lap, her blue eyes glued to the page. Her pillowy lips were purses with thought as she scanned the page, brown curls tickling her shoulders. Ray took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, snatching up the remote and turning the volume down. He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and his chin on his fist. It was some sort of baking show playing. A heavyset contestant stood beside a lifeline lion cup on a plate. The judges selected its paws to eat and complimented its moisture. Its eyes shone in the background as it was eaten.
“You know I hate this shit, Lyn,” Ray said. “With everything going on at work. That shipment of guitars we were supposed to get in? Cake. All of them. I spent thousands of dollars on fondant, I mean— This shit is ridiculous! I don’t even get why these *thieves* even go through all the effort to replicate the stock. Just put rocks or weights in the box! It’s ridiculous!”
Ray flipped through the TV guide, eventually settling on the news when he found that the most interesting program on was Grey’s Anatomy. (He shuddered at the thought.) On the screen was a blond newswoman. The title read: WILL BLACKMARKET BAKERS BE THE END OF AMERICA? The subtitle: How Cakes Have Taken Over The US Economy. There was no escape for him. He listened to the news. Though it irked him, he was glad to hear others were suffering alongside him. Wal-Mart, Amazon— everyone was being targeted. It wasn’t just his little junk music shop getting the short stick.
“See, I *told you* it was a problem, but you didn’t wanna listen.” He took to grumbling when Marilyn neglected to respond, too engrossed by her book to even lift her eyes. All over the world, goods were being replaced with cake. The newswoman reported on a rumor that said missiles bought by the US military turned out to be towers of chocolate and fondant. “Are you not hearing this? Lyn, come on. The book can’t be that damn good.” No response. Ray jumped across the couch and snatched the book from her hand.
Rather, he tried to. His fingers sunk into it, cushioned by sticky frosting and moist, yellow cake. The words written so painstakingly on the fondant stained Ray’s fingers black.
“Lyn?” He looked up slowly. Her eyes were open and blank, wet with life, but as Ray cradled her face his fingers smudged her painted pores and freckles. He ran his thumb too roughly across her cheek and tore away a layer of fondant. | As I held her close, I remembered all of the times that her having "cake" meant that she had a nice ass. The only problem was, as much as I agreed with the other zombies, that she was incredibly fit, I fought as hard as I could, to not actually take a bite, hoping that it would satiate my undying hunger. I fought as many of them off as I could, while clutching her close to me, but eventually, they tore her free from my arms. I finally gave up and started eating everything that caught my eye. At least until I saw my grandchildren and it overcame my desire. After that, I had to find a way to protect them. | 2022-04-26T16:51:39 | 2022-04-26T16:48:49 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You are a medical wonder due to the fact that you can regrow your organs. You became a donor and everyone thinks that you are a good person. What they do not know is that you can control every reciever whenever you like. | I woke as I always have after a procedure, comfortably in my recovery room at the Organ Center. The Organ Centre was built fifteen years ago, about five years after I made my first organ donation. Once the doctors had identified my extraordinary gift, it was determined that a special facility should be constructed strictly for the purposes of my organ donation procedures. Since I was almost always strapped to a hospital bed, having a special room tailored to all my wants and needs was the least to be expected given my ongoing 'contributions' to medical science and to those whose lives I was saving. It was a nice perk for what was, at least initially, a fairly arduous request of the Vancouver doctors who had discovered my gift - that I make myself, and my body, available as much as possible for ongoing organ donations.
At first I felt honoured and privileged that it was me, of all the people in the world, who would have this wonderful gift. I felt it my duty to share my organs with the world, so-to-speak. I wanted to help people, and not for my own recognition, but because I felt it the right thing to do. Ultimately being a good person, I thought, was a first-class direct ticket to true happiness and so I jumped into my new life as an organ farm.
It was extremely rewarding initially, but over time I have begun to regret my decision. Despite saving hundreds of lives, I now felt a prisoner. My only connection with the outside world was the 'connection' I have to the 'Hosts'. This is what I call the carriers of my organs, 'Hosts'. My connection was and is, however, fleeting. The Hosts spend some time with me at the Organ Centre, both in preparation and in recovery, but within weeks they are back to their happy lives with a regained spirit and joy for life. As they leave and journey away from the Organ Centre, our connection slowly slips away until I cannot feel them at all. I am left at the Organ Centre on my own, waiting for the next Host to be dropped in.
Luckily for me the advances we've made since my first transplant have been monumental. I now feel almost nothing during recovery, other than slight discomfort, depending on the organ that I've donated, and a numbing haze that wears off quickly, the effects of the pre-procedure sedatives slowly melting away. I now have to endure less and less time in my hospital bed.
As feeling began return to my body and my mind sharpened, I felt that familiar sensation of regaining my senses. Usually it is at this time that I begin to feel my connection with the new Host. At first its comes as just a thought, almost as if its not there at all, and then slowly I can feel both my own body and mind just as well as that of the Host.
Despite the connections, I have long since abandoned my other 'ability'. I haven't employed it in at least ten years and I did not intend to ever again control another Host against their will. My past mistakes were ones that I did not want to risk repeating.
This time as I lay in bed resting as I always had, I waited for the familiar connection to reveal itself. I felt sure now that the sedatives had given way to my senses and my mind had sobered and yet, I could sense no Host.
Perhaps the procedure had failed, I thought. This had happened once before, in the early days, when a Host had not survived the procedure. I began to feel anxious. It had been almost twenty years since a procedure had failed in this way. I feared the worst for Renee. She was truly one of the kinder people I had helped recently.
"Good morning sunshine."
The words came from Steph like a song as she entered my room with a cappucino and a heaping bowl of honey nut cheerios: my post-procedure recovery breakfast. Even though it was closer to sunset than sunrise, my personal nurse Steph always greeted me after my procedure with my special breakfast order.
"How's Renee?" I asked immediately as I braced myself for the bad news.
Steph walked over casually and placed my breakfast tray down on the table beside me. She looked puzzled. I guess I didn't typically ask about the Hosts. By now I would have established my connection and have answered this question myself.
"She's doing wonderfully, as they always are! She's in bed but awake and says she feels better than new. Once again you've saved someone's life Malcolm."
Steph seemed unbothered by my unusual question and continued to dance around the room as she always did, opening my curtains to reveal the city skyline in the distance, flanked by the Rocky Mountains behind them, the buildings and snow capped mountains reflecting the light of the sun almost as brightly as the sun itself. The golden hour was always my favourite time of day. Typically I would have moved to my lounge chair and enjoyed my breakfast in peace, gazing out over the city.
"Are you sure? Can you please check on her?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I feared the worst.
"Malcolm, I'm telling you, I was just in there. She's great! Why are you worried all of a sudden? You haven't asked about one of your organ recipients in years. Anyways, she'll be up and about in 24/48 hours as usual."
"I need to see her" I replied coldly.
For the first time since I discovered my gift I didn't feel the connection. I needed to know what was going on and I needed to know now. | Did they do tests on me? Surprisingly, no.
I became a donor because, um, I can regrow my organs so why wouldn’t I give them out like candy?
My family is proud of me, and everyone must think I’m a good person. Little do they know.
I couldn’t believe it! The guy I had controlled, he wasn’t being controlled! He normally talked to the doctor and me with interest. There was one thing that came to my mind.
Is he just like me?
I left the hospital feeling extremely nauseous. I decided to take an Uber instead of trying to drive. I called my sister to pick up my car. I thought about it but I just wasn’t feeling it. I just told myself it was just a mistake.
I thanked the Uber, gave him his cash and wobbled over to the bathroom after dropping my stuff down and kicking off my shoes. I didn’t feel much better after so I just took some medicine and laid down.
The next day was a disaster. I met the same guy that I had “controlled” on the street and he was looking at me funny. Even worse, he was with his girlfriend! He had to take it to the next level by saying hello.
I laughed and said hello. Blabbering on about how it was such a coincidence. Soon enough I shot the ‘I have to go!’ words and dashed down the sidewalk. I forgot my coffee. I’m not going back there.
Actually, not getting my coffee was a bad idea. I could barely keep my eyelids open at work.
After I dozed off, my boss decided to take stroll around the office and caught me. I was sent home.
Paying the rent will be a miracle.
After giving a kidney, I was thanked as always and went grocery shopping.
Is it just me or do I run into this guy everywhere?
We were in the same aisle.
For the first time he spoke to me alone.
“Why are you following me?”
I swear he could’ve seen my eyes bulge out of my head.
I stuttered while I said, “W-what? F-following you! You’re the one following me!”
He narrowed his eyes and then laughed.
I didn’t see what was so funny, as a matter-of-fact I was confused.
“My girlfriend said you were adorable. So I was wondering if we could take a picture.”
Is that why I didn’t control him? Because their love was too strong? I felt tears well in my eyes.
“Also, I also can control the ones I give my organs. Can’t control me!”, he said with a chuckle.
I took the picture and my makeup had smeared. I left with the dumbest expression. What was funny was that I didn’t run into him again. Except on FaceBook with my face plastered on the screen. | 2019-06-13T07:54:14 | 2019-06-13T06:19:56 | 56 | 15 |
[WP] You are the result of a high school girl being given 3 wishes. She wished for the perfect boyfriend, so you were magically created. Now she’s trying to erase you because the boy next door loved her all along. She’s literally trying to kill you because “You never existed in the first place!”…… | "You can't do this to me!" he said. His deep, melodic voice was attractive even in its broken, choke-filled state, but Stephanie, her will hardened by the fact that Noah, the boy next door who she had hardly realized had noticed *her*, and who was *actually* real, had fallen for her, kept searching anyway.
"Steph, *please*! I've got my whole life ahead of me!"
"Your life doesn't exist, you're just a figment of my imagination given — albeit perfect — form," she reeled off indifferently, still searching through the boxes that littered her bedroom floor.
That had stung. Matthew — such a stereotypical name, for a stereotypical highschool dreamboat — recoiled, his delicately carved features screwed up in shock. His eyes were Stephanie's favourite shade of green, his jaw as sharp as her mother's garden shears, his hair curly and swooshed back, like Henry Cavill's, his chest broad and clearly defined, with a light dusting of dark brown hair — everything was as she had pictured, the boyfriend that would cuddle her, enfold her in his perfect chest, entwining her lips with his as he whispered how beautiful she was. But it was all a fantasy, and it was time to grow up.
Noah was nowhere near as attractive as Matthew, but he was still good-looking. And it was much more endearing that he had fallen for her *because* of her than because she had wished that it was this way.
"I *am* real," he said fiercely. "Look — these abs are real!" he said, brushing a hand over his chiseled chest. "This hair is real!" He dragged a hand through his dense mane, which reverted to its original state immediately. "This di —" She could see where his hand was headed next and forestalled him at once:
"Woah! PG-13! And no, you're not real. I wish you were, because then I wouldn't have to do this, but you're just not. Sorry." She shrugged, her tone deliberately hurtful.
But still he persisted. He flung himself down beside her, his musky scent drifting into her nostrils, a mix of almonds and apples: *Stay strong, Stephanie*.
"Come on, Babe! Look at me! I'm hotter than the freaking sun! What does that guy have on me?"
"Nothing, you're literally perfect," she said composedly.
"Exactly! So why —"
"The problem is you're *too* perfect. I need someone down-to-earth, someone who can relate to my struggles. If I need someone with abs I can scrub my clothes on, I'll conjure you again," she added earnestly.
He sat in silence for a time, his perfect face screwed up in disgruntlement. Stephanie continued to search for the elusive lamp.
"Are you sure?" he asked finally.
"Positive."
He heaved a huge sigh, which was still somehow attractive. "Fine. I see I've lost. I have no reason to stay. I'll help."
And so he did. His efforts considerably sped up the process. Within ten minutes they had found it, Stephanie holding it up to the light. "*Finally*. Now this debacle can be ov —"
*Clang*.
Stephanie crumpled, the lamp clattering away. Matthew stood over her, incandescent with fury, holding a porcelain vase that he himself had just removed from one of the moving boxes. He set it down gently and picked up the lamp.
"This 'debacle' is a matter of my *existence*," he said. "Let's see how *you* feel about being trapped in someone else's thoughts, why don't we?"
And as he rubbed the lamp, the towering sapphire genie with his long pointed beard emerged, filling the room, his regal visage adorning a mischievous look. "What do you desire?"
r/MysticScribbles | Being someone's 'perfect boyfriend' sounds like every guy's dream. It's not, I know because I was created to be such a thing. Every day, from the moment I wake, until I fall asleep exhausted, the only thing on my mind is Her. It's tiring, serving her hand over foot, and when she wants space, I give it to her, but even when she's gone all I think about is the next time we meet. I can't do anything else, I tried, but there's no way to get Her out of my head. All I can do is wait, and wait. She can't just get rid of me, that was part of the agreement when She wished me into being.
But it wasn't perfection She really wanted. No. Like every girl, She was imperfect and it was imperfection in another that she really, deeply craved. The neighbor was like her. Emotional, selfish, often rude - but She loved that. She loved him for his flaws and his vulnerability. But I can't let her go - and I mean *can't*. The only thing I can do is hope to die.
So now, She is standing over me, a knife in her hand. Her eyes are full of tears, but there's no other choice, and besides, She has already made up Her mind. What will happen to me? Will I go back to the devil that created me, or will I lie here rotting in the dirt forevermore... | 2021-01-07T02:59:36 | 2021-01-07T01:54:01 | 116 | 77 |
[WP] The first time machine is mounted to a satellite in order to map the Earth through its entire life. As the data comes in, it becomes apparent history drastically differs from what we previously thought it to be. | The machine only showed one picture a day, you could photograph different parts of the earth, but only at the same time minimum, another day.
You couldn't have a picture of the same portion of land in more granularity, such were the rules of "time photograph" physics.
The calculations took time, but the satellite was launched and it was slowly mapping all of earth throughout all time.
The pictures were relayed to earth by the few engineers that run the satellite on site, so they were able to see the pictures before anyone on earth (and not anyone could too, you had to have the proper clearance for most of them) -- they really enjoyed this privilege.
After years of rotations, Mark and John (and a few others) turn came, and so they were lifted to the satellite to replace the previous crew. They were mapping year 1150.
Mark had been vacationing on a secluded island near Hawaii for a long time before applying and subsequently being selected for this job, so he had a particular interest to see how his favorite island had evolved through time, and what better time to start than the decade they were mapping.
It was, as expected as it was not discovered, completely deserted, so it was with great surprise that he told John what he found.
\- "Look at that man, is that a letter made with logs?"
\- "Looks like a M, doesn't it?"
It was enough to spike their interest, so after the satellite was done mapping that hour in all of earth, and it was time to photograph the island again, they were anxious to see it.
An A.
How strange they thought.
Then came the R, and the K.
\- "That's my name", said Mark.
\- "How is this possible", his friend replied.
\- "I don't know, but we have to find out. Every day we go back, a new letter pops out. They must know we are watching!"
They went through the paperwork to request the acceleration of the mapping of the island, and they were elated when it was approved. That something was odd was easy to see by their superiors.
The rest of the message was easily deciphered, one letter a day. It started to read:
"MARK WHEN THE ENGINE OVERLOADS YOU HAVE ONLY SECONDS TO"
How could this be possible? The duo discussed, they couldn't wait to finish reading the message. Was something going to happen in the satellite? How could the people in the island know, so far in the past?
Unless... of course, both of them had read and watched enough science fiction to quickly guess what was up.
And as soon as the alarms starting screaming, they locked eyes.
The engine was overloading.
23 seconds later the satellite exploded, somehow transporting Mark and John to that island the satellite was stationed above, so many centuries in the past.
\- "Why couldn't I convey the message sooner, John?"
\- "Well, we can try again with fewer words this time"
----
After years of studying the incident, the scientists on earth discovered what happened. You cannot have the machine focused on the same location so many days on a row, it overloads the whole system.
The final words of the report read:
"If only nothing had caught our eyes on that island, Mark, John, and the rest of the crew would still be here with us". | "Aliens?"
He looked again. There it was, an alien craft.
In the search that followed, they found more and more of them... and a pattern. About every 10,000 years, a craft came by, something got out, and went hunting. the last visit dropped an ice comet on the planet.
Looking further back... they had even hunted dinosaurs. And then they- pushed a meteor? oh dear. The last visit was 9,999 years ago, and six months.
"Aliens" he said, as he poured himself a glass of scotch. And then he drank.
| 2015-08-17T13:28:15 | 2015-08-17T12:55:51 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation... | 3...
2...
1...
