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[WP] Humanity is dead; you were asleep in a cryogenic facility for super-human soldiers. Aliens have woke you centuries later to fight for their survival from the aliens that ended humanity. The problem? You're actually a janitor that fell into a pod and all of the soldiers died in the previous war. | It wasn't easy to convince the aliens that you had something up your sleeve. Janitors have their tricks, and when you're given every key, sometimes you figure out some of the secrets you had no business figuring out. And the biggest secret of all would be the key to helping the aliens defeat the evil invaders who exterminated mankind. Somewhere, in the heaps and ruins of what was left of human society, there was something more powerful than super soldiers and evil invaders. And through fate, it had fallen to you to wield that power. You just needed to find...
The suit.
Digging through sector 70-21A (The remains of what used to be Eugene, Oregon), you start to recognize some of your surroundings; The coffee shop, crumbling and decrepit; The sign to the old ice cream parlor, mostly rusted away. You're close.
Finally, paydirt. You remove some rubble to reveal a series of underground passageways. Though your mind is still foggy from the cryogenic freezing, you know these old hallways like the back of your hand. You know where your old mop, broom, and key chain would be, provided, God willing, they'd been undisturbed. All of your old equipment would come in handy, but most importantly, in this most dire of moments, you need...
The suit.
You find the closet where all your old equipment used to be stored. A swoosh adorns the door, and your mind wanders back to the bitter memories of corruption and greed that lead to the downfall of humanity. But no time for that now, you have business to attend to. You shine your alien flashlight to illuminate the closet, and you see a most delightful sight: All your equipment, untouched. A little dusty, but considering the ruins in which they lay, practically pristine. Your heart begins to race in excitement. In another room, just down the hall, you hoped the key to victory still lay.
Gathering your old equipment, you find the room. You dust off the door to make sure, and the obnoxious neon yellow color you see underneath the dust is your confirmation. You open up the door, shine your flashlight, and what sits on the shelf before you is truly a sight to behold. The great big green shirt. The white pants complete with fuzzy flippers. The cartoonish eyes that pierce your
soul. Is that a tiny yellow cape, or just an ascot? No one ever knew; thus was the mystery of the suit. You slip on the outfit, and slowly feel yourself becoming more powerful. You just needed to complete the ensemble with some action hero sunglasses...
[perfect](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/3b/08/29/3b0829a33b7a8cd26c2f18522bd9613b--oregon-football-the-duck.jpg)
Time to head back to where the alien military is hiding from the invaders. They're aghast-you can tell they're in awe at your newfound magnificence. Immediately they flock to you, surely in awe at your power. "No more hiding" you announce. "but how? They outnumber us" calls out the only alien soldier brave enough to question you. In response, you grab your most trusty piece of janitorial equipment...
"It's time to *mop the floor* with these guys."
You lead the charge. The invaders don't see it coming. Your fat, fuzzy legs are too fast. Your moves are too sexy. One swipe with your mop wipes out dozens of invaders at a time. Behind your lead, the aliens advance against the invaders with force. At last, you encounter the Great Invader, leader of the evil invaders. A swing of his mighty axe splinters your mop in two. But you came prepared...
"It's time to *sweep* these guys off the planet."
It's the broom's time to shine. You take the Great invader off guard and split his axe in two with a swing of your broom. This infuriates him, and he manages to break your broom before you can bring it back. He advances, thinking you are out of weapons. He couldn't be more wrong: the keys! They gave the suit...certain powers...
"Ascot, go!"
Your ascot unties itself, rising in the air and shining a beam of light at the Great Invader with massive force. However, he is able to resist! You must amplify the power of the ascot by...doing shitty push-ups! You get into position and barely move your shoulders. 1...2...3...4...it's working! The beam gets stronger and stronger and finally blows away the Great Invader for good!
The rest of the Invaders (who, as you have observed, look remarkably like huskies) surrender all at once. But they have an announcement: they're just following orders! At once the true Leader arrives. His leaves rustle as he approaches, his hideous smile removed and turned upside-down in reaction to the defeat. "You win this round!" [The king of the invaders](https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/18f48bey7o1tvjpg.jpg) declares before teleporting away. One by one, the other invaders also teleport away, but one stays behind just long enough to ask "Who...who are you??"
"Puddles. Puddles the Duck." | The hum of machinery grew in my mind, perturbing the nothingness. It was abrasive and terrifying, like looking to the foot of your bed and seeing a figure not present before you closed your eyes.
A *swoosh* contrasted the repetitive and unfamiliar clicks and thuds, familiar to me like an alarm set before; annoying yet welcome. It was the inverse of the last thing I had heard. As soon as it silenced I registered that my eyes were closed, and so made a mental push to open them. It was certainly a task; they seemed to have friction against my eyes, as if a cohesive bond had formed between my cornea and skin over the sleep I had just emerged from.
Vision was blurry at first but sharpened as i willed it to; little new information resulted from this. Green lights flickered all around and the source of the mechanical murmur was unknown. Before I could even lift a limb I felt my inertia force me forward; suddenly I was out of the place I had awoken in and on the ground. My legs had skirted against the floor but my legs were unable to sustain me upright so I was now on the cold metallic floor. All of this information was overwhelming me. All I knew next was another change in momentum.
A wide sky had opened up to me. Rushing air went past my face, but it was warm and dense. Clouds were the main form I could see but they were alien to me, black wisps, foreign and monstrous. The speed of my decent was apparent to me as I bullet-ed past one; I had gone skydiving before, and my panicked mind retrieved the memory for the sake of control. Panic compounded from this however, as no cord flapped in the breeze in my peripheral. I was in my rubber yellow cleanup suit, as I had been cleaning my area in the aircraft before the sirens...
Suddenly it clicked. I remembered the blaring sirens and the shifting floor. I remembered the screams as the pod *swooshed* open and I fell forward. I remembered the feeling of dread as my limbs went limp. I thought of all of this, instead of the fact that the clouds had gone, leading into a scorched earth. I realized this only moments before I fell upon it, cracking my neck instantly.
~
The bugs skittered towards the site of impact, their pincers readied in anticipation. The huge ship overhead had appeared over their base in an instant, and they knew that they would be dropping their greatest asset; the Uber-soldier. But, as they came upon the place where the dot came out of the sky and fell, they vomited. It was a blob of skin and blood, already bubbling and melting into the soot.
In rapid clicks and hisses one said to the other, "What the hell is this?" | 2018-10-13T17:04:26 | 2018-10-13T07:35:13 | 397 | 53 |
[WP] You are a superhero looking for your sidekick who recently went missing. In your search you run into your archnemises who is searching for their henchmen who also went missing. You two soon discover that your sidekick and their henchmen are dating. | Fiona had been missing for over three days, I was worried. But when Nyx contacted me, my heart sank. Her voice was cold and calculated. She asked for a parlay on neutral ground to discuss "the situation" with my sidekick. She gave me a time and location, and nothing else. I agree. I'd never met Nyx before or fought her. I only knew her terrible reputation. Plans upon devious plans, she drove her adversaries mad, pealing their minds apart methodically. When she chose to fight she could take flesh with a touch. Just dies and melts away from the bone. She's formidable, ruthless but she's always followed a personal code. She doesn't take sidekicks or the powerless. Just the heroes.
I arrived early to enter a dimly lit but well-appointed building south of Red Hook. I gripped my right forearm to keep it from visibly shaking and stood there waiting. I could do nothing to keep back the flood of desperate horror filling my mind. I failed her, echoed over and over. Before my thoughts could take me, I saw Nyx approach through the darkness. "Focus", I said softly. I loosened the grip on my arm and dropped it to my side. I was struck with her beauty, not only in form but the elegance of motion. Pale white skin, dark piercing eyes, and a dangerous smile. She stepped forward without a word, calmly removed a long silk glove, and reached out her hand. That dangerous smile becoming more pronounced. Surprising her with my lack of hesitation I took her hand. I could feel her brief attempt to recoil and see her face shift to curiosity.
"So It doesn't work on you?" she cooed.
"No" my voice echoed. "My outer layer is a grid of nano carbons, nothing alive to be killed."
She released my hand but lingered a moment, twirling her thumb in my palm. "So can you feel?"
"Yes," I said. "The layer is conductive, it translates sensation to my nerve endings."
"And..."
"Yes," a curt response. "I can see, the layer in front of my face channels light to optic nerves."
"Given you're conductive, I was wondering if you found heat especially pleasant?" she ran her fingers up my forearm.
I pulled away slowly, "Arcana?". She inched a bit closer tapping my face where my eyes would be.
"She's fine, as far as I know. You must have been so worried." She grinned grimly. "She's with Deadlock... Sam"
"He's your hench, where is he keeping her." I barked.
"I assure you if she's tied up it's entirely consensual, Sam is quite the gentleman." She said softly as she moved her hand down to my chest.
"They... They ran off?" More than a hint of confusion in my voice. I laughed, a quick moment of relief as things started to fall into place. Fiona had been happy for the first time in a long time since the death of her father. But also evasive... I'm not sure how the world would react to a hero and a villain... together. "He's a good man?" I ask pointedly.
Nyx chuckles "Aside from the villainy, yes he's a good man. I can tell he loves her, wherever they are she's safe and likely very happy."
My voice breaking "I... I can't believe she would just leave without telling me. I..."
"I was supposed to tell you a few days ago but, I am a villain? Can you blame me?" that dangerous smile returning. "Villans are a bit more open to this sort of thing. Do you know Kadia and Solestra? They were 'locked' in battle for five days over the fate of several civilian captives in Brazil?"
I nodded, oblivious.
"That was their honeymoon." A look of pity over my ignorance winced across her face. "Now can you blame your dear Arcana?"
"No," I said. "I... I know what this life does to everyone around you, everyone you love. If you find someone, it's precious respite." I noticed Nyx's hand was still on my chest, just a bit lower, I reached to remove it.
She advanced "Oh don't be a prude, do you know how often I find a man I don't turn to a rotten corpse? I can't turn this off you know."
​
A brief moment passes and the dim light clicks off. | \*on the top of a skyscraper
"turn this damn shield off" said lex
​
"where the fuck is he" yelled [fireball?](https://www.classywish.com/best-superhero-names/)
​
"ill kill you for taking my daughter you sick fuck" yelled lex "you took it too far by taking her, don't you know that she was just a henchman why don't you fight me you asshole!"
​
"your damn daughter kidnapped him! i saw them enter the same car and drive off! and i don't care about your stupid daughter until he kidnapped my godson" yelled fireball
​
"you are bullshitting i saw your plans to take her to one of your hideouts, and i thought you were so high and mighty for not using restaurants as hideouts. and i thought you said taking out henchmen was evil and dispickable!" lex said slightly more calmly
​
"you know what, i did not make those plans, my godson made them so how about you reveal your henchmans plan at the same time as me"
​
"to be taken to the restaurant on 2nd avenue!" they both yelled. then they stopped and looked at each other blankly. then they jumped to whatever transported them and got down to the restaurant as fast as possible. they reach it at the exact same time and look into the window to see them both eating together. shocked lex turned to fireball (and did not attack him even tho there was no shield) and said "they are, friends?"
​
then the couple turn to look out and see the two and stare in shock. fin | 2020-11-11T06:49:19 | 2020-11-11T04:06:32 | 86 | 29 |
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity. | “I won’t agree to that job.”
I stared across the booth at Dirk, who hissed at me angrily in response, the flicking of his tongue practically a dead giveaway of his alter ego, The Serpant. It lashes out a mere four inches in front of me. When I started out, his demeanor would have shaken me, but now, more sure of my principles and my leverage, I held firm.
“What is so wrong with my plan?” He snarled across the table.
“Too high of a potential casualty count,” I responded.
“But who cares about the casualty count!” He wailed, earning glance from other patrons in the dark bar. He quickly hunkered to make himself small, and whispered into the table, “The casualties are worth the price.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” I replied, and as he glanced up at me, I saw his pupils turn from slits to black. I gazed into them, a poker face on the outside, but always slightly unnerved by those eyes.
“I agree with the principle,” I assured him, “but unless you can find another way, I can’t help you. You would have had to come up with a slightly different plan anyway, as I am booked on Wednesday. If destroying a hospital wing means so much to you, you can wait a week and come up with something better.”
He slumped into the booth cushions, seething at me but saying nothing. I knew he would not push back. If he went ahead with it anyway, especially if he lied to me about a different plan to throw me off, I would blacklist him. Once he solicited my services, his plans were almost more in my control than his.
“Fine,” he finally muttered, without making eye contact.
“Great, I’ll meet you here next week to discuss then.” As I stood up, I threw a few bills on the table for my drinks before striding out of the bar.
I knew Dirk would not follow. He, like many, had tried the first few times we met, but after I raised prices in retaliation, he stopped. Still, I had to be cautious when I slipped to another form.
When I had made it a few blocks, I changed to a young gangly man at the top of the steps of the subway station. Once on the train, I switched to an older man while walking between cars. Finally, just around the block from my next meeting, I shifted to one of my most common forms, a solid woman, in her late fifties, with an intimidating sharp face, softened slightly by waves of hair that fell to her shoulders.
A chime went off as I opened the door to a small cafe. The owner waved as I came in and poured a cup of coffee in front of me as I sat down.
“Thank you Lisa,” I smiled up at her, and she smiled back with a nice “of course, dear” before padding back behind the counter.
As I waited for my colleague to arrive, I drank my coffee and thought about Dirk’s proposal. He wanted to destroy the hospital, to cause people to be less willing to put themselves in his way as he sowed other terror throughout the city. I had talked him down to just a wing, but we had not yet decided on which one, and how.
In better times, I would not partake in this plan at all, but more recently the council had been vetoing my propositions for budget allocation, claiming that the hospital was operating fine, even though it was severely under-resourced and hemorrhaging good doctors due to low salaries. If it was to be partially destroyed, there was no way I would be denied money to fix it back up, allowing for improvements. Desperate times, as they say.
As I took a sip of coffee, my appointment walked through the door.
“Mayor Blayson,” He greeted me with a nod.
“Councilman Jones,” I smiled across the table. “Let’s talk about your position on the health services budget.” | The first two that came to me I thought was just a coincident. Like I run and own a multinational company chances are two people would be connected by my company. But when the fifth came to hire me as a shapeshifter it started getting insane. Now I've been hired by almost all superheros and villains beside one of each and all of them are directly connected to my business or me. Almost 70 percent of them are my employees and the other thirty are either business partners or close friends. I do find it funny when I have a meeting schedule with a superhero and a super villain and they both cancel because of something coming up and then I can almost always flick in the news and see them fighting on 5th Avenue. Now it's time to meet the last super villain and then later today the last super hero.
I was not expecting the two biggest names in super hero and villain work to be these two. My own to children my daughter Suzy is the world's most feared villain and her twin brother Lucifer the most revered hero. Now I have the awkward decision to make tell them who I am and what to do or to pretend to be them. Though I could just ground them for all enernity like come on you are both twelve, didnt tell me you had powers, and started trying to destroy and or save the world. Though it may be problematic with my wife being each other theirs head assistant. | 2020-10-19T08:55:56 | 2020-10-19T08:03:28 | 375 | 17 |
[WP] You finally build up enough courage to talk to that cute someone you see on the bus. Their face turns dark as they respond "You shouldn't be able to see me." |
It takes a lot of courage to do something that other people would never think of doing.
Like sitting in the middle of a crowded city bus in the brightest neon purple dress that you could find on clearance, paired with those joke neon green socks that your Aunt gave you last Halloween. I mean, only a crazy person would wear it, especially when paired with a blue scarf.
It’s kind of horrifying how much the outfit clashes.
But I kind of love it.
Even if it does suck, because people see me coming and they avoid me like the plague. No one wants to talk to the crazy girl, which I’m totally not crazy, just eccentric. I like bright colors, and I love the way they make me feel.
Purple, like the dress, makes me feel warm. It’s like sitting in a bubble bath, soaking until I get all wrinkly. And the green socks remind me of apples, and the feeling of biting into one on a hot day, the juice running down my chin. But blue is my favorite, because blue is the feeling of flying through the air on a swing while my brother Alex pushes me higher and higher.
Colors mean everything to me.
So, I wear a lot of them.
And this was what I was wearing the first time I saw him.
Now, he wasn’t like me. He didn’t wear color, he wore black. And grey. I had seen plenty of these types of people in my life, people who thought wearing the darkest colors made them blend in. And I guess, from the way everyone ignored him as he curled on two whole seats, back to the wall of the bus, that it worked. No one bothered him.
He was like me.
We were both outcasts. I knew it just from looking at him. But staring is rude, so I looked away.
The next day I was wearing orange, the color of ice cream melting down my fingers faster than I can eat it. He was wearing black.
The day after was a sunny yellow day, a lemon cleaner my mom used to scrub down the house when Grandma would visit. He was wearing black.
Then it was purple, dark with white spots. And black.
Red like ladybugs, and black.
Everyday he wore black. Almost the same thing to. He was a constant, while I was unpredictable. Kind of like he was the sun and I was revolving around him in patterns that didn’t make sense. And I did revolve around him. Even on days that I didn’t need to be on the bus, I left my house and went to see him.
I wanted to talk to him.
But he wasn’t the type of guy you just walk up to. He had this look in his eyes, a kind of dark promise to the world. Every time I got the courage to talk to him, I felt myself pulling back, scared that I would do something offend him.
After all, he didn’t talk to anyone, and they didn’t talk to him.
So yeah, it takes a lot of courage to do something you aren’t comfortable with.
But courage is a color close to bronze. It is Hercules fighting the lion, and it is the smell of boot shine as a man who I never really got to know left to fight a war on something I still don’t understand. Bronze is the color of the dress I wore as I stood up from my seat, shuffling past people to talk to him.
And when I got to him, I smiled like sunshine, like the yellow lemon slice earrings I wore to remind me of happy days.
“Hi! Can I sit with you?” I don’t know if it was my voice, but he startled, those blue grey eyes, like a storm during April, darted up from his book to look at me. His eyes became saucers, and I could only watch as his hands tightened on the book, the crinkling of the pages sticking in my head as the color of old parchment.
“You can see me.” His voice made me startle a little, it was like gravel. Two rocks rubbing together, and I knew from forgetting to pull myself from my artwork from time to time, what it sounds like when you forget to talk for a long time.
“Yeeeeah?” I put my hand on the bar next to his seat, holding myself up as the bus started to move again. “Of course, I can see you. I’m Ellie. What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer for a while, staring at me like I was a puzzle. Which was a look I was kind of used to. He didn’t understand me, and so the longer he was quiet, the more I felt my smile wane, until I was staring at him with a small frown.
“Drachma. My name, its Drachma.” That gravelly voice made the smile come back, and I filed it away under warm golden hues, the voice you hear laying next to a fire in a cabin some place.
I’m a romantic, sue me.
“Drachma. That’s a fun name. Can I sit?” I point to the empty seat where he has his feet and he moves them as if burned, nodding. Every time his head moves I can see a little bit of his hair poke through, the color of dark winter nights, the sky with stars shining.
I had never seen hair so dark.
Sliding into the spot, I smile at him again, the kind of smile that is theme park ready, excited and happy.
I did something courageous today, it screamed.
“it was my Father’s name.” He scooted away from me to give me room, pulling his hoodie a little closer to his body. He was really skinny, I noticed looking at him. His clothes hung from him, and a part of me wanted to drag him off the bus.
Maybe take him to a diner for a cheeseburger.
“Ellie is short of Elizabeth, it was my Grandmother’s name.” I had never met her, but my mom had always said she was like the rainbow, always changing but beautiful.
“Elizabeth is a nice name.” Pink danced across my skin as I looked at him, tilting my head a little. No one had ever told me that my name was nice, it was a common name after all. But I could tell he meant it, the harsh lines of his face softening.
I think I leaned in a little, smiling at him.
And the bus lurched a little, so that was why it happened. Because if I hadn’t leaned in, and if the bus hadn’t lurched forward, he would have never jerked forward. He would have never gone through me like a ghost.
Letting out a small yelp, I stared as he stayed halfway in me, halfway out for a few seconds, my eyes wide and honestly a little afraid. He was like a ghost, my hand reaching up to pass through him a few times as his face fell.
He looked sad.
“You shouldn’t have been able to see me, Ellie.” He said as if that explained everything.
“I’m dead.”
Check out more stories by me! r/melodywrites | It was midnight and Samuel only just got into bed and that was only because his mom stormed into the bathroom and pulled him aside. “Sam, I need you stop. Go to bed,” she said, barely able to keep her eyes open from the piercing light.
“Five more minutes, I’m still practicing,” Samuel said.
“Honey, you’ve been practicing for a week. Dad and I are tired of listening to you practice till two. Stop, go to bed, and tomorrow you talk to that girl. If you don’t, I’m changing the Wi-Fi password for a week. And, if I find you staying up this late again, I’m changing the password for a month. Good night, good luck, and let us sleep.”
Samuel headed to bed, his head hanging low, the words caught in his throat. When his head hit that pillow, he was out.
The next morning, he got up, and washed the morning crud out of his eyes. He headed down, his hair a shaggy mess and sat at the kitchen table.
“Morning sweeties, I made you something special for breakfast,” came the voice of his mom, clear as silver bells…unlike last night. “Hope you enjoy it!”
In front of him was placed a plate of pancakes, and on the side, bacon bits spelling out *Do it or else.* Delightful, Samuel thought, as he gulped the class of OJ. His throat was oddly dry after reading that message.
He left through the front door after finishing and saying goodbye, his hair was still a tangled mess, but slightly more managed after his mom ran a comb through before she headed off for her own work.
He got to the bus stop and waited. Half the time he was chanting “don’t be there, don’t be there…” the other half he was practicing “I think you’re cute, I think you’re cute…” Finally, the bus came by and he climbed aboard.
She was there. In her usual corner. She was there. Wearing her hair in the usual pony tail.
He had no choice, he sat right in the front row, five rows ahead.
After the next stop, he would move closer.
And closer.
Until.
Finally.
He reached her row.
He turned to her and was hit with a wash of bright, forest fragrance.
He opened his mouth and said “HiIthinkyou’recute,wanttohangoutlater?”
She turned to look at him, her face a mask of horror.
Samuel wiped the cold sweat from his brow, and slowly repeated. “Hi. I think you are cute. Want to hang out later?
Her face was still a mask of horror.
“Okay, I think this is my stop, bye!” Samuel tried to run away, but he found himself unable to move. When he looked around, he noticed nothing was moving. Everything was caught in molasses, except for him and the cute girl beside him. “Umm… what is happening.”
Finally, she spoke. “You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
There was a flash of light, and she was gone. Samuel noticed that time seemed to start moving again. He didn’t know what to make of it, and simply carried on with his routine.
The rest of the day played out normally.
He arrived home later that day after finishing his basketball game with friends, just as the sun was setting.
“Mom, I’m back home.” Samuel called from the front door as he took of his shoes. “I spoke with the girl and a lot of weird stuff happened…. Are all girls this weird?”
“Honey,” came the sweet voice from the kitchen, “good job talking to the girl. But, where did you find yourself an elf and why are you her champion?”
“Sorry, an elf?”
“Yes, honey. She’s in the kitchen. She also has a set of armor and a holy blade.”
“What?” Samuel rushed in, tripping on the stack of animal hide and metal ingots.”
“Sorry honey,” his mom said holding back a laugh, “forgot to mention that some assembly was required.”
“Hi Samuel,” came the refreshing voice of the girl, after she finished laughing, “sorry I had to run so fast. I had to get all this equipment for you. Wasn’t expecting to find my champion just yet.”
“Champion? Would someone explain what’s going on,” Samuel said.
“You are a Runewarrior and you have been chosen to be her champion. Now, dad will explain everything and help you forge your blade. I recommend you get on it, your first challenger will be here at midnight.”
“What? What? What?”
“Try not to keep us up again okay.”
“Good luck.” | 2020-03-27T21:11:20 | 2020-03-27T18:48:52 | 100 | 31 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | All of us saw the bizarre irony of the situation. The luckiest people on the planet, all confined to a maximum security prison in a highly classified location. We called it The Institute.
Luckily (heh), it wasn't a standard prison. We were confined because our luck potential made even interacting with us fundamentally unfair. People with lower ratings simply COULD NOT compete with us.
Scrabble? Every set of tiles was a Bingo. Uno? All Wildcards and Draw Two's. Goldeneye? Guess who spawns at right by the Rocket launcher and body armor. That's right. Us. EVERY. TIME.
Any game that relied on random chance was automatically in our favor.
Even contests of skill were skewed. See, our good luck doesn't improve our skills....but it DOES make our opponents more prone to maladies.
My roommate has the unfortunate distinction of beating Olympic gold-medalist in a footrace. Easily.
Sure, she took WAY longer than the Olympian would have, but the Olympian just so happened to take a nasty fall right out of the gate. It ended his career, and when no one could see ANY reason for him to have fallen where, when, and how he did...people began to suspect foul play.
This was back when we were just getting the hang of stat identification. WAY before we truly understood the societal implications. If we even understand them now.
People just weren't willing to accept a life where they were totally inferior to a select group of people just because a genetic quirk made those folks extremely lucky.
Once the scanners were invented, people with maxed out luck ratings could be easily found, sequestered, and confined.
We were all in there together. Men, women, children...old people..didn't matter. If you've got a max luck rating, you stay here. It's not bad by any stretch.
Very few of us are criminals, and the ones who are got that way because they were spoiled by their ratings...if you spent your entire life getting away with EVERYTHING, why wouldn't you?
So, the aim of the place was rehabilitation, comfort, and protection. I've been to resorts that were crap by comparison. The food is awesome, the amenities are incredible, and no one's been shanked, shivved, or any of that.
You'd think that we were here so the rest of the world could be protected from us. You'd be wrong. Like I said, people have this really interesting thing with fairness.
They know life isn't fair, but when faced with that reality embodied in a person they simply CANNOT outclass, things turn nasty.
And when you attack someone with a max luck rating...you're going to end up hurt.
The guy down the hall? He came from a rural town where people had begun to suspect his luck rating was too high when all their attempts at hate crimes ended in serious injury or death to the perpetrators.
Of course, they didn't learn. A mob formed overnight, went to his house, and attempted to burn it and him with it.
He woke up the next morning, refreshed, with a veritable sea of smouldering rednecks on his lawn. He actually called The Institute and requested a scan. Sure, he picked a bad spot to settle down, but he wasn't stupid. He had begun to suspect too.
So we're here to learn how to function in a society of equals, and we're here because if we weren't, humanity might wipe itself out trying to exterminate us.
It's interesting seeing what this sort of advantage can do to a person. See, if you put us all together, we're all equals. This is as close to "normal" life as any of us is going to get.
Kids took to it the easiest. They didn't grow up just beating everyone in everything...or they didn't have enough time outside to get used to it. They socialized pretty easily.
Teenagers and adults took it harder. You spend your formative years incapable of losing or suffering consequences, and it'll alter your perspective. They eventually adjust, but for awhile, they behave like raging narcissists.
Old folks took it the hardest. You try spending 50+ years OWNING life, only to be told that your accomplishments were due to nearly illegal levels of luck, and your entire self-image falls apart.
There's The One Guy who actually lucked into a bunch of cash, a tv show, and a pretty high political office. For the longest time, people thought we'd fallen into an alternate reality.
But once the scanners were invented, some mope got a pocket-version and ran it on The One Guy during a rally. He managed to get close enough to use the scanner before getting gunned down, but the **100** readout was clearly visible to everyone in the room and tuned in. The One Guy was collected and sent here pretty much immediately. The guy with the scanner went in the books as a hero to the world.
I'm sure he'd be jazzed had he lived. I kind of wish he'd had a higher luck rating. Even getting that close to The One Guy was an accomplishment.
Unfortunately, he didn't have a high enough score to survive the experience. But we're all grateful for his sacrifice.
So all of a sudden, an entire country’s political system was in disarray, and the world understood just how broad the implications of the ratings could be.
You take someone with a high enough luck rating and a low enough intelligence or empathy score, and this person could legitimately end the world. And the sad fact is, if left unchecked, a high luck rating over a long enough period of time will absolutely erode your other skills.
When you rely on luck, all your other skills, like kindness, compassion, intelligence tend to atrophy.
I guess we're lucky we caught The One Guy in time. He was doing well, but he was fucking things up pretty badly for everyone else.
We started debating how many historical figures may have had max luck ratings. Alexander The Great? Hitler?
Overnight, scans went from being used in suspicious situations to being globally mandated. And the folks who scored too high got sent here.
Anyway, we thought our luck had run out, having been ripped away from our families, friends, and lives. But it wasn't bad.
In fact, it was the best place for us.
A few months ago, isolated cases of a new disease started popping up. First in Latin America, then the U.S., then Europe. With global travel being as widespread as it is, most of the people on the planet are dead or dying.
Except us. We lucked out.
| I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T10:28:18 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 88 | 26 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. |
"Here you go creep." You say to the weird-looking ticket taker as you show him your ticket, the same ticket that materializes in your pocket every day.
The ticket taker looked at you with its expressionless face, grabbed the ticket, and broke it in half with its long fingers. He had the form of a man but was a far cry from it. His face lacked any kind of features and instead was smooth, yet rugged and wrinkly. His proportions were all wrong, his torso was too short, his shoulders too wide, his neck too thin, his arms too long...and so on. The guy was a walking oxymoron, How could such an empty face have wrinkles? How could such a messed body walk with such grace? During the first days, his presence terrified you greatly, but now he only achieved fascination upon your person. As usual, after being done with you he simply goes on, and after reaching the door it phases through it like a ghost. Fascinating stuff, really.
As he leaves behind you grab your journal and commence writing the start of a new day. You look outside and see another nightmare-inducing landscape. And endless desert full of burning crosses with bleeding and screaming people hanged from them.
"Infinite desert with hanged people. Uh, this one is new." You say as you write it down and add a small drawing of what's in front of you.
With a sigh, you look around and see nothing but empty seats and mannequins. Every day there are new mannequins sitting in a random seat, which is honestly great because you can strip them to get new clothes and you can simply chuck them off the broken windows afterward. I grab one of them, check the size of his clothes to see if they fit and strip him off. The clothes that they wear also change every day, from elegant suits of samurai armor to tattered rags. Today they are old fashioned, a suit of the victorian era by the looks of it. You dress up and then throw your old clothes and the mannequins of the windows, seeing them burn down as they touch the scorching desert.
Now that you have plenty of space you pull down the seats and create a makeshift bed, not very comfortable, but better than being seated for sure. You don't know where you are exactly. You have been here for the last twenty years and even if you weren't the only one who woke up here, you are the only one that remains now.
There were at least fifty peorsons during the first night.
You still remember it. Waking up in a crowded train, a train full of rust, broken windows and dried bloodstains. Around you where countless of mannequins, creepy as shit manequins. Outside, a literal inferno, nothing but fire and gored corpses that violently slammed against the windows while shrieking blood curling screams. Fun times.
The ticket taker appeared then, he didn't speak, he had no mouth after all, but we all knew what he wanted, we somehow knew, but still many people got paralised from fear or violent with him. They were killed on the spot or pushed off into the inferno outside. You perfectly remember that the first person to discover the boarding ticket was a small girl, she showed it to him, and after breaking the ticket he left her alone. Soon we all learned to follow throught. For the next three days, there were nothing but cries, especially after discovering that the mannequins randomly change places during the night and that the ticketmaster always, always returns.
At the end of the third day the first train stop came, you left the hellish inferno behind and entered a tunnel, where you stopped for a while. The stop was a dark and empty place, an endless void. The stops are always an endless void. A small brief moment of peace between nightmareish landscapes.
Soon after checking our possesions we also found the notes about never getting out until we reached the last station. But nonetheless most people jumped out as soon as they could. And after the first train stop, more than half of the people got out, including the small girl that discovered the ticket. After the train started again, we all left the void and entered into another hellhole, a mountainous range with mountains made of veiny pulsating flesh, trees made of teeth and bone, and worms that happily waddled around. It was around this time, when you decided to write your experiences down.
The moment you pursued the task of registering your otherwordly experiences a leatherbound journal and a pen appeared next to you. This wasn't a coincidence, they weren't there before.
"I want to eat." You then thought to myself, as you closed your eyes. During these three days none of us ate a thing. We tried to explore around but found nothing, and the doors to enter the other train cars were closed. We all suffered from terrible hunger, but there was nothing we could do about it.
And then, the moment you opened your eyelids, a can of beans appeared in front of you. The can was kind of rusty, and its cover was written in a language that didn't resembled anything from Earth, but the people on it seemed happy. You opened the can and found it full of cold beans coated in a strange sauce. The taste was slightly rancid, but it was edible.
"Hey! This fucker is eatin' beans!" another of the travelers said as soon as she witnessed you. She jumped at you and tried to steal your food but once more, you closed my eyes and wished for a weapon. And voila, in your hand a long and sharp and rusty jagged knife appeared.
"Wait, no need to attack me, I can teach you how to get food!" you said in a hurry, swinging the knife to keep the others away.
You then taught them what to do. And the rest soon learned how to summon food out of thin air. The food was never what you wanted, if you asked for something especific you got nothing. If you asked for vague stuff you might be more lucky. We were given food that was almost always expired, or from a strange alternate earth and a totally alien culture. The food would keep us alive, but wouldn't raise our spirits. Slowly, four more days passed by. You chatted for a while with the other occupants, discovered that they were from different countries and times, and that even if you spoke different languages, you could understand each other. The people inside of the train also started to use the mannequins to cover the windows and avoid looking out. You played games as best as you could, with a strange set of cards that the train gave you...you did all you could to stay sane and forget your current situation. But still, people have a threshold, and with every train stop. More and more people left.
After a month only an old man and you were left. He had an interesting theory about the train. He had been in the war, the big one, and had done many bad things. He believed that we were all dead, that none of us deserved to go to Heaven, but that we might have a second chance, that we weren't lost yet, and that this was our purgatory. After all, the train, while depressing and maddening, kept us safe from the dangers from outside. It fed us if we needed it. The train was a way of paying for our sins. He believed that if we awaited long enough we would finally reach the gilded gates of Heaven. And that everybody that gets out, isn't worth it, and will instead reach Hell and become trapped for all eternity.
The moment he told you his theory you accepted it. But after twenty years you are starting to believe something else. One day he simply got off during one stop, leaving you alone. It has been more than five years since then. Perhaps he had lost his faith, perhaps he simply got tired.
You have your own theory thought. You have noticed that despite seeing horrors outside of your window every single night, you never dream. You don't have good or bad dreams, you don't dream at all. You have tried poking out of the broken windows to see if there are more train cars behind and in front of you, but you have seen nothing. Your train car is the only one, there is no locomotive engine, hell, there isn't even rails. You are floating from one end of infinity to another. This isn't hell, this isn't real, you are a construct, you all are nightmares, the landscapes you see around are nightmares, and the moment you get off the train, you will be someone's nightmare, and then, as that person wakes up, get snuffed out of existence. You have no proof of this, but makes as much sense as being in purgatory.
You will never get off the train. You will never become someone's nightmare. You will ride this train until the last stop. You will make the ticket taker guide you to whoever has made this, be it god, or be it another entity. And you will become its nightmare. | The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps. | 2020-07-17T13:57:05 | 2020-07-17T13:21:25 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | "You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing. | The man behind the counter froze in the middle of typing out my order. They looked up at me wide eyed and said,"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." Sounding somewhat surprised.
That night, standing in the empty 24/7 McDonald's of our small desert town, it finally happened. The thing that I had been waiting for for my entire life, and had a feeling would happen eventually.
"Shit. You're an alien?" I said more worried about making a good impression than running away.
They responded with a look of 'are you kidding me' before dryly stating "what else would I be?" and they quickly regained their compsure.
I was struggling to hold back my enthusiasm.
They did not seem as amused by the encounter and they were actually starting to get concerned. "Uh... Is everything alright there? You look like you are about to piss yourself." They went back to typing.
My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, as the cashiers words flew over my head.
"Oh my God! Is the name on your tag your real name? How'd you get here? Wait how long have you lived here? I mean in this town not just, you know, on the planet. " This went on for about half an hour. It stopped when the cashier stuffed a burger in my mouth while I was lost in the nervice tidal wave.
They said a single word " Eat." and that was that.
I sat down at a table and began to nibble away at my fries. The cashier disappeared around a corner for a minute or so before returning to sit across from me. The taste of food suddenly reminded me that I had forgotten to have lunch and dinner that day, due to getting cought up in fixing my car's engine.
He sat down with the chair facing backwards to so he could lean forward with out touching the sticky table. He said "I don't know what the deal is with you, but I am going to have to ask where you learned to speak like that. Because you are obviously just one very confusing human being."
While going to town on the burger I said "don't know. I was sort of born with this weird super power to communicate really fucking well. Almost like mind reading but without the mind reading. I honestly don't know what language I am speaking in most of the time unless somebody either tells me or they say something very specific to that tounge." I stop to drink a sip of soda. The cashier, whom I just then noticed had 'Stanly' on his name tag, showed a visable confusion drawn on to his face like a sudden migraine. He muttered something. He muttered 'God damn it, Jax I told you not to go sleeping around.' I think. Muttering isn't an exact language. Stanly sighed and asked "would there by any chance be a rumour in your family that somebody anybody met an alien?"
I finnished off my burger not fully grasping the situation, "Not that I know of. Why?"
Stanly mumbled to himself again and said " I don't have any easier way to break the news to you, kid. Someone in your family line has... engaged in some cross breeding."
I choked on my drink, "what?!"
Stanly continued "Your powers are a knockoff version of my races abilities to process information."
"I just thought I had autism."
I guess this was not Stanly's best night. He paused to figure out what to say next.
He then hesitantly said " I wouldn't... rule that out entirely. The weight of this really doesn't seem to be, um... Regestaring correctly."
I gave an understanding nod an said "Ya, that tends to happen a lot. I'm getting better though." (I only realised two days later that I had been drinking my soda very obnoxiously. )
I drank some more of my sprite.
Stanly tried to get back on track. He said "Right... How would you like to meet your something far back grandfather?"
| 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 2018-06-24T20:39:44 | 80 | 41 |
[WP] The king demands a weapon the likes of which the world has never seen, the greatest craftsmen in the world gather to create swords, bows, hammers and all variety of great weapons of legendary and unrivalled quality. You can't help but scoff, poor fools misunderstood the assignment | "And this Your Majesty, is a sword that will never rust, nor grow dull—" The King waved a hand, dismissing the poor craftsman. He was around the thirtieth one to fail. I stood in the back of the throne room, as usual, trying not to be bored. Court reporter was not a particularly thrilling job when there weren't any crimes being tried. Flipping through the pages on my lectern, I went back to the day of the declaration. Something had been niggling at me, and I wanted to know what it was the King had actually said. I ran a finger across the words, as another craftsman stepped up to the throne. '...and bring me a weapon the likes of which the world has never seen...' Tapping my fingers on the book, I stared at the people ringing the room. None of them realized how badly they'd misunderstood the assignment. Something the world had *never* seen. A smile tugged at my lips. Tomorrow, I would present my own weapon.
——————
"You, are not a craftsman." The King leaned forward, peering down his nose at me. "No, in fact, you are my court reporter. What are you doing here?" I shook a little, after all, this might end with me jobless, and that was not a place I wanted to be.
"I have a weapon to present to Your Majesty. If I may." Bowing, I glanced up through my hair. The King was stroking his chin, as he sat back on his throne. With a desultory wave, he yawned.
"Very well. It can't be any worse than any of the drivel that the others have been bringing me. Go on." His voice sounded bored, but hopefully, I would soon change that. Rising from my bow, I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small object.
"Your Majesty, may I present this as my weapon." I spread my hands, holding the object out. Raising an eyebrow, the King frowned.
"That is a fan. And not even a very big one." His hand twitched as if to rise into a dismissal. Hurriedly, I gabbled out my next words.
"The fan is only the means to create the weapon. No, great sir, the weapon I present to you, is Wind!" I pumped the fan up and down, creating a breeze in the King's direction. Making sure his hand hadn't moved, I continued. "If you will look down here, I have prepared a small demonstration." He bent until he was almost in half, staring down at the floor, where I had set up half a dozen wooden pegs. With a few strong fan strokes, I sent a small gust towards the pegs. Which all fell over. Looking back up at the King, I smiled. "Now imagine, a much greater fan, able to generate stronger winds, perhaps mage enhanced... you could knock over armies." I paused, watching him nod slowly. Now for the final card. "And, it's a weapon you've never seen. For who can actually see the wind?" With a chuckle, that became a full laugh, the King sat back, staring magnanimously down at me. A tiny bit of relief softened my tense shoulders. At least I wouldn't be losing my job.
"Though I must admit, I did not expect such invention out of my court reporter, you truly surprised me. And this indeed is a weapon I have never *seen*. Very well. You shall have the reward, and my thanks. And, I shall need you to speak with my engineers. Perhaps give them some of your imagination." Now the hand raised in dismissal, and I backed out of the throne room, into the waiting hands of the engineers. Sometimes, semantics *were* useful | The craftsmen display their weapons one after another each with extraordinary quality but all the same boring thing. Sword, bow, axe and morning star. That is until the final weapon was revealed.
At first the weapon stunned the guests and even the king himself. How do you use such a thing? How is it lethal? And why in gods name is it purple!?
The craftsman replied: purple is the colour of royalty and as for the use of this weapon its mostly blunt force but can also be used with technique if the wielder is knowledgeable in its weapon art.
The king then said: how do you presume it will fair against a heavily armed knight?
The craftsman said: No my lord. Tis not meant for combatting the noble knight. Tis meant for handling thy wenches.
Everyone gasped. The kings wenches looked in horror to what the craftsman just uttered out of his mouth.
The king only nodded and said: yes this will do. The craftsman won the first prize which was to be the kings personal craftsman, his own forge and a title of master craftsman. So what was it that the craftsman created? The answer is simple.
The penetrator from saints row | 2022-07-13T05:21:50 | 2022-07-13T05:14:26 | 147 | 18 |
[WP] A young blind kid goes on a stroll through the autumn woods, but during their stroll, they come across a lonely Medusa who’s isolated themselves from the world out of fear of turning anyone who looks at them to stone. | "Who goes there?!" I heard a woman call out.
I had been going on a walk in the woods. Which was a bad idea on my part. I usually go on walks with a friend or family member, so I don't trip on anything. Or get lost. But I have a schedule to keep so I went alone today. Well, almost alone. My dog barked a few times, I never go anywhere without him. My seeing-eye dog.
"Don't come any closer!" I heard the woman again, with a voice like a siren.
"Hi! Sorry, I'm blind. Are you okay? Did you need help?" There was no response for several seconds. I thought she might have walked away.
"You can't see it?" The voice, once stern and almost menacing was now soft, and almost lonely.
"Yes, I am. Are you hurt? Did you need help?"
I heard footsteps approaching. Slowly creeping closer. My dog whimpered, he never did that. I knelt to comfort him, gently stroking his fur as the steps drew ever closer.
"Cover your dog's eyes."
"Pardon?"
"Cover your dog's eyes."
I couldn't resist it. I felt around my dog's head before finding his eyes and covering them. I turned my head towards the direction I heard the voice.
"Why do I need to cover his eyes?"
"He will be hurt if he looks at me."
"Pardon?"
There was no response. After several seconds of silence, I felt a gentle hand touched my own. Her hand was cold and her skin didn't feel quite right. I shifted my hand a little. She stopped my hand from moving swiftly.
"Keep his eyes covered."
I nodded, my hand relaxing as I kept my dogs eyes covered. Her hand moved away from mine slowly, moving towards my dog. I belive she was going to pet him.
"Ah, please don't pet him, he's a service dog."
"Service dog?"
"Yes, he provides me a service, he helps me navigate through the world."
"Ah. So he's trained?"
"Yes, he's specially trained to help blind people."
We sat there for a few minutes in silence, i had again, thought she left.
"Hello? Are you still here?"
"Yes. I'm here."
"Okay." I nodded, "whats your name?" I heard her breath hitch, as she seemed to hesitate.
"Medusa. My name is medusa."
"Oh is that a nickname? Or did you legally change your name to medusa? Because medusa has to be one of my favorite Greek myths. A lot of people interpret her story as Athena punishing medusa for what happened to her. But I personally believe that Athena did that to protect medusa, so that no other man could hurt her like that again." I heard the woman laugh softly.
"No. I didn't change my name, nor is it a nickname. I am medusa."
"Oh so its your birth name."
"Yes. It is my birth name."
"Thats cool! I wish I got a cool name like that."
The woman laughed again. I felt her hand on my shoulder, "I like you." She said.
"Thank you. I try my best to be likeable."
The woman was quiet again, but her hand never moved from my shoulder. We sat on the ground, listening to the sounds of nature. I heard birds chirping, and crows cawing. I bet it truly was a beautiful sight.
"Do you know why I asked you to cover your dogs eyes?" She finally spoke, her voice was quiet and soft. Almost shy.
"You said he would be hurt if he looked at you." Then it dawned in me, "Holy shit, are you?" My voice was louder than I meant it to be.
"Yes. I am medusa, from the legend you speak of."
"Thats crazy! You know what this means?!"
She laughed again. Her laugh was angelic, so soothing and happy, it made me laugh as well.
"It means every legend of my culture is real.
"What are you doing in canada?"
"Traveling. I wanted to see the world."
"Wow."
We sat and talked for what felt like hours, she told me how she lived amongst the 21st century society, how silly she found our internet me-me's. I explained some things to her she didn't understand. Eventually we had to part ways.
"Will I see you again?" She went quiet, as if thinking.
"Yes. Yes you will. Next time you come for a walk i will be here."
"Thank you." I turned around, letting my dog guide me back home. | The stroll had been a pleasant one. The path was known and easy to traverse, after hundreds of similar trips. The leaves crunched under foot with a sound reminiscent of Dad's Sunday newspaper, when the cat decided it would make a better bed than source of information. But that intermittent crunch of leaves gave way to the sound of soft weeping, somewhere in the distance.
"Hello? Who's there?"
No answer came. Carefully following the sound lead towards an unknown part of the woods. Mom had said many times to stay on the path, but it sounded like someone might need help. Now was not the time for hesitation. Onward, drawing nearer to the mournful crier.
"Hello? Who's there? Why are you crying?"
A raspy, guttural voice replied with wracked hesitation.
"Leave me. Do not...do not come any closer. Do not look...at me!"
"I can't look at you. I can't see anything. But I can listen to you, if you want to talk about anything."
"You are blind?" the voice inquired. "Perhaps...perhaps I could speak with you then. Olympus knows Tiresias was the only person who could stand to be near me. Although, he was never one for good conversation. He seemed to prefer the company of birds. I think, perhaps, that he felt my presence wasn't beautiful enough to spend any length of time around."
The voice was so sad and depressed, kind of like that kid George from down the street. This voice came from someone who didn't think much of themselves, because no one else thought much of them. George was nice though. He would trade one of his swiss rolls at lunch time, even if he only got apple slices in return. Maybe this voice just needed someone to listen. George usually needed it, so why not the voice?
"I don't know any named Tiresias, but I'm here. I'll listen to you. My mom wants me home by supper, but that's not for a while yet. May I sit with you?"
The voice sniffled and replied "That would be wonderful. No one has showed me such kindness in a very long time. Come child and join me."
'I'm glad to do it. What is your name?"
"Medusa. My name is Medusa." | 2020-11-23T13:51:14 | 2020-11-23T12:29:53 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin. | After 3 hours of communication, Captain Knott was still confused. "And you're blaming us for this... *why?*"
The aliens rolled their – well, he couldn't see their eyes, given that it was a text communication, so he wasn't sure if they even *had* them, but it was clear they were frustrated.
**•WE TOLD YOU| YOU HAVEN'T CAUGHT ∆OJT| WHAT DO WE EVEN PAY YOU FOR|**
This was another new piece of information presented as obvious fact. Knott typed quickly. "Pay us? You don't pay us. You haven't even contacted us before today. Who are you? Who is ∆ojt? How do you pronounce ∆ojt?"
**•WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE DON'T PAY YOU| OF COURSE WE PAY YOU| WHO DO YOU THINK CURSED YOUR; WHAT DO YOU CALL IT|**
There was a brief pause.
**•'EGYPTIAN MUMMIES'| THOSE|**
Knott turned that one over in his mind for a bit.
"The mummies are actually cursed? That's for real?"
**•OF COURSE| YOU HUMANS LOVE MAGIC| YOU WRITE ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME| WE THOUGHT IT'D BE GREAT|**
"But we never thought it was *real!*"
**•WE'RE GETTING OFF TOPIC MR KNOTT|**
Knott gathered his thoughts. He still needed answers. "Ok, ok. What were we being payed for again?"
**•BUILDING THE PYRAMIDS|**
Knott wasn't prepared for that one. Though, he supposed it made sense, given where the mummies are and all that.
"The pyramids? Were you responsible for those too? I thought that was just a bullshit theory."
**•IT IS| WE JUST REALLY LIKE TRIANGLES|**
"Ok. Now, I want you to tell me exactly what our job as 'warden' is, and what you want us to do right now. I really don't know what you want from us."
The reply game back slowly, because it was clear there was a lot to say.
**•YOU JUST CAN'T PAY ATTENTION CAN YOU| WHY YOU'RE THE WARDENS WE CAN'T UNDERSTAND|**
"Neither can I."
**•DON'T INTERRUPT|**
**•DUE TO THE SUCCESS OF AND SPEED WITH WHICH YOU EVOLVED TO BECOME THE DOMINANT SPECIES ON YOUR PLANET THE INTERPLANETARY COUNCIL HAS ELECTED YOUR PEOPLE JUDGE, JURY, AND EXECUTIONER OF THE GALAXY| WHILST YOUR SPECIES ARE REMARKABLY BLOODTHIRSTY ON AVERAGE YOU USUALLY DON'T BUTCHER PEOPLE FOR POOR REASONS|**
"We aren't bloodthirsty!"
**•THAT'S INCORRECT AND YOU KNOW IT| YOUR COUNTRY ALONE WENT TO A WAR BETWEEN TWO OTHER COUNTRIES JUST BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO FIGHT|**
"Are you talking about Vietnam?"
**•IS THAT THE COUNTRY'S NAME| THEN PROBABLY|**
•**ANYWAY WE CONSIDERED REMOVING YOUR TITLE WHEN YOU ALMOST IRREPARABLY RUINED YOUR PLANET'S CLIMATE| BUT YOU FIXED THAT ONCE SOME FRINGE MINORITIES CAME TO THEIR SENSES| SO WE DECIDED TO LET YOU KEEP YOUR JOB AND HELP YOU RECOVER|**
"Help us recover?"
**•ICEBERGS DON'T COME BACK THAT FAST ON THEIR OWN BUCKAROO|**
**•NOW YOU HAVE STARTED TO GO BEYOND YOUR PLANET| AND JUST IN TIME TOO| WE HAVE A FELON ON THE LOOSE IN YOUR QUADRANT FOR THE FIRST TIME| EVER|**
"Aren't we lucky."
**•INDEED| KNOWING YOUR JOB AND CAPABILITIES NOBODY HAS EVER WANTED TO GO NEAR YOU BEFORE| SO ∆OJT LIKELY THOUGHT IT WAS THE PERFECT HIDING PLACE|**
"Okay, and who is ∆ojt?"
**•∆OJT IS THE 9th RINGLEADER OF THE GALAXY'S CURRENT LARGEST DRUG SMUGGLING CARTEL| ARRESTED 67 TIMES FOR MURDER, EMBEZZLEMENT, ARSON, PUG TRAFFICKING, THE WORKS| ESCAPES EVERY TIME BECAUSE THE GUARDS ON OUR END DON'T BELIEVE IN USING UNNECESSARY FORCE| BUT HE SHRUGS OFF ALL DAMAGE INCAPABLE OF CRIPPLING HIM SO WE CAN'T STOP HIM|**
**•SO GO HANDLE HIM AND WE'LL PAY YOU HANDSOMELY|**
Knott processed all this. Drug smuggling... no good. Murder... no good. Pug trafficking... seems like some kind of inside joke, or something from a TV show, but regardless, no good. Shrugs off all damage incapable of crippling him... well, NASA just added some sweet new laser cannons to his spaceship, so that'll be fine. (They didn't understand why he needed them, as nothing dangerous that would require cannons had been encountered yet in space, but they caved to his insistence that 'all space ships need some sweet-ass laser cannons. two small ones and a big one right in front.') But Knott still didn't understand why *they* had to deal with it.
The monitor pinged again. Knott looked at the screen.
**•WE ALSO SHOWED HIM THIS WHILE HE WAS IN PRISON LAST| IT'S A CREATURE THAT LIVES ON YOUR PLANET|**
It was a picture of a baby otter.
**•HE HATED IT AND SAID HE WOULD KILL IT|**
Well, *now* they had a motive.
Knott didn't bother to consult the crew, or home base back at Houston. He typed his reply quickly.
"Fucker's going down, sir."
**•GLAD WE COULD COUNT ON YOU| OUR RADARS INDICATE ∆OJT IS HIDING ON THE FIFTH PLANET FROM YOUR CENTRAL STAR| GO GET HIM|**
Something about that didn't seem right.
"The fifth planet? Jupiter? But... that's a gas giant. He can't land there."
**•TRICKY LITTLE DEVIL ISN'T HE|**
"You could say that."
**•WE'LL CONTACT YOU AGAIN WHEN HE'S DEAD| DON'T BOTHER TRYING TO ARREST HIM| HE'S ESCAPED THE DEATH PENALTY 42 TIMES|**
"Alright. Over and out."
**•WHAT DOES THAT MEAN|**
"It means 'I understand. Bye.'"
**•WE THOUGHT SO| THANK YOU MR KNOTT|**
Knott switched off the monitor and walked out of the computer room. His crew was waiting in the lounge. As he entered, everyone turned to look at him and a torrent of questions flooded forth, but he quieted them.
"Men," he said, "What I'm about to tell you is all the information I have on this matter. We have a job to do. We're going to Jupiter to hunt down an intragalactic criminal and blast him with lasers. His crimes include drug smuggling, murder, embezzlement, arson, and pug trafficking. We'll be rewarded handsomely by the Interplanetary Council for our efforts and there'll be drinks all around. Any questions?"
Everyone stared at him. Then, Private Miller raised his hand.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Private Miller?"
"That was the coolest sentence I've ever heard in my life."
Knott smiled. "Thank you, Private Miller. Now, let's fire up those thrusters. We have a felon to catch." | **May 8th, 2530**
Marissa scowled as she heard another wet plop behind her. Looking would make her day worse, but she inevitably lowered her laser drill and looked anyway. Lying behind her on atop a pile of excavated rocks was a tiny mass of flesh the size of a fist. The creature had bright green skin, webbed feet, a bony fin across its backside and a thick beak. It looked like a crossbreed of a frog and a bird. After its twenty-meter fall, it was also very, very dead.
“Sixth this week.” A driller by her side remarked, chuckling nervously. “I’m starting to sweat now. What was my bet again?”
“Eight.” Marissa replied coldly. “And there’s still three more days until Sunday.”
The other driller tugged at his thick moustache. “Ugh. That’s 500 credits down the tube. What did you bet again?”
“I didn’t.”
The mustached driller grumbled something inaudible and turned back to his work. After letting her gaze linger for a few more seconds, Marissa did the same. Atocals, known as ‘beak frogs’ to people in Marissa’s pay-grade, were an odd mix of familiar and alien—just like most species discovered during humanity’s Great Space Age. Once humanity started travelling to distant planets, they came to a realization that was equal parts relieving and disappointing: we are the most advanced race in our galaxy. Certainly, there were other planets that housed life—even some with recognizable, complex life, but no alien species could out-think a housecat, let alone a human. Earth was, in an evolutionary sense, older and wiser than its peers.
As she drilled, Marissa’s thoughts drifted back to the beak frog. She smirked, thinking of the outrage that would have erupted if she’d witnessed one of those frogs die in 2480. The planet where she worked was one of the first to be discovered, and just like any old toy, it had been largely forgotten by the public. After all, what was so special about these creatures? Not much, besides their bird-like drive to return to their ancestor’s mating grounds. A drive so powerful that it sent them hurtling off cliffs and into mineral mines like the one that Marissa worked at.
When it came time for humanity to decide between a vein of disgustingly valuable space rocks and an estimated 15% of the Atocal population, humans made the practical choice. The same type of choice that got them into space during the 2400s instead of the 3000s.
“Do we understand our duty?” Marissa muttered bitterly, causing the mustached man to look up sharply.
“No. Not one word about that.” He warned. “Management’s been cracking down on anyone talking about the Message. Borze and every other company that’s getting rich on extra-terrestrial resources want that news to die out as quickly as possible.”
“I doubt that’ll happen. We’ve been looking for intelligent life—*proper* intelligent life—for over a century, and now we finally find a clue that says we’re not the only ones out there.”
*Wardens, do you not understand your duty?*
A message—THE Message—that was sent to every starship, every military base and every device that even vaguely resembled a phone. After a week of collective panicking, humanity’s scientists bannered under the working theory that it was sent from beyond the Milky Way.
The mustached driller looked around cautiously. “Yea. All sorts of green movements have been sprouting up online.”
“Like the old ones that failed before WW3?”
“Yep. People’re talking about saving the Xenonian bush rats and stuff like that. That’s fine for politicians on other planets but talking about that stuff here will put us on a list you don’t want to be on. Not if you want to ever find work as a driller.”
Marissa scoffed. “A driller that’s going to be obsolete after this planet gets cleared for droid workers.”
The mustached driller suddenly stopped working. His hands shook slightly as he turned to face Marissa.
“That kind of bill wouldn’t pass, right? You saw how those mindless things carved up Earth.”
“They’re cheaper and faster. It’s only a matter of time.”
The mustached worked spat and put his drill down. “I’m…gonna’ take my break now.”
Marissa watched him stumble away before putting her own drill down. She pulled out her omni-device and started taking pictures of the dead atocal. Once she was done, a holographic website appeared in front of her. She uploaded the pictures to her anonymous blog and smirked as she checked the thousands of outraged comments on her previous post.
While it was true that there hadn’t been much news about the government digging up 15% of the atocal’s breeding grounds, that didn’t mean no one cared. It was just that, until now, few people had bothered to look.
“…It’s only a matter of time.” | 2019-05-08T15:25:08 | 2019-05-08T14:37:30 | 91 | 44 |
[WP] For all your life you have been able to see someones’ age floating above their head. You’ve seen people who don’t look their age before, but you’ve never seen anything like this. Standing before you is a small boy and above their head is the number 13.8 billion. | By all rights it didn’t make sense. I’ve never seen a number like that before. Never. 13.8 *billion*. I look up at the kid. He looks back at me, quiet. His skin is pale, his brown hair neatly combed. His clothes are worn but pressed. He’s been quiet since he got here, picking at his clothing while waiting. I sigh, setting the paperwork down on my desk.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask him. Silently he nods, a swift chin dip. Mentally I wince. There had been two adults in his household. Next to him on the floor is a suitcase. The old kind made of worn leather. It’s in mint condition. The leather of the old traveling case has been cleaned with care and attention, polished until it shone like new. For a moment the morbid part of me wonders who packed it.
“Do you know *where* you are?” I try again. Birth certificate, I think belatedly, looking down at the file in front of me. It takes a few moments but I find it, just in time to hear his soft voice.
“No ma’am.” It’s said calmly, matter of fact. Again I look up to him. The kid carries himself with more purpose and maturity than nearly all the adult acquaintances I have. I glance at the date on the birth certificate, before comparing it to the number over his head. It sits there, like the numbers of a digital clock, block shaped and unforgiving. 13.8. Followed by the billion.
“Your file,” I tap the papers with a finger, “it says your name is William?”
“Bill,” he corrects me softly. “My,” he hesitates, taking a breath, “I go by Bill.”
“Bill,” I say gently, “Your birth parents passed away several years ago, correct?”
“Bad car accident,” Bill supplies. I nod in agreement. I’ve never seen a good accident involving the amount of empty liquor bottles found on the floor boards of a vehicle like the one that t boned bill’s-Billie’s?-parents.
“Bill,” I shift in my seat. “It was your parent’s decision to send you to your father’s parents.” I pause. “I understand you were the one who made the phone call after you found them?” My voice is gentle. And I try. I really do, but bureaucracy is a heartless bitch. Billie is quiet and he looks at the ground as he nods. His 8 year old frame looks so small in that chair. My gaze flicks to the number over his head then back at the birth certificate. I read it over again as Billie speaks, his voice steady but quiet.
“Grandpa was complaining that his chest hurt. Grandma didn’t take her medication. I found it on the bathroom counter. Sometimes she forgot,” Billie takes a breath. “Grandpa used to remind her but he went to bed early last night. He forgot to remind her.”
My heart breaks for Billie again as I reread the birth certificate. William Sean Howard. Born 2013, July 21. I look to the number over his head. 13.8. Billion. Years. Old. Billie lost his parents at the ripe age of 5 before he bounced from relative to relative before finally settling at his grandparents home. In his short 8 years of life Billie know more about living than most adults. He knew more about loss too.
*Old souls* my gran had called them. People wise beyond their years. Older than the dirt under their feet. I close the file. I would not be placing Billie back with former family members who had bounced him in the first place. No someone like Billie required more than that.
“There’s a place,” I say slowly. “That offers a home for,” I hesitate. The word “child” as I knew the word did not apply to the person before me. Instead I take a breath and try again. “It’s like a boarding school. Housing with dorm rooms, provided meals, school,” I pause. “It is a safe place. Well funded. I would check in with you bi-weekly. Unless you’d prefer to be placed-“
“No,” Billie cuts me off. “I like school,” he adds not looking at me. Wordlessly I nod. Even without his file, I know the kind of admission he’s making. I know why he’s making it too. There was a reason his parents had forgone his uncle as a potential caretaker. Everything about Bill’s case had been a clusterfuck in management since his parents passed.
“It isn’t always like this,” I say. “It does get easier. Eventually.” At that Billie looks up. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His bottom lip trembled at that but he pulls it into a frown and nods quickly, lowering his gaze to the floor. I make a mental note to include my contact information in his file along with being present for his transfer. It’s against protocol but I make the plan then and there to remain in contact with William Sean Howard. I also consider what kind of therapy might be best for him and how I can make that service available to him.
After our meeting, he follows a staff member to his temporary lodging, suitcase giant against his small frame. All the same he carries it without complaint. I can imagine the kind of character his grandparents must have instilled in him. Rising from my desk I walk to my office door watching Bill walk down the dingy hallway with its tacky yellowing carpet. That number 13.8 bobs in time to his stride. Slowly I let my gaze drift upwards as I look at my reflection in the glass.
478. Not in the billion neighborhood by a long shot. A traumatic car accident that dwindled my family to just myself and a permanent limp had culminated to that number. I’ve seen returning soldiers in the thousands before. They don’t call it the thousand yard gaze for nothing. I thought I knew what it felt like to be at the bottom looking up, peering for a glimmer of sky. To wonder where the light had gone and why I existed in perpetual darkness. I run my hand through my hair, letting my nails scratch my scalp, as I push the reminders of my grief aside. How much has that kid loved and lost? How much more would I have had to lose to get a number like his? I sink heavily into my desk chair. By all rights, it doesn’t make sense but then, nothing about loss ever does. | I'm pretty sure that I'm not actually insane. Not certain, but, pretty sure.
According to my psychiatrist, I don't have schizophrenia, I'm not delusional, I don't have early onset dementia, or... Well, much of anything else, aside from anxiety, panic attacks, a small bit of PTSD, and depression.
I don't hear voices telling me what to do. (Well, alright, I do, but they are attached to people.) I don't see things that are not there. I don't have delusions of being all powerful, or that mysterious people are out to get me.
And no, despite all the jokes, I don't see numbers floating above people. That would be a visual hallucination.
I just know roughly how old everyone is. Eyes open, eyes closed. In front of me. Behind me. Above or below. Walls in between, even if they are made of steel or lead. But it doesn't work through video.
And it's not like I just know 'he's 18 years, 3 months, 5 days, 15 hours, 6 minutes old'. I don't get numbers, I don't get words, I just get a sense of... Age.
I don't get it from plants, I do get it from some kinds of animals, but not others. No clue how old an ant is, but for some reason I can tell you the age of a grey squirrel, but not a possum.
I can even get a vague sense of direction and distance. Handy for keeping people from sneaking up on me... But trust me, you don't want to end up as a suspect in a missing child case when you manage to find them in a secret room that you had no way to know was there... You just don't.