*SSSSSSSsssss*
The hiss of mist flew up around me and when it faded I looked into the mirror, the same my all my forefathers looked into to first look at their wolf-ly animal self for the first time.
"I don't believe it." said my mother.
My father didn't say anything. I think that was worse.
Staring back at me were dark but watchful eyes. My coat was coarse and my nose was wet. My ears were perked with curiosity and shock. I wrapped my tail around me back paws nervously as I looked back at myself. I was not a wolf like the rest of my family. I was a fox.
The party was not very fun after that.
...
...
When I lay in bed that night I just wanted to forget the day. Grandfather was furious. My sister cried. Father left the house and hasn't returned since. My mother just shook her head. Only my great-grandfather said nothing, but he was old, and most of us had thought he had lost his sense and hearing long ago even before my sister shifted into a wolf for the first time.
*I wish it had never happened* I thought to myself. I pulled the covers over me a little tighter and rolled over. To my surprise, great-grandfather was standing there in the doorway. He approaches the bed and sat down.
"You are probably very disappointed," he said in a crackly whisper. "But there is nothing to be ashamed about."
"But how could I NOT feel shame? I'm literally the only one in the family that's not a wolf. I'm a disgrace."
"You are a fox, not a disgrace." He said. He had a way with words that made everything always seem like it would be alright, as if he had lived through and conquered all of life's problems. "The fox is wise and cunning. Graceful and stealthy. Agile and quick."
I lay in silence, staring into his stony gray eyes that had seen so much over the.. what was it now, a century?
"I will let you in on a little family secret. I haven't told a soul this secret." He said. "Now I have only seen this once when I was very small, but I know what I saw."
I sat up in bed.
"You have always been observant and patient. You like to learn and even play practical jokes when you can. This reminds me a lot of MY grandmother." He said.
"When I was very small, I was playing by the river while my grandmother was washing our clothes. I wanted to catch a fish with my bare hands like I saw my father do once. My brother did it as a wolf, and I wanted to be just like them. But I was only a few years of age, so I fell in! I was swept up with the current but my grandmother jumped in and rescued me as her spirit animal. I still have dreams of that fox pulling me out of the river and scolding me to no end."
My eyes got wide and I audibly gasped. "So my great great.... great? grandmother wasn't a wolf?"
He chuckled and his stony eyes lit up. "Yes. She was a fox like you. Observant. Swift. Light on her feet. Quick to make smart decisions. She was a remarkable lady and we all loved her dearly. Being a fox is nothing to be ashamed about child."
He took his leave and I thought about what he told me. I fell asleep feeling a little better, and even had a dream of a fox rescuing me from a river. | My parents lit the candles that were stuck into a strip of venison. We began to count down as the clock ticked closer to my time of birth. It would mark my fourteenth birthday and my transformation into the animal that guided my soul.
10-9-8-
I started to sweat.
-7-6-5-
I stared at my sister in front of me.
-4-3-2-
The candles looked so evil poking out of her like that.
-1! *poof*
I can't breath! Help I can't fucking breath! It had all gone so wrong! I was helpless I couldn't move, what am I!?
I was on the floor gasping for air. My family towered over me looking extremely disappointed. Their eyes widened and I noticed they began to drool.
A spoon has fallen to the floor during the chaotic transformation, and I noticed my reflection in it.
It seemed I would soon face the same end as my sister, for I was now Salmon.
| 2017-01-21T20:02:50 | 2017-01-21T17:14:16 | 215 | 108 |
[WP] You have the power to swap places with anyone, anywhere, at will. You've set up a business where you charge by the hour for tourists to swap places with you. Today is different, because your latest client sent an emergency request. It is a hostage. | Eric sat silently across from Mr. Yokota. The tea that rest between them was long forgotten and growing cold.
"That's a lot of money Mr. Yokota," Eric finally said trying to understand the situation.
"She is my only daughter. There is no amount I won't pay to get her back. You are the only one that can save her."
"Then why not just pay the ransom? I'm sure if you can afford to pay me ten million dollars you can afford their ransom."
"What guarantee do I have that they will release her? What will stop them from taking the money and asking for more!" Mr. Yokota slammed his fist onto the table spilling the delicate tea cups.
"I apologize for my outburst," he said quietly setting the tea cups upright.
"What would you do with the men that took your daughter if you had them?" Eric asked.
Mr. Yokota looked up and met Eric's eyes. "I would pay you double."
Eric nodded slowly and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander, searching the planet for Hana, Mr. Yokota's daughter. It didn't take long for him to hear her desperate pleas for help thundering out of her mind. He pressed his consciousness into the room she was in. She was bound to a chair by rope, four men lounged nearby. A pistol sat on a table next to a deck of cards the men were entertaining themselves with.
"This will be complicated," Eric said furrowing his brow. He had never been that good at math.
"How many men do you have here?"
"Ten. I've doubled my security."
"That should work. I need them in here, and ready."
Mr. Yokota barked a command and men in fitted black suits loosened buttons and eased clubs out of their waist bands.
"Ready." Mr. Yokota said coldly.
He would have to be quick, faster than any swap he had ever done before. Eric took a deep breath and focused on Hana. There was a small pop and Eric was sitting in a rough wooden chair, hands and ankles bound with rope. The comfortable confines of his home hundreds of miles away.
It took the men a few seconds to realize that instead of a petite Japanese girl sitting in the chair, there was a pale white man in his thirties.
A man shouted and reached out for the gun on the table. Eric focused on him first, the first person to react was usually the greatest threat. Another light pop and Eric's fingers wrapped around the handle of the pistol. The other three men froze, eyes darted between Eric holding the pistol and the man now bound to the chair.
Eric chambered a round and leveled the pistol at them.
Six hands shot into the air, "Don't kill us!" One begged falling to his knees.
"Don't worry, I won't." Eric said. Rapid fire he focused on the club wielding men in his living room. He chose one and swapped. Back in his living room he gave a sharp nod to Mr. Yokota who was hugging his daughter tightly. He didn't say anything but he understood what was about to happen.
Eric swapped with the kneeling begging man, then the other two in quick succession. He left four of Mr. Yokota's men with the man tied to the chair and stood in his living room breathing heavily and sweating.
"Please don't do it inside my house."
"I am truly humbled," Mr. Yokota said with a deep bow. He snapped a finger and a men stepped forward extending a black briefcase. "Your money." With a wave of his hand his men exited Eric's house.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out [this awesome place](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/5xcmgx/welcome_to_w4r/) for more stories.
| Phone call: Monday 18th of June 13:54
“Bound you say? With guns pointed at your head you say? Pardon me asking, but exactly how are you calling me with bound hands?”
…
“They gave you a last phone call? How kind of them. Say, is there anyone you dislike in particular?”
…
“Haha! Yes, I can imagine. It’s never easy to like the person pointing a gun at your head. Anyone else? Preferably anyone who is not in the room with you.”
…
“Okay. I understand that it must be hard to think straight at this point in time. Let me rephrase the question. Any type of crime you absolutely can’t stand?”
…
“Kidnapping you say? I should have seen that coming. All right, I’m on it. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll get you out of there in a jiffy.”
-
Tuesday 19th of June. Trending News:
1. Five resistance fighters miraculously found in previously occupied cells of state prison. No sign of previous prisoners, who were all convicted kidnappers.
2. RES claims to have captured six tourists and wishes to trade them for their leader. If their demands are not met, they’ll start executing them one by one. Officials claim to be unaware of any RES leaders in captivity.
3. Aliens appear to have waterparks.
| 2017-04-20T06:15:02 | 2017-04-20T05:25:03 | 577 | 11 |
[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. | 8
8 times they've locked me up and thrown away the key.
8 times i've broken out of whatever cell they make for me.
20
20 times now have we met
20 bodies I have left.
I am John Reyes and I am a killer.
I order another scotch, the bartender slides one over. He's too scared to hand it to me, I can tell.
Foots steps behind me, heavy, leaden. An old friend.
"Zachariah, hear to talk or do you have something you need done" I say without looking up
"Chupacabra, you know the rules. Here I am Tyrano." I hate the name Chupacabra. Zach sits down next to me. he is a mountain of muscle and scars. The exact kind of look you'd expect from a mob enforcer, not the don himself. He sits down next to me, like a lumbering jackass.
"Heard you had another encounter with the Breakers. who'd you kill this time."
"Madame Mythical" I wave for another scotch
"Damn shame, she was the hot one"
"6/10" Zach gives a stifled cough.
"I'm not here for idle chit chat anyway."
"good."
"Hangedman is out for blood, your specifically." I order another scotch.
"anyway man if you need some protection I still owe you a favor for incredible man."
"Where is he now."
"last i heard he was patrolling 5th." I get up from my seat and walk out the bar.
It was a rainy night. the streets reeked of wet human rot. The street wasn't that busy tonight, Tuesday. I walk into a liquor store and grab a bottle of scotch. The guy at the register says nothing as I leave. I keep walking by the time I find who i'm looking for my bottle is already empty.
He doesn't notice me. In one movement i rush forward throwing the empty bottle into the back of his head. IT smashes apart and cuts his mask. Before he can turn around I pull out my knife and complete the cut on his mask. blond hair, neatly combed. He spins around and cracks my rib with his fist. I go flying into a wall. Another 2 breaks.
"You!" his mask falls off his face. mid 30's, brown eyes. Square jaw. He walks over and picks me up with his left arm.
"I'll kill you!" I stab him in the tricep and cut down to his elbow before he can drop me.
"No you won't" I say between coughs. He goes in for a right. I dodge around it and stab him in the eye. he scream out in pain.
"They say your immortal." I stab him in his gut and push him down. I slam my foot on his neck.
"But everyone dies." I cut and cut and cut. he keeps try to get back up but I just stab him again when he does. by the time that he's more mess than body I stand up to admire my work.
"why..." he says with his jaw not sliced in half. I must say I am quite impressed. as I begin to crouch down again i say to him.
"Because no one will stop me." I keep cutting and slicing. I'm not sure how much I have to cut him before he dies. But he will die.
I lost track of time. I lost sense of place. and I didn't come back until I felt a car slamming into the back of my head.
"Beware villain, Power is here!" I see who threw the car. A 6'8'' dumbass made of muscle and drivel. In a single bound he cut the entire distance between us. I go to stab at him but he is prepared for it. My head goes slamming into the mush that was once hangedman, maybe it still is.
"You are going to go away for a long time villain." He picks me up and locks my arms into chains. He's fast, maybe even as fast as me. I'll note this for later.
"I've broken out 9 times before, whats different now."
It doesn't take long for him to get me back to the police station. And it doesn't take that long for them to throw me back in solitary confinement.
&#x200B;
I'm gone now, but i'll be back, because i always comeback. | As I heave the 20mm auto-cannon into place I go over my plan, flawless, yet simple; create nuclear diversion immediately after capturing Lois. Couldn't be more simple. Now to watch as the bait brings the flies, Superman won't know what hit him. "Ahh, Lois Lane." I say to myself. "Superman's kryptonite... Except for kryptonite of course, but that's not to worry. We have both!" I give a warm hearty chuckle looking down from my scope for a second. I quickly straighten up, putting my eye back in the cup. "Can't be getting lazy now, so close to the finish line." I check the status of my motion sensors; all green. "Just a matter of time." Seconds later I hear an explosion above my head as the sky tries to turn it's self inside out. Superman hovers slowly to the ground in the clearing that I had placed Lois into. BANG! Explosions engulf Superman and Lois, atomized Kryptonite instantly immobilizes Superman, having it covering the inside of his lungs he is rendered mortal. The second the smoke clears thunderous explosions ring out. The ground where Superman had been is shredded by the auto-cannon in a hail of deafening explosions. "That bastard will never host his goddamn monster mash in our city ever again... YOU HEAR ME YOU GODDAMN MONSTER? What? Did you think you were a god? That you could fucking decide who lives and who dies? Like we're your goddamn subjects that you can slaughter and torture to your will? YOU CANT HURT ME ANYMORE YOU MISERABLE FUCK! Or anyone else for that matter." I don't feel better, maybe I never will, But revenge was sweeter than anything I've had recently. So I think I'm going to go find me some more. | 2018-10-18T17:19:34 | 2018-10-18T16:23:28 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] The monster has torn its way through half the crew of your spaceship. Your only clue about it is the pictographs on the side of the capsule it came in. A rectangle with fifty white stars in one corner and 13 red and blue stripes. | 'Weird" we said at the same time.
I stared into his cold green eyes and he stared right back into mine. Same hair, same eyes, same fucking person. We even had the same god damned space suit on.
The only difference, aside from what appeared to be a tenacious thirst for blood on his part, was the small rectangle patch on his uniform. Same spot where my patch was. White stars like mine. Red stripes like mine. Blue stripes unlike mine.
'What the fuuuck' we said again in unison.
We looked each other up and down. Well, checked each other out more like it, like fawning over yourself in the mirror.
'Well' he said, guess that takes care of that.
"What takes care of what?' I inquired as the lead pipe in his hand came crashing down onto my face and-
\*\*\*
I groaned. Well I tried to groan. It's kind of hard to groan when you have duct tape wrapped around your head.
I reached up to pull it off. Well, I tried to reach up to pull it off. It's kind of hard to pull duct tape off your face when the rest of your appendages are also duct taped to the wheel-chair you're sitting in.
Not-me or whoever this good looking fella was clacked away at a computer console that I didn't recognize. Actually, I realized as my eyes started to function properly again, none of this looked familiar. Well except for the outside part, space still looks familiar no matter whose space ship you're imprisoned on.
Not-me finished clacking away and with a flourish of his wrist brought down his index finger on one final button and WHOOSH, a green, swirling vortex appeared in front of me. "ha man that looks like a portal" I thought to myself.
"This is a portal" Not-me told myself as he pulled the duct tape off my face and began wheeling me forward. "It will take you home. Well not YOUR home, my home. Well. I guess your home too, or not..." he trailed off as he fidgeted with the stupid hand-brake on the wheelchair. God we hate those things.
"Why did you duct tape my face if you're just gonna pull it off again" I ribbed him. Fuck you for tying me up you dumbass, nice plan being redundant with the duct tape.
He pinched my mole that had been secretly covered under layers of hair on the back of my neck. 'Shut the fuck up'
A couple feet before the portal he stopped and stood before me, air whipping his long glorious hair about, "god our hair looks great" I thought.
"Well, see ya later I guess." he shrugged.
There's probably a thousand things someone would say to what appears to be a perfect clone of themselves about to wheel you into a green swirling portal. A thousand things you could ask. Why are you here. How are you me. Are you also a little aroused right now?
What most people probably wouldn't think to blurt out are the words 'Why's your flag all weird'.
"Why's your flag all weird?' I blurted out.
'Fuck you' he said with one final push. "My flag's not weird, YOUR flag is weird". | The intruder has breached the door to my room. It comes in dressed in a power ranger outfit and a cowboy hat, wielding a revolver in one hand and an A1M1 Abrams in the other. My life us near its end, I can feel it. It turns towards me and yells "MURICA MOTHERF*****". It strikes me down with the revolver, and immediately stood over my head, crouching and standing over and over. The last words I hear before passing away into my eternal slumber..."GET TEABAGGED YOU DUMBASS ALIEN"
I pass away peacefully, knowing I have been defeated by such a majestic and legendary being. | 2018-12-07T09:47:07 | 2018-12-07T08:06:23 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You die and go to heaven and in heaven there is a rule. Every time someone on Earth says your name with the intention of mentioning you specifically, one dollar is added to your bank account in heaven. You lived the most average and mundane life on Earth but you are a billionaire in heaven. | Joe was a totally average Joe throughout his earthly life. He got high C's or low B's in his classes all throughout school, and went straight into the workforce as a cashier after graduating. It was at this time that he picked up the hobby of coin collecting. He would bring a few dollars of his own change to work every day in case any noteworthy coins found their way into his register, and he'd exchange them for his regular coins and add the oddballs to his collection. He saw online that there was an incredibly rare coin, the holy grail among collectors, that had been lost in his area. It was from Ancient Greece, likely one of the first official coins ever used, said to have passed through the hands of one of the first Athenian emperors. He hoped, a little selfishly, that somehow it might end up at his register. However, he had no such luck. After 7 years at his job, the company shut down and he decided to pursue his true passion and applied for a coin manufacturing position at a mint, but he got turned down due to lack of experience.
Slightly saddened, Joe found a new job at a movie store. He came to enjoy it because it kept him up to date on all the latest movies to watch, and he even made friends with a movie enthusiast that frequented the establishment. Fred always told Joe about the most anticipated upcoming releases, and always wanted to watch them with Joe, but Fred always came down with something a few days prior. He'd had fevers, colds, even chickenpox. Joe marveled that he never caught whatever Fred was carrying on any given week, and usually ended up watching the movies alone in his house or the theater.