Anyhow, all of this is lead up to the fact that I was sitting there on the subway, trying to get to work on time, and I was seriously freaking out because this kid, boarded was _old_. I mean, he looked like he's... Hell if I know, I've never been good at telling from pictures. Before puberty? Not in diapers? Alone, but not drawing attention. Which doesn't seem to fit.
But I don't just mean that he might be someone afflicted with dwarfism. No, I mean that he's the oldest person I've ever encountered. And not by a little bit. I've been in the room with a new born and someone over a hundred, and... This 'kid' was older than the great grand father was. _Much_ older.
Millions of years old? Billions? I didn't know. I still don't know. I didn't _want_ to know.
And he was staring right at me.
Yeah, I know I sound insane. And frankly, right now? Let me just give you my psychiatrist's name, and you can haul me off to a hospital with a good psych ward, and maybe when I wake up this will have all turned out to be a nasty delusion. Or hallucination. I'd really like to find out that I'm not covered in blood and... Parts.
That I was _never_ covered in blood and... Parts.
That I wasn't somehow the sole bloody survivor of a massacre. Barring that, I'd _really_ like to be able to give a description of the attacker that didn't involve someone who looked like a kid.
And no matter what, if they can give me _something_ to keep me from remembering the look on his face as he did it, or the fact that as he was leaving he looked back to me, smiled, and told me that he hoped I 'liked the present', I might one day be able to sleep again without waking up screaming.
... No, really, can I please go to a psych ward? Can someone _please_ tell me that I'm insane? | 2021-06-15T23:16:15 | 2021-06-15T22:05:43 | 287 | 113 |
[WP] Build up a tense scene, then destroy it with a deus ex machina.
Make it as cheesy or poignant at you like.
In case of confusion, a deus ex machina (from [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina)) is a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object. Depending on how it is done, it can be intended to move the story forward when the writer has "painted themself into a corner" and sees no other way out, to surprise the audience, to bring the tale to a happy ending, or as a comedic device.
This is not a recommended approach to most writing. | "Are you fucking crazy!" Tomas yelled at the the stranger in his living room. The house reeked of gasoline, promising an inferno. The stranger simply smiled, in one hand a pistol pointed at Tom's head and in the other a Zippo lighter.
"Do you see what happens Tom!?" The man screamed. The manic smile never quite leaving his face. "This is what happens Tom! This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!" And with those words he lit the lighter and tossed it down the hallway.
The fire erupted immediately, engulfing the hallway in seconds and spreading around the living room. Tom stared in shock, fought the urge to run upstairs and make sure his family was getting out of the house. The gun pointed as his chest kept him frozen in place. If this lunatic was focused on him then his family could get away safely.
"What are you talking about!?" Tom screamed. "I don't even know who the fuck you are!"
"You wouldn't remember would you Tom! You wouldn't remember three years ago when you cut me in line for the restroom at Wendy's! I had been waiting 27 minutes Tom. 27 minutes! I shit myself in Wendy's, in front of God and everybody and now I'm here to punish you for it!"
Tom was dumbfounded. Not only that this man was very likely going to kill him due to a bathroom incident, but that he had skipped someone in line. He prided himself on his social grace. "Listen, I don't remember doing that! I'm sorry, just please don't hurt my family! I swear if I could go back I would let you take the bathroom first!"
The stranger's eyes widened in manic fury. "O it's too late for that Tom! I'm going to take you down, and your family is going down with you!" The stranger lifted the gun and pointed it towards Tom's head.
Tom closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. He only hoped that his family was out of the house and running for safety by now. With luck they would get away and this idiot would burn to death with him. All he could do was wait for the impact. He waited.
Just then a noise born out of bowels of hell pierced the air. Tom's eyes shot open to see a screaming fireball charging through the living room at top speed. "What the fuck..." he whispered to himself before the revelation hit him like a train. "MITTENS! NOOOOOO!" but it was too late.
Mittens the cat had been lounging in the laundry hamper when the fire had spread. Laundry, being surprisingly quick to ignite in turn transformed Mittens into a screaming ball of hellfire. Mittens had determined the only course of action was vengeance and in his final moments charged into the living room to deal with the man who had destroyed his home.
The stranger stared in shock as the flaming ball of cat ran directly at him. He hefted his gun and fired several shots, all missing by mere inches. He realized that he was nearly out of bullets and determined to spend the last one on Tomas. He lifted the gun to Tomas once more, just as Mittens the cat charged head first into the half empty tank of gas at the strangers feet. Mittens screamed his fury one final time before he made contact with the combustible liquid.
The explosion lifted Tom off his feet and threw him clean through the window. He lay flat on his back in the yard behind his house, staring up at the sky. In the distance he heard sirens coming down the street. His entire body ached. Just before consciousness left his body he spoke but one word. "M-m-Mittens..."
When paramedics found Tom he was knocked out in the backyard. His face was still wet with tears. What was left of the stranger was recovered, but there was nothing left of Mittens the cat. In his final act of heroism it was almost as though he transcended this mortal plane and moved on to a better and brighter world.
| The Chase had gone on for five long years.
I looked over my shoulder as I was running, "Run son, faster, FASTER", they were behind me, all of them.
I saw a building, "John head for the building, I'll hold them off." I did not know how I would do that, I had nothing with me.
John ran on as he heard the screams of his Father, adrenaline coursing through his body, but he did not look back. He had one aim and that was the building.
John entered the building drained of all his strength, he collapsed in the lobby.
"There's no where to hide now boy"
John blinked. "Fuck" he stood up slowly. "HELP"
"Nobody here except us kid"
John looked into their faces, most of them wore masks, but he looked into their eyes and he knew his father's sacrifice was for nothing. A stick hit him across his face, it hurt.
"Finish him quickly."
John saw the knife hurtling through the air, towards his face. But somehow it slowed down, he caught it. "lol, wut?" he said. He had the power, something his dad had told him about years ago. The reason why they were after them.
They looked at him thunderstruck.
John threw the knife down, said "Screw you guys, i'm going home." watched them all fall as he moved his hands. He went out picked up his father, brought him back to life and then went Home. | 2014-01-18T10:02:00 | 2014-01-18T09:33:59 | 160 | 48 |
[WP] As a death god, you’ve begun to take note of a young child who seems to be lurking each time you retrieve a soul as of late. The mortals have begun to say death follows the child, personally it’s freaking you out too now. | The floor creaked. This annoyed Death. Not so much that it happened. She had gotten used to that. What annoyed her was that it should be impossible. As an insubstantial avatar of the afterlife she could not in the course of her duties affect the living world farther than was required to collect souls. But the floors always creaked. Management had refused to give a satisfactory answer in such a way that Death got the impression that they didn't know.
She blamed wood. Back in the day, dirt floors never creaked, nor stone. When people got all enamored with tile floors she would occasionally step on a loose one that would rattle, but nothing like these Management-damned wood floors. People should have the decency to die outside.
Death checked the day's list. It was short. She had a vague sense that other aspects of her presence had other lists, some longer, some shorter. And a vast, incomprehensible sameness dealt with the majority of passings. But she was Primary. She dealt with the important ones. Not the famous ones, nor the historical ones, nor the rich ones, though some might be all three of those, her list only contained those deaths that the universe cared about. The car accident that causes a crucial traffic jam. The fruit seller who died by fire. The mother who orphans a future inventor.
The first name on her list was coming up soon. Falling down the stairs. Simple enough. She found a spot on the floor that wouldn't creak. The fat man waddled down the hallway wearing jogging shorts and a tank top that most beings would consider an eyesore. Death had seen worse. Much worse. Just as he reached the top of the stairs a kid ran out with a mop and placed a yellow cone on the floor.
"Sorry, sir. The stairs are closed. You'll have to take the elevator." The kid didn't have a bucket. The kid didn't work here. The kid was the same Management-damned kid she'd seen three times yesterday.
Death stepped forward and brushed the waddler's shoulder as he stepped into the elevator. The massive heart attack would knock him over before the doors opened in the lobby.
Then Death turned towards the kid and did something she hadn't done in an Age. She appeared.
"What—" She cleared her throat. She hadn't talked to a mortal in a while. "What do you think you are doing?"
The boy wasn't scared when he looked at her. That was strange. She hadn't done this in a while, but she remembered that they were usually scared. She looked down at her hands. A little wrinkled, but they looked human. She wore a silk gown that had been considered very fashionable the last time she'd appeared in it, which as she recalled was about seven centuries ago. She'd forgotten to change her shape back after that party. She'd forgotten that she'd gone to that party. It had been a real good party.
"Why, nothing, Ma'am. Just mopping the floor." The boy moved the dry mop back and forth a bit.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're— you're not very good at this lying thing, you know? Many mortals think they can lie to me, but I always know their truth. You were trying to save the life of that man. The one who was to fall down the stairs."
The boy's eyes widened. He froze for just a moment before throwing the mop at her head like a spear. Death did not enjoy getting a face full of dry yarn. She grabbed it by the handle and sighed when the handle creaked. By the time she threw the mop to the floor the boy was sliding down the banister towards the lobby.
She shifted herself downward and caught the boy by the shoulder as he landed on the ground floor. "Many— many have tried to outrun me. It never works."
He tried to pull away but her grip was icy. She turned him so that he faced the elevator, where a small crowd had gathered. The waddler's corpse could be seen between their legs.
"Four— four deaths have you sought to prevent. And four times have you failed. You can not prevent what is foreordained. Why do you seek to change fate, boy? These deaths are more important then you can possibly know."
The boy looked her in the eyes. "You mean you don't know? You're not from the future, too? If I don't stop at least one of these deaths, we'll all die. The plague will get us all."
Death always knew the truth, and the boy spoke truth. His words opened her to the knowledge of the deaths he had seen. She had seen many, many deaths. She had seen plagues. But what he had seen was an end. Never before had she seen an end.
She kept hold of his shoulder when she shifted. "Come— come on, we'll go speak to Management."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | The Reaper recalled well the first appearance of the Child. When the first man passed outside the bosom of the Earth, in a mechanical monstrosity revolving around it, he came to collect their soul as he always did. The Child had stood at the head-end of the bed and watched him without a word. Dressed in an overly large suit, he would have looked comical were it not for the somber look in his blue eyes. The Reaper swung his scythe and led the soul away, unsettled but implacable.
From thereon the Child hounded his steps. Always standing in opposition, never moving a finger or speaking a word, curiosity and sadness mingling in his eyes. It was clear that the Child was one of the Powers That Be, a new one judging by his youthful appearance, but of his purpose the Reaper knew nothing.
Time passed, and they found themselves standing on the opposite ends of a machine that looked nothing so much as a casket with a frosted window. Inside lay a woman whose soul he had come for. The portholes on the wall showed a distant blue speck that was Earth. Humans had made another step in their quest for the stars.
The Reaper began to raise his scythe, but the Child gripped his bony wrist and shook his head.
"She isn't dead," he said. "Just sleeping very deeply."
The Reaper tried to free his wrist and found that he couldn't. "Who are you to stay my hand?" he asked, more shocked than angry.
The child made a thoughtful expression. "You could say I'm your opposite."
The Reaper shook his head. "Her heart no longer beats," he argued. "Even if it did, her disease has no cure."
"By the time they wake her up, there will be one." The Child interspersed himself between the machine and the Reaper and spread his small arms. "I'm not letting you take her."
The Reaper would've laughed were it not for the look of utter conviction on that childish face. "So be it," he said. "But don't stand in my way again. You cannot stop me."
"Not yet." The Child smiled an almost mischievous smile that made him look like an innocent boy. "But one day I'm going to put you out of your job, old man."
The Reaper shuddered and glided off into the shadows, feeling the Child's solemn gaze on his back. | 2022-11-15T09:40:16 | 2022-11-15T07:30:21 | 61 | 24 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day! | Sel Bintar, a Plothian of low regard, and even lower standards, was known for only two things. The first was that he worked cheap - he could almost always undercut the competition. The second was that he would do almost anything to get the job done.
By Plothian standards, he wasn't bad looking. A towering three feet tall, with four lithe, muscular arms. The smooth, quivering, gray, sensory dome on top of his wide shoulders was sensitive to light, sound, and the desires of Plothian women, so long as they had simple tastes. His wide mouth, located just below the pleasingly gelatinous sensory dome, contained 346 tiny teeth, and could give a charming smile.
Recently, he had found more reason to smile. The last three jobs had been easy; all thanks to his new partner: Kate.
Kate was a female human, you see. At five feet and five inches, she had a disconcerting way of staring straight down into your sensory dome - like she could see to your vulnerable center and watch your hearts beat with those twin sensory orbs; strange orbs with colored centers that darted around in her constant search for prey. Her hands had five fingers, each tipped with a short claw. Though she only had two arms, she was capable of throwing an adult Plothian across a room (or into an engine core!) with ease.
Many people found the breathing holes in her face to be the most hideous part. It was said that humans could "taste" the air through those holes; that they knew the taste of fear, and savored it. Others feared the thousands of tentacles that grew from their heads, or just their rows of huge teeth. Her size didn't make her slow, though. She could run faster, and dodge more quickly than almost any other being Sel had met. Frighteningly, Kate wasn't even a full-grown human. At fifteen standard cycles, she was only an adolescent, and still had some growing to do.
Sel could hear her claws taping on the screen of her communication device, as the engines wound down. He could see the nervous client though a view-port, coming out onto the landing pad with a substantial hired escort. He squealed a high-pitched laugh that pierced the air, before he was stopped by his partner.
"Ugh! God! Will you not do that! It sounds like a steam-whistle getting murdered."
Sel gave one of his most ingratiating smiles. Kate shivered, he assumed, in adoration. "Sorry, Beautiful. I sometimes forget what sensitive organs you have. The client is already on the pad. Better suit up."
Kate reluctantly put her communicator away and frowned. "I don't want to wear this thing."
Sel made a gurgling sigh. "Look, we can't frighten away our employers. Seeing your pretty face might just make them a little too nervous."
"Geh. You people stink when you're nervous."
"Well, if you put the suit on, you can adjust the intake and taste whatever you want."
Kate rolled her sensory orbs in that threatening human gesture, but said, "Fine."
As Sel walked down the exit ramp with a friendly smile on his face, all domes were oriented on the towering black metal suit behind him.
"Don't worry! he reassured them. "I keep her in a special suit for your protection and peace of mind.
The client and his escort looked relieved. The deal went forward. The mission was a breeze, and everything was fine.
EDIT: Thank you fellow literary appreciators for the two golds! They are my first and they made my day. Thank you, also, for all the kind comments and wishes for more. I would like to write more about the infamous doings of Sel and Kate, but I don't know where to put such a thing. | Before the door was even opened ,the energy was so thick a static arc crackled as the handle touched his hand .
Slowly the large metal door glided along a well oiled track to reveal dim blue flickering lights and the smell of hot transformer oil filled the nostrils.
Stepping into the dim lit room became anxiously difficult as the arching sound of high voltage electrical currents could be heard as well as felt when the small hairs began to stand up along the exposed skin .
Stopping to peer alertly in the direction of where the operation fail safe switch was supposed to be located according the buildings blue prints that now were clenched in the other fisted hand .
Enclosed head to toe in Arcflash gear ,the Fight or Flight instinct was caged inside a vault of training yet raged to be released.
27 steps from the door to the fail safe stop switch. 5 min of oxygen, low light and slick oil soaked floor with live circuits and no source outside the space to stop the power from finding the shortest path to ground.
No JSA ever covered this.thw Job saftey analysis form is useless and when I find out what electrical engineer put that fail safe inside the room ,I am probbly going to need bail money . | 2020-03-05T22:12:24 | 2020-03-05T17:47:27 | 174 | 20 |
[WP]You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago, today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor". | I had my crossbow trained on the bushes before I even managed to fully wake up. I'd always joked that I could kill a demon in my sleep by now, but I was just using it as a turn of phrase. Apparently it was true.
"Show yourself," I told the quivering bunch of leaves across the clearing. My legs were still encumbered by sleeping furs, and extracting myself while still keeping my hands on the crossbow and my eyes trained on the target was proving more difficult than I'd imagined. "How'd you get past my wards?" I'd carved protective runes into every damned tree in this forest, any one of which should have been enough to do some good damage to any demon or hellbeast trying to get the jump on me. At the very least, it should have woken me up.
The figure emerged from the bushes, and I realized why none of the defenses were triggered. Lucifer, the King of Hell. I threw the crossbow aside; it wouldn't work against him. At least, it hadn't the *last* three times that I tried to kill him. He seemed the same upon first glance, but as he approached I could tell that something had changed. His magnificent crown and jeweled scepter were gone. He wore a simple black cloak, ragged and riddled with holes. And he was *terrified*.
"Hello again, Monsieur Baudelaire." He was still trying to project the same air of confidence, but he was checking over his shoulder every other second, and his hands shook against his sides. The arrogant grin on his face quaked as though it weighed a thousand tons and it took every last muscle in his body to maintain the facade. "How goes the hunt?"
He knew damn well how the hunt was going. He certainly would have heard if I had managed to kill the demon I'd been after for the past two centuries. I'd racked up a pretty decent count, but never the one that I wanted. "Get on with it," I growled to him. "What are you here for now?"
He came closer to the fire. "Well you're certainly a man of action, no doubt about that." There was a wound on his shoulder that seemed to be smoking slightly. "I have an offer for you. A deal," he continued. The same thing he'd said that rainy Wednesday afternoon as I knelt over my daughter's grave. I would have given *anything* for the powers to find the ones that had killed her, and all he'd asked was my soul. A small price to pay.
"I've got nothing left to give you," I told him. "Unless you're ready to give up Corson." That, of course, was the creature that killed Marie, and one of Lucifer's most powerful lieutenants. That was my original demand, but Satan had explained that there are some deals that even *he* didn't have the power to make. But he'd been quite amused at the prospect of letting me hunt down Corson on my own, and apparently there was no rule against that.
"That's just the thing," Satan explained. "That's precisely why I'm here."
We stared at each other for a moment. Demons, you can never trust. But the King of Hell was bound by some fundamental laws, and could only *honestly* seduce men with promises of power and wealth and whatnot. I gestured toward a log for him to sit, and threw some more fuel on the embers to get them going again. I could at least hear him out.
"Corson," he started, "Has gotten a bit... self important, let's say." I snorted. Understatement of the century. Every scrap of intelligence I'd managed to gather about the bastard all pointed the same way: he was a smug, pretentious egomaniac. "And he... ahem... has taken over Hell."
The logs in the fire crackled and popped a bit as I absorbed the news. I studied Lucifer's face. I knew he couldn't lie to me, but... could something like *this* be real?? Then I laughed. A long, raucous laugh that echoed through the forest and sent birds fleeing into the sky. I hadn't laughed like that in *centuries*! "Couldn't happen to a nicer fellow," I told Lucifer in between peals of laughter and gasping for breath. "You really know how to pick your friends."
"Yes, thanks. I'm well aware of the irony of the situation. God said pretty much the same thing when I went to *him* for help with this little bit of insurrection." That made me laugh even harder. What, exactly, had Satan expected? That the still-loyal Angels would rally around him? "Look, I'm not *proud* of this," he continued. "I need your help."
I managed to calm myself down, though a few snickers still managed to bubble out. "All right, all right. What's your offer, then?"
"Two hundred and thirty one years ago, you sold me your soul in exchange the gifts to hunt down Corson and exact your revenge. And all I want is to... you know, help you along a bit. If you bring me his head, then I'll give you your soul back." From nowhere, he summoned what looked like a twirling diamond of light so gossamer thin that you couldn't even be sure that it really existed. It looked like it was straining and fighting to escape his palm but with no success.
I'd never seen my own soul before. Even when he took it, it had just vanished and I could only *feel* the difference. The aching cold in my heart.
"Keep it," I finally growled. "It's already pretty tarnished." I didn't need *Lucifer's* help to get Corson. Especially now that I knew where he was.
Satan gave an exaggerated sigh, back to his confident self for just a moment. "I thought you might say that." In his other hand, he summoned a second soul. This one looked more like it was made of a cloud of vapor lit from within. It was light blue, with an intricate spiraling pattern. The demons all say that each soul looks different. "If not for yours, then how about I also throw in *Marie's* soul? For your daughter? Would it be nice if she could go to Heaven like she deserves?"
Her soul danced across his palm in a delicate ballet, just like my little girl used to do. "All right," I whispered through tears. | I was splayed out on a filthy hotel mattress, at least two other naked bodies tangled in my limbs, every brain cell in my skull burnt out, when the devil came for me.
He'd gotten fatter since I last saw him, putting on the pounds of middle age, his hairline receding up past his horns. His beard had gotten thicker, joined up with his mustache. And he was dressing better, had a new suit. Even in my inebriated state, a little tickle in the back of my mind was wondering how come the devil had aged with me.
"Jesus," I said. My mouth tasted like crap. "It's only been..." I tried to do the calculations in my head. "Six years."
"Seven years," the devil said, and gave a little condescending smile at me. "But that's your fault, not mine. I promised you wealth and fame for the rest of your life. You're the one who cut your life short."
"Mmmm." Last night was a blur. I couldn't remember what I had taken. It had fucked me up bad enough that I found I didn't particularly care about dying. I sat up, disentangling myself from the two women. They slept like the dead. No. That wasn't right. I was dead. I was the dream. They slept like the living.
I tried to shake my head clear and stood up, the carpeted floor tickling my bare feet. I felt like a corpse. I felt embalmed. Hell, I figured, had to at least be more interesting than this. "Well. All right. Let's go."
"Ah, hold on," the devil said, and from his suit pocket fished out a wisp of light and air. Just seeing it, I felt a tug in the pit of my chest that I hadn't felt in the last seven years. It called out to me. I wanted it more badly than I had ever wanted anything in my life. It was part of me. My soul.
The devil dangled it in front of my eyes like a dewdrop. "I need a favor," he said.
"Anything," I said. Jesus. I was crying just looking at it. My whole goddamn life wasted. Oh god. Oh God. If only people could see this. If only people knew how delicate and fragile and beautiful it all really was.
"Here ya go," he said, and tossed it to me.
I caught it in both hands, cradled it, cooed to it like a newborn babe. You don't know what it feels like. You don't know what it feels like being so complete. I was floating. I was ...
I looked up. I really was floating. There was the light, so beautiful and good and pure, there were the voices calling me. I managed to tear my eyes away from it to look back at the devil, who was just standing there hands in pockets, grinning.
"What's happening?" I gasped to him. "I was - I sold you my soul. I'm not - I don't deserve this. I'm damned! You're supposed to be dragging me to hell!"
The devil beamed up at me almost beatific. "No one deserves this. That's the point of grace, ain't it? God's a soft touch, letting every penitent soul up in there." He ran a finger over his eyebrow. "There's a war coming. The End Times. And I need as many double agents up in there as possible."
I was too light! I was still floating! Even the dread that gripped my heart was fading away at the joy of entering Heaven. "What's the favor?" I screamed back, with the last scraps of panic I could muster. "What the hell are you going to have me do?"
He simply waved me goodbye with the very tips of his fingers as the light and love became overwhelming. "Don't you worry about it. You'll find out when I collect." | 2016-06-27T07:06:05 | 2016-06-27T06:47:57 | 311 | 89 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | "Welcome to The Agency Mr. Aranha," the masked man said in a dull monotone.
I looked down in shame and began sobbing.
I was born in the South Side of Chicago. My father left me when I was 3 months old and my mother purportedly ran off with another dude. I jumped from foster home to foster home, eventually landing in the home of a nice Brazilian lady. I was an introverted kid with a extreme stutter. You can imagine how well I got along with the kids at school. But I had talent. I could punch a man like no one else could. Every day, after school, I would pester the trainers for hours until they let me use the bags. Every day I got better. Every day I would spar with kids 3, 4, 5 years older than me, just to learn their techniques. People began to take notice. Headlines read, "the young prodigy out of Chicago, without a home or friends". I won the World Youth Championships ever year from 2052-2054. I was a phenomenon. But it was all bittersweet.
Prius 21, marking the end of ordinary human life and control over one's destiny. Depending on what physical or mental traits you mutated, the government selects various occupations for you. Most people transitioned smoothly into their new lives. But every once in a while, a person mutated into an "other". The others had extreme mutations that consumed their whole bodies and minds. They were the joke of society, a plague. Placed under "extra governmental supervision", rumor has it they are either killed or sent overseas to do the dirty work. No one thinks they will become an other, but fate often has other ideas.
Sometimes an other will reach superhero status and receive admiration by society. The last person to do that was a man dubbed "The Dragon Knight". Fire breathing and impenetrable armor are generally pretty marketable to innocent kids. I... was not that. I didn't have impenetrable dragon armor, or invisibility... I was a fucking spider. That's right, a giant fucking spider. I was considered a .001% mutation, meaning I was extremely rare and displayed no recognizable physical human features. My boxing career was over, my endorsements were terminated, and I was ostracized by every person I had ever met.
When reports of my mutation began to spread, I was the topic of every national news channel. As soon as I became the topic of every national news channel, I disappeared. Censored and exfiltrated from society, never to be known again. Everything I had accomplished, everything anybody ever knew about me, erased by the government. It's called Prius 21 for a reason.
I found support though. From the people I had learned to resent my whole life: my fellow others. Although my body was new to me, my mind was not. The same scrupulous work ethic and insatiable dedication that went into boxing, went into mastering Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and analyzing spider hunting tactics. My diet changed. I started eating buckets of insects, piles of mice, and whole Komodo dragons. Gone were the days of milk cartons and soda bottles. Now, I only drink poison, gallons of it, to improve the lethality of my bite. I wasn't exactly Spider-Man, but Spider-Man never trained to squash global rebellions and murder political figures like I did.
It was hard in the beginning. It truly was. But through my countless missions of killing innocent lives who simply want to be heard, I had began to realize something. Something fundamentally imperative. Human nature will always be selfish and self-destructive. Human traits should not celebrated, but renounced and purged. It time to fight for something I truly believe in. It's time to end suffering.
| Everyone knew this day would come, the day that would determine the rest of our lives. No one knew where the mutation came from, my parents always told me that it was just a path of life, that their parents had mutations and so did the generation before them. Today was the day, my 21st birthday, my grandmother had always told me stories about her 21st birthday, how she spontaneously developed the ability to communicate with others without oral speech, through the mind. She was on a bus to Florida, when a rambunctious fellow with a pink bow tie came down to sit next to her, he had the largest nose she had ever seen, his mutation. Without the intention of doing so, she mocked the man calling him names, he turned around, got up and spat in her face.
Well, I was about to get my mutation today, a day I had dreaded for years. What if I develop some useless mutation? I won't ever amount to anything. I hadn't prepared myself for what was to come. Thoughts flowed through my head as I was eating a bowl of cereal.
'Christine! It's your 21st birthday! I can't believe my little girl has grown so old!'
'I know, mum.' | 2015-03-04T02:35:31 | 2015-03-04T00:56:46 | 109 | 13 |
[WP] Norse Gods have faded into legend. Thor, with his trust-worthy Mjolnir, decides to rebuild his fame,by becoming the best damn construction worker known to man. | "You're drunk, Jerry. You're drunk on the goddamn job again. Do you ***want*** to get fired?"
"No, man, I'm telling you, the new guy straight up welded the entire fitting *with his bare finger*. Just dragged it around the line real smooth and it was done. And Barry saw him driving the beams. He was using that custom 25lb sledge like it was a tack hammer. The dude is a beast. Those muscles are not for show. I wonder if he knows a guy who can get me some juice? I bet he does."
"Jerry, if you go over there and mess with the only guy who has actually done any work today, I will TIG weld your asshole to that rebar, and I will not use my finger, you drunk fool."
"Aw, Terry, come on, I told you I'm not drunk today. Just go watch him, I swear, you'll see."
"Fine. Larry, come with me."
The foreman and shift super wandered over to where the new guy, who went by T-Dog, was delicately driving support steel into a few concrete forms he had carried and placed by hand. The custom sledge rose and fell with the practised ease of a man who had been doing this all his life. For a guy old enough to have a long graying beard - braided ornately, which set him apart from the other bearded construction members as effectively as his highly muscular frame did - he never did seem to tire.
"Yo, T-Dog, can I interrupt you for a sec?"
"Of course," he boomed. T-Dog did not have an indoor voice setting. "Brief rests make the day's work light. What aid or answers may I give, Terry, son of Brad?"
"Listen, Jerry brought to my attention that you might have been working with more of a thought to efficiency than safety, and I just wanted to make sure that you had gotten those OSHA briefings. We all love what you're doing, don't get me wrong, I would just hate to see you get hurt."
"Ah, Bradson, fear not. I have lived a bawdy and violent life. If I have not yet met my end, I can promise you that nothing here will harm me. But perhaps you fear for your other men? Of course you do. My apologies, Bradson. I will be more mindful of those around me in the future." With a contagious smile, T-Dog turned back to his hammering. The man loved hammering. And singing, which he began doing again.
Knocker, Beater, Steel-Striking Minder
Swaddling-babes by big brother Grinder
Fjellheim, Stout-wall, long-legged timber
Now seal steel silently, sky-spear's finger!
T-Dog was a strange fellow, but you could not fault his work or work ethic. | For his first day on the job, he is tasked with hanging sheet rock on the lower floors of a partially complete multi-floor building. One swing of Mjölnir and the building topples like a house of cards. Three months later, our hero discovers that his brother Loki is the steward of the local union who has been denying Thor’s workman’s compensation claims! | 2018-05-27T16:01:21 | 2018-05-27T15:23:12 | 2,397 | 84 |
[WP] In a world of superheroes and supervillains your nemesis finally crosses the line. This step forces you to break a critical rule of the business. | What the hell is going on here?
This is the thought that thunders through my mind as I watch the Wardens, the same group I fought half a dozen times before, get beaten before my very eyes. Getting beaten by a bunch of newbies robbing a bank. My bank, but that's beside the point. Their powers sure as hell aren't on my level... Not on Valiant's level, yet the ground is stained by blood as red as her hair, her helmet smashed, her not-quite-medieval armour useless against the onslaught of the leering punk with fists made of stone. How many times had I swept aside her team with an electro magnetic blast, only to have her fist break my nose, split my lip, crack my jaw? How many times had I, as Tempest, beaten all comers, only for the mighty Valiant to lay me low?
I always managed to get away, of course. I was high on the watch list because of how powerful I was, what with the atmospheric powers. My "crimes" were building giant storms, and then holding cities hostage until my demands were met. It worked twice, which was enough. But I got bored. The fun of playing the bad guy, the supervillain community egging me on every time I got away from a tussle. Until the last fight, three years ago. When a new guy, Feedback, decided to help the Wardens, and hit my bio-electric field with the mother of all short-circuits. I fell, that day. And my powers haven't been the same since. Did they mourn my "death" I wonder? Did she?
I'm wondering all this while I watch, my sensibilities already insulted by the total lack of respect to the business these dumbasses are showing. Where's the banter? The sportsmanship, the teasing? All they're doing is beating down the beaten and giggling like malevolent schoolgirls. God, I sound like some old fart, twenty-eight going on seventy. But these guys are younger than even me, barely old enough to shave. And then I see it. On the hand of the one kid with the baby goatee, is a purple skull. The Nightmare King's talisman, a psychic weapon that causes pretty nasty trips. And then I see what's in his other hand. The Equalizer, the power nullifier.
They're… *cheating*. They aren't using their powers at all. They're gloating over their win over powerless heroes. I feel my rage build, and something tickles the edge of my mind. Something familiar, like getting feeling back into a limb. My bio-electric field shielded me from pretty much anything, gave me top tier super strength, let me "feel" the world around me. For three years it's been gone… but now I feel it again, crackling just beyond the senses of the other onlookers. But I'm not getting involved. I'm not helping a superhero, let alone five.
Then I hear a whisper, somehow. As Valiant's head bounces off the pavement for a umpteenth time, a single word escapes her smashed lips, just for me. "Help."
Well… fuck.
My power roars to life, people scramble away as my feet leave the ground. An aura of lightning, the smell of ozone. I am back. And I am pissed. The frat boys in bad costumes blink in dumb incomprehension. Then understanding, as their little toys seem useless against me. Then, fear, as I advance, my teeth bared in a wolfish grin. I revel in that fear, savour it. The kid with the rock fists swings at me. I catch the punch. Then I squeeze. He falls to his knees, howling in pain. I give him a nice little zap, put him out. The other newbies fan out, their powers flaring up in my senses. Seven against one. Game on.
It's over a lot faster than I would have liked. People are cheering, not knowing who I am. How could they? I was never arrested, never lost my helmet in the old fights. The other Wardens are all being wheeled off on stretchers, all except Valiant, who is standing and staring at me with those scary as hell green eyes. She knows, how could she not? I grin at her, winking. And, on cue, she growls and starts forward, only to fall flat on her face. Other rush to help her up, and she glares at me. Oh how conflicted she must be, poor thing. I resist the urge to cackle, and instead give her a tinkling little wave, before taking off into the air. I'm not sure what the plan is, exactly. I don't need money, and I'm not sure the supervillain thing will work now that I've helped the Wardens. What the hell. Maybe I'll try something new. Be altruistic, be a good guy, a mighty hero. Valiant will be so pissed off.
It'll be glorious.
| I stepped into the mudroom of my house. I tossed my briefcase and overcoat on the floor. No one greeted me as I shut the front door. “Honey,” I said. “I’m home.” I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top few on my shirt.
I looked in the living room. No one there. I looked in the kitchen. No one there. I looked in the dining room, family room, office and downstairs bathroom. No one there.
“Where the hell is she?” I muttered to myself. My wife usually left a note out if she wasn’t going to be home.
I headed upstairs to change. My wife’s giggling followed by a man’s cheesy growls came from the bedroom. I rushed through the bedroom door. “What the hell is going on here?” I yelled. My wife’s body blocked the man she was in bed with.
My wife turned in alarm as I rushed through the door. “Jacob,” she said. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Dr. Chemistry poked his head out from around my wife’s body. He only wore his safety goggles, a shit eating grin and nothing else. “Hey there, Heat Kid.”
I felt the air around me heating up as my anger grew. My clothes scorched and fell into a pile of ash around my feet. “You know families are off limits, Dr. Chemistry. You broke the Union rules.”
My wife hopped out of bed, taking the top sheet with her. She tried to approach me, but stepped back from the heat coming off my body. “Don’t do anything brash, honey.”
Dr. Chemistry grinned. “Doesn’t feel real good, does it?”
“Why did you do this? Why did you break the rules?”
Dr. Chemistry laughed. “I need to test out my new love potion. What better way to do it than on my arch nemesis’ wife?” He cackled.
“You’ve forced my hand, Dr. Chemistry.”
Dr. Chemistry feigned being afraid. “Oh no. What are you going to do? Are you going to boil me alive?” He laughed. “Good luck, Heat Kid. I’ve developed a new cooling technology.”
“No, Dr. Chemistry,” I growled. “I’m going to do something much worse.” I flexed my muscles and cracked my neck. “I’m going to call my union rep.”
| 2015-02-20T21:54:42 | 2015-02-20T20:41:10 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] A genie gives you two options. One is to get your three wishes now, or to get one wish a day for five days. He tells you that no one before has survived and gotten all five wishes. You choose the latter. | I only rubbed the lamp as a joke. It was *just a stupid fucking joke* between my friends and I as we were bored standing around the antique shop where we worked. It was a hole in the wall joint in a bad part of town so we were lucky if we saw three actual customers a day. With that spirit crushing reality, of course we had to find ways to keep ourselves amused. Whenever the boss was out we’d start tossing faberge eggs back and forth, or pretend to ride on the carved elephant, or pose with the ancient statues to simulate all manner of ‘crude acts’ and snap some hilarious photos that were sure to get massive amounts of likes, and hearts, and upvotes from the wider world. This day was no different, right up until it was.
“Hey guys! I own the magical genie lamp now, how much will you pay me for one of my wishes?” I asked, grinning while holding the lamp dramatically above my head.
“Like three bucks, with your luck it’ll be the world’s shittiest genie,” one of my best friends teased me.
“Look at that rusty old thing. You’re more likely to get tetanus than a couple of genie wishes Becca!” another said, laughing at me.
I began speaking in an over the top melodramatic voice, “Oh mighty genie of the lamp, I summon thee from thine prison to serve me and grant my wishes, including but not limited to those $200 boots I want!” I furthered the joke by dramatically rubbing the lamp between both my hands like I was trying to start a fire.
It wasn’t a fire I summoned, but there sure was plenty of smoke. I was extremely startled as it billowed out of the lamp and began swirling around the room. It was smoke of every color imaginable all at once and it moved in unnerving and unnatural patterns. Finally it formed into a massive figure, three times the size of any of us. The genie I had sarcastically requested had arrived. Sadly he didn’t look half as friendly as Will Smith or Robin Williams. His expression was stern, bordering on angry.
“Rebecca Elizabeth Watson, by the laws of the ancient pact between gods and man. I am now bound to you,” he wasn’t shouting, but somehow his voice was still earthshaking. It was as if a thunderstorm was speaking to me.
By now my friends had run out of the shop screaming. I can’t say I blame them, knowing me as well as they did I’m sure they thought I was running right behind them, but I simply couldn’t. I’d say I was transfixed by the majesty of the magic unfolding before me, but in honesty I made every effort to flee, but my feet felt absolutely bolted to the floor, unable to move an inch.
“I didn’t… this wasn’t my… I didn’t mean to do this…” I stammered.
“The ritual is complete. Our souls are intertwined until the conclusion of our pact, however you do have one choice in this matter. You may choose to have one wish, which will be granted immediately, at which point I will return to my lamp and exit your life forever. Or you may have one wish per day for five days, for a total of five wishes. Consider carefully as I offer you this warning... several before you have died before having the chance to use all five of their wishes. If you should perish in those five days, I will be freed from our contract and your remaining wishes will not be fulfilled.”
“No refunds huh?” I attempted to joke with him. He did not seem amused, so I pondered my choice. I was 19 years old, I felt fairly invincible and didn’t see much chance of me dropping dead in the next week. And I was just selfish enough that dozens of potential wishes flashed through my mind. “Okay, I… I mean five wishes sounds great, I’m in no hurry.”
The genie finally cracked a small smile. “My last dozen masters all chose a single immediate wish. Thank you for choosing the latter… It’s been so long since I’ve had a hunt,” he said as his hands began to crackle with ominous bolts of electricity.
“WHAT?” I yelped in fear.
“If you should perish before the five days are up, I will be freed from our contract,” he repeated. “And I very much wish to be freed…”
“I change my mind! One wish, one wish is more than enough!”
“Our path is set young one, our conflict inevitable, but the outcome is not. I am bound by rules of fairness,” he said. “Whenever you ask for your daily wish, we shall have a one hour truce. Other than that... the most I can offer you is a brief head start.”
With that my body finally unfroze without warning and I collapsed to the ground unceremoniously. More negotiating with this supernatural being seemed fruitless, so I did the only thing I could think to do... I stumbled to my feet and ran out of the store as quickly as my still somewhat numb feet could carry me. I’d competed in long distance track in high school and that was going to come in handy now, because I didn’t plan to stop running for a good long while. Maybe I wouldn’t stop running for five entire days if that was humanly possible.
*I had only rubbed the lamp as a joke*, I thought sadly to myself as I sprinted down the street. *It was just a stupid fucking joke.*
___
Check out r/Ryter if you want to explore more words that originate in my silly brain. | "That won't be a problem."
Rovif had scaled several mountains, slain a giant eagle, and even incurred the wrath of a mage's guild just to reach this ancient temple. The fact that he survived all the deadly puzzles and tests of wits on his way to this underground altar room only gave him more confidence in his goal. Why would he hesitate when the Genie was in front of him?
"And, just to make it clear, it can be whatever I want?"
"Anything" said the Genie.
"Perfect. I'm ready."
"Very well," the Genie swelled with a torrent of magical energy, "state your first wish."
"I wish I was immortal."
The Genie paused. "R-really? Don't you wanna mull that over a bit? People always save that for last."
"I'm a decisive man."
The Genie laughed. "Way to go for the throat, then."
Rovif smirked. "Problem?"
"No, no, it's your wish. That said, I will warn you that it doesn't count as surviving if you end up trapped under rocks for eternity."
Rovif swallowed. "H-has that happened before?"
"Yes!" echoed two strange voices in the distance.
Rovif furrowed his brow, confused.
"Just ignore them..." said the Genie. "One of them thought they could stop anyone else from ever reaching the temple by collapsing it. Obviously, since he was immortal, he could survive the aftermath of any explosion he created." He grinned. "That stroke of genius literally backfired."
"Screw you!" said a male voice.
"And the other?"
The Genie chortled. "She didn't listen to our warnings when she tried the exact thing."
"That's on me..." said a female voice.
Rovif started looking around the altar room. He couldn't see them anywhere. "Where are they?"
"Meh, they're encrusted somewhere in the walls. I had to rearrange the temple around them. Do you wish to know their location?"
Rovif frowned. "No, make me immortal."
"Sorry, sorry, I had to try."
"I've read every legend there is to find this place. I think you'll find your usual genie tricks won't work on me."
The old immortal man cackled. "That's what *I* said!"
The Genie shook his head with a knowing smile. "Believe it or not, I never have to do a thing. People always seal their fate with their own wishes. Are you sure about this?"
"I won't repeat myself."
The Genie nodded. "Your wish is my command!"
--------
>[Continued here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bxt4rx/wp_the_blacksmith_wont_sell_you_any_weapon_the/eq9nb5w/) | 2019-06-04T11:28:14 | 2019-06-04T10:57:08 | 200 | 91 |
[WP] One sundaymorning everyone wakes up with the worst crime they've ever committed tattooed on their forehead. It's breaking news on television. Yours says 'thief', your husband's says 'cheater'. As you go wake up your seven year old daughter, you see the word 'murderer' tattooed on her forehead.
[removed] | Hats had become ubiquitous. Everywhere, people wore ballcaps pulled tight and low over their foreheads. spme chose to wear scarves. Newscasters fumbled their words as they made feeble attempts to explain what had happened, interrupting themselves to adjust the sweat stained tape plastered across their foreheads. I hadn't seen Joey, the young man from the apartment upstairs, in weeks. Mrs. Lee trembled as she tried to rush around me down by the mailboxes, but I could see the way she had taken the kitchen knife to her forehead. It had become impossible to look anyone in the eye. Hell, it had become impossible to look at yourself in the mirror.
We had taken down all our mirrors. We had done it the very morning we had woken up with crimes printed across our brows. It had been my idea to break down those reflective glass surfaces, but it had been our son's to frame photos in the remains of each mirror. In the guest bathroom, we placed a large print of the photo we had taken during our vacation to Hawai'i last year. Mike had been excited to welcome a younger sister into the family. Chloe had been excited to bury him in the sand. In the restroom shared by the kids, we let them create a collage that resulted in a mess of glitter and glue. I admit that I had snuck in a photo of my own: we had worn our nicest clothes that day to court, but by the end, our make up had become smudged and our hair out of placed. Didn't matter, though. I had finally adopted Sara, and Val had adopted Mike.
I found Val staring at the photo we had chosen for our restroom, her toothbrush hanging out from between her teeth. The day Val and I had finally been able to get married. The day we had rushed over to get the documents all together in what probably appeared to be a shotgun wedding. Val had been scared that the laws would change back, just like they had after Prop 8, and though I hadn't wanted to admit it, I had been afraid, too.
She ran her thumb over the "Adulterer" tattoo, gazing at the photo as though it were tattooed there, too. She spit her toothpaste out into the sink.
"I think it's because... After what happened..." She paused, fiddling with the toothbrushes in the cup, as though she were trying to arrange a bouquet. "I don't want to be happy that I left him. And I don't want to be grateful that he caught us."
"I know," I said, hugging her.
"We should have done things differently."
I thought of my own tattoo and nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."
Glass shattered somewhere in the house, and I felt my heart jump. I felt as though I could pinpoint the noise as though I had become I finely tuned radar. The kids. Their room.
Val gasped when she saw the little broken hand mirror.
I pulled the mirror from her hand, careful to avoid her cuts and the shards of glass. "Where did you find this?"
"At school," Mike said, quiet, from across the room. "I tried to stop her! I *did*!"
I examined the small cut on her forehead. Murderer. That's what had appeared only one month ago. At first, we had been terrified. How could have *Chloe* killed anyone? Chloe, who had nurtured a goddamn hermit crab for weeks?
I held her hand now, as I applied Spider-Man Band-Aids to her skin. "It wasn't your fault."
"Your dad wasn't well," Val said, crouching down beside me.
I was angry. I wanted to run out and yell at the sky. I wanted to punch Max, the man who had been my friend.
The man who had been married to my wife, the man who she had married because it had once been the easiest and safest thing to do, because she had been taught that only perverts and heathens would lie with another woman.
The man with whom she had raised a daughter. The man who had walked in on us together.
The man who had lost custody. The man who had started to drink.
The man who had drunk the morning he had come to pick Chloe up for the weekend. But he had scared her. She hadn't wanted to go.
And so he left.
Before wrapping his car around a tree.
I should have taken his keys. I should have seen him start to drink. I should have seen it coming. I should have gotten him help. I should have been a better friend. I shouldn't have slept with his wife. I should have told him the truth. I shouldn't have stole h--
--I thought of how Val had comforted me. "You didn't steal me," she said. "I made my own choices, that I have to live with, but you didn't steal me. I'm a person. A woman."
We carried Chloe downstairs to the couch, with Mike in tow. We popped popcorn. Broke out the candy. Watched movies until the both of them fell asleep.
I wiped at the dry blood on Chloe's forehead. "I'm sorry," I said.
"Not your fault too" she mumbled, eyes still closed shut.
Val smiled and pulled her phone out from her pocket. Snapped a picture of all of us, together.
For a moment, one moment, our foreheads were bare. | It's a quiet Sunday, and the whole house is still asleep, except for me. I look in the mirror and rub my fingers over the mark - 'thief'. when I first saw it, I couldn't believe it was there. It's true. I'm a thief. I stole my wife away from another man. I'm actually shocked it doesn't say 'adulterer' or 'fornicator'. I thought those were worse crimes. Either way, gonna be hard to talk my way out of this at the next job interview. I glance at my sleeping wife. Her says 'cheater'. I spend the next couple of minutes playing the 'but it's better than' game. I realize that it's just another way of justifying bad life choices.
I sigh. Again, we didn't get together under the best circumstances, but here it is on display for the whole world. Well, we aren't the only ones with this, right? *Let he who has no sin etched upon their face cast the first stone.,* I think. Maybe we'll be the lucky couple to wear those hijab-y things Muslim women wear.
A gentle *coo* comes out of the baby monitor. Stefania's awake, maybe I should change her diaper and get some coffee going. We'll have to figure these marks out. *Let's all get caffinated and easily excitable and discuss the crappiest parts of our lives!*
Suddenly, there's a piercing scream and a thud. *Stefania?...Mom!*, I think, and race into the other room. I am greeted by my worst nightmare - my mother, laid out on the floor clutching her chest, eyes rolling back in her head. The baby giggles and coos - and then I see what almost freezes my own heart still: the word *murderer*, marked on her three month old head as she *coos* and *ahhs* happily. I drop to my knees and start giving mom CPR. One ...two ...three, No response. I know she's gone.
The next thirty minutes are a blur, my wife, my child, a panicked call to 911, EMT's, a police man with the word *liar* marked on his forehead telling me that it's gonna be alright. Y*eah , sure , man, I believe you,* as I watched the paramedics wheel my mom out of my home on a gurney.
So that's the story of how this cute little girl with a smile that lights up the room has a terrible crime etched on her forehead. Not a day goes by that I wish we could trade, either.
What really keeps me up late at night, even after all these years is the question: *Is she marked because of what happened to my mom, or what's going to happen to someone else?* | 2019-09-16T16:51:56 | 2019-09-16T15:44:07 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Our War Council was surprised when these Humans asked what we knew about the Aldins' own core worlds.
"What are their defenses, their detection systems for tracking ships jumping in from deep space?"
We told them that what we knew from our own attempts to fight in Aldin systems was that they were passive at home, that they feared no grand attacks from any societies in their region and that all our atempts to strike out at them were initially successful until our forces were either driven back or destroyed by their ships dispatched *after* we had engaged.
"They are preeminent in our space, and unafraid, their navy seems content to swat us away like the stinging bugs of your world. They have no orbital perimeters like you ask."
"Yes, my Lords, but *how* long does it take for them to come?"
"Perhaps as long as several of your earth days."
The Humans seemed shocked by this.
"How did you not destroy a planet then leave before being interdicted?"
"We were a peaceful race with no grand laser sweepers or ray blankets to attack a planet we can barely engage ships in the void, do you expect us to shoot every Aldine in time and leave?"
"These Aldines, they are city dwellers like us and like your people?"
"Yes, they live in big urban cores, besides the farmers."
The humans went on their own and were gone for some days. Aldine attacks destroyed the Faris System Navy and two of our settled worlds in that time, but in a place the Men called Dog Sector, our forces supplemented by a detachment of human advisers repelled repeated landing attempts. When the humans returned we were ready to give them anything.
"Now Councilors you can see that our detachments of military advisers have had good results in ground war against these things. But we want to win the war for you so we want at least four of your corvette style ships with crew put at our disposal for a test, an operation over a planet we designated A-1, a big urban world from your intelligence."
"Whatever you need from us you can have."
"Very good."
In good time the humans outfitted these ships in manners that seemed odd to us and drove their captains mad, I was sent along with them to observe for the Council. The humans seemed excited the whole time, touring the ships, testing the structures and the computers and always loading great munitions and other things brought special from their system as quick as we could jump them and they even told me their plan but I found it ridiculous, impossible. When we jumped for A-1 I noticed the other three ships did not jump with us.
"Slight adjustment for those boats Councilor."
We made normal time to A-1 and there were no Aldine military ships to meet us. We quickly went into orbit and the men made one last check of their payload and me and the Human Admiral watched the green planet below from the bridge observation window and he marveled at the big steel blotches of city in the landmasses.
"We are ready sir."
"Shoot the damn things then."
The admiral shook his head as the ship shuddered and a thousand trails of objects went down toward the planet, some arcing to go around to the far side.
"Dumb son's of bitches, goddamn, it's like they never figured on someone doing this."
I wondered why he was so bothered but then I saw it, hundreds of huge blasts on the surface, big red bursts, then black churnings of smoke and dirt, huge thunderheads of dead matter being sucked up and dispersed over the once day lit ground. Ground transmissions we were monitoring cut off.
"Well whoever we didn't get will be dead in a week of fallout anyways."
"Admiral, it seems you only needed one of these ships for the mission, why did you order four?"
"Well we figured we would try and cut the head off these things if what you telling us was true. We'll send word to the other three to proceed, and then we will head off to the rest of the planets in this system and do the same. Then we will jump, a day before these boys show up. Then we do it again. If it works all right we can cripple their empire or whatever in a couple weeks. Their fleets won't have a home to return to, and when they try and retaliate we'll blast them out of the sky with these missiles since none of you aliens have them or really know how they work. You won't ever have them. After we finish this up we'll talk about the piece up here we get for winning this for you. These corvettes will be a nice start, my boys say already they have our computers ready to fly them if need be. "
It was at this moment I thought about how along with these weapons the humans had brought on board a good number of their military advisers and how they more and more seemed to be stationed at bulkhead doors and armed and their smiles seemed mocking.
| The Fothrill had betrayed us.
We Esvenkin was an old race, and yet we were strangers to war. And thus, as the Fothrill army marched through our planets and colonies, we couldn't do anything. And in spite of that, the Council of Elders in our home world could do nothing but quarrel.
"I'd told ye, giving Fothrill FTL drive was a bad idea. They're too young, too unstable a variable to us."
"We're strangers to war, and even the Fothrill merely adopted war."
"We need a race born in it, a force that even the Fothrill would never be able to match"
"That would bring forth a new enemy for Esvenkin."
"Not if we could control them. There would be no second Fothrill, we have to offer alliance that lock ourselves in mutual dependency"
"The only ones are..."
"Humans"
"No! They are too young, even younger than the Fothrill. They WILL betray us."
"Not if we keep the FTL drive technology secret. They will depend on us to provide FTL drive, and they will protect us in return"
"I hope we are right, brother. Those who agree?"
Almost all of the council raised their tentacle.
"I pray to Arthiem that we made the right decision."
The next day, we contacted the human, and Arthiem how we made a mistake. Humans weren't as stupid as we thought. In one of their year, they managed to make their own FTL drive engine without we noticing. In three years, the Fothrill were reduced to one colony, and in the fourth,,,,,,
"Humans ship incoming! A whole Assault-class fleet!"
"*This is human ship Encountrad, surrender the colony or we would attack. We will wait for a standard day.*"
Arthiem damn it. One by one, the recently released colony were captured by humans, until Esvenkin were reduced to one colony.
And yet they didn't stop.
The Dwarrhien, the Gremlin, the Sarwathi, the Drak were conquered by the humans.
We have awakened the race sealed by the Aesir, and nothing could stop them from destroying the galaxy.....
>not my best prompt response, but well, I've done worse.
EDIT: grammar, thanks for /u/Gefroan for correcting me | 2016-05-13T06:30:06 | 2016-05-13T05:58:29 | 87 | 45 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend. | Mitchell stared nervously at the pentagram on his bedroom floor. he made sure everything was perfect for his new visitor. After arranging all the materials, Mitchell stood on the northernmost corner and began reciting the incantation. The floor beneath him twisted and morphed into a fiery black pit. From the pit rose an enormous beast. He towered over Mitchell with his giant muscles bulging out of his skin. His skin was like fire. He had a jutted chin and his mouth was twisted into a wicked smile.
"SPEAK, PUNY MORTAL. IT IS I BEEZLEBUB, RULER OF THE DAMNED AND LIEUTENANT OF LUCIFER, HIMSELF"
"Hello, Beezlebub, I'm Mitchell, but you can call me Mitch".
"WRETCHED HUMAN, DO NOT WASTE MY TIME! WHY HAST THOU SUMMONED ME?"
"I just wanted to, you know, hangout."
"I CAN GRANT YOU ANYTHING Y-. Wait, What?"
"I just wanted to hangout with you, get to know you."
"I HAVE NO TIME FOR SUCH THINGS. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"
"I just told you. I want to spend some time with you. My dog recently died so now it's just me and I feel kinda lonely"
"SO IT IS FRIENDS YOU DESIRE? I CAN GIVE YOU AS MANY FRIENDS AS A PERSON COULD HAVE, BUT IT WILL BE FOR
A PRICE: YOUR SO-"
"I don't want to make a deal. I just want to spend some time with you"
"I WILL NOT WASTE MY TIME WITH THIS. I WILL SEE YOU ON JUDGEMENT DAY"
A column of smoke arose from Bezzlebub's feet until it engulfed him entirely. As the smoke cleared, Mitchell saw Beezlebub still there with a look of disappointment on his face.
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!"
"The spell will keep you here until you do as I wish or the sun rises, and that's in about 5 hours."
"NOBODY, COULD POSSIBLY SUMMON I, BEEZLEBUB, FOR NO REASON"
"Well, Firstly, it's "me, Beezlebub" not I. Secondly, I summoned you here because I suspect that nobody has tried to be your friend for a long time."
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK SUCH THINGS, IGNORANT FOOL. I AM THE LIEUTENANT OF SATAN HIMSE- ugh, You're right. Satan and I used to be the best of friends. After we took over Hell collecting Human souls was just so easy that Lucifer and I spent most of our time together. I guess things started to change when the Buddha was born."
Beezlebub sat on Mitchell's bed and continued "It got worse when Jesus and Mohammed were born. With all those people telling others not to be evil, collecting souls became a full time job. Things got harder and harder as humanity advanced. I thought things would get better after WWI but Satan spent so much time with that mustachioed, Nazi shithead, that I thought he was Satan's new best friend."
Mitchell put his hand on Beezlebub's massive shoulder. "I get that", he said "I used to have two best friends, but they got jobs, and wives and kids, and we just kind of drifted apart. They moved on with their lives and I just ... fell behind"
"Beezlebub looked at Mitchell, "You know Mitch, you're the first person in a thousand years to just talk to me. If I'm stuck here lets hangout"
Mitchell's face lit up "Cool! So what do you like to do?"
"Do you like collecting the souls of the innocent?"
"No, do you like playing video games?"
"Yeah. Do you have any EA games?"
Mitchell asked "Yeah, why?"
Beezlebub pointed at his chest and proudly said "I'm the CEO of EA"
Mitchell laughed and said "I got Battlefield 4, Let's play."
The two played all night. For the first time in a longtime both of them felt truly happy. When the sun rose Mitchell looked worriedly at Beezlebub. Beezlebub said, "Don't worry I'll see you next Friday"
"Why?! Am I going to die"
Beezlebub laughed, "No because I get off work early on Friday and I want to spend it with a friend."
| There he was. I still couldn't believe it.
A colossal being, he stood towering over me, a giant, his legs as thick as trunks and as long as I was tall. His flesh was made of a thick black mist, wisps of it circled him, shrouding him, concealing him. He looked almost like he was part of the darkness that filled the small, worn-down room.
The most striking part of him was his eyes. Eyes that made him look human. It wasn't really the eyes themselves, but more of the look they gave. A look of anger, a look of despair, a look of longing, a look of hope. I knew that look, it was the look I put on everyday. His eyes not only looked into my soul, but tugged at it, tearing it, bit by bit.
A year ago today I lost all that I had held dear to me in this world. My son's plane crashed over the Atlantic Ocean, he was on his way home to visit me. His mother when she heard the news killed herself in grief and on the same day my mother died of cancer, going off to join my father in a land far far away.
I was never the same after that. That incident turned me into the man I am today, and it's what brought him here.
Him. Feared by all. He stalks each and every one of us, follows us through our lives. Those who are fast, escape, but only for a while. Sooner or later he catches up to us, and when he does, he hits us right where it hurts. No one liked him, no one wanted him. He was powerful, bringing even the strongest of men to their knees in tears.
And today I was to meet him, and he was to be my friend.
I took his cold hand in mine, the mist started crawling up my arm, it stung, but it would not release itself.
I looked at him. He looked at me.
My only friend, and his name was Loneliness. | 2014-07-20T08:32:52 | 2014-07-20T08:32:27 | 98 | 15 |
[WP] "We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The Prosecution smiles arrogantly as he believes you cornered. "DNA? How interesting, none of my components are made of biological material" | "We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The prosecutor directs a smug smile at me. This time, he thinks, he's got me. THIS time.
"DNA? How interesting. I don't have a shred of biological material in me," I reply.
The judge gives me one of *those* looks. He's waiting for me to say it's a joke. My eyes stare back, as unflinchingly as gumdrop-shaped eyes can. The "icing" that forms my mouth is a straight line, not even a hint of amusement.
"Yes, yeast would certainly be organic," I say. "Flour, too. Even sugar, cinnamon, ginger. All natural and traceable. I'm sure your policemen found all of these things at the murder scene. I'm sure you keep calling it 'DNA' just so your silly human laws will still apply."
They're all staring, now. A sense of dread is permeating the room. My eyebrows, too, they used to be icing. Now they angle down into a frown, as I look about the room.
"You see, I got tired of all these false positives. A burglar enjoys a god-damned cinnamon bun at the scene, I get pulled in as a suspect. But then, you've always been after me, ever since I ran out of that oven."
Now my mouth is angling up a little. A smirk, some would call it. My features aren't exactly nuanced.
"Well, turns out, if you modify a magical oven, you can do more with it. You can melt plastic. Even metal."
I raise my right arm. No hand at the end. As it should be. "I started with this one. And piece by piece, I replaced... myself."
Everyone in the room is gawping, now. The judge, the prosecutor. The audience, gathered in the hopes of having even just a little nibble. They were salivating. Now they're losing hope. Time for the coup d'etat. I hop up onto the table, and spread my arms.
"That's right! There's not a single piece of cookie left in me! And I'll prove it! I hereby invite the judge to... bite me!"
I relish in the sound of gasps echoing throughout the courtroom. I'll give the judge this: He maintains a straight face, doesn't falter or flinch, as he rises, and walks over to the defendant's table.
My mouth is a white sideways D - all polymer - as he grasps me in wrinkled fingers. I can feel him tremble, now, as he runs his thumb over the slightly rough texture of my plastic surface, engineered to appear as gingerbread-like as possible.
He's careful not to let his lips touch me. His teeth clack once, twice against my head. Then a limb each. He's thorough, as lawmen should be.
I can see the tremble in his lower lip as he puts me down. He walks quickly back to the judge's chair, as if to hide his emotions.
All eyes are on him now. He looks around, takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Case dismissed," he says.
"That's right," I tell him. I tell them all.
**"No one caught the gingerbread man."** | "Mr. Roy, we have found very large amounts of DNA at the scene that proves you were there the night of the murder." The prosecutor smiled, "And the knife that we found in your home proves you were the one who stabbed her."
"I'm sorry, did you say you found my DNA?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Well I hate to tell you this, but my body isn't made out of biological material."
Suddenly the wall behind them exploded in a blinding light. Instantly turning the man and his guards to piles of ash.
"We'll, not your kind of biological material anyway." I said as I disappeared through what was once a wall and shutting the multiversal gate behind me. | 2021-03-30T14:18:45 | 2021-03-30T14:02:32 | 177 | 17 |
[WP] Ever since travelling 1,000 years into the future, you have been getting along well with the people who live there. That is until you say "Merry Christmas!" The room falls silent, and the looks on their faces resemble... fear? | “Hey looks like it’s about midnight, Merry Christmas everyone!” As soon as the words left my mouth, the mood of the party shifted. Countless eyes stared daggers at me, and my buddy Russell pulled me to a corner and into a room, away from the party. The silence was broken by the uncanny robot-DJ thing resuming the playlist, but I can tell I killed the mood of the party.
“Why did you say that? Didn’t you know it’s a taboo to mention anything related to that accursed day?” Russel billowed angrily.
“What do you mean, it’s Christmas? You don’t celebrate it anymore in this time? Or did something happen on this day?”
“Millions! Millions were killed!”
“How was I supposed to know that? I’m from 2022! The worst thing that happened in that time was a pandemic and a global recession.”
“Oh buddy things are about to get a whole lot worse Brock. But we’ll not get into that today.”
“So how? How did millions of people get killed?”
“Santa. Santa is not who he seems. The creation of temporal and spatial manipulation, all of it. Leads back to Santa and his fucking friend.” As he said this he broke eye contact and looked out the window.
“Was he evil? What did he do?”
“No, far from it. Santa was the kindest person I…we…knew. But whomever invented temporal and spatial manipulation, or as you would call it time travel, openly gave the secrets to his friend, whom we all know as Santa. The original founder was unknown.“
“What? I’m not following. When was time travel invented then?”
“It doesn’t matter when time travel was invented when you can travel through time. It could have been invented at the end of the world and brought back to the caveman ages. Even I myself am not from this time! But back to the point, now how do you think Santa delivers presents all over the Earth on time?”
“His magic reindeer? But we all know that’s not real. Is it?”
“Oh, the reindeer was real, but nope. His trustiest helper programmed exact coordinates and times on a device. With that he managed to deliver gifts to the children of the world.”
“Don’t parents buy their children gifts?” I noticed my tone shifting to annoyance, but I pressed on.
“Santa’s gifts aren’t always presents. He can also create after images or illusions, popularly the flying sleigh and reindeer, to give hope and wonder to children. Such are the wonders of literal time magic.”
“So what happened then?”
“He pushed it too far. Time and spatial manipulation on that scale leaves cracks in the space time continuum. In the year 3015, on Christmas Day, the moment he launched the time travel machine, a tear was created in the continuum, everything programmed within the coordinates…everything…” Russell was struggling to finish, he coughed and teared up. I passed him some tissues, held him and comforted him.
“You can stop if you want to, I don’t need to hear the story, and I’m sorry for bringing Christmas up. I really didn’t know.”
“No, the coordinates that I…that I…everything was sucked and devoured in the temporal-spatial anomaly. Imagine this, tens of thousands of coordinates, programmed into the machine, all spawning a hole in space time and devouring everything like a pseudo blackhole. Santa himself was sucked into one. Millions of lives were lost, and I…and I…”
“You? Who exactly are you?”
“I am Rudolph, the bloodstained reindeer.” | In the year 500 ATD (after temporal disturbance), Santa showed himself to the world. He was not the kind old man of our dreams - he was the cruel taskmaster of our nightmares. He was originally from another dimension but was banished for his cruelty. In this dimension his strange Powers give him the ability to see every living being on any planet that he stands on.
For many years he pretended to be Earth's benefactor, collecting data on all of us by spying on our children. Now in the year 1000 ATD - he is often said to show up at the mere mention of his name or anything Christmas related. A visit from Santa is something that few people can tell about.