Due to their lack of frequent contact, Joe and Fred fell out of touch. The movie store chain went under some years later, and Joe had to sell his house and move in with his parents. He searched for jobs for close to a year, and his parents kicked him out of the house. They had always been impatient with him and his lack of outstanding talents. He left the house with only the clothes on his back, and his treasured coin collection that he had amassed from his years working as a cashier at different establishments.
He spent a few weeks doing odd jobs to make ends meet, but it became too much. He was forced to sell his coin collection for $10 to buy food for the day. He walked into the street disheartened, because he had sold his life's work (He then realized that a collection of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters from the early 20th century was not much to show from all his years collecting) and because the poor cashier at the counter probably hated his guts for handing her $10 in change to buy a burger. He walked down the rainy street, reflecting on his average hobby and his average life, his head aimed straight down into the wet asphalt of the street. He stood there for a minute, and didn't seem to hear the skidding of tires or the screeching horn.
Suddenly, a brilliant white flooded his vision. The pearly gates of Heaven were sprawled out before him, and he gazed in wonder as an angel glided down to his level.
"Ahh, Joe. We've been waiting for you for quite some time." Boomed the voice of the winged figure.
"Me? Why me? What have I done?"
"Well, lets go over some statistics." The angel pulled down a projector screen, and pulled out a remote which he aimed at the projector. Joe and the angel were looking at a powerpoint of all the things Joe had done in his life.
"Lets see here... World changing accomplishments! Here we have... Ahh lets skip that one. Major individual accomplishments! I see that you once collected $10 in loose change, cataloging a nickel made in 1945! That's pretty neat, Joe. Are you fond of money?"
"Yeah... I guess I'd call it my main hobby..." Said Joe, a little ashamed to hear that his biggest accomplishment was a nickel.
"Well, let me tell you a little bit about how things work here, Joe. Money doesn't have much spending power in Heaven, but I can guarantee that you'll be able to find all the interesting coins you could ever hope to see here. You see, the more people's names are mentioned on Earth, the more money they get up here. You may be thinking, 'I was completely average on Earth, I never did anything of note besides collect coins!' but everyone has something hidden inside them. You, my friend, had something within you that will put you in history books for the rest of human history."
As the angel said these words with glee, the power point turned to a video feed of Joe's body in the hospital. A doctor analyzing Joe's blood found a strange anomaly, and rushed it to his colleagues. He saw the doctors rush to a computer, and type "Joe-Jefferson Gene" in big bold letters, and under it, in slightly smaller letters, "Ultimate immunity Gene."
"Remember your friend, Fred? How he always came down with something and rain-checked your movie nights? Did you ever wonder how you never caught anything from him? Come to think of it, can you remember a time you came down with anything? Ever?"
Joe realized he had never caught a disease in his life.
As the scientists discussed Joe's miracle, an old, weathered coin appeared in his hand. Through the wear, he could make out the word "Athens."
A smile spread across Joe's face. | I wake up in a room completely unfamiliar to me. It is perfect. If I had seen it on Earth I might have not looked twice at it, but something here is different. I sit up in bed. It even smells nicer. More clean, somehow. I am confused, but not in an unpleasant way. More like I am waiting on a surprise that I know will be good.
I open the door out of my room and find the outside. I was expecting more house, but this is good, too. There are pleasant hills with small rooms a lot like mine. I see a neighbor on the steps outside his room.
I walk over to him. He has the same look of pleasant confusion that I do. "Howdy neighbor."
"Hello. Do you happen to know where I am?"
"I do not. I don't know where I am either."
"I reckon it's heaven."
"Probably."
"I don't remember dying."
"Me either."
We stood together in not awkward silence.
"Well, I guess I better go and see if anybody else knows." I said.
"I don't think you'll have to go far. Here comes somebody now." He is looking off behind me.
I wait for the man to arrive.
"Hello."
"Hello."
"Hello."
The man looks at us.
'You must be new here. I work at the bank. You see, the way that money works in Heaven is that you get a dollar for every time that someone has referred to you, specifically by name. I don't understand it, but hey, I don't make the rules around here, do I?"
I could not imagine what money was used for in heaven, but I didn't imagine that I would have all that much more than the average Joe. I wasn't famous or anything.
"Let's see here. Josh Beekman?" My new neighbor nods.
"It looks like you have a pretty sizable account. You should come to the bank and collect if you ever need any money." The man nods completely unsurprised.
"And that must make you ... Well well well. I didn't recognize you, sir. Well, needless to say, you won't have to worry about money for a *very* long time."
What? I thought.
"What?"
"Yep, you're going to be able to provide for anybody you want, and then some.... Well, I better get on down to the bank, just down the way I came, you can't miss it."
And just like that he was gone. I turn to my neighbor.
"What was he talking about? Why would he recognize me?"
"I don't know."
I decide that maybe heaven is just imperfect after all, and start to go towards the bank.
"Well Goodbye." I say. "And just in case I don't see you, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, and Good Night."
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-04-01T18:21:59 | 2017-04-01T17:33:40 | 513 | 101 |
[WP] A time travel "hub" has been invented. The moment it is activated people will be able to travel to any point during it's existence. The machine is turned on and someone immediately walks out. | Dr. Borlaug felt his heart skip a beat. He had anticipated the possibility, of course, but this was beyond his wildest hopes, to see such immediate vindication of his theories. The man strode out of the time portal, eyes intent, clad in a dull orange jumpsuit and a complex earpiece fixed to his head. "Greetings!" Borlaug said, conscious of how his voice wavered. He wished he had thought to practice the speech. "Welcome to the year 20-"
The man ignored him completely and shoved past, heading for the exit. "Excuse me!" Borlaug said. "You can't just-"
"It's not stopping!" he heard Dr. Romanov exclaim.
Another person had exited the portal. And another. And another. And another. There was a ceaseless flow of people through the portal, shoving each other and jostling slightly, but otherwise keeping the line moving with remarkable efficiency. Borlaug found himself swept aside by the tide of people and was dumped unceremoniously against the wall.
"Shut it off!" he yelled, but Romanov and Carter had been carried away by the crowd as well. A woman with prosthetic arms paused just long enough to press a palm onto the control panel, leaving her detached hand behind. Its fingers spread open and liquid metal flowed out from the cracks, melding with the controls.
"Security! Security!" He could hear people shouting. There was a huge hubbub outside the lab, people shouting and running and the brief sounds of something electric crackling through the air. A man emerged from the portal clutching a glowing red sphere and screamed "DEATH TO TIME TRA-" before he was immediately tackled by three more time travelers and disappeared beneath the flow of people.
Borlaug cowered against the wall, arms raised to defend himself. Only a tiny fraction of the main group had veered aside to examine him, but more joined with every second. Gleaming black lenses stared down at him. Lights flashed. He was overwhelmed with voices.
"Dr. Borlaug! Dr. Borlaug!"
"I've always dreamed of meeting you!"
"You deserve worse, you monster!"
"Get them out of here! Two point one nine seconds before the assassin - there he is!"
They were horrible leering faces, some of them no longer even recognizable as human. Borlaug's eyes darted around, desperately seeking a chance to escape, when the crowd parted and a familiar face shone through.
Borlaug sat stunned. "M-mother?"
"Hello, dearie," his mother said, and knelt down next to him. "We all agreed that I should be the one to talk to you, to make this moment easier on you."
"Didn't agree to that," someone in the crowd muttered.
"Hush!" his mother said. Her face shimmered slightly, and Borlaug realized it was a hologram. But when Borlaug felt her warm hands take his, and was enveloped by the scent of the oatmeal cookies his mother had used to bake, he found that he barely cared.
"What- what's going on?" he moaned.
"You understand the theory, I'm sure," his mother said. "Once your time machine came online, this became the earliest point in history to which anyone could travel. This is humanity's earliest chance -"
"Transhumanity's!" a voice piped up.
"- to fix its mistakes. And naturally, everyone wants to have a go."
Romanov's face appeared in the crowd, holding her phone out to him. "Look at this," she gasped, and Borlaug caught a glimpse of the news. Panic in the streets. Invasion. Half a dozen world leaders had just been assassinated.
"I know that it's very chaotic right now," his mother said. "It will be for quite a while, honestly."
Borlaug sat there, numbed. "The Infinite Reich shall never fall!" someone yelled in the background.
"But there's no need to be afraid," she said, patting his hand. "We're from the future, after all. Trust me. This all works out in the end." | The traveler was a pudgy, red-nosed man with slick backed hair and a body that was far from what anyone would call "attractive." There was also no sign of awe on his face at all. He seemed to have taken the experience of time travel with the same nonchalantness that Mark had passing through the facility's revolving door.
Mark stood behind the glass holding a rather large tablet, not sitting at a blinking control panel as he had long imagined. The military men gazing impatiently at him with a look that read "Well, do science!" were exactly what he expected however, and the whole affair made his stomach churn something awful. "Should I speak to him?"
"That was the idea, wasn't it?" asked the tallest, scariest, and most decorated man in the room.
Mark pressed a microphone-shaped button, "Hello. Um...it is December ninth, twenty--"
"I'm going to stop you there," said the pudgy traveler.
"He's a Brit?" asked one of the men to Mark's left.
"There's a coffee mug behind you that's perilously close to the edge, could you..." Unable to see through the glass from his side of things, the pudgy man looked blankly at the ceiling as he trailed off. And waited. The sound of ceramic clicking gently on a metal tabletop could be heard over the speakers, and the relief on the traveler's face was evident. "All right. That's it. Now, should you move me out of here before someone else comes through? I don't really want to fuse with someone else in a Cronenberg-Fly-type scenario. I'm also quite naked except for my socks for some reason." | 2016-04-20T14:15:21 | 2016-04-20T14:02:32 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] For a thousand years, you were trapped alone inside your tiny lamp. Now that you are finally free, all you want to do is reward your savior, but for some reason, he seems to think you are trying to trick him with the whole "three wishes" thing. | ######[](#dropcap)
"What can I do to make you believe me?" Casden, or as his friends called him, Genie, looked at his savior with an expression of hopelessness.
They had been at this for over an hour, Casden promising the boy plastered against the wall of the cave riches and true love and almost anything else he could think of. 'I'll give you any three wishes!' he had proclaimed with the utmost joy, and he had eagerly awaited orders so he could thank the boy who had saved him from the horrible fate.
It was awfully cramped in there, and he hadn't be able to scratch that itch on his butt at all. So the boy had his utter thanks. Seeing that he wasn't about to ask him anytime soon, Casden asked, "What's your name?"
He drifted down toward where the boy was sitting. The boy nearly jumped out of his shoes, scuttling to get away from him. Casden had to admit, it hurt. So he stopped moving.
"James," the boy finally responded.
Casden's eyes lit up.
"James! Look here, you see?" He gestured toward the lamp. "You saved me, so I can grant you three wishes. Any three. That's how this works."
"I know that's how it works," James spat. "You loophole the fuck out of what I say and try to kill me. And I don't want any of it. I didn't even know I accidentally rubbed your stupid lamp. It was a complete accident. I tripped."
Casden shrunk a little. He had never encountered someone who hated him before. His mother had told him that everyone dreamed of meeting genies. When he was younger, before he had run too far from home and been kidnapped by the Spirits, who stuffed him in the lamp and cursed him, he had always dreamed of being a free genie.
"Oh...okay." He retreated a little back into his lamp, playing with his fingers.
For a while, there was only the sound of water dripping in the cave. Then, Casden heard a small sniffling sound. He raised his head. It was coming from James.
He carefully stretched out his body and drifted toward him.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
James simply shifted away from him, his head still buried into his knees.
"I give great advice." Casden tried again.
Silence.
"If you don't say the words 'I wish' you'll be fine."
Just when he thought James was going to ignore him altogether, James finally raised his head. "I'm just...really lonely," he said. "I'm an orphan, and the other kids don't like me. So they bully me." He raised the tattered edge of his pants to reveal a small bruise. "I guess I just want someone to talk to."
"You can talk to me!" Casden offered. "I'm a great listener."
James scoffed. But he used his sleeve to wipe away the snot from his nose and continued anyway. "I ran into this cave because they were chasing me. God, they're so terrible and mean. I just wish I had a friend."
Suddenly, his eyes widened as he realized what he'd said. "Wait, I didn't mean it! I don't want you to make some weird undead creature and have it follow me around." He scrabbled backwards on the rock.
Casden felt for him. He patted his shoulder. "I won't. I promise," he said.
"You won't?"
He nodded, his face breaking out into a grin. "I don't need to. I'll be your friend! Do you want to take me home with you? I'll protect you, and I can tell you stories about all sorts of genies..."
James sniffled. He seemed to think it over. Then, with careful fingers, he took the lamp from the ground and carefully set it in his coat pocket. "You promised," he said to the genie.
Casden nodded, and extended a pinky. "Pinky promise."
*****
r/AlannaWu | First time ever submitting here. Don't expect much!
“For the FINAL time let me make it clear to you child the risks you take in denying my charity. In my heyday I was once King Solomon’s greatest advisor, a title that was stripped from me when lesser beings, afraid of my awe inspiring power, trapped me in this accursed prison you have just freed me from.
As such my benevolent nature has led me to bestow upon you three wishes of any kind, even the right to ask for more wishes, for the act of freeing me from my wretched abode. So do not test my patience and refuse to ask me to fulfill your heart’s greatest desire again boy.”
“Who cares about King Solo men or whatever his name is? The only king that matters around here is King James.”
“You fool, whomever this King James may be he could not hope to rule the world with strength similar to King Solomon.”
“Yeah well I mean he only really rules the basketball world, its not like he’s the President, or Beyonce, or”
“Enough! Now just tell me your three wishes so I can bid farewell to you child.”
“I can’t. My parents always tell me never to take anything from strangers.”
“My child let me make it clear to you, whatever maxim your parents wish you to abide by in regards to strangers I highly doubt it applies to an individual as majestic as myself.”
“What’s a maxim?”
“..... Child, how about you simply wish for me to disappear, it seems that is the best boon that could be bestowed on both of us.”
“Ehhh. Actually, now that I think about it I'd rather just have 2k.”
| 2018-04-14T15:59:39 | 2018-04-14T10:32:48 | 53 | 17 |
[WP] "Why do you abduct me aliens?" "To destroy our predator that has hunted us for decades." "But why me?" "Because you are the greatest speedrunner of Doom Eternal." "But I can't..." "Relax, we don't need you to physically help us..." The aliens then give me a controller. | "Seriously?"
The aliens pause. If I knew which glassy things were their eyes, I'd say it was a dead-eyed stare.
"We know you've read *Ender's Game*. Just think of it like that."
"I only watched the movie, actually."
In the background, one of them lightly smacks another one in its secondary shoulder and mutters a couple of words—looks like *that* gesture is truly universal.
"Movies. Yes. Have you seen *The Last Starfighter*?"
"Yeah, that one's a classic. Okay, I think I get where you're going now."
They kind of bow. Sort of. They're really small. I hope it's a bow.
"Yes. It is like *The Last Starfighter*. Xur and the *[unintelligible]* Empire."
"... Okay, can I ask a couple of questions?"
"Certainly."
"First—how are you all so familiar with Earth's popular culture?"
They look almost affronted. They visibly struggle to find the words.
Finally, one of them says, "*You're* the ones who have been beaming it out into the galaxy for approximately seventy-five metacycles, like an adolescent *[unintelligible]* with no self-control."
I laugh. "Okay, okay, granted. Second question." I hold up the controller. "This, though, this isn't real. It's just a story I have some control over. A virtual simulation. How is this going to help?"
It's definitely a bow. "Excellent question. Please perambulate adjacently."
I guess that means follow them.
One of them takes the controller back from me, and they lead me through a few cramped passages, into what looks like a memorial atrium. Exhibits lined with glass tell the story of people who look a lot like them fighting creatures who look a lot like the *Doom* aliens. I have to crouch to get through the doorway, but the height of the room lets me stand freely once I'm inside.
The one with the most symbols on its left foreshoulder turns its glassy gaze to me.
"The *[unintelligible]* are creatures of emotion and passion as much as flesh and substance." It gestures broadly. "They exist in both reality and dreams simultaneously. This is how your Romero-Designer became aware of them, through visions of the spirit Tlanuwa."
While I'm processing the casual references to both Doom's creator and Cherokee spirituality in the same sentence, the alien indicates a panel that shows some great combat. Lots of these little guys taking on a few Imps. "And in both dreams and reality, they can be defeated by a sharp stick just as easily as a twice-phased ionic *[unintelligible]* carbine, as long as it is wielded with intent by a powerful soul."