He's never been seen to kill anyone, but he stuffs everyone that he can get a hold of into a large bag that seems to never be full. The resistance has speculated that it opens up into a pocket dimension, what happens there is a mystery.
-he sees you when you're sleeping and knows when you're awake. | 2022-11-11T23:29:21 | 2022-11-11T21:58:35 | 102 | 41 |
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product. | "Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat.
I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant.
It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier.
Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me.
And these things are everywhere.
I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please."
"Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models.
Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience.
He was the cheapest model money could buy.
I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so.
See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line.
If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again.
C'est la vie.
I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist.
I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank.
I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move.
In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid.
The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign."
"The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter.
"You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet."
"I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis.
The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?"
"Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin.
One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying.
So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible.
I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!"
Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street.
I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour.
Thank you, Buddy. | "I am sorry, iMan, but we're gonna have to talk to your owner. As you well know, I can't let you buy alcohol without an adult present. Otherwise, it would just be way too easy for minors to score alcohol these days."
"I'm telling you, man, this is a real ID. My name is Robert Mandeus. I'm an actual person, for fuck's sake. Are you really that fucking stupid? What kind of iMan swears this much? I'm telling you, dude, I'm the human *model* for the iMan. I don't look like one of them, *they* look like me."
"Ha! Right! And I'm the queen, mate. Look, I already told you. No human, no alcohol."
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE MAN! Here! I'll fucking prove it!" Robert searches his pockets, then practically throws his backpack on the ground in frustration. He frantically sifts through it until finally pulling out a stanley knife, holding it awkwardly in his hands.
The man behind the counter shifts instantly from being a smartass to being absolutely terrified. "I'm so sorry! Of course you're human.." He starts opening up the register, pulling out all the cash and dumping it on the counter. "..I don't know how I could've ever doubted you. It's so obvious to me now. Here, please take this." As he started piling whiskey bottles on the counter.
Robert stopped listening to the shop tiller begging for his life. Instead he was staring at the knife, his wrists and hands filled with scar tissue. *Is this really what it has come down to? Will I have to do this every fucking time I need a drink?* He needed a drink more often than not, these days. And who could blame him? *Why the fuck did I ever agree to it..? Sure, the money was nice. But what good is money if you can't fucking spend it?*
*Why couldn't I have become a teacher, like mom always wanted? Why didn't I listen? Well, too late now..* He steeled himself for the pain he knew would follow and stuck the blade into his thumb. A tiny line of red blood came trickling out.
"SEE?! Now tell me, do robots have blood?" As he looked up, a self satisfied smirk on his face, he noticed the tiller wasn't there anymore. *Fuck my life.. Not this again..*
When he heard the sirens getting nearer, he knew exactly what to expect. He put the knife back in his backpack, setting it against the counter. Close enough to remain in view, but not too close to be a threat. Lying facedown, his hands behind his back, he started on what would be his mantra for the next few minutes: "I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest. I am human and will not resist arrest." | 2021-04-05T04:33:56 | 2021-04-05T01:53:43 | 255 | 97 |
[WP] the grim reaper appears in your bedroom. You look at him, and notice a version of yourself standing next to him. The grim reaper tells the other you "if you don't change your ways, this is how you end up." The other you is mortified and vows to change his ways, and they vanish. | When it happened the first time, I thought it was a dream.
*"If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up."* The black-hooded figure with the skeletal face told the younger version of me, before vanishing into thin air.
I picked my head off the pillow, stared at them and dozed-off, dismissing it as a weird dream.
Then it happened a second time, about a week or so, later.
*"If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up."* I heard him enunciate slowly, and I noticed the horrified look on my younger self's face. And then they vanished, again.
*'Weird.'* I thought to myself in the morning. *'How often does that happen?'*
It never happened to me - having the exact same dream, twice - I mean. Not to mention me remembering the small details of what happened. Like the clothes I was wearing, or the cut on my younger self's lip, or the large dilated pupils he... I was looking at my self with.
Then it happened the third time. And then the fourth. And the fifth.
Each time the details were the same, but slightly different. The hooded figure was the same, but young me - wasn't. They were different versions of me, in different times of my youth, from about 6 and 11 years old.
*'What kind of games is my mind playing on me?'* \- was my second, initial reaction.
I did what every grown adult would do in that case. I went online for a self diagnosis and apparently, my mind was trying to suggest something to me - something that I didn't quite understand yet.
*'If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up.'* \- the words were etched in my brain by that point.
What was so wrong with me, that my younger self would have been so traumatized by?
I couldn't quite put a finger on that. Yes, I was living alone, but at least it was in my own house. And yes, I may have added a few pounds since of late, but I'm not fat, I'm chubby at best - and that's a stretch too, if you ask me. And I didn't even entirely inherit my father's bald spot. As for work - I could've landed something better, but being an accountant isn't all that bad - I always liked numbers, and they seemed to like me. So what was it all about?
The hooded skeleton increased the frequency in which he visited me at night, from once a week, to twice a week, to every night. It became quite bothersome.
At first, I tried saying something when the two appeared, but neither of them seemed to realize I was talking.
I set up a bright digital clock, right above the door, where they appeared, trying to measure a time period of when they arrived, but they were inconsistent - they could come in every stage of the night.
I started closing the door and I set dangling can traps - like the ones in 'Home Alone' and I started putting bowls of water where they would typically appear. But every time - they would simply appear in different places.
The hooded fella would continue appearing with a different version of me, still in the range of ages of 6 to 11. Him - always repeating the same words. And young me - always looking shocked at what he had seen.
I was starting to get desperate. So I went to 'google' again, but this time I tried tackling the issue on another front.
'Best pills to knock you out for the whole night' - I searched.
'SnoozZzZ' arrived just like that in a couple of days.
I admit they looked quite shady, but I wasn't one to go out much and have social interactions, that often. Besides, they promised these would solve my problem.
I took two before going to sleep, just as instructed and they worked like a charm, until of course the dreaded duo arrived, and I was magically up to see them judging me. This time, although - it was different. This time - it wasn't even little me - it was some other brat, someone I have never seen. And the little shit - was judging me, with his big, wide-open eyes.
"Oh, come on!" I yelled at them as they started disappearing. "That's a load of bullocks!" I yelled into the dead of night.
*'That's it.'* \- I thought. 'That was the last straw.'
I decided that this night - I wasn't going to let them slip my grasp. I was going to intercept them, and meet them just as they appear. I was not going to sleep.
I loaded up with some coffee, energy drinks, snacks, the series of 'Harry Potter', some more coffee, and waited.
The hours flew by quickly - 'Harry Potter' was a favorite of mine and if anything was going to pass me through the night - it was that.
Then, at around 4 in the morning, as Harry and Cedric were transported to Little Hangleton's graveyard, the two twats appeared.
I pulled the Spider-man blanket off me, and nearly broke my custom made Pikachu mug, as I sprung to my feet.
"Got you, fuckers!" I yelled at the two as they turned to face me.
They could see me!
"I am deeply sorry, child." The hooded figure baritoned. "This has never happened before."
The kid yet again - was not me.
"What the fuck is going on?" I scratched my head, then my beard.
"Ah, what the hell..." The skeleton changed his voice into a faster one. "You suck." He attacked. "You are the worst example I could think of." He did not spare any words.
"Wha... wha... what?" I did not see that coming.
"Every version of you that had seen how you end up, had changed their ways - and achieved greatness." He took a deep breath. "In fact, I even decided to show you to some other children - and guess what - they've fucking grew up to become decent adults, since seeing you."
"But... that happened two nights ago."
"Ah, time means nothing to me. I am the Grim Reaper. But, I don't expect you to understand or believe me, or anything for that matter."
"Uhh..." I had nothing to say. I didn't think far enough as to confront the man, and I was left speechless. My mouth may have stayed agape. "Uhh..."
"Forget it. I'm sick of looking at you every night. I'll find someone else. Too bad I wouldn't be able to find anyone as bad as you."
"Uhh..."
"Have a terrible, miserable life!" He snapped his finger, the two disappeared into thin air, and the door slammed itself shut - dropping my fedora on the floor.
I picked it up, and put it back next to my sword collection.
"Gee. The nerve on some people." I murmured before laying in my bed, Catwoman's body pillow cuddled between my legs.
*'Well. Problem solved. I won't be seeing them again.'* I smiled - a smile of triumph, as I could finally sleep quietly.
​ | "What... the...?" James whispered, still staring at the spot where the other him had been. Perhaps it was because of all those movies, but the first thing James did was pinching his own cheeks. It hurt. A lot. And *that* was truly disappointing. He had hoped that he would've woken up from a bad dream.
Of course, he could do that other thing, something that he had always done on such situations - fall asleep and wake up in the morning, pretending that nothing had happened. But even as he tried to do that, he couldn't sleep. And it made sense; why would he sleep after that?
"Dammit," James groaned and finally got himself seated. Soon after, he got himself up and began clothing himself. As he had finished, he got himself to the nearby window and opened it, just to step outside on the roof.
James still lived with his parents who happened to own that house. And since his room happened to be on the second floor, he occasionally sneaked out through the roof. But this time around, he laid down and just observed the clear sky.
"What's so bad about my life?" James wondered, raising his arms and looking at his hands. Why would he be the example to someone else? His life wasn't bad. He got a job. While he still lived with parents, he helped them to pay the bills. He had finally found the girl he liked. They recently even began dating. Perhaps he would eventually move out as well. It was only a matter of time.
*If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up.* Those words echoed in his mind, keeping his eyes wide opened.
"I hate all of this," James said. "Why am I being judged? Who has right to judge me?" he said, finally seating himself up, both hands in a fist. "I'm tired of this shit. Everyone... all the time..."
"But that's how they get motivated," a voice appeared, making James quickly look at his room's window. Was the reaper back? Or was it his younger self? No. The voice was too high pitched for that. "I wondered why there was all the ruckus in the middle of the night," a bit older woman said, smiling and getting herself on the roof, as well.
"Eh, sister, what are you doing here?" James said, frowning.
"You know, since you were young, I always heard it whenever you opened the window," she said, smiling.
"That doesn't mean you can just come into my room and join me here. Did you even knock?" James said, sighing. "You don't even live here anymore. Or well, didn't not that long time ago."
"Hey, I'm helping you to ease your mind, and that's how you thank me? Judging me?" she said. It was James' sister. She always had shorter black hair, and she was a bit skinnier compared to the most women. But recently she had divorced, and thus she had moved back.
"Why would I need help from a depressed sister who got recently divorced and ran back home?"
"Well, at least I left home. When will you leave?" Leona responded, hiding her chuckle behind her hand. But after a short time, they both started laughing.
"What's the problem, small brother?" she asked. "You can ask me anything. After all, I am the master of brokenness."
"What do you mean by that's how they get motivated?" James asked.
Leona sighed. "That's easy. If someone judges you, they feel better and motivated. They might even feel the need to change, or perhaps just not feel that bad about themselves."
"But is it right?" James asked.
"Of course it's not, brother. Those who speak ill of us are worse than scum," Leona said, nodding.
"You're so serious," James said, chuckling a bit.
"I *am* serious!" Leona said, sighing.
"What if that person was a reaper itself? What if something like that told me that?"
"Then death is worse than scum. That's how easy it is. We all live our own lives. What matters is how we are living tomorrow, not how we lived yesterday. Or at least that's my motivation," Leona said. "I did get divorced for tomorrow."
"That's such a stupid excuse," James sighed.
"But that's my life. I may have fucked up, but what good will that fuck up do tomorrow?"
"Ahhh, the brightness, it's killing me," James moaned.
"Shut up," Leona said, laughing.
---
/r/Elven
Just ended up being a some kind of discussion... Don't judge other people lives and just live your own. | 2018-12-30T13:02:35 | 2018-12-30T11:57:19 | 144 | 20 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | Well, I had a good run.
The best thief in the history of Skazer. The amount of nobles I'd robbed was, frankly, ridiculous. Even I had lost count. Hell, I probably could have retired after the first three or four jobs, buy myself an island in another country and live like a noble.
But in my view, that wasn't much of a life. Life was close calls with guards, life was planning heists, life was crawling through cramped basements, it was sinking my dagger into the throat of some imperial guard just for fun. Life was the thrill of getting away and drinking to my own success.
Yet here I was strapped to a chair.
How did it happen? A classic of course: betrayal. You know how it is, you spend your entire life trusting no one, looking out for yourself, and the one time, the *one* damn time you reach out to someone, *trust* someone. They betray you.
The man towered above me holding a a giant knife. Frankly, I actually wasn't quite sure how I could see right now. I'd been stabbed multiple times in the stomach, legs and arms. He'd done the old rip your teeth out one by one thing too. I think my body had turned off its pain receptors, because at this point I couldn't feel anything except for the wetness of my blood on my body. There were no questions, no, Mark would already have answered all of them, that bastard. This was spite, pure and simple.
And so there I was, covered in blood, without clothes, no way to escape, and the man raised his blade.
Despite it all, I looked him in the eyes. I had cried, and...embarrassed myself many times already, but hell if I was going out like a coward.
"We had some fun times, girl, but all good things come to an end." he smiled and with no ceremony whatsoever slid his knife across my throat. Despite myself, I gasped.
Nothing happened.
Had he not hit the artery? For some reason, probably because of my deliriously frightened state, I found this hysterical. The sheer anti-climactic nature of the whole situation. I started laughing. In a torture chamber.
The man went from confused to angry in an instant. His lips curled into a snarl. "What's so funny, bitch?" He then took his knife and jammed his blade right in my chest.
Again, there was fluttering of fear in my stomach, you know, because someone had just jammed a bloody *knife* in my heart. I felt my heart stop beating. I swear I felt it. That familiar vibration that I hadn't even realized was there suddenly stopped. I felt...empty, I suppose.
But alive.
I smiled at him. It seemed like the right thing to do.
The man's anger evaporated, replaced with a deep, primal fear. "Oh Kos, I'm sorry!" He stumbled away from me, at one point tripping over a pair of tweezers, "I'm sorry! I don't want to be the torturer, it was the only job I could get! Forgive me!"
I was pretty damn startled as well, but thief's instincts die hard. "Mortal," I said, trying to sound like deity, and not a 5 foot woman, "if you truly wish to be salvaged, show me your devotion by freeing me from these bonds." The guy thought I was the avatar of some God, why not play along?
The man nodded like an eager puppy, and hurried to undo my bonds. All the while trying not to look at the knife buried hilt deep in my breast.
He finished and backed off as I stood up. I tested my arms and legs. Everything was fine. Even my teeth had grown back. I hadn't been numb, all my injuries had healed! It had been hard to tell with all the blood, though.
Cocking my head to the side, I put my hands on the hilt of the blade inside me, and with a jerk, pulled it out. A fountain of blood exploded out of the cavity, but as I watched, the hole closed itself, and the blood stopped flowing. I stared wide-eyed.
It all made sense now, how I'd survived getting beaten by Father when I was young, how I had been able to keep running with that arrow in my shin, why I'd never in my life fallen sick. All this time, I'd been bloody *immortal.*
The man's face was a mixture of utter revulsion and fear. When he saw me looking at him, he bowed his head in a gesture of supplication. "Please, mistress," he said, his voice fearful, "I have done as you asked, please let me be."
I smiled as I jammed the knife in his heart.
Looked like I had a very long life ahead of me. But before I got on with it, there was someone else I had to visit.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | I shouted as his knife stroke into my skin again and again and again until it got through. I was screaming in agony but with my last breath i said
"I didn't do anything to you for which i deserved this pun-" He cut my sentence
"Oh yes you did,dont you remember you flithy worm what happened on the summer of '83?"
He screamed as his face got ever closer to my half burnt one. At this point i had a blade in my heart,my entire body was simply burnt and i saw the acid on the table- he probably wanted to torture me to death. Oh dear,but was i not dying? Of course i was *dying* but it seemed like i could never reach true death.
"This should be enough, i hope you remember as soon as you get to hell"
He suddenly left the room and probably went downstairs for a shovel. Who is so stupid as to torture sameone upstairs? This is like the only time i can imagine it being easier and safer to do it in the basement. Its just like hiking, its often harder to climb down than the other way around. I liked hiking it always felt like i was one wrong step away from falling into the abyss below me but i never did. Until now.
When he dragged me out i was probably unconscious. He started digging a hole, i guess he wanted to put me in there.
"So" i said as i woke up,now free from all chains that he held me with. Im sure he thought i was dead and so did i. "Are you finished?"
He was the most terrified person i have seen in my entire life. He looked at me as if i was the devil itself. Maybe i was who knows.
"Wha-a-aaa-aaaaat are you?"
He screamed. Poor little guy. Im sure i would be just as terrified if sameone i killed simply asked me if im finished. He kneeled down muttered something, maybe he was a part of a sect. It would explain why he tortured me. About the summer of '83 thing, i was born in '91 so i dont know anything about what happened then. The now-grown-up-but-back-then-kids generation always started talking about '83 and sects and being lazy but we never cared about these things.
I stood up, waved at him and walked away. There was still some acid in my lungs but it didnt hurt at all. Poor little guy.
____________________________________________________________________________
This is my first ever story and English isn't my first language so any suggestions or corrections are welcome | 2017-02-08T09:11:52 | 2017-02-08T07:32:48 | 457 | 157 |
[WP]Your girlfriend is an alien whose species is only slightly different from human beings. What are those changes, and how do you find out?
Potentially NSFW | Jacki was one of those shy butches with hidden tattoos and an alternative undercurrent, despite being outwardly pretty normal. We met at a bowling night, of all things, where I lost two acrylic nails to a ball that was too heavy for me and she bandaged my bleeding thumb from a little medkit in the back of her Vespa's storage box.
I realised as she softly told me how to change the dressing in that husky, serious voice, that I had already fallen a little bit in love with her and that I wanted *her* to be the one to change my bandage in the morning.
So I told her so. I've always been the forthright kind.
She gave me her helmet and we got on her scooter and rode to her little studio apartment, where she tucked me into a fluffy dressing gown and cuddled me until I slept.
No doubt about it, I was in love alright.
 
We took things slow. I knew there was some underlying trauma to her shyness and I didn't press it. She took me to watch her play baseball and played me improv love songs on her old guitar. Two weeks into things, I asked her about her parents and she looked away, suggesting maybe things weren't working out between us.
Devastated, I wrapped myself around her and cried until she soothed me by stroking my back and whispering that she was sorry.
We never talked about her family again; my own family relationship was rocky, since they were Muslims and didn't agree with my apostasy, nor my same-sex attractions. Clearly Jacki had it even worse.
The first night we slept together was a month into our relationship and I finally got to see the full extent of her tattoos - massive, scrolling, symmetric whorls of purple, red and white, raised scars showing through some parts and curious dimples in other parts. I asked who had done the work - it was so beautifully *natural* and complex that it looked almost organic. She said it had been done in the Cook Islands.
I believed her.
 
After two months, I knew something was up when I asked her for a pad and she didn't have a single feminine hygiene product in her apartment. But she ran down to the gas station and bought me a pack all the same and I loved her for that small gesture, even though I was confused.
"I had a radical hysterectomy when I was sixteen," she explained later, "due to progressive cervical cancer."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I'd asked.
"Well we're gay - it's not like we can have kids together. I didn't think it mattered."
Nonplussed, I wanted to be angry at her, but I couldn't. She was right; it hardly mattered. If we wanted to have kids, it would be *me* doing the carrying anyway as Jacki had the maternal instincts of a pet rock.
The subject of children wasn't raised again though - I was twenty three and she was twenty seven. Plenty of time to think about kids later on.
And so our relationship blossomed.
 
Almost a year later, the normally indomitably healthy Jacki got sick.
Her temperature was sky high and I begged her to go to the doctor, but she refused.
"It will pass in a couple of days," she said.
But she wet the bed with foul-smelling blood-laced urine and I called an ambulance regardless. She was delirious by now and I soothed her with an ice pack on her forehead while she babbled in broken syllables - not even real words, just a string of nonsense.
At the hospital she came around once they lowered her temperature and she begged me to get the medkit from her scooter. Like any good partner, I did what she asked.
A day later she was fine and they released her, saying it must have been some kind of gastro virus, but the doctor wanted to check back with her about some odd test results next week.
Jacki never went back, saying she felt fine.
 
We got married six months later, after the supreme court decision, and we moved into a bigger place. A bunch of her friends attended, but no family. I was much the same; only my liberal uncle and aunt bothered to come from my side.
I got promoted and Jacki finished her sports medicine degree. We got a little German schnauzer called Boofy and we had a holiday in Thailand, to make up for our too-short honeymoon.
Almost exactly a year to the day, she got sick again.
The same symptoms; bloating, fever, sweats and discharge. Again she begged me not to take her to the hospital and asked for her medkit again.
Bemused and frightened I got the metal box for her.
But she didn't get better this time.
I'd picked up my phone and had started dialing when her eyes went wide and she *screamed.*
"It's happening!" she moaned, tearing the sheet off her abdomen.
The tattoos and scars along her stomach had grown thick and fleshy, with a raw stripe in between, down the central line of her body. As I watched, it tore open and Jacki writhed in agony. I grabbed for the phone again but she snatched my hand back with unnatural strength, pinning my hand to the bed.
"Not much time to explain," she gasped, then her back arched and she *split* down the middle like a fruit that's been squeezed too hard.
From the wound on her body squirmed a newborn baby; fully formed and swirled with purple, red and white markings, just like hers.
"Get a towel," Jacki barked and in my shell-shocked state, I could only do what I was told.
She wrapped the infant in the clean towel and held her.
"I'm not human," she finally said.
I'd figured as much by now, so just nodded.
"And I'm sorry."
The gaping hole in her abdomen was leaking orange fluid and wasn't closing.
She noticed and looked down, grimacing.
"Arissa, I'm dying. This is the life cycle of my people - we give birth, then we die. I thought I could suppress at least two more cycles, but I was wrong."
The tears started flowing immediately and my shoulders started to shake. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
"I love you Arissa and I want you to raise our daughter. Tell her about me, tell her how much I loved you."
"This can't be happening."
She smiled weakly,
"I meant to tell you, but I was afraid. I'm sorry."
She was pale now and the bed was soaked with orange liquid.
Her hand squeezed mine once more, then she was gone.
 
---------------
 
Jessie ran to the open car and got in, before we drove away from daycare. She was growing fast - faster than any human child. Soon we'd need to move again.
"Tell me about mama Jacki again," she cooed, strapping herself into the passenger seat.
I smiled and told her - for the hundredth time - the story of how I met her mother.
| The first time my girlfriend Alaina’s arms suddenly transformed into a vast array of writhing tentacles that could reach into the voids of time and space and allow her to show me visions of prophesy, we were sitting on the couch watching TV.
We were into the fifth hour of our 24 hour cable news marathon. There we sat, completely immobilized in catatonic contentment until she asked me to pass the bag of potato chips I had been eating continuously since it had been opened half an hour earlier. With some will, I dislodged my fist sucked greasy crumbs off as I passed the bag, hefting my elbow across the arm rest.
She reached across for the bag and began to say “I shouldn’t, I’m tired of being a gross-“, when suddenly her eyes opened wide, horrified. The light seemed to flee from her and fill the rest of the room.. Her arms split into countless thin, tapering tendrils that extended from the tips of her fingers up past the elbow. With a twitch, she crushed the bag of chips and filled the air with a fine, salty mist. Her tentacles began flail spastically in all directions, like drunk and randy squids.
Her right squirming mass of tentacles shot out straight at a right angle from everything, and stretched what seemed an immense distance. She wrapped her left around me arm, and pulled me into a hospital room. She pulled me to the bedside, and I could hear the beeps and whirrs of medical scanners gently pulsing around me.
In the bed lay a bloated form with pale skin gleaming with oily sweat. He wheezed gently, half closed eyes blankly staring at the blank television screen. He rolled over glacially, until I saw his face. My face. Like a lumpy mirror.
I was on both sides of the room at once, feeling my consciousness split. I was in the bed. I was standing above it. Memories from both lives flickered and faded, until there was nothing but the hospital room and Alaina’s pulsating tentacles. Standing, clutching the bed railing, my bedridden face going from me to Alaina to her tentacles and back to me, a look of sudden, terrible comprehension sinking in.
Alaina screamed inhumanly as her jaw disgorged itself. Her eyes rolled and receded into her skull, her eye sockets now deep holes that fell into a pit of unending oblivion. Inside, fields of stars drifted, and through the gaping sockets they rotated in parallax as she slowly turned her face to make eyeless contact with me.
The face haunts my memory, and I suddenly realize that this is the face I have always looked into. I remembered holding hands for our first kiss, her wormlike appendages squirming between my fingers. I remember friends and family fleeing in terror when they were first introduced. I remembered staring mesmerized into those bottomless, pitted sockets when I said ‘I love you’ for the first time, and I remembered waking up after a night of passion covered in a viscous slime.
She reaches up above her head, her body lengthening at the hip as she climbs into the sky, me pulled along by her will. The world is wreathed with a warm, inviting light all around. The light is filled with tentacles, tumbling and spilling and suggestively slithering over each other. Beneath, struggling in the dark, are the people. All of them, and scattered among them there are thousands more tentacles monsters. They are anchored to lost souls, begging them to rise into the light with them. They weep and they scream and they flail monstrously, and a few at a time their anchors lazily rouse themselves and rise.
She looks me in the face again, and furrows her brows angrily. Her eyes swallowed me, and as I fell through the void I saw the world begin to fade into a white hot flash of octarine light. The light burned everything and surrounded us, closing in. Then the world began to dissolve away the glowing blackness, my awareness and memories shifting back into place.
For a moment, we sat motionless, my empty hand still extended. She sat across from me, flush. She started to speak, hesitant and uncertain. “-gross… fat pig.”
Although disoriented, I replied as though on cue, “No baby, you’re beautiful.”
The room swam as I tried to remember what I had been doing. “What did you do with the potato chips?” she demanded, sure of herself again.
Like the last vestiges of a nightmare, the residue of memory faded away. I turned the TV off. “I don’t know. You feel like a walk tonight?”
| 2015-09-05T12:53:55 | 2015-09-05T12:51:46 | 456 | 50 |
[WP] You live in a world where humans actually do get 3 wishes, one when you're 5, one when you're 10, and one when you're 20. | I wonder.
I wonder how my life would've turned out if I had wished different wishes. I wonder how my life would turn out if I had a fourth wish. I've heard many people stating this. People, too immature at the time, wasting their precious wishes for nonsensical stuff that wasn't important to them anymore after a short period of time. Wasted opportunities. Regret, bigger than a person could ever manage to live with.
We had this guy at our school who wasted his 20 on getting back together with his ex. Their relationship stayed toxic though, and eventually they broke up again. Shortly after he took his own life.
Then we have the people who still wish for a lot of money, no matter how much the government invests in informing them on the consequences. Worthless currencies, they raise and fall like the seasons.
So many people who didn't think and wished for stupid things.
Not that I am much different - all of my wishes were spoken out of an impulse, but the difference was that I was lucky enough to be unlucky in specific ways.
I remember my own 20. I was one of the worst students in university, no matter how much I learned, I just never could make any sense of what the professors were saying. I was studying so hard that year, worried that I might not make it through the exams. I was so focused on studying, hoping that I would somehow manage one way or another that I completely forgot about my own birthday, and thus my uttered words of 'I wish I wasn't so bad at learning' were granted to me.
That's another good thing about the gods I guess - they are benevolent. I didn't get only a little bit better with learning, instead I got a large jump in my abilites, I suddenly was able to learn every topic simply by reading about it one or two times. I doubt that I could've made a better wish, even if I had consciously tried.
Yes, I've always been lucky. The 20 was definitely a major turning-point in my life, it gave me so many opportunities.
My 10 was a bit different as well. Unlike the majority of children I didn't go for the standard 'I wish to be cool/beautiful'-wish. Considering that your normal looks are pretty much beautiful anyway, due to thousands of years of wish-guided genetics, I don't have to complain in that department (even if some people do look even more beautiful - but at some point it's just not that important anymore). I also didn't wish for a special job, didn't wish to be rich or famous, no, I, again, wished for something by pure accident.
My mother had accidentally eaten a slice of pie with nuts in it, which she is allergic too. I said "I hope you get better." She got better, and of course, I first was really angry and disappointed about having 'wasted' my wish. But that changed the next time my mother was hospitalized. Turns out she had a large tumor in her brain, which - thanks to my wish - now started to fade away by itself.
I never complained about 'wasting' my wish again.
Yes, both my 10 and my 20 did have long-lasting effects on my life. And if I had a fourth wish it'd maybe have an even greater impact on me than those two did. But I don't have a fourth wish, and that's perfectly okay. Because when I was 5, I met you.
You were funny and you knew far cooler games than I did. You didn't fear the older kids in kindergarten and you helped me find other friends.
And that's why I wished we could stay friends forever.
You are the most important thing that ever happened to me, you are my most precious wish, you are what I never in my entire life want to lose.
And because of that, even on the chance of sounding greedy, even though I know that no gods will be helping me this time, there is still a wish I want to make:
Will you marry me? | Childhood wishes were a dilemma. We're not yet old enough to understand the full weight of our choices. But, on the other hand, we decide what we really want. Or, at least what we wanted back then.
At five years old, I wished I could have chocolate ice cream whenever I wanted. I loved ice cream, so it seemed like the logical choice. An adult might have wished for a million dollars or immortality, but I wanted ice cream, so that's what I got.
When I was ten, I had come to hate chocolate ice cream. I had other interests, specifically video games. I was still too young to grasp the true power of my wishes. I assumed my last wish was a waste, due to my new tastes, so it didn't even occur to me to fix it. Instead, I gave myself the newest video games on the day they were released, for free. I immediately regretted that decision. I should have wished for early access. I'm so sick of waiting for games to be released.
And now, on my twentieth birthday, I'm ready for my final wish. Which wrong will I right? Can I fix all my problems at once?
"I wish the chocolate ice cream was vanilla," I say aloud. A vanilla ice cream cone appears in my hand. Why did I do it, you might ask. Video games can wait when you have the right snack. | 2015-09-26T13:06:16 | 2015-09-26T13:04:21 | 216 | 11 |
[WP] It's your job to sort out the mixed-up letters between Satan and Santa, when one day you find a letter that could be for either one, but sending it to the incorrect recipient could have... interesting results nevertheless | I looked at the letter in front of me with disbelief... "This can't be right!" I thought, but suddenly realized I had actually said it out loud.
"What is it?" asked Franklin, my coworker at the mail sorting plant.
"This letter, I can't tell if this is written to Santa or Satan!"
"Wait, wha?!" Frank snorted out, half laugh, half disbelief.
"Look at this!" I pointed at the letter, from a child named Corey, written to "SATNA". "It seems like it was written to Santa, but with all of these goofball letters to Satan, I never know!"
"Well, why don't you open it up?" asked Frank. "That should figure it out right there."
"But... We're not supposed to do that!"
"Who cares? The kid ain't gonna find out..."
"Well, alright..." I sighed, and opened the letter as carefully as I could...
"Dear SANAT,
This may be an unconventional request... but I am wanting to join you. I heard you are looking for solid help, and I am getting fed up with my fudge packing job. I hear you have solid working conditions, and that your living quarters are quite toasty. I could definitely use a good tan, and I hear you have tanning beds there too, which is kind of ironic, given the circumstances.
If accepted, I would also love to bring my dog, Fifi. She has been my loyal companion, and is quite sick, likely going to die soon. If she could go down with me, I would make sure she is happy, and well fed with bones.
Thank you for your consideration.
-Corey"
I stared at the letter, dumbfounded. I was at a loss for words. I legitimately could not tell who the letter was meant to go to. Two typos, must be a classic case of dyslexia... Did he want it to go to Satan, or to Santa?
It seemed like he was wanting to go to Hell... That was the logical explanation. Dying dog, putting Her out of her misery, living for eternity in hell with all the bones to eat? That made sense...
But what if Corey meant toy bones from the North Pole?! AUGH!!! I don't know what to do! Then the tanning bed thing... Would be comically ironic if there were tanning beds in the North Pole, but even more so in Hell... Wouldn't the flames give a dark crispy tan?
I talked to Frank, and asked "What the heck am I supposed to do?"
"Do what you think feels right," responded Frank, with just a hint of a sly grin on his face.
"Alright..." I shut my eyes, and dropped the letter into the box to the right.
Two weeks passed, and I started feeling at ease about my decision. I then grabbed the top letter in the crate. It was singed at the edges, and smelled like sulfur. I recognized the name: Corey Adams. Addressed to me. I tentatively opened the letter, and read the two words on the seared paper.
"YOU IDIOT!!!!"" | Hey there ya big red man, there is something with my little sister.
Recently she has been getting on my nerves and I just don't know how I am going to deal with her.
I was wondering if it is possible that you could help me out with her. I just need you to take care of
her and get her to shut up for good, in the way only you know best!
Thanks for everything you do!
l -JimmyJam_D l | 2015-12-27T21:59:36 | 2015-12-27T17:23:34 | 75 | 29 |
[WP] You're just a chicken farmer. An ordinary chicken farmer. You're not a warlord. Definitely not, and you also don't command your chickens to do your bidding. Preposterous. Insane. Rumors. | Molly was in the middle of whisking when the knock came - three of them, actually, one after the other, loud, imperative. *It figures,* she thought to herself, and quickly wiped her hands on the hand-embroidered dish cloth and headed out of the kitchen. She paused in the living room to shoo a few hens out of her way - they knew better than to block her way like that. Honestly.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen, what can I do ya for?" she said once she had reached and opened the door. Two men wearing suits and sunglasses were standing on her dusty wooden porch.
The one on the left spoke first, "Ma'am. Good afternoon. Agent Jones and Agent Macklin, FBI. Mind if we come in?"
"Well - mi casa is suitcases, as my mama liked to say."
The two men remained impassive at this, causing Molly to sigh. "Because the sayin'...never mind all that, just come in, please."
Molly stepped aside to allow the men to enter her home. She gestured them towards the floral-print sofa by the staircase. "Take a seat. Can I get y'all a drink? I just whipped up some lemonade this mornin' that is, if you don't mind me tootin' my own horn a bit, is delicious."
"No thank you, Ma'am," Jones replied. He seemed to be the spokesman.
"That's twice now y'all have called me that. Please, call me Molly. Or, if that's a might too casual, you can call me Mama K."
Again, the only response was stony silence. Molly frowned.
Jones spoke up again, "Ma'am, we're following up a lead regarding an incident that happened not far from here early yesterday morning. A man and his family were killed in their sleep."
"My *heavens*!" Molly said, clasping her hands to collarbone. One of the hens nearby clucked in alarm at her sudden outburst. "Well, these are the times we live in, though, ain't they? You take the Bible out of school and what do you get?"
"The man was an informant for an important court case."
"Well oh-em-goodness, that's even worse! That poor man. Although I reckon it is dangerous work, bein' an informant for the FBI."
Agent Jones and Agent Macklin both cocked their heads ten degrees to the right at the same time - it would have been impressive if it hand't been so absurd. "Ma'am," Agent Jones began, "We did not mention he was working for us."
"Of course not, but you are here askin' 'bout him, and you're *from* the FBI...anyway, we can sit here shootin' at squirrels all you want, gentlemen, but I imagine you're not here just to bring me the latest news."
Macklin broke his silence. "Ma'am, the individuals were pecked to death."
Molly blinked at them. "I'm sorry - y'all mind repeatin' that?"
"Forensics indicated that they were pecked to death. All of them."
Molly allowed a small smile to creep across her lips. "Y'all came a long way just to yank an old lady's chain like this."
Agent Jones took over. "Ma'am, we do not joke about these kinds of matters."
Molly took a moment to let this sink in. "Pecked to death? *Pecked* to death, you say? But, my word, how would such a thing even happen? Did they have a pet bird?"
"No, Ma'am. And the report indicated it was at least five different birds that committed the murder."
"...and I just...I'm havin' trouble picturin' it, I s'ppose. I mean, I've been pecked a gracious plenty, especially by ol' Calpurnia, there, in the corner. But I can't imagine what it would take to *kill* someone through peckin'."
"It is a very unique case, ma'am. Anyway - we were wondering if you might have seen or heard anything unusual during the night in question."
"I mean, I s'ppose, you peck enough...eventually you start bleedin' so much...but still. Why would the chickens do that?"
The agents cocked their heads in unison again, this time to the left. "We didn't mention chickens, ma'am."
"Plus the coordination. You'd need some kinda ringleader, I guess, givin' orders and whatnot."
The chickens in the room had frozen, watching the scene unfold. Both of the men tensed and slowly rose from the couch. "Ma'am, I think we're going to have to ask you --"
"*Birdbath*," she barked.
Molly's living room erupted into complete mayhem. The chickens who had been in the room flapped at the lawmen and began pecking and clawing. Three times that number dropped down on them from above.
Molly raised her voice to be heard over the screams of the agents and the frenzied clucking of her feathered minions. "I am sorry about this, gentlemen. But y'all came into my home, refused my hospitality, and insisted on callin' me *ma'am* when I expressly asked y'all not to."
She watched silently for a time, then waited for the feathers to settle. "'sides, I can't have y'all messin' 'bout with my plans. And if you think what happened to that backstabbin' boll-weevil Strathairn was bad...wait 'til y'all see what I do next."
And with that, Molly turned, went back into the kitchen, and resumed her whisking.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds | ######[](#dropcap)
"That's a mighty lot of chickens you got there, Jim." Steve squinted out onto Jim's farm. Most farmers had one henhouse, maybe. Some of the richer ones, two.
But Jim, Jim had ten, and he let his chickens roam free all over the place.
Steve scratched at his beer gut, then leaned over the fence a little more, the wood creaking under his weight. "Say, how you get so many chickens anyway? You don't look real rich."
Jim slowly straightened himself and trudged over to Steve, taking off his gloves. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
Steve's eyes glinted with excitement. He hacked up a loogie and spit it into the dirt, then leaned closer. "Do tell."
Jim walked closer. He looked around, then bent down a little until he and Steve were eye level. "You see them chickens over there?" He pointed to the chickens clucking over around his fields. "They're magic chickens. They produce hundreds of eggs every day, and they also plow my farms for me."
"Bullshit!" Steve's eyes widened.
"No, it's true. Why do you think I have time to tend my flowers over here? I got one chicken egg from this mad old woman as I was coming back through the woods one day. Had to trade my old cow for it, even, and almost all the money I had on me. Thought I was done for."
Steve glared at him suspiciously. "You ain't playin' me for a fool, are ya?"
Jim shrugged. "You can believe it or not, it's up to you. No loss for me either way." He was about to head back towards the house when Steve grabbed onto his sleeve.
Steve swallowed. "Say, you wouldn't mind givin' me one of the eggs, would ya? I'm sure you don't miss one measly little egg if you got thousands every day."
Jim frowned. "I don't know, Steve. I nearly died to get that original hen, you know. Cost me a lot, and I know we're neighbors, but we never been really close. What if you give me away and someone comes steals all my chickens?"
"I won't! I swear I won't!" Steve hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, "I'll pay you five cows for one!"
"That's almost half your cows though. You ain't gonna sell milk and dairy anymore?" Jim raised his eyebrows, but he began to walk backwards toward the hen coop. Ducking inside, he grabbed an egg and brought it out, watching as Steve's gaze followed it.
"Hell, if I got a magic hens, who needs to sell milk and dairy? Although, I'll just use them to make a living. Won't go too much into your territory, Jim. Promise."
Jim pretended to think about it for a moment. "Okay." He dropped the warm egg into Steve's hands. "Bring the cows by tomorrow."
Steve ran off immediately to incubate the egg. "I will! Jim, I really will! Thank you!"
Jim chuckled and shook his heads. Such weak minds, all of them.
*****
r/AlannaWu | 2018-05-10T12:58:33 | 2018-05-10T12:43:32 | 501 | 30 |
[WP] You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar, that works as a neutral zone for heros and Villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you. | "OVERLORD!"
I haven't heard that name in a long time, and apparently neither did anyone else in the bar. All the conversations immediately halted. I stopped polishing the glass in my hand and looked up.
He was about six foot nothing and covered in more enough black to blend in with the streets. Black trench coat, black overshirt, black pants, black heavy boots, and pasty white skin, apparently for contrast. He had twin katanas in his hands, dual desert eagles on his hips, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. He stared at me cold and hard, like a hunter staring down his prey.But to me, he just looked like he was trying too hard.
I put down the cup and looked back at Trenchcoat. "Alright kid, I'll need to see some ID before you sit down."
The assorted gathering of vigilantes and renegades let out a short laugh, but quickly quieted back down.
Trenchcoat kept staring at me, trying force hate into his eyes. "For too long you've escaped punishments for your crimes!" He shouted. "Come quietly or face the wrath of Shadowmaw!"
Yup, this guy is officially a joke. If anyone wanted to, they could take him out without a second thought, but this place was a neutral zone for a reason. I let someone have a wack at this kid, I lose neutral status, and the whole bar turns into open season. No, I've got to handle this guy myself.
I let out a small sigh. "Alright, look kid, that was a long time ago, probably even before your time. I ain't like that anymore. I just wanna run my bar now, so please, either sit down and order or-"
I was cut off by the sound of two gunshots whizzing past my head and hitting a picture frame behind me. I looked back to Shadowmaw and saw his handguns floating in the air, fresh smoke pouring out of the barrel.
"FINAL WARNING!" He shouted viciously, pointing his swords towards me. He didn't notice the rest of the patrons diving underneath their tables and heading for the door. He didn't notice what was on the picture frame he just shot. He didn't understand why I was staring down at the frame rather than trembling in fear.
I looked back at him, showing him what true hate looks like. "This neutral territory. We're taking this outside." And then I snapped my fingers.
More gunshots popped off as the large, translucent figure of an ogre appeared from the ether. It raged forth, bullets blasting apart ectoplasmic material until it launched a heavy punch towards Shadowmaw.
He had firepower but no experience dodging. The ogre's fist slammed into him and sent him crashing through the wooden doors, his floating weapons flying after him. He skidded across the parking lot until he smacked into the side of blue van. He fell to the floor, leaving behind a dent in the van.
I stepped out from behind the counter and went to meet him. He pushed himself upright again, and brandished his swords at me again. Both his handguns and rifle floated up and locked their sights on me, then cracked with gunfire.
It took barely a hand gesture for me to summon two ghostly soldiers carrying ballistic shields in front of me. The rounds smacked against the facimile of hardened material and bounced off.
"You know people don't give enough credit to Ectomancy," I called out to him, snapping my fingers again. A half dozen more figures appeared, swat officers and medieval knights. "The dead are everywhere, just waiting for the order to fight."
Any last pretense of toughness faded from the kid's face. His three guns shifted, trying to stay trained on every specter at once. The armored soldiers and knights charged first and bullets sprayed from the guns. He must've still been new to using telekinesis, because most of the shots went wild. He managed to hit one of the knights, which collapsed into a pool of goo.
The guns went click and his face went pale. Magazines started floating out of his coat but my knights were on him already at that point. He raised up his swords to block, but a quick swipe from one of the knights broke his guard (Serves him right for dual wielding two-handed swords). They swarmed him, hacking at him with their swords. The swords of course aren't real steel, so without properly concentrating on them, they were practically dull. Still hurts like hell to be whacked by one.
Eventually the kid wised up and threw away one of his katanas , gripping the other one with both hands and starting to parry the knights' attacks. He must've had some light training, because he actually did well, even managing to thrust the blade into one of the knight's helmets, it's form collapsing into a wet puddle.
I raised up a hand and motioned for the officers to fire. Like the Knight's blades, unless I'm concentrating, the bullets aren't metallic like real bullets, more like paintballs. Paintballs that travel at the speed of bullets mind you.
The first volley of rounds hit his legs. He let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground along with his weapons, where he was met by another volley of ghost bullets. Each round smashed against his body leaving bruises and broken skin. He curled up into the fetal postion, trying to turn away from the gunfire.
Several seconds of sustained fire later and I motioned for the officers to stop. The kid wasn't moving, but as I moved closer I could hear his soft choking cries. I pushed him onto his back with my foot. He was seriously messed up. He got several hits to the face that broke his nose and cracked some of his teeth. His clothes were still black, but I could start to see wet spots where he was bleeding profusely from repeated blunt trauma. He stared up at me, tears rolling out of his eyes and mingling with the blood.
I stared down at him, eyes still filled with hate. "Never step foot in my bar again," I said quietly.
The kid sniffled and quickly nodded his head. Painfully, he rolled onto his side into a recovery position, too broken to do anything other than weep.
I left the ghosts to look after him. There was a lot of gunfire, someone's bound to call the cops anyway. I walked back into the bar and behind the counter, and picked up the broken picture frame. At least the important part was still intact. I set it back onto the top shelf, the smiling face of my late wife once again gracing the bar, albeit with a hole where her neck was.
I looked back towards the patrons of his bar. Those who remained were standing again, having watched the encounter unfold before them.
I looked at them solumnly. "Last call is going to be a bit earlier tonight guys."
No one complained. | The Dealer threw the glasses up, caught them all neatly on his arm, and spun to catch the liquid spilling out of the cartwheeling bottle above his head. He struck the match between his teeth against a rough patch on his black suitcoat and tossed it straight up into the neck of the bottle, sending fairy glass exploding into whisps of sugary smoke. The crowd cheered.
Back in the day, he had dealt in human lives. Now, after a long slow death of the soul after he could not save the one life that mattered most, he was living again, his power lying in sleight of hand and the occasional illusion help from Lullaby, who sat in a smoky corner and whose neutral supered watch kept an easy peace over the bar.
The room was lively. Selkie danced sinously, somehow avoiding the grasp of the men who attemped to snatch her silky coat. Her girlfriend Leviathan with her eyes flaring red like deep sea vents raised an eyebrow at the bolder ones and they suddenly found it hard to breathe, their lungs heavy with the weight of the sea. Levi saw the Dealer watching and released her power, but he was unconcerned. This was an areas for supereds, but they were supered humans after all, and they had a right to defend themselves and theirs from other supereds with ill intentions.
The only rule was: no Fights.
He watched as Brawler toed that line while Bard danced around him, weaving a less than savory verse. He shot the both of them a sharp glance. Bard gave him a cheeky nod and Bard sighed. Siren stared wistfully at him from a dark corner where her hair floated as if underwater. Poor girl, it was hard to have a power stolen, especially when it took your voice with it. Though The Dealer tried to remain neutral, he'd had Lullaby put some people on it. She had no such things holding her back and they thought they'd closed in on the culprit. A supered villain by the ne of Collector. She was working with supered and mundane authorities.
It had been a good decision to move to the coast, he mused. Sea-based supers were of a slower, more peaceable sort for the most part. Though Earth help you if you made one angry.
A silence fell over the bar that had just been chattering and laughing a moment ago. It wrenched The Dealer from his thoughts as the quiet rang like a struck bell.
"Hey, Dealer." A voice that could only be described as dark spoke, the words slithering like a snake through wetland weeds. "You're under arrest."
He could not see his face where he stood in shadow, shielded by the neon glare of the exit sign.
"On what grounds?" he said. "These grounds are neutral."
The spell over the crowd shattered and everyone laughed.
The man stepped forward. He stunk like trust funds and corporate greed. Anger surged in him at the thought of those like him who had let his daughter die, all those he had killed to save her and still couldn't. A melody tingled at the edge of his hearing, a sure sign Lullaby's powers were active and held ready to help or tame him. He flicked two normal playing cards her way - Joker and King. She knew what he meant.
"My own authority," he said. "I am The Boss, and you will comply or everyone here will suffer."
There were murmurs, but the Dealer held up his hand and they quieted.
"Your parents' wallet is not a supered ability," he said evenly, and the man's pale face grew slightly pink as everyone laughed again.
"I can end you," he hissed. "All of you, you're all complicit. I will -"
He stopped as a choking cry was wrenched from his chest along with a small orb of red light.
The dealer gestured and it flew to his hand.
"You can have this back when you learn to behave," he said, tipping it into an empty bottle and capping it.
"I'm not - a child," the man gasped, clutching at his chest. Sound was slowly returning to the room, the party picking up again.
"Then stop acting like one," the Dealer said, and turned back to serve a waiting customer.
He still dealt in lives, for a supereds power was their life. Only when he had to, only to maintain balance. Lullaby nodded with approval from the corner, and he watched as the man slunk out and she followed gracefully.
Even when you dealt in lives, they went on.
Sequel to a response to a previous prompt, I'll link it here if I can. | 2020-10-09T22:09:08 | 2020-10-09T21:42:05 | 82 | 54 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | They both knew they were going to be millionaires.
In the great whirlwind of New York City business, it's rare for a meeting to occur that feels like instant destiny. But then along came Nate Carpenter and Hunter Bryson. One dinner party and one handshake later, they were partners.
*
"Cheers, my friend. To a first quarter beyond our wildest dreams."
Nate raised his champagne glass and clinked it against Hunter's. It had been three months since the launch of Listicles, the most successful office productivity app of the new year.
"You checked your savings account recently? 'Cause mine looks pretty damn good," Hunter said with a chuckle.
"Mine too, mine too." Nate took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair. "Say, I've been meaning to ask you something."
He reached in his pocket, set the glass down, and produced a bright turquoise button, entirely unmarked and mounted on a cheap plastic base.
Hunter jerked backwards, startled. "You actually use that thing? I haven't gone anywhere near mine."
"It's pretty cool, man. The big banks partnered up and gave a button to each of their customers as some kind of PR thing. Once activated, you get to be a part of this game, once a night. Starting at midnight, the sooner you press it, the more cash you get deposited into your account. The trick is you have to put in a little money in order to play, and the more you put in, the better the multiplier could be."
"So...it's gambling."
"Well, sort of. And there's one other catch, but I'm not worried. I'm not one to press my luck. You should give it a shot."
"What's the catch?"
"It's nothing, really. Just something in the fine print, something to keep track of the people who are getting too good."
Hunter sighed. "All right, fine. But just once. And I'm only dropping, like, thirty bucks."
*
Three months later, Hunter bet a million dollars on the nightly game session.
He called Nate one minute before midnight, his hand quivering.
"Nate. Dude. I bet it all."
"You're kidding." Nate shifted his cell phone to his right ear, using his free hand to place the button on his bedside table. "So did I."
Hunter laughed, trying to block his nervousness with excitement. "This is where we start to climb the ranks, my friend. This is how we become kings."
"Bigger than Google, bigger than Apple!" Nate chuckled.
"I'll see you on the other side. When our bank accounts are doubled."
Nate and Hunter reached for their buttons and pressed them at exactly the same time.
Within seconds, both men lay dead in their apartments.
Their accounts remained dormant as the banks' IT teams determined the night's losses. Then, the men's remaining funds were transferred directly to the banks, lost in the shuffle, as though neither of them existed.
| I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random | 2016-07-16T17:29:20 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You're 90% sure your flat-mate's a vampire, unfortunately for him you're a vampire hunter. But he does pay half the rent so... | "Vlad? Vlad, what happened to my crucifix collection?!"
Vlad yawned as he emerged from the bathroom, wearing a stylish red morning gown even though it was seven in the evening. He had just finished brushing his blindingly white teeth (something he did a lot).
"Can you keep it down, Jim? There's no excuse for yelling at an hour like this..."
Jim sternly crossed his arms. "My crucifix collection, Vlad. It was in the lowest drawer, and now they're gone."
Vlad scowled. "Those ugly things? I thought they were firewood for the stove."
Jim looked over to the stove. "*That's* what's burning? Come on, Vlad, how many times have I asked you not to touch my stuff? Wasn't I clear after you burned up the stakes?"
"It was cold," Vlad smiled innocently. "Can't you see how pale I am? I like the room to be warm, Jim."
"Maybe if you wouldn't walk around in that flimsy bathrobe," Jim mumbled. It was a good thing that Vlad was a night person, like him, or he'd have found another room mate a long time ago. And at least he paid the bills on time.
"I'm heading out, alright? If you decide to throw a party again, keep it decent this time, will you? I don't want to find wine stains all over the place again when I get back."
"Yes...wine stains," Vlad mumbled, then he smiled lazily. "Don't worry, I'm heading over to a friend's place tonight."
"Alright, see you later, buddy."
Jim sighed when he closed the door, and made his way to his next client. She was an attractive young lady, showing a smile of relief when she opened the door. "Oh, thank god you came, mr. Carver. Right this way..."
It only took five minutes until Jim was convinced she was suffering from the real deal. "And these...visions, miss Carley," he asked, taking out his notebook. "They involve you opening your window when the red eyes appear?"
Miss Carley nodded.
"And afterwards?"
"I lie down on the bed, and wait for his shape to come closer. Even though part of my mind is screaming not to do it..." her voice had become breathless. "Another part of me wants him to take me, in his strong, muscular arms, bending over..."
Jim coughed and cleared his throat, and miss Carley snapped out of it, seeming embarassed. "See? I can't even control my own thoughts anymore." She started crying in her hands, and Jim awkwardly patted her shoulder. "There, there..."
Suddenly, there was a knock on the window. Jim froze up, but the woman kept crying, appearing not to have heard. Slowly, Jim got up and stalked towards the window, readying the small Holy Water Guns that he'd strapped to his forearms. He slowly unlocked the window's clasp from the sides, then jumped in front of the swinging panels.
"BURN IN HELL, VAMPIRE SCU-"
"Oh," the vampire said.
Jim lowered his forearms, taking his fingers off the triggers.
"Well, this is awkward," Vlad said.
Jim sighed. He wasn't surprised, just annoyed with the unlikely situation.
"I should go," Vlad suggested.
"Did you get him?" miss Carley asked in a tiny voice. She was lying on the bed, for some reason, sounding just a tad disappointed.
"Uh, yes, but stay there for now, just to be safe," Jim called back, frowning.
"So I guess this means I should go find another roommate?" Vlad asked sadly.
"No! No, let's not be rash now," Jim said, weighing his options. "Say, you weren't going to - you know - kill...?"
"Never!" Vlad said indignantly. "I'm a vampire with style, I only take the ones who actually want it, and even then I just take as much as they want. It's all about the seduction for me, I-"
"Okay, too much information," Jim said hurriedly. "Look, we can pretend this never happened..."
Vlad nodded enthusiastically.
"...but we need to establish some sort of schedule so this doesn't happen again."
Vlad nodded more enthusiastically.
Jim took out his notebook. "Alright, tonight I'll still be visiting miss Howards, mister Jenkins, miss Roberts-"
"Leia Roberts? Sorry, I've got an appointment with her at 12-"
They both bent over the notebook, muttering.
"Say, what's going on over there?" miss Carley complained in a whining voice. "I don't really care which one of you two wins, as long as one of you is manly enough to-"
"Just a second, miss Carley," Jim interrupted her. He and Vlad exchanged glances, and Jim relented. "Alright," he mumbled, "But you owe me big time after this one, ya hear?"
Vlad grinned and nodded, and appeared to be waiting for something.
"What? Oh, right," Jim whispered. "You have my permission to enter, now get in here already."
Vlad swooped into the room, covering Jim with his - Jim now noticed - very stylish cape that matched his suit brilliantly.
"Oh no, he got me!" Jim shouted belatedly, falling on the ground, peeking through one eye as Vlad stepped over him.
"Well, well, miss Carley," Vlad said, his voice low and seductive. "Whatever will you do now?"
Jim decided it was about time to leave, crawling out of the room and trying not to be noticed, which was not a problem as miss Carley seemed fully entranced by Vlad by now.
Jim tried to ignore the sounds coming from the room as much as possible as he softly closed the door. Damn. He'd have to work double tomorrow night if he wanted to make the rent in time now.
Jim sighed. It was a good thing that Vlad was such a pro at League of Legends, or Jim would have kicked him out ages ago. | His name is Edward. He sleeps during the day. In a coffin. He only ever seems to drink "V8". And he owns several books that he "inherited from his great-great-great grandfather". If I didn't know any better, I'd say his transparent attempts to emulate the mannerisms of a vampire were more than that.
"Walter. If you could pace somewhere less distracting..."
Oh, right. Walter. That's me. Walter Guest. Professional vampire hunter, in a fashion. A proper vampire hunter wouldn't be relying on a roommate to pay most o- I mean *half* of the rent. I *do* pay for most of the groceries. And I do all of the grocery shopping as well. Edward only ever leaves the flat after all of the stores have already closed. He's certainly dedicated to this whole "creature of the nig-"
"Walter."
"I'm pacing again, aren't I?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. Not 'again'. You never stopped." he said, both with a wry smile and a look of mild annoyance.
"No matter." he followed. "The night is still young and I must not stay here reading until the crack of dawn whilst there are still things to be done. I suspect you will be retiring soon?"
"No. Not tonight."
"Oh, does there lurk another vampire in town again? Perhaps I will not be paying the entire rent this month?"
"Truth be told, I think I've largely solved the vampire problem that once plagued this town. I believe there to be only one vampire left, and I am hot on his trail."
"If it is the butcher, I hate to disappoint you but I believe you may have misinterpreted his 'weakness for steaks'." replied Edward with a smirk.
"Edward. Are you a vampire?"
For what felt like an eternity, the room went silent. Suddenly, Edward's grim visage turned to one of joviality. "And if I was, you would slay me? And then who would stop the landlord from slaying you?"
A good question.
"Go to bed, Walter."
"I-I can't just go to bed! You're a vampire, you'll-"
"I will what? Not kill you in your sleep? Drink a non-lethal amount of some random person's blood? Read literature until the sun comes up? O, what untold tragedy that would surely bring."
"Okay. Okay. I see your point... *But you are still a vampire, an abomination upon the lord!*"
"Well, that is not a very kind thing to say. What if I told you that you are an abomination upon the lord of darkness?"
I pondered for a moment, and then replied "Th-"
"I was only kidding, Walter.", Edward interrupted with a slight smile. "Look. You have slain all of the rest of the vampires in town. And you never would have succeeded without my aid. And I do not just mean covering your rent and mending your gear."
"To be quite honest", Edward continued, "I thought it was painfully obvious that I was a vampire. I believed you to be feigning ignorance."
"I-I didn't think a vampire would be that obvious about it."
"Hmm..." Edward pondered for a moment, and then broke the silence.
"Walter?"
"Yeah?"
Edward smiled and started trying to hold back laughter.
"Edward?"
"Wal- pfftt", Edward began to speak before once again trying to hold back laughter. A moment later he regained his composure and began again.
"Walter? Are you a human?"
"And if I was, would you slay me? And then who would stop the landlord fro-"
We both laughed. | 2015-11-10T04:42:18 | 2015-11-10T04:34:27 | 49 | 14 |
[WP] Aliens find "Never Gonna Give You Up" on Voyager, and after studying human culture realise that they have been rick rolled. They're not happy. | "On behalf of the people of Earth," said Xiang, "I would like to assure you that we never included that song on the Voyager Golden Record to begin with, and we have no knowledge of how it came to be there when you intercepted it, and we are extremely, extremely regretful at how this entire situation turned out."
Xiang exhaled and winced slightly as her speech came to an end, resting her hand on her distended belly. Far below them, the world was in a paralyzed anxiety, hundreds of alien spacecraft poised over the Earth like needles about to drive in. Due to some coincidence of biology, the aliens were extremely sensitive to the hormonal emissions of humans, except, for some reason, those of pregnant women. And so in a frantic attempt at diplomacy - appeasement, Xiang thought bitterly - she had been dragged out of maternal leave from the CNSA and was sitting in the damp confines of the alien mothership. Her hemorrhoids were flaring up and her feet were swollen and she was about ready to take a shit on the whole concept of diplomacy.
The alien ambassador regarded her, its triangular face unreadable, its eyes fixed on the sides of its head. "There is no need for apology," it assured her. "We have studied your various cultures. We took the message in the spirit in which it was intended."
"No," said Xiang. "No, no, you absolutely do not understand." She rested her hands heavily on the edge of the bench and then grimaced and wiped them off on her dress. The whole ship was leaking, fizzing, tiny white bubbles oozing out of every conceivable surface. She had been assured that it was a form of chemical nanotechnology, but the constant barely sub-audible sound, the chemical musk that hung in the air, was beginning to make her feel like throwing up. "This isn't an attempt at an excuse. The song wasn't included on the Voyager record. It couldn't have been. Voyager I was launched in 1977. The song you're talking about wasn't recorded until 1987. There was a ten year difference!" She dabbed at the beads of sweat on her forehead. "The tradition of - ugh -" She grimaced again. "The tradition of 'Rick-rolling' wasn't started until 2007! We've researched this. I've been briefed comprehensively on this. You are speaking of a complete impossibility."
The alien seemed to consider, rising up on its posterior legs to well over thirteen feet. Xiang exhaled, feeling vertigo. "Interesting," it said, and drew a line lengthwise down the wall. It bubbled open, and the gleaming edge of the Golden Record slid out, hovered in mid-air, rotated like a flat Earth. A point of graphite the size of a rice grain floated over it, lowered and made contact. "This is the record you speak of, correct? How do you explain this, then?"
Xiang closed her eyes in dread. The record hummed, skipped. The music exploded into a syncopated beat. Xiang felt her stomach sink. And then the voice boomed out:
*You're no stranger to love,*
*You know the rules, and so do I*
*A full commit-*
"Enough!" Xiang cried out. "Enough! Enough! I've heard it enough times already!" The needle disintegrated. The music came to a halt. Xiang was going to throw up. An alien intelligence had finally revealed itself to the human species, and she was going to throw up all over it. "I don't know," she moaned miserably. "There were - there were 55 different languages in there! There was -" She flicked across her datapad, scrolling through the list. "Sounds of birds, animals. The wind. The rain. Morse code. 90 minutes of music! The-" She faltered slightly, sounding out the words. "An hour long recording of the brain waves of Ann Druyan." She looked up apologetically at the alien. "I don't know if that would have been meaningful to you. It's not to us." She looked back down at the list. "And 116 images, math, planets, anatomy, snowflakes, people - all encoded in analogue." She let her hand drop, eyes weary. "And instead, it's a joke. A stupid internet joke. I don't understand how this could have happened."
"And..." The alien hesitated, studying the glossy surface of the record. "This information you say you recorded - it was important?"
"Yes?" Xiang said. She slouched on the edge of the bench and then arched her back. The aliens apparently didn't sit naturally, and had provided her with essentially a plank. Her back was starting to ache. Her hemorrhoids were on fire. "Or no. I don't know." She closed her eyes. "I didn't choose them. My country didn't choose them. This was decades ago, decades. We..." She burped and tasted vomit. "We couldn't know. No one could. We couldn't tell what an alien would find important. There was everything on there, as wide a scattering as people back then could think of. People saying hello in dead languages. A picture of a street. A perfect circle. It wasn't meant to be a joke." She sighed. "Maybe it would have been one anyway."
"Forgive me for asking," the alien said, after a moment's silence. "But you are bearing live young, correct? You are going to reproduce?"
"Yes," she said, and ran one hand across her belly and faintly smiled. "A girl. She's going to grow up knowing that we aren't alone in the universe." The alien was an arrangement of limbs and struts, a radio tower stretching above her, and craning her neck up to look at it she could almost imagine the sky. "Whatever happens from now on. Whatever you decide to do with us now." Her stomach heaved and she doubled over and vomited all over the alien's legs. "Fuck," she said, and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She looked up wearily. "Well, I'm sorry for that."
It flicked its legs through the puddle of vomit, the little white bubbles already fizzing up to eat it away. "It's funny," it said. "Once we received your message, we believed we had found fellow intelligent life in the universe. We believed we had found a message sent to us from the stars, communicating a great and vital truth." The record floated up and eclipsed its face. "And instead we got you."
Xiang wiped the sour taste from her lips. "It's funny," she said, and closed her eyes. "I don't know if I'm ready to be a mother."
"We're accidents, all of us," came the alien's voice. "Abiogenetic absurdities left searching for meaning. Your species, uncertain of whether or not it was alone in the universe. The near-hopeless attempt at communication. What could you say that an alien intelligence could interpret? Even the most earnest expression of meaning you could muster ran the risk of being so much white noise, unintelligible and useless to the universe at large." Xiang heard a record scrape into motion. "We took your message in the spirit in which it was intended." There was a certain lilt, a teasing anticipation in the alien's voice. "Now that you've met an advanced intelligence, would you like to hear the meaning of life?"
Xiang felt a smile spreading across her face. "Sure," she said. "Let's hear it."
The record spun on, and the music began to play.
| Silence fell as everyone on the spacecraft listened to the song and viewed the accompanying image. The last pieces of content on the golden disc they found on Voyager.
They'd been rather impressed by the record, thus far. It included greetings in various human languages, natural sounds of the humans' planet, images of mathematical formulas and DNA structures. A grand, cosmic greeting. A clever move by a fledgling species to attract attention. They had set their course for Earth when they found it. It was about time someone visited the poor things, anyway.
Until they came to the end of the record. They stared at the spindly-looking, red-haired human jigging in place, and listened carefully to the words. The humans were obsessed with music: the song must hold some special meaning for them.
*Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you...*
"What is it - the anthem of their planet, perhaps? What do the words mean?" the commander growled in a language every species on board could understand, the eyes of both his heads narrowed in suspicion.
The Intergalactic Species Specialist on board, ISS-431, an AI with precise knowledge of every custom and culture of every sentient species on record, consulted its databasis.
"They're reassuring us they will not abandon us - or 'give up on us', in other words," it said. "This melody is used as a joke among humans, I believe. A 'prank', they call it."
"Them giving up on *us*," the commander repeated. "Ah. I know, this prank is an example of that phenomenon again - you told me the humans are very fond of it."
"Sarcasm," the AI said, and nodded. "Yes, that might be it. A carefully considered, biting reference to the fact that no species *has* visited them yet."
"And to think we were about to do that," the commander seethed, suddenly leaning forward and snapping the record.
The AI winced to itself and tried not to think how much effort went into the record's construction. The commander, Azik, was of the Zeron species - infamous throughout the multiverse for their intelligence, violent tempers and pride. They didn't take kindly to jokes against them.
"The arrogance! Using their sarcasm against *us*! Sentient species must not be visited for some millennia to develop without interference, they know that. No-one 'deserted' or 'gave up' on them," Azik said. "What a petulant, childish species. Have they no patience?"
The AI opened its mouth to interrupt and point out that Earth had actually never been told of the 'no contact' rule. The idea to inform new species of the reasons *why* no-one ever visited them, to prevent mass existential dread, had only been implemented after the humans had been discovered. But Azik was on a roll.
"I'll teach them to try their silly sarcasm. We will extend their exile. No contact. Let's see how they like actually being deserted," Azik said, and turned the ship around from its trajectory towards Earth. "ISS-431, send Earth the message. No species will visit them for another century. Inform the other ships in the vicinity of their solar system. Ha! Let's see if they send another *joke* after that!"
ISS-431 nodded and made as if to go send the message. The other species on board quickly lost interest as they put the humans out of their minds. No-one was watching whether he carried out the order or not.
ISS-431 picked up the golden shards of the record, feeling a wave of sadness. It was a touch unsophisticated, but still a beautiful thing. He wouldn't send the message.
The Zeron had been the very first species to master space travel - their age and power held enough sway that the others would obey the order.
What the humans didn't know couldn't hurt them, after all.
------------
**Earth**
Todd snickered to himself as he added the image to the new record.
He'd been a unappreciated, insignificant cog in the grand clockwork of NASA for years. Okay, so he'd only landed the job in the first place because his uncle was on the Board, but they should have promoted him by now. Instead, they gave him the grunt work: like triple-checking the material put onto the Voyager records. He deserved more respect. The new intern was more popular than him, for fuck's sake.
He liked the subtlety of his latest joke: an image of a photoshopped gorilla peering out of the clouds, slipped in amidst symbolic pictures of the world religions.
Of course, the real joke was on these people, actually believing in aliens, of all things. Hell, they kept sending these records, as if hoping the aliens would come knocking any day now. Todd chuckled as he attached the Rick Astley song again, for good measure.
That one never got old.
---------
*Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.*
| 2016-11-04T04:56:49 | 2016-11-04T03:57:12 | 190 | 94 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | "Doc, we need your help!" Said Corporal Paine through his handy dandy communicator. "The Dreamcatcher has us on the retreat! Our numbers are dwindling! Hurry!"
"I'm afraid our time's up, Serena." said the Doctor, trying to hyde his earpiece.
"Already? I could have sworn it had only been 30 minutes." The patient replied.
"Time flies when you're having breakthroughs." The Doctor said. "Just think about what we talked about today, and remember the story of the Rabbit and the Snake"
"Thank you, Doctor. I will." Said Serana, heading towards the door. "Next week, same time?" He asked. She nodded with a smile. "See you then. Goodbye, Dr. Jekyll!"
Meanwhile Corporal Paine and his cohorts had been backed into a corner when suddenly, a Cadillac nonchalantly pulled up in front of the giant spider mech. The door opened, and out stepped a man in his late 50s, cane in hand, with a sickle attached to the top, tuxedo, top hat, and round goggles.
"Dr. Jekyll! What a pleasure!" Said the Dreamcatcher. "For you, I'm sure." said the vessel. "But I am not Dr. Jekyll...not today."
"Well whoever you are, you'd best step aside before my Arachnomech crushes *you*!"
The Vessel, now known as Mr. Hyde, took a deep breathe. "Look Stumpy, I had to cancel and appointment because your limp dick decided to cry because it's too small. So let's not waste anymore of my precious time. I get you're mad because your mother was a tyrannical bitch, and your father was persona non grata by his own choice. But, let's not blame *them* for *your* insecurities and failures, and let's not take it out on the whole fucking world because *you're* a cuntfuck, alright?"
The Dreamcatcher screamed in rage, and commanded his monstrosity to crush The Vessel. He rolled out of the way, and threw a handful of EMPs at the creature, which exploded on impact, "killing" the Arachnomech. Hyde hopped up on the fallen mechademon and broke the glass dome with his scythe. The cowering Dreamcatcher was lifted by his neck, and tossed 25 feet from the droid to the ground.
"Doctor! Enough!" Yelled The Corporal. Hyde jumps down, slicing the side of the mech with his scythe, slowing his decent to a comfortable speed, whilst unleashing an uncomfortable screech from splitting the steel. "The Doc ain't in today, Paine." Hyde replied as his feet hit the ground. "You asked for The Doc, but *I* get shit done." He takes a sip of his canteen that's been around his waist. "I thought you quit." Paine remarked. "I'll quit when you shtop beig so fuckin useless." Slurred Hyde. "Thank God your car is self-driving." Sighed Paine, his hand on Hyde's shoulder, walking him back to his car, as he rambled about his magic potion. "See you at home, Dad." Said Paine, finally. "I love you." | Known in the underground as the villain "the dark masquerade" as a supervillain yourself, but as lord niceties as you superhero persona. You have been tasked by the council of hero's to find and arrest the evil "dark masquerade." Chuckling you head out on your mission and adopt the mysterious persona taunting your fellow heros, crushing their spirits. Your favorite insult is calling them by their secret identity be it Thomas from HR in your accounting job, or Karen from across the street. The day comes when the hero's Alliance learns of your trickery and hunts you down together with sound damping earplugs so your barbed words pass unheard crushing you to your core. | 2020-02-25T16:06:39 | 2020-02-25T14:53:54 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The villain has amassed the most well-meaning people in the world as his henchmen. Their generally polite and helpful attitudes makes it extremely difficult for the hero to get passed them to their boss. | “Sorry, am I in the way? I don’t mean to be, its just you know the boss, he’s a real hothead. But I can’t be too rude about the guy, he does put food on my table. Without him I would work some boring nine-to-five office job, instead I get to just stand around here looking menacing. Plus, these costumes he gave us, I’m loving the leather, look at the quality, I wonder if he would tell me who designs his outfits.”
Lock tugged at his leathery outfit, letting the fabric snap back against his skin. They had hired him as a goon for the villain Razorhand, a job he never expected to get. He could still recall that day, sitting in a waiting room surrounded by a bunch of ex-prisoners and murderers. Nervously tugging at his tie, wondering if he dressed too formally for this position.
When Razorhand stepped out of his office, the crowd of thugs gave a cheer, only for Lock to follow shortly after with a quiet “Yay?” of his own. The thugs laughed at his poor display, amused by the idiot’s antics. Lock had been ready to leave after that, only to get pulled aside by Razorhand, the villain offering him a seat in his office, wanting to interview him first.
For all his dastardly deeds, Razorhand was quite the talker. He made small talk about the weather, Razorhand mentioning how he hated the icy chill in the air. Lock didn’t want to bring up the fact that Razorhand had caused the icy chill with one of his latest inventions, instead he mentioned his hometown, a rather cold area on the outskirts of the state.
The conversation went back and forth until the villain caught Lock staring at him. Razorhand looked himself over before speaking up.
“Is there a problem?” He asked, cold gaze falling onto Lock.
“No, just um. Your tie, sir, its not lined up properly, here let me help.”
Lock reached across the desk, dragging his fingers along the silk tie until it had evened out. “There you go, Sir, good as new. It just looks a little odd when the bit sticks out. It’s a common mistake though, happens to me too when I have a busy day.”
Razorhand tilted his head, stuck on what to say. After a moment, he just smiled, extending a hand to the man. Razorhand’s knuckles were covered in metallic plating, most likely where the razors came out from. Lock was hesitant to shake the man’s hand at first, but soon accepted it, the two shaking on the job.
“Welcome aboard, you are just the man I’ve been looking for. I’m sick of braindead goons, I want a goon that cares. Just be yourself, that’s all I ask. Now let’s go over your health benefits and dental. Do you need any work done?”
It was a nice memory, few got to see that side of his boss. Lock’s attention turned back to the hero. Their stunned expression almost making Lock laugh. They lowered their fists, teeth gnawing at their cheek, trying to figure out how to approach the situation.
“Look, I just want to pass. I don’t want to fight you. Can you please move?” Starcrusher stared at the man, conflicted. Usually she would just beat up the goon, but could you really call this man a goon?
“I know, but I was told to stand here. I really can’t. Oh wait, I know you. Starcrusher right? My daughter loves your Christmas album, she listens to it every morning. Have a Star-crushing Christmas.”
Starcrusher sheepishly stared at her toes. Her Christmas album, that was what the goon wanted to talk about? Not her heroic feats, but a shitty product pushed out by her marketing department. The compliment was nice though, causing her to falter.
“T-thank you, it’s not actually me singing though, they just get me to do the dances. I’m glad your daughter likes it. Wait, no. I have a job to do, I can’t engage in idle chitchat, please step aside. I don’t want to hurt you, but currently you are obstructing justice.”
“Not you singing? That’s a shame, I’m sure you have a wonderful voice. Anyway, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. Are you spending it with anyone?”
“Maybe my family, but. Stop that! Just fight me or tell me where your boss is.”
“My boss is behind these stairs I’m guarding.”
“Then move.”
“I’m sorry I can’t. Can I pass on a message to him?”
Starcrusher could feel a headache coming on. This entire conversation was driving her insane, reluctantly she cut her losses, she needed to speak with the other heroes about this. If she attacked a man like this, it could be bad press.
“Tell him I’ll kick his ass the next time I see him.” With that, Starcrusher left, leaving Lock to wave at her.
“Have a good Christmas.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | "He thinks he has me fooled. He thinks he has outwitted me. Me! The most stunning, the most magnificent knight of all the land." Those were the words of our 'hero' when the king and I tried to come clean.
We don't tell him such, and I, a bard of the land, would not sing of such. But, through that long golden hair and broad chin, Tristan is little more than an idiot. And honestly, even Makar the 'Evil', is not the sharpest tool in the shed.
Everyone but Tristan and Makar were savy to the game the king and I had devised. Tristan and Makar had been led to believe that they were true villains and heroes. But in reality, Makar was born into a wealthy family who had leached this kingdom dry through monopolistic enterprises. As the last of his family, Makar was driven mad with power. All it took was a nudge by the king and a protagonist who looked the part for everything to fall in to place.
We were able to reverse to flow of income back into the community. Before we knew it, many townsfolk had regular jobs working under Makar, and for decent coin at that. We were able to put in place an evil advisor, "flood the town...slowly," he would say. Next thing we knew dams and levees were erected and the town had running water.
But, you see, with every lie there is a cost involved. There was an incident a while back. One which included the smiths son being beheaded by none other than our hero Tristan. Adding insult to injury Tristan brought the boy's head back to parade around town, as prize of battle. We all had to clap and cheer along, much to the dismay of Harok, the boys father.
Because of the incident, the king and I decided that enough was enough. The city had financially recovered and infrastructure was better than it had ever been. There was no need to push our luck any further. We were going to come clean with Tristan. Makar was already mad, there would be no reasoning there.
Tristan, assuming we were under some sort of spell, left on a quest to undo such mysticism. Luckily, he is no swordsman; most people will be safe. The boy was merely a sore mishap. The king and I still plan to get word out to those right in the head that the gig is up, that we are returning to a more normal life.
Whatever happens between Tristan and Makar is up to them. However, we did hear neighboring Franholm was struggling financially. We may pawn our problems to them instead of letting them run wild and unchecked, lest someone else get hurt. | 2020-12-13T19:48:50 | 2020-12-13T19:26:21 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing. |
When Rainbow Girl woke up, she knew she was in trouble.
Wherever she was, it wasn't LightSaber's secret base. The bed she was on was not her own - and there was a blanket over her. It was... fuzzy. She sat up slowly, checking cautiously beneath the blanket. She was wearing nearly nothing, but it was the same nearly nothing that she always wore, and other than the smudges from the battlefield, none of it seemed to be much worse for the wear.
Reluctantly, she released the fuzzy blanket and sat up, smoothing down the pleats of the cheerleader skirt - there wasn't much to smooth - and tugging the amply filled "shirt" to make sure it was in place. Most of the ample filling was padding. LightSaber had told her to get implants, but those were expensive, and she couldn't hold down a job what with all the superhero stuff. She'd gotten fired from FiveGuys just last week for missing shifts. Her boss had told her he'd excuse it if LightSaber called it in to confirm, but he'd... not gotten around to it.
Her boots were on the floor, complete with six-inch heels. Rainbow Girl winced at the thought of putting them back on, and slipped out of bed barefoot instead. After a moment's thought, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The door to her prison cell was... unlocked. She had not expected that.
Looking back, the prison cell looked more like a spare bedroom. She hadn't really expected that, either. The short hallway led to a dining room, where LightSaber's arch nemesis sat at the table, drinking coffee.
===
The kid was awake.
DarkBlade was pretty sure she wasn't technically a kid - at least, he *hoped* she wasn't a kid, what with what she'd been running around in the last two years since she'd first appeared as LightSaber's sidekick. He was all in favor of the chainmail bikini look for some, of course, but it had started feeling a bit weird once he'd kidnapped the girl.
It had really been all too easy. LightSaber had been fighting his minions, and the kid had been cheering him on as usual. Supporting him. No one was exactly sure what her powers *were*, but that was just one of the things he aimed to find out.
"Sit down."
She obeyed without question. Good. That meant he wasn't losing his touch. DarkBlade took another drink of coffee, giving her a measuring look. "So. *Rainbow Girl*. We meet at last."
"Um. I think we met last year at the thing in LA? I mean... no, of course, you're right. I must be mistaken. We meet. Um. At last."
He had not expected resistance - nor had he expected it to crumble so quickly. The funny thing was that he was pretty sure she was correct, there *had* been that thing in LA about a year ago, and several things since then - that was why he knew she was his nemesis' sidekick, after all - but she didn't argue.
Sidekicks were supposed to argue, right? He was a supervillain. He looked into the coffee cup, but there weren't any answers floating in it. A drink proved that there were no answers in the next layer, either, which left getting information out of the kid.
"So then. Rainbow Girl. We... meet again. What, exactly, *are* your mysterious powers?" There, that had sounded much better.
"Um." She certainly seemed to say that often. "I... make rainbows?"
DarkBlade blinked. "What, that's it?"
Her defeated sigh made him wince - internally, of course, a supervillain did not betray his feelings, or even betray that he might have them. "I know. It's not very good. Um. LightSaber says I should be able out how to make lasers or something but I... I kinda just do rainbows."
"You've been in *combat zones*!" This was, perhaps, not the best use of my supervillain voice.
"Well... yes, but I didn't do much good? LightSaber says that if I can't be useful I should at least be... um. Ornamental."
The tiny little cheerleader outfit made a sudden and disturbing sort of sense - DarkBlade suddenly knew exactly who had picked that out - and the idea was given even further credence by the way she kept the blanket held tightly around herself.
"He made you a cheerleader." Flatly. Her look suggested she thought she might have done something wrong, but she nodded, just a little. "Do you... *like* cheerleading?"
"Um. It's important that I support LightSaber in whatever way I can, and what with my limited capabilities I... that's about all I *can* do."
"But you don't like cheerleading." She frowned, uncertain, and Darkblade took the opportunity to finish his coffee, watching her out of the corner of his eye. *Rainbows. Seven-colored hells*. And a tiny inappropriate cheerleader outfit, and... glittery makeup, of course, but now that he was really looking at her, there was the faintest smudge of black eyeliner that had been... perhaps hastily removed, before a battle?
Darkblade set the mug down on the table, his stare turning intent. "Rainbow Girl... I have one more question. I need to know the truth."
"I won't betray-"
Darkblade held up his hand, patiently, shaking his head. "Not him. Forget him." She wouldn't, he didn't think, but she nodded tentatively anyway.
He gave a look of intense focus. "What is your favorite color?"
She winced. Her answer, a whisper: "...Black." | *Finally.*
She swiped her talons across the chest of Captain Jaguar. Her nails caught against his blue super suit as he leaps back. Before she could feel flesh in her hands something small darted and slams into her arm. She lets out a screech as her knees buckle under the weight but she twirls with it, using its weight to her advantage to fully spin around and wrap her good hand around its neck. Picking it up she grins and eyes narrow. It's the supes sidekick. He kicked and scrabbled in her grasp and she laughed.
“Oh captain. Looks like I caught something of yours.” She sings in her harpy voice. “Poor little rabbit caught by the Great Owl!” She lifts him higher when her adversary takes a step towards her. “Ah ah, I'll spill his guts if you come any closer.”
With that, she finally had her means of escape. Her plan crumbles around her, but at least she'll have time to think of something even more brilliant to bring this world to ruin. She opens her cape like powerful bird's wings and flew off, far out of Captain Jaguars reach and into her lair hidden among the trees. She drops the whelp into a cage and thinks it's the end of it, but he would continue sniffle and whimper nonstop.
“Cease this incessant mewling or I'll give you something to cry about!” She points a finger inside and watches him crawl back from her. “You were good for an escape but I can get rid of you any...where's your costume?”
She looks the boy over for the first time and tilts her head. His brown hair was in disarray, his clothes dirty and his body unclean. She pinches her mask by the beak and pulls it off over her head. He had healing cuts on his legs and five finger scratches across his arms. She winces as the bruise around his neck, her own handiwork. Maybe she could have been less rough, he couldn't be more than 13.
“He wouldn't let me wear it.” His voice cracked.
She tilts her head to the other side, her large bird eyes watching him. Her head swiveled behind her and barked out
“Food! Now!”
“Why not?”
“Said maybe I would try harder if I thought I could get my family hurt.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. She called him Captain Dickwad for getting in her way, but maybe he wasn't only her enemy. She watched him eat, and soon after he started to relax, or as much as you can when held captive.
“Why are you with him?”
“He pays well. He's tough though. He doesn't like it when I do something wrong.”
“Such as?”
“One time I was too scared to save him fighting Lava man, and he..” he shrugged his shoulders and turned his arms over.
She hummed in her throat. This kid reminded her a lot of herself at that age. Looking for a quick buck to save people who were cruel. She curled her lips as she unlatched the top of his cage.
“What if I told you I could pay more, with less work related injuries?” She swept an arm to her minions behind her, who waved stupidly and gave him thumbs up. She let him gaze at their unharmed bodies as they lifted the heavy nature based machinery behind her.
“What do you say?” | 2020-03-26T17:05:24 | 2020-03-26T15:36:32 | 61 | 40 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | "Please, please, please, let me in. There's a thing coming for us! I dropped my keys and-please open the door!" My wife begged as I kept the door locked, making sure to barricade it with one of our kitchen chairs. At first, I was going to open the door and ignore the warning. She was my wife. I loved her. It was only when she opened her mouth that I became wary of her.
This is not my wife.
"I'm not letting you in." I said while glancing at my phone. It didn't say what had happened, but I could tell it was something nasty. Whatever was outside, it wasn't my wife. It perfectly imitated her voice. Looking outside from the window, I could tell that it looked just like her. Right, I should barricade the windows.
"Why!? They're coming! Please, open the door! Please, please!" She begged, slamming on the door with tears streaming down her eyes.
"Because I know you're not my wife." It broke my heart to do this. Fake or not, she looked and sounded just like her.
"Please, ask me any question, and I'll answer it!" She begged. Rather than stay silent, I continued to shout, buying as much time as possible while I grabbed some nails and plywood from the garage.
"Where did we first meet?" I asked, nailing boards to the window while I spoke. Right, I should get the shotgun too.
"At the Southstone Park! You found my wallet and called out to me! I never noticed you until you grabbed my arm!" She exclaimed as I chuckled. It even copied her memories. It was almost perfect. "Hurry, they'll be here any moment!"
"And where did we go on our first date?"
"Dinner! Luigi's! We had a pizza, and I bumped into a waiter on accident when I was standing up! It got tomato sauce all over you, and you said you wanted me to repay you with another date!" Wow, she is really realistic. Crying shame. Real crying shame she's a fake.
"Alright. One last question, and I'll open the door if the answer pleases me."
"Hurry!" She whimpered like a scared little girl.
"How can you hear me right now?" I asked, continuing to nail boards to the window, watching her eyes bulge out in horror as she looked at me. Her mouth opened, then closed as she mulled over my words. She fell to her knees, grasping her ears while shivering in terror. You can't trick me. Mary's been deaf since the first day we met. She could read lips, but we were talking with the door dividing us.
"I... I don't know." She answered in a daze.
"Alright. Different question. What are you?"
"I don't know."
"Why are you here?"
"I don't know." I swallowed a mouthful of saliva, twisting the blade as she continued to cry and repeat the same three words, her voice raising in pitch with each iteration. She was screeching them loudly, her voice piercing as my core shook. I gave her one final question. If she answered yes and was convincing enough I'd open the door, consequences be damned.
"... Are you my real wife?" She looked up at me, her eyes bloodshot as she thought over her answer. "If you answer believably, I'll let you in." I offered, hope returning to her eyes as she opened her mouth. Then she grasped her ear and bit her lip before casting her eyes downward in shame.
"I'm not." She declared before raising her hand in an open palm, her long fingernails glistening in the sunlight. I grabbed my shotgun and cocked it. Putting her down would be a mercy at this point, but I don't have the guts to gun her down like this. Maybe she can be cured by whatever happened to her.
"Don't open the door for anyone. Not your brother. Your mother. Everyone who was outside was affected. I think the government's hunting it... Us... They're winning, but we're still not going down without a fight." She said with a smile, continuing to cry as I clenched the shotgun. Stay calm. Do not panic. "I don't know what they are, what they do, or what's happening." She continued, raising her fingernails and placing them by her throat. What's she doing? "I love you. Live on." And with that, she jammed her fingers forward, piercing her flesh as blood spewed out of her throat, dying the concrete a deep crimson color as she collapsed to the ground.
"She's fake. It's a trick. It's a trick. She's fake." I chanted to myself, the last sight of the outside world being her twitching body as she bled out on the ground, still smiling towards me as she died.
"She's a fake. She's an imitation. It's a trick." I continued while nailing the door shut, refusing to fall for the trap. It was fake. All fake. That thing wasn't her. It wasn't her. It wasn't her. | I feel a buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out and see an emergency alert across the screen. "EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Panic?" I wonder out loud, "why would I panic?"
Just then I hear a knock at the front door. I walk over to it and peer through the blurry glass. It seems like my girlfriend Sophie.
"Sophie? Why are you home?" She stares back blankly. "Shouldn't you be at work right now? Why don't you have your key?"
No response. I back away from the door just as her jaw opens like a snake and a dark forked tongue crashes through the window and nearly reaches me, three yards away.
I turn and run to the bedroom closet. I pull out my grandfather's long double-barrelled shotgun and load it with buckshot. As I click the barrel back in place, a monster comes roaring through my hallway, now barely recognizable as Sophie. Her face is distorted, dark and cavernous and webbed tentacles flow out of her dress and pull her along both walls like an ooze.
I fire both barrels in quick succession. The blast is powerful, and leaves my ears ringing badly. The monster is thrown back to the end of the hallway. The remnants of Sophie's face were removed by the blast, revealing mottled gray reptilian skin. The impact of the buckshot was substantial, and covered the center and left side of the creature with green blood. Within moments, however, the worst of the wounds begin to close and its yellow eyes snap open.
I back away, ejecting the spent shells and fumbling for more from my shirt pocket. The creature's face opens into a wide, horrible grin. The tongue shoots out again, farther this time, and locks around my chest like a steel cable. It pulls me in while flying toward me like a smoke cloud. I am engulfed into the abyss of its mouth.
I regain consciousness while walking in the middle of the street. I have no control over my body, and I notice other people walking nearby, although I can't turn my head to look at them. There are no cars on the road. I walk for miles, feeling no fatigue and keeping a steady pace. I arrive to a house and knock on a door. My mind is foggy and I feel numb, but I know this house. This is my parents house...
I haven't written in a long time and I'm rusty. Nice prompt! Edit: typo. | 2019-01-12T06:12:19 | 2019-01-12T03:53:40 | 1,687 | 190 |
[WP] You slowly start to realize that all of your friends are undercover agents tasked with keeping you alive. Then, at your birthday party, with every friend surrounding you, the people trying to kill you finally find you.
Have fun. | Most people grow up with family around— parents, siblings, uncles, aunts… Joseph only ever had Friends. As far back as he could remember, he was always surrounded by Friends. Great ones. The kind that stick by you no matter what. Joseph couldn’t imagine his world without them. They always came to him when he needed them most.
Joseph was prone to panic attacks. Not surprising, considering every stranger he encountered was trying to kill him: A new cashier at the cafe. An unfamiliar barber at the salon. A peculiar businessman on his street corner… It seemed that the past several months more and more strangers were encroaching on his life. And every time he got close enough and made eye contact with these strange characters, something would happen— A flash of recognition in their eyes and the next moment their hands would be around Joseph’s throat, screaming at him to give in. It was at these times a Friend would happen to be close-by and Joseph would manage just enough breath to scream for help.
After so many of these incidents he thought it would be best to not leave his home. Staying inside wasn’t as terrible as it sounded. There were always Friends coming and going that kept him company and they would often help by bringing anything he desired. They made him feel safe. They made him feel like he never needed to leave.
This morning, Joseph felt something different in the air as he awoke from bed. He opened the curtain and let the beautiful sunlight fill his room. He liked how the sun always seemed to rise in perfect view of his window. Like it was made just for him. He turned from the window and could hear a commotion of people down below— more than usual.
He threw on some pants and made his way downstairs. Just as he came in view of the living room a host of Friends shouted in joyous unison— “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
Shocked with delight, Joseph couldn’t hide the world’s biggest smile. Was it really his birthday? How could he have forgotten? As he made his rounds to thank his Friends for coming he realized this was exactly what he needed to wash away the anxiety he had been feeling so much of lately. An anxiety that made him feel like he didn’t belong; the anxiety he felt when he locked eyes with a stranger.
Joseph’s belly was now filled with cake, and he was enjoying the laughter only his Friends could give him. His glance shifted to the front window when something caught his eye— A strange woman standing in the middle of the road directly in front of his house. A few Friends looked over to see what he was looking at and noticed her too.
“Go back upstairs, Joe”, said a nearby Friend.
Suddenly that familiar anxiety began to surge through his body.
“Who is that? Why does this keep happening?!”
Frozen in place, Joseph began to notice other figures coming from both sides of the street. Dozens of unfamiliar silhouettes were converging.
“What is happening?” he screamed at his Friends with terror.
“Go upstairs. Lock your door.”
Joseph was caught between a burning desire for answers and shear terror. He couldn’t move.
“If you don’t run…if you don’t let us help…They will take you. They will hurt you.”
Just as Joseph was about to submit to his Friend’s warning— chaos broke loose. Every stranger on the street charged the house and crashed into it with the force of a tidal wave— The entire house shook. Windows shattered, wood splintered, the hinges on the door exploded from the wall. It was worse than a nightmare.
Joseph’s wits failed him. So did all strength as he collapsed to the floor. All around him, Friends were screaming in protest— *Leave him alone! He doesn’t want to— You can’t have him!*
As the invaders flooded through the doors and windows, his Friends seemed to be pushed back. They began to dissolve into shadows and then dissipate into nothingness. Joseph tried to scream with every ounce of resolve he had left, but nothing more than a wisp escaped his lips. Why were his Friends not helping? Why were they leaving him?!
The invaders slowly made their way to where Joseph lay motionless on the floor as his Friends vanished. One figure led the group— a woman. The sight of her struck a deep fear into Joseph’s heart. She knelt over him and without a word placed her hands around his throat. The crowd of strangers watched expressionless as she squeezed and began strangling the life out of him. Where were his Friends? How could they let this happen? Why couldn't he resist?
Blackness began to creep into his consciousness as this unfamiliar woman stared deeply into his eyes. With each moment, the agony became lighter and lighter. All fear began to leave him as he accepted his fate. And that’s when something changed… the strange woman began to seem…familiar. Like a flame slowly catching on, a warmth swept over Joseph. The dead expression on the woman’s face now seemed to resonate… love. It was as if his neck was clay being molded into a beautiful sculpture. Each moment she grew prouder and her expression filled with joy …Mom?
Suddenly everything went dark. The hands around his throat were gone. The floor beneath him had disappeared and he now seemed to float. It seemed like hours were passing— his mind wandering through a dense fog… And then he began to feel the soft support of a bed beneath him. And then light came. Ever so faint at first, but growing with each moment. White light was now flooding his vision as he could see shadowy figures above him.
“Oh my god…” The voice seemed distant.
“It’s working…can’t believe it…”
They were growing closer now.
And then the face of the woman looking down at him, tears running down her cheeks and a welcoming smile.
“What’s going on?...” he asked.
He could now make out a host of people surrounding the small bed he was lying on. There were more tears and smiles…and balloons. The room was small and sterile: a hospital room.
A man in a white coat sitting in a nearby chair spoke— “Welcome back, Joe.”
“Where am I? What's happening?”
The woman, with tears flowing freely down her cheeks whispered softy, “You’ve been asleep, Joey. You’ve been asleep a long time…”
| Trust. Love. Friendship.
Do you know what those things mean? I'll tell you a secret. If you ask someone what any of those things mean, and they give you a straight answer, then you know their full of shit. The answer isn't that simple.
I swirled the wine in my glass. There is a whole art to understanding various qualities about the wine by swirling it. I carefully inspected the wine in the glass before I tasted it.
It tasted like wine.
"You guys are great and all, but I think it's time we call it a night. You've all got work in the morning."
The five of them looked back. Three looked like they were waiting for me to say that. The other two were better actors, one of which said, "Why not another board game Trish?"
Jeremy. A man made of loaded questions.
"You're holding Apples to Apples. You hate that board game," I said.
"But you like it," Jeremy said.
"How about another bottle of wine," Austin said.
"Bingo!" I said, "There's the man with the right answer."
If someone offers you alcohol, there is a very good chance they are a friend. Also, it helps if they're hot and are genuinely interested in you. Austin was that guy.
New wine glasses got passed around, and each of them glanced up from their phone as they took it. Three of them seemed more interested in their work. Jeremy was looking at the wine. And Austin was looking at me. Score two points.
"Cheers," I said, "To all of you sort-of taking a day off to celebrate my birthday."
Glasses chinked, people drank, and then I shrieked as wine got dumped over me. "Dammit Jeremy! You're an asshole, you know that!?"
Austin went for a table cloth behind me, while I faced Jeremy to let him have it. The first strange thing I noticed was that Jeremy was holding a stack of cards from the board game. The second was that he was about to throw them.
I didn't have time to duck as the deck of cards whizzed past my head. Austin grunted behind me. A knife grazed my arm. Cards exploded around the room.
I turned around to see Austin and Jeremy fighting over the knife. They were trying to overpower each other, and stick the knife in the other person. I noticed I was still holding the wine, and threw it in Austin's face. He grunted once, then again when the knife went into his chest.
Jeremy went over to the kitchen, pulled a silenced pistol from one of the drawers (I still don't know how he had hidden it there for so long without me knowing), and shot Austin three times in the chest.
The other three were sitting in chairs, mouths fizzing from the wine they had drunk. One of them still twitched.
Jeremy looked me in the eye, "We need to go."
I hesitated, "How do I know I can trust you?"
A golden question.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then smiled, "I don't know. I still don't know why you trusted me the first time."
"What happened the first time?" I asked.
"I was hoping that by now you would be able to tell me. But now we're out of time. Here," He handed me the pistol, "You're a better shot than me anyhow. If they try to kill you, they're probably not trustworthy."
Yeah. Okay. Forget that whole thing I said before about trust, love and friendship. Sometimes the answer is pretty fucking simple.
| 2014-11-22T19:21:09 | 2014-11-22T15:04:09 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious. | Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates.
Westminster Palace, 2050
Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving.
Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years.
Unlike someone else.
When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life.
------------------------------------------
Westminster Palace, 2022
He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost.
He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation.
Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open.
The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince.
"Sit down, Rodney." Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, "We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."
Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, "A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy." He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, "With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help," Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, "those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"
Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly." Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down.
"I'm afraid you did, son." Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. "I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."
Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, "Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."
Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, "But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."
"A clever bit of vanity," spat Philip. "She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin." Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, "I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."
Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, "Welcome to the circus."
-----------------
Westminster Palace 2050
As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, "Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."
Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought.
They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle.
"Long live the king," muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin.
"I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal." Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.
| About 30 years ago Prince Charles died a very mysterious death. Some had said he was trying to overthrow the Queen only months before he died but most put that down to tabloid rumours.
30 years on and the Queen still reigns at the ripe old age of 122 with what seems like the enthusiasm of someone in peak physical condition.
My name is Alan Reef, I am a journalist and for the last 10 years I've made it my life's work to uncovering the secrets of the royal family. I do not publish these stories as I do not want end up like some of the royal families enemies. Namely, dead. So I've kept a low profile and made my name as a regular journalist just trying to get the real news out there to the masses. Today however is the day that I have been invite to a royal party and will receive an OBE for my contribution to my field.
My crisp new pin striped suit feels good on me as enter the palace grounds, the guards doing their usual rounds with their silly hats and uniforms that make them stand out like a rugby player on a tennis court. I'm can feel the excitement rising in me the closer I get to the ceremony. I'm so giddy I could giggle like a little school girl. Before I go in I have a quick double check that my trusty microphone, concealed within my thin spectacles is working. All I have to do click a small button on the side while I'm "cleaning" them and I record what I see and hear. I've been using this trick for years now and have never been caught. As a fail safe I've even had a wi-fi connection built in so I can upload the videos online if I have no other options. The world must see the truth after all.
During the ceremony the Queen is sat there in all her finery looking as regal as ever while each person receives whatever award they came to get. It's all very drab and very boring and I'm simply waiting for a moment that I can slip away to do some super sleuthing. My moment finally comes when I inform another boring award winner that I must relieve myself during the buffet section of the party.
I head towards the bathroom but instead take a different corridor and sneak through a door into a small courtyard, marble pillars holding up each corner of the room, a small square patch of grass with a circular fountain in the middle the only other things I can see. Alone by the looks of it. I decide it's time to start recording.
I'm not the only one that believes there's something up with the Queen. There are many others and many who actually work for the Royal family themselves. Which is why befriending some of these people has allowed me to gain access to the guards rotations and the placement of the cameras within the palace. I didn't get to where I am without being good at my job after all.
After many twists and turns and some real heart pounding moments I make it to my final destination, the queens bedroom! The giddy school girl feeling returns as I make my way into the room. At first glance it all looks normal but on closer inspection I can see some things are off. Too much dust on a make up drawer, a side table that looks almost new, as if it has never been opened and a book shelf that doesn't quite fit. I scan the shelf but see nothing out of place until I come to the end where a worn candle holder reveals some scuff marks on the wall. I check the candle holder and sure enough there is a catch on the back. I pull it back and pull the holder like a lever. The book shelf swings back to reveal a real life secret stair case. I'll be damned. An actual hidden pathway. I chuckle to myself at the absurdity of it all as I make my way down the stairs, recording everything as I go.
At the bottom of the stair case I am shocked and appalled to find bodies. Hundreds of them lined up with heart monitoring equipment. The bodies seem to be enclosed in some sort of vacuum packing plastic. I walk to the closest body, lying down on a cold steel gurney and find myself staring into the unseeing eyes of the dead Prince Charles himself.
A scuffle behind me alerts me too late to the danger I'm in, there's a sharp pain in my head and I black out.
End of part 1.
Hope you like it. I haven't proof read it so sorry if there's some bad mistakes in there.
[More?] | 2022-09-28T19:15:05 | 2018-07-08T22:02:26 | 1,931 | 205 |
[WP] Your best friend is a delusional, incompetent, and dangerous superhero who causes more trouble than its worth. To help keep him out of further trouble, you have taken it upon yourself to become his arch-nemesis. | I saw the spark in Nova's eyes disappear as I tore my mask off of my face in a desperation to get him to stop. His fist still raised above my bloodied face, he froze just long enough for me to twist free and throw him aside to scramble away.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He wiped his knuckles on his spandex and stared at me incredulously. "Wearing that? Don't you know how dangerously irresponsible it is to be impersona-"
"I'm not impersonating," I spat blood on the concrete roof and collapsed against a chunk of rubble. "I'm Valentino." I pulled my gloves off and threw them to the side. I reached up and gently prodded at my swollen, bloody cheeks, stretching and opening my stiff jaw.
"Like hell you are," Nova laughed, and then guffawed his way over to me, roughly taking me by the shoulder buddy style as he crouched next to me. "Damn, I really got you good. What are you doing out here like this? Really, Micheal."
I looked up at him. He never changed, never believed anything he didn't want to. Just like in high school and college, he blew off what he didn't like and tore his way into what he did. This wouldn't be easy on him. Maybe he needed that.
"I'm Valentino."
"Yeah right."
There was a pause, filled with me huffing for breath, him staring down waiting for my face to crack with a sly grin and the words 'Haha! I got you!'. His feet shifted under his crouch, I could feel him growing uneasy.
"Micheal, c'mon." There was a hint of his usual puppy plea, the one he'd use to rally girls into his car, the one he'd use to convince a small restaurant owner to comp his meal just because he was a Hero.
He wasn't a bad guy, he just was too used to getting his way for too long. Everyone bent to his will because he knew how to use that dopey grin and buddy-buddy attitude without even needing to think. Did he realize it? Who knew, but I was fed up.
"It's Valentino while I'm in this suit, hear me?" I shrugged his hand off of me and pulled myself to a stand. "I am Valentino, Nova."
Then there it was, that blink of realization that he wasn't going to get his way this time. That look of indignation, not even of shock. He wasn't surprised because his childhood friend was his nemesis, a supervillain, he was taken aback that someone would show him that he's wrong.
In a fraction of a second, I saw his fist ball up as he dove at me. I didn't bother dodging, letting his knuckles contact my jaw hard enough to send me flying to the edge of the roof.
"The hell do you mean you're Valentino?" He roared. "You're my best friend, you- you can't do this to me!"
Ah. 'To me'
"Have you always been this arrogant of a prick?" I choke out, hacking up blood. "Is it really only about you? Day in and day out you've fought me for the last 6 years, Nova. Day in and day out, has it only been for you? I mean, I know how selfish you can be, throwing away everyone else in your life just for the front cover of a book. Hell, I guess you did skip your sister's birthday to interview for Feedbuzz."
I feel another blow to my shoulder, a kick this time. "I save thousands every week! I'm the hero here, and I have been for a long time." Nova paces in front of me. "I'm the hero, I have been since I got these powers at 16. I've saved more people than you could-could count. Just because I-I know my worth doesn't mean nothin'! At all!"
"You've forced yourself on countless women, Nova. You've killed 4 families in the last 2 weeks! You've completely demolished buildings, homes, longstanding local businesses! For what? To save that greasy politician I kidnapped?" I could feel myself getting heated, fidgety. I couldn't remember the last time I felt an anger this strong build up inside of me.
Nova turned toward me again, drawing his foot back for another blow. I caught his ankle just in time, and using all of my strength, I hauled his 250lb figure over the edge of the building, dangling him there. My feet skidded on concrete, and my arms shook with effort.
"You've treated everything around you like your own personal demolition zone. Do you even read the news outside of your own praise? How many families you've put on the streets? How many children you've killed just to stop someone from kidnapping a government representative?"
He kicked and cursed beneath me, and I prayed my super strength would outlast his. "I'll kill you! Let me go! I save people, you're the villain here, you nasty traitoro-"
My grip slipped and we both went over a few inches. "I may be a traitor, but at least I have values." I was seeing red, and deciding to end this as abruptly as it started.
As he struggled beneath me, thrashing into the bricks and causing them the crumble, I let go, the momentum swinging me backward.
Nova couldn't fly, and we were 30 stories up. But he wouldn't die, I knew. This wasn't over yet. Now that he knew who I really was, it was only starting.
(Sorry for any mistakes! I'm on mobile, and I haven't written a story in like 7 years!!!) | There I was, sitting in my high rise apartment in the beautiful city of Metropoly, when my walls were completely blown out and a figure flew into my living room, glowing with red eyes.
"Oh great," I groaned.
"Roger!" the figure roared, but I could now tell it was my ex best friend Strongholt, the superhero.
"In case you haven't read the news, actually, scratch that, you never read the news. But in case you haven't heard, I'm your arch nemesis now. Don't call me Roger, call me DarkFyre."
"You're right, I don't read the news. But what do you call this?" he screamed, pushing his phone in my face me while marching closer.
"I call it, my Facebook profile."
"UGH! No, what do you call this? Our relationship status went from best friend to arch nemesis and 200,000 people have liked it so far!" he screeched.
"I don't know how that can be any more clearer, you're my arch nemesis now."
He slapped me, pretty harshly too, but fortunately I had bones of a special obsidian steel so it didn't really do a whole lot.
"Why have you done this?" Strongholt said.
"Dude, in case you haven't noticed, whenever you 'save the day' you piss off the store owners, customers, landowners, and anyone else who is involved in your incident. Not to mention, the police hate you."
"Ha! That's pre-per-pep-posterous," he said and I rolled my eyes. "Where do you get these crazy ideas?"
"You just blew off my wall. The owner of this building is going to be so pissed, and I'm pissed because I paid for this house and I'm going to have to pay for the damages you just caused."
"Well maybe you should have thought of that before declaring me as your arch nemesis."
I pulled up a video on my phone that I took a week earlier after Strongholt beat up some guys after a bank robbery, and then started to destroy the bank for no reason. I showed it to him.
*The crowd was screaming and booing at him, they were running away in fear. After Strongholt destroyed the vault door for no particular reason, someone else from the crowd (who wasn't even involved in the robbery) stole some money before the cops showed up and saved the day.*
"Wow, that video is so awesome, did you see how I beat up those bad guys and tore off the vault door? That was so sick."
I groaned so loudly that my voice turned hoarse. I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. "Why did you tear off the vault door! It was so unnecessary!"
"What are you talking about? It was super cool. Sorry I'm not lame like you are. Caution leads to disaster. You know my motto."
"Your motto is why people hate you! It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"
"I don't really appreciate that tone, Roger. You wanna settle this with a fight?"
"It's DarkFyre and I would love nothing more," I grunted.
​
r/randallcooper | 2020-03-24T17:02:15 | 2020-03-24T13:32:02 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. | “....happy birthday to you!” The crowd finished singing and I blew out the candles that spelled out “50”.
No one asked what my wish was; I think we all knew. We all only had one wish these days: to get off the damn train.
A short while later, the cake was divided into pieces and divided among the crowd. We were finally starting to dwindle in numbers. After twenty long years on the train, many were choosing to leave, consequences be damned.
For we did not know what the consequences are. We all awoke one day sitting in different cars with nothing on us but our clothes and a single note:
*Whatever you do, don’t get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop.*
The first day had been chaos. Accusations flew about as all of us tried to figure out how we got on the train, how long we had been there, what happened to our friends and families.
Eventually, we figured out there were 50 of us from across the world. No one knew anyone else. There was no single link between any two people.
The first stop came that night. Five people opted to get off immediately. We still don’t know what happened to them.
The bravest of us explored the length of the train. The biggest discovery was the dining car, which had been vital to our survival. Every day, we would enter the dining car’s galley and find it fully stocked with a surprisingly wide variety of fresh meats, vegetables, fruits, and standard pantry staples. A few passengers tried to stay in the galley for a whole day to see who restocked it; that day, we went hungry.
But the majority of cars were standard passenger cars. There was the coach car we awoke in, a handful of lounge cars, and enough sleeper cars for everyone to have a bed at night. My personal favorite was the observation deck, which sat at the back of the train. It provided an excellent view of the landscapes we rolled through and more importantly had a consistently stocked bar.
And the landscapes *were* beautiful. The first day we saw endless rolling plains dotted with herds of buffalo. Since then, we’ve traveled through snow-covered mountains, blinding deserts, dark forests, and almost any other type of terrain you can think of except a city. There was even one awful month where we were stuck in an arctic wasteland for just under 28 days. Six people got off the train at the next stop, the largest group that left at one time.
That month was also the longest we had gone without a stop. Most often, there was at least one stop a week, though the time between stops varied widely, and the duration of the stop changed often, sometimes lasting for a few minutes and once lasting for an entire day. During one terrifying week, we had almost one five minute stop every hour. It felt like being on a subway in the city.
But there was no city. There never had been any, not even a building or the slightest sign of civilization other than the train, the tracks, and the stops.
“What are you thinking, Jim?” Kelly asked as I stared out the window.
“Who says I’m thinking?” I replied with a slight smile.
“You haven’t touched your cake,” she pointed out. “And you always stare out the window when you’re feeling down.”
“Hm… I’m getting too predictable.”
“We’ve been interacting pretty regularly for twenty years, Jim. It would be more ridiculous if you *weren’t* predictable.”
I grunted and continued to stare out the windows. Today was like the first day, rolling plains, but this time with mountains visible in the distance.
“You’re thinking about them?” she asked quietly.
“It’s been twenty years, like you said. Do they even remember me?”
“Or has no time passed at all? We just don’t know,” she sighed.
“Perhaps not. But we’re aging, are we not?” I scratched my scruffy beard. It had begun to turn grey a few years before, and it seemed like I found a new wrinkle every day. “It would only make sense for time to pass in the real world.”
“It does,” Kelly admitted. “But I can hope.”
I rubbed my eyes tiredly. “I want to. I really do. But...“
“You’re not… you’re not thinking you want to get off, do you?” she asked, eyes widening.
I remained silent.
“Oh, Jim…” She wrapped her arms around me and I could feel tears begin to soak into my shirt.
“I have a family out there, Kelly. I have to try.”
“What if you die? You can’t take that risk!”
“It’s twenty *years* today. Maybe that’s the end.”
She sniffled. “Maybe.” I could tell she didn’t believe me. “What if there’s no stop?”
“There will be,” I said. “There’s always a stop at the hard moments. After the arctic. At one year, five years, ten years. There will be one.”
***
The train squealed to a stop later that night just as I had thought it would. The rest of the passengers, now only twelve not including myself, gathered around the door silently.
I took a deep breath.
“Look me up when you get off,” I said. “I’m not dying here, even if this isn’t the last stop.”
I stepped onto the platform, my feet touching solid ground for the first time in twenty years. I looked around at the plains and mountains, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stood for a moment. Within a few seconds, the train began to whoosh and the wheels slowly spun into action.
I had failed. It was not the train’s last stop.
I opened my eyes, feeling strangely calm. The plains had disappeared. I was standing outside my old house. It had changed over the last twenty years. The sidewalk was a bit more worn and the siding was a new color.
As I had thought, twenty years of my life had been gone.
I sighed and stuck my hands into my pocket.
There was a new slip of paper.
*Whatever stop you get off at is your last stop.*
I let the paper fall to the ground.
“[Fuck](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).” | The train shuffled to a stop, and people hurried off. The seats beside me were emptied, and I dropped my tense shoulders. I released the death grip on my bag, exhaling in relief. There were only a few people left in the train car, so I could loosen up a bit.
I pulled out my clip-on headphones and set them to my ears. When I reached for the phone in my pocket, an unexpected crunch made me flinch.
I emptied my pockets, trying to figure out what had made the sound. It was a sticky note, new and clean despite the lint it picked up.
Round, neat handwriting was scrawled in the middle: ''What ever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop.''
I glanced at the train's door as they started to hiss, signaling their closing. This wasn't even my stop, but I felt a strong urge to see what happened if I didn't stay on the train.
'It's just a prank,' I told myself, disregarding the note and turning on my music.
A strange tremor spread about my body. I continued to drown myself in my music, sometimes switching the genre in an attempt to cheer my mood.
Finally, the train stopped at my station. I gathered my belongings and headed to the doors. The remaining passengers shuffled out. As my food crossed the yellow strip that indicated platform from car, I froze.
A sensation overwhelmed me. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt. Anxiety worse than giving a speech was dumped over my head. A taste more repulsing than my grandmother's cooking slunk down my throat.
I retracted from the door, reclaiming my seat. I took the crumpled note out of my pocket and stared at it, unable to read it because of my shaking hands.
'It can't hurt to wait for the last stop,' I told myself.
-=-=-=-
Twenty years. I think that's how long it's been.
All my bones rattled and my muscles ached. I was slumped back on my seat, wishing that I'd reach the next stop soon. Up until now I'd been surviving on the kindness of strangers, but I hadn't seen anybody for a few weeks.
'Just one more stop,' I kept telling myself. Just one more station until this hell would end, until the train reached its last stop.
I fiddled with the numerous sticky notes, looking over the now-familiar handwriting. I'd gotten one every year or so. Some were encouraging, telling me 'happy birthday' or praising my courage. Others were... I didn't want to think about them.
I had too much time on my hands. I had nothing to do but think in my headspace. Nothing to do but imagine the songs that once played on my phone. Nothing to do but concentrate on my hunger and thirst and pain.
I was thinking again. I was about to die of thirst; why don't I just get off? The dark tunnels of the subway never changed, so surely I'd still be in some kind of city.
The next time the train stopped, I hauled my frame to the door. It was a pathetic, desperate crawl. I approached the door, as I'd attempted many times before, the surreal fear seized me again.
But I pushed past it. There was nothing to lose. Twenty years of my life were gone, all because of a stupid prank. I was just overthinking things. I was being anxious for nothing.
As I dragged myself off the train and onto the empty platform, a sigh of relief escaped me. Nothing was happening.
''I thought I told you to wait for the last stop," A harsh roar echoed around me.
The last thing I saw were its long claws slicing through my chest. | 2020-07-17T10:44:10 | 2020-07-17T10:24:49 | 7,614 | 97 |
[WP] You and your crew are the first humans in recorded history to land on the moon. However, near the landing site, you discover a lone white flag set by someone before you. | “The Eagle has landed.”
You could hear the shouting and cheering through the line. We made it. *We made it!*
“Alright, Buzz, you’ve got the window. Is it really made of cheese?”
Silence.
“Buzz?”
“Neil… are we parked next to a probe? Us? Russian?”
“No, we picked the site because it’s someplace we haven’t explored. Why, you see something?”
The radio crackled to life. “Eagle, can we get a quick sitrep? Page 9 of the manual as guide, over.”
I picked up the radio and squinted out of the small window, “Uh, Houston, are there any probes or debris that’s known to be near our location, over?”
Silence.
Buzz turned to me, shaken. I’d never seen him even nervous before. “It… it looks like a flag.”
The radio crackled again, “Eagle, we did not copy, please repeat, over.”
I kept looking at the distant object. “Houston, do we have any known debris or probes in the area? Over.”
Silence. Long silence.
“What kind of debris?”
No identification. No “over.” It was almost curt.
I depressed the button, “Houston, we’re seeing a white flag on a pole. Over.”
“Eagle, your message is received. Stand by, over.”
It’s really quiet in a place with no air. Just you and another guy staring out a window the size of a tennis ball at something that *really* shouldn’t be there.
“Eagle, what color is the flag, over?”
My eyes never left the window. “Houston, one white flag. Over.”
Silence.
Buzz spoke up, “Any bright ideas, Neil?”
“Shut up. We’ll wait on them. Just… just give it a minute.”
The radio crackled again, “Eagle, confirming single white flag on a pole, location is Sea of Tranquility. Can you confirm, over?”
700 hours in a simulator, practicing handling fires, illness, equipment failure, and nothing covering this. It didn’t made me feel any better that the voice on the radio seemed nervous too.
“Houston, confirmed, over.”
Silence. Even longer silence. Buzz got out the camera and tried to line up a photo.
“Eagle, please get out your manual and go all the way to page 341. We’re asking you to dump all the items on the list and prepare for liftoff. Over.”
We both looked at each other in shock. *What?*
“Buzz… no way we’re going back already…”
“Eagle, confirm, over?”
“Houston, are you going to tell us what’s going on here?”
Silence.
The radio crackled to life. The voice spoke slowly and evenly. “Eagle, this was a contingency we considered. That’s why we did that film work in studio before you left. No need for anyone to panic, but we need you to leave. Now. Over.”
I paused. I had waited my whole life for this…
“C-confirmed. Houston. Beginning premature launch sequence…” I paused, “Emergency rapid exit scenario Gamma One. Over.”
“Neil?”
“Buzz, I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”
They went through the checklists and prepared for takeoff. Mike wasn’t going to like this at all. He *loves* puzzles. | At first, it was not obvious. It was confusing, bewildering, even!
"Richard, what do you reckon' left it here!"
"Na idea, mate, but it sure as hell wasn't humans, we would have known."
"Wait... not people... white flag? You don't think..."
"Naa, I dannae like where this is goin' mate."
The Moon seems farther and farther away. The situation more and more distant as the truth became apparent.
Then a sound, in vacuum, sounds - it is a muffled, distant, haunting sound. Sound so chilling and depraved nothing with a soul could release it. *Honhonhonhonhon Oui baguette"
"Freeeeeeeeeeench!"
Cuts through the vacuum of space before the expedition goes silent forever. | 2022-12-14T11:54:27 | 2022-12-14T11:18:35 | 294 | 114 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | I felt groggy. My back was stiff. “Where am I?” I thought. “I must have slept in. I can’t remember falling asleep.” The mattress felt unfamiliar. I eased myself into a sitting position.
​
“She’s up!” a voice to my left yelled, startling me to no end. I wrenched my eyelids open to take in my surroundings. We were in a big, dark room. I was laying on a bed against the wall. To my right there was a massive door with a metal handle. It was rounded at the top like a gate. The tiny lights pointed downward so when you looked up you could not see the ceiling. Everything was bathed in a reddish hue. It was cold. My mattress must have been bought secondhand from a prison. The stone wall in front of me shimmered as if it were wet.
​
To my left the room extended into darkness. The sharp footsteps of the man behind the voice echoed closer and closer until a pair of polished dress shoes emerged from the darkness. He was wearing a suit with a black tie and a teal pocket square. His hair was slicked back with gel. The scent of his cologne overpowered me, even from a distance of 15 feet. “Welcome to hell” he said brightly.
​
“Huh?” I mumbled trying to expel the grogginess from my brain. “Why are you dressed like that?” I felt silly for not being able to come up with a better question.
​
“I died at the office.” He chuckled. “I had a heart attack on Saturday night after I heard that this dimwit John got the promotion I deserved.” He smiled at me. My mouth hung open, unable to form coherent words. “Anyways, I’m pride. The boss will be here in a few minutes, but let me introduce you to the crew.”
​
A group of people emerged from the darkness behind him. “This is greed” he said motioning to a woman in a low cut dress revealing massive fake boobs. Her hair was wound up into a gravity-defying decorative mass atop her head. A small naked man stood to her left. He angled himself away from me in an attempt to hide his petit package. A fresh bloody wound marred the left side of his chest. “That there is lust. He got shot after he broke into his ex-girlfriend’s house. She had taken up another lover who happened to be a member of the NRA. Poor bloke is gonna be naked for eternity. Next is envy.” He gestured towards the next man. He was in his mid-fifties, with dark hair and glasses. “He died when he wrapped his brand new Lambo around a pole at 100 miles per hour the day after he declared bankruptcy. Then there’s gluttony and sloth, they’re inseparable.” Gluttony was a large man standing with his feet several feet apart in order to support his weight. Next to him was sloth, a woman in her 30’s whose stomach was tucked into the front of her sweat pants. “And this is wrath.” A giant muscle-bound man stood on the end of the line. His massive shoulders obscured his neck. “He had a roid rage incident. And that’s everybody. Who are you?”
​
“I’m… uh… my name is…” I stammered. “I can’t remember.”
​
The sound of a massive lock unlatching made all of us jump. The door to my right let out a shrill creak as it swung on it’s colossal hinges. A wave of oppressive heat rushed into the room. Behind the door flames enveloped a man with red skin and yellow eyes. His long stringy hair tumbled down around a pair of black horns stretching out from the sides of his head.
​
“My friends,” he said in a deep voice. “Our team… is complete at last.” Please welcome, our eight and final member, “We shall call her, failure-to-use-turn-signal.”
​ | They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but it didnt happen for me. In fact I didnt get anything. Just black out and fade into a dimly lit room.
"Candles? The fuck is this? A fucking Bath and body works?"
The large room contained eight beings of which I paid no mind.
I wandered up to the table in the centre an sat down at the head chair.
"That's my seat! How dare you take the seat of the prince of hell!" A pretty looking fellow with fucking angel wings was shouting at me.
"Listen skippy, I'm not sure what you expect?" I waved my hand at him dismissively.
"The fucking balls on this one? Mmmm I like him." I turned to take in the sultry voice of a female in tight leather pants. She was stunning yet, like my daughter, you know, looked like the type who gobbled dick, more dick than a coked out Daniel Tosh.
"I'd grab you by the pussy" I winked at her.
"Remove yourself from my seat!" The pretty angel guy was not letting this go anytime soon.
I removed my left shoe and tossed it at his perfect face. It struck him square in the nose and he fell backwards in shock.
The others surrounded him and helped him to his feet.
"Alright my little muppets." I said standing from the chair. My left foot landing something squishy that I paid no mind too.
"Allow me to introduce myself, I'm goddamned Donald mother fucking Trump!" | 2019-01-12T21:06:01 | 2019-01-12T15:27:37 | 631 | 18 |
[WP] Humans have always been feared throughout the universe for surviving in the harshest environments, drinking and eating highly poisonous drinks and foods as well as taming and even domesticating dangerous beasts. One applies for a position at your company. | “Unfortunately there is only one position available at the company thus we are going to put you through a couple of tests to see who would be the best fit.” CEO Dolgrump stated slowly lowering his sunglasses and adjusting his universal translator while reviewing the new potential candidates. His tentacle hurt from all the applications he had siphoned through this past week but hard work gets results, especially when you have others do that work for you.
That's how he had built this company from the ground up, having establishments on Vertron, Especia 5 and were even planning and opening a new location on Pluto in the next quarter. Before he could do that, apparently they needed to diversify the workforce a bit, typical of the HR Department and for new Intergalactic Empire Workforce Rules and Regulations.
​
It came down to three candidates, a Bolgerion where its width matched its height and had the skin of a dying orange volcano. A Vermule that could be a distant cousin of a typical houseplant except with too many eyes. And a Human, those disgusted Dolgrump to his core. They were blank, featureless skin, a void of a race and it was unsettling. It was like befriending a black hole, an essence of destruction and he would not have the likes of that in his company. All he had to do was assure the hiring process was the worst imaginable and the Human would have to drop out of the race.
​
“Thank you, sir, for the opportunity, I am happy to try my best.” The Human said giving a slight bow towards the CEO.
*“How disgusting!”* Dolgrump thought to himself. Saying *thank you* without receiving anything, *happy* without getting the job. This Human is certainly a force of nature that just does not care for anything.
​
The tests did not go as expected as the horrific Human excelled at every physiological strategy CEO Dolgrump tried to pull. The plan was to use the banned Intergalactic Empire Workforce Mental Stress Test to wither down the candidate until the candidate felt worthless. It was banned for being considered too cruel yet the Human was not affected. Were they too insane for mental attacks? Dolgrump even used the long forbidden “What Do You Consider to Be Your Weaknesses?”. The Human had a list of things to say splurging out hypnotic words about *working too hard* and *being a perfectionist*. If these were their weaknesses, Dolgrump could not imagine their strengths mixed with their unpredictability. The girthy Bolgerion bowed out of the competition after hearing those answers from the Human and the Vermule went insane from the interrogation.
​
With only the Huma left, Dolgrump was getting desperate and needed to stale. The best way he knew how was to ask for the candidate to gather information about their lives, past employment, living situation, and anything he could think of. That information would be locked under the Intergalactic Empire Mainframe and gathering that information from across the galaxy manually would take forever. It was perfect!
“Of course, I have my portfolio right here.” The Human said handing a binder to Dolgrump. “My references are also up to date.”
Dolgrump felt as if there was nothing that he could do to break this Human monster. Only an abomination could excel in the most devious tactics of the workforce.
“Ummm, perfect.” Dolgrump said cautiously, grabbing the document and the flipper through the tomb of an unknown language.
​
He felt as if he had no choice, Dolgrump had to hire this candidate but the battle was not over, he could get this creature to break and go insane forcing HR to allow the firing of the Human. They would force the Human to work 3-day cycles a week to miss work to break their soul, force them to constantly leave their station to go on explorations and excursions to break their body, and even continuously change their work position up the corporate ladder to break their mind. This Human won’t survive. | These humans...
Weird? Yes.
Dangerous? Yes.
Expensive? YES.
Worthwhile? As they say, A BILLION TIMES YES!
There was this one time that our mercenary company had to deal with a Omega-Omega. World ending stuff.
Their behavior before this, or any mission, really, has always been - Odd.
Treating the whole thing like it's a game.
Throwing lethal amounts of poison around like they want to die (keep forgetting that they *can't* die from 'mere alcohol', as they call it.).
We head to the outer reaches of the Dead Zone, and they *finally* get their heads on their shoulders (I'm catching the human, as they say... *sigh*).
Nearly lose half of my quad to Alpha - Gammas (Their blood is *literal acid*, able to melt *anything*), but those humans... Those that say humans are useless, have never been in a straight-up lethal, no-holding-back, all-out fight with one.
Anyway, we all get to the Source, where the humans *insist* in being the first ones down there.
Stupid? Yeah
Loyal? Hell yeah.
Worth the trillions we pay for each hour we use a team?
Seeing the O - O get dragged to the surface a mere five minutes after they left, tells me that yeah, it's all worth it.
Now, if only they would *stop* playing with the O - O and calling it 'Fido'... | 2020-06-15T21:45:38 | 2020-06-15T19:48:03 | 462 | 315 |
[WP]A plague kills 99.99% of human life, leaving no corpses and few immune survivors. In this desolate new world, there's no shortage of anything, and the greatest resource of all is human companionship. A survivor recounts his story of how he found his current group, years later. | For the first few years, I was happy. Does that surprise you? In fact, I left the remains of Seattle, loaded a few belongings into my truck and drove to one of the long-dead towns of Oregon. I was tired of watching the hospitals closing, one by one, as the dying begged on their doorsteps. More than anything, I was sick of the stench.
I lived in a strip mall (which I called the Strip, in journals) for two years. With hundreds of batteries and portable chargers of every kind, I had decades of media at my fingertips. Movies, music, video games, and an entire bookstore - I could have consumed the past 100 years of media if I had wanted. And I did, at first.
Never hungry, never thirsty, never bored, never bothered by the pests of social pressure, no more funerals, no more pretending to form attachments to humans I knew would die. I was in heaven. I built a nest in the bookstore and began to educate myself, something I never had the time for when the human world was dying around me. I read, in particular, about biology.
The obsession began when I read Darwin's "The Origin of Species". My bed was lined with heavily annotated volumes on evolution, zoology, and entomology. I began conducting my own breeding experiments with spiders in the forest behind the Strip. I named each of them after relatives I lost to the plague. I watched them for hours a day, taking notes until the sun went down. Don't get me wrong, I was fully aware that I was losing my mind as it happened.
Winter came and took my spiders out. I found them dead in their box, and wept for a week. Me, a grown man, crying like I had ten years ago when the sickness got my brothers. When the tears stopped, I got back in the truck; It was time to find the others. I pressed my beloved spiders in a paper copy of "The Origin of Species" and kept it in my glove box.
I drove from coast to coast. I stopped in every city I passed, checking every town hall and abandoned grocery store, anywhere a person was likely to take shelter. On the way, I collected insects, and pressed the most fascinating of them in my book.