Its words become grave as it turns to regard the other wall. Every display on this wall shows a defeat or massacre of some kind. One of them is just an endless list of what look like names.
"Our people have fought them for teracycles. Our morale is fading. Our souls are fading. Cycle by cycle, we become ever easier prey for them."
There's a pause, and I can feel a few hundred eyes from a few dozen bodies turning to look at me.
"But you. Failure does not stop you."
I'm starting to get it now, but I keep quiet and listen. This speech is just as much for the crew around me as it is for me.
"Thousands and thousands of times, you have delved into their world. The bodies of the *[unintelligible]* have mounted underneath you in your simulations. Countless times, you have lost. Countless times, you have stood back up, reloaded your simulation-story, and tried again. And now, you can complete that simulation in *eighteen minutes*."
There's a lot of gasps and whispers from the crew around me. I just nod.
"Your indomitable tenacity, your spirit, has led you to become the best on your world at defeating the *[unintelligible]*. Whether or not you knew it, you were also defending it. And all we ask... "
It turns back to me. It's holding out the controller.
"... is that you defend our world as well, one more time."
I take it.
"Let's go." | The fingers felt stronger. Not my fingers, not any more. Their fingers. Hands, lungs, eyes, even my back. All had slowly been changed. Every time I complained that some part of me was not up to the challenge, the Ani had a solution.
The finger tips, my finger tips, were blue, like the Ani's own. I could reach across the keyboard, hit a key, and still have a dozen digits resting where I needed them. It felt natural already, even if I did have to keep my gaze up lest I feel nauseous.
"Is he nearly there?"
"Quiet."
"No-one's ever got this far before."
"Quiet."
"I wonder if he'll fall like the last."
"Silence!"
Garix was stood behind me. I could hear the clicking of his exoskeleton, every limb crossed, every eye on me. The others had filed into the chamber, clattering around the shadows. I rasied a lone spindly finger and pointed at the Big Gulp cup.
"We can give you a longer tongue," Garix said, not for the first time.
I kept on tapping away and soon the cup returned, filled with the closest the Ani could come to sugar and water and e-numbers.
"You're close," he said, close himself to my ear.
"If I do this, I want one more thing. Something I don't need to sit in front of a goddamed chair for 6 straight days."
"Anything."
I looked sideways at Garix. My new eyes saw everything, always in focus, like the world moved at a slow crawl. I saw Garix, his blue exoskeleton, and the thin wings folded beneath.
"I want to fly." | 2021-10-27T06:57:32 | 2021-10-27T04:10:01 | 332 | 55 |
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives.
Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks! | Picture this: a felled tree, lashed to the roof of a pickup truck; a tree stump, rising through the snow like an island; and a naked girl floating in the air, pointing accusingly at me.
I will admit, when I left this morning to get a Christmas tree, this was not what I was expecting.
**YOU HAVE DESTROYED MY HOME,** said the floating girl, in a voice that rang like a bell.
"I, uh... yeah, I suppose it might *look* that way—"
**BE SILENT.**
I shut up, most of my terror offset by her rather harmless appearance. Apart from the levitation, her only unusual features were ears that might have been pointed. I couldn't see them all that well.
**TELL ME, STUPID HUMAN, WHY YOU HAVE DONE THIS TO ME.**
"My family wanted a fir tree for Christmas?" I hazarded. "I dunno. In retrospect, the fact that this one tree was standing by itself with a giant cleared-out circle around it was a little suspicious."
**CHRISTMAS?** said the floating girl. **I AM UNFAMILIAR WITH THIS HOLIDAY.**
"He means the solstice," piped up another voice from behind me, this time sounding like a young boy. I turned, and...
It was a squirrel. I would have dismissed the squirrel entirely and kept looking for the surprise ventriloquist, but then it *waved* at me, and I gave up.
**I DO NOT RECALL THIS BEING A CUSTOM OF HUMANS, TO KILL TREES FOR THE WINTER SOLSTICE,** said the floating girl. **AND FURTHERMORE, I AM STILL BEREFT OF TREE. WITHOUT A SEED, I SHALL DIE COME SPRING.**
"Sucks," said the squirrel. "Let me guess, you were going to kill him and use his blood to fertilize the stump?"
**WOULD THAT BE INSUFFICIENT?**
The squirrel shook its little head. "Nah, Mother Nature checks out for the winter. That won't cut it."
**THEN WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST, SCION OF SQUIRREL-KIND?**
"The blood-ritual won't work," said the squirrel, "*but*... I may or may not have an acorn for you."
**OAK TREES DO NOT GROW IN WINTER. DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A DULLARD?**
"Not usually. Not unless you gathered the acorn from a tree growing at the bend of a river. Under a full moon. With the appropriate prayers to Mother Nature. *Then*... well, then it just might," said the squirrel.
The girl smiled. It looked awful, really. Like someone smiling who'd never heard of it before, and thought you were supposed to bare your teeth like a shark. **YOU WOULD DO THIS FOR ME?**
"Sure, no problem," said the squirrel. "I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, the floating girl vanished like a popped soap bubble.
"Huh," I said. "Thanks, buddy."
"No problem!" the squirrel said cheerfully. "Hamadryads, eh? Oh, and thanks for not running me over last August. That was nice of you."
"Yeah," I said, somewhat dazed. "See you later, then."
"See you! Have a merry Christmas."
----
I came back to that hill in April. There, where the fir tree once grew, was a titanic oak. Its leaves overshadowed the grove, where no other trees dared to come near. I swear I heard a girl's laughter, and then silence. | "Shit! A squirrel!" I yelp, as I jerk the wheel of my car. Time slows as my car crests the berm at the side of the road and lofts into the woods, striking a girthy oak and cartwheeling into a nearby stream. As I'm thrown free of the car (I'm glad I didn't wear my seatbelt), the last thing I see is a rock in the water. I'm suddenly enveloped in water and feel a sharp pain radiate through my head. That's the last thing I remember for a while. I must have hallucinated while because I swear I heard what sounded like a dozen squirrels chirping as I was dragged free of the water. The 911 operator had no clue who called for help from my phone. No one spoke. The paramedics found me laying in the forest, by the side of the stream, with leaves packed over my head wounds. I don't know who helped me, but I surely would have died without them. The one thing I do know for sure, I'm never going to avoid hitting a squirrel again. It almost killed me last time. | 2015-03-15T14:53:53 | 2015-03-15T14:32:22 | 138 | 25 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps... | Cups. Motherfucking cups. Not super strength, not teleportation – just bloody *cups*. It had always been this way, ever since I could remember and it pissed me off. Only I would get such a useless superpower! We had more than enough mugs and glasses in my house and it’s not like there was a shortage of plastic cups in the world. Honestly it was less embarrassing to tell people I didn’t have any sort of power that I knew of yet than to tell them I could create crockery out of thin air.
So unlike most people I lived a fairly boring life. My friends loved rubbing their powers in my face – or at least, that’s how it felt. I remember when Ken figured out he could fly for the first time. He sent me a bunch of pictures of my bus while he was flying overhead, making me wish I’d had telekinesis so I could knock that stupid phone out of his hands. He’d tried to console me and tell me that maybe my power was just taking a while to develop, I might have something awesome too. He didn’t know my secret though, and I vowed that he never would. Nobody could know about the cups, especially not him.
One day… That changed. I was sitting around in my room, sulking about nothing in particular when I get a phone call from Ken. Apparently there’s some “fucking awesome party on dude!” and I “totally have to be there!”. I sighed and watched an espresso glass drop onto the floor and shatter. Parties weren’t my thing, especially with Ken’s friends. They were basically an excuse for a bunch of testosterone-pumped college guys to throw around cars and create small hurricanes in the neighbour’s pools. It wasn’t really a natural habitat for the long-haired lanky types like me. But Ken was more persistent than usual this time, so I decided to go – if only for the sake of shutting him up. I didn’t plan on being there long, so just threw on a hoodie and headed out, focusing on not dropping any more china as I walked.
It didn’t take long to reach the house Ken had talked about. I pushed my way through the door and started manoeuvring through the crowds, ignoring the weird looks and silently cursing Ken. He was nowhere to be found, so I assumed he’d be jumping off the roof or flying around the block or showing off in some other way. I guess I couldn’t blame him. I know I’d be flaunting it if I had anything other than this stupid power.
‘Hey, what the hell?’
A high-pitched voice dragged me out of my head and I looked down to see a small, slightly angry looking girl covered in beer that I assumed I’d just walked into. I opened my mouth to apologize, but no words came out. A stream of hot brown liquid was flowing from her mouth. My eyebrows furrowed a little at first, but when I sniffed, the strong aroma of coffee flooded my senses.
It took me a moment, and I guess I could’ve been a lot smoother, but when the pieces fit together I was too scared of missing my chance to think about it.
‘D- do you want a cup for that?’ I stammered. The coffee-puking girl glared at me.
‘Like I haven’t heard that one before!’ she snapped.
‘No, seriously,’ I said quickly. ‘Do you want a cup? I, uh-’ Unsure of how to explain, I held open my hand under her chin and watched a red and white spotted mug appear in my palm with a small pop. Coffee girl filled it about half-way before the stream stopped. She stared at me, then at the cup, then back at me again.
‘My name’s Dylan,’ I smiled. ‘Cup-boy doesn’t really have much of ring to it.’
Coffee girl continued to frown for a minute. She still hadn’t put things together. I hurriedly jerked me hand back, spilling some of the mug’s contents. ‘Uh, that seemed to work pretty well, I suppose,’ I said slightly awkwardly. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I was more of a tea kind of guy.
‘… Yeah,’ she replied slowly. ‘Yeah, I guess so. Sorry about before. My name’s Grace.’ The corners of her mouth turned up a little and I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Nice to meet you, Grace,’ I said with a grin. ‘Wanna go grab a drink?’
| Well to be fair I had one of the most sought after superpower in the entire world. I was not like Jake who could control the dense flow of current, or Alice who could read a thousand books a day and recall 900. For most people their superpower came with a drawback of sorts, Jake had to stay in his room to control his power, and Alice didnt know which books she recalled were the real ones.
For me? I saw my own death. Or rather I knew how I was going to die. Call it a vision, or fate, or . It was a heavy burden to bear. I couldn't tell my parents, what would I have said to them? Mom, could I get some pocket money to buy my textbook? Oh by the way, foresaw my death in 3 years, no biggie. I couldn't.
I could see the future of people, I could not control what I saw, nor could i change the future (trust me, I've tried). Sometimes I saw the collapse of humanity, and other times I saw people getting mugged. It was annoying to get visions at sporadic timings.
Oh there is something I forgot to mention, I'm blind. I was not born blind, if not how could i have foresaw my own death. I lost it in a freak accident daredevil-style, waitaminute, isn't daredevil just matt murdock ordinary lawyer. What kind of freak gives himself a superhero name. That being said, I cannot picture in my head the colour raspberry red, nor the look on my dogs face when he realised that his superpower turned the taste of jellybeans into steak. The last thing I can still visualize was Suzy, ah suzy dear suzy.
Suzy was the light of my life, the stove of my spirit, the kind to my kindle. She was my girlfriend and she was just my friend. | 2015-10-10T09:43:23 | 2015-10-10T09:03:49 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits.. | Well this is peculiar, I've never seen a writing prompt that seemed so directed toward me. It's especially odd that I'm seeing it tonight, on Reddit's front page. I'll just say this - I'm actually a paramedic, in real life. I think you're already pretty iffy on that, so I won't elaborate about anything else. From what I understand this is a subreddit for fiction writers anyways.
We got a call tonight for a psych, code 2. I can't tell you the address because that's a hippa violation. But psych code 2 means somebody's got a case of the blues and it's not that important of a call.
Anyway, this lady's got a white camino parked on the front lawn, and water damaged cardboard boxes cluttering the driveway.
My partner's name is Bethany. She's an EMT, but a damn fine one. The way it works on the boxes out here each ambulance gets one medic and one EMT. I run the show, basically.
So I knocked on the door, and received no answer. I knocked again and still nothing. Bethany suggested I contact PD or at least wait for Fire. I looked her in the eye and cancelled Fire over the radio partly to show her how salty I was and also because I had a better idea and that was to open the door, which wound up being unlocked, and let us both in. She trailed behind with the gurney and equipment while I entered and looked around for the patient.
The lights were all off, so it was pitch black inside. This isn't that unusual - 70% of the calls we get in EMS now adays are old ladies who can't walk. Which means they're not going to call 9-11 than bounce around turning all the lights on in the place and prepare you a nice pot of warm tea.
None of the light switches worked, so I continued to announce my presence as I walked through the place. Odd but oh well, not everyone pays their electric bill. Bethany stayed behind, near the front door, which I can understand because she's got concerns that don't bother me anymore. I always carry a penlight in my pocket on psych calls because often times they turn out to be overdoses. If it's heroin and their pupils are constricted, I can whip out some Naloxene and begin treatment. So I pull out my penlight and use that to navigate through this shit hole of a home.
You ever seen that show call hoarders? I haven't, but there might be an episode about this place. I'm not sure if its normal for hoarders to shit in every room of their residence but this lady sure did.
"Who's there?" she finally says. Her voice comes from the back room.
"Paramedics," I say. "What's bothering-"
My voice stopped once I saw her. Sweat was pouring off her forehead like it was a goddamn fountain. She was morbidly obese, had gray hair, and was more pale than a ginger.
I set my monitor down and placed the limb leads. Each needed some tape just to stay put.
"I can't do this anymore," she said. "It's not salvageable."
"What's not salvageable," I said, as I secured the electrode to her left leg. I turned over my shoulder, "Bethany get in here."
I finished with the fourth limb lead and checked my monitor for a rhythm. V-tach at 330, I shit you not. I feel for a pulse but it's too weak to palpate.
"Bethany, get in here!" I shouted.
"I don't know why I'm here. I don't get it. I don't like it." says my patient.
So V-tach stands for ventricular tachycardia. It's the rhythm you get when patients are about to die. It's extremely rare in living patients, and pretty much non-existent in alert patients. Oh - and I've never seen it above 250. Her heart rate was 330 at this time.
My standing orders call for me to cardiovert her. That means applying two giant pads to her then shocking at 100 joules. Same procedure I'd do for a dead person in V-tach, only difference is the joule setting I shock her with.
"There's something outside!" Bethany shouted from the front door.
I tossed the BP cuff on my patient, started it up, then pulled out the negative and positive pads and applied them to my patient. BP came back at 72 systolic so I was in the clear to go ahead and shock.
"Let me die," said my patient. "Please let me die."
"Well you shouldn't have called 9-11," I replied. I set the joules to 100 and pressed charge.
"They're here for me," she said. I think she was disoriented, at least I was sure of it when she said it. I pressed shock.
My first glance was at the monitor, looking for a rhythm change. Ideally she goes back into a perfusing rhythm, but often enough they go straight to asystole. She somehow went into a rhythm that I can't put into words. The rate read around 610, but that's not even possible so don't quote me.
Oh my God, that fucking stench. You'll know it when you smell it. The white waxy shit hit my arm, and I looked up to find her skin sloughing off. Like the worst burn patient I ever had. Her face slid down to her sternum, her hair was disintegrating like lit cigarette.
She was saying something, but her tongue must've been melting too because I couldn't make out the words. But the thing about burn patients is that the skin and muscles melt off the bones while the bones stay put. Her bones were black, and I swear to you they turned to ash and started breaking apart.
"What the fuck," I said. I returned to my penlight, and watched this unfold. I don't really have a good description for this. It was like watching a decomposing body in accelerated time. It didn't make sense from a medical standpoint. And whenever you see that as a medic you start to react like a human.
I packed my shit up and started toward the front door. "Bethany where are you?" I said, making my way through the dark house with my penlight. I had the chills and my hairs were raised. I feel really stupid writing all of this down because I thought I was above it. I've seen people die, hell I've seen people talking to me die in front of me. I've seen mangled extremities, babies stop breathing, you name it and I've seen it. I've never seen anything like the shit I'm describing to you, so trust me when I tell you it spooked the shit out of me.
When I got to the front door Bethany wasn't there, only the gurney. I continued to look around but I couldn't find her. I even returned to the patient, at least the chair she wasn't in. The patient's body was nonexistent - no skeleton, no melted flesh, nothing. Even the parts that had melted onto my forearm were gone. I radioed dispatch and requested PD.