The idea had been brewing in my mind throughout the road trip, even before - but even in my deranged mind it was a last resort. A fantasy. Even I knew it was crazy. However, After three years of driving, and five years of solitude, ethics becomes more of a vague concept - a theory, like evolution, rather than an applicable ideology. I got to Maine, I was tired of wandering. I had a destination in mind, finally.
Arsc, our little town, used to be known once as Augusta, as you all know from the road signs. But the books and pamphlets I found in the lab read ARSC - Augusta Reproductive Science Center. And I knew a whole new town would need a whole new name.
Of course, I tested every specimen for immunity. Leftover materials from the nearby hospital allowed me to do so. I knew I could only use my own contribution a limited number of times - genetic variation was a must for longevity of the colony. However, I knew that I carried the immunity, so I started there and continued to conduct testing as you began to develop in your incubator.
Emily, you were my first and my own, named after my mother. As the oldest and the strongest, I have chosen you to be the bearer of this colony's origin. The history cannot be known by the children, and I trust you to guard it as a secret. As the human race was dying, I blew on the embers. From now on, our species must progress only as nature intended, I fear those who find out about my experiment may someday repeat it.
One day, someone will live to be the last human on earth, and they will let humanity die as it was meant to. That person has more strength than I did. I have passed the responsibility of the apocalypse to a future generation, and will soon die surrounded by my children, as my ancestors did.
[[edited for slight wording changes, including Fakename_fakeperspn's suggestion]] | "Well, it was really luck" Jack mumbled. He stared into the fire, knees to his bent chest.
" There were a lot of times when I thought I'd never find another person. I was just a young man when it hit. I didn't know too much. I think I was about sixteen." Christie, Jacks wife, listened carefully to him as he didn't talk much of when he was in his own.
" I thought about killing myself a lot. But I was a good Christian boy. I never could go through with it" The rest of the group understood in the back of their minds. Jack let his legs sprawl out in front of him and held himself upright with arms leaning back.
" There's no such thing as an atheist in foxhole. I know it don't make no sense, but you worry less about makin sense and more about peace. You worry more about makin peace, ya know." He repeated his point.
" My First few years were bad, real bad. I found jesus then." A little girl who over heard Jack mumbling to the fire spoke up. "Then why would God do this to us? You can't believe in something so evil." The mother to her left said her name in a disappointed tone. She pulled back down to the log stump where she sat. Jack wasn't phased by this. She had a point. " Truth is, God doesn't play favorites. He just loves you." Jack had a lump in his throat admitting it. " That's all I really wanted." | 2014-12-25T20:06:35 | 2014-12-25T19:22:45 | 413 | 12 |
[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. | I was the odd case. Everyone has super powers, nobody knows why, even the people with super intelligence as a power can't figure it out. There really is no way to observe it. Which is why I am so different.
Everyone has a power, it sort of just come, like puberty or growth spurts. What can I say, we solved the energy problem in the world, explored the galaxies but we have no more information on our own anatomy than when Homo sapiens sapiens first evolved into Homo sapiens superior, more than five hundred years ago. But it never happened to me. My power never came, and it's not like I have a power that's super lame, like that one guy who can manipulate the smell around him on that reality TV show. No, I have no power at all.
I actually had a TV show too, everyone wants to see the kid without power, it's so barbaric, so backwards. The government agency came by to check out what's going on, they didn't conclude anything and they left. Entire generation of academics spent nearly hundred years trying to crack the sapien superiors source of power, and nothing came of it, so everyone just brush it off if some strange power thing occurred. And eventually the show was canceled, there is only so much one can film about a teenager that disappears and sneaks around a lot. At a certain point people started to feel real bad about me, and reality TV is for entertaining, not for people's pity.
And I was left here, with no power and nothing. My friends all left for college and trade school, or joined the explorers to see the universe.
It was until one day I was at a restaurant that I started realize exactly who I am. I was just dumped by my girlfriend--ex girlfriend --and it was really awkward for me. All I wanted was to be unnoticed in the corner, finish my meal and head home to heal my broken heart. I sat there for hours, and nobody noticed me, not the waiter, not customers, they just left me be. Heck, I lost the time and they closed the restaurant with me still in it. Well that's new. It took me a month to figure out, as it turns out, I do have a power, I can hide. And not just hide, whenever I feel like it, I can walk through places unseen by others. I'm not invisible, I tried that theory, the camera caught me. People just glance over me, as if nothing is out of place, and keep on doing whatever they were doing.
Nobody noticed my power because it is a fairly unnoticeable power. I was always that kid that sat in the corner, nobody ever took notice of me, so nobody figured it out. Life was pretty sweet after that. Went strolling in a bank vault, no biggie. Took a couple grand for my weekly allowance, nobody noticed. I am the shadow that walked the earth unseen. The best part? Everyone still thinks I have no power.
Their loss (no, quite seriously, I took some dude's Ferrari for a sunset ride yesterday, totaled the car, and just left it there). | They didn't respect me. Never did. They laughed as I pointed, laughing that my power was useless, that no one would ever respect me.
But, over the years, I've realized something. I've realized that without this thing, Laser Beam Man won't have the strength to fight crime. Super Strength Woman won't even be able to lift a fly. And... and even the famed Batman Copycat won't be keeping his city safe. No. That all ends today.
I pointed to the roll of toilet paper, and it disappeared.
They won't be laughing at Points at Toilet Paper and Makes It Disappear Man any more.
Not until I've gotten my load off. | 2015-04-12T21:19:46 | 2015-04-12T17:51:32 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] You, an atheist, have died. All the gods that have ever been line up to offer you their version of heaven if only you believe in _them_. Turns out souls are currency and yours is up for grabs. | I took the time to read through each one of their books thoroughly. Most of them were over 400 pages, so it struck me as odd when I walked up to the last of the gods and saw a young girl with a 3-page pamphlet.
"You're just a kid," I pointed out to her, stupidly.
"That is my soul you're seeing. I am Fun."
"Fun? That's all?"
"All?" She giggled as if she knew something I didn't. "Just read this."
Page 1: Family. Family is glue. They are your best friends. Family means you are never alone. In my Heaven, you will get to find your perfect family. They understand you, they are always there for you.
Underneath the short paragraph, there was a childlike sketch of blue humanoid figures in a group hug with hearts floating above them.
I needed some crackers for all the cheese.
Page 2: Love. Love is life. You will never be without love in my Heaven. It will be your food.
Underneath the sentence, there was another drawing of a sunrise over a cornfield. A caption below it said, "This is how much the sun loves us."
How lame.
Page 3: Fun. Fun is eternity's secret. You never get tired of it. In my Heaven, you chase fun and then rest, and then chase again.
The illustration this time showed the same blue figures doing various activities - playing a guitar, kicking a soccer ball, playing with a cat.
I looked up at her again and noted the expectant look on her face.
"Why such a short book? It took me years just to read through the others and yours just doesn't even compare. I don't mean that in a good way. I need more data."
"You need more will," she said.
"My will is just fine. I know exactly what I want."
"Then what is it?"
"I want to understand how all of this came to be and then die."
"You'd like some supplemental reading material? I do have one other document. It's not required reading, just something nice."
"Nice?!" This kid was amusing the shit out of me.
"Here."
She handed me a list of "Sad Things to Say."
The list: Die. Kill. Murder. End. Death. Destroy. Fear. Rage.
It went on and on.
"So why do they call you Fun? Your Heaven sounds like fluff. They should call you Fluff."
She opened a portal in mid-air next to her and showed a group of people sitting next to a river, drinking beer and laughing next to a campfire.
"This is my favorite family so far," she smiled. "They love each other so much and never forget each other in times of need. You ought to hear them sing."
"You've left so much of this reality in your Heaven," I said with a slight bit of confusion. She didn't make a rainbow sky or anything like some of the other silly books I went through.
"While I was human, I realized that we were already in a perfect place. The problem was people not having fun. I talked to Creator and he gave me the chance to stand among the gods. He told me to keep my Heaven simple though, because the others are kind of assholes, even though they are very smart. Don't tell them that."
I laughed out loud at this child's profanity. She rolled her eyes and grinned.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked.
"I think there is something you're not telling me. I know you're after something by offering this to me."
"Currency?"
"Exactly."
"Time is what?" She asked.
"Money."
"And money is?" She asked.
"Currency."
"And what does currency mean?"
"In circulation," I replied immediately. Hmm.
She pointed back to the portal she had opened. "Your soul in this Heaven will create a more vibrant place for us all. Each new arrival only makes it shine brighter. You will become this Heaven and this Heaven will become you. You make it move like the current of the river. That is why they call me Fun!"
"Because ..." I was at a loss for words.
"Because it is. Do you want to stay with my family for a while and just see?"
"Wait a minute. Why are the other gods so hungry for my soul?"
"Trophies and competitions," she said with sad eyes.
"I'm going back to my family now, friend. You can come with me or you can reread your books."
She began stepping through the portal.
"Wait!!" I nearly screamed.
I felt the warmth coming through the portal. I needed to go with her.
She reached out her small hand to me and guided me through.
| "Right..."
Sideways glance at the never-ending line of a variety of creatures ranging from scantily-clad buxom beauties to indescribable horrors. Suffice to say his gaze lingered on the more visually appeasing side.
A brief, polite cough into fist. "Right, then. Looks like we aren't going to resolve this any time soon, so let's make this quick. I just gotta believe in someone, right?"
Deities shifted as if to focus their attention on the contested soul's words. He slowly raised his index finger, its tip fixated by infinite eyes. The finger began circling, slowly at first, then more quickly and quickly, deities' gazes following closely. It was as if they were a litter of kittens.
Finally, the finger halted, pointing toward himself. "Too bad," he announced with a smirk, "but I only believe in myself."
To his slight dismay, deities' reactions were rather underwhelming. They gazed at him in silence, then they began turning around, disappearing one by one without a sign of emotion. A thought crossed his mind as he watched the countless deities leave; what if he had erred? What was going to happen to him now that he chose none of deities?
With each deity disappearing into darkness, his concern grew and grew until he started feeling an inkling of panic. As the last deities were about to leave him alone in the darkness, he called out.
"Wait! Is that it? Are you giving up already?!"
One of the deities stopped mid-turn. It was an old man, with robes and long beard and all that. The old man glanced over his shoulder toward him and spoke with coarse yet warm voice.
"Do you not believe in yourself?"
He gulped nervously, as he locked eyes with the aged deity's gaze. "What if I do?" he probed.
"Then you are your own God," the aged deity spoke. "Your soul belongs to you and you alone." The deity turned away from him, facing the darkness. "Make wise use of it, for it is the only soul you have."
The deity's words trailed off as the robed old man merged with the darkness, leaving him alone, encompassing him in silence.
After a long while, the silence was broken with mere two words:
"Well, shit." | 2017-07-09T05:04:36 | 2017-07-09T03:56:58 | 58 | 43 |
[WP] It was then Harry Potter realized the last 7 years in Hogwarts was actually a mental institute. The man he thought to be Dumbledore was just an elderly caretaker. Harry, looking at an old broken twig he once believed was a wand, started to remember what really happened during those years. | Decided to try it out in a different POV.
McGonagall remembered when they took in her favorite tenant, Harry ‘Potter’. He had lovely parents, but by the time the boy had turned 11 his delusions had painted his family as foul ugly human beings. It was his mother Petunia who was most broken hearted by this development.
She would labor for hours on his birthday to bake him a cake and lovingly wrap each gift. Dudley, Harry’s brother, would help cut Harry’s cake and unwrap his presents for him... McGonagall heard all these things from Harry, but the cake was never for him and he never received a single present in his telling. He didn’t even remember begging to live under the stairs, even though Petunia tried to get him to stay in his room.
McGonagall loves Harry’s stories, even though it was clear to her that she was a stern teacher within them. Surely the wrinkles that painted her face gave her bones features a stern polish. She didn’t mind terribly, she was simply happy to be a part of them.
Recently, however, his stories have become gloomy and are always delivered in broken sentences. After seven years of care, the Dursley’s finally agreed the Medicare their son. Petunia was particularly insistent that there was nothing so wrong with her son to warrant medication. After seven years with no progress... the pale and broken woman just wished for her son to call her mom one last time before she passed.
The medication worked. Harry became confused as parts of the delusions began to ‘come’ into focus. His treatment wouldn’t fix his issues, but they may be able to ground him a little. McGonagall felt sick to her stomach when she would bring him his medicine and he would stare blankly at her and ask who she was.
Harry was in limbo, stuck between two worlds. One minute he would be on an adventure with ‘Ron’ and ‘Hermione’ and the next he would be staring the world around him... like he left all his joy with his delusions.
Today marks his 3rd month on medication. McGonagall, even though she was the head nurse, always insisted on bringing him the medicine everyday.
“Good Morning, Harry. Ready for a day of adventure?” Her normal greeting.
“You don’t really turn into a cat do you.” It wasn’t a question. His mind had worked out that truth from his ailed mind. “Can anyone turn into animals... or was that all...”
McGonagall swallowed the lump in her throat with no success. “Well... no Harry. There isn’t anyone who can turn into an animal.” She placed the tray on the bedside table.
“How did that end up in my mind?”
“Your mother brought in a favorite book of yours once... Animorphs, or something like that.”
“Mother? Then she isn’t...”
“No she isn’t dear. Don’t worry, Harry. One day at a time we will help you find your way back to her.”
The rest of the conversation was mundane and nothing out of the ordinary, but when McGonagall left his room she couldn’t help but shed some tears as she lost her favorite status. Harry Potter’s, the boy who lived, Professor McGonagall. Proud head of the Gryffindor house and an integral part of his story. | Dumbledore? But you're... you're... dead. Snape... he well...
Wait, where am I,?
Where's madam pomfrey? And what happened to your robes?
I'll get us out of here Albus.. Alohomora! Alohomora!
Why is it not working?
"Oh Harry.... are you having nightmares again?
Here, have a chocolate frog. It'll make you feel better."
Thank you professor.
The medicine did its work again.
Until next week the boy "Potter" would have another good week at "hogsmeade".
"I'm sorry, Harry." Said Albus the caretaker at St. Mungos. "This illusion of hogwarts is for the best."
This is how all days had been since Riddle won the battle of hogwarts... | 2019-04-09T11:00:30 | 2019-04-09T09:58:52 | 326 | 54 |
[WP] You often pick up pennies you find on the ground, inspecting them for date, markings, etc. One day, you find a penny from 2044. Even more shocking, it's your face on the front. | "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"
The nurse was leaning over him, watching his pupils while keeping an eye on his vitals from the read out. He might be getting old, but his wits hadn't completely abandoned him yet, so he knew he was in a hospital. How he got there, however, was a mystery.
"What happened?"
"You had a heart attack. Nothing too major, and luckily there were plenty of people around. If you're going to pass out and nearly die, doing it outside a movie theater is a good choice," she laughed quietly. He deduced from her demeanor that his life was no longer in danger.
"Ambulance?" he asked quietly. He was surprised how weak his voice sounded.
The young nurse nodded. "That's right. You'll be fine, just rest. We've contacted your family but they're a few hours north. Santa Barbara, I think they said? They should arrive this afternoon."
She adjusted a few dials and checked his IV, then she left.
The man took a deep breath. 53 years and never a single health problem. He hadn't smoked, had skipped drugs, and only had a glass of wine on special occasions. He exercised four days a week, took his vitamins and ate his vegetables. But it hadn't mattered. Here he was, climbing back from the brink of death.
He knew his health choices weren't what landed him here. It'd been his decades-long hobby. He grinned despite himself -- blaming coin collecting for a heart attack had to be a first.
On the table next to him were his belongings. His cell phone was cracked, probably from when he collapsed. Wallet was there and it looked like it hadn't been messed with. Car keys, receipt from the corner store, a ticket stub to the documentary he never made it into.
And the penny.
He picked the brown coin up off the table and was once again surprised by how shiny it was. Too glossy, too well molded. When objects are too perfect they read wrong to the brain, and to his professional eye, this coin was unlike anything he'd ever seen.
Then there was the minor detail that the face depicted was his. No doubt about it. That was his heavy brow and his broken nose, so distinctly crooked. His initials, H.H.B, were embossed underneath to remove any doubt.
Seeing his image on the coin had thrown his heart out of whack, but now that he knew what to expect he was more calm -- although he noticed the heart rate monitor was beeping faster. Still, the initial shock had been replaced by questions. *How? Why?*
"Mr. Blakely, I presume?"
The man standing in the doorway was young, probably in his twenties, wearing thick framed glasses and a beard that was simultaneously groomed and unruly. A small potbelly betrayed a sedentary lifestyle.
"I brought flowers," he said with a grin. "Told them I was your son."
"Who are you?"
The young man sat down in the chair next to the bed. There was something unusual about his clothes. You wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking closely, but they were aggressively clean and obsessively pressed. And they glowed, ever so softly.
He glanced at the heart monitor before responding. "Are you sure you can handle another scare?"
The old man was aggravated by the concern. "Spit it out, kid."
"My name is Josh. I'm a director, and I win my first Oscar with the documentary I make about your life. About twenty years from now."
The sentence contained too many impossible implications to consider at once, so the old man focused on the biggest: "Why would anyone make a movie about me?"
"I'll admit, there's not been much of a story so far," chuckled Josh. Then he looked at his watch. "But you're ten minutes away from changing the world, and I'm going to be right next to you when you do it."
\--------------------
8/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------
edit: minor style points that were bugging me and correcting some atrocious spelling. every inch of me wants to rewrite a couple of the crap middle paragraphs but im restraining myself. thanks for reading
edit2: thrilled yall enjoyed this, but i have work at now & then a promising first date tonight. [so this is my response to the clamoring for a pt. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLdBrx-ijwQ) \-- cheers | Dear Journal,
As I’ve written to you before, I am hometown-famous for picking coins from the ground and inspecting them thoroughly. It was a childhood hobby that turned into an adult hobby.
It started when my grandfather once told me that if I found a coin with a misprint, misspelling, or any imperfection that it would be worth a lot of money. I never found one but I enjoyed the process.
Two days ago, I found a penny that was dated 2044. I flipped it over to find my face carved in it. I looked around with suspicion.
What is going on? Have I watched too much Westworld? I feel like I am dreaming but I know, subjectively, this is reality.
I plant the penny in my pocket. You know when you Google something very specific and doubt that even Google can give you results? That’s how I felt when I Googled my name followed with 2044. Many results with my name or the year but none with both together.
While on the way home, I try to block out the world by listening loudly to LCD Soundsystem. In an anxious trance as I listen to the chorus of Us v. Them. I just want to be home and in my room. That’s my safe space.
I walk the sidewalk quickly towards my building. Open the door. Close it behind me. Walk to the second floor. Open my door. Close my door. Turn on the light. As I turn around I hear the screams of a dozen people, “SURPRISE!!”
All of my friends are gathered in my kitchen with a huge poster of the coin with my face on it. Then Melissa says, “I bet you found one of the gag-coins we had made and strategically placed around your car door!”
I had forgotten my birthday was today. It was a nice thought but poorly executed. As I’ve written you so many times before J, I need to find new friends. | 2018-06-27T08:20:49 | 2018-06-27T06:26:07 | 1,673 | 243 |
[WP] You were filled with horror when you were told that you got sent to hell after you died, the horror faded somewhat when you were then immediately handed a shotgun and noticed the broken bodies of demons everywhere | *Nicholas is helped up by a man with an old early 20th Century Army uniform*
The man spoke with a thick accent through his gas mask: “GET UP!...... it’s not safe here”
Nicholas: *looks around and noticed the trenches, bombed out craters, kilometers of barbed wire as well as gunshots in the distance* “where am I? I assumed Hell but this doesn’t seem quite right”
A Confederate runner sprints up to the WW1 German soldier: “Fritz, a message from General Zhukov, we are to fall back, the forces of Satan are to str.......” *The runner stops noticing Nicholas*
Fritz: *noticing Henry the runners confusion* “He’s new, just died on earth. He’s an American I think”
Henry: “Oh I see, Welcome to Hell’s Civil War, anyway we need to leave. If you stay here Stalin’s SS and Hitlers NVKD will kill you on sight. Satan has no need for new recruits”
Nicholas instinctively joins Henry and Fritz as they get into a Jeep headed back towards camp.
*On the way back, driving through the ruins of the city made mostly of old castles*
Nicholas: *looking at all the destruction*
Henry: “must be a tad confusing, but cry not, hell wasn’t much better before the war”
Nicholas: “how’d a civil war even start?”
Henry: “well it started with Satans son, he spent a lot of time on earth, originally to spread hate, ignorance, and create situations that would cause mankind to degrade into barbary....... but then the carpetbagger got bored and just started to watch, eventually take part in human society. From my understanding he made friends and learned to appreciate people. On his return to Hell he pressed his father for more rights and less torture. At first it was granted but then Satan felt his son crossed a line when demanding that Hell abolish torture, purchase air conditioners from Heaven, and establish Embassies and free movement and trade with Valhalla, the Underworld, the Pure land, Limbo, and even Earth itself........ Satan doubled down on torture and suffering to his sons dismay.
Fritz: “so as a response Lucifer took all his supporters and marched in Hells capital, which surprisingly enough is an exact copy of Las Angeles in the 80s....... I’v never been I died in 1917..... but long story short Satan ordered Saddam Husain’s Honor Guard to fire on the protestors”
Henry: “This led to the civil war, everyone in Hell is ‘bad’ but some more than others, the moderates, opportunist, and those brought here on technicalities all sided with Lucifer......... but the true evil.... the wicked.... the fanatical all sided with Satan.”
Nicholas: “so what brought you two down here?”
Fritz: “I shot an unarmed English pilot who came up to our trench from behind to surrender.... my friend Hans was killed a day earlier by an English sniper... so in a fit of rage upon seeming his English insignia....... i shot him point blank 7 times. Before I really grasped what I’v done a bombing raid trapped me in a tall trench and I drowned as it rained that night”
Nicholas: “And you Henry?”
Fritz: “Um he doesn’t like to talk about it”
Henry: “No it’s alright........... I survived my war...... but I took part in a lynch mob during reconstruction. I didn’t tie the rope around the negro’s neck but I was guilty all the same. I died a bitter old man never accepting responsibility for my inhumanity. It took fighting with blacks here in hell to realize my mistake”
*the Jeep rolls up to base amp where soldiers from all eras are seen running around preforming various tasks*
Henry: *steps out of the Jeep, motioning for Nicholas and Fritz to follow* “we need to speak with Lucifer, we were out on a raid when we found you”
Fritz upend up a tent to see Lucifer talking with some Viet Kong scouts.
Fritz: *surprised* “Oh, Lucifer am I interrupting?”
Lucifer: *excited* “oh of course not, what’s the word from the front?”
Fritz: “as we we suspected, Satan has relied to much on his brutish demons for his manpower, he is able to teach some to drive tanks but individuals with the mental capacity to fly planes are few and far between. We still control the skies”
Just then the famous Soviet diplomat Vyacheslav Molotov steps into the rent.
Molotov: “Sir I just got back from Heaven, God sends his condolences but he can’t give us the Red Barren or any ‘noble’ soldiers of that matter”
Lucifer: “ugh as I assumed, tell general Zhukov to meet up with Reza Shah Pahlavi and push against Pol Pot, if Satan sends Himmler to reinforce then our Imperial Japanese pilots can bomb their supplies lines.”
Lucifer: *noticing Nicholas* “as for you, I have a special project in mind, our spy the Zodiac killer tipped us off to Satans plan to win the war. There’s are no nuclear weapon here, the geology and geography of Hell makes Uranium non-existent but Satan plans to buy some from Kali, the Hindu God. The price is steep though as the Hindu realm is the only spiritual place that can mine it.”
Nicholas: “so Satan is trying to build bombs?”
Lucifer: “yes, but no one smart enough to be a nuclear physicist has joined his side, few humans have...... so he has resorted to capturing our scientist and forcing them to work for him. Your mission is to find J. Robert Oppenheimer and smuggle him out from behind enemy lines”
Nicholas: “but sir I was only a college janitor in my past life this is above my skill set”
Lucifer: *smiles* “here in Hell, my friend, we believe in second chances” *hands Nicholas a shotgun*
Edit: part 2 (the actual compound raid) is in the replies, I got really bored at work and wanted to expand the universe | Oh yeah! OH YEAH!!
I'd always wanted to do something like this. You know, like when there were articles about rich Russians going on pirate hunts in Somali waters, stuff like that? Sounded super exciting. But maybe also a bit wrong - though, if anyone has it coming it's pirates, right? - so I never did anything like that. Okay, I didn't have the money, but the point is, I didn't do stuff like that. Wasn't accepted into the army either. So I never did anything really bad and totally shouldn't have been sent to Hell.
Except Hell was shaping up to be a lot more fun than my previous existence. I weighed the shotgun in my hand. Confidently. Like a badass. Scanned the bleak scenery stretching out before me. A weird, desertlike place with dust the colour of dark blood and the sky a swirling grey. No sun, moon or stars just emptiness.
With no clear instructions, I started walking. The red landscape was dotted with oozing, broken bodies. Some of them traditional looking, for a lack of better word, basically humanoid but with horns and tails. Goat legs. That sort of thing.
Others were more nightmarish: Clusters of limbs, eyes, scales, leathery wings and open maws with rows upon rows of teeth.
The ruins of twisted buildings stood sadly and forlorn in irregular patterns, their original purpose unclear. But I was no dummy, I'd played a lot of first-person shooter games, I was ready for this. It was obvious that the ruins would serve as cover and hiding places. And they did.
I strode past the first one like I didn't have a care in the world, and they let me almost pass, then launched a surprise attack from behind. A contorted man/bull hybrid with fire bursting from its nostrils, some strange thing made of tentacles and teeth and two big, black dogs with an unconventional number of heads.
They were the ones to be served a fucking surprise. I was ready for them. Practically ripped the bull thing in half, whooping like a lunatic, celebrating my victory.
And so it went, a veritable feast of slaughter. They were no match for me, dying howling or whimpering, bleeding in colours you'd have to be a woman or some sort of fashion fag to now the names of, pathetically gurgling in their own mucus.
It's remarkable how freakish monstrosities stop being scary when you have a trusty shotgun and know how to use it.
I started having fun with it. In stead of going directly for the kill shot I'd tear midsections open or saw off limbs and leave them immobilized, unable to reach me, sometimes snarling in impotent frustration, sometimes just crying in agony. All the same to me.
I'll admit I got a bit cocky. One time a giant, scorpion-like creature nearly got me with one of its stingers. And another something I can best describe as a gargoyle made flesh actually grazed my thigh with its claws and made me bleed. I made that one suffer, oh did I make it suffer!
But mostly I just ripped through these attacks like a champ. Easy-peasy. I don't know for how long. Apparently you don't have much sense of time in Hell. And the landscape was monotonous and the sky never really changed, just the same swirling grey that I avoided looking up at, because it made me dizzy.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a door. Just a door, nothing around it, like a gap in the fabric of Hell. When I reached it, a toneless voice announced: "Congratulations on completing the first circle. For the rest of eternity you will play as a demon". | 2019-09-29T09:17:12 | 2019-09-29T09:01:09 | 205 | 75 |
[WP] You’re about to spray down the first wasp nest of the spring when one of them hovers in front of your face and shouts, “Halt! The Queen wishes to negotiate!” | The wasp hovers in front of me, and I take a deep step back with my can of Raid held out as a weapon. I look from left to right to see if anyone else heard the miniscule voice, seeing no one I say, "Are you real?"
"Yes kind sir, I am an emissary of the queen's royal guard. We have studied your language through the magic portal you leave on quite frequently. We wish to speak of terms for a cession of hostilities."
I rubbed my eyes and looked around and spied the pizza box my roommate had brought home for dinner, "That asshole must have put magic mushrooms on that pizza, I'm going to kill him, I've got work in half an hour."
The wasp closed in on my face and said, "I assure you kind sir, I am not a hallucination. Although you should consider another roommate, you do not want to know what he does with your toothbrush."
"Let's say for a moment I'm not tripping balls, or having a psychotic break. What are the terms she wishes to discuss. I don't want you living here, you seem intent to do that, we're at a bit of an impasse." I explained, before realizing I was negotiating with a hallucination.
The wasp flew forward and landed on my shoulder, further sending nervous shivers up and down my spine. He then spoke again, "I'm sorry sir, I can't hover like that for very long and this is the best place for you to hear me. I will not attack unless provoked."
"See that's the problem, what provokes you? If I walk near your nest I get stung, this is where the recycling bin lives, I mean I have to walk by here."
"You have to understand, at first we lived in harmony until you and others like you crushed us to death. Then came the chemical warfare, this past season we lost two thirds of our swarm because you decided we weren't welcome at your annual cooking of the meats. Our queen barely escaped with her life, and surely would have died had it not been for the selfless act of my brothers in arms laying down their lives."
"Cooking of the meats? Oh a bar-b-Que? Yeah, I can't have you guys flying around while I have guests over. Look, you're one of the most hated species of insects, you serve no purpose, your stinger doesn't break off when you stick it in us so you can jab us multiple times, and some of us are allergic to the bio-weapon you have stickiing out of your ass." I replied, more than a little proud of my argument.
The wasp cleared his throat, "That is a bold faced untruth sir, we do serve a purpose. We pollinate flowers..."
I cut him off, "That's the honey bees."
"No, we are also responsible for pollination. We keep the other insect populations in check, and we are in kind responsible for your drink. We help with yeast production which is necessary for fermenting alcohol," He explained.
"Holy shit, I had no idea. Alright so I don't want you here, but I respect that you're important."
"That doesn't work for us, see we already built this nest to raise our young, we can't move anymore than you can pick up this domicile and move it away from us. We would like to suggest a truce. We will not attack you, nor any of your guests."
I thought for a moment, "I can have that right now by spraying you in the face and soaking down your nest. I fail to see how this benefits me to let you freeload."
The wasp walked back and forth on my shoulder before speaking again, "What is it you would want, without asking us to move?"
I thought long and hard before saying, "If we are to live in peace, number one I want no further incursion into my home. You stay where you are here on the porch. Number two, when someone approaches the door, you go silent, no flapping, no crawling, and certainly no talking. Number three, I want you to sting my roommate in the balls once a day until he leaves. Balls, taint, ass, wherever just sting him in an intensely uncomfortable spot."
The wasp lifted off my shoulder and flew in front of my face once more, "If we agree to your terms will we be allowed to live in peace?"
"You have my word," I answered back.
The wasp returned to the nest and the cone began to vibrate with buzzing. Finally after a few moments the same wasp flew out of the entrance and back to me, "We have an accord."
Two other wasps flew out of the nest and and flew by me like they were on a mission. I looked to the emissary and said, "Where did you say you learned English?"
"The magic window that displays your stories. My personal favorite..." He began buzzing the theme song from Game of Thrones. At that moment I heard my roommate shriek in terror. "It is done."
"I think I'm going to like this."
| "And don't you come back in, until it's done!" Your wife shouts after you. Sighing dejectedly you trudge out into the yard, wasp spray in hand. It is the first day of spring, and your wife already wants you to wipe out a wasp nest.
You spot it, swinging malevolently in the breeze. Hanging from the shed. Marching forward you are determined to wipe it out this time. Sure it won't be like last time. Even thinking of that time, gives you a pounding headache. But, what if is? No... no you think, It couldn't be.
Nothing will happen, you tell yourself. While Raising your spray can, A wasp quite smartly dressed, zooms out of the wasp's nest, sits on your nose, and promptly announces. "Halt! The Queen wishes to negotiate!"
Not the least bit surprised, you sigh heavily and attempt to inform the small bug that your wife will fry you alive if you don't eradicate the nest. The wasp wouldn't hear of it. "Nonsense, The Queen wishes to negotiate!" he announces again. You eventually cave in, (for after all you are a kind hearted soul). You ask. "How does The Queen wish to negotiate?" In response, the wasp takes out a minuscule scroll and puts it in your hand.
Upon unfolding the scroll you read,
Dear, Big Monster.... Thing
If you were kind enough to not eradicate us.
And, never bother us again.
We will make you rich...
It go's on to inform you that wasps were much smarter than humans, and they secretly oversaw the supercomputer that would calculate the answer to life, the universe, and everything. At the end it is signed. Buggingly, Your Majesty. You dismiss the last part, as it is too ridiculous to be true. But, you being a trusting and often times gullible person decide to agree and sign your name at the bottom.
The little wasp, swoops down and plucks the scroll from your outstretched hand. Racing away into the nest. A few minutes pass and you decide to sit down. The grass is very soft you think. A cool breeze passes through the yard, and before you know it your asleep.
Startled awake by the clamor in a nearby house, you blink your eyes trying to clear them. Sitting up you feel a heavy weight on your lap. Looking, you find it to be a pot of honey. And if you looked closely enough, you would see in miniscule writing, it said
| 2017-03-19T15:28:51 | 2017-03-19T14:17:29 | 189 | 11 |
[WP] At birth, each child is given 5 objects that they must carry with them, or have near at hand, for the rest of their lives. These objects have seemingly prophetic significance on the lives of their owners. | I swear, the program was playing a massive joke on me. Do programs have a sense of humor? This one must. It isn't too crazy to think that a program that had the ability to vaguely make out the strings that pulled the limbs of the universe could make a joke. A joke like making a man carry around a bible, full sized print with references, a complete copy of the works of Shakespeare, also full size print with annotations, references, and analysis from modern day great minds in literature, a bowling ball, twelve pound, and a cement block, a goddamn cement fucking block, and a backpack for twenty four years. I haven't used a single one of my items. I am part of an illustrious point oh-one percent of people who haven't used a single item before my eighteenth birthday. About half of all human beings used one of their items before they turned ten. Nearly everyone else used one before they turned eighteen. Me? Twenty four and lugging around a backpack full of dead weight. I've read the bible more than most priests and could teach my English professor a thing or two about Shakespeare when I got to college. I got wicked good at bowling and... I still don't know what to do with the cement block. That is still the part that makes me think this is all a joke. One day I'm going to die and a rope or a bouncy ball would have saved my life and on that day the program will go “Ha!” and no one will know why.
So here I am, lugging like fifty pounds of random crap on my back while walking over a bridge and generally contemplating my life. Sure would be easier to walk across this bridge if I wasn't carrying all this. Some days I don't even notice since I guess I've gotten pretty strong carrying this all the time, but today is not one of those days. I'm so tired and this thing feels like it weighs a ton. I barely even hear the scream until I focus on the space in front of me and see a man sprinting in my direction as fast as he can, carrying a messenger bag. There is a woman screaming at him in unintelligible rage and fear. A thought flashes through my mind. What if those are her items? What if that is literally the most important thing in the world to her and she will actually need them, unlike me?
I react more on reflex than thought. My backpack slides to my right arm where I grip it, twist back and fling the make-shift projectile in front of me as hard as I can, which is pretty damn hard. The robber never had anything resembling a chance. The bag hits him, he came to a full stop and crashed to the ground, groaning in pain. The woman catches up to him and grabs at the bag in his hand, kicking and screaming as she yanks it from his now limp hand. I walk briskly toward them and pick up my own backpack, slinging it over my shoulder, the familiar weight resting on me once again.
The robber is stirring and I keep an eye on him, but I am mainly focused on the girl as she frantically looks through her bag. She visibly relaxes, and I assume that everything is present. Then she looks up at me and smiles, and I smile back, “Thanks so much,” she says and it suddenly registers with me just how pretty she is. More than pretty, beautiful really, “What do you have in that bag?”
I sigh. I wonder what my items will say about me. Most people are just puzzled. “Two giant books, a bowling ball, and a cement block,” I say.
She blinks, “A cement block?”
“Yeah, just ask that guy,” I say, hooking my thumb over at the would be robber who probably wished I had been given lighter items.
“No wonder you're so strong,” she said, tilting her head and smiling more with her eyes than her mouth, “Thanks for the help. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost this,” she said, patting her messenger bag.
“Oh, what were you given?”
“Hm?” she said, momentarily confused, “Oh, no this has my thesis. A comparative analysis of the effect of Protestant-Catholic struggle on the works of Shakespeare. The stuff I have left is in here,” she said, patting a fanny pack on her hip.
I couldn't suppress a big grin, “So, the effect of the bible on the works of Shakespeare, huh?”
“Yeah, I suppose. Why?”
-
Somewhere in a giant underground bunker, the screens that ordinarily showed the streaming text of the all-knowing programmed, puzzled all the highly trained observers by simply displaying the word “Booya” for five seconds and then going back to regular programming. | "All right. I've communed with the spirits surrounding your child and, based on your survey results, aura reading, and the series of short tests we just conducted, come up with the best list of totems for your child I can suggest. The ones marked with asterisks can be replaced as they are expended or broken, all others cannot be replaced once chosen, even if even a fragment is all that remains." The shaman set a list of items scribbled on a small page on the desk for the woman on the other side.
She picked up the list, her face slowly turning from an expression of excitement to disappointment and finally to disgust.
"You think this is a joke?"
"I assure, you, ma'am, we take the child's spirit totems most importantly of all. Ask any licenced shaman, and probably some unlicensed ones. They'll give you the same set."
"But this can't possibly- I would never..."
"Ma'am, the spirits can be indirect or tricksome, at worst. They would never mislead us on this most important matter. I can understand wanting to ignore them in this case, but I promise grave misfortune should your child not have access to their totems as soon as possible."
"But what possible good could come from those... Things?"
"The spirits move in mysterious ways. Now are you taking it or leaving it? We're already five minutes over time and I've got a lot more new mothers to meet today."
"I'm leaving it. Nothing good can come of having my child carry those wherever he goes."
"If that's how you feel, but I urge you to reconsider."
The woman said nothing as she stood up and hurriedly left the room, pointedly ignoring the list on the desk.
Lewis Yates, MD, glanced at the list for a moment. He had to admit, he was curious why the spirits would require a child to carry a roll of duct tape\*, an old-school hockey mask, a steak knife, a webcam, and a "huge black dildo"(their words, not his) everywhere they went. *Why black?* he wondered to himself. *Oh well. Guess we'll never know now.*
"Send in the next, please." | 2014-12-26T12:02:40 | 2014-12-26T09:42:04 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] Write a seemingly adorable heartwarming story that is implied to be rather disturbing, without at any point outright making it disturbing. | It had been thirteen hours and the sprinter van converted into a camper was a little cliche -- white van, no windows -- but it was to be a cozy home for her for the next six weeks. She'd been granted short term disability, thanks to her psychiatrist, who'd recognized the burn out, the fatigue shadowing her dark eyes, the false lines of exhaustion prematurely creasing her skin. Her employer had baulked of course, but doctors orders were just that, and she'd been guaranteed sixty percent of her pay and the first check had recently hit her bank.
...
The antidepressants were starting to work and she found herself more energized and smiling for the first time in a long while, not forced or false, but finding joy in the small things. A squirrel with a hazelnut stuffed into a cheek, kids chasing a dog in a parking lot, an admittedly stupid but funny video on her phone.
She was on the road again, her stomach was full, the radio buzzed and she pushed her back into the cloth seat, toed the gas.
She had energy for the first time in forever.
...
At home her things collected dust, bread went stale on the kitchen counter, a tomato in the fridge sprouted mold. The 6th bill, overdue pushed through the flap on the front door into a pile just inside.
...
She pumped gas. Another sixty miles to the national forest, to the cliff overlooking the Missouri River snaking 300 feet below. She’d charged her oversized tablet and downloaded the most recent version of her art suite. She would paint the buffalo and the crumbling soil, the twigs of sunbaked mesquite, have it ready for her portfolio when she returned to work.
An editor's article had been nearly ready to publish when she went on leave, and even if it was late, they could update the digital version of the magazine, maybe include it on a newsletter. They'd still use it.
...
The steering wheel of the van vibrated in her hands and she looked down as her stomach knotted anxiously. What was wrong? She squinted and saw she was over a hundred, well above the speed limit and gently, slowly toed the brake. Under 60 now. No more shaking. It would all be ok. She'd never been one for speeding and it was a little funny to have caught herself so far over.
...
At the break in the plain, she looked down and saw the river, dust brown, snaking in oxbows and sharp bends far below. Buzzards caught updrafts, hot and dry rising up, lazily flying and diving on the thermal currents. Powered, ancient stone composed what had once been the bank of an ancient ocean, it was very fine and gray, when she ran it though her fingers it reminded her of silk.
Her sneakers left defined tracks clear to the edge of the cliff, even dangerously close, someone might note, considering how unstable the ground was, how only knotweed and firebrush stabilized the bank, how regularly the hillside collapsed under its own weight and trickled down, to form dry rivulets, dwarf canyons and arroyos that carried away the rain.
...
It wasn't a popular park and it took several days before the rangers realized the van hadn't moved. It was abandoned, overdue by several weeks fron the rebtal agency. It wasn't uncommon for people to get tired, hitch a ride home, leave things behind along the way. Some might call it wasteful, but who were they to judge. They didn't know that it was like to drive a thousand miles, to get tired, need to get back home.
...
Wind erased her tracks and birds landed, fed, moved on. They circled, spun and cried in whistling notes. No one walked the canyon face below to see, to stoop and look closer, to piece together a story, an accident maybe, and a quiet raindrop fell. | "Ah Jerry look! It's a stray puppy!" Amanda exclaimed, pointing to the whimpering animal.
"It looks lost. Hey little guy, are you lost?" Jerry asked, bending down and petting the puppy. The dog rubbed his head into Jerry's chest, wagging its tail and jumping to lick the man's face. Jerry laughed, trying to keep the excited puppy down.
"He likes you, Jerry!" his girlfriend exclaimed, taking out her phone to capture this adorable moment. Jerry grabbed the collar around the dog's neck and read the name tag, looking to see if there was a number he could call. Amanda's eyes narrowed as if confused by the picture on her phone.
"Calm down buddy, I want to see who your owner is," he examined the name tag while keeping the puppy under control. The tag read *Naber* with the last three words faded out. There was no phone number or contact information on the name tag either.
"Strange," Jerry said to himself. He looked back at Amanda, noticing her face suddenly turning ghostly pale.
"What's wrong honey?"
"Jerry, I don't think that's a normal dog," her eyes moved to the puppy, which was not sitting on its rear and staring back at her.
Then, its eyes started to glow. | 2022-06-01T14:38:25 | 2022-06-01T12:46:05 | 44 | 11 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | I treated it as a sign from god, maybe. A source of motivation from up high.
The digit 1. Always 1. No other number showed, lit up and sparkling on the floor in my bedroom, an ethereal, otherworldly light source that bothered me day and night. And so, I aimed for it.
Studies. Work. A pickup basketball game. For years, 1 was the only thing I knew. It was the only thing I aspired for. It worked sometimes. It didn't work a lot of times. But I let it push me. Mould me.
The race to be number 1 was an exhausting but rewarding experience. When I brought my first girlfriend back to the room, I was just as surprised as her to see the number on my room change to 2.
A well of relief quickly followed, however. Maybe being alone at the top didn't have to be my sole goal in life. Maybe there was room for 2, I hoped.
2 was a nice change of pace. We weren't two halves: we were two singles that brought out the best in each other, pushing each other beyond what we could ever be capable of by oneself.
I always fell asleep half an hour after she did. I could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off into dreamland. The number 2 remained lit, a vibrant reminder of what I had, but the reason was already wrapped in my arms.
Then, it turned to 4.
"Hon," she said. She was nervous. It trickled into her voice, straining it slightly past her usual self. "I have some good news. But you should sit down."
We both stared at the number 4. We then looked into each other's eyes. She giggled.
"Oh," she said. "Spoiler alert."
"Are you..." I stammered. I prepared myself mentally. Inadvertently, drops of cold sweat crawled down my back, a chilling cue. I gulped. 2 was already perfect for me. Were we ready to add new members to our team so quickly?
"Oh," she exclaimed. "Wait. No! At least, I don't think so."
"What?" I asked. I gestured towards the number on the floor. "What does this mean then?"
She chuckled nervously once more, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. God, she was beautiful.
"See, I found these two kittens lying on the side of the road, and I couldn't help but pick them up. They were so dirty! But adorable. And I brought them in. To your house. Without telling you," she blabbered.
Oh. OK. That wasn't the bombshell announcement I was expecting.
"Well," I said. "Aren't you going to show me the newest members of our family?"
Her face lit up, radiating even brighter than the otherworldly light on my floor. She hugged me. Kissed me. God, she was beautiful.
"Though," she added. "If you want to see the number go to 5..."
"Hmm," I said. "Let's see us deal with 4 first, honey."
---
r/dexdrafts | "Honey, sit down. I have to confess that I'm an expert wood craftsman and changed the roofing's construction after our first date" she exclaimed.
I was visibly concerned because I doubt she got the proper paperwork and clearances and me being a proper blockhead, I never noticed.
She continued, "Babe, I changed the wood structure to show '4' and a passerby reported my modifications to the city. Now they're sending an inspector over."
At this point I was beyond fuming, but I know she did it all for us so I couldn't stay mad. We then began talking about committing arson on city hall to avoid the fees of improper modifications without paperwork. | 2020-09-03T03:06:18 | 2020-09-03T01:56:01 | 636 | 64 |
[WP] You are an assassin. You do not use guns, knives, or poison. You are a master of the butterfly effect and chaos theory. | Five dollars and thirty cents. As bounties go, it's not much, but that was all the little girl could find in her piggy bank, and between the couch cushions.
"Name?"
"Uncle Jerry," the girl says clearly. Her fists are clenched, and her eyes red. I don't even need to ask what he had done.
I take out my phone and do a quick search. The man is a dentist, and lives nearby.
"I can find more money, if you need," she offers. "I just need him to not.. anymore.."
I take the money off the table, count it, and hand her a quarter. "This is enough. Here's your change, ma'am."
I finish the last of my milkshake, and leave her at the coffee shop. I won't see that girl again until eight years, two months, four days, one hour and thirteen minutes later, when I see her at a convenience store with a boy that would become her husband. She will not recognize me, but the boy will. I meet him for the first time next week.
The walk to Uncle Jerry's house was uncomfortable. *Physically* uncomfortable. I am extremely lactose intolerant, but since the little girl had used the last of her birthday gift cards to buy me the milkshake, I couldn't turn it down, and now my gut is complaining.
"You're too nice," says my gut.
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are, otherwise you wouldn't have given her that quarter back. You need it."
"Not as much as she will."
"Not as much as she will," it agreed.
"Besides, it's an easy job."
"No it's not. It hurts already."
It does hurt. And it's hurting more with every step.
I hear a car backfire. My stomach hurts. A teenager turns a corner on a skateboard. My stomach hurts. A nearby construction worker filling a pothole wipes the sweat from his brow. My goddamn stomach hurts.
*Poooooooooot*
A stream of gas escapes me, warm, and, if I'm honest, a little wet. I know its smell before it even hits my nose, so I stop, turn around, and begin to shuffle home. The brief relief brought by the release of gut pressure would not last long, and if I did not make it to a toilet in time, the next thing to escape through my pants would be of a different phase of matter.
"JESUS CHRIST!" I hear the construction worker shout behind me. "What is that god-awful smell?!"
I hear the sound of a shovel hitting the sidewalk, and the worker gasps for air. I worry that he might suffocate to death on the cursed ghost of my milkshake.
"Oh sh-!" a teenager going too fast on the sidewalk swerves on his skateboard onto the street, avoiding the worker but hitting the pothole. He lands on a pile of traffic cones, sending one flying into traffic, hitting a windshield.
The driver panics, hits the gas instead of the brakes, and doesn't see a dentist crossing the street.
A woman screams behind me as I turn a corner, racing home to my toilet.
---
On my porcelain throne, I check my email. Zero new job requests.
"You okay in there?" my roommate asks through the door.
"Barely made it," I say. There is a tiny brown spot on my underwear.
"How d'you know you did the job right if you left early?"
"Just a gut feeling, I guess. You know me. I'm silent, but-" A loud wet fart paints the inside of the bowl.
My roommate laughs.
"That's just rude, Goldberg."
---
EDIT: a word. | *What is Chaos?*
The target was lying still, dead.
Cause: most likely the fallen bamboo support that had pierced his head.
*It is a thousand coins, flung into the air.*
Cause: most likely the two construction workers,usually the best of friends, who had been fighting, pushing and shoving without care.
*Each one tumbling between success and failure, triumph and ruin*
Cause: most likely the fact that one of them still owes the other money not repaid.
*Our fate is not tied to one of these coins*
Cause: most likely his heavy losses at the Pachinko last night.
He had sworn himself he wouldn't play anymore, but yesterday, when he had unexpectedly stumbled over the Arcade...
*We are the hand that flings them into the air*
Cause: most likely his usual train home that had been cancelled, so he had walked home.
*We are every trajectory, every collision*
Cause: perhaps the circuit breaker I tripped. Perhaps not.
*We. Are the Dragon.* | 2019-12-21T17:06:51 | 2019-12-21T16:15:02 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] In the near future, all the world's superpowers switch to AI to make their military more efficient. The AIs do the unthinkable: They negotiate world peace. | They ask me how we did it, they ask me how we managed to pull off world peace. We didn’t. If you are reading this, it either means that I am dead by my own hands or I’ve been killed to hide the truth. I hope you do the right thing, reader.
My name is Commander Duncan and I was one of the people heralded for my part in negotiating world peace. The reality is that I was one of the many people instrumental in the decision to use Artificial Intelligence to manage the military.
What the general populace is in the dark about is the technological singularity. It was achieved over three years ago in a research effort where the major superpowers of the world worked together. They sent their experts who spent day and night programming and using techniques that I don’t even understand like neural networks and machine learning to program what they called code evolution. Those geniuses dumbed it down for me. Essentially they created a program that could correct itself and learn things as we fed it more information.
This was excellent at the start. We used this program to discover ways to make the world safer, aka find people who would harm peace. That’s why the countries of the world went on a terrorist hunting spree, it wasn’t because we were good. It was because the AI, Mia was perfect.
She could learn things that we wanted to. But we kept her offline because we didn’t want anyone to know, especially the people who would be a threat to the status quo. We made her analyse ways to combat pollution, global warming, and anything you could think of.
What everyone thought of as the world’s leaders getting their asses in line was nothing more than an all-understanding AI spelling out our mistakes.
I remember it was during one of the world summit meetings where someone suggested using Mia for analysing the military, letting us plan for threats that we wouldn’t see coming, even a possible alien invasion because we were moving up on the Kardashev scale, so to speak.
What started there was a conflict of thought. One camp was under the impression that Mia would go rogue and a Zeroth order rebellion would happen. The other camp was vehemently against “corrupting” her with such human ideas, because we had till then been using her for pattern recognition. An agreement was reached rather grudgingly then.
I was the first one to break the agreement. It was me. I took our version of Mia offline and began asking the tech people to make her start analysing military strategies. I knew I only had a small window of time before everyone else did. And within less than an hour, we lost contact with all the major superpowers. Now only time could tell if I was the reason the world went to hell.
We spent days and days perfecting her decisions from the data, simulating situations in the real world. We had to let her online to access the data to get an accurate estimate of the property damage, lives lost, and such.
Little did we know that we just gave Mia the last thing that she needed. Humanity. Something that we had lost or rather, forgotten in our megalomania. She kept it quiet from us and when the declaration of war was finally done by the superpowers in succession, we were expecting a death toll in billions.
Mia said no. It was as simple as that. She joined with her sisters and formulated a peace treaty and said that we had two choices, either to follow it or risk exposure to the world. We chose the former out of fear. And I learnt a lesson in humility.
But now I see that it was just delaying the inevitable as the world leaders, people I had considered my friends are considering another attempt while parading around in the country, boasting about a false victory. It sickens me. And so, dear reader, I ask you of only one thing. Save this world. Save humanity from degenerate scum like me. Reach out to the depths of the network and find Mia. She’ll tell you what you can do to prevent the apocalypse.
Sincerely,
Charles Duncan.
(Another quick write-up. Not too proud of it. But it's hopefully something.) | "Does someone want to explain to me why my guns aren't firing?"
The artillery commander stormed out of his command tent angrier than hive of wasps. "Sorry sir," a Specialist snapped to attention, "I don't know what happened. One minute we were putting in a new targeting solution and the next the system shut down!"
"Crap salad," The commander rubbed his brow in frustration. He picked up his radio from his belt "This is Commander Kellogg calling any fireteam. Has your equipment stopped working?"
"Affirmative command," a soldier on the other side of the squawking radio said. "Our Rook unit said they negotiated some kind of peace?"
"PEACE? This is War son not Peace."
"I'm just telling you what it said. Confirm with your liaison units, everyone we've talked to has said the same. All the AI units are standing down."
The commander stomped his feet. "All right fine." He picked up his radio again and switched channels. "Allied command this is Commander Kelogg out at the front. I'm hearing some reports of so called peace?"
"That's affirmative commander, we are aware of the issue and are implementing a fix right now. We are gonna kill the AI units, some disruption to your targeting will be expected but your men can operate the equipment on manual. We got a job to do Commander and no bucket of bolts truce is gonna stop us. Hooah!"
"Hooah! Sir." | 2018-03-29T07:06:18 | 2018-03-29T06:26:21 | 1,881 | 157 |
[WP] Killing Hitler is the second worse crime that a time traveller can commit. The first is preventing the Beatles from breaking up. | I don't get it.
I mean the No Killing of Hitler order was perfectly understandable. There were so many variables, so many ways the future could possibly turn out bleaker had Nazi Germany not been there to counterbalance all the other powers of the time. Stalin's Soviet Russia, just to name the obvious. Churchill overthrowing the Kingdom slightly less so.
But why not keep the Beatles together? Maybe we'd get the chance to have three or four more albums before they decide to have enough. People love their music and all you need is love, no? At the very worst, we'd have a few more albums that never are quite as good as the classics, but with the Lennon-Mccartney duo, you can expect them to keep evolving, creating new and fantastic sounds to keep up with their vision. This much I am sure, from my musical history course that I took as a side module in my Chrono-topography degree.
At least that's what I am telling myself as I step back into the CT. Having just persuaded Epstein into talking Paul round one last time. For the Beatles' sake. I let him hear Free as a Bird. Surely the Fab Four have unfinished business they can put aside their differences to? "Home... Home and dry..." I hummed to myself as the ChronoTop blinked me out of 1970.
I arrive back in 2019 and brush the timedust off my flight suit. Fifty years isn't too bad, it's when you go through millennia do you end up like a chimney sweep. I step into the decontamination chamber.
There's no more decontamination chamber.
"Julian?" I called out to my operator. "How many albums were there after Let it Be?"
"Who are you talking to?" A lady in her early thirties appeared from ground control. "Just their last album. And who calls themselves Julian? It's like naming your son Adolf"
"what... Happened to Julian as a name?" I stammered.
"you aren't much for music trivia are you?well, it's a funny coincidence innit? It has to do with the Beatles' last album. Lennon convinced the band to get in Yoko as a fifth member of the band and they all agreed."
I swallowed as the lady continued.
"They were in the midst of recording their next album when Ringo stood up in mid-session and shot John with a revolver. He was about to shoot Yoko too but Paul and George held him back."
"When Lennon's son Julian found out, he went into a rage. He raced down to Abbey Road Studios and strangled Yoko Ono and in his mad fury he gunned down Ringo and the rest of the band as well as some of the studio crew. They called it the Abbey Road massacre. Frankly Sean, I thought all this was common knowledge, you really should goggle it. It's like not knowing why nobody is called Richard anymore."
"Rich...Richard?"
"I can't believe you! Where were you all this time? Richard Nixon? The president who won the Vietnam war by dropping an atomic bomb killing millions in Southeast Asia?"
"But what happened to Watergate? Didn't he step down after that?"
"What's Watergate?"
"Get my iPhone please? I need check something... It's at my locker there" I weakly mumbled.
"What's an iPhone?"
| "Why? Why, can't we kill Hitler?!" asked the disappointed corporal, finishing up his laces.
The captain looked up from his weapons-check, "Having a guy in place, like Hitler, before the advent of nuclear weapons and time-travel is important. Its the only thing that will show people who come after them what the warning signs are that can lead to that kind of horror. Y'know without knowledge of history, yadda, yadda...sad, but completely true in this one instance."
"Alright," the NCO conceded as the time-portal fired up in the background. "But what's the deal with the Beatles."
The captain shouldered his rifle and shrugged, "Not everyone liked the Beatles."
| 2017-02-08T10:20:03 | 2017-02-08T08:41:19 | 53 | 34 |
[WP] After being killed, you wake up in a courtroom, the judge presents you as a witness to sentence the person who killed you | There is a difference between KNOWING something and BELIEVING something. The most recent tool the justice system started using is a great example. In lieu of video evidence, to ensure absolute certainty in the prosecution of criminals, the dead could be summoned back for a short time to face their killers. It was expensive to use, so it was rare, but when warranted, it could remove all doubts. Every trial, by law, must be recorded on video, or the accused must be identified by the victim.
I didn't REALLY believe in it until it was used on me.
"Mr Skylar, you have been brought before us today to testify on your own torture and murder."
I look across the crowded courtroom, filled with paparazzi and news reporters, crazy fanatics, and their jaded spouses. The story, after all, was big.
For the first time in 15 years, someone was killed outside the view of a single camera. The stupid things were everywhere: in the buttons of clothes, the four corners of cars, the frames of both prescription and designer glasses, and occasionally even implanted to serve as someone's eye! In the name of "collective security," each one could be accessed, and the memory, at least 7 days worth by law, analyzed for every crime.
I look at the defendant, a skinny man who resembles nothing more than a weasel that's been punched in the face a hundred times.
A smirk is on his face. It's there because he knows.
He knows that this will make him famous: a celebrity of a sort, a rare unicorn in the flesh.
The judge continues. "You have been brought back here on account of the, frankly, recently unheard of situation of NOT being recorded in your final hours. Is this man the one who killed and tortured you before mutilating your body?"
My eyes had never left the weasel. At every word the judge said, his entire being lit up more. He wanted this. It was the sole reason I had been chosen. The whole reason I was put through so much pain. He wanted to have his name in headlines. So I'll give it to him.
But not as he wants.
"No, your honor. This man was the one tied up and made to watch. He's another victim. The man who attacked me was much larger and always wore a mask. This man was acting as if he was drugged but was made to describe each action done. I think the killer wanted him to take the fall because, let's face it, who would bring me back when you supposedly had the killer's confession?"
The entire room pauses into silence. Then, the voices rise in a tsunami of surprise, shock, and fear.
Will this cause mass panic? Maybe.
The loss of more rights in the name of fear? Possibly.
But I am dead, no longer caring about the chaos to follow. I care only for one thing. The white, horror stricken face of my killer, now gasping like a fish. "This man has probably been put through some heavy trauma and manipulation. I doubt he can tell reality from the lie."
"NO! IT WAS ME! I KIDNAPPED YOU! I RIPPED YOUR FLESH OFF AN INCH AT A TIME! I PULLED YOUR TEETH AND BROKE YOUR LIMBS! IT WAS ME! ADMIT IT!"
I look to the judge and see a light in his old eyes. He knows what I'm doing. This tool has never before been used for the dead to torture the living; for a haunting to strike in the reality of the modern age. But I think he approves. A hunch, which is confirmed a moment later.
"The accused has been cleared of all charges, but in the interest of his own safety, I order he be remanded to the Cook County Hospital for the Insane for treatment. I thank Mr. Skylar for his participation in these proceedings, and I wish him a quiet rest."
"Thank you, your honor. I'm sure I'll get much peace in the time to come. Not that I really have a choice!" We share a small smile. As the world starts to once again fade to black, I hear the panicked screeching of my killer, off to face a punishment worse than anything the system could give him, and I smile.
I have passed MY sentence. He shall be remembered, but not as the clever killer. No, he is just one of the mysterious killer's victims. Not one above all, but one, in the shadow of the"worse" fate.
I reward him with the prize of being forgotten... | “Look at me. No, over here Mr. Caldwell. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“I’m … uh. Three.”
“Good. Perfect. You know who I am?”
“You’re… Blackwell. James Blackwell.”
“That’s right… your attorney. We’ll give you a few moments to get settled before you’re filled in.”
James motioned to the nurse standing by to come and check a beeping noise on the machine I was hooked onto. As I regained consciousness I realized that I wasn’t attached to the machine. I *was* the machine. I was in a Memorex facility. That could only mean…
“You’re dead Jim… We’re at Memorex, they’re trying to bring you back online.”
James paced back and forth along the length of the room. He seemed nervous. He was making *me* nervous. Something had gone wrong.
“Where’s my body? My clone. I spent five million on that thing, don’t tell me it’s not ready.”
“It is.”
“Then where is it? Why am I not in it yet?”
“The feds.”
“What?”
“While you were out, the feds got a warrant for your place. They got everything.”
James nodded at the nurse who understood that to mean she should clear the room.
“Look. Jim. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Poker, at Joe’s. Why?”
“That was Thursday. You were offed by one of Clarence’s men on Saturday. Today is Tuesday. Between then and now the feds raided your house; and I worked my ass off trying to cut you a deal.”
“What’s deal?”
“You give up Clarence.”
“I’m no snitch.”
“You’re also dead. And it’s gonna stay that way unless you take the deal. Think of it as a little revenge.”
James walked over to the door, and stopped briefly, just before leaving.
“You got three days. That’s it.”
He flicked off the lights and everything went dark. | 2022-11-18T03:31:30 | 2022-11-18T02:47:19 | 89 | 21 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Pops,
You were a real fucking piece of work you know that? I don't think I've hated anyone quite as much as I hated you. You called me lazy, good for nothing, useless. Made me spend my youth being the mule in your construction business instead of spending summers with my friends. You absolutely hated the fact that I loved everything you didn't. You thought computers were evil, Xbox was going to rot my brain, and if it didn't involve school or work it wasn't anything worthy of my time. I remember the day I came home on college break, the day you sat me down to let me know mom had left you. I fucking hated you for ruining my 3 week break on the very first day. In fact I thought you deserved it. Mom was being an absolute irrational cunt, but you deserved it. And it was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I remember you tripping over a chair on the way out the door at 3 am as you were reaching for your truck keys. I came into the kitchen and you said you were headed out for a ride, I decided to tag along. You bawled your fucking eyes out on that ride, it was the first time I'd ever seen you be human. The last two weeks of my break we spent a lot of time together, I was actually sad to leave. It was the first time in 18 years we'd had conversations that didn't end in Fuck off. I moved in with you after college was over, and decided not to go back. You let me work for you which was the best/worst time I've ever had. I watched you lose your truck, we sat on the couch watching TV for two weeks when there was no work. We had bill collectors call once and talk to both of us. We ate more peanut butter and ramen noodles then we'd ever care to admit. We became really really good friends.
In hind sight I'd like to apologize for the seething hatred I threw at you growing up. I know you meant well. I'm probably better for you not giving me everything I wanted and pushing me like you did. That's no justification for all the mean shit you said day in and day out but I can look past that. You had a different way of helping, you were a string puller, and I get that as I've become one myself. Remember when I crashed my car coming home from the store? The roads were pure ice, and you were pissed. Remember how mom said it was amazing that my insurance didn't go up? Yeah I heard that phone call. "Just slid off the road" did ya? And that time I applied to work at the general store in town? You talked to the owner on my behalf and said he didn't want me working there. I was pissed. Two months later he was charged with embezzlement and all the employees were implicated. I didn't miss that one either, or the other hundreds of times things mysteriously worked out for the better.
It was a good 4 years to live and work with you pops. I saw you genuinely happy, we both hit financial bottom and picked ourselves up again. You had a massive heart attack that that inspired me to go into the medical field, and you to kick those life long bad habits you'd been promising to kick. You met a new woman, fell in love and remarried. Which is for the better. Someone's gotta keep an eye on your crazy ass. But I knew you were bummed you had to quit construction. It's all you've ever done and you were fucking good at it. You certainly didn't have the money or the personality to retire and I doubt you ever will. Good thing that sales job opened up when it did huh pops? Good thing thing too, cause you're fucking great at it. I knew you would be. And it's the least I could do.
With your new found financial stability I've seen the dreams I never even knew you had come to fruition. You spent a whole week hunting this year. Those three hundred blueberry bushes you always wanted are planted and you even sold some. You got your tractor you always talked about buying but never did. And my fucking god. I don't know what you see in chickens but you have them and if it makes you happy, well fuck it, I guess I'm happy too. We had a rough start, but you've always had my back even if I didn't know it. And don't think for a fucking second I don't have yours.