Well, that's where I find myself now, sitting in the ambulance parked outside. My partner is nowhere to be seen, and the patient is non-existent. I guess I'll call the coroner but I'm not sure how to explain this. I guess the only other thing worth mentioning is that I just called dispatch and told them my partner is nowhere to be seen. I didn't tell them about my patient because it doesn't make any sense and I don't want that recorded and played back to me in court.
I did, however, ask dispatch about the call they received from my patient. Apparently she had told them that she isn't able to die and doesn't know why. She's been here for centuries and nobody has believed her or given any sensible explanation. This is the part of the story that bothers me the most. I don't really want to get into it.
I don't know what's going to happen from here, and for the first time in a pretty good while I'm pretty scared myself. I'm glad that I saw this prompt tonight, so thank you to the mods for posting it.
| Bike Accidents and Bone Saws
&#x200B;
“Unit 522, requesting medical assistance at Franklin and 38th, I repeat, medical assistance 38th and Franklin.” the radio beamed.
“Sounds like showtime, eh Gregory.”
“EMT 1436 responding,” Gregory spoke into the microphone as he flipped the sirens on.
“I told you to call me Greg, Tony.”
“I very much doubt your parents would appreciate that Gregory. I’m sure time and care went into the naming of a heir, and as you have been told, It is Anthony.”
Gregory sighs and shakes his head.
We round the corner onto 38th and are waved to the corner of Franklin by the responding officer.
“Looks like another velocipede accident, Gregory. What fun!”
“Jesus...” Greg shook his head and went around the truck to grab the gurney.
“What do we have?” I said to the officer.
“Bike accident, looks like he has some scrapes and a bit of a gash on his head.”
“Gregory, I don’t think we’ll be needing the gurney. It seems that the Gentleman just took a tumble and would like a ride. What might I call you sir?”
“My name is Tom.” the man said grimacing.
”Right this way sir Thomas,” I said yanking the bicycle rider to his feet. “I’m going to apply pressure to your cranium. Your chariot awaits.”
We stepped into the back of the ambulance. Greg’s hand took the place of mine holding pressure on Tom’s head.
“Hey Tom, I’m Greg. Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?”
“Three,” said Thomas.
“Nice,” said Gregory. “The good news is you don’t have a concussion. The bad news is you are going to need some stitches, and that raspberry on your leg is going to be pretty sore.”
“Nonsense Gregory! That nasty “raspberry” you spoke of has the very serious risk of getting infected.” I stated leaning in with my saw.
Toms eyes grew wide with terror.
“What in the fuck Tony!” Gregory yelled
“Aaaaah Anthony.” I quickly corrected with a jest.
“How did you even get a bone saw in here anyway? That's surgery equipment! All we do is stabilize the patient and get them to the hospital!”
“I apologize Gregory”, I said tapping the vein in my arm with an IV tube.
“What the hell are you doing now!”
“It appears to me as if young Thomas has lost a great deal of blood. If we are to stabilize him, we must input more blood into his system. Mine being accessible I figured we wo…”
“ENOUGH ANTHONY! Just drive the truck!”
I bowed my head and scrunched out the back of the ambulance. “Apologies gentlemen.”
I hopped into the driver’s seat and took off. Twirling the ends of my mustache as i drove. It’s a nervous tick.
“What the fuck is that dude’s deal?” Whispered Thomas.
“Nobody knows man.”
I pretended not to hear them.
“It seems we have arrived at our destination gentlemen, rouse yourselves and make haste!”
“Actually, Anthony would you mind bringing Tom here in? I have some things I would like to take care of in here.”
“I would be absolutely honored Gregory” I really was.
“Tom, onward to our next adventure” I said offering my hand to help him down.
“Alrighty.” he said ignoring my assistance.
As the double doors to the emergency room opened I announced our arrival, “We would like immediate assistance over here!”
Tara, an intake nurse I was familiar with approached. “Hey Anthony, what do we have here?”
“You know this weird hipster?” Tom asked.
“Weird hipster? Thomas is one of our favorite EMTs. Around here, we joke that whoever thinks chivalry is dead, has not met Anthony”
I could feel my cheeks getting hot.
“A thousand thanks lady Tara. As you can see Thomas here is in need of some stitches on his forehead. Also the scrapes on his leg need the attention of some serious antibiotics or I fear he may lose it.”
“Ha! Thank you Anthony, thorough as always.” Tara laughed rolling her eyes. “Come with me Tom, let’s get you taken care of.
As I walked out of the double doors I saw Gregory leaning against the truck talking into his mobile device.
“No Pat you don’t understand, I want out, I need a different crew! It’s like he has no idea what he’s doing…”
I crouched behind a potted plant outside the doors.
“Yes I understand he has seniority… Your not listening, Pat. Today he tried to cut a man’s leg off for having a scrape, and last week he asked me to give a dehydrated six year old cocaine to quote “get rid of her headache.” Does he even have a medical license? I’m telling you Pat, if im not on a new truck tomorrow, I’m out.” Gregory put his phone in his pocket paced for a couple moments and hopped into the passenger seat.
I crept out from behind the planter and took my spot in the driver seat. Gregory sighed as I got in but neither of us looked at each other. We stared straight ahead for a few minutes silently. I had to break the silence, I have never been one for long pauses.
“Listen Grego… Greg, I am so very sorry. I understand working with me is difficult sometimes, I’m only trying to help. My methods may be problematic for many people, but they are tried and true. Listen Greg, I love what I do, I was made for this job, and dare I say it? I’m good at it. I only lost 33 people last year!..... Partners?” | 2019-01-05T17:28:29 | 2019-01-05T17:27:49 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Write something with a twist that I really should've seen coming
| The priest straightened his clothes and took a deep breath. He prayed to God for help under his breath. He watched pensively as the boy approached him.
When the child walked up in front of him, the priest cleared his throat and said with a shaking voice, "Hello my son. God bless you for coming to pray. What is it that weighs heavy on your soul?"
The boy looked around, biting his lip. He seemed unsure of what to do, so the priest continued.
"Do not be nervous, child. This is for our Lord, not for me."
The child nodded slowly and said, "Well, I...I was the one that flushed my daddy's keys down the toilet. He was really mad and couldn't find them for a long time. He's had to use his other key."
The priest pursed his lips and nodded. "Do you feel remorseful for your action?" The child looked confused, so the priest said, "Do you feel badly about doing it?" The child made a look of realization and then quickly looked sheepish and nodded slowly.
"Have you told your father?" The priest asked. The child shook his head fervently. "Go to him, my son. Tell your father what you've done. Then you may ask God for his forgiveness, and he will."
The child looked down at the ground and nodded. The priest looked around and whispered, "Hey, kid. Wanna know one of *my* secrets?"
The boy looked up and nodded in confusion. The priest knelt down to him and leaned close to the boys ear. He licked his lips and whispered softly, "I'm an alien from the future."
The boys eyes grew wide as the priest stood back up and put his finger to his lips, telling him to keep it a secret.
"Jackson! Hey! Jackson!" A man yelled as he came running down the street. The boy turned to him and said, "Hi daddy."
The man ran up and picked the child up into his arms. "Where did you go?" he asked in a stern voice. "I turned away for a second and you were gone. You can't run off like that."
"I'm sorry, dad. I got lost and couldn't find you, but I met this man and he talked to me," the boy said, pointing at the man in front of them.
"Who are you? What did you say to my son?" The father asked in a quick, but gentle voice.
"I am a priest sir. I just gave your son a chance to admit his sins. He's a good boy," the priest said with a smile.
"You're not a priest," the father responded.
"Of course I am, sir. Notice my robes and yarmulke," the priest responded.
"That's jewish. They have rabbis. And you're wearing a jacket and a beanie cap. You're homeless, not a priest."
"I am a priest, and I saved your son's eternal soul. So...I'd say that's worth like a buck, at least," the homeless priest said, pulling a styrofoam cup from his pocket.
The father rolled his eyes, grabbed a few coins from his pocket, and tossed them in the cup while muttering a "thanks".
As he walked away from the man, the father said to his son, "Don't talk to strangers, Jackson. And ignore everything he said."
"Everything?" Jackson asked. His father nodded, as he walked back to their car. As he began to put him in the vehicle Jackson asked, "so have you found your keys yet?" | Jack opened the briefcase and ran his fingers through the bills, caressing Benjamin Franklin’s tattered face.
“I see you have it,” whispered Michael. Michael was wearing blue jeans, a red and white flannel shirt, and grey sneakers. His blonde beard glowed in the black night of a San Francisco alley. He was a short and skinny man, just above five feet. When Michael was nervous, he would incessantly scratch his right hand--leaving red marks and scratches. Michael’s hobbies consisted of tea making and crossword puzzles. He always kept a pen in the left pocket of his shirt, and his mind was already racing to solve the next puzzle.
As Jack handed the 3,000 dollars to Michael, a pen fell out of his pocket. He leaned down to get it. He noticed his hand was red, and wondered why. Before he had time to ponder the scratches on his hand, he gave the briefcase to Michael.
But Michael stood motionless. Jack was silent. They both stared at themselves through each other. Only *one* shadow stood in this alley. The capsule with the LSD was empty.
| 2014-01-21T13:19:39 | 2014-01-21T13:03:03 | 74 | 17 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this. | "What is she doing?" I asked myself in the mirror. I had sped away about four times, giggling as she trotted behind me, totally unable to keep up. Every time she looked a little more tired. Now Bloody Mary was in a fetal position on the side of the deserted highway. I felt a pang of guilt. I grabbed my emergency kit from the glove box, turned the ignition off and started walking toward her.
"What do you want?" I heard her ask through the sobs.
"Is everything ok?" I asked, clutching the kit closer to my chest. Sure, I trusted the contents to protect me from the evil sitting there bawling her eyes out but my mind was still reeling.
"Is everything ok, he asks!" she said and began crying more loudly, "It's fine, Albert, it's fine."
"H-how do you know my name?" I asked her, genuinely curious. Her voice sounded rather ordinary. Sure her very visage was horrific, blood dripping from every orifice and I do mean EVERY orifice. Yuck. Surprisingly, this close she smelled of lilacs. That was interesting.
"It's part of my curse, you big dummy," Bloody Mary said, "For four hundred years I've had to appear and drag people off to Hell. Knowing their name is part of the dark magic that binds me here. Basic Demonology 101. Don't they teach that in school anymore? No wonder the U.S. ranks so low in education these days."
"So. Why are you crying?" I asked.
"Why am I crying?" She looked up and my heart skipped a beat, she was kind of pretty under all that blood. Her eyes were an enchanting red. Well, everything was red but a good red, ya know? "I am crying because you summoned me, used that accursed contraption to leave me behind, all the while laughing at me. Did you think that would brighten my old day there, Albert? Eh?"
"I mean you're a demon," I said defensively, "You drag people to Hell. You've admitted that."
"I'm not technically a demon, I just work with them. I only drag them to the surface layers of Hell," she shrugged, "Is it my fault some stupid teenage girl can't find her way out after summoning me at a slumber party on a dare? How hard can it be to escape from Hell?"
"Incredibly," I said, hugging my bag filled with rabbits feet, four and five leave clovers, blessed holy symbols, and magical symbols from every religion, creed, and historical era.
"Thanks, Albert," she said, starting to sob louder, "Now you've really made me feel great about myself. As if being all bloody isn't bad enough."
"Sorry," I said, actually meaning it, "I didn't mean to upset you. What can I do to make it up to you?"
"Can I drag you to Hell?" she said, smiling through her tears.
"No." I said, smiling back briefly.
"Well, darn." she used her cursed dress to wipe the tears away and stood up, "None of that works you know. I'm the victim of a Class 1 curse, those are only good for Class 3 or lower."
"Shit," I said but still clutched them in case she were lying, "I did apologize."
"Indeed you did, Albert," she walked up to me and suddenly seemed unsure of what to do, "I haven't, you know, really talked to anyone in three hundred years. Unless you count talking as them screaming incoherently as I drag them to... well, you know."
"I know, Mary," and when I said her name without the Bloody to preface it she actually smiled, "So what now?"
"Want to help me drag someone to Hell?" she asked hopefully, "There's a teenage girl in Idaho in front a mirror right now. It's kind of fun."
"Sure," I said, hoping for the best as I took her hand, "Why not?" | I pulled to a stop at the red sign, keeping my eyes on the rear-view mirror. This bitch was supernaturally fast. I had left her in my dust and here she was already rounding the curve, her eyes burning with anger.
"COWARD!" she shrieked, and I laughed, but nervously - like laughing past a graveyard.
I tossed a quick glance both ways and stomped the gas pedal, dangling my middle finger out the car window towards the sprinting hag. The car zoomed forward... And the engine died with a sputter and a wheeze; the car cruised slowly to a stop in the middle of the intersection.
"Shit," I said, rolling up the windows, thanking God I had a car made before millennials were of driving age. It still had a manual window crank. I realized I left the back window open right as I felt - and smelled - her hot rancid breath behind my left ear, her long dirty ragged fingernails setting in almost gently on my shoulders.
"Say it," she crooned in my ear in a heavy accent I'd never heard before. "Say it, coward."
"Bloody Mary," I whispered. "You're not bloody though!" I didn't dare glance up into the rear-view mirror but I'd seen enough while she was chasing me..
"It's not my blood," that thick strange voice informed me, right before one of those disgusting nails flicked with blinding speed across my throat and opened it in an arterial red deluge. The creature lapped at the blood spouting from the wound for a minute or two but seemed to lose interest and dissipate... As if called. | 2018-10-01T12:01:02 | 2018-10-01T11:05:06 | 5,296 | 125 |
[WP] You're midway into your flight when you, feeling bored, decided to surf the Internet. You read breaking news about another plane disappearance. You're on that flight. | This wasn't my first time flying, but it was my first time flying transatlantic. I was on a red-eye from New York to Frankfurt, Germany. Everyone was sleeping and I could only stare out the window into the dark ocean for so long. Finally I gave in and pressed the button to summon a flight attendant.
"Yes?" whispered the flight attendant. She smiled at me, but I could tell she was annoyed with having to attend to me.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I can't sleep. I'd like to purchase the in-flight WiFi access. I promise to be quiet and not to disturb my neighbors." I was half joking as I gestured to the man sitting next to me snoring like a freight train. She replied with a nod and a smile and asked me for my credit card. I quietly retrieved my wallet from my jacket pocket and dug out my card from inside. She ran the card and then handed me a small piece of paper with the WiFi password on it.
I opened my laptop and turned down the brightness, so I wouldn't disturb anyone, and began to browse the internet. After about an hour I had exhausted my favorite websites and had to get creative. I had a teacher in high school who told all his students that it was their civic duty to keep up with the news. I'm not sure why I thought about him just then, but I found myself logging into CNN.com. The first thing to load was a huge red banner across the top of the webpage. Then the rest of the webpage caught up, and big white letters appeared in front of the red banner. "TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT VANISHES. AUTHORITIES PUZZLED."
At first I wasn't worried, not even the slightest bit. There had to have been hundreds, if not thousands, of flights crossing the ocean on any given day. In my stupidity I ignored the breaking news and browsed the rest of the webpage. I read about Mexican drug cartels, a high school football team that was advancing to the national finals despite having a record low budget, and a dog who saved its owner from a house fire. When I returned to the home page the "BREAKING NEWS" banner was still there, and so I finally clicked on it.
*"Air Atlantic flight AC173 has failed to maintain contact and authorities report that they have not heard from the pilot in over two hours."* The article began. *"The flight left JFK Airport this afternoon and is scheduled to land in Frankfurt, Germany at 10:00 pm EST."* My heart was pounding. That was my flight, why couldn't they find us? There must be some mistake.
Suddenly I was all too aware of the presence of someone behind me. I turned around and the flight attendant was standing in the alse looking at me, only this time she was different. This time she seemed to have a sort of aura about her.
"I'm sorry." she said, looking at me with sad eyes.
"What's going on?" I tried to keep my voice low, I was still doing my best not to disturb anyone around us. "Why does this say were missing?" I pointed at my laptop. "Does the pilot know about this?"
She looked at me for a second. "I'm sorry." She said again, but this time she took a deep breathe. "Your flight crashed into the ocean. There were no survivors. You're dead. This plane was never going to Frankfurt."
I wasn't scared, I found I was suddenly relieved. "Well." I paused. "Where are we going then?"
She smiled. "There." she pointed out my window. I followed her finger to where she was pointing and it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.
| I wrote a song in response to this prompt. The lyrics are below; you can listen/watch here: [http://youtu.be/5bvrHcgqTdk](http://youtu.be/5bvrHcgqTdk)
**We'll Be Fine**
I had a dream that I was on a plane,
and everyone on it looked the same,
and a passenger whispered in my ear,
"I've got news, but do not fear:
The outside world is reporting our flight is lost.
We went over the ocean but never crossed."
So I stood up and screamed,
"Where are we going?"
And all the faces just like mine
mouthed, "We'll be fine."
CH
I woke up in a city
where everyone looks a bit like me
and the radio yelled in my ear
my morning dose of hate and fear.
The outside world is reporting the outside world is lost.
We tried to live together, but our wires crossed.
And I want us to see our crimes,
but all I hear is, "We'll be fine." | 2015-04-07T19:26:24 | 2015-04-07T18:51:34 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying. | I always opened *his* gift first.
The typical size, I cannot say, simply because there wasn’t one. Each year was a brand new mystery, wrapped in unexceptional brown paper and fastened with white string.
They started coming when I started college, as soon as I was living on my own, once a year, at my doorstep by the crack of dawn. From a distant Uncle Lou that I vaguely remember meeting as a child.
At 19 years old, the gift box was thin and oblong. A single pencil, the common yellow, sharpened to a point. I’d tossed it into my bag and entirely forgotten about it. Until taking my final exams, when I had forgotten my pencil case. It had seemingly magically materialized.
At 21, I received a cube the width of my thumb. A steel marble, remarkably unremarkable. I’d left it near the front door, exactly where, six hours later, a burglar would step and slip with a resounding thud.
It was comparatively large at 24, containing a tall vase of tastefully chosen flowers. Slightly perturbed, I had centered it on my kitchen table. Two days later, it became the perfect gift for my best friend’s housewarming party, an event that had completely slipped my memory,
Each one was always completely and utterly random, and yet each happened to be exactly what I desperately needed.
This year, the box was about the length of my forearm and half as wide. I ripped it open eagerly, to find a gleaming dagger. I dropped the box.
Initially, I tried to make myself believe it was a cooking knife, but upon closer inspection, I realized that idea was nonsensical. The handle was of dark and rich leather, somehow molded perfectly to fit my hand. The blade itself was wickedly sharp, glinting in the morning light.
Well. Shit.
At first, I didn't go anywhere, the fear eating me alive. On the fourth day, a spike of bravery made me stroll down downtown for hours with no goal in particular, other than defiance, before coming to my senses and scurrying back to my apartment. After a few of these cycles, I simply evened out to a sense of permanent dread.
I got a job where I could work at home. Decidedly less salary, longer hours. I didn’t care. My grocery trips were weekly; I ventured out quickly and cautiously, the dagger nested in my bag.
I had to wrap it in cloth, as there was no scabbard. I don’t know why.
Soon, I received an invitation for my sister’s wedding, which was perhaps three hours by plane. In a moment of weakness, I booked a ticket, tired of my self-isolation and starved for human interaction. But in the end, my fear won, and I missed the flight.
Five hours later, the very plane I had almost boarded appeared in the news in a fiery wreckage - it had crashed, nose first, killing all passengers practically instantaneously.
I stared at the television for a solid hour, processing absolutely nothing. I felt relief. Obviously. But also confusion. How in the world would the dagger have helped?
It took me a while to figure it out.
The dagger was never meant to be used - its purpose was not to draw blood. It was to instill fear. For a physical gadget wouldn’t stop me from missing my flight, nor prevent the plane from crashing. But warning me that something bad was about to happen would ensure that I took any and all precautions.
How completely brilliant.
I phoned my mother later. She gave me a tearful greeting; she’d seen the news and feared for my safety. It took me a few minutes to console her.
“By the way, mom, could you please give me the number of my Uncle Lou? I have a couple of questions.” More than a couple.
There was a pause on the other end. “Who?”
\*Excuse any grammatical errors. | It was my 24th birthday. Uncle Jack was an atheist, but he had an almost divine insight into what gift I needed most each year. I’d never met him; he lived far away, my ultra religious parents said with some derision. My Mom hated Dad’s brother, Jack, with all of the fire and brimstone her faith could muster.
They didn’t let me date much or even have friends really growing up. None of the ‘Devil’s Music’ either.
I still lived at home, as I didn’t feel like there was anywhere else to go. Anywhere else I wanted to be. Fuck it was lonely. I’d never even left the state, much less been anywhere.
And then on my 24th birthday, a thick brown paper envelope arrived. Not via mail, but like it was hand delivered this time. Somehow, I knew this year’s gift was something different. Something private. I took it up to my room and opened it.
A round the world ticket, a bunch of bills, and a handwritten note from Jack:
‘Meet me in Taipei. I have something to show you.
Jack’
That was it. No context. No nothing. Scared the crap out of me.
And yet, what did I have to lose? | 2020-06-23T21:07:39 | 2020-06-23T19:49:41 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Instead of your life flashing before your eyes as you die, your life flashes before your killer's eyes. You're an assassin who has killed time and time again, but something stops you as you are about to finish off your next target. | I slide through the crowd like water through a grate, slipping past the strangers going about their lives. It's raining, turning my city slowly into a pit of mud. Everyone's eyes are locked with the ground, shuffling home.
Fine with me. It's better they don't look.
I subtly rearrange my jacket and gently tap the inner pocket with my index finger. I can feel the handle of my blade through the jacket, poking through like a tumour.
My eyes are locked on the man in front of me. Gray hair. Tall. Currently walking down the street at a pace that makes him difficult to follow.
It's just money.
He steps into a bar. Orders a drink. Sits down with a beautiful woman who embraces him deeply. I order a meal and sit down on the opposite side of the room. I've got time.
This is always the most interesting part of this job. You are their curtain call. Who is this woman to this man? A lover? A close friend? His sister? I'll never know.
Being an assassin is not all it is cracked up to be. Nobody can quite remember when the change happened, but all of a sudden one day murderers started turning themselves in en masse, claiming that they'd seen their victims lives flash before their own eyes. So many people reported it that it bore investigation. Nobody could explain why, but all of a sudden, killing someone let you see their life flash before your eyes. That was a pretty horrible time, a lot more murders sprung up out of nowhere due to unhinged people wanting to experience it for themselves.
Seeing the lives of those you kill play out in front of your eyes. It's not a sensation you ever get used to. I fiddle with the small silver ring on my finger, staring at the man in front of me, gladly studying it again, just to get my mind off of things, for the thousandth time. The only memento I still had of my mother. She always said it belonged to my father, that she'd leave it to me one day. No matter how much I insisted it could help feed us, she'd never even consider selling it. I never knew my father. Prick left when I was just a baby, leaving my mother to raise me all on her own. Which worked just fine, until she got sick. I never forgave him for leaving.
So I turned to murder. People always want other people dead. Normally they're willing to pay, and that cash always at least covers the next meal or three. Kept us happy and well fed, she never even asked where I got the money from. She was just proud I could support her. And then she died.
I'm brought out of my reverie when I realise voices are being raised at my target's table. The woman sitting opposite my target all of sudden slaps him and storms out. The target just sits there.
That settles that I suppose.
He finishes his beer, and pays at the register. I make sure to leave before him so he doesn't get wise to my following him. He comes outside, and I drop back into skulking him. A lot of time passed in the bar, and it's dark out now. The humid air of the rain mingles with the exhaust of the city's vehicles in to create an almost unbearable temperature.
Finally he turns a corner into an alleyway.
I turn the corner and follow him. Have to wait for the right moment.
He glances over his shoulder, sees me, and looks back forward.
People never glance twice quickly, it makes them look as if they're suspicious of you.
It's my chance.
I run in the way I practised, making no sounds over the concrete of the city. I pull the knife in one swift motion, and covering his mouth, I put it at his neck.
The flashes come.
It always starts with the childhood. A boring country life for this one, before moving to the city.
He's a teen now. Bumps into a girl. They lock eyes. Standard love memories.
Big jump here. He's older now. Late thirties but he looks older. He's staring at piles upon piles of unpaid bills with his head in his hands. Makes sense since I'd been hired by his debt collectors.
It jumps again. It's raining again, a furious storm. I see him packing a bag through his eyes, as hurriedly as possible. He's fiddling with something, but I can't see it. It's out of his vision.
He's rushing down the stairs now, with the door standing open, the rain blowing in. He puts an envelope on the nightstand by the doorway. On top of it there's...
No, couldn't be.
It is.
It's a small blue ring.
The flashes stop.
I drop my knife, and it clatters to the concrete.
I stare at the man I was assigned to kill, and I can only utter one word.
"Dad?" | He swayed from side to side, standing above me with a hatchet in his left hand. His eyes were too wide, his movements too fast. The famous Blade of the Black Council was full freakin' looneytunes.
I hadn't seen his face around Edinburgh before. An Asian man, short and built like a rhino, if rhinos partook in steroids. He wore a brown apprentice's robe that stretched at the chest and fell to well below his knees.
The Blade lowered his body so that his eyes were only a couple feet above mine. I suddenly wished I knew how to get up quick like the Rock, but at least I was comfortable laying on my ass.
*Empty Night*, I blinked at him, *why is the Blade killing a junior Warden?*
He stared at me for a moment, keeping eye contact.
*Does he intend to Soulgaze me?* I thought about the impact that would have, Gazing into a madman's eyes, but I supposed it didn't matter much considering the circumstances. I swallowed and maintained the contact, waiting for something to happen. Soulgazes worked both ways. He would get a look into me and I into him.
"Why?" I asked, but the Gaze had already started.
Beside his crouching figure was another version of him. On closer inspection, it was his shape, but no facial features of any kind. Yeah, that wasn't freaky. Within his body were two colors. There was a white side, pure, eye-burning white, and a black side, dark as mordite.
The two colors pushed against one another, each making progress then being forced back to the middle. The colors didn't gain any ground.
Before I knew it, the Gaze was over.
The Blade's face screwed up in confusion and he stood sharply.
"What?" I asked, voice weak. "Got the wrong guy? I've been trying to tell you."
If I wasn't already knocked on my ass, I would have been by the next action. He *bowed* to me and turned around, creating a portal to the Nevernever with the flick of a wrist.
*Stars and stones*. I blinked again and watched the portal close.
The day just got a lot more interesting. | 2016-02-09T23:10:22 | 2016-02-09T20:33:17 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back. | Dearest Sara,
It touched my heart to receive your letter. I so rarely get post these days that I must admit I ripped it slightly in my haste to open it. However, it now sits on my mantle, repaired with a piece of tape, as one of my most prized possessions.
To the matter of your Christmas gifts, in that regard I'm a little flummoxed I'm afraid. You see I'm not even sure how you got your letter to me, as it's supposed to be impossible for physical objects to cross into or from my realm. So, I can't personally give you anything.
Don't think for a second however that means that I will fail you! On the contrary. Since I'm relying on others to give my gifts instead I'm ashamed to admit I may have gone overboard. See attached for a list to anticipate on Christmas.
Thank you so much for your letter, and I hope that you'll continue our correspondence in the future as I do enjoy a little human interaction now and again.
With my most heartfelt thanks
Cordially Yours,
Lucifer Morningstar.
H*ll - Internal Memo - Re: Sarah Bellton's Christmas
Alistair,
Please inform our earthbound employees that the following are to be delivered to the Bellton house in Cambridge, Ohio no later than 5 a.m. Christmas morning.
- A full line of Apple products. I don't care what the latest number or name is. Tell them we had a deal with Jobs and it stands
- Call whichever bank holds the house note and credit card debt. Tell them to forget it. Same with any car notes or outstanding balances.
- whatever products the Kardashians are pushing this week as long as it's appropriate for an eight year old. Tell them to autograph it.
- A two week vacation to Vegas. Include tickets to Cirque.
- Tell PETA to get her a puppy. She said she wants a brown one, so maybe a chocolate lab? I'm just guessing here.
- I want one of the pop stars to wish her a merry Christmas on Facebook. Whoever you think she'd like best, I trust your judgement.
- A Frozen the movie Recorder and book of songs. I am the devil after all.
- Tell someone to get a dose of the cancer cure out of storage and give it to her "Mee-Mee" whoever that is. Claim its a miracle or something, I don't care.
- Talk to the lawyers about her father's firing. I smell wrongful termination, and if I don't, I smell their souls burning in H*llfire.
Lastly, I think she's a little young for a Prius, or Slayer tickets but if you think they'd be appropriate go ahead and throw them in. Ooh and maybe a nice Devil's Food cake or something. Talk to Paula Dean, she always has something sinfully delicious whipped up.
Thanks,
Lu | Dear Ralphie,
Of course I will send you a Red Ryder BB gun. Don't worry about your eye, and practice with the squirrels and cats in your neighborhood. Make those others worry about their eyes. Especially that teacher. I would have given you a solid B+. Anyway, you're going to make it.
Your pal,
Mephistopheles | 2018-10-28T16:54:58 | 2018-10-28T14:20:56 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You've recently realized that all your life you have been secretly the protagonist on a truman-esque reality TV show. The show runners don't know you know. Time to have some fun... | Okay so to be fair, they have been holding me captive my entire life and manipulating me in order to create entertainment, but I may have gone a little overboard.
Realising I was on TV was not as hard as the films make out. I mean seriously, it would be so much easier for them if they actually created an original reality that they could warp to fix any issues they may run into but no, the idiots created an entirely basic world, seemingly identical to the world outside which I am still yet to visit.
After one two many terrifying crowds of people ran me away from buildings that supposedly had no interior, I realised how conveniently timed and manoeuvred everything was. I’m about to enter and suddenly whoever I am with starts to drag me somewhere they supposedly just “have to go” and on cue, a crowd leaves the building, getting off work at 11am, none of them ever actually making contact with my body but rather my only fear of being crushed moving me away.
So needless to say, at the ripe age of 18, I figured it out. I started screwing with people by first informing my careers advisor that I intended on becoming a flight attendant, the perfect career to travel the world and see all the things I never got to see as a child. The panic in her face was priceless but sure enough, a surprise uni fair that I “was informed of a month ago” appears on school grounds and I instantly get mobbed by an administrator begging me to attend their unsurprisingly local uni. I let everyone relax and accept their offer.
I switched it up a notch and decided to have the rebel phase I’d always been too terrified to go through. “Disappearing” till all hours and concealing my grins at the fake fear on my “parents” faces knowing full well they knew where I was the whole time. Took up drinking which I doubt was like actual drinking as everything just tasted like sewage and made me feel nothing, presumably so I wouldn’t actually develop any health complications from it but would still stop doing it.
I wasn’t sure why I was doing all these things, they weren’t helping me to escape. I guess they were just ways to fill time. Allow me to push back, rebel against them, make myself a nightmare. Make them feel slightly bad about filming me my whole life, hiding cameras in my shower and mirrors, falsifying friendships, manipulating me and moulding me how they wanted me to be. I wanted to make things difficult, so I continued down this path.
One night I “accidentally” put a fork in a plug socket, just so I could hopefully black out the cameras for the night and let myself feel free. But somehow they idiots managed to connect everything together. I blacked out everything with that one simple action. I could hear the panic around me, feel it in the air. But this was my chance.
One major side effect of realising that you are being watched is learning to see in the dark. I would shower, dress and have fun in the dark so once again, I could feel free. I had learnt the intricacies of my house and could make out all the outlines of things. I could hear my “parents” calling for me. Insisting I stay in my room to stay safe. Fat chance. I got myself downstairs, into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find.
About an hour later everything turned back on.
Safe to say they’re going to let me go.
They can’t very well continue to make money off of someone who massacred an entire village.
Even if nobody saw me do it, they all saw the first shot when the cameras came back on. Me in the centre of town, drenched in blood, surrounded my bodies.
I don’t know why they acted all surprised, they all watched me kill my sister when I was 12. I was never one to give up the spotlight, and I could sense they were getting bored of me, the plots were getting weaker. But now no one will forget me. I will be immortalised | You wake up in the same way you've woken up so many times before. Lie in the perfectly made bed, in the perfect white house, in a street of identical white houses, in a town full of identical streets. For years, it had seemed like home, but now, as you look out the window, you see it for what it truly is.
A facade.
You had went into that room out of curiosity. A crack in a wall, showing a room on the other side that was anything but ordinary. There was loudness, and chaos, and all the things that in your life, didn't exist. You had closed off that memory, filled the gaps in with the comfortable knowledge that it was all a dream.
But deep down you knew it was different. You knew the sound of another world hidden under the walls of your own, and you were going to find it again if only to prove yourself correct.
More cracks started appearing a few weeks after that.
A careless bagel and coffee left in the window of an "abandoned" house.
The coordination between everyone, as if it was all a convoluted dance designed to draw the viewers attention away from the weak links of reality.