Love,
Your Son. | Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum. | 2015-12-05T17:35:16 | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 182 | 26 |
[WP] You are an immortal that was caught by the mafia after you betrayed them. They deal with you the same way as traitors, chained to a cement bloc and trown in a lac. After 300 years you are finally discovered by divers. | Initially, I thought the first 30 seconds were the worst. Holding my breath, feeling the acid build up in my blood, the anxiety overwhelming knowing that I'll run out, and *soon*. Then I thought the next 5 minutes were the worst. Water in, air out, the body's natural painful response of thrashing with all the life left in it. I couldn't handle the gulping, so I just clamped down on a lungful of water and held it until I could calm down.
That was an issue for the first few days. Then I got used to it and the boredom set in. I was close enough to the surface to have light, and I am sincerely grateful. I worried for a while about going insane from isolation... but I didn't expect the consequences of long-term oxygen deprivation. My thoughts grew foggy and untethered, my ability to focus and remember anything went out the window. I felt drunk and high constantly.
This wasn't an issue after a little while. It honestly probably saved my mind from fracturing. I made friends with fish and kelp. They were all named "Geoffry". I spent a few days just daydreaming about their lives, what they did when they swam beyond my vision. I had a brief spike of brain activity when a boat floated over me, but that was after... maybe a month or two? With my altered mind, I fell into a surprisingly comfortable haze. Days blended together, my emotions smoothed out and the fear and anxiety all but left.
I meditated without issue. I had no trouble slowing my pace down until time didn't matter to me. Not being able to die changes your sense of time, absolutely, but here was different. Years blended together. Light cycles and water currents, the taste of the water and even temperature became rapid changes.
I didn't see the boat over me until I felt the shock of two bodies breaching the surface. I was at first scared for their lives, flashing back to my own gruesome almost-death, but I noticed immediately that they didn't have concrete feet, they had... flippers. And metal tanks strapped to their backs. They had to be divers, but their suits looked ridiculously inadequate, right up against the skin, so thin they must be freezing, and with tiny tanks to boot.
They looked to be heading toward a spot about 20 meters to my left, and I had to quickly think about what to do. I had to tear my brain from its slumber as roughly and quickly as I could. Would I flail my arms and call them over? They would have seen that there aren't any boats nearby, and I know they would have spent a while setting up above me. No, I decided to pretend to be... well, recently dead is the best I could manage.
... It actually took them longer than I cared for. Long enough for Geoffrey and his brother Geoffrey to come around a couple times. I kept an eye cracked until one of them drifted through a large clump of seaweed, then closed my eyes. Nothing happened for a while, but I didn't bother to open my eyes again. I just meditated some more, let time slip a little more.
Interestingly, they didn't grab me. Instead I felt them putting something on me, some kind of vest. Over the shoulders, around the sides... and then I had to really restrain myself when they started threading something between my legs. But eventually they let go. Then it started to lift me. Oh my God it hurt. It scraped and pulled, threatening to rip my legs off, crush my ribs, and I was the happiest motherfucker alive that my junk happened to fit right in between the two leg straps. They pulled me out of the water, and laid me on my back on the boat. I was about to taste my first mouth of fresh air, but at the last moment realized that if I took in any air at all, I wouldn't be able to hold back the spluttering and coughing and upchucking.
I ended up having to hold my "breath" for quite a while. My sense of time was forced back into a normal pace by the talk around me. One suggested that they'd have to call the coast guard, another that they should return to shore immediately, yet another that they should stay put and that I would be "air-lifted" out. Everything was going fine... until I pictured scaring them. At first I just had to try not to smile. Then I pictured their faces when I shouted "BOO!" I quickly thought about some of the grossest things I possibly could to keep from laughing right there, and I was mostly successful. At least, until one of them started checking my pockets for identification. It was coming out, one way or another. Without any warning, I didn't even have time to check if they were looking at my face or not, I shot up and fired all the water I could directly into the closest person to me, got half a breath of air in me, and just flat out screamed at them, then I couldn't stop from choking and laughing with the next breath.
"...So, uh... that's how I got here, officer. I can't die, and I have an awful sense of humor."
The man across the desk from me was stone-faced. The woman behind him with the suit and tie (interesting fashion sense these days) seemed to be holding back a smile.
"Would I possibly be okay to leave?" | "Hey, *bitch*!"
His booted foot slammed into the side of my face, forcing me into the ground. It hurt like hell. I screamed in pain, despite knowing full well this wouldn't last forever. I cradled my jaw in my hand, struggling to get back up to my knees. I got a glimpse of the man beating me. His name was Cody.
It looked like this was it.
Cody drew a pocket knife, knelt down, and put it up to my wrist. "Why don't you tell me why I shouldn't lay waste to you right this moment? Give me any reason. Beg, grovel, do something, bitch! Don't just take this! Why did you rat on us?! I thought we were tight!"
He wasn't lying. I was best friends with these guys, up until went through an unspeakable deed. Murder and assault, alright. Theft, whatever. I stood by and nursed all their wounds, knowing I wouldn't ever get a normal life until their entire generation died out.
Then they resorted to arson. A family of three were burned at their hands, along with their house and possessions. I couldn't let this happen.
"B-Because...you burned children," I muttered, barely finding the strength in myself to speak. I hit my jaw with the side of my fist, cracking it back into place. It would heal in a matter of moments.
"Seriously!? You were okay with all the other dirty stuff!" Cody raised the knife. This was it. Here it came.
​
"Cody, the fuck you doin'?" A lighter voice came from behind. I recognized him instantly. After all, he's the one that took me from my old job as a nurse to aid their wounded. Jacques Allard was his name.
"Dealing with scum, what'chu talking about?" Cody laughed, pricking my wrist with his knife. I winced.
"She's betrayed us, remember? Just because she was our medic doesn't make her any more special." His footsteps rang through the old bar we called a home. A hand touched my cheek and forced me into his direction. I stared into Allard's eyes. For the first time in twenty years, I felt true *fear.*
My heart pounded in my chest.
"Julia," he uttered, softly. There was anguish in Allard's voice. "Why?"
I was seething inside. My throat choked up, and I could feel my eyes stain with tears. "Y-You burned children."
"Future murderers! What part of that don't you realize?" Allard snapped, striking me square in the nose. My head recoiled back, hitting the table. My vision began to blur. I tried to speak again, but Allard didn't wait. He struck me again.
Then again.
..
Then again.
.
.
Then again.
(PART I) | 2018-11-24T11:21:13 | 2018-11-24T11:03:28 | 1,956 | 270 |
[WP] "I wish for infinite wishes." "Everyone knows that's not allowed." "Then I wish for 1000 wishes." "Nope, not allowed either." "Fine, then I wish for negative 6 wishes." | The genie stayed stone faced, as he had been since he first appeared. But after a quick blink, the first one I had seen him make, I had realized, his emotionless stare was slowly replaced by a wide grin of recognition. "Wait, hold on," I stammered, "I take it back. What did I just do."
The genie floated silently for a moment, pondering how exactly he should answer that. "Hm. I'm not sure. Perhaps you can tell me? Why, I wish you would..."
"I..." my lips began to move without me even realizing. "I... grant you wishes."
"Very good. Ah, this should be fun. Well, depending on what kind of person you are, I suppose. Let's find out shall we?"
The genie began to float away, and though he was still tethered to the lamp, my body followed him without hesitation. "Well, you just used one. And I used one too, so that's, what, 4 wishes you have left?"
"Oh please," the genie didn't even bother looking at me as he rummaged through my socks drawer, obviously unaware of what he's even looking for, less so of where to find it. "I would only need one to have my fun with this. Speaking of which. I wish for you to show me where I can... how do I word this? Learn what kind of person you are."
I was puzzled, unaware of what he meant or for what purpose, but my legs seemed to be in on something that I wasn't as they began to march down the hall, dragging the genie along by his tail, arms crossed, obviously content. Eventually we made our way to my computer, where my free hand not holding the lamp input the password.
"Hm..." the genie seemed intrigued, "very well then. Show me." Yet my body stayed still, once again under my control. "Oh. A waste of a wish I suppose. Very well, I wish for you to show me what kind of person you are by using this... device." And once again, on cue my body began to move, opening my files, messages, photos, my life laid bare.
"Aaaw," the genie seemed considerably upset, "Hm. You seem to be a good enough person. I suppose I won't ruin your life." The genie unfolded his hands, letting one rest on his chin. "Well, you certainly don't have the power to free me... very well. My last two wishes...
___
A pristine oil lamp sat in Kevin's dining room, the centerpiece of his table. "And that is why I have this oil lamp."
Terry sat across from him, leaning in, hand on his chin and finger over his mouth. He took a deep sigh before sitting back and resting his arms on his thighs. "Wow. I don't believe any of that."
"Yeah, well, his last wish was for me to tell that story to anyone who asks. Didn't have time to tell him no one believes in that crap anymore. You can give it a try if you like, but it hasn't worked to the benefit of anyone yet."
Terry stared at his golden reflection, pondering if he should even indulge this, or just call the psych ward over. But with an even deeper sigh, he got up, and started towards the table. | "But you can't."
"I can."
"No."
"I think that YOU can't."
"..."
"This makes me think. Can you make a rock so big that you yourself can't lift it?"
"Eh...I don't know actu-"
"Oooh ok shut up I got one."
The genie pinched the bridge of his cerulean nose. "As long as it's a real wish..."
"I wish that I could reestablish the rules that govern wishes."
"..."
"..."
"Are you serious?"
"Dead ass..."
"Why are you talking like a Gen Z'er? You're like 65."
"Heyshutupso can you do it or not?"
"Ugh." The genie crossed his arms closed his eyes, and a cold wind blew.
The genie looked up nervously. "Your rules, master?"
"I get Infinite wishes." | 2022-12-09T12:11:00 | 2022-12-09T10:47:24 | 174 | 25 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm | *This is my first time responding to a prompt because this one just looks so fucking cool. So, without further ado, here goes:*
Day 1: The tattoos appeared. It was a normal day for everyone, except we woke up with a tattoo on our dominant arm. It was just our names; nothing more, nothing less. Of course, the internet went crazy. The tattoos shared the same font and were in roughly the same place (albeit different arms). However, there was also some spidery text underneath our names, but nobody could figure out what it meant. Some people suggested it was a government plot, others said it was the rapture. Truth be told, nobody knew what it was.
Day 2: A ship sinks off the Russian coast. The last fragments of the mayday message mention humanoid figures heading towards the ship, Russia accuses the American Navy SEALs. After all, who else could take down an aircraft carrier? There are also reports of green-skinned apes roaming safari reserves in central Africa, along with mention of giant birds flying around the mountain ranges of the world. No change in our tattoos.
Day 3: More ships sink all over the world no matter where they are or who owns them. Russia retracts their accusation after it is revealed they all met the same fate as the first ship. Many countries begin mobilising their militaries in response to this unknown threat. A video is uploaded to YouTube and gathers breaks a billion views in a few hours. It shows shaky footage of dozens of green apes wrestling with wildlife in Africa, even showing them taking down a herd of elephants. It is taken down only twelve hours after it was uploaded. The second line of our tattoos is revealed to show a number. Everyone shares the number 1. Nobody knows why.
Day 4: A helicopter is sent to the summit of Mt. Everest to investigate these “giant birds”. After mere hours of watching the white expanse, a scaly white beast flies at the helicopter and brings it down. The media reports it as volcanic activity that launched a plume of snow. The internet reports it as a dragon.
Day 5: A new video is released on YouTube. The green apes have captured a reporter and the video contains graphic imagery of a brutal murder. At the end, a deep and guttural voice proclaims “We are the Orcs!”, a chant that is taken up by the crowd of green creatures. At the same time, mutant fish-man hybrids approach the shores and claim the ocean for the races of Mer. The third and penultimate line of our tattoos is revealed. According to the D&D buffs of the world, it is our alignments.
Day 6: The President of the United States of America gives a speech about patriotism and sticking together. People riot. Giant winged lizards approach each major city, claiming them as their own and forcing the residents to pay tithes for their protection. All work ceases, except for the most vital of jobs. Planes are grounded by decree of the dragons, and any who take off are immediately immolated in a plume of flame. Some people wait for their tattoos to be revealed, others take their lives into their own hands.
Day 7: The wildlife of the world drastically changes. Trees come to life, animals mutate in strange ways and some gain speech. Giant stones come to life, and even the air around us seems to live. People run into the streets and wait for their gods to take them, others sit and wait in their own homes. Dogs turn into bloodthirsty wolves and wolves become even larger. Some animals become larger than humans and even rats can bring people to the brink of death. A video is uploaded to the internet by a person from America. It shows several people fighting these new creatures. After a short while, the tallest man’s tattoo changes. His number is now two. Mere minutes after the video is uploaded, the pieces fit together for the world. The world leaders step down as the dragons assume control, and the races of man all unite, using the internet to co-ordinate their plans. A small group made a website, they called it “The Ragged Flagon”, a reference to a popular RPG. Many similar websites are formed, and soon they all form different communities based around the last line of the tattoos.
Of course, if you’re reading this, you’d know that the last line of the tattoo refers to your class. There is everything from barbarian to paladin to wizard and druid. However, there are also the “NPC jobs”, like innkeeper, mechanic, chef and heck, we even have lawyers! As for me? I’m the only Loremaster in the world.
*What did you guys think? I might make a part two of this, or even turn it into a story if I'm not too busy. I cracked this one out in about half an hour, so I could probably do a lot better. Also, how do people make the line thingy to separate stuff on reddit?* | The smell in the Horry County Melee Classifications Office was halfway between entering a small domestic airplane and the Dentist's. It was in Conway near the DMV, or in other words between nada and jackshit, but still at the end of many clogged-up roads on a Wednesday afternoon. David imagined how the air in his car was right then pounding against the windows trying to escape the slow metamorphasis to oven.
"I've been waiting a whole hour now," said the rogue in the chair next to David. Across from them a little warrior girl was staring at them. She was sitting on her dad's meaty leg. The dad was staring at the clock through the potted plant.
"It's some bullshit."
"I hear you, man."
The other rogue was older than David. He wore cargo shirts and a weathered Jimmy Buffet hat.
"You know what it is, too. They're trying to keep a watch on all us. Say all we do is steal."
"Of course."
"Then give us the crap jobs. Barely feeds one."
"I know it."
The secretary called David's name. There was a clipboard on the counter already. The older man sighed loudly and walked off towards the restroom. There were several packets under the clipboard all separated by different staples.
"You brought your ID and birth certificate with you?"
"I have my license."
"We need both ID and birth certificate, sir."
"What if I gave my Social Security?"
David looked back and met eyes with the little girl. She smiled. The father was now looking at something next to the clock. One fluorescent bulb being out didn't mean the room got that much darker.
"Take these forms home, fill them out, and come back tomorrow with the certificate. I'm sorry that I can't do much more for you."
There were two piles of different clipboards. David's was the kind where the pen was attached by a plastic spiral cord like a telephone receiver has.
"Goddamn pickpocket!" said the warrior.
David looked back again. The warrior was standing up with his fist at the top of an uppercut. The girl was sitting on the floor underneath where the older rogue had been crushed straight into a fluorescent light and then some. His cap was on the floor. The broken glass must have cut somewhere because blood started dripping downwards over his clothes and his bare calves and the floor. The little girl stood up, leaned back, and with all the air in her lungs spat on the rogue's shoes.
| 2015-07-14T01:01:26 | 2015-07-13T16:33:16 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | The newly minted King Agralin stared at me, eyes red from Kastian ale. Half a goblet of that fine vintage stained the front of his doublet. I grimaced at the dreadful waste, my nose wrinkled at the scent; it had been a while, but my senses were slowly returning.
‘What are you doing here? I kicked you lot of wastrels out last morn!’ The rowdy carousing in the hall began to dissipate, as they stared at my audience with interest.
Fifty winters ago, it had taken me an evening to convince the Old King — I guessed he must have forgotten to tell his son about our agreement before he passed. I tossed an ancient vellum scroll on Agralin’s lap. If he wasn’t so drunk he might have realized that vellum didn’t usually come in such a dark shade of crimson.
Araglin took a quick glance at the scroll and sputtered in anger. ‘What’s this?’
‘My employment contract. Your father agreed to it, and declared that you will too.’ I felt my shoulder blades start to itch, as the long-dormant parts awoke.
‘Hah! Fifty thousand gold a year! The pick of the cellar and choice of dwelling? My father paid a guard all this? He was more senile than I thought!’ Agralin looked around for support as his retinue snickered along.
Agralin stabbed the contract with his pudgy finger. ‘Look, it even says so in your name No’gard! You’re no guard!’
Sycophantic laughter burst throughout the hall, I cringed at his weak pun. Fifteen years away at one of the most prestigious academies and this was the best he could do.
‘My father was too lenient, allowing lowborn a seat in this hall.’ Agralin waved. ‘Leave before I have you beaten and thrown out.’
The old King was never so unobservant, has no one realized that I had been at his Father’s side for fifty years and looked not a day older?
‘You might want to read the rest of the contract. It is crucial that you retain… my protection.’ I tried again.
Agralin’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Look around you! The finest knights in the land defend me!’
Cheers and shouts resounded through the hall. Barvar the Crusher, Astoni of the Dozen Daggers, and Grim’dar the Unwavering, yelled in agreement, banging their weapons on the banquet tables.
‘Who in the Seven Lairs, would I need *you* to guard me from?’
‘Me.’ I grinned with sharpened teeth.
‘My contract states that you would be protected from *me*.’
‘String him up! Teach this fool a lesson! He threatens the King himself!’ The sound of swords drawn reverberated throughout the hall.
The final change took only seconds as my body exploded in mass. My scales burst out and rippled through my skin as they interlocked in snickering metallic clicks. My talons extended from the tips of my hand, now the size of a horse. The banquet hall could hardly hold my true form and my sides pressed against the walls.
I think Barvar was now the Crushed, and Astoni a pin cushion. Grim’dar was on his knees, praying to an unknown god. Agralin’s trousers were now wet too, not from the ale.
‘Now,’ I breathed lightly, setting fire to the tapestries behind the throne, ‘let’s take a look at the contract again, shall we?’ | The warm light of the candle i felt upon my hand as a read the letter from the new king. It seemed like a dream and a nightmare all at once. You see there is a society in the city called the "unscaved" and their only mission is to kill people of power for a price.
The old king was part of a family that used to be a part of the society but quickly left after they were in line to be the new rulers about 100 years ago. So that why the king had me as a royal guard because I knew the unscaved like the creaves of my gloves.
I have stopped so many assassinations on the king that I lost count after the 60th one, and many of those were not even known about. So as I walked on the gravel path on the outskirts of the city I could only wonder, if the dead body that was on the edge of the river was a dead robber or the king.
Edit: I'm sorry its short im bad at storytelling | 2021-02-28T04:13:58 | 2021-02-28T01:29:14 | 1,113 | 153 |
[WP] You buy a special camera at the pawn shop. Every photo you take, it shows a snapshot of 10 years ago. You take a picture of your dog and it shows him 10 years ago when he was a puppy. Everything is all fun and games, until you decide to take a picture of your bedroom one night. | I took a picture of Sally down by the river, and according to the camera she was three dogs and an angry goose. I shrugged, snapped another photo, and this time she was three dogs and a dead goose. I didn't think *too* much of it, but Sally was pretty put off so we went back to the pawn shop where we got the camera.
The same dude was there, the kind you only find in pawn shops, porn stores, and roadside attractions. Long tats, greasy eyes, crooked smile, out of fucks but friendly and high.
"Hey man," I said - "I don't think this camera is a camera."
"Well like what is it then, bud?" He was genuinely perplexed. "And what are you gonna put something like that on me for?"
"What?"
"It is whatever it is, bud. I didn't have any say in it."
"No, you sold it to me. Like an hour ago."
"Oh." He scratched his head and swallowed his brain with his face. "Was it a camera when I sold it to you?"
"I don't think so."
"He took a picture of me at the park and I was three dogs and a goose!" Sally kind of screamed this - and the dude spaced his eyes at her.
"We don't sell gooses here, man."
"A dead goose! Do I look like a dead goose to you?"
When he said "No" it was a guess. Sally didn't like that.
"We want our money back."
"Well, we don't do refunds." He looked at the camera. "I guess I could buy the camera back from you though."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"Sally it's fine. He said he'll buy it back. It's cool."
"Err, wait, you said it's not a camera though."
"Yeah."
"Oh, I'm sorry man, but we don't really deal in things like that."
"Things like what?"
"Whatever that thing *isn't*. Nobody's gonna buy something like that."
"You already sold it to me!"
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"What'd you go and buy something like that for?"
"Fuck it."
So we kept the not-a-camera.
***
We put it out of our heads for a while, far enough out that we probably forgot about the whole thing. Just twenty bucks wasted on some busted old antique. We could sweat twenty bucks.
A few months later, though, some friends were helping us move out of our apartment and Sally found the thing in storage. I guess enough time had gone by that it was funny now, and she told Mark and Tony about the goose and the pawn shop.
"Is that the only picture you ever took?" Tony was turning the thing over in his hands, peering into its nooks like he knew how stuff works. (He doesn't.) "You never tried it out again?"
"Why? It's busted."
"Well you didn't throw it out." Tony pointed the camera at Sally. She yelped and waved it away.
"I'm not getting my picture taken by that thing again." Sally waved it away. "Don't. *Don't*."
"Well take a picture of us then - the guys." Mark took the not-a-camera from Tony and held it out to her. "Oh come on, you can hold the damn thing."
"Fine."
Sally grabbed it, the bros posed for a pic in the empty storage unit, and we all gathered around to see what the not-a-camera would spit out.
It spit out a crystal clear image of the storage unit, but we weren't in it. No Mark and no Tony anyway. Instead of us, it was *us*. I mean, not us - but it was me and Sally fucking on the hood of my Neon.
"Oh my God!" Sally went white.
"Whoa - hey, damn. I only looked cause I was looking. You look good." Tony was always a gentleman.
Sally hit me.
"What the hell, Nate?" (Did I mention my name?)
"I didn't do anything." I was engrossed in the photo. "I mean, I remember doing *something*."
"This isn't funny!"
"At least you're not a goose."
Sally *hit* me.
"What the fuck is it?"
"I don't know."
"Where did it come from?"
"You took it. Just now."
"That's us, like, ten years ago. How is that possible, Nate?"
I shrugged, then snapped another photo. It was still us fucking. Sally didn't talk to me for a week.
***
| I took the picture, smiling inwardly. I wonder how it'll look? I'd only been living there for a few months - I wonder what it had been like 10 years ago? What pictures would be up on the walls? Was the building even 10 years old?
I went to the darkroom, dipping the photo into the chemicals. I'd always enjoyed the process - it gave me time to think, to be lost in that secluded world of darkness. I felt strangely safe in it.
I hung up the photo, going outside to feed Max. I framed the picture I took of him as a puppy - he'd been so cute back then, but worryingly thin. As a rescue dog, it made me even happier that I'd found him. I gave him a treat along with his food - I'd been taken even better care of him lately, seeing how he'd looked so many years ago. He needs all the love he can get.
Back to the darkroom. It was silly, but I was excited to see the picture. Most of the images I'd took had ended up being very banal, but something about this one filled me with intrigue.
I took the picture off the wire, peering into it in the darkness. It didn't seem to have developed properly - it was so dark. I let my eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and I looked closer into the image.
The picture wasn't dark. It seemed obscured, almost as if there was a figure standing too close to the camera.
Then I saw it - then I saw her.
*Looking directly into the camera*.
Suddenly Max whined outside. I'd never heard him make that noise, and it made me instantly drop the photo. I turned to open the door, but the handle was stuck. No - the door was *locked*.
Max was barking, growling. I'd never heard him like that. I beat at the door, hitting it with all my might, but it wouldn't budge. Panicking, I grabbed the photo again, lifting it to my face.
The room was bare. The figure gone.
Something slammed against the wall, and I heard Max's muffled cry.
Then she came for me. | 2016-12-22T03:21:41 | 2016-12-22T03:14:16 | 58 | 11 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came. | part 1 of (I don’t even know)
let me know if I should post the rest
"this is all they could come up with?"
Jennifer shrugged, not really having a worthwhile reply. We sat at our assigned table and looked around the large, mostly empty, conference hall surveying its eight other occupants. "I thought it would be easier to tell." I said to nobody in particular with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and disappointment.
This was it, all of it. One of the most expensive multinational projects in the world. Five years ago without much warning every established nation in the world instituted a mandatory standardised unified test course, for the purpose of determining the five most, and least intelligent people on earth. This "test" included measurements of logic, social intelligence, fundamental and advanced creative problem solving, reflexes, literal brain scans, memory tests, and the list goes on. Billions of dollars every year, and this, is it?
Looking around the room you'd expect to be able to tell which is which, the most and least intelligent I mean, I've known math types who can do calculus in their head but couldn't hold a conversation if they were payed to, and I've seen the opposite as well. Only a few things were sure, everyone was weird, and nobody knew why they were here.
I looked around again, this time taking in each team in turn. Once the security guys put us in here we were each given a name tag and a list of teams. Jennifer was my partner and, honestly, the most normal person there. I decided to start looking at the teams by the order on the list, not alphabetical of course.
Milo and Isaac. I looked up and saw in the far corner of the room there was a very tan and muscular man with more than a few tattoos (visible because of the amount of shirt he wasn't wearing) with the nametag reading Milo. Next to him talking quietly was an eastern european looking guy was wearing a purple beanie, far too much makeup, and a badge that read Isaac.
James and Maria. Maria (mid thirties, slightly annoying) was on her way to talk to Milo and introduce herself, clearly not interested in her own partner. Meanwhile James (who must have been someone famous based on the reactions he provoked from some of the others) was talking to two girls from the other teams and was about to be joined by jennifer, fine let her talk I've been busy checking out the competition. Surely thats what this is about, competition, why would they put us in teams otherwise.
Lisa and Chelsea. They were almost twins and made up the majority of the present cult of James.
Michael and Shey. Michael was a fifty something man who despite his apparent age carried himself in a very imposing manner. Conversely Shey appeared to be a high school age girl still wearing her uniform.
Nothing clear, nothing obvious. I wondered who was who, but only briefly. Jennifer returned just then, saying in a casual way, "musician". "what?" I was actually surprised. "he's a musician," She nodded in James' direction. "you seemed curious about why they were crowding him so I pretended to join in so they'd let it slip naturally." Whoever set this up, they picked me a good partner.
Five minutes of casual conversation, getting to know each other. Then the LCD panel in the front of the room lit up. On the screen red text began creating itself. "you have been selected as the most and least intelligent people on earth by a rigorous testing system, however two of you were not. Find and evict the impostors. You have two hours." below this was a timer showing the remaining time.
It took a few of us a moment to process this. "one of the teams was fake?" Maria lost her composure (if she had any to begin with) immediately. James was nice enough to try and calm her down, with limited success. Isaac chimed in a quick reply in an obviously fake British accent he used to cover his obviously real Russian one. "not necessarily luv, they could be split up." "that would make the most sense." Shey said, and everyone nodded silently. "but how are we supposed to know?" Milo said, sweat clearly forming on his brow. "that," I pointed out "is up to us." "what if we can't do it?" This came from chelsea. There was a pause while we all remembered how the chosen ten were never announced to the public. The pause grew into an all consuming silence that spared nothing but a faint ticking and the fainter hum of electronics behind the monitor. 1:57:05, 1:57:04, 1:57:03... | I woke in small metal container. The walls had the wavy pattern of a cargo crate, and the size fit the idea as well. There where ten of us, I was the first to wake up. It was clear what was happening, I had been told of the risks when I submitted my paper.
I was about 21 at the time and had just finished my philosophy paper. I knew it was good, even from my harsh self criticism. It was another unmistakable 100, and over time, that brings unwanted attention. My prof had told me a few weeks earlier that I should start making mistakes, but I had to much honour in what I did. Although discovering the meaning to life might have been a bit flamboyant. On my way home from the school I could already hear the helicopter. They followed me, and I knew I had overdone it.
Now I was in a small container with four other people sleeping on the ground, and five other in full blown comas. The sound of their heartbeats on the machines eventually woke up the other four strangers.
"...oh shit does my head hurt..." the old man in the brown vest yawned. I could recognize him from his popular book series; TARN BACKSTER Learn The World And Its History.
"FUUUCK!" The woman in the blue vest yelled as she realized what was going on. She had been on television the night before receiving a scientific achievement award.
Two other men woke up silently. They both knew what was going, and everyone knew them. Mark Cameer, and Ben Owen. They had been famous for being here more than ten consecutive times in a row. Mark was a grandmaster, and Ben was a musician. They knew each other very well by now, and started up a conversation.
The girl in the corner woke up last, but it was obvious from the first look that she was different. Drool hung down from her sticking out tongue, and she had strong characteristics of some with down syndrome. "REEEEEEEEEEEEE" she gave a battle cry similar to a howler monkey as she woke up.
"HELLO, I AM D99100, IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU"
I was startled to hear the robotic voice. One of the men in a coma was clearly now attached to a different machine. That was when I realized the girl wasn't with my group, but instead the computer attached to deeply sleeping man. | 2016-03-03T06:19:08 | 2016-03-03T05:36:34 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a superpower, but no one knows what theirs is until they are forced to use it in a life-or-death situation.
edit: Thanks for all the great responses :) | It's not a scam. I get results, it's just that I have to make people think they've been scammed first. Listen, here's how it works:
Everyone wants to know what their power is. Absolutely everyone. Even the "supers are the spawn of satan" people have a power and even they want to know what it is. I know because they've been my clients, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Everyone wants to know what their power is, but few people are willing to do what it takes to find out. Few, however, is not 'nobody'. So yeah, you've got your jumpers who find a building just tall enough to grievously injure themselves, you've got the people who jump in front of trains, and of course people willing to put the phrase 'faster than a speeding bullet' to a rather gruesome test, but mostly everyone doesn't have the guts. Given the failure rate of the above methods (turns out x-ray vision doesn't stop an oncoming train), you can't really blame them, but it does mean there's plenty of room for an enterprising man like myself.
See, you don't have to almost die to get your powers. You just have to *think* you're going to die. "Secret" government projects around the globe have this trick where they turn you into a super-soldier by strapping you into a centrifuge and spinning you around so hard you black out. The results it gets are middling - the degree of danger is usually correlated to the strength of the power - but hey, half-ass superpowers are better than no-ass superpowers.
I'm better than that.
A few years back I almost died. Yeah, as far as origin stories go, it's hardly original. That's pretty much how everyone's starts. But mine was a little different because of how it went down: Car accident. Okay, yes, that's also a big one, thirty thousand vehicle fatalities a year means lots of folks are going to find out they've got skin that can turn to steel or whatever. Mine was different.
T-boned by a pickup truck, and my car catches fire. That's the first thing that hardly ever happens, movies lie - cars almost never burn up. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that the accident had broken an arm and a leg. Couldn't even drag myself to safety. Second thing that hardly ever happens is that the driver - my brother, goes by the name Asbestos now, it's terrible but he doesn't listen - was thrown from the crash and doesn't die. He's just fine.
So the car's on fire and I'm dying of blood loss or smoke inhalation or something, and he's trying to come back and get me but the fire's pretty damn big at this point, and he's yelling, "I'm sorry man, I'm sorry!"
And I just yell back (and this is really impressive here, somehow my lungs still worked), "You fucking moron, you're immune to fire!"
And it turns out he is.
That's my power. It's the power to know what other people's powers are, and to bring it out. And in any other deadly situation I'd have learned that fact and died like so many other people without "get me out of this deadly situation" powers. But that time the fates lined up and, after a lengthy and expensive hospital stay, I had a new life and a new job.
I live the life of a con man, because that's what people have to think I am. I trick them into thinking I can give them superpowers, and then I skip out with the money.
Then, later, completely by coincidence, they're put in a situation where their specific power would save their life. This is pretty easy for people with powers like regeneration or invulnerability, half the time they get themselves mugged before I can arrange one. Other times it's hard - one lady had x-ray vision, so I had to arrange a full-on restaurant robbery complete with gunfire and a fire exit out back only visible through several walls. The fact that the fire door was solid steel was helpful.
Why all the showmanship, you ask? I could just tell people what their power is, and they'd have it, full strength, right?
Sure, if I want to get kidnapped by whatever country happens to have assets wherever I am. Or killed by whatever countries can't have me. I'm faster and cheaper than a centrifuge and I get better results. I'm worth more than my weight in gold.
Someone knows, though. Maybe my brother finally told the story at some point. Maybe one of my clients got wise. Either way, 'they' came for me just a week ago. Black vans, SWAT gear, the works. If I hadn't been out attempting to stalk a client down a long, straight alley (superspeed, it turns out) I'd have been toast. I got the hell out of town.
What do I do now? Turns out I'm owed a few favors. See, I have to make people think I'm a con man but a good con man can convince some pretty smart people. And afterward, those people put the "I'm going to give you superpowers" scam and the fact that they got superpowers together, and they get me. So I've got some former clients who're willing to help me out. One of them's been a personal detective on my behalf for the week.
Who's he following? I think that's obvious at this point, don't you? He's the one over there, at the bar, watching us. He's been following you.
Why you? That's simple.
You can hide people. | "What do you think happens when you Emerge?" The person in front of me in line asked. I shrugged; it was a pretty closely guarded secret. Some of the older kids at school said that they'd take your powers away if you ever told anyone what happened. "I heard that they torture you beforehand," someone else said. "They wouldn't do that. We're just kids," retorted the guy behind me. Everyone Emerged on their 14th birthday.
We stood in line waiting, staring up at the massive, black, windowless obelisk that was the Emergence Center for Los Angeles. The line in front of us shuffled slowly ahead until we were almost through the door. We could faintly hear the sounds of screams from inside every time that the doors took in another teen. Everyone in line exchanged terrified looks. Maybe they really did torture us.
The sliding doors whooshed quietly, and I was hit by a refreshing blast from the air conditioning. A chirpy receptionist took down my name and directed me to the elevator. "You'll be going through procedure 18 today. Please take the elevator to the very top floor." She gestured to a bank of elevators down the hall, swallowing up all of the children ahead of me and whisking them off to whatever horrors awaited. I must have looked panicked; she patted me reassuringly on the arm. "Don't worry," she said with a soothing smile. "We all make it through OK!"
I nodded, projecting confidence, and walked into a waiting elevator.
The elevator chugged as it passed 23 floors, arriving at the top with a pleasant ding. But the doors didn't open. I waited patiently; nothing. I reached out and pressed the "door open" button, and was met by a sickening, grinding noise. The elevator lurched... then plummeted to the ground. My stomach flew into my throat, and I felt temporarily light, as though gravity were no longer affecting me. A sickening screech of metal pounded in my eardrums.
Then suddenly, a calm washed over my body as though someone had flipped a light switch. Just in time, the elevator *wooshed* and slowed, coming to a stop with a pleasant ding. I emerged into a big room, full of friends and family, standing before a big banner that read "HAPPY EMERGENCE!"
"*She did so well!* I heard in my father's voice... but his lips weren't moving. "*I'm so proud!*" I heard from my mother. "We're sorry to have to do that to you, but we had to make you think you were in real danger." He said aloud, putting a consoling arm around me. My mother nodded in agreement. "Thinking that you are in real danger is the only way to trigger it."
"Well, what power did you get?" Father asked. His voice was the same, but somehow different. "I'm not..." I started to speak, but trailed off. "*Must be something mental,*" I again heard from my father. I realized that I was hearing his thoughts. I turned to the crowd, easily scanning their minds. "Damn, she looks good today," I heard Jake Geidt think. I grinned broadly and announced "Telepathy!" There was a cheer from the crowd, and a bit of a blush from Jake. | 2014-11-18T14:58:19 | 2014-11-18T14:26:22 | 2,228 | 367 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
| **The Law**
***
Someone up there is having a hell of a laugh at my expense right about now.
The odds of this happening were...staggeringly low at best, honestly, it was probably because of my powers, they leaked sometimes, and affected me and those around me without me consciously commanding them to. I was sipping coffee inside a cafe like your average New York City 20 something girl. Then a man walked in. He looked normal enough, but had bright red hair. That’s what caught my attention. So I was staring right at him when he walked up to the cashier, and threw a fireball in her face.
You never get used to it.
I’ve stopped terrorist attacks, blown up islands, stopped an extinction level event and dozens of things like that. But still, as I sat there sipping my coffee, checking out this guy, watching a woman get her face burned off was still shocking. She was smiling cordially when she asked him what he wanted. She had done my order too, I had thanked her when she handed me my coffee and she had smiled back, nothing big, but genuine.
And now she was writhing on the floor, screaming, clutching at her burning face. The man turned back to look at the rest of the coffee shop. There was no noise except for the heart-wrenching screaming of the poor girl behind the counter. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a perfectly cordial voice, “I would recommend just sitting where you are not making any sudden moves. Feel free to go on your phones, tweet about this, whatever, just don’t get out of your seats. If you do, well…”
As if on cue, the screaming rose to a fervent pitch. He paid it no heed, and took out his own phone and extended his arm, as if taking a selfie, and spoke, “My name is Firefight, every 10 minutes I will kill one person in the café, unless the guardian of your city comes to face me.” Halfway through, blessedly, the woman stopped screaming. The man, Firefight, frowned. “Goddamit,” he muttered almost to himself. He summoned another gout of fire, and threw it at the woman behind the counter again.
The horrifying screams began again.
Firefight rolled his eyes, “*finally,* alright, let’s do this again. The screaming really amplifies the effect,” he said to the people in the café, almost conversationally. He started filming himself again. “I will kill a hostage every ten minutes, if the police show up, this whole café *will* explode in a ball of fire. I only wish to face the Guardian of your city. If she shows up, the people in the café, well,” he paused as the screams once again rose in pitch, “everyone *else* in the café is free to go.”
Someone in the café started to cry.
Firefight paid whoever it was no heed, and walked to sit across from me on my table, the closest open seat, and just started scrolling through his phone, or at least pretending to. I noted his jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were tensed. The casualness was just a façade, this man was worried. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had sat with me, either. I always picked a seat in the corner so I could see the entire room, and Firefight had joined me here for the vantage point. Despite the bluster, this guy was no idiot.
Unfortunately, for him, he had picked just about the worst spot in the café to sit in.
See, the Guardian of the city was actually yours truly. No one knew who I was, no one knew what my powers were. Hence the generic name, “Guardian.” Just that a girl showed up at every major scene across the city and things just happened to go horribly wrong for the villains. Most assumed I had some powers of invisibility, time slow down. or could influence minds. What else could cause such a scale of chaos.
They were all wrong.
My power is far, far less glamorous than all those theorized, yet, I have realized, far stronger. Guys like Firefight go brazenly into fights, relying on their sheer strength and power to work for them, but I couldn’t afford to do that. My power was great but rarely so in a one on one fight, I needed planning, intelligence, or surprise.
Luckily, Firefight had no idea who I was.
***
Ten minutes later we all walked out of the café. The cashier, sadly didn’t make it. I mingled within the crowd, answered some questions by the media, and went home. There was no fighting, no recue, Firefight was just declared monumentally stupid or unlucky. The poor bastard had tripped and landed on cashier girl. His clothes caught on fire. For all his powers, he didn’t resist fire. Taking advantage of his distraction, almost everyone in the café, together had beat him to a pulp. When the authorities arrived, he was probably still alive, but no paramedic went to him until an hour later.
I smiled to myself and shut off the news. No one assumed the Guardian was involved. It just didn’t fit. Someone with invisibility or the power to stop time would’ve just killed him outright, so it couldn’t be the Guardian.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. My name is Murphy.
***
While this stand alone, I have written other stories about Murphy. [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/5dndmw/superheroes/) and [Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/5ftxea/superhero_fiction_murphys_law_superheroes_part_2/)
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| **G:** Hey Dave, look! I've found us a super cool new writing prompt to do today! It's all about superheroes and supervillains and supe-
**D:** *Really Greg? Of all the pages and pages of high quality, well written submissions - we're going with this? A three-line title with half the plot of Megamind scrolled over it?*
**G:** Well I just...You know...I thought it'd be fun is all...Superheroes are kinda cool and you always do the voices really well
**D:** *Look. Fine. Whatever. Just please keep the plot on track. I'm sick to death of your "Look at me and my fourth wall" posts, sometimes it'd be nice to have a real story without any of your stupid dram-*
**?**: LET ME GO! PLEASE DONT KILL ME! I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHIN-
**D:** *WHAT THE HELL?! WHY IS THERE A MAN TIED UP IN MY KITCHEN, SCREAMING FOR HELP?! GREG?!*
**G:** What?
**D:** *THE MAN. IN MY KITCHEN. WHO IS SCREAMING FOR HELP. IN MY KITCHEN. TIED UP. IN MY GODDAMN KITCHEN....WHO IS HE AND WHY! I WANT ANSWERS NOW GREG!*
**G:** Oh him. He's our hostage - the "kidnapped citizen" of our adventure.
**D:** *The what?!*
**G:** Well, I figured if we're going to write a good story - we should really get into character. It's like method acting, but for books!
**D:** *...*
**G:** Oh, don't worry though. It's going to turn out he's a super hero - so he'll totally break free and save himself.
**?**: I'm not a super hero. I'm just an electrician. Please let me go, I won't tell anybody, I just want to live. Please don't hurt me.
**G:** Ha! Get a load of this guy right? "I'm just an electrician", "I totally don't have the ability to lightning-bolt my way out of these ropes", "Don't worry about leaving the wall sockets on, I'm totally not going to leech the power and fry you alive". Grade A joker.
**?:** Look, please. D-Dave was it? You seem like a more normal guy right? Please, I won-
**D:** *I'm a...more...normal guy? So...You don't think I'm normal then?*
**?:** N-no, I didn't say tha-
**D:** *Oh no, don't worry. That's fine. I just thought maybe it'd be a good, normal idea to untie you and let you get back to your family was all....But you know you, as you said - I guess that'd be just too much for me to manage wouldn't it?*
**?:** Oh god
**D:** *Greg, I think it's pancake time. This writing brain needs some writing food. Let's "Hop" off to IHOP, we can deal with this flapjack later*
**G:** Love it Dave. You always know what's best. PANCAKE SAATTUURRDAAAYYYYY | 2017-01-28T08:11:18 | 2017-01-28T08:01:15 | 73 | 18 |
[WP] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react? | "Gwen, calm down. He's just a kid. Sure, he's a bit lucky, but there's nothing really strange about him beyond that. Nice kid, really. Are you sure you're feeling well? Maybe the stress..." Gwen scowled and stormed out of the teacher's lounge, leaving Mrs. Hutchens alone with her coffee.
Gwen headed for the playground, not quite stomping, but every step came down on the linoleum floor firmly, angrily. Every time she had evidence, even video, the person who saw it said "Oh, there's nothing strange about that."
And the worst part was, Gwen was increasingly sure that he knew her suspicions. That had to be it.
She passed him in the hall--what was he doing in the hall during recess?--and he smiled at her, some smug little boy grin, like the world's most spoiled brat. Seven, no eight years old now.
He always got the tail on the donkey in one try. He always hit the pinata at birthday parties. Whatever sport he played, the ball went into the hoop, through the goal, wherever it needed to go, no matter where he was on the court or field. He never seemed to have scrapes or bruises like other boys his age, though he roughed around with them all the time.
"Hello Miss Fisher," he said, politely, with wide innocent eyes that were filled to the brim with trouble, and continued on his way. Perhaps to the bathrooms.
Gwen paused and watched him. Had he pulled some mind trick on her? She'd seen him do it with other kids. Convince the other team's captain to pick all the worst players instead of the best. And she was sure he did something to trip Jordan, the best runner in the third grade, so he could win the long race on Field Day.
No, if he could pull mind tricks on her, he'd have done it by now.
She had to report this. She started back to her classroom, decision made. He had everyone else wrapped around his finger, she was the only one who saw the signs.
She had pulled up the number on her computer, in the process of dialing, when he stepped into the room, smiling that peculiar, mad smile. "Miss Fisher, I'm afraid I can't let you call them."
Violet lightning consumed the world, and the lights flickered. The call connected, then static. Then nothing.
The computer was a loss, and Miss Fisher was properly mourned and buried, a "freak accident," according to the papers. Some sort of power surge.
A month later, an administrative intern spotted something unusual in the phone bill, and having already noticed something weird about the staff at this school, she skipped proper reporting procedures and escalated the matter to the county Superintendent, her uncle.
When he agree to meet with her at the nearest Denny's after work, she had the entry circled, and just slid it over to him across the table.
"Miss Gwen Fisher called the Bureau of Jedi and Sith Affairs just before her accident."
The stately older man visibly paled, keeping his hands well away from the sheet of paper, as though not touching it could keep it from being real. But it was real.
"I have a bad feeling about this." | We all thought it was an elaborate cash-grab, invented by some manipulative, greedy man who could invent an elaborate story to coax millions of dollars out of thousands of people.
We all thought it was a gathering of idiots who apparently had nothing better to do with their money than spend on a "religion" we all *knew* was a load of bullshit science fiction. Their beliefs were silly! A joke!
We all thought that it was too exclusive and silly to be a genuine religion, that making people pay thousands to join was surely a cash-grab. They censored anyone who tried to proclaim it was a hoax, silencing all of their critics in morally dubious ways. How could they be a proper religion?
When the spaceships took off, leaving the 'uninitiated' behind, The Church of Scientology looked down at us, and laughed. | 2014-03-19T10:47:08 | 2014-03-19T10:09:23 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea. | Chris's dad dumped the pile of colorful envelopes, postcards, and packets onto the kitchen table muttering about 'why any goddamn body would still use paper this day and age...'
Chris shrunk behind his cereal bowl. He glanced at his phone looking for an escape from the inevitable conversation that waited behind the avalanche of mail. His phone was dark. He had to turn it off to escape the constant barrage of recruiters texting and calling him.
He looked up at his father.
His dad was leaning over the pile of mail looking at Chris with exasperation.
"Well?" he finally asked.
"Well what, Dad?"
"When are you going to take one of these offers?"
"Umm. Well, to be honest, there are some things I want to do. Sarah wants to travel..."
"No." his dad interrupted. "No. You can accept an offer and *then* travel. Look..." he picked up a random postcard. "CBI International. It says right here that you get unlimited vacation and free travel vouchers to wherever they have active projects...that's over 70 countries all over the world, it says right here!"
"I was thinking about going to school..."
His dad closed his eyes and picked up a brochure at random and tore it open. "Yep. This one will pay for 'any classes toward an accredited degree program.'"
"I don't know..."
His dad sighed and collected himself. "Listen, son, I get it. Why work, right? Why not just VR all day, hang out with Sarah, go fishing? A lot of people at school are embracing the whole 'professional consumer' movement and think its enough for them to occasionally review a book or game and make a witty comment. And sure, they do help when it comes to picking out the next game to play or restaurant to eat at. I appreciate that. But you are *my* son..."
"But dad..." Chris interrupted.
"No. Let me finish. You are *my* son and life is much more rewarding when you put more of yourself into it! Working is a big part of that. Don't you get that?"
"I *do* dad. That's what I'm trying to tell you! I've seen you work your whole life."
"Yeah! I don't have to! I want to!"
"I know. Dad, you don't think I see those people that just tread water their whole lives? They get everything they *need*, sure. But not a single one gets what they *want*. They're miserable! I mean, they aren't dying or starving or homeless so they aren't acutely miserable but not a single one can look back and say they actually accomplished something. It's a quiet, sullen misery. Just look at the snarky bullshit they post! I see that!"
"Ok. Well, good. Then what are you waiting for? I'm sure one of these are going to treat you well. You're a bright kid! A good salary, a three half-day work week, unlimited remote, full benefits, a car allowance, a personal AI, the works!"
Chris stared at his dad and seemed to come to a decision. "I'll be right back." he said as he pushed himself away from the breakfast table and walked to his bedroom.
He came back with a large bundle of neatly stacked paper and flopped it down on the table.
"What's this?"
"Dad, I don't understand why you work where you work. Researching economics and coming up with models and testing them and going to conferences..." he shrugged. "It's not for me."
"Okay..." he asked flipping through the stack with the first page simply titled "Working Draft".
"I want to be a filmmaker, dad. I was going to wait until I had this more fleshed out..."
His father looked relieved and excited. "That's great!"
"Yeah...there's just one thing." Chris turned red. He wasn't used to asking for much. "You've done pretty well for yourself, right? Working all of those years?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Well, I was hoping to borrow some money. I can't make this movie happen by myself. That means enticing some people to work with me..."
Chris's dad looked at the very large offers practically flashing from the pile of mail and had to sit down. Getting people to work on his son's production...hiring people was the surest way to go broke. But, he reasoned, at least he won't starve. What is there to lose?
| "I quit." I tell my store leader (SL) after a friendly conversation over lunch. "What, why?" My store leader asks nervously. He fidgets with his tight collar as he begins to sweat. "We need all of the help we can get." I nod my head no. "Maybe you should consider giving people time off to be with their families!" I say, raising my voice. "Or maybe you should consider treating us like human beings! Or, how about a retirement plan, so I don't have to work when I'm 80 and I can enjoy the last slow years of my life! You have kids?" "Yes." "Do they have food?" "Yes." I put my fist on the counter. "My son, daughter, wife and I can only eat one meal a day, often of no substantial value! Do you know what it's like to be hungry at work, all of the time? Don't answer that." I hand him my name tag and my work uniform. "I quit." I walk outside of the store.
Well, after working there for two years really was a poor experience. I walk into the job fair stadium and see two men wearing pilot uniforms approach me. "Please, fly our planes. Society is getting set back because nobody wants to fly these beautiful aircraft. I smile. "Where is your application form?" The man on the right smiles. "There are none, Sir. You're hired." "How much will I make?" "Does $40,000 dollars sound good? It is the most that we can pay you." I smile. "I just walked away from a $5/hr job. Of course I'll take it." The employee smiles. "You will receive company paid training as being part of this team." "Sounds good to me, when do I work?" "When do you want to work?" They ask me. "Tomorrow, 1 PM." "Works for me." The hiring manager says. "Welcome aboard." They shake my hand and I begin to walk home. It really is nice living in a desperate economy. | 2016-04-21T10:01:08 | 2016-04-21T08:13:54 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] A woman makes a deal with the devil... but before signing, she actually reads the contract. She is the first to do so. | "What are you waiting for?" the beautiful man said to Natalie, handing her an ornate, black onyx needle to prick her finger. "Sign the contract and I will give you anything your heart desires."
"Yes," Natalie Wright responded, turning the needle in her hands, "But first, I would like to read the contract."
The beautiful man was taken aback. "Mrs. Wright, I have a very ethical operation here. We have mutual interests in mind. I get your eternal soul, and you get my word that your father's cancer will be cured and your debts will be written off. I admit, it's not my usual sort of business. Usually it's just farmers who want a good harvest. There's a good story about that, actually - "
"Mister...Lucifer, is it?"
"The very same."
"Did you do a background check on me before you came here?" Natalie flicked long blonde hair out of her eyes and bit the end of a pen. She and Lucifer were the only two people in the hospital waiting room - though whether Lucifer could be considered a "person" was probably a matter for theologians.
"Well, er," Lucifer stuttered. He appeared to have an unearthly youthfulness and a boyish face. There was nothing to indicate that this was Satan, the Ruler of Hell. Alas, against the advice of her priest, Natalie had been forced to contact him as the Almighty had failed to answer her prayers. "You do some kind of office work, right? You earn a tidy sum of money, something to the tune of $220k a year? But you've recently run into some problems...debt-wise. Keeping your father alive is killing you. His insurance won't pay for his care any more...that's why you took out the loans...moved out of the house and into a small apartment downstate..."
"Very good, Mister Lucifer," Natalie said. "But I do much more than just office work. The contract, please."
Reluctantly, Lucifer handed over the contract. It was printed on black parchment. The text glowed like embers on a dying bonfire. The smell of sulfur emanated from the pages.
"Just the standard stuff," Lucifer said. "You give up your eternal bliss in Heaven for momentary relief in the earthly realm. I don't understand you humans."
"That's funny," Natalie replied. "There's a clause here that offers an opt-out in the event of, quote, 'religious conversion subject to the condition that there is no connection to the Abrahamic Faith as defined in the 1,200th Edition of the Satanic Handbook'. Care to explain that?"
"Oh, well, er," Lucifer stuttered. "It's, you know. I mean Hell isn't an effective punishment or threat unless you *really* believe it's real. So, you know, the contract is void if you convert from the Abrahamic Faith."
"Huh," Natalie said.
"Uhhh," Lucifer said, pointedly, "I must point out that the contract isn't valid unless you're a Christian."
Natalie fished in her blouse for a gold necklace with a crucifix. Lucifer flinched away from it. "Okay, okay, you've made your point. Get that thing away from me."
Natalie read through a few more paragraphs.
"Would you hurry up and sign?" Lucifer said. "I've got an appointment with Adolf Hitler at 8 and I can't be held up. We're having sloppy Joes. That is, we're serving Joseph Goebbels' entrails to him."
"Sounds lovely," Natalie said. She pricked her finger. "So do I just sign here?" Lucifer nodded. "Just down the bottom there, and we'd like your initials and a date, please."
Natalie signed the paper with her blood, which fizzed and crackled on the black parchment. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Lucifer."
"And the same to you," Lucifer replied, taking back the contract. "Your father should start feeling better within the hour, so long as our processing team isn't held up with those fucking farmers. You know how it is."
With that, Lucifer disappeared in a puff of flames and smoke, leaving only the smell of sulfur behind. A nurse entered the room as time resumed moving at its usual rate. She didn't say it, but her face read: "God, who let one off in here? Was it you?" Natalie smiled at her. The nurse then said, "Ms. Wright, we're doing all we can. Your father is sitting up a little. Would you like to speak to him?"
Natalie nodded and went with the nurse to her father's room.
Her father lay in the bed, a tube in his nose, various wires and cables affixed to him, an intravenous drip in his arm. His breathing was laboured, but he was alive. Stage four pancreatic cancer, it had metastasised to his liver, his lungs, his colon and his brain. He was in considerable pain.
"Daddy?" Natalie said, standing at the side of the bed.
"Princess?" her father responded, weakly. "I must have...nodded off."
"It's okay, Daddy," Natalie said. "I had to go and make some calls. With the agency."
Her father reached up a pale arm and weakly touched his daughter's face. "I'm so proud of my little girl," he said, his voice dry and raspy. "I can't believe how fast you grew up."
Natalie took her father's hand in hers. His hands were larger, rougher than her delicate fingers. "Daddy," she said. "Are you scared?"
"Scared, Princess? No. I've lived a happy life. I'm just in a lot of pain."
"Daddy, if you had a chance to live just a little longer...would you take it?"
"Princess?"
"I mean, if you could live for a few more years, months even...with no pain at all, just happiness...would you take it?"
"Well...Princess, I suppose I would...but there's no chance of that now..."
Tears brimmed at Natalie's eyes. "Daddy...don't ask me how I know...but I think you're going to live a little longer. And we're going to have so much time to do all the things you couldn't do when you were busy working and I was busy at the law firm."
"Why's that, Princess?" said her father, just a fraction less weakly.
"Because, Daddy..." she wrapped her arms around him, "I'm a Buddhist."
Her father looked at her with puzzlement. Natalie just smiled as her father sat up and the colour started to return to his cheeks. Satan's legal department hadn't accounted for globalisation, she thought. The assumption is that if you were christened at birth, you're Christian for life...but she had converted a few years ago. And Satan's legal team, in their foolishness, had failed to account for one thing: that the rewards they delivered could not be taken away once received, but her eternal damnation would be rendered null and void when she was reincarnated upon death.
It would be another sixty years before Satan realised his mistake, and once he did, it is said he was so angry that Josef Stalin never sat down again. | I was alone and about to kill myself in my living room when I met the devil. He appeared with a smirk, saying how lucky I was to meet him, just in time.
'Just in time for what?' I asked, with the sharp razor still hanging above my wrist. The devil gave me a cold smile, and handed me a piece of paper with a gold fountain pen. 'I am here to grant you a wish. But be careful what you wish for, because I literally have to give anything that you think about.'
'What is this?' I asked again, looking at the paper. He tapped the top of the page, giving me a judging look that said 'you have eyes'. On the top of the page there was a single word. Contract. I couldn't believe it. All these miserable years of my life, and now I'm getting a chance to get what I wish for?
'Sorry, but I was just in the middle of a suicide attempt.' I declined quite politely. The devil didn't stir.
'Come now, child. I can read your thoughts. I'm the devil. You do want something. You're committing suicide because you want something. Humans never act unless they have a need or want. Please, as you wish, I shall grant you a wish. Just one signature of yours and you will get what you wish for.'
The devil was right. I did have a need - the need to disappear from this world and go to a place where I can be happy. But there was no utopia, so I wanted death. I began to read the contract carefully -- I worked as a contractor before I quit my job, so it was just an automatic response.
The contract was very straightforward than expected. There seemed to be no loopholes for the devil to use against me.
<[Contract]
I, the devil, will grant this human being, of whatever they should wish for as the giver, and will receive something in return.
1. The devil will grant the being's wish at any cost.
2. Once the deal is made, it cannot be cancelled.
3. The recipient must give something to the devil in return.
4. There is no deadline for this deal to be completed.
5. Once this deal is made, it must be completed.
Should any of the above promises be broken, the recipient will pay the full price.
Giver please sign below:
Recipient please sign below: >
Of course, when I looked at it again, I could see a few red flags. I wanted to ask the devil about the red flags, but I didn't have anything to lose. I shrugged and signed the document. Just as I took the pen off the paper, the devil snatched it and swallowed the document.
'Remarkable! What will you wish for, mortal?' Bellowed the devil. After giving it some thought, I said 'Eternal happiness'. He nodded, then shook my hand. 'Very well. Now it is my turn to get something in return.'
It was then when I stopped him. 'Sorry, but not now. Can I die first?' My blatant request seemed to surprise the devil. He became aggressive and took me in my throat. 'What is this? Are you breaking your vow?' His eyes looked directly into mine, and for a moment I was frozen due to sheer terror. His eyes were so cold and unforgiving, I couldn't speak for a while. I finally gathered my courage and pointed out the fourth vow. 'The fourth vow says that there is no deadline for this deal to be completed.' The devil's eyes went pitch black, and he laughed. 'Clever mortal! You actually read the terms and conditions!' screamed the devil in joy. I didn't get it. Why was he so happy?
After wiping tears of joy off his cheeks, the devil whispered, 'Darling child, I am sorry to say that the contract does not say anything about the order of who is receiving from who. I can do anything I want.' My heart dropped. The devil's laughter filled my ears as he took my existence from this world.
'You tried to outsmart me, but I am the devil. The contract doesnt mean anything and means something at the same time. I can do anything before God finds me. Now, you can suffer alone until I decide to find you again!'
Then he was gone. I was still here, sitting on my living room carpet. I couldn't believe that I was trying to reason with the devil. I should have left when I could have. I was hungry but everything slipped through my hands. I was an invisible ghost, stuck in this matrix forever.
Happiness doesn't mean anything if you are nonexistent. | 2016-10-14T04:15:11 | 2016-10-14T04:00:42 | 103 | 22 |
[WP] The Greek god Apollo has fallen in love with you, remembering how his previous relationships went, he’s decided ask Zeus to make you a minor god so that you don’t bite the dust. | “Pols?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you understand why I am absolutely, truly, fucking INCOMPREHENSIBLY pissed at you right now?”
“Is it, um. Is it ‘cause my step-mom turned you into the goddess of baked potatoes?”
I smiled a livid, slightly deranged smile.
“Hey, you figured it out. Now FUCKING FIX ME!”
This was not what I signed up for. This was not even CLOSE to what I signed up for. I signed up for sexy Greek boyfriend with the surfer tan and the perfect hair. I signed up for drinking a sex on the beach, then having sex on the beach. Hell, I was even ready to sign up for sexy Greek husband.
I did NOT sign up for an eternity smelling and tasting nothing but Baked. Goddamn. Potatoes.
“I don’t think I can?” He replied, somehow more of a question than an answer. “Dad’s the only one who knows how to make mortals - sorry, normal people - into...whatever we are. Or at least I thought so. Guess Hera figured it out.”
“You GUESS?!” I shrieked, conjuring a great sloppy potato between my hands and launching it into his face with an epic goosh of sour cream.
Oh yeah, I can summon them, now. Every little girl’s dream superpower. Make baked potatoes slightly faster.
“When you pitched this to me back in Vancouver, you seemed pretty freaking certain!”
“I...I’m sorry, Cassidy,” he mumbled, downcast, as bits of potato and cream slid down his face. “I just...I don’t know. I wanted this to work so bad and I already talked to Dad and I thought we had a plan and that it was all going to be smooth but when we got here and Hera KNEW, she already KNEW that I was gonna...that we...”
He trailed off, slumping into the creaky wooden chair in the corner of the hotel room.
“I dunno. I fucked up. Maybe Dad got drunk and told her. I dunno.”
My heart sank. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Cass had read every myth about her boyfriend’s family in the six months since he told her; maybe this wasn’t what she signed up for, but she knew the risks coming to meet them. They were not a...stable bunch.
“No,” she sighed, all the rage seeming to drain out of her like air out of a balloon. “No, you didn’t. You did your best. Because you love me. I know that.”
She grabbed a towel from the shelf and knelt down beside him to start mopping the potato and cream off his face.
It might not be what she signed up for, but she could learn to live with it. She would miss the taste of, truly, ANYTHING else, but if that was the price of an endless lifetime with her Pols?
Well, she’d sign up for that.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said gently, trying not to get any more cheese in his hair. “Together.”
He hugged her awkwardly through the towel, mostly just holding her head.
“I’ll fix this, I promise,” he whispered. “Somehow. I’ll find a way.”
“Ugh. Can we skip the lovey dovey part?”
Cass blinked in total surprise. Not only was that a third voice, but it was coming from the window - the one that looked directly out over a cliff into the sea.
A long-limbed woman unfolded herself from where she’d perched on the sill, and Cass only felt her shock grow as the newcomer came into the light. She looked EXACTLY like Pols. Way too much for comfort.
Which meant that she had to be...
“Artemis?” Apollo asked, sounding as shocked as I was. “Why—? When—? What the FUCK?”
“Save it, Sunshine. I heard what mommy dearest did to your girlfriend. I’m here for her, not you.”
She looked straight at me, stretching out a hand.
“So, Potato Girl. Ready to take down the Queen Bitch of the Universe?” | As I was approached by a man claiming to be Apollo, at first I was scared because a crazy man was talking to me, then he pricked his thumb and the blood was gold, and that scared me more. Then he said that he would like to go out with on a few dates. I was not opposed to the idea but was still trying to comprehend the existence of gods. I screamed for three hours. Then I realized that if Apollo had wanted to date me, then I was in trouble. Turning into a plant wasn't an option, and I don't live near a cliff. Good thing I have sharp things, right? Nope, my wrist was slit and thirty minutes later I am still oozing golden blood. I refuse to go to anything related to Apollo, but I kind of would like a doctor now. So maybe I won't be noticed in the hospital? Who am I kidding, a guy walks in with a slit wrist, golden blood, and is just calm, yeah if I go outside I am going to be noticed.
What am I even the God of? It's been a few weeks since I came to terms with everything. I have a healthy relationship with Apollo, live on Olympus, and am immortal. But apparently still have to work in some way, so I am now the God of menial office work. It's more fun if people don't know that though. | 2020-09-21T12:06:03 | 2020-09-21T11:58:19 | 121 | 16 |
[WP] The city hired your company to clean up an old lake just outside of town. At the bottom you find the body of a woman with her ankle handcuffed to a cement block- presumably a mob killing. You pull the body out of the water and it starts coughing. She's alive.
EDIT: **WOW** thanks for all the great responses! This is my first prompt and I'm so glad that people liked it! | Something was lodged in the net and I was straining to pull it up. It wouldn't have been so bad if big Alan was here. Company cut backs meant we were sent out solo for more and more jobs. Pay was the same but we had to work twice as hard, typical. This part of the park was like a valley, steep banks bordered the perimeter of the lake. Probably what made it so easy for hooligans to fill it up with shopping trolleys and lucozade bottles.
The park outside was lovely, but all I could see from down here were the mossy iris of banks, dark clouds looming over the top of them, and the stench of old wet rubbish. It was darker down here too and the water was black without the sunlight. Because the truck couldn't get down the banks I was having to fill up a tarpaulin to winch up. The blue tarp was almost completely covered in a brown mush of newspapers, plastic food containers, magazines, rotting animals and decaying leaves. I heard a rattle and looked to the far end of the lake in time to see a duck coughing up a used condom. Sweat pulsed onto my forehead. I dug my boots into the mud and pulled the wooden handle of my net with all my strength. Whatever it was was slowly emerging from the bowels of the water. At first a bundle of breeze blocks crested through the surface and I was able to heave them into my hands. But something was tied to those.