A week after that, you found the cameras.
____________________________________________
This is my first post on this sub so any and all feedback is appreciated. Have a great day! | 2022-11-26T14:51:07 | 2022-11-26T14:42:59 | 136 | 28 |
[WP] Suddenly, everyone on Earth becomes immortal, free from physical injury or disease. Except for one person. | Scapegoat, *n*. (in the Bible) a goat sent into the wilderness after the Jewish chief priest had symbolically laid the sins of the people upon it (Lev. 16).
+-+
-----
+-+
And on the eleventh day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen, the Lord said *LET JOHN GAFFNEY OF MIDDLEBOROUGH OHIO BE CHOSEN* and in the vast stadium in Omaha, Nebraska the gathered priests of Jesus and Yahweh and Mohammed and all the other hundred gods laid their hands upon John Gaffney of Middleborough, Ohio. And when all the hands of all the priests were laid upon him, John Gaffney seemed unchanged, but Lo did all the rest of humanity blush with good health and sweet youth unchanging. And Lo did the people of the world pity John Gaffney, who would sicken and age and die in his turn.
On the nineteenth day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen, John Gaffney did fall and break his arm, and all the assembled Peoples took note, for it was the first Injury suffered by man or woman or child in the days since John Gaffney was chosen. And the assembled Peoples lamented on his behalf.
On the sixteenth day of May, in the year of our Lord two thousand and fourteen, John Gaffney developed a cough, and all the assembled Peoples took note, for it was the first Sickness suffered by man or woman or child in all the days since John Gaffney was chosen. And the assembled Peoples rejoiced that they were spared such suffering.
On the third day of July, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-one, John Gaffney wandered alone through the Canyons of the City of New York, which had long been deserted when the assembled Peoples realized that neither hunger nor thirst would trouble them, and that food did not satisfy them and strong drink did not stir them, and abandoned that Great City in droves. John Gaffney was dizzy with hunger and crack-lipped with thirst, and he fell to his knees, crying out *Why oh Lord hast thou forsaken me?*. And the assembled Peoples mocked him for his misery and his devotion.
On the sixth day of August, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-nine, John Gaffney's broken body was discovered in a culvert in San Mateo, California, and no man knew what to do with the curiosity, and all the assembled Peoples took note for this was the first death in all the years since John Gaffney was anointed, and the Peoples exulted in their own immortality and perfection.
And the Years Passed singly and in their tens and hundreds, and the Peoples did not age, and did not sicken, and did not pass from their existence. The experiences of the flesh had long paled so that their very Souls cried out for succor and still they lived on, in the smoldering cesspits of the Earth and on all the barren moons and planets beyond, with nothing new but novelty and nothing sufficient to fill the voids within them. Terrible was their lamentation, and yet none of them knew the light of the Lord, except for the One who passed from the world to be born again in Heaven, and his name was John Gaffney of Middeborough, Ohio.
| It's been about 50 years now but you wouldn't know it from looking at people, except for John that is.
Back then we were just 15 and didn't really care about what people were saying on the TV, we were equals back then...but time has changed that, he aged as the world & I did not.
So here we sit he with greyed hair & the beginnings of wrinkles in his face, every scar & the missing finger too.
I on the other hand still 15...I mean my balls still haven't dropped yet even at age 65.
All thing considered I have never really felt old until today...today I am the last to lose a friend...
Edit: typed at 1am so spelling, etc... | 2013-12-10T11:35:07 | 2013-12-10T08:45:33 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate. | "Tom, we've got to do something."
"I understand, Bill."
"How many?"
"So far? We might as well be handing out Kool-Aid on the streets."
Bill slammed his fist on the table. "Tom, tell me. Tell me how this got out."
"It was the Russians, of all people. They were the first to figure out the algorithm for the subatomic super positioning. Upon reaching the conclusions of their experiments, the scientists were the first to take their own lives."
"But, that doesn't explain –"
"Let me finish. You, me, and all the rest of the US government officials can sit here and debate this until time collapses inward. The only real things you need to understand at this moment, is that the infinite series of moments we perceive as time are already laid out for us, by higher dimensions."
Bill took a sip of his coffee, listening intently. He had clearly not slept, or eaten a proper meal in a very long time. He squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of all of this.
"Tom, I'm the leader of this country. But I'm not afraid to say that this is all going over my head."
Tom scratched his face, trying to think of a way to explain.
"When we live, we are bound by four dimensions. We can move freely in three, but we are forced to walk forward in the fourth. Only death frees us from this constraint. We were once afraid that we would go to hell; the algorithm showed us that nobody can sin. How can we, when our fates have been determined since the beginning?"
Even though he was sweating, Bill started to shiver.
"The people of this country chose me to protect them, goddamnit. We endured, we conquered… exploration, famine, civil war, equality, nuclear war, terrorism… and the thing that finally brings this nation to its knees is it's own goddamn people."
It was in that moment that Tom's complexion changed. Normally stern and straightfaced, his lips curled into an unnatural smile.
"How could you understand? You were elected by the people, but you are not of the people. You probably spent your childhood playing with the sons of billionaires. Do you know what an orphanage in Siberia is like? It's rather apathetic, as are the quartermasters who are tasked with finding little nobodies to turn into military spies. You see, the Cold War is something you learned about in your text books, but for me, it's the foundation for my existence."
Bill became suddenly aware that Tom's accent had morphed. The man he thought he knew as his trusted adviser of over a decade was vanishing right before him. Tom continued.
"You, Mr. President, were given the responsibility of 1000 tasks. I was given but one. God forgive me, but today I cannot complete it. I would much rather let you be the steward of a land of bones, than to take you with me to paradise."
Bill heard the other man make a clicking sound from his teeth; the last sound he made before falling to the ground, dead.
| As the slide came up the board of government officials sat there in awe at the advertising suggestion.
"It's amazing." "It's exactly what we need". "That's perfect." "You can't argue with such infalliable logic."
"I take it that means we can start running through the campaign th-"
"Immediately."
Within 10 hours the posters had been printed out at every major publishing firm still operational and the message was soon plastered across every street corner, billboard and newspaper stand.
"If you commit suicide, you can't play video games and eat food!" | 2015-02-02T07:18:10 | 2015-02-02T06:40:57 | 206 | 71 |
[WP] The armies of Hell stood and hovered at the ready. Today would be the day of reckoning. Earth and all its souls would be theirs. But when they burst through the ground to launch their surprise attack they found the humans already at war... With aliens. Time to pick a side or fight both. | I watched as the horde of demons shuffled impatiently as they waited at the Narrow Chasm of hell. At the end of the chasm was an ancient metal gate, rusted by the ephemeral passage of time and yet, it withstood its ground for countless centuries.
Until today.
"Patience my fellow fiends..." Satan's voice echoed from across all of hell, his voice immediately pacifying the horde of demons. "For today... We will be free!" Satan laughed wickedly, and just as he had promised, the rusty old gate soon fell apart.
Within moments, the horde of demons pranced and shoved their way through ecstatically but I only walked. When we finally arrived on the surface of earth, we found ourselves awkwardly in the middle of a war.
No, it was not the petty little wars that the humans had between themselves... it was a war between *species.* All of humanity against the invading alien race. And it looked like the humans were losing.
I knew it was so because I had felt it immediately when I stepped onto the earth.
The *despair.*
The smell of charred human flesh hung fresh in the air. The screams of agony hidden behind the ruined rubble that had become what was once human civilization. The cacophony of ceaseless human gunfire that was punctuated by alien laser with every other moment.
The horde had immediately grown restless.
A lesser demon spoke, "My Satan! What is that?!" It pointed with a fleshy scorched appendage.
High above the clouds, a dark object partially obscuring the sun.
Another lesser demon spoke, this one had seven different colored eyes. "That's a UFO you imbecile. You would know if you climbed out of your bottomless pit more often."
The lesser demon with the fleshy scorched appendages fumed visibly. "How dare you mock me! I am the 789th generation of Scorched Slime demon family! I'll have you know-"
"Enough!" a voice deep with raw fury bellowed. I recognized the voice immediately as Wrath's, one of the seven Sins that were Satan's most loyal retainers.
Within seconds, the horde was silent.
"Well then," said an arrogant voice. "What shall we do?" Pride pondered aloud.
Gluttony screeched ecstatically, his giant slabs of fat vibrating violently as he chanted, "Eat! Eat! *Eat!*"
Lust smiled seductively as she watched. "Yes, Yes, you will have your fill..." she said endearingly to Gluttony. "After me," she giggled.
"I know what we should do," said Greed. "Its simple really. We conquer. Everything."
And with that, the horde of demons roared in agreement, a chorus of maniacal screeching and senseless hooting and whatnot.
I turned away, wanting nothing more than to leave.
I wandered for what felt like hours through the ruined streets, listening to the sounds of chaos and devastation.
It would be a massacre. The human race was fighting a losing war against the aliens, and now with the horde from Hell joining the fray it would just be brutal. Cruel even.
"H-hello is someone there?!"
A human voice. I turned around but saw no human.
"A-anyone! Please! Help!"
Ah. There.
I approached a mound of rubble and began chucking the rubble away, brick by brick. Finally, I saw a human face wearing a helmet. His face was covered in grime, dust and blood.
"T-thank- Oh my god!" he screamed as I locked eyes with him. "Oh. My. God. Ooohh my goooddd!"
"Are you done human?"
"Oh my god, no. I don't think so. No God no."
I sighed.
"T-this can't be... Am I dead? Am I in Hell already? What were my sins?"
"Ain't my job to judge your sins. Don't ask me."
"Oh."
"Human."
"Yea?"
"What do you feel right now?"
"Well, I'm dead, so..."
I slapped him.
"Ow!"
"You're not dead. Not yet at least."
"Oh. Oh shit. I'm still alive? Then... why am I staring up at the devil?"
"Not devil," I said simply.
"Then who are you? What's your name?"
"I don't really have a name... But I'm known as Envy and I asked you a question human. Answer or die."
"Oh. Envy. Okay. I'm feeling... a lot of pain right now."
"That's it?"
"Well, I'm feeling a *shit* ton of other things, but the pain is kinda too overwhelming right now."
Without a second's thought, I lifted the massive piece of rubble that had trapped the soldier from the waist-down.
"Oh. Fuck. That's a lot better. Thanks mate."
"What else."
"Oh. Well. Despair. I don't want to die, but I know I'm going to anyways and that just... sucks. Also. Anger? I'm angry that I can't do anything about it. And then... there's sadness, a lot of sadness."
"Why sadness?"
"Because my f-family. I-" he began stammering, sobbing. "I-I want to see them so. Fucking. Bad. My wife and kid. I want to see my daughter grow up. But it hurts knowing that... that the world is ending. That there will be no future for them. I can't fucking accept it!"
Anger. Human anger.
He balled up his fist and hit the floor. "Its bullshit!"
I reached down and touched his legs.
"W-what are you doing?!" he cried.
They were crushed. Just flesh and powdered bones.
"Human. What is your name?"
"My name? It's Steven."
"Well then Steven let's save humanity."
He gave me a puzzled look. "How?"
I didn't answer. Action alone was sufficient.
I slid my hand into his chest and gripped his dying heart, then tore it out of his chest.
His eyes bulged, wide. He convulsed.
Without wasting a second, I tore my own heart- a black pulsing mass, out of my chest and plunged it in his.
Black blood coursed through his veins, morphing his body as it ran its course. His legs regenerated. His flesh grew anew, stronger and tougher than before until finally he was able to stand.
He looked up at me with deep black eyes and asked, "Why?"
I smiled. It was simple.
"Because I envy you Steven."
-----
/r/em_pathy
| Continuing a story from this [thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7s4xzt/wp_the_gates_of_heaven_torn_asunder_angels_lay/dt29ajg/) because I feel they can go hand in hand.
---
With every step towards his dark throne, Lucifer swore. With every word, the fires of hell burned hotter. He could not believe that his plans had been easily countered. He knew about the possibility. He also knew his *Father* could have easily let the issues play out as he had intended. The screams of the souls he had damned to hell mixed with the grunts and chants of his demonic horde. It did nothing to calm his anger.
He swore again as he sat scowling on his throne.
"I'm guessing he didn't take to your side, Luce..." a sultry voice called from above. He didn't need to glance up. He could tell who the voice belonged to, from the moment the sulphuric air turned sweet for a brief moment. It was only her that could change the death stench of damnation into a sweet sickly scent. While it was ultimately deadly to any human, it was a subtle touch her and her brood had. It only angered him more. No one on earth had such an ability.
"Withhold your charm, Lilith. Now's not the time." Lucifer spoke gravelly.
"Well... then speak. What would annoy the Bright Morning Star so?" Lucifer flinged as he sensed amusement in Lilith's voice...
"Oh I'm sorry, I mean *former* bright morning star..."
She landed softly in front of him. She was in a natural form, tall and purple skinned. She stood taller than any human but she loved to take a shape closer to their form. Her wings where thin but wide and her tail was longer than most demons. It was one of her tools when she played with her lovers and her sex pets.
"What do you want?" Lucifer spat back at her.
"The army is ready and raring. We are at the gates. You said you were going to get the key and you've got denizens of demons thirsting and writhing for human flesh. Where is it?" She replied coldly.
"*He* didn't see it fit. His love for them knows no bound. *He* instead tasks us with work." Lucifer answered her, mockingly emphasising his pronouns of the Almighty.
"So what? We just stay in here for another couple millenia? Are you fucking serious?!" Lilith asked angrily.
"Worse... He wants us to fight against the aliens. He tasks us to win." Lucifer said with a heavy sigh.
"No." Lilith responded instantly and turned to fly back to the gate.
"He commands it." Lucifer counters warningly.
"Well he can fucking ki-"
The red fires licking the walls of hell ceased, plunging the whole realm into darkness. Lucifer's eyes glowed an intense bright blue flame even as his cloak ignited at the edges. His body began to eminate light, the kind of light that only exist in the place of light.
"You know who He is, Lilith. You do not. YOU WILL NOT BRING VOID INTO THIS PLACE."
As he spoke, an idea dropped into his mind and as sudden as it happened, the light vanished and the flames of hell reignited themselves. Sulphur and brimstone returned as the cries of the damned filled the air once more. Lucifer stood from his throne and looked around, sighing before speaking, a hint of smile on his lips.
"You will not give him a reason to wipe us out. But as it stands, we just might win in the end. Think about it. What happens when the humans see us save them? Who will they worship as we cut down the multitude? Who do they thank when we arm them with the weapons of hell?"
Lilith smiled and took to the air.
"Let's go kill some invaders then..." She screamed back at him as she shot towards the gates.
Lucifer smiled and reclined back in his throne. He might just prove to the Almighty after all that His humans are fickle, and ultimately destined to be damned for eternity.
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite | 2018-03-28T08:00:49 | 2018-03-28T07:54:39 | 299 | 17 |
[WP] The year is 2577. Everyone is genetically modified before they are born to have the best triats possible, resulting in everyone being amazing athletes and looking like super models. Your family decides not to genetically modify you, but you are born with a trait that everyone can only dream of. | *Freak.*
*Retard.*
I first found out I was different when I was seven. Mr Ray, our PE teacher, stood in the sun, the light perfectly accentuating his toned muscles.
“Now, kids,” He said, “You might’ve all been born with the best genes out there, but if you don’t exercise properly those muscles will become smaller and weaker, and you don’t want that. Today, we’re gonna do chin-ups. It’s easy. You just walk underneath the bar, hold your arms out like this, and pull until your chin is above the bar. Of course, you’ll be using this lower bar here. Now, line up and show me what you can do.”
We lined up gingerly.
“Richie,” Mr Ray said, “One, two, three… Come on, you can do this, one more… Yes! Four. Well done.”
“Charlotte, come on up, don’t be shy. One, two, three, four, five, six! Great job.”
“Emma.”
I walked up to the bar. I was just a bit too short and had to tip my toes to reach it. As soon as I began to pull, my arms felt like they had been injected with the world’s most potent hot sauce. I could imagine the muscle fibres, burning, tearing. The sun stung sharply into my skin.
“Emma, you can do this. I believe in you.” Mr Ray said.
I let go.
“Don’t give up. Try again. Come on!” Mr Ray said, “In all my years of teaching I have never seen someone fail to do a chin-up.”
“You don’t get it. She’s *special*!” Sam said, with his usual impeccable smile. Oh, how I hated that smile.
Mr Ray’s face fell. “Don’t worry, we can assign you to the special PE class. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
***
Being in the special PE class meant no one would sit with you at lunch. It meant your friends wouldn’t be your friends anymore. It meant Sam would find you at your weakest moment and break you further.