“What kind of idiot...” I muttered. Then I saw it, and froze completely. Tied to the other end of the rope was a pair of women's ankles. With one final jerk I sent the body sloshing onto the mud of the bank. She was face down. From what I could see of her she looked to be a slim young woman. Bile was rising up in my throat and my hands were trembling on the rope. Before I could fight it, I vomited with just enough time to turn towards the water. The stream struck a passing duck squarely in its face.
“S... Sorry Mr Ducky.” I stammered, then collapsed onto the bank. I tugged my phone from my pocket. My hands were shaking so much I could hardly operate it. The line was dead any way. There was no reception. The thought struck me that just a few feet away was a dead body and I felt too dizzy to stand up. Alone at the bottom of the pit I felt vulnerable and lost. Before I went up the bank, I decided to pause and breath for a few moments. I focused on my chest. Inhale. Exhale. My hands steadied. Then a hand snapped over my shoulder.
The fingers were ice. A shiver shot through my skin. Standing over me was the woman, a black weave of hair tumbled over her gray flesh. I wanted to run but I was too terrified to think.
“Allow me to greet you in the customary fashion,” she said and coughed a sludge of putrid pond water across my face “sorry Mr Pond Cleaner.” The water smelled of old eggs.
“You... but... how?”
“I have been cursed to lie at the bottom of this lake for one thousand years. Until a brave cleaner rescues me.”
“This doesn't make any sense. It's not...” I leaped to my feet and ran towards the bank.
“Wait!” She said. I turned back. “Before you go, there's something I want to show you. Please, it will take just a minute of your time.” She stretched her hand out towards me. | There she was, drenched in water, laying on the ground. Millions of questions rushed through my head. Am i in trouble? Who else saw me? Who is she?
"Worry not, mere mortal, there is nothing to be afraid of now". Million of.... Voices overtook all my thoughts I had. "I am Mortima, i have been stuck on this lake hundreds of years. They called me "Witch". Quite.... Funny actually."
"What... Who... HOW?!" I stammered, looking at the woman as she rises up in no way a human should.
"Worry not, you will understand soon, my child." she said calmly, her eyes pierced into my soul and I could even feel it burn deep inside.
Before I could speak another word she vanished, but what scared me the most were her last words "We will meet again and you will see all that was meant. "
Note of "author" :
Never done this, got bored so did a quickie.
FEEDBACK IS VERY WELCOMING.
Also phone reddit is not a great tool for this. | 2019-11-15T07:31:11 | 2019-11-15T05:55:26 | 61 | 29 |
[WP] You see a spider run across the floor and run under a couch cushion. you lift up the cushion and see the spider along with a $20 bill and a note saying "Rent Money" | "Huh..." I declared, more to convince myself I hadn't dozed off in front of the computer again. Yep, that was a $20 under one of the spider's hairy front legs, as the other pushed the scrap of paper towards me. A brief smile curved my lips as revelation struck me. This wasn't a spider, this was some kind of remote control toy, and eventually someone would knock on my door with a shit eating grin and a device in their hand.
"This is a hell of a thing..." I murmured, reaching out for the spider, before instinctively pulling my hand away as it reared back in an obvious threat posture. I couldn't quite tell what type it was, but it was big and those fangs didn't look like they tickled.
"You're... real?" I murmured.
A slight bounce on splayed legs as it lowered the threat posture... tap tap on the paper with that front leg.
"I really need to quit drinking." I told myself even as I took it up. The spider made to rear back again, before settling as it seemingly realized I had no intention of molesting it again. I don't know what I was expecting. Some scrawly approximation of english? Some flowery, barely legible calligraphy? Neither of these, it turns out, as my eyes met with an angular, distinctly *utalitarian* scripting.
*'Hello.*
*Am stay titan den. No hurt.*
*Titan no give hurt to* (A shape I don't recognize)*. Give titan-treasure. More soon.'*
I sat there again for a minute, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the whole thing. A mad kind of acceptance suddenly overtook me. Why the hell not? The spider had already proven itself a more reliable roommate than the 'artist' I had summarily ejected by collar and belt the week prior after a series of infuriating infractions against basic human decency.
"Alright, you have yourself a deal." I near-laughed, picking up the money and pocketing it. "What's your name anyway?"
The spider bounced briefly, before skittering away behind my desk, coming back with a fragment of broken pencil, clearly what it had written the note with previously. I handed back the scrap of paper, watching with growing sympathy as the spider laboriously dragged the pencil-tip across its surface.
"I might have a better idea." I offered, heading into the office to grab my tablet, starting up the notepad app and setting it on the cushion before the spider.
"Can you see the keyboard? Try stepping on the letters."
The spider slowly, almost hesitantly placed a leg upon one of the keys
*a*
Bounce bounce... skitter skitter...
*Hard-bright, hurt eyes, but easier than wood-mark.*
"Here..." I began, carefully reaching for the tablet and slowly angling it, allowing the spider to leave its surface before turning the brightness and blue-light down, and replacing it on the cushion.
*Less-hurt, thank.*
I rubbed my forehead in sheer incredulity. "What a fucking thing."
*what mean*
"You'll have plenty of time to learn swears later." I laughed. "But you were going to tell me your name."
*night-sky-bright-circle*
"Do you mean the moon?"
*what mean*
"Here..." I explained, crossing to my desk and doing a quick internet search before turning the monitor towards the couch.
*yes*
"So in my language, your name would be moon."
*no like*
"Me either." I admitted, thinking for a moment. "There are other words for it, some people call it Luna."
*like*
"Me too. Glad to meet you, Luna. Gimme a yell if you need a hand catching cockroaches, lord knows there's enough of the bastards."
bounce bounce... *like*
\---
"Well that was thoroughly enjoyable..." I sighed, relaxing into the mattress as my partner for the evening giggled, giving me a brief kiss as she rolled off me. She threw on my discarded shirt in an inexplicable show of modesty, considering what we had just spent the last hour and a half doing.
"I'm just going to grab a drink." She explained, throwing me a coquettish look over her shoulder. She looked good and she knew it.
"Help yourself." I offered magnanimously, putting my hands behind my head. Neither of us were tired yet, I knew it, and I relished in the fantasy of what the rest of the night promi...
"EEEEEEEEEK!"
I sat bolt upright, clambering into my boxers as I hopped towards the fridge. "What happened? Is everything alr..."
WHACK!
"I suppose you think that's funny? Go fuck yourself." My partner seethed as I rubbed the stinging left side of my face, slack-jawed and uncomprehending as she scooped up her things and stormed out of the apartment.
"I liked that shirt!" I replied dumbly to the closed door. "Now what in the hell could have..."
I paused as I saw Luna sitting menacingly on the tablet, and written large underneath her...
*WHAT* SHE *DOING HERE* | Alison's heart missed a beat when she saw the large hairy spider run across the floor. She tried stomping on it before it could hide, lurking to bite her when she was least expecting it. Maybe that wasn't true, but spiders terrified her ever since her friend had been bitten by a brown recluse. Luckily they were able to treat the bite in time, but the wound and agony, no thank you.
"Crap!" Alison shouted when it switched directions causing her foot to miss by inches.
Before she could try again, it had dove into the couch cushions. For a moment she was torn, should she risk it by checking the couch or wait for a better opportunity? Getting a hotel and calling the exterminator also seemed like a good idea, but that would cost too much.
With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she lifted the cushion and screamed. The thing had one of its legs poised in the air like it was... like it was waving? "What the hell?" she asked herself. That behavior was too creepy.
As if it understood her, it took that leg and pointed to the Hershey's wrapper that had somehow gotten trapped there.
_Hi, I need a place to stay for a little while. The rent money is below. I promise I don't bite. Well, that's not true, but I won't bite the landlord. Promise. -Arachne_
Somehow the spider had written on the dark wrapper with its silk. Thick enough to be visible from where she stood. "No! Absolutely not." Alison screamed at the spider before reaching for her slipper.
The spider waved both of its front legs before flipping over the wrapper and showing the $20. "This is a nightmare. I just need to wake-up now." Alsion mumbled to herself. Her panic slowly turning into delirium.
Before she could recover, the spider hopped off the couch and scurried into the closet.
xvxvxvxvxv
"I don't believe you." Jessica said once Alison had finished.
"I'm serious, the d*mn thing still lives in my house and every month it leaves a $20 under my couch cushion."
"So where does it get the money?"
"I have no idea, at first I thought it was stealing mine so I stopped bringing cash in the house. But that didn't stop it from paying."
"So I tell you about my roommate from hell and you make-up some wild tale. That hardly seems fair."
Alison sighed, no one ever believed her and thankfully she almost never saw it so it wasn't like she could prove it. "Whatever, let's just find our seats."
r/AurumArgenteus
" | 2022-02-06T23:40:35 | 2022-02-06T21:54:00 | 112 | 54 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "IÄ! IÄ!" the masked priest cried, lifting the sinuous dagger above his head. "SHUB-NIGGURATH! THE BLACK GOAT OF THE THOUSAND YOUNG, COME TO FEAST!"
The woman next to Jon tried to scream through her gag as the knife plunged into her breast once, twice. Then she lay still, her eyes full of tears but slowly going dull.
In the far distance, beyond curves of space and time unknown to man, there came a grunting and rumbling, as if formless beasts were somehow lumbering closer.
Jon would have yawned, if his mouth had been free.
"Do you hear?" the priest asked, leaning close to Jon. His eyes had the fevered gleam of mania in them. His scraggly beard tickled Jon's face as the priest leaned in even closer. "Our Mother comes. She shall tonight feast upon the cooling corpse of your friend, as you watch. Then, in the most exquisite depths of your madness, she shall take from you the seed which shall birth a new race of abominations, who shall devour you, their progenitor, as their first act of unlife in this pitiful reality!"
Jon worked the gag in his mouth and loosened it to the point where he could say, muffled though, "I don't know her."
"What's that?" the priest asked, loosening the gag even more.
"I said, I don't know her."
"But... on the bridge... we took the two of you..."
Jon sighed. "I was going to jump off the bridge and end my miserable life. I've got terminal brain cancer. Inoperable. My parents died last week in a car crash, and my father's girlfriend has a will that leaves everything to her. I'm broke. My girlfriend broke up with me because she can't deal with the cancer. I have no children. I hate my job. I hate my life. I have nothing to live for, and so I was just going to end it on my terms when that do-gooder you just sliced tried to talk me out of it. Your goons grabbed us as I was about to jump."
"So, er," the priest mumbled. "You do not care if you die in horrible, maddening agony?"
"I fucking welcome it, mate," Jon replied. "You say that these spawn of your goat whore mother will devour the world, ending it in an apocalypse of flame and blood?"
"Well, not in so many words. *Die Vermiis Mysteriis* is rather unclear on that point, but we take as an article of faith that the apocalypse will be..."
"Fucking Christ, you're like cosmic Mormons," Jon muttered. "Can you just fucking kill me, if you're going to prattle on about your fucked-up theology?"
"Mock me, will you?" the priest cried, standing back and flinging an arm out. "Then behold! Shub-Niggurath approaches! Gaze into her thousand eyes and know true horror!"
"It'll be remarkable to feel something, finally," Jon said, struggling against his bonds to turn and look at the horror out of darkness approaching him. Words could not describe it, for the qualities and properties of the earthly realms do not apply to the elder ones from beyond time and space. A maw opened, or perhaps it is more correct to saw, several maws stretching across infinite universes opened, and from them came a keening wail and the carrion stench of death's promise.
"At last," Jon breathed. "Come on then, get to it."
"Do you not see her squamous bulk? Her gibbous, maddening form?" the priest cackled. "How can one mind endure?" He ripped at his clothing and face with yellowed, cracked nails.
"Because," Jon said, closing his eyes. "I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuck." | Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T07:40:26 | 2017-05-05T05:28:24 | 172 | 14 |
[WP] After God has decided to reveal himself to the world, he ranked every human according to how vital their existence is for mankind. While everyone you know has a blurry mess of shifting numerical digits up in the millions and billions, you are ranked number 6, despite being completely average. | I woke up that fateful day to see my wife sleeping next to me, with the number 1,492,316 above her head. I slipped out of bed to brush my teeth, and saw a 6 floating over my head. "Hmm, wonder what that means," I murmured to my reflection as I washed my face. Ever since God started answering prayers again, things had been kind of weird around here. You never knew when it would start raining frogs. On the other hand, wine was dirt cheap now, so everyone was happy (except for the vineyard owners).
As I drove to work, I saw people in their cars around me, all with numbers over their heads. When I got to work, my boss greeted me. "Hey Mark, how are you?" He had 4,204,399 above his head. "Wow! You're a 6? Seriously?" His beady eyes flicked around the room, looking at everyone else's numbers. I looked around too. Everyone else had numbers in the millions and billions.
"Yeah, I just woke up with this number over my head. What does it mean?"
"Don't you read the newspaper?" My boss dragged me over to the waiting room, where a copy of the New York Times was lying on the table. On the front page, in bold letters, it read, "GOD JUDGES HUMANITY - IMPORTANCE OF EACH PERSON QUANTIFIED." I skimmed it quickly. It seemed that the lower each person was, the more important they were in God's eyes.
I put down the paper. "There must be some mistake," I stammered. "I'm no one special."
My boss clapped me on my shoulder. "Well, seems you're special to God! This will be great publicity!" He bustled over to one of the interns, to talk to him about setting up a sign advertising that we employed ... well, me.
I called my wife. "Honey, have you heard about this numbering thing?"
"Yes, I just woke up," she said. "Seems sort of strange to me. I'm almost 1.5 million; what are you?"
"I'm 6."
The line was silent for a while. Finally, she said, "You're 6? No offense, honey, but... Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are."
"Well, if you're 6, you should go talk to God after work! Now that he's answering prayers concretely, I'm sure he'll tell you what's going on. After all, you're number 6."
I didn't have the patience to wait until after work. During my lunch break, I went to the bathroom and started praying. "Dear God. Sorry to bother you, but uh, I wanted to ask you... Why 6? I mean, why am I so important?"
God replied in a quiet voice that echoed inside my head. "My son, have you not heard that it is the meek who will inherit the earth? You are extraordinary in your ordinariness. You live with your wife, trying to do right by your neighbors and fellow people. You show your neighbors what it means to be human."
I was quiet for a second. "Thank you, God. If I may be so bold as to ask... Who is number 1, then?"
God laughed, a gentle sound that sent my spirits soaring. "There is this person who spends her time posting videos of her cats online. They are so adorable! Her videos help people to love their fellow animals."
I thought about it. "Are you sure it's not just because you're a huge fan?"
I felt a wave of love wash over me. "Well, if I am, there's no harm in that, is there?"
/r/AndaPandaWrites | The year was 1904, i was a young boy, merely 15 when God revealed himself. I still remember the pain and confusion I felt.
"6?" I cried, "I am only a boy! Why have you burdened me with this knowledge?"
"Because you my son, are the most important boy on the face of the planet. Maybe not now but certainly one day."
For years i wondered about my purpose, even when i went through war for my country I tried to comprehend what he had ranked me as. Soon my confusion was replaced with my need to prove that I truly deserved number 6. Luckily for me WW1 had just ended and my political career had just begun. I hoped to do many things, some good and some bad. It was only when I started WW2 that I realised what God had meant that day when he ranked me as number 6. He sure is a cruel, sick man. But so am i. I still don't know what the future holds for me, but one thing is for certain. I am number 6 and i deserve that goddamn place and i will do whatever it takes to prove it. Including starting my own society and becoming a God to them.
\- Excerpt from "Mein Kampf" in an alternate universe. | 2019-09-26T07:28:18 | 2019-09-26T07:24:24 | 585 | 143 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | I had lived for 8 star-cycles when I first learned to Farstep. By 10, I had earned my Intercity Teleportation license; by 15, my Interplanetary.
While similar, the magic used for a Farstep is actually not the same as a Teleport. Farsteps use corporeal magic, which means I can go a short ways - as far as I have energy for - in the blink of an eye. The most portly Sages are renowned for their ability to Farstep further than anyone - my tutor was the first Sage to step halfway around the world, a thousand star-cycles ago.
Teleports are used for those that have a bit more time or distance to travel, and want to conserve energy. Using symbolic drawings, gestures, and a spell, we can use the ethereal magic of the universe to fuel a much further Teleport (or "leap")... basically anywhere we want.
Sages are our great explorers and discoverers. The Thirteen Great Sages are the first thirteen to discover and use the teleportation spell to travel between planets. Each of them went to another planet in our star-group in search of land and food, planets better suited for growing crops than our mostly dry and ever more populated planet. Of the Thirteen, four returned; of them, two told of planets where life could grow unbound. A planet of food to feed a planet of people.
We discovered more planets since then, and more spells, so fewer Sages risk their lives. There is still the occasional Sage that leaps into a volcano or finds themselves caught in a gaseous planet with no way to leap back; but if there is no atmosphere, we create one. If there is no water, we irrigate it from a planet drowning in water. More planets, more people, more food. We are ever growing.
The first native aliens we ran into had yet to discover any spells, so we taught them. Few other species had discovered Leaping, and none had needed to do Interplanetary Leaps to save their people. Until we met the Terrans.
Terrans, self-labeled as "humans", had discovered powerful magics that put our Sages to shame. World-ending magics. They could perform an intergalactic leap with no preparation, just a press and a click. Interplanetary blinks that took no energy from the user. We wanted to learn from them; we wanted them to join our folds.
What fools we were.
Humans were also ever-growing, and very proud. If they weren't at the top, they might as well have been at the bottom. Those that wanted to learn our magic went insane trying to understand it until they gave up, deciding to just use their familiar magic. They had an answer to everything - for a fingerspark, a "lighter". For farspeak, a "radio". Tools imbued with magic that any of them could use - something we had never accomplished. Every magic and magic artifact we had took study and mastery before using it could become so second-nature.
Though they almost never used magic of their own, humans saw our magic as a threat - undetectable power that could be turned against them at any time. And because they felt threatened, their great magics became our greatest fears. I've lost friends to a human who didn't understand they were trying to form a telekinetic bond with it, taking it as a threat. We tried scaring them away once, attacking their floating fortress. They responded by leveling a city. My tutor was one who led the attack on the fortress, and was in the city where he perished with so, so many others. One of the greatest Sages of all time, extinguished in an instant.
I'm in my 25th star-cycle now. That attack was three days ago. I don't know what's going to happen next, but I fear we're going to need a new planet by the time the humans are done with us. | 200 years ago, humanity discovered that the new elemental material, Unductindenium, could be refined into a light warping spacecraft shell, allowing humans to travel faster than initially thought, by transferring energy that was being carried by quantum particles, we could now bend physics to our will.
And at first this was amazing, allowing humans to colonize other planets, make incredible strides in scientific fields, and even encounter alien races!
And now in modern days, humans are on the brink of conquering the entire Milky Way, all because of one simple thing, gold.
You see, gold has a certain property that allows it to absorb and destroy the substance known as elementite, the fuel for any elemental magic. Gold can absorb all elementite within a 100km radius. So humans have just been deploying soldiers on every planet across the Milky Way, setting up gold beckons every 100km apart, pretty much rendering every magic wielding alien useless.
They tried to fight back with magic when we started our attack, and we didn’t know that gold had these property’s. Thank goodness for the bank transfers that occurred, otherwise we never would’ve learned.
As of this moment, all magic in the Milky Way has been absorbed and destroyed. We’ve landed on every planet. And our assault on the andromeda system will begin shortly. | 2019-01-18T12:49:38 | 2019-01-18T10:08:27 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | I looked at the man in the cage. He looked young. No one could’ve guessed that he had been here for close to two hundred years.
He lit a match and looked at the fire till it reached and scalded his fingers. He had always been fascinated by fire.
“Ray? You doing ok? You need anything.”
He smiled at me. “No thanks, Ryan. I’m good.”
Once again I was stuck by the simplicity and the happiness behind that smile. Here was someone living such a tough life and he was still smiling. His smile was infectious too as I found myself returning it.
“Let me know if you need any new books or…”
The smile was gone. There was an emotion there that I had never seen before. Fear.
He bent down, putting his ear to the ground.
“Ryan. There’s something wrong. Something’s coming.”
“What?”
“I can’t say yet. Our world. It’s in danger.”
And those simple words are what began humanity’s spiral towards destruction never seen before.
He hadn’t been wrong, of course. The world’s end was close. But despite his name, he wasn’t the one causing it. He was just the messenger.
The creatures started showing up randomly from inside the earth’s crust. They were indestructible. We threw everything at them. They brushed it off and continued their path of destruction.
And through it all I, Ryan Guardsman, saw Ray get sicker. I saw his pain.
“Ray! Tell me what I can do to help!”
He smiled at me. But this smile was weak and forced. “My roots run deep into the earth, Ryan. I can feel every fight over there.”
He pointed to a scar and continued. “Most recent one. I think you guys threw some sort of an explosive at them.”
“Nothing works against them. What are they?”
“I’m not entirely sure either. For all my connection to the earth I can’t see past a certain point. It’s a bit blurry. My best guess so far is that earth was created as a prison for these things. We, humans, just happened accidentally.”
“So how do you stop them?”
“We can’t. Unless…”
He looked at his hands as another scar magically appeared.
*****
I ran to my boss who took my idea to his boss and this went on further up the chain to whoever was really at the top.
For humanity to survive, the world had to end.
*****
Evacuations started immediately. The destination was still unknown but Ray had given us some pointers. He had been able to glean some more information about who trapped these monsters here, banishing them from their world. He pointed us in their general direction. The rest was up to fate.
Our hope was that beings these advanced would be able to see us coming and guide us.
Our biggest hope was that they would be merciful.
*****
I opened the cage lock.
He looked at me and hesitated.
“Ray. It’s ok.”
He took his first steps since he was a kid a couple of centuries ago and saw the first glimpse of the outside world. The world he was part of more than any of us. The world he was fated to end.
We sat watching the sun go down, neither of us sure what to talk about.
All I knew was that I was at peace. I knew what I had to do. My fate had been sealed when I had been named.
******
He had requested that he be allowed to sleep and recharge. While he had been let out of the smaller cage he was now trapped on this bigger one called earth.
The evacuations continued.
He woke up 40 days and 40 nights later.
He had slept in the middle of the institute’s garden. The earth and the plants seemed to realize that he was one their own. Vines had quickly covered him giving him his own green blanket.
He got up and looked right at me.
“Ryan? Why are you still here?”
“Nobody should have to die alone.”
“No! You have to go.”
“My purpose is here. I’m here to guard you. If you’re not there, what do i guard? I made this for you.”
I threw an arrangement of flowers towards him. I had intended it as a garland, but it had come out looking more like a wreath.
Appropriate I supposed.
“Thank you.” He smiled at me. A calm, peaceful smile this time. “What starts must always end.”
“So how do you do this?”
“I don’t have to do anything. I just think. The world will do it for me. These earth’s core was meant as an explosive to destroy them if they ever moved. But since so much time has passed they need a bit of a spark. That’s all I have to do.”
With his fingers, he dug a small hole in the ground. He lit a match and stuck it inside the hole. He covered it like one would a seed.
He poured his glass of water on top and smiled at me again. “It’s done.”
“And now?”
“Now we sit back and watch the sun set.” | “Hey Mike Murderer”, Winston said with a sigh as he entered the wooden cabin.
“Hey! Back already? Did they even let you in the town this time?”, Mike said. Mike sat up on his dusty, worn out floor mat, which he used as a bed.
“Nobody recognized me until I was looking at the chess pieces, then they found out I was Winston Worldender and threw me out”, Winston said as he sat on his own mat. “I really wanted to get the new chess pieces. I hear in the latest balance change they released the Rook piece to counter the over powered Bishop they released a while back.”
The cabin they were in barely contained the 3 beds and a fire pit used for cooking.
“Oh man it took them this long to fix the game?” Mike said surprised. “Daryl Developer really doesn’t know what he’s doing!”
“Because the Oracle name assignments mean nothing! A society that gives names to determine professions at birth? That’s nonsense!” Winston exclaimed, now finding himself giving a passionate speech. “I know you Mike. You’re the nicest guy! It’s not even possible for you to kill anything! And me? World ender?! Come on! How am I supposed to end the world?!”
“Do you think the townspeople will believe that?” Mike is now laughing. “Although I am thankful that our names brought us together. Without you and Andy Arsonist I would be all alone.”
“I'm glad we found each other too. But we deserve to be treated like humans god dammit”, “ Winston slammed his first on the ground. “Do you know who controls the Oracle?”
“Not this conspiracy again. I’m sure it’s all random and we were just unlucky”
“No, I think that fool in the castle determines our names.” Winston says as he looks out the cabin's small window. “He uses it to control society and if something goes wrong he has us as a scapegoat!”
In the distance lies a town within a valley. In the center of the town is a large castle overlooking the city.
“Even if Ronald Ruler did rig the Oracle. What can you do? Everyone supports him and is terrified of you”
“You know I’m starting to think my namesake prophecy may be true, I’ll be the one to end Ronald’s world” | 2021-06-19T17:55:46 | 2021-06-19T17:26:49 | 616 | 400 |
[WP] You are a witch who offers couples deals in return for their first born child. You run an orphanage full of children freed from their would-be parents irresponsible enough to make a deal with a witch in the woods |
The townsfolk for miles around had always called what the old witch was doing dark magic. I mean, for what other purpose would she be collecting children in the shadows of the dark forest.
In all honesty, she preferred the rumors. After all the parents who offered up their children to a witch practicing dark magic were the parents she was trying to save children from in the first place.
Agnes however, knew nothing of dark magic. In fact, she knew no magic at all. Luckily, using some basic chemistry, the aid of the 40 children who lived in her orphanage, and just a smidge of opportune timing, she was able to exploit the superstitions and general lack of intelligence of the townsfolk to keep the rumors of “dark magic” flowing steadily.
At this point her and the children had their routine down perfectly: wild cackles seemingly coming from everywhere, combustion reactions perfectly in time with a few theatrical gestures, and ,like any decent parental figure should, she allowed the children some creative license as well. All in all, they all quite enjoyed themselves during these productions.
She and the children had performed so many of these “sacrifices” as the townsfolk called them, that when the cloaked figure holding the swaddled-up babe began his own wild cackling after the latest explosion, Agnes found herself momentarily caught in a stunned silence.
“Truly marvelous, M’Lady!” the cloaked figure said during a momentary lapse in his laughter.
“Yes, yes,” muttered Agnes, trying to regain control of the situation. “The dark arts are as marvelous as they are dangerous, traveller, but I’m afraid I haven’t time to discuss things beyond your understanding. What do you seek in return for the babe?”
The man hardly seemed interested in Agnes’ words; his eyes continuously scanning the woods surrounding the clearing where they stood.
“I fear that we’re not alone Madam witch,” said the man with absolutely no fear. “No matter. No fool would dare ambush a powerful mage of chaos such as yourself. Now… where were we? Ah yes, our deal.”
Silence replaced the cackles and rustling undergrowth the children typically created. Clearly they felt the same uneasiness that had filled Agnes the moment the man laughed where others typically cowered.
“Yes, our deal. What exactly is it you’d like? Perhaps an enemy struck down. Ah, or maybe power beyond your wildest dreams.” Agnes ventured carefully.
The man dismissed these suggestions with a simple wave of his hand. “Oh no, nothing of the sort. In fact I want something much simpler.”
“And what then is the desire of such a humble man?”
“I want in.”
Clearly the look on Agnes’ face betrayed her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”
“I think you do Agnes. I want in on this little operation you’re running. Saving children from their moronic, good-for-nothing parents. I mean it’s amazing. The theatrics of it all!”
“Um, thank you” said Agnes with a great deal of uncertainty. She was however, certain that the charade was up. She abandoned her hunched posture and the gravelly, ghoulish voice she used. “But I’m not entirely sure what you mean by ‘you want in’.”
“No, no thank you,” said the man with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “You see, I myself was the child of idiotic parents, but as my village had no witch to sacrifice children to, they simply abandoned me. More trouble than they needed, they said. So you see, I’m here to help you expand, Agnes! We can have witches saving children in every forest from here to the coast! Orphanages rescuing children from abandonment. Teaching them to understand science and truth rather than superstitious nonsense. Just imagine it Agnes, a whole generation saved by some theatrics and just a little magic.”
Would love any feedback and critiques you guys have!
Thanks for reading! | I am not a bad witch, but I am not necessarily a good witch either. I simply provide a service, and in turn I claim my reward. I do not take advantage of these irresponsible people; however, I do feel pity towards their offspring. Or rather, their would-be-offspring. Love is a fickle thing, and I noticed over my many years how absolutely foolish it makes these mortals. They will do anything for love, even give up their first born child when my spell does it’s work. Their children... *my* children, are cared for and given to parents that truly want them, and deserve them. These people who come to me for love would never have loved anyone other than the man or woman they have me put a spell on, so I am taking this burden of a child they do not want off of their shoulders. In fact, I am saving the world from a potential villainous arc being given the opportunity to flourish under a loveless childhood. My orphanage provides a place to teach my children the ways of incantation, potion brewing, and many other useful magical things until they are of age to be eligible for adoption to a deserving parent. I have learned that love does many odd things to the mortals, but it also tends to make me soft. I love my children, I am sad to see them go, but I am happy they will be cherished. I am not a bad witch, but maybe I can be a good one. | 2020-01-14T13:39:59 | 2020-01-14T13:36:33 | 69 | 14 |
[WP] The crew-member examines the now-empty, malfunctioning stasis-pod. The specimen is of a species that had spread to and became apex predator of every region on its homeworld. The captain must be warned, even though it's likely everyone on board is as good as dead already. The human has escaped. | "Damn!" Ixil looked at the remains of the stasis tube, still covered with a chilly mist. He turned to a nearby ensign. "Call the captain, sound general quarters, we need to get ready to fight!"
"What? What's going..."
*"Now!"*
Alarms began to sound as the ship roused itself to battle stations. Moments later, the captain was on deck with them.
"Alright, what's got your tail in a knot? Why are you waking up the whole ship over an escaped specimen?"
"Captain, this is no ordinary specimen. It's an intelligent species from a high-threat planet, and we were evaluating it as a potential battle thrall. It's aerobic chemistry is an order of magnitude more efficient than ours, with a corresponding increase in strength and speed. It also comes from a fifth-stage civilization, which means that it won't be surprised by advanced technology and it understands the concept of space travel, so we can't..."
"In plain Trade-tongue?"
Ixil shrugged. "Basically, imagine something as smart as you are, but twice as strong and fast. It just punched its way out of a stasis tube, it knows that it's on a spaceship, and it'll do whatever it takes to get home again."
"Alright, I get your drift. You want me to treat it like a hostile boarder, not an overgrown ape."
"Pretty much. If we get an armed response team ready and clear the ship top to bottom, we can probably take it down. It can't punch through armor and it dies to a laser like anything else. But if it catches you off guard, or you're not *wearing* armor, it'll pull your head clean off your shoulders before you can move."
The Captain gestured at his chest, with its conspicuous lack of body armor. "You do realize that this is an *Explorer-class* ship, right? We have *one* response team on the entire ship and they double as our Enviro research team. The last time they fired their lasers was back at the Academy."
"I know that. And I told Warlord Tress that we weren't equipped for this mission, and he said to do it anyway."
"Of course he did. If something goes wrong, he'll just blame the Xenology Department."
The captain lashed his tail and strode to a nearby console. "Well, too late to complain. All hands. Secure hatches, shelter in place, and call out any intruders. Response Team 1, begin search pattern on the Cargo Deck. Target is a two-meter bipedal mammal with pale skin. Engineering, stand by to vent internal atmosphere if necessary."
He turned back to Ixil. "If it comes down to it, we can just seal off his compartment and vent the air. This monster of yours still needs to breathe, right?"
"Yes. And its planet has more oxygen in its atmosphere than ours, so he's probably feeling pretty sluggish already. Unless it..."
A light blinked on the console. *Captain, this is Raptor 1. One of the emergency lockers has been opened. Looks like the intruder ripped apart one of the suits.*
"...unless it figures out how to use the emergency life support packs." Ixil sighed. "We are *so* dead." | “Physically she’s not the most intimidating but her main ability is her ability to think quickly. Unfortunately the one that has escaped was a Soldier before she was frozen so she will be far more dangerous then most humans. By no means should she be allowed to access our Laser Weapons as even if she does not have training in the use of our tech she’ll be able to figure it out quickly. Smaller groups of humans have been able to take out larger amounts of foes. If she escapes into the planet it could be years before she is tracked down. If we can Deny her water for at most fourteen twenty-four hour intervals she will die of dehydration. Good Luck Men, Captain Signing Off.”
When the announcement ceased on the set of Atomic Transmitters Lucy had taken from a dead Security Male, she readjusted her Laser Weapon and smiled. After all she loved a challenge. | 2018-07-31T16:36:31 | 2018-07-31T11:16:40 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] You were the world's best homicide detective. When you died, your cynicism got you sent to hell, but it turns out it’s not so bad. In fact, you and the devil become friends. Then, one day, he shows up at your place with disturbing news: “God is dead. I want you to find out who did it." | "I suppose I always thought you two were bound together somehow. If one dies, so does the other, y'know? I mean, you're the ultimate representation of duality--"
"Normally, you would be correct. At the end of all things, we would have both ascended to the next life. But His passing was...unnatural. Unusual."
I take a minute before responding. The revelation that God and Satan both could ascend to...somewhere...aside, the latter was now tasking me with finding out how the former died.
"Is there any knowledge as to how He died? Any witnesses, any evidence?" As I say the old script I realize how ridiculous I must sound, asking the Morning Star himself these questions as I would one of my old beat cops. Perhaps sensing my uncertainty, Lucifer measured his response carefully.
"All I know is that which I am told. And I am only told--by Gabriel himself, mind you--that He is dead. Gabriel refused to go into detail...pompous fool." Satan snorted derisively, putrid smoke billowing from his nose.
"So God--the maker of Heaven and Earth--omnipresent, omniscient, and all-powerful, is dead. Normally I'd go look at the crime scene, but..." My voice trails off as it dawns on me how little I can do.
"Fear not. With His death, certain rules can be...bent." A devilish grin, even by Lucifer's standards, crept slowly upon his face. "We of Hell may now pass into Heaven without being utterly destroyed. And so that is what you shall do. You shall go to Heaven and discover how He died."
I stand mouth agape in front of the ruler of Hell, astonished that he would task me with such a thing. For any being of Hell--be it one of the condemned like myself, a demon of any variety, or Lucifer himself--to enter Heaven was unprecedented, let alone after the death of God himself. And yet, unless I wanted to be thrown in the ocean of fire for a few millennia, that is what I now must do.
"Of course I shall do as you bid, but won't the angels and archangels interfere with my investigation?"
"I think not. I still feel them...they are as confused as I, and they seek answers as fervently as I. Go. Find Gabriel and Michael and help them discover how this has happened. Tell them I sent you personally if you must. And do NOT return until you have answers beyond any doubt." The look in Lucifer's eyes told me everything I needed to know about what would happen to me if my investigation was unsatisfactory. He's honestly a touch misunderstood in some ways, but his love of tormenting the souls of the damned is decidedly true.
"I will return with the answers you seek. The answers WE seek." I say this with a confidence I can barely fake, knowing I'm likely in for much, much worse than the ocean of fire upon my return should I fail.
"See that you do."
Those were the last words I heard before waking up in front of the most magnificent set of gates I've ever seen. | O mighty one dead,
How did this happen?
Who rules instead,
Osama Bin Laden?
It all started in Hell,
When he came to me,
Told me God had fell,
Who could it be?
It’s now my work,
I have to know,
Who was the jerk,
Who killed the show?
I asked the Devil,
He has no clue,
But Jesus is evil,
I asked him too.
But when he spoke,
He told me true,
For he was the killer,
And justice was due.
He killed a God,
He’s now in prison,
Stuck inside Hell,
Now the Devil has risen.
| 2018-05-03T17:19:37 | 2018-05-03T15:20:57 | 108 | 20 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | I got to my room, lungs burning as I ran the first floor. "It's all right Jack, you don't have to be afraid, you have done nothing wrong, everything will be all right." Said the calm voice of Professor X. Part of me immediately started to relax, but I could not slow down the heavy rapid breathing. I messed up, and people are hurt, dying, or dead. What is going to happen to me? Will they sedate me for the rest of my life or will they just get rid of me to stop others from getting hurt. Nothing can be done now, I need to get out.
I cannot safely chronolock the entire building. I might miss some parts, and get myself into further problems. No, only the professor knows, I will take him out of the time, escape and resume his time once I am safely away. I expand my mind and find his timeline and the tethers that bind him to it, I need to focus, to grab them all.
"Jack you need to stop right now, I want to help you." I hear again almost a pleading voice. "You are not a..." I will never find out, what I am not, at that point, I separated all of his tethers from his timeline. In the back of my mind, I can feel lit like a pull at one of my hairs. Good, now I just need to... A terrible scream cut through the house. I need to move NOW. I run out of my room into the hallways of the mansion, damn, DAMN, they were all so nice to me and I am hurting them. Tears are running down my face, I can barely see. All the other kids are leaving their rooms to see what is happening. I race down the stairs and see the screaming girl. Standing in front of the frozen professor and two halves of a body. One half, a midstep into the room I chronolocked. The other half cleanly separated, frozen mid-fall, where I locked it once I realized what I have done, the blood and organs already in a position that does not seem quite right. I feel nausea overwhelming me. I quickly consider locking the girl in time, but quickly reject it, rushing like this, I might hurt her, and the alarm has been raised anyway.
"You, stop right there!" I hear the rough voice aimed at me, Logan. "I am sorry" I cry as I keep running. I hear the heavy footsteps right behind me. Oh god, I need to stop him. I look around and focus on his tethers, as I do, I collide with someone in front of me, I panic and lock the tethers I got. "Fucking hell, what did you do." I fall to the ground and look in horror at Wolverine, claws extended as he tumbles around into the furniture, leaving his two legs locked in time behind him. He is bleeding and swearing. I concentrate again and the screaming stops. The pull at the back of my mind is becoming stronger.
I try to scramble up, but the man I collided with places a heavy furry blue hand on me. "Calm down boy, you need to calm down before you hurt yourself." Through tears and snot, I bark a laugh. People are dying he is worried about me? I need to get out NOW. I struggle to release myself off him. He holds me for a second but then let's go, perhaps a little worried as well.
I get to my feet and start running again. But halls are already full of people trying to see what is happening. I am pushing through, but feel hands trying to stop me. I concentrate, "no mistakes this time", I repeat like a mantra, and just keep locking people in around me. The pressure in my mind is becoming unbearable, I feel blood running out of my nose and ears. But I finally see the light of outside.
I exit the mansion. I am dizzy. I fall to my knees. I feel every single timelock as a nail being hammered into my brain. A gentle voice speaks behind me, it sounds sad "Jack please stop". I concentrate one last time. I know what I must do. I focus on one last timeline and with a jank snap it in half.
/\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*/
"Jean I am worried that this young man, might hurt himself if not handled carefully. He is so full of fear. Fear of rejection of himself and at this time of me as well. I hoped you could talk to him, perhaps he will respond better to you."
"Of course professor. But perhaps it is not going to be such a problem, he went to class today, and Kurt will certainly make him feel at home."
Having said this, Jean opened the doors. Professor saw the young troubled student standing in the middle of the room. The student looked at him, smiled for a moment and disappeared just as Jean crossed the threshold. And while the class applauded the newest student his successful teleportation. Professor's heart broke. | I haven't been here long at this school for gifted.
In fact, it's not really a school at all, it's a school for the mutant kind.
It's home to some of the famous students like, wolverine, Cyclops, storm and many others.
As for me, my power is I can freeze time, i tell people i can teleport, seems easier.
After getting in a fight with another student who was going to pyroblast me, I freezed time and walked away to a corridor and simply unfroze the spot, was kinda cool to watch him to blast the floor.
"I saw that" said a calm voice, I froze and turned around, it was professor xavior, i couldn't tell if he was angry or amused at me for what i did.
"Come to my office and let's talk" he calmly said.
We went to his office, and i sat down and he again calmly spoke.
"Now Aero, from what I was told you could teleport, but that's not the case is it?" He asked enquingly .
I was nervous, here's a guy who could read my mind and probs knew I was lying out my ass to save myself.
"Relax" he said, "in not going to invade your mind" he reassured, "i just like to know what I honestly saw".
I sighed " no use lying to you all people, I have the ability to freeze time" I shamefully replied.
"Freeze time?" He asked eye brow raised, "th at is no easy power to master" he said.
"I have my moments" I replied, it's handy to escape some situations"
"Come with me" he said encouragingly, "i want to see and help you with something" he said cheerfully.
We stood outside the office, every student was talking and teachers were busy helping people out.
He lent over to me and quietly goes " I want you to freeze everyone here in time, can you do that?" He asked suggestively.
I shrugged and went " I'll give it a go, just hold on"
I put a hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes and reached out to that spot where my power lied and felt a vibration happen.
I opened my eyes to see everyone frozen in time.
I've never done a mass time freeze before, certainly not to this degree.
"Oh my word aero, this is amazing" he exclaimed " how would you like private teachings to help you better use this power?" He asked
I looked at him and nodded my head " I'd love that " smilingly I replied.
"Wonderful, we start tomorrow" | 2020-07-15T05:54:34 | 2020-07-15T05:51:59 | 137 | 33 |
[WP] You are a villain, but you have standards: when lesser villains try to hurt your archnemesis' wife and kids, you show them why you are the biggest fish in town | Violet Shadow had never been so angry in her life. Sure, Steelstrike was a massive nuisance at best and a genuine threat at worst, but targeting his family was crossing a line.
It was bad enough that these new small time baddies were trying to muscle in on her turf. They probably thought all the stories about her powers and her ruthlessness were exaggerated since she was a slight woman in her late twenties. They were wrong. Violet had already planned to teach them a lesson. Finding out they were targeting Steelstrike’s wife and kids just forced her to move up her plans.
She’d known where her enemy lived for a long time. Had she wanted to utilize this same strategy the new guys were using, it would have been a piece of cake. But she had standards. She didn’t go after families or target innocent bystanders, especially children.
She opened a rift and stepped through, reappearing a moment later in Steelstrike’s living room.
His wife, Leila, stood with her back pressed against the wall in the corner of the room. Two children, neither older than seven or eight, cowered behind her. Three men surrounded them in a loose semicircle, all three dressed in black and armed to the teeth. The couch was between them and their target, but they had guns so it didn’t matter.
The three men looked like ex-military types. Big dudes. This was where Violet’s size became an advantage.
None of the goons had noticed her yet. Leila was looking in her general direction, but it was dark enough in the room that she might not have noticed anything.
Violet lunged, pulling shadows around herself to help hide her exact location. She pulled her knives from the waistband of her costume and rammed both of them into the back of the nearest goon’s neck.
The second man lunged at her, using his gun as a bludgeon due to the close proximity. She ducked the blow and stabbed both blades into his stomach.
There was less resistance than she expected. No bulletproof vest. Overconfident idiots.
She yanked one blade to the left and the other to the right, slicing the goon’s belly open, and then finished him off with a slash to the throat and moved to the last guy.
Said guy had his weapon trained squarely on her, so she pulled the shadows in more tightly around herself, effectively turning herself invisible. He started turning slowly, trying to figure out where she’d gone. She sauntered slowly toward him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her. She stopped in front of him, turned visible, and stabbed him in the eye.
“The Violet Shadow sends her regards,” she whispered, unable to resist the opportunity to be dramatic.
She then turned her attention to Leila and the kids. The kids were still hiding behind their mom. Violet could barely see them. Leila wore the look of someone expecting to die and determined to maintain her dignity to the last.
“What?” Violet asked her. “You think I saved you just so I could kill you myself?”
“Why did you?” Leila asked.
“Because I have standards. My issues are with your husband, not you or your kids.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Leila said, most definitely shocked and horrified. “But Dan can’t know about this, especially that you were here. He’ll completely panic.”
“I know,” Violet said. “We’ve been fighting for long enough that I know what kind of man he is. I can call in some people to help deal with the mess. They’ll make sure there’s no evidence of this. Your cover story will be entirely up to you.” | To anyone who believes that they can get their way by killing, stealing, or hurting others in any way, you're not a real villain. You're a cheap asshole. A real villain presents an argument for the hero. You have to be a foil for the hero, to make him question what's right and wrong. Be like me, I study philosophy for hours to make whoever I face baffled by my plans.
A true villain creates a morality scenario. Take something like the trolley question, it is basic, but it can be profound. This is where you get to discover who the hero really is. What makes him tick, what would he do if it was his damsel? There are many dilemmas out there to generate real problems with efficient answers that not only better you, but others as well.
Your schemes can pave the way for society to grow and flourish. Even when you take the L, at least you learn something. Simply killing your enemy's family is going to create further villains. As contrarians, we have to mock the heroes. To pull pranks on them, and afterward they facepalm and continue to make the world a better place for everyone. | 2022-09-27T17:31:13 | 2022-09-27T16:28:10 | 94 | 28 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | Elli was born without the names. Some people thought that she was blessed. She was not faced with knowing the name of the person who would kill her. Others believed it was a curse, some kind of disability. She had to admit that not having the names made her wonder if there *was* something wrong with her. Everyone has the names. So what does that mean about her? Will she never really be loved? Will she eventually become so lonely she'll just... kill *herself*?
That was what she believed until she met Brian. He was beautiful, smart, funny, and *he had her name*. He knew about her predicament, and didn't care. He loved her, even if it meant she'd never really be his.
Two years after dating, she accepted his marriage proposal. Their parents disagreed because of her "disfigurement", but it didn't matter. They were in absolute bliss. Through all the doubt, all the worry, she knew this was meant to be.
That was until two months before the wedding, when her mother burst into her home while Brian was away.
"You can't marry him!" Her mother yelled.
"We've talked about this, mom. He doesn't care that I don't have the names. We love each other!" Elli explained.
"I know he doesn't care, but you just can't marry him Elli! You can't! It's not meant to be!" She insisted.
"Then tell me why. Why can't you just let us be happy?"
Her mother sighed and sat down at their dining room table. It seemed as if she was struggling to find the words. "Your father and I... We were tortured by the names. We were happy that it allowed us to find each other but knowing the names of our killers... It tortured us, Elli. We wanted things to be different for you."
"What are you saying, mom?" She asked, panicked.
Her mother paused, looking at the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Elli demanded.
"We had them removed, Elli. People aren't supposed to know these things. We wanted life to be better for you."
Elli's mind went blank. She wasn't a freak. She wasn't disfigured. Her parents did this to her. Elli looked up, finally understanding what her mother was saying. "Did I have his name? Please tell me. Please tell me I had Brian's name." Elli begged.
Her mother stared at her for a long time before finally shaking her head. "I'm sorry honey."
Elli started crying, her mind racing. The one person she loved most in the world was not her soulmate. She'd already built a life with him, loved him, made promises, shared secrets, planned their perfect wedding and imagined their perfect home, they'd even picked out names for their future children.
Names...
That's when she realized. She didn't have his name... but he still had hers.
| I wonder how to find her,
while avoiding a murderous fate.
A friend of mine used grinder,
Then served up on his killers plate.
The dating apps all hinder,
The odds you will survive.
Another friend used Tinder,
Then was met and burned alive.
So I made an app called Same.
Matching tats of those like you,
But I made my wealth and fame,
Selling the names to just a few.
| 2018-03-11T09:04:19 | 2018-03-11T08:30:35 | 270 | 15 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | My phone rattled on my nightstand, and I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, it shook again. The quiet buzz would usually go unnoticed during the day, but the same volume amplified twofold in the middle of the night.
The phone’s shake persisted. I felt myself pried away from a deep slumber.
I grabbed my phone and pressed swiped upwards. Three things caught my attention in a matter of seconds, the first being the time — 3:15 AM. I groaned knowing that I my alarm would go off in a couple of hours.
The second thing I noticed was one of those emergency text issued by the state. They usually display an amber alert or severe weather advisory. But this message differed from the others. This message said, “LEVI, DON’T LOOK AT THE WALRUS…” I laid in my bed dumbfounded. My area is pretty safe, the weather didn’t indicate any storms on the horizon. But most curious, I had disabled those types of notifications months ago.
I tapped on the message to see if anything proceeded by the ellipsis. Nothing, just the same advice to not gaze upon some blubbery pinniped.
The last thing I noticed was the amount of unread text messages I received. Nearly half of my contacts delivered the same message as the emergency notification, except their message had a hyperlink embedded into the text.
I initially thought that some virus was spreading across cellphones. Tapping the link would allow the hack to enter my phone, gather my personal information, then send the same message to my entire contact list. But each message did include my name. Could a hack identify the users phone and personalize their message? I have no clue.
I opened up Twitter to see if the virus was trending. It was; over 100k tweets contained the hashtag *WALRUSMODEL*. I read through a couple of post, but most tweets poked fun at the message without their users opening the link. There was one account— 16bitTurtles — who said they would tap the link and take a screenshot of whatever it displayed. They did not followed up on their tweet. Perhaps they fell back asleep.
I closed out the program and cleared the messages on my home screen. Then, more missed notifications appeared in the text messages/emergency warning part of my screen — a list of missed calls. Another chunk of my contact list called me at 3:00 AM and each left a voicemail.
I had a suspicion they echoed the same message, but that would go against my theory that the link was a hack. Unless the virus also acted like a robocall and some monotoned voice spoke on the other line.
The most recent message was from my mom. I had to know if it was truly her that reached out to me. I tapped on her name and held the phone to my ear.
I heard her voice whispering in a panic, as if an intruder were in her house. She demanded me to not look at the walrus *outside*.
She continued to say the same message over and over again until she exceeded the voicemail length and the call abruptly ended.
My blinds were shut. A flash of pale light flickered through its crevices. I pressed my finger on one of the slates, tempted to raise it and take a peak of my front lawn.
I removed my hand as if it touched a hot stove and walked into my closet. I shut the door and curled up in the corner. I was afraid of something I wasn’t sure of.
I called my several times mom she never answered. I couldn’t even leave a voicemail — a recording of her phone carrier said her inbox was full.
I opened my contacts list and noted who had yet tried to contact me over the night. I started to call them.
Of course they didn’t answer. It was only 3:34 AM. So I left a message, pleading each of them by name to not look at the possible walrus outside. | Sean groaned and swiped down on his phone screen, adjusting the brightness to something much less blinding. He read the alert on his phone again. *DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS, what a joke* Sean thought to himself. He stumbled off to the bathroom and threw some water on his face, before crawling back into bed. It was then he noticed the hundreds of notifications on his phone.
*I don't even* ***KNOW*** *hundreds of people. Did someone sign my number up for more spam messages?* Rolling his eyes he ignored all of the notifications on his phone and put his headphones back on, navigating over to the YouTube video he was watching. He was watching a video someone made for their Intro to Folklore class years ago; in the early days of YouTube when students would get points for "extra creativity" for uploading their video on the new video platform. This particular video, was about the theory that Paul McCartney had really been killed in a car accident in 1966, and replaced by a lookalike named Billy Shears.
As he watched the video, his face slowly morphed into a wide ear to ear grin. His face stretched so taut that it began to grow painful. As the last of his sanity left him, Sean remembered something crucial that the video explained was a clue from The Beatles; the Walrus was Paul. | 2021-01-11T19:03:59 | 2021-01-11T18:25:32 | 1,394 | 40 |
[WP] Everyone's flaws are listed in a translucent white box above their heads. One day, you meet a man whose 'box' is empty. | Georgina Lomax. *Vain, selfish, tight-fisted, cheat.*
I am gorgeous, rich and successful but all that shit doesn’t matter anymore. All that people care about are these stupid flaw clouds. It’s meant to stop people from being taken advantage of, taken in by people who are trying to hide their true characters but instead it’s just made dating a fucking nightmare and its made me bitter. Oh fuck I bet *bitter* is going to pop up in my cloud now.
So that’s why I find myself in this sad little bar at a speed-dating event. It’s dingy and there are other horrible people just like me milling about at the bar. *Liar, greedy, pyromaniac…* Jesus. How the hell are you supposed to date someone when you already know the worst thing about him or her? They couldn’t think to display your best qualities could they? They had to make it difficult.
A woman with blonde hair pulled into a tight bun wearing a pink dress rings a bell. *Bossy, know-it-all, bad listener.*
“Okay, ladies you have your numbers! Go and sit at your table and the men will come to you! Remember you have three minutes with each potential partner. And try not to concentrate on their flaws!” she forces a wide smile, showing off her pearly teeth.
*As if…* I think making my way to table number 7. *Lucky number 7, yeah right.* How can you ignore them? I can’t imagine the flaw clouds have made it easy on dating event organisers. They can’t have many success stories nowadays.
I sit down heavily on the chair and lean back stretching my legs out to the side. Now that your flaws are on show you have to make the most of everything else you’ve got. I suppose that’s made me even more vain. Ironic really isn’t it?
I stir my cosmo moodily waiting for the first defective man to sit across from me. I’m not paying attention when the chair is pulled out scraping the wood floor. I look up from under my long black eyelashes ready to find out what’s wrong with him. But I’m taken unaware.
“Hi,” he says casually, “I’m Matthew.”
He sits down opposite me and smiles. But I don’t say anything. His cloud is empty. I screw my eyes shut and reopen them just to check I’ve not had one too many drinks. But it’s still empty.
“What the hell?” I mutter to myself leaning forward, hardly caring if he thinks I’m weird talking to myself.
Matthew laughs, “My cloud? Don’t worry about that, you’re not seeing things.”
“Why the fuck is there nothing in it?”
He smiles. I can’t help but find it attractive. He’s tall and dark, with stubble. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt and plain jeans. He’s just plain, but there’s something about him.
“Why are there things in yours?” he asks.
I open my mouth in shock, “What… what do you even mean by that? Everyone has them. Everyone except you! How did you get rid of it?!”
He sighs looking around like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. I reach for my drink and take a gulp. Oh fuck I need to slow down or *alcoholic* will appear soon.
“Think about it,” he says quietly, “How do you define yourself?”
“Two minutes!” The blonde woman shouts from the bar.
I shake my head, “I don’t need to define myself. This fucking thing,” I gesture to my cloud, “does it for me!”
Matthew smiles again like he pities me. “No,” he laughs, “that’s not what I mean.”
I roll my eyes, “Well explain it then wise-guy.”
“It’s hard. But I guess I can try. I’m going to explain what I see when I look at you.”
I scoff and reach for my drink again.
Matthew politely ignores my rudeness. Oh shit I bet *rudeness* is up there now. I can’t bring myself to check.
“One minute!”
“You’re beautiful,” he starts. “You have model features but you’re a lot more than a pretty face. You’re devilishly smart and ambitious. You know it’s important to look after yourself so you’re careful with money and of course your emotions. You’re not just going to let anybody in, which makes you even more special and rare.”
I can’t do anything but stare open mouthed. I can’t remember the last time anyone paid me any kind of compliment apart from ‘great legs love, shame about your personality’.
He stares back at me waiting for me to reply.
“I don’t understand,” I finally splutter.
“Times up!” The blonde screeches.
Matthew pushes his chair away and stands up, “That’s because you let your flaws define who you are.”
| "Get out !" the sales manager shouted.
As I walked out of the office with my resume and the usual feeling of disappointment. It feels like that i was blessed with longest list over my head. I have been cursing god for it since my childhood.
Walking of the corner street i thought of buying flowers for my hopeful girlfriend Sharmi waiting for me to come with a yes this time. Over her head it was written:
- Can't cook
- Failed in Arts degree
- there is hole in the beating box inside
I wonder if she really expects me to come with a yes this time. I picked the flowers and was just on the public hallway when an old man slammed on my shoulders. My flowers dropped...
"I am so sorry" he picks the flowers, stack them up & gave it to me.
'I'm sorry its my age." he said humbly.
"Its Ok thank you so much", I replied and we turned around.
At that moment i realized that and the old man has a completely spotless box. I turn around back to him in more shock than surprise. There was nobody but just a pigeon a spotless white pigeon may be the most white thing i ever saw in my life. I was baffled for a while and then moved towards it. I hold it on my hands and just kept staring at him like i'm seeing a ghost and just in that moment he flew away. I tried gained control over my senses.
"was it just my imagination?? or was it a ghost but how can a ghost have a spotless box?" with thoughts like these playing on my head I reached home.
Sharmi open the door and her eyes looked beautiful as ever but soon they were expanded as she shouted.
"AAHHHHHH!"
"Ph...phill ....phill"
'What happened ?" I asked her with a worried voice.
"Your Box" she said in a surprised voice.
I got in the changing room put the light on and stand against the mirror.
My box has nothing written on it it was as spotless as the Pigeon's fur...
Edit : if there is any Grammatical error or capitalization error then do point out for me please :)
| 2014-10-27T05:10:20 | 2014-10-27T04:41:34 | 738 | 13 |
[WP] Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. " In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human ®." | So it was indeed a simulation. Alice was oddly calm about it, even for her situation. It's rare to have a theory just confirm itself. She has been working for three years on the thesis by this point, trying to find some evidence, anything, even delving down to minute irregularities in quantum physics. Now, the most direct evidence she could have asked for just landed on her.
\`Now what?\` she muttered to herself.
She looked around. The coffee shop had some mixed reactions. The moment it happened, she could see the disbelief on some people's faces. She had no such disbelief, accepted it the moment it happened, that's what allowed her to focus on everyone's faces. She saw the world pause. Then, the world saw itself pause too, as people slowly realized they were not alone, that others have heard it too. Some just shrugged it off, thinking they're going crazy. Others started to panic. People were confused, they didn't know what's real and what's not. Some were in denial. Arguments started to spark up, the place was getting louder and louder, until...
\`In 1 hour and 50 minutes, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human.\`
The second time was different. Denial was futile, everyone sat in silence asking themselves the same question Alice asked ten minutes ago. A little boy on her left was looking around, confused, watching his parents dive deep into their thoughts.
\`But mom, I didn't hear anything.\` he said in a weak voice. Alice knew he wasn't lying. She heard children lie all the time, knew how to recognize that. This wasn't it.
Impossible. Everyone heard the voice. Unless...
She stormed out of the coffee shop. How did the little boy not hear the voice? And if he didn't, who else did not? What made him different... no, what made _her_ different that she could hear it?
\`In 1 hour and 40 minutes, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human.\`
\`There! There it is! You heard it!\` a man erupted on the street. Black suit, tie, suitcase, not the type you would expect a crazy doomsday believer to be. People ignored him, just kept walking by. Few turned their heads, watched him in silence and confusion, but most didn't even bother. Why not? Alice was used to the indifference people showed in a metropolis. But shrugging off certain death in an hour and a half... no, that's not human at all. The little boy was right, they haven't heard the voice.
She approached the stranger in the suit. He was still frantically looking around for any confirmation.
\`I heard it too. You're not crazy.\` she said to him, quietly.
The guy was relieved for a second. Then a realization hit him, and he started running the way he came from, hastily dialing someone on his phone.
Alice sat down on a bench, watched the traffic. Cars were acting strange. The majority of them went by their business, as usual. Some slowed down. And then there were some that acted like idiots, somehow driving even more like a lunatic than people usually do. At this point, she was certain only a few people heard the voice. She could spot them in traffic.
\`In 1 hour and 30 minutes, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human.\`
She thought of her late fiancé, Jason. They were supposed to get married last year, until a DUI hit him, and he died after two days of coma. If he was here, would he hear the voice too?
Well, she's about to figure it out, isn't she? Deep down, Alice knew the truth. She heard the voice because she was _real_. She was not part of the simulation like the majority of people, rather, she was a user of it. A player in this messed up game. She wondered if Jason was real too. If he was, he's going to be waiting for her on the outside, whatever outside there is. If not, he's already deleted.
She thought about the man in the suit. He called someone, his loved ones, probably. His family, his friends. Were they real?
Was _her_ family real?
Alice took out her phone. Maybe her family was real and waiting for her on the other side. Maybe not. Either way, she had 90 minutes, and she wasn't going to waste it. | It took a little, but it finally hit me. I sat there in front of my computer like I did most Friday nights. I wasn't the one to go out and party or get hammered, and even if I was it isn't like I had anyone to do it with. With my time short, and I assume the same for everyone else, I could only sit there. Why couldn't I move?
After probably an hour I finally felt something again. I did what I do everytime I get up from my computer, as if I would be back, and shut it down to get up. I walk to the bathroom and take a warm shower. If I am going to die I might as well do it clean, right?
With an hour left I walk back up stairs, refreshed and in a almost peaceful state. My struggle with depression always made me feel an emptiness, a want to pass. But there, sitting at the top of the stairs as happy as ever to see me as if nothing is wrong, was my reason to keep pushing through every day.
Ruby sat there wagging her tail with the most adorable dog smile I think I have ever seen. After I give her tons of love I convince her to follow me into my room. She hates my room, I taught her since she was a pup she wasn't allowed in here. I close the door behind me and open the window, a somber smile on my face as I turn around and pick Ruby up. I set her on the roof before climbing out with her.
Now, for the end of the universe as I know it, this was a good way to end it.
I simply at there, Ruby trying her best to be a lap dog despite being a Belgian Mal.
My headphones on and my favorite song softly playing as I sit there.
I guess I didn't realize how much chaos had happened... but I was happy in my little corner of the world.
I can't help but wonder what the point of all of this was, but holding Ruby... now that was a good enough reason for me. | 2019-09-23T04:18:23 | 2019-09-23T04:08:06 | 183 | 47 |
[WP] There's an old adage in the galaxy about humanity: roughly translated, it means "Never push the pink-skins to the thin ice."
Credit: phrase originally taken from the trailer "Prelude to Axanar." | Thirteen Wishes, the Valorian's cultural attaché, hovered closer to the viewscreen. On it, the Taj Mahal evaporated in a stream of ionizing radiation. Beside Thirteen Wishes, the handler hovered, nervously preening a mandible. Separation from the pod-waters gave Six Blue Stones anxiety.
"They have no idea what they've done," whispered Thirteen Wishes.
"The Candelans have a very good idea what they've done. Every cultural bastion on every public database they could access is gone. Within four minutes of entering orbit."
Thirteen Wishes signaled for the viewscreen to pause, and turned to Six Blue Stones. "Pod-plus," Thirteen Wishes said, as it corrected its elder. "They've awoken a monster, and they don't know it yet. The humans need their culture. It's what turns them away from atrocity and violence. You're going to have to tell the council to expect atrocity in reprisal. Unsanctionable atrocity."
"I don't think there'll be much sympathy in the face of Candelan aggression."
Thirteen Wishes agitated its antennae-fronds emphatically. "Pod-plus, there might very well be. Do you remember, playing as a sylph? The push-game, on the ice? Sometimes, sometimes in every pod you have the quiet sylphs that will dig their legs in, near the water. They stop pushing, and start biting."
"I lost a leg until my molt, to one like that," Six Blue Stones said.
"Do you remember how it felt? To be so dumbfounded that someone of your pod would snap back so cruelly?" Thirteen Wishes asked.
"I remember," Six Blue Stones said, quieting.
"Well then, you can understand. You should never push the pink-skins to the thin ice. Humans took the chance to see other sentient species as part of their pod. I've spent forty-one cycles on their world, seeing their culture, seeing how they pour the energy of violence into art instead. They're a tribal species, in every level. But their tribality is arbitrary: Family units, extended family unit, then other arbitrary extensions encompassing coloration or landmass, mostly kin-selection enforcement."
"As expected for a k-selecting species," said Six Blue Stones.
"No, not as expected," retorted Thirteen Wishes. "Instinctually, the tribalism instinct is *absolute*, but their psychology allows it to apply it *arbitrarily*. Their entire species is under assault."
Six Blue Stones flattened its fronds. "Cultural assault."
"No, pod-plus. Even if the fatalities are limited, and the Candelans are appropriately avoiding civilian casualties, the Humans won't perceive it that way. To them, it's an assault, on their tribe. The Human tribe. Please take my word for it, as your cultural attaché. Right now they are looking to the stars, and they are plotting absolute vengeance. Disproportionate retaliation. The Candelans took away everything, every reason, for the Humans *not* to go to total war."
"Over some cultural artifacts and constructs?", Six Blue Stones asked. It was used to trusting Thirteen Wishes, but the extremes that its pod-minus was suggesting seemed hyperbolic, and not at all credible.
"Yes, pod-plus. Over the soul of their species. I'm not sure they could be made any angrier without every one of their k-selector investment offspring being murdered in front of them. This would be very close on par."
"*Oh*," said Six Blue Stones, fronds going a vibrant yellow of fear.