“You’re a freak just like your dad!” He had said to me at lunch, just after that dreaded PE class.
A teacher overheard him. “You must never, never say that to another person. Apologize. Now.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam said. Who could overlook his innocent smile and think he was being insincere?
But I knew he wasn’t. I could tell. I just knew.
To be honest, I didn’t understand why Mom fell for Dad back then. She came from a well-positioned family, was good looking, smart and genetically enhanced for a long life. He was a scrawny kid who wore clothes two sizes too big because it was the only size he could find, and he didn’t have any modifications either.
It wouldn’t be until high school when I would find out.
***
High school was different. Classes were sorted based on the genetic modifications you received. But they didn’t know what to do with me, so they just shoved me in whatever random class they pleased. I was the girl no one wanted to deal with.
But the classes all assumed prior abilities from your modifications. It was simply the norm. As a result, I was never the model student in class, always catching up. I dreaded the day when grades would come out. No, not because of Mom, who’d been too depressed to care ever since Dad died, ironically, from cancer caused by one of his genes that could’ve been modified when he was born. No, I feared the day because of Sam.
***
It came anyway.
“I didn’t know how someone can be ugly and dumb at the same time. You really *are* special.” Sam said. His gang all laughed at his joke. It was a weak joke and they knew it. They just needed someone to laugh at.
“You know, your dad deserved to die. It’s called *evolution*. Look it up, if you could even understand it.” His friend erupted in laughter again.
Too far. Way too far.
My hands forming a fist, reaching out. Sam jumped back. He was too fast and his reaction time unhuman, thanks to his modifications.
“So you wanna fight, huh? Come at me. Come on.” He said, knowing I wasn’t as strong as him.
My mind raced. *I’d never win against him in a fair fight, I know that. What should I do? What would he do? He would come charging straight at me, wouldn’t he? Yes. That’s what he’d do. And he wouldn’t look down either, no, he wouldn’t.*
I tensed, sticking out my foot at the right moment as Sam fell to the ground. What I didn’t expect was how quickly he’d get up.
***
On that night I walked home covered in purple bruises. As I opened the door I saw my mom’s mouth open.
“My God, what happened to you? I… I…”
“Mom, why did you choose Dad? Why not anyone else?”
“Oh, I told him this day would come. I told him and he told me to show you something. Come.” She led me upstairs to her room.
“Here.” She handed me an article. Printed, marked with small letters on the margins. Dad’s handwriting. A passage was highlighted in yellow.
> Without a doubt, genetic editing had done a great service to mankind. However, it is not without its downsides. First and foremost, we possess the technology necessary to enhance certain traits by a large degree. While this helps to cement the trait, it also interferes with the person’s natural development, as the trait is too concrete in his or her genetic code for the individual to go against it, making the individual extremely predictable. Secondly, it is understood that the genetic code does not work on a basis of traits. Changing one trait may result in another trait being inadvertently changed in the process, leading to side effects to every modification known to man…
I saw my mother wipe away at a tear. “It’s okay.” I said. “I’m okay.”
***
It had been a while since Sam had pestered me. He seemed to have a lot more respect after I tripped him. No, not respect, but fear.
At lunch, I sat alone, researching genetic modifications on my tablet. It was fascinating. I’ve been researching for the last twelve days and I was still learning new things.
Me being silent seemed to trick Sam into a sense of security. I heard those familiar footsteps, saw that familiar smile. “Hey ugly, how’s it going?” He said, snatching my tablet away.
“Oh, look guys, it looks like she wants to be pretty! Well, guess what, too bad.” He showed his friends as they laughed.
I was laughing too, on the inside. Because I could guess the modifications he received. And out of those, I knew he had three important modifications: IN-2, which causes a lack of awareness of the surrounding environment, CH-7, which reduces critical thinking, and ST-5, which causes a person to follow instructions blindly.
He wouldn’t be laughing after he suddenly finds himself having walked into the principal’s office.
| "Wow that movie was really good." Said Dave as he and his two friends exited the theater.
"Oh yea," agreed Kevin, "The way they set up the twist was amazing. And the cinematography was incredible."
"I really liked how they introduced the love interest as a Helen of Troy type, while also working in homages to Romeo and Juliet." Nodded Paul.
"It was just... a really beautiful movie y'know?" said Dave wiping a tear from his eye.
"Hey Dave, what are ya doing? Something in your eye?" Asked Kevin leaning in to inspect it.
"Yea, yea, a piece of dust or something." Dave said brushing off his hand and blinking furiously.
"Yea I heard it's supposed to be a dry fall this year." Said Paul as they walked away.
The trio walked down the dusky streets of the city, lights and faces flashing past. They were halted at an intersection by a do not cross sign's halting neon hand. Kevin looked to their left and saw an elderly man curled under a newspaper, shivering on a bus stop bench. His eyes were closed while his bruised and gnarled fingers worked meekly along his arms, struggling impart warmth. Kevin quietly approached the man, inching close behind him. He outstretched his two hands and brought them together with a thunderous shock. The man shook awake, flailing as he fell off the bench. He outstretched his hands and dove forward at Kevin who easily sidestepped him and cackled again as the man fell to the ground. Paul, slapped Dave on the back and howled along with Kevin. Dave fidgeted uneasily and tried to look away.
"Uhh, guys, the sign says we can cross." Dave offered meekly to stop the torment.
"Don't worry about it, well get the next one." Replied Kevin, snatching the threaded cap from the old mans head.
"Kevin, stop!" Shouted Dave, startling himself.
Kevin froze and let the man steal back his hat and scurry off. His cold eyes leveled on Dave and he walked back to his friends.
"Why do you care so much? He your daddy?" Kevin asked.
"No, it was just getting old." Said Dave looking down.
"I thought it was plenty funny." Breathed Paul down Dave's neck.
"It's just. Like, what if you were in his position, y'know?" Said Dave returning Kevin's gaze.
"No, I don't know." Said Kevin. "'Cause I never will be in his position. I'd rather die than be there anyway."
"Well, y'know, maybe were not all so lucky." Said Dave crossing the street.
"Everyone who's not a loser is 'that lucky.'" Said Paul following him.
"Yea, are you gonna end up next to him? That your dream job?" poked Kevin in tow.
"Just forget it." Said Dave putting his hands in his pocket.
"No, I want to know. If you're going to end up like him, I want to know so I can save myself the embarrassment." Pushed Kevin.
"Maybe!" Yelled Dave suddenly. "Maybe I will alright! Maybe I'm not perfect like you, like everyone else ok? My parents didn't G-map me. Which means I could end up like him. It means sometimes I can't control my emotions like everyone else seems to be able to. Sometimes things seem a little too hard, too impossible. It makes me have to work twice as hard for half the results. But it also means I can improve far past what you could imagine. It means nothing comes naturally so I have to fight for it. It means I can appreciate it more. I can be more proud, more awed by my own potential. And it means I can *feel* goddamnit. It means I feel sorry for that man, and sorry for both of you. It means I can be happy for people I've never met, and sad for them. It means casualties on the news are actual people to me, people with lives and loves and hopes and dreams, not statistics on a graphic, like you two see them. It means I know what it's like to be alive, and it means I cry at an incredibly touching movie!"
Dave stood before them, his chest pistoning in and out furiously. His fists were balled and tears flowed down his eyes. His breath uneven, he looked back and forth between his friends.
"Freak." Spat Kevin
"Get lost you science experiment." Said Paul as they walked past him.
| 2018-01-16T19:53:08 | 2018-01-16T17:34:30 | 726 | 314 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| When I graduated from college, I had no purpose in life, no direction. As a part time job I began working at a local cafe in my hometown, owned by my dad.
The cafe had been an establishment in the town since long before I was born. My parents opened it together, right after they married, and now it’s mine.
My mom died giving birth to me, my dad shortly after I moved back, but I didn’t mind it much, I suppose it was his time. I am grateful to have his cafe to remember him by, and I always think of him when I go into work, and my work isn’t as boring as it might seem.
My patrons come from all paths of life and all have stories to tell, but I never ask. They all have scars, and always seem to gain new ones after a hard nights work, but every morning, before going to sleep or heading to their day job, they come to my cafe and relax for a while. They’re always polite, despite their harsh line of work, and they always tip well too, but most importantly, these are the kindest folks I have ever met. In fact, these people are all the family I have left.
Yesterday, about an hour before opening, I was polishing down the espresso machine when I heard the shattering of glass behind me. I turned around and saw a large rock rolling on the ground. Before I could process what was happening, another rock smashed through the glass doors. Before I knew it, a group of 4 men were inside my cafe.
Two of the men grabbed me, and tied me up in the large pantry in the back, I saw the other two going for the cash register, it was their misfortune that I had deposited the previous days earnings in the back. They bickered amongst themselves, debating what had to be done next, and it wasn’t long before they decided to break every mug, cup, and piece of equipment in my kitchen.
I watched, helplessly, unable to stop these hooligans from destroying my store. I felt something die inside of me, as my parents’ legacy seemed to be tarnished. Finally, they left.
After what seemed like an eternity, I heard voices outside. I tried to scream through the duct tape wrapped around my mouth, but alas couldn’t make enough noise to attract anyone’s attention. I heard footsteps on broken glass, and I saw Vincent, a regular customer come into sight. I couldn’t be sure of his identity because of the muffler around his face, but the tattoo of the dragon on his forearm was unique to him.
He stepped forward and looked around. He seemed panicked, the first time I ever saw Vincent panic, as he was a calm, deliberate man. He peered over the counter, as if looking for something, and then he heard my faint noises. He ran to the back and untied me, and led me to the couch in the center of the cafe. More clients began to pour in, and they looked around, confused.
Vincent and the others tended to me, and as more people poured in, they began to clean up the mess. Charlie swept up the glass, Lisa and Emma went out to buy glass at the local hardware store, and then they repaired the door. Eventually, my patrons had cleaned up the mess, gotta me a warm cup of coffee, and had even begun replacing some of the broken equipment and glasses with those from their own homes, until I was open for business.
I refused to tell them what happened, afraid of someone getting hurt or showing up in a lake somewhere, face down. These people had enough to worry about, without having to fight my battles, but nonetheless, my efforts did not match up to the unique skill set of this group. Last night the four men who trashed my store were found in an alleyway, overdosed on heroin.
Despite the horrific incidents yesterday, and though life may never be the same, I realized there’s a silver lining, I have a new family. | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T18:59:07 | 1,330 | 628 |
[WP] A hero has been fighting the same villain for years. Over time, their positions slowly switch. | It had been a noble thing at first. Fighting crime, keeping the order, keeping the less than upstanding citizens in line--the gangsters, the drug pushers--I've been doing this for nearly two decades, keeping my city of Crestview safe from anyone who would hurt it.
The Forsaken, The Enigmas,The Inquisitors, The King's Men--I could go on with all the people I've fought. But there's one who will always stand out in my mind. Of all my rogues, I'll never forget her.
Ember.
A nobody when she attempted to rob a bank. *Attempted* being the operative word in this phrase. The take wasn't even all that much in the end only being maybe five grand, give or take. She was tall, rail thin, in her costume emblazoned with fire and suns. Our first fight left a street scorched by her flames, a standard mark of our encounters until I came up with the proper countermeasures later. She got away in the end, but at least I recovered the money for the bank.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Months later, and I found her fighting Galahad of the King's Men, with hardly any thought to the damage they were doing to the store fronts or the people around them. I neutralized Ember first with the extinguishing foam I developed, though Galahad escaped as Ember lashed out at me.
I had almost secured her for the police until one of the shop owners stopped me. Apparently Galahad had been doing round for protection money, until Ember got in his way. Though her methods had been...destructive, her heart was in the right place. I let her off with a warning, hoping maybe she would change sides, an ally against the chaos threatening to consume this city.
I was wrong.
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A year later, the night of the incumbent Mayors fundraiser, Ember appeared again. Holding the entire gala hostage, calling them hypocrites for throwing around money when the city was suffering. I almost found myself agreeing with her, until I remembered who she was. A villain, using Robin-hood rhetoric to justify herself. I cornered her on the balcony, it could have been over right there and then. Ember would never see the light of day once I used my extinguishing foam. But Ember, she had been holding back, she unleashed a torrent of fire consuming the balcony, almost half of the building.
I died.
That's what the doctors said when I woke up in the hospital. Over half of my body covered in burns, armor fused to my flesh in a few places. I used a favor from the Heroes Association, calling in a healer to help with the worst of the damage. I never liked dealing with them, they were...too idealistic for me. Never willing to do what was necessary.
As soon as I was released, I got to improving my suit. It would be able to disperse the heat more effectively, and eventually I would modify it to stop the combustion reaction entirely.
Soon.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Four years later, and the worst happened. Crestview was hit by the worst tidal wave in recorded history. The Heroes Association helped with the evacuation process--we got a lot of the people out, except for the people on the docks. We were so focused on rest of the city we had missed the most obvious. I had written them off honestly--the worst of the worst lived there, my investigations leading me to conclude that nearly eighty percent of the drug trade went through there alone.
It would be a clean slate I thought.
Until I saw the pillar of fire in the relief camp. Easily hundreds of feet high, holding the tidal wave back. Not enough to stop it from ruining most of the Docks, but most of it salvageable.
Theoretically.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Months went by of keeping order in the relief camps. Gangs unwilling to put petty disputes behind them for the sake of survival, looters, rioters--Most days went on for thirty hours, I barely kept a lid on the chaos. The mayor was allegedly fighting the city being condemned by the federal government, but tension ran high.
On my patrol I found a group, maybe some thirty odd people gathered around a veritable fleet of trucks. I thought it was a riot waiting to break out, maybe people just venting the stress that was building with everything that had happened.
Until I saw her.
Ember stood on the hood of a car throwing out fliers of the growing crowd. Recruiting probably. Taking advantage of these desperate people, and for what?! To rule over the ruins?
I don't remember as I leaped down on Ember. The adjustments I made to the armor prevented her fire from starting, gas pouring from protrusions of the armor, choking the flames before they could even start. I rained blow after blow down on her as the crowd screamed in panic. A few tried to get me off of her, but it was no use.
It would be a full minute until I so much as glanced at the fliers.
Addresses for relief aid, safest time to move, a hotline for an escort. She had been laundering her money into a number of shelter for years with the money that she stole over the course of her career it seems.
And in the moment, her broken form below me, and the accusing glares of the crowd around us?
I didn't feel like a hero.
Edit:An important word in the last section. | I knew him by the flower pinned to his chest - a wilted, burned up thing, as fragile as a songbird's hollow bones. The elements should have shredded it to dust years ago. Gods know what he had done to preserve it.
The flower seemed to sit still, to hover as he slipped past my blade; floating left, then right. Instead of that satisfying bite of metal-in-flesh, each swing of my sword ended with a frustrating *clunk* as metal met stone.
I could not pin him. He was unmarked, while I was painted with sweat and blood. I could barely lift my arm at all.
A hoarse shout: "Do you remember how much they loved you?"
"I do."
"Do you remember how they flew roses at your Triumph."
"I do."
"They called you *hero* - *Champion* of the Kingdom."
Before the sentence was ended, a flurry of motion erupted from his cloak. An unseen blade scissored through the air. It slid into my chest, quivering as it stuck into a rib. A sigh escaped my lips, as if that knife had cut not only my bone, but also the years of burden.
For a second, I could not see him, only the city below, bathed in a radiant, orange glow. It was almost peaceful from so far away.
"You hated me, because I showed them what you kind of hero you *truly* were."
Visions of ale, spilling down the steps. Barracks, echoing with laughter and screams. Thin, battered men begging for their daughters, their wives, 'please, sir, please, spare her.'
"No man is flawless."
"A hero should strive to be perfect! *I* was perfect. They should have called *me* Hero!"
"But you are *not* perfect," I spat savagely, blood spattering against the cobbled ramparts, "*You* started the fire-"
A grin, as wicked as sin, split his lips.
"They don't know that. Once you are gone, they will only know what I tell them."
That flower, black and crumpled, pinned to his chest - I knew it. It was a rose, a gift from a sweet, young princess at my Triumph. With the dagger digging into my bone, I wondered, vaguely, why he had kept it for so many years.
Red and black bloomed at the corners of my vision. The light was fading...
He wrapped a fist around the blade still stuck in my chest. He kicked me away, so that I slid off of the knife. Blood gushed over my lips, warm and tasteless.
"You... are not a hero," I said, drowning in my own blood.
"But they will call me 'Hero' all the same." | 2016-04-15T20:29:23 | 2016-04-15T18:17:09 | 162 | 48 |
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