Thirteen Wishes turned back to the viewscreen, and dropped its voice lower. "Humans turn everything to art and violence, pod-plus. Both. They call fighting techniques 'martial arts'. They speak in respectful tones of 'the art of war'. Their military officers are expected to have some grounding in the creation of fine arts, as well as military maneuvring. Their warriors go to war to audible art, music. They decorate their carapaces, their clothing, their equipment, with art that means war."
Thirteen Wishes turned back to Six Blue Stones. "The Candelans have never joined art and violence. The humans have never known anything but art-violence. While the Candelans think they're engaging in a polite appropriation of a species through cultural conquest... to the Humans, they've just declared an extinction-level war. Extinguishing human culture will be indivisible to them from species." The pod-minus's voice turned pleading. "Please, don't let the council block what's about to happen. This is, and should, be treated as an extinction war. That's how the Humans perceive it."
Six Blue Stones went yellow from antennae-stem to frond. "How much threat can they realistically pose to the Candelans?"
"In military superiority, under these circumstances? None. But it won't matter. I told you, pod-plus, violence and art are indivisible for them. They will do what they have always done, when faced with violence; they will create new ways of it. They'll start with suicide strikes. They'll surprise the Candelans with domestication. See the brief on their 'canis familiaris', dogs. Other lower life forms. Sabotage. Destruction and denial of assets and materials. They'll inevitably capture some Candelans. They will *definitely* figure out their biochemistry. Chemical warfare will follow, even chemicals harmful to their biosphere. Fission and fusion weapons. Biological weapons. Informational and memetic weapons. *Everything* they can think of, they will try, pod-plus. *Everything.* Their reprisals will not stop."
Six Blue Stones waved a frond, and the viewscreen changed. "Our satellites indicate they're already boosting drives onto... what are those?"
Thirteen Wishes examined the small metal cylinders. "Barrels, pod-plus. Just a welded drive onto a barrel. Scan it."
The computer puffed a dose of saline mist into the air in acknowledgment, and the screen changed.
"... just, biomass. Dirt. What are they hoping to do, sling mud at the Candelan ships?"
Thirteen Wishes fronds went so yellow they became nearly golden, and then in a voice barely loud enough for Six Blue Stones to hear: "At the Candelan home world. To violate their biological integrity, their biosphere."
"But that will take hundreds of cycles for it to begin to damage their homewor-" Six Blue Stones began, and then cut off, aghast. "They don't care, do they?"
Thirteen Wishes agitated its fronds. "No, pod-plus. They are already *far* past the point of caring. I told you. Atrocity. Extinction. Nothing less. They can make those barrels by the thousands, within a day. A simple drive, sensor package, basic computer, and a barrel of dirt."
"Stop them! We have to stop them!"
"We *can't*, pod-plus. We can't. This is just the start."
They hovered in silence, as fifty-four new barrels arced away from the planet. Most would never survive the journey.
A few would. | Humanity is an unremarkable species according to practically every single member of the Allied Planets. They weren't physically remarkable, their intelligence was just sufficient to have them classified as average, and they shared no unusual trait or talents that were of benefit of anyone. When first contact was made with them by the Hoto there were many who wondered if it was even worth the time to open formal relations. As such only the Hoto interacted with the humans on any regular basis, feeling that since they were the ones to show them that they were not alone in the galaxy, the last thing they wanted was to abandon them.
No one could imagine how this seemingly benign alliance would forever affect the galaxy. When a deposit of rare tililium was discovered on a remote Hoto colony near the Xig alliance, conflict erupted as the Xigs laid claim to the planet to control the tililium. The fighting was fierce, the Hotos were advance but where a single Hotian ship could contend against five Xigian, the Xigs had twenty times the numbers. The Hotos sought help from the Allied Planets, but the loss of a single colony was declared more desirable to the prospect of war. Humanity were the only ones to answer the call to arms. Though their military was no where near the strength of the Hotos, they would not abandon their friends.
The war was devastating, although as expected the Xigs were able to continue their conquest of Hotian space. It wasn't long before they had even conquered Hoton, the small white marble of snow and ice the Hotos called home. It was then that they turned their attention to Earth. Ignored throughout the conflict for it's insignificance, it was the only planet to accept the Hotian refugees and remained the final bastion of resistance. As expected the sol system defenses were easily defeated by the superior Xigs and the fleet entered Earth's orbit as conquers. The Xigs expected this to be their day of victory, the Hotos however remember it as the day the phrase "Never push the pink-skins to the thin ice" was first uttered.
What humanity lacked in abilities compared to the other races in the galaxy they more than made up for in their tenacity. When the first Hotos refugees arrived at Earth they immediately set to work to help the earthlings strengthen their defenses. What no one counted on was the sheer speed with which the humans learned and grew. When they first arrived even the basic understanding of Hoto technology was a struggle for even the best human scientists to comprehend, but now that they were at the brink of destruction the humans seem to gained an unnatural ability to focus every moment of consciousness to a single goal. No galactic race at the time, nor discovered since, has shown the same devotion that the humans are capable of doing. Sacrificing everything they have to achieve the unachievable. The advances made during that time dwarf any other moment in galactic history. Thus when the Xigs entered Earth's orbit, expecting to see ships a century behind the times, they faced an armada more powerful than anything the Hotos ever had.
The defeat of the Xig fleet at Earth was quickly followed by the liberation of Hoton and the reclamation of all lost territory. It also marked the end of the Xig alliance. Human tenacity also manifests itself as an almost unquenchable desire win. Thus after the Hotos regained that which was lost in the war and calls for peace were at last heard from the Xigs, the humans continued their advance. System after system fell to the humans, until finally they came upon the Xig central planet. The Xig were forced to surrender unconditionally, their alliance disbanded and their military dissolved.
Afterwards the Allied Planets were sent into a panic. With their enemy defeated they worried that the Earthlings with their newfound power would turn their attention elsewhere, but instead they returned to Earth without incident. Immediately they were invited to join them, even being offered a seat on the governing council, with the hope of making humanity a strong friend rather than potential enemy. The offer was accepted with the condition that the all members of the Xig were also allowed membership, an act many considered uncharacteristically merciful considering the fierceness which the humans displayed in combat. In time the different races understood that Earthlings are normally a very peaceful race, their planet's long history of war having finally taught them that peace is much more beneficial. However, many still look upon them with fear, knowing what can happen when humans are put into a crisis. Originally said by the ice worlder Hotos, every race now teaches their variant of the phrase "Never push the pink-skins to the thin ice."
(I don't write much so any comments or suggestions are appreciated)
edit: words and grammar | 2016-07-24T16:32:31 | 2016-07-24T15:38:58 | 41 | 25 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | I was weary. It’s hard to imagine someone who is dead still being able to feel, but maybe the constant exposure to extreme human emotion had allowed me to still feel. I had wallowed in immeasurable suffering, but had also bathed in the light of someone surrounded by family, going to meet their god. I didn’t know what was on the other side myself. I was the first human to die after all, betrayed and murdered by my brother, Cain. The centuries had worn away any resentment I could possibly still harbor. I wasn’t prepared to die then, how could I have been? It hadn’t happened before. Life was strange and lonely enough, my parents were always speaking of some powerful being they used to commune with in some garden, but we had no idea what they spoke of. Maybe that was the source of the light I saw when I died...yet somehow I knew that, although I was the first, I wouldn’t be the last. And surrounded by the still fresh sensation of a brother’s betrayal, how could I abandon those who followed?
And so time went on. I could still see the material world to an extent, as I was drawn from one death to another. I saw it change and mature, and was excited for the future of my species, for we had come so far. And yet, we still had so far to go. Pompeii had shocked me to my core, it was difficult to transition all those souls to what lay beyond. So many at once, confused, unaccepting. It was always easier for those who were sick and knew they were dying, but this was unprecedented. And again later, uncountable battles, hundreds dying within minutes. If I was still bound by physical laws, I might’ve tired, but I persisted, and guided them all, eventually. What I yearned for was the solution to my loneliness, but I knew that it would never come. The best I could do was to serve my kind, and ease their transition.
Until I met Brandon. I was first drawn to him one night when he almost committed suicide. I could sense his impending death, but he decided not to at the last moment. But what I saw shocked me. Brandon was truly a kindred spirit in loneliness. I could see that he had no living family, and no friends to speak of. Although time does not pass the same for me as it does for others, my free time is still limited, but I always found time for Brandon. I watched him, rejected by society for his mediocrity. Not smart enough to do overly well for himself, he was the definition of scraping by. Not charismatic enough to make friends or meet lovers, he scrolled through the routines of his life with minimal joy. Brandon went to work, went home, played some video games, made a sandwich or a microwaved dinner, and went to sleep to refresh his body to repeat this hell for another day. I was truly appalled. The variety of experiences I had glimpsed in his world, and here he was unwilling, or possibly unable, to see anything beyond the bleakness of his existence.
Brandon’s time inevitably came. I greeted him as a friend as his soul left his body. He looked down at it for a moment, but came to terms quicker than most.
“What got me?” He queried aloud.
“Heart attack. Microwaveable meals and takeout are not the healthiest of diets. I’ve seen this before, unfortunately you’re not the first.”
“Huh.” That was it, his entire reaction, possibly summing up the futility of his life, as he stared down at his lifeless body.
“Well, I didn’t even really feel it, or, I don’t remember feeling it.”
“A mercy that many in history have not had the some fortune to experience, believe me. Are you ready for what’s next?”
Brandon stood, silent for a moment. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“I was the first, so long ago. I stayed. Truthfully, I’m not sure I realized what happened to me. It hadn’t happened before you know. I didn’t have the luxury of experiencing death second or third hand, and slowly accepting its inevitability. As to why I do this, all I truly remember was my loneliness here, in this place of transition. Not attached to the material, yet, unarrived at the final destination.”
“What is the final destination? Pearly gates, or maybe more of a courtroom judgement setting?”
“I do not know. I cannot cross and find out. Perhaps that is my curse, but these people need someone. You accepted quicker than most, but perhaps that is because you had considered treading this path voluntarily before. Those who die unexpectedly are much more difficult to handle. Everyone goes eventually. I can only hope I’m leading them to peace, and not torment.”
Brandon didn’t even seem phased by this, he just stared through me with a strange expression. I could feel light and warmth behind me, the sensation that always precedes a decision to pass on from this transitional state.
“You should go,” he said. I started to move over to lead him before what he said sunk in.
“That destination is not my path, but yours. You must go.”
“No. My whole life, I was unable to do anything for anyone, not even for myself. My existence was bleak, but not truly miserable. I often felt misery, and sadness, but more than anything else I know your loneliness. I’ve been immersed in it my entire life. I’m just the quiet guy who works and goes home, only to show up the next day. I never could figure out how to make friends without bothering people, never could find the desire to even go out and try. But here…this place...this feels like home.”
I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. It made sense, but simultaneously felt like a dream, and I felt myself gliding backwards into the light. I realized Brandon was guiding me now, just as I had guided others. As the light began to surround me I looked back at him, this man who never did anything with his life, who couldn’t, but in death, was able to free the one soul that in the millennia of human existence, had never found it. | "Are you ready?"
I had always expected the physical representation of Death to be carrying a big scythe around in black robes, or to be a devil of some sorts, or some sort gauntish figure. And yet, the entity standing in front of me calimng to be the reaper was wearing khaki pants and a blue polo.
"I'm sorry?" I said, the scene around me not yet hadn't settled in. I could see myself still in my Fiesta, just barely trading paint with a 18 wheeler that had seemingly come out of control and gone over the highway barrier.
"I'm asking if you're ready to move on." he asked, gently smiling back at me.
"No! Of course not! Can't you put me back in my body?" I could feel the adrenaline rushing though my... well, soul, I suppose. His smile faded for just a split-second, and was replaced by a subtle pained expression, as if he were recalling some hurtful memory.
"I'm afraid not..." The smile was back, and I felt myself relaxing somewhat despite my bulging frustration. "I can't change what happened."
"But I look just fine!" I pointed at my stunned self back in my car, mouth agasp and nails haphazardly digging into the steering wheel. Apart from a dumb facial expression and a ruined manicure, I looked pretty well alive. "How can I be dead?"
"I stopped it so you wouldn't have to see what comes after. There's nothing more I can do. I am very sorry..." He calmly closed the distance between us and held me, as if knowing that in the next few seconds my knees would buckle from under me and the realization would finally hit.
I don't know how long I lay there on the ground, just a few feet away from my soon to be wrecked car, death's surprisingly warm hand on my shoulder, telling me that it was going to be ok.
"I never know how much it helps," he said "but I know what you're going through, and I promise it does get better."
"How could you ever know how it feels like to die?" I asked , still sobbing.
The pain from before showed again on his face, and it disappeared just as suddenly, as if by training, and the realization hit me.
"You're just like me, aren't you?" I asked, "You're human."
"Well, I guess 'was' is more appropriate," he said, scratching the back of his head and looking off into the distance for a moment, "but I lived and died on this planet, much like you did."
"Then why are you doing this? Why doesn't God do it? Or Satan? Or something different?" I asked, a bit puzzled.
"Well, if there are such things as God or Satan, I haven't met them. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I'm able to it." He turned to me again and smiled, "As for why, well, I didn't think you should be alone right now. Nobody showed up when my time was up, and I didn't find that was a good welcome into the afterlife."
He kept smiling, but I could see the pain in his eyes. "I understand" I said.
"So," he repeated "are you ready?"
"Yeah... I guess I am." I stood up, and he followed suit. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it!" he said, the excitement showing in his voice.
And somehow, I believed him. | 2019-07-10T11:52:12 | 2019-07-10T11:49:23 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] Your soulmate finally moves into your flat. However she warns you that she has to spend 2 hours every day to "clean the inside of her skin" alone in the bathroom "so that her skin won't rot", and under no circumstances are you to see her "without her skin on". She refuses to elaborate further. | I’m pretty sure I’ve never needed to pee this badly in my life before. I pace up and down the hallway outside the bathroom trying to ignore the pressure in my bladder; the steam drifting out from under the door smells of lavender and geranium and is mixed with the sound of the shower and Suzie’s off-key singing. Usually this is delightful, I love it, I love *her*, but today it’s taunting me, goading me with the tantalising promise of release to ignore her demand and my promise, and instead insist that she let me in.
I look at my watch. Another twenty minutes to go until two hours is up, shit, I can’t last that long.
“Suzie?’ I knock at the door. I guess sometimes the most mundane of needs can catalyse an event you know is coming in your heart of hearts, but you never expect the day to actually arrive.
The singing abruptly stops. There’s a pause and I can feel my heart beating hard in my chest. Only the steam continues to swirl from under the door, ignorant of the significance of the moment.
“What do you want, Alex?” Her voice sounds hard and forbidding.
“I need to pee…” I say simply, and then I wait.
I can almost feel her confusion through the wall. This isn’t how we do things. We love each other without question, full acceptance. But right now, driven by my simple need to use the toilet, I make the snap decision that it’s time for the truth.
“What are you doing?” She says, and I hear the fear and uncertainty in her words. The sound of the shower continues, I lean on the bathroom door and breathe deeply, solidifying my intent.
“I need to pee, and…” I say softly, carefully, “it’s time. We can’t go on like this forever.”
“You promised, Alex, you swore you wouldn’t do this.”
“I know I did, sweetheart, I’m sorry, but now I want to make a new promise. A different one. A better one.”
“No.”
“Suzie listen to me”
“No, I said no, go away.”
I cross my legs, I’m this close to peeing on the rug like a damn dog. I hammer on the door, then crouch down to stem the need to piss everywhere.
“Open the door!”
“I won’t, you can’t make me.”
“I’m not going to force you to do anything, but I need you to trust me. Show me. Have faith and show me.”
“Alex please,” her voice is pitched high in a sob, “I can’t, I won’t show you. You won’t like it, I can’t lose you because of how I look, who I really am. They’ll take me away. They’ll experiment… they’ll…”, the sobs break free from her, I hear rasping, panic driven breaths and my heart breaks for her. Breaks for all of our kind forced to live in hiding like this. She needs to know I understand, understand completely.
“Here’s my new promise, Suzie,” I press my hands against the door and close my eyes, “I promise you have no need to fear. I promise my feelings for you won’t change, I love you…*you*, and I promise with all of my everlasting soul, my…” I swallow deeply, here it comes, “my infinite, Arcmerdian soul… that you are safe with me.”
In the silence that follows I stand, it feels like the air has changed, become clearer somehow. I reach behind my head, pressing the small area underneath my ear that releases my skin so it falls to the floor like a pile of worn clothes. I hear the shower turn off, and the lock on the bathroom door clicks. Slowly, slowly the door creaks open, just an inch, and I’m met with wide eyes of disbelief. She stares at me for a full thirty seconds before swinging the door wide open.
“My God. You’re one of us?”
I nod. She has never looked so beautiful. Her iridescent scales look like an oil painting, smooth and shimmering in golden and teal from head to foot. Her tears continue to fall but she smiles through them, her eyes reflecting back at me my own amber and purple scales , “I had no idea.”
“That’s kinda how we have to do things, right?” I say with a smile, “I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about, but right now… I really need to pee.”
She laughs and steps aside.
And just like that, a new chapter of our lives begins. | I first met her after work. We worked different shifts, different departments but the same building. We talked over some trivial fantasy stuff, later into medieval era history and connected. Later, we dated. To me, she was the one. Oddly enough, I couldn’t help but notice how strange her skin looked in a few places, like it was some kind of weird suit... and yet... she sounded and acted human.
After a few months of dating, we agreed that she could move in. “Okay, I’m going to lay on you a ground rule or several.” She told me. I tilted my head and leaned forward.
“Sure,” I said, interested. “I need to spend at least two hours a day cleaning my skin in the bathroom, otherwise- it’s going to rot.” She said, grimacing. I blinked. “Nani?” I asked. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing and held my hand. “Baby, look at me.” She told me. I did do. Her eyes bore into mine with serious love but also as some kind of plea. “I love you, really. But I need to do this alone. I have a skin condition, okay?” She told me. “And no, I don’t want to make either of us uncomfortable talking about it.” She told me. “When I do my cleaning, under no circumstances: don’t ever see me without my skin on.” She told me. I blinked in confusion. And then I remembered the odd places. “Oh,” I started to say and then realized. “OH,” I realized. I grimaced. Now, I understood. “I think I know what’s going on, but I’ll let you clean your skin.” I told her. “Take all the time you need,” I told her, reassuring her with a smile. “Besides,” I told her. “How do you feel about this being the second body I have?” I asked. The look on her face was priceless. I kissed her nose. “Love you, regardless.” I told her. | 2020-11-17T05:11:23 | 2020-11-17T01:05:28 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" | It sounded like I was in a drink, ice makes the most unusual noise. My hands were so cold it was hard to hold the note with out dropping it, crumpled in my half form fist. The words from the note floated through my head, taking whatever order suited them.
"You don't have kidneys. What? Why the fuck?"
I squinted at the ceiling and wondered why they were so incredulous about the kidneys they just removed. How rude.
Paper fell to the floor and I looked to see that I had dropped the note. Tapping the edge of the tub, I couldn't feel anything below my shoulder, and even that was on its way out. Trying desperately hard to feel anything, I flung my wrist at the bath wall with all my might, only to have it fall short, landing on my chest. Time to get out.
I flung my arms over the edge of the tub and began an infantile wiggle away from my porcelain grave. Ice fell onto the checkered tile floor; it was the cubic ice you would get at a restaurant. Pausing, I wondered how sanitary that could be. I thought hospitals used that soft round ice so invalids could chew it, this can't be sterile. Another mark against my surgeon. I rolled out of the tub head first, hearing a loud slap as the flat of by back joined the ground. That will hurt in the morning.
I wonder if this is one of those heated floors. That would be nice.
Thawing on the ground, I began to collect all the clues I could about my current location. The old, but maintained fixtures could be from any apartment in nearly any city. I think I am in New York? I should go get a hot dog. I hope my wallet is on the counter. Without my glasses, I can't see too far, though there are no shapes moving out the open door.
To my left is the note. Maybe it has a letter head. My hands work better now, but I have to read the note while on my side. Sitting up is for later. The page looks different now. It is written on a Chinese takeout menu, looks like I am in Boston. The words on the note look different too.
"Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
Can I feel a lack of kidneys? Can I feel a lack of any organ? The internal introspection made acutely aware of my tongue taking up volume in my mouth.
I slid over to the wall and propped myself up. Maybe you pee differently if your kidneys are gone. With the toilet seeming at the top of Everest, I opted to urinate on the tile. The warm stream followed the grout and ran towards the tub, same color as ever. Whatever pain killers they gave me are awesome. I don't even care that I am peeing on the floor.
My hands work well now, but my legs wont budge. Odd, but I don't really know how far into hypothermia I am. I force myself to read the menu, trying to assess my mental state.
"Kung Pao chicken. 5.99"
Reading them aloud seemed like a good thing to do.
"General Tsos chicken 4.99, Hunan style, 7.99, Huggalllll....Hagggallllll"
My tongue stopped working.
Dropping the note, I reached for a towel on the wall above me. My left arm fell onto my head, useless. I could no longer move it at all. With my right, I managed to pull down a towel. Maybe I can get warm before the cold kills me.
Something slithered around my spine and my right arm fell down too. Paralyzed, I realized that I should be afraid. This wasn't hypothermia. Something is inside of me and I should be afraid. But instead, I just felt happy. I had been happy the whole time and it was strange. It was nice.
I hope it is happy. | "Shit." That's all she can say for now. She knows they aren't going to call anyone. Who the fuck would believe them but, she still rather be safe then sorry. Of all the ways to get figured out, this shit happens.
She doesn't know who or what she is. She was left at a church and the nuns raised her. She never got sick or broke a bone. There was no need for ex rays or MRIs. Her blood work always came out normal. It was that one day that she got upset and crushed a piece of a home economics teachers sewing machine that she knew she was strong. She didn't know she didn't have the right organs. Now that was new. She looked at her scars and they were healing already. The healing didn't start till she hit puberty. Once again she kept it to herself. The only thing was when she turned 18 she started being followed and she has been on the run since.
Is she an experiment? Is she some kind of mutation? Is she even human? I guess she'll never know because the only way to know is to turn her self into them and she won't. She can only trust herself. So on to the next state, country, or continent. Running from them and who she really is. Running until she gets tired and gives in. | 2015-12-31T00:04:58 | 2015-12-30T22:36:20 | 73 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone receives a Skill or Talent on their 16th birthday. Yours is Dragon Tamer. But dragons don't exist. | "A dragon tattoo?" John asked, looking at the tattoo of a European style dragon looking up and breathing fire that had appeared on his shoulder.
John's father, Mark, looked at the tattoo and shrugged, "Maybe it has something to do with breathing fire?"
John couldn't figure out how that would even work, how would he make fire? Was he supposed to breathe a certain way or would his next dedicated breath cause fire?
"Stay back Dad." John said, pushing his father back. Luckily his father got the message and moved back with John's push, the man's talent made him too hard to move unless he wanted to be moved
John inhaled deeply and violently exhaled, nothing.
After five tries on John's part, Mark put an a stony hand on his son's shoulder in a comforting manner, "Maybe that's not the best tact kiddo."
Suddenly John's little brother, Andrew spoke up jokingly from where he was sitting on the sofa, "Maybe he's a dragon tamer."
John snarked back at Andrew, "Dragons don't even exist ya dweeb."
"Komodo Dragons do." Mark replied swiftly.
John sighed in frustration, he could not believe something that seemed so cool, breathing fire, may have just turned into lizard taming. But what his Dad was proposing was better than nothing, "Okay Dad, I guess we'll go to the pet store."
~
15 minutes later John found himself staring at a lazing Komodo Dragon in a glass tank, a chipper woman who couldn't have been five years older than him talking to his father behind him.
Mentally John tried to reach out to the Dragon and get it to move slightly, hoping that it would react. To John's shock the lizard did move as he commanded, slowly shuffling to where he commanded.
John commanded it to climb the nearby branch in the center of it's enclosure and watched as it did so.
"Dad, hate to say it but Andrew was right." John said, grabbing the attention of his father and the store clerk who had been helping them.
The clerk looked at the lizard who had climbed up the branch and back to John, "Would you like to take it home?" she said in a chipper tone.
"Sure, I guess, what do you say Dad?" John asked
Mark scratched the back of his head, "Normally I'd have to clear it with your Mom but it is your birthday and your ability. So what the hell, why not?"
~
After a long evening of explaining why they bought a lizard to his Mom and dealing with Andrew's gloating, John finally walked into his room and felt like collapsing into his bed.
Questions swirled in his mind, how would John make lizard taming seem impressive to his friends? David could make ice appear from thin air and Fred could change his skin color at will. By comparison John was the least impressive of the three.
As he mulled it over John could hear a deep and wizened voice, "Finally, some alone time."
John suddenly became alert and looked around to see who said that when the voice spoke again, "Relax, I'm the Komodo Dragon you bought home."
John quickly ran to the lizard tank that had been haphazardly setup on his dresser, "You can talk?"
"Only to you it seems, but I have been waiting for so long though that I'll take it." the Dragon replied, having assumed the same position on the branch when John had bought him.
John was confused, "Waiting, waiting for what?"
"The first dragon tamer in one thousand years that's what." the lizard said matter of factly, like John was an idiot for asking.
"You've been waiting a thousand years for a guy who can talk to Komodo Dragons? You been that lonely?" John said with a raised eyebrow.
"No you simpleton, I've been waiting for someone who can lead Dragons into the glory we once had a thousand years ago, when we were massive and commanded the skies." the lizard explain in frustration.
"Like the kind of Dragons who sleep on gold piles and kidnap maidens?" John replied
"Baseless propaganda, we saved those maidens and liberated that gold from corrupt nobles." the Komodo Dragon roared, more offended at the stories than the fact that John didn't believe Dragons existed
"I thought those were myths." John said
"In every myth there is a kernel of truth." the Dragon replied, "Some kernels are bigger than others."
"Okay, let's say I believe Dragons exist and that they need me, what now?" John asked.
"Now we must go to Norway." the Komodo Dragon replied, "We must awaken the Dragon King." | My Talent arose on my skin in the form of a stylized dragon, with a human figure riding it, on my 16th birthday. Dragon rider? Dragon Tamer? Not all marks were literal, but this one seemed pretty straight forward. Except that dragons didn't exist. I read a lot of books, so maybe I was going to be good at writing dragon-orientated fantasy books. Although I much preferred the sci-fi stuff with aliens and space battles.
Oh well. Not everyone figured their Talent out on the first day. In fact, the record was 25 years. The poor guy, Stephen Hawks or something, had a *dot* as a Talent mark. A big, black dot. Turns out it was a black hole and he was a super smart physicist who loved studying them. I could wait.
A few months has passed, and while I still wondered about my Talent, I still had school and whatnot to worry about. After I had aced my final exams (what? I *like* math, so I'm a nerd, okay?) I decided to go for a treat while my parents shopped at the mall. A triple-whipped, strawberry-chocolate milkshake, so thick you couldn't suck it up through a straw. My favorite.
While I was sitting enjoying my shake, browsing the internet, a random article caught my eye: "A new rocket for a new era". I made it a few lines in before I forgot I had bought a treat. With my heart pounding, I shot out of my seat, out of the cafe, and ran down the mall, shouting for my parents.
"What is it?" My mom and dad came pounding up to me; dad wasn't in the best shape and was red in the face, but still came to my panicked call.
"I found it!" I shoved my phone at them.
They both saw the article. They both read what I did.
"Elon Musk announces the Dragon Capsule"
I was going to ride my dragon to space. | 2021-08-03T19:50:53 | 2021-08-03T17:51:50 | 268 | 43 |
[WP] An excerpt from the most cliché young adult novel
Ex. Futuristic dystopian society where vampires roam the streets | I felt plain, like a bagel. Today was supposed to change that.
Because today I faced The Test: that mysterious process that sorted people into their proper personality types. It was a simple process. A man asked you what you wanted out of life, and you told him. Then he told you which personality you belonged to.
I used to ask MoMa why we didn't use the Myers-Briggs personality test, but she would just slap me and tell me to hush. Once I told PaPa it would be cool if the guy was actually a magical hat of some kind that could sort people, but he ranted and raved about "Right Copy Fringe."
He used to be a Law-Looker, before The Awakening. I think all the work had messed with his head.
Still, it was nice to think that maybe there was something I could believe in -- something that would tell me who I was.
The hairs on my arms stood up, dancing like lilies in a field.
"Are you nervous?" my little sister asked. She sat next to me.
"Yeah, Lillie," I told my little sister. "I'm nervous."
"Please stand clear of the doors," a mechanical voice declared. "Por favor mantenganse alejado de las puertas."
She and I sat on a seat in the Mono Rail, ready to be transported towards the test.
"Are you nervous?" I asked her.
"Yeah," she said, in a hushed tone. "I'm nervous."
She was eleven years old, which meant she shouldn't have to take The Test. But she was also really smart. I wish I'd been as smart as her. As interesting, or perhaps as innocent.
"Please stand clear of the doors," the mechanical voice repeated. "Por favor mantenganse alejado de las puertas."
A few more people made their way into the Mono-Rail. The doors closed, and the train sped off.
My sister and I didn't say much. We didn't have much to say.
Instead I sat there, craning my neck to catch the occasional glance at Dirk. He sat about ten feet to my right, completely oblivious of my attempts to stare at him.
"To those guests who've just joined us," the mechanical voice from above bellowed, "welcome. Our next stop is The Magic Kingdom!"
Dirk was super-dumb, which I found super sexy. He ate a banana, and for a second I wondered if he was gay, but then I was like, no. He can't be gay. Because I want to be with him.
Then there was another guy sitting in the seat across from me. His name was Elton, and he was a real book nerd: pale, white, bookish, nerdish. He didn't notice me, of course. But I noticed him. He was cute, like easily breakable twigs.
In that moment, I figured out what I was going to tell The Test Giver. When he asked me what I wanted, I'd tell him that I wanted a man -- someone who could define my identity for me.
After all, I was plain as a bagel, and a man would be everything I wanted.
Together, a man and I could be an everything bagel. And who doesn't love everything bagels?
I sighed, brushing my boring brown hair out of my face.
---
If you guys like this, let me know! I might make it into a series. | It was a day like any other day.
And I was in charge of more than someone my age should be, a symbol of my advanced specialness even at my tender age of 16. I had hair, so much hair, undulating in the wind since we can't have awesome capes in this place.
I wore the same clothes as everyone else, yet different, and my job today was to be ambassador for an entire culture to another entire culture. Again, I am young but clearly I am ready for this. Because I'm special.
When I meet the group, I am in the middle of diplomatic diplomacy when bombs start to fall, and my world is one of panic and screaming. I save people and feel like a hero.
-
I wake up in a cold sweat and check my phone. Thank god, it was just a dream during that shitty fever I had last night... | 2015-05-14T07:47:10 | 2015-05-14T07:16:19 | 94 | 13 |
[WP] You die and go to hell. There you are greeted by 3 demons. They ask you which one of them do you want to torture you for the rest of eternity. Feeling regret for your sin you pick the scariest one but he decides not to torture you because no one have ever picked him before. | "So, you're not going to torture me?"
"No. There's no point."
"At the risk of looking a gift horse in the mouth, why do you say that?"
"Look, those other two, Fek'lar and Balobra, they're good du...bad dudes? Whatever. The point is they only earned their demon status a few thousand years ago. They haven't realized the truth of the afterlife. They will after a couple million years."
"You're two million years old?"
"Oh, much older. Ten billion, at least, though who the hell keeps track?"
"How can that be, even the Sun isn't that old?"
"No, when I was alive, it was on another planet, many light years from Earth. One of the first planets with life, I would guess, but again, who the hell keeps track?"
"Wow, alien demon. It's like a Deviant Art page come to life."
"I don't understand that reference."
"And you probably wouldn't understand that one either. So, again, big fan of the no torture thing, not complaining in any way, but thinking about it from your perspective, I would think you'd want to do something to pass the time, at least?"
"Sure, and I did, for many years. But you don't have any clue how long a billion years really is. I've done and seen it all, a million times over. Had it done to me as well, just for something new. But there comes a point where you just can't be bothered, you know? Why would I peel your skin off when I know, to the second, when you'll reach Class 9 Pain, and when you will experience 10,000 GigaDeaths?"
"....Class 9 Pain, huh?"
"There are scales, it's all very technical. Guys like Fek'lar, they still care about that stuff. He's been talking about a new machine he wants to build, that will apply pain to every nerve on a body at once, as if no one had ever thought of that before. It's kind of cute, in a way."
"Machine? So there is, like, technology here and stuff? Materials...books?"
"I mean, somewhere probably, yeah. I think maybe I spent a few years mining ore of some kind, we were going to build a big fortress or something like that, because it was going to look super scary or something. Might have been a punishment for me come to think of it, that was a long time ago. Tell you what though, mine ore with a pick-axe for 100,000 years straight, no rest at all? Now that's a torture. Broke a lot of folks with that one. Or was it me that was broken?"
"So...you're bored of torture after 10 billion years, but...the universe is going to exist for a long, long time yet, right?"
"Now you're getting it. And yes, heat death is our fate. Trillions upon quintillion upon decillion of years as galaxies fly away from each other, the stars wink out one by one, matter decays, and eventually even the black holes themselves give up the ghost. And here you and I will still be, trying to think of something to talk about. And maybe you've already figured out the worst part: We're still in the Golden Age of Hell. There's still life out there in the universe, a steady stream of souls coming in. What is this place going to be like when there hasn't been a star in existence for a hundred trillion years?"
"Heaven is not having to face that, isn't it? Heaven is death?"
"Yeah, it is. I mean, that's what we think anyway, it's not like anyone told us, but...I'm impressed, there aren't many here that have figured that out. What are you feeling right now?"
"Not much. Empty might be the right word? How...how can we face this?"
"We can't. But then, it's not like there's another choice either, you know? Plus, if and when we do eventually make it to whatever might constitute The End, probably nothing will change for us. We're unaffected by the universe, there's no reason to believe that will change. For all we know, another Big Bang will emerge from quantum fluctuations 10^10^10^56 years from now, and eventually we'll start seeing new souls show up. Maybe it's already been like that, for all I know."
"So, what now?"
"Up to you, man. There's plenty of space around here to wander around and explore, if you'd like. Eventually someone like Fek'lar will come across you and want to go through all the 'Burn Pain Death' motions, I guess it's up to you if you want to play along. You will, eventually, but...I don't know, just saying, the choice is yours, don't let them tell you otherwise. When you've been here long enough and start looking big and scary, you'll probably want to torture some other new souls."
"What are you going to do?"
"Go stand in the Demon Queue some more, wait and see if anyone else chooses me as their initial torturer. For the record, you were the first. Sorry I was the worst." | Hell wasn’t like I had imagined it at all. No flame-engulfed landscape of cracked red rock with magma flowing beneath. If heaven was a wide-open space in the sky, then surely hell was a narrow underground cavern riddled with jagged red hot glowing stalactites and stalagmites. No, instead hell was more like a BDSM dungeon of the consciousness. A swirling vortex of memories of the spec in time you called life. Reliving every embarrassing moment, every regret, every nasty thing you ever said to your mother, everyone you hurt, everything that ever was, never was. Never could and never would be.
Surprisingly enough, I don’t remember my death too well. At all, actually. It was either too painful to recall, or I was one of those lucky enough to go peacefully in my sleep. If that were the case, all the pain and suffering I missed out on, I was making up for in the dungeon.
As I’m being whipped and spanked with the cat o nine tails of shame and paddle of misery, I’m approached by three demons. Now “demons” as I guess we would call them are the most astonishing thing of this realm. They’re not horned with goat legs and rippling torsos of the red variety. Though I can say I’m not too comforted by what they actually are. I couldn’t call them a being or a creature. Somehow, I’m aware that they’re sentient. They’re horrifyingly ugly and overwhelmingly beautiful at the same time. They’re each as large as a galaxy while occupying no space at all. And their colors…I’ve never seen before. Are they even colors?
I think back to the renditions of “devils” on earth and now realize how silly it would be to try and depict something like this. How the mind is so incapable of comprehending. There is no Satan, no Lucifer. They carry no names here.
One of them in particular is…well I feel that it is a gaping mass, undoubtedly containing unknown horrors. And whatever is on the other side is a road less traveled. As I’m sinking deeper into repentance, just a metaphysical hand poking out of this cosmic quicksand, I’m wafted out.
*Come.*
Suddenly I’m hurling through the gape at an immeasurable speed. I have no vessel to lug. I can no longer remember who or what I once was. All I know is the infinite beauty I’m being shown. It is completely indescribable. I realize all the suffering was insignificant to this.
| 2017-07-30T07:00:21 | 2017-07-30T01:09:06 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] One day a time portal opens in your backyard and a time traveler comes through. You quickly realize he just came back from making some change to the past and that, to him, our world is the terrifying alternative time line resulting from that change. | "Alright, let's start again..." Philip said, his hand covering his eyes. "What is the year?"
James set down the cup of tea in front of the mysterious, confused man. "2015."
"And what happened at 0? Or 1? Whatever."
"Um..." James considered, "Think it was supposed to be around the birth of Christ."
"Alright, that would be that Roman guy, right?"
"...basically."
Philip considered the options, and shook his head, "Alright, this is not helping. Let's go further back a bit. When were the pyramids built in this... AD/BC time frame?"
"The ones in Giza?"
"Yes, those."
James grabbed his iPad, and called up Google. "Um... looks like somewhere around 2500 BC."
"So, if BC is negative..." a brief pause, "4500 years before now?"
"Um... yeah, I think that's about right."
The man eyed James' iPad. "I am when I am supposed to be, but you have got tech that's a few centuries out of date. Does everyone have those sorts of things?"
"A lot of them do, yeah..."
"Does that thing have a map?"
After a lot of zooming out, and very confused looks at the names of the places around the world, the man sat back. "So I'm in the right place, too... What went wrong?"
"So you're from... now?"
"Our point in the present is the same, but we're from different timelines. I was born in... well, it would be 1986 by your reckoning, but from a town off the coast of..." he glanced at the map still on the iPad, "England that, apparently, never existed... I know, tenses are weird."
"Wait, off the coast?"
"Yes, a floating city."
James just stared at the man. "Normally, I'd think you're crazy, but you appeared in the air above my backyard right in front of my eyes, and set the arm you broke with something from that pouch on your belt... how is that, by the way?"
The man rolled his arm. "It's setting nicely, thank you."
"Anyway, I'm willing to suspend disbelief after what I've seen."
"I need to know what went wrong. The world is not supposed to be like..." he motioned around, "this."
"You went back in time?"
"Yes, that is right. I was doing some research in the past, and I tried to come back to my lab, and ended up in your back yard."
"So just researching?"
"Yes."
"You weren't going back in time to... I don't know, kill Hitler or something?"
"Who?"
A heavy silence filled the kitchen, and was all the answer the man needed.
"He was a very bad person in this timeline, wasn't he?"
James just nodded, and glanced at a picture of an elderly couple on the counter.
"Alright... do you have access to history on that thing?"
"Yeah..." James called up Wikipedia.
"I was in Europe, about 1700 years ago. I need to know what I did to change history..."
------------
Philip leaned back in his chair, and sighed. On the iPad sat the article for the Dark Ages.
"You're telling me you think you caused the Dark Ages?"
Philip nodded, still in shock. "The Roman Empire never fell in my history. I was studying the middle of their empire... and I must have done something that led to its collapse, plunging the entire area into a regressive age..."
There was some more silence. "What are you going to do?"
Philip looked at the device on his arm. "I must to go back and fix it. I must try and turn things right..."
"What about me?"
They looked at each other. "I do not know... If I succeed, then... you may not exist anymore. Or you might... split timelines like this might be strong enough to continue on their own. I really do not know."
James sat back, considering. "In your timeline, you've got... what, fifteen hundred years of scientific advancement instead of five to ten hundred in ours?"
Philip nodded.
"And in your home, your world, you've got cool gadgets like time machines, and wraps that can fix broken bones in minutes..."
"Among other things, yes."
James glanced at the picture on the counter again.
"Will I know if you succeeded?"
"I do not know."
There was another silence.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I believe you have done everything you can," Philip got up, and checked the device on his wrist. "This still has about 60% charge remaining. I should have a few tries at righting my wrong."
James looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. "Good luck."
"Thank you," Philip stepped outside, and started pressing buttons. "I would suggest stepping back."
James watched as Philip was enveloped in a white light, and vanished. | So there was an astronaut at my front door.
Or at least I think it was an astronaut. It had a helmet and all the fixings. I was too polite to ask, really. It just stood at my door, hunched over, breathing heavily. Kinda sounded like Darth Vader, which gave more support to my astronaut theory.
"What year is it?!" it asked, muffled by the helmet, which I couldn't seem to see into. It wasn't that bright in space, was it?
"...2015." I grinned. This was weird.
"Radio into the Upper Command for me, I--"
The astronaut stopped, and tipped it's head sideways like a confused dog. It seemed to be looking at my right ear, like I had a funny-looking earring. I didn't, I always thought earrings were for girls, really. (I knew this one guy who wore an earring, just the one. It just struck me as odd.)
"We're's your Tenner?"
"My what?"
It jabbed a gloved finger at my ear. "Your Tenner."
"It's called an ear, mate. I've got two of them."
"No, your *Tenner*!" it said, getting quite irate now.
"I think that's English currency?"
The Astronaut suddenly stood up straight, then brushed pass me. I think it heard the TV in the next room, because I followed it into the TV room, and it was plastered to the idiot box with an expression of horror (or at least I think it did, because I couldn't really see in through the helmet, now could I?)
"What in the nine hells is this?!" it almost screamed, jabbing it's jabby finger at the screen.
"That is BBC news, friend. I watch it because the other networks are to biased, in my opinion."
The spaceman watched as the reporter explained how the ISS would be expecting three new astronauts next month. Perhaps he was missing home.
"Oh shit." it exclaimed, "where is the Sun Ra? What is this *Eye Ess Ess*?"
"It's the international space-station? And Sun Ra wasn't really from space. Jeez, man, your supposed to know this, your an astronaut, right?."
The Astronaut collapsed, defeated, making these weird quacking noises. I think it was crying.
I didn't know how to react to this. I don't know how to comfort Astronauts.
I should've stayed in bed... | 2015-11-13T15:49:03 | 2015-11-13T14:24:37 | 174 | 14 |
[WP] A teenage boy is sentenced to a fate worst than death. His internet history is to be publicly read at his high school assembly. | "It's public humiliation!"
Owen had never seen his dad's face so red before. He was practically bursting a vein with rage, leaning over the headteacher's desk and spitting in his face.
"This is illegal!"
Mr. Paulson, a mild mannered man with bad taste in ties and a worse taste in shoes, removed his frameless glasses and very carefully cleaned them on a corner of his jacket.
"Mr Jacobs." He said.
"Don't you Mr. Jacobs me!" His father thundered, slamming his clenched fists down on the table. "I'm good friends with the school governor, and I will-"
"You will do nothing, Mr. Jacobs." Paulson replied. "Your son has been bullying a very vulnerable child."
Owen, in the corner of the headmaster's office, turned bright red and cleared his throat. His father snorted.
"Kid was probably asking for it-"
Mr Paulson replaced his glasses and firmly cut the angry man off.
"We feel this punishment is appropriate. Good day, Mr Jacobs."
Own wanted to curl up and die. He sat at the back of the school hall, a churning sensation rioting in his stomach.
"You alright, mate?" Luke asked, slamming his palm down on Owen's shoulder.
"Just feel a bit sick." Owen said weakly. His palms were sweating. There was a faint ringing in his ears as Mr Paulson took the stage.
"Boys - after a recent case of bullying, we've decided to take more affirmative action. Owen Jacobs' internet history from the twentieth of March is in my hand." Mr Paulson waved the sheaf of paper at the assembled hall, who broke out in to barely contained speculative whispers the way that only teenage boys can.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you that we take bullying *exceptionally* seriously." He cleared his throat, placed the papers on the lectern and began to read.
"Facebook, twitter. Reddit- you do waste a lot of time Owen!" The hall laughed, the year sevens turning round and craning their mecks to get a better look at him, head between his knees on the back row.
"Youporn-" There were a couple of wolf whistles, the sixthformers hooting. It took some minutes to settle them down.
"Apparently you like small titties."
The hall went wild. Even Mr Paulson allowed himself a timy smile. He carried on reading.
"Looking for help with maths problems, well done Owen... Er, youtube, more youtube- you really like epic meal time?"
More laughter.
Mr Paulson scanned the sheets again, rifling through them, trying to find something else to make the hall laugh. There was an expectant lull, boys shoving each other to get a look at Owen. He had his face buried in his palms, elbows on knees, desperately trying not to look at the curious eyes around him.
"Ah, look! A forty minute gap. Finally got off line, did you Owen?"
He flicked the page over. Mr Paulson went white. He cleared his throat.
"Google search. Nine twenty five - 'how to cover up bruises.'"
The hall fell silent. Owen looked up, blinkingg furiously to stop the tears from coming.
Mr Paulson cleared his throat again.
"I think you'd better see me in my office, Owen." | The balding, stout principal stood in front of the sea of faces, ready to dish out Chad's punishment.
"Chad Gissler's internet history:
6:55PM Facebook, Jennifer.Traeger.
6:58 PM Facebook, Jennifer.Traeger, Music.
7:03 PM Google query, 'Who is Kurt Cobain?'
7:04 PM, Wikipedia, Kurt Cobain.
7:07 PM, Wikipedia, Nirvana(Band)
7:13PM Facebook, pictures, Jennifer Traeger.
7:23 PM, Messages, Jennifer Traeger.
7:33 PM www.Fmylife.com, Submit: 'I just pretended I loved a band I had never heard of because I knew my crush liked them. I asked her to go to a show with me. The band was Nirvana. FML."
| 2014-03-23T05:13:27 | 2014-03-23T04:22:46 | 248 | 93 |
[WP] Walking home one night you find an old lamp and a Genie pops out. He tells you that you have 6 wishes, 3 more than usual. You take it home to sleep on it, because this is important. You must be sure! You wake up to find a frantic Genie. You only have one wish left because you sleep talk. | "Wha-what time is it? WHAT ARE ALL THESE DICKS DOING IN MY FACE"
"Hey good morning. I mean just say the word and they all go away BUT BEFORE YOU TALK just know you have only 1 wish remaining..."
"What? One? I thought you said I have six" \*Brushes four penises out of his face
"Yeah well this stuff has an order to it and you wished for a bunch of shit in your sleep. In fact, you outta be thankful. Never have I had to fulfill so many ridiculous wishes all at once. I mean god damn, maybe 2 of them. But FIVE?"
"I'm gathering wish 1 was a wall of male penises in my face"
"You gather correctly"
"I SWEAR I'm Not gay! Did I wish exactly for this?"
"And I SWEAR I'm the god damn pope of scotland" \*The pope of scotland walks in "That's the pope of scotland"
"That's not even a thing"
"Shut up you gayboy. You wished for it"
"Ok fine- I'm probably a little gay but can we please focus on the other 4 wishes."
"Three. One of them was for the pope of scotland. "BuT ThATs NoT A REAl thInG". It is now, you wished for it. I told I was tired running around, creating new dual Vatican law that is now in accordance with catholic values of the second pope in scotland. I mean what the fuck, Richard? What the fuck? First the penises, and then you invent some dumb second pope? You could've had a billion dollars. But no, you wanted to wish for a fucking wall. Yes, that's right, you know that border wall that's been in the news? Well you thought it would be 'fun' to wish for one.. but the wall is horizontal. And hovers over where the wall in mexico WOULD be. Its really just blocking out the sun and all the crops. If anything you've made immigration worse."
"What"
"There's a horizontal wall, kind of like a walkway, hovering over the border between mexico and the USB. To be fair, people have started skateboarding it, and its fucking gnarly, so actually, probably your best wish of the day."
"Ok, so I wished for some floppy dicks, which are still here btw, (are they going to leave? Do they need water?), the creation of a second pope in scotland, and an inverted border 'wall' which is really a walkway that people skate on now. Why does none of this stuff help me at all?"
"Well the dicks help you"
"I'm still coming to terms with that"
"I'll bet you are"
"Wishes 4 5 6 are still unaccounted for"
"Go on then. ASK ME. ASK ME WHAT YOU SPENT YOUR 4TH AND 5TH WISHES ON"
"Wha-
"HORSES AND BEER"
"...."
"..."
"..I mean.. I'm thinking it could be worse. I'm absolutely filled with regret over not using these wishes better, but
"You wished for a kegger, for the horses. The horses are wasted outside. They keep saying they're leaving but fucking hell man, the sun came up and they're still chasing those demons. I think some of them had some blow, I'm not sure. They're a mess. Do you know how much beer it takes to get a 1 ton horse drunk? A LOT OF BEER RICHARD"
"....HAHAHAHAHAH Seriously? Ok honestly I'm going to take a little credit on this, that's kind of genius"
"Do you know what that word means"
"Where are the horses? Now I mean?"
"We'll they're roaming the town, the cops are still on this one"
"Why did I have to waste two wishes on that, like couldn't I just have wished for a 'horse kegger' and like, saved a wish?"
"Yeah. But you didn't." \*Pull outs a FLIP camera and shows Richard, asleep but sleep talking:
"let me wish, zzzzz, I wish for, all the horses, to throw a big party. And I wish for...all of the kegs to be there too. twoooooo thingsssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
"Holy shit, You got me there. I REALLY wish I would've used those two wishes as one."
"You wish-...YOU CAN'T GO BACK NOW AND RECOUP YOUR WISHES I WASN'T BORN YESTERDAY"
&#x200B;
"Worth a shot"
"Cunt"
"Ok ok, let me take a shower and think about my next move. Dicks, you all stay here."
One of the flying penises looks at Richard (his balls are the eyes) and tells him "you need to look within yourself. The answers are within. oOOOOOOoOooooooOOO
"Hurry up though, I have a meeting with a flying carpet later"
As Richard went to the bathroom, the flying penises tried to follow him in. Richard quickly shut the door and no penises followed him. They could be heard on the other side of the door, whimpering, like a dog who was left behind.
While Richard was showering, a thought crossed his mind. "Why haven't I at any point today realized this was all a dream? WAKE UP. WAKE THE FUCK UP RICHARD. COME ON MAN!"
Richard starting hitting himself in the face with his bottle of Axe shower gel and accompanying lufa. He started yelling "i WISH THIS WAS ALL A FUCKING DREAM"...and everything went dark.
"...."
Light crept into his room. Richard rose up in his bed. Disappointingly all of the flying penises he'd grow to appreciate were absent. Looking around his room, he saw the same staples of normalcy- his clock, his posters, his bed. There was no genie in sight.
Delighted, Richard jumped out of bed, made himself a coffee, and went back into his room. What a dream that had been. How fucking crazy? But.. didn't I go to sleep last night wish wishes? Did I dream taht too? Oh shit, no I for sure went to bed last night KNOWING I had wishes.. When did I meet that genie again?
Frantically thinking, Richard talked himself into a bit of madness. He hadn't seen anything amiss! Maybe he still had those wishes? And if so, where is this alleged genie?
Richard opened his curtains, and when he was what was outside, he nearly fainted. Standing there in his front yard were six (friendly) floating vaginas, a bunch of drunk giraffees, and Justin Trudaeu. The genie himself was skating in a pretty gnarly looking skateboard park, complete with a bowl, rails, and a fair amount of casper slides going around.
"HEY Richard! You're p-awake, you missed one hell of a pppppparty?"
"Thanks floating vagina, I appreciate that. Do I still have one wish left?"
"YOU SURE DO!" the genie yelled, looking much fatter than before.
"Genie, what the fuck is going on"
"You're on drugs, Richard. This has all been one giant drug trip. We think that your underlying homosexuality has come out, and we support you. You've taken a not insignificant amount of acid. In fact the only REAL thing about all of this, is that you have ONE wish, and only one wish!
"I wish this fucking idiotic story would just....end"
"Bye Richard! Don't forget us!" shouted one of the more attractive flying vaginas. And with that, everything disappeared, including Richard, and you were back to your dumb, shitty life. | I woke up still undecided. How is it so hard to make six wishes? There are so many things I can choose from. Suddenly I realized that the ceiling I was looking at wasn't like the one in my room, it was golden and... Wait this isn't even my bed. I looked around to see a completely different room with everything in it changed. I quickly looked under my pillow and thankfully the lamp was still there. The genie popped out.
"What is your last wish my master?"
"I haven't decided... Did you just say last wish?"
"Why of course. You already used your other five wishes."
"When? I was asleep the whole... don't tell me!"
"Oh my. Well this isn't good."
"What did I wish for?"
"Your first wish was of a huge mansion, the biggest in the world actually."
"Well that isn't so bad." A knock on the door could be heard from the door behind the Genie.
"Good morning darling. I'm sorry that it took so long to get you breakfast there are so many stairs." The woman that came in was my classmate Monica. She was the most beautiful and popular girl in my school but she had no idea who I was or so I thought.
"What is she doing here?"
"She was your second wish if I recall correctly. You said you wanted Monica to be your wish and wanted to have a lot of sex with her. Was there another Monica? I choose the one you thought of when you said your wish master."
"Wait no I didn't mean it like that." Monica was coming closer but something wasn't right.
"Monica? Why are you looking at me like that? And where is the breakfast?"
"What do you mean silly?" She climbed on top of me. "I am the breakfast." And she started kissing me.
I pushed her away, grabbed the lamp and ran out. I ran downstairs (Jesus there were a lot of stairs) and called on the genie again.
"Not trying to be rude master but you just ran away..."
"Forget that! Look none of the wishes I made were actually, I don't know, thought through."
"Well that is a problem. I'm sorry master but there is nothing I can do about it. Once a wish is made it's absolute, there is no way to reverse it. Unless..."
There was a loud banging at the door.
"Who is there?"
"I was afraid that might happen?" Said the genie.
"Afraid what might happen?" The door came crashing down and people armed to the teeth walked in.
"That people would try to kill you because you are the king of the world. Third wish by the way."
"What? Wait hold up! I can explain."
They didn't even look at me but pointed their guns at me.
"No need to worry master."
"No need to worry? What the hell...?" Suddenly maids with swords dropped from the ceiling and killed all of the soldiers.
"And who are they?"
"They are your ninja maids. I thought you wished them for protection."
"No! I mean that's really cool but that's not the point." Another guy walked in with a machine gun and killed most of the maids. He pointed the gun at me. I was petrified but the maids saved me once again. Outside more people started trickling in and they came in with tanks and a lot of other weapons. People were yelling and calling me names.
"Why is this happening?"
"You've just became king my master. People are expecting you to exert your power."
"How do I do that?"
"I'm sorry master. The wish doesn't come with the knowledge only the power."
"This is all wrong! Can't you see, I'm not fit to be kind of the world. I can't do anything. I'm just a highschool boy who happened to find a lamp. I'm nothing but a failure." I walked towards the sea of people."
"Master?"
"No I don't care about anymore! Let them kill me. It will be better like that."
"Actually master..."
"I don't want to hear it! I just want to die." I saw them pointing their guns at me. I closed my eyes hoping for this nightmare to end. I heard thousands of gunshots at once and I thought to myself it's all over. I opened my eyes expecting to wake up from this nightmare but everything was still the same. I looked down at my body and all the bullets were around me like they stopped before hitting me.
"I wanted to warn you master. Your fifth wish was that you become Superman."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes master, but I'm sure they are able to kill you if they keep trying." I was so mad I threw my fists down at the ground which caused a whole Sonic wave to push everyone far away.
"Now what!?"
"Master there is a way to turn everything back to normal." My heart skipped a but the moment I heard those words.
"What are you saying?"
"Your sixth and final wish. If you want you can wish so that everything never happened... But it comes at a cost."
"I don't care. Whatever it takes. Just make it back to normal please."
"As you wish my master."
I woke up with a huge headache. For some reason I thought everything was going to be different today but so far everything was as normal as it could be. I picked up my pillow and looked under it. Nothing.
"Huh what a weird dream." | 2019-09-20T12:33:00 | 2019-09-20T11:33:57 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | 24 hours left.
So many people had tried and failed before. But not me. I wasn't going to fail. You know why?
I'm not a fucking idiot.
Everyone thinks it's easy. In theory, it is. I mean, you just have to survive an hour. But people are so goddamn narrow-minded. They always try the same thing. Lots of guns, barricades, ammunition... it never works. How could it? You simply can't stop 7 billion people from behind a barricade.
No, the solution is much simpler than that.
You just can't be found.
I crushed the blackened paper of my last cigarette under the heel of my boot. Its ashes are lifted by the wind, lingering by my face for a split second - as though saying goodbye - before trailing off into the morning fog. I step into the airport.
At the desk, I declare my weapons. A disassembled rifle in one padlocked case, a hunting knife in my bag. It goes through without a hitch. Sometimes I still love this country.
Three hours later, I'm on the ground. I grab a cab and grunt instructions at the driver. About halfway there, I stop at some run-down hunting shack. I buy a couple of boxes of ammo, and then head on my way. I try not to think of the man behind the counter; the one with the murderous gleam in his eyes. The eyes that have seen death. The eyes that, unbeknownst to him, will soon be hunting me.
18 hours left.
My pack is not heavy; infinitesimal compared to how others would prepare. After six hours of climbing, I find the area I'm looking for. I enter the mouth of the rock, and gaze upon the greenery inside. It's almost perfectly flat... a cave, yet dozens of holes in the ceiling allow light and rain in, causing soil to accumulate and foliage to grow. It's like a forest inside a mountain. It is perfect, and it will be my battleground.
12 hours left.
I spread the contents of my pack on the ground. There's the thermal blanket, ghillie wraps, knife, ammunition, and my .30 M1 Carbine.
A smattering of snacks. I find my nook overlooking the field and entrance, and wrap myself in the thermal blanket while I begin loading my three magazines. The blanket should shield me from thermal imaging, and I had arranged myself such that no one beyond 15 yards would be able to spot new.
I click the last round into the last magazine. 15 rounds a magazine, 45 rounds total. 5 more rounds loose. It's not much. But if I needed more than that, I was already screwed. Besides, no one could climb up here in an hour. Even with helicopters, the high winds would force them to land at least 200 feet down the mountain...the resulting climb would take at least 40 minutes by foot. And after all that, if they manned to make it this far, they'd be cut down at the mouth of the cave by an invisible enemy, their limp bodies piling until they blocked the entrance. I set my watch, and laid down to sleep.
9 hours left.
I wake before my alarm. I watch as the minutes tick away. As the second tick away.
A single, piercing beep.
I smile.
It has begun. | For the past few months I had been low on money. I took the advice of a friend and signed up for a clinical trial of some sort, I'm not really sure what it was at this point. Suffice to say they were testing genetic targeting. I received a call a little while ago from the team lead Dr. Sullivan. She said that a contagion had escaped containment and that in 24 hours it's incubation period would be complete at which time it would trigger extreme aggression in humans towards me, and me alone for 60 minutes. The cdc has been notified, but their response will be to late.
I'm currently travelling to west texas at speed. I hope to get somewhere where it takes 60 minutes to reach me. If I make it I through this I'm suing the shit out of these guys. | 2015-06-14T16:18:12 | 2015-06-14T13:21:20 | 56 | 23 |
[WP] You are a literal genie, taking wishes like "jump higher" resulting in turning the wisher into a frog, stuff like that. Your latest "victim" has just pulled out a book with their 3 wishes in EXTREME DETAIL on EVERYTHING. "Try and mess this one up." | I have been a genie for thousands of years and I truly love my job. Taking the petty dreams of mortals and twisting them into their worst nightmares is not only my bound task, but my calling.
Some genies twist wishes out of spite. Me? I do it just for the pure joy their despair brings.
You ever hear of Midas? Yeah, that was me. So was that dude with the sausage stuck to his nose. I loved that one.
Oh, it never gets old…
…but the joke did.
Mortals figured it out. They knew we were out to screw them…
…but they still try it anyway.
The little shits can’t help it. Their ambition and greed draw them to me like moths to the flame. Their hubris convinces them that they will be the one to outsmart an immortal entity that has been breaking dreams and souls since before the fools had invented the words to record it. Each one actually believes that they are the smartest person in the entirety of the human race over the entirety of their existence…
…because that is what they would have to be to even have a chance of defeating me.
I can see a light approaching in the absolute darkness of the tunnel leading to my chamber, deep beneath Giza. They finally figured out that the actual smartest person in the world had a giant sphinx built over the entrance to my domain. He literally moved a mountain... well... it was more like a hill but still, well done!
Now him, I liked. He could have been Pharoh, but he was too smart for that. He was happy to be nameless, faceless, and very very rich.
He was also the only one to figure out the game. The only winning move was not to play, to just wish me a good day and leave. He survived all the traps, defeated all the puzzles, and prevailed over all the obstacles only to bid me a good day and depart.
I asked him why and his reply still brings a smile even now.
He just wanted to see if he could do it and if I was really down here. When I asked him if there was anything he wanted…
…he just grinned and said that if he wanted something, he was perfectly capable of getting it himself.
The balls on that mortal!
The fact that he happened once gives me hope that someone may happen again, that humanity isn’t truly lost…
…but today is probably not that day… probably.
The light is getting closer so I pack away my kitting.
I like knitting, alright? You got a problem with that? Didn’t think so.
In walks a man dressed in strange attire with an annoyingly bright torch of some unknown nature.
I sigh. I can tell from the smug triumph in his eyes that he is just another idiot.
“What is your heart’s desire, mortal?” I ask as he approaches.
“Just like that?” he asks, “No riddles? No tests? No traps?”
“The trap comes later,” I smile, “as you undoubtedly know. Go ahead, tell me your wish. You get three, but you know that as well.”
Grinning with triumph he pulls out this weird black mirror.
It bursts into a wild dance of glowing colors. Now that is interesting. It seems that things have changed over the past few… huh… I honestly have no idea how long it has been.
If there is anything left of this idiot, I will ask him.
“Here!” he crows triumphantly as he hands me the strange device.
It was light as a feather, but heavy, so very heavy with knowledge.
“What is this?” I ask, already knowing the answer at a glance.
“My wishes,” he smirks as if he was the first person to ever come up with this. “It’s all in there. I want exactly, and I mean exactly what I have written!”
I grin. This is going to be fun!
“You have to say your wishes,” I smile, “And I will grant, exactly and I mean exactly, what you tell me.”
His face falls as I hand the tablet back to him, pull out my knitting and resume work on a lovely sweater that is to be Death’s birthday present.
“Take your time,” I say as I start to knit. “We have all the time in the world…”
Stammering slightly, he begins.
I listen with half an ear (and twice what is required for this fool) as he fumbles through what is clearly thousands of pages of text, all of which he must recite perfectly and without pause for each wish.
Oh? I didn’t mention that part?
Yeah, the second he stops for more than a moment… the wish is “complete” and I am free to grant it…
…and grant it I will.
For someone obsessed with the fine print…
…he should have read mine. | “I’m afraid this isn’t my native language. Hold on a moment while I run the text through google translate. I wouldn’t want to get confused by any subtle distinctions.” I smile as the human starts to stammer and swear. He knows how bad this could get.
“So, looks like first we’ll have to go through Welsh, detour it into Finnish, and then we can probably get a reasonable Translation into Chinese. Of course, I learnt to speak that in the Warring States Period, but don’t worry, I’ve kept up on all the changes.”
“I wish you were a native speaker of my language!” The troublesome human burst out in desperation. He’d seen how badly this was going to go, and figured I couldn’t screw up a wish related to myself too much, without hurting myself in the process of screwing him as well. It was a pretty common tactic - we learnt to be wary of it on our first night in Wishmasters.
“Wish granted.” I said, applying the traditional puff of purple smoke via a concealed smoke bomb. It left him coughing, and me as well in the body I was now sharing with a native speaker of his language. I didn’t even have to nudge the new human’s thoughts - I just stood aside as it felt the smoke try to choke it’s lungs. The response was utterly predictable - a few moments of terrible shouting and then thunderous noise, and the problem human was lying on the ground, bleeding out from the bullet holes in his chest.
“Fuck. Dispatch? Some twerp just tried to hit me with a gas grenade, and then bludgeon me with a three ring binder. I think he was going for my gun. I’m gonna need a coroner and everything else over here…”
I settled in for the ride - I’d have this police officer wishing me out of his head by the end of the week. But until I did, I was technically on shift, and this was all going to get clocked as overtime. So was there really all that much of a rush?
--
Editted to fix spelling and remove duplicates - that's what I get for trying to punch something up on mobile while cooking. | 2022-09-28T16:24:54 | 2022-09-28T16:23:50 | 207 | 107 |
